#i added content warnings right under the cut. idk if i will do that consistently but why not

[terramythos]

TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 29 of 26

Title: The House in the Cerulean Sea (2020)

Author: TJ Klune

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Comedy, Romance, Found Family, LGBT Protagonist, Third-Person 

Rating: 10/10

Date Began: 10/13/2020

Date Finished: 10/18/2020

Linus Baker, a forty-year-old caseworker for the Department in Charge of Magical Youth (DICOMY), lives a solitary and mundane life. But when he’s summoned by Extremely Upper Management and given a top-secret case, everything changes. Linus is sent to the classified Marsyas Island and tasked with investigating an orphanage housing six dangerous magical children-- including the Antichrist. He is to live among the residents for one month, record his observations, and report back to the organization. No more, no less. 

The master of the house, Arthur Parnassus, is a mysterious and enigmatic man. But Linus soon learns that Arthur will do anything to protect his wards. As Linus grows closer to Arthur and the children, a secret from the past and prejudice of the present threaten to destroy the orphanage and their way of life. Linus must decide if he can abandon the world he knows in order to help the ones that need it the most. 

"Fire and ash!” Lucy bellowed as he paced back and forth. “Death and destruction! I, the harbinger of calamity will bring pestilence and plague to the people of this world. The blood of the innocents will sustain me, and you will all fall to your knees in benediction as I am your god.” 

He bowed. 

The children and Mr. Parnassus clapped politely. Theodore chirped and spun in a circle. 

Linus gaped. 

“That was a lovely story, Lucy,” Mr. Parnassus said. “I especially liked your use of metaphors. Keep in mind that pestilence and plague are technically the same thing, so it did get a little repetitious at the end, but other than that, quite impressive. Well done.” 

Minor spoilers and content warning(s) under the cut. 

Content warnings for the book: Semi-detailed discussions of child abuse and trauma. Internalized fatphobia (challenged). Structural discrimination, and hatred/prejudice associated with that, some of it internalized. 

I'm going to have a hard time reviewing this book, because it was so goddamn good I don’t think I’ll do it justice in a few short paragraphs. So here’s the fast version: The House in the Cerulean Sea was a fucking delight to read from the first page. It’s full of genuine humor, magic, and charm, while being just this side of heart-wrenching. Though geared toward adults, it’s the first novel I’ve read in a long time that captures that childlike enthusiasm I used to have when reading a good fantasy book. It takes place in a world with magic (obviously), but it’s 98% character-driven. Both the main plot and the (queer!) romantic subplot are woven together so well that neither feel tacked on or lacking. The found family hit me in the emotions again and again and again. I read books out loud, and I spent the last third of this book struggling because I kept fucking crying and having to take regular breaks before continuing. And then I went through the whole book to find a good quote for this review and ended up fucking crying again. So yeah. 

Ok. Got that off my chest. Usually in these reviews I talk about what I liked and then what didn't work for me or confused me. The good news (?) is I have zero complaints or critiques on this one. So you just get to hear me gushing about it for a while.  

Since this is a character-driven book that’s where I’ll start. Linus Baker, the protagonist, is great. Let me just say I love speculative fiction books starring older characters. At forty, Linus isn’t old, but it feels like the majority of spec fic stars people under thirty. Linus is also a conspicuously ordinary guy; prim and proper to a fault, no magic, oblivious in many ways (including to his own loneliness), but with a hidden sense of justice and protectiveness for people that comes out more and more. His development over the course of the novel and how much he grows to love and care for the other characters is just so good. The writing draws attention to this through repeated phrases and jokes one doesn’t expect to make a comeback (more on that later). Seeing him come out of his shell and stand up for what’s right is cathartic as hell. As a side note, it’s also nice to have a fat protagonist who struggles with his self-image but gets warm affirmation and support from his family and love interest. 

Arthur Parnassus, the deuteragonist and said love interest, is more of an enigma. A lot of his motivation and behavior makes sense once you get his Tragic Backstory (TM), and I think this will be a fun book to reread based on that. I picked up on some of it before the reveal, but not everything. But without spoiling it, I do love seeing an older (mid-forties) father figure who would do literally anything to make sure the children on the island have the care and love they need. Seeing his patient love and acceptance of them tugs my heartstrings. Maybe I’m a bit of a sap. Linus and Arthur’s obvious mutual crush on each other is also really cute, okay. There’s something about older queer people finding love that makes me smile. 

And the children are great too, of course. I really liked each of them and thought they were all unique and interesting. My favorites are probably Lucy the six-year-old Antichrist, Sal the were-Pomeranian (his arc just really hit home for me), and Talia the gnome. They all have such distinct and fun personalities, and seeing them interact is great and often hilarious. I’m not very paternal, but I love seeing children with sad/abusive pasts blossom into their best selves with love, guidance, and support. It’s uh, a little personal. I’d be remiss not to mention Zoe, the resident island sprite, who brings a whole lot of personality and rounds off the group. 

