#favorite person is just a wide term for how he feels about jean but we dont have time to unpack all of that. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miekasa · 3 years

Text

bad romance

+ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

+ genres and warnings: friends with benefits au, friends to lovers au (well i guess that’s open for interpretation lmao), modern au—college au?, explicit smut, mentioned/implied virginity

+ summary: friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school is probably a bad idea. friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school who you’ve also been in love with for the past seven years—all for the purpose of her gaining ‘experience’ so she’s not nervous to do it with some other guy she has a crush on—is probably a really bad idea. levi ackerman is not known to make great decisions.

+ word count: 3.5k

+ notes: truth be told, i don’t even know if i like this; i took this from an outline/draft of a series i’d planned but know i’ll never complete. it’s kind of unedited too heh, also if you’re a minor pls do not interact

Levi doesn’t think anything of it when he finds you on his doorstep on a rainy Saturday evening. It’s very much like you to show up unannounced and attempt to drag him into whatever activity you want to do that day. He’s fairly certain that Hange picked that up from you. Someone should tell her that it doesn’t work so well unless it’s you tugging on his arm sleeve and interrupting his otherwise peaceful evening.

So, for a while, everything is normal. You make fun of him for his use of, admittedly overpriced, organic butter when he toasts you a bagel; he makes jabs at you shuffling around his apartment like a semi-wet chihuahua, and all is right with the world.

Until it’s not. Because half-way into whatever stand-up comedy Netflix special you’d persuaded him into watching with you, Levi’s had enough of your nervous ticking. He doesn’t know if you think that he wouldn’t notice, but he does. And he knows it’s not the result of you still being wet or cold from the rain, seeing as you’ve long since dried off and warmed up.

You’re focused on the show (ironically, focused to a point of distraction), you’ve been twiddling your fingers since it started, and you’ve been fidgety since you stepped foot into his house. Quite frankly, he finds it insulting that you think he wouldn’t know something’s up by now.

So, he bends his knee, turns his body towards yours, lifts his elbow to rest atop the edge of the soft, and presses his cheek into his palm: “Alright, spit it out.”

“Huh?—What do you mean?” You look at him with wide, startled eyes. He looks back at you with unamused, expecting ones.

You crack a nervous smile, attempting to laugh off his command as incredulous, but instead, your voice comes out in what sounds like a pathetic attempt to cover up a lie—probably because it is, “What? Can’t I spend sometime with my favorite, surly psychology student?”

Levi scoffs at your batting eyelashes. The look he throws you seems to do the trick as you drop your facade with a sigh and shift yourself to face him on the couch too, your bent knees almost touching.

“Alright, fine, you got me,” you sigh, hands resting in your lap, “You, um... you know how you said you’d help me with, like, uh... sex and stuff?”

Levi raises an eyebrow. Of course he does. He watches as your eyes dart around the room waiting for his response. It’s cute as heck, and if the topic of conversation at hand weren’t about to get so compromising, he’d have probably teased you about it.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well… okay, so, you remember Jean, right? The guy I told you about?”

Levi hums. Yeah, he remembers Jean, but only because you can’t seem to shutup about him, not because he’s particularly memorable otherwise. He seems to be kind of a prick and a huge idiot, if you asked Levi; but, that’s kind of his default impression of most people.

“Jean and I hung out yesterday, and it was normal, you know? We just talked and ordered food and watched a movie,” you rub your palms along the fabric of your yoga pants—another nervous tick he’s been observing, “I don’t know if it was a date or not, because he didn’t say it was, and I don’t want to assume, but Marco keeps saying it was, and that Jean wants to actually ask me out.”

Levi blinks. “And?”

“And if he does ask me out—or even if he just… I don’t know, wants to try something the next time we hang out, I don’t want to look like a complete idiot!”

He refrains from letting a noticeable grimace take over his features; and washes away the unsettling feeling in his stomach with a nonchalant comment, “I doubt he’ll try anything on your first date.”

“But what if it’s not a date! People hang out just to hook up all the time.”

“I thought you wanted to date him?” Levi questions, but his it comes out as more of a deadpan statement.

“I do,” you answer, your response a little delayed and drawn out, “But, I wouldn’t mind just sleeping with him, either.”

“Bold statement from someone who’s never slept with anyone before.”

“Have I told you today that you’re an asshole?” you roll your eyes at him, “Come on, Levi, you know what it’s like to just want someone, but not want them, don’t you? You’ve had one night stands before.”

That’s true, Levi knows it, but it’s different. He wasn’t actively seeking advice from his friends about how to pursue and potentially please his one night stands because none of that mattered—well, the pleasing part, probably, but not the pursuit, or the feelings that came with it. Besides, Levi hasn’t felt the desire for any of that in a long time.

“That’s not the same,” he responds, trying to dismiss the muddy feelings crawling up his throat, “Look, if your Jean guy gets horny when you’re hanging out, just make out with him—make him jizz his pants or something.”

“That’s terrible advice,” you frown, “Plus, he’s probably done that with a million other girls.”

“Probably. Sex tends to repeat a few basic actions here and there.”

“For a psychology student, you sure are a terrible makeshift therapist, do you know that?”

“That’s not even the kind of psychology I study, never mind that I never asked to be your therapist.”

Levi takes great amusement in your huffing and the frustrated pout settling into your features, though he does his best to not let his own smile shine through. It’s probably futile; you can probably see through his facade, anyways.

“I just don’t want to bore him, Levi.”

Any trace of his smile vanishes as those words leave your mouth. Levi doesn’t retain much about this Jean guy you keep going on about, and he doesn’t care to in all honesty—but maybe if he did, he could understand why you’re so hellbent on pleasing the kid.

Levi doesn’t like it, not one single bit. His own feelings for you aside, he doesn’t like how Jean has managed to worm his way into your head and make you think that he’s deserving of any kind of affection from you, whether it be platonic, romantic, or sexual. Because he isn’t; Levi might not know him, but he knows that much.

Still, he sympathizes with you. He understands the pressure of navigating dating and hookup culture, especially in a university setting; never mind the additional expectations set on you as a girl. It’s shitty, all of it; the stupid feelings, the sense of uncertainty, the dumb-ass college pricks. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of that.

“You won’t,” is Levi’s simpler response, “Just don’t crush his dick in the process.”

“I wouldn’t do that, fuck you.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve never been the most coordinated person in the world,” he taunts, “If that’s what you came here today to ask me to help you with, it’s fine.”

“Really?—I mean, okay, I know we said that’s okay, and stuff, but I didn’t know if—well I don’t know what’s on the table or not? I do want to do that with you, but I also wanted to know if we could do… more? But I didn’t want to ask for too much and make you uncomfortable! Do we need a lesson-plan of sorts, because I can make—”

“You’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Stalling,” Levi tells you, “You know, how when you get all nervous and ramble, then run out of breath or things to say, then get super quiet, and let the conversation die and be awkward again.”

You throw daggers his way with your eyes, and Levi has the audacity to smirk. “Forgive me, it’s not every day I ask my best friend if I can suck his dick for practice.”

“You can,” Levi replies, a little too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “If you want. I don’t mind. As for a lesson plan, that’s weird as shit, so don’t do that.”

“Really? I can?” you question again, an ironic child-like glimmer of joy in your eyes.

Levi chuckles lowly at your enthusiasm—your appreciation is so genuine, he finds it nothing short of adorable. And oddly enough, he’s a little turned on by it, too.

“Yeah,” he nods his head shallowly, “You can.”

You still have that gleam in your eyes, but Levi can feel the hesitation creeping up on you, and offers his guidance before he loses you to a shell of yourself. He shifts over to you just a bit, loosely holding your right wrist in his grip; holding eye-contact, he carefully pulls you up to stand in front of him.

“You can start,” he says, slowly tugging on your wrist, “By getting on your knees and taking off my pants.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, you’re already kneeling in front of him, and the sight is already enough to have Levi semi-hard in his pants; an almost embarrassed flush washing over his body as he comes to terms with the fact that he’s thought about this visual more times than he cares to ever admit.

You fumble with the zipper of his jeans, pulling them, along with his boxers to pool around his ankles. Your actions are careful and calculated, but you seem comfortable—maybe not with your skills, but with Levi.

His eyes stay glued on you, when you finally hold his length with a single hand, the other resting hot on his thigh. He leans over again, this time to rest a comforting hand on the back of your neck, eager to wash away any remains of your nervous resolve.

“Start slow,” he instructs, feeling your thumb swipe along the head, “Just move your hand up and down a bit, like—ah, yeah, like that.”

You seem follow his words carefully, focusing on the way his dick jerks in your hand. Levi observes you carefully and mentally notes that while he’d have liked it, not making out with you before this was probably the right call—he’d probably have creamed his jeans before this could have begun.

“You can grip it harder,” he tells you. You listen, applying slightly more pressure to your grasp; and it makes Levi groan, short, but strangled, above you.

“Okay?” you question, the genuine concern in your voice enough to make Levi’s gaze soften.

“Yeah, that’s—you’re doing good,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the nape of your neck habitually, “Twist your hand a little when you go up, you can—fuck, okay, yeah, that, like that.”

You snap your head up to look at him when he lets a moan slip through; nothing but pure enthusiasm and satisfaction dancing in your eyes. Levi grits his teeth when you do it again, your thumb sliding over the tip when you reach the top of his dick, and, Christ, you’ve got to stop looking at him like that.

You work your way into a steady rhythm, letting Levi’s moans guide your movements. You feel him harden to full length under your touch; and when he does, you move your hand faster, twisting your wrist around the length and squeezing just a pinch harder at the tip, without instruction.

He watches through lidded eyes, using his thumb to press lightly into the back of your neck. You move your free hand from his thighs, eager to add it to the mix, but Levi freezes.

“Nuh uh,” he shakes his head.

It prompts you to stop your actions, tilt your head and look up at him, and Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so sinful. Your complete focus on him, neck craned obediently, eyes twinkling under your lashes; your position makes him want to kiss you or choke you or something in between.

“What—did I do something wrong?” you ask with wide and innocent eyes that make Levi feel bad for worrying you, yet send an erotic pulse throughout his body.

“Not at all,” he reassures you, fingers treading into the hair at your nape.

He’s setting himself up for failure, and he knows it, too—because, really, who agrees to teach a friend how to suck dick? Having you on your knees in front him, crane into his touch, and keen to all his desires, does nothing to mask the painful fire in the pit of his stomach.

It’s stupid to be this hungry, this possessive over you when he knows you come to him in hopes to learning how to please another man. But one, precious thought is enough to cloud over all of that, enough to put that sadistic smirk back on his face.

“You said you wanted to give me a blowjob, right?” he questions, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth at the shallow nod of your head, “Okay. Open your mouth for me, yeah?”

He barely pushes the tip past your lips when your head dips forward, tongue peeking out to lick the very top. Levi sucks in sharp air between his teeth, relaxing into the couch when your head bobs further, enclosing the tip of his dick in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice hoarse when his hardened cock rests against the velvet wet of your tongue, “That’s it—just keep going, like that.”

He watches intensely as your head bobs onto him. It’s hot and wet and so much more than he’d imagined it would be; and he’s not too shy to admit he’s imagined this with you. He moves his hand to brush away the flyaways of your hair, smoothing them back and tangling his fingers at the back of your head. He carefully guides your movements.

It’s slow and steady, and normally, it’d take him a while to cum like this, but with the visual of having you on your knees for him, Levi can feel a faint warmth of his orgasm already beginning to bubble inside of him.

“This is okay, right?” you pull back, a thin line of spit trailing from your mouth.

“Yes, yes,” he answers immediately, unaware of his tightening grasp on your hair.

With a shy smile, you continue, taking more of him this time and carefully gauging his reactions. You move your head further down, testing your own limits, until you feel like you’re choking. You pull back again, with an embarrassed cough.

“Don’t push yourself,” he says softly, rubbing soothing circles into your neck with his fingers, “Guys can’t actually tell the difference between a regular blowjob and being deep throated, no need to choke yourself.”

“Wait, really?” you ask, resting you bum against your heels.

“You seem so surprised.”

“That’s just so… disappointing,” you crinkle your nose, “Men and porn make deep-throating seem like the end all be all of giving head.”

Levi chuckles in genuine amusement, “Well, it’s not, trust me. If any guy insists on being deep-throated just to cum, he’s a fucking liar. He’s getting off on the submission, not the actual feeling.”

“The submission?”

“Getting someone to be willing to listen to them, telling them what to do, how to please them,” he shrugs, “Makes you feel like you’re in control.”

“And that… that works?”

“Yeah,” Levi says, “But, judging by the tone of your voice, and how willing you were to suck my dick three seconds ago, I’d say the idea of being dominant doesn’t really appeal to you.”

You scrunch your nose again, “Does it appeal to you?”

Levi pauses, thinking over his answer, before giving you a simple, “Yeah. Most of the time.”

“Oh,” you hum, “I… I don’t think I’d like that. I think I’d rather be told what to do, seeing as I don’t really know what I’m doing, anyways.”

“Ironic, considering you’ve never once listened anything I tell you do.”

“I was listening when you told me how to suck your dick,” you correct him, “You seemed to enjoy that.”

Levi pauses with a raised eyebrow. You don’t seem to back down, that matter-of-fact smirk on your face still mocking him. He leans over slowly, using his right hand to guide your head closer to him, and uses his left hand to grab your jaw between his fingers.

“You can be such a fucking brat, you know that,” he all but whispers, pursing your lips together in his hold, “Since you like listening to me so much, then shut up, and we can finish what you started.”

You blink, staring at him with a wide-eyed expression. He’s right that under any other circumstance you’d probably run your mouth off about him telling you what to do. But something about the way he knows what he wants and tells how he wants it makes you listen without an argument.

You nod, slowly wrapping your lips around the tip again, and bobbing along his length. Levi’s breath hitches when you hollow your cheeks slightly, a rough hand pressing down on the back of your neck.

“You’re really—god, okay, you’re good at this, you know,” Levi praises you, letting his right hand resume its position at the back of your neck.

If you had any doubts before about being submissive, the look on Levi’s face seemed to have wiped them away. Watching him throw his head back, his fingers gripping at your nape, his cock in your mouth—pleasing him seemed to be enough to please you, too.

“I wanna make you cum, Levi,” you voice your thoughts, letting a hand lazily jerk him off in the mean time, “Tell me what I have to do to make you cum.”

“If you keep going, I’ll cum,” he answers too quickly, a groan slipping through his words, “Trust me.”

“Come on, Levi,” you push, rolling your thumb over the slit of his dick. It makes him inhale sharply; you’re getting a little too good at that; at all of this. “Can—I mean, do you wanna cum in my mouth?”

“Shit, shit. Don’t say shit like that,” he curses, blunt nails raking and scraping at your scalp, “You don’t have to—I can just—”

“I want you to,” you tell him earnestly, “Please?”

Fuck, he was pretty fucking certain he’d told you to stop saying shit like that. Levi bites the inside of his cheek, paces himself; uses both of his hands to hold your head gently, while you use yours to wrap around his cock.

He grunts with a shake, and rolls his hips up, pushing himself further into your mouth, but not so much as to hurt you. It’s soon after that hot strophes of cum wet your tongue, and Levi lets you lazily jerk him off until you’ve milked his orgasm.

The room is silent save for his low moans and the squeaking of his thighs against the leather couch. When he’s finished, he slouches back, looking at you through hooded eyes, sweaty and panting, when you close your mouth and swallow.

You use your fingers to collect any remaining cum from his softening cock, and hum contented as you put your fingers in your mouth. Levi locks eyes with you again, cheeks flushed as you pull your digits out of your mouth, and he has to grip at his own thigh to gain the self-control to not get hard again.

You’re going to be the fucking death of him some day.

He shakes his head when you move backwards with a cute smile and pulls his boxers up, then his pants as best his can, not bothering to zip them up. When he’s done, you stand to your feet then straddle him on the couch, laughing lowly at his post-orgasm haze.

He doesn’t think twice about the way your hands clasp at the back of his neck, or the way his find their way to rest on your hips. You grab ahold of his jaw with both hands, holding his face in place. He thinks you’re going to lean in, but you don’t; just stay like that, your eyes roaming his glassy eyes.

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stare at me all day?” he questions, lips pulled into a knowing grin.

“Can I?” your question makes him frown in confusion, “Dunno, I heard some guys don’t like that after getting head.”

“Bunch a fuckin pussies,” he grumbles, leaning forward to close the gap between your mouths. He can feel you smile into it, and mimics your grin when you begin to press short, repeated kisses against his lips.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

He laughs when you continue to press quick kisses on his lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

You kiss him on the cheek, wet and dramatic. “Love you, Levi.”

Your face is right in front of his, but he averts his gaze, a different kind go warmth spreading throughout his chest when you flash a smile at him. He lets you kiss him again, longer this time, but still slow and sweet. He likes the feeling of you resting against him, affection lingering on your tongue when you kiss him.

It’s dangerous, but he likes the way you spark a fire in him. Sweet or sinful, it makes him feel boneless, wanted, loved.

Levi leans forward, rubbing his hands up your sides, and captures your lips in another languid kiss before pulling away to peck the corner of your mouth. “Love you, too.”

And he means it of course, but if Levi thought he had it bad before, he’s in deep shit now.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fluff #eren x reader

3K notes · View notes

bubblyhoney · 3 years

Note

can i request a fic where sapnap takes the reader to his hometown? like the classic going to places he went to when he was younger. maybe playgrounds and ice cream shops idk

places i used to go

warnings: language of course, an allusion to virginap, my uneducated guess of what sapnap was like in highschool, tiny detail of long haired!sapnap, singular canon detail of underage drinking, jokish about marriage

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

words: 2191

A/N: you are a god, anon. i love comfy and nostalgic fics like these and it was so fun to write. if you hate it dont tell me but if you like it lemme know akskdjd

inbox/requests: open

The wind whips fast on your bare fingers, cool and quick and raising goosebumps in its wake. You blink in the haze of the early sunset, head lolled to the side of the headrest. It feels good.

“That’s where I went to high school.” Sapnap interrupts your thoughts and points a finger at a collection of tall brick buildings down a side street. The silver of the lettering is dull, but you can still feel the nostalgia.

“And you’re about to see the park that me and my friends used to hang out at after work and—actually, nevermind.” His arm drops to the middle console and he looks straight ahead with slightly pinker cheeks.

“Do what?” You ask, voice all sweet, and a grin grows on your face. You turn towards him and wiggle your eyebrows.

“Nothing. Homework.” He avoids your eye contact and hikes his hand up higher on the steering wheel. “Anyways— Do you want to get some food before we head out? I know a great place.”

You two were just coming to a close on your little trip to visit his family; it was his step-mom’s birthday and you decided to make a week of it. It was your first long-term trip with Sapnap, and also your first time meeting his dad’s side of the family. You were proud to say she loved you. His little sister took a little more effort to talk to you of her own volition, but soon enough she was on your side.

You have a couple hours to kill before making your flight back home, so Sapnap has taken it upon himself to give you a quick tour of his hometown.

“Yeah,” you decide, bottom lip popped out. “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Uh, duh.” The Neighbourhood’s Stargazing starts through the speakers and he reaches to turn it down. “I’m so ready to get home and sleep.” He stretches his neck in his seat, letting out an uncharacteristically inappropriate grunt when his bones pop. You make a disgusted face, nose wrinkling, but stretch your own back, slumping down in the seat. The day had been full of packing up and this horrible hike his dad liked to do early in the mornings, so you two were pretty beat.

“Okay, we’re here,” he announces three sleepy minutes later in his best attempt at a whisper. Lifting your head off of the corner of your seat, you blink in the setting sunlight as a yawn splits your face. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and struggle to get your seatbelt off in that post-nap haze. You’d barely been asleep for thirty seconds, damn it. The air is a swampy heat when you step out of the car onto rocky gravel and nearly twist your ankle climbing over the curb. Sapnap catches you by the lower back, trying to hide his laugh but failing miserably. You slide him a dirty look, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can manage while limping towards the front entrance.

The door jingles when you two breach the doorway, alerting a bored-looking hostess that the circus has arrived. She looks at Sapnap a second longer than she should, eyebrows screwed together in silent confusion. But she leads the two of you to a booth near a large window, handing you sticky menus and promptly fucking right off to the host station. She nearly runs.

“Do you know her?” You ask, inconspicuously hiding your face in the search for their 24/7 breakfast menu. You feel his eyes on you.

“Don’t think so.” He leans on one elbow and slides his phone out of his jeans’ pocket. In the 25 seconds it takes for you to find their french toast and sides menu, he has browsed and closed his phone with an animatedly shocked look on his face.

“What?” You give him a weird look and put down the menu.

“I totally went to homecoming with that girl.” He eyes the hostess. You glance over at her again, meeting her gaze, and offer a polite smile. She turns away quickly, eyes wide.

“She’s cute,” you say, voice high and fake, and he drums his fingers on the tabletop as an amused look makes its way onto his face.

“Are you—?”

“What?” You reply right back.

“Nothing.”

Thank God the server comes up to your table then and starts asking for drink orders, or else you’d have to admit (sheepishly) you were a tiny eensy-weensy bit annoyed. Only a tad. But after requesting a Dr. Pepper and a water the conversation surrounding the nervous-looking hostess dies.

“I’m so hungry I think I feel my stomach shrinking.” You flop your head onto your arm on the table top and make a whiny noise into the stack of napkins your server left at the table. Sapnap rubs his thumb into the side of your forearm, touch warm and nearly dissolving the pangs of hunger and jealousy.

“You weren’t hungry an hour ago.” He lifts your hand to his face and plants a kiss on the back of it. Oh, pulling out the big guns, huh? “I would have made you something.”

You tilt onto your chin, pouting, and stare up at his cute face. His cute, scruffy, perfectly-kissable face.

“I think I got hungry staring at you for half an hour.” A mischievous grin grows on your previously-petulant face and he just shakes his head.

“I do have that effect,” he admits with cockiness in his tone, lifting his eyebrows and leaning back into the booth with his lips pursed.

The server returns with two glasses and takes your food orders onto their little yellow notepad. You chug the water down when they leave for the kitchen, getting your lap and chin thoroughly wet in the process. Sapnap just snorts at you and shoves the napkins your way.

“So,” you start, patting dry your jeans. “tell me what you were like in high school.” You cross your arms and settle into the booth, smirk on your lips.

“What I was like?” He parrots, sipping at his soda, looking thoughtful. “Firstly, a virgin.” You make a noise. Duh. Dude had a buzz cut his junior year. (You’ve seen the pictures. His step-mom particularly likes them.) “Secondly, I was actually— well, I wasn’t popular, but I had a lot of friends. We were all semi-athletic lonely band kids but we had fun. Had one girlfriend senior year but she went to Cal Tech in the fall and I didn’t. I, um, worked at a Dairy Queen in the summers and gained so much weight I had to lose all over again for Unified Track.”

“Relatable,” you comment, drinking noisily at your water. He fiddles with the paper straw wrapper and crunches it up into a ball. It goes soaring into your drink with a quiet “Kobe” and you just give him a look. He smiles toothily right back at you. “Stop being cute, I’m trying to listen to your story.”

“Oh, my bad,” he mocks. “Anyways. That’s what I was like in highschool.” You fish the paper ball out of your water and flick it wetly at his arm. It sticks and you choke on a laugh, cheeks puffed.

Two plates of warm food are set down loudly onto the table and you thank the server with a surprised smile, Sapnap mirroring you.

Two minutes of wordless chewing passes, minds occupied just by “food, me eat” instead of anything related to your previous conversation. You realize that Sapnap is one of the loudest chewers ever, and he realizes that you fail to notice the streak of maple syrup in your hair.

“C’mere,” he mumbles through a mouthful of omelet and hash browns and beckons you with his hand. You lean closer, chewing slowly, as he pats a napkin at the strands of hair trapped in syrup.

“Thanks, baby.” You take the napkin from him and pause your assault of the warm french toast before you to clean the sticky sugar out of your hair. He just watches you, half of a smile on his lips.

You two finish your food in record time. It’s borderline vacuum-like. There’s a short grace period where you just sit like two lazy cats, slumped down in the booth and holding your full stomachs. But the check comes soon after, and you both pay your way and are out of the restaurant without any mad dashes for the bathroom. A miracle, really, because of the American-like amount of butter you both consume.

“I’m a much more functional person now,” you mutter into the cotton of his shoulder, swinging your hand in his. He just hums in agreement.

“I guess we’re not getting ice cream, then,” he teases, and you just groan in response.

“I don’t feel like having diarrhea on a plane, unfortunately.” You sigh heavily when you have to split and get into your respective sides of the rental car.

The entire trip (somewhat roundabout because of the amount of side quests to show you things from his childhood) to the airport Sapnap is a chatterbox. He’s like this when he has sugar: either bouncing off the walls with energy or talking your ear off.

“That’s where my dad proposed to my step-mom. I was kinda young but I remember being surprised at how big the ring was— dude broke the bank for her.” It’s a little gazebo you catch a glimpse of through the trees in a park. It probably was an incredibly picturesque moment, and you can sense how much she must have loved it. With just meeting them this weekend, you can already see how much love those two have for each other.

You hope people can see how much you love Sapnap.

“Oh my God, it’s still there.” He points out the side of your window to what looks like a Dairy Queen that has been through World War 3. “My buddy Eric and I once spilled a gallon of that liquid ice-cream-shit all over the men’s bathroom.”

You shoot him a horrified look. “Why was it in the bathroom?”

He just smirks.

“—And that’s my Uncle Ron’s house. Had my first beer there.”

“And last, hopefully,” you add, pulling a disgusted face. The two story bungalow is cute, and one of your favorite colors: olive green. “That shit is nasty.”

He just shrugs and continues down the side street.

“Is this the park you were talking about?”

He pulls into the gravelly parking lot of a small clearing of tall trees, a picnic table and campfire sat squat in the middle. But he doesn’t respond, just turning the car off and climbing out. He reaches the passenger door without speaking, and opens it for you. You climb carefully out, confused.

“Come on.” He takes your hand and starts for a small path to the left of the picnic table. The mid-sunset shade envelopes the both of you.

“I hope this isn’t where you kill me.”

“No,” he snorts. “I just wanted to show you something.”

It’s just a few moments of stumbling through the damp underbrush before you’re coming face to face with a small, mossy pond that sits right underneath an incredibly old willow tree. He stops right on the edge of the rocky path and turns toward you.

“This your make out spot?” You ask between a grin as he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush to him. Your innocent smile fades when you feel the press of his lips to the side of your neck, light and ticklish. Oh.

“No,” he murmurs, and just breathes you in. “I came here once—the night before I graduated highschool. And I told myself when I really really loved someone I’d take them here with me.” He sways with you in his grasp, a gentle and song-less dance.

You grip his shoulder tighter in your hand and lean into him.

“That’s— awfully romantic, huh?” Your voice is quiet. Almost nervous. He just makes a noise of agreement.

“So here we are.” His voice is the opposite of yours, all strong and confident.

You two just move together for a moment. The sun breaks through the tree canopy, shining bright orange down onto the glassy surface of the pond. Crickets and frogs chirp back and forth as the willow vines swing in a cool evening breeze. You watch nature come alive around you, suddenly grateful for the man in your arms.

