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whiskey-tango-matcha · 1 year

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A Cup of Tea and Paracetamol pt 3/? (probably 4)

I’m back with part three, finally. Written in a horn-haze, absolutely NEVER reread or beta’d because I’m a moron and refuse to be perceived, even by myself. I’m thinking this is going to have one more short part, but god only knows when I’ll get it done. Could be tomorrow, could be six months from now. That’s just the fun of writing snz p0rn. It’ll be done when the *MOOD IS RIGHT*.

Part one here, part two here, if ya wanna know what’s going on.

cw: male, colds, contagion, coughing.

Enjoy and thank you guys for reading my ridiculous lil fic

When Elijah opened his eyes the morning of the event, he thanked whatever god there may be for small mercies – the mercy in question being his nose.

Yes, he was incredibly stuffed up; yes, his whole face felt swollen with congestion, and yes, his cough sounded completely disgusting. But somehow, against all logic, he no longer had the insatiable tickle that meant near-constant sneezing. He’d be able to speak to the barrage of guests they’d be inundated in a few hours, and Greyson wouldn’t have to have an aneurysm. Thank god.

Elijah peeled himself out of bed and hit the shower while Greyson snored away. It was ungodly early, and they didn’t need to be in the kitchen to get final instructions for at least an hour. He took his time, coughing and blowing his nose, sucking in the steam and mentally preparing himself. Was today going to suck? Most likely. But at least he wasn’t doing it on day one of this fucking cold; that, he literally couldn’t even imagine.

After about twenty minutes, the hot water had begun stinging his skin and Elijah stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom. He brushed his teeth, did his hair, made himself look as normal as he possibly could; he even used his for-emergencies-only concealer to disguise his eye bags and how chapped his nose was. This was going to work. Everything was going to be -

“HNGSHH-uee!”

Elijah whipped towards the door. Absolutely not. No way in hell. He shook his head, assuming he was hearing things, and threw open the door to see Greyson, head tipped back in what looked to be pre-sneeze torture.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

“ESSHHHH-ue! Huh…hnn…hehhhEGSTTSHH-ue!”

Elijah pulled a hand down his face in agony. “You ha -,” that same hand flew to his mouth then at the sound of his own voice. Or, rather, the lack of sound.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Greyson finished Elijah’s sentiment, sniffling. “You have no fucking voice?!”

“App -” Elijah tried again, only for his voice to completely drop off once again. He sunk onto his bed and gave a defeated shrug. Apparently not, he mouthed to Greyson.

“Great,” Greyson said, pacing the room in a panic. “That’s just fucking wonderful. What are we going to – to -” Greyson’s face once again collapsed into a hitching anguish.

“Hhuhh....hehh...HUH – hngggg.” Greyson rubbed his nose viciously, clearly having lost the sneeze. Elijah cringed in sympathy, then grabbed the hotel pad off of his night stand and wrote Greyson a message.

You’re sick.

He showed the message to Greyson, who rolled his eyes. Elijah turned the pad back to himself and scribbled a Sorry.

“I’m not sick, Lij,” Greyson asserted, yanking off his thermal and pulling on a t-shirt and his clean chef’s coat from the closet. Elijah raised an eyebrow and coughed into his sleeve. The silence in the room accentuated Greyson’s liquid sniffles.

“I’m not,” he said again, shoving his feet into his clogs and slamming his ass into the desk chair near their beds. “But you, apparently, have the black plague. How the hell are you going to schmooze the guests if you can’t talk?”

Elijah wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a real question or hypothetical, but he started scribbling on the pad either way. He turned it to show the chef, who groaned aloud.

You’ll have to schmooze. I’ll make the samples.

“Lij,” Greyson said, the panic immediately filling his voice. “I can’t. You said you’d be able to do this no matter what.”

Elijah gave Greyson a look of pure confusion and gestured to his throat. “I said I’d be there no matter what,” he whispered, barely audible. “Couldn’t exactly guarantee the state I’d be in.”

“I’m literally begging on my hands and knees for you to not talk,” Greyson said, his voice raising half an octave. Elijah shrugged and turned back to his notepad.

You can do this, he wrote. Greyson groaned again.

“Well, I don’t have much of a choice, now do I – HNGSTTHHH-ue! Oh thank god, I was waiting on that one.” Elijah gave his friend a pointed look, to which Greyson quickly attempted to cover himself with another, “I’m not sick.”

Elijah held up a hand and mouthed, “Save your breath.” Then, after rubbing his throat, he wrote You’ll need it.

***

“Okay,” Greyson said to the small army of culinary students posted behind their immaculately-decorated booth, “here’s how this is going to go.”

The students stood up taller, and Elijah, who stood between the five of them like a large, out of place goose among ducklings, ducked down and sneezed into his mask. Fucking gross, he thought, rubbing his face with the back of his hand and standing once again. The students gave him a look of pity, and one handed him yet another god-forsaken paper cup of tea.

“Chef,” one of the students said, raising his hand, “are you sure, um, Elijah is going to…make it through service?”

Elijah gave the student the dirtiest look he could muster and the boy reddened and looked down in embarrassment. Greyson sighed.

“Look, I get that this isn’t ideal and I’m sorry that you’re all being exposed to what I assume is the fuckin’ black plague, but unfortunately this is the hand we’ve all been dealt and now we have to… to...hhh...huhhh…” Greyson’s breath hitched for about the hundredth time that morning, and eventually ended in a shaky sigh. “Deal with it,” he finished, stuffily.

The students squirmed. To say they’d been dealt a shit hand would be an understatement.

Greyson ignored the looks from the students and went about showing them all how to put together the nacho, who would stand where, and where their backup product was in the kitchen. “Lij,” he said, “your job is to garnish and make sure everything looks perfect. And to not cough on the food.” The students tittered nervously at that, and Elijah rolled his eyes.

“I’ll do my best,” he whispered, making everyone cringe at the sound of his voice. What I wouldn’t give for some goddamn dayquil about now, he thought, pressing his palm into a swollen eye.

“Alright, guys, event starts in twenty. Go do whatever you need to do to get ready, and we’ll see you back here in fifteen,” Greyson said, and the two older men watched the teenagers scatter before letting out a collective sigh.

“How you holdin’ up?” Greyson asked as Elijah pulled off his mask to blow his nose. The GM gave the chef a pointed, watery look before putting the mask back in place and coughing into it. Greyson couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. “That good, huh?”

Elijah rolled his eyes and whisper-croaked, “It’s not nearly as bad as yesterday. I’ll take anything over the constant -”

“HFSSHHH-oo! NGTSSSHH-uh!” Greyson managed to duck down and catch both sudden sneezes into the crook of his elbow. He sniffled and his breath hitched again, but the elusive third sneeze abandoned him.

“Sneezing,” Elijah finished, handing the chef the tissue box the event contact had pointedly placed on their station an hour before. “Bless.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Greyson growled, taking a tissue and swiping it under his nose. “I’d give my left fuckin’ nut to sneeze about a hundred times, at this point.”

“Mmm,” Elijah hummed, the sound nearly inaudible. “Don’t worry. It’s coming.”

“Fuck off, Lij.”

He hadn’t quite given in and admitted illness yet, but Elijah could feel his friend’s barriers slowly breaking down. This cold had a way of getting you to your breaking point, and hurriedly. Greyson was usually a deny-until-he-passed-out kind of guy, but Elijah knew exactly how annoying this particular illness was, and it basically demanded you loudly complain about it.

The students returned with ten minutes to spare, and the older men assumed their positions. A three hour event, Elijah reasoned with himself. You can do anything for three hours.

With everyone in place and as ready as they could be, the gates opened.

***

“Well done, guys, thanks so much again,” Greyson said for the millionth time as the students waved him and Elijah goodbye. The event had gone as well as it could have, as far as Greyson was concerned. The food was put out, he managed to talk to the guests without sounding like a complete moron, and Elijah hadn’t keeled over in the middle of it.

Though he’d certainly come close.

The GM was currently seated on the ground behind their booth, coughing into his sleeve like it was his job. When he finally emerged, he gave the already-departed students a half hearted wave and ripped off his mask.

“Thangk god that’s over,” Elijah mouthed, his voice not even a whisper at this point. Greyson just smiled and let himself sniffle, finally. “How’re you feeling?” Elijah mouthed,

Greyson barked out a laugh and gave his friend a bemused look. “I really don’t think that’s something you should be asking me,” he said. Elijah raised an eyebrow slowly – did Greyson somehow not recall the last three hours?

Greyson rolled his eyes. Okay, yes, maybe he’d spent the better portion of the event with a tissue in his fist, and maybe it had been a running joke among the guests who came up to their booth that Greyson was allergic to socializing because somehow, the moment he had to speak to someone his breath would hitch uncontrollably but never end in an actual sneeze. Maybe his throat was so sore that he was unsure he’d be able to even drink water this evening, and maybe his nose was threatening to run down his face anytime he wasn’t constantly sniffling. But he was certainly not the truly ill one among the two of them.

When he told his boss this much, Elijah coughed out a laugh. “Grey,” he croaked, “in case you don’t remember, I was you yesterday. I know I sound like complete death,” he tried clearing his throat to no avail, “but I know you feel entirely worse.”

Greyson slumped against the back of the booth and felt his sinuses fill once again. He raised an arm to catch a sneeze that – “huhhh….hnnn....huh, HUHH…hehh. Fugck.” - never actually came. He let out a pathetic, itchy, sticky-feeling cough and sighed.

“I’ve...I mean, I’ve been better,” he grumbled, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Elijah made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat and threw an arm around the chef.

“Sorry again,” he whispered.

“Ndot your – HGSTSHHH-ue! HTSHH! HRRSHHH! Huh-NGSTHHH-ue! Oh, thank fugcking god.” Greyson rubbed his nose across his sleeve in the pure bliss of finally getting to sneeze, and Elijah laughed near-silently.

“I’ll drink to that,” he whispered, nudging the chef out of the booth. “Let’s get out of here.”

#snz #sneezefic #snez #snzfic #sickfic #contagion #male cold #malesnz #coldfic #snz blog #love u guys hope you like it heart hands gnite #also damn this story has gotten long if you've read this far im officially your biggest fan

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olderthannetfic · 1 year

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On the topic of speedrunning friends, hoo boy do I have a story for you.

It is so, so important to assert your boundaries if you find someone doing that to you, or even if you find yourself organically getting close weirdly quickly. A few years ago I made a friend online that I really hit it off with, same flavor of ND, same obsessions, had a ton of things in common, similar outlook on life, only person in the world I'd be inclined to call a soulmate at the time. Within half a year of meeting them I felt we were close enough to make them co-admin of fandom blog I run. Then they were traveling and wanted to send me a postcard from the location they were visiting, and were so excited about it I felt awkward about going "actually I'd rather not give out my address just yet" and turning them down. I also felt a little weird trying to set boundaries with them, because they were significantly younger than me, so me trying to "protect" myself from them felt silly if that makes sense? In the end, I felt awkward enough that I didn't even read the postcard, which should have been a red flag to myself at the time.

In hindsight - when that friendship crashed and burned - saying yes to the postcard was one of the times I wish I'd slowed things down and asserted my boundaries early on. Not only did they later resent me for not telling them when we did eventually have that conversation, it also made it harder to push back when they got SUPER controlling. I could easily fill ten pages just talking about it, but they devolved into spiraling over any perceived or real change in me or in our fandom community, because it meant things were Changing and change was always for the worst because it meant they would end up abandoned and alone.

I broke things off when their fear of abandonment came to dominate every single conversation, including conversations about shitty things they'd said to me due to said fear of abandonment.

In hindsight, they're probably suffering from rampant undiagnosed and unmanaged BPD. I hope they're getting help and working on it (though from their socials, it doesn't look like it), but for the longest time I also blamed myself for letting things get so far, for all the times I responded to their antics by trying to comfort and educate them (again, I'm older but could relate a lot to what they were going through so a lot of the time I was operating on a sort of "if I don't understand them and help them overcome this, who will?" logic) instead of setting boundaries. I mean, I still blame myself, but enough time has passed that I no longer feel like shit about it. On the flip side, I was utterly flabbargasted by the sheer amount of delayed anger at them I developed over the next few years, after we stopped talking. When I broke the friendship off, it had been a difficult decision but a huge relief at the time. A year later I was mad at myself for not breaking it off months earlier and, upon rereading old messages, couldn't believe I'd let them say all that shit to me and had still kept talking to them afterwards.

Anyway, lesson of the day: Don't rush into friendship milestones if you feel uncomfortable, even if you feel like you "should" for whatever reason. Also, while we're at it, if you're in your mid twenties maybe don't become close friends with someone in their late teens? Even if you don't feel the age difference because you're too much of a disaster to feel like a Proper Adult(TM), trust me, it's there and makes it easier for things to get weird and toxic and codependent. A teenager who latches onto your friendship that fast is looking for a parent of the kind the never had, not a friend.

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semie78 · 1 year

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Hey do you have any good Code Lyoko fics that focus particularly on angst or the trauma the Lyoko Warriors went through? I've been trying to find some good ones, I saw you mention a fic where Yumi went to therapy and I was wondering if there were any more fics out there thay examine the trauma the warriors faced.

I'm a week late but hello~ I have a few recs but not all of them fit 100% on examining their trauma, you might have read these already but I hope you enjoy them! (and if anyone has anymore pls share!!! I haven't gotten a chance to read much lately)

Out of Time by That_G3_Obsessive

Dr Elaine Charpentier was well-respected in her field. As one of the best psychotherapists in the Paris area, she was no stranger to strange and difficult cases. However, when fifteen-year-old Yumi Ishiyama came into her office with reports of troubles at school, something seemed off about the girl. For starters, no one had been able to find out what exactly the problem was. Well, if there was one thing Elaine loved, it was a challenge. She was determined to figure out exactly what Yumi's problem was... Whatever the cost. This is the therapy fic that anon mention if anyone is curious it's so good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And So They Lived by Sheep_with_teeth

He was staring out the window at the rapidly darkening sky when his phone buzzed, and his heart jumped into his throat. Adrenaline shot through him and then drained away, leaving him flushed and dizzy. U kn com bk now. It didn’t say XANA. It never does anymore. Now all his phone screen ever tells him is: You are a normal teenager, Odd Della Robbia. We’re sorry for any inconvenience that war over the entire planet might have caused you. Please get back to your regularly scheduled programming of being a dork with roommate problems. Another message popped up on his screen, a real one: Buy twinkies. This one is more light hearted and more odd/sissi focus and I definitely need to reread this again<3

Goodbyes by amorekay

"Did you read my diary?" Odd stills, and then turns his head toward Ulrich, frowning. "Yes," he admits, hesitantly, after a beat. A short but good one~ man I miss kay's fics <3 def check her other works too

You might need me more than you think you will. by amorekay

If Sissi's noticed that Aelita's nightmares have gotten worse steadily over the past week as she looks paler and paler in class, she's not going to admit anything.

Solace by dame_de_la_chance

Odd has been avoiding Jeremie for some time now, and Jeremie attempts to get to the bottom of his strange behavior. This fic man!!!! I love fics like these and even tho this fic doesn't mention it, if you like the garage kids plot with powers on earth chance has some other fics you can read like that!!

Old Habits Die Hard by BewitchingNotes

Everyone's having trouble grasping the fact that they aren't the Lyoko Warriors anymore. Sissi knocks Aelita down during gym and finds herself being kicked to the ground by Odd.

List by lunesolei

Here-in lies the twenty-five things Ulrich is unlikely to mention. Here-in lie the twenty-five things Yumi keeps quiet about. Here-in reside the twenty-five things Jeremie doesn't really disclose. Hear ye, hear ye, here-in are the 25 things Odd doesn't really bring up. THIS SERIES MAN IT'S SO AMAZING DEF ONE OF MY TOP CL FIC RECS I DONT KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN IT, EACH STORY HAS SUCH A GOOD FOCUS ON THE CHARACTERS AND IT JUST GIVES YOU A WHIPLASH OF EMOTIONS. It's currently on odd's chapter which has 5 chapters left then aelita is next, but yeah I really like this one everyone should check it out.

Saturday Morning Cartoons by YoshiStack

Their fight is over, but sometimes old habits still die hard. At least it'll make a great story one day down the line. Yoshi's fics >>>>> def read their other works!

Celui qui n’avance pas, recule by quiter10

Odd organizes a videogame tournament, Sissi gives the okay, and Jeremie reflects on the past, present and future—because whether he likes it or not, life goes on. Really great read love all the little details put in!

15 by YoshiStack

Kiwi has been a very good boy for a long time. He'll be 15 in June. I apologize this one is just pain B')

That's What Friends Are For by YoshiStack

In the aftermath of the Franz Hopper incident, the others realize they never got a chance to properly celebrate his birthday. Jeremy has feelings about it. And he's bad at feelings. kids being kids with a mix of pain my favorite B')

#code lyoko #cl #fic recs #this was fun!!

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gintokiu · 9 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

love love love getting Tumblr messages, especially if they come from Rena! thank you so much for thinking to tag me and get me back on this ye olde blog. I will do my best to answer since most of my favorites are unfinished and waiting for me to have time to complete them asdfgh anyway, starting from the bottom:

5. Unfinished, unposted work: Worth the Wait

This one is fun because it's something I'm currently working on and I am soo obsessed with it; it's an AU of a fantasy game that I've put way too many hours into recently. I think that the overall premise of the story is something akin to finding things in places that you wouldn't expect them to be, which I always love when it comes to Gintoki and Hijikata, because that's kind of like, their thing? It's set right now to be three or four chapters long and ahh I can't wait for it to be done. I hope, like usual, that the AU doesn't shy people away because they might not know about it/played the game. :') I can't help I only like writing AUs I'm sorry adsfgh

4. Fahrenheit

This story has such humble beginnings and such a warm place in my heart. It was actually the first ginhiji fic I ever wrote and oh god, it was fucking horrible. Rewrote it when I matured more as a writer and am hoping that I figure out where exactly I want this one to end because it's a bit of a toss-up. Right now, I am simply enjoying writing all the modern-day fluff and antics (and sex) until the plot decides to cement itself properly in my brain.