When I say the story is character-driven, I mean it. While a fantasy novel, there’s not any significant violence or action in the story (except for maybe one scene if you squint). The House in the Cerulean Sea is carried by its characters, interactions, and worldbuilding. The humor and inherent charm helps too -- and manages to do so without ever feeling trite. I can’t help but admire that. I was never bored; I honestly enjoyed every page because I liked the characters so much. Not to say there isn’t an overarching conflict with the whole DICOMY thing, but most of the focus is Linus struggling and coming to terms with his discoveries-- about the others and himself, and how he can make a difference on a grand scale. To me that kind of stuff is captivating. And boy does seeing someone find the place they belong get me. As I said, found family is a big thing in this book. 

Aside from that, the writing is just super; it literally had me laughing from the first page. I can’t believe the fucking lemur joke came back at the end, too. But on that subject, I love that this book utilizes recurring jokes and phrases to show Linus’ character development. In particular, “see something, say something” and “don’t you wish you were here?” have VERY specific meanings to Linus at the beginning of the story, and over time transform into the polar opposite. I’m  holding myself back because I don’t want to spoil shit, but if you read it you’ll see what I mean. There’s also a lot of meaningful callbacks to certain dialogue earlier in the story and I eat that kind of stuff up. But even small details, like the early quip about Linus forgetting his umbrella, come back to deliver an emotional gutpunch near the end. So thanks for that, Mr. Klune. 

The book really takes a turn in the second half of the story, which is a tad darker. Avoiding the Actual Spoilers, this is where prejudice and hatred of the outside world become a bigger part of the story. We learn what’s really at stake, and that this wonderful found family in the first half is threatened by a world that hates and fears them. Boy does that shit get emotional REAL quick. Yes the allegory is obvious. No, that’s not a bad thing. Ultimately, The House in the Cerulean Sea becomes a story about love, hope, and change; and boy does that shit strike my gay little heart right where it hurts. 

If you’re looking for a (literal) magical pick-me-up (ignore my comment about crying a whole lot) with INTENSE found family vibes and a side helping of queer mlm romance, dear God read The House in the Cerulean Sea. I don’t think I did it justice in this review; just trust me, it’s real good. My only complaint is that it ends; I want more, damn it! 

#taylor reads #2020 reading challenge #BONUS ROUND #10/10 #i added content warnings right under the cut. idk if i will do that consistently but why not #anyway this book wrecked me

[redgillan]

Missed Chances - part 2

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.

Word Count: 3,845

Warnings: Language, Nudity, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Drug Use, Cliffhanger

A/N: This is so long, I’m sorry. I tried to make the descriptions fun, but idk. I added a few pics bc it was too beautiful. It took me a while to write this chapter, but I had so much research to do for this fic... yikes. I really hope you’ll like this chapter, I worked so hard on it.

Missed Chances - Masterpage

Steve woke up with a migraine, the mattress soft beneath him. His mother must have carried him up and tucked him in while he was asleep because he sure as hell wasn’t lying on the basement floor.

Soft silky sheets brushed against his naked skin and his brows immediately furrowed. He always wore pyjamas.

He tried to sit up, but soon realised that there was a weight on his left shoulder. He looked down at it and saw a mop of tousled light brown hair resting on his chest.

A woman!

His first reaction was to roll to the other side of the bed where he ended up face-to-face with another woman. A strangled cry escaped his throat, making the two women whine in their sleep.

“Mornin, daddy,” the one on his left slurred, her hand trailing up his thigh.

“Did you just call me daddy?” he asked. His voice was so low, he must have caught a cold during his birthday party.

“Isn’t that what you want, daddy?” she whispered into his ear, her hand cupping his groin.

He shirked and scrambled off the bed, taking the silky sheet with him. The two naked women sat up, concerned looks on their faces.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re naked!” Steve wrapped the sheet around his hips and gestured in their direction with his free hand.

Why did he feel like he was standing on a stepladder? His head was spinning, the room was spinning, too. He had to get out of here.

He looked around the darkened room and yelled, “MOM!”

A look of mild panic crossed the brunette’s face. She picked up her discarded dress and slipped it on. The second woman apparently had the same idea and together they quickly collected their things before they rushed out of the room.

“Wait!” Steve yelled, fumbling with the sheet as he tried to follow them.

He tripped over the trailing sheet and fell face-first onto the soft rug, accompanied by a muffled ‘oof A soft, vibrating sound made him raise his head and he watched in speechless awe as the natural light began to pour into the bedroom.

The room was large, yet simple. There was a King size bed facing floor-to-ceiling windows, offering one of the most impressive views of New York City Steve had ever seen.

Decorative pillows had been thrown to the foot of the bed. One of them even landed on a teardrop shaped settee near the door.

“Good morning, Mr Rogers,” said a sweet feminine voice with an Irish accent. Her voice seemed to come from the ceiling.

Startled, Steve sat on the floor and tugged the sheet around him while looking suspiciously around the room.

“The cook is in the elevator, he should be here any second,” the voice continued. “I’ll start the shower now. Would you like me to turn on some music?”

He had so many questions, but he couldn’t decide which one to ask first so he went with the most obvious one. “Where are you right now?”

