#and listening to way too much phoebe bridgers i know the end | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crossbackpoke-check · 5 months

Note

56 and any Yamo pairing! 🫶

i just wheezed so hard when i saw what the song was i almost snorted coffee out of my nose i am so sorry for this one

#56 - kyoto phoebe bridgers + yamo

the story of how this song ended up on my wrapped is too long so it’s going in the tags but. let me set the scene for you.

2026 NHL GLOBAL SERIES™️ JAPAN - Presented by YPPI

November 13 & 14, 2026: Dallas Stars, Montreal Canadiens, Seattle Kraken, Vancouver Canucks

Saitama Super Arena, Saitama, Japan

It’s a pitiful excuse of a consolation prize for not being able to go to the Olympics, but Kailer’s not going to look a vacation horse in the mouth. The arena’s cool. It’s huge. The people are cool. There’s so many more of them than he thought there’d be with jerseys that have his name on the back, and a lot more that have the familiar orange and blue. He takes a picture of the fifth Oilers Yamamoto jersey he signs—this one’s the good Reverse Retro—and texts it to Connor, says,

no one here has even heard of mcjesus

and gets a moon face emoji in response. Leon’s influence. Kailer’s still never really deciphered what that one means, and he doesn’t think Connor knows either.

They don’t have a lot of time off between games, but Kailer’s trying to be a good tourist. His dad had been so happy when Kailer had told him about the series that Kailer’d had to stop him from trying to book a flight a year in advance, and his mom’s been just as bad, sending him every article she sees about Best New Spot in Tokyo! Cool Restaurant! Have You Seen This Japanese Cat Café? that she scrolls across on Facebook since June. Suzy’s in the same boat, so they’ve been crossing off their compiled travel-guide list together, looping in as many guys as they can. Everyone’s been pretty game. All the teams are crammed into close quarters at the same hotel, which means everyone wants to spend as much time as possible outside of it, and it helps that Kailer’s gotten pretty close with all the other guys that the NHL picked up as Global Series figureheads. Robo’s memes? Absolutely fire. The groupchat loves them.

For every item he crosses off the list, Kailer takes a picture and keeps it tucked in his phone notes. It’s like speed-running a scavenger hunt—they’re only here for four days—but he’s doing a pretty good job. His favorite so far has been all the gardens. They’re stunning, trees shining bright red and yellow, and every vendor has been selling maple candies, maple cakes, and even fried maple, though the official maple festival doesn’t start until next week. The second garden he visits, he does it on his own after practice, buying two cakes from a cart near the gate and walking until he loses the bustle outside. It’s easy to get lost in the winding pathways, heading deeper into the quiet, and there’s dozens of benches underneath the burnished leaves where young couples are tucked away on dates, or old friends are laughing and catching up. In some of the little clearings, there’s small shrines where people leave offerings, a prayer for good luck or good fortune.

Kailer stops at one without any people and sets the second maple cake on top of it, then sits and scrolls through all the texts that he’s missed. His mom gets replied to with a picture of him outside the garden gate, grinning and surrounded by other travelers. He sends his brother a picture of a trashy graphic I Love Japan t-shirt with the threat that he’ll buy one for him, and Kailer’s dad gets a picture of the meticulously arranged and cut bonsai that are across from the bench where he’s sitting. The Seattle groupchat gets a recycled meme from Robo, and he gets two thumbs up and an “LMAO” before he can even exit the thread. Finally, Kailer takes a picture of the half-eaten maple cake in his hand, holding it next to a fallen maple leaf on the bench, and gets halfway through typing another message before he thinks better of it.

(On the plane over, Drieds was reading them a story about how when they first introduced the high-speed railway, people were afraid to use it because they thought it would be too fast for their souls to keep up.

“Bro, if that were true, you just left your soul in the middle of the Pacific,” Ebs had laughed. “Planes are faster than trains.”

“Are they?” Matty asked. “Isn’t the train in Japan the fastest in the world?”

Drieds couldn’t make it through the rest of the story over the sound of everyone ripping Matty to shreds, so Kailer didn’t get to ask whether or not they found out anything about planes. Kailer’s not worried about his soul, but the logic makes a strange kind of sense; after all, he traveled 429 miles in five and a half hours once, and that was a little too fast for his heart to keep up.)

Fuck it. Kailer’s been trying to write a response for the past ten days, and he’s sick of swiping in and out of the message, staring at the keyboard so long he starts to see swirls in his vision.

Kailer drafts the text again and sends it, no context, no caption. A text travels faster than a high-speed train or a jet. Maybe it’ll pick his heart back up on the way.

#I don’t know how this song ended up on my Spotify wrapped because phoebe bridgers is too emotionally damaging for me to listen to like.#at all unless i am In It HOWEVER. there is this one silly video that brings me so much joy and made me feel semi-reasonable about listening #to kyoto & it’s the one video of the two painter guys painting the room & the lil guy is being a menace & the other guy just looks at him s #fondly & so lovingly & is that not the thesis of kailer yamamoto. be small be a menace be beloved by everyone. ANYWAY #liv in the replies #look this was going to be such a different thing and then. my brain went HEY BUDDY GUESS THE FUCK WHAT kyoto is a city in Japan.#day off in kyoto. guess who’s Japanese. guess what the nhl loves to do as HIFE publicity. also growing the AAPI audience is HUGE and i thin #they should. like originally i had NO idea what this was going to be (i’m so lying. the line ‘i’m gonna kill you’ but incredibly fond a la #the two painters video kept replaying in my head and i was like l m a o. klimmer & kailer. no plot all vibes it’s klimmer & Kailer that’s i #there is no real plot there is no actual idea the amount of googling that i did to write just this is UNREASONABLE i would love to be norma #about anything ever but i ALSO invented so much backstory to this that has no way of appearing in the actual fic and also jokes for ME #for instance. YPPI is the american manufacturer for yamaha motorcycles and. suzuki. yamamoto. (it’s not my brainworms it’s due to a fancam)#respectfully also i cannot write this fic. i have never been to japan and i think it would take me eight years to google enough #to be relatively comfortable like y’all have never seen the extensive research i put in to fucking phiLLY and a whole other COUNTRY???#where the premise of the fic is learning how to be a tourist in your life and sometimes you have to grow out of things?#yeah i AM going to make something with the idea of Momijigari and life is ephemeral. is that a plot? no it’s vibes.#kailer goes to japan in the fall and realizes he’s a liar. who lies. (he misses [redacted]) (the redacted is because i haven’t decided)#also also. the garden reference is because a) i spent WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON GOOGLE and found out things to do in saitama and also that #kailer’s grandpa had a meticulous garden and i just think that’s neat #hiding-from-reality-56 #random ficlet is unbeta’d un-anything’d i don’t know WHERE this came from or the real plot of it at all. ok thanks byeeeee

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 2 months

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Would you mind writing a Fic about daughter of Selene and son of Poseidon, Percy? And their Relationship is sort off based off how the moon affects the ocean tides?

⋆⭒˚.⋆ percy jackson x daughter of selene! reader hcs

content: percy jackson x daughter of selene! reader hcs warning: language as per usual author's note: i made it hcs bc i didn't feel like i had enough plot to make a fic and a blurb wouldn't do this fun prompt justice so this is what we get folks!!!

bro is quite literally drawn to you

can't stay away

you just keep pulling him in

if you have a good day, he has a good day

if you have a bad day, he has a bad day

you affect this dude in ways you don’t even know

what can he say, he's an empath

just for you tho

listens to 'moon song' by phoebe bridgers and crys bc he thinks of you

oh, and 'moon river' by frank ocean

oh and basically any other song that mentions the moon

will def send you constants texts like,

'you look just like your momma. beautiful.'

this is followed by the most beautiful picture of the moon you've ever seen

this bitch got you in yo feels

also sally is adopting you without a doubt

you are now her precious moon child, no arguing or stopping it now

you both get into some crazy shit at night

like, no, officer, we did not break into sea world and free the sharks, sir, why would we do that???

actively wearing sea world shirts that still have the tags on

sally and paul laughed the whole time bailing you guys out of jail

also, i like to imagine you're more active at night, so that makes you a sleepy girl during the day and percy is just your walking pillow

you can take a nap nearly anywhere and that includes percy's shoulder as he's trying to pay attention to whatever will is trying to teach them about healing but he can't focus with your breath puffing out against his neck

and then even when the class is over, he refuses to move and wake you up

would actually rather die than wake you up

also i like to image that you glow at night similarly to apollo kids but in silver tones

which is why your name in percy's phone is glowstick

he finds it amusing

you, not so much

also percy has grown very fond of night swims since getting with you

just you and him, floating somewhere in the lake and letting the only light being from the moon

he finds it calming and so do you

this, upon a joking dare, would turn into skinny dipping one night but thats a story for another day fr

let's just say you two also accidently became streakers that night too

chiron was not happy

the hermes cabin thought it was very amusing, seeing as they were the ones who stole your clothes in the first place.

the night swims ended after that, in fear of another streaking incident

everytime percy's back home for school, he fr goes out on the balcony and plays 'talking to the moon' by bruno mars (cheesy mfer)

and cries bc he misses you

and i just know your mommas laughing at him from her spot at the moon

the boy who's lovesick for her baby girl

the boy who reminds her of his father's waves

drawn in and away but always back in again

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy pjo

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augiewrites · 6 months

Text

“scott street” - richie jerimovich

summary: y/n is back in chicago for the first time in years and reunites with an old flame (inspired by phoebe bridgers’ scott street)

pairing: richie jerimovich x reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, grief, family/parental death, the usual warnings that come along with the bear

a/n: i love emotionally unintelligent men

Y/N was never good at making decisions. Big, life changing decisions? No big deal. Abandon everything they know to move across the country for college? Didn’t even think twice. Their last living family member was not-so alive anymore and left a massive mess behind with no one to clean it up? The U-Haul was packed before the week was over.

The cooler of soft drinks in front of them right now? Y/N had been staring at the frosted doors for well over five minutes, periodically opening the doors but taking nothing out.

“Y/N?”

Holy shit, he grew up.

“Carmy?” Y/N smiled at the young man, pulling him into a brief embrace, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could, uh, ask you the same,” Carmy smirked.

“I’m taking care of Ma’s old building.”

Carmy’s brows knitted together, “Right—I’m sorry about your mom, by the way. Shame.”

“Yeah,” Y/N shuffled their feet, “you avoiding the question?”

“Maybe,” he smirked, “I took over the Beef. Been back in town for a few weeks.”

“Oh? How’s that going for you?”

Another smirk. “It’s not, really.”

“Wow, look at us,” Y/N knocked his shoulder with theirs, “both said we’d never come back and here we are…dealing with a couple steaming piles of shit.”

He let out a breath that slightly resembled a laugh, “Yeah—listen, you should come by for family tomorrow afternoon. Take a look at the pile for yourself.”

“Oh, Carmy, I don’t know—”

“I’ll make sure he stays in line.”

“We both know that’s not possible, Bear.”

“Still, everyone would love seeing you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Carmy opened the cooler and wordlessly pressed a Diet Coke in their hand before walking out of the store.

It took everything in them to not cry.

_________________________________________

Y/N knew it was a bad idea, but the next day they found themselves standing outside the Beef, willing themselves to go in.

They scoffed and opened the door.

Pussy, they chastised themself.

The restaurant was pure chaos, and Y/N stood there for a moment, completely unnoticed and taking it all in. They would be lying to themselves if they said they didn’t miss the mayhem.

Unsurprisingly, Richie was the first to notice them—he had a habit of doing that.

“Yo, what the hell?”

Y/N was barely able to get a word out as they were suddenly flanked by Tina and Ebra, who were simultaneously saying how good it was to see them and chastising them for being gone so long with so little communication.

It was Carmy that intervened, gently pulling Y/N away with a small laugh and saying, “okay, guys, let ‘em breathe.”

Richie was frozen in his spot behind the counter, feeling like he just saw a ghost.

Which, in a way, he did. It had been years since he saw Y/N, and no matter how much he tried forgetting about them, they haunted his thoughts. They had been high school sweethearts, and even though things didn’t end well between them he couldn’t help but still care deeply for them.

First loves were like that.

Y/N’s mind was on overdrive as Carmy walked them around and introduced them to the new faces working in the kitchen. Richie was being too quiet. Usually when he was avoiding a topic he didn’t like, he talked about everything else under the sun. Richie being quiet was dangerous territory.

They were pulled out of their thoughts once Tina slammed a large pot in the center of the larger tables in the dining area and yelled, “Family!”

Y/N took a seat between Tina and Fak, and was for once thankful for the man’s dedication to rambling. He was currently going on about how he should come inspect the building they were now the owner of, despite the building already having been cleared by state inspectors and having a fully staffed maintenance team.

“I wouldn’t waste my time if I were you, Fak,” Richie broke in, “it’s only a matter of time before they leave and make that place someone else’s problem. Right, Y/N?”

Y/N didn’t have it in them to fight back, even though they knew that was what the man wanted. They were too tired.

“That’s what you do best, huh, Y/N? Run away from all your problems and leave everyone else to pick up the pieces?”

Carmy sent Richie a warning glare, “Cousin.”

“No, Cousin,” funny how Richie can manage to make a term of endearment sound like an insult, “you had no right inviting them here.”

“I have just as much a right to be here as you do,” Y/N glared at Richie.

“That’s a load of shit, and you know it, toots.”

That was all it took for a screaming match to break out between the former lovers. Their voices drowned each other out, and all Carmy could make out was a slew of insulting names, curse words, and years of unpacked baggage.

He let them go at it for a couple of minutes before he dragged Richie out the front door with a cry of “enough!”

Y/N could hear the two men arguing outside from their place at the table before deciding that they’d had enough. They muttered a lame “excuse me” before moving through the kitchen to the back alley, their face heating up in embarrassment. It was nothing that most of the Beef’s staff hadn’t seen before, but Y/N could feel themselves reverting to a version of themself that they hadn’t been for a long time—they couldn’t help the embarrassment that came along with it.

They were halfway through their second cigarette when they heard the back door open and a familiar pair of track pants entered their field of vision.

“I got you those over a decade ago,” they exhaled the smoke and pressed their lighter into Richie’s outstretched hand, “isn’t it about time you get some new clothes?”

Richie kicked his leg around, inspecting the pants, “Ain’t nothing wrong with ‘em. Why get rid of something that works?”

“Big words coming from you.”

He met their half-assed glare with a furrowed look, “you were the one that left.”

“Not before you ended it.”

“We would’ve gotten back together. Always did,” a scoff, “You left.”

“And you moved on, had a kid—seems like things worked out.”

“Toots, if this is things working out, I don’t wanna know what it would have been like if they hadn’t.”

Y/N needed to change the subject before the tension killed them.

“How’s your girl doing, anyway?”

Richie grinned at Y/N, “Ev’s doing real good. Loving her new gymnastics class. Just turned nine last month.”

“Shit, that makes me feel old.”

“Well, what does that make me?” Richie asked with a rough laugh.

“Fucking ancient.”

Another laugh. Maybe things would be different between them this time.

“You in town for good, then?

“Yeah, I think so. Got a good thing going. Think I might start renovating some of the units in the apartment next year.”

“Hmm, sure,” Richie muttered absentmindedly around his cigarette.

Y/N decided it was better to not say anything.

Richie finished off his cigarette, tossing it in the general direction of a makeshift ashtray.

He made to walk back to the back door before turning and offering Y/N his hand, helping them pull themselves off the ground. He wiped his hands off on his track pants before finally going to move away.

