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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

Text

‘cause you are, you are

pairing: lumberjack!bucky barnes x reader

word count: 8,436

summary: Bucky’s found someone out on his front lawn during a snowstorm. Well, Alpine found her. If only he knew what he was getting into.

warnings: Bad words! Violence! Mention of kidnapping! Mention of military violence/injury! Mention of suicidal thoughts!

a/n: So the song I listened to that kinda really inspired this is ‘Get You the Moon’ by Kina. Also, this was commissioned by @buckysbunny and I really hope you love it, babe!

“Come on, Al,” Bucky said as he led his dog up the front steps of his cabin, carrying all the grocery bags inside. He had a cigarette between his teeth, keeping it steady as he unlocked the door and let the gorgeous samoyed inside. “Atta girl.”

The cabin was just as he left it three hours ago when he left to go grocery shopping. As it should.

And Alpine was already standing at her bowl, wagging her tail. She knew what time it was.

“You hungry, baby girl?” He asked with a grin as he grabbed the beef he’d been thawing in the sink and opened it up. “Today’s a beef day. We both know how much you love cows, yeah?” He put a cup of beef in her bowl, powdering in her supplements. “The best girl deserves the best food, yeah?” He asked as he cracked two eggs on top of it, before setting it on the ground. Bucky couldn’t help but grin at the way that Alpine sat there in front of the bowl, waiting for the go ahead as her tail wagged aggressively. “Eat. Good girl.”

Kicking off his boots, he started up a fire in the fireplace. The clouds were rolling in, the sun already setting. He’d lived on the mountain long enough to know when the first real snow of the season was setting in. They’d already had flurries, sure, but… The first real snow was the first one that had everyone locked inside, unable to go anywhere for weeks. He could smell it on the air.

Thankfully he was all stocked up on wood, so they’d be warm. He’d already moved up Alpine’s dinner time so it would still be light outside when she needed to go outside to use the bathroom. And they had more than enough food in the fridge and in the deep freeze to last them the entire winter, if they needed. They’d be okay.

Honestly, his biggest worry was losing Alpine in the snow. She was a big floof of white fur. She always came when he called, but still. It was the principle of it.

After she went to the bathroom, the two of them curled up on the couch while he ate and they watched whatever DVD he popped in. He’d probably binge watch the box set of nature documentaries he’d gotten.

They were… relaxing. After spending a few tours in Afghanistan, he needed relaxing.

It had been ten years, but… some things don’t fade with time. Some things stick like gummy bears on a car seat in July.

It was past midnight when Alpine raised her head from his lap, a low whine in the back of her throat. By then, he’d cracked open a beer and been fully ready to fall asleep there.

“Al? Come on, baby girl, there’s nothing out there,” he said reassuringly. It was snowing heavily, and he’d estimate there was already about seven inches deep with no sign of stopping.

But Alpine gets off the couch and runs for the door, barking sharply.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” He asked as he watched her. “Alpine, come.”

For the first time in the four years since he’d gotten her, she didn’t listen.

Instead, she let out another bark as she clawed at the door.

“Al,” he groaned as he forced himself up. He left the beer on the coffee table before heading to the door. “There’s nothing out there. Just snow. You’re just gonna get cold and get the floors all wet.”

But, alas, he’s a slave to the desires of his puppy.

It’s kinda pathetic, really. Not that he cared.

He opened up the door to let her out, frigid air blasting him. The snow crept up onto the porch, and there was so much coming down it looked almost like a curtain. “See, Al? Nothing.”

But she ran out into the snow, nudging at what just looked like another pile of fluffy white snow. She let out a whine, the only parts clearly visible of her being her dark nose and eyes.

And that’s when a head appeared, and his heart stopped. What the fuck was a woman doing out in the middle of a snow storm?

Despite the fact that he wasn’t wearing shoes and he’d just changed into a fresh pair of sweats, he ran out to where Alpine was still trying to nudge her awake. The snow was freezing his toes as he reached down and scooped up the girl, woman, whatever, and carried her inside.

“Come on,” he called out to the samoyed, who was following quickly after him, her tail tucked between her legs. “You’re such a smart puppy,” he cooed as he laid the girl on the couch. “You knew she was out there and made sure I got to her. Good puppy.”

From the color of her lips, there was no doubt in his mind that hypothermia was starting to set in. And from what she was wearing? Come on. She didn’t even have shoes on. Just two pairs of socks.

Fuck. He’d have to strip her down. He needed to get her warm, and the clothes she wore weren’t doing anything to help her since they were thin and soaking wet. “You better not kill me when you wake up,” he grumbled as he pulled her clothes off of her, keeping his eyes averted. She didn’t even have underwear or a bra on.

It wasn’t that he was some kind of creep. He just felt awkward. He didn’t know this woman and he wasn’t some kind of life saver.

Bucky was alarmed by the amount of bruises that covered her body, though it looked as though there was a purposeful lack of them on her face. There were also what looked like fresh scrapes along her hips.

He wrapped her in every blanket he could find after grabbing fresh clothes from the laundry room and redressing her, cocooning her before shoving the couch closer to the fire so that it may warm her easier. But she still seemed so cold. He moved to the kitchen, taking a few hot water bottles from the first aid cabinet and warming them up before gently dabbing one at her face, the only part of her still exposed.

Bucky knew that the only thing he could do now was wait for her to wake up. Pressing two fingers to her neck, he let out a sigh of relief when he felt her pulse. “You’re not out of the woods yet,” he said as he grabbed his beer and took a swig. It was going to be a long night.

Alpine was more than happy with the addition of a new person in their home, if not still a little worried. She climbed up onto the couch and curled up against her, sniffing at her face and giving her a lick before lying her head down beside her.

“She’ll be okay, Al,” Bucky said quietly as he reached out to give her scritches right above her tail. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but… Maybe Alpine would understand and calm down a little.

My first thought when I woke up was that I was warm. Really warm.

I hadn’t been warm in such a long time.

My eyelids were so heavy, and I had no desire to open them just yet.

What would I find when I woke up? If I was back in His possession, in his house, I… I would need to resort to Plan B.

Technically, Plan B had been Plan A a few times, when things had gotten… especially hard. But He had caught me before I could succeed.

The last thing I could remember was stumbling through the snow. I’d managed to finally get out after planning it for months. I waited until He’d gone out for his nightly trip to the bars before pulling on my two pairs of socks and slipping out through the broken basement window.

The broken glass that I had thought would cause me to freeze to death had become my salvation.

I had been going down the mountain, following the road. But it had started to snow. I’m not sure how long I had been walking when I could see the path anymore, or when I saw the light.

The first light I had seen in the stifling white. It had been coming from a window, cutting through the storm like a beacon of hope.

The wave of relief I had felt at the cabin slowly taking shape in front of my very eyes had been euphoric. I had started to think that if I was going to die, at least I wasn’t going to die in captivity.

But I hadn’t even made it to the porch steps.

Which brought me to where I am now. Wrapped up in what I was pretty sure was several blankets. But I could smell… dog? He didn’t have a dog. No pets allowed.

He also didn’t have a crackling fireplace, from what I remember of the few times I’d been allowed upstairs.

Yeah. Definitely no fireplace.

I made sure to stay completely still as I felt two calloused fingertips press against the pulse point in my neck.

“Well, Al, her heart rate has increased…”

So it was definitely a man.

I’d gotten really good at pretending to be asleep over the years. Like, really, really good. It wasn’t often that He’d been able to tell that I was awake if I didn’t want him to know.

There was a whimper, and then a rough tongue licked across my face. The dog. Which was (hopefully) this ‘Al.’ I didn’t want to deal with more than one man.

The man sighed and walked away. “You gonna keep watch over her, baby girl? I gotta go get a shower.”

Did he think the dog was going to answer him?

As soon as I heard his footsteps going up a set of stairs, I took in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. I needed to get out of there. Immediately.

I just had to slip out without him hearing me or the dog making a scene.

I slowly opened my eyes, even though it still felt like I had washers glued to my lashes.

And there was the fireplace. It was so nice and warm… I hadn’t felt this toasty in years. The basement was always so frigid, and with the lack of blankets provided to me, I was always at least a little cold.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay for a little while…

No. I shook my head as I forced myself to sit up. I couldn’t stay. I had to get out and get down the mountain to civilization.

I gasped as I felt the rough tough on my cheek again, turning to see a huge white dog that looked more like a cloud than an animal. “Shh…” I had to work to get my arms out of the blankets to pet it, but it was then that I realized I was not in my original clothing underneath all the swaddling. My heart sank to my stomach as I felt a wave of panic.

Had he touched me? Was he no better than Him?

I got most of the blankets off and frowned as I looked down at sweatpants and the long sleeved shirt I was wearing. They were far too big for me, but they’d have to do.

I kept my steps feather light as I looked around the space I had found myself in. It was a living room, and rather cozy. Rustic looking. I could see the kitchen to my left, and a silent debate with myself started over whether or not I’d have time to grab food for myself before running. From the way my stomach growled, I knew that I’d have to.

I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, since today was not my scheduled day to eat.

The cloud dog followed me to the fridge, its tail wagging as I grabbed what I could reasonably carry. It took everything within me to not stop and play with her. I hadn’t seen a dog in so long, especially not one so sweet. Its tail kept wagging even as it watched me stealing food.

I was reaching for the jar of pickles when I heard the cocking of a gun, and I turned around to see a large, burly man pointing a handgun at me. The food in my hands dropped to the ground as I threw my hands up, my heart racing. The jar of pickles shattered, the glass flying all over the floor. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I gushed, feeling sweaty under the pressure of the barrel being pointed at me. “I don’t know where I am. I j-just woke up and I’m s-so hungry.”

Bucky’s heart pounded as he got out of the shower, hearing a commotion downstairs.

His instincts took over, and he didn’t have time to even think things through before pulling on a pair of briefs and grabbing his handgun from his bedside table before slipping down the stairs.

He had the gun in both hands as he peeked around the corner, seeing a girl digging through his fridge. It was the cocking of the gun that alerted her to his presence, and she whirled around.

She was pretty, he could acknowledge that much.

It was when she was rambling that suddenly he remembered. The girl in the snow. But he’d been certain that she wouldn’t wake up for at least a few more hours.

His startling blue eyes stayed locked on her as he flipped the safety back on. But he still kept it raised. “Who are you?” He demanded, his voice gruff, deep.

She gave her name, and he frowned. Just a first name? No last?

“Where did you come from?”

“U-Up the mountain,” she said quietly, a few tears rolling down her pretty cheeks. “Please, I… I mean no h-harm. Please. I’ll go. I swear.”

He shook his head, slowly lowering the gun. It wasn’t like she was much of a threat. She clearly had no idea what she was doing. “Don’t be stupid. You already almost froze to death once out in the storm. Leaving would just mean that you wasted my efforts to save your life.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, still not moving from where she was. It sounded more like a question than a statement.

She was skinny. Scary skinny. Of course, he’d seen that when he’d undressed her, but it was even more alarming seeing her in his clothes, seeing how they draped from her frail, bird-like shoulders.

He nodded to the mess around her. “Stay still. I don’t want you cutting your feet on the glass.” Luckily she had the sense to listen as he swept up the glass and pickles, picking up everything around her before mopping.

He didn’t like being close to her, and she clearly didn’t like being close to him either. Good. It meant they would be less likely to step on each other’s toes.

Bucky was already very aware that she was going to have to stay until the snow let up enough for her to leave.

“I’m assuming you’re hungry?” He said as he put the mop away. “You can have food. I’m not going to starve you after rescuing you.”

She nodded, her stomach grumbling. “Yes. Hungry…”

Pointing to the fridge, he leaned back against the kitchen island. “You can get whatever you want.” He watched curiously as she reached into the door and grabbed the container of cottage cheese. “Did you want some warm food?”