3. Hirudinea

The big one, the one that my brain refuses to write even though I have the plot all there waiting for me to write it. The powerpoint for this story is crazy. I'm looking forward to one day getting to tie this one up with a nice little bow and give it the proper love it deserves, but I want to finish other things first. Forcing myself to write things only ever ends in me hating them and I refuse for that to be the case with this story because there is so much love for it in me and seemingly in the community <3

2. Ninety-Nine and The Flight, the Fall, and the Forsaking of a Crow

There are two for this spot because I can't make up my mind. The Flight is another one with very humble beginnings. I wrote this, god, six or so years ago originally? Rewrote it when I started posting my work and fell in love with the new rendition of it so much. I'm such a sucker for transformations and gaining new understandings of the world, which is exactly what Gintoki gets to go through, which is why it means so much to me. The pacing is there, the emotion is there. Truly one of my favorites of mine that remind myself that I can write sometimes, LOL.

Ninety-nine I love because it is so easy to write. It's the child that never backtalks, never gets in trouble-- it's just golden. The plot for this is fleshed out all the way to the end and the powerpoint is thirty slides longer than Hirudinea's at a whopping 91 slides. It's a beast. I have end chapters completely written, just waiting for the rest of it to catch up. While definitely not my most popular piece, it's the one that I love to work on the most and I hope I can give it the ending that it deserves :') ahhh there's so much I want to say but can't so I'll just leave it here and talk about it later when it gets closer to being complete.

Things That Happen During the In-Between

Certainly did not expect this work to get the recognition that it did when it was posted. When I tell y'all that I hated this story for the longest time because I reread the same scenes fifteen, twenty times over, edited each one at least three or four times super in-depth to the point where it became beyond predictable in my mind. So then I post this, and people are all like "I cried!" I'm like HUH what do you mean you cried? this work sucks?? So then I waited like a month, reread it, and understood that yeah, okay, I actually didn't do that bad of a job with this one. My personal favorite aspect of this story is the characterization, because there are so many parts where I can read through it and say with confidence that that's a very "them" thing to say/do. (I also just love and adore the second movie, it's such a good film and I'm glad that I was able to do it some justice with this story.)

this was such a treat to do, once more thank you @renamusing for tagging me <3 I'll send a few out to some authors who I think are active on my tumblr so if you get one then consider it a little forehead kiss mwha

#ginhijigin #ginhiji #alex talks #im going to be more active on here hopefully #my works

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ms-hells-bells · 1 year

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okay so i just turned seventeen, but last year in may i was sixteen and back then i logged into this spam account i used to have that i abandoned, and i had a bunch of old msg's from my friends but i only answered one, it was from my old male best friend who i used to sorta date but the point is he asked me how i was doing, if i moved bc i hadnt been active on anything or answering anyones messages for over a year, i just said 'good' and kept my answers brief but then he said 'is there anything new with you?' and this is the part where i messed up bad, i couldnt take the pain anymore and i asked him to keep this between us, he said yes, and i told him 1. i got raped 2. there was a vid sent to me 3. i am 2m pregnant because i felt sick about telling my family, he was the first person i told just to try to make myself feel better and he said "Thank you for telling me" and left it at that

this is seriously fucking haunting me, sorry if im dramatic but looking back i think he definitely told his friends, he was uncomfortable, or didnt care and whenever i sleep at night i get reminded of it and i just feel so awful inside, i dont know how to make myself feel better and i couldnt take the embarrassment of messaging him on that exact account so i used another one of my spams and told him happy birthday a few months ago, he said thank you hes thinking of me blahblah but (not that its a big deal) he didnt even tell me happy birthday and i feel like he doesnt care about me or the times we had, i thought maybe he didnt know what to say (bc wtf is thank you for telling me???? or let know know if that was a normal reply and these paragraphs are not a big deal) but then i had to remind myself that okay, he's twenty and he was probably uncomfortable especially because we hadnt talked in 1year+. of course i apologized bc it was kinda trauma dumping on him but im so embarrassed how do i overcome it, should i delete the messages??? i think that could help but im also too embarassed to reread them i feel like i should kms the humiliation is unreal

i thought time would fix it but its been 9 months. time did not help me. if you dont have a solution ty anyways and im probably going to delete the msgs once i can bring myself to log in

first of all, i'm so sorry that that happened to you, that's awful.

i think you really need therapy, you've gone through a terrible thing, and you feel extremely alone and terrified of being judged. he responded the only way he could to hearing something like that, i think 'thank you for telling me' means 'thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this' as it can be so hard to tell that to someone. a lot of people also don't like saying 'sorry' because it comes off as disingenuous, so i think 'thank you for telling me' is the best response he could have given in that situation, especially as an older male talking to you (16 vs 20).

i think that, though it'll be hard, you need to stop thinking about it. you confided in someone you had trust with, he responded in a supportive way, and you haven't brought it up afterwards, meaning there's very little chance that he felt 'trauma dumped' on or extremely uncomfortable (of course, it'd be uncomfortable to hear that, but that's a natural reaction out of empathy). you told him, that's it, it's best to move on. it's so hard to with anxiety, where you overthink everything that you do and say, and others' reactions, but i found that the best thing to do is just take things like this at face value. he provided the appropriate support an acquaintance would, you got it off your chest to someone, and you both proceed with the best path forward; he continues chatting with you casually when it comes up, given you're living different and physically separated lives, and you continue the process of healing from your trauma.

tldr: you did nothing wrong, you were vulnerable and needed someone to talk to. he responded a bit awkwardly, but in good faith, and is continuing to talk to you in the appropriate amount for a somewhat out of contact old friend. nothing to regret, it's just a matter of finding a proper outlet for you via therapy and support from people who are physically present and closer (personally) to you in order to healthily cope with your trauma.

i hope any of this helps.

#rape tw

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loveforpreserumsteve · 11 months

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Most Likely (high school reunion Stucky fic)

Eighteen:

It didn’t take long for Steve to start going down a spiral of insecurity and self-loathing. Wondering why he had called it a date when he didn’t necessarily know if Bucky would want it to be. Afraid that he had overstepped, and that Bucky wasn’t going to show.

Sighing, Steve reached for his phone. First, checking the time. Then, wondering if he should text Bucky. But when he reread the messages he had sent before, he worried that he’d push Bucky away. Cause him to change his mind and decide not to come.

Everything in Steve was coiled so tightly that as he chewed on his bottom lip, he was only mildly aware that he had bitten too hard and caused it to bleed.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered, grabbing a napkin to try and stop the bleeding.

“Please tell me that you weren’t picking fights.”

Head snapping up, Steve was instantly relieved to see Bucky take the seat across from him. Only then did the brunet’s words catch up to him. Just for old times’ sake, Steve narrowed his eyes at his once-upon-a-time best friend.

“Funny,” Steve rolled his eyes, earning the toothy smile that had been featured in most of his daydreams over the years. The one that he had feared he’d never see again. The one he knew that he’d do anything to keep.

To half-change the subject, Steve said, “You look better. How’re ya feelin’?”

“Better,” Bucky assured, looking up from the menu. Briefly letting his eyes roam over Steve, he complimented, “You look good. But what else is new?”

Feeling his cheeks heat under the weight of Bucky’s eyes on him, Steve averted his gaze. Trying to compose himself, Steve half-teased, “Buck, you flirt.”

“’Ya just now figuring that out?” Bucky smirked, “I’ve been flirting with you since middle school.”

Just to be contrarian, Steve shook his head. Good-humoredly scoffing, “Yeah, right. Middle school.”

“Not my fault you never noticed.”

Despite himself, Steve couldn’t help the smile that fought against his lips. Before he could argue further, their waitress joined them, “Hi, there. What can I get started for you today.”

“Iced tea, please,” Bucky innocently smiled. Of course, just like back when they were growing up, the woman was completely charmed.

Not that Steve could blame her. After all, he had been in love with the brunet since elementary school.

After a moment, the flustered twenty-something year old turned her gaze to Steve. Without having to ask, Steve offered, “Lemonade, please.”

Nodding, the waitress’s gaze wandered over Steve’s frame. Sure, it wasn’t necessarily new. But Steve was positive that he’d probably never get used to it. Forever feeling like the shrimp he had been throughout the first half of his life.

“I’ll go get that,” she stuttered over her words before rushing back to the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Bucky said while Steve added, “Yes, thank you.”

Once they were left alone, Steve didn’t know what to do. His last first date was with Peggy. And that hadn’t necessarily gone too well as far as Steve’s memory went. He had kicked her when he sat down at the booth. He had knocked over her drink, that not only spilled all over her pastel blue dress, but had also stained it. And then, when he went in for the kiss, he ended up knocking his forehead against her nose, causing it to bleed.

Really, Steve wasn’t sure how they had lasted as long as they did. But they had, and Steve didn’t have as much experience as he would like in the current moment. After all, Bucky had dated. Had dated a lot. Long before becoming a dad, and probably even more since.

And Steve didn’t want to ruin this.

He really didn’t want to ruin this.

“’You okay?”

Blinking to clear his head, Steve’s gaze landed on the handsome man sitting across from him at the booth. God, he was handsome. Even now – no. Especially now. In their youth, Bucky had been handsome in a distinctly boyish way. Gangly with sun-kissed skin and tousled hair. Bright steel-blue eyes and dopey smile.

Now, Bucky was a man. There was still that spark he had as a kid, but now there were wrinkles surrounding his eyes from his grin crinkling all the way up. He was more distinguished. Calmer, at this point in his life. But no less handsome. No less desirable.

Hell, even the other people at the restaurant took notice. Just like they always had. Just like they almost always would. Even if he lost all of his graying brown hair. Even if his body lost all the toned shape it still held. There was just something to Bucky Barnes that people would always notice and appreciate.

“Steve?”

“Sorry,” Steve giggled, and then wished that he hadn’t. He admitted, “I’m a little nervous?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, “Why?”

“Because it’s you.”

A softness overtook Bucky’s expression, and he extended his arm across the table. “But why?”

“Because it’s you,” Steve repeated, allowing Bucky to take his hand.

“It’s just me,” Bucky’s calloused thumb caressed over his knuckles. “Ya got nothin’ to be nervous about, pal. Just you and me. Just like always.”

Steve gave their hands a pointed look. Bucky chuckled and amended, “Okay, not quite, ‘just like always.’ But it’s almost like I always wanted it to be.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

Biting back his grin – or at least trying to – Steve looked down at their hands. It wasn’t the first time that they had held hands. Throughout their childhoods, one of them would grab ahold of each other’s. Whether they were running away from bullies and Bucky was dragging him away. Or whether they were watching a scary movie and huddled together beneath a blanket, trying to seem tougher than Becca and Nattie.

But this time, it was different. They weren’t running. They weren’t hiding. They were just there. Together.

“Why didn’t you ever, I don’t know, do anything? Or say anything? If, you know, wanted this, y’know?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugged, redirecting his own gaze to their hands on the table. “I was afraid. I didn’t want to give you the chance to… reject me. You meant so much to me.”

Returning his gaze to Steve’s face, he corrected himself, “You mean so much to me.”

Steve shook his head, “You don’t even know me anymore.”

“So?” Bucky squeezed his hand, “I’ve never stopped caring. I wouldn’t even know how to start to stop caring about you.”

Bringing Bucky’s hand up, Steve kissed the back of it. Just like he had always wanted to. He hoped he’d be able to for a long time coming.

Before that could happen though, Steve confessed, “I’m still upset with you.”

“It’d be weird if you weren’t.”

Steve nodded, “But I’m sure you’ll make it up to me… somehow.”

“Oh, I will, will I?”

“Mhm,” Steve confirmed as the waitress returned to the table. He wasn’t ready to order just yet, so he gave Bucky’s hand a squeeze and requested, “I think we need just a little more time.”

She looked between the pair, “Sure thing.”

Bucky gave his hand another squeeze and Steve couldn’t help but feel like a kid again. Like it wasn’t just his hand in Bucky’s, but his heart too. He guessed that he was just a true romantic at heart. By the way that Bucky looked back at him made Steve think that he was too.

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modmad · 2 years

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Hello ModMad,

I hope this doesn't sound too formal, but I have followed your blog ever since I was eleven, back when I was getting introduced to the internet for the very first time. It's funny, I found you through your humanisation of Don't Hug Me, I'm Scared characters and I was, even from the very first comic (the one about adults and the schooling system killing the creativity in children) drawn into something wondrous. I started to follow you and have not stopped ever since. Through your fan works I found many fandoms i never would have considered but I also found something more. An earnest, sincere approach to creation and creativity which I simply did not have in my day to day life. However, what really got my attention was this funny little man in a bow tie who had a TV for a head. When I first saw RGB on your page I instantly fell in love. The design, the charm, the sense of mystery and mystic behind the character drew me in like a spiral and I simply couldn't let it go. I thought, for a long while that it was just another piece of fan art, until I finally realised he was actually one of your own creations. From a comic no less. That is how I found your original works and The Property of Hate comic itself. And ever since then I have been reading the comic, page by page, rereading it every couple of years with a new perspective and a new found appreciation for the story and the art form of comics in general.

In simplest terms, I am a long term follower, reader and supporter of your work and art. But it is here and now, at the age of twenty one, when I reread TPoH for the fourth time in my life that I have realised just how much of an impact this comic and your art has had upon me. I won't go too much into detail both for your sake and mine but, when I first found your art, I was suicidal. I was a child, yes, but I was also directionless and confused and I didn't really see much point in anything. But when I first stumbled upon your art and especially when I found TPoH, I found, I felt... Something. Through the years these have been different things. I felt hope, I felt joy, wonder, amazement, and even sadness and rage when appropriate in the reading process and as each year goes on I find myself only experiencing more and more complicated, fascinating feelings, each time I reread the comic anew. Thanks to that first Don't Hug Me art, I have started practicing art, drawing and character designing and animating and as I matured as a person and an artist, so did my views on the world allowing em to enjoy the narrative RGB and Hero lived and are living through from many different angels.

And here, again, I reread the comic once more, in a time of great emotional need and I once myself found myself... Just in awe of... Everything. From the art to the story to the messages and metaphors to the smallest of little details I am just... Incredibly, inconsivably greatful for the things you created.

I want to wish you luck in your future writing. I want to wish you luck in all your future drawing and creating and just living! And I hope, that if nothing else, you've helped me in ways I still. To this day have trouble articulating.

Thank you. For everything.

(I checked that this was okay to reply to publicly dw) AAAA??? THIS IS SUCH AN EPIC MESSAGE I WILL TREASURE IT ALWAYS thank you so much I wish I could say gooder words about it but I'm very moved that you took such efforts to write this and I will do my best to keep making you smile!

#motivation #this is super kind ;;

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cloud9in · 3 years

Text

Driving Lessons Pt 2 (Poppy x Bea)

Long awaited. I hope you all enjoy. This is the finale of the series but I think that Bea and Poppy’s high school stories should be continued.....

Read Part 1 HERE

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @baexpoppy @poppysmc @clowneryme @thedaft1 @zigxryanz @aleiramacaii

Word Count: 2.6k

Pt 2: The Date

Friday night had arrived and Bea’s nerves were at an all time high. She practiced breathing exercises that conveniently popped up on Youtube, there was no room for thoughts other than that of a blonde cheerleader. The buzz of her phone prompted her to jump up in excitement.

1 message from Poppy🙄

Poppy: I’m 99% sure that you haven’t forgotten about our “date” tonight. But if you did I’m not here to remind you. I’ll be here in 5 minutes. Remember, dress casual. ❣

A familiar grin crept its way onto Bea’s lips as she reread the message about twenty times, taking note of the heart at the end. It may seem conventional, but even that was a lot coming from Poppy. Another message popped up which induced a smirk from the brunette.

Poppy: No, I am not driving the Benz.

Bea set her phone down and spun around to check herself out in the mirror. She wore black ripped jeans with a red plaid design in the holes, red converse, and an oversized grey and black long sleeve. This should definitely fit Poppy’s definition of casual, right?

The blonde arrived outside of Bea’s house just as she reached the front door. Poppy was the first to react, her jaw threatening to drop open as she took in Bea’s appearance, all of it. Luckily, she was the queen of poker face’s and masked her thirsty expression….Bea on the other hand, failed horribly. She stood there wide eyed, her hands hanging uselessly by her sides as she studied the blonde. Poppy wore a white and pink checkered wool skirt, a knitted pink sweater, and a white crop top. Her jewelry also dazzled brightly against her neck. The blonde watched Bea amusingly, “you can quit ogling me now...:”

Bea darts her eyes away self consciously. “Your uh...jewelry is distracting.” Really Bea. Nice going. She winces at her excuse and Poppy arches an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the flustered mess of the brunette in the moment.

“Hmm..well come now. I don’t like to waste time.”

Like a puppy being offered food, Bea follows Poppy into her silver Range Rover. She gapes at the pristine interior and the stars on the ceiling. “I thought those star things only existed in Rolls Royce’s.” Poppy smirks appreciatively, her fingers flexing on the steering wheel, “Oh they do, but I have my ways.”

Bea tries to convince Poppy to tell her where they’re going, but she scoffs immediately, not even turning her head in the brunette’s direction. “It’s a surprise.”

“I didn’t take you for a girl that likes surprises to be honest.”

“Well then there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Hughes.”

Bea fought the urge to ask Poppy to elaborate, to tell her every last detail about her. What flavor of ice cream she liked, what she loved to do on a rainy day, but there’s that moment of insecurity that pushes her away from indulging in those thoughts. She didn’t want to seem overly-interested.