“Don’t propose,” you whisper, breaking the gentle tension. A laugh breaks the silence and he’s pulling away to look at you. Maybe in disbelief. A strand of hair falls into his eyes and you brush it away, fingers stilling on his temple and sliding down onto his cheek. Stubble scrapes against the skin of your palm and he stares at you through those meadow eyes.

You realize in that moment that he is exactly himself. Of course he is. He’s Sapnap, and everything that encompasses that. Dark and light and fiery and cool. He always has been, and always will be.

You realize you wouldn’t mind if he proposed.

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. let me know what you think

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x gn!reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap drabble #sapnap one shot #sapnap oneshot #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #honey answers #my lovely anon #sapnap fanfic #bubblyhoneyfics

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lemonpeter · 3 years

Text

🧡Day 1: Inc*st🧡

Really starting off strong huh lol anyway, this is very background heavy (I don’t know what happened but now I’m obsessed) and I hope y’all enjoy 🧡

Warnings: inc*st, nff, father/son (but they don’t know), Peter is 18 and an intern at SI, brief substance ab*se mention (and impaired s*x, not between starker)

***

Tony never wanted kids. The thought of someone depending on him in such a way made him feel sick. So he always did all that he could to ensure nothing would happen.

There was always room for accident, though.

***

Tony never wanted kids. The thought of someone depending on him in such a way made him feel sick. So he always did all that he could to ensure nothing would happen.

He never had sex without multiple levels of protection. And he was famous enough that people rarely tried to argue against it. Sleeping with him at all fulfilled what they wanted.

So things were perfectly fine. He never had an issue, he was always completely safe with his partners.

Except for this one night.

He was in a self-destructive episode, in the downward spiral before he hit rock bottom. Mixed every possible substance that shouldn’t have been mixed, impairing him until he wasn’t sure which way was up.

And he had a woman spiraling right along with him.

Her name was…Mary. Mary something. She was a scientist in some field, but he didn’t catch anything else. Or he just didn’t remember it. It didn’t matter anyways, they were both just wanting to ignore what was around them. What their lives had served them.

And maybe he forgot to ask if she was on birth control when he sloppily kissed over her neck.

Maybe he fumbled with the condom to the point where she whispered, “We’ll be fine,” and he believed her.

How it happened didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it did.

Tony didn’t even know.

He didn’t ask for her number the next morning, he just hid out in the bathroom, emptying his stomach of its entire contents while he waited for her to leave.

She was gone by the time he could see straight.

Thank god.

He never heard from her again.

Mary Parker and her husband died six years later and he never knew.

He didn’t know that they had a son. Or she did, at least. There was no way for him to know that the son had been passed along to his aunt and uncle when no other relative was found.

He never knew that Mary Parker had a son. And that her husband wasn’t the one who got her pregnant.

She never crossed his mind again after she left him.

***

Enter Peter.

Tony had new interns come in every year, typically college students that needed the credits, but sometimes someone special would come along.

Peter was a high school senior, but he was one of the smartest people that Tony had ever come across.

Tony had a job lined up for him as soon as he graduated if he wanted it. Not that he’d told him that yet.

He swore that he wasn’t a stalker. He had to prove to Pepper that he wasn’t giving too much attention to one intern over another, and for him that meant that he needed to stay away from Peter personally.

No matter how tempting it was. There had to be a family history of such genius, right? That kind of brains didn’t just occur at random.

But he didn’t look into him at all. He wouldn’t even let himself google search his name.

Oh, but he wanted to. He wanted to know everything there was to know about Peter Parker.

Although maybe he could just do it the old fashioned way. Minimal favoritism involved.

He spent months working with Peter. They became friends. Close friends.

It got to the point where Tony couldn’t help the smile he had when he looked into those warm brown eyes.

He felt it happen, it was official. Peter Parker had his heart.

It didn’t matter how wrong it was, he couldn’t help it. The young man had completely gotten hold of him.

And he hoped that it was mutual.

***

“Peter, can you stay back for a second?” Tony was still standing at the lab table, eyes scanning over the coding that they’d put in place during the session.

Like that was actually what was on his mind.

The young man looked up with wide eyes. Very deer-in-headlights. But it was so cute on him.

“Y-yeah! I actually needed to tell you something, so yes, I can definitely do that.”

Peter sounded a bit nervous which made Tony pause. Maybe his confession could wait a while. Maybe forever. Whatever was on Peter’s mind was infinitely more important to him.

“Okay, you first. I can follow up.” Tony tucked his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the table.

His cheeks burned. “No- no, you can go first. Don’t worry.”

The older man let out a breath. “Peter, you say what you need to. I can wait.”

Peter looked at him, face flushed. He hadn’t really meant to blurt out that he had something to say. He’d thought about it, sure. But he didn’t know-

His brain couldn’t keep up with his body and suddenly he was leaning up, pressing his lips to Tony’s.

The older man froze. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all. But then he relaxed into it, kissing back.

Who knew that they both had the same confession?

But it wasn’t supposed to be happening.

Tony pulled away once he finally got control of his senses again, raking a hand through his hair. “Pete, I’m supposed to be the adult here. I can’t be a good role model if I’m….”

When was he ever a good role model?

“Let me start again. I’m an adult. Kid, I’m old. Old enough to be your dad. And you’re…how old?”

“I turned eighteen in august,” he supplied helpfully.

At least it was legal.

“Eighteen. That’s a thirty year age difference.” Jesus, he was creepy. Falling for an eighteen year old. He couldn’t even buy alcohol for himself.

Peter blinked up at him. “So? I like you, Mr. Stark. I don’t care how old you are.”

Tony sighed softly. “You’re gonna be the death of me. And it’s Tony. If this is what’s happening, call me Tony.”

Even though it had been his plan to confess his feelings anyway, the guilt was still eating at him. He had fallen for a teenager who was just barely legal.

“What is happening, Mr.- Tony?”

Tony leaned in for another kiss, sighing softly. “What do you want to happen, kid?”

“Oh. Well, um, not to be blunt, but- I just- I mean- I really want you.”

He was cute. Innocent. But Tony could tell that what he meant was a bit less innocent.

“Are you sure? You realize this is a bad idea on...a lot of levels, right?”

Peter huffed softly, looking up at him with a stubborn expression. “I don’t care. We can be sneaky.”

Tony snorted. ‘Sneaky’ wasn’t really how he’d describe it, but he had to remind himself that his terms were a lot different than Peter’s. Different generations and all that.

He was horrible.

“Okay, kid. We can take this upstairs-” where there was no one to walk in on them. “-and talk about what exactly you’re thinking.”

“How about we don’t talk about it and we just...do?” Peter gave him a shy, devious smile.

“Uh huh. We’ll see.”

Tony grabbed his wrist gently, glancing in the hallway to make sure that no one was coming before he dragged him to the elevator.

Before he could get another word out, Peter’s lips were on his again. And this time there was more heat behind it.

He kissed back, eyes slipping shut just as the elevator doors did. Their lips pushed together insistently and he felt Peter’s tongue clumsily swiping over his lip.

He suppressed a laugh and parted his lips, allowing Peter to lead.

It was all so curious and clumsy that he wondered just how many times Peter had ever kissed anyone. If any. But that was a question for later.

The elevator dinged softly when they reached the penthouse and only then did they pull away from each other.

Tony led Peter out, instantly heading for his bedroom. Bad idea or no, he’d imagined such a scenario so many times. He didn’t want to waste any time.

“Tony?” Peter spoke up, eyes on the bed. “I know this is really straightforward, but I’m glad you, like, don’t hate me. I’ve thought about this...a lot.”

“You and me both,” the older man murmured. “Something I feel like we should cover before anything else...how far are you wanting to go?”

Peter chewed his lip. “Not to rush things, but I really really want to go all the way.”

“Well, not to rush things, but I want that too.” Tony gave him a small grin. “Do you have a preference?”

“Hmm?”

The confused look that he got made him feel guilty again. Just how much had Peter ever done with anyone else?

“Top or bottom, honey. Receiving or giving, pitching or catching, whatever you want to say. What do you want to do?”

Peter blushed, deciding to distract from the question at hand by pulling his shirt off.

It worked. Tony’s attention was instantly elsewhere, his eyes focused on his trim waist but hard muscle.

“Jesus, kid. That’s...wow.” If he wasn’t hard before, he was definitely getting there from seeing just what his innocent little intern was hiding under loose clothing.

“Like it?” The young man grinned to himself, one hand sensually sliding from the v of his hips up to his chest.

Perfect abs. Round, firm pecs. Jesus, Tony was entranced.

But he remembered what he’d asked. “Peter, top or bottom. What’s your preference?”

“I- I don’t...know.”

There it was.

Tony looked at him, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip quickly. “You’re a virgin.” It wasn’t a question. He knew it for sure. It wasn’t surprising.

Peter got defensive. “I’ve done some stuff.”

“Uh huh. What ‘stuff’?”

He refused to look at Tony, his eyes on his hands as he played with the button on his jeans. “I’ve given oral. Guys and girls. And I’ve gotten, like, a couple handjobs and blowjobs.”

Tony closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t be your first. This- Peter, this is such a bad idea. You should be with someone your own age.”

Peter made an indignant sound, popping the button on his jeans and unzipping them out of protest. “I don’t want someone my own age. I want you.”

He said it with such finality.

Tony stepped closer to the bed, his hands cupping Peter’s face gently. “You promise me you won’t regret this?”

“There’s nothing that could make me regret this.” Peter unbuckled Tony’s belt, slowly pulling it out of the loops before dropping it to the floor.

Tony nodded slowly, not fighting when Peter pushed his slacks down. It was really happening.

“Holy shit-” Peter’s eyes were wide. His eyes were fixed on the way that Tony’s dick was straining at the front of his tight boxers. There was a nervous look in his eyes.

“Good or bad?” Tony teased a little.

“Good. Good, oh man.” Peter reached down and squeezed himself hard. “So big….”

That was nice to hear. “You think so? Do you think you could take it, sweetheart?”

Peter’s fingers ghosted over the length slowly, making it twitch in its confines. “I...I want to try.”

Tony nodded. “We’ll make it fit. Let’s finish getting you undressed.” He pulled his own shirt off and tossed it to the floor before getting onto the bed next to Peter.

He finished pulling the young man’s zipper down and helped him shimmy out of his jeans. Peter’s thighs were gorgeous, Tony was nearly drooling over them. But he couldn’t get distracted.

“May I?” He met the young man’s eyes, his fingers slipping into the waistband of his boxers.

Peter nodded, breathing hard as he laid back more.

Tony slowly pulled the piece of clothing down, biting his lip when he watched Peter’s cock drop against his hip once it was no longer covered. “So hard for me, honey. Look at that.”

The younger man blushed darker. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Tony….”

“God, me too. Me too, kid.” He pushed his own boxers off, unable to keep himself from wrapping one hand around himself and stroking slowly.

Peter watched him with wide eyes. “Okay. I want you inside me. Now.” He kicked his boxers away, grinning a little.

Tony laughed softly at his eagerness. “We have to get you ready first. Hold on, let me show you….”

Turns out that Peter was incredibly responsive to everything and by the time he was open enough for further activities Tony had already worked him through an orgasm.

If Peter was that responsive to just his fingers, he couldn’t wait to get his cock in him. And the young man was still raring to go.

Tony grabbed a condom - habit, it wasn’t like they were preventing anything - but Peter stopped him.

“Why can't we just do it…without?” He asked shyly.

“I mean…we can. But you’ll have to clean up and that can be annoying.”

“I want…I want to feel you. Is that okay?” Peter hid his face in his hands, embarrassed by the admission.

Tony nodded, biting back a smile. “Yeah. That’s okay.” He set the foil square down on the nightstand before moving back to the young man.

He got between his legs, hands sliding over the strong thighs he was met with. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, kid. I hope you know that.”

Peter smiled up at him, spreading his legs further. “Thank you, Tony….” He leaned back more, laying his head down. “Now hurry up,” he joked.

Grabbing the lube and slicking himself up, the older man shook his head. “Impatient,” Tony chided, laughing softly. But he was already moving to position his cock at the man’s hole, the tip brushing over him.

They both moaned softly, laughing a little at how in sync they were.

“Fuck me, Tony…please?”

The older man nodded, slowly pushing past the tight muscle with a groan. Even though he’d prepped him, Peter was still tight. Just perfectly so.

Peter was tightly gripping the sheets, popping a couple threads even, with the first movements.

It seemed like his effort was in vain, but he really wanted to try to last.

Tony bottomed out, hips pressed flush against Peter’s ass.

The younger man was whining low in his throat at the feeling. His cock twitched between them. He knew that if he was touched at all before he could calm down a little, everything would be over way before he wanted it to be.

“Need me to stay still?” Tony asked. He could tell that Peter was struggling.

He nodded quickly, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes. Fuck.”

“Okay, honey. Don’t worry, we can take this at whatever pace you want.”

Peter nodded, trying to get a hold on how he was feeling.

It took him a couple minutes, but eventually he signaled Tony that he was okay. And he could start moving.

So he started slow, but Tony started thrusting when he was given the okay.

Peter moaned, mouth falling open around his noises.

He tightened around Tony’s cock, squeezing down with every movement. Then he cried out when a particularly deep thrust hit something that made him see stars.

“What was that?” Peter gasped, hips rocking up wildly.

Tony groaned, laughing a little through it. “I’m going to, fuck, I’m going to assume that was your prostate. Feels good, doesn’t it? I should have showed that to you when I was fingering you.”

“Do it again!”

The older man snorted, aiming for the same spot again as he picked up his pace. He held one of Peter’s legs, lifting it just enough so that he could get at a deeper angle. “I can try.”

From the increasingly louder noises he received, he assumed he succeeded.

He was so lost in the feeling of Peter that he missed how close to the edge his partner was getting. All that registered was how incredible (borderline painful) it felt when the younger man squeezed around him like that.

Then Peter was crying out louder and thrusting up as he spilled onto his stomach.

Tony swore under his breath. “God, Peter.” He watched him, subconsciously speeding up as he chased his own high.

“Tony!” Peter moaned, eyes squeezed shut as he rode out his high. It was the best orgasm he’d ever experienced, alone or otherwise.

But he slowly opened his eyes, wanting to watch Tony cum.

“I’m close too,” the older man moaned, speeding up again.

Peter moaned louder, feeling himself being pushed up the bed with the quicker pace. “Cum, Tony, please, want you to fill me up.”

He wasn’t so sure about dirty talk, but it could only be but so bad because Tony went still moments later. Peter felt the cock inside him pulse briefly before there was a smooth warmth spreading.

The thing itself felt odd, but thinking about what was happening almost made him cum again.

Actually-

His hand flew to his own dick and he quickly jerked himself off before he was cumming for a third time. It wasn’t nearly as good as the other two, but it was still incredible. Especially thinking about how good Tony still felt inside of him.

He opened his eyes when he heard Tony chuckling. “What?”

“You’re insatiable. And I’m amazed that you can just go again that fast.” The older man closed his eyes again, catching his breath.

He was almost in shock that it had actually happened. He had sex with Peter. After thinking about it for months, dreaming about it, it happened.

He slowly pulled out, laying next to the young man. He knew they were both messes, covered in sweat and cum and lube, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to hold Peter close before they had to go back to real life.

Tony gently wrapped his arms around him, just gathering him close while he pressed a kiss to the man’s temple.

He found out quickly that Peter’s dazed, relaxed post-sex state would only last for so long.

It was only minutes before the man was talking, whispering about anything and everything. And Tony happily listened.

He hummed softly, holding the younger man close to his chest. One hand gently carded through Peter’s soft curls as they talked quietly.

“My mom met you one time,” Peter murmured. “Before I was born. But she would never tell me about it. Just told me that it happened.”

Tony snorted softly. “Yeah, well, about when would that have been? I had a reputation for a reason.” But the confession started pulling at a memory. It couldn’t quite come to light, though.

“Ew.” The young man grinned at him. “But I guess you’re right. I don’t know, she was kinda weird about a lot of stuff. Not just that.”

“What do you mean?”

Peter sighed softly and Tony frowned. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. But Peter started answering anyway.

“I don’t know who my actual dad is. She never told me. I vaguely remember her telling me that Richard was the only dad I needed, but nothing else.”

“You would have been so young,” Tony whispered. “Maybe she just figured it could be a conversation for another time.”

“But she wouldn’t tell anyone else. My aunt and uncle knew that Richard wasn’t actually my dad, but they were never told who was. And I guess it just…died with her.”

The older man nodded. “You could always do a paternity test, right?” Why was guilt pooling in his stomach?

Peter shrugged. “That’s assuming that my dad has done one too that we could match. And sometimes….” He trailed off.

“Sometimes what?” Tony kissed him gently, trying to soothe him.

“Sometimes I’m not sure that I want to know,” he confessed.

It made sense. But something was still trying to pull at Tony’s memory. Forming an idea slowly.

Although he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answers.

But he couldn’t just leave a question unasked. No matter how dark the potential answer.

“Peter…when did you say that your mom met me?”

The young man snuggled into him more, shaking his head. “I didn’t. I think it was…the year before I was born or so. Why? Do you remember?”

Tony tried to mentally do the numbers. He’d spent most of that year in a fog, but that had been the theme of that era in his life. But maybe…

“Are you okay?”

The older man closed his eyes, frowning as he tried to remember.

Parker. Had he been with a Parker? He couldn’t remember the occasion at all.

Maybe that was for the best.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m okay, was just trying to see if I remembered her. I’m sorry.”

Peter leaned up to kiss him gently, shaking his head. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not a big deal, really. Sometimes I just wonder about that stuff.”

Tony tried to assure himself that it wasn’t a big deal.

Maybe it was best to not have all the answers.

He had what he wanted. That was all that mattered.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #my writing #bri’s kinktober 2021 #now I’ll go do all the schoolwork I’ve been ignoring lol #if you see this: yes the backstory is heavily influenced by that one rp we did where I came up with too much backstory #yeah

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tpwkjerii · 3 years

Text

strawberry kisses

you and felix have a longstanding tradition of baking the day after finals. usually, it’s the best method of relaxing after long hours of studying. unfortunately, you find yourself rather tense this time — after all, it’s always fun to spend an entire day in a cramped kitchen with your crush, isn’t it?

pairing: lee felix x reader

warnings: fluff and kissing, mild angst, reader likes strawberries (sorry if you’re allergic skdlsd), ex boyfriend (but supportive bestie) minho, reader has low self confidence :(, like two curse words, kisses!!

genre: friends to lovers au, kinda idiots to lovers, mutual pining

word count: 2.9k+

a/n: short fic for Felix hehe

Your eyes glazed over as you reviewed the last response of your final exam of the term. After two long hours of plugging equations you hardly understood into your nearly-dead calculator and speed-writing to the point where you’re sure you’ve bruised your dominant hand, you finally finished. At lightning speed, you gathered your exam papers and submitted them at the front with a quick prayer to the universe.

A few other students followed your rushed pace out of the large lecture hall, all of you eager to finally get out of the stuffy room.

As you stepped out of the packed hall and into the cooling outdoors, you checked your phone, which was filled with texts from the one person you were trying desperately to get out of your head (and miserably failing at that).

felix (strawberry head) <3

5:23 PM

did you finish your chem final ???

hyunjin and i just submitted our video for our dance performance

your editing was very good btw :D

5:35 PM

y/nnnnn you’re taking forever :(

we’re waiting at the quad for you !!

5:40 PM

*i am waiting at the quad for you

the others got too hungry and left, but i’m waiting for you!

pls hurry it’s cold :[

You bit back a laugh at his texts, his heartwarming tone filling you with a familiar fuzzy feeling. You pushed the feeling aside as you texted a reply.

y/n

5:43 PM

be there in 2 :D

You stifled a smile as you rushed towards the quad. Soon enough, you saw Felix and his bright, red-dyed hair (you first noted that it closely resembled a strawberry). The moment your eyes met his, you felt your heart skip a beat and heat spread across your face. This was the common reaction you’ve had for the past few months whenever you see Felix.

He rushed over to you with a giddy smile and his arms outstretched. Quickly, he barrelled into you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“You took so long,” he whined, his chest vibrating as he spoke.

“I know, I know. ‘M sorry,” you responded, your voice slightly muffled by his shirt. You took a second to enjoy his hold and the comforting warmth that Felix always provided you whenever he was near. Over the past few years, you’ve grown accustomed to the scent of his sweet floral perfume, the feeling of his tight hugs, and the way he played with your fingers when he was bored.

All the things you were fond of were now extreme nuisances in your life. Not because they were annoying or because you disliked Felix, but rather the complete opposite; you were completely, helplessly, and foolishly in love with him.

“You ready to go?” Felix asked suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. He brought his arms down from around you, and you looked down at the ground as you nodded, hoping that he didn’t see the intense blush that was spreading from your face to your neck.

You are so fucked for tomorrow.

After an entire night of tossing and turning in anxiety, the next day finally arrived. To say you were nervous was a massive understatement.

The minute you woke up, you began to anxiously clean your apartment while your roommate Ryujin laughed at you. As you wiped down every visible crevice, she made sure to pester you about a “missed spot” or tempt you with sweets.

“You’ve never cleaned this much whenever Felix came over before,” she pointed out with a laugh while you wiped down the kitchen counters for the fourth time.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

Ryujin scoffed. “It is so obvious that you like Felix, there’s no point in lying to me,” she stated bluntly.

Your hand froze mid-wipe on the counter. You looked over at your blue-haired roommate nervously. “Is it really… that obvious?”

“Yes,” she deadpanned.

You winced and dropped your head onto the smooth stone countertop. “Do you think he’s noticed?” you moaned into your arms.

“If he hasn’t, I will personally pay for his glasses prescription.”

You whined again as you lifted your head up to look directly at Ryujin. “If he’s noticed then why hasn’t he said anything?”

She stood up as she answered, “Not sure but you could always ask him today.”

Your mouth dropped in horror at the suggestion. “I can’t tell him how I feel! That would completely ruin our friendship!”

“So you’d rather continue tip-toeing around him and never get a clear answer?” she questioned, her arms crossed.

“Yes.”

Ryujin sighed and started to collect her things. “You can do whatever you want,” she started as she placed her papers in her backpack, “but I recommend you tell him soon.” She stood up and headed for the door. Just before opening it and leaving you alone with your thoughts until Felix arrived, she turned around and said, “I won’t be home until late, have fun.” With that, she winked and walked out of your shared apartment.

You scoffed at her suggestive tone and stood upright to check the time.

10:08 AM

You gasped. Felix said he was going to arrive at 10:30, but knowing him he would be at least 15 minutes early, meaning you only had 7 minutes to get yourself together!

You cursed and rushed to your bedroom. Switching out of your wrinkled pajamas, you opted for a random hoodie you grabbed out of your closet and jeans. After you changed, you made a beeline for the bathroom and fixed your appearance. You quickly brushed through your hair and washed your face, hoping you removed all remnants of your restless sleep.

Just as you predicted, you heard four distinctive knocks on your front door right at 10:15.

“Coming!” you exclaimed as you rushed out of your bathroom.

Right before you opened the front door, you placed a hand on your beating heart and mumbled words of encouragement to yourself. Then, after deciding that you were probably taking too long, you pulled the door open.

Immediately, Felix, covered in a large hoodie and arms filled with large bags of baking ingredients, greeted you with a large grin. Like every other time, you felt your heart skip a beat when you made eye contact with him.

“Hi,” you said simply, a smile on your face.

“Hi,” he responded. He looked you up and down, asking, “Are you wearing my hoodie?”

You paled and looked down at the large pink hoodie, immediately recognizing it as the one that Felix lent you almost one year ago when he dropped you off at the airport since you forgot yours in the car. Once you got back from your trip, you’d forgotten to give it back to him.

“O-oh,” you stuttered, looking down at the oversized sleeves. “I didn’t even realize,” you continued awkwardly. “You can ha -”

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, the smile never leaving his face. He shrugged. “You look better in it anyways.”

Your mouth dropped and you found yourself unable to respond for a few moments. Felix laughed at your dumbfoundedness and gently pushed you aside to walk into the apartment. Once he set the bags down on the kitchen counters, you returned to your senses and closed the door to walk over to him.

“So, what are we making today?” you asked, trying to keep your voice as level as possible. It wasn’t an easy task to do, considering his proximity to you.

You held your breath as he grabbed your hands and looked into your eyes. “What’s your favorite fruit?” he asked excitedly.

“Er, strawberries?” you answered, tilting your head to the side in mild confusion.

At that, Felix let go of your hands and quickly pulled out a carton of fresh strawberries from one of the bags. You gasped in delight at the sight of the bright fruit and immediately thanked him.

“It’s no big deal,” he responded while sliding the fruits into the fridge. “I’m gonna eat most of the tarts and choco strawberries anyways,” he added with a sneaky laugh.

You scoffed. “You always say that but you always end up giving me the most.” You smirked at him while taking out the baking materials.

“I don’t give it to you,” he countered. “You steal them.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you told him with a sing-song tone. He laughed from your side, and you swore that you heard actual sparkles, as if he were a fairy, when he did.

You cleared your throat, hoping to rid your mind of distracting thoughts that could be potential problems during the next seven hours that Felix would be at your apartment. “So, master chef Felix,” you started, lowering your voice like a TV show announcer. “What are you going to do first?”

“Well, my fair announcer,” he began, holding up the silicon whisk like a microphone. “I think we should start with preparing the shortbread dough, what about you?”

“Ah, you are the chef. Lead the way,” you responded with a wide smile.

You both laughed together and actually began the baking. Like usual, Felix did most of the work while you played music and assisted from the side. You worked together seamlessly, and soon enough the shortbread cookies were done and strawberry jam cooling to the side.

While you taste-tested the jam, Felix began to whisk the melted chocolate, and you took this time to admire him. You stood at his side, allowing you to admire his side profile.

Felix was easily one of the most beautiful individuals you ever laid your eyes on. But his appearance wasn’t the only part you fell for — he was one of the few people whose inside beauty matched their outside beauty.

Felix was kind, funny, optimistic, and just about every positive adjective you could find in a dictionary. After every failed test, he was there with a cup of strawberry ice cream and a shoulder to cry on. When you landed your first job, he was there to celebrate with you even when your own family wasn’t. And when you and Minho mutually broke up, he was there to give you advice as you coped with the end of your first relationship.

How could you not fall for him?

And sometimes you had the feeling that he liked you back. The touches that would linger for just a few seconds too long, the soft smiles that Chan claimed he only ever gave to you, and his late-night texts all spurned a tiny hopeful fire in you that kept your crush alive.

No matter how many times you tried to get over him and convince yourself that your crush didn’t exist, the tiny voice in your head still spoke. “But what if he likes you back?”

Now, as Felix stood by your side with a soft smile on his face while he whisked the chocolate, that voice screamed louder than ever.

And just as you gained a sliver of courage, the same paralyzing thoughts that have held you back for the past few months returned.

Felix was out of your league in every way. He was social and easily commanded the attention of an entire room with so much as two words. His outward beauty matched his insides, and everyone on campus reached a collective agreement that if angels ever existed and walked among us — Lee Felix was certainly one of them.

And those things were only the tip of the iceberg that is Felix. He was talented, sensitive, supportive, passionate, and everything you could ever ask for and then some.

You then thought back to all the people he rejected - kindly, of course - and how you matched up to them. If Felix didn’t choose to go out with all those beautiful and talented people, what on Earth made you think you would choose you?

At this point, Felix picked up on your sudden silence and how your breaths grew heavy and uneven.