“This is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

She was weird. But he couldn’t really judge considering the fact that he had no idea who she was or where she had come from.

Maybe she was a Russian spy or something.

No, that’s stupid, he reminded himself. Your military days are over. No one is looking for you anymore.

He showed her to one of the guest rooms once she finished eating the entire container of cottage cheese, eyeing her in case she vomited. He had no idea how the hell she did that. He liked cottage cheese as much as the next person, but still.

“Um… There’s a shower through there. And I can… get you some more clothes and stuff,” he said softly. He stayed far away, out of her reach, and he noticed her doing the same.

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip as she looked around. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I’ll let you… get to it then,” he said awkwardly. A frown settled across his face as he watched Alpine jump up onto the bed as the girl looked into the bathroom. “Traitor.”

“Can you show me how the shower works?” She asked, poking her head back out. “And… What are the… shower rules here?”

A wave of confusion spread over him. Shower rules? “Uh… Just… let me know if you’re gonna shower soon so I know not to use all the hot water?”

“That’s it?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.” She glanced over at Alpine, who was lying on her bed. “Are you… Are you showering soon?”

Bucky’s head tilted to the side, his brows furrowed. His dark hair was still wet, and he was still in his briefs.

The girl nodded, letting out a weak laugh as her face flushed. “Right. Sorry.” She pointed to the bathroom. “The… shower?”

“Right!” He slipped past her into the bathroom, making sure he didn’t touch her, before showing her how to work the knob and change the temperature. “There we go… Uh… Have a good shower. And I’m James… by the way…” He let out a huff of air as he stood there with his hands on his hips. “Right, um…” He felt a bit awkward as he left quickly then.

I waited until after James had left to lock the bedroom door, swallowing as I shoved the desk chair under the handle.

There was a low whine, and I turned to see the cloud dog still on the bed. I had thought it had left with him. “Hi. I thought you left.” I reached out and scratched behind its ear, the fur soft under my fingers.

After taking a few minutes to just pet the puppy, I headed to the bathroom where the shower was still running, the mirror fogged up.

It had been so long since I’d had a hot shower.

After locking the bathroom door, I stripped off the clothes I’d been given and folded them nicely, laying them on the counter. I could see the scrapes along my hips and cursed, wiping off the mirror so I could attempt to see them better. I was covered in bruises, and the scrapes were clearly fresh.

But I had no idea what James thought of them or where he thought I got them. Fuck.

I’d have to come up with some kind of excuse unless I was ready to tell him just where I’d come from.

Which just felt like it’d be so much work. I wasn’t ready for that yet.

I didn’t come out of my room for the rest of the night. It was the first time I’d ever been truly alone in years.

Even when He was gone, I was never truly alone. Not when cameras captured every square inch of the basement.

When I crawled into bed, the cloud dog curled up against me and rested its head on my back.

I slept better than I had in years. Even if I did end up vomiting up the cottage cheese.

Bucky was still confused by the girl three weeks later. The snow hadn’t let up, which he was kinda upset about because she’d eaten one of the two containers of cottage cheese her first night.

He liked his cottage cheese. And she ate it.

Which, okay. He had been able to tell she was hungry and she clearly needed the food more than he did, but still. She couldn’t have chosen something else?

Now they were having to ration the cottage cheese. They had about half a cup left and they were both waiting for the other one to finish it off.

He was about ready to just tell her to take it.

He also didn’t understand how she’d stolen his dog from him. Alpine had transferred her love and loyalty over to the strange girl within thirty seconds of meeting her, and it appeared that there would be no changing that anytime soon. The dog was always at her side and wouldn’t even go outside to use the bathroom unless she sat on the porch, bundled in one of Bucky’s coats and wrapped in a blanket, and watched her. Al didn’t even sleep with Bucky anymore. She slept with the girl, her head on her back as if she was ensuring that she was still breathing.

On one hand, it was absolutely precious.

On the other, Bucky had lost his cuddle buddy.

But they gave each other a wide berth. They never touched, which he was grateful for. He didn’t… like touch. And he got the implication that she didn’t either.

“You know, you living here kinda reminds me of the 2020 pandemic,” he said nonchalantly as they sat in the living room watching tv. He was on the recliner, and she was curled up on the couch with Alpine in her lap.

Her head tilted to the side as she tore her attention from the movie playing on the tv. “The what?”

Bucky blinked. And then he blinked again. “The… The 2020 pandemic? The pandemic three years ago?” He said slowly, his brows furrowed. “Covid-19? Everyone had to wear masks? America was literally a cesspool of selfish assholes who were so stupid they believed Trump?”

“Trump… Isn’t he that celebrity show host? He was on Home Alone? The Lost in New York one?” She asked.

He was going crazy. He was sure of it.

“What?” She asked, sitting up a little straighter as she crossed her legs applesauce style, causing Alpine to whine before settling back down in her lap. “Did I say something wrong?”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Donald Trump became president in the 2016 election. Then Biden won in 2020.”

Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. “Oh.”

“How did you not know?” He asked.

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around Alpine. “I… haven’t watched the news… in a while…”

The man could understand that, but the whole ‘not watched the news’ in a bit really only worked when it came to things like… like a celebrity doing something stupid or a law being passed. Two whole presidential elections? That was… That was Amish levels of ignorance. Even if she didn’t watch tv, there were billboards and signs and merchandise like those stupid Make America Great Again hats.

As if America had ever been great. And he had a double right to say that, since he’d been a stupid eighteen year old kid that the military had preyed on, getting him to join up and head overseas when America had no reason to be there.

He’d lost his arm because of it.

“How long has it been since you watched the news?” He questioned, his heart racing. He had a bad feeling about it. A really, really bad feeling that settled in his gut.

She buried her face in Alpine’s fur, her shoulders rising and falling as she huffed.

She’d put on some weight since getting there, thankfully. He’d been making sure she got all her protein and started her on vitamins supplements he had.

“Eleven years…”

He paused, blinking slowly. “Eleven years? What the hell do you mean ‘eleven years?’” He took a moment when he saw the way she flinched away from him. He’d figured out pretty quick that she couldn’t handle any raising of the voice. She’d shut down. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But… I still don’t know anything about you except your name. Not even your last name. I don’t know where you came from. I still don’t know how the hell you ended up in my front lawn, half frozen to death. I…” He sighed. “What happened?”

She was quiet for so long that he was sure she wasn’t going to reply. He started to get ready to stand up, letting out a huff.

“I was thirteen,” I said quietly, my voice barely audible. Alpine’s fur was so soft in my fingers and against my cheek. It kept me grounded, kept me tied down to the Earth so I didn’t float away in the cloudy memories that covered the sky in my head.

Bucky was watching me closely, clearly surprised that I’d actually spoken.

My throat felt so dry. “Um… It was a few months after my birthday… And I had just gotten a new phone. It was… It was one of those sliding phones with a full keyboard? It had a touch screen, and it was cherry red.” I couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh as I remembered that stupid phone. I’d been utterly obsessed with it, like any thirteen year old would be. “I was in eighth grade and even though most people I went to school with already had an iPhone, that phone was the coolest thing ever.”

He was watching me in a way that was so intense, so focused. I hadn’t ever had someone look at me like that. Like he was actually listening.

“And, uh… I used to walk to the river in the woods by my house,” I said, my voice growing soft again. “I would go and sit and read on nice days… I didn’t really have… friends. I was a bit of a loner, and new. We’d just moved there that April.” My heart ached. I missed that river. I missed my parents. More than anything. “There was a man that I’d see sometimes at the river fishing…”

Bucky’s breath audibly hitched, and I could see his hands gripping his knees tightly.

“I was lonely,” I said, my voice cracking as I clutched onto Alpine that much tighter. The puppy let out a whine as my eyes water. “I didn’t have any friends yet. I was an o-only child… So, yeah, I’d talk t-to him. I didn’t think it was wrong. I f-figured if he was going to do something, he would’ve done it the f-first eighty times I s-saw him.”

“He took you, didn’t he?” He asked quietly, his voice gravelly.

Avoiding his eyes, I gave a short nod. “Yeah.”

He stood up, his jaw set as he reached for his phone. “We have to call the police. If you were being held in a house on this mountain, then that means whoever took you lives close enough for you to have gotten here in a snowstorm.”

“NO!” I said as I scrambled up. Alpine flopped to the side with a bark as she watched me scramble to knock his cell phone out of his hand. “No cops!” I breathed out, eyes feral.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice soothing as he held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. No cops. I won’t call the cops…”

I could see the confusion on his face, but a wave of relief washed over me as he agreed to not call the cops without asking too many questions. I’d already shared so much.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He asked, casually switching the subject as he sat back down. He didn’t even grab his phone.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” I said as I took my seat again, swallowing thickly. “Can we watch that one you were telling me about?” I asked as Alpine licked my face before settling in my lap once again. “The… The one about the Day of the Dead?”

An easy smile spread across his lips. “Coco? Yeah. We can watch whatever you want.”

There was a shift in the air after she told Bucky about where she’d come from. They still kept a generally wide berth, but… they were closer. He was definitely in no hurry for her to leave. Not when he could keep her safe in his cabin.

He felt a wave of protectiveness every time he thought of her. He had someone to take care of now. Other than Alpine and Steve when they were kids, he’d never had that. Even Rebecca had been so independent growing up.

He liked having someone to protect, to take care of. He liked checking in on her when he woke up in the morning and when he went to bed.

Which he’d started doing once she’d stopped locking her door at night.

Bucky liked preparing her breakfast and coffee for her in the morning, slowly helping her increase her food intake without hurting her tummy. He liked checking in on her and making her laugh with his stupid jokes.

He liked… her. She was easily the prettiest gal he’d seen, even if it was unassuming at first.

But he wasn’t a creep like the man who took her, whoever he was. He wasn’t going to pressure her into being with him just because he was providing her shelter and food.

He wouldn’t use her like that.

And besides, it wasn’t as though she would want him. She had just turned twenty-four that year, and he was forty-one. There was a good seventeen year age gap, and it felt even wider once he’d realized that her education had effectively stopped at thirteen years old.

Of course, he’d started to remedy that. He’d found some kind of online learning platform that he’d remembered from the pandemic. Parents had started the free service in order to make sure that kids were still getting their education as schools shut down and they were pushed into Zoom classes in the autumn of 2020, after America failed and sent them back to school.

She was a lot smarter than she realized, and he made sure to tell her as often as possible.

They had a camaraderie that he hadn’t ever expected to find after he’d pushed Steve away.

Steve had been lucky. He’d been good enough at drawing that he’d gotten a full ride to art school. He didn’t have to enlist in order to have a future.

It wasn’t that Bucky was bitter about that. Steve deserved it. And now Bucky’s job was taking pictures of the mountains he lived on, and he got paid so much that he really only had to work a few months a year.

“You always talk about Steve,” she said softly one night as they ate dinner in the living room, as per their routine. “Do you still talk to him?”

“Uh… No,” he said quietly. “Lately I’ve been thinking about reaching out, though… I miss him.”

Her head tilted to the side as she looked at him, her spoon halfway to her mouth. He’d made chicken tortilla soup, since that had apparently become her favorite. “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking…”

Bucky smiled weakly down at his own half empty bowl. “Well…” His spoon clinked against the side. “It was hard after I came home… from overseas… I’d lost my arm… I wasn’t the same guy I was…” He took a deep breath. “I was angry… at everything… and I took it out on him, even when it wasn’t his fault… And then one day I just packed up and left. Found my way here. I bought this place with the money I had and fixed it up… It was a real dump. Basically foreclosed. But I spent an entire summer fixing it. Had to get it done before the first snow. And it also got me to figure out how to use my prosthetic. It’s some… fancy experimental thing.”

There was a flicker of the lights, and then nothing. It went completely dark. The heater stopped, the clock on the top of the stove went off.