But maybe that’s what Poppy wanted.

The sudden quietness becomes obvious and Poppy peers over at the brunette, “I could always let you test drive this one. Maybe brush up on your driving skills?” Bea side eyes Poppy suspiciously, memories of Monday night’s driving lessons infiltrating her mind. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now..”

“Of course I’m not! You don’t think I remember what you did to my other baby?! You’re lucky you were hurt in the process, otherwise who knows what I would have done…” Poppy glances quietly over at Bea, her eyes carefully scanning the scar that sits on her forehead.

Bea smiles sheepishly, her hand reaching up to move her locks back. “I don’t think I wanna know- wait hey! What do you mean I was lucky-”

“Oh please, you were lucky that I took you to a hospital. You are crazy Hughes, you know that?”

“Crazy for you? Well now that you mention it…”

Poppy rolls her eyes but can’t stop the smile that erupts on her face. “...Just let me take a look at it later. I need to make sure it’s healing right.”

“Whatever you say doctor!” Bea mock salutes the blonde which earns another heavy eye roll, emphasis on heavy, but she didn’t mind. The opportunity to be less than an inch away from Poppy’s luscious lips again? Hell yes.

“Okay, but what did your dad say? I’m sure he understood it was a complete accident.”

“Mhm tell that to the insurance company. Which reminds me, you will be receiving a bill in the mail sometime next week for all the damages.”

Bea nearly leaped out of her seat as her head snapped towards the blonde, who looked like she was having a great time. “Pop...you’re joking right...that is a thing you are doing right now.” Poppy rolls her eyes with enjoyment, letting out a soft chuckle. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Farmsville, I know you can’t even afford a tire.

“Wha-...hey!”

***

After continuous bickering which almost prompted Poppy to unlock the passenger side door and kick Bea out...psychically, while they were doing 80 on the freeway, she eventually pulled into a parking lot. The only main source of light was the huge sign illuminating the words, “Animal Shelter”. Bea blinks in confusion for a few seconds before realizing she was the only one in the car. Poppy had already started walking towards the entrance, greeting a man with a….smile? Oh yeah, Bea was definitely curious now. Poppy actually looked relaxed when Bea had finally caught up with her. The blonde noticed her approach and hummed to herself, “took you long enough, hurry lets go inside.”

“Pops-did you take a wrong turn...this is an animal shelter...”

The blonde rolls her eyes so far back into her brain as she grasps onto Bea’s words. “No I did not take a wrong turn you imb--.....this..this is the place I picked.” The brunette flicks her eyes continuously between Poppy and the entrance before shrugging, a surprised expression on her face. Before Bea could say anything else, Poppy grabs her hand and pulls them into the store and into the column where cute puppies reached for them. A beautiful smile immediately lit up Poppy’s features as she bent down to pet one of the baby bulldogs. This gesture immediately enraptured Bea as she watched...Poppy? Or whoever this was.

Not wanting to disturb the moment Bea leans down to the cage next to her and picks up the golden retriever who happily licks her face. “Woah okay there boy, a little too much tongue.” She holds up the puppy as he barks playfully and wiggles in her arms.

“I’m definitely not complaining about your destination of choice, but can you tell me why you picked it?”

Bea gazes over at Poppy who looks like she’s in her true element. The blonde sighs and stands up, brushing her skirt down. “Well my parents own the place…and well to put it bluntly, some of these animals don’t have much time left.”

She turns towards Bea, watching her safely caress the puppy in her arms, and smiles, “I figured you have a close connection with animals and would want to make them feel loved before they go.”

Bea watches Poppy with a warm look in her eyes, and it was funny because Bea had been around the cheerleader a lot, but this...was different. Almost incredible. And Bea knew that this was the start of a feeling that she would never get enough of.

“I would. Thank you.”

The two girls spend a good amount of time playing with the animals. Poppy helped Bea feed newborn strays with a bottle of milk, more than often grabbing a hold of the brunette’s hand to steady the slight tremble. Bea didn’t want to admit she was nervous because Poppy was very close to her. And Poppy would never admit that Bea was doing everything right, but she wanted to hold her hand because it felt incredibly soft for a girl who worked on a farm everyday.

But she wasn’t the only one who was very observant that night. Bea kept her mouth shut about the situation, but this new side of Poppy blew her mind. There was so much to ask, to say, but the moment was too valuable to ruin.

The time seemed to go by quickly as the shelter started to close down. The time they spent with the animals felt fulfilling but Bea never missed the solemn look on Poppy’s face as she watched one of the older cats rest peacefully. There was so much to learn about the girl, and Bea thought it was best that she kept this date going.

Food. That could work.

“Hey pops...I know I said you could pick the place but there’s somewhere else I want to take you. If you’re up for it.”

If it was anyone else, Poppy probably would have cussed at them for taking up too much of her time. But this was Bea, and something in her couldn’t say no. “As long as it doesn’t involve you and I in a forest alone.” The brunette laughs easily, wrapping her arm around Poppy’s waist without a second thought. “Oh please, do you really think that’s how I’d get rid of you?”

Poppy seems to lean into her touch, letting her strawberry blonde locks brush up against Bea’s cheeks, “I doubt you’d be the one getting rid of me darling, but sure.”

***

“....Alright I take it back! I’ll even let you drive the car because I am not eating at a diner.”

“Oh come on, they have the best milkshakes in town!”

The brunette drags Poppy towards the diner without letting go because if she did, Poppy would probably scream bloody murder in the middle of the lot.

Bea led her towards a booth in the back, only then freeing her arm. Poppy plops into the seat after realizing there was no way she could charm her way out of this. “Don’t look so bummed out, you’ll change your mind when you try the famous strawberry milkshake.”

“I have never had a milkshake in my life.” Poppy visibly cringes, her posture stiffening at the thought of a sugary liquid infiltrating her body.

“Well today is your lucky day baby.” Bea winks at her and calls over a waitress who seems too comfortable with laying a hand on the brunette’s shoulder. It wasn’t evident whether the severe blush on Poppy’s face was because of Bea unknowingly using a pet name or because of the mystery girl who decided to do the most in her presence.

“We’ll have the regular Tasha, oh and the strawberry milkshake please.”

“Just one? What about your friend over here?”

Poppy snaps her head up at the waitress who seemed to scan her every move. Something Poppy was definitely used to. Her hands are the first to make a move, slowly trailing their way up Bea’s arm from across the table. She doesn’t take her eyes off the waitress as she speaks softly. “Oh we’ll be sharing it honey. Put a cherry on top too okay?”

The waitress reverts her eyes from the two and walks away without a word. Poppy watches her leave, biting her lip with satisfaction.

Bea can’t help but smirk to herself. “Oh you cannot take your eyes off of her can you? Relax, she’s an old friend.”

The blonde scoffs, keeping her hands on the surface of Bea’s skin. “I don’t care who she is. Does she flirt with every customer in here? What happened to having class? Or some sort of decent? I mean do you talk to pigs like this?

Bea squints her eyes and sighs warily. “Poppy this is not a five star restaurant, and that’s what you call being polite and kind to well known customers. People here are normal, not trained robots.”

Poppy shrugs to herself, her eyes darting around to the wall decorations and other people who are chatting happily with their families. The atmosphere did feel warm and peaceful, nobody sat up straight and practiced proper table manners. Nobody judged her for who she was or what designer she wore. There was room to actually breathe. Bea could sense the blonde slowly starting to adapt and relax in their new environment and she couldn’t be more grateful for making the right decision. When their food had come, Bea slid the milkshake towards Poppy and smiled shyly. “It’s all yours if you like it, we don’t have to share.”

“Nonsense Hughes, I can’t possibly drink this all by myself…but I call dibs on the cherry.” She steals the cherry from the top and plops it into her mouth, eyes sparkling from the burst of flavor. It was nothing compared to the milkshake though, Poppy swore she saw stars when tasting the sweet liquid. Bea laughs as a whipped cream mustache develops on the blonde’s lips after hogging the shake for herself.

***

“I’m paying for our next date by the way.”

Bea peers over at Poppy who walked her to her front door, “oh so there’s gonna be another one?” She can’t help but smile at Poppy’s sudden shyness.

“Well I enjoyed tonight, a lot. Maybe more than a lot.”

“I did too.”

The silence that consumed them wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but it was enough to make them stare at each other. Bea’s mind started to fog as she thought about finally closing the distance between them. She wanted nothing more than to mask the silence with a kiss. Bea looks at Poppy, who seems to be lost in thought.

“What are you thinking?”

“What?”

“You’re usually deep in thought when your eyebrows scrunch together like that. Or maybe you’re just planning on jumping me as soon as I turn around.”

Poppy smiles softly. “Do you know the feeling when the thing you wanted the most is right in front of you, yet it still feels unreal and almost impossible.”

Bea takes a deep breath and nods, “I do.”

Okay Hughes you’re gonna kiss her in 3. You’re gonna make the move. Come on.

But of course Poppy had other plans.

“Mmh!”

The feeling of Poppy’s soft lips had caught Bea completely off guard. A hum of pleasure escaped her mouth as the heat started to increase between them. Bea grabbed hold of Poppy’s cheek and steadied the kiss, her eyes slowly started to shut as she sunk into the warm, smooth feeling. Bea smiles into the kiss as Poppy’s tongue begins exploring the depths of her mouth, and she bites back a moan when the blonde takes her bottom lip between her teeth, tugging it slightly, feeling the desire pooling in the pit of her stomach. Poppy places her lips back on Bea’s, passion igniting once more as Bea begins to dominate the kiss, her hands finding her way to the blonde’s waist, pulling her in even closer.

Poppy felt like she could kiss Bea forever, if it wasn’t for the need of oxygen. When they both finally pulled back, the blonde laughed with joy. “That felt so amazing.”

Bea wanted to blow a huge sigh of relief that Poppy initiated the kiss, because imagine fucking that up. She just held her close and basked in the moment. Her lips swelled with excitement as she still felt the ghost of Poppy’s tongue tracing it. Poppy always had something to say, but right now there was so much more she could do. And the first thing she would do is finally make Bea hers.

***

if you want to be tagged in any Poppy fics let me know.

#poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #mc x poppy #playchoices #queen b #choices stories you play

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

Text

Posting Date: July 8th, 6:00 PM CT (UTC/GMT-05:00)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / College!AU / Humor / Smut (as requested in my fundraising initiative for BLM)

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: Jeon Jungkook had messed with you for the last time. That was what you thought when the hockey team – led by the insufferable Jungkook – kicked your dance team out again from your reserved room at the gym. In retaliation, you planned a prank of epic proportions and were caught in the act by none other than Jungkook himself. Before the rift between you could grow any deeper, you accidentally overheard something you were not meant to hear. Something which overshadowed even your heated rivalry. Faced with the choice between obvious wrong and teaming up with your worst enemy – you reluctantly chose the latter. But what will you do when feelings you once thought of as hatred become something decidedly… not?

Estimated WC: 42K

Rating: 18+

Preview: 1,941

The back of Jeon Jungkook’s head was as infuriating as the rest of him.

In the last row of the classroom, you thought this to yourself while typing into your laptop. Notetaking was part of your official duties as Teacher Assistant for Professor Rosenbarr’s class. This, along with grading homework, proctoring exams, and a variety of other bitchwork.

Despite this, the job of a TA was the best-paying on campus, not to mention that Professor Rosenbarr personally wrote the recommendation which landed your upcoming summer internship. Junior year was stressful enough as it was, with everyone turning twenty-one and realizing with some shock they were halfway through University.

Only one summer remained before entering the real world – everyone you spoke to said that this summer internship was crucial. If there was a blank period between Junior and Senior year of University, you might as well type FUCKED AROUND in the blank section of your resume and be done with it. No, this TA role was worth all the bitchwork, if only because it directly led to your upcoming internship.

The presence of Jungkook in your class though, had you seriously considering the merits of quitting.

Glowering at his messy head three rows before you, you wondered if he had even bothered to shower before coming to class. Probably not, based on the state of his hair and clothes. Both were rumpled, with wrinkles permanently stamped into the fabric of his hoodie. You were so consumed by the state of his appearance that when he stretched, turning around, there was no time to look away.

Jungkook’s eyes locked with yours and he blinked, taken aback by your staring. While you watched, his gaze narrowed.

See something you like? he mouthed over the heads of the people between you.

Stomach plummeting, your gaze snapped back to the screen of your laptop. After a long moment of pause, you slowly looked up and found him still looking. Most infuriating of all was the smirk on his lips, as though you had acted exactly as he predicted.

Once again, you remembered why Jungkook was the worst. It gave him no small amount of pleasure to see you embarrassed. Just as it made your own stomach leap to see his brow furrowed with frustration, lips pressed together as he huffed in annoyance.

The two of you had been at each other’s throats since freshman year, a feud of such epic proportion, it was difficult to remember how it had begun. All you knew was that by now, too much blood had been spilled for you to ever go back. Jungkook hated you and you hated him. That much was certain.

Still looking at you, Jungkook arched a brow.

In response to this, you scowled. Pay attention, you mouthed, gesturing at the board.

Jungkook glanced over his shoulder.

Professor Rosenbarr was so absorbed in his lecture, you doubt he would have noticed if the fire alarm and sprinklers went off. There was a zone he reached while lecturing about statistical anomalies in economic theory which not even you could pull him out of.

More importantly, he definitely did not notice Jungkook’s lack of attention. A girl in the front row was buffing her nails, the guy behind her was paying a bill and the guy to his right was scrolling through Tumblr.

At least Jungkook had his notes open, even if he was not looking at the board.

Making a face in his direction, you shooed a hand forward. With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook finally got the hint and turned around to face front. Pulling his hoodie overhead, he slumped low in his seat.

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a sigh.

The girl next to you frowned. “Shh,” she said.

“Sorry,” you whispered, sinking even lower.

While stewing in your own embarrassment, a ping sounded from your laptop. Looking down, you scowled again at the familiar email address.

From: [email protected]

To: y/[email protected]

Subject: hey TA

Aren’t you supposed to be grading us? Maybe you should pay more attention to the lecture & less to the back of my head

Fury clouding your gaze, it made it difficult to see as you typed.

From: y/[email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: re: hey TA

Maybe if your head weren’t so big, I would be able to see the slides

Pressing send, you looked up and waited for him to respond. From the last row of class, you watched Jungkook open your email, snort and bend forward.

Professor Rosenbarr cleared his throat from the front of the room.

“Something amusing about economic theory, Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook’s head snapped up; a deer caught in headlights. “Um. No, sir.”

The Professor arched a brow. “While I appreciate your formal language, perhaps you could extend the same respect to your dress code next class. Hood down,” he said, pointedly glancing at Jungkook’s large sweatshirt.

Dejectedly, Jungkook reached up to lower his hood.

Even from your seat, you could see his ears were bright red. A small pang of sympathy went through you before reminding yourself he deserved it. Jungkook should have been paying attention – just like you should have.

Bending forward, you resumed taking notes. Professor Rosenbarr continued his lecture, the class returned normalcy but still, Jungkook failed to respond to your email.

This did not surprise you. Jungkook had always been flaky – one of the many reasons you two did not get along. You preferred things orderly, with everyone following an agreed set of rules and Jungkook had his own expectations.

A message appeared in the corner of your screen. For a moment, your heart skipped and then you realized it was only your groupchat with Seokjin and Gina, your two best friends.

Seokjin: Y/N, stop ignoring meee [10:41 AM]

Gina: lol Seokjin, she’s teaching [10:41 AM]

Seokjin: she’s not the one teaching. Rosenblah is [10:41 AM]

Seokjin: Y/N, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! [10:41 AM]

Y/N: his name is Rosenbarr, Seokjin. What’s the emergency? [10:41 AM]

Seokjin: finally [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: there’s a party this weekend. You in? [10:42 AM]

Gina: what night? [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: Saturday [10:42 AM]

Gina: okay, cool [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: why? What’re you doing Friday? [10:42 AM]

Gina: nothing [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: so, why did you – oh, never mind. Y/N, you in? [10:42 AM]

Y/N: this was the emergency? [10:42 AM]

Y/N: who’s throwing the party? [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: um. A friend [10:42 AM]

Y/N: Seokjin [10:43 AM]

Seokjin: okay, fine, the friend is Taehyung & the party is at hockey house. But Y/N, listen to me [10:43 AM]

Y/N: pass [10:43 AM]

Gina: lol Seokjin, you had to have known that would fail [10:43 AM]

Seokjin: I was hoping that by Junior year, we would have all become rational and mature human beings [10:44 AM]

Seokjin: aka, this feud you have with Jungkook is stupid, Y/N [10:44 AM]

Gina: *gasps* he said the name! [10:44 AM]

Gina: a plague upon your house, Seokjin! [10:44 AM]

Y/N: listen. While yes, I am a rational and mature human being [10:44 AM]

Y/N: his royal douchebaggery is not [10:44 AM]

Y/N: ergo, your wish was doomed to fail, Seokjin [10:44 AM]

Seokjin: sigh [10:44 AM]

Seokjin: well, do you at least want to get pizza with Gina and I after? [10:44 AM]

Y/N: that, I can do [10:45 AM]

Seokjin: okay, fine. It’s a plan [10:45 AM]

“We’ll pick up at the same place on Wednesday,” said Professor Rosenbarr, interrupting your train of thought. Head jerking up, your fingers fell from the keys. “Please read Chapter 4 of the textbook before then and complete the assignment online.”

As soon as he stopped, the class began to pack up, shoving books into backpacks and standing from their seats.

Rereading your notes, you struggled to recall who had last asked a question. Professor Rosenbarr liked to have that information to grant class participation points, but the conversation with Jungkook had thrown you off your game.

Before you could ask someone around you, a shadow fell over your desk. Looking up, you found Jungkook in the aisle, thumbs hooked lazily beneath the straps of his backpack.