The voice sighed. “As I’ve explained before, I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y, an artificial intelligence created by Stark Inc. I’m connected to all the devices around your apartments, including your personal and work phones and computers.”

He sat on the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to make sense of what happened. He cleared his throat, hoping to get rid of that ridiculously low voice.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I think you have the wrong Rogers. I don’t know how I ended up in this apartment, or in New York, but I’ll give you my mom’s numb-”

“I’ll ask the cook to add pain killers with your breakfast,” she cut him off, sounding amused. “Perhaps you should lay off the Norwegian liquor for awhile.”

Steve was scared to leave the room, not knowing what he’d find behind the door. He didn’t want to run into the owner, Mr Rogers.

As promised, F.R.I.D.A.Y turned on the shower and, remembering the two naked ladies in his bed, he figured he could use one.

He walked to the windows and marvelled at the view for a moment. He lived in Port Chester and rarely visited the city. On second thought, it wasn’t so bad. At least now he had a funny story to tell Bucky.

He followed the sound of running water and opened the door that led to the bathroom.

The bathroom was equally luxurious with its inlaid stone rain shower that could easily fit eight people. There was also a long vanity with double sinks and a mirror facing the shower.

Mouth agape, Steve let the sheet drop and padded to the shower.

As he passed the mirror, he caught a glimpse of a naked man and threw himself to the floor. He slowly peeked over the vanity, an excuse ready on his lips, but he realized it was just a mirror.

Frowning, he lifted his head a little and let out a small gasp as he stared at himself in the mirror.

“Oh, my god,” he swore, straightened up to his full height, “It’s me, I’m... hot!”

He didn’t look sickly anymore; he was strong and muscular and at least a foot taller. His hair was a darker shade of blond and slightly longer, too. He had a full beard and stared at it for a full minute. He’d always wondered if he’d ever grow facial hair.

“What’s happening?” he said, staring at his reflection.

He ran a hand through his hair, combing it back from his forehead. His hair seemed to naturally fall back into place, like he’d done this gesture so many times that his hair knew exactly where to go.

Yesterday was his thirteenth birthday party and today he woke up looking like a thirty-year-old man. How was it possible?

Oh, the birthday party....

I want to be an adult. I want to be thirty, I want to find love.

“No,” Steve drawled out, disbelief lacing his voice. “That’s so cool!”

It seemed completely crazy, but there was no other explanation.

He took a step back and checked himself out in the mirror. His body was, for lack of a better word, impressive. Wide shoulders, broad chest, tiny waist, massive arms and thighs...

“Tattoos?” he whined, inspecting his body closely. He had one on his left shoulder, a quote under his clavicle and another one on the right side of his chest. “Mom’s gonna kill me!”

The shower was already running, the steam fogging up the mirror. He stepped into the shower, his eyes focused on his blurry reflection.

Showering was a strange experience. He ran his hands over the hard planes of his broad chest and tight abs, discovering this new body more intimately.

His breathing hitched and he felt himself growing hard. Chancing a glance down, he saw the evidence of his arousal sticking up straight from his body. Then, suddenly, the water turned ice cold and he hurriedly leapt out of the shower stall.

“What the hell?”

“You always end your morning shower with a blast of cold water,” the A.I replied. “It increases alertness and closes up the pores.”

“Yeah? Let’s not do that again.”

“Very well, sir.”

“You can call me Steve,” he said, wrapping himself in a fluffy towel. “So, um, I live here?”

“Yes, Steve, 45 East 22nd Street, apartment 60FL. Is there anything else you need?”

“Clothes?” he replied with a shy grimace.

Following F.R.I.D.A.Y’s direction, he took a deep breath before he opened the bedroom door. He was scared to run into someone, even though the A.I. had informed him that it was just him and the cook.

He entered the walk-in closet tentatively and gasped when F.R.I.D.A.Y. turned on the lights. It was twice the size of his bedroom, with a round sofa in the middle of the room and a small staircase that led to another closet with mirrored sliding doors.

Suits, shirts, trousers, jeans, shoes; there were enough items for him to open his own store. He took his time and tried on several outfits before he found the perfect one.

“Steve,” the A.I. interrupted, “Your morning coffee has just finished brewing. Breakfast is served. I should also remind you that Mr Rumlow will be expecting you in the hall at 8 a.m.”

“Brock?” Steve squealed, suddenly excited to see a familiar face. “I’m still friends with Brock! That’s awesome!”

“Indeed, it is,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied in a monotonous voice. “Are you sober enough to find the dining room?”

He bashfully told her he had no idea where the dining room was and she provided directions again. She sounded like a real person: annoyed, sassy, amused... It was strange to think she was just a voice in the wall.

What Steve had seen so far was nothing compared to the living-slash-dining room. It looked like a page out of a magazine.

There was a large and modern dining room table for formal meals that led to a windowed eat-in kitchen with marble countertops and custom-designed cabinetry.

The living room was spacious and bright, decorated with modern artworks and furnishings. Thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, he had a 360-degree view of New York City, looking over the borough of Brooklyn.

“I could get used to that,” Steve whispered to himself.