“Are you… alright?” he asked carefully, his own chest beating heavily.

You stared at him, panicked that he caught onto your apprehension. “Um…” you started, trailing off as you met his gaze.

Felix let go of the whisk and grabbed your hands. “You can say whatever you need to.”

“I uh,” you started after a few moments, internally battling yourself to gain courage as you realized that it’s now or never. “I kinda like you,” you admitted quietly, looking down at your intertwined hands anxiously. You waited for him to pull his hand away in disgust and start to kindly reject you like he did to all those other people, but it never came. After a few seconds, his hands still the entire time, you looked up at him with glassy eyes in confusion.

“What?” he finally said, his deep voice softer than ever.

You looked back down at your hands shamefully. “Do I really have to repeat it?” you asked weakly. “I like you, Felix. I have for the past few months and it’s been driving me insane because it feels like my heart’s about to stop dead whenever I see you and I can never think straight when you’re with me. Apparently, it’s been pretty obvious and I really tried my best to get over it so it wouldn’t hurt our friendship.

“Trust me, I really wanted to get over it but I couldn’t, and I know you don’t like me back so it’s ok. I can deal with it on my own and you can just leave a -”

“Y/N,” Felix said suddenly, his voice firm. You looked up, tears rolling down your face as you were sure that he was about to reject you.

“Felix please don’t interrupt me. At least let me finish what I have to say,” you pleaded softly, removing your hands from his.

“Y/N,” he repeated, his voice much gentler. He carefully wiped the tears from your face and took your hands into his again. “Can I say something before you finish?” he requested.

You choked back a sob as you nodded, certain that he was just going to let you down kindly.

“I like you too, Y/N,” he said shyly, a blush spreading across his freckled face.

Your entire body froze.

“I was too scared to admit it because I didn’t think you liked me back,” he continued, the words slowly registering in your mind. “To be honest, I thought you still liked Minho.”

You blushed at his words, thinking back to all the times you would pull Minho, your ex-boyfriend, to the side to talk about Felix these past few months. You didn’t realize how it must have looked to Felix or your other friends.

“I was also… afraid of ruining our friendship, so I’ve just kept it to myself the past two years.”

You gaped at him. “Two years?” you sputtered, causing him to laugh at the way your eyes widened comically. “That’s when we first started uni!”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I was instantly attracted to the way you fought Chan on why you should be allowed to keep the minifridge in your dorm,” he joked.

You blushed at the embarrassing memory, although it wasn’t completely regrettable as it was how you met most of your current friends — including Felix.

“I’m surprised,” you voiced simply. “I didn’t think you would ever like me back.” You breathed out, your muscles relaxing instantly.

Felix grinned again and he moved slowly to envelop you in his arms. He rested his hands on the small of your back and his head on the crook of your shoulder.

“Does this mean that I can take you out on a date?” he whispered.

“Will you promise to stop taking unflattering pictures of me and sending them to me in the middle of the night?” you asked, your head resting against his and arms around him.

He sighed. “Fine,” he answered reluctantly with a whine.

“Then sure,” you responded and pulled your head back to meet his eyes. His eyes shined from the sunlight pouring through the windows and his freckles glimmered like stars across a canvas. Felix was truly beautiful inside and out.

“You have some strawberry jam on your lip,” he said after a few silent moments where you both admired each other.

“Really?” you asked. Your hand moved from his back towards your face, but Felix caught your hand in midair and returned it to its original position.

“I’ll get it,” he murmured with a gentle smile before closing the distance between your lips.

You held your breath as he pressed his soft lips against yours. You instantly recognized the strawberry chapstick he uses and the taste of the shortbread cookies. He swiped his tongue against the corner of your lip, and the sudden sensation caused a shiver to run down your spine.

You brought your hand up to his hair and gently tugged at his dyed locks. Felix brought you closer to him and massaged your back as he deepened the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, your face was burning red and you were completely breathless. Felix was smiling giddily, his arms still around yours.

“I think there’s still some jam left,” he told you, not even giving you a second to respond before he pressed his lips against yours once again. This kiss was much more playful than the last as you giggled against each other in the kiss.

“Did you get it all?” you asked him, your voice reduced to a murmur as he continued kissing your lips.

He hummed, kissing you once and twice in between, before responding, “I don’t think so.”

You laughed against his lips. “Well, I guess you better get it all. I can’t have strawberries stuck on my lips all day.”

He laughed with you, and true to his words, he eventually did get all the strawberry jam off (an extra two hours and an uncountable amount of kisses later).

#lee felix #lee felix x reader #felix stray kids #lee felix fanfic #lee felix imagine #lee felix imagines #skz scenarios #skz #skz fanfic #skz x reader #skz x y/n #stray kids #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids felix #hyunjin #minho

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yesokaythatsfine69 · 3 years

Text

The Beach (Levi Ackerman x reader)

Description: During the beach scene in attack on titan. I changed this scene a bit because I felt it could be more light hearted and more fun after the cut. So be aware that it may not be that exact scene (in terms of what gets said) but roughly the same idea.

Characters: Y/n, Levi, Hange, Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Sasha, Connie

Pov: third person

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff and just chill vibes.

A/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEVI ACKERMAN! Hello! As of right now I'll be focusing the next several pieces on AOT. This is the third and the final piece I'll be writing about Levi. Feel free to request any Levi Ackerman writings at any time though. Have a good read!

Word Count:

Song suggestion: This has nothing to do with this piece but I've been jamming to Judas by Lady Gaga so if ur not a nerd listen to it.

*none of the Gifs used are mine, full credit goes to the maker

The dust that Scout's horses picked up enclosed around them, swallowing them up in a thick cloud of brown. The air was similarly thick around them.

Her hands were shaking, clutching the reigns of her horse, pulling them close to her chest. Y/n wasn't scared though. The things she'd experienced in the almost four years since she'd joined the scouts had changed what the concept of fear was for her. She felt tense- anxiety ridden. She felt like something was about to happen, and the way Eren spoke- it definitely was.

They passed a wall, and Eren's voice cut through the long silence. "I'm sure of it. This is the place where they turned the Eldians titan, which means just up there."

He beckoned them on, rushing his horse forward. Armin swallowed harshly, his eyes meeting y/n's for a beat. They shared a look, that displayed their mutual concerns before it broke.

Y/n had kept close to Armin, whose presence often calmed her. It was strange, but Armin never hid his emotions or disguised his fear (something her friends did so often.) And there was comfort in that. It made her feel less vulnerable.

Levi often teased her for that- but she knew he respected their friendship. Y/n looked to where he rode ahead of her. His hands were steady, expression focused. It unnerved her how he could be so calm.

She blinked away her focus, returning her gaze back to looking straight ahead. Eren led the group to what appeared to be a cliff, and when they reached the top...they saw.

The group seemed to all stop at once, realizing what they found. It was silent, except for the blowing of the waves before them. It was water- the ocean. They all stared, stunned.

Sasha and Connie had mutual expressions of open mouth wonder. Y/n just stared, aghast. Eren on the other hand looked unsurprised and almost bored.

One by one they slipped off the backs of their horses, most rolling up their pant legs and trodding into the water.

Y/n did a little dance in the water, laughing as Connie playfully splashed Sasha in the eyes. Sasha screamed in pain, "my eyes!" After she recovered, she splashed Connie back. Or tried to. At the last second Connie ducked and the salty sea spray hit y/n dead in the face instead.

"Sasha!" Her friend giggled sheepishly. Y/n tackled her into the water, the two becoming completely soaked. Connie chuckled at their antics, pointing his index finger at them with his right hand and keeping his left to his chest. The two girls shared a mischievous look which caused Connie's laughter to die out immediately.

"Take him down!" "Hiya!" Working in sync the two tackled him into the water. The three resurfaced and giggled at each other's soaked expressions. "It's so salty!" Jean was a few paces ahead of them and had just drank some of the water.

"Jean what the fuck. You really need to stop putting things into your mouth if you don't know what's in them." Y/n stood up, twisting her hair to relieve it of some water. Raising a brow, Jean leaned towards her. "Says the girl deep diving into it. Armin says there's nothing in here but salt anyway, and besides someone was bound to drink from here. I just saved them the extra hassle." Y/n flicked water at him. "How gallant of you."

Eren's monologue interrupted them then, they way he sounded close to tears, his voice creaking at the last sentence begged for their concentration. "Will we finally be free?" No one spoke, whatever light mood that existed now diminished.

"way to kill the mood Jaeger." Jean muttered, but he seemed just as solemn as Eren. "Don't worry, I'll lighten it up." Y/n shoved Jean down, and into the water. He landed with a surprised yelp and everyone turned, broken out of their private misery.

"Really y/l/n!" Jean spat, his cheeks dusted with blush. Y/n giggled, until she was cut off by Jean grabbing her and pulling her down into the water. "Shit!" She gasped out, landing in the water beside him.

"Are you serious! Jean, I just rang out my hair!" Jean opened his mouth to retort when sasha and Connie interrupted, shouting "Dog pile!" Jean and Y/n's eyes widened. "No!" "Wait-!" As Kenny once said, kaboom.

Now, all four of them were completely soaked, but none of them really cared. They bursted out laughing, each pointing at one another in amusement. The reflex seemed almost unnatural- it'd been so long since her last belly laugh. Connie, Sasha, and Jean felt similar and the tears they shed weren't just from their chuckles, but something deeper.

Y/n left the three to splash each other, waddling over to Armin, Mikasa, and Eren. Eren still looked off into the horizon but the tenseness in his shoulders seemed lighter. "What do you have there, Armin." She spoke softly to her friend, marveling at the shell he had gently lying in his palms. "Some sort of shell..." His gaze met hers. "I'm sure there have to be hundreds here." Y/n smiled.

"Did you think it'd be like this? Big, breezy, and beautiful?" Armin looked up, looking beyond Eren. "Maybe something close...I just never expected to actually see it...let alone feel it." They shared another look before they turned to Mikasa. She had gotten closer to Eren, but her gaze was in the water. She was kicking at it, her expression unreadable.

"hmmm." Y/n hummed, tapping her chin. She took off, running past Eren and to the left of him. "Hey! Y/l/n, don't go out too far!" Levi called after her. At the left edge, she stopped, bending down and searching fervently in the waters.

"There must be hundreds..."she mumbled to herself, brow furrowed in concentration. "Ah hah!" She straightened, a single white shell lying in the palm of her hand. She ran back, to armin, mikasa, and Eren. She skidded to a stop directly in front of Mikasa, who gave her an amused look.

Y/n dropped to a knee, sticking up her palm. "For my favorite Ackerman!" "Oi!" Levi grunted from behind her and Mikasa blushed. "Thank you, y/n." The young girl smiled, gently picking up the shell. "You are my favorite y/l/n." Y/n crossed her arms. "I'm the only y/l/n." Mikasa smiled a bit brighter.

Eren had turned towards them, snapping out of his gaze from the unusual commotion. He had watched the two interact and the way Mikasa had gently lifted the shell and just as gently cradled it caused the corner of his lips to upturn.

Y/n noticed. "I can find you one too, Eren. Although I'm afraid finding one as pretty as Armin's is impossible and thus out of the question." Eren softened and shook his head. "No, thank you, y/n." She stood up from her position, and was immediately wrapped in a quick hug from Mikasa.

"Oh! What's this?" Hanje lifted something reminiscent of a burnt rock from the water, gently rubbing her fingers over it. Y/n drew closer, allowing Hanje to explain all of the oddities she found. Y/n nodded along, only half understanding what her friend was ranting about.

Finally Hanje gasped with delight- cutting herself off. "there's more over here!" She pranced away from y/n, pausing several steps away and bending down to search for more.

Finally y/n turned to Levi, who had already been watching her. He seemed so out of place it was funny. His arms were crossed and he looked disinterested...but y/n knew that he was just uncomfortable. They watched each other, taking their differences in.

Really Levi couldn't believe how different two people could be. There y/n stood, a breeze sifting through her hair, her entire outfit completely soaked, and a stupid grin on her face. She was some brat- he'd admit it.

"You're going to get sick, y/n." She smiled, wading through the low tide to where he stood. "You'd love the chance to take care of me." "Tch, I deal with you enough as is." The two had shortened the distance between each other.

The wind ruffled his undercut. "It's a lot less scary than it looks." Y/n gently nudged him with her shoulder. "I'm not scared." Levi gave her a sharp look and anyone one else would've slinked away, but y/n wasn't anyone else- especially not to Levi.

Gently she took his hand in hers, squeezing it softly. He narrowed his eyes, the silver orbs twinkling against the sunset. He interlaced his fingers with her own though, his deep admiration for y/n often undermined his "tough guy" resolve.

Y/n smiled at him, "Okay old man are you going to roll up those pants or will I have to?" Levi sighed, grumbling under his breath as he bent down. "If I get sick from this-" she rolled her eyes. "Levi it's water. The thing you bathe in, clean with, drink. You will not get sick."

He pulled a sock off. "Tch, I once saw you find a piece of uneaten bread hidden behind books in the library, and watched you eat it without question. I don't believe anything you say about what's healthy and what's not, brat." Y/n helped him fold his socks neatly next to his shoes. "That was one time!" He paused. "And it's scarred into my memory."

Again, y/n rolled her eyes. However, the smile on her never even flinched. She grabbed Levi's hand and yanked him forward. He gasped, but y/n only sped up. "Oi, oi, oi, wait! You're going to fast, we'll-" They splashed into the water, splashing it up to their faces.

Levi's eyes were wide, and he seemed absolutely at a loss for what to do with himself. Finally he met her gaze, and saw how she looked at him. Levi felt his cheeks flush. "Tch, fine it's not as bad as I thought." He turned to leave, but she yanked him back to her.

"hey, hey, hey mateo, mateo." She pulled him so that his side was resting against her, he turned back to y/n. "Stay awhile." She said gently. Her smile had changed now, and Levi noticed. His shoulders relaxed. He realized now why this was so important to her. This could be the last chance they had.

Then she kicked water at him.

"Y/n!" She laughed and backed deeper into the water. "You may be humanity's greatest titan fighter..." She began to move her arms around wildly. "But I am humanity's greatest Levi Ackerman fighter." Levi sighed, unamused. "You got water on my pants!" He moved towards her.

"The target approaches, seemingly irritated." She backed away. "Tch, Seemingly?" Levi's hand balled into fists. "He's going deeper into enemy territory, what will y/n do?" "Y/n should run." Levi got closer.

He jumped at her, and she tackled him, the two landing into the water. Once again y/n became instantly soaked, and Levi was now in the same boat, wet completely from head to toe. "It is salty!" Levi gasped out, his arms still wrapped around y/n. "Did you think we were all lying before?" Y/n laughed, watching as Levi struggled to get salty water from his eyes.

He pulled his fist from his eye, finally looking at y/n. She was soaked, probably more than he was, but she was as radiant as could be, her eyes shining, her smile wide, and her hair blowing softly. He stared at her several seconds, lost in how beautiful she was. Sometimes he had a difficult time believing that someone like her could ever be interested in someone like him. "I love you." He clutched her tighter to him.

Her face became more serious, and she closed her mouth. Y/n gently put a wet thumb on his cheek. "I love you too, Levi." They stayed there, in that moment together.

"and yet I'm only your second favorite Ackerman." Y/n sighed, going to pull away, but Levi grabbed her and to her surprise he laughed.

"What's so funny?" Levi and y/n turned, Connie, Sasha, Jean, Hanje, Eren, Armin, and Mikasa all stood over them.

"None of your business, brats." Levi said, crossing his arms. The group shared a glance. "Oh, no, guys wait-" Connie, Sasha, Jean, Hanje, and Mikasa attacked, jumping to tackle them, splashing and creating a mini hurricane.

Armin and Eren watched, still standing. Armin was smiling, whilst Eren's expression still remained cautious. The tension he had carried moments before abandoned him though, and it seemed as though now for the small moment they had, they all realized- only now could they truly live it.

Today was today and that was all they had for certain.

"There's water in a place where water should definitely not be!"

"Don't make me drown you!"

"Who's foot is this?"

"What's gonna happen when we leave? Will we still be wet?"

"GODDAMNIT I KEEP SWALLOWING IT! WHY DOES IT BURN!"

"you all are no match for my skills- I am unconquerable!"

"Yeah, I'm never doing this again."

Armin turned to Eren. "Sometimes... sometimes I believe that it'll never get better than this." He took a breath and Eren put a hand on his shoulder. "Right now...I think...I think you may be right, Armin."

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A/n: hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this, feel free to request more Levi Ackerman or to give critism. Merry Christmas!

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#levi x y/n #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi aot #levi x reader #levi attack on titan #aot imagines #aotc #aot x reader #aot memes #aot manga #aot headcanons #aotearoa #x reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #happy birthday levi

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shhh-no-ones-home · 3 years

Text

the boy next door bucky barnes x reader

+++++++++

i know he has like an actual new york apartment in the show but i thought this idea was cute and kinda ran with it. in this they live in the same building rather than like his town house in the show.

also this might be the only one shot out for a little bit but ill be back soon i hope!

Song: Superman by loaded (duff mckagan)

tag list: @cynic-spirit +++++++++

Another day another dollar, right? One more day of work before a long holiday weekend away from the office and away from the stresses of life. It was almost worth the salary in more ways than one. Yes I was comfortable now that I'd been promoted but it also allowed me to move into a new apartment over the last two months. Apartment 25, right next door to a very handsome neighbor who id only ever had the pleasure of seeing once.

It was no more than a passing in the hall when I was still moving in. He had nodded his head followed by a soft hello as I was coming up the stairs. My door was propped open and half my furniture was sitting around the kitchen inside the door. I had noticed him glance in, a small smile coming to his face as he dug his gloved hand into his jeans for his house key. The only reason I knew he existed outside of that was the fact that he left his TV on at night. But I knew how that was. Some type of noise to make a lonely apartment seem less empty.

I wanted so badly to go introduce myself, to say hello or invite him over for dinner but it never felt right. I was the new neighbor after all and no one else had made an attempt at introducing themselves either. Besides, I wasn't even completely moved in yet. Two months and I still had boxes strewn about, some filled with books, some filled with kitchen utensils I hadn't needed quite yet. In all actuality it was a mess still but I was working on it. Something I would be fixing during this long holiday weekend.

This is what was on my mind as I buzzed into the main door. Then his smile flashing behind my eyes as I walked up the flight of stairs to stand in front of my apartment. Then the thought faded for a moment. It was one sigh after another as I dug into my bag for my key, a grumble under my breath as they shifted under my wallet. It was already a long day, and now this?

"For fucks sake."

I complained, finally grabbing them in my hand but stabbing myself in the finger rather than retrieving them. I pulled my hand out quickly, hissing at the feeling as I shook my hand out.

"Damnit!"

I furrowed my brow before putting my mouth to my finger. Then I heard his door click. I breathed deeply before shaking my head and reaching back in my bag for my keys. When he stepped out of his door I offered a disingenuous smile.

"Hey 25."

He said and I stood upright, confusion across my features as I stared at the number plate on my door.

"Hey, 23...?"

I said back, looking over my shoulder as he made his way quickly down the stairs. I watched as he opened the main door at the bottom, looking at him like a deer in headlights as he smiled and nodded before disappearing down the street. I just stood there for a moment, perplexed, arm still in my bag but no longer focused on the task at hand. What a strange interaction. Then the door across the hall made a noise, shaking me from my thoughts. I got to work getting my keys out properly this time, without hurting myself, and unlocking my door before they made it outside. Time to get to work.

°°°°°°°°°

When I woke up this morning I knew I should've immediately gone back to bed. Who knew Saturdays could actually be shit. It started with me ripping the collar of one of my favorite shirts while trying to get dressed. Then it was me spraying myself in the face with water trying to do the dishes. And amongst every other little thing like dropping books and trinkets and tripping over boxes on the floor, the air conditioner went out. I had promptly called the landlord but he said he couldn't get anyone to replace it until Tuesday given the holiday weekend. Just my luck.

I had almost thought about giving up but I wasn't that kind of person. Instead I dug out a box fan, propped the front door open and kept it on high for the majority of the afternoon. Yeah I was sweaty trying to unpack and fix my living room but it was worth it. I was gonna make this day better if it killed me. Now I was stood on a bar stool, couch pushed into the middle of the room, trying to hang a few pictures. It was a struggle getting the one on the far part of the wall but I was making it work. One grunt and complain at a time.

"Need a hand with that 25?"

I heard from the door, scaring me and making the stool wobble. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I steadied myself against the wall. I closed my eyes and sighed out in relief.

"No thanks 23 I got this."

I called back, recognizing his voice before reaching back over and trying to hang it again. I could hear soft footsteps behind me for a moment but it didn't really matter, the door was open, if he wanted to come in he was more than welcome. Maybe he could give me a hand. And maybe I was overestimating myself. The next second I was losing my footing and on my way to the floor. I screamed as the stool came out from under me, the picture smashing to the floor. I expected to hit the floor after it but instead I had landed in someone's arms, looking up to a smirking neighbor, wide eyes and scared

"Sure you don't need some help there 25?"

He asked again, a little cocky. I just stared at him. My heart was knocking at my rib cage trying to escape and I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I could've just hurt myself severely or even died. But I didn't. Because 25 saved me.

"I guess not anymore."

I blurted out in a panic, realizing that my interior design dreams had just been crunched into pieces against the hardwood. He let out a soft laugh before walking out from behind the couch and placing me flat on my feet.

"You okay?"

He asked and I nodded, frowning at my less than handy work on the ground. The stool was laid on top of the frame, glass everywhere, and the picture itself torn in two.

"Body yes, ambitions no."

I sent him a defeated look and we both laughed. I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Thanks for saving me 23. Without you I definitely would have had to take a trip to the ER."

I said through a nervous laugh. He looked taken aback for a second before placing his hand gently at my back.

"You look like you've had one hell of a day."

He noted and I looked down at myself before rolling my eyes.

"So it's obvious?"

I asked and he smiled, nodding slowly.

"Just a little bit."

My gaze followed his hand as he tucked some of the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail behind my ear.

"Well I guess for an official first impression I chose to big or go home."

I joked

"You always this charismatic?"

He quipped back and I sent him a look.

"You mean in terms of needing assistance?"

He shook his head in amusement.

"If that's how you wanna take it, sure."

I rolled my eyes playfully.

"No actually. Normally I am very poised and carefully thought out. Today is just not my day."

He looked at me for a moment like he was trying to figure me out or come up with something to say.

"Well I think I'd like to meet poised and carefully thought out."

He said and I sighed out a laugh.

"Is that an offer for a date 23?"

He smiled widely at me.

"James."

"Bucky!"

"Yes!"

He said quickly, getting progressively louder. My eyes went wide as he closed his, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Jesus I'm not usually this awkward."

I smiled at him, placing my hand at his shoulder, him looking at me in a lost puppy kind of way. Then I noticed the chain tucked under his shirt, looking down the the two outlines pressed against his chest. I drew my brows as I tugged it out, the warm metal laying in my hand as I ran my thumb over the dog tags. He just watched me intently.

"Sargent James Buchanan Barnes."

I nodded, looking up to him innocently. He had a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip but you'd miss it if you weren't looking for it.

"Well 23, I'd love to go on a date with you."

In a second his smile got bigger, tucking his tags back in his shirt after I let go of them.

"Guess we both made pretty good first impressions."

He said and I nodded, rubbing my hands together as we started walking towards the door.

"Oh, 25, I didn't catch your name."

He mentioned, stepping over the box fan and back into the hall. I smirked at him.

"You buy me a drink, 23, and it's yours."

He let out a short laugh, nodding as he turned his body towards his own apartment.

"Deal."

#wattpad #x reader #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel #imagines #one shots #captain america #white wolf #james buchanan barnes #328

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confusednarcissistwrites · 4 years

Note

Could you write a jealous timmy fic pls?

AHHH so this is pretty much pure fluff lol I feel like there’s a lot of angsty jealousy fics out there so I wanted to try and do something a little different. hope you guys like it!! ☺️💛

Jealous? (T.C.)

(cursing, smut, flufffff)

“Baby, I’m late! I gotta run,” you giggled, pressing the puckered lips of your doting boyfriend away as you pulled on your shoes.

“Ughhh fineeeee,” Timothée whined, following you to the door like a puppy. “Have a good day, baby doll.”

You grinned, pecking his lips. “You too, cutie.”

You’d been filming intermittently for the past few months on a local indie project. It was hard not to be daunted by Timothée’s big name films, but your heart was in dinky, little indie projects with weird motifs, and you were perfectly content to stay in your niche acting there in New York. It kept you close to him.

You’d only been together for about six months, but you could tell that this wasn’t a short term type thing. This was your first project since you and Timothée had gotten together, and he’d already been incredibly supportive every step of the way. It was almost like you had your own personal cheerleader every day.

Once you made it to the studio, you realized you had missed a text from Timmy.

T💕: “u forgot ur lunch :(“

You: “dang it :/ I’m sure I can find something around here tho”

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, heading into your dressing room to get your hair and makeup done for the day. About halfway through, your director knocked on the door and popped his head inside. He was all smiles, eager to get into the scenes for the day. “Hey, Y/N! Just wanted to let you know we are starting with 32 today!”

“Great, thank you, Derek!” you responded, grabbing up your script in between your makeup artist’s brush strokes. You flipped through the marked up pages, landing on the scene.

“Ooh, you’ll need some extra setting spray today!” sang Marrissa, giving you a playful wink as she finished up the avant-garde paint job on your face and began setting it with powder.

After getting dressed, you strode out to the set, feeling excited and confident for the day’s shoot. The schedule was packed, but you were ready for it.

•••

It was less than an hour after you had left that Timothée became bored. You’d left him a grocery list, but he couldn’t imagine how dreary the supermarket aisles would be without your puns and odd-ball fun facts about preservatives. He smiled to himself, feeling a bit silly for missing you so much.

He decided that he’d go pick up lunch from your favorite restaurant and bring it to you since you’d left your lunch at home; he knew how rough catered lunches could be at times.

It was about noon when he arrived at the studio, entering quietly as he knew they were likely filming somewhere nearby. He greeted the staff he passed, some looking at him with wide eyes and making him chuckle to himself a bit, but most had seen him with you before. He was instructed to the set and eventually found his way to you. What he was greeted with, however, stopped him dead in his tracks.

You were practically naked, your body only draped in a sheer, flowy gown that left little to the imagination. An actor circled you, his eyes hungry and predatory. In a snap of movement, he was on you. Timothée watched in shock as he gripped your throat, feverishly kissing you. You, completely immersed in character, reciprocated, releasing a soft whine audible to the crew.

And Timothée.

He, of course, logically knew you were simply acting in a role, but to see such a thing made his stomach twist and ache. Half of him was astounded by your talent and beauty, but it was nearly completely overshadowed by his jealousy.

An abrupt call of “CUT!” pulled him from the trance, both you and the actor stepping away from each other. It took you a few moments to notice him, but, the moment you did, your face lit up, and you hurried over to him.

“Oh my goodness! What are you doing here, mon amour,” you grinned, pulling him into a quick kiss. He smiled back, but you instantly could see it was a bit forced. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Timothée shook his head, presenting your lunch to you. “I just brought you food! I was worried you wouldn’t find anything around here, and I wanted to see you,” he confessed, blushing a bit.

You tilted your head. “Thank you, Timo. That’s very sweet, but what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong!”

“Mm, never play poker,” you teased, continuing to press his buttons.