“Bucky?” She whimpered, the fear evident in her voice.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here,” he said as he used his phone flashlight to illuminate the situation a little bit. “I’m gonna find some flashlights, okay? You stay right there with Alpine.”

She nodded, setting her bowl to the side and wrapping her arms around the puppy. “Okay… H-Hurry back.”

Oh, he definitely would. He didn’t wanna leave his bear cub alone for too long.

He found two flashlights in the basement before coming back. “Okay, let’s get all the blankets and stuff together,” he said as he handed her one of them. “It’s gonna get cold real quick without the heating working.” There was no way he was gonna be able to get out to look at the generator with how heavy the snow was falling.

They piled all the blankets up on his bed before she crawled under the mountain of them, Alpine curling up next to her like always.

She watched as Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of his back. She could practically see the steam coming from his ears from how much he was overthinking. “You can take your arm off, you know,” she said quietly, sitting up on her elbows. “I’m… I’m not gonna think it’s weird.”

Bucky let out a weak laugh. “You sure, bear cub?” He asked, his voice wavering. “I don’t want to freak you out…”

“Something that’s a part of you could never be bad,” she said quietly.

His heart stuttered inside his chest. He didn’t know what to say in reply. He’d never had someone say something like that. His hand was shaking as he reached up and undid his prosthetic. It was a whole thing he went through every night and every morning, since it was attached to his nerves. He hissed as it finally came off, setting it in the open case on the ground as he rolled his shoulders a few times to get the tension out.

“See?” She said as she watched him, her eyes running over his back muscles and the scars that covered his shoulder. “There’s nothing bad about you.”

Bucky slowly crawled under the blankets, staying on the other side of the bed. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

“You gonna stay over there all night?’

He blinked, and then he blinked again, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. “I… What?”

She was still sitting up on her elbows, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Her eyes were flickering between the blankets and him. “You don’t have to stay over there… I’m not… gonna break if we cuddle, you know…”

Bucky’s heart stopped inside his chest as his mind went blank. He suddenly wasn’t thinking anymore about how he might hurt her. She wanted him. Or at least… wanted him to cuddle with her.

Which he was more than happy to comply.

I scooted over a little closer to Bucky when I realized he was frozen staring at me. He seemed to be in shock over the fact that I wanted to cuddle.

“Jamie?” I said softly, my fingers grabbing onto his arm and tugging him closer. “Please?”

I watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded.

“I mean… You don’t have to,” I added quickly, feeling a flash of anxiety. What if I had imagined everything? The flirting? The calling me bear cub? “Not if… Not if you don’t want to.”

Maybe my emotional growth was just as stunted as my educational growth.

But then moved closer to the center of the bed, his strong arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me close. So close that I was lying on top of his chest. He was so nice and warm.

And so strong. He wasn’t like one of those guys in Hollywood or the bodybuilders that were all dehydrated in order to look like they had a twenty pack of abs or something. He was the real kind of strong.

It was sexy as hell.

And it had been so long since I’d had a gentle touch… Or had someone hold me just for the sake of holding me.

I hadn’t realized just how badly I needed it until Bucky was holding me close, his lips pressing to my forehead.

“James? If you don’t mind me asking… How did you lose your arm?”

I could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he took in my question.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, I… I want to,” he insisted as he brought me that much closer. His chin rested on top of my head. “I was on break… And these little local kids loved playing hopscotch with us. We’d draw out the hopscotch on the ground and we would use a little rock and all that… Then one day, there was a truck out by the road. One of ours. We didn’t think anything of it even though it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. We figured that out later.” He pressed his lips to my head. He was trembling, even if he was trying to hide it. “We were searching for a good rock to use… and when I got close to grab a rock under the wheel… someone set off a bomb. Blew my arm clean off. It was all in… all in slow motion.” Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I’d rather it be me then one of those little kids though.”

I sighed, squeezing him tight. “You’re a good man, James.” He clearly didn’t wanna think about it anymore, so I quickly changed the subject. “Have you ever had someone braid your hair?” I asked as I reached up, running my fingers through his long hair.

“Can’t say I have,” he said, a chuckle reverberating through his chest. “Why? You wanna braid my hair for me, bear cub?”

I hummed, twirling a strand of his hair around my fingers. “Mm… I think it’d look real pretty braided…”

“Pretty? You calling me pretty?” He snorted.

“Mmhm.”

“Why’s that?”

“‘Cause you’re pretty.”

By the blush on his cheeks, I could tell that he hadn’t ever been called pretty again.

And I knew I’d have to start calling him pretty a lot more.

Bucky had a shy smile on his face as he squeezed me closer to him, burying his face in my hair. “You’re prettier, bear cub.” He kissed my forehead again, humming. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

It was another two months before there was a break in the snow long enough for them to be able to head to town for more groceries. Plus, they needed to stop and get her some clothing that actually fit her.

Not that Bucky didn’t mind her wearing his clothes. He liked it a lot, actually. His little bear cub in his sweaters and such.

But she did want some pants that fit her proper and some underwear, at least.

And she was excited, but clearly anxious. “Come on, Alpine,” she said happily as they ran out to the truck, Bucky following quickly behind.

“You’re adorable,” he said softly as he climbed in the driver’s seat.

“Shut it,” she said, covering her face in Alpine’s white fur.

He was falling for her. Hard. Even after the electric came back on, they hadn’t stopped staying in the same bed. It just felt natural. They hadn’t done anything more than cuddle, but he wasn’t exactly in a rush. Bucky was very happily letting her take the reins when it came to how quick they moved.

But he did wanna talk to her about being together officially at some point.

The one thing he was really worried about was the fact that she still wouldn’t let him call the police.

He just wanted to find the man who had hurt her and wring his neck with his bare hands.

Or at least have him thrown in jail. At the very least.

The first thing they did was get her some clothes and shoes so she could change into them, even though he was pleased to note that she did keep on his sweater.

She looked really, really good in green.

Like, really good.

“We need at least two containers of cottage cheese,” she said as she grabbed them, grinning.

“Oh, yeah?” He asked, coming up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He couldn’t help it. He loved touching her. Preferred to have at least one hand on her at all times. “Better make that three containers, bear cub. From what I remember, someone ate an entire container in one sitting and then promptly threw all of it up.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Her cheeks flushed as she nuzzled into him. “And I only have two hands, James.”

A slow smirk spread over his lips as he looked at her pretty face. He loved getting her all flustered. “I didn’t say you had to grab it all at once.” As if to make a point, he reached over and grabbed a third container, moving to set it in the cart.

It was when he had turned his head away for less than thirty seconds that he heard the sound of plastic hitting the ground, and saw cottage cheese splattered across the marble tiles.

“Bear cub?” He said in confusion as he looked around. But she’d disappeared. His brows furrowed as his eyes met Brock Rumlow’s, who was glowering at him for some fucking reason. His eyes flickered down to his outfit, his heart stopping inside his chest when he saw the badge.

Brock Rumlow was a police officer.

His bear cub hated cops and refused to let him call the cops.

She’d disappeared when she saw him.

Fuck.

He didn’t like the thoughts that were running in his head.

Bucky had to find her before Brock did.

He didn’t even attempt to act nonchalant as he ran through the store, leaving the cart there. His heart was absolutely racing.

Alpine wasn’t sitting outside the front door where they’d left her.

He rushed to the parking lot, breathing out a sigh of relief when he found her and Alpine in the truck, huddled down on the floor. “Oh, thank fuck,” he breathed out as he got in the driver’s seat. He didn’t even buckle before he was peeling out of the parking lot. “He’s not gonna touch you, baby. I promise.”

She looked up at him with glassy eyes, tears staining down her soft cheeks. “H-He… He’s the one who…”

“I know,” he said quietly as he reached over to take her hand, intertwining their fingers and squeezing. He was flying up the mountain as fast as he could without spinning out, heading for the cabin. “I know that it’s him. But he’s not going to touch you, okay? I’m not gonna let him. I’m gonna protect you.” He handed her his phone out of his pocket. “Bear cub, can you go to my contacts and call Sam? Tell him we need him as soon as possible.”

She nodded, her hands trembling as she found the name and called. “H-Hello? This is Bucky’s friend and w-we need someone at Bucky’s immediately. Please.”

When they got back to the cabin, he rushed her inside. “Go upstairs to our bedroom, lock the door, and then go to the bathroom and lock the door,” he said. “Take the handgun in my bedside table with you.”

“J-Jamie, I’m scared,” she whimpered, her hands shaking.

He rushed forward, his hands holding her face as he pulled her into a kiss. “It’s all gonna be okay. But don’t come out for anyone that isn’t me, alright?” He said softly, caressing her cheeks. “Take Alpine with you.”

She nodded, and he let out a sigh of relief as she went.

He grabbed the gun he had hidden in the living room, quickly loading it. He knew that Rumlow would be coming up after them, especially if he was the one who had kept his precious girl kidnapped for over a decade.

He had a lot to lose.

But so did Bucky. He’d just gotten his girl, and he wasn’t losing her anytime soon.

Bucky Barnes would not be losing the one person that made him feel human again.

And if it came down to it, and he died protecting her, he’d be okay with that as long as she was safe. He’d just have to bring down Brock with him.

He stiffened as he heard the car pull into the drive with a roar and then the slamming of the door. He knew it wasn’t Sam. It would take him longer than that to get up there considering when they’d called.

Brock didn’t even bother knocking. He shot through the lock and threw the door open.

It was all a blur. Bucky shot at him and managed to catch him in the thigh, but Brock just kept coming. He was pretty sure he had a bulletproof vest on, too.

“So this is where the little brat’s been?” Brock snarled, glaring as he pointed the gun at him. “I figured she’d died out in the snow. Would’ve been better if she had.”

Bucky wasn’t going to dignify it with a response. He knew Brock was just trying to rile him up to get him to fuck up. And he couldn’t let that happen when his girl’s life was on the line.

What he did do was aim at Brock’s hand and get him to drop the gun before he rushed forward and pinned him to the ground to wait for Sam. He shoved him to the ground, glaring at him harshly. “You will never touch her again,” he hissed, emphasizing each word as his hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed threateningly. “And I’d fucking kill you now, but you don’t deserve a quick death.” He spit in his face. “I want you to get put in prison for life, and I want to hear about how your ass is getting kicked everyday for kidnapping and raping a little girl, and holding her hostage for over a decade. I’m gonna personally make sure you never see the light of day again.”

As soon as the door opened and Sam came in with two other officers, he lifted his hands in surrender, getting off him once he knew that Brock wouldn’t be able to get out.

Before anyone could stop to question him, he ran upstairs. “BABY?” He called out as he knocked on the bedroom door.

It took less than thirty seconds for his girl to open the door and throw herself into his arms, Alpine barking excitedly behind her.

“Hey, Alpine,” he said with a laugh as he scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as she buried her face in his neck. “Did you protect your mama? Yeah?”

She let out a weak laugh as she nuzzled in further. “Are you okay?” She asked, her voice cracking as she pulled back to look at him, holding his face as she checked him for injuries.

“Bear cub, he didn’t even touch me,” he said softly, holding her close. “He’s in cuffs now, being put in the back of a cop car to go to prison…” He kissed her forehead. “He can’t ever get near you again. They’re gonna search his place and it’ll all be over. You never have to go back there ever again.”

I jerked awake, letting out a broken scream. Sweat dripped down my back, tears rolling down my cheeks.

Alpine let out a worried whine from where she laid on my feet, keeping them toasty.

“Hey… Hey, I’m here,” Bucky whispered sleepily as he brought me into his chest with his one arm. His prosthetic had been taken off earlier. “I’ve got you, bear cub… I’m right here…”

I crumbled into tears as I was pulled onto his lap, my nose brushing against his neck. “J-Jamie…”

“Was it the dream again?”