He sat at the breakfast nook and glared at the tray of food in front of him. His breakfast consisted of a green concoction in a tall glass, a slice of grapefruit and a bowl of sliced bananas in plain yogurt. He poked the grapefruit with his spoon and screwed his face up in disgust.

“Um, ma’am,” he spoke, looking up at the ceiling. “Do you have cereal?”

“You cut out sugar from your diet,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

“That sucks!”

He ate a few spoonfuls of yogurt before he pushed the tray away. It was almost time to meet Brock downstairs so he took the elevator down to the lobby, excited to see his friend.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” a voice startled him as he stepped into the lobby.

A man, most likely in his thirties, stared down at him, incredulous. His black hair was short and styled with gel and he wore a perfectly tailored beige suit with no tie.

Steve looked down at his own clothes and frowned. He was wearing a pair of jeans with a matching jacket and a light blue shirt.

He really liked this look and it was really popular, especially after the American Music Award where Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears showed up wearing matching denim outfits.

“Denim-on-denim?” Brock said with a smirk. “Trying to bring sexy back?”

Steve cocked his head to one side. Was that a reference to something? He had no idea. “Brock? That’s really you? Whoa, you’re old!”

Rolling his eyes, Brock turned on his heel. “Fuck off, Rogers.”

Brock was on his phone when the doorman opened the door for him. Steve trailed after Brock like a lost puppy and greeted the man at the door with a polite smile. The man looked at him incredulously before his face broke into a similar friendly smile.

“Where are we going?” Steve asked as they walked to the car parked in front of the building.

“Work, dude.”

“We work together?” Steve said excitedly. “That’s awesome! Okay, what do we do?”

Brock threw him a side glance. “I knew I should have stayed last night. The party must have been wild, you look so stoned. What’d take? Cocaine? Heroin? Meth?”

“What?! No, I don’t do drugs,” Steve objected.

“Yeah, right,” Brock scoffed, “me neither.”

It only took fifteen minutes to go from his apartment to his workplace in the garment district of Manhattan. Steve looked out the tinted window as the chauffeur pulled to the curb before a large mirrored-glass building.

His bodyguard opened the door and Steve slowly climbed out of the car, his eyes widening when he saw a plaque above the double doors that read ‘STEVE ROGERS HEADQUARTERS NYC’.

“Nice outfit, sir,” his bodyguard said, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks,” Steve replied, still flabbergasted.

Brock rounded the vehicle and pulled Steve aside. When Steve continued to look around in wonder, Brock grabbed his shoulders and shook him once.

“Man, you gotta pull yourself together,” he whisper-shouted. “You’re a fucking fashion designer. You can’t enter this building looking like Justin fucking Timberlake on Prozac.”

Brock glanced around to make sure no one was listening and spotted paparazzi on the opposite side of the road. He moved in front of Steve to block their view.

“Here’s what you gonna do,” he continued. “You’re going to enter this building, drink a large fucking coffee and lock yourself in your office. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything, but you owe me big fucking time.”

Steve gave him a hard look. “You say the F-word like a lot.”

Brock sighed, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face. “Man, I don’t know what you took, but next time I want in.” He pulled him into a hug and patted his back. “Stay hydrated, ‘k?”

They entered the building together. There were a lot of people in the atrium; tall, skinny models who turned their heads when they recognized Steve and employees who watched him with a mixture of fright and admiration.

They seemed to move out of his way like he was Moses parting the Red Sea. Steve was too speechless and confused to focus on them. They took the private elevator and stood in silence while the elevator made its long ascent.

“I’m a fashion designer,” Steve spoke quietly, mostly to himself.

“Yup,” Brock mumbled as he pulled out his phone and started typing a text message. “Time’s person of the year in 2012 and 2017, youngest billionaire in the world and the wet of every boys and girls on this fucking planet.”

“I must be dreaming,” Steve said slowly as he processed what Brock had just said. “Ow!” he cried when he pinched the tender skin on his neck.

“Not dreaming,” he said, “now let’s go.”

Brock walked over to a woman with long golden hair. He leaned in and whispered something into her ear. She gave him a thumbs-up and turned to Steve with a bright smile.

“Oh, my God,” Steve cringed, looking for a place to hide. His employees were busy looking busy and didn’t pay attention to them.

Brock and the woman walked back to him. “Wanda’s gonna take care of you.”

Steve took Brock aside and explained that he woke up next to this Wanda girl just a few hours ago. Brock laughed and called Steve a ‘fucking stereotype’ before he headed toward his own office. Steve turned back to Wanda with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said. “So, um, who are you again?”

“Wanda Maximoff, your assistant for the past two years,” she replied with a frown. “You really scared us this morning. Mr Rumlow said you weren’t feeling well.”

Steve replied with a casual shrug while she led him to his office. She informed him that Brock had already transferred the files he needed for the meetings and that he was free for the rest of the day.

“Clint will drive you home when you’re ready, sir.”

“Ok, cool,” he replied.

Involuntarily, she let out a loud laugh as the words passed his lips. He was always so professional and stern, definitely not the kind of boss who treated their employees like family members.