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s- honestly, it’s stupid. Can we go to your room?”

Suddenly, it clicked. “Oh my god, it was the scene, wasn’t it?” you gasped, leading him to your room and closing the door behind you.

“Y/N…” he warned.

“It totally was!! Babe, you kiss other actors all the time; you know how it is!”

“Okay, yeah, but- I just, ya know, haven’t seen you do it before!! It was just a little.. startling I guess,” he stuttered, clearly flustered and defensive, his arms crossed over his chest. “I mean, you don’t dress like this at home!”

You set your lunch down, letting out a snort. “Darling, I’m also not typically the damned ghost of a duke’s daughter at home either,” you deadpanned, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms wrapped instinctually around your waist, pulling you close. “Are you jealous, Timothée?” You wore a cocky grin, finding him incredibly endearing.

“I just don’t like seeing other guys all over my girl; is that a crime?” he whined, making pouty faces at you and making you giggle. He wasn’t one to be upset over much for very long.

“Mm, I love when you call me that,” you sighed, biting your lip at him.

He very promptly reacted to your shift in tone, raising a brow at you. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish, doll.” His voice was quiet and low, making you grin.

“Oh, you’ll finish, alright.” His eyes went wide as you pushed him back onto the couch with a giggle, placing yourself in his lap and tugging his bottom lip between your teeth.

“You’re so baadddd,” he sang, giving your ass a playful squeeze. You rocked against his growing bulge, pulling him into a hungry kiss. Your costume pooled around you both as you continued to grind against him; the thrill of the possibility of getting caught spurred you on, much to Timothée’s delight. His lips latched onto your throat eagerly. He wished he could leave a little sign to remind your scene partner of his place but decided against it in fear of you getting scolded.

“Only for you, babe,” you hummed. In a flurry of fabrics, you slipped down the floor, kneeling between his spread legs.

Timmy was pleasantly surprised, chewing on his lip as you made quick work of his belt and fly. He was already incredibly turned on. You removed his length from his jeans, pumping him up and down while gazing up at him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped, sliding down in his seat. You took him into your mouth, knowing you didn’t have as much time as you’d like. You circled your tongue around his sensitive head, relishing the soft groan he let out. You licked a wide stripe along the underside, feeling him twitch in your hand. The gratification of watching him feel so good was nearly enough to get you off all on its own.

He gently gathered your hair, holding it out of your face as you began to bob your head up and down his length. “Holy shit, baby. Ugh, your mouth..” he babbled mindlessly, hips twitching up toward you every so often. You weren’t able to fit all of him into your mouth, so your hands aided in the effort, one following your lips while the other squeezed his thigh or roamed over his stomach occasionally. Feeling warmed up, you pressed yourself further, taking him down your throat until you managed to reach his base. You held for as long as you could before pulling back, gasping for air; he was no easy fit. He cursed, his slick cock twitching against his stomach while you caught your breath. He bit the back of his hand to keep from getting too loud. You quickly went back to work, sensing he was getting closer.

You watched his pretty, hazel eyes roll back as you sped up. “Fu-fuck, Y/N, don’t stop,” he whimpered, his free hand tugging at his own hair as he tumbled toward his climax. Suddenly, his whole body went tense, his head falling back in a silent shout as he spilled his lust into your waiting mouth. You did you best to swallow all he had to give, not wanting to make a mess. He trembled softly and let out sighs as he came down from his high. You pulled off of him with a little pop, biting your lip up at him while he tucked himself back into his jeans. You pulled yourself back up onto the couch next to him, grabbing his chin and pulling him into a lustful kiss.

“See? No reason to be jealous,” you purred, bumping his nose with your own.

“Jesus…” he panted, laughing and running his hands over his face as he soaked in what had just happened. “You’re something else.”

You giggled and hopped up, wiping away your watery eyes in the mirror, readjusting your costume, and drinking some water; you hoped your voice wouldn’t be too hoarse for your next scenes.

Timmy followed after you like a little puppy, wrapping himself around you from behind. He was always so cuddly after an orgasm. “Mmmm, I’d love to return the favor,” he hummed, pressing kisses to your neck and shoulders.

You grinned, leaning back into him. “Ugh, I wish. But I have to get back to set now, my love.” He stuck out his bottom lip, pouting at you through the mirror. “You’ll have to make it up to me later.”

He walked you back to set, his fingers tangled with yours and a little smug smile on his face; anyone could have guessed he just got some.

“I’ll see you later tonight,” he hummed, smiling like a fool. You stood on your toes to peck his lips, but the moment you pulled away, he pulled you right back again, locking lips with you heatedly for a few seconds more. You blushed hotly, hearing a few whistles coming from the cast and crew. It was only after he pulled away and headed for the door that you saw your scene mate standing a few feet away.

#timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet request #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet smut #timothée chalamet fluff #timothée chalamet blurb #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet request #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee chalamet blurb #timothee chalamet imagine #confusednarcissistwrites #request

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et-lesailes · 4 years

Photo

title: the inside scoop

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2461

summary: you are a reporter with a certain favorite celebrity to interview, and you’re more than excited to talk to him about his latest movie, knives out. little do you know that your massive crush on him is actually requited.

themes: fluff

taglist: @evanstush, @tanyam93, @bval-1, @wonderwinchester, @patzammit, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @sammyslonglostshoe, @jadedhillon, @bohemian-barbie, @whysparker, @sebastian-i-stan, @sebabestianstan101, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @bookish-shristi, @kind-sober-fullydressed, @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly, @denisemarieangelina, @frencchfries, @xlanawriter, @littlemoistcarrot, @pottxrwolff, @arianatheangelworld, @ifuseekamyevans, @southerngracela, @nsfwsebbie, @rororo06, @savemesteeb, @raveviolet, @inactivewhore, @hurricanerinwrites

notes: this was a commissioned piece requested by @straightforwardly ! thank you so much for supporting me and i hope this is everything you wanted :) ** if you are interested in my commissions, check out this post right here !

You’re quickly wrapping up with hair and makeup, looking at your reflection in the mirror trying not to smile so much. You were particularly happy to wake up for work that day, all because of who you’re interviewing today.

You’ve had the pleasure of working with Chris Evans a few times before, and while at first it was his looks that drew you in, it didn’t take long for you to simply fall in love with his entire being. The first time was a little nerve wracking. You had seen other interviews where he seemed a little grumpy, tired, and annoyed with the questions he was being asked, and so you had put as much thought into your own questions as possible. You refused to be like the other journalists and reporters, the ones who simply asked Marvel related questions or how he worked out. It was easy to see that this man had personality much deeper than that, and you were always eager to explore it. You remember how your heart had been pounding right before that first interview, but the second the two of you started talking, it was simply… amazing. Despite only having known him for minutes, you had already felt perfectly comfortable and secure with him, as if you had known him for years. You had heard from others that he had that effect on people, but you never imagined it was to that extent.

Now here you are, getting ready for your fifth interview with him. Another thing you love about Chris is that he actually remembers who you are, each and every time. It always makes you feel special, though you have to remind yourself to calm down- he’s simply considerate and personable, he probably remembers other reporters he’s seen multiple times too.

“Alright, you’re all set. Chris finished up a few minutes ago, he’s probably out there getting seated.” The stylist tells you, and you smile up at him with a nod. “Thank you!” Standing up, you take a deep breath as you inspect yourself in the mirror. You’ve become used to seeing celebrities as a part of your job, but Chris is the only one who has your heart racing and butterflies fluttering. Even interviewing Jason Momoa for Aquaman couldn’t get you as simultaneously excited and nervous as appearing before Chris; you have the biggest crush on him, but at the same time, what can you do about it? Honestly, you’re convinced he probably has a secret girlfriend- it simply makes no sense to you that a man like him is single.

‘Thank God for hair and makeup,’ you think to yourself, pleased with your appearance- it’s not too overdone, but just the right amount, mainly just so the lighting doesn’t wash you out on camera. You gather your cards and take another breath, forcing yourself to calm down before going out to where the chairs are- you were hoping to play it cool, but the second you see him, a wide smile emerges on your face. How a man can look so handsome simply sitting there wearing a long sleeve maroon sweater and fitted jeans while playing around with a water bottle in his hands, you have no idea. “Hi there! Sorry to keep you waiting.” You greet him, and he looks up, immediately grinning. “Oh, hey, Y/N!” To your surprise, he stands up and extends his arms out for a hug, pulling you in for a warm embrace as if you’re a longtime friend he hasn’t seen in a while. You’re shocked but you quickly take the opportunity to hug him back, resisting the urge to inhale how damn good he smells. His broad chest feels so warm and perfect against you, and you swear you could be in this position forever.

“How have you been?” you ask as normally as you can, finally pulling back with a smile and gesturing for him to sit as you do as well. “Oh, same old, same old. I have to say though, I’ve been looking forward to this. I love interviewing with you, you always ask such awesome questions!” he compliments you, and you’re squealing on the inside. “Ahh, now I feel so much pressure!” you joke, though give him an appreciative smile as you cross your legs. “Thank you, though. That means a lot, I really do try to avoid the questions actors seem to hear all the time.”

“I’ve noticed, and I appreciate it.” Chris replies with a smile, his blue eyes sparkling more beautifully than the goddamn ocean. It’s truly overwhelming how handsome he is; you feel as though looking at him is like staring right into the sun sometimes. “I’m glad to hear that,” you say somewhat shyly, but clear your throat, glancing towards the cameraman. “We ready to start?”

“All good,” he replies with a thumbs up, and you wait for the signal before beginning with a smile. “Hello, everyone! I’m Y/N, and I’m here with Chris Evans today to talk a little about his latest movie, Knives Out!” Chris waves to the camera with a little smile, but almost immediately looks back towards you. “Glad to be here, Y/N.” God, you love when he says your name. ‘Hold it together, Y/N.’ You think to yourself; thankfully, your job basically consists of looking composed on the outside, and so you’ve at least had plenty of practice.

You give a brief summary of the movie to begin, then go into speaking about his character, Ransom. Looking towards him, you tilt your head slightly. “Now I know you played the ultimate golden boy when it came to Captain America, but a lot of your roles in the past have actually had a more twisted and angsty side. Curtis Everett in Snowpiercer, Syd in London, Mike Weiss in Puncture, and especially Bryce Langley in Fierce People. Was it a difficult adjustment going back to playing a more villainous character, or did you have a good time with it?”

“Wow. Even bringing out Fierce People, huh? You really did your research,” he teases, making you laugh softly before he continues to answer, looking thoughtful. “Honestly, it was pretty fun. Don’t get me wrong, I loved playing Captain America and the other lighter, comedic roles are fun too. But being a little wicked and vile is pretty entertaining as an actor. I missed it a lot, and I think I clicked with it again pretty easily.” He pauses before laughing, looking at the camera. “I make that seem like I’m just naturally an evil person. Like, ‘Yeah, it’s so easy for me to be an asshole on camera- because I am one in real life!’” he makes fun of himself, and you can’t help but laugh again as you reply playfully, “Well, you are from Boston, aren’t you? What are they called over there? Massholes?” He blinks and laughs loudly, grabbing his left pec which only makes you giggle to yourself and feel oddly triumphant at the same time. You love making him laugh. “Oh God, you’ve heard that term? Yeah, I’d say that definitely describes me pretty well.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re not that bad.” You remark playfully, then realize you should probably stop transitioning this interview into flirtatious banter, and so you decide to move on to the next question. “Now for this particular movie, you have a variety of actors and actresses around you- some who are insanely experienced and have been in the industry for decades, and some who, while experienced, are young and only continue to climb upwards in their career. How did you feel, being a part of that? Does it bring back memories, does it influence you, do you influence or guide them?” you ask curiously, continuing, “You’re such an accomplished actor, and this cast was pretty remarkable as well- I imagine there were all sorts of different feelings working with them.”

Chris nods as he listens carefully, smiling and even looking somewhat intrigued. “That’s a great question. Yeah, I was definitely pretty nervous actually. I really wanted this role, and I was kind of intimidated going into it all. These people are amazing, honestly. I feel like I’ve learned so much from them, from Daniel to Jaeden, and I can only hope that I’m able to be a good influence on other actors as the ones I look up to are to me. It’s interesting that you mention memories, though. Seeing younger actors and actresses always reminds me of myself when I was younger- and then proceeds to make me feel very old.” He laughs, shaking his head to himself. “But watching Jaeden and Katherine, God, they’re great. They have such drive, ambition, and they’ve already made it so far. They’re so fun and I’m pretty sure I was nowhere near as talented as them at that age, but I definitely remember having that energy.”

You can’t help but smile as you listen to him. You’ve seen in other interviews that he wants to start a family one day, and that he’s excited to be a father. It’s adorable to you that he appreciates younger castmates so much, and even shows respect to them as actors. “You don’t think you still have that energy?” you tease, and he laughs, making an “eh” gesture with his hand. “Sometimes, but I’m telling you, I’ve gotten old. Years of action movies and stunts will do that to you,” he jokes, and you remember that he actually did a lot of his own stunts for the Captain America movies- no wonder he has such nice muscles. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you certainly don’t look old.” You can’t help but reply, but glance back down at your cards, forcing yourself to stay on track. The cameraman, one of your friends, is probably snickering to himself, and you bet you’re going to get quite interesting comments once this video is uploaded. How can you not go back and forth with him though, just a little? He makes it so easy, what with his perfect sense of humor, contagious laugh, and mere eye contact. He makes you feel like a person, a friend, not just some nosy reporter.

After a few more questions (and a teensy bit of flirting), the interview finally comes to an end. “I hope you guys are excited to watch this movie, because I’m telling you, it’s a good one- and I think everyone will be very entertained by Ransom Drysdale.” You remark with a raised brow, looking to him with a soft laugh. “Thank you for coming, Chris!” He smiles charmingly, waving at the camera. “Thanks for having me, Y/N. I had a great time.”

The cameraman signals that he’s stopped recording, but flashes you a little smirk before turning to the crew to discuss the work that needs to happen next. You blush slightly but clear your throat, looking up at him- you hate this part because he’ll have to leave soon, but you’re hoping you can squeeze in just a little conversation before that happens. “Seriously, thanks again. Honestly, you’re one of my favorite celebrities to interview,” you admit with a slight laugh, biting your lip. “You actually answer with… depth.” He laughs too, barely leaning forward. “Oh, yeah? Are you accusing celebrities of being airheads?”

“Some of them!” you can’t help but answer bluntly, and both of you are laughing again. Now he bites his lip, suddenly looking at you a little more intensely than before- you hope your cheeks aren’t becoming as red as they feel. “Hey, Y/N. Can I ask you something?” You nod a little too fast, your curiosity piqued. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Do you, uh…” he pauses for a few moments before chuckling slightly, waving his hand. “Ah, fuggit, I’m just gonna come out with it.” His Boston accent comes out even stronger than usual as he swears, and you love and hate how attractive it sounds. “Are you dating anyone?”

Your heart is pounding at this point, and you have to force yourself to respond in a way in which your voice doesn’t shake. “No, I’m not.” You cock your head, holding back a smile. “Why do you ask…?” He seems to look pleased about this, even visibly perking up before suddenly looking uncertain again, laughing awkwardly. “Okay. Okay, um, please tell me if this is crossing any lines. Like, please. Don’t be scared to slap me, even.” He jokes, and now you’re feeling the excitement bubbling up inside, though at the same time your brain is screaming at you not to raise your hopes up. “I have permission to slap you. Noted.” You tease in return, proud of yourself that you still somehow seem to have your wits intact. He laughs, eyes twinkling as he continues, “I know we’ve only had a professional relationship but… I was… kinda hoping I could take you out sometime. Dinner, walking the dog, a movie, ice cream, roller skating- anything. I just… man, I really want to get to know you.” He confesses, and it takes you everything to not practically jump up and down and squeal right there. You’re shocked. You truly never thought that someone as famous and attractive as him would be interested in a mere reporter.

“Chris.” You smile widely, nothing but eagerness in your sparkling eyes. “I would love that.” You blush slightly, adding, “If we’re being honest, I’ve had a crush on you for like, years now.” Chris widens his eyes, scoffing in playful frustration as he buries his head in his hands. “You’re serious? God dammit, I knew I should have asked you earlier!” He looks up at you again, sighing deeply. “I really just assumed you were dating someone. Hell, even married. I mean, look at you, you’re gorgeous, funny, smart…. And you have depth.” He refers to your previous comment, and you laugh, though blush madly as you do so. “Thanks,” you reply softly- you swear you’ve never felt this much happiness in your life.

His manager comes up behind him, gently tapping his shoulder. “Chris, we should get going. We have another interview to get to.” He blinks, looking somewhat disappointed but nods, looking back to you. “Mind if I get your number, then? We can talk later?”

You nod, biting your lip delightedly as he hands you his phone as if you’re a child receiving a king sized candy bar. After putting your number in, you give it back- only to be wrapped up in another hug from him. “I’ll see ya real soon,” he whispers in your ear, and you’re blushing even deeper than before, though you nod with a little giggle.

“I can’t wait.”

#chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans drabble #chris evans fanfiction #rhee commissions

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xlehukax · 4 years

Text

Still Beating Heart

Foreword: Hello! I’ve been working on this thing for a little while now, and it’s finally done! This fanfiction is set in the Pediatric Doctors AU that I made, that you can learn more about here. It’s done in conjunction to writings by @eeveeeclair246, to who has the first installment of this series, titled Inefficent Iron, which you can find here. And, if you don’t want to read on Tumblr, I get it! This will also be on Archives in a hot minute, so check my Masterpost for the link. Now, on with the show!

Ships: Roman x Virgil, Implied Remus x Logan

Word Count: 10215

Warnings: LANGUAGE, Alcoholism, Bars, Panic Attacks, Medical Issues (ie. weak hearts), Cheating, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Rape, that creeping feeling of regret.

Summary: Virgil’s always been the quiet nurse, the prickly one, the don’t talk to me unless there’s an issue one. Roman’s fresh out of a relationship, and looking to go out on the town, and needs a friend to go along with. And Virgil can’t say no to his crush, even if they work in the same place.

~~~~

It’s just another day at the office: by that, Virgil means, Patton’s handing out cookies, Logan’s being a work-aholic and refuses to let any of the patients go to Janus, in which is being very meticulous and annoyingly good at his job and refusing to let Virgil do his, Remus is going through the latest urine samples, and Roman is doing what Roman does best. Ranting about his latest breakup while painting his nails in the receptionist booth.

And Virgil just happens to be the only one around, after Patton leads the last patient of the day to Logan and the waiting room finally empties. Virgil simply sighs in defeat, and tries to shrink into his nurse uniform. Let it be known, he did not choose to be there. Or ever.

“Emo, are you even listening?”

“Yup, yes, I am, absolutely,”

“Alright, just had to make sure, you know, you tend to ignore me, which you’d think is impossible but you never cease to surprise me in that regard. Anyway, so this guy, Ethan- total dreamboat, eyes bluer than you’d ever believe. So I met him on this app, and we went for drinks a few weeks ago: and thirty minutes in, I’m in love. He’s a painter. Sweetest guy- we end up at his apartment, and you know- but I was in it for the long haul. Virgil, I was really ready for a long-term with this guy. He seemed like he was down for it too… and then, just yesterday, you know what I found in his apartment?”

“Another person,” Virgil sighs.

“Some floozy, blond and covered in hickeys, and Ethan painting her. Like, I didn’t know what to be more offended about: the fact that he cheated on me or that he doesn’t have a sexy painting of me!”

“Mhmm…” Virgil’s almost fallen asleep, and doesn’t even notice Roman hovering utop him until he’s right in his face.

“Virgil-” Roman shouts, and Virgil startles right into Roman’s arms. Which he now is realizing quite quickly are not just incredibly strong because they hold his weight easily, but landing their faces inches apart. Virgil sucks in a gasp- Roman smirks. “Hey there… you know, you’re not too bad looking yourself. Under all that makeup, you’re quite the princess, aren’t you?” It takes Virgil a moment to craft a response, he’s so scatterbrained and blushing.

“Fuck off Princey, I’m not your latest conquest,” Virgil hisses, still a large flush on his features. Roman flicks his nose.

“Yeah, but you’re still cute. Maybe I should date you~”

“In your fucking dreams- you cycle through boyfriends so fast, I’ll be dust in the wind,”

“Hmm,” Roman still hasn’t let Virgil go, and it is not helping the warmth in his face whatsoever, “Can’t argue with that.” And then Virgil is unceremoniously dumped onto the chair he was sitting in, with Roman towering above him. Did he always have those pretty eyes? He’s got these fantastically plump lips, it really shows when he’s smirking like that. And that hair is quite… quite royal- now that he’s looking at it-

Bloody hell, stop, now’s not the time to fawn, Virgil curses at himself. Virgil has always been introverted, and this- this interaction, Roman’s boldness with him… it’s completely unfamiliar. A bold move, reaching into his space, completely ignoring all of the protective glares and hisses that Virgil had in place. Disregarded his shields completely. Virgil has been harboring a bit of an infatuation with this confident musical wonder as of late, and this is not helping matters. Roman chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, J.Delightful, now I simply must make use of this situation,”

“What are you getting at-” Virgil snarls, to which Roman simply grins widely.

“You’re going to be my new wingman. There’s a open mic at a gay bar I frequent, and if I’m going to find somebody, then I need someone else to be my safety buddy. You know, watch for creepy old men who hit on me and all that jazz,” Roman pushes, eyes alight with excitement, “Patton won’t go with me anymore because he doesn’t like the loud noises, Logan doesn’t drink, I’m not asking Janus to come he’ll scare them all away or steal the attention, and Remus- well, you can probably guess why not Remus, and it’s not because people approach us because we’re twins. I can’t believe I’ve never asked you to come with me! It’ll give us some good outside of work bonding time too. Isn’t it great?”

“I don’t want to,” Virgil grumbles. Roman tuts.

“Oh come on now- am I so hard to be around?” No, Virgil thinks, and that’s the problem. “Pfft, if it’s really so hard, I’ll just cave and bring around someone else.”

“No…” Virgil whispers, so quiet that he’s sure it’s nearly silent, and Roman’s eyebrow perks up.

“Hmm? Was that a no I just heard?”

“I just- I’m not good in social situations, do you even really want me there? I’ll probably just screw your chances, scare people off,”

“Perfect! I’ll need someone to scare someone off,”

“But- I’ll damper on your fun,”

“Never! You will never cease to be fun to poke fun at,”

“I don’t know, Princey. You really want me there?” Virgil says, looking away and speaking in hushed tones still. Roman grabs his pale hands, squeezing them tightly.

“I need you, Virge,” Roman purrs. Virgil blushes harder, somehow, and tucks his head into his shoulder and murmurs his agreement. Damn it. “Wonderful! I’ll pick you up at 9, how does that sound?”

“Wait, tonight?” Virgil squawks. Roman drops his hands, blessedly, and steps back from him shrewdly. Smart, as Virgil’s immediate response is to throw a punch. Roman easily sidesteps.

“Oh, yes- did I not mention that? Tonight. It’s Friday,” Roman nods, smiling wickedly. Oh my god, I need to bathe, I need to find something nice-ish to wear, unearth my good eyeshadow, fuck it all I need new skin-

“Hey, hey, don’t freak. You don’t have to get all fancy for me: wear what makes you comfortable, and I’ll stop by your apartment at 9,”

“Wait a second- how do you know where I live?” Virgil says, suddenly horrified. Roman snickers.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Uh, yes I would,” Virgil growls.

“Pfft, I need to know everyone’s addresses, I’m the receptionist, Virge. It’s my job,” Roman scoffs. Virgil blushes: well, now he feels foolish. But it reminds him: Roman and himself work together. It doesn’t matter if something comes out of this, as it is- Remus and Logan are constantly being sickeningly cute around the office. The real problem is if he screws this up, and still has to go to work with him the next day. This is a really bad idea. But… When will he have another golden opportunity like this one?

“Okay, okay- 9, right?”

“Yes! Thank you, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance- you’re going to have so much fun. I’ll sing a song just for you, as thanks,” Roman grins cheekily, Virgil blows the hair out of his eyes, attempting nonchalant despite the whirlwind of anxiety confined within.

“Alright, fine, whatever. Should I- should I dress a certain way? Wait, is there a dress code? How much money should I bring? Is it credit or cash? Do they have food there? Will I have to dance?” Virgil shudders at the thought of dancing, even with Roman, who is currently blinking rapidly under the onslaught of questions.

“Okay erm, just dress how you normally do? Scratch that, a peg hotter than a hoodie, thank you. No dress code, have you ever been to a bar? Just bring your wallet, think about how many drinks you want, and I’m dancing whether you’re going to or not, so-”

Virgil takes notes internally, already too worried about this whole ordeal. He should really just cancel, say he just remembered something, but he knows he’ll regret that later. Either way, the only other thing he’s doing tonight is hanging with his spider, Missy, and watching Unsolved Mysteries. So…

“I’ll- I’ll see you later then, Princey,” Virgil murmurs, before gathering the few things he has around him and breezing past whilst trying to make it appear like he’s not running away.

“See you!! At least pretend to be excited- It’s going to be one hell of a night, Virge- you won’t regret this!”

As Virgil silently clocks out (Patton will take over the end of the day nurse activities, it’s fine) he thinks to himself, I certainly hope not.

~~~~~

And then, it’s already 8:50, too soon. Virgil showered, twice, because the first time he used his usual unscented body wash for work and not the one that smells like lavender and violets and by jove Roman inviting him out after work deserves more than unscented. Then the clothes resulted in a mini fashion show in front of the mirror for an hour, where upon he finally settled on a black button down over a grey undershirt with some black ripped jeans (it took him another 25 minutes to decide on mostly untucked in a ‘I just threw this on’ careless feel), and his favorite purple and black hoodie just in case it got cold… of which he ended up shivering right away anyhow and put it on anyway.

And then a whole other hour on makeup: a very tasteful black eyeliner and purple and black smokey eye with just a hint of dark glitter. Some lipstick, and a little dust on his cheekbones, and Virgil finally felt confident, an emotion that lasted all of ten minutes when he realized that he hadn’t chosen a pair of shoes yet.

The shoes took another thirty minutes alone. And then the idea of changing his hair up a little occurred to him, and that was another hour wasted that ended with keeping his regular low-hanging hair anyway.

And now he’s trying not to look like he’s waiting, because he doesn’t want to be waiting on Roman, but he needs to see if his car comes up, but he doesn’t want to be desperate, so he’s panicking slightly in his apartment with all the lights off because he was going to leave and now he’s freaking out instead, because he doesn’t know if it’s more appropriate to wait for Roman to text him that he’s outside and head downstairs after that or to just head downstairs now like a normal person or maybe he just shouldn’t go. His head slowly stops pounding, and his breath evens out, the oncoming anxiety attack fading away with the thought. Yeah, maybe Virgil can stay home instead- there’s too many variables anyway.