“Anyway,” he gave them one last look before turning around and walking away, “don’t be a stranger.”

~~~

part two

#the bear #the bear fx #richie jerimovich #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x you #carmy the bear #richie the bear #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #the bear x reader

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dollfaceksj · 8 months

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i really hope taehyung has calmed down and ready to hear them out :(

i hope so too!

a/n: hi. i have realized and decided that it’s time to end toapp. #36 (the next drabble) will be the finale.

i just wanna thank you guys for this amazing journey. i’ve had so much fun interacting with you guys and writing this story, just making shit up as i go. i had no idea how this story was gonna go, how y’all would receive it, every drabble i just hoped for the best. it’s insane to think toward the end toapp had 400+ regular readers. that’s so crazy guys!! thank u so much

i hope u guys will still interact with me even when this finishes!!! and i hope you guys look forward to my upcoming fics. i’ve already brainstormed several other fics that i know y’all will love! i can’t wait to share them with you.

i might still do side-drabbles like what jk did in those 2 months, more events we’ve already seen but from other povs, maybe drabbles that happen in the future. i’ll see !

thank you for everything.

lots of love,

clover. 🍀

ps: listen to the outro of scott street by phoebe bridgers when u read this drabble trust me. i bawled like a little bitch.

taste of a poison paradise | jjk (m) #35

masterlist

<- previous ; finale ->

WHAT SHOULD YOU DO?

BELIEVE HIS SIDE OF THE STORY 92,3%

DISMISS HIM IMMEDIATELY 7,7%

416 votes

you chose:

BELIEVE HIS SIDE OF THE STORY

↓

“do you want me to leave?”

he stares at you with the biggest eyes in the universe

how does someone just have big black eyes like that

the things he says

can be so dirty

and his gaze can be so intense

but now

when he’s

pleading

and being pathetic

his eyes are the biggest in the galaxy

he’s so beautiful

you wonder if he knows that

you sigh loudly and rub your hairline. “you’re so lucky you know your way with words.”

he blinks at you a few times and drops his shoulders in relief, you hadn’t even noticed they were that tense

“i’m just telling you the truth.”

you merely hum in response and nod your head absentmindedly as you glance over at the plate of cold chicken quesedillas now

“do you want me to heat those up in a pan for you?” you ask quietly, not sure where to go with the conversation now

when you don’t get a response, you glance in his direction

he’s just staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face

“jungkook?”

he shakes his head slowly. “do you believe me now?”

your brows pinch together in confusion. “yeah, i believe you. were you not telling the truth just now?”

he shakes his head again. “i’m not talking about just now i’m talking about me being in love with you.”

right

yeah

you said you didn’t believe it

do you believe him?

your own feelings for him keep getting in the way of your rational thoughts

because you just want to believe him, even when your common sense still doubts it

“yeah,” you start, “i believe you.”

then, a soft smile creeps onto his lips. “okay.”

you reach for the plate but jungkook stops you by gently taking hold of your wrist mid-air. “i think you should just go lie down in bed. after what just happened, you just need a moment. i can tell you’re pretending to be okay.”

you blink at him

and the sincere look in his eyes

and the slight pinch in his brows

almost makes you tear up again

“i’ll clean the kitchen up, just,” he pauses as he lets go of your wrist, “go. i’ll be right there.”

you slowly nod your head and start walking out of your kitchen, heading to your bedroom

you lie down in your bed and stare at the ceiling, the events of barely 20 minutes ago playing on repeat in your head

taehyung

you miss him

you need him

you’re lucky jungkook was there to talk some sense into you

you should go to taehyung when the storm is over

and come clean with everything and just

beg for his forgiveness

and now that you think about it

you wonder

why it’s taking jungkook so long

you get up from your bed and slowly make your way to the kitchen

you peek your head around the corner of the door and that’s when you see

jungkook, standing by the sink

the mess taehyung made earlier on the floor has been cleaned up

and it seemed like jungkook was halfway through with the dishes

but now he’s just leaning against the sink with his hands and his head held down

what is he doing?

you wonder what it is until you hear a soft sniffle

you walk into the kitchen. “jungkook?”

he quickly sniffles again and wipes his cheeks before looking at you

you walk in further. “hey,” you whisper as you place your hand on his shoulder, soothingly rubbing it

he’s quiet for a few moments before he breaks down

“he’s my only friend and i betrayed his trust. you can bounce back because of your history with him but me? he’ll never want to see me again.”

he sent you away because all of that panic that he had earlier concerning taehyung he couldn’t show

he had to swallow his own emotions because he had to calm you down

but it’s dawning on him real bad right now and you need to be here for him like he was there for you

you shake your head and move your hand over his back, rubbing it gently. “you’re crazy. he could never hate you, kook. like you said, he’s mad. it’s okay, we’ll catch him one of these days and talk it out. taehyung is the gentlest soul i know. he just needs some time to cool off.”

he sniffles quietly, his round nose so red and his big eyes puffy. “it took you so much convincing to believe me. what if he doesn’t believe me at all?”

“jungkook, taehyung knows you better than i do. he’ll know to believe you. i’m sure of it.”

he sniffles again and slowly nods.

“okay? here,” you say as you take the sponge out of his hand and rinse his soaped up hand. “let’s just go lie down for a bit. we’ll eat later.”

( ♡ )

the storm has finally let up the following day

and you need to do one more thing before you bite the bullet and face taehyung

you raise your fist and slowly knock on the door

you wait a few moments before it swings open

“hey, you.”

you smile at him. “hey, yoongi.”

he steps aside and invites you in

you quietly thank him and step in

“what’s up?” he asks as he heads into his living room and you follow him

“we uh,” you start as you nervously look around. “we need to talk.”

he halts in his movements and slowly turns to you. “oh. okay. would you like something to drink?”

you shake your head and gently take his soft hand into yours before leading him to the sofa

you both sit down and he’s staring at you with confused eyes. “so?”

you take a deep breath and finally glance at him. “yoongi,” you start, “you’re amazing. you really treat me exactly as a man should and i’ll always be thankful for that. you were never pushy, you were never condescending or overstepping. you just,” you pause for a moment to find more words but you kind of get stuck

it’s quiet

and he’s just staring at you

when the silence stretches out for longer than he likes, he decides to do something

his frown turns into a neutral expression. “finally chose jungkook, have you?”

your eyes go wide and your throat goes dry.

fuck

“what?”

“i don’t like how you think i’m stupid, y/n.”

what is he

what is

what is going on

you blink at him. he clearly is unimpressed with your attempts at letting him down slowly

oh no

you really don’t want to start panicking

“yoongi, i just–”

“hey, breathe. your veins are almost popping out of your throat.” he brings his finger up to tap your pouty lips

and it’s true, you were actually holding your breath

“i’m not stupid, you know.” he uses his thumb to rub your bottom lip. “it’s been rather clear that you’ve had feelings for jungkook. i was just waiting for you to realize.”

you frown at him. “how?”

“the camping trip, our first date, the parties, the clubs. your attention was always just centred around jungkook. i thought you were trying to get over it so i told you i’d make you realize you don’t need him but clearly you’ve realized you do and i get it.”

okay

you are not going to cry

nope

you blink a few times to keep your tears in their fucking place. “aren’t you mad i used you to forget about him?”

at this, he’s quiet. he just blinks at you for a few moments before answering

“no, i’m not because i’m guilty too.”

you tilt your head to the side. “what do you mean?”

he sighs softly. “i uh,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders. “i did the same to you. i wanted to forget about sooyeon.”

wow

you didn’t actually think that was the case

well

he did mention he knew what you were talking about

and that he was okay with not getting into anything serious

but it’s strange hearing this from him now

because he just seems like the type of guy that has everything figured out

mature and collected

but you suppose after all, he’s human too

you nod slowly. “i see.”

he brings his hand down to rub your shoulder. “have you told taehyung?”

at this, your heart stings

you want to cry

“um,” you say with a shaky voice.

he frowns. “oh god,” he mumbles. “what happened?”

you explain what happened in short so you don’t bawl in front of him

“oh, shit. i guess it’s my fault, then?” he rubs his hairline. “i’m sorry, i didn’t think he’d rush to you like that for a simple cold.”

you sniff. him saying that makes you realize taehyung really does care for you

“you should go talk it out with him.”

“what if he doesn’t want to see me?”

he shakes his head. “don’t be absurd. i don’t think taehyung has ever even considered spending a day without at least hearing for you. he’s probably counting down the minutes until he sees you again.”

ugh

he really knows what to say

you slowly nod and rise to your feet. “i’m gonna go to him right now.”

he gets up as well. “okay. just breathe and you’ll be fine.”

you sigh and turn to fully face him as you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his chest, inhaling his scent

he hugs you right back, stroking your head and rubbing your back soothingly

“thanks for everything, yoongles.”

“nope,” he chuckles, “your privileges have been revoked. you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

you huff and smack his back which he laughs at

you pull back and pout at him

he chuckles and pecks your nose. “we’ll talk again soon,” he says

and you can’t help but smile

“absolutely.”

and with a final squeeze, he lets go of you and walks you to his front door

“you’re rushing me out. i bet sooyeon is coming over,” you joke as you open his front door

he’s suddenly quiet for a moment. “would that make me a bad person?”

you laugh and hit his chest. “jerk.”

he chuckles and watches as you leave, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile on his lips.

well then

until our paths cross again, yoongi ♡

(wrote this entire scene whilst watching yoongi live on weverse to say his goodbyes after the enlistment news bitch im so fucking emotional rn shut the fuck up)

and now

it’s time

to go see taehyung

you make your way to taehyung’s home

and take a few breaths

trying to calm yourself

you need to calm yourself

you can do this

right as you raise your fist to knock

the door swings open

and you almost slam your first into taehyung’s face

luckily you stop yourself right before that happens and tae stares at you in surprise

“oh,” he quietly says. “i was uh…” he scratches his head. “i was just on my way to you.”

oh :(

you swallow thickly and watch as he steps aside to let you in

you walk in and your body wants to automatically fly onto his bed like you always do but you settle for the couch right now

he follows you and sits down on the coffee table to be able to face you instead of sitting down next to you

it’s quiet

real quiet

“i’m sorry–”

you both apologize in unison but you frown at him. “why are you apologizing?”

he blinks at you like you’re crazy. “because i was way out of line, y/n.”

he catches the quiver in your pout but doesn’t comment on it. “i always told you i’d never judge you but airing you out like that was the opposite of what i promised to always do for you. it wasn’t okay.”

you scrunch your nose a bit as you feel yourself getting emotional again

“so, you don’t hate me?”

he blinks at you like you’ve gone crazy. “are you insane?”

you press your lips into a thin line, hoping to hurt yourself so you can focus on that and not getting emotional

“taehyung, you sacrificed so much for me and i couldn’t even listen to the one thing you didn’t want me to do. i’d wanna kill me.”

he sighs quietly and shakes his head as he looks down at your fidgeting fingers. “oh, don’t get me wrong. i still wanna kill you but what i did wasn’t cool. i just,” he pauses as he tries to think of what to say.

“i didn’t mean to give you a ‘gotcha’ moment with that sensitive information but it was more my way of saying ‘i told you so’. you just make me so mad sometimes.”

you bite on your lip to stop it from quivering

“and the fact it’s been going on since the camping trip and i just, i thought about all the times you just lied to my face. you’d never done that before. we’ve always been honest with each other, you know? never in a million years did i think you would lie to me like that.”

you look down at your hands, realizing you’ve been picking at the loose flesh around your nails

“i’m always just thinking ‘it’s okay, she’s young’ whenever you screw up because you are. but i’m young too. and i’m scared too.”

it’s enough to have you silently crying again

he’s completely right

all of that pressure he’s been carrying with him

and he always looks so

careless and free

is that why he’s always drinking until he can’t fucking stand?

and he never ever once held it over your head

he never once pointed out that he carries all this pressure of keeping you safe and protect you

and you’re just a selfish cunt

“i know. i’m sorry, taehyung. i really am. it just,” you stutter as you shakily sniff for air, “it just happened.”

he glances up at you and nods, handing you tissues from his nightstand

“he needs us, taehyung. he needs you. he told me everything. he was just a boy.”

taehyung sighs as he puts the box of tissues down in front of you

you tell taehyung the storyline of you and jungkook

without the events of … yesterday and the day before that for obvious reasons.

and he doesn’t say much, just silently nods

it’s quiet for awhile as you both just sit there, not saying another word

until

“have you caught feelings for him?”

your breath hitches in your throat and your heart is beating in your ass

you make eye contact with him and he’s staring at you with a neutral expression

you furrow your brows and try to stop the involuntary quiver in your lips as you slowly nod to his question

he gently sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “does he know?”

you wipe your tears with the tissues. “yes. he confessed to me first.”

he then looks at you with a surprised look on his face. “jungkook told you he has feelings for you? jungkook?”

you blink at him, confused at the surprised tone in his voice. “well, he told me he was in love with me.”

he tilts his head to the side. “and you believe him?”

you shrug your shoulders. “not at first. and definitely not after hearing the mia thing but,” you pause for a moment. “he told me the full story and i don’t think he lied to me once as he did. so i do believe him now.”

he rubs his smooth chin with his fingers and slowly nods. “have you told yoongi?”

“yes.”

he leans back on his hands, his head tilted back as he stares at the ceiling. “where is jungkook now?”

you cough

“um…”

he lifts his head to look at you with a raised brow.

“he’s uh,” you glance at the front door. “he’s in the hall.”

taehyung blinks at you like you’re full of shit. “he’s here? in the hall?”

you slowly nod

taehyung stares at you for a moment longer before rising to his feet and walking to the front door

he swings it open and looks around the corner, just to see jungkook’s shadow at the bottom of the stairs

jungkook walks up a few stairs to see if it’s you but he makes eye contact with taehyung

and taehyung is just staring him down

jungkook quietly sighs and walks up the stairs, right up to taehyung’s front door

you watch from the couch, gripping the wet tissue in your hand still

jungkooks nose is still red

and his eyes are puffy

but neither of them say a word

just stare

at each other

until they suddenly kiss each other?

KNDKEJFKEJDKSJD

🍀 i’m just joking

they’re staring each other down in silence

until taehyung suddenly grabs jungkook by the collar of his shirt, knuckles turning white because of the tightness of his grip

jungkook just lets him

you shoot up from the couch in an instant, panic surging through your entire body

just as you’re about to call out taehyung’s name in hopes of stopping him

he pulls jungkook into a tight hug, maybe a little too tight

jungkook simply rests his chin on taehyung’s shoulder

and wraps his arms around him. “i’m sorry, hyung.”

they just hug in silence for a few moments until taehyung speaks up again

“you better not ever fuck her over or i swear i’ll have you jumped.”

jungkook chuckles and pats taehyung’s back. “i thought you were of the opinion that you should beat me the fuck up?”

is he insane

not the time for jokes, jungkook…

taehyung pulls back from the hug and stares at jungkook for a second with a frown on his face

…

before cracking his famous sheepish box smile. “i should but i know i can’t take you in a fight.”

LMFAOOOOO

what???😭😭😭😭

you snort and it makes both of them look at you

you suddenly feel like you’re being watched by the fbi or something the way ur standing there like 🧍‍♀️

taehyung lets go of jungkook and walks up to you, staring down at you with a furrow in his brows

“dumb people should never laugh.”

did he really just say that in the tone of that one nicki minaj tiktok audio😭😭😭

you pout and slap his chest

he chuckles and pulls you into a tight embrace, resting his chin on top of your head and not caring he’s suffocating you with his chest

but you simply keep your face buried there, inhaling his scent

and he literally just feels like home

he then says;

“good thing you’re dumb or else my life would’ve been really boring.”

to be continued

<- previous ; finale ->

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lonelywhalien22 · 1 year

Text

trust me

pairing: bang chan x reader

rating/genre: comfort, fluff, sprinkle of angst

summary: you're having a bad day and your boyfriend chan is there to try and make you feel better.

warnings: reader is low key hella sad in this (take care of yourselves yall <3) + a steamy kiss (very self indulgent ik i'm sorry)

word count: 2.7k

song(s) to listen to while reading: steamroller by phoebe bridgers (reader is hella sad so are we surprised lol), renee's song by bazzi, fall by chloe x halle

note: while i try to tame some bigger fic ideas into submission i'll occasionally polish up + share some of my more decent smaller pieces from years past. pretty sure i wrote this one in the throws of the p*ndemic while struggling with college and feeling hella touch starved...so yeah...enjoy lol <3

————

It was one of those days - one where that funny feeling had bubbled up inside of you, seemingly out of nowhere. You knew it all too well by now, knew its signs and its symptoms. One moment you’d be fine, and then it would happen - a dreaded phone call for an appointment that you could no longer put off, a tedious task at work, a much needed item that you’d misplaced and couldn’t find - sometimes it was all of these things in one day and more, and suddenly you weren’t ok. And as much as you’d try to not let all the frustrations of life get to you, as much as you’d try to hold on to the good, to the light, sometimes bit by bit it would still slip from your grasp until you were tired of trying and there was nothing left inside of you but a dull gray.

You hated when you got in these sorts of moods - used to think there'd be some stage in life, some milestone you could reach, thing you could achieve that would make them go away forever, but you’d survived enough of them by now to know that it was a lifelong battle. There were highs and lows, and today just happened to be one of the lows.