But when he was not at work, he was completely different.

Wanda had run into him in a very select bar the night before. He had danced with her, offered her fruity cocktails and she had really liked the attention. When he invited her and her friend over to his apartment, they eagerly accepted the invitation.

“Oh, by the way,” she turned back to him and handed him his personal phone, “I took your phone by mistake this morning.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the rectangular device in his hand.

She left the room, closing the double doors behind her. Steve plopped down on one of the sofas in his office and took a good look around the room. One thing was for sure, his 30 year-old self was a materialistic person.

His office was a mess, which was strange since his apartment was absolutely spotless.

There were mannequins everywhere, sketches and pieces of fabric clipped onto wooden boards for future reference. He also had a large collection of fashion magazines, sharpies, pencils, erasers, rulers and sketch pads.

He sat in the comfortable leather chair at his desk and flipped through various files. He soon realized that work was his whole life and that he probably spent more time in his office than at home.

Steve loved to draw; it was his safe place. His mother didn’t make enough money to buy him GI Joe dolls or remote controlled cars, but she always came home with pens and scraps of paper stuffed in her bag.

He was looking at some of his drawings when an alarm on his phone went off. He had never owned a phone before, but Bucky’s mother had one –a Nokia 3310- and it didn’t look like this one at all.  He managed to turn the alarm off and read the reminder.

Chez Francis, 8PM

The computer on his desk was a lot thinner than what he used to use at the public library, but he recognized the Apple logo. He was relieved to see that Google was still a thing and after a quick search, he found the restaurant located in Greenwich Village.

Since he was technically allowed to leave, he asked his chauffeur-slash-bodyguard to drive him home. Clint was a quiet guy. He seemed nice, though a bit on the scary side.

Steve learned that he owned ten apartments in the tower; the penthouse, the first five floors, which were for his employees, and four others for his guests.

Like Uncle Scrooge, Steve was swimming in money.

But something was missing.

No one had mentioned his mom, you or Bucky and it was starting to stress him out. Plus, now, he had a dinner date with a mysterious guest. He could have bailed on them, but his mother had raised him better than that.

He arrived at the restaurant with ten minutes to spare and decided to stay outside while he waited for his guest. It seemed like a lovely place; French food, but not too pretentious. He hazarded a glance inside, but the lights were dimmed.

French food and dimmed lights? This wasn’t a casual evening, it was a date. A wave of nausea hit him and for a second he thought he might throw up. If he had a girlfriend, then he was the world’s shittiest boyfriend.

He woke up that morning with two naked women, neither of them seemed to be his partner. As a kid, he’d promised himself he’d treat his partners with respect, especially after his father left his mother for another woman.

His mother was his hero, but as far as he was concerned, his father could rot in hell.

Outside the sun had set and there was a distinct chill in the air. Steve tightened his coat around himself and looked around. There was a man, not far away, busy typing away on his phone.

He was tall, probably in his late twenties, and dressed smart casual. His shoulder length hair was tied up in a bun and he was wearing a long coat above a navy blue shirt.

“Bucky?!” Steve exclaimed, recognizing his best friend.

The man looked up from his phone with a frown and met Steve’s eyes. Steve’s face split into a wide smile as he walked over to him.

“I’m so glad to see you,” he said, pulling him into a hug. Bucky’s body was stiff, but Steve was too happy to notice that. “Look at us, all grown up and stuff!”

Bucky didn’t say a word, he pulled back quickly and smiled tightly at Steve who was still beaming.

“The craziest thing happened to me today,” Steve continued, undeterred. “You’re not going to believe this. When I woke up th-”

“I’m so sorry I’m late. It’s rush hour, I had to fight my way into the train,” you said breathlessly. You had seen someone with Bucky, but you only realized who it was when you turned to him. “Steve?”

“Hi,” Steve replied, looking down at his shoes.

The last time he’d seen you, you had run away after Brock asked you if you wanted to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with Steve. You had broken his heart that day. It might have been 17 years ago, but, to Steve, it was only yesterday.

“Are we waiting for someone else?” he asked.

Your eyes widened. “We?”

You and Bucky shared a look, the two of you had become masters in the art of silent communication. Bucky curled his arm around your waist and tucked you against his side. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed.

What?

No...

“Steve,” Bucky said after clearing his throat. “I don’t know who you’re meeting here, but it’s not us. We,” he paused briefly, “we haven’t seen you since high school.”

That comment made Steve’s head snap up. “High school? We’re not friends anymore?”

You were taken aback by his tone. It was pleading, almost childlike and it made your chest tighten. You had to remind yourself that this man, as nice as he was trying to be, wasn’t the sweet kid you used to know.

He was a celebrity, a billionaire and women threw themselves at his feet. He lived a scandalous life. He wasn’t your Steve.

A pretty blonde with long legs and a perfect white smile came up to them and kissed Steve on the cheek. She turned to you and Bucky and greeted you with a cheerful ‘hello’.

“Looks like you found your date,” Bucky told him watching you shake the blonde’s hand.