Frowning, you glanced past. “You’re blocking the aisle,” you announced, shutting your laptop. Shoving this in your bag, you attempted to stand and found him still standing there. “Not to mention my way out of class.”

“Just came to see if you needed my notes,” Jungkook said, nonchalant. “You seemed pretty distracted.”

Glancing at him, you scowled. “I’m the TA here, not you, Jeon.”

“I know.” His smile widened and you repressed the sudden desire to smack it from his face. “Doesn’t change the fact that you were staring at me.”

“The only reason I was staring at you was because you look like you haven’t showered in days. Is the hockey team really that hard-up for wins? Resorted to repulsing the competition?”

Instantly, his smile disappeared.

Jungkook had recently been made Captain of the University hockey team and it was an endless source of gossip on campus, since usually only Seniors held the coveted title. Word on the street was Jungkook was just that good – or, the hockey team was that bad.

“I showered after practice,” he said, a bit sulky. “And we’re not that bad this year.”

Despite his words, the furrow between his brow deepened and Jungkook aimlessly shoved a hand through his hair. His fingers instantly became tangled, fighting a minute before he worked through.

Staring at him for a moment, you eventually blinked and tore free.

“Whatever,” you said, glancing past him. “Let me leave.”

Professor Rosenbarr was long gone, but he would expect your notes in his office by the end of day. You still needed to format them the way that he preferred, review them for errors and find the name of the last person who spoke.

Jungkook stepped aside and, pushing past him, you entered the aisle. As you climbed the steps, you heard him follow suit. The impending deadline began to weigh on you and – against all better judgement – you turned around.

“Hey,” you exhaled, coming to a stop on the last step.

Jungkook looked up. “What?”

“Did you… hear who asked the last question in class?”

Surprise flickered over his features, though he quickly composed them. “Uh, it was Nelson.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

You lingered for a moment, then turned around and left the room. Shoving open the door to the hall, you did not bother to wait for him to exit. Disappearing into the crowd, you kept your head low and placed distance between you. He had been startled into being nice to you, but you knew from experience this would not last for long.

Jungkook always found a way to have the last word.

Your theory was proven as soon as you entered the quad, phone dinging loudly to announce a new email. Sliding open the app, you finally found his response to your message.

From: [email protected]

To: y/[email protected]

Subject: re: re: hey TA

If you’re still wondering how clean my body is, feel free inspect it yourself. Hate to leave that kind of doubt on your conscience xx

Swallowing, your fingers hovered over the delete button before you gave up and shoved your phone in your pocket. You would not allow Jungkook to get under your skin so easily.

Such a feat was easier said than done, however. Jungkook had nearly two years of practice at pushing your buttons. By this point, you thought he might know your ticks better than your best friends. All it took was a well-placed wink from him to make your blood boil.

Still – you would figure out a way to get Jungkook back. You always did.

After all, you had two years of experience at pressing his buttons as well.

[ TO BE CONTINUED ]

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#preview #The Art of More

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veliseraptor · 3 years

Note

Hey just wondering, do you have any draft or work in process or any plan for your next Loki fic? If so can you give us a little sneak peek. Or if you don’t, do you think you’ll write more about him in the future? I know you probably get this a lot and I’m sorry if it’s annoying or if it sounds rude or anything. I’m just wondering and also I’ve been binge reading your stories about him and got addicted so there’s that. But seriously I’m sorry if my message comes off as rude or annoying, that’s not my intention. Anyway hope you’re having an amazing day

I genuinely hate to sound like a broken record, anon, since you are being very polite about this! Which I very much appreciate! But the answer remains more or less the same: I don’t know. I have (counts) 38 different Loki-related WIPs in various stages of completion sitting on my hard drive. I haven’t been working on them actively lately because, to the dismay I’m sure of many of my followers, another fandom has devoured me whole. I’m really enjoying the experience, but it has left me with relatively little brainspace for things that aren’t that thing (or, I guess, other danmei novels and adaptations thereof?? idk okay).

At some point I would like to finish at least some of those stories, because I do not like leaving things unfinished. But I just don’t know when - or if! - I will. It just depends on if I get that emotional investment back. At the moment it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen imminently, but who knows. And maybe I’ll go back and reread what I have written of some of these, go “where’s the rest, op” and feel encouraged to write more.

All that being said - since you were so nice about this, I will give you a (3000 word) excerpt from one of the WIPs - Dead Superheroes Walking, which is the one about the characters who died/were dusted in Infinity War on a road trip through the Soul Stone.

---

“Anyone for a game of twenty questions?” Sam asked, after they’d been walking for maybe ten minutes.

“Really?” Bucky said. “Twenty questions?”

“I don’t think ‘I Spy’ would work too well. Not a lot of interesting landmarks. Or hadn’t you noticed that the landscape keeps repeating?”

“I am Groot,” said Groot.

“And I have no idea what that means,” Sam said.

Sam was right, Wanda realized. The landscape was repeating. It wasn’t obvious, at first, but there was only one tree, over and over; only one rock placed near to it. The sky was a flat and even orange.

A faint shiver ran down Wanda’s spine. Bucky stopped, though, visibly disconcerted.

“What the hell is this place,” he said.

“Does it matter?” Sam asked. “We’re not exactly going anywhere else. All right, I’ve got it. Twenty questions, yes or no answers only.”

“I am Groot?” said Groot. Sam eyed him.

“I’m not going to take that off the count,” he said.

“Is it alive?” T’Challa asked.

“Yep,” Sam said.

“Guess that rules us out,” Bucky said. Sam snorted, and T’Challa cracked a small smile. Wanda stared down at a small, triangular rock in front of her feet.

“All right,” Bucky said. “Is it an animal?”

“Yes. Two questions down. Wanda?”

She bent down and picked up the rock. It left red dust on her fingers, and when she pressed her fingers together it crumbled like chalk. She half expected the dust to vanish, but the red stain on her fingertips stayed.

“Wanda?” Sam said, more gently.

“Sorry,” she said. “Is it a person?”

“Nope,” Sam said. “That’s three.”

She wiped her hand off on her clothes. This place wasn’t right - she could feel it in her bones, deep down where her magic ought to be. But nothing had been right in the last few days. Very few things in Wanda’s life had been right. Why should her death be any different?

It only seemed unfair that the others should be here, too.

They sky did not change, but they stopped walking eventually - less because any of them were actually tired than because it seemed like they should. Or maybe because they were tired of walking and wanted some change, even if there was very little change to be had. The road went on. The landscape didn’t alter.

And no one else appeared.

“It can’t just be us,” Sam said. “Other people died. Where are they?”

Nobody had an answer for him, unless the tree’s “I am Groot” was an answer none of them could understand. Wanda thought it might be something to do with the fact that they’d all died when Thanos had snapped his fingers, but she stayed quiet, staring off at the horizon and only half listening to Bucky and Sam going back and forth at each other.

“I see something,” T’Challa said abruptly. They all turned and followed the line of his arm.

“I can’t see anything,” Sam said.

“Give it a sec,” Bucky said. “He’s probably got a hundred extra yards visibility on me. Maybe 150 on you–”

“I am Groot,” Groot said. Wanda strained her eyes, some part of her wishing - hoping–

“Is that a dog?” Sam said.

A moment later Wanda saw it too, and slumped. It did look like a dog padding towards them - or at least, it certainly wasn’t a person.

“That’s not a dog,” T’Challa said.

“Fox, I think,” Bucky said. “What the fuck is a fox doing here?”

“I don’t think it’s a fox, either,” T’Challa said. He shifted, like he was thinking about getting into a fighting stance. Wanda stepped forward, reaching for her powers, but nothing was there.

What would be the point, anyway? You can only die once.

The fox - and it was a fox, Wanda could see that now, though black instead of red - slowed as it began to draw closer. It sat down, still a ways away, and cocked its head, looking at them.

“This is weird,” Sam said. T’Challa was still frowning.

“What is it?” Bucky asked him. T’Challa shook his head.

“I’m not certain.”

The fox stood, stretched, and changed, unfolding into a person. Wanda sucked in a breath, staring at the man now walking toward them: dark-haired, pale, lean and taller than Bucky or T’Challa. A vague sense of familiarity nagged at her, but she couldn’t say from where.

The man stopped, still several paces from them, and cocked his head just as the fox had. “Well,” he said, a faint rasp in his voice. “This is new.”

Wanda stared at him, trying to remember where she recognized him from. “New?”

“Yes,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else. But then, this time is different.”

“Wait,” Sam said abruptly. “Shit. Are you-”

“Mm,” he said, still looking at Wanda. T’Challa’s eyes were narrowed, too, and Sam’s. Bucky looked blankly at them both.

“What?”

“It’s always nice to be recognized,” the stranger said dryly.

“Loki,” Sam said. “That’s fucking Loki. Right?” Wanda’s eyes widened, but he - Loki - just shrugged one shoulder.

“So I am. Or was. I’m not certain of the appropriate tense.” His gaze swept across them, indifferent, disinterested.

“You’re dead, too,” Wanda said. Loki glanced at her, eyes focusing briefly before they slid back into dullness. No, exhaustion.

“Or something,” he said.

“‘Or something?’” Sam said. Loki’s eyes flicked in his direction.

“This doesn’t feel like death,” he said, “but I remember the feeling of my neck breaking in Thanos’s hand fairly clearly, so…” Wanda flinched, and she thought she saw Sam’s eye twitch. She remembered Thor coming roaring down from the sky, thunder and lightning in his voice, and understood. She looked down.

“What do you mean that this doesn’t feel like death,” T’Challa said into the silence.

“I know a little of what death tastes like,” Loki said after a moment. “This isn’t it.”

“What does that mean,” Bucky said, looking agitated and uncertain.

“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, something briefly flashing across his expression before it was gone. Pain, Wanda thought.

“Not entirely accurate,” he said, “but not entirely inaccurate, either.” There was a brief pause.

“You can understand him?” Bucky said. Loki shrugged again. “What did he say?”

“It’s irrelevant.” Loki’s eyes moved back to Wanda. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you were simply the high cost of victory?” Wanda looked down, somehow feeling ashamed of her failure. Loki let out a quiet huff. “Pity.”

Bucky, oddly, snorted.

“Thanos gained all of the Infinity Stones,” T’Challa said. “Then…” He trailed off. “I am not entirely certain what happened then.”

Loki made a sort of hm noise, glancing at T’Challa sidelong. “So you didn’t die in battle,” he said.

“If so, I do not remember it,” T’Challa said.

“I am Groot,” Groot said to Loki, whose head swiveled violently toward him, eyes sharpening.

“Gamora,” he said, and there was a wealth of hatred and fear in that word. “You are a companion of hers?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said emphatically, and Loki blinked, then pressed his lips together and exhaled in a short burst.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“Can you maybe translate what he’s saying,” Bucky said irritably. “Since all the rest of us can hear is the same three words over and over.”

“He says that Gamora claimed Thanos meant to use the completed Gauntlet to halve all life in the universe,” Loki said. “If you know that he achieved his goal, then presumably you were part of the unlucky half. Though that does not explain why you are here. Or else does not explain why I am.”

“And who’s Gamora,” Sam said, with such exaggerated patience that it demonstrated anything but.

“An old acquaintance,” Loki said. He sounded distracted.

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and this time Wanda could hear the near pride in his voice. Loki didn’t respond. He was scanning their number again, Wanda realized, more closely.

She bit her lip, then raised her voice and said, “Thor’s alive.” His gaze snapped to her, and she made herself hold it though her instinct was to look down. “At least, he was when I...he drove an axe into Thanos’s chest. It didn’t work, it was too late, but…” She trailed off.

Loki glanced down, his eyes half closing, and Wanda thought she caught a brief flicker at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, and a barely audible, “ah, Thor.” Then his eyes were back on hers and he said simply, “thank you for informing me,” with a lack of feeling that made Wanda frown.

“You haven’t asked who any of us are,” Bucky said.

“So I have not,” Loki said. “I am not certain it is precisely relevant.”

“Excuse you,” Sam said. Loki glanced at him, that tired indifference returning.

“I approached because I was curious. I wasn’t intending to stay, nor would I think you were inclined to encourage it.”

T’Challa was studying Loki with curious intensity. “Were you going somewhere?”

“No,” Loki said, and then paused and adjusted, “perhaps.”

“I am Groot?” Groot said, and Loki’s lips pressed briefly together.

“It means perhaps. And don’t be crude.”

“I’m with him,” Sam said. “What does perhaps mean?” Loki looked briefly annoyed, and Sam said, “come on. We’re all dead here. Or - not. Which still begs the question as far as I’m concerned of what we are.”

Loki’s eyes went back to her, and Wanda shifted. “What?” She asked. “Why do you keep looking at me?”

“You haven’t noticed anything strange, then?” He asked. “Felt anything?”

Too many things, Wanda thought, but she didn’t think that was what he meant, and now they were all looking at her. Wanda hesitated.

“I don’t have my powers,” she said slowly. Loki made a derisive noise.

“Of course you don’t,” he said. “Do you need them to sense what’s around you? Midgardian magicians. Norns.”

Wanda glared at him, but took a breath and tried to turn inward, like she was going to use her power. It still wasn’t there, but this time, without distractions…

She jerked and saw a satisfied glint in Loki’s eyes, just for an instant. “There,” he said.

“Wanda, what is it?” Sam asked, looking suspiciously at Loki.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But it feels like…” She searched for the right words. “Like a heartbeat,” she said finally, even if that wasn’t quite right.

Bucky’s expression was a mixture of horror and alarm. “A heartbeat?”

“So that’s what it feels like to you,” Loki said thoughtfully. He seemed more engaged now than he had been at first, and somehow even though it shouldn’t matter that felt like a good thing. Maybe because nothing else was.

“It’s not actually,” Wanda said quickly. “That’s just sort of what it feels like - to me, anyway. It’s...different for you?”

Loki shrugged. T’Challa shifted.

“I know what she means,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t have described it like that. But there is...something.”

“Interesting,” Loki said, glancing at T’Challa and looking him over with slightly more interest. “To answer your implied question, I would call it a...resonance.”

“A resonance with what,” Sam asked.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be bothering to talk to you,” Loki said. “But partly it is that which makes me think this is something other than simple death.”

“What is there other than ‘simple death,’” Bucky said tightly.

“That is the question, isn’t it,” Loki said. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I am wrong. But if I am not…”

“If you’re not, what,” Bucky said, even tighter.

“Then it begs the question of why, doesn’t it?” Loki rolled his neck in a slow circle, and Wanda could have sworn she heard something crack. “At least, such was my thought. But maybe it is just desperation.”

He didn’t sound desperate. He didn’t sound much of anything.

“Why not stay with us,” Wanda said abruptly. Everyone else turned to stare at her, Loki included, and she straightened, turning toward her friends. “I mean it,” she said. “Why not? We’re all here together. And if he’s right and there’s a why, a reason...wouldn’t it suggest that’s true for all of us, including him?” She paused, and added, “and besides - what can he do to us, anyway?”

Loki barked a laugh. “That is a fair point,” he murmured.

“How do we know this isn’t some kind of trick?” T’Challa asked, his eyes narrowed.

“You don’t,” Loki said. “But I will say that you vastly overestimate my interest in you. Well, the majority of you. And your witch has a point: what is it you think I will do?”

“I don’t know,” T’Challa said. “That’s what worries me.”

“And ‘our witch’ has a name,” Sam said a little sourly.

Loki shrugged. “As you will. It makes little difference to me.” He moved around them and started to walk away.

“I am Groot,” Groot muttered, and strode after him, long tree-legs catching up in a few strides. “I am Groot?” He said to Loki, who checked himself and looked at him, his face tightening.

“Was, yes,” he said. “Why?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said definitively, and Loki shook his head.

“Call back your child,” he said, with a sharp gesture at Groot.

“Child?” Sam said, eyebrows shooting up.

“He’s an adolescent Flora Colossus,” Loki said, as though it were obvious. “And he is not following me. I don’t care who you were friends with.”

Thor, Wanda thought. Groot didn’t know any of them, but he’d known Thor, at least a little, and Loki was Thor’s brother, and Groot was, apparently, a teenager, among strangers who couldn’t understand him, who had just died.

Wanda’s chest ached. “If he wants to,” she said, “I don’t see why he shouldn’t.”

“I’m not interested in playing nursemaid–”

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and Loki gave him a hard look.

“No, you are not,” he said. “I’ve met grown Flora Colossi and you aren’t it. You’re barely more than a sapling. Maybe - what, four years old?”

“You know what,” Bucky said, “I’m with Wanda, actually. And the, uh...Groot. This place is weird. I think we should stick together, and it seems like he knows more about this place than any of the rest of us do.” His eyes settled on Loki. “And it’s not like we have a whole lot to lose, right now.”

Sam gave Bucky a long, skeptical look and then glanced at T’Challa, who shrugged.

“You assume I am interested in putting up with the lot of you,” Loki said flatly. He looked tense, Wanda thought. Like he was expecting some kind of trap. Wanda tried to summon a smile.

“You said you came over because you were curious,” she said. “And if you’re right, and there is some reason we’re all here...isn’t that something else to be curious about?”

“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, jaw twitching.

“I’m dead, you twig,” he said. “If not now, then probably soon. And if I did need protecting, you wouldn’t be much help.”

Bucky snorted, poorly muffled. Wanda bit her lip so she didn’t smile. Groot’s expression was hard for her to read, but it looked to her eyes like a glare.

Loki exhaled loudly and looked away. “Fine,” he said. “If you are inclined...I suppose there’s no harm in traveling adjacently.”

“Traveling where?” Sam asked. “You make it sound like you have an actual destination.”

“I have a...feeling,” Loki said, though something about the brief pause before he spoke made Wanda think there was something he wasn’t saying. The question was if it was important or not. “No more than that.”