When Virgil was young, he was always making decisions like this. He was sick, not like crazy-sick, but sick. Anemia, coupled with coronary heart disease, topped off with bronchitis. He had weak lungs, weak heart, weak blood- his whole body was frail, and sometimes his blood didn’t move around fast enough to make him work right. There was no running around, no nothing: he was constantly worried about every little thing, because his parents were. Did you take your pills today? How was your bloodwork? Are you feeling woozy? Until Virgil just stopped leaving the house whatsoever. It was just easier. There was no chance of passing out while crossing a street and getting run over, never going to embarrass himself at school by having a heart attack…

And wouldn’t you know, staying at home made him only sicker. No muscle mass whatsoever, pale as a ghost, always so cold, so frail from not getting enough nutrients. His parents made the best decision of their lives and set him down the path that led him here by… by hiring a nurse. A kind nurse, with funny jokes and encouragement, who helped him go outside for the first time in months. Who taught him little things to make him stronger, like light weights. Virgil grew out of his heart disease, and though he still had bronchitis and anemia, he regularly took medications which made them easy to handle. And just like that, Virgil was no longer sickly (at least externally, he still had anxiety, but he’s managing it). Then he was a normal teenager, who wanted to be strong enough to help someone in the same way that nurse had.

Here Virgil is now- and he’s not going to fall into that same loop he was in as a kid. He’s better now, medicating only when needed. Virgil is all lean-muscle, and he’s better than his anxiety. He can totally go on a date-not-a-date with his crush to a gay karaoke bar. Totally. Taking a deep breath, Virgil checks his phone (which is fully charged with two mini backup batteries on his keys tucked into his back pocket) and realizes with horror that Roman texted a whole six minutes ago while Virgil was panicking that he was waiting downstairs.

“Shit!” Virgil slams his door, and just runs down the stairs instead of taking the elevator (he only lives on the fourth floor anyway, because anything higher than like 10 fire ladders can’t get to and there’s a 50% possibility of surviving a fall from four stories), and hopes his meticulous makeup job isn’t ruined. By Roman’s expression, he doesn’t think it did-

He had been grinning teasingly, mouth open to say some quip, but his jaw goes slack when he sees Virgil. Roman’s eyes are wide, leaning up against his red car, as he watches Virgil stop by the curb only a few feet in front of him. Roman whistles.

“Damn, Virgil… you look- damn. Wowza, do you clean up nice,” Roman falls over his words, making Virgil flush. Roman thinks I look good- I did good, it’s all good.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Princey,” Virgil whispers. Because really, he doesn’t: Roman’s white dress shirt has the top two buttons undone, showing off his pectorals and just a hint of his abs, and some nice pants. His hair is done over to the side, and one crown earring hangs from an ear. It’s really a delightful look, but makes Virgil feel out of place with his dark clothes and his heavy makeup. Roman only has a light bit. “Did I go overboard? I can- I can wash it off,” Virgil asks, hating that he’s offering to change this intensive and difficult look for a stupid guy.

“No, no- you look gorgeous. Seriously Virge, you should do my makeup. Like, I feel outdone, and I never feel that way! Come on, get on in, let’s go,” Roman shoos Virgil into the car, where he feels just as much if not more awkward. Still, he’s excited, out of this world excited: Roman likes how he looks. Roman finds him attractive, and they’re going to the club, together.

Not together, Virgil- you’re just his buddy. Virgil has to remind him that this is not a date, that he’s gotten all worried and dressed up for sitting at a bar and watching Roman flirt with other men. It makes his heart ache, but at least they’re together now .

“We’re almost there, Emo. You ready to have a good time?”

“I uh- erm, I mean. Yeah. Yeah sure, I’ll have fun sitting in the corner doing fucking nothing, that’s what I’m ready for,” Virgil’s suddenly defensive and feels horrible about the crude outburst.

“Oh my- Virge, do you not want to go? I don’t want to force you into anything!” No, I do, I do!

“Eh, it’s whatever. I got all dressed up, be a shame to not go out. I just- I don’t like to- I’m-”

“I know you don’t like being left alone! Don’t worry, I’ll be close by the whole time. I’ll watch you if you watch me, yeah?”

“Why are you so worried about being watched? You’ve clearly been to a lot of these things…” Virgil changes the subject to hide his flush at Roman’s empathy for him.

“Ah, well- I have been to a lot of these things, and I’ve had some… unfavorable experiences. A few times now, guys have put stuff in my drinks, or waited for me to get drunk and then take me home. It’s… it’s not what I want. I go to meet new people, not to get a one-night stand that I didn’t want. They don’t make me feel good. I hate it,” Roman growls at the road, and Virgil makes what might be a rash decision and places his long pale hands on Roman’s tanned worn ones by the gearshift. Roman looks over at him, and Virgil ducks his head. Roman smiles.

“I’ll watch out for you, I promise. I don’t really drink either, ‘cuz of my blood issues, so I can drive home too,” Virgil murmurs, still looking away. Roman moves his hand around, grips his tightly. Virgil doesn’t look at it, but knows they’re intertwined, and it makes his head hurt.

“Thank you, Virge. Aaand, we’re here,” the bar is bright in the dark evening, a neon sign advertising it, and Roman pulls into a parking space behind the building. He takes his key, and reaches out to put it in Virgil's pocket. “Don’t trust myself to hand em over, this thing’s my baby. I’m trusting you, though, and you gotta be good about that, alright?”

Virgil nods, and allows Roman to exit the car and help him out the other side. Roman throws his arm over Virgil’s shoulders, and saunters into the bar. As expected, it is loud. Someone’s already singing, a song by Chicago, and is doing pretty okay. There are bright lights here and there, some spots illuminated completely and others in darkness. There’s a whole load of people here too: some make eyes at him as he walks in. Virgil sticks to Roman, who chuckles, as they both head to the bar. The bartender seems to recognize Roman.

“Here for the open mic, are you, King?”

“You know it! Sign me right on up,” Roman laughs. Roman’s arm drops from Virgil’s shoulders. The bartender rolls his eyes, swipes some green dyed locks from his vision and writes Roman’s name on a pad.

“What song are you singing?”

“It’s a surprise, like usual, Vincent, I don’t know why you even bother asking,”

“Uh huh. And I see you brought a friend… you wanna sing too, baby-cheeks?” Vincent asks, leaning forwards.

Virgil hisses at him, then clears his throat.

“I don’t fucking sing,” he snarls, adding in his mind, in public. Vincent smiles knowingly.

“Aha, a feisty one. You really know how to pick em’, eh? Can I get you a drink then?” Virgil feels like he’s about to explode: this is not what he signed up for. He is here to be with Roman and watch out for him, not take this guy’s shit. Roman notices, and slings his arm once more over him.

“Nah, just a work colleague. He’s a nurse~ and doesn’t drink. It’s a shame, I know, but it’ll work better in my favor anyway. I’ll save money on the taxi. Incredible Sulk, how does a black coffee sound?”

“I guess that’s okay,” Virgil grumbles, glaring at this man even as he shrugs and complies. They both take a seat at the bar, Roman ordering some complicated fancy thing to match his personality and Virgil immediately hunching over his hot coffee. It’s surprisingly good for a bar, bitter yet flavourful, and Virgil finds himself smiling down at it.

“Eh, I think that smile says it’s more than just okay!” Roman purrs, shimmying closer to Virgil and bumping their shoulders. It seems as though the alcohol is already having an effect, his disposition somehow brighter. Virgil shies away slightly. Someone else saddles up to the bar and introduces himself. This man has long swoopy raven hair, and is even more lanky than Logan. He leans by Roman, eyes colder than Virgil would like. The dark haired fellow decides to listen in on the conversation… just in case.

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” the stranger says. Roman puts his hand on the bar, slurps the rest of his drink down in one go.

“I’m not sure- I do tend to get around. Where do you think you know me from, blue eyes?” Oh no. The guy’s got blue eyes, he didn’t even notice that. Virgil mourns his only chance at getting with Roman- this guy’s stealing it.

“Oh, I know! The theatre, right? You were Jason Dean in the Heathers production! Scary shit, man. You’re a fantastic singer. Hey, can we get another drink?” the stranger waves over Vincent, who fixes Roman another bright cocktail. Roman immediately starts fiddling with the straw, and looks up at the stanger.

“The name’s Roman. What’s yours?”

“I’m Lucian. It’s nice to meet you. Man, it’s so loud here: I wish we could go~,” Lucian says. Virgil narrows his eyes at the stranger, takes another sip of coffee. Roman smirks, and turns and winks at Virgil as if to say Look at this catch. Virgil tries to smile, but is pretty sure it’s just a grimace. It may just be Virgil’s luck (despite how it affects Roman) but Virgil notices Lucian dropping something in Roman’s drink. Virgil slams the table, slaps Lucian, and pushes the drink away. He fists his hand in Lucian’s shirt, able to lift the man a foot or two in the air. Patrons gawk at the events unfolding, Roman seems shocked.

“Don’t fucking touch Roman’s drink, what the fuck did you put in there you bastard?”

“Dude- that’s my drink. It was a little additive, I can consume alcohol without risk without it! He seemed to be enjoying it so much, I asked for one too, can you please- let me down, you’re hurting me-” Virgil snarls, but drops him anyway. Roman touches Virgil’s shoulder gently.

“He’s right, it’s his drink, Virgil. Thank you for defending me, but really it’s okay-” Roman reassures him, smiling placatingly, and all Virgil can feel is embarrassed. Embarrassed out of his mind and his anxiety is shooting through the roof.

“I-I… I- uh… I-” to make matters worse, another man comes stomping up to him, throws his drink on Virgil. His hoodie is now soaked, his shirt too. Virgil’s lower lip trembles. He grits his jaw against them, holding it in. Despite the fact that he’s made a total fool of himself in front of Roman. Virgil wants to bite his nails, to go home, to run away and never return. This new man points his finger right in Virgil’s face.

“Who the hell do you think you are, grabbing my husband’s shirt like that?” he growls. Virgil wants to hide in his sopping wet hoodie. Hide and never come back.

“I- erm, uh- umm-”

“My friend here is very sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. Hey, can I buy the both of you a drink? Tell me how you met,” Roman leads them both away, looking pityingly at Virgil, “How bout you go to the bathroom and clean yourself up a little, huh? I’ll take care of this.”

Virgil ducks his head and runs with his tail between his legs. He throws himself into the surprisingly clean stall and locks it tight before falling down on the seat fully clothed. I can’t believe you did that you fucking idiot you’ll never shape up what were you thinking doing some stupid stunt like that? You’ve ruined it. Ruined everything. There’s no way Roman will ever want you now. Virgil’s panic attack is coming on quickly, like a train hurtling down a track with no end in sight. He doesn’t want it to happen, but he starts to cry.

Usually, Virgil looks to his familiar hoodie for comfort. But his hoodie is soaked, and Virgil is shivering in it. He should take it off. But he doesn’t want to, he just wants to wallow in it and wither away.

You’ll never amount to anything. You should have just stayed inside: no one would have missed you. Roman had to clean up after your mess, you were supposed to be helping and now you’re just rotting in the bathroom like an idiot. Why did you even come, if you’re just going to be a let down?

Virgil’s breath is coming out in uneven gasps, his heart is palpitating dangerously. He really shouldn’t be alone, he should go out and- no, no, no. His skin is too tight, his head is too small, and his hands are pressing bruises into his arms, he is holding them so tight. What is he supposed to do again? When his thoughts get too big for his mind and he feels like fainting, feels like how he was when he was younger and like his heart could just give out any minute and the next time he blinked open his eyes he’d be on a hospital bed.

His hazy, anxiety-filled mind vaguely recalls a conversation he had with Logan once, after he had pulled him back from an attack in the workplace (he mixed up two patients and fell apart in an empty room) that he should… he should ask for help. Call me, he had said, no matter the time. Just call me for help, and I’ll talk it out with you.

Logan is on speedial, Logan, Logan can help- with shaking fingers, Virgil can just make out the emergency phone button on his cell to call Logan.

The ringing of the phone helps station Virgil, stations him better than the pain in his hands. It picks up on the fifth ring.

“Hello, Doctor Logan Berry speaking.”

“Logan,” Virgil’s voice sounds so fucking raspy and teary, sounds so horrendously uncertain, “You- you said to call, and- if you’re busy just hang up, it’s fine you don’t have to worry, actually this was a bad idea, I’m going to hang up-”

“You will do no such thing, Virgil. Stay on the line with me. Scale of one to ten, how bad?”

“I- uh, I dunno, probably like- like a seven? I messed everything up, Lo, I- fuck, I can’t do anything right-”

“Well, that is one foul-tempered lie. Let’s calm down first, yes, and then you’ll tell me all about what happened. I’m sure it’s better than it seems,” Janus’s voice, even hindered through the phone, forces Virgil to relax. He had no idea that Janus could hear, but apparently they’re together. His mind recalls lamely that tonight is when they get together to go over payments and make sure everything is in order. A part of him is glad that Janus can hear; He’s like a hypnotist with his voice, a snake. Virgil nods, then another wave of idiocy flows through him because it’s over the phone.

“Okay, Virgil, now exhale through your mouth. I want to hear it through the telephone,” Logan instructs, no nonsense.

Virgil shakily breathes out.

“Good. Now close your mouth and inhale quietly through your nose. I’m going to count to four, alright?”

“O-okay,” Virgil complies, breathing it in. Janus counts him off rhythmically over the phone: Logan’s on the right and Janus on the left, and the result is relaxing.

“Hold your breath now for seven seconds. I’ll count for you once more.” Janus-

“Exhale again, for a total of eight seconds. Here we go-” Logan-

“Exceptional work, darling. You’re doing so well. Let’s repeat the process a few more times, how does that sound?” Janus-

Holy hell, do they make a good team.

And just like that, Virgil feels better. His chest eases, his mind soothes, and he’s no longer shaking.

“Thank you, both of you. That was- it was really fucking helpful. I don’t know what would happen if I was here alone,”

“If you don’t mind me asking… where is here?” Logan asks, dry and with no sense of privacy whatsoever.

“I’m at a bar with Roman. He- he invited me, because he wanted backup, and I made a total fool of myself. I got all aggressive on this guy who did nothing wrong,”

“Aha, jealous?” There’s a sound of Janus wrestling the phone from Logan, much to his displeasure, “Just finish this weeks, Berry-” is heard through the phone.

“Maybe… hey, wait a second! Who told you-”

“I’m not blind, Virgil. Nor stupid. Don’t even try that on me. It might work on the nerd, and even Remus and Patton, but unlike them, I’m not clueless,”

Virgil pouts, grunting softly. Is he really that obvious?

“Whatever! And now… I’ve got no chance with him. I don’t know why I even came here, anyone could see that it was a stupid idea.”

“No- well, yes, this was very stupid and most likely going to end in strife, but you still certainly have a chance! Remember, this is Roman we’re talking about: he’s a carousel when it comes to men, always changing.”

“That’s part of the issue, Jan- where am I? I’ll be left behind, and have to watch as he finds a another and another and another-”

“You’re starting to panic again, Virgil. Calm yourself. And I know that won’t happen.”

“How?”

“You’re more perceptive, attentive, and caring than any of those guys will ever be. Roman would be even more of an idiot than either of us could possibly imagine if he were to let you go. Again, I am not blind: I see how good you are with the patients. You are careful and thoughtful. Despite how you might see yourself, Virgil, you are a good person. A wonderful person, who makes mistakes, but always fixes them. You do not leave them behind you. You feel empathy, and guilt, two very humane things, and you remedy your problems. That’s what happened with me, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah… I guess, I guess you’re right,” Virgil’s blushing again. It’s true, that he doesn't like to leave things unsaid or unfinished: it makes him terribly worried, and the only solution he’s found is confronting them head on. Janus and Virgil had met long ago, when they were both younger: Janus had just started medical practices, and done work for Virgil. It ultimately failed and hurt Virgil more, which sparked deep hatred on Virgil’s side and a continued regret on Janus’s. They eventually reconciled, reuniting later when Virgil started out as a nurse, and everything had become much better.

“Now, get back out there, darling. You’ll do great.”

“...Thanks, Janus,”

“Anytime,” and with that, Janus hangs up the phone to return to Logan. Virgil sighs to himself, and exits the stall: in the mirror, he sees his makeup all ruined. He washes it off, cleans his hoodie (which is relatively drier now) and ends up taking off the damp shirt as well. Thank goodness he’s wearing an undershirt: walking out topless seems hellish, and this only slightly better.

It’s been a while since Virgil has gone anywhere without his hoodie on or makeup. He barely recognizes himself, and he sees this face every morning. But… it’ll be what it’ll be. Checking his phone, Virgil realizes that he’s been in the bathroom for… nearly two hours?

Oh my god, I hope Roman hasn’t left yet- Virgil flies out of the bathroom, holding his damp dress shirt and beloved hoodie in one crooked arm. Scanning the room, he notices Roman sitting at one of the small square tables watching some guy sing “Mad World” somewhat decently. Virgil sighs in relief, and walks over and sits right in front of him.

“Princey, thank god you’re still here. I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Virgil says, his voice softer than usual from all the crying. Roman looks at him, a smile curving on his features.

“Hello there, you’re- you’re pretty,” Roman slurs slightly mid sentence, and Virgil gapes. Roman is drunk. Very drunk. So drunk, that he doesn’t recognize Virgil without his makeup and hoodie. While Virgil stares openmouthed, Roman reaches over and squeezes his bicep. “Ooh, you’re so strong too! Pretty face, and a hot body-”

“Roman, you seriously don’t recognize me? Honest to god?” Virgil insists. Roman blinks slowly, but there’s no spark. Roman seriously has no idea, Virgil’s a stranger.

He should probably bring him home.

Or… he can start over. Roman won’t remember it anyway: this might be his only chance.

“I think I’d remember such a handsome prince” Roman huffs. Virgil, unsurprisingly, blushes.

“That’s very kind of you. You don’t look half bad yourself,” Virgil purrs.

“Oh- you’re a flirt too! I like you,” Roman smiles widely, “Do you want to get another drink?”

“I think you’ve had enough… do you want to go up and sing instead?” Virgil suggests, scooching closer to Roman. Touching his clothed shoulder, he feels how warm Roman is. Roman snuggles up to Virgil just a tad- he’s over affectionate, and with no filter, and no sense. It’s adorable, and Virgil is glad he got here when he did, because who knows who would take advantage of this cuddly child-like man?

Now he understands why Roman needs a drinking buddy.

“I love singing, I’m very good at it. I like Disney too. Do you like Disney?”

“Yes, I like Disney,” Virgil snorts. They’ve had this debate over and over: the both of them like the franchise, though Virgil sees the darker bits that Roman tends to ignore.

“You wanna- you wanna sing Love is an Open Door with me? I like that song, it’s a good song-” Roman rambles, looking excited. Virgil hates public speaking, let alone public speaking, but… he doesn’t know anyone here, what’s the issue?

“That sounds good. Let’s go sign up, shall we?” Virgil suggests, Roman excitedly clinging to Virgil’s arm.

“You’re so cold, it’s so nice,” Roman murmurs, rubbing his face on Virgil’s bare shoulder. Virgil can’t help but smile: his heart is beating fast, but in a fantastic way. Vincent doubletakes as they make it to the bar.

“Hey you two- heading home? Ro looks pretty slammed…”

“I’ll take him home in a bit. He wants to do one more song,” Virgil explains. Roman giggles, and Virgil’s heart does another flip. His smile widens.

“Ah, sorry folks- Roman can’t do another one. He’s already exhausted the limit of five: you should have heard him sing some of those. An undercover celebrity, he is,” Vincent reaches over and mussies Roman’s hair, to which Virgil slaps his hand away.

“Princey, did you hear? You can’t sing another one,” Virgil tells him, his voice still soft.

“Aww, really? I wanna- I wanna sing some ‘ore,” Roman pouts, his lower lips trembling. Virgil kisses his cheek, just a peck really, that’s all he can manage without exploding. Roman turns on a dime, sadness morphing to elation all at once. He leans in for another, to which Virgil declines, pushing him away with a palm.

“Hey, how about I sing a song for you, huh? How does that sound?” Virgil asks, nervous beyond anything at singing in front of all these people, but Roman seems so ecstatic at the thought that Virgil knows he’ll be going through with it.

“You sing? But you just-” gawks Vincent. Virgil glares at him.

“Don’t act so surprised. And yes, I do. Just didn’t feel like saying it. Totally. When do I go up?”

“After this guy,” Vincent points at the person going on stage, and Virgil steels himself for this experience. It’s okay, you’re the only one who’ll remember. It’ll be fine. Virgil starts walking closer to the stage, Roman hanging on him still. “Hey, dude, are you going to tell me what you’re singing? I’ll set it up for you,”

“I got it. We’re good, right Princey?”

“I’m so good, I’m the best, you’re so nice, gonna sing a song for me-” Roman rambles. Virgil shakes his head good-humoredly, adoring this side of him. Not suave or fanciful at all: only cute. They come to a table right by the stage, miraculously empty and clean.

“Okay, Ro, you wanna sit here and watch?” Roman smiles, nodding quickly, and plops down in one of the chairs. Virgil goes beside him, fanning his confidence by reaching for his large hand. Just like in the car, Roman takes it and squeezes.

“I’m so moved, you’re going to sing something for me! So romantic!” Roman gushes. Virgil blushes, rubbing his thumb on Roman’s sun-kissed hand.

“I’ll sing it just for you: you know, I really don’t like public speaking. Or any of this stuff… but you’re not going to remember me, so I don’t think it’ll matter. I really really like you, Roman. I’ve known you for a while, so it wasn’t all at once, but you tease me with all of your flirty winks and tell me about how much you get around and today, calling me pretty- you’re destroying me, and you don’t even notice. You never do, and- Janus said that I’d be good for you. Grounding. A good boyfriend. I don’t know what he sees in me, but clearly you don’t see that. You like- you like grand gestures, romance, and flirting… I can’t do any of that. Except for today, when I’m not nervous anymore, because you’re never going to remember this whole thing. It’ll just be for me. Just for me to remember, for you to enjoy now. You’ll never know how much I love you anyway, so it’s just for me. Just for poor heartsick Virgil,” Virgil tells him, under the lights and despite the singing in the background. Roman blinks a few times, not understanding.

“I- uhm… I don’t understand, whadda ya mean?” Roman squints at him. Virgil sighs, presses their foreheads together and gets up.

“Doesn’t matter. I only want to say… whatever, it doesn’t matter. It’s my turn to go,” and Virgil pulls away, waving slightly to the confused man, and hunches his shoulders to make him look small as he walks to the center of the stage. Scrolling through the music (it operates sort of like a karaoke machine), Virgil selects a song he knows.

Virgil doesn’t particularly like his singing voice: his mother loves it, would sing along with him during Nightmare Before Christmas, and told him it was very nice. It’s kind of low, gentle, and the words flow into the next.

“The dawn is breaking, a light shining through… you’re barely waking, and I’m tangled up in you,” Virgil sings quietly. It’s awkward, and he can’t look out into the audience at all, and he hears them ignore him. He takes a deep breath, and continues. “I’m open, you’re closed. Where I follow, you’ll go. I worry I won’t see your face light up again,”

People are starting to notice Virgil, as his voice rises, and it’s frightening but also exhilarating. He refuses to make eye-contact with them, unlike Roman who always does, and speaking of him- it’s very clear that Roman’s watching, enraptured. Virgil can practically feel it.

“Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme- Out of the doubt that fills my mind, I somehow find you and I, collide,” Someone in the crowd whistles, causing Virgil to struggle a bit, but he picks it up right after. He’s imagining that it’s only him and Missy and- Roman. Virgil glances up at Roman barely: he’s awestruck, and it fills Virgil’s heart with glee.

“I’m quiet you know.You make a first impression. But I’ve found I’m scared to know you’re always on my mind,” Virgil messes up the lyrics a bit, but no one notices at all. They’re cheering him on, listening attentively- it helps him go on, return his gaze to the floor.

“Even the best fall down sometimes, even the stars refuse to shine, out of the back you fall in time, somehow find, you and I- collide,” Virgil’s voice is still quiet: even as his confidence rises, he can’t seem to raise it at all.

“Don’t stop here. I’ve lost my place. I’m close behind,” Virgil used to sing this song with his parents, when he was young: his mother and father would sing and dance with him. It has sentimental value, it reminds him of childhood and pain and love and survival. They used to sing it to him, comforting him with the words. He knows every one.

“Even the best fall down sometimes. Even the wrong words seem to rhyme. Out of the doubt that fills your mind, you finally find that you and I collide. Finally find that you and I collide. You finally find you and I collide,” the music plays for a while longer, with Virgil humming along rhythmically. When it finally fades out, Virgil scurries off the stage to thunderous applause. It is way too much attention, all at once. On his way, he grabs Roman’s sleeve, dragging him out as people fawn. As they rapidly exit, Vincent calls out from the bar.

“Hey, grump- I don’t sing, my ass! You sing gorgeous! Come back anytime, with or without Roman!” Virgil glares at him, and then he’s out into the parking lot.

“Phew- that was- oh my god, that was exhilarating. Roman? What did… what did you mmfp-” Virgil was smiling until he was cut off by Roman’s lips on his. Virgil moans into it: it’s more decadent than he could have ever imagined. Roman’s lips are deceptively soft and taste like strawberries. He finally moves back for air, and Virgil leans against the car, holding his mouth. Did… did that just happen? It takes a second to register that a) Roman kissed him, and b) that it doesn’t matter because he’s not in his right mind. It’s worth nothing beyond right now… but it means so so much. Virgil will remember this for the rest of his godforsaken life.

“Ro-Roman, what was that for?” Virgil murmurs, touching his lips addictively.

“You’re the kindest guy I’ve ever met. God, I want to take you home. Handsome, and sweet, and caring and a voice of an angel. I wish I met you forever ago,” Roman says, approaching closer to Virgil until he’s pressed up against the car and can feel Roman’s warmth, “Fuck… I don’t even know your name, but you’re… you’re magic,”

“You’re making me seem better than I am, really,” Virgil flushes, feeling all sorts of fuzzy feelings. Roman chuckles, coming in closer to lean his head on Virgil’s shoulders.

“I don’t… I don’t think I am, beautiful… I just- I don’t want to go home alone tonight. I’m so freaking lonely, all the goddamn time. So lonely… it’s only me, and no one really cares, when it comes down to it,” Roman sighs, on the verge of tears. Virgil is dumbfounded: who would have thought? Roman, the Prince of Theatre, who sings songs to children and flirts easily, and never is by himself because he’s a magnet for conversation… is lonely.

“Maybe we can be lonely together,” Virgil whispers aloud, meaning it to be internal but slipping out anyway.

“Can… can we?” Roman pleads, “Please?” Virgil exhales: he’s so cute. Remember though- he’s not going to recall any of this. It hurts, all of a sudden, that Virgil is at once Roman’s world and at the same time an illusion.

“Alright, alright. We’ll see,” Virgil smiles at him. Roman leans down for another kiss, and now Virgil lets him. What’s the harm? I’m the only one who will hurt. I can take it. “I should take you home now, huh? You can’t drive, you’re drunk,”

“Pfft- I am not-”

“You are,” Virgil rolls his eyes, unlocking his car, “Now get in.” Roman shuffles his feet around. Virgil glares.

“In the car, Princey, you have to go home now,” he demands. Roman frowns, looks away stubbornly. And, just like a puppy, he’s adorable but persistent as all hell. Roman murmurs something under his breath, inaudible. Glancing at him kinder, Virgil asks him to speak up.

“I don’t wanna go home, I wanna stay with you,” Roman mumbles, slightly louder. And, Virgil is struck right in the heart. My god, is it even legal to be that cute? Virgil sighs: he should bring Roman to his house, that’s what he had asked before he was intoxicated, and he definitely can’t take advantage of him, but… those eyes are begging for him to stay with him. He can’t refuse.