I nodded, my hands grasping at him to hold him close. “I wa-was back in that basement… W-With Him.”

He had gotten to see the basement first hand. The concrete walls. The dirty mattress that rested on the ground without any sheets. The bugs and the rats that I had shared that space with. The broken window that Brock had covered with a trash bag. The cameras.

He’d seen me through the whole trial.

It didn’t take long for Brock to be put on trial and found guilty. Hell, the jury only deliberated for an hour before coming back and giving their verdict.

With all the evidence from his cabin and his own poor defense, I didn’t even have to testify, which was a relief.

The piece of shit actually thought he’d get off easy. But he got fifty years, and considering he was already over forty, it wasn’t likely that he’d ever get to leave prison again.

There was a bit of… question about what would happen to me after. Where I would go.

My parents came to see me at Bucky’s, and they started talking about me going home with them and how they still had my room all set up.

But I just couldn’t leave Bucky and Alpine. Not after everything.

And as much as I knew that me being taken wasn’t their fault, I didn’t feel safe with them like I did with him.

I thought Bucky was going to cry when I said that I wanted to stay with him. He’d rushed to reassure them that he was going to take care of me and he was already working on helping me get my GED.

They seemed to like him, which was good.

And yeah. The nightmares still came back sometimes. I would always be haunted, even with my therapists’ help.

“I’ve got you… He’s never gonna touch you again. You’re safe,” Bucky whispered as he kissed my cheek. He pulled back, his hand cupping my face. “I love you. And I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again. And you know Alpine won’t.”

“I know,” I said softly as I rested my head against his chest as he laid us down again. “I love you, too.”

No, the nightmares didn’t go away. But that didn’t matter when I had Bucky.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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son-fuori-di-me · 3 years

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"I had no idea I could change someone's life."

One Shot. Word Count | Around 3300. Description | <French female pov> you're visiting Rome for the first time, and you casually meet Damiano David the day before the Circo Massimo concert. The conversation takes a unexpected path.

Content | Real talk. No romantic development. * Expect French idioms and italian approximations from automatic translators

---

"Bordel, c'est immense !" ("Holy cow, that's big !") I said, looking at the Circo Massimo.

It was my first time in Rome. Knowing Italy a bit, I expected a hell lot of sun, a delicious bunch of ice cream for each meal, and tons of pretty things to snap with my phone. Well, that was the plan for my first two days there. Cause Saturday would be a very different day. Saturday would be Måneskin day.

I've been waiting for so long to do this trip. And what a blast it has been for now. Took only a bag, my external battery, some makeup and my favourite clothes to finally discover this astonishing city. This was my first solo trip. I've always travelled with my family or my ex, but never on my own. For once, I could decide what I wanted to see, what I wanted to eat, when to take a break. And as there are plenty of things to see in Rome, i wanted to enjoy every second of my trip. I could focus my last day there solely to the Måneskin concert happening that Saturday night. But as I didn't want to leave anything to chance, I decided to precisely organize my last day, so I could visit a bit more - a get a last fantastic meal before the concert.

I got myself a gold pit ticket. I guessed that would mean I had a special queue. So on Friday night, as I was back from a late tour in town, I decided to watch more closely the Circo, to check for the entrances, and see how I could sharpen my organization and schedule for the next day.

"J'espère que je vais pas avoir à poireauter toute la journée, avec la chaleur qu'il va faire." ("I hope won't have to hang around here all day tomorrow, the weather's gonna be hot as hell")

It was almost 10 pm. I was getting closer to the Circo, trying to read the boards, but all was written in italian and didn't seem to concern the concert. And a year fangirling over Måneskin clearly wasn't enough to become fluent. I saw no sign mentioning "gold pit". So I decided I would ask around, with Google translate ready in my phone in case I couldn't find anyone speaking English.

I saw a guy sit on a bench, smoking. He was dressed in an ugly dark sweater, with the hood over a cap. He was either a drug dealer or a hobbo. My instinct as a girl living in Paris got the uphand and I decided to ignore the guy and try to find a woman instead, or maybe a group of locals, to get me the information I wanted. Unfortunately, after a good 20 minutes walking around and asking people, no one could tell me how to make sure I find the right queue for the concert. I was about to give up and head back to my airbnb and I saw a silhouette still sitting on a bench, near the Circo. It was the same guy from earlier. "Bon, je tente, s'il est trop chelou, je me barre." ("Well, might as well take the risk, if he's too much a weirdo, I clear off quickly.")

"Scusi, do you speak English ?" i said, getting closer to the guy, but still from a good distance in case it turned wrong.

"Pretty good. You need something ?" He was searching something in his pockets and reached his pack of cigarettes. His voice was deep, but gentle. He did look funny but didn't sound dangerous - i still didn't get too close as I hate the smell of smoke.

"Do you know well il Circo Massimo ? I'm going to a concert here tomorrow and I want to make sure I find the right queue, but they haven't installed any sign yet". I asked, showing the structure of the stage behind me.

"Cute accent, where are you from ?" he answered, completely ignoring my question.

"Well, I'm French. So, do you know il Circo ?" I preferred to quickly repeat my question to let him know I wasn't interested in whatever he was trying to.

"Ah, Bonjour ! I speak a little French !" He said, now reaching for his lighter.

"Yeeaaaah cool, but how about the Circo ? I'd like to be here early enough, but I don't know wh-" I froze as he lighted up his cigarette. It was brief, but with the spark, I saw his face for a second.

"Hm ? You don't know what ?" He asked, with a smirky voice.

"Mais naaaan ?" ("Dont tell me -") I let out that typical French astonished sound without thinking. "You gotta be kidding me !"

He laughed as I was getting a little closer, staring at him. With one hand, he was putting his lighter back in his pocket, with the other, he lifted a bit his cap. It was him. It was Damiano.

I felt my spine shiver with that uncomfortable sensation of being around someone famous. As a journalist, I had my lot of interviews, so I knew there's no point in changing behavior around such people. But I still was flabbergasted to see him.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Well, gotta say you're not dressed in your best outfit !" I chose the strategy of sass, to hide how impressed I actually was.

"That's my favourite sweater you're seeing me in, and I'm smoking hot in it" He said with a smirk, getting into the sassy game.

"Time off before the big day ?" I asked, completely forgotting about my initial request and switching to my interview mindset when I'm super focused about the conversation. "Shouldn't you be having a great night of sleep, to recharge your batteries ?"

"I don't feel like going to bed" He said, having no idea how the conversation would soon turn. Fortunately for him, I wasn't working in the music media industry. "That's quite a stage we're gonna play on."

I didn't know why he was talking to me about all of this. I didn't dare to ask him either. I just enjoyed the moment.

"Well, the Eurovision song contest was bigger, wasn't it ?"

"Hm, don't tell me about it, I still don't know how I managed that."

He suddenly had a strange tone in his voice. It didn't sound like the radiant and confident Damiano you see on Instagram stories or on TV interviews. I remembered where I heard him like that. In the 2019 documentary "This is Måneskin", the making of Il Ballo Della Vita album, in the sequence he's arguing with Vic on a train, as he tells her how anxious he can be get sometimes.

"Well, you did, didn't you ?" I put on a more serious voice. "And you had a ton more of pressure, representing your whole country ? So how a concert here in your home town could be worst than performing in front of all of Europe - not to say the whole world ?"

He was still smoking, listening in silence.

"Or maybe it isn't about how big the performance is but about performing in itself ? Why are you performing ? Why are you putting on a show ? All those fancy clothes and that makeup, who is it for ? For people to love you ? Or for you to love yourself ?"

Mais qu'est-ce que je branle ? Il va se barrer dans deux secondes, là c'est sûr (What the fuck am I doing ? He's leaving any second now.) I got a bit too excited about being able to share a few words with him. What's gotten onto me ? Well, let's go then.

"What is it you're running after ? Or running from maybe ? Some complex to compensate ? With all that smudge and confidence, that wouldn't surprise me."

He sat back on the bench. As he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, I saw a smile on his face. But I also saw his hand holding the cigarette shaking.

"Are you a psychiatrist or something ?" He simply said, as if he was trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

I hesitated to tell him the truth. I was sure he would walk away the second he would know my actual job. Et puis merde, autant tout dire. (Well, fuck, might as well be honest.)

"Nope, I'm a journalist." I admited, as he looked right back at me with a surprised look. "Pretty much the same. We get appoitments with random people, listen to their life, observe their body language, and tell them our whole opinion about all of it, which might very well shape how they perceive themselves from now on."

"Only difference is that you don't have to keep anything secret. Right the contrary."

There. This was it. He was gonna leave now, for sure.

"Before you go, did I hit any truth ? Don't worry, I'm not in the music media industry, I won't write anything from our conversation." I hoped this information would save me a few more seconds with him.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't leave either. He kept looking at me, still smoking his second cigarette in a row now.

"Whatever it is you write about, I guess you must be good at it" he finally replied. "Cause you did score a few points."

Another short silence broke. As a fan, I was obsessed with his music, lyrics, and attitude. But catching a glimpse of what lied behind the glamour definitly caught my interest. I wanted to know more.

"Why are you here ?" I slightly deepened my voice, getting back to my interview tone, and kept on going with this as if that was usual business for me. "It's half past 10. You play on Rome's largest stage tomorrow. You surely better should be in bed, or be about to, before the big day."

In that moment, I had the upper-hand in the conversation. He was sat on the bench, I was on my feet in front of him, and therefore above him. Not the best approach to get someone's trust for an interview, but with a personnality like Damiano's, you gotta put your own show.

"I actually don't sleep much before big events like these" He finally answered, accepting his condition as an interviewee. "I don't sleep much at all."

"You're tend to insomnia ?"

"Not really, I just got used to 4-5 hours of sleep, that's it."

"Even during tours ? Cause this all sold-out European tour for Teatro d'Ira must have been exhausting".

"You have no idea, bellezza."

"So tell me." From there, I decided to change my strategy and sat on the ground, still in front of him, but giving him the upper-hand, to put on a more trustful atmosphere. "How are you doing ? And I don't mean, like casual 'yay, fine', I mean : how are you doing ?"

I still have no idea of my tactical move of giving him more space to express himself worked, or if he understood right away where I was leading him, but in the end, he still didn't seem bothered by this conversation we were having. In fact, it looked like he was enjoying it.

"I'm... content, I'd say." He paused, and I didn't interrupt him with another question this time. "I know I'm going through the life I wanted. The music, the tours, the praise. It's all I could have ever asked for."

D'accord, très bien, mais ? (Okey, very good, but ?) I stayed silent, but I couldn't help anticipating what he was saying.

"But surprisingly, sometimes it's still... unfulfilling. Like I can never be satisfied".

Repressing some Hamilton's lyrics from my mind, I innocently pretend I didn't fully understand what he meant - another journalistic technique, to get someone to repeat themselves with other words in order to get them deeper into their reflexion.

"What do you mean, "never be satisfied" ? You're on top of Spotify chart list, your albums are now platinum successes, you're winning awards. How is this not satisfying ?"

"It's just... What are all those things for ? Money ? Fame ? Yeah, I like those but..."

"Typical Capricorn" I muttered, to slide in the conversation that I actually knew pretty well my subject - my subject being him. He chuckled.

"Damn really ? Let me guess ? Aries ?"

"Pisces+Taurus, actually. So what, you don't like being famous ?" Getting back quickly into more questions - another technique to keep control over the rhythm of an interview.

"It's not that I dislike it. It's just... not always as fun as I thought it would be."

"What part of the job ? The writing and composing ?"

"No, that's the best part." He reached for a third cigarette. It was almost 11 pm now. "Vic, Thomas and Ethan. Måneskin. They're the best thing that ever happened to me".

"Then what, you feel like a fraud ?"

"Hell, no ! I'm exactly where I should be." He claimed, with a light pride tone.