Today also just happened to be one where your boyfriend Bang Chan was supposed to be coming over. His presence was one that so often brought light into your life - fun and laughter and a smile to every situation, but despite having accepted that you were in a sour mood, the thought of him seeing you this way made you feel worse instead of better - like a recluse undeserving of such sweet affection. As if he could hear your thoughts from afar, your cellphone began ringing on the kitchen table, temporarily snapping you right out of your self pity.

“Am I still good to stop by in an hour?" You could practically hear the excitement in his voice, imagining his charming smile immediately, but the warmth in your chest only lasted for a second before you just felt even more upset with yourself. You didn’t wanna burden him with your feelings - tramp all over his joy with your frustration.

"Hey Chan. I'm sorry, but I'm kind of feeling like trash right now." You thought maybe that would be the end of it, hoped that he would read between the lines, but he was completely oblivious, a caring tone seeping into his words as he tried to help you instead.

"Are you sick? I can pick up something for you and bring it by if you want.”

"No, that's not exactly it," you began, struggling to find the words. There was a long pause on the line, and you could hear Chan shifting, as if he was sitting up. You cursed in your head. There was no way he was gonna let this go now - not when you were being so distant.

“Babe, you know you can tell me anything right?” His use of the nickname made your heart flutter again, gently coaxing you to open up to him - to be honest.

“I know.”

“Then talk to me.”

“I just…I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say is stupid,” Chan said immediately. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You let out a sigh before nervously continuing. “It’s just…sometimes I’ll get in this really weird headspace and it makes me feel like crap and...I'm just annoyed with myself. I'm sorry if that doesn't make any sense...I think maybe I just need to be alone right now," you tried to get the last words out but began to break down a little as you really thought about what you’d said. Something about hearing it out loud made it feel all the more real, your eyes beginning to water and throat beginning to dry up.

“It sounds like you're upset. You sure you don't want me to come over?”

You took a big breath, trying to calm yourself before speaking again, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find it in you to say anything else. It felt paralyzing - being stuck between the part of you that just wanted him to be with you and the part that was afraid you’d scare him away forever with your feelings. The more you thought about it the more emotional you got, and you felt a tear run down your cheek before you started to sob silently into the phone.

"Babe? Y/n?” Chan asked, voice becoming laced with concern.

"Yeah?" It was all you could manage to sob out.

"I'm coming over right now," he said quickly, making the decision for you. You could already hear shuffling sounds in the background as he presumably scrambled to grab his things.

"Give me like twenty minutes ok? And just stay on the line with me please? Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

“There's nothing to be sorry for," Chan said softly.

————

In less than twenty minutes you heard a hurried knock on your door. Hanging up on your phone, you pulled yourself off of the couch and shuffled over to the entrance of your apartment, unlocking and pulling open the door to reveal your boyfriend's slightly panicked face.

“Hey…” he whispered gently when he saw you. You moved out of the way and he quickly stepped inside, setting down a bunch of bags before he turned back around and immediately enveloped you in his arms. The warmth of his body pressed against yours easily disarmed you, walls falling down so that all you could think about was his sturdy embrace.

"I'm sorry,” you mumbled into his chest, trying to look at him. “I didn't mean to worry y-"

"Hmm. Shush. No apologizing. Just let me hold you for a minute, yeah?"

You nodded your head against him, silent as you slowly relaxed all the muscles in your body and let yourself really feel his warmth, feel all of the love radiating from his body into yours. He smelled like his shower gel, a hint of spearmint seeping into your lungs as your breathing began to slow and your eyes closed, whizzing thoughts in your head beginning to dissipate one by one. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his black sweater, holding on as if you never wanted to let go, and he let you - staying wrapped around you for an entire minute, just like he said. One of his hands stayed firmly wrapped around your waist while the other went up to start rubbing all the way from your head to the middle of your back, repeating the motion leisurely. You released a sigh of content as he did this, feeling yourself start to calm down, heart rate beginning to slow. Eventually he loosened his arms just enough to pull back a little and look at your tear-stained face.

"Let's sit down and I'll get you some food to eat hmm?" he said quietly, thumb wiping across your wet cheeks. You nodded, feeling a bit like a child as he lead you to your couch and wrapped a blanket around you before getting you some food from one of the bags he brought. When he came back you noticed his hair was a bit wet, presumably still drying from a shower he must have taken right before calling you, strands curling from the dampness. And as you looked down at the container of food he’d placed in your hands you realized it was your favorite meal from your favorite place. He even remembered how you always asked for extra sauce.

Chan stayed silent as you slowly picked up your fork and began to eat, still sniffling a little. He easily found the remote to your tv, switching it on in a practiced familiarity, and put on one of your favorite movies, letting it play softly in the background before digging in to his own food.

When you’d both finished eating, he silently patted his lap, and you knew without any explanation that he was asking you to lean yourself back into his embrace. You did so shyly, Chan grabbing the blanket and draping it around the two of you before he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you even closer. Finally you relaxed, leaning your head into the crook of his neck and turning slightly so that you could shamelessly wrap your arms around his middle, no longer even focusing on the tv at all. It felt so comforting to be in his arms that your eyes immediately began to close, his embrace luring you to sleep.

————

When you woke up it was dark outside. You blinked a couple times, shifting slightly before realizing that you were still completely wrapped up in Chan’s arms. To your embarrassment, you caught him peeking at you with the softest look on his face, your heart beating a little faster because you’d never been this close to him for so long before.

“Better?” he asked you simply, thumb moving to rub against your elbow gently.

You opened your eyes a bit wider, immediately beginning to shift up on the couch.

“I’m sorry, I didn't realize how late it was," you said quickly instead of answering his question, feeling guilty as you shifted a little from his embrace. You’d essentially used him as your own personal pillow for who knows how many hours. “I didn’t mean to keep you here like that for so long,” you continued to ramble, but Chan only shook his head in response.

“Y/n. Hey - look at me,” Chan said with a soothing tone. You stopped your shuffling and did as he asked.

“Do you feel better?” he repeated his question from earlier, and you finally nodded a little before picking at the blanket on your lap.

“Yeah. I’m just sorry I wasted your time because of some dumb mood I was in," you responded, annoyed with yourself as you pushed your hair out of your face roughly.

“You know it’s not a crime to feel sad, right?” Chan started gently after a couple beats of silence, clearly trying to find the right words as his thumb continued to lightly rub against your skin. “Even if there isn’t a clear reason - that doesn’t make how you’re feeling any less real.”

“I guess.” You dismissed his words easily, clearly not taking them to heart.

"Why do you always do that?" he asked lightly.

"What do you mean?”

"Talk yourself down. Dismiss how you're feeling,” he elaborated, a little concern in his voice once again. “It makes me worry about you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise before you looked off to the side.

“I don’t know, I guess it’s just out of habit.”

Chan tapped your elbow, silently asking you to look at him again.

"Can I tell you something?” he whispered into the quiet. You nodded curiously.

"I care about you - so much that it scares me sometimes,” he said earnestly, raking a hand through his hair. "You're so thoughtful, so kind, such an amazing listener - you make it so easy for me to be honest about how I'm feeling, and I've never felt more comfortable talking to anyone else,” he continued, looking down a little as he said that last part.

His words made you feel shy all over again, not expecting him to be so open with you. You willed yourself to keep looking at him.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that…I wanna make you feel safe too - safe to share how you’re feeling with me, the good and the bad. Because that’s how you make me feel.”

“Chan…” you said, lightly smacking his arm in jest as you looked away from him, tears flooding your eyes for a different reason. But he just leaned forward and kissed your temple, pulling you back into his arms gently before continuing.

“Trust me, ok?” Chan asked as you nodded into his chest. “I want you to know that you can always share how you’re feeling with me - even if it’s sad or you don’t think it makes any sense - even if I can’t fix it for you - I’ll always at least be here to listen, I promise. Just don’t hide from me, yeah?”

Tears were falling from your eyes now - not because you were sad, but because Chan’s care for you felt so unconditional, so devoid of judgement - and you’d never known care like that from a partner before. You didn’t have any words to respond in that moment - all you knew was that you wished the two of you could stay on your couch, just like this, forever.

"I didn't mean to make you cry again," Chan said, a little worried as he saw your expression. "Let me get you some t -”

But you leaned up and kissed him gently, cutting off his words. This wasn't your first kiss, but it was definitely the first that you had initiated. Usually you would just stare at his lips longingly or give the tiniest of hints until he finally caught on to what you wanted, but this time you couldn't hold yourself back. You just felt this boost of confidence, an unrelenting need to express a feeling that words couldn't define.

Chan was shocked at first, but he quickly fell into it, closing his eyes and immediately wrapping his hands around your waist oh so gently as his lips began to move against yours slowly, lightly, with the utmost care. You each tilted your heads instinctively to opposite sides, still not coming up for any air as you maneuvered yourself back into his lap and brought a hand up to caress the side of his face before combing your fingers through his hair instead, a tiny noise of contentment leaving you in that moment.

“Y/n…” he groaned softly against your smiling lips.

"Hmmm?" you responded, still in a feeling of utter bliss. Your other hand was rubbing across his upper chest and shoulder soothingly, and you leaned in and kissed him again before he could even muster enough sense to respond, unable to stop yourself. Chan’s lips began moving against yours again, and he started to lean forward until your back was against a pillow on the couch and he was hovering over you completely. It felt as if he was trying to reach your heart with just the movements his warm, pillowy lips made against yours.

His thumbs started rubbing soothing circles into your waist and you felt like you were floating on a cloud, mind becoming hazy as your head became filled with thoughts of him and only him. He left three final pecks on your lips, finally mustering enough self control to pull back before things got even more heated. His hands slid from your waist all the way up to your cheeks, caressing them softly.

You were smiling softly but genuinely, in complete bliss as he leaned in and kissed your forehead sweetly before finally saying, “I love you, you know?"

“I love you too,” you whispered quietly, just enough for him to hear.

He rubbed his thumb near the corner of your lips, eyes crawling all over your face before he said a little regretfully, "I hate for this to end but I don't wanna keep you up any later than it already is."

“Then just stay over for the night. Please?" you begged a little bit and put a pout on your face. He immediately kissed it off of you and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

"Are you sure?"

Neither of you had ever spent the night at each other's place, so it was completely new territory and you could tell he didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of the entire situation. You shifted up a little to kiss his forehead back.

“Chan, I want you to. I promise. Please?”

You meant every word. You wanted nothing more than to hold him all night long.

"Ok," he said quietly, grin growing on his face until you saw that cheeky smile you loved so dearly.

————

That night was one of the most peaceful you’d ever had in recent memory. Buried deep under your sheets, nestled under the stars, you curled yourself into his arms - so close that you could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, slow and steady. And you fell asleep just like that - sweet dreams eventually melting away into the morning sun.

#bang chan imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #bang chan fluff #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year

Text

still into you | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter two: friday

summary: big announcements are made at the james beard house dinner, and carmy tells you how much you mean to him.

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking

word count: 4.6k

listen to: in transit - albert hammond jr. | nightswimming - r.e.m | friday i'm in love (cover) - phoebe bridgers (playlist here)

a/n: remember when i accidentally posted this earlier today at the start of the american work day? that was weird. anyways...

read: chapter one | bonus smut scene

Friday

The way that the four of you flow together is like a symphony – each one of you so committed to your craft – to excellence – and the feeling you get sends chills down your spine. It’s a sign of how far you all have come, which is what the menu is all about this evening. It was Syd and Carmy’s idea: each dish presented this evening would embody a part of The Bear’s story. You’d even worked with Marcus on elevating his signature chocolate cake, wanting to keep the heart and soul of it, even if it had to lean a little more towards the fine dining side of things.

Never in a million years would Carmy have thought that, on his first day at The Beef, that you’d all end up here. After all the chaos, all the swimming upstream, it felt near-impossible that something so disorganized and broken could become something so beautiful.

He’s near-shaking at the idea of what he has to do next, but he also knows that this is a story he has to tell. It’s not really something he’s spoken about – at least publicly – and not to the food world.

But he can’t tell the story of The Bear without Michael.

He feels like he’s sweating through his chef whites, but you remind him that he’s going to be great. It’s a huge step in his healing journey and after a long talk about it, Carmy had decided it was something he felt he wanted to do.

“Before we wrap up the evening, we have one more dish before dessert,” Carmy says, earning the attention of the dining room full of people.

He hopes his voice isn’t shaking too much, and he nervously fidgets with a spoon he’s holding in his hands while you and Sydney stand behind him as literal and emotional support.

His face feels hot. He feels like he wants to throw up and cry at the same time, and he looks back at you for reassurance.

You nod your head in his direction, a comforting smile on your face, as Sydney grabs your hand. You’re both nervous for him.

You can do it, Bear. Let it rip.

“As some of you may know, three years ago I left New York to go back home and take over the family restaurant – the restaurant that would eventually become The Bear,” he explains.

“This dish is uh… it’s really special to me,” he says, trying his best not to let his voice break as he continues.

“It’s an ode to my late brother: a play on the braciole he used to make for me and my sister every Sunday.”

The dining room gets quiet, each person hanging onto every single word that Carmy says, his vulnerability palpable.

Carmy suddenly feels emotionally exposed, but he knows there’s no turning back now. He can practically hear Mikey’s voice in his head, encouraging him, pushing him to let it rip. Knowing that he’s got you and Sydney behind him gives Carmy the extra boost of confidence he needs to get through this speech.

As he explains each component of the dish, it becomes easier to fake it: fake some confidence, fake that he’s not crumbling inside. Carmy knows how to talk about food so he leans into it, even if it feels like his voice is caught in his throat. It feels like second nature -- like falling into an old pattern he's practiced a thousand times -- as he hides behind his tough, calculating, diligent exterior. But he feels as if he’s just put his open, bleeding heart on a plate, and it's impossible for him not to feel.

Carmy clears his throat before concluding his presentation with, “So thank you again for dining with us this evening. Uh… Chef Sydney has some news she’d uh… we’d like to share with everyone.”

He thanks the gods that he made it through.

He can’t wait to get out of the spotlight.

Carmy moves aside, letting Sydney take center stage, and he can feel the blood rush through his head – an almost dizzy-feeling. As he stands next to you, you bump up against his shoulder, giving him some comforting touch, in an effort to ground him.

“Thank you, chef,” Sydney begins, glancing back at Carmy. “And thank you for sharing this dish with us. I know that it’s something you hold close to your heart and our story of The Bear wouldn’t be complete without it.”

The dining room full of people begins clapping once again and it gives Carmy a moment to zip himself back up emotionally. He only reminds himself that he has a few moments left of being in front of people. While he may be an expert at fooling everyone else with his stoic exterior, you can see he’s struggling to hold it together.

“And thank you again to everyone for coming out tonight. We have some really exciting news to share. After putting our heart and soul into The Bear, we are at a point in its journey where we can expand,” Sydney begins, earning a few excited whispers from the room.

“We felt tonight would be the perfect time to announce that we will be opening up a second restaurant – a separate concept that I will be leading as CDC in Chicago. I’m really excited to have this opportunity to develop my own concept with my business partner, Carmen Berzatto, and to lead my own kitchen.”

The entire room erupts with applause once again as the wait staff begin to bring out Carmy’s perfectly plated beef dish. Carmy nods as a signal to you and Syd and you both follow him back into the kitchen.

“Stay. I’ll go help Marcus,” Sydney says to you, reassuringly.

She rubs a sympathetic hand over Carmy’s upper back before saying, “Good work, chef.”

Sydney hurries over into the prep kitchen to help Marcus plate dessert, while you hang back with Carmy in the hallway. He’s avoiding your gaze and you can tell he’s trying his best not to lose it right then and there. His body is still – frozen in a moment of time. There’s a tension that runs across his chest and into his shoulders that hadn’t been there at the start of the night. He looks like he hasn’t taken a breath since his speech began either.

“That was really beautiful, Bear,” you say softly. He still won’t look at you, but you understand why.

“Thanks,” he nods curtly.

There’s a silent tension between the two of you and you know what you need to do next.

“What do you need?” you ask.

“Think I uh-, just need a little fresh air,” he mumbles, his voice breaking a little, before clearing his throat again.