“Okay, okay, you win. It’s going to be impossible to explain this to you in the morning, but whatever! I’ll drive you to my house,” Virgil agrees, and the look of pure elation on Roman’s face is more than reward enough. Though Virgil has to help Roman’s wobby body into the passenger seat and buckle him up, he can’t stop smiling.

Even as he starts the car to drive it home.

Even as Roman says he’s going to be sick.

Even as he has to rush Roman upstairs to his apartment before he pukes all over the place, Virgil is happy.

Roman hugs Virgil’s middle after he cleans him up. Missy and Roman get along swimmingly, Virgil offering to let him hold her, and Roman enraptured by her. He’s enthralled by Virgil lending him a toothbrush, seemingly blessed by the offering of a piece of toast to calm his stomach at the small kitchen bar. Roman stares at it, sitting on one of the stools.

“Why are you so nice to me?” he wonders. Virgil frowns. Are people usually unkind to you?

“This is normal, Princey. People are supposed to look out for one another,”

“Oh. Yeah,” Roman says to himself. Virgil can’t hold back from reaching over and kissing his forehead.

“Anytime you need, I’ll be nice to you. I don’t mean to be so prickly: it’s a defense mechanism. You only have to tell me you’d like some care, and I’ll give you everything,” Virgil tells him. This charming man, he hiccups and his eyes water as he blubbers. Virgil is good with a lot of things: crying crushes are not one of them. “Hey, no crying, don’t cry! Let’s go to bed, huh? Yeah, that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

Roman makes a pitiful little nod, and Virgil leads him to the bedroom. There’s only one… so either they share, or Virgil’s going to the couch. So, he tucks Roman into the warm black duvet and brushes his forehead as a way of good night. As he goes to leave, Roman grabs onto his arm.

“Stay with me? Please?”

“Ro, I don’t- I don’t think this is a good idea, buddy. No, it’s really not a good idea,” his heartbeat is picking up again, and Virgil bites his lip nervously. Roman ignores it, pulls his hand to kiss it.

“Stay with me, princess,” he purrs. Are you trying to kill me? Roman’s too attractive, too flirtatious. And Virgil’s too head over heels to say no. And that’s how he finds himself sharing his bed with Roman King.

Who fell asleep almost immediately, and snuggled up right into Virgil’s side. So close, that there is a permanent blush on Virgil’s face and his breath on his neck. Okay, this is not going to work. I’m never going to get to sleep if this goes on. Fuck.

Virgil shuffles away, attempting to get out of bed and go sleep on the couch, but Roman slings and arm over him and growls “Stay”.

Well, can’t argue with that, now can I?

~~~~~~

When morning filters through the window, Roman blinks awake. Jiminy Cricket, does his head hurt. Ugh, what happened last night? This isn’t his bed: it’s not colourful at all, all blacks and purples. For goodness sakes, the curtains that are blocking most of the sun have spiders on it. Roman rubs his eyes: did he go home with someone? He must’ve. But who? Roman can’t really recall: he doesn’t remember talking to anyone. After Virgil ran out to the bathroom, Roman just wanted to drink and be alone. Anyone who approached him was turned away instantly by one of his cold stares.

He couldn’t help but feel as though it was sort of his fault: he said he’d be with him. That Roman would leave Virgil alone. And yet… he was in the bathroom for two hours, and not once did Roman gather the courage to go and check on him. And then what? Then he went to some strangers home and left Virgil?

What kind of asshole would do that to someone? Virgil, despite how he acts, is amazingly perceptive. He can tell when something is wrong, it’s why he’s so good as a nurse… he’s just genuinely a good person. And Roman left him?

He can’t imagine he’d do that to the emo, even drunk. He wouldn’t be able to forget Virgil, would he?

No, he really has no clue.

Think, Roman, think- he presses his hands to his pounding head, as if it would squeeze out a memory. All that happens is scraps of a song. Oh great, not only do I have no idea where I am but now there’s a song stuck in my head. Wonderful.

“Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme-” he murmurs under his breath. Then an image follows right after: a man, holding onto the microphone at the bar, singing the words so soft, so sweetly. It makes his heart pang, it’s so lovely. Is that the guy I went home with? Roman thinks to himself. He focuses harder on the memory. The man, he looks up shyly, nervously, and meets eyes with Roman.

God, he’s fucking beautiful. Love at first sight? Maybe not, but whatever this is, it’s as close to that as it could possibly be. It makes Roman feel all warm and bubbly inside. He bites his lip and looks at the ceiling of this stranger’s bed. Things come back in bits and pieces all out of order; kissing that man by a car, his car- that man laughing at him as he gawks at his, what is that, a spider?- the man sitting at a table in the bar right next to him, letting him nuzzle his shoulder (embarrassing, it makes Roman blush he was so mushy)- a kiss to his forehead to calm him, wiping away drunken tears ever so gently. His hands felt baby-soft, despite the obvious muscular frame he sported.

Who is he…?

“I’ll sing it just for you: you know, I really don’t like public speaking…” in his mind, this man’s voice follows: it’s soft, muted a touch. Focus now, Roman, you’ve almost got it-

“You’re not going to remember me, so I don’t think it’ll matter…” Of course it matters! I’m not a blackout drunk! Roman wants to scream.

“I really really like you, Roman,” his voice, saying such kind words, is like what he’d imagine an angel would sound like. Or some sweet interaction that only comes between A-List celebrities in a scripted movie.

“I’ve known you for a while…” Okay, finally, getting somewhere. He knows him? Does he do tech at the theatre or something? It’s a possibility.

“You’re destroying me, and you don’t even notice…” Well, that’s harsh. Kind makes him feel guilty: this gorgeous meal of a man was lusting over him, and he didn’t even notice? What kind of idiot-

“Janus said that I’d be good for you. Grounding. A good boyfriend…” So he knows the snakey doctor. That can either be very good or very bad: is this fellow a sleazeball? No, Roman assures himself blushing heavily, He’s too sweet to do that. Too kind and loving. Did you see him sing that song? Just for you too- and he looked so nervous! Precious!!

“I don’t know what he sees in me, but clearly you don’t see that…” Roman wants to pull his hair out. Did Roman say or do something wrong? Did he ruin his chances with this Adonis, because if he did, he’ll be furious.

“You like grand gestures, romance, and flirting… I can’t do any of that,” I don’t care! I don’t care about any of that! I just want someone to hold my hand and not treat me like shit! Just a sweet cute guy!

“I’m not nervous anymore, because you’re never going to remember this whole thing,” Ah, sorry to break it to you, but hey, I’m remembering! And I’m going to track you down!

“You’ll never know how much I love you anyway, so it’s just for me…” he sounds melancholy, so very sad, and Roman wants to hold him. Hold him and kiss the top of his head and make him feel better. This person, he doesn’t deserve to be ignored. Why was Roman ever-

“Just for poor heartsick Virgil,” Roman’s mouth runs dry. Virgil? Virgil. He- the man he went with- Virgil. Virgil was singing to him, with that angelic voice, Virgil drove him to his house because he didn’t want to leave him alone and every other little wonderful thing, the forehead kisses and the smiles and the hands- oh my stars, I am an imbecile.

How didn’t he notice? How Virgil would bite back at him whenever he flirted with him teasingly, how Virgil wilted whenever Roman talked about his relationships, how careful and thoughtful he was with every move, hell, he even agreed to go out to the bar with him to find some other guy because he was worried for Roman’s safety.

How was I so blind that I missed the perfect man right in front of my eyes?

And this… this must be Virgil’s house. It’s… very Virgil. Is that a Nightmare Before Christmas poster? Yes, it is- how wonderful. How him.

How didn’t Roman notice? It’s that classic blunder, unseeing of the person right in front of him. How did he not see how romantic Virgil is? Little gestures, smart moves, kindness. Thoughtful. He had said that he wasn’t a romantic, but by Jove- he’s sweet. His mind can’t stop repeating Virgil’s soft singing and his gentleness. God, it’s so beautiful it’s painful. He should tell him to go without makeup more often. And a shirt. Yes, without a shirt sounds good. Undercover buff, much?

His mind swirls with the knowledge of Virgil.

Oh shit- how is he going to face Virgil now? He’s in his house, he’s most likely in the living room: should he just pretend like he doesn’t remember?

Roman’s a good actor, he could pull it off: but Virgil would still be wanting and lonesome. And Roman would know, and that hurts. He won’t do that to him, not anymore.

He should just come out, say that he remembers and... ask him out on a date. A proper one. They both have the day off today, it could be now!

They’d do Virgil things, things that make the emo happy, maybe a zoo or watch movies or coffee shops or whatever. And... Roman will hold his hand, hold him, and hold him and hold him. Yes, yes, this is good.

Roman wishes he had more time to plan. Time to get flowers, or chocolates or anything, really. Wait, you don’t even know if he’ll say yes! Maybe he’s so embarrassed by the whole interaction that-

Wait.

Is that pancakes?

Roman sniffs at the air: yes, it is. Blueberry ones, at that. And coffee. His stomach rumbles, and hunger is enough to spur him out of bed. His legs are wobbly, and his head is swimming, but he makes it out of the room eventually.

“Oh hey, Princey, finally decide to wake from your endless slumber, huh?” Virgil teases. His makeup has returned, as usual. He’s wearing another hoodie, a black one, and it’s hanging off his shoulders as he flips pancakes. Roman’s mouth runs dry. “Also, umm, sorry about not taking you to your apartment. I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Oh... it’s fine,” Roman sounds odd, even to himself, and Virgil gives him a skeptical look. “Heh, anyone who makes me good morning pancakes is alright in my book!”

Virgil snorts, and pushes a plate over the kitchen bar for Roman to sit and eat.

“How’s your head? What do you- you know, never mind,” Virgil ducks his head into the fridge to receive some maple syrup, “You like it warmed?”

“Uh... if it isn’t an issue,” Virgil casts another weird look to Roman: is he being too nice? Roman can’t help it, how could he be rude? He puts his syrup in the microwave, with the long pale fingers.

“I uh- Virgil,” Roman starts, more nervous than anything, “Oh fuck, this is hard but- I uh-”

“You’re making me worried, Princey, spit it out or shut up and eat my food,” Virgil glares. Roman gulps. It’s like a bandaid, rip it off, come on, just spit it out-

“I REMEMBER! I remember everything, I always do after I’m drunk, it’s why I get a buddy, because I always remember in the morning and I hate what I’m like when I’m intoxicated, because I always remember, I think I’ve said that a few times- uh, Virgil, are you okay?” Roman finally looks up at Virgil- or rather down, as the man has crumpled to the floor in a heap. Has he fainted? Roman gets up and squats next to him.

“Virgil?” he whispers into his ear, poking at him. Virgil jolts up, narrowly missing a collision with Roman’s head as he sits up straight. He groans, and puts his head in his hands to try and hide his full-faced blush.

“Fuck, I’m such an idiot, oh my god, I’ve made a total fool of myself- oh god, please just leave me alone to die, Roman, just go,” he yells. Roman chuckles, and peels Virgil’s hands from his face. He seems about to cry, moisture glistening at his eyes. Roman’s heart can’t take it: he thinks he looks foolish? No, never.

Roman kisses the corners of his eyes.

“You’re not an idiot, you’re most certainly not a fool. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you before at the office. I’m the only idiot between the two of us, because I didn’t see how wonderful you were until you had to be blatant about it. I’m so very sorry, and in your debt. I feel silly to even try and ask, but would you… perchance, want a real date? One where I’m not flirting with other people- only with you, you Incredible Sulk,” Roman consoles Virgil pulling him into an embrace.

“Really?” Virgil asks.

“Honestly,”

“Then yeah, yeah, that sounds okay. I uh… I don’t do a whole lot so-” Roman cuts Virgil off by pressing his finger to his lips. Virgil raises his eyebrows.

“How’s right this second sound?”

“Yeah- uhm, that works for me-”

“Fantastic! And I believe your pancakes are burning,” Roman notes, laughing as Virgil shoots up cursing colourfully as he discards a very black pancake. Even as the man squawks and yells and forces Roman back into his seat, he can’t help but feel fulfilled. After the pancake fiasco is remedied, Virgil breathes a sigh of relief and smiles at Roman.

“Sorry about that, Princey,”

“Hey, it’s no problem for me! Kind of entertaining, actually,” Roman snickers, earning him a slap upside the head. And then, just to push Virgil’s buttons, he snakes his hand through his dark locks and kisses him deeply over the counter. It’s a knee-shaking kiss, a heart-stopper, a signature Roman smooch. One he should’ve given Virgil last night, but was too drunk to make happen. It seems like Virgil likes it too, if the noises are any indication. Virgil is the first to pull back for air, and presses his chest, gasping.

“Oh my goodness, was that too much? Are you okay, Virgil?” Roman frets. Virgil, he recalls, has some sort of horrible cocktail of medical issues. Most he’s grown out of, but the effects still linger.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s cool. Hah, my heart’s still beating. It’s stopped once before, and I have a defibrillator in my room but- I’m okay. I guess that just means I’m fragile, right? Gotta be careful with my heart, both ways, alright?” A still beating heart. How romantic, how delightful.

“Now you must stay with me, so I can restart your heart whenever it’s required!” Roman announces. Virgil rolls his eyes and scoffs, despite his small smile, then returns to finishing off the end of his pancake batter. Roman pokes his bicep, his deceptively strong bicep, to pester him into an answer. Virgil catches it, squeezes.

“Hey! My heart’s still beating, you’re going to have to try harder,” he teases. It has to be the most lovely seductive challenge he’s ever been issued. And you said you weren’t a romantic.

His heart still beats, and it beats just as hard for Roman as the other way around.

How positively lovely.

~~~~

And from that day on, the entire pediatric office would all go out once a month to a particular bar’s karaoke night, and Roman and Virgil would sing many songs but always one. They always sang one at the end, and it was so beautiful that people cry every time. It’s longing and love and acceptance.