"So, if you're proud of what you create, and if you love the people you create that with, then what is the matter ? If life is about getting the Bare Necessities, it seems like you got it all." Hitting with a universal - and musical - reference. Shoud do the trick.

"Hahaha ! Lo stretto indispensabile, si ! But life isn't that easy." He said laughing, as I felt he started to let go of the tension. "In real life, you get judged all the time, and people try to dismantle you, and spread rumors."

"I didn't think you'd be one to listen to people's comments about you".

"I'm not. I stopped giving credits to those. But it's still here, you know ?"

"From what I see, you're keeping it real, with lots of wisdom. I can't quite grasp what seem to bother you."

He paused, looking at his feet for a few seconds.

"I'm afraid it won't last." He finally confessed. "I'm afraid it all ends as quickly as it all started. I'm afraid people get bored. I'm afraid I become a caricature of myself. I'm afraid I can't write new songs. I'm afraid to be a shooting star, you see ? Very bright, but gone in a flash."

"Like, to be an Icare ? Or may I say "Ykaaar" like on your Instagram ?"

He chuckled again.

"Huh, I'm that obvious ?"

"Yeah, even a bit over-the-top, if I may dare say so."

"Well, I've always related so much with this mythological figure. I mean what's wrong with aiming for the Sun ?" He said, pointing a hand to the dark sky above us. From his attitude, I could tell he was way more relaxed than in the beginning. He even took his cap and hood off, so I could now see his face more clearly. His eyes were glittering. "Burning your wings... What's that morale supposed to teach us ? Be modest ? Be moderate ? Che noia !" (How boring !)

"Well don't be !" I felt almost like scolding him. "There's nothing wrong with seeking big dreams. As there's nothing wrong with this feeling of being outrun by your life. Savour the moment. Every second of it. It's because you can't know how long it may last that it tastes so good, so thrilling ! And you actually already are ten steps ahead ! Writing songs like ´Torna a casa' or ´Coraline' at, what, 19-20 years old ? You're the real deal, dude. And even if later on, you get blank page anxiety or write just good-enough songs, it's okey. You got plenty of time to make mistakes. Take the leap of faith. Failing and being a failure aren't the same. You learn, you grow from it. It's okey to doubt yourself, but please, don't ever doubt all the love and support you get."

I paused, hoping I didn't do too far and missed my point. But in a way, I could also feel I got it right. He was looking at the Circo, his eyes even more sparkling than before.

"I..." He got up, standing on the bench, looking as tall as a statue from my perspective. He came down and took a few steps. I got on my feet, starting to feel concerned about what I just said.

"I didn't know I needed to hear that." He finally confided. "I always wanna reach perfection. I'm aware I can be authoritative, sometimes even harsh, on the band. I can't accept to be a failure. But love and support, that, I can't get enough of."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to add. This instant felt like an hour. The wind was slightly blowing through the length of the Circo in front of us. His hair reflected the gentle light of the moon, only showing her first quarter. He broke the tranquility of the moment, turning and taking a few steps in my direction.

"Grazie mille" he said, his arms opened, calling for a hug.

"But, you're very welcome" I said approaching him, softly putting my arms on his back as he put his over my shoulders. The second before his face disappeared from my vision, i noticed a tear on his cheek.

"You've completed reset my mind. I feel like I can start all over again. I was anguished, trapped by my anxiety. But it's all gone now. You've changed me. Thank you, thank you so much" He affirmed full of hope, his voice shivering.

"Wow, well. I had no idea I could change someone's life." I answered, trying to hide how moved I myself was from the conversation.

------

It was almost midnight now. We kept talking for a while, comparing life in Rome and Paris, exchanging what was our best concert experiences. But he still needed to get back home to rest before the concert, and I didn't want to arrive too late at my airbnb - even if I could have spent the whole night talking with him. Yet, to enjoy our last few minutes together, he offered to walk me back to where I was staying. It was just a 15 minutes walk, along the Tevere river bank.

"So tell me." he asked with a smirk. "How does the Bare Necessities go in French ?" He started to muffle the melody.

"Oh no, you don't expect me to actually sing it ?"

"Hehe, you got me into a therapy session, so I can get a little song from you, no ?"

"Damn, you. This is blackmail !" But drunk on the moment, I took a deep breath.

"Il en faut peeeeeeu pour être heureux, ("Look for the baaaaare necessities,") vraiment très peu pour être heureux, ("the simple bare necessities") il faut se satisfaire du nécessaire !" ("Forget about your worries and your strife")"

I started dancing along, if I had to be ridiculous, might as well utterly be. But he actually followed my lead, clicking his fingers.

"In fondo, baaaasta il minimo, ("I mean the baaaaare necessities") sapessi quanto è facile ("Old Mother Nature's recipes") Trovar quel po' che occorre per campar ! ("That brings the bare necessities of life !")

We kept on singing Disney songs for a few minutes as we walked at a slow pace - I was shocked he never saw Tarzan and immediately made him promise to watch it as i told him Phil Collins recorded all the songs in five languages, including Italian. When we finally reached my destination, we exchanged a last timid hug as farewell.

"Well, I'll see you on stage tomorrow." I told him as I crossed the street.

"And I'll look for you in the crowd !" He shouted with the brightest smile on his perfect face.

** the end **

#maneskin #damiano david #maneskin imagine #damiano david x reader #maneskin x reader #my writing

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ifuckinglovestvincent · 3 years

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NY TIMES: St. Vincent Is Trying to Understand People

As she releases her sixth album, “Daddy’s Home,” the musician expounds on the lengthy documentaries, Janet Jackson bust and Joni Mitchell album that feed her creativity.

By Olivia Horn

May 4, 2021, 10:00 a.m. ET

Despite the hardships of the past year, Annie Clark’s sixth studio album came together with remarkable ease. “Maybe I earned a fun one,” Clark, who records under the name St. Vincent, mused. “Usually there’s some kind of ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ moment. And there just wasn’t.”

Clark, 38, spent much of 2020 shuttling between her home in Los Angeles and her family’s in Texas. But the record (“Daddy’s Home,” due May 14) was born at Electric Lady Studios in Manhattan, where she and her repeat collaborator Jack Antonoff landed on 1970s New York as their lodestar. The resulting songs ease away from the angular art-pop of “Masseduction” from 2017, opting for gentler, slouchier rock. The relative softness corresponds to Clark’s effort to treat the troubled, complicated characters that populate her record with care. Among them are the broke and lovelorn protagonist of the lead single “Pay Your Way in Pain,” Nina Simone, Marilyn Monroe and her own father, whose release from prison in 2019 inspired the title track.

Clark confessed that she did not meet her quarantine goals of learning conversational Italian or writing a tour bus cookbook, but she did read some books about the gulag. Calling from her “utilitarian” Los Angeles studio, she detailed 10 of her favorite things to watch, read and hear — many of her picks reflecting a fascination with history and an eagerness to unpack social and aesthetic violence. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.

1. William Scott Sculptures

I discovered William Scott’s work through David Byrne, at his place in New York. And when we were on tour with “Love This Giant,” we went to Creative Growth in Oakland [a nonprofit that supports artists with disabilities]. I had my eye on this bust of Janet Jackson. And then when I was back, I went and bought a bust of CeCe Winans. So I have these busts in my library.

A lot of the artists whose work I collect are people who are marginalized from society in one way or another. What I like about it is that the expression feels very pure. These are people who might not have all of the tools at their disposal or the education, or any of that, but they are compelled to make work. That kind of irrepressible urge in people — that I just find so inspiring and heartening and cool. And it’s completely divorced from any of the status of the quote, unquote, “art world.”

2. Adam Curtis’s Documentary Series “Century of the Self”

The way his work has been described is as emotional history or impressionistic history. The lines that he draws between events and trends are not exactly “A plus B equals C,” but the general thesis is like, “the collective consciousness is saying this.” As a writer, I’m always trying to understand systems and understand people.

3. Ric Burns’s “New York: A Documentary Film”

I used to live in a rent-controlled place in the East Village. But it was shady how I lived there, so I was never able to get utilities in my name. I lived there for 10 years and I didn’t have the internet, so I had DVDs. I used to go to Kim’s Video all the time and buy DVDs so when I would wake up hung over and be like, “Oh, just can’t quite make it out of bed today,” I would have something to put on. If I wanted to watch something it wasn’t like “Netflix and chill.” I associate that Ric Burns documentary with being either hung over or tired or both, and watching it in my bed.

4. Joni Mitchell’s “Hejira”

This is one of those Joni Mitchell records that I didn’t hear until I was in my early 20s. Everybody knows “Blue” and “Ladies of the Canyon,” but this is when I became a Joni Mitchell fan, with a capital F. This record’s just so deep. Her lyrics are … Cubist. I’m thinking of the one where she’s like, “In the mirrors of a modern bank/From the window of a hotel room.” And it’s all wiggles, you know? It’s like water, that record. And I don’t mean to make it about me, but I feel like I can understand some of the things that Joni talks about, like the refuge of the road, or watching the world from an airplane or being in a hotel room.

5. Maggie Nelson’s “The Art of Cruelty”

This is one of those books that I picked up six times and would get through a few pages and be like, “This is really brilliant,” but it felt impenetrable at first. Then I had this one weekend where the clouds parted, and I just could see it and plowed through it. It talks about the ethics of being an artist in a way that is so brilliant, and so not orthodox or finger wagging. I think it’s one of those books you can revisit at various points of your life.

6. Her Own STV Signature Series Guitar

Part of it was inspired by Klaus Nomi’s tuxedo. And I wanted it to hit my sternum in a particular way. I am cis female, so the way that it hits the sternum and then has a little bit of a cutaway, it makes room for my breast. But just one of them. There’s only room for one! I love it. It’s the only electric that I play, with very rare exception.

I saw people’s pictures of it from the Met [in the exhibition “Play It Loud: Instruments of Rock & Roll”], because I never got a chance to go and see it in real life. Most of the time, I just kind of like quietly put my head down and work — and then every once in a while, I look up and see something that I’ve made, and it’s mysterious that it’s in the world.

7. Wim Wenders’s “Pina”

I love Pina Bausch’s work. I was really inspired by “The Rite of Spring,” where the virgin dances herself to death. There’s this one particular movement that was like, drawing your hand above your head, and then when you pull it down, your elbow goes into your stomach — sort of like you’re open and then you’re impaling yourself. It just moved me to tears. So when I worked with my friend Annie-B Parson to choreograph the Digital Witness Tour, I was like, “Can we please incorporate this?” Another big thing: I was obsessed with falling. That was another big part of the Bausch work. How do you fall and make it look violent but not hurt yourself? I’d get a rehearsal room with Annie-B and just practice falling.

8. Vintage RCA 77-D Microphone

It’s an old ribbon mic, and it just sounds so good and warm. I know these are words that might not mean that much — when people describe sound as warm, it’s reductive. But it makes things sound and feel true. I don’t mean that it has perfect fidelity. What I mean is that when you sing into this microphone, what comes back at you feels honest. My friend Cian Riordan, who mixed “Daddy’s Home,” hipped me to this mic.

9. “Hidden Brain” Podcast

There was one recently about the idea of honor culture. You know, if someone is insulting someone’s masculinity and masculinity is tied up with honor, you have to avenge that insult. A lot of these “honor societies” end up with more violence because you have to save face and there’s less ways to assimilate conflict. The premise of so much of “Hidden Brain” is that we live by the stories we tell ourselves. And as a storyteller, that idea is very liberating to me, because if we live by the stories we tell ourselves, it means that when we get new information, we can assimilate that information and tell ourselves new stories.

10. Piazza della Signoria in Florence

The first time I was there was with my mom and sisters. I remember just walking through this piazza and having a wonderful time and wonderful conversation, and really being awe-struck by the architecture and the history, and just that life was beautiful. Another time, a number of years later, I was on tour with David Byrne and we had our last show in Florence, and I remember walking through with band members and then having the best dinner of my life after. It’s one of those places where, at very pivotal points of my life, I’ve been there and only beautiful things have happened to me.