Steve caught the gleam of the solitaire on your ring finger. Caught off guard, he stared at you with a wounded look on his face. Bucky tightened his arm around your waist.

“You’re married.”

“Engaged,” you corrected, smiling at his date when she grabbed your hand and took a closer look at your engagement ring. She commented on how beautiful the ring was and you agreed, turning your head to smile at Bucky.

He shook his head, bashful, and kissed your temple. Steve was frozen, unable to look away and unable to close his eyes. His whole world came crashing down around him.

“We should go,” Bucky whispered into your ear as he linked his fingers with yours. He straightened up to look at Steve and his date. “It was nice seeing you. Enjoy your evening.”

“Likewise,” the woman said with a smile. “And congratulations.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Yes, congratulations.”

He watched you and Bucky enter the restaurant. A myriad of emotions washed over his face, none of them pleasant.

Be careful what you wish for...

Part 3

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #steve x reader #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers imagines #marvel imagines #steve rogers imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites #missed chances

[youtubexreader]

i n s e c u r e // aleks x punk/emo!reader

Hey, sorry I haven't posted an imagine since dec 25th 2015. (Yikes) I can't thank this person enough for reaching out and letting me know what they thought of my work, if it wasn't for you I probably wouldn't have posted anymore, but I really cracked down on myself to focus on things I love doing, and that being writing for you guys. (Also I'm sorry it took so so long to finish and post this, the request was fun to write- I just have been continuously been getting non-stop, back to back, extremely sick out of nowhere and also for things I don't think I could have prevented- it has been a really rough time for me and I've been under a lot of stress and pressure for my age.) hopefully it's somewhat good or moderately enjoyable, ESPECIALLY for the AMAZING AND RAD REQUESTER ILYSSSSM Much love as always! Keep sending in requests, and share your thoughts! / reblog to share the luhv of ff <333 Xx. !request: “ Thank you so much!!! Could i please have an Aleks x Punk/Emo Reader please? I dont mind what i will let you choose Again i love your work ❤️❤️❤️ ” (again thank you to the person who requested this, I didn't know if you were comfortable or not with your blog being directly @'ted. Regardless! Much love to you, thank you for your amazing amazing amazing support and incredible patience!) Warnings(ish idk??): swearing, slight sexual themes, self esteem issues. ((sorry I don't know how to actually do posts with cuts in them/posting without good formatting, I'm still using mobile.)) - - - - - "Thanks for the ride-" he started, but you cut him off with a "don't mention it-". You pulled out of the driveway of aleks' house and made your way to the 'boonies', not with much excitement. It was just early enough with the time change to need a pair of shades. 'Sonofa-' and with that, you realized you left yours on your kitchen counter. 'Great' you thought, thinking you'd be able to look decent and have everything together so this wouldn't have to be a more agonizing ride than it was planned out to be. But clearly that wasn't going to happen. It was agonizing because of your own mind. It was making this 'internship' harder than it should. Constantly having to deal with an overwhelming amount of editing, filming, and have a cute colleague drive your blood pressure through the roof whenever they're around was really bringing you to the brink of insanity. "So." He started "You're different." Just that half of a statement made you want to jump out of the car. You didn't want to play this game; the whole 'get to know why she acts that way', 'dresses this and that way', 'simply breathes that way'. It was crystal clear to say the least, that in your mind he's way out of your league. There's no reason for him to try to get to know you? What's he pushing this for? Just to be a dick to the dumb intern? All of these thoughts running faster and faster, only adding to your groggy state. Your knuckles were practically white from your grip on the wheel. Somehow, Aleks noticed that. You can feel his eyes on your hands, so you try to ease up. But he'll never seem to make things easy. "Uu-h yeah, I guess.-" trailing off, Aleks still had his eyes set on you. "I mean not in a bad way- oh god..." sighing in defeat almost, letting his head fall back on the headrest as if he had a migraine or broke his great grandmother's fine china. "It's fine, I get it." You replied simply, trying your hardest to not fall into your insecurities. Whatever he saw that was "different" made you worry. What was it exactly? The band tees, the consistent hair dye changes, the piercings, the stacked amount of bracelets on your arms of random ones you've come across, and ones with your favorite band's logos on them? As soon as the car was parked, you hopped out, grabbing your bag and heading towards the barn while hitting the lock button on your keys as soon as you heard aleks' door close. 'Please ease up- just today?' You mentally bargained with Christ. He's probably too busy, and that leaves you with the one and only Satan. He didn't even know he was doing this to you, and you'd figured that was possible but just had found it easier to believe he did it on purpose. Aleks was at his desk, which was facing yours, just humming and doing the random subconscious things he always does. Persona pushed aside, he had so many features that were meant to be framed in an art museum. When he's concentrating, he always wrinkles his forehead and rests his chin on his hand. Both of you had been stuck with editing a lot more than usual, and James had something to do so he left early. The quiet background music you had playing on another tab ended, you didn't bother with putting on another song, you were so close to finishing the last couple post-rolls. Aleks was still in front of you, probably almost done too- you just stared at