They like to hold hands while they do it, perhaps to show off their relationship… or maybe just the matching rings that adorn their fingers.

~~~~~

The End! Thanks for reading!

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heyheshi · 4 years

Text

Love Me Again

2.2k words

written and uploaded: August 9, 2020

🌙 - angst

Please like and reblog! Also please don't post my writings anywhere!!

I wrote this as a thank you for your support this past month! I've been writing here for exactly a month now! Also thank you for 100 followers! I love you all!!

Y/N - your name

Y/S/N - your second name (middle name)

Y/L/N- your last name

Masterlist

_________

It has been almost 7 months since you and Harry broke up after being together for two years. You're disappointed to say the least, you thought you were going to marry him at some point in your life but then one evening he told you that your relationship was 'too much to handle at the moment'.

Of course, you being you decided to agree with him even though deep inside you don't want to break up. You understood where he was coming from, you were both still young and only at the peak of your careers and the distance often became too much.

You love him, you really do and you would have fought for your relationship if it wasn't for the look of tiredness in his eyes. You tried, he tried, but somehow in the middle, it wasn't enough - so you let him go.

It was really difficult for you to deal with the breakup - neither you or him dated other people, or at least not that you know of - having to pack your bags and move out of your shared home to a different city is already tough but you know that seeing him with someone else will shatter you.

He's more successful than he did the last time you saw him, awards after awards, deals after deals, more fans and more recognition for him and you couldn't be prouder, after all, partly the reason you broke up is his job and you'll be damned if you found out that you let your relationship go for nothing.

You're happy. You focused on your job and your family, saved enough money to buy your own car and helped at this local charity that supports disabled children but it wasn't enough. You are happy but you aren't fulfilled and you know what - or rather who - is the missing piece.

You haven't heard anything from him, only catching him on the news every now and then with your busy schedule, unlike before. So here you are now, busying yourself in hopes that you'll magically stop thinking about him every second, on a Saturday morning on your local park for the weekly charity work you do.

After your break up, you decided to help this charity to keep you busy and since you love kids, it’s hard for you to stay away. Every week, there's a feeding program for the children along with a few gifts and games for them with the help of some of the donator.

Today was like every other week, you fed the children and now one of the friend you made here is hosting a game for the kids. Later on you'll give them lunch then a guest will read them a book and bond with them before the day ends.

Speaking of the guest, you haven't met them, you've been busy with the food and you shake your head at yourself - 'I should have greeted them, shame on you Y/N, they're your guests!'

Quickly retouching your hair a bit to find the other guests, you bumped to Jessie, another helper in this charity, "oh I'm so sorry Y/N!", she frantically said, maneuvering over you.

"Hey hey, wait! Was there a problem?", you asked your friend before looking back at the kids to check if there's something wrong.

"Yes, I left something on the building! It was the prizes for the kids! Oh god they're gonna be so sad if I didn't bring it here on time!", Jessie stressed while running her fingers through her hair.

"I'll go get it. Yo-"

"It's my fault, Y/N, I'll get it!"

"I have my car", you took your car keys from you loops of your jeans and showed her, "will you take care of the food?"

Sighing in relief, Jessie nods, "of course!", she hugged you, "you're a life saver! Thank you so much!"

"It's no problem at all, now I gotta go!", you walked backwards to your car while waving at her.

That was almost two hours ago, the building wasn't far, only a 20 minute drive but the traffic on Saturday's always horrendous and it doesn't help that you forgot to ask Jessie where she stored the prizes and that no one is answering their phones.

Locking your car while you clutch two big bags full of toys towards the tent where you can see a glimpse of the children listening quietly to the guest that's reading them a story.

You found Jessie went to her, "you made it!", helping you with one of the bags, "I had to make an excuse to the children about how the guests couldn't wait to read them stories! Thank God they bought it!"

You laughed at her relief, "couldn't find it! You forgot to tell me where you put these stuff!", bumping your shoulders on hers, "I'm charging you for my gas! Traffic was horrible!"

"I know! I know! So sorry about that! By the way have you meet the guests?", her eyes went wide while mentioning your guests.

"Haven't had the time", you sigh overexaggerately, "supposed to, before I bumped in to you!"

"Come on! I'll introduce you to them!", she took your right arm and pulled you towards the kids, "they're like crazy famous and the-"

"Mister Harry Styles! You're up! Kids give Mister Styles around of applause!"

Shit shit shit shit shit, you paused in your tracks making Jessie look at you. On the background you can hear Harry introduce himself to the kids and starting to read the title of the story.

It has been a long time since you last heard his voice in person and it gave you flashbacks but you have to stay strong, you're not here for him, you're here for the kids.

Deciding that it was for the best to stay as low-key as possible, you excused yourself from Jessie and went to the other tent where the other stuff were placed.

No one here knew that you dated Harry, you opted on using your first name when you moved here, knowing his fans might notice you since you grew up with everyone calling you by your second name.

You busied yourself with everything you see, childish - it is, but you don't know if you can face him as much as you miss him.

You heard the children cheered so you went to look at the commotion. Harry just finished reading the story then one of the kids raised their hand.

"Mister Styles I'm Dolly. What is your favorite part of the story?"

"Call me Harry, Dolly. Probably the part where the character realized how wrong he was for doing the things he did...", Harry answered then another kid raised their hand, "Yes?"

"I'm Brady, um have you ever experienced that? Letting something go then regretting it? My dog had a puppy but we had to give her puppy away because we can't afford another pet and our dog looks sad all the time now."

You continued to listen to the interaction between Harry and the kids, interested on his personal answer.

"I'm so sorry about your dog and puppy and I did. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made. In your terms, I was you and the dog at the same time. I had to let someone go then quickly regret it, I was miserable but time heals and I'm sure your dog will be happy soon!"

After a few more questions, Harry stepped out of the small stage to take some pictures with the kids. You went back on the other tent to hide.

His answer on the second question made you think but as fast as the thought came to your mind, you dismissed it. 'It's not important anymore.'

"Y/N! You haven't met our guests!", Jessie yelled from the other tent making you look up to her and then closed your eyes tightly.

You saw Harry and a few other people beside him, the kids now receiving their prizes with the help of the other people who helps with the charity.

You turned your back around them to compose yourself then walked towards them as you don't want to seem rude to the sponsors.

"Mister Harry Styles and Mister Jeff Azoff, Missus Mary Richardson and Miss Lisette Raj, this is Y/N Y/L/N, one of our helpers out here!", Jessie introduced you while you smiled at the 3 other people, avoiding eye contact with Harry.

You knew Jeff, of course, you met him a few times and by the way Harry stiffens, it seems like he connected the dots even with your second name being used.

"Y/S/N, it's a surprise to see you here!", Jeff greeted you using your second name, the one everyone from before knew you by as he pulled you in a hug.

"Oh you two know each other? What a coincidence!", Jessie mused.

You uncomfortably chuckled, "yes, we do..."

"It's so nice to meet you Miss Y/L-"

"Please call me Y/N!", you smiled at Mary, "thank you so much for donating! We appreciate it, especially the kids!"

"It was always a pleasure to help! Harry wanna say something?", Lisette tried to joke but you, Harry and Jeff didn't laugh.

Harry cleared his throat and put his hands on his back, "thank you so much for having us, the kids are great!", looking at you straight in the eyes.

You shifted on your place and replied, "no, thank you.", you nodded your head and smiled tightly, "if you all don't mind I'm gonna go and check on the kids, yea?"

"We'll join you!", Mary proposed nudging Lisette. You only nodded at them and started walking.

"Wait! I- miss Y/L/N, can I talk to you for a second?", Harry's voice made you stop, turning around slowly you answered him a small 'yes' then walking back.

"I'll join Mary and Lisette.", Jeff said before he waved goodbye. Jessie looked at you questionably before joining the kids.

You and Harry walked a bit far away in complete silence until Harry started talking.

"Y/N huh?"

"Yea, it's my name."

"No, your name is Y/S/N!", Harry retorted so you stopped walking and faced him.

"Things changed.", you said looking at him in the eyes.

Harry sigh, "I'm so sorry Y/S/N..."

"Me too. I'm so sorry I fell in love with you in the first place."

"I- no! Did you regret it? Us?", Harry tried to meet your eyes but you refused.

"I don't know, you tell me", you looked at his eyes at last, "did you?"

You're met with silence as Harry pondered. You can feel your heart beating so fast, scared of what his answer might be, finally, "the only thing I regret was letting you go..."

"Oh come on, I was just joking!", you tried to laugh, "that was so long ago! Forget about it! I've moved on!", you poked his biceps hoping he wouldn't hear your uneasiness.

"Were you really? Because fuck! I'm being serious right now!", Harry raked his hand through his hair signifying his frustration, "was that it? Our two years? Have you really moved on?", his voice weakened as he speaks, quickly clearing his throat, "I mean of course I'm happy if you moved on! I just thought that maybe..."

"Maybe what?", you urged your ex.

"I don't know... what happened to us?", his voice cracked as he looked up to the sky.

"We broke up.", you deadpanned.

"I know, I'm so sorry about everything. I should have never let you go. I thought breaking up with you will make everything easier but I was wrong... so so wrong love..."

You didn't answer him knowing that you'll cry if you did.

"Are you happy?", Harry tried to coax an answer out of you.

"I am... you?", you doubted but answered anyway.

"I'm- I'm lost, so so lost. I thought everything will be fine but it wasn't.", Harry sobbed but wiped his tears as quickly as it came.

"You'll be okay, Harry. Us, you and me, it wasn't meant to be.", you tried to reason him.

He turned his body to you, "it was! But I was an idiot and if I can hold you in my arms again and say that you're mine for one last time, I'll do it in a heartbeat...", and that's when your first tear fall.

"Harry this is wrong!"

"I know! Being without you feels so wrong but we can make it right again! I'll do anything to have you back Y/S/N! I still love you.", he whispered.

"We can't."

"Are you seeing someone else?", the look on his eyes made your heart shatter, you only shake your head.

"Give me another chance, baby. I promise we'll take it slow, I'll do anything! Fuck anything love, just say it!", his desperate eyes met yours as he clutched both of your hand in his.

"But it was my fault too! I'm so sorry! But this," you motioned the space between the two of you, "I don't know!", you cried out.

Harry continued to beg, "it's okay baby but please, please, you were it for me love! I promise I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

"Harry...", you whimpered.

"Y/S/N, love me again."

_____

130 notes · View notes

westallenfun · 3 years

Text

Two's Company (2/3)

Westallen secret santa gift

For: Lauren (@backtothestart02) (Happy holidays! I hope you like this fic!)

From: Lina (@cheryls-blossomed)

A/N: A special thank you to my beta, Caroline (@ginandweas).

Inspired by Jane Austen’s Emma and the blissfulness and hardship of tumbling into true love. On the eve of publication of the most important article of her professional career thus far, Iris West realizes that she is head over heels in love with her best friend Barry, but she grapples with revealing her feelings, for fear of ruining their friendship. But a weekend trip to Metropolis sets in motion a series of events, romantic mishaps and conundrums abound, that may force Barry and Iris to face some long-awaited, romantic truths.

Rating T (Warnings: Mild Language)

The mirror in the bathroom is foggy from the steam of the shower, and as Iris traces circles on its surface to clear the mistiness, she feels more relaxed than she has in days. The hot shower was exactly what she needed, and perhaps this impromptu vacation is a blessing in disguise, for she knows she had been overworked and overtired the past few weeks as she agonized over the research for the McCulloch Tech exposé. Even now, the article is not far from her mind, and the last few days have been hectic: Carver had immediately filed a defamation lawsuit on Tuesday, and Iris had had Cynthia file a response on Wednesday. Meanwhile, the public response to the exposé had been overwhelmingly positive, with Iris and Kamilla already being praised for their meticulousness in investigative reporting, and the news world is currently buzzing with anticipation about the long-term ramifications of the piece. Iris hopes that truth will ensure that justice will be done.

As Iris contemplates truth and justice, she steps out of the bathroom and sees the two cocktail dresses that she had laid out for tonight: a red, shimmery number and a lacy, black fitted dress that comes half-way down her thighs. The fact that she is attending a party tonight comes as a bit of a surprise.

When Iris, Barry, Cisco, and Cynthia had arrived at The Time Metropolis, they had been checked in rapidly and told that Eddie Thawne had invited them to a cabaret performance that night.

“Mr. Thawne is sorry to have missed you, as he is in meetings this afternoon, but he has asked us to invite you to our Friday night cabaret at the Trajectory Club on our terrace. He has told us that he will meet you there and hopes that you will join, even though the invitation is last minute,” a lady at the concierge informed them

“Sweet!” Cisco had exclaimed, but Barry and Cynthia had seemed far less enthused at the prospect of having to attend a cabaret and socialize that very night. While Iris had been somewhat surprised at the invitation, especially because her father and Cecile are only arriving tomorrow for the gala, the concierge had confirmed that this was a night for the young people invited to tomorrow’s gala. Iris found this odd, given the fact that this weekend was meant to celebrate her dad and Cecile. Still, not wanting to be rude, given the effort Eddie seemed to be putting into this weekend, Iris had accepted. She had privately told Barry, Cynthia, and Cisco that if they did not want to attend, they didn’t have to.

“It’s fine,” Cynthia had responded. “While I would have been perfectly fine binge-watching Netflix, I’m not going to leave you without a wing-woman.”

“I need no convincing,” Cisco had said. Barry, who had gone very quiet up until that point, agreed to come, albeit very reluctantly,

“I have no idea why this guy would plan an event tonight when Joe and Cecile won’t even be here to attend. But since we’re invited, I guess we should go.”

Thus, Iris finds herself having to prepare for an unexpected night at the hotel’s terrace club. The red, shimmery dress is a favorite, but it’s for very specific occasions, and unsure what the atmosphere will be tonight, Iris figures that the lacy, black dress is the safer option, and she picks out the eye shadow and earrings that would best suit the dress. As she adorns herself with her garnet, dangling earrings, she hears a knock at her hotel room door.

“Just a minute!” she calls, as she adds the soft backs to her earrings. Upon opening her door, she is greeted by the sight of Barry in a dark shirt and jeans, holding a small, red bag. “Bear,” she smiles, just as he says,

“Iris.” And he’s looking at her, wide-eyed and apparently speechless, and Iris feels both stunning and powerful under his gaze. They’re staring at each other, neither saying a word, and Iris wonders who might speak first, but she does not have to wait long, because Barry shakes his head quickly, relieving some of the intensity, and smiles, “You look absolutely beautiful.” (And when he says that to her, so unassumingly, Iris is absolutely sure that she would love to run through a field of daisies and into Barry’s arms right about now, but she manages to compose herself.)

“Thanks, Barry. You look good, yourself.” She lets him into her room and shuts the door. “You’re early. I thought we were meeting by the elevator at ten to eight.”

“Yeah, we are… we were, but I have something for you,” he says, holding up the red bag. “I wasn’t able to give this to you on Tuesday, and then there was all the craziness of this last minute trip, and I know you’ve noticed that I’ve been preoccupied lately, which I am sorry about, by the way, and I know you definitely deserve an explanation.”

“Bear, you don’t need to apologize. Or explain.”

“No, I really do. And I want you to know that I’m glad we’re here. I really am. I kept telling you you needed a vacation, and I stand by that, and I want this weekend to be absolutely great for you.”

“Well,” Iris says. “You’re with me, aren’t you? So it’s bound to be a pretty great weekend, no matter what else happens.” Barry chuckles, but there’s a forlornness to his laugh.

“So, I got this for you. For your incredible journalistic achievements and for all your successes that I know you’re going to have in the future as the greatest journalist this world has ever known.”

“Barry, you shouldn’t have,” Iris whispers, overcome with emotion, as she takes the bag from Barry and finds a small black, velvet box, which she removes from the bag, carefully. Setting the bag on the bed, she opens the box, revealing a white gold wedding band set on a delicate chain. Iris takes a deep breath as she realizes what she is looking at: the wedding band is the same as her mother, Francine’s, wedding band. Or rather it’s a perfect replica, for her mother’s wedding band was misplaced when her father sold their old home after Francine had passed away, and Iris had been distraught then. But here, in her hands, is a stunning replica of the wedding band, and she cannot imagine the trouble Barry must have taken to have the band replicated perfectly, especially because he did not have the original. “Mama’s wedding band,” Iris starts, but is unable to continue, tears spilling from her eyes. She feels Barry’s thumbs underneath her eyes, brushing away her tears, and Iris looks up and sees him watching her with such ineffable tenderness that she is unable to hold his gaze for too long, bashfully looking down at her toes.

“I remember when this wedding band was misplaced in the move between houses, and I remember how devastated you were, because that was one of the few tangible things you had of your mom. I asked Joe if he had a photo that clearly shows your mom’s wedding band, and luckily he had one, and so I took it to the jewelers, and they were able to replicate it perfectly. I know it can’t compare to the original but…”

“It’s perfect, Barry. I don’t even know what to say. That you remembered, that you took so much time to give this to me… I… I can’t even tell you what this means to me. I’ve waited so many years to have some closure, and I just…” Iris’s voice breaks, and Barry pulls her to him, cradling her head against his chest. “…Thank you, Bear,” she says, softly. Silence descends upon them, and Iris feels Barry’s hands slip to her waist, and she shivers, lifting her head slightly to look up at him, and his gaze is… so loving, so reverent. One hand remaining on her waist, he reaches his other hand down to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and his touch lingers on her cheek, caressing the skin just below her earlobe. And she’s not sure which one of them moves first, but she feels this invisible pull, pushing her up to her tip-toes as Barry bends his head towards hers, his hand gently tilting her chin upward, and their lips are just inches apart, and Iris cannot possibly rationalize what is about to happen, but her heart is racing, and all she feels is longing and desire and love.

But there’s a loud knock on her door, and Cynthia is yelling,

“Iris, where are you? We need to get going.”

The moment evaporates, and Iris is flooded with disappointment, as Barry’s hands fall to his side. She can’t quite gauge his expression, as he’s not looking at her, but towards the door, rather pensively. It frustrates her that she is unable to determine what he’s thinking now, when usually he’s an open book to her.

“We should go, yeah?” Iris asks, as she puts the necklace on, and Barry nods, still not meeting her eye.

“Yeah,” he whispers, hoarsely, following her to the door. Cynthia is impatient when Iris opens the door, but when she sees Barry, her eyes widen, and she gives Iris a desperate look, which Iris figures is meant to be apologetic. As they head to the elevators, where Cisco is waiting, Iris in any other situation may have been left to wonder if yet another person to whom she is close is aware of how she feels about Barry, but instead she cannot quite believe that she and Barry had been about to kiss and what this could possibly mean. Did Barry feel the same way she did? He had to, right? People don’t nearly kiss people they don’t have feelings for. Iris’s mind is reeling with the possibilities of Barry reciprocating her feelings, but a betraying voice in her head reminds her: What if this is all too good to be true? And just like that, she feels sick to her stomach.

The Trajectory Club on the rooftop terrace of the Time Metropolis is a sight to behold, with its sleek architectural finish of black marble and its incredible views of Metropolis. High tables of black marble and ivory cushioned stools circle the perimeter of the club, and a dance floor is at the center of the terrace, although nobody is currently occupying it. There are several microphones, however, no doubt for the upcoming cabaret performance, and servers are providing beverages and finger foods to customers.

“This is noice,” Cisco remarks. “It’s a good thing you invited me to this shindig, Barry.”

“Anytime, man, although you should be thanking Iris,” Barry chuckles.

“Thanks, Iris.” Iris nods at Cisco with a smile, but she’s so preoccupied that she can barely concentrate on the conversation; indeed, it’s certainly atmospherically a very nice club, but Iris finds herself hardly enjoying that fact, and unlike Cisco, she’s dreading the night out. Cynthia nudges her side and asks in a low voice,

“What’s wrong?” Iris opens her mouth to answer, but sees Eddie Thawne headed in their direction with a suspiciously familiar woman and mouths,

“Later,” to Cynthia, who, in response, fixates Iris with a look that conveys that this is a conversation that they absolutely will be having at some point in the near future.

“Iris West,” Eddie exclaims when he is close enough, wrapping Iris in a hug, which startles Iris, as she and Eddie are acquaintances at best. She returns his hug, politely, but from the corner of her eye, she sees Barry tense and that agitated energy that he’d been carrying with him for days is now particularly palpable. “Good to see you again. Thank you so much for coming.”

“Eddie, hi. Thanks for inviting us. I’m sorry that Wally and Linda couldn’t make it,” Iris responds, quickly extricating herself from Eddie’s embrace and crossing her arms over her chest. “These are my friends: Barry, whom you’ve met before, and Cynthia, and Cisco.”

“Nice to meet all of you. Good to see you again, Barry.”

“Likewise,” Barry responds tightly, and when they shake hands, it feels distinctly unfriendly, which confuses Iris, because she’s sure Barry and Eddie have met only once before, and they had been cordial with one another at the time.

“Thanks for inviting us all out here,” Cisco then interjects, and the tension seemingly dissipates, as Eddie and Cisco shake hands, and then Cynthia and Eddie exchange pleasantries.

The woman accompanying Eddie steps out from behind him, and Iris is shocked, for she has met her before, which would, she figures, explain why the woman had looked so familiar from a distance.

“Patty?” Iris queries, and Patty smiles brightly,

“Hi, Iris! Wow, I didn’t realize you and Barry were Eddie’s friends. Small world.”

“You two know each other?” Eddie asks, although his tone suggests that he’s not actually interested in the story behind that, more that he’s inquiring perfunctorily.

“Not exactly, but I ran into Iris and Barry on a line at a coffee shop in Central City. Iris was nice enough to entertain my rambling.”

“Not at all. I enjoyed our brief, random conversation. Strangers on a queue waiting for morning coffee? There are always good stories to be had there,” Iris responds, and Patty smiles gratefully at her.

“So how do you two know each other?” Barry asks.

“Oh, Patty and I are old friends. We went to MetU together. Figured she could use a break from studying for her masters, so I invited her here for the weekend,” Eddie explains quickly. “Anyways, shall we? I have a table for six back there.” The group moves away from the entrance, and Iris sees that the table in question is a bit larger than the rest. Like all the tables in the club, it is made completely of black marble with a sun-burst design adorning the center.

As they take their seats, Iris finds herself sitting in between Barry and Patty, with Eddie on Patty’s right, Cisco on Barry’s left, and Cynthia between Cisco and Eddie. Cisco and Cynthia start chatting the moment they get settled, still arguing (rather flirtatiously… and Iris is impressed at how flirtatious they have managed to make patents) about whether or not Cisco should strengthen his future patent, and while Iris is unsure how long they can keep discussing that, they also seem very engrossed in this conversation. Barry nudges Iris’s elbow with his own gently, and she turns to him, and upon seeing his rather conspiratorial grin, she smiles back immediately. Simultaneously, though, Iris can’t help but wonder if Barry hopes to return to the status quo with her.

Would he pretend they hadn’t just nearly kissed? The trouble is, if he planned on not acknowledging the elephant in the room, Iris is unsure if she too can just pretend it didn’t happen. Still, she is aware that they are in public, and this is hardly the place to discuss almost kisses.

“We knew they’d hit it off,” Barry says. “But I don’t think we realized just how well they’d hit it off, especially considering their topic of choice is patents.”

“They’ve made patents flirty, which I think is a feat that we can’t take credit for. Or maybe we can, tangentially,” Iris teases. “But we definitely can take credit for the secret ingenuity of getting them to meet.”

“You know, I think Linda might have been onto something about that match-making side hustle, after all.” Iris raises her eyebrows, jestingly,

“Change of heart, already? Because I have this distinct memory of you saying that you thought match-making was a bad business to get into.”

“Well, that was when Linda was suggesting it as a solo side hustle for you. But I think if you and I went into business together, this could be quite fun.”

“Perhaps. But what would we call our match-making company?”

“Hmmm, how about West-Allen Matchmakers, Incorporated? Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“If this were truly a thing, I would reluctantly acquiesce, only because you and I are kind of a dream team.”

“You and I are the dream team,” Barry corrects emphatically, and he’s smiling widely at her and refusing to break their gaze, and she thinks…. she thinks he too must be feeling this intensity that has persistently lingered between them since their almost kiss, and she wonders for just a moment that maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way. Her hand comes to rest on the wedding band, just above the bodice of her cocktail dress, and his eyes track the movement, first tracking her neck, then her collar bones, and then the dip of her cleavage which disappears beneath her dress. She thinks she sees his tongue dart out momentarily over his lips, and she feels hot, suddenly, and she’s sure it has nothing to do with the warm, summer night.

In the end, it’s Patty who interrupts, when she says,

“You know, when I first saw the two of you, despite you saying, Iris, that that gift basket which I presume was for Barry was just for a friend, I could have sworn you two were together.” Barry and Iris are both startled by the reminder that they are not alone, and Iris recovers more quickly and replies with a smile,

“We’ve been best friends for ages.”

“I guess that explains it, then,” Patty observes, although she doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Explains what?”

“How the two of you are in your own world together. You didn’t notice, because you were so focused on each other just now, but it’s like it was just the two of you in this world and no one else exists.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Sometimes we get so carried away in our conversations.”

“Yeah,” Barry adds quickly. “You’ll have to forgive us. It’s easy to just get caught up…”

“No, no, please don’t apologize,” Patty laughs, waving off their apologies. “It’s nice, is what I’m trying to say, but as usual, I’m having trouble putting it to words. You both clearly have such a deep connection, and it’s rare to see that. Rare, but nice.” Iris is unsure of how to respond to that, and it seems Barry is equally at a loss for words, but it doesn’t seem to faze Patty, as she continues on, “You know, it’s funny, because Eddie’s family and my family really want us to get married, and we’ve been friends for so, so long, and you know, I joke…,” and here Patty seems slightly less chipper, so Iris wonders if she actually is joking… “That maybe we should just bite the bullet and get hitched, but Eddie thinks it’s a terrible idea.”

“I don’t know if it’s a terrible idea, but I do know that we don’t have feelings for each other,” Eddie responds gruffly, clearly taking offense to what Iris thinks is a rather innocuous conversation. “Our families do want us to get married, and it’s complicated, because we want to oblige our parents, so we often show up to things, like tomorrow’s gala, together for show.” Iris ponders Eddie’s bitter tone, observing that it never ends well when families try to pressure their children into romantic entanglements that are good for business and image. And while she cannot blame Eddie for his anger, she also notices Patty’s expression, and it’s wistfully sad, and Iris realizes then that while Eddie may not have any romantic inclinations towards Patty, Patty does towards him.

So, evidently, she is not the only one dealing with romantic conundrums.

“Barry, Iris, you both know Katie Rogers, right?” Eddie asks, abruptly changing course, and Iris is now completely perplexed, because how in the world did Eddie Thawne know Katie Rogers, who was an old school friend of both Barry and Iris’s, and why was he even asking about her in the first place? Iris had mostly lost touch with Katie after she’d left Central City to join the Gotham City Ballet as a principal ballerina, but Barry had mentioned a couple of weeks ago that he and Katie had recently reconnected.

“We do. We used to go to school together,” Barry replies. “I actually tutor her cousin in organic chemistry, and we know her grandmother, Annette Rogers, quite well.”

“Yes, Katie mentioned to me that she had met you again recently, Barry, at her grandmother’s. She was in town not long ago visiting her family.” Barry nods, but Iris notices Eddie appraising Barry carefully, which is yet another mystery she is itching to solve, because these two seem to really dislike each other, and their sheer distaste for one another makes no sense at all, really, given that they hardly know each other.

“And how do you know Katie?” Iris inquires, immediately in reporter mode, for if she can’t deal with her feelings right now, she can surely get to the bottom of this rather puzzling interpersonal revelation.

“Katie and I met when she danced for the Gotham City Ballet, before she left for the Metropolis Ballet Theater. I was attending the Swan Lake, and she was dancing as Odette and Odile, and I was enchanted, so I waited by her exit point… perks of knowing the theater owner, and I introduced myself. Now, we’re good friends. She actually now performs at the cabaret here.”

“Excuse me?” Barry says, his brow furrowing, just as Iris seeks clarification by asking,

“Katie dances at the club at your hotel?”

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly in response, as if what he’d just proclaimed made perfect sense, before replying,

“Once in a while, when I beg her. She’s such an exquisite dancer, and we’re old friends, plus she lives in Metropolis now, so every now and then I ask her if she’ll perform at Trajectory.” Iris takes note of Eddie’s emotional tone when he claims that he has to beg Katie to dance at the club, which is so different from his usual mild-mannered disposition; indeed, there is just something about this whole situation that simply does not add up. Maybe it’s the sheer coincidence of it all (and this is the second massive coincidence, the first one being Patty showing up here after Iris’s chance meeting with her on the line at Jitters), but there is something rather unusual about Eddie and Katie’s acquaintanceship. “In fact,” Eddie continues, as Iris scrutinizes him carefully. “She’s dancing here tonight. That’s why I asked about her. In fact, she should be on any minute now.”

“What?” Iris asks sharply, and she notices Barry’s whole demeanor shift from semi-relaxed to overtly alert beside her, but before she can press Eddie about this particular revelation, the lights on the terrace dim, and sultry musical instrumentals fill the speakers of the club. The dance floor lights up, and five dancers appear, performing a rather unexciting number, Iris notes, but despite the choreography, the dancers are still very talented. The principal performer is taller than the rest, and her hair is in a Dutch braid, unlike the high buns on the other dancers, and Iris recognizes her, for she is Katie Rogers. Given how dull the choreography is, Iris is surprised Katie had agreed to perform at Trajectory, because she is clearly quite an impressive dancer, and this cabaret performance seems to be an inadequate display of her skills. The dancers are soon joined by singers, whose styles range from operatic to pop, and the spectacle is most certainly haphazard, but enjoyable enough.

At the end of the cabaret, Iris joins her fellow audience members in polite applause, although some people are emphatically cheering and whistling, and she wonders if they too are putting on a performance. Beside her, Barry seems guarded, his applause perfunctory, and he’s keeping an eye on Eddie instead of the performers, while Eddie is smiling widely at Katie, as the lights return to the rooftop terrace. As Iris’s eyes adjust to the new lighting, she notices that Katie is resolutely avoiding Eddie’s gaze (or perhaps she has not noticed him grinning like he just won the lottery, although that seems unlikely), and instead she’s focusing her attention elsewhere, just a few feet away from Eddie, and in Barry and Iris’s vicinity.

“Barry!” Katie suddenly shrieks, and before Iris can turn questioningly to her best friend, Katie brushes past her, and flings herself into Barry’s arms, before he is even fully off of his feet. Already unbalanced, therefore, with the force of Katie against him, Barry topples backwards slightly, grabbing the edge of the table in an attempt to steady himself, while holding her with one arm. Not quite able to catch his balance, though, he nearly falls backwards onto Cisco, who steadies him with both hands.

“Careful, man,” Cisco warns with a bemused grin, before glancing at Iris questioningly, but Iris simply shrugs, as she, herself, is equally confused. The night, it would seem, keeps getting progressively more bizarre.

Though, Cynthia, for her part, is staring daggers at Katie.

“Sorry,” Barry says, hastily, over his shoulder towards Cisco, before he turns his attention to Katie. “Katie, hi.”

“Barry, it’s so good to see you,” Katie laughs, backing away slightly, her hands lingering on his chest. “I was told you were going to be here, and I had been meaning to call you, because we had had such a good time at dinner two weeks ago… thanks for that amazing dinner at Marano’s, by the way, I definitely needed that, but when I heard you’d be here, I thought what a funny coincidence.”

“Yeah… great to see you too… your performance out there was great,” Barry replies, haltingly, still evidently reeling from Katie’s exuberant greeting, before nodding towards Iris, “Iris is here as well.” Katie swivels around and smiles tightly at Iris,

“Hi, Iris. Gosh, it’s been how long? How are you?”

“It has been a very long time. I’m doing well, Katie, how are you?” Iris responds, warmly, although her mind is working in overdrive, after having witnessed both Katie’s reaction to seeing Barry and the confession that they had had dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant two weeks ago.

It couldn’t possibly be, could it?

“I’m great. Thank you for coming. Eddie mentioned that your father got married to his godmother, recently. And that Wally has a baby on the way. Time flies.” At the mention of his name, Eddie’s gaze darkens, and he’s regarding Katie almost angrily, at this point, but she still refuses to even look at him.

What the hell is going on here?

On the one hand, Iris is sure that she does not want to know anything more than she absolutely has to about Katie Rogers or about Eddie Thawne, for that matter, but on the other hand, her investigative reporter instincts were getting the better of her. Or, as Barry frequently says when she gets excited about a potential story, her ‘Spidey’ senses were tingling.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think I know the rest of the you. I’m Katie Rogers,” Katie carries on, oblivious to Eddie’s haughty gaze, and Cisco introduces himself, cordially, while Cynthia is curt and makes it a point not to shake Katie’s hand. Patty and Katie, who have met before, do not seem particularly friendly with one another, but they exchange perfunctory greetings nonetheless. Notably, Katie fails to acknowledge Eddie at all, which seems to confuse everyone, but nobody is willing to pry. “Anyways, Barry,” Katie continues, turning back to Barry. “It’s wonderful to see you. I really had a great time at dinner and was hoping we would see each other soon. There’s so much we have to catch up on, and hopefully I can wrangle one or maybe more dinners out of you.”

“Right,” Barry replies, and he is distinctly uncomfortable, but then Katie reaches up and cups his face, and the atmosphere amongst the group shifts immediately. Barry immediately extricates himself from her grasp, removing her hands from his face, and taking a step back, and somehow manages to make the whole act look polite, but Eddie is seething at this point, Patty looks utterly confused, and Cynthia appears to be about one step away from bringing litigious action against Katie Rogers. But Iris can barely concentrate on anyone else, for her heart is pounding in her chest.

“Sometimes something incredible is right in front of you, and you just have to tell yourself it’s time to throw caution to the wind. A matchmaker can’t tell you that, only you can know that.”

Because Iris remembers, clear as day, what Barry had said at her dad and Cecile’s wedding reception almost a week ago. And ever since, she has been forced to contend with the fact that Barry might potentially be in love with someone, just as she was simultaneously realizing the extent of how deeply in love she is with him. To receive confirmation that Barry’s heart is with another, though, is what she had been absolutely dreading, but nothing could prepare her for the feeling of gut-wrenching heartbreak. It is as if her heart is made of glass that shatters all at once at the realization that Barry and Katie must have gone on a date (because Marano’s is surely not a place that friends who just met up again after many years go to for dinner), and Katie must have been the person Barry was thinking of on Saturday. The timeline makes sense.