“‘Course. Marcus, Syd and I have got this,” you encourage him.

You wait as Carmy slips out back for a break, before making your way back into the kitchen. Loving Carmy through his grief sometimes looked different. Some days he’d need space. Other times he’d need you – crawling into your arms and allowing you to care for him. Together, you’ve had to learn how to ask, and he’s had to learn how to tell you what he needs.

“How’s Carmy?” Sydney asks with a concerned look on her face, causing Marcus to look up from the plate he’s working on.

“He’s okay. Just needs a break,” you answer. You’re not worried about him. You know how painful that was for Carmy, and you’re more than happy to give him the space he needs to sit with it.

“What can I do?”

And then Marcus is handing you a few extra plates, asking you to double check his previous count to ensure that every single plate went out in a timely manner.

Carmy returns about ten minutes later, ready to jump back in. He’d just needed a timeout – a moment to feel the enormous swell of emotions that had come up when talking about Michael to a dining room of eighty people. Soon enough, he’s helping plate the tiny chocolate layer cakes, with an olive oil ice cream, and a tahini caramel drizzled over the top.

Dessert is the last dish to be brought out, and as Marcus presents, the four of you receive a standing ovation at the James Beard House. It’s like for the first time in a week, Carmy can breathe again. He feels like a one hundred pound weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, and his heart swells with pride over how the night’s gone. Everyone’s liked the food, you all have worked so beautifully as a team this evening, and he can’t believe he got through his fucking speech without crying in front of everyone.

Entirely exhausted yet filled with a grand sense of accomplishment, the four of you drag yourselves out of the James Beard House and back out onto the streets of NYC. You’re not sure who suggests it, but you’re grateful the idea has been brought up as you’re carrying pizzas you picked up on the way back to the hotel. Piled onto the two full beds in Marcus and Sydney’s room, the four of you can finally celebrate a job well done.

“Yo, I think I like the Sicilian slice better,” Marcus says, polishing off another piece of the pepperoni and mushroom.

“Oof,” Carmy sounds, watching your face for your reaction. “You’re playing with fire, Marcus.”

Sydney snorts, “Fuck. We’re finally able to relax. No one kill each other, please.”

“What? We’ve already had the Chicago vs New York pizza debate,” Marcus says, throwing up his hands as if he’s innocent. I know what I’m getting myself into! I’m just sayin’ the Scilian slice is giving mad Chicago vibes and it’s dope.”

You laugh, shaking your head, while Carmy playfully nudges you.

“Okay, while pepperoni and mushroom is a classic and you know I have mad respect that, as a New Yorker… hard disagree on your style of pizza, chef,” you say back, starting on a new slice of one of the remaining NY Style pies.

“You know what’s fucking fire? Pepperoni and jalapenos – pickled, not fresh,” Sydney chimes in and you all reply in a chorus of agreement.

“Hundred percent,” Carmy says.

“Never fresh. The sour tangy brine is key,” you add. “At least we can all agree on something.

“You know what’s fucking wild?” Marcus begins, looking across the three of you. “We made this whole fancy ass meal, yet we’re eating pizza in a hotel room at the end of the night.”

Carmy laughs dryly, “Yeah, man. It’s kinda par for the course.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Seriously!” Sydney exclaims.

“Speaking of, how was your stage at per se?” you inquire, curious to hear about his experience in the fine dining kitchen. “We barely had time to catch up this morning about it.”

Truthfully, you’d all been so focused on tonight going well that no one had really talked about it.

“Man,” Marcus sighs. “It was cool. But like. Now I know what you guys are talking about when you say a chef only let you zest lemons for three months.”

You laugh in response, thinking back to the time blood orange juice caused you an existential crisis. That existential crisis – the one that led you to quitting your job, leaving fine dining behind for good.

“And it’s like… the whole staff works as a machine. Kitchen’s more like a science lab than a kitchen. I got lucky, huh?” Marcus continues and Carmy shakes his head.

“Yeah, per se’s a lot like where we used to work,” Carmy says with a shrug.

“Should’ve seen Alinea. It’s very… science lab meets art school,” Sydney adds. “Inspiring… but cold.”

“Damn,” Marcus shakes his head, feeling luckier than ever that he got to learn from the three of you instead.

“Wait. Syd, how was your supper club?” you ask, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t had a chance to tell any of you yet. She had, after all, gotten home late last night, only to get up early to go with Carmy to Chelsea Market.

“Oh my god,” she gloats. “So fucking cool. Like unreal. You guys have to come with me next time.”

“I uh-,” she starts again, as if she has a secret. “They actually asked me to come back and do a pop-up dinner, especially with the new restaurant opening. I mean, they want to do a collab with me!”

“Okay, I see you,” Marcus calls out, proud of his friend.

“Of course they do!” you cheer her on.

“What do you think, chef?” she asks Carmy, searching for approval in the way his face changes as he hears the news.

“I think… you’d be silly not to. We’ll work out a time for you to come back up here once we get the new restaurant up and running,” Carmy reassures, respect and pride in his eyes as he exchanges a look with Sydney.

“And of course, I want you guys back here with me. Like… are we the fuckin’ dream team, or are we the fuckin’ dream team?” Sydney celebrates, reliving the memories of this evening.

Tonight has been so incredible and Sydney wonders if this is what it feels like to be at the top of your career. She wants to savor the moments of this weekend, replaying them over and over again in her head.

“Oh 100%,” Marcus confirms with confidence.

“Absolutely,” you promise.

A temporary quiet settles between the four of you as you reflect on the evening. Carmy is quiet again, caught up in his head as he’s filled with a deep sense of gratitude: for all of your hard work, for how well the evening went, for his team.

You all are his people.

And he’s never had people before.

Not until now.

“Thank you guys. For tonight,” he says, his tone serious. “You guys were rockstars, and... I couldn’t have done it – any of this – without you.”

“Aw, Carmy,” Sydney smiles, savoring this rare tender moment with Carmy.

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Marcus reinforces.

“Of course,” you smile proudly.

You each take a moment to feel it all: accomplishment, the gratitude, the love and genuine respect you all have for each other.

“Not to ruin the moment or anything,” you begin, half apologetically. “If anyone’s up for more fun food debates tomorrow, Carmy and I have a fun little tradition I’d love to share you guys.”

You and Carmy exchange glances and it’s as if he can read your mind.

“Walking dumpling tour?” he questions.

You confirm with a nod.

“What’s the-?” Marcus begins to ask as Sydney finishes his question with, “... the walking dumpling tour?”

“A fun little thing we used to when we still lived here,” you reply. “Hit up as many dumpling spots as we can in search of the best pork dumplings that Chinatown can offer. Hell, I’ll make up a scorecard and we can rate them.”

“Sounds fun. I’m in,” Marcus says.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Sydney agrees.

Carmy checks the time on his phone.

“Yo, it’s getting pretty late. We should probably head to bed,” Carmy says to you.

“Oh shit. It’s almost midnight?” Sydney asks, seeing the time on the hotel room clock.

“Yeah. Guys, this has been fun. Seriously, great work tonight. I’ve missed this so much,” you sigh, totally satiated.

“You know there’s always room for you at The Bear,” Marcus says genuinely, before adding, in a more teasing tone, “You can send me your resume and I’ll take a look. Nah I’m just playin’!”

You laugh, playfully rolling your eyes, “Okay, it is definitely bed time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, goodnight you guys,” Marcus replies.

“Goodnight.”

As you and Carmy leave Sydney and Marcus’ room, it dawns on you that you’re not quite ready to go to bed. While you’re exhausted, and should be in a carb-induced sleepy pizza-coma, you’re wired from the adrenaline of being back in the kitchen.

“Hey, Carm?” you ask, stopping him as he fumbles with the room key.

“What’s up?” he asks back.

You pause for a moment, and as you speak, there’s a certain hesitance in your voice, like it’s the first time you’re asking someone out on a date.

“Do you want a drink?”

He’s caught off guard by your tone of voice, curious to know where this is going.

“Now?” he asks back with a half-smile plastered to his face.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I-, I don’t know if I’m ready to go to bed yet.”

You can see the hesitation on his face as he thinks it through. While Carmy knows there are plenty of bars still open in NYC right now, he’s not sure he wants to leave the hotel.

And neither do you.

You offer your hand to him, “C’mon. I’ve got an idea.”

“I don’t know if we’re supposed to be here,” Carmy states nervously, looking around the empty room.

He’s bouncing his knee up and down as he sits on a bar stool, alternating between watching you behind the bar, and looking around to check for anyone who may catch you. The bar itself is poorly lit, save for the pool lights outside, that come flooding in through the large floor to ceiling windows.

“We’re not,” you reply, without a care in the world.

He lowers his voice before asking, “What if we get caught?”

You giggle, “You are such a baby, Carmen.”

He rolls his eyes as you search for what you need, pouring the appropriate combination of liquors into an old fashioned glass.

Gin. Campari. Vermouth

After stirring them together over ice, you reach for an orange and y-peeler that the bar is stocked with, shaving off a piece of the orange peel.

“Besides, isn’t that the fun part?” you ask, a glimmer of mischief flashing across your face.

Carmy shakes his head, averting his eyes as he brings his hand up to his mouth, “You’re a bad influence on me.”

You snort in response and it’s your turn to roll your eyes at him.

“And you love it, my little rule-follower.”

“Relax, Carm. I’m gonna leave $40 behind the bar for what we took and we can go back to the room when I’m done if you’re so worried about it,” you offer as a compromise, the tone of your voice still a rebellious one.

He has to admit that he finds your devil may care attitude incredibly sexy. Carmy’s not sure whether he’s anxious or turned on right now.

“Yes chef,” he finally agrees, cheekily.

“Lighter, please,” you request.

Carmy pulls his lighter from his pocket, tossing it to you. You catch it, immediately flicking it on, using the flame to torch the orange slice.

Just a spritz of the orange, and then the rest of the peel for garnish.

You hand Carmy the drink from across the bar, before working on your second one.

He looks down at the deep red colored liquid before saying, “Sweetheart, you know I hate gin.”

But you’re one step ahead of him.

Only moments later, you’re stepping around the bar with a second glass of whiskey on the rocks prepared for him. You trade glasses with him, and he can’t take his eyes off of you as you finally say:

“Cheers.”

Clink.

“Cheers.”

You both take your respective first sips, making sure to hold eye contact with him as you do. He looks at you, and you’re not sure if he’s more surprised that you haven’t gotten caught or that he’s willfully watched you break into the hotel pool bar.

“Thought you said we could take these back to the room,” he challenges.

You smirk, even though your heart is filled with pure adoration for the man standing across from you.

“Yes, chef.”

It’s an easy choice to take your drinks back to the room, opening the french doors that lead to the terrace. You pull a spare blanket from the hotel room closet, curling up with it outside. You drape the blanket over both you and Carmy as you settle down on his lap. He’s brought his lighter and a cigarette out with you, so you close the french doors behind you so that he can light one up.

You haven’t stayed up this late with Carmy in a while. It feels good – spontaneous and a little rebellious – like anything could happen at any given moment. New York City always seems to bring this side out in you.

It’s home.

But Carmy is also your home.

Having the two of them here all at once is an indescribable feeling. You enjoy the bitter taste of your negroni, the cool spring air kissing your skin as you sit on your boyfriend’s lap. Carmy enjoys his cigarette, his whiskey sitting on the patio table in front of the two of you, as he exhales the smoke away from you.

“Does being back here feel… I don’t know. Weird to you?” Carmy asks, breaking the quiet between the two of you.

It’s like he can read your mind, again.

“Yeah,” you answer. “But it’s a good weird. I think maybe because we have all these memories here, you know?”

He takes another drag off the cigarette and it’s your turn to ask him a question.

“I wonder what would’ve happened if you hadn’t spilled your drink on me that night. You think we still would’ve become friends?”

He’s quiet for a moment as he thinks about it.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, answering honestly.

You let out a small laugh.

“Hell of a way to get a girl’s attention.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Bullshit.”

He’s telling the truth – sort of. He hadn’t been trying to get your attention, though he had spent most of the night racking his brain for any kind of conversation starter – get out of his own fuckin’ head. But he’d spent most of the night overthinking and coming up with reasons not to. He had sort of been your boss back then, after all.

He waits a beat before admitting, “And maybe the only way I would’ve even talked to you that night.”

You hum in response, taking another sip of your negroni.

“Even then I thought I’d fully fuckin’ blown it.”

“You didn’t,” you say, shaking your head.

“Uh… yeah I did,” he smiles, shooting you a ‘c’mon’ kind of look. “The first time you ever actually talked to me and… you’re fuckin’ furious. I was terrified.”

You can remember your first real conversation with Carmy fondly – even if it hadn’t been the fondest experience at the time.

“Baby, you ruined my shirt!” you exclaim with a laugh. “I had every right to be mad at you.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d see another day after that,” Carmy recalls, shaking his head.

“Also. Who drinks a soda the night they get the biggest promotion of their career?” you add, referring to the coke he’d spilled all over you the night he’d gotten promoted to CDC.

“Pop,” he corrects you. “... is a perfectly normal thing to drink at a bar.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “It’s not. But I love you anyway.”

The staff of the restaurant had wanted to go out and celebrate Carmy’s new position, only Carmy hadn’t seemed like he was in much of a mood for celebrating as he’d refused shots all night. He’d been so nervous to talk to you all night, the recently hired pastry chef, and you’d assumed he hated you considering his cold and stoic demeanor at work seemed to translate to you outside of it as well. He thought for sure he’d blown any chance of getting to talk to you that night, when you accidentally bumped into him and he’d spilled his soda all over you. Your shirt was soaked through, and your friends had rushed in with a spare t-shirt for you to change into. You’d come to find days later that it was Carmy’s shirt that he’d had in his bag.

That soda – and his chivalry that evening – had set it all in motion.

“After all that, think we’d be here?” he asks, his eyes more like a sad, sweet puppy than ever before.

“No,” you answer honestly with a half smile. “But once I got to know you, I hoped maybe we could get here.”

He sighs, searching for the right words to tell you how he feels. The love you have together is more than he ever thought was possible for himself, and being back here with you has brought up so many memories of not feeling like enough.

“It kinda feels…” he begins to say, choosing his words carefully. He wants to get it right. “...like. I don’t know. Kinda like we’re going backwards and forwards at the exact same time, you know?”

You take another sip of your drink, processing what he’s said. He’s nailed it and you just need a moment to sit with his words.

“Yeah,” you sigh, like he’s finally named that thing you hadn’t been able to. “Like our past and our present are colliding or something.”

Carmy nods in agreement, “Yeah.”

You sit together in your comfortable quiet, listening to the sounds of the city below you: sirens, car horns, music from the bodega across the street.

“I don’t know if I ever told you… how much your friendship meant to me back then. I wasn’t… well, I wasn’t in a great place,” Carmy admits, his eyes piercing and honest with his words. There’s a sadness to him and you wonder if this has been weighing on him over the last few days on top of everything else.

“I know, sweetheart,” you reply empathetically.

“I know we’ve talked about…” he trails off, searching for what he wants to say. “... how much we mean to each other now. But you meant so much to me back then too. I don’t-, I don’t know if I ever told you.”

“Carmy,” you say, your heart swelling with love for the sad mess of a man whose arms you’re wrapped up in. “You didn’t need to. I-, I knew because… because you meant so much to me back then too.”

He pauses, wondering if he should keep going, and coming to the conclusion that he wants to – not for your sake, but for his.

Because he wants to tell you.

“When we met… I wasn’t… planning on letting anyone in,” he continues.

“Hmmm, didn’t notice,” you joke with him.

He gives your hips a squeeze, causing you to giggle as you snuggle a little closer to him, hugging the blanket around the both of you.

“I thought for sure I didn’t need anyone. Sure as hell didn’t want anyone. Had gone so long without someone to-. It just didn’t make sense for me anymore.”

You listen quietly, wanting him to give him the space to say what he needs to say.

“You know, my sister used to say, she used to tell me that one day I’d wake up and I’d need someone. Someone other than Mikey and his friends – the kids I grew up with. And I didn’t believe her. And then he cut me out and-. And I got really fuckin’ good at it. At the food. At being alone….”

And then you came along.

“But you didn’t push me… you didn’t ask me to be anyone that I-. You just… let me be me… even if I didn’t give you much to work with at first. I think… Sugar was right. I needed a friend back then… and you were always a friend. Are always… It’s why I love you.”

You’re grinning, and you’re also so, so proud of him – how far he’s come – to be able to tell you all of this.

You lean over to set your drink down on the patio table. You only have one thing to say him, as you hold his head between both of your hands:

“I’m so in love with you, Bear.”

read: chapter three

a/n: the above first conversation/meeting that carmy x reader talk about WILL be written for my 'make my heart surrender' prequel everyone buckle up for the will-they-won't-they bc we all know THEY WILL

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #make my heart surrender #still into you

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imarvelatthestars · 2 years

Text

Motion Sickness

Pairings: Moon Knight system x Reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, depiction of depression, will-they-won't-they vibes, OOC Marc; not a warning, but the boys all switch easily so this is kind of an au or post-show setting where they're all on the same page and sharing their lives

Inspired by 'Motion Sickness' by Phoebe Bridgers and my depression lol.

"What's wrong?"

Jake's gruff voice catches your attention. It's just loud enough to sound over the music blasting through your headphones. He's watching you in the rearview mirror, cap pulled low over his eyes but you can still see them and the way his eyebrows are furrowed and wrinkled above them.

You push one of the speakers away from your ear so it rests against your skull and you can hear him better.