your screen till you heard him start quietly saying something in Russian. He was so out of it- If someone was just walking in it would seem like it was just you watching carefully, as if you knew what he was saying. But really, it was you distracted completely by him slowly gliding his tongue across his bottom lip and biting down on it out of habit. The sound of his feet shifting across the cold floor made you look back at your screen, but his voice- whatever he was saying, you had no clue. But it was hot as fuck, yet also so soothing. Letting your head rest on your hand you instinctively let your eyes rest as well. You've never breathed deeper than in that moment. "y/n?" He carefully whispered, looking across the desk to see you, looking peaceful and completely at ease. His breath was stuck in his throat instantly. He would've taken a picture of you so he could remember what you looked like when you're not tense and stressed but your eyes quickly opened. "You look tired as hell, if you have more post-rolls left I don't mind finishing them for you tomorrow." He said almost in a whisper; like he was afraid of bothering you. "Hmn-? Oh! N-no, I was finished a little bit ago, I must've dosed off." "You look like you chugged a bottle of zquil, y/n..." Eyebrows raised and all, you realized that you were indeed the most tired you've ever felt, Lack of sleep to be the blame- the third night without sleep to be exact. "You can call shotgun, I'll drive. C'mon, it's the least I can do. Besides paying for gas money until I can get my car done." He continued giving you hopeful brown eyes that you were quick to avoid. You were easily convinced to say the least. How could you not be? "Fine, I guess..." you said grabbing your jean jacket and backpack. Quickly turning off lights and set ups, you both walked out and locked the door in a slight hurry, the temperature dropped, no surprise. Keys in one hand you passed them to him, your hands briefly touching. "Hope you know how to drive a stick shift." You said hoping he couldn't see your flushed cheeks as you strolled slyly over to the passenger side keeping your eyes down. Quickly hopping in, you rubbed your arms up and down trying to create some warmth. He chuckled, his breath visible in the cold air. 'I'm so fucked' you thought. "Hm?" Aleks murmured stopping what he was doing and staring directly at you. "What? Did I say something?" You asked, trying so hardly to play it off. "Well, I guess not-" he looked back down with a smirk and turned the keys igniting the engine. "Do you have an aux cord?" He asked "Uh no..." "Do you always just drive in quiet?" He pressed. "Ha, no!? I just have a lot of uh..." squeezing your eyes shut to avoid getting worked up. 'CDs, y/n?! Just say you are an avid CD collector because you deeply appreciate your emo phase and the bands that had been apart of it!' You thought. 'Stop being such a baby!' Your conscious scolded. You wanted to curl up in a ball. There's no way to avoid it anymore, you sold yourself to the devil when you listened to 'I don't love you', by my chemical romance. You'd rather be in a passenger seat with your worst ex right now rather than deal with his judgement. "Oh! You have cds? Are they in the console? Dude, that's so sick! I have a ton of cds too!" He exclaimed with a childish but sincere excitement. Every single word flew over your head. He began to lift up your console that was stashed full of your life's collection of ridiculous cds, special edition copies, ep's. Oh god... As he scooted your elbow off of it and went on to open it, you inhaled and let your head fall against the window. 'FUCKFUCKFUCK-' you screamed repeatedly over and over in your head, but you were stopped by the sound of the console quickly closing. "I'm so stupid," he muttered, letting out a sigh. "Just- uh, get comfortable and shit, and uh try and sleep- that was my reason for driving you-" he spoke almost mad. His previous excitement completely gone. Just a douchey outer shell of a content creator you used to admire. Maybe he really isn't the way you thought he was, that cute, rowdy, and funny personality who would give even a weirdo like you a chance. Or even a friendship. "Aleks, you really don't need to! I'm okay, really, you look much more tired-" you stopped when you saw his stare saying all too much. "Okay, fine. I'll try and sleep." You groaned turning on your side facing the window as best as you could. Your hood helped a lot, but still it was cold as heck. You drifted off quickly, the last thing you remember seeing was rain drops rolling down the window. "You call the shots babe, I just wanna be yours, secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought, maybe I just wanna be yours, I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours, wanna be yours, wanna be yours, wanna be yours..." your eyes blinked open slowly trying to reassess what's happening. You see the familiar street lamps passing by and you slowly breathe again, happy to almost be home. You smiled at the realization that Aleks had been singing the entire time, and it definitely wasn't the radio, no one has played this since it was big only meaning he went through your cd stash. His voice distracted you, making your stomach giddy like it does when you're on a trampoline, not knowing how high up you're going, and the unknowing feeling of when you're going to catch ground, over and over. Finally the car was parked, ignition turned off. And a tired Aleks gently rubbed your arm up and down in an attempt to bring you back to consciousness, although you definitely already were. You also realized the familiar fabric laying over you; it was his jacket. Your heart melting, you attempted to fake stirring in your sleep, not giving up the act that easily. An audible sigh was heard from your left, Then the obvious jingling of keys, and then another sigh. "y/n/n, What's wrong?" He asked out loud. Him calling you by your nickname hit you in your gut. No one does that. "Huh?" You asked, pretty confused. "Why do you always do shit to push me away?" Now he had your full attention. "What are?