Barry’s reaction to seeing Katie is, however, confusing, for he seems very unenthused at the moment, but Iris is also aware that Barry is extremely polite and dislikes undue attention, so he merely could be uncomfortable by how exuberant Katie is around him, and furthermore, he likely wanted to tell Iris, himself. Barry would not have wanted her to find out he’s dating someone randomly by chance at a club, of that Iris is sure.

The only piece of the puzzle that does not fit with the rest is the fact that Barry had been about to kiss her just a few hours ago. That seems so far removed from anything that Barry would ever do, when he is in love with someone else, especially because Iris knows how caring and respectful Barry is, but maybe she had misread the situation. After all, they had not actually kissed, as Cynthia had interrupted them, and perhaps, Barry was going to hug her instead. But at the same time, she could have sworn he was staring at her lips in the moments leading up to their near kiss.

Iris closes her eyes, momentarily, attempting to find some equilibrium in order to carry on for the rest of the evening, but a wave of exhaustion washes over her, and she knows she has to leave. She cannot continue to dignify this ridiculous night with a plastered smile and false cordiality, but she also refuses to ruin Barry’s night or anyone else’s.

“Iris? Iris?” a soft voice calls out, accompanied by two gentle hands on her bare arms, and Iris knows that voice as well as she knows her own, and of course Barry is already worrying about her, but she also cannot stand to see his concern. Nonetheless, this is a hurdle she must overcome, so she blinks open her eyes to meet his concerned gaze. “Are you alright?” From her periphery, she can see everyone else watching her as well, so she musters up her remaining strength and smiles,

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Look, guys, I’m sorry, I’m just feeling a bit tired, so I’m going to head back to my room, if that’s okay?” Eddie and Patty mention that they hope that she feels better, asking if she needs anything, a query that she politely waves off, while Cisco and Cynthia appear very worried, moving closer towards her, but it’s Barry who is going to be the most difficult to shake off, for he pointedly refuses to leave her side.

“I’ll come with you,” he says, reaching for her hand, but she moves away from him slightly, and when she sees his confusion, she feels terrible, because the last thing she wants to do is give him the impression that she is mad at him, but truthfully she is as angry as she is heartbroken (because she knows they were having a moment earlier in her hotel room, no matter how much she tries to rationalize otherwise… he gifted her a wedding band, for god’s sake), and regardless, she needs space from him, because every time she looks at him, she is reminded of her shattered heart.

“No, Bear, you should stay. Don’t leave on my account, besides don’t you want to catch up with Katie?” That last part comes out with more acidity than she intended, and Barry’s eyes widen,

“Iris, no, you’ve—”

“I’m sorry, Barry. Honestly, all the traveling today is probably just catching up with me. Anyways, I want to give Kamilla a call to make sure there are no new developments from Carver’s end, and I don’t want to be calling her too late, you know? I’ll be fine.”

“Iris, please let me come with you. We need to talk,” Barry sounds desperate at this point, and Iris just cannot take it anymore, for she absolutely cannot stand the thought of listening to him tell her about why he didn’t mention the extent that he had reconnected with Katie before, and so she shakes her head firmly,

“No, really, Barry…”

“I’m coming with you,” Cynthia interjects, for she clearly has no remaining patience listening to this back and forth, and before Iris can protest, Cynthia steers her away from everyone else. When Iris glances over her shoulder, a few moments later, Barry and Cisco have already drifted away from the group, heads bowed closely, and appear to be engaging in a very serious discussion, judging by their solemn expressions.

“Hey, Iris, wait up!” Eddie calls out, and Iris reluctantly turns around, forcing a polite smile on her face, when all she wants to do is scream that she would like to be left alone. “Sorry, I won’t keep you long, but I just wanted to say thank you for coming.”

“Of course. Thank you for planning such a lovely night,” Iris lies, for she had had a, quite frankly, terrible night, but that was hardly Eddie’s fault, and he had gone to all this trouble to invite them for what he’d planned to be a nice outing. Before she can turn back, though, he wraps her in a quick, unexpected hug, which she awkwardly returns, patting his back uncertainly.

“Really, Iris. I truly appreciate you attending,” he says, with a smile, and she nods, trying her best to maintain a façade of politeness,

“Thank you for inviting me. All of us, for that matter.” They exchange goodbyes, and as Eddie heads back to the group, Iris sees Barry watching her, looking utterly forlorn and dejected and like his whole world has come crashing down around him, and she thinks… god why is he looking at me like that… for surely he can see the heartbreak in her eyes, but then Cisco nudges him, forcefully, and shakes his head firmly when Barry turns to him.

Cynthia then takes Iris’s hand in her own, before motioning towards the doorway back into the hotel, and Iris nods, and the two make their way out of the club together. In that moment, Iris thinks that the best decision she made was inviting Cynthia to Metropolis, because she cannot imagine surviving this nightmarish weekend without her.

For a few blissful moments when Iris awakes the next morning, the debacle that was last night, culminating in the sort of agonizing heartbreak that she had only previously believed existed in romantic literature, is simply a hazy, improbable dream, but as soon as she becomes aware of where she is, namely in her hotel room at the Time Metropolis, the events of last night come crashing back, like wave after wave upon a shore. Iris groans, tugging a pillow over her face, her head pounding from the onslaught of emotions, and even though she had had one Martini last night, she now figures that having just one was a mistake, and she ought to have taken full advantage of the fact that she was at a club, given how the night turned out.

She reaches for her phone and sees that the time is just after 6:30 AM, which means that she has a couple of hours before she has to decide whether she can make the trudge down to the dreaded breakfast hall. The thought of having to plaster a smile on her face, in order to curate a false sense of normalcy, and converse with people is utterly nauseating. Plus, she knows full well that Barry might be waiting anxiously to speak with her, and she just cannot face him, not when seeing him would surely reinforce both her heartbreak and anger tenfold. And yet, she also cannot shake how profoundly she loves him. Even just thinking about potentially seeing Barry at the breakfast hall, Iris is reminded of how deeply he is and always has been intertwined with her very soul; there are very few moments in her life that she can recall that do not involve Barry in some capacity. For in her most pivotal memories, Barry has always played a role, at least tangentially, and she realizes then that their relationship has been complicated for years, the two of them constantly hovering on the precipice of romantic love and walking, hand in hand, on a precarious tightrope between the safety of friendship and the unknown expanse of unexplored feelings.

She recalls nights spent at bowling alleys, where they were playfully competitive, but still never failing to cheer loudly when the other got a strike or a spare. She remembers wiping remnants of ketchup from Barry’s lips, after he’d eaten more than three-quarters of the fries that they would order at Big Belly Burger, the local Central City burger joint, with her fingers. Then, there were those times when he was stressing over his application for the Wells Scholarship for Excellence in Science to fund his DSc, and she would bring over an inordinate amount of baked goods and cheesy films. He’d mumble, sleepily, after they’d worked through all of the sweets and watched at least three movies, about how absolutely amazing she is.

One of her most telling memories is from her twenty-fifth birthday party, which had been an elaborate surprise that Barry had shockingly manage to pull off, even despite Linda’s usual tendency to tell Iris literally everything, surprise birthday parties notwithstanding. Barry had hosted the party in his old one-bedroom apartment, and there were some thirty people who attended, but lack of square footage aside, he had managed somehow to get Bette Sans Souci, a former high school classmate of theirs, now celebrity chef extraordinaire, to cater for the party. Bette had allegedly told him, “Only because it’s for Iris,” when she’d agreed to cater the event, although Iris still suspects Barry is exaggerating a bit whenever he retells this story, but she appreciates the sentiment all the same. When Iris had arrived at Barry’s, fully expecting to enjoy a quiet night comprising of takeout and a movie, she had been genuinely shocked when she was instead greeted by thirty of her friends screaming, “Happy Birthday!” Barry had snapped a photo of her face, claiming that her look of sheer joy was beautifully priceless. Towards the end of the party, Iris had managed to steal a moment alone with Barry, when she’d found him standing by himself, gazing out of his kitchen window.

“What are you thinking about?” Iris asks, approaching him slowly. Barry smiles when he sees her, holding out his hand to her, which she takes. He interlaces their fingers.

“You,” he says, simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “More specifically, I’m hoping that you had a good night, because nobody is more deserving of the world’s best party than you, Iris. Not that this is the world’s best party, because honestly, I mean, this small apartment? I think it’s too crammed for the number of people I invited, right? And I’m pretty sure the paint’s coming off the walls in a couple of these rooms, no… I know it is, but I’m glad Bette was able to cater, because that might be the saving grace here, and honestly I’m starting to think I should have hosted it somewhere else…”

“Barry,” Iris interrupts, placing a hand on his cheek. At the feel of her hand against his cheek, he immediately ceases talking and swallows very slowly. “This is the world’s best party. I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have a best friend who plans this for her. I couldn’t have asked for a better night, and the party is amazing, but it’s not the party that I’m lucky to have, Bear. It’s you.” He looks down for a moment, before surging forward, leaning his forehead gently against hers, and she gasps at the sudden movement, but quickly relaxes, savoring the intimacy of their embrace.

“Iris,” Barry whispers. “Do you even know how much I…,” he pauses, for a moment, measuring, perhaps, the magnitude of his words carefully, “…how much I care about you?”

“I think so,” she laughs softly, hoping to diffuse some of the tension that has built up between them. “I hope so.”

“No…,” he sighs. “No, I don’t know if you do, and I don’t… god, it’s my fault, because if I had just… I don’t even know where to begin now.”

“Hey,” Iris says soothingly, framing his face with her hands. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything, Bear.” He nods against her forehead, closing his eyes, and they stay like that for a few moments, before Wally races over, seemingly oblivious to Barry and Iris being wrapped up in their own world and apparently in need of Iris’s advice about asking Linda out on a second date.

This memory is particularly painful for Iris, as she wonders what Barry was struggling to tell her that night by the window. She dares not hope that he was attempting to convey that his feelings for her were something more than just friendship, because hope is a most dangerous thing when it came to matters of the heart. If she was not so utterly sure that if she spoke to him now, Barry would simply inform her about whatever it was that was going on between him and Katie (albeit tactfully), Iris might have agreed to speak with him, for (against her better judgment) there was still an ember of hope that burned within her. But for the sake of protecting herself from further heartbreak and humiliation, she could not entertain any remaining hope that she may have, and thus she arrived at the only possible course of action: Avoid Barry Allen. That was really the only option here. Avoiding him during the day would not be particularly challenging, for she would just stay in her room and stealthily sneak out to meet her father and Cecile when they arrive later this morning, but it was the gala that could be cause for some serious trouble, because Barry would be there, and Iris could not possibly dodge him at every turn without it becoming extremely obvious. There is also the likelihood that she might very well lose her resolve completely the moment he looks at her again the way he had last night, like a lost, sad puppy.

Her phone buzzes, and she glances over at the screen, where she is alerted to the fact that she has one unread message from Cynthia (and none from Barry, which disappoints Iris more than she expects, and the ember of hope dims considerably). The message from Cynthia reads:

“You promised we’d chat this morning, so consider this your reminder. I know you’re going to hide out in your room, which is totally fair, but I’m coming over right now.”

Iris is unsurprised by Cynthia’s adamancy, especially because she had indeed promised that they would have a long talk this morning. When Iris had returned to her room last night, she had managed to avoid having to admit to Cynthia that she was in love with Barry and that she was absolutely devastated by what she’d just learned, by citing exhaustion. Cynthia had reluctantly acquiesced, but only after Iris had promised her that they would talk tomorrow morning, and it would be typical of Cynthia to show up before 7AM.

Sure enough, there is a knock at the door, and Iris opens it and sees her friend standing before the threshold.

“Hey,” Iris says, tiredly.

“Hey, you okay?” Cynthia asks, concerned, and Iris is not sure what comes over her in that moment, but perhaps it’s the realization that she is absolutely not okay that overwhelms her right then. And now, having to face the reality of finally vocalizing how she’s been feeling, while trying to protect the shattered remnants of her heart, the notion that she truly is not okay is the catalyst. She had not cried last night, but now tears spill over her cheeks, a sob escapes her, and soon she is weeping, her hands covering her face, and Cynthia murmurs, while closing the door behind her,

“Oh, Iris.” And then Iris feels Cynthia’s arms come around her, holding her, soothing her, and finally, she allows herself to be comforted.

“You know,” Cynthia remarks, while clasping a crystal encrusted barrette onto her hair, slightly left of her parting. “I can always sue Katie Rogers, Eddie Thawne, and Barry for NIED. Say the word, and I’ll do it.” They are currently readying themselves for the gala, which officially begins in one hour, and Cynthia is positively stunning in a floor length, backless forest green gown, adorned with a myriad of sequins.

“And who would the plaintiff be, exactly?” Iris asks, still not dressed for the night yet, as she is trying to figure out what jewelry she is going to wear to accompany her red, floor length gown, a feat that was proving difficult, because she keeps eyeing the velvet box which contained the replica of her mother’s wedding band, which makes it nearly impossible to pick out a different necklace.

“Honestly? Me. Because I found what happened last night to be extremely, negligently harmful no matter how forcefully Barry will likely argue that he was unwittingly involved. Thawne is getting sued, specifically for inviting us to that crap show, which, just by being present at, mind you, had a dire effect on my psychological state.”

“We don’t even know what happened last night or what’s really going on, and even if we did know, your argument is a non-starter, especially because you typically find the vast majority of people that you meet to be annoying and claim that they are somehow guilty of NIED.”

“True, but I can spin a legal argument from nothing,” Cynthia smirks, and Iris rolls her eyes, but chuckles nonetheless. She is unsure of how Cynthia manages to come up with the most ridiculous and unsubstantiated legal arguments when not in a courtroom, but then again, she supposes that as a top litigator, Cynthia’s occasional legal theatrics are most definitely forgivable.

But then, Cynthia says, “I got you to smile and that was the ultimate goal.” Iris looks up at Cynthia, who has a soft smile on her face, and she smiles back, once again reflecting on how very glad she is that her friend is here with her. She knows Cynthia wants to properly converse about what happened last night, but she isn’t rushing Iris into the conversation, despite the fact that they did spend the entire day together and still had not really talked about last night.

To be sure, they had not spoken much about anything, though, because they frankly had not had the chance to. Cynthia had stayed with Iris that morning, first comforting her, as she had cried for a good half hour, and subsequently they had ordered room service and flipped through the channels available via the hotel’s cable service for a couple of hours, until Iris’s father called her to inform her that he and Cecile were roughly fifteen minutes away from the Time Metropolis. As Iris had gotten ready to meet her family outside the hotel, Cynthia had offered to join Iris, a request for which Iris had been eternally grateful, because she knew her dad would notice immediately that she was not herself, and so she could use the additional moral support. Upon meeting her father and Cecile, Joe had indeed commented that Iris appeared very tired, and she had shrugged it off, citing the cabaret the previous night as the obvious reason for her exhaustion, but Joe hadn’t been convinced.

“No, you look like somebody crushed your world,” he had commented, concern evident in his voice. She had laughed at that, because it sounded so dramatically absurd, and yet it was also truer than her father even realized.

“Dad, come on. I’m fine,” she had replied, quickly ushering her father and Cecile into the hotel lobby, as a couple of staff members took their luggage. Hoping to sway her father away from his suspicions, she had asked, “How was your flight?” Joe did not answer, instead watching her closely, but Cecile started chatting about their journey, which was a most welcome distraction for Iris. At the time, she knew her father was not going to let up so easily, for the mere fact that she was trying her hardest to appear nonchalant was enough to cause him concern, but he was unlikely to press the issue right at that moment.

Now, Iris knows that the longer that she stalls, the more likely it becomes that she will have to confront her heartbreak in her father’s presence, so she gathers her gown and makeup and heads to the bathroom to get ready, for there is only one mirror in the room, which Cynthia is currently utilizing. After laying her gown out on the edge of the marble counter, Iris stares at herself in the mirror and takes a few deep breaths. I can get through this. I need to get through this. Barry had not called her the entire day, nor had he messaged her, and in a way, this made Mission Avoid Barry Allen considerably easier, but she cannot help but feel a pang of sadness, because if Barry was not making the effort to speak with her now, then her original understanding of what had been revealed last night must be accurate. The shattering pain of heartbreak only worsens at this realization, but she refuses to allow this to dictate her night.

Instead, she busies herself by getting ready, first applying her makeup and then turning to her outfit for the night. Her red gown is a sight to behold, and she is aware of this, as she puts it on; the bodice hugs her figure like a glove, while the skirt tumbles elegantly over her legs and down to her feet. When she glances back up at the mirror to put on her dangling earrings, she makes a decision: as difficult as this night would most certainly be, she is going to make the most of it and ensure that her father and Cecile have a memorable soirée.

As she contemplates this, she hears a knock at the hotel room door outside, and subsequently, the door opening.

“Hi, Joe.” She hears Cynthia greet her father, and Iris is aware that her father has decided to come by, no doubt, to speak with her. So much for making it through the night.

“Hi Cynthia, I just wanted to stop by and see if Iris is around to speak for a few minutes,” Joe replies.

“Of course. Iris, your dad’s here!” And then Iris can here some shuffling around, before Cynthia announces, “Got my shoes. I’ll give you some time to speak with Iris privately. Anyways, I told Cisco that I would meet up with him before the party starts.”

“Thank you. I will see you at the gala.” Iris hears the door close, and she presumes that Cynthia has left. Upon hearing that Cisco and Cynthia are meeting up early, Iris smiles. At least they seem to be enjoying each other’s company very much, so perhaps there is a silver lining to this weekend, after all.

But, Iris is also acutely aware that her father is waiting for her and that she cannot put off this conversation any longer, so she looks into the mirror one last time, releasing a final deep breath, before exiting the bathroom. Upon her reentrance into the main area of the hotel room, her father looks up and smiles. “There you are,” he says. “You look beautiful, baby girl.”

“Thanks dad,” Iris replies, returning his smile, just as Joe walks over and envelopes her in a hug.

“What’s going on, Iris? And don’t say nothing,” he interrupts, just as she opens her mouth to protest. “I know there’s something wrong. I knew it from the moment I saw you this morning, but I wasn’t going to press you then. But clearly something happened this weekend.”

“Dad, please. It’s not a big deal. I’m just stressed from work and Carver suing the Citizen, and I don’t know… I guess the exhaustion from the last few weeks has caught up with me finally.” To be fair, that is not wholly untruthful. She is feeling the aftereffects of stress from the amount of work that had gone into the exposé.

“Iris, if I thought that was all this is about, I wouldn’t ask. I know you can handle pretty much anything, but this is different. And I know you’re grown and can deal with whatever it is going on, but I don’t want you to pretend you’re fine, because that solves nothing.”

“Yeah,” Iris murmurs, closing her eyes momentarily, and when she opens them, her father is regarding her earnestly. Taking a deep breath, she continues, “You’re right, it’s just… it’s Barry.” Joe’s lips quirk up slightly, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I don’t know, dad. Barry and I have been fine, you know. I mean, we’re always fine. Until I… I’m not even sure how it happened, because one minute we’re friends. As we always have been. Seeing each other almost every day and catching up. And I don’t know when I realized it, but I… I love him, dad.” Her voice breaks slightly on love, for it is such an overwhelming feeling, being able to vocalize that she’s in love with Barry. She immediately feels her dad’s arm come around her shoulders as he hugs her to him.

“This might come as a surprise to you, but I’ve known you’ve been in love with that boy for many years,” Joe says, and Iris looks up at her dad, startled. Had her feelings been that obvious that her father knew she loved Barry before even she had realized it?

“How…”

“I know you, Iris. You’re so kind and so good, and you’re always trying to help everyone. But when you and Barry first met as children in the playground, and you ran over and reached out a hand to help him up when he tumbled off the swing and into the dirt, there was this different energy between the both of you, and it only became stronger over the years. You don’t know the way you look at him, but I see it. You probably don’t realize the way he looks at you either. But I know Barry too; he grew up just two doors down, and he looks at you like you are the sun and he has since the moment he first saw you.” At that, Iris is further surprised and confused, shaking her head,

“Dad, no, that’s impossible. Barry isn’t in love with me; he’s in love with someone else.”

“And you know that how?” Joe asks, raising his eyebrows, completely and utterly unconvinced at the implication that Barry Allen is in love with someone other than Iris West.

“Because it all came out last night. It’s not… it doesn’t matter.”

“Did Barry tell you he was in love with someone else?”

“Well, he didn’t say it in so many words,” Iris begins, just as Joe asks,

“Did he say it any words at all?” This gives Iris pause, for Barry had not said specifically that he was dating Katie, for that matter, but surely that was what he had been attempting to explain to her, before she had left. Katie revealed that they had gone out to dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant, and it is not as if Barry disputed the fact, although he had been distinctly put off by her exuberance. But that might have simply indicated that he was uncomfortable by the level of scrutiny directed his way, thanks to Katie’s apparent inability to keep anything private. And yet, Iris can’t get that look he had given her, like his world had just been completely shattered, as she was leaving the club, out of her head.

Because if she is being wholly honest with herself, Iris knows that part of the impetus behind Mission Avoid Barry Allen is the fear that in whatever conversation she has with Barry, she would have no choice but to tell him the truth, and their equilibrium will be completely altered forever.

“No,” she finally replies. “I left before he could say anything. And honestly, dad, part of the reason why I ran away before speaking with him is just that… I guess, our friendship has been a safe harbor. We’ve always sought solace in one another, but the moment I tell him, everything changes, and I risk losing that safe harbor.”

“It seems,” Joe says with a knowing smile. “The two of you have a lot to talk about.” Iris nods, silently, as her father continues, “Iris, the most important thing you can do is be honest with yourself and with him. Sometimes, change is inevitable, and it is often a good thing, because you may not necessarily be risking anything. Talk to him and see what happens.”

“Yeah, I suppose that I can’t keep avoiding the inevitable,” Iris replies, before smiling gratefully at her father. “Thanks, dad.”

“Anytime, baby girl. Remember, I am so, so proud of you. Of the woman you have grown to be and of all that you have accomplished. And I always will be.” A wave of emotion washes over Iris, and she looks up at her father, who appears equally emotional.

“I love you, dad,” she says.

“I love you too, Iris.” Joe then mentions that they can head down to the gala whenever Iris is comfortable, but as grateful as she is for her dad’s concern and support, she knows they ought to not keep Cecile waiting, so she tells him she’ll meet them by the elevator.

“Are you sure?” Joe queries, but Iris is certain in her convictions now, which is a most welcome change from the lack of clarity she had been grappling with all weekend.

“Absolutely, dad. I’m okay. I’ll be right out.” Her father nods, kissing the side of her head, before exiting her hotel room. Now, there is just one thing left to do; she walks over to the small bedside table and picks up the velvet box containing the replica of her mother’s wedding band. Upon opening the box, she carefully removes the necklace, unclasps the hook, and puts it on.

Now, come what may, she is ready to face the world.

#westallen #westallen secret santa #submission

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letterboxd · 3 years

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How I Letterboxd #12: Joe Lynch.

Self-described cinedork and Mayhem filmmaker Joe Lynch tells Horrorville’s Brett Petersel about cinematic sausage, getting to direct Creepshow episodes and being a three-star starter on Letterboxd.

“Even when I watch what I would think is a real stinker, I also consider that there were many people involved in that film who didn’t walk on set going ‘okay people, let’s screw this up today!’” —Joe Lynch

It is always a pleasure to find film directors lurking on Letterboxd. Joe Lynch is a bona fide, OG member, having racked up more than 1,500 diary entries, giving half-star reviews to his own work, and creating lists of the movies that have influenced the making of his films.

There are the films that were in Lynch’s subconscious when he made Mayhem, a workplace splatter led by Steven Yeun and Samara Weaving. There are the movies he watched while researching the Salma Hayek-starring Everly. And this just in: films that influenced The Right Snuff, one of Lynch’s two episodes for the new Creepshow series—based on the 1982 horror-comedy classic and its sequels—which premieres on Shudder April 15.

Like so many of us, Lynch took time during the pandemic to catch up on films he had neglected to watch in spite of a previous career as a video-store clerk (a Criterion Channel subscription helped him get on top of the backlog). In this edition of ‘How I Letterboxd’, Lynch discusses how those classics have informed his craft, who his Letterboxd faves are, and why the horror genre is the future of the industry.

Steven Yeun and Samara Weaving in Joe Lynch’s ‘Mayhem’ (2017).

How long have you been on Letterboxd? Joe Lynch: I remember when Letterboxd was in its beta phase way back in good ol’ 2012 and I couldn’t wait to sign up, breathlessly waiting for an invite to the party. At the time, I had a digital database where I would log movies I’ve seen, but it was always subject to whatever laptop or device I had handy and would just be a mess of titles with no rhyme or reason.

When a member follows you, what should they expect? I put it right up top in my description: “I am not a critic”, just a lover of cinema. At first I didn’t want to write “reviews” in the description, especially since I first started using the service whilst in the throes of a horrible experience making a film that I thought would bury me and I’d never work again. I was like, and I still feel this way, “who am I to rip on a movie when someone can throw it right back at me? Like ‘dude, you directed Knights of Badassdom, sit down’.”

I’ve always had the highest regard for filmmakers who can get anything made. So even when I watch what I would think is a real stinker, I also consider that there were many people involved in that film who didn’t walk on set going “okay people, let’s screw this up today!” but instead were trying their best and circumstances just got in the way, which always happens. Having made a few films and TV now, I’m fully aware of the trials and tribulations that go into making a movie and have all the respect in the world for anyone who can steer that ship to completion. It’s hard making movies and even harder making one that is your original vision [and] that is widely embraced by an audience.

I have very weird tastes so don’t be shocked if you glance at my recent activity and you see Casablanca, The Silence of the Lambs or Bigger Than Life right next to The Legend of Billie Jean, Con Air or Candyman 3. I’m usually bouncing all over the place in terms of what kinds of movies I’m screening. From films recommended to me, to films that I may be watching for research, or even just how I’m feeling that day and maybe need a good laugh or a good cry or to be scared stiff. I like that kind of variety. There’s something out there for everyone and every emotion. If anything, I’d say expect the unexpected when it comes to my viewing habits.

What’s your favorite feature to use and why? One of the residual effects of working at video stores as a kid was my desire to siphon people’s tastes in movies and possibly recommend films to others as well, so my favorite feature is the ease of use in logging films and being able to quickly recall those films as well in the event someone asks me “what’s something I should watch?”. Getting older, the “employee’s picks” in my head is getting a little harder to cross-reference than usual so to have the ability to whip out my phone and say “oh man, I just watched Possession and it was awesome!” is exponentially helpful to a cinedork like myself.

‘Big Trouble in Little China’ (1986)—a five-star film says Joe Lynch.

How do you rate the films you watch? For example, what type of film is worthy of a five-star review? Funny, I always start out on three-stars mainly because I’m so proud of the filmmakers actually getting it completed! I’ve been there! I’m somewhat biased in my reflections because I’m always rooting for the artists and from there, it’s usually gauged on both an emotional level and a technical level. I always get made fun of while watching movies because I can point out hidden cuts or when a shot is reversed but [I’m] not trying to point out flaws, it's just how my brain is wired at this point. When you pull the curtain back enough to see how the cinematic sausage is made, it's harder and harder to objectively watch a movie without trying to dissect how it was done. I try so hard to shut that part of my brain off to just passively enjoy a movie but it’s tough. I usually skew towards the positive.

The films I’ve given five-stars are movies that have continually affected me over the years and have inspired me as a person and a filmmaker, which is everything from The Empire Strikes Back, Dawn of the Dead and When Harry Met Sally... to Big Trouble in Little China, The Blob, The Last of the Mohicans. I looked back at my five-stars and it’s mostly movies that made a significant impression on me from an early age and continue to do so, maybe even more so as I get older and I view these movies in a different light.

The anthology show Creepshow returns to Shudder this month. Tell us about the two episodes you directed for the series, ‘Pipe Screams’ and ‘The Right Snuff’. Both Creepshow and Creepshow 2 were important films in my youth and even today, they were some of the first movies I remember where I wasn’t quite sure if I was supposed to be scared or laugh. These films proclaimed we could do both! As a disciple of George A. Romero, Stephen King and Tom Savini, Creepshow really shaped how I watched movies and how I made them—consider the anthology I did a few years back, Chillerama, as a prime example. So when Shudder announced the show, I had to do everything on my part to convince them I could take the baton from these masters of the macabre and do them and the many fans proud.

To come to the table and say “I want ‘The Right Snuff’ to feel like 2001: A Space Odyssey crashed into The Andromeda Strain, and ‘Pipe Screams’ is my homage to The Blob and Delicatessen”—and then everyone just immediately getting it—was a dream. Between the casts I was lucky enough to work with and the amazing crew, especially the FX geniuses at KNB, it really was one of those dream jobs I’ll never forget. I hope audiences dig the madness we conjured up on those!

Season 2 of the Shudder series ‘Creepshow’ returns to the horror streamer this month. A third season has been ordered.

If you were to expand the Mayhem universe, what would it look like? We tried! I pitched the producers the idea of the ID-7 virus in other locations and situations because in essence the idea of being uninhibited by mental and emotional constraints is so ripe. My favorite was the idea that it would get loose in a Wal-Mart or a mall on Black Friday when consumers swarm to these department stores for the best deals. You’ve seen the videos, it’s just mass hysteria. The footage already out there would have been perfect to use already and those people aren’t even infected!

Sadly it didn’t come to pass, mainly because they asked “how do we get Steven and Samara back?” and I didn’t want to force those characters into that scenario, Die Hard 2 style. Plus they’re both huge stars now and likely unavailable for the next twelve years. But the ideas people have thrown out to me show that it was impactful enough to warrant variant scenarios in a “what if?” way that’s really exciting. Who knows, maybe the ID-7 virus could find its way onto the set of a movie production…

What excites you about the future of filmmaking, especially in horror films? The world is embracing new faces and voices more than ever and it means we’re getting stories that may not have ever had the chance to flourish and be seen and heard before. For the longest time the system was much more rigid because executives and producers thought that the audience was much less accepting of a wider world view in cinema and I think the last ten years has proven them wrong. There shouldn’t be any more “token” character or “strong [insert non-white-male] character” descriptions in development meetings. I hear it less and less, which is great because that’s not our world and since cinema—especially horror—is and always should be a reflection of our culture and times, it should reflect these evolutions as well.

When I made Wrong Turn 2: Dead End, the discussions over how one of the characters—a Black character played by Texas Battle—survived at the end was not in the original script but I pushed for it mainly because it was rare for the Black character to do so in a horror film. That shouldn’t be an anomaly! Why can’t there be a ‘final guy’ or have the survivors be LGBT+ or a POC and not the usual stereotypes?

I think now it’s more commonplace to see this and it excites me for the future of the genre that artists are being more welcome to express themselves without it feeling like it’s a gimmick or a twist on the norm.

I think generations of kids growing up with horror now are gonna see these strides in the storytelling—and who’s telling the stories—and push it even further. Places like Netflix and Shudder are willing to take chances with new voices more than the studio system, now more than ever, and that’s only going to produce some great stories now and in the future.

Erica Leehrsen and Texas Battle in a scene from ‘Wrong Turn 2: Dead End’ (2007).

How has the pandemic affected your creativity and influenced your work moving forward? Aside from losing a bunch of gigs due to the shutdown and being delayed on shooting Creepshow—which was a blessing in disguise considering the time we took to further develop the scripts and design of each episode—one of the main effects of the pandemic was how it gave many of us the time to catch up on a lot of films, mainly older ones. As you’d see from my diary entries on this very site, my viewing habits changed from a lot of modern films in that rat-race of catching up with the latest release, to mainly watching films I loved in the past and a lot of ’40s to ’70s films that I never got around to.

We have the tendency as film lovers to keep a mental list of films we’ll eventually get around to as if we have all the time in the world, but with the threat of the apocalypse and no real new content coming our way at the usual rapid clip, it was so gratifying to buy an annual subscription to Criterion Channel and start watching films like The Old Dark House, The Crimson Kimono, Contempt and many others.

All of these films impacted how I view film now and have bled into future projects I’m working on—especially on the technical side, when the world wasn’t influenced vicariously through MTV coverage and letting scenes play out in masters or longer takes, relishing in the performance or the mise-en-scéne. So, silver linings!

Before we go, who are some of your favorite follows on Letterboxd? I’m a big fan of Sean Baker, who I’ve known for almost 20 years now! We worked together in NYC and I was already a big Greg the Bunny fan but our mutual appreciation for fringe and exploitation films, especially international horror and genre films, seems to have bonded us for life. I love when he posts what he’s watching. Even if he’s just saying he screened something on Blu or streaming, his thoughts on cinema are always enjoyable and engaging.

In the same breath, filmmaker Jim Cummings has the best perspective on modern filmmaking and he’s clearly a big fan of using Letterboxd, so whenever I see peers like them using the app it makes me feel less like an obsessive movie dork myself, who should be getting back to work.

Some of the other follows I really enjoy are cineastes like Elric Kane and Brian Saur, who are the hosts of the New Beverly podcast Pure Cinema. Writers Anya Stanley, David Chen, Walter Chaw and Lindsay Blair Goeldner, musician and filmmaker Brendon Small, writer and critic Brian Tallerico, author Glenn Kenny, filmmaker Rodman Flender—just to name a few people who clearly love film and love sharing their thoughts on films in a very thoughtful way.

More times than not, I’m getting some great advice for what to watch next in my “new from friends” section! Because, like being at the video store, it’s casual conversations like the ones on Letterboxd that I love and always steering me to new films or revisiting old ones with a new perspective.