"What?" You heard him fine the first time, but you need that extra second to collect yourself.

He points to your headphones with a look that says he doesn't want to deal with any of your bullshit. "What's wrong?" he repeats and it's not a question this time.

You hitch your voice up a bit, put on that fake tint that makes you sound a little more normal, the one that usually works on everyone else. "Who said something's wrong?" Your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, but you try hard all the same. "I'm just listening to my music."

He knows you too well for you to pull the wool over his eyes. You can see it in the way his shoulders are hard, jagged lines extending past the driver's seat, how his jaw tightens and his nostrils flare ever so slightly. Damn him.

"Don't bullshit me," and then he says your name all rough and exasperated and it sparks tears in your eyes. You turn your head so you're looking out the window. "I'll pull this car over."

"Just drop it, Jake." If he pushes too hard, you'll break, shatter all over the backseat of this stupid fucking Jeep and you don't think him and all his alters would be enough to pick up your pieces. Not this time. "I'm fine."

"You're not."

And your heart slams into your spine. Steven's voice is gentle, firm, knowing. Your eyes flicker to the mirror, catch a glimpse of that little upward quirk of his brows, the thing that only Steven does, that warms your heart and stomach and soul like nothing else.

"I'm fine." But your voice quivers at the end.

The car swerves, throws you against your window, and your stomach plummets to the depths of your torso. The freeway guardrail comes up fast and for a second you think Jake's going to drive you both right through it, but he doesn't. Of course he doesn't. He's the designated driver for a reason, but that doesn't mean he's not reckless. The outside of your door almost scrapes against the metal as the car comes to a halt.

"Jake," you start. Now you're just tired. You don't want confrontation, you don't want peering eyes, invasive questions, or overtly curious glances in the mirror. That's why you sat in the back in the first place. That's why you put on your headphones and started blasting miserably angsty pop ballads. "Please don't."

"You're sad."

Fuck you. But you're impressed that he figured it out.

He almost smiles when you finally find the courage to meet his eyes and there's a softness to him that steals your breath. "You really thought I wouldn't notice, bonita?" Then his shoulders shift and that softness in his eyes stays. "We always notice."

You have to close your eyes. This kindness is too much, it's cutting into your gut and bleeding you dry. He's so attentive, so attuned to you that of course he noticed. It was stupid to think none of them would. But God, you'd really hoped they'd ignore it. Everyone else was either fooled by your act or didn't pry. Not him, not them. Never them.

"I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed." You can hear him click his tongue and you're sure if you sneaked a peek, he'd have his head tilted to the side and that one eyebrow raised in the way that always drives you crazy. "Seriously. I'm just in a mood today, okay? Can we drop it, please?"

There's your name again, gentle and tender on Marc's tongue and it nearly does you in. Your chest is physically aching from all the pain and memories and piercing shards of your depression rubbing against your ribcage. You don't remember when it all started to crumble in on you, but it's come to a head today and now you feel half like you're drowning and half like you're not even here.

His hand comes down on your knee and the sob that's been building up in the back of your throat finally crests, slams you forward into a blubbering bundle of tears. His seatbelt clanks on the window, the car jostles, and then he's in the back with you; you're not sure if he climbed over the seat or went out the door. He has his hands on your shoulders, soothing over the arch of your neck and down your spine to your shoulder blades.

"Hey, hey," he coos. You collapse into him and the scent of his cologne washes over you. "It's okay, baby, it's okay."

He's never called you baby before. You hate that this is what's prompted him to do it. And you cry even harder. Your gut still aches from where the kindness of this mountain of a man, always covered in blood and desert sand and his own regrets, has ripped you open.

A few broken phrases stumble out of your mouth as you dribble all over yourself, something along the lines of "I'm sorry" and "I promise I'm okay" and "thank you" and "please don't go", and Marc holds you even closer. He mouths at your hairline, wraps a hand around the nape of your neck.

"I knew you weren't your usual self," he whispers and his breath is warm on your skin. "You don't gotta push me away. I hate it when you do that."

How do you tell him that you were just trying to keep yourself safe? Trying to protect whatever it was your relationship had become? "Didn't want to bother you," you sniffle between little hiccups. It's easier to say the words to the curve of his pectoral than to his face. "Didn't want you to worry or think I was stupid. It'll pass, it always does, I just-"

His hand slips down your cheek, thumb brushing your jawline as his finger curls under your chin and tilts your head back. God, if that doesn't make your stomach twist. You're breathless. You couldn't breathe if you wanted to, if you tried. You're caught under the weight of his gaze and there's nowhere else you'd rather be, but it's not fully comfortable either.

"You're not stupid." He's breathless too.

You're struck by the realization that you love him, which isn't anything new, but it's never been so deep and consuming as it is now. Because you feel safe.

"Should've just told us. We would've understood, I would've-..." He sighs, shakes his head, and you're still caught in his grasp and it's making you cry again, but not because you're sad. "I'm not always an ass, you know." And when he smiles, you smile too. "Can't say the same about the other two."

His body jolts forward into yours and your noses bump as Steven pushes his way to the front. "Oy! I'm the nicest one of the lot, you!" he protests. And Jake shoulders him to the side with a muttered, "Watch it, hermano," but there's no bite. "Of all the cheek," Steven adds before pressing a kiss to the spot between your brows. His hands are on your cheeks and you're sure he can feel how warm they are.

"We're here for you, dovey. Always. You never hafta hide from us."

#jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #moon knight x reader #marvel #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #i'm not sure where i wanted this to go but.... this is certainly something #i've just been feeling really out of it lately and hoped that if i wrote about it it would help #hope you all enjoy!

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ender1821 · 7 months

Text

assorted ramblings and details about my latest shiny duo fic (a post-Double Life hurt/comfort one shot which you can read here!), because I actually had a lot of fun writing it

1. *shakes violently* tHE COLOURS. THE FREAKIN’ COLOURS.

A purple hyacinth means sorrow and a desire for forgiveness, regret over how something went down. It’s in the crater Scott leaves, kind of a small acknowledgment to how in the canon ending Pearl ‘forgives’ Scott after dying, the purple hyacinth can be interpreted as both Scott or Pearl’s regrets.

I kept on describing things in reds and blues (because apparently I only know how to describe things this way/j), especially when Gem goes up the tower and finds Pearl. Blue is an ode to how things were before, the good old days, as Gem sees it, because Pearl has always been some variation of blue in her eyes, her dark blue hoodie, her blue eyes, etc. But the way she sees blue now is tainted by frostbite and scattered diamond armour and Scott, blue is tainted and can never be looked at the same way again after the game, because Pearl has been changed drastically as a result of it.

Red is what Pearl is now, red is the blood both her and her enemies draw from each other, red is the burns left from explosions, red is in her eyes now, it’s all red, red, red and deep down, a part of Gem hates it, she can’t bear having to see Pearl so utterly ruined and covered by a colour so different, she doesn’t like this change one bit, but now blue isn’t any better either.

So exactly a purple hyacinth having the meaning for regret, sorrow and desire for forgiveness can also be seen as a culmination of the two colours no longer clashing against each other, a conflict in both Pearl and Gem’s head, as red mixes with blue to become purple, it’s not much better, but it’s a start.

Then there is green, because green is the life that finds its way back to the ruins and imbues it with its moss and vines and nature, green is the forest that remains in your solitude, green is Gem. At the end, the greenery they find remaining is a welcome sight, a fresh escape. Gem is all of that for Pearl. (Also, pretty sure I only used “rooted to the ground” to describe 1) Gem and Pearl during the hug 2) the forest they come across, so that’s a lil parallel for you too)

In a way, Gem giving Pearl the hoodie is her futile attempt at trying to make things feel like how they were before, but it’s said that it only feels more wrong to cover all that red with a blue that doesn’t match, it’s only when they find a purple hyacinth that Gem can let go of her own regrets and yearning for this to have never happened, it did, it changed Pearl irreparably, but one day it will fade away together, the red and blue don’t have to stay clashing.

2. listen to Graceland Too by Phoebe Bridgers. please./j

The title of the fic comes from Graceland Too, which is a song that I think fits perfectly for post-DL hurt/comfort! The song itself centres around caring for someone who hates themselves and how hard that can be, which, in my opinion: *shiny duo post-DL intensifies*

The person the title refers to is Pearl, who is now ‘no longer a danger to herself or others’, because there is nobody else left. Even Scott is gone. During Double Life, Pearl has been labelled a warning, an omen, she is danger in the eyes of the other players, and eventually she actually becomes it. In the process of harming others, be it with the swing of an axe or the touch of powdered snow, she harms herself as well. She is a danger to others, as well as a danger to herself.

(Thank you Phoebe Bridgers for giving me so much shiny duo brainrot material, you have no idea how many of her songs are in my shiny duo/c!Pearl playlist lmao)

3. What’s the exact difference from canon?

So like, I don’t know from which pov and episode I heard this from, but I remember them addressing how the winner would be decided for Double Life, and it’s been claimed that the winner would be whoever’s death message shows up last in chat, which means it was expected of the winner to not be a pair of soulmates, but one singular player, as it has always been.

Grian wanted to win with Scar during Third Life, he even tells Scar that no matter what happens he considered it a double victory before their final cactus ring fist fight, but in the end, the victor will always be alone. He kills Scar and that’s it, Scar doesn’t win, nobody considers Scar a winner, the only winner of third life is Grian.

The final four of last life decided amongst themselves that they would end it with a battle royale, no alliances, just a final battle between them, but there always was some feelings of attachment left over for both Scott + Pearl and Ren + Martyn, Scott was obviously hunting Ren down in the finale so that he would win, but another reason, as he shouted out while chasing him, was because Ren had killed Pearl, and he wanted revenge, so it’s kind of safe to say that if it had been only Scott and Pearl left at the end, they would’ve wanted to claim that they won together too.

It’s from the previous games that it’s been decided that there will always be only one winner, even if the final players were close friends, it always ends with a single player, so no matter what the whole core of double life stood for, the ending would’ve still ended up similar to what actually happened, if not worse.

(Imagine that it wasn’t Pearl + Scott or Cleo + Martyn who were the final pair, it was a pair who genuinely liked their soulmate and have come with their partner to the end, only to be hit with the realisation that it will never end until one of them dies, would they sacrifice themselves? Backstab their partner? Or would it have ended with the same cactus ring duel that ended the first game, with two friends beating each other to death unwillingly for the status of being a victor, but this time, every land they hit, they also get back, and the act of it is the same as sending themselves to their grave, but they won’t even get the time to realise that until it’s done?)

Anyway, I feel like to really hammer in the fact that there can only be one winner, the Watchers would’ve severed the soulbond between the last pair, so that they would have greater incentive to kill the other. That’s what happens in this version of events, but it’s not exactly what the Watchers expected. They were waiting for a pair of friends coming to terms of having to kill each other, they wanted to feed off all the negative emotions that would arise from that, yet the final pair is Pearl and Scott.

By the time they were the only two left, the string between them has been cut. That doesn’t matter, though. Not when Scott blows himself up in front of Pearl before she could even have time to process it. There is something to be said, about how Scott lights two pieces of TNT, and as one kills him, it propels the other towards the exact spot Pearl is standing in. They’re still soulmates, through and through.

In this version of events, Pearl doesn’t die from the soulmate bond or the TNT that flies her way, because she shields herself from the blast while wearing armour. That’s fine for the Watchers though, the feelings of loneliness and anger that festers in Their victor is delicious.

…that is, until Gem forces her way into the world and ruins Their feast.

(The exact way Gem, and in extension Pearl, hops through worlds is still a headcanon I’m hoping to polish off with a fic, but it does revolve around concepts I’ve come up with alongside my friend @spark-of-teal, for a taste of that I really recommend reading this, because I still think it’s really cool :D)

Those are the big ones I’ve had on my mind for a while, but of course I couldn’t put every little detail I have for the fic here, so those are for you to discover :)

#ender writes #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #mcyt #trafficblr #hermitblr #double life smp #mcyt fanfiction #shiny duo #shinyduo #listen. I needed to get all of this out of my head. I thought they were pretty cool when I was writing it

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tojivu · 1 year

Text

PLEASE CALL ME [01]

a/n part 1 out of idk.. anyways this was so heavily inspired by phoebe bridger’s songs.. i’m so obsessed with her (=´∀｀) oh and also by a book i finished a long time ago but haven’t gotten over lol. i tried writing this in 3rd person pov but tbh it’s hard for me to display emotion in my writing if it’s 3rd person cus it’s like giving u instructions on how to feel 😭. I KNOW ITS 2023 OKAY I KNOW WE DONT LIKE 1ST PERSON ANYMORE BUT PLS LET ME HAVE MY MOMENT

warnings/tags barely proofread (i tried), if yall don’t like tis i’ll probably discontinue it LOL, childe x implied f!reader, sfw.

listen to chinese satellite by phoebe bridgers.

“Good morning.” Ajax is speaking to you, voice low. “It's a hot day.”

You were shivering, actually. Mornings were always cold no matter what the temperature was. Nevertheless, you nod and agree with him anyway. “Yup, isn’t it?”

You two were standing outside your house, waiting for the other to initiate the walking, to which you end up doing it. He follows behind, the path too narrow to fit the two of you—this was a familiar sound. Heavy footsteps you could only recognise to be Ajax’s only two metres behind you. You don’t need to turn around to know he’s staring at the back of your head.

Such a nostalgic feeling, you think. You and him have been passing by the same trees and the same brown-cream coloured houses for 5 years now.

“Can you believe that we’re graduating in two months?”

He doesn’t answer.

You repeat the question again and he finally responds. You turn around, curious as to what had gotten him so distracted; his phone is in his hand, he’s looking into it and it’s pointing at you—his bright yellow phone case pales in comparison to the smile he has on his face.

“Not even going to let me pose?”

“You don’t need to do that. Your morning face is enough.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You’re pretty when you wake up.”

It’s 6 in the morning. Ajax was never one to think before he speaks, especially when the sun had just risen 5 minutes prior. You ignore what he says, assuming he just couldn’t tell that isn’t something you say to friends.

“Sure.”

—

It’s 8:27 am. You’ve been sitting through an hour of English, and you swear you thought the subject couldn’t get any more boring than when it was in middle school. You’re spinning your blue MUJI 0.5 tip pen between your middle and index finger, ultimately failing after 5 seconds and letting it drop to the floor. It rolls away, farther than you could bend and reach for—a soft metal clinking sound is heard when you realise it’s hit someone’s chair.

The red and black coloured backpack on the floor next to the chair made it obvious where your pen had gone and who’s chair it hit.

You whisper-yell, “Hey, can you pick that up?”

Ajax turns around and looks at you and then the floor. You’re thankful as he picks up the pen, but then quickly confused as to why he just turns forward again—keeping your pen at his desk.

—

YOU: It feels as though the evening has been stretched, like time is in slow motion and not in a good way; because I’m looking at Ajax sitting across from me and we have not spoken. I have a cup of coffee in my right hand, much too sweet for my own taste; a cat drawn from the latte art I don’t remember requesting. I’m very sure I asked for a bunny. I’m very sure. I think I left my Math textbook in class. The trees look really lively or something like that, I don’t really know, I am making sure to look away from Ajax because I know he’s staring.

“What?”

“What what?” He acts like he wasn’t just staring at me for the past 5 minutes. “Is there a problem?”

“My problem is that you’re being weird today.”

His mouth is agape, too dramatic to be genuine. “That’s rude.”

I don’t know what to reply to him now, knowing that he’ll just continue acting stupid. My shoes squeak against the wooden flooring as I lean back in my chair, it’s evening now and I’m so exhausted. People from the high school three streets away from ours are filling the tiny place up, passing by our table and some stare at Ajax as they do. The oak tables that were empty just a half hour ago are now full of teenagers, this whole place is infested with us; behind, left and right.

It’s not weird for people to stare at Ajax when we’re out together. It’s not like he’s a celebrity or anything, but somehow every girl I know has heard of him or has heard of him from someone who has heard of him. It’s a big chain of people I find impossible to keep track of. If you mentioned his name anywhere, someone would definitely go “you know him too?”.

I’m drinking my tea slowly and quietly. A group of girls are laughing so loud my eardrums could burst. Another group of girls walk in and the familiar bell sound of the café entrance rings, and it’s no surprise they know Ajax too; he smiles at them, I can’t tell if out of politeness, when they walk by. They’re giggling to themselves and I can’t help but feel a bit lost.

“What’s wrong with you today?” He’s asking me as if multiple things aren’t wrong with him. Suddenly, I’m the one with the problems.

I don’t bother anymore, I think about that moment minutes ago over and over again and I have no idea what to make of it. That giggle wasn’t a “what a coincidence” giggle, more like a teasing sort, the kind your friends do when your crush talks to you.

“Nothing is wrong with me.” I’m lying. “I’m gonna go home.”

He is so clueless, so oblivious to everything it is paining me. Oblivious to the amount of girls that are looking his way in this very establishment, at this very moment in time. It makes me almost angry, somewhat, that he doesn’t know.