“Well,” T’Challa said after a few moments of hesitation, “that is more than I have, at the moment. And so far as I know we weren’t going anywhere in particular, so…”

“I guess that settles it,” Wanda said. Loki eyed her like he suspected her of having some ulterior motive. She decided to pretend not to notice. “So which way are we going?”

#anonymous #conversating #fic excerpt #i know this is an unsatisfying answer! i know it!#i just don't have a better one #this does remind me i should write up an actual faq at some point maybe

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imaginedxlan · 3 years

Text

Champagne & Shackles; Beta Part Two (Fred Weasley)

a/n: i’m SORRY i’m terrible at time management, school is kicking me ass. i had no idea so many of you had the same affinity for the brothers of the beta fraternity as i do, this is for all my frat rats out there i love you most. this is an ode to my very favorite date party theme: champagne and shackles. in which you and you’re chad or brad of a date are candcuffed together until you finish a massive bottle of champagne between the two of you.

weeks after the infamous beta darty, you can’t seem to pull your thoughts or presence away from the ginger boy who made your heart skip a beat. That is, until you’re invited to the beta champagne and shackled date party.

y/f/n: your friend’s name

warnings: cussing, alcohol, mentions of sex, modern!fred, and also very typical frat boy lingo stolen straight from the mouths of frat boy i associate myself with

disclaimer: while they’re semi-drunk in this they’re still coherent and stable enough to know what they’re doing. nothing that happens in this is coercive or decided under an incapacitated mind. king freddie would never take advantage of a girl like that.

part one

consumed.

You have been completely consumed with the the thought of a certain red head for weeks now. Since you kissed him goodbye on your front lawn, the image of Fred Weasley has yet to leave your brain. While you’ve been at the same school for almost two years, you’ve seen him more in the few weeks following the beta darty than you have in the 18 months you’ve spent on campus. Lines in coffee shops, the terrace at the union, the corners of the library you’ve inhabited for years. He’s everywhere. Not that you’re complaining.

The grin that plays across his lips every time you catch his eye sends your heart into overdrive. You’ve spent countless nights awake in y/f/n’s bed analysing every text, every snapchat, every story. You replay the day in the beta backyard at least once a day, yearning for the feeling of his touch on your skin. You’ve hardly returned to the brick-faced mansion, however. You’ve of course been invited through Draco and the countless group messages that flood your phone the nights leading up to a beta party, but you want him to invite you. You want him to want you there.

Of course he wants you there. He spends hours in that filthy basement he calls home every weekend searching for you among the dozens of drunk girls, hoping you had decided to turn up this time. But you’re not there.

Y/f/n mentioned date party to you this past weekend. Draco being social chair of the fraternity, he’s been planning the function for weeks. Champagne and Shackles. A fan favorite among every sorority girl throughout the school. Mixing together handcuffs and a massive bottle of champagne would have nearly anyone begging for an invite. You decide not to get your hopes up, constantly reminding yourself that while he is the boy that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world while you were surrounded by hundreds of drunk college boys, he’s still a twenty year old beta boy. It’s hard to stray from the hook up culture that he’s been practically bred into. Nevertheless, there is still a glimmer of hope in you that you’ll be cuffed to him this Saturday night instead of another girl he’s probably found on greek row.

He’s been drafting this text in the notes app of his phone for three days now. He’s changed the wording, the punctuation and the amount of details in his intended invite to you one hundred times now. George and Oliver groan every time he stops their studying or game of Call of Duty to read them the revised text he’s come up with this time.

“My god, Weasley, you’re acting like you’re writing your vows.” Oliver jokes, setting his xbox controller down on the makeshift coffee table in the twins room. “Just send it, you know she’ll say yes.”

But that’s the problem, he doesn’t know that.

“Wood we’ve thrown six times in the past month, she’s come once.” Fred reminds him of the painful fact that it seems like you’re just not that into him. “If I was sure she was gonna say yes I would have done it by now.”

George snatches his twin’s phone from his hands, copying the now final draft of this overly thought out text asking you to his date party. Before Fred can spring up from his bed, George has already got the message pasted into Fred’s text chain with you and hit send, making the color drain from his twin’s face.

“Are you fucking serious, George.” Fred finally reaches his younger brother and tackles him to the ground. “I barely read through it she’s gonna think I’m a fucking weirdo.”

George is able to shake his brother off of him, bursting out laughing with Oliver at Fred’s crazed state. George knew Fred had feelings for you, well practically every who spoke to a drunk him for more that ten minutes knew, but it was still comical to see his twin get so worked up over a girl he hadn’t even slept with yet.

“Fred you’ve been reading the stupid thing for an hour now,” He points out, Oliver nods his head in agreement. “What’s the worst that could happen? Huh? She says no and you ask one of the eight hundred other girls who fawn over you every chance they get. I know you like her Freddie but this isn’t a life or death thing.”

As Fred caught his breath from his outburst, he knew George had a point. He wouldn’t drop dead if you rejected his offer, but it sure help like he would.

hey idk if you’ve heard but our date party is this saturday and i was wondering if you would want to come

Your phone lights up just as you sit down to eat dinner with a couple of your friends. Once you see the name fred weasley next to the notification your heart stops. Taking y/f/n’s hand in yours, you turn the screen so she can read it. Her lips turn up in a grin as she squeezes your hand.

“I told you he would ask you,” She squeals, shaking her shoulders in her little ‘happy dance’ as she likes to put it. “Draco won’t stop talking about how tweaked Weasley’s been over some stupid text. I knew it was about you, I just knew it.”

You laugh at her imitation of her boyfriend, knowing it’s not far off from how he actually sounds. You reread the text probably thirty times, feeling even more giddy over such a simple and honestly not very personal text, but you don’t care. He asked you.

You spend far less time crafting a response than Fred did writing the initial text to you. If what y/f/n said is true and he really mulled over this for days, you may pass out.

i’d love to :)

The love seemed a bit overboard in your opinion, but y/f/n convinced you that it was a perfect response. You didn’t allow yourself to start looking for possible dress options until he really asked you, afraid you might jinx it if you bought a dress prematurely. Now, however, you’re on a time crunch. Someone in the house had to have something you could borrow. That night you try on at least ten dresses, all the girls on your floor flooding your room gushing over the fact that the Fred Weasley is taking you to his date party. He’s someone nearly everyone knows, and if they didn’t they were probably a geed, or lived in sophomore slums.

You finally land on a dark blue, spaghetti strapped sequin dress that clung tight to your curves. While nearly every dress you tried on felt like it might work, this is champagne and shackles after all, you have to dress to impress. Y/f/n won’t stop talking about what Fred will do the minute he sees you in the dress, praying she gets to watch his jaw drop. The two of you stay up late into the night again mushing over the thought of the two of you being swept off your feet by beta boys, the same boys you could hardly think about a month ago without becoming nauseous.

pregames at the house, malfoy and i will come by yours to grab you and y/f/n at 6:30

The text comes in Friday night. You can hardly contain the bubbling feeling in your stomach. As much as you feel like you’re sixteen years old again, you don’t care. You’ve finally joined the ninety percent of girls on greek row in one category, you’re crushing on Fred Weasley.

As the day finally rolls around, Fred is surprisingly back to his calm and collected demeanor. As much as the boys, and to be honest he himself, expected him to be bouncing off the walls over a slew of what if’s regarding the night ahead of him, he was rather calm about it all. He’s one half of the coveted Weasley Twins after all, he has a reputation to uphold.

The same cannot be said for you. As you curl your hair and apply your makeup to perfection, you can’t stop your knee from bouncing under the vanity counter you’re sat in front of. What if he secretly thinks you look bad in your dress? That you look like you tried to hard? As much as y/f/n tried to remind you of the fact that he was the one nervous about asking you, nothing seems to ease your growing anxiety. The hours tick closer to six-thirty and you sit patiently on your bed, completely ready and aimlessly scrolling through your socials to keep your mind off of the fact that in only twenty minutes Fred and Draco would be at your door to take you back to beta. The actual date party would be at one of the satellite houses, the penthouse of a nearby apartment paid for by betas massive budget.

Y/f/n takes your hand and forces you to look at her.

“Y/n,” She begins, now holding both of your hands between hers. “You are the hottest bitch this campus has ever seen. No one, not even Fred Weasley, deserves to be blessed with the absolute vision you are right now, but I guess he’ll have to do.”

You laugh at her attempt to hype you up in ten hopes that the knots in your stomach fade away. They partially do, but part of you is still in shambles over the thought of seeing him. He probably looks like even more of a greek god in a suit. Y/f/n’s phone buzzes with an ever so poetic ‘here’ text from her boyfriend and she gives your hands one more squeeze before dragging you down the staircase of your house. The boys are waiting just beyond the lawn, the same one you kissed Fred on weeks ago. The two of them have their hands in their pockets, looking like they’re deep in conversation, not even noticing that you and y/f/n are standing walking toward them.

He’s wearing a dark gray suit with a white button down with the top three buttons undone. His hair is perfectly messy. You didn’t even think it was possible for him to get any hotter, but here he is.

The boys turn their heads and immediately stop their conversation. The blonde’s face turns up in a smirk as his eyes trail over y/f/n’s body, but Fred is standing perfectly still with his mouth slightly agape as he watches you come closer to him. His cool and collected affect quickly runs out of his body as he watches your dress glitter under the street light.

“Told you.” Y/f/n whispers in your ear before she drops your hand to meet her boyfriend.

Draco greets y/f/n with a kiss and Fred pulls you into a hug. You melt at his touch. Even in the heels you borrowed from y/f/n, he still towers over you, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You look...” Fred trails off, trying to find the words to describe the sight in front of him. Heavenly, goddess like, like he might just skip the date party and get down on one knee. “...incredible.”

You muster up whatever confidence you have in the midst of your imposing anxiety to give him a somewhat composed reply. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Weasley.”

That heart-melting, mind-scrambling smile returns to his lips before the four of you begin walking what to the beta house. Fred keeps his hand on the small of your back the entire walk, desperately trying to keep you close to him.

The ungodly amount of alcohol you consume at the pregame seems to overtake any remaining worries in your body. Fred never leaves your side, as if you’re already cuffed together before you even arrive at the function itself. You talk with George and Oliver again, and meet some of Fred’s other fraternity brothers like Lee Jordan and Theo Nott. They all seem to know who you are before you can even introduce yourself. It would be difficult to not know your face after watching fred gawk over your every instagram post. Any sort of reservations you once held about the beta boys melt away. They may be wildly intimidating to a stranger that passed them on the street, but watching the boys sing along to whatever song is blasting through the speaker while dancing like they’ve just learned to walk shows you that they’re like every other boy you’ve met.

The walk to the penthouse is short, but it seems to take forever to reign everyone in everyone once in a while. Fred is continuously checking up on you, grasping your hand or your waist, making sure you aren’t cold in your dress. The second you make it to the penthouse you’re immediately cuffed to the red haired boy and handed a comically large bottle of champagne and told the rules.

No unshackling until you’ve finished the bottle.

The party is far more cramped than the one in their backyard. You can’t bring yourself to care about the occasionally bumps from someone in the crowd or the growing smell of alcohol around you. You’re completely consumed by the angelic giant dancing with you. Even with the handcuffs, Fred’s fingers are still intertwined with yours as his other hand is holding you close to his body, roaming from your waist to your back and over your ass. Anytime you go to open the bottle you’d been given at the door to continue on feeding the buzzed state you’ve been in since you arrived at the beta house, Fred stops you. He still grabs you drinks from the makeshift bar and pulls you into the ‘shot room’ to send copious amounts of burning liquor down your throat, but the bottle stays off limits.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about you this month, y/n.” Fred hiccups his way through his confession as his lips are pressed close to your ear to make sure you hear every word he says over the loud music. “You do something to me.”

You know whatever you try to say will come out slurred, so you do the next best thing you can think of to tell him that you’re feeling the same way. You wrap your free hand behind his neck to press your lips to his. He immediately pulls you closer into him like he was a dying man grasping onto his only source of oxygen. Again, with your lips tangled in his, you’re suddenly the only two in the room. This moment is one you know will occupy your thoughts until the end of time. Held by the boy you’re completely enamored with as the world seems to stop around you. In every sense of the word, it is perfect.

When you pull away from each other to gasp for air, you move your lips to his ear.

“Why can’t I open the champagne?”

He leans back to look you in the eyes. The colored led lights changing on his face make him somehow even more breathtaking. That same smile appears on his lips before he leans down toward you again.

“I don’t want to finish it,” He yells over the bass of the speaker. “I want you to be stuck with me for as long as possible.”

Without a second thought, you pull your hands together to take the bottle from Fred’s free hand to pop the cork off the top before he can stop you. You bring the freshly opened champagne to your lips and take a swig before offering it over to him. His brows furrow in confusion, wondering if maybe you do want to be unchained from him.

“Freddie, if you think it’s going to take an empty bottle to get rid of me you’re wrong,” You try to shout, even in all the noise he hears you and his chest tightens. “Cuffed or not, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

He doesn’t reply, he simply takes the bottle from your hand and begins to chugs the fizzy drink, spilling over his face slightly. Watching him fumble over the liquid you know isn’t easy to take in large amounts, you can’t help but laugh at the sight in front of you. The words of Kid Cudi’s Pursuit of Happiness flood yours ears and you pull yourself right back against Fred’s body. He pulls the bottle from his mouth and hands it back to you before bringing his hand to your cheek to meet your lips once again. You’re sure you’re perfectly done hair and makeup is a wreck by now but your mind is continuously pulled back to the impossible reality that you’re kissing Fred Weasley. Of all the girls in the party, on this campus that flock to his side any chance they get, you’re the one that Fred Weasley suddenly became nervous around. The one he spent days wracking his brain to craft the perfect image of himself to.

His hand entangles in your more than likely sweaty hair, keeping you held exactly in place against his body as his hips sway against yours. His lips move from yours to your jaw, placing quick and light kisses across the skin. Something that would under any circumstance feel sexually driven feels lighthearted, pulling numerous giggles from your lips. His hand wanders down to your side and in a swift motion begins to tickle you through you dress. You laugh only become louder as you try to keep from doubling over.

“Fred!” You squeal through the stream of giggles. “Freddie stop!”

When you begin to snort, Fred loses it. He can no longer contain his stoic face he had on when he began to tease you. You’re eventually pulled from the party, Freds hand clasping yours as he discards the empty bottle in some corner of the penthouse and brings you to be unchained from him by the pledges standing by the entrance. Even with the cuffs off your wrists, you’re still chained to him as if you’re forced to be.

Before you can leave the apartment, Fred’s jacket is shrugged from his shoulders and placed around yours. You pull yours arms through the sleeves that are obviously too long for you. “What a gentleman.”

“Can’t have you catching a cold,” He replies, holding you by your waist as you walk back to the beta house. You’ve never seen it so empty or quiet, no one around with the exception of a few boys studying in their lounge. You return to the bedroom you were in only hours ago, it’s a mess from the pregame but you’re able to make out Fred’s bed from his brothers. Massive movie posters and stolen items from various sororities hanging on the walls around his bed, the Good Will Hunting poster above the bed with the blue comforter being a dead giveaway that it belonged to Fred. He told you it was his favorite one night.

“You don’t have to, but you’re welcome to crash here,” He asks, beginning unbutton his now stained dress shirt, revealing his toned abdomen. It’s a sight you don’t think you’ll ever quite get used to. You stop yourself from nearly drooling and shake yourself back to reality. “You can borrow some clothes, probably be pretty big on you but they’d be better than that dress.”

He already has a tee shirt and boxers held out for you. He’s secretly hoping you’re too tired to walk back to your own house so he can spend a little while longer with you. Taking the clothing from his hands, you begin to slip the straps of your dress down, signalling Fred to immediately turn around to give you some privacy. You mouth a quick oh my god to yourself before continuing the change into the boy’s clothing.

“You can turn around,” You tell him and his eyes meet yours once again. He gives you a quick once over before his lips break out in a smile. “What? What are you so smiley over?”

“I like you in my clothes.”

Immediately your heart begins to hammer in your chest as your cheeks begin to heat up. Exhaustion washes over you, the lack of sleep you got in the past week due to your constant overthinking finally catch up to you. After switching off the lights, he pulls back him dark comforter to let you slip into the warmth of his bed. As soon as your settled you turn on your side to face him. You’re both quiet, wordlessly taking in the sight of each other.

“I like you, y/n. A lot,” He finally breaks the silence. You can’t help but wonder if he’s drunker than he’s let on. He’s not, he knows exactly what he’s saying and means every word. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before.”

You reach over to trace your finger up his defined cheek bones before resting your palm on the side of his face. His arm is lazily slung over your waist, absentmindedly keeping you close to him. You lean in further, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“I like you, Freddie, more than you know,” You confess. Your heart has never felt more full, you’re sure this whole month has been a dream and every second you’re terrified to wake up without even knowing Fred Weasley like you do now. “Thank you for taking me tonight.”

He softly chuckles, his hand moving up your body to stroke through your hair. Even in the dark you can see his bright smile, you’re new favorite sight. “I should be the one thanking you,” He tells you. “You have no idea how nervous I was that you wouldn’t come.”

You continue to shift closer to him, trying to expel the practically nonexistent space between the two of you. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck, finding his steady pulse quite calming. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Freddie.”

“I like it when you call me Freddie.”

You hum a response, suddenly becoming too tired to even speak. The warmth of his body radiating against yours mixed with the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you further into a deep sleep. His arms return to being wrapped around your waist, drinking in this moment and silently praying in would last forever. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before whispering, “Goodnight, y/n.”

Hours later George, Lee and Oliver stumble into the room, all with slices of pizza from the late night shop down the street and are met with the sight of you and Fred tangled in the sheets, light snores coming from the red haired boy. They wish they could find something about the moment that they would tease him about later, but they come up short. The image laid out in front of them looks like it was taken straight from a movie.