#st vincent #annie clark #interviews #i like when interviews/articles contain lil nugs no one has heard about before #such as this one with the shady living situaish in the rent controlled apt #and KIM’S VIDEO #WHICH I ALSO WENT TO WHEN I LIVED IN NY #I feel like we’d always go there to get weird obscure hard to find movies #also:#re:re: ‘warm’ think the term she is looking for is ‘like butter on tiddies’#’WELL ITS WARM’#are those m&ms ive done those #nice brain btw #🦦

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

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3. More Than a Song

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.7k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: prepare for ANGST! and dunkirk premiere harry aka one of his best looks ever :) also thank u to @havethetimeofyourstyles for making my line breaks bc i’m inept at making things xoxo

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

“Baby,” Harry said, turning to her from where he stood in his closet. “Can you help me with my collar? I can’t get it.”

Y/N set down her phone—she was ready first, which wasn’t surprising considering it took Harry ages to get ready, partially because he kept getting distracted with her. He’d touch her, run his hands all over her, ask if he could get her out of her lingerie, and she’d have to remind him that she’d barely even had it on and they had an important event. “Sure.”

Harry looked dashing—he always did. After much debate, they had decided on a simple white silk short-sleeved button down and a pair of flared black pants, cool enough for May in LA, but still perfectly Harry. Y/N had painted his nails last night a pastel purple while they had watched a documentary about sheep—which Harry had selected—and the color popped against the neutrals of the rest of the outfit. Shoes were still up in the air, but Y/N was trying to get him to wear the yellow loafers he’d gotten recently, the ones she was so obsessed with she was considering stealing for herself.

Somehow Harry always managed to mess up his collars before big nights, the nerves probably getting to him. Y/N smoothed the material on his shoulders to relax him before popping up his collar and folding it back down crisply. “There you go.” In the mirror in front of Harry, her eyes trailed down his body, from his sweet curls she had labored over styling in the bathroom, to the recently tailored pants he wore. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, a smile dancing onto Harry’s face at the action. “Nervous, bubs?”

He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Bit. More for you to hear it than anyone else.”

The honesty of his statement brought butterflies to her tummy. Harry had been in and out of meetings for the past few months getting together the release of his debut album and putting the final touches on it, but at no point had he let her hear it. She suspected it was because he was scared she’d hate it, but when she asked her dad about it, he told her to think about it as his journal. His journal of a past that Y/N hadn’t been a part of. That had made Y/N understand a bit better, the prospect of being nervous of what she’d think of him more the worry than a worry of what she’d think of the music. So she nuzzled her nose into his shoulder, careful not to get lipstick on the fabric, and told him, “I’m going to love it. It’ll be perfect, just like you.”

Harry’s arms wrapped backwards so he could hold her to him and they stood there, holding one another, basking in each other’s presence before everyone else arrived. It had been a busy couple months for them to start a relationship—Y/N was swamped at work, her boss having left so she had to take on extra work, and Harry was releasing his album, Dunkirk was coming out in the summer, and his tour started in the fall. It was a lot to say the least, and Y/N tried not to think about it too often because she’d get all in her head and ignore Harry’s texts for hours until he called her and asked her if she wanted gummy worms or Hershey’s for movie night. Then, she’d remind herself that they were doing good—really good, even. Better than other relationships that she had been in for this long. Usually this was when she got bored, but with Harry she kept falling for him more and more every day they spent with each other.

He was like a drug, and she was addicted.

“We should head down,” Y/N said, brushing back from him. “Wear the yellow ones, yeah?”

He mumbled something under his breath about her being bossy and coming for Lambert’s job and she snorted, leaving him in the walk-in closet to straighten himself out. Her phone in her hand, she slipped on her heels, a summer sandal with a platform so her feet didn’t hurt, the perfect compliment to her flowing sundress she’d selected for the release party. When Harry had seen it he’d promptly asked if she could take it off so he could ravish her, so she decided it was a good choice. It emphasized her curves in a way that made her feel confident and she’d pinned her hair over one shoulder, the earrings Harry had gotten her for their three-month anniversary on display.

Re-emerging, Harry rolled his eyes over her body and she gave him a soft smile at the way his eyes screamed with desire. “See something you like?”

“Fuck yes,” he cursed. “Can’t wait to have you all to myself later.” Hands in hers, he pressed a searing kiss to her lips, the kind that made her toes curl, before pulling back. “C’mon, Azoff is yelling at me over text about being late to my own party.”

“It’s literally downstairs,” she pointed out. “He’s just mad he can’t embarrass you in front of your friends.”

Harry laughed, arm tucked around her waist as they descended the stairs of his house. He’d bought it at the end of February, a birthday gift to himself, and Y/N had thought to herself at the time that it wasn’t about her, it was about him. But it was kind of hard whenever he had her help him pick out all the furniture, making sure she approved of the colors he painted the walls and the patio furniture.

Downstairs, the party was in full force. Harry hadn’t invited too many people, mostly the same crowd as his birthday. Since it was at his house, he was hesitant to give the address out to too many people, but ultimately he wanted to be able to do whatever the fuck he wanted to celebrate, no paps around. Also, it was hot and he had a pool, so he had told everyone to bring a swimsuit just in case they wanted to take a dip. Y/N had persuaded him to keep it simple and they’d ordered pizza from his favorite place and she made some a ton of margaritas for everyone to help themselves to. Jeff was left in charge of the door when Harry was late finishing getting dressed, and she could tell that he had done a fine job. The tunes were going, people were drinking, and everyone seemed happy. He had even put the album countdown that Y/N had spent two hours making that morning on the TV.

“Stay close to me, please?” Harry asked her, bending his head to whisper in her ear when they reached the group.

Y/N nodded, and Harry began happily talking to Jeff. Y/N started up a conversation with another one of the Full Stop employees who had come who she’d met at a brunch a few weeks ago, plucking some details from her brain about her boyfriend to check-in about. Then, a familiar face flashed in the crowd. “Hanna!”

Harry had suggested the idea of inviting her best friends to the party and Y/N had leapt at the idea. The prospect of having her two favorite people be there with her to celebrate her boyfriend was her idea of a perfect night. Hanna’s red hair popped up, her smile giddy from seeing Y/N. Cutting through the crowd, she quickly made it to Y/N, who wrapped her best friend up in a tight hug.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said. “Find it okay?”

Hanna nodded. “Security at the gate did not want to let me in though. Jamie is on his way—Cole called while he was walking out the door.” Jamie and Cole had been together for years and Y/N decided the first time she met Cole that there wasn’t anyone better for Jamie, and Jamie seemed to agree. “How are you?”

“Amazing,” Y/N replied and she truly was. She felt like she was on cloud nine right now, the energy bouncing off of Harry absorbing into every one of her pores. “Excited to finally hear it.”

“You should be.” Hanna leaned over and tapped Harry on the shoulder.

His attention shifted from some work-related conversation with Jeff quickly over to his girlfriend’s best friend. “Oh, hello Hanna,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“No place I’d rather be,” Hanna replied. “Now can I steal Y/N?”

Harry’s eyes lingered on Y/N, but he gave her a warm smile. “‘Course.”

Y/N followed her best friend out onto the patio, giving hugs and saying hello to the friends of Harry’s she’d met during the past few months of them being together. Harry watched her with awe at how well she had fit into his life, she’d succeeded faster than any other girl he’d ever dated. The tidbits of information she remembered and the way she made an effort to be present in the conversations, her deep knowledge of music and the industry coming in handy. He loved having a girl at her side who knew what all of his team did without him having to explain it to her. It was small, but it made a difference to him.

“H,” Mitch said, pulling his gaze from his girlfriend back to the conversation he’d been having with Mitch, Adam, and Sarah. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking a sip of the margaritas Y/N had made for the party. She’d slaved over them all day while he was on calls and doing interviews and he appreciated it so much. He reminded himself to tell her later when he had her alone and could tell her properly.

Sarah smiled at him knowingly. “He’s just looking at Y/N, as usual.”

Mitch and Adam chuckled, but Harry frowned. “Am I not allowed to look at my girl?”

“You are,” Adam said, “just be careful, mate. You told us about the rule, remember?”

The Rule. The goddamn rule that controlled this relationship more than he felt like he did, sometimes. He didn’t know how much Y/N thought about it at this point in their relationship, but then again it was still technically pretty early in the grand scheme of things. But for him, it was a constant reminder than their time together was fleeting, that at any point she might want to leave him, his lifestyle too hard. And it’s not that he blamed her. He just hated that it was a possibility. “I know.”

“How’s it going?” Adam pressed. Harry had been distant these past few weeks, holing himself up in the house with Y/N every chance he got when they weren’t rehearsing and he wasn’t on a call. It was hectic and he knew that his friends worried about him.

Harry took another sip of his margarita, eyes finding Y/N out on the patio laughing with Hanna, hair blowing in the wind. “Been good. She seems really happy,” he continued at the sight of her smile. “Bit nervous about tonight, if I’m being honest though.” He’d told Y/N the same thing, but the pit in his stomach still lingered. She had said she was excited, but he didn’t know how she would react to him releasing an album full of songs about his exes and flings.

They all got it though. “About which song?”

“All of ‘em,” he said nervously, and it was true. Y/N came into his life after the album was done, the idea of adding a song about her impossible. Even though he could’ve written dozens—he already had, the voice memos on his phone to prove it. Sometimes he’d sneak away to the bathroom while she slept to sing something that popped into his head, and the few that he’d shown the band they liked. It was all material for the next album, they told him. Some of them had even become full-fledged songs after a few hours locked in his office, but he hadn’t shared them yet. They still felt too raw.

Sarah reached out a hand and squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “She’ll get it, H. Her dad’s a musician, you know? If there was anyone who would understand, it would be her.”

And she was probably right. But there was a feeling in his gut that Harry couldn’t shake—that tonight wouldn’t end well for them. He’d felt it when he had woken up this morning and no matter how many time he kissed Y/N to make it go away, it lingered and it was making his brain go wild.

He hoped it was just the nerves.

The night passed quickly. There were speeches, a cake, Jeff pulled out a bottle of champagne, and Y/N had rejoined Harry at his side for the most part. And at this party, there was no question as to who she was—to everyone she was “Y/N, my girlfriend,” and Harry loved it. Particularly the look on her face that she would get every once in a while when her eyes caught his. He didn’t know what to call it, but he just knew that he felt the same way.

Before he knew it, it was 11:59 and everyone had gathered in the living room. The TV had the countdown on that Y/N had designed, the album cover with the numerical countdown over it, another bottle of champagne in Harry’s hand, ready to pop. Y/N stood a few people away from him, watching him with that look in her eyes that she’d been giving him all night that made him weak in the knees and made him curious what she would do to him when they were upstairs. He knew why Y/N was keeping her distance right now—she had mentioned it once before when they were curled up in bed after Harry asked her to be put down as a co-host for the party, that this success was his and his alone. That she was here at the end and she wanted it to be all his. She was here to support him and give him kisses after, but it was all his.

“10, 9, 8.” This was it. It was Harry’s debut album, his first solo record. It was weird for the rest of the guys to not be here when an album dropped. Usually, they were all standing together with bottles of champagne, ready to celebrate with one another.

“7, 6, 5, 4.” And Harry didn’t know which one was worse and which was better. Maybe they were both equally as wonderful, because he had other friends here to stand by his side. Jeff, Sarah, Mitch, Adam. James, floating around somewhere. His mum and sister tried to be here but Gemma got sick and Anna wanted to stay behind to take care of her.

“3, 2,” He had Y/N. He had Y/N’s excited expression, her wide eyes and flushed cheeks, the look of pride on her face that he treasured.