—

AJAX: It is 7 P.M. and dark out. I think she’s angry but she’s just slouching over, but I get some sort of sensing that she will explode if I try to talk to her.

“Helllooo.” I’m next to her now, and she doesn’t want to reply to me; her eyes are on mine, eyebrows furrowed and clearly sending a message: Don’t even say anything.

I feel myself smiling because she looks very adorable. She is much shorter than I am. When she’s angry, I’m never able to take her seriously. I don’t think I ever have. Oftentimes in her fits of anger I am caught admiring her, smiling because I think she is so dramatic. When we were 15 she once yelled at me for using her charger, and apparently ‘making her phone charge slower’. She is one of the angriest and most short tempered people I know, yet I think she pulls off the frustrated pout and narrowed eyes very well. It doesn’t matter much to me.

“I’m not gonna ask what’s up with you because you got mad when I did.”

She looks forward again and we are still walking. Her house is still a few blocks down. I think she’s getting tired, too. I shouldn’t have dragged her to get milk tea with me. This path is too narrow to fit the two of us.

I walk in front of her and I can hear her tongue clicking out of annoyance. I bend down and stretch my arms, “Get on my back”.

I feel weight shifting onto my upper back, her long hair is tickling my neck but I don’t mind. Her arms are tired, slow in their movements as they wrap around me too, her head on my right shoulder and she does not say a word in all of it.

“Thank you.” she is whispering to me a few minutes later, and I think I am getting tired too. My legs want to give out. They don’t because I don’t let them.

It’s another 10 minutes and I’m at her front door, unlocking it using the key in her wallet; her parents are on the couch and watching TV and I start to wonder what this would look like to them.

“Ajax?” Her mother turns her head around and is surprised to see me, considering I wasn’t calling to say I was coming over. I haven’t done that in months.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s just tired, that’s all.” I tell her and I try my best not to speak too loud in case the girl on my back wakes up. I can feel her breaths on my back, slow and controlled. I bring her upstairs to her room and I lay her on her bed. Her room has changed quite a bit since I had last been in it, her desk is much more organised than it was a few months ago.

I found myself rejecting her invitations to hang out in her room over the summer break.

I think if I were to be alone in a room with her for too long I would end up blurting it out. I would tell her I’ve loved her since we started being friends, and she’d kick me out of her house and never talk to me again. But now she’s sleeping and I think I’m okay, so I pull her blankets over her and whisper; “Goodnight, I love you”.

—

YOU: I have no idea what day it is. I feel sticky. I look around and after a few seconds I sigh out of relief, realising this is my house, and these are my bedsheets. I don’t remember how I got here, though, my uniform is still on and the last thing I can recall is me on Ajax’s back.

I reach for my phone but realise it’s dead. A post-it note is next to my nightstand, ‘You’re welcome for the ride back. Call me when you wake up You owe me’, and on the bottom right corner there is an ugly and disproportionate cat drawn.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to remove my socks for me, but I guess that’s fair because I don’t think I’d go anywhere near his feet either.

I plug my phone into my charger and wait. I don’t know if he wants me to call him, but I think I should, I want to.

28 days later and i’m back with this shitty fic — 130423

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #childe fluff #childe x reader #childe angst #childe x reader fluff #childe x reader angst #genshin angst #genshin fluff #genshin x reader fluff #genshin x reader angst #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia fluff #tartaglia angst

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itsasainz · 1 year

Text

Is that a yes? | Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Summary: Daniel’s never felt like he was yours, not wholly, and it’s impossible. Established relationship. based of “the gold” by Phoebe Bridgers, with a hint of “peace” by Taylor Swift.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings/tags: Toxic(ish) relationship, angst, hints of smut, some fluff, insecurity, arguing and conflict.

a/n: I am mourning seb and Danny leaving f1 so much. I need help. anways lmk what u think and my requests are open!! x

masterlist!

Couldn't really love you any more

You've become my ceiling

I don't think I love you anymore

That gold mine changed you

You don't have to hold me anymore

Our cave's collapsing

I don't wanna be me anymore

My old man told me

Daniel’s smile is wide, distinctive; the first thing people notice about him, the thing they always remember after, and you are no different, no more impervious to his cheer and charm than anyone else. He knows it, which only makes you wish he was less to you than he is. He knows that, too. Daniel, as ever, is aware of your inner turmoil, your paradoxical feelings for him, the way you beat yourself up over it, and he hates that you hate because he doesn’t understand why you won’t let yourself feel the way you do.

Not everyone is good at expressing their feelings, Danny, you had once said – practically spat his name – to him after a night out. He knows the story, the family history, the thousands of reasons you keep your cards close to your chest and your perfected skill at reading the most steady of poker faces -- and yet Danny has never been able to imitate that skill, nor has he ever wanted to hide his love.

Another thing you’d once said to him, in a much softer tone, was that he was probably the only man to ever look at you and understand you. You were guarded, careful with your words; that was the closest you’d ever come to telling him you felt loved by him, something he’d only realised when he heard you say, with complete nonchalance, that being understood in a relationship was the same as being loved.

He wants to kiss you. He loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone, he wonders if you’ll let him do so, then remembers where he is. No kissing in public. You’re trying to catch his eye from across the room; he recognises the expression. You’re always asking to leave early, and it doesn’t matter how much fun he’s having, he never wants to stay if you won’t be there. He meets you at the door.

On the way home, you acknowledge that you’ve made a habit of this. Watching him, letting him bask in the glory while you stand on the sidelines, thoughts trailing back to your home or your work, guilty about hating how you share him with the world.

Years ago, back when you first met him, he had listened curiously when you explained your muse and artist theory; the concept is simple, in every relationship there is a muse and an artist – the extrovert and the introvert, the giver and the taker. You had explained that relationships only work when each person accepts their role, and that relationships always fail when both people are trying to be the muse or the artist. He had asked you which he was, and your face had flushed. “The muse,” you had said, “Obviously.”

And yet, you think, as you watch his hands on the steering wheel, you resent that he is not just your muse. You hate that he gets to bask in the attention of the world, like your love and your care isn’t enough. The possessiveness is so foreign to you, but this is cumulative – having shared his heart for years, perhaps you need him to yourself for a while. Perhaps – and the thought alone is awful – it is not so bad that he doesn’t have a seat for next year. You can love him wholly, and he might just return for more than a few days at a time, he might let himself be yours, entirely.

At the end of the day, he wants to feel love, and it scares you that perhaps you don’t give him enough, perhaps you’re so terrified of letting him feel it when you never have more than a few days of him to yourself.

In the lift, his arms heavy on your shoulders, he presses his lips to your temple, the moment soft and quiet. Breathing on his scent, you relax right into him, your fingers holding the fabric of his sweater. Be mine, you want to say, be mine like you mean it, like if you had to choose between the glitz and glamour or me, you'd come and have a quiet life. In the lift, with his arms heavy around your shoulders, he presses his lips to yours.

When he speaks, his words blow into your hair, lips so close to your scalp that every movement is almost a kiss; “You’re quiet,” he observes, “What are you thinking?”

You do not tell him the full truth; the truth would make him feel awful, cruel. “I’m glad I’ve got you to myself,” you tell him instead, “I’m glad I’m the one who gets to come home with you.”

Your words send vibrations through his ribs, his shirt pressed to your skin. He twirls your hair between his fingertips. “Only yours.”

You pull away slightly, staring up at that cheerful, charming face. Until the morning, you think, until you remember who you are.

You wake up to his alarm, naked under the sheets, Danny's body heat keeping you from shivering. His breath is hot, damp, on your neck, his arms caging you. You stretch out, fingers exploring the cold air and finding his phone, switching the alarm off. You whisper his name, but he is completely and utterly dead to the world.

"You don't open your eyes for a while

You just breathe that moment down."

Forty miles out of East Illinois of my old man's

Heart attackI believed you were crazy

You believed you loved me

You wriggle out from his grasp, worming your way out and letting him settle onto his back, still snoring slightly. Your kisses litter his neck and chest, your thighs straddling him as you kiss his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, fingers laced in his curls vaguely admiring his dark lashes and tan. You almost don't notice the slight flex of his hand on your thigh, his soft sigh bringing his rise to consciousness to your attention. He is smiling – it's not the wide smile he's known for, but a smaller one, a softer one. The one he seems to save for you – one of the few things about that is yours, utterly yours. You don’t have to share these moments with anyone but him, and you love every second of it.

"Why don't you wake me up like this every morning?" he teases.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, face hovering over his. "I don't always wake up before you. You're not always here."

His fingers skim your waist, he kisses you more deeply. You love him, and, for a minute, you believe he loves you too.

He's sat in the terminal, watching you from afar as you chat to one of your parents over the phone – he's not sure which it is, but you're taking in every word they say like it's the gospel. You notice him watching and flash him a smile, quickly distracted again by what your parent is saying.

He feels bad, dragging you through airport after airport, disrupting the flow of your life, only for you to sit in the garage for hours a day while he's busy. Nowadays, unlike the first year or so of joining him for Grand Prix weekends, you make yourself scarce until Saturday afternoon, only really joining him for Quali and the race itself. He tears his gaze from you, staring at his trainers where they rest atop your suitcase. You're coming back toward him.

"Mum and Dad say hi," you say, kissing him in greeting, "Dad says he can't wait to see you next week."

Danny can't help but smile. He loves all of you, family and all. He remembers the first time he met your parents, how embarrassed you were when they had brought up your teenage years – the raging insecurities, the misdemeanours, the chaotic fights with your siblings. Seeing you at home, with your parents and siblings, made him realise the facets of your life and love he hadn’t anticipated. He understood for the first time, when he was sitting on your lumpy single bed in your tiny childhood bedroom, that your stony façade and calculated expressions of love are born from the fear you feel of being judged.

He’d always known you were from drastically different backgrounds, but it hadn’t struck him as something that could even be considered embarrassing until he had realised that you were, in fact, embarrassed of the normalcy of your upbringing. He loves you, and you love him, but sometimes it feels like you’re talking past each other. You never feel his love because, fundamentally, you don’t think of yourself as loveable, and that breaks his heart. He wraps his arms around you, always surprised at how cold you are. “I love you.”

You’re not entirely sure how you got here, what started it, who took the first dig, just that you’re standing in the middle of your shared Monaco apartment visibly shaking through your rage. Daniel is ranting – caught up on a comment you made about his lifestyle, reminding you of every little thing he’s done for you in the past four years, and you are fucking fuming. How dare he? How dare he?

I don't wanna bark here anymore

Black hills, the collie

Wasn't really dangerous for us

We just catch you coughing

What the hell are we gonna do?

A black mile to the surface

I don't wanna be here anymore

It all tastes like poison

“Daniel,” you say, cutting through the endless stream of words. The moment is suddenly very still, his talking stopped as he looks at you expectantly.

“What? What, Y/N, fucking what?”

“I am not going to stay here and listen to you undermine every sacrifice I have made for this relationship. I appreciate that you opened your home up to me, and that you’ve welcomed me into your social life and your family life, but it doesn’t fucking compare, okay?”

He looks a little stunned, but you’re on a roll now, unleashing the pent up resentment that you’ve swallowed for so long. “Daniel, I quit my job, that I loved, so I could come to more of your fucking races; I moved across the world so I could see you more – I left my life behind for you! My parents, my siblings, my school friends, uni friends, work friends, my home! And for what? So you can tell me about all of your sacrifices? I spend more time with your friends than mine! I barely know anyone in Monaco that I don’t know through you! And I am so fucking lonely, Danny. You’re always away, and when you’re here, I never have you to myself – You’re always preoccupied with racing and your friends, and I am so sick of being the person you spend time with when everyone else is busy! So no, I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you undermine my sacrifices. I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

Daniel can’t find it in him to open his mouth or utter a word as you brush past him, storming down the hallway to the bedroom. Your words are thick in the air, weighing down on him – the only comparable experience he has is moving to Europe to pursue racing, but that doesn’t compare.

As he listens to the sound of your packing across the apartment, he is instilled in the most unfamiliar of fears; you, leaving. He has always been so sure of this relationship, always known you were in his corner – now? Now, he is faced with his own obliviousness, with the idea that you might not be in his corner any longer, that perhaps he was so caught in the fight that you could have left months ago and he wouldn’t have noticed. He still hasn’t moved when you come back in, abandoning the suitcase in your hand to rummage through a drawer in search of something – your keys? He’s not sure.

You walk past him, pulling your coat on by the door, pulling your shoes on hastily. He sees what you were looking for – your passport, sat on top of your bag, and suddenly it dawns on him that you’re not just heading over to stay with a friend for a night or two, you’re serious, you’re going home.

“Y/N, love, can we just talk about this?” he says. For someone who’s never had to worry about being heard, he’s conscious of how quiet his words come out.

You look at him, finally, mascara stains on your face and a resolute severity to your features. “I’ll text you when I get home, but I don’t want to talk to you until I’m ready, okay?”

You’re wrapped up tight in a thick coat, a scarf pressed to your cheeks, your fingers pale and cold in the wind. It feels strange, being out in the sticks, far from the chaos of city life; two weeks since you last spoke to Danny, spending your time with loved ones and reuniting with old friends. They know to steer clear of talking about him, but you can see that your mum is mourning slightly for the idea of your relationship – she wants more grandkids, or perhaps just wants to see you happier than you are now, crying nonstop, barely leaving the house.

It’s a miracle they got you out of the house today, enticing you with the idea of catching up with your siblings and getting to see the dog. Juno, your brother’s collie, is getting old now, but she still loves to be unleashed in the rolling hills just outside of your hometown, your nieces playing fetch with her, their gleeful laughs getting caught in the wind.

Your mum, sitting beside you with a flask of tea in her hand, looks a little teary-eyed, watching her grandchildren. “What happened?”

You glance sideways at her. “What d’you mean?”

“With Danny. I always thought he was going to be my son-in-law. What happened?”

You pick at your nails. “It wasn’t working. He’s away so much, I don’t know how to make peace with that, I don’t know how to share him with the world. Plus, I don’t think he’d clocked just how much I’ve sacrificed to be with him.”

She offers you the flask. “I know he’s got a lot going on, but you deserve someone who’ll give you their world the way you’d do for them. I’m glad that you stood up for yourself, but I’ll miss the fella.”

You smile, the steam from the tea warming your fingers and face up a little. “I think I’ll see where we’re at when the season’s over – you know, now that he won’t be going to all the races and stuff.”

“You’ll do what’s best, I know you will.”

You rest your head on her shoulder. “When did you get so wise?”

“I know you forget it, but I have lived a life, you know,” she teases. You can put off talking to Danny for a while longer, you think, you can just enjoy being home, even if it makes you feel like a teenager again – the same bed, the same busy house. These days, it feels a bit like it did when you were seventeen, all your siblings at university while you stayed at home.

It’s hard to understand why you’re here; how you ended up sitting in the hotel restaurant with your ex-boyfriend’s mum in the futuristic city where he is racing. It’s been a month since you last saw him, but Abu Dhabi is a welcome getaway after a month of living in your monotonous hometown while your neighbours theorise about why you’re not with Danny. The speculation online has been unbearable – you and Danny have always been private, never opened up much of your relationship for scrutiny, but eagle-eyed fans have noticed your absence from the paddock, and some fans have posted photos of you at home. But here you are, with Grace, who glosses over the strain between you and her son admirably.

Can't open your eyes for a while

You just breathe that moment down

Forty hours out of Homestake

And I'm trying to translate you again

You’re waiting for him to come down from his room; his family are all flying back to Australia in the midafternoon, but you and Danny are booked for evening flights – you want time to work out what’s going on between you, to work out where you’re going now.

Once he arrives, breakfast moves smoothly. He’s in a good mood, despite his hangover, laughing and joking with his sister’s children, who are positively smitten with their impossibly cool uncle. The goodbyes take forever, even though he’ll see them all in a week or so, and by the time they’ve left and you’ve both packed, it’s lunch time.

He takes you out to a fancy place for lunch, where you sit in the sun and catch up, skirting around the real reason you’re here. After, walking through the streets, you never quite reach the topic because he gets recognised by fans every thirty seconds, and you dutifully take photos of him with the strangers.

“Are you still angry?”you ask, tentatively. He doesn’t need to ask what about.