Needless to say your constant thoughts of the beta boy are soon replaced by his presence anywhere and everywhere you go. You aren’t sure of many things in life, but you’re certain that he was made for you and you for him.

tags:

@justmesadgirl @greyspilot @sunflowerdarlingx

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #frat boy fred weasley #fred weasley modern #fred weasley x reader #weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter #weasley twins

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

Text

The Iowa Caucus Happened

A job offer slides into Rafael’s DMs as he waits to find out if it’ll be a new start or prison on February 8.

Accidental Feminist Icon

Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

“Mister Barba?”

Rafael didn’t like hearing his name from the young woman behind him, especially not given what he’d done. He’d texted Carmen on the first day of the trial, and she’d agreed to look into the offers from attorneys he knew, and some he didn’t, while he sat beside Dworkin and emotionally prepared himself to testify. The ones he’d looked at the night before came from people he didn’t like or were last resorts. He’d moved from his visceral response to finding law to back his actions. Applying logic could let him detangle himself from his conflicted emotions. Catholic guilt wrestled his humanity. That said, he also found himself desperate to introduce Ollie to music as Carmen worked from his apartment that first afternoon, not caring for once as the toddler drooled or sneezed or spilled all over him.

“Yes?” he asked, taking his coffee from the cart. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“We haven’t. I follow you on Twitter.”

“Ah,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss-”

“Rachel Sullivan. I have, like, a reading Twitter.”

“I’ve seen that! Read with Rachel? Your icon is a copy of Howl?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, chuckling. “I just- listen, I know it’s bad what’s going on and a lot of people are really hurt and going after you. Do I get it? No. But, I think you didn’t get a good choice, and you did what’s right for you. When it seems impossible, it’s not my place to judge something I can’t fathom. And a lot of people feel the same. A bunch of us have a group chat and we hope everything goes well and you get to start again.”

It was a stark contrast to his interaction with mami or emails from church ladies. There was an acknowledgement of disagreement, but he needed more people to respect that they weren’t there like she did. He also remembered watching his father die, and while he didn’t like the man, he regretted not ending that pain. It only drew out hurt for everyone.

“Thank you, Rachel. That really means the world to me.”

“Good luck today,” she said, giving him a wave when she took her coffee and left. By the end of the day, Rafael hated Peter Stone for being a damn good prosecutor, and he wondered if there were any cases he’d tried, especially the ones before SVU that he was wrong on. He made his way into a new bar, definitely not his usual during all of this, and he sat and drafted his resignation. It took longer than he cared to admit, and he restarted and reread it time and time again. By the time he was drunk, he’d written something he could proofread the next morning and ignored calls from Olivia, Carmen, and mami.

He decided it was time to do what he had been dreading, logging into Twitter. Since Carmen had cleaned it up, more people had found him, and he was able to easily ignore anything hateful by skimming for murder or murderer in the body of the tweet. He skipped those, and Rafael was surprised to see some apathy, sympathy, or respect for his reasoning. Lazily, he scrolled his direct messages. A select few of the people who knew him contacted him with revulsion, but his filtered messages were filled with vitriol. He found Rachel’s account again, following her back and deciding he could break his unspoken rule of only following people he knew or the occasional blog/podcast/museum/celebrity. If anyone contacted him with kindness, he was now more open to the reciprocity of Twitter; no one would be asking him to prosecute their case soon.

He saw a message from Tripp Greene. In Harvard, they’d had an unspoken alliance as the two scholarship kids in their cohort, a silent allegiance that continued into law school. There were very few people Rafael respected personally from Harvard, but Tripp had remained kind, even if he worked in something as ruthless as politics. They’d been reunited by Rafael’s uptick in Twitter popularity. He was more proud than he should be by the potential presidential candidates that had followed him. Rafael should have known Tripp would reach out; he was ever the silent cheerleader and had watched a sibling die on life support when he was at Harvard. They’d discussed the morality of pulling plugs and the selfish desire to keep people alive, though most of it had been Tripp talking and Rafael listening.

While moving to Iowa seemed extreme, he was acutely aware that he would end up haunting the DA’s office and Manhattan SVU like some ghost of ADAs past instead of moving forward. His mother had a boyfriend and looming retirement that seemed likely to take the pair to Miami, where she could play grandma to his grandchildren. There was nothing left for him here but Carmen, and while a great friend, she was not enough to erase the last twenty-one years of his life. When Carmen called for the fifth time that night, he ignored it, but it was quickly followed by Answer the phone or I tell Olivia I haven’t heard from you. With a groan, he answered when Carmen called again sixty seconds later.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to delve back into a play by play of my day.”

“That’s why you’re drunk at seven o’clock,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm as she pretended that solved everything.

“It’s only been two hours?”

“You’re not at Forlini’s.”

“I’m not hanging out with Stone.”

“Send me your location. I just picked Ollie up from mom’s.”

“Take your son home, Carmen. I’ll be fine.”

“But we could talk about how much I also hate Stone. I’ll even stop and let you grab take out from that Cuban place you like.”

“Deal,” he acquiesced, motioning he wanted to close his tab. “Call me when you’re close.”

“Deal. ETA is about fifteen minutes.”

He polished off his scotch, signing the check and tipping well before taking his briefcase and leaning against the wall as he waited for Carmen’s SUV. She waved at him out the window, and he hurried into her passenger seat. Though he always knew that she was a great secretary and assistant, Carmen was proving to be the friend he needed right now. Olivia, in the few phone calls they had, was unwilling to discuss anything but the case. She was in cop mode, and she talked to him like she could swoop in and fix what he had done. While she thought he didn’t know, she’d talked to McCoy, talked to Stone, talked to anyone who would listen. But what she didn’t understand is that he’d accepted going to prison was a possibility, but it was one he felt was worth it.

“Barba!” he heard from the backseat, smiling softly to see Ollie more awake than he’d expected. He’d seen the boy periodically, mostly during evening handoffs when Carmen’s mother would drop him off so Carmen could take him home. There were a lot of single mothers in his life, and all were exceptional. The last few days, Carmen and Ollie both had spent a lot of time with him. He kept introducing Ollie to music and movies and foods like he could make up for everything Drew wouldn’t experience by making sure Ollie did.

“Oliver!” he smiled, twisting around to smile at him. The boy kicked his leg, and the blue stripe on the rubber of his sneakers lit up. “I like your shoes.”’

“Thanks,” he giggled, kicking again.

“You’re good with him,” Carmen smiled, the navigation now leading her to get his take out.

“He’s a good kid. Noah made me better with kids. Liv said I held him like a sack of flour at first.”

“You’ll be ready by the time you have your own.”

“I work too much.”

“That can change.”

“I don’t deserve to have a child,” he shrugged, and he could see Carmen purse her lips. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be good at it anyway. Wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I might end up like dad. No kid deserves that shit.”

“Bad word!” Ollie scolded, tablet in hand as he watched a movie.

“Sorry, Ollie. Stuff.”

“You’ve never told me what he did.”

“He wanted heterosexual, toxic machismo and got a swarmy, emotional bisexual.”

“You’re not that emotional.”

“He took care of that,” he said darkly. “I used to cry when he went after mami. That turned his attention to me.”

Carmen knew there was nothing she could say, so instead she silently took his hand, squeezing softly. He was taken aback at first, but he kept her hand loosely in his as his head lulled against the headrest. It was strangely grounding, the physical affection. He’d felt like he was swimming the last few days as memories of his father, his father’s death, his childhood, and each case he tried bubbled up. That wasn’t including the vision of baby drew and Maggie in the hospital room that lingered everywhere.

The conflicting guilt and conviction he’d done the right thing also broke a damn and the feelings he’d suppressed- loneliness, guilt, abandonment, distrust- were all bubbling to the surface. He’d spent so much of his life trying not to process them so he could focus on a conviction rate and moving forward that he didn’t have the tools everyone else did sometimes. Right now, Carmen felt like an anchor, and he was grateful for her.

He got out of the car when Carmen parked, ordering enough food for three adults, one take out container containing whatever he thought a toddler could handle. Soon enough, they were settled in his living room and eating, though Ollie had minimal interest in the pork, beans, and rice in front of him. The thought crossed his mind that when he took one of the out of state jobs, he wouldn’t have Carmen there like this. He was sure this friendship would be short lived; when he didn’t need her anymore, she’d leave him. That’s what usually happened, wasn’t it? She just felt bad for him.

“I’m moving to Iowa,” he blurted out before he was able to spiral into the self loathing he’d recently discovered.

“That’s far,” she said, and he thought he could detect sadness in her voice.

“There’s FaceTime.”

“Not quite the same, but I’ll take it.”

“Tripp understands,” he said, sobering up as the food hit his stomach. “He lost a sister. Watched someone dying like with my dad except she’d been born that way. It was years, Carmen.”

“That’s a lot. I’m going to miss you, Rafael. Ollie will too.”

“Come visit. If the tickets are bad, I’ll pay. Or cover renting a car.”

“You’re drunk,” she chuckled.

“Sorry. Best friend. It’s the rules.”

“We’ll come. But I can afford tickets.”

“Promise if it’ll make things tight, you’ll let me. You’re raising a kid. No kids means I can afford to get my friend the occasional plane ticket.”

“Deal.”

“Next week, will it be Des Moines or prison? Who knows! I’ll probably grow a beard either way. Think they’d recognize me in prison if I grow a beard?”

“I’ve never seen you with a beard. Stop shaving and we’ll find out.”

She could see Rafael getting tired, head leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. She preferred when he joked about all of this. They were stuck waiting, and this time the next night they’d probably know. Ollie climbed between them on the couch, and she realized her boss wasn’t the only one almost asleep.

“You two can stay,” Rafael yawned, hand smoothing Ollie’s curls back.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice not being alone in the morning. And you can stay here to work. We didn’t talk about it, but I know you hate Stone. He’s a good attorney. Doing his job.”

“His job is wrong.”

“That isn’t his fault. If another ADA had done what I did? I’d be prosecuting them.”

“Go get ready for bed,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. As she scooped Ollie up, she kissed the top of Rafael’s head. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Carmen?” She turned in the doorframe. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“I’m glad to, Raf. Promise you’ll actually sleep.”

“I promise.”

“Night, Barba,” Ollie yawned, waving over his mom’s shoulder as they entered his guest room. Maybe Iowa was going to be too far if he didn’t go to prison. He was getting quite fond of having Carmen around quite quickly. He wasn’t going to be her superior anymore, so this friendship could be something he maintained.

Olivia would be a given; even if they were primarily united around work, she was also one of his closest friends and maybe not working together would make him relax. Hell, maybe the end of his life in the city would do it. Rafael couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t felt he was chasing an upward trajectory in New York City. Even at Harvard, the plan had been to return. Maybe coming into Des Moines established would let him feel comfortable just existing.

He liked cooking and reading in the park and going out dancing on occasion. He rarely had time for two options, and the latter made his cheeks red with embarrassment at the prospect of a colleague seeing him during the outing. In Iowa, maybe he could go dancing and take up a new hobby and wear jeans without feeling like something was out of his control.

He woke up before Carmen, excited to be able to cook for her. He appreciated the fact she was happy to help him, but she had paused her own life for the last few days. Their friendship was relegated to offices and dinners by the office. He’d come to her baby shower and birthday parties and even a holiday party, but that was it and that had other colleagues present. Except maybe the baby shower, but he was determined to buy up whatever was left on her registry when the day came, using mami, abuelita, and the older women at church as pseudonyms to pretend he’d just let family know.

“You can cook?”

“I just never had time,” he shrugged, tray coming out of the oven.

“You made pastries?”

“Pastelitos de guayaba.” Carmen didn’t miss how proud he looked as he admired them. They were something he’d always made with family. “They aren’t hard, but abuelita used to make them for me all the time. Puff pastry, sweetened cream cheese and guava paste. Cafe con leche on the way.”

“You couldn’t sleep?” He shook his head, pouring the espresso and adding the milk before placing mugs at the breakfast counter. His mouth was set in a line now, the corners sucked in as he focused on the countertop. Her hand rested on his, giving a squeeze and he rewarded her with a soft smile. “We’ll be helping you pack for Iowa in no time.”

“I hope,” he nodded, biting into a pastry. Ollie came out, eyeing the countertop. “Want one, Oliver?”

“What are they?”

“Delicious,” Carmen groaned, having torn into her own. That was enough for Ollie, who accepted a pastry from Rafael with a soft Thank you before biting into it carefully.

“Wow! It is good!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

It felt a somber affair, despite the pastries, when Carmen saw him off to court. She chose to wait in his apartment, ringer on high and news coverage on. Ollie was easily entertained by the toys she had in the car, and the phones were forwarded to be answerable on her cell phone. By the end of the day, she’d put dinner in his slow cooker and cleaned most everything at least once. And then her phone rang with his ringer. She’d picked one of the other presets for him long ago, and she watched Ollie with his blocks as she answered.

“Rafael?”

“Not guilty,” he exhaled, still unable to believe it as he surveyed his office to begin packing. Her desk was empty, and he didn’t mind today because if she had been here, McCoy would’ve had her helping Stone. Carmen was his assistant, his friend, and it was bad enough to know Stone would probably take his place at work.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “Did you turn the letter in?”

“I put it on Jack’s desk. I’m hoping to be gone buy his return. I think three heavy boxes will cover it. Plus anything I hung, but other than diplomas most of it came with the place.”

“I put dinner on. Ollie and I ran to the store and picked up short ribs and potatoes and carrots. I needed something to do.”

“Nervous you’d be visiting me in prison?”

“You know damn well juries can be swayed. You’ve done it.”

“And I’m safe. I’ll be there in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m really glad you get to go to Iowa.”

#Rafael Barba x Carmen #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #svu

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fierysafrina · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5.5.Catching up with you

Masterlist | Chapter 5 | x | Chapter 6

When a text message sent to the wrong number leads to many different things and it makes your world come crashing down once again.

Genre: Slice of Life | Hurt/Comfort | slight Angst Word count: 1.600 Note: Yes there are also going to be written parts. And for that scene with the toy in the reader’s hear is actually what really happened to me in kindergarten lmao a boy really did that to me and I almost forgot it until I reread this chapter just now and I’m not sure what the teacher did, but it was a really shitty move

You still weren't sure how exactly you agreed to go on a drink with Nash. Perhaps it was because of Alice's words, or perhaps there was a part of you that wanted to see how much he had changed. But that couldn't be, because you knew Nash from before. He was a tease, a trickster that always got on your nerves, always teasing you to no end.

Standing in front of a café, you were waiting. You checked the time for the tenth time and realised it only passed five minutes. Letting out a sigh, you rubbed your forehead and sighed.

"What's with the sigh?" A male voice spoke and your head snapped up.

Well knowing eyes stared at you, the corners of the man's lips turned upwards in a smirk.

“Nash…” You greeted quietly.

It didn’t seem to faze him as his smirk turned into a smile instead. “I hope you didn’t wait too long.”

“No,” you shook your head. Who were you to tell him you arrived half an hour earlier because you were nervous to meet him again. You definitely won’t tell him, already seeing his grin across his lips that would obviously tell you; “I knew you couldn’t do without me.”

Just that smile alone you wanted to smack off his face.

“Well, should we go?” he stepped aside.

You blinked before you nodded. “This café or somewhere else?” you asked and tilted head to the side, a form of gesturing towards the café you stood in front.

“Here’s fine.” He answered. “There’s not much of a crowd unlike other places.”

“Right…” you murmured. “You’re quite famous now.” You averted your gaze and Nash chuckled.

It took your breath away because it’s been so long since you last heard it and it was completely different. There was no sign of a boy neither in his appearance, less alone his voice. Only now, as you walked inside the café did it dawn you that you weren’t the only one that has changed. Nash has as well. And that was painfully obvious.

Sitting across each other, your arms were crossed across your chest, silence stretching between. Neither of you said a word as you waited for your drinks to come. Your gaze was focused mostly on the street outside, observing people while you felt eyes on you. And indeed; every time you glanced at Nash, he was looking at you. Constantly. Not once had he looked away, not even when the drinks arrived.

“You’ve changed.”

The words he spoke startled you.

You turned your head, eyes wide as you stared at him. “What?” you murmured more to yourself, but still loud enough for him to hear.

“Well, you used to be more … expressive or how should I say.”

“Yeah, because you got gum in my hair.”

“That was twenty years ago.”

“Baby, I can’t remember what I ate yesterday for lunch, so it’s a lot if I remember what you did to me twenty years ago.” you argued back with a huff.

How could you tell Alice and Shuzo you had a crush on him? He was everything you avoided.

He snorted and you glared at him. Covering his mouth with his hand, he looked down at his cup of black coffee, making you reach for your drink instead. There was silence, but this time it wasn’t awkward like it was before. It felt rather nice, pleasant if you could say so. You could spot a small smile growing behind his hand and you didn’t have it in yourself to call him out on it.

“You had a game today, didn’t you?”

Nash’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “Against Heat.”

You hummed, a small smile across your lips. “How was it?”

“As usual,” he shrugged. “We won easily.”

At that you scoffed. “Of course you did. You always win, don’t you?”

“Not always.” He murmured to himself that you barely caught it. Before you could ask what he meant, he asked; “So what are you up to these days?”

“Job market,” you shrugged with a sigh. “Searching for a job. I won’t ask what about you, cause I’m literally seeing you on every sports channel and everywhere in LA.” At that you both laughed.

“It’s been a while.” You said out of nowhere.

Nash stared at you like he was trying to read you, but quickly gave up on it. He took another sip of his coffee only to grimace at the bitterness because in the next moment he took sugar from the table and poured it in. You couldn’t help but laugh, making him look at you in confusion.

“I never thought I’d see you drink coffee one day.” You covered your mouth behind a hand, a teasing smile on your lips. “I imagined you’d be more of an alcohol type.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, princess.” He grumbled under his breath and you laughed once again. “I can’t exactly drink alcohol before the game, can I?”