“1!” But this was his, his success, his win. With the first notes of the album playing in the room, he popped the bottle of champagne and with the bubbles running down the side of the bottle, he took a long swig.

Cheers went up around him, his best friends celebrating his biggest success of his career thus far, one he’d fought long and hard for. One he was immensely proud of and he hoped he would always look back on fondly. And the sound of his album blaring in his house’s sound system—the sound of Meet Me in the Hallway, it brought him to tears.

“Aww, man,” Adam brought him into a hug, patting Harry softly on his back. “Y/N! Come here!”

Y/N was there in an instant, wrapping Harry up in her arms, his head falling onto her shoulder, sobs wracking his body as they stood there. He didn’t even care that his friends were all there witnessing him crying into his girlfriend’s shoulder, he was just so overwhelmed.

“You okay, bubs?” Y/N asked, petting the back of his head softly.

“It’s a lot,” he replied softly, trying to find the words. “Happy. But also just…”

Her hands ran up and down his back, rubbing circles. “I know, baby. You don’t need to explain, okay?”

Harry didn’t reply, just tried to find his breath and stop the tears that were welling in his eyes. And when he did, he lifted his head and his lips met Y/N’s, the sound of whoops and cat-calls breaking out around them. The middle finger that Harry raised to them all did nothing to stifle them either. “Thank you,” he said into her hair when they broke.

The feeling of her lips on his neck, a soft kiss, brought him to his knees. “Always.”

And Harry hoped it was true.

While the rest of the party swirled around her—dancing had broke out, James had started making themed drinks, his favorite being the Sign of the Times one—Y/N sat right in front of the speaker, listening to every word of the album. It was her first time hearing it and she knew Harry would probably play it for her later, but she wanted to hear it now. She wanted to hear his pride and joy, the thing that had him beaming and laughing with his friends, belting out the lyrics with Mitch and Adam in a conga line that was worming its way through the room.

And what she heard broke her heart in so many ways.

Y/N knew that music, and much of art, stemmed from pain and hurt. A good amount of it was also about love, but the songs that were some of the rawest, the ones that hit home for most people, were the ones about our darkest moments. Harry’s album was full of them. Heartbreak, heartache, regrets, addiction to people and things. It was chock full of every one of his deepest darkest secrets, especially the women who he had loved before he met her. There was a part of her that knew that he would tell her in his own time about the stories of some of these women—he had mentioned a few when she’d asked about them—and that she didn’t need to push, but there was this disgusting, self-sabotaging part of her that wanted to know every sordid detail, even though she knew it would hurt her.

This was one of the many reasons she had always told herself she would never date a musician, but more importantly that she would never fall for one. Because their relationship, their joys and pitfalls, heartache and brightest moments, it was all fodder for a song, an album, a career. It wasn’t the artist’s fault, that’s how it worked, but that didn’t make it any easier to be the person they were writing about.

Was that all she was? Another girl for Harry to write a song about?

She wanted to be happy for him, to be glowing and beaming for him, but the part of her that she hated, the part that conjured the worst possible parts of people, it was crawling out of her head. It was twisting Harry and she knew it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t believe it.

The album only lasted 40 minutes, but in those 40 minutes the party died down. People had jumped in the pool while Y/N sat by the speaker, they had finished their drinks, they had said their goodbyes, the object of the event passed. Hanna and Jamie came over and gave her hugs, concerned looks on their faces, and told her to call them if she needed anything. When she looked up, the last notes of From the Dining Table fading, it was just her left.

A light from the patio twinkled and she could see the water rippling under the moonlight. Harry.

She left the stereo silent, not cuing up another playlist, and tugged off her shoes, then her dress. Following the pull of the man who had written such a beautiful, heartbreaking, hopeful record, she walked to the patio.

“There you are.” He was floating on his back in just his boxers, which didn’t surprise Y/N in the slightest. The fairy lights they had strung up together were dim in the nighttime darkness, but just bright enough so she could see Harry and all his beauty. “Look bloody gorgeous, love.”

Y/N tucked her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, knotting the hair so it stayed. “Finished the album,” she said, walking to the water’s edge.

“Yeah?” Harry swam over to her, leaning his head on her thighs that rested on the concrete that lined the pool. “What’d you think?”

She couldn’t help the heartbroken smile that graced her features, because she was too tired to lie to him. Exhausted from trying to pretend that she didn’t think about the fact that he could leave her at any moment, that the insecurities of who she was and who he was didn’t catch up to her sometimes. His fingertips brushed at her cheeks and Y/N realized she was crying.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He hoisted himself out of the water and hooked one of his legs around her waist, pulling her into his wet skin. It was cold against the night air, but somehow Harry was still warm to her.

“I don’t know how to say this,” she said slowly, struggling to find her words.

Fingers drifted up and down her back. “Just do your best.”

She tried not to think about the fact that she was crying on his album release day, that they were having this conversation now. One that sat in the back of her mind when she was alone and Harry couldn’t banish it. “The album is beautiful, Harry,” she started, “but it’s about a past that I wasn’t a part of.” Harry was quiet, but his arms didn’t move from their place around her, so she forged on. “I know that artists write from their experience, and that this album was done before I met you, but there’s this part of me, this horrible part that I utterly despise, that is jealous of them. The women who you wrote about. And the fact that it’s them that you’re going to sing about on stage every night. Does that make sense?”

The brush of his chin against her spine showed her that yes, he understood.

“And,” she continued, voice breaking, “I can’t stop thinking about the fact that maybe I’m going to be a song.”

“Of course you’re going to be a song,” Harry said, his voice soft and sweet.

He didn’t get it. To him, being a song was an honor, but to her, it was a threat almost. “No—it’s that I’m going to be only a song.”

The man next to her didn’t say a word. The chirp of the crickets stretched between their bodies, which were still close on the concrete floor, not a muscle moved.

“I don’t want to only be a song.” Y/N’s voice was hoarse, sobs wracking her body she didn’t expect, didn’t want. She couldn’t have this conversation if she was crying, but she couldn’t hold them in either. It was her biggest fear, the one that festered below all of the others, threatening to consume the relationship she had with a man she was falling for. And falling was the only way to describe it—without any support, a free fall that was utterly terrifying but also blissful peaceful.

Suddenly, his fingers swept across her neck, brushing against her sensitive skin. “Y/N,” he whispered, “you could never be just a song. You’re—you’re like the stars and the moon to me. In that room I could always feel you, wherever you were, and I didn’t want to be anywhere where you weren’t. And maybe this is too fast and too soon, but what I feel for you, fuck Y/N how can you not see how much you are to me?”

He pulled her head so she faced him, his eyes teary to match her own. “Do you hear me? You’re so much more than a song. You’re an album. You’re my life’s work, my masterpiece, a symphony. A song can’t contain how I feel for you, it’s just a piece of a billion I could write.”

Soft as a feather, his lips pressed to her cheeks and then up and across her forehead, over her eyelids, barely leaving a mark but a searing fire in his wake that shook Y/N’s core. “And Y/N, you’re better than a song. You’re my life. You’re here, you’re real, you’re with me. Y/N, you will never be just a song to me. You never could be. Not to me.”

Y/N rested her forehead against his, inhaling his cologne and exhaling her feelings for him. He managed to rip down all her defenses, the ones she had spent years building up, and it was frightening. But then she looked at him, the way he smiled at her, the way he kissed her, the way he said her name, and it wasn’t quite as scary. She hoped he could feel how much she cared for him in the way she kissed him, their tears blending into one as they scrambled for each other. Lips breaking and meeting, desperate for more and more and more. Her fingers gripped the back of his head, holding him to her, wanting to have his whole body imprinted on hers.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “you heard me? You understand?”

“Yes,” she replied softly, “I hear you.” She brushed her fingers through his hair gently, curling the wet strands back. “You may need to remind me sometimes.”

“Always,” he whispered, catching her kiss with his own, tugging her into him, arms around her body in a vice grip.

She lost herself in Harry, him an ocean and her a boat lost at sea. Maybe it was their conversation or the night or the alcohol flowing through their veins, but it felt different. The way he kissed her felt heavier, her moans a prayer, his fingers on his back a weight she never wanted lifted. Her legs wrapped around his waist so she was firmly in his lap, arms thrown over his shoulders, their bare bodies except for their underwear pressed against each other without a molecule of air between them.

His lips drew a line across the top of her shoulder, a fire building in her belly as his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra. It was a light pink she’d worn just for him and when he nudged at the strap with his nose, letting it slip from her shoulders, she didn’t care that he could barely see it. She’d show him tomorrow morning. He pulled the fabric away and bent his head, licking at one of her nipples and then the other, gasps falling from her mouth like poetry. Without meaning to, her hips rolled over his cock, the thin fabric of their underwear doing nothing to keep the heat of her center from touching his sensitive skin.

He moaned her name, the sound muffled against her neck as he sucked a love bite into the spot that made her keen every time he nipped into it. She rocked again on him, his fingers digging into her skin so hard it would leave marks tomorrow but she didn’t care. In fact, she wanted to have his marks on her tomorrow, she wanted to show the world that she wasn’t just a song, she was his, she was his girlfriend and she made him feel this way.

Hands on skin, he pressed her down onto the concrete so she was lying down, her ankles tucked around his hips, anchoring her to him. When his hips bucked into hers, she let out a sharp cry, the angle brushing her clit perfectly. “Right there?” He mumbled, nipping and tugging on her nipple, laving a circle that left her squirming against the concrete.

“Off,” she whispered, tugging at his boxers with her hands. “Wanna feel you.” With his help, they shimmied off his boxers without too much difficulty and Y/N let out a sigh of relief when she could feel his cock brush against her covered folds. Reaching a hand down, she brushed the pad of her thumb across his tip, a pained hiss flying from Harry’s throat. He was sensitive and Y/N loved it.

They didn’t have a condom, but she didn’t care. She’d been on birth control for years and she knew Harry hadn’t slept with anyone else since she found her way into his life. Plus, she needed him—she wanted to feel him, raw and bare inside of her.

They were going to have sex on the concrete next to his pool, but she didn’t care. They had had sex before and they would have sex again. She just needed him in a desperate, crawling way. When he nudged at her underwear she pressed into him, letting him pull them down her legs without a second thought.

“Condom,” Harry mumbled as she chased after his lips, open mouthed and heavy.

“It’s okay,” she said, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Want you like this.”

Harry’s head dropped to the space between her neck and shoulder, the groan that filled the air unlike anything she had heard before. “Gonna ruin me,” he whispered, brushing his cock against her folds. Y/N whimpered at the sensation, her fingers begging him for more, for anything she would give him. When his fingers brushed her clit, his name tumbled from her lips without abandon.

“Harry, please,” she panted, fingers deep in his hair.

That was all it took. She was so wet from the foreplay and just him that he didn’t even need to stretch her out. Her mouth fell open as he pushed inside, a mewl landing on his lips as he kissed her. Slowly, he pulled out and then back in, both of them groaning from the sensation of him being bare inside her. He felt impossibly close, every ridge and edge of him pressing against her in the most perfect way. She didn’t know if she could use condoms again, because holding Harry to her chest, arms around his shoulders as he fucked slowly, deeply, into her, her able to feel every inch of her, it was bliss on a new level. A sensation she didn’t know she was missing with him.

Her ankles hitched higher on his hips and when he pushed back in he hit a new angle, a groan ripping from his throat that set her on fire. “Can I go faster?” He said with a grunt. “I—I don’t know how much—“

“Yes,” she whimpered at his words.

He didn’t wait. He drew back and into her, pistoning his hips at a pace she couldn’t even describe, hitting that spot deep inside of her that made her eyes roll back over and over. How he managed to do that she didn’t know, but he deserved an award. Fingers grabbing at his skin in desperation for something to hold her together, Y/N gasped and exhaled his name, a plea and a beg and a prayer all in one. Her back hurt from the concrete but she didn’t care, she just wanted to finish, to feel him release deep inside of her.