“No, if anything I’m fully at your mercy. I know I haven’t been the best of boyfriends lately, I know you’ve made bigger sacrifices for me than I understood, but I realised, when you left, how much I need you. I’d get it if you want to call things off, like, permanently, but if you’re willing, I will do everything in my power to make you feel loved. I love you, and I am so sorry you haven’t felt it lately. Let me make things up to you.”

You contemplate his words. “I knew, when I met you, when I agreed to go on that first date with you, that it wasn’t going to be easy. I’ve always known you’d be away constantly, that you’d always have other priorities. But it hurts, Danny. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to withstand it.”

“I love you.”

“And I hate having to share you.” you mumble. “I hate it, but I know that if I want to be with you, I have to make my peace with that.”

He looks forlorn, and you almost mourn his smile. “I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m not completely and utterly yours.”

You love him. You love him so much that you’re entirely ready to give up all your dignity, to let yourself follow him around and believe him. He’s never going to be yours, not wholly, but, perhaps, so long as he wants to be yours. If he’s true to his word, if he does love you like he says, you could learn to let it slide. It overwhelms you, the sudden need to figure yourself out; his gaze, not expectant, but so hopeful. How could you break a heart like that?

You turn to face him, not caring that you’re in public, or that such a pivotal moment is being witnessed by the world. You feel him taking hold of your hands, his palms warm and calloused, you feel him kiss your forehead, and then, subconsciously, without instruction, you melt into him. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and hug him tight. He kisses the crown of your head, a light peck, and you let out a shaky breath. “Come home,” he murmurs into your hair, “Come with me.”

You wonder how much of your relationship has been taken up with him asking you to come with him, or to delay the inevitable farewells. “My flight.”

“We can sort it out. I’ll sort it out.” he promises. You’re crying, getting his shirt damp, but he hasn’t noticed. “I missed you, more than you’ll ever know.”

You lean back, pull away slightly and take him in. He’s teary – a rare sight. You take his face in your hands and kiss him. It’s not an urgent kiss, not rough or soft or slow, it’s just a kiss, just a little signifier of your love. When you break apart, he presses a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Is that a yes?”

#f1 #f1 x reader #Daniel ricciardo #Daniel Ricciardo x reader #Daniel Ricciardo x you #Daniel Ricciardo angst #Danny ric #ric nation #dr3

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the-man-in-the-suit-official · 1 year

Text

Scott Street.

Summary: You’ve risen to new found stardom, but an old flame from the past insists on winning you back. A continuation of You’ve Become My Ceiling.

A/N: Genuinely sorry for the infrequent posting! I’ll get around soon. Formatting was also getting on my nerves.

Taglist: @reveriehs @belovedcherry

Reader Pronouns: Any

Length: Long? 5,667 Words.

Celebrities: Harry E. Styles

TW: Angst, Cheating

Song(s) To Listen To:

Your hands gripped the slick phone, eyebrows furrowed and heart feeling frozen and still. The phone was attempting to tell you that you’d missed a call, but your eyes were out of focus as you gathered your thoughts.

It was Harry.

Part of you wished it to be a dream, but the other part was curious, yet cautious. Your life had been a little bland the past few years, though you’d never admit it, you missed the adventures and midnight memories.You missed your best friend. That’s who you were still grieving, not the cheating liar who broke your heart over six times.

It had been a week and you’d failed to notice the call, only now discovering it while cleaning out your phone. There was a voicemail, but your hands were far too shaky to play it. You gave yourself a moment to calm down and played it slowly.

A small chuckle came from the recording, “Heh. Um, hey, (Y/N). I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, but…You know I’m proud of you. And also…I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

His voice broke a little, “I know how much pain I caused now. I was stupid and young and it’s not an excuse, but I’m just really sorry. I wish I could do it all back again. I still can’t find the answer to why I did the things I did to you, either. You were the one thing that had loved me since before I was famous. I was an idiot to have let that go.”

There was sniffing on the other end, “You’re such a good person. And I…I really hollowed you out. I never even gave you a true apology. I miss my best friend. I became someone I didn’t know or want - someone I’d be repulsed by now. Someone I’d never want around you. I’m sorry.”

Harry cleared his throat, “But I’m proud of you, is all. You left and did greater things for yourself.”

It was silent for a moment again, “I never knew you could sing so beautifully. I’d like to hear it in person, if I could. You took a big part of me when you left, (Y/N). I still…I still feel the same way. Always have. But, um…Get back to me when you can- I mean, if you want. Alright. Bye.”

Taking a deep breath, you waited until the longing finally brushed itself off of you and was replaced by neutrality. The old memories resurfaced. Finding Harry in bed with another. On a date with someone you’d seen with him before.

You put your phone down and walked away, trying to collect yourself.

As for Harry, four and a half years changed him just as they did then. When you left, the guilt destroyed a piece of his heart, and he made his best attempt to be what he couldn’t be for you. He hadn’t dated since then, hadn’t felt he was worthy enough, really. He’d dedicated the entirety of Harry Styles - his debut album - to you, though he was sure you had no idea. Even now, his journal was filled to the brim with songs about you, most prevalent, some variation of a song he’s called, “Falling.” It was a heavy song, but the lyrics stuck with him.

They told the story of his departure from you, cheating and all, though the public wasn’t aware that it even happened.

His apartment smelt of lavender and poppies, even as he made his breakfast and did their daily duties. His album had released about a year ago, maybe a little less, and he hit stardom like he had never expected it. Taking a break from touring for even a week was well worth it. He loved his fans, sure, but it was draining to be a musician. Nonetheless, he was grateful.

Harry didn’t even expect you to make a call back. He just wanted to say sorry, truly, from the bottom of his heart, because he was different then. Fame changes you. And he should have never let that happen to him.

He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness.

So it was a surprise to him when a message appeared on his phone two months after the initial voicemail.

Y/N: Hey, Haz.

Jack was a tall man who was more legs than anything. He was stern, always looked at you with a taut expression, and would put you in your place, but oh, how he was completely soft for you. You’d met through his grandparents, who he took care of in his nice, spacious house. He and his grandparents were your neighbors, but you’d met his grandparents at a park years prior, engaging in small chat very often.

They’d loved Harry, though you were both sure they had positively no idea who he was aside from your boyfriend. Lily, the woman, would never hesitate to pinch his cheeks and comment on how amazing the two of you looked. You’d both expressed hope in wanting to be like them, growing old together, but here you were without your other half.

After your breakup, you’d rented a cozy apartment right next to Jack and his family’s house (though it was unbeknownst to you), and found that the park was relatively close to it. But as you walked on the trail, you came to find that everything seemed to have lost its shine. No longer did the water glisten so bright, or did the roses avoid withering like they simply couldn’t die, but everything was so undeniably…normal. Harry had shaken your life, only to disappear later, leaving you back in something that should have been comfortable, but was instead foreign. Normalcy was foreign.

“Oh, my dear!” The familiar voice, loaded with a beautiful French accent, slipped its way into your ears, and you tore your eyes away from the pond, behind you and finding the couple, holding something up to you, “You’ve dropped this.”

Lily brought the small item to you, showing you that in her gloved hands lay a necklace, a mother of pearl inside the locket. Harry had gifted it to you for your one year anniversary.

You furrowed your brows at the memory before she noticed it.

“Where is the handsome boy?” She tried to get her point across, even with the language barrier, “The one with the curly head? Tall? Le Britannique ?”

You felt the winter air nip at you more than it already had in your light jacket, “No, no, he is not here.”

She tilted her head in confusion, her husband watching over her, knowing even less English than she did. Harry had always been the translator for you, so speaking without him made it frustratingly harder.

“He has been gone for quite some time.”

You looked down, and in this, they seemed to both understand you. Paulie, her husband, took his coat off, placing it over your shoulders. The weight seemed comforting now.

“Aw, mon chou, come have a cup of tea with us,” Lily held your shoulders, slipping the necklace into your hands.

Despite your protest, you found yourself in their lovely home, surprised to see that they were a direct neighbor, “Jack, nous avons amené un chien errant !”

Lily smiled back at you before turning back and looking down at someone in the next room. You entered it, never really breaking away from her vibrant blue eyes, before you saw what she was looking at. Or rather, who. He was young, maybe just a bit older than you, and had eyes more alluring than hers. He had a slim figure and face, with a longer nose that matched, and tousled, short brown hair. His slender fingers were placed on the piano keys as he sat. He was breathtakingly handsome, really, and despite you not finding any sort of attraction in him, seeing as you just met, there was no doubt about his conventional attractiveness.

“Bonjour ?” He’d asked, his right eye squinting as if he were trying to scan every detail about you.

His expression softened into a smile shortly after, his eyes half-lidded when he got no response, “Hi. I see you’ve met my grandparents. Eager, aren’t they?”

You smiled back, chuckling, “You could say that.”

And it all started there. You’d started to take piano and French lessons from Jack, who after hearing about your still unnamed ex, wanted to help the best he could. You’d taken up piano for your career, and French, well, simply to prove to yourself that you really didn’t need Harry. Not for French, and not for life.

You and Jack had been good friends for a year now, knowing each other for about three before you’d really connected, so it felt right to turn to him and spill your gossip all over his fancy blue canopy bed during a hangout.

“Wait…” He started, surprised and clutching his elbows, arms crossed, “Your ex is Harry Styles?!”

You stuffed your face into a pillow, “That’s what you take away, Jack?! Everyone knows that!”

“Well, I didn’t! You know I can’t handle all the social media stuff, I avoid it like the plague!” Defensively and rather playfully, he rested a hand on his chest. He was wearing a brown and green sweater vest with brown dress pants and a white shirt, a nice green bowtie to tie his look together for his last day shadowing a French professor.

“The point is,” You giggled at the older man who seemed more like a best friend to you now, “I’m really not sure what to do here. He sounds so sincere, and maybe I fell out of love with the person he became a long time ago, but if he’s the same person I grew up with…Well…”

“No way. You can’t go back,” He paced, a hand on his chin, a habit of his you’d always loved.

You whined, “But can’t I? If I just want to rekindle the friendship we had before-“

“What are you going to do when you find him in bed with someone else again?”

Your heart stopped. He was right, of course.

“I’ll be respectful,” You responded sternly, “He isn’t mine.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Well, I can’t change your mind. I know you. Just be careful. It could be good for you, who knows? I just…don’t want you to get hurt again, (Y/N).”

Smiling with excitement, you thanked him countless times for listening to you and your rambles. You left shortly thereafter, and his smile fell as soon as the door shut behind you.

It was then you texted Harry, just a simple text, though it took you hours to finally hit the send button. He responded not a minute later, and you jumped at the sound.

HAZ: (Y/N), hi.

The name you never bothered to change in your contacts.

The two of you texted on and off casually, before deciding that maybe it would be better to catch up in a coffee shop. You were nervous, admittedly, but nonetheless stunned when you were escorted to your private booth at the Beachwood Café.

All you wore was a jumper and jeans, nothing too fancy, but you couldn’t help trying to style your hair in a way he would like.

He had been the first to arrive, you’d seen him in the window, twiddling his thumbs anxiously. God, did he look good as ever. His hair had grown out a bit more than the last time you saw him, and he’d dressed in clothes more personal to him, a shirt with small puppies printed on it under a knitted cardigan, baggy jeans and rings. He was definitely richer than the last you saw him, but the thing was, he was still your Haz, that much was noticeable.

The waiter led you to your table and you gently sat your bag down on the floor, sitting across from him. He’d been waiting for you, not even ordering yet.

“You look amazing,” He spoke, seemingly subconsciously.

“You’re not so bad yourself, H.”

And it was true. He looked cleaner, happier. Like he was taking care of himself. Everything was going well, and to be honest, it made you beyond happy. It was as if you were friends again, and nothing bad ever happened. Eventually, the topic reached Gemma somehow.

“So, I heard Gemma finally graduated,” You continued, “That’s wonderful! I always knew she could do it. She’s rather smart.”

“She’s great! She’s married now, you know. He’s wonderful, just feels a bit…weird. That she has someone now and I don’t.”

“Recent breakup?” You’d asked, a genuine question.

“No,” He chuckled, “Not at all. I worked on myself. Haven’t dated since you.”

A small gust of wind came through the window beside you, and you blamed the shivers on that. There was a gentle pause, but you shook your head and continued, “Oh, I see.”

There was obviously still a spark there, you’d noticed. Your heart still beat wildly to the tune of his.

“But, erm,” You continued, and he cleared his throat, “That makes me feel old.”

He scoffed playfully, his arms crossed, “What does that make me, then?”

You giggled. The two of you weren’t so far off, really. Just a couple of months, but he always managed to mention it.

“An old man,” You joked, and even the humor was still there.

His chuckle sent butterflies throughout your stomach.

“So, how’s the band?” You tilted your head.

You hadn’t really noticed that breaking things off with him would essentially alienate them, too.

“Well, Mitch and Sarah are getting married,” You did a bit of a double take.

“Wow, I mean, I knew it was going to happen, I just had no idea.

“A lot changes in our lives,” He spoke smoothly as the waiter came.

“Hey guys, my name is Carson, I’ll be your server this morning! What can I get for you?” He was younger, bright-eyed.

“I’ll just have an Americano and the strawberry crepes,” Harry didn’t even have to look at his menu, and yet you were scrambling to know what you wanted before he got to you.

“Alright,” The waiter wrote it down before turning back to you, “And for the spouse?”

Your face flushed red, “Oh, no, I’m not!”

Harry only chuckled and watched in amusement as the waiter became embarrassed, too.

“Jeez, I’m so sorry, then what can I get for you?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you giggled once more.

“Hazelnut hot latte and almond croissant, please, Carson.”

He nodded and left soon after.

“I listened to your songs, by the way,” Harry began slowly, “How’s that?”

“Well, one thing they don’t prepare you for as a strictly-solo show is how heavy the equipment is, like the drums? Jeez, don’t get me started.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “You’ve always took on way more than you could carry.”

“Yeah, well, suppose that’s me,” A smile found its way to your face, “But being alone is good. I needed that.”

He nodded again, “Yeah, I think I did, too.”

There was the beginning of a pause, but you still refused to let it linger, “I live on Scott Street now.”

“Oh, by the rose park?” He perked up, “I love that place.”

“I know,” You said bashfully, “Harry, our first date was there.”

“Wasn’t sure you’d remember,” He smiled back.

“But how could I forget?”

It had been magical, with swans skimming the water, almost as in love as you and Harry were. Had been. Are.

“Oh, but remember that old French couple we ran into? I know it’s quite random, but I ran into them again while I was having a bad day. They noticed we weren’t together anymore, and next thing I knew, I was at their house drinking a cup of tea. They’re quite nice. Their grandson, he lives with them, showed me a bit of piano.”

He remembered it well, you had said that you wanted the two of you to last even longer than they, and you had even hoped they’d be your spitting metaphorical image in decades.

“Anyway, I’m learning French now, I guess. And I found out we’re neighbors, isn’t that weird?” Carson set everything down on your table as you talked.

“Anything else for now?”

“No, thank you,” Harry didn’t even look up at him, listening intently. He didn’t even notice when Carson had left.

“So, now I take piano lessons on Fridays, and French lessons on Tuesday and Thursday. But his grandparents have been acting a bit odd - think they want me to stick around for more than just lessons,” You chuckled and sipped your latte.

You could’ve sworn Harry’s eye twitched, but you dismissed it, “That’s…great. I’m glad. You always wanted to learn French.”

“Right? You should come with sometime, you’d like him,” You hadn’t even noticed you were now arranging a second hangout. But he did. He always noticed.

“I’d love to,” It was oddly fast.

“Well, he’s invited me to a dinner party for his work - he’s a French professor. But he’s only been out of college a couple of months. Got his PhD. He’s nice, I think you’d like him!”

You looked down, fiddling with your thumbs, “But if you’re busy that’s totally fine! I just don’t wanna stick out like a sore thumb, is all. And it was always more fun when we stuck out together.”

He blushed, and in that moment, he would have done anything in the world you’d ask of him.

“Consider my plans all clear that day, alright?” He held your hands, “It's about time we did something as friends again.”

You nodded with a smile, “Okay, you’re right.”

You two split ways shortly after, Harry having insisted on paying the bill. He was happy to be talking to you, sure, but there was still a sinking feeling he felt when you were mentioned.

Shame.

You had piano lessons that night, and you wore the same outfit, feeling exhausted just from the interaction. Jack had greeted you happily.

“Mon cherie! (Y/N), come in!” He stepped aside, “Nana and Papa are out, so it’s just us today.”

“Would you like something to drink?” Jack reached for the cupboard, “Nana just got this new wine, and I think it’s quite lovely.”

“Sure!” You agreed, sitting at their small dining table, “Oh, Jack, I hope you don’t mind! I invited a friend of mine to come to the meeting with me. Both of us have always been interested in French, so I figured it would be perfect!”

Jack, in all truthfulness, assumed it would be a woman, and thus, agreed.

“Not a problem, cherie,” He handed you a glass, full with dark red liquid, and he drank from his cup slowly.

You watched him aimlessly, his Adam’s Apple defined, bobbing up and down. Like he hadn’t had anything to drink all day. Jack was like that, he’d forget to eat, sleep, drink. He was always so busy with work. You admired him for it.

“You know, you should remember to drink more often. Have you eaten at all today?” Tilting your head, he shook his and set his cup down.