“Well, I heard of some players that did and still do.”

“Well I’m not one of them.” He snapped rather harshly, his glare intensifying.

You raised your hands in defense, a teasing smile on your lips. “Well, you certainly have changed in some regards.” you mumbled, but Nash heard you loud and clearly.

“I can always go back if you want me to.”

“Well, don’t let me be the reason for you to get suspended or have bad luck.” You shook your head. “I don’t want your fans on my back either. I already had to deal with that in school all those years back.”

“Not that you were against having my attention aimed at you.”

At those words you felt your cheeks heat up, the tips of your ears along, and you blabbered incoherent words. “W-why did you a-ask me out today o-of all days?” you stuttered.

“Can’t I?” was his simple reason that made you scowl. “I told you; I wanted to catch up with you.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

“Not really,” he shook his head. He stared directly into your eyes and you couldn’t help feeling embarrassed, because he was looking at you so sincerely that all those rumours you heard made you wonder if he truly was capable of things he did.

But then you remembered Sarah and Nash in a classroom long after classes were done. How you couldn’t believe what you were seeing, because you didn’t want to believe it. How your chest felt tight and even had trouble breathing. All because you didn’t want to believe those rumours you heard. Because when Nash was with you, he was anything but arrogant. Sure he teased you and pulled on your hair, but that was all there was. He didn’t call you names, pet names or did anything too mean.

So many times you heard that he liked you, especially from your parents and relatives. But if he liked you, why was he hurting you?

“What are you thinking?” His voice brought you back from your thoughts.

You forced a smile; “Nothing.” Taking your drink, you took another sip before you focused back on the street outside. “You know what,” you spoke after a moment and faced him. “Why did you do that? Why were you pulling on my hair and put the gum in my hair? Or that time when you drove a damn toy truck into my hair so the teacher had to cut it.”

Nash’s cheeks turned into a bright shade of red and he coughed, avoiding your gaze. It seemed like he was embarrassed that you brought that out, but you wanted to know why he did that. All this time you thought he hated you, but when he was nice to you, it also confused you. You didn’t know how to feel about him, so your feelings for him changed constantly.

“I-I don’t know …” he stuttered out an answer. You raised an eyebrow at that, hardly believing it. “I-I just did what I thought was okay to do.”

“Yeah, well, it certainly wasn’t okay.” You crossed your arms, going on defense in a second. “I had no idea if I did something wrong to you or what. One moment you teased me constantly and then you acted all nice. What even was that?”

“I did that to everyone.”

Something about the way he said it, you didn’t like. His words sent sadness through you and your breath hitched. Your eyes grew teary, but you controlled your emotions before he could see your demeanour change. You didn’t want to give him any reason to pick on or tease you again. You didn’t need more misfortune in your life like you did all those years back.

“Of course you did.” Your voice turned just a bit colder than usually.

Nash looked at you, his eyes just a bit wider, but instead of saying anything about it, he blurted out; “Wanna go out with me tonight?”

"You know what? Yeah." You said and it took you a moment to realise what you just said. You both stared at each other like you both grew another head before you burst into laughter. Nash followed quickly after, a rather comfortable silence stretching between the two of you.

You glanced outside and saw the sky slowly turning darker and for some odd reason you didn't mind Nash's presence.

“Where do you wanna go?” he asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

You shrugged. “Surprise me.”

Nash mirrored it and he stood up, you along. He paid for the drinks before you left, both completely unaware of curious gazes that followed you at the distance.

#Nash Gold Jr.#Kuroko no Basket #safrinawrites #Nash x reader #KnB fanfic #knb fic #fanfiction #multi chapter #part of SMAU #wrong number princess smau #SMAU

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sweet-symphony0 · 3 years

Text

Minutes

Aaaand I’m back, another twin fic for Twin Tuesday! This one is full of angst, but it has a happy ending, I promise.

Summary: Sami is one who ends up in a car accident, but Rami is the one who crashes when he finds out what’s happened to his twin.

Tags: @the-real-ramimalekpeen @txmel @laminy @killerqueengigi @edteche2 @ramilicious @xmxisxforxmaybe @maz-zello @rathernotmyname and anyone else who wants to be tagged!

---

The unexpected phone call was shrill in his pocket, disturbing him from the script he was reading and the quietness of the room that he had settled into peacefully. Rami reached for it, frowning at the caller ID he didn’t recognize, and declined the call, before placing it off to the side and going back to his script again.

A minute later, his phone rang again and Rami really did frown then, biting back a groan at being disturbed again. Seeing it was the same number, he sighed, assuming it was a toll call, and he answered it with the intent to curse out whatever answering machine would be on the other end.

“Hello, is this Rami Malek?”

Rami sighed. Whatever paparazzi outlet got his phone number, he was going to kill them. “Yes, it’s me and I don’t know how you got this number-”

“I’m calling from UCLA Medical Center, concerning a Sami Malek? You’re listed as his primary emergency contact.”

Rami froze.

“What?”

“Sir, I just need to confirm it’s you. Can you give us Sami’s birth date?”

The words tumbled out of his mouth. “May 12, ‘81. We’re...we’re twins,” he added lamely, as if she didn’t already know that. “What’s happened to him?”

“Thank you sir. One moment, please.”

“What happened?” Rami repeated desperately, his mind running through a list of possibilities, each one increasingly more gruesome.

“He’s been in an accident, sir. A car crash, with a drunk driver. He was brought in twenty minutes ago-”

Rami stopped listening as he froze again, leaning against the wall for support. He glanced at the clock on on the television unit, seeing the numbers 12:32am glowing brightly in green. It was 9 at night in LA, which meant Sami was mostly like coming home from dinner. Dinner with friends, he remembered Sami telling him earlier that morning, and Rami had even asked his brother to pass along warm wishes of hellos on his behalf.

Shit, that was only this morning?

He tuned back in. “He was taken in for surgery upon arrival-”

“Surgery?! How...” Rami swallowed, staring at the clock again, which read 12:33 now. “How bad is it?”

“Critical as of right now. His arm got tangled in the seat belt and he’s bleeding pretty badly. That’s all I can say for now.”

Rami listened quietly, nodding to himself. “Thank you. I...I’ll be there as soon as I can. Can you keep me updated?” When he got an affirmative response, he hung up, taking a moment to take in the stillness of the room, a contrast to the bustling of Manhattan outside of his window.

Staring at the script still on the table, he moved it out of the way, reaching for his laptop instead. Booking the first flight he could find out to LAX, he texted his manager the situation before texting Sam he would need the next three days of work off for a family emergency.

He has to be okay, he has to be okay, hehastobe-

He stared at the clock again as he glanced over the details of his 5:15am flight confirmation, and he went to go make another phone call.

12:48am.

“Mom,” he said breathlessly when Nelly picked up. “Mom-no I know it’s late, I’m fine, that’s not important. Just listen. It’s Sami.”

---

He stumbled off the plane in a sleep induced haze, a small suitcase he packed on board with him so he didn’t have to wait for any bags. Standing in the taxi pickup, he booked an Uber to UCLA medical, where he reread the text messages Nelly had sent him during the night, saying that at sometime around 2:30 his time, Sami was out of surgery and resting under a sedative in the ICU. She had sent along photos of the crash as well, and when Rami opened them, he almost wished he hadn’t.

There was no car left. Rami recognized the back of Sami’s BMW, which was flipped upside down, the entire passenger side a mangled mess. Sami must’ve turned at the last second to protect himself, Rami realized, as he flipped through the photos. Airbags deployed, glass everywhere in the middle of the parkway...

Rami swallowed. He’s alive, he told himself. He’s going to be fine.

Upon arrival to the hospital, he rushed to the front desk, blurting out “Sami Malek?” to the receptionist and getting a double take of who exactly was asking in return, and she nodded after a moment of regaining her composure, but it was long enough to irk him. “Sami Malek?” He repeated, hiding his irritation.

“Yes, down the hall to the right. A nurse will bring you to him.”

“Thank you,” Rami rushed out, heeding her directions before another nurse led him behind the doors to the ICU. A series of twist and turns and then they were walking past a row of beds with curtains drawn around them for privacy and then he spotted his mother before he spotted his brother.

“Rami,” Nelly said in relief, hugging him. Rami returned it with all the vigor he had, needing her comfort. “Thank god.”

“How is he?”

“Resting,” Nelly sighed. “He woke up briefly last night when they brought him out of surgery, just for a few minutes but not since then. Jasmine will be here later, when she can.”

Rami pulled back then, stepping aside so he could pull the curtain back and Nelly let him, letting him see for himself, and Rami choked when he saw the sight of his battered brother.

A heart monitor was beeping steadily in the corner, with an oxygen tube hooked under Sami’s nose. His right arm was heavily bandaged and in a cast from shoulder to hand, and there were bandages on his forehead too. Rami couldn’t see, but he assumed there were bandages under the hospital gown Sami wore, hidden by the blankets.

Rami swayed on his feet. “Oh my god..”

“He’s alright,” Nelly said, and there were tears glistening in her eyes. “They said...said it looks worse than it is. That he’s very lucky.” Rami nodded numbly, collapsing in the chair beside Sami’s bed. “The other driver...didn’t survive.”

Rami winced, burying his face in hands. “Fuck...that’s horrible.”

“He ran a red light,” Nelly said shakily, switching to Arabic out of comfort. “Sami had the right of way and this man ran right into him. They say he...he broke several bones in his arm, and the seatbelt made it worse. Plus a few ribs got bruised, and he hit his head on the steering wheel.”

Rami couldn’t think of what to say, but he switched to Arabic too. “Fuck,” was all he said again.

It was a testament to the state his mother was in when she didn’t rebuke him for his language, and they sat quietly, Rami updating various people who were reaching out. Sam had been in constant contact with him despite the fact that Rami knew he would be at work now, and the fact that Sam was still asking made his heart swell.

A different nurse popped in this time, glancing at Sami’s monitor and his clipboard without looking up. “Family only,” he said, seeing the chair next to Sami’s bed and not bothering to check to see who it was. Rami raised an eyebrow at Nelly, who shrugged in bewilderment, and the same nurse finally looked up. “I’m sorry, this is a family only area-”

“I’m his fucking twin,” Rami finally snapped. “Or do you not constitute that as family?”

The nurse’s eyes bulged then as he glanced between Sami and Rami, and he shrunk minimally under Rami’s glare. “My apologies, I only meant to check-” but he faltered and hastily checked the charts before darting out with a “alert us if he wakes up,” and then he gone.

Rami sighed, offhandedly wondering if any competent people existed in this hospital, and he rubbed his temples in frustration. He had a headache settling in, from the late night and early traveling, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep on the plane. But he knew his mother had been here all night, and was undoubtedly exhausted.

“Mom,” he murmured. “Why don’t you go home? Go rest. I’ll stay with him.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’ve been here all night, you deserve to rest-”

“Not until he wakes up,” Nelly said firmly. “No.”

“Mom.”

“I said no.”

Rami didn’t have the heart or the patience to argue with her, at least not for the time being, so he nodded and slumped back in his chair as they waited, the sounds the monitor being the only thing to break the silence.

Sami didn’t wake up for another hour, eyes heavy but opening blearily and he groaned. Nelly gasped and squeezed his hand, silently crying again when Sami made eye contact with her.

“‘M okay,” he mumbled, and passed out again.

Nelly sniffled quietly, kissing Sami’s hand and she stood up shakily. “I’m going to...I’ll get the nurse.”

Rami nodded, but Nelly didn’t make it two steps before she promptly burst into tears, and Rami was a blur as he stood up and hugged her. “Mom, it’s...it’s okay.” His voice cracked. “It’s okay. He woke up.” Nelly didn’t say anything as she continued sobbing against him, and Rami teared up too, hating more than anything to see his mother like this. He swayed them side to side, hugging her tightly, and when her sobs quieted, Rami said gently, “will you please get some rest? If not for you, then for him? I’ll drop you home.”

Nelly glanced at Sami passed out on the bed. “I don’t know-”

“I’ll call if anything happens. Please mom. You need to take care of yourself too, I can watch him.”

Nelly nodded, wiping her face with her sleeve. “You’re a good brother. You’ve always been so good to him.”

Rami smiled wryly. “He’s my best friend. He’s always been there for me.”

“You promise to call?”

“Absolutely.” Rami looked around. “Where are your keys? I’ll drop you home. I don’t like the idea of you driving alone right now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nelly waved him off. “I’ll be fine. You need to stay with him.”

“Mom-”

“Rami, I said I’m fine. I will let you know when I’ve reached.” She leaned over to kiss Sami’s forehead. “I love you.” And she kissed Rami’s cheek and then she was gone, and Rami was alone again, staring at the clock, which read 8:16am.

Nearly twelve hours since this whole thing had begun.

Rami didn’t let himself cry, even if he wanted to, staring at Sami’s peaceful state. Sami didn’t deserve this. Sami was the best of them, with the biggest heart and a sharp tongue. He was Rami’s better half, and he didn’t deserve this.

His mother texted him half an hour later, confirming she’d made it home, and Rami sighed in relief, sending her promises to call again if anything changed. He stared at the clock again, watching the minutes tick by as it hit 8:45am to 8:50am.

Sami didn’t wake up for another two hours, and by that point Rami had unwillingly drifted off in the chair he was curled up in next to Sami’s bed. Sami didn’t wake him, he just observed quietly for the time being, taking in the hospital room, the fact that Rami was here at all, which meant it must have been bad enough for him to fly out. It wasn’t until that Sami caught sight of his arm, and felt the breathing tube that it all clicked into place as it all came back, and he jerked up in surprise, heart beating wildly.

“Sami?!” Rami lurched awake and out of his chair, identical eyes wide and staring at this twin. “No no, lay back down, it’s okay, it’s okay! I’ll explain, just relax for me.”

Sami was still staring and he croaked out like “Rami...what..”

Rami steered Sami back down, pushing his shoulders down until Sami was laying down again. “That’s it, easy. Easy dude, just breathe for a second. You can’t do that.” He rubbed Sami’s good shoulder until Sami was sufficiently calmer, glancing around the room warily. “What do you remember?”

“I...” Sami stared at the ceiling. “There was a crash...I had dinner..and you’re here.” He met Rami’s eyes. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” Rami said instantly. “The hospital called me. I came as soon as I could.”

“You didn’t have to,” Sami whispered meekly. “I’m fine.” Rami raised an eyebrow, and Sami grinned a little. “Mostly.”

“You should take a look from where I’m sitting,” Rami muttered, doing a once over of his twin. “You scared the shit out of me. You bastard.”

Sami winced. “Sorry. When do I get out of here?”

“Not for a while, I think. A few days.” Rami grimaced when Sami sighed. “You’re pretty banged up.”

“No shit.”

“Oh, good to see your sense of humor is still intact.“

Sami sighed again, glancing at his arm. “This fucking blows. I don’t have time for this, I have papers to grade.”

“Yes well,” Rami snorted, rolling his eyes. “Those will have to wait, and I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that. Maybe you’ll get lucky and learn to write left-handed.”

“Or I’ll just have you do it for me.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” At Sami’s prominent smirk, Rami groaned. “Asshole. That was awful.”

“But true.”

Rami paused, and then looked at Sami’s face again, surrounded by bandages. “Yes, absolutely true. Even though we’re not in middle school anymore.”

Sami chuckled weakly and then whimpered when it hurt his ribs, and Rami took that as his cue to explain what happened and the extent of his injuries. Sami listened half-heartedly, playing with a loose thread in the hospital comforter. Rami took his hand, squeezing gently. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Sami murmured, still staring at the comforter. “I know. My god, my fucking car. Shit-”

“Don’t worry about your car, I’ll buy you a new one.” When Sami spluttered, Rami waved him off. “We’ll talk about it later. I don’t give a shit about the car, I just care that you’re alright.”

“You don’t but I do,” Sami sighed, and he looked around again, peeking through the curtains around the bed. “Fine. Where’s mom? I remember her being here.”

“She was here. I sent her home to sleep, she stayed here all night.”

Sami nodded. “Good, she needs rest. So do you, you must be exhausted. You don’t have to stay with me.”

“I want to.”

“But you don’t have to, not for me.”

Rami tilted his head. “Do you not want me to?”

Sami sighed in frustration. “No, I just..it’s not necessary. I’m good here, I’m not even in pain.”

Rami got it. “You know I don’t care that you’re in a hospital bed right? You’ve seen me in far worse condition.” Sami didn’t say anything, so Rami pressed on. “I want to be here. I was worried, so let me be here please.”

Sami cracked a smile. “Sure.”

“Cool,” Rami squeezed his hand again. “You...you’re not allowed to scare me like that again, Sami.”

“Well,” Sami said wryly, a tired expression on his face. “It’s not like I intended to be in this position-”

“Sami.”

Sami went quiet when he saw the forlorn expression painted on Rami’s face. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s okay,” Rami sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay and coherent.”

“What about...the driver? The one who hit me?” Rami didn’t answer that, his simple shake of the head was all the answer Sami needed, who sucked in a breath and nodded.

They fell into silence after that, mulling in their own heads, but Sami tightened his grip on Rami’s hand, to the best of his ability, and Rami squeezed back gently. Sami lay back against the pillows, fighting back exhaustion again, but he still gripped Rami’s hand.

“Rami,” he murmured.

“I’m here,” Rami said, scooting to the edge of his chair to get closer.

“Can you stay?”

Rami smiled. “What happened to wanting me to go?”

“I don’t want you to go,” Sami said, staring at Rami with half-lidded eyes, his expression so earnest it made Rami emotional. “Want you to stay.”

“I wasn’t going to go anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“Unfortunately,“ Sami grinned weakly. “Pain in my ass.”