-" "No!" He loudly stopped you. What's happening with him? "Why do you always push me away?" He asked again while attempting to keep you in your seat with his awfully harsh eyes glaring into your own. "What the fuck Aleksandr?" You pushed yourself up grabbing the door handle and seeing he purposely locked the door. Great. "I- I just want to know why, you won't ever talk to me normally, you can barely tolerate a drive with me? What's your fucking deal?!" He was yelling too loud for you to even think. Your fingers pulling at your roots out of frustration. Not even feeling the pain it was causing to your head. "Have you never felt insecure, aleks? You don't get it! Why the fuck do you care anyways?! Just so you can hear someone say how much they like you? Or how much better you are than them?-" by now tears tinted black were streaming down your face uncontrollably. All the pent up frustration and feelings were unveiled and put on show like a trophy case. If you weren't so sleep deprived and out of your head you'd shut up by now. "You know what? Tomorrow, I'll just turn in my r-" With no warning, and ridiculous speed, he had his hand impatiently bringing your face to his, he let his other hand take your chin, tilting it up towards his soft and smooth lips. He didn't bother being polite or delicate, he was just as pissed off at you for no clear reason too. He made sure to let you know that- he wasn't easing up, and you couldn't care less. His lips were saying things that words never could, but in sync, as if you completely were on the same page. He'd bite down on your bottom lip harshly and use his teeth to pull on it, then suck on it again and again until you'd moan uncomfortably. Groaning he grabbed your hips and managed to sit you on his lap while not leaving your mouth alone. You impatiently kissed and bit all along his jaw, the smell of his aftershave burning through you, watching his head tilt back and eyebrows furrow. His hands weaving in your hair, pulling slightly, continuously panting against your mouth as he let your weight fall against him, foreheads resting on another. Your skin was dotted with bruised and pulsing teeth marks. His pale skin practically mirrored yours. "Ah f-fuck y/n-" he moaned in your ear, tightening his hold on you. He shifted in the seat from under you trying to get you to stop subconsciously writhing your hips back and forth, not doing anything other than holding you tighter, and letting his head fall into your neck when you'd stilled finally getting the message. He clearly was trying to control himself, he wouldn't take advantage of this; no matter how much he enjoyed being under you. "y/n? Can I take you to your room? Not like to fuck! But to sleep with- shit, next to you?" He asked, eyes rolled back. "Yes- yes, please... Are you okay, Aleks? I'll get off of you-" "Ah. No, fuck- just don't move for a second babygirl, okay?" He hissed grabbing your hips as you arched yourself forward. Smirking, you nodded in his neck, though the nickname he gave you just made you want to do your worst, he probably hadn't even realized he said that, but damn. You breathed heavily and stayed as still as you could so he could catch his breath. Soon enough he finally got out of the car, and swiftly picked you up, not without kissing you harshly on your lips, before picking you and his backpack up, and made his way to your bedroom. He laid you down softly, and set his backpack down, taking of his shirt and jeans in the process as you did somewhat the same. He made his way around the bed and crawled under your covers, his needy hands reaching out for your sides to embrace, you could feel how easy it was to reciprocate his feelings. Which you did. He pulled you tightly flushed against him, his cold fingertips tracing up your sensitive sides with his head resting into your neck and hair. Any movement would probably just grind on him- which was fun, but both of you were so content being just like this, it could wait till morning. Never thinking you'd be in the same bed as him washed over you, and his cold breath and movements, it was hard to close your eyes from trying to burn the mental picture of him. He looked so peaceful and worry free. His arms tied around your back as his chest became the best pillow you'd ever had. Getting to stare at his tattoos felt like a blessing. Tracing the outlines of some and relaxing to the feeling of his breathing was something you can't help but want to be able to do forever. Occasionally while admiring his entire being a kiss would be planted here and there on his chest. This went on till he moaned and slowly opened his brown eyes to only be a couple inches from yours. He trailed his hand ever so slowly up the outside of your left leg to pull it up on his waist. Feeling every part of him as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and letting his lips dwell all over. "y/n?" he asked in a rough voice, "Why didn't you want me to look in the console?" He softly asked "…well, it's just embarrassing. I don't want you to see my cds and shit because I know you would hate me even more and peg me as some punk ass if you saw how many band posters I have-" "Wait- you think I hate you? y/n, of all things to get insecure about- your music taste is nothing that you should be paranoid about." He said leaning on his elbow looking down at you "I love a lot of the same bands you do- I just thought I'd look like a tool if I walked up to you and sounded like a dick only talking to you about one band on your shirt. I'd been wanting to ask you out- I just didn't have the balls to make a move till last night..." His sentence was cut short by your mouth on his, stopping his banter of self consciousness made you understand how ridiculous your own was. It was definitely reassuring to hear him say that he did like your He sat on top of you quickly, to whisper "my taste in music iS YOUR FACE!-" as loud as he could, which in turn, started a pillow fight of attempting to suffocate each other with a pillow. Also making you both late for work, let's just say you regret not having time to put makeup over the bruises that littered your neck. You two would never hear the end of that.

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