“How could you tell?”

You chuckled and stood up, holding one of his cheeks in your hands, examining his lips, “You drink way too desperately.”

He was a little stunned, to say the least, and gripped the counter, his stomach in knots.

“But,” You wiped his upper lip with your thumb, ridding the excess wine off before moving to the stove, “I’ll make you something. I owe you after all these free lessons, anyways.”

He slumped, disappointed, but continued onward, “I could never ask that of you, but…that sounds very nice.”

“Then consider it done, Cherie.” You mimicked him, getting to work.

Afterward, your lessons continued as normal, and you were actually getting pretty far along.

“So, (Y/N),” Jack finally looked up from his paperwork, having left you with some French worksheets, “Nana and Papa wanted me to invite you to The French Riviera with us. Figured it would be a good learning experience. I agree, what do you think?”

You thought hard before answering the question on the worksheet and looking back up at him, shrugging, “Sure! That sounds lovely. When?”

“Well, they plan to order the tickets this weekend. We were just waiting on your oh-so-busy schedule,” He smiled, his dimples showing rather lovely.

“Oh, I can do it anytime! The glory of being a musician with no tour dates. Your meeting is in a month, yes?” You finished your worksheet and turned to him.

He nodded, causing a single strand of hair to fall in his eyes, “Oui, mais la réunion sera courte .”

You exhaled a chuckle at his quiz, “Okay, then how about next weekend?”

“You’re getting good, Chérie,” It gave you a proud smile.

“Then it’s settled. Send me the details,” You checked your clock, “Jeez, it’s already 8PM. I was supposed to write another song for the debut album.”

“Well, feel free to use me as a muse,” He smiled again, and it was a joke, but something struck you quite suddenly.

He had been there for you for years, and the thought of thanking him never even crossed your damned mind, distracted by your old lover. As you entered your house, you walked straight to your desk, completely in a trance as you thought about him. He was amazing, someone everyone should have in their lives, so how come you’d never noticed?

Daydreamer.

With eyes that make you melt,

He lends his coat for shelter,

Plus he’s there for you when he shouldn’t be,

Waits for you, then sees you through.

You smiled softly, hearing a guitar strum in your head, and suddenly your heart felt warmer than it originally had. The night really hits you, and next thing you know, you’ve got a demo at 2.56 AM.

You smiled wide now, your heart running rampant over a daydreamy thought you had of your neighbor. It’s not like you actually feel this way about him, but imagining yourself in something so plausible seems lighthearted and warm. Reaching for your phone, you bite your lip, wanting another opinion on the song, but not knowing if your relationship with Harry has evolved enough yet. It’s soon, but he still feels like your closest friend. You decide to go through with it anyway and text him.

ME: Haz! Want to hear something new I’ve just come up with over the course of seven straight hours?

It was actually very, very surprising when he responded a few minutes later.

HAZ: Yeah! FaceTime?

You smiled wide, feeling your heart skip a beat before agreeing. His phone call came in shortly after, and you were met with a very groggy Harry, his hair messy and in his face.

“Harry,” You looked at him suspiciously, “Why are you even up this late?”

He grew rather embarrassed, you could tell by the way he hid his face from the camera subtly, “Never bothered to change the ringtone you set.”

You could have died of embarrassment right then and there. The old ringtone you chose for your beloved boyfriend at the time, mind you, a very, very famous celebrity, was, in fact, a loud rooster. How much more embarrassing could you get? Laughing instead, you smiled wide. Things were going back to your normal, after all.

“Anyways, you let me know if this is good, okay? And be brutally honest.” Harry raised a brow in suspicion but quickly settled down as you began to play the guitar, strumming it gently.

“Daydreamer,” You began, and he felt his body go cold, in shock and in amazement. Hearing it semi-live, and completely personal was extremely different than the borderline music stalking of your singles he’d done recently.

“Sittin’ on the sea, soaking up the sun,” You changed the hit a higher note at, “He is a real lover, of making up the past and feelin’ up his girl like he’s never felt her figure before.”

You strummed gently for a few seconds, tying the calmness of the song together, “A jaw dropper, looks good when he walks, is the subject of their talk. He would be hard to chase, but to catch and he could change the world with his hands behind his back, oh.”

You strummed on some more, too nervous to look Harry in the eyes, despite him on the screen, and with a higher voice, began to sing more, “You can find him sittin’ on your doorstep, waiting for a surprise. And he will feel like he’s been there for hours, and you can tell that he’ll be there for life.”

This verse had been completely different, with you dragging on words and indulging in the beautiful memory, “Daydreamer, with eyes that make you melt, he lends his cost for shelter, Plus he’s there for you when he shouldn’t be, waits for you, then sees you through.”

Harry felt completely inferior in your presence, your voice sounding like he’d never heard it before. Instead of low and emotional, it was high and nostalgic, and for a moment, the thought that the song was about him struck him. Higher, you continued, “There’s no way I could describe him. What I’ve said is just what I’m hoping for, but I will find him, sittin’ on my doorstep waiting for a surprise. And he will feel like he’s been there for hours, and I can tell that he’ll be there for life.”

You slowed the guitar down, “And I can tell that he’ll be there for life.”

There was a moment of silence as you set the guitar off the bed, your face completely red after realizing the complete feeling of the song.

“(Y/N)…” Harry began, obviously now waking up completely, “That was amazing.”

“You mean it? It’s not too cheesy?”

He shook his head fast, “No. I don’t even know who it’s about, but you’ve got me falling in love with him, too.”

You smiled softly, happy to hear that he enjoyed it, “You sure? I don’t want it to sound creepy if I tell someone it’s for him. I just wanted to write something about someone who’s helped me so much.”

Continuing on, you fiddled with your sleeve, “Jack’s just so great.”

His heart dropped, and he furrowed his brows in jealousy, his stomach in knots as the idea of a love song for someone else hit him.

“He’ll love it,” He responded, not really thinking much as he did so, spaced out.

“Oh, just so you know, I’m going to France soon! Jack’s grandparents invited me, and I think it would be good to learn.”

Harry nodded, biting his lip as he snapped back into it, “You’re right. Be safe, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me! I’ll be completely safe. It’s you I’m worried about, Haz. You’re quite the klutz.”

He chuckled, and from there, the conversation continued. It was like nothing had changed from your old years, and the night was talked away by two silly teenagers in love. When you woke up, a smile found itself on your face as you quickly noticed Harry’s sleeping face displayed on the camera. You’d fallen asleep before him, but he’d stayed.

His eyes were closed, revealing his long eyelashes. Were they always that curled? His lips parted for a moment and he heaved a great sigh, mumbling something before brushing hair out of his face. He was ethereal.

The trip came sooner than you’d noticed, and you didn’t want Daydreamer to be the last single released. It was so out of place from the rest of the album, but if you didn’t use it, then you wouldn’t have another single. There was one song you’d half-written, but it felt too personal, and besides, you’d already released a song about Harry. It felt like overkill. But it also just felt right, as a final goodbye to the situation.

Jack looked down at you as you sat with your guitar, “So, you want me to preview the song, yeah? Then we can go to France?”

He was teasing you, wanting to seem agitated, but you’d never heard him so much as raise his voice or seen him even furrow his eyebrows with a mean stare.

“Yes,” You chuckled, “I just don’t know if this song is too much. I had breakfast with Harry the other day and it came to my mind a week or so later.”

“Go on, then,” He sat down across from you, “I’m sure I’ll love it either way.”

But in his heart, he hated the fact that he was listening to a song you wrote about another man.

“Okay,” You took a deep breath, strumming.

“Walkin’ Scott Street feelin’ like a stranger, with an open heart, open container. I got a stack of mail and a tall can. It’s a shower beer, it’s a payment plan,” You recalled the first few weeks of moving out and how harsh it was. All you wanted was to be happy with him, but instead there were constant reminders that he was no longer there. Stacked up bills and inquiries about single-household payments, and the liquor which he hardly ever let you drink in fear you’d succumb to its temptation.

“There’s helicopters over my head every night when I go to bed. Spending money and I earned it, when I’m lonely, that’s when I’ll burn it,” You had complete control over yourself, sure, but at what cost? As you strummed, you felt tears pricking your eyes.

“Do you feel ashamed,” Singing clearly, it surprised Jack, who was already stunned silent, “When you hear my name?”

“I asked you, ‘How is your sister? I heard she got her degree.’” You detailed a conversation.

“And I said, ‘That makes me feel old.’

You said, ‘What does that make me?’

You asked me, ‘How is playing drums?

I said, ‘It's too much shit to carry. And what about the band?’

You said, ‘They’re all getting married.’”

You continued on, “Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?”

You began strumming a tune for a long time, tapping your foot to the sound of the beat. Maybe you went a little overboard, but it didn’t matter. You could tell Jack was glued to you.

“Anyway, don’t be a stranger,” More strumming, “Anyway, don’t be a stranger.”

And on a quieter note, you continued to the final line, “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Jesus Christ, you know you’re talented, don’t you?” Was all your friend managed the day as you set the hollow instrument down, completely taken away.

“Aw, you’re just saying that.”

“I mean it!” He didn’t hesitate as you rubbed the back of your neck.

“Thank you, Jack,” You smiled softly, “And you should be pleased to know that I’ve written something dedicated to you, too.”

His heart was almost definitely leaping, “You did? Can I hear it?”

“Mmm, maybe in France,” You teased.

You found France to be quite lovely, filled with beautifully blue clear water, and lovely locals that had a tendency to mistake you and Jack as a couple. Despite the mishaps, you’d gone to see various things. The art galleries, cafés, bars and lounges, they were all magical, and today you’d be seeing the ocean for the first time ever.

Harry was not so amused by the photos you’d sent him. He was glad you were having fun, yes, but he hated that it wasn’t with him. He was the one who promised you he’d take you to see the ocean, and he was the one who was supposed to take you to see it for the first time. Not some idiot with a PhD who didn’t know half of the things he knew about you. He was angry, not at you or Jack, but with himself. It hurt so much to see you with another, and you weren’t even his. How must you have felt during your relationship with him?

And now, he was drinking whiskey in his bedroom, strumming notes mindlessly. His phone rang once, but he didn’t really notice it, the volume being off. That was until he felt he was finished with his guitar and set it to the side of his bed, finding that he’d dropped his phone. The screen showed brightly that he had missed a call from you, and soon later, after he’d turned his sound on, the rooster notification sounded throughout the room. He chuckled and turned it down, already slightly tipsy before he began to play the voicemail on speaker.

It was you, practicing your French.

“Coucou! Tu dors ? Oh, j'suis désolée…(Hey! Are you asleep? Oh, I’m sorry…)” You sounded lovely in French, like the language was made for you.

“Bah (Well…),” You began but decided to take it back, “Non... Nan, c'est pas important… (No, it’s not important.)”

“Ouais, on a été à la plage, et maintenant on— (Yes, we went to the beach and now we—)” You were telling him about your day, just as you had been for the past few days as you kept in touch. He was smiling as he heard you, but then he picked up on a voice in the back, assuming it was your friend.

He heard something about the dinner, but then the words hit him. Mon cherie. My dear. My darling. My love. Had something already happened?

“Parfait ! (Perfect!)” You answered Jack, “Allez ! (Let’s go!)”

The voicemail ended abruptly, leaving him cold, staring at the wall in his bedroom, utterly dumbfounded. His strongest coping mechanism was always songwriting, and maybe that was a habit you’d picked up, but he sighed and pulled his laptop onto his lap.

Mon cherie. Cherry.

He’d use your voicemail in it, he was sure, and he chewed on his necklace as he looked down upon the lyrics later.

Don’t you call him baby.

#Spotify #harrystyles #harrys house #angst fanfic #angst fic #breakup #harry styles #harry styles x reader #one direction #songfic #x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #France #phoebe bridgers #adele #fine line era

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lowkeyrobin · 23 hours

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Hello !

could I request a pheobe Spengler x reader ?

(romantic)

I don’t see anybody here that writes for her .

You can like do anything , like a oneshot or hc, idm ! c:

ty! xoxo.

oo yeah sure!! ; I did a little soulmate au on this one cause I love writing them haha ; thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

PHOEBE SPENGLER ; spotify

summary/prompt ; soulmates can share songs telepathically

warnings ; language

word count ; 1.1k

masterlist

Phoebe bites back a laugh, a smile tugging at her lips as she sits at her desk. She clasps a hand over her mouth, staring down at the Geometry test in front of her.

"Is something funny, Ms. Spengler?" The teacher asks, having noticed her very obvious reaction.

"No, no, sorry" She quickly replies, composing herself as music plays in her head.

"There is something wrong with you, soulmate. I'm taking a test! I can't focus to Sabrina Carpenter" She thinks, wishing you could hear her. She telepathically sends a song she knows back just for moments like this, subtly rolling her eyes.

Why she even knew Fuck You by Lily Allen was a conversation for another time, but now it blares in your brain, distracting you from your work. You roll your eyes, as you'd deserved this, assuming your soulmate was probably trying to focus on their work.

"Fine, you don't like Nonsense? Take Espresso on repeat" You think, switching up the track halfway through.

Phoebe quietly exhales, switching your song to Better by Khalid, wanting to communicate that this was much better and she could actually focus now. She looks back down at her test, quickly jotting down the pythagorean theorem on her paper.

You take this as your well-deserved apology and smile, kind of wishing she picked a better song. You're able to turn the volume down, and she luckily turns it off so you can focus on whatever you were doing. You didn't ask her to do it, but it was probably the best idea to do so.

You tune into her brain again near the end of the period, where Espresso is still being played on loop. You chuckle.

"She must like it"

You decide to play a song, wanting to be a little detective and figure out who you've been playing around with for six years now. You had a will and a way, who was to say you were cheating love?

What's Your Name by Lynyrd Skynyrd caught Phoebe off guard by a long shot. She realizes that maybe you're asking her a question or are maybe trying to taunt her.

She plays you What's My Name? by Rihanna, trying to show that she caught onto the title but was a bit confused.

You play Yeah! in reply, happy she even answered in the first place. She nods, playing Waiting Room by Phoebe Bridgers.

It takes you a moment but you're able to piece together what her name was, definitely not Waiting Room, but Phoebe. Maybe Bridgers, probably not however.

You play My Name Is... then after about a minute, switch to a song with the same name as you, Y/n.

She plays Get It Sexyy, trying to joke around with you after the big reveal of your name. You smile and giggle as you lean against the bus window. Tyler The Creator's See You Again plays for her as the busses take you home.

You leave her with an accomplished smile to match yours. She'd honestly been too shy to try and ask your name all these years, so now she felt a little proud of you for asking for hers.

"My soulmates name is Y/n. I don't even know a Y/n"

"You don't know anyone"

Podcast and Phoebe sit in Ray's Occult Books, lounging on one of the couches as they talk. Ray is polishing jewelry under the counter, half way listening to their conversation.

"Who do you know that's named Y/n?"

"Y/n Riggs?"

"A funny Y/n," Phoebe clarifies, not wanting to imagine that her soulmate was some asshole. She knew it was just someone with the same name as you. "They're a walking Spotify playlist, Y/n Riggs doesn't have shit for a music taste"

"Y/n L/n?" Podcast asks, "That's the only other Y/n I know of"

"I don't know them" Phoebe sighs

Podcast shrugs, "I can introduce you to them? I have like, three classes with them"

Phoebe nods with a little smile, picking up a book and opening it to hide her excited grin.

"Remind me on Monday"

While you sit in class, Phoebe plays you Fainted Love by Conan Gray, almost like she knew you were just working on an essay in silence. Podcast, who sits next to you in that class, waves to Phoebe as she awkwardly walks into the class.

He'd asked the teacher if she could come down, seeing as she had a study hall at this time, and the class was gifted a free period / study hall for the day.

You didn't know Phoebe at all, well, kind of. She was a Ghostbuster which you'd seen on TV here and there, but you didn't really know her that well. She sits behind Podcast in the empty desk, where he turns around to talk to her for the next half hour.

You hear the two whispering but pay no mind, enjoying the Conan Gray playing in your head. You doodle on the side of your paper the title of the song, giving it a cool little font to fit the vibe of the song, which the curly haired girl sees.

You see in your head, or invision, that Phoebe didn't have any music playing at the moment, and decided to play her a song that you liked. Pink Floyd's Breathe plays in her mind on a low volume, and she can't help but direct her gaze towards you as Podcast speaks to her.

Luckily, just about everyone else in the class was talking loud enough that his soft-spoken voice couldn't be heard, but he made sure to be careful next to you.

Clairo's Hello? plays in your head, catching your attention. You sit up straight in contrast to your half-slumped position before and furrow your eyebrows.

You look over at Podcast and Phoebe, already looking at you. You quickly change Phoebe's song to Is It Really You? by Loathe, and she lightly smiles, the corners of her lips slowly turning upwards.

You awkwardly smile and wave at her as she returns the wave while Podcast next to her smiles widely, wanting to cheer loudly, but obviously doesn't in the small classroom. You can see the look of adoration in her eyes as she looks at you, her eyes glimmering like she fell in love at first sight.

A song plays in both of your heads, not instructed by either of you, Something New by Tokio Hotel.

Podcast giggles, tapping Phoebe's desk twice. "I'm gonna run to the cafeteria and get a drink, have fun, lovebirds"

As he walks away, Phoebe speaks. "I'm Phoebe, I think I'm your soulmate"

"I'm Y/n, nice to meet you, soulmate"

#lowkeyrobin #ghostbusters oneshot #ghostbusters preferences #phoebe spengler x reader #phoebe spengler #ghostbusters x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #they/them reader #gn! reader

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