“Yep,” Rami said cheerfully. “Your favorite pain in the ass, since forever. We shared a womb together, that’s it.” Sami fell silent, but squeezed his hand, his eyes glassy with what took Rami a moment to realize were tears. “Sami...hey...”

“I love you,” Sami said softly, and if that didn’t just do it for Rami, who finally felt a lump in his throat. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you too, Samsy,” Rami leaned over to fix Sami’s hair that wasn’t under the bandages, scratching his scalp gently, and he blinked back his tears. “Don’t you worry. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

Sami choked upon hearing the old childhood nickname. “Samsy?! You haven’t called me that since we were seven.”

“Yeah, well, the last time you were in a hospital bed was when you were seven, so it’s warranted.” Rami grinned, eyes twinkling still. “You thought I’d forgotten?”

“I’d...hoped.”

“Well it looks like you’ll have to just suck it up, sorry.”

Sami groaned. “Oh my god.”

Rami chuckled and scratched Sami’s scalp more, threading his fingers through his hair, and Sami sighed, raising his good arm. “Get over here.”

Rami froze. “Uh...I don’t...I-”

“You won’t hurt me, you’re like, the size of a twig,” Sami said impatiently. “Is it too much to ask for a hug?”

Rami sighed and chuckled, muttering “I take offense to that,” but he leaned over, giving Sami a careful hug, and they clinged to each other, not wanting to let go even after several minutes. Rami kissed his temple in a moment of rare affection, and Sami smiled.

“Rams?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” And he didn’t elaborate, because Rami knew, and he smiled back.

“For you? Anytime.”

#let's play the game see if you can spot my favorite line #rami malek #sami malek #the malek siblings #malek twins #malek twin appreciation #twin tuesday #let me know if you want to be tagged!

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

Paper Rings

So yes, it is 2 am and here I am just finishing this, but oh well (ignore typos, I’ll probably reread it in the morning and catch them all. Or point them out, I’m fine with that). But keep supporting the Black Lives Matter movement! If you want or need any resources I’m totally happy to help you find them! OR you have any that you wanna share, please do!

Shout out to @bandgirlsclub for helping me with the Instagram part, she’s the greatest and you should read all her stuff!!

This was requested and inspired by Paper Rings by Taylor Swift. I hope you like it!

____________________

March

“We’ve been here for twenty minutes and they’re already stoned out of their minds?” you say to your friend, your voice high like it does when you can’t believe the world around you. You weren’t one to smoke, and normally you didn’t care if people did, but when you didn’t know anyone around you besides your friend from work, you started to worry.

“We were late, and they live here. It’s no big deal. Like you always say, you don’t care if people do it as long as they’re safe and they don’t make you do it if you say no,” she says, going to join them. You stood off in the corner, just watching the scene unfold; you hated being the only sober one at a party, but it looks like that was going to happen tonight.

“So you’re not one to smoke, either?” someone says, startling you.

“Oh, my god. Uh, no, clearly I’m paranoid enough as it is.”

You both start laughing, him handing you the drink that was in his hand. You look down at the clear liquid, not sure what it is. You look back up at him, eyebrow raised, lifting the cup to your nose to see if it smelled like vodka.

“It’s just water. Something tells me you need to stay sober tonight, too.” He gestures over to your friend, whos already giggling like nobody’s business. Apparently, you were either going to be staying over at whoever’s place this was, or you were going to have to get her home.

“Are you the babysitter tonight?” you ask.

He nods his head, his curls bouncing as he does, “That and I have to be up early tomorrow and something tells me that a hangover and traveling across the country isn’t the best combination.”

“You get to travel for work? I would love a job like that.”

“Uh, yeah. What do you do?”

You roll your eyes, exhaling. “I’m an HR rep for an insurance company. It’s so exciting,” you say with the most sarcastic tone. You didn’t hate your job, but you would give anything to do something else if the money wasn’t so good. “What do you do?”

“I play for the Avalanche.”

You nearly spit out the water right in his face, “Like the hockey team?”

“Do you know of another Avalanche I could play for?”

“Touche.”

You spend the rest of the night talking to Tyson, as he said his name was, while everyone around you just kept smoking whatever they had. You ended up on the balcony of the apartment, looking up at the sky, a breeze cooling you off in what was otherwise an unseasonably warm night for the end of March.

“It’s amazing how many stars you can see considering how close we are to the city,” you say, breathing in the clean air. You couldn’t remember the last time you say the sky this clear and naturally bright. It was calming, the moon bringing out a more tranquil presence than you had expected.

“Sometimes when we don’t stay directly in the city we’re playing in I’ll go up to the roof at night and just look up. It’s easy to get lost in the stars even when you’re down on Earth.”

“For a hockey player, you sure have a way with words,” you tease, knocking your shoulder against him as the two of you lean on the railing of the balcony.

“And for someone in HR, you’re surprisingly likeable.”

You turn to him, not sure if you should be shocked or flattered, “How many unlikeable HR people do you know?”

“I’m basing everything off Toby from The Office.”

“Toby was not that bad! He was just...weird.” You both laugh and launch yourselves into a debate about the TV show, talking for hours until the sun starts to come up.

“Shit, I didn’t realize it was this late. Early?” you say, turning to look inside. Everyone was still your, your friend on the couch while the guys around her were on the floor, all asleep.

“Yeah, but I’m guessing you don’t need to be up in,” he runs his hand through his hair, checking the time on his phone, “Fuck, I need to be with the guys in less than an hour! I have to go!” He gets up, reaching for his keys in his pocket. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I really do hope we can see each other again.” And just like that, he leaves.

You sit there, shocked that the night actually just happened. That was easily the best night you’ve had in a while. The last time you stayed up like that was probably the night after your high school prom, talking with your best friend and now ex-boyfriend. You want to see him again, but if he’s a professional athlete who couldn’t even get your information, then what was the point?

“Hey, babe. Do you want to go back to your place or mine?” You practically jump out of the chair that you had been sitting in, falling asleep after finding Tyson on Instagram and following him. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Wanna get food first? I was promised dinner last night and ended up drinking a lot of water instead,” you say, checking your phone.

Tyson Jost (josty17) started following you.

“Sure. The dinner down the street from work?” she suggests, pulling you up out of the chair, going back inside.

As you’re careful not to step on anyone who’s still asleep on the floor, your phone dings with another notification from Instagram: josty17 sent you a message.

“I’m down.”

June

Four. Four books was all he had on his nightstand, and all he seemed to have in his entire apartment. “We need a trip to Barnes and Noble or something, you need more stuff to read for me,” you whine, picking up one of the books you’ve already read twice since starting to date Tyson. You were lying on your back in his bed, holding the book up over your face and praying that you don’t drop it on yourself.

“Am I supposed to buy books for you?” he asks, flipping through the channels to find something to watch.

“Well, no, you could buy books for yourself and then I’ll read them once you’re done.”

“I don’t really read that much.”

“But reading’s fun!” you say as he looks at you, his eyebrow raised. “Oh, stop that, you just need to find the right book.”

“And I’m assuming you have a list of books that you want me to get?” he teases, jabbing his hand into your side to tickle you.

“Yes, stop that!” you let out, not hiding your laughter but almost kicking him in the face in the meantime out of reflex, “Fiction or nonfiction?”

“You’re gonna tell me both, aren’t you?” He looks at you, smiling as you nod your head. Rolling his eyes, he says, “Go ahead.”

“Well I personally love Educated by Tara Westover, Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston-”

“Woah there,” he cuts you off, putting his hand over your mouth to get you to stop talking, “I need more than just titles here if I’m gonna buy them. You don’t judge a book by it’s cover.”

“Gross, cliches. But you actually want to hear me sit here and talk about the books I like?”

“You’re cute when you talk about things you’re passionate about, and you hate your job so it doesn’t happen often.”

“Two cliches in like five minutes? That’s gotta be a new record for you, Josty.”

You both start laughing as he turns his attention back to his TV, finally picking a channel to settle on before turning back to you. “I know it’s only been a few months, but I think I’m falling in love with you.”

You can’t help but smile at his third cliche. Third time really is the charm. “So,” you kiss his cheek, pulling away before he can turn and kiss you more, “Invisible Man is about an unnamed narrator; he’s a black man living in America before the Civil Rights movement, and it’s about how he feels as a black man in white America.” You spend the rest of the night telling him about all your favorite books, him nodding along and smiling as you don’t shut up, knowing that he won’t remember any of the book titles that you told him.

He just loved the way you got excited over stuff like this.

January

“I feel like two gallons of paint is a lot for one room,” Tyson says, handing you the blue paint your brother asked you to pick up. He grabs the rest of the supplies from the back seat of your car to lug up to your brother’s new place. He bought it as his first home with his new wife and asked you to help them paint it. It was getting you a free dinner, so why not?

“We’re only doing his bedroom today and apparently two gallons is enough for a standard-sized room, whatever that means.” You walk up the path to his new house. It was the first time you had seen it, so you were excited to go in even though you knew everything was covered in tarps and plastic.

“My little sister!” Tommy yells as soon as you approach the door. You didn’t even have the chance to knock, him startling you and causing you to almost drop the cans of paint right on his porch.

“Hey, jackass,” you say, bitter that he scared you.

“And you must be Tyson,” Tommy says, taking some of the supplies from him and leading you into the house.

“Uh, yeah, nice to meet, you,” he responds, clearly a little confused by the ‘jackass’ greeting. You might have forgotten some details about yours and your brother’s relationship on the drive over. It was the one where insults like jackass and dumb shit were terms of endearment.

“Shit, bub, you have a nice place!” you look around, admiring it. “Erica must have been so happy when you found this.”

“She was ecstatic. She was even happier when you agreed to help paint for the price of some dinner.”

“Painting is calming and food tastes even better when it’s free, how can I say no?”

He opens the door to the room at the end of the hall. “This is the master. Do you guys want to paint here while Erica and I finish the guest room and work on the living room?”

“Yeah, works for us,” Tyson answers for you.

Tommy leaves the two of you alone to start painting the entire room. You open the can of paint, revealing a light blue paint.

“Remember that night last month when one of the guys dared us to jump in the pool?” you ask Tyson as he pours the paint into the tray.

“Yeah, why?”

“This is the color of blue that I thought we were going to turn if we stayed in the water any longer.”

“Ya know, you’re the only girl I’ve dated that would complain about being in the water with such a hot guy,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, so you’ve dated actual psychopaths?” You joke, rolling the first coat of paint on the wall.

“I’ve only dated one psychopath, and that’s you. But everyone’s a little crazy, most people just call it unique.”

“Can I ask you how many girls you’ve actually dated?”

“You can ask but do I have to answer?” he says, your backs facing each other as you paint opposite walls.

“Please? I’ll tell you mine. Oh come on, what couple doesn’t talk about their old relationships?”

“Healthy ones?”

“Tys.”

“Fine. I’ve been in three serious relationships, or I guess relationships lasting more than four months, not including ours, and one really serious relationship.”

“What’s the difference between the serious ones and the really serious one?”

“Wait, no. Your count and then I’ll tell you.”

You roll your eyes knowing that he can’t see you, letting out a sigh. “A boyfriend in highschool and one in college. Now you.”

“No way,” he says, turning towards you to get more paint.

“What do you mean? I’m not the type to date around. If I’m going to date the guy I want to make sure it has potential for something that’s more than a fling.”

“Well, how can you grow as a person if you don’t give other people a chance? Isn’t it an important part of life to get hurt sometimes?”

“I’m not saying I’ve never gotten hurt before, I just wasn’t in a relationship when I did.”

“How does that work?”

“I thought this was I ask, you answer, you ask, I answer?” you ask, whipping around. Tyson was already facing you when the excess paint comes flying off your roller and splatters across Tyson’s face and chest. “I am so sorry!”

He gets a mischievous look on his face as he dips his hand in the can of paint, “No, no, no!” you screech as he splatters you with paint. The two of you start throwing paint at each other, at one point Tyson grabbing you by the face right after he put his hands in the can.

You’ve wasted half a can of paint on each other when Tommy comes knocking on the door, “What the hell are you two doing? Is this some sort of kinky sex thing?”

You scream, grabbing onto Tyson out of reflex, “That is not something I would talk about with you, and no! Go back to your wife!” Tommy just shrugs and leaves, closing the door slowly behind him. “Was this a fight?” you ask Tyson once you hear your brother go down the stairs.

“Maybe? We can say yes. What kind of couple doesn’t fit?”

“Weird ones,” you say, both of you laughing as your dripping with paint.

“I love you,” he says, “And I want to kiss you, but I don’t think the paint would taste good.”

“I love you, too. But yeah, no. Please don’t eat the paint.”

December

“Why are you giving me the cold shoulder all of a sudden?” Tyson asks, walking hand in hand with you through the streets of Denver.

You stop and pull him aside, “I don’t think you understand what the cold shoulder is.”

“It’s when someone is intentionally unfriendly.”

“Am I being unfriendly”?

“You haven’t talked to me since we left the restaurant.”

“I’ve been thinking!” you defend yourself. When you get deep in thought, you sort of shut down from the world around you. You still move about like a normal person, but the interaction between you and other people is minimal.

“Thinking about what?” He lifts your chin, trying to get you to look at him. You bite your bottom lip. He knows you’re thinking about something that’s bothering you.

“How long is this going to last since you’re always going to practice and traveling?”

Since that night you met, you had been talking nonstop. You feel hard and fast for this boy who was never home at the start of whatever relationship you had with him. Once his season was over, he started taking you out on dates; the two of you probably went on actual dates at least twice a week, and hung out the other five nights at your apartment, his apartment, or at whatever party one of you had been invited to. He was your boyfriend in every sense of the word, but would that end once the season starts.

“What do you want to happen?” he says, smiling, pulling you closer to him.

“Well, I like what we have. I don’t want it to end.”

“I wasn’t planning on ending it, where you?”

“No.”

“Then why worry?”

“I mean, do you want this last?”

“Of course I do. Come on.” He puts his arm around your shoulder, leading you down the street. He takes you into a Target, “Whatever you want, I will buy you.”

“That’s dangerous, bud. You know what I’m like in Target,” you tell him as he steers you towards the jewelry department.

“What about this?” he says holding up a ring.

“Is that just a ring, or is that a promise ring?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“It’s going to be nothing if you don’t start making decisions!” You both start laughing as he slips the ring onto your right ring finger.

“I like a promise ring.”

“Wait, actually,” you say, taking the ring off and grabbing Tyson’s hand, “Come with me.”

You lead him to the party section of the store, down the aisle with all the tissue paper. “Pick a color.”

He looks at all the options, the solid colors, striped pastels, polka dots, rainbow, scalloped paper. “I like the red.”

“No. Green,” you ignore him, picking up the package of green tissue paper and pulling him down on the floor to sit with you.

“Then why did you ask?” he cries as you tear open the package, “Um, isn’t this stealing?”

“No, you’re gonna pay for this. What you’ve never opened a bag of chips and snacked while shopping before?” He laughs at you as you start folding the paper into strips. You reach for his right hand, wrapping and folding the paper so that it stays on his ring finger. You do the same thing for yourself, holding your hand up to admire it.

“What is this?” he asks, smiling, shifting his gaze between the ring and you.

“Paper rings. I like these better. I don’t need something flashy from you to prove that you want to stay with me,” you say as he pulls you up off the floor, pulling you into a hug, “Plus $1.59 is a lot less of a financial burden than any ring that I probably wouldn’t wear.”

“I love it,” he says, kissing the top of your head as you walk to the register to buy your rings.

September, three years later

“Happy anniversary, babe,” you say, hugging Tyson from behind and kissing him on the cheek as he sits at the kitchen table, the dinner he made sitting in front of him.

“Happy anniversary, my beautiful wife.”

“Can you believe we’ve already been married for a year?”

“And yet it feels like I’ve known you forever.”

You start laughing, nearly spitting out the wine that you were drinking. “There’s that cliche crap I love from you.”

“Do we want to do presents now or after we finish eating?”

“That depends: is the gift something that actually can be given right now before the food gets cold?”

He stops for a moment before realizing what you mean, “One of them yes, the other is definitely in the bedroom.” He puts a large box on the table, wrapped neatly with a bow.

“I have to go get yours, wait!” you say, running down the hall to the closet where you were keeping his.

“Open yours first!”

You take off the bow, ripping through the paper. Inside the box are a bunch of books: Their Eyes Were Watching God, Educated, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Blind Side, and Native Son. “Are these all the books that I suggested to you years ago?”

“Some of them, yeah. The others I actually got and have been reading on the road using the Kindle App on my phone. Who would have thought books were good?”

“You sound like an idiot. But I love this! I can’t believe you remembered!” You get up and kiss him, shoving the gift you got him in his face. “Now it’s your turn!”

He opens the bag, his face lighting up when he sees what it is. Last season, the Avalanche won the division, winning the Campbell trophy. You and some of the other wives and girlfriends were allowed on the ice, you jumping into Tyson’s arms as he lifted you up and kissed you. Someone got a series of pictures of that night, and you got them framed for him. “Babe. I love this.”

“I think we set the bar too high for anniversary gifts,” you say as he kisses your cheek.

“Yeah, next year I’m just going to sleep with you.”

“Tyson!” you squeal, throwing a piece of lettuce at him from the bowl of salad that was in front of you. “That’s so crude!”

“Yeah, maybe. But I have one more gift for you tonight.”

He puts a small box on the table in front of you. “What is this?”

“Well, open it!”

You shake your head, smiling at how eager he was. What could it be? Inside the box are two green pieces of paper. “Are these the paper rings we made at Target? You kept these?”

“Yeah. You said that you didn’t need jewelry to know that we were going to stay together. That was the night I knew you were the one, craziness and all.”

You can’t help but start crying over how sweet that was. You couldn’t believe he had kept something like two pieces of tissue paper. How many people can say paper rings were a symbol of their relationship?

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