Then he thumbed over her clit and she arched up, back leaving the concrete as the fire deep within her threatened to bubble over. When he start brushing circles there, Y/N gripped his shoulders like they would keep her anchored to Earth, her body possibly transcending. Harry bent his head and sucked a love bite on her breast, the puncture of skin forcing her head back, unable to keep it together.

“You close?” He asked, littering her chest with kisses, “Please tell me you are, I can’t, I can’t hold on…”

She mumbled a yes as he drove deep inside of her, swiveling his hips in a brutal way that left her hands squeezing his butt cheeks to get him to do it again. When he did, she swore she saw stars. “Gonna come,” she said, eyes searching for his lips in the low lighting. “Kiss?”

Without hesitation, he kissed her, open mouthed and dirty and sloppy and perfect. She wanted every rough-edged and sweet part of him, every kiss and press of his body against hers. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he chanted as he pressed into her again and again, her body drawing tighter and tighter. Then, he pinched her clit and she came, the ball in her tummy unravelling, hips bucking up against him as she rode out her high. Her eyes stayed trained on him as she did, not wanting to miss his face when he came inside of her.

His hips stuttered, release unloading inside of her in ropes that left him cursing like a sailor. Hair wet and sweaty, sticking to his forehead, and irises blown out, he looked beautiful. She held him close until his body settled, shaking as he came down from his high, forehead resting on the swell of her breasts.

Slowly, he rolled off of her, tugging her body into his so she wasn’t on the cold concrete anymore. He was fiery hot and it kept her warm in the cold air. “Can we never use a rubber again?” He asked softly, and she giggled, hiding her face in his neck.

“Don’t see any reason to,” she replied and he hummed with joy. Tucking her hands under her chin, she looked at him with a smile. “Congrats on your album, baby.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear tenderly. “I’m so happy I shared today with you.” She kissed him softly and let him hold her close, not wanting to move even to go to bed because it meant leaving his grasp. And as much as her head told her that it wasn’t forever, she couldn’t help but hope it would be.

It had been four days since Harry had texted her. Five since he called her. Six since they FaceTimed.

He was in London for the press junket for Dunkirk and Y/N was supposed to fly out for the July 13th premiere—it was decided a month ago, the tickets booked and her time off from work already approved. But as the days stretched on and the silence grew longer, she couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. If she had done something wrong.

It wasn’t the first time he had been away from LA. They had a conversation about how they were going to handle distance when he travelled back in April, before the album came out and he had to fly around and do press for two weeks. That time, though, he handled it well—he called every night before she went to bed if he could, if not, he sent a long voice memo that she listened to when she woke up. They texted all day, him sending photos from dressing rooms and backstage at talk shows, even FaceTiming her so she could meet the stars he shared the nights with.

But this time was different. Since he left he had texted her just a handful of times and it was when he was at his mom’s house visiting home before press started. And then once press kicked into gear, he was gone, her texts ignored, calls not returned. She was trying not to seem desperate, but with the more time that passed the more anxious she got. It wasn’t how this was supposed to go, this wasn’t what they’d agreed on. He knew her fears, the dark thoughts that crowded in when she spent too much time worrying about their relationship, and yet he wasn’t taking the actions that helped her calm down. Even though she knew it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of her brain, it helped to know he thought about her, at the very least.

The morning before her flight was supposed to leave, she called Hanna in a panic. Her suitcases laid open on her bed, clothes scattered around her, tears streaming down her face. She had tried to call Harry again to confirm her arrival plans, only to be met with his voicemail, again.

Hi, you’ve reached Harry. I’ll give you a call back when I can!

Somehow, the sound of his voice made it worse.

“Han,” she choked out when her friend picked up, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Did he not answer?” Hanna had been counseling her through the whole thing, helping her stay calm and sane, as much as possible at least. From Y/N’s lack of response, just more sobs, Hanna knew immediately. “That prick.”

Y/N wiped a tear from her eye and looked at the ticket in her hand. Harry had forced her to accept his offer of first-class, booking her flight through his agent and everything. “Does he even want me there? Should I not go?”

Hanna was quiet, thoughts rolling through her head. “No,” she finally said. “You should go. Even if it’s just to talk to him in person. You deserve to hear it face-to-face, not by him ghosting you.”

“Even if that means I end up in London and he breaks up with me?”

“Yes,” Hanna replied softly. “But I really, really hope that is not what’s happening.”

At first it had been that he was busy, that he would text when he had time, but it had been six days. Now, both Y/N and Hanna were increasingly worried that it meant the end of their relationship and Y/N was simply not ready for that possibility. She had let Harry in—he had begged her to let him in—and he was going to end things like this? When things got hard with the distance he just…cut her out? “Can you take me to the airport?�� Y/N asked, sniffling. “If you don’t I don’t think I’ll be able to force myself to go.”

“Was already planning on it,” Hanna replied. “I’ll bring snacks for the flight.”

“Love you,” Y/N told her. Hanna was her one constant, who knew Y/N better than she knew herself.

“Love you more. Now go finish packing and call me if you need me, okay?”

Y/N told her okay and hung up, her gaze shifting to her suitcase. If he was going to break up with her, then she was going to look so magnificent he would regret every second of it.

Eleven hours in the air meant plenty of time to run over her entire relationship with Harry. She had sat curled up in her seat scrolling through her camera roll and listening to Bon Iver, which was the sappiest thing possible and she didn’t care. Y/N didn’t want to break up with him and the photos and the texts and the memories proved it. Her time with Harry had been so beautifully bright, his presence in her life making so much better, from her confidence to her knowledge to her music taste. And she cared about him in a way she hadn’t let herself do—ever.

She had texted Jeff before she took off, telling him she couldn’t get a hold of Harry and asking where she should go when she landed. He replied with Harry’s Hampstead address and the door code, saying there was a key waiting for her, hidden in the garden, an apology on Harry’s behalf for how busy he had been. The words meant nothing, though, to Y/N. If Harry wanted to apologize he would have to do it in person, not through Jeff.

It was eleven by the time her Uber pulled up to Harry’s house and she thanked the driver as he tugged her luggage from the boot. She waited until he pulled away before she typed in the gate code, not wanting to reveal Harry’s security to anyone—she have been mad at him, but she still didn’t want anything happening to him. The door unlocked for her and she slid inside, shutting it quickly behind her. Pulling her suitcase behind her, she walked up the path, searching for the garden statue Jeff had told her the key was hiding under. When she found it, her fingers ran across the ridges as she made her way to the front door.

His house in LA was warm, it was the Harry she knew. But this house felt colder, the design modern, his personal affects not as visible. Although to his credit, he hadn’t been here for more than a few days in months. A few photos of Anne and Gemma were scattered through the front hall, some framed photos of his time in One Direction nestled between them.

“Harry?” She knew he wasn’t there, but the idea of walking into his house without checking felt too uncomfortable for her. She locked the door tightly behind her, typing in the security code Jeff had sent before re-arming it.

Y/N took her time exploring his house. She perused the main spaces, testing out the couches and peeking at his bookcases, studying the art lining the walls. Then she made her way upstairs to the bedrooms, running her fingers along the edges of his One Direction album plaques that lined the walls of his office, the ones from his debut still resting on the floor waiting to be hung. She found the guest bedrooms with ease and she spent a good five minutes standing on the landing deciding if she should go into his bedroom or set herself up in a guest one.

She settled on a guest bedroom. If he was going to break things off, she didn’t want to know what his bed felt like or smell his clothes or take a shower in his bathroom.

Instead, she showered in the guest bath, washing off the plane smell that lingered on her body. She dressed in shorts and a tank top, letting her hair air dry since she would have to just re-style it for the premiere later. Jeff hadn’t told her what time Harry would be back and she was ravenous, so she wandered downstairs to fix herself some lunch. To fill the silence in the house she turned on The 1975, playing the music from her laptop she had open on the counter as she cooked some pasta she had found in the cabinet. As she ate at his dining table, she tried not to think about the fact that this could be the last time she was in a space of Harry’s. The last time she sat on things he had picked out, the last time she rooted through his fridge, past his obnoxious green juices and leftovers since he hated eating out if he didn’t have to. Her fingers brushed at her eyes, trying to stop the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.

Reaching down for her fork to take another bite, she suddenly heard the lock click in the front door and the security system begin to beep.

He was home.

She slid her bowl away from her and turned to look at the doorway, waiting to see his face for the first time in over a week. And when he appeared, she couldn’t the return the stretched across his face at the sight of her in his house. He looked the same and somehow that was worse. In a nice shirt from interviews this morning, his hair slightly tossed from running his fingers through it, the sheen on his upper lip from the heat outside. He looked like her Harry, but she didn’t know if he was hers anymore.

“Y/N!” His voice rebounded off the walls, filling her heart with a kind of hope that was crushing.

“Hi,” was all she could muster before looking back down at her pasta. An anger rose in her, replacing the hurt that had lingered for so many days. How could he pretend like everything was okay? How could he smile at her like he hadn’t been ignoring her for days, too busy to even check and see how her flight was?

His footsteps were heavy on the hardwood floors as he made his way over to her. “Baby? What is it?”

“Do you want to break up?” She asked, her question hard compared to his kind, gentle, tentative tone.

“What?” Harry dropped into the seat caddy-corner to the chair she sat in. “What are you talking about?”

She pushed away her bowl and looked him dead in the eye. “I haven’t heard from you in days, Harry. Days. I flew halfway across the world for you and you couldn’t even manage to check-in to see if I was alive?”

He flinched at her words, eyes dropping to the table they sat at. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, words barely audible above her heart beating a mile a minute, pulsing with anger.

“That’s not going to cut it,” she told him, standing up and taking her bowl to the sink. “You fucking ghosted me like I was a girl you’d just met. We’re about to celebrate six months together. And you know what this shit does to me.”

And he did. She could see in his eyes that he knew he was in the wrong, and yet he was quiet. “I was busy.”

“So was I! But I still found two seconds to text you asking how it was going, I found fifteen minutes before bed to call you, and I kept trying even though you couldn’t even manage to reply to me. You’re not that busy, Harry.”

He stood too, walking over to where she stood in his kitchen so that he was a few paces away from her. “I was in and out of interviews from morning to night and when I wasn’t, I was with the cast who I haven’t seen in almost a year. And when I wasn’t doing that Jeff was harassing me about tour details or I was sleeping. I’m sorry if my schedule didn’t allow me to talk to you at every second of the day, Y/N, but this is a huge moment for me and I had to focus on that.” His words were measured, but she could feel the tension rising between them, words unsaid bubbling over.

“And your career is more important than our relationship.” She nodded sarcastically, wiping her wet palms on the dish towel and turning to face him. “Got it, heard loud and clear.”

“Fuck—you know it’s not!” His hand ran through his locks and down his face, struggling to get a handle on his breathing.

“Harry,” she said, trying not to yell, “I’m not going to force you to stay in a relationship that you don’t want to put the time in for. But you know exactly what I need from you—I have been very clear. You know my fears and my insecurities, and you know what triggers them. We had a plan for how to deal with this, and you completely disregarded it!” Her voice rose at the end, the fact that he couldn’t even meet her eyes pushing all of her buttons. “Fucking look at me when I talk to you!”

His eyes met hers and she didn’t see the Harry she knew, the Harry who cared for her, the soft, gentle man. Instead, she saw someone who was pissed off and hurt and grasping at straws. “I can’t dance around your fears every moment of the day,” he said, voice spitting anger. “And I’m sorry if that breaks one of your rules,” the word hitting her in the face, “but you’re going to have to get over it because I can’t spend every second of the day wondering if something I did or said has made you think I don’t care about you! You should know that I don’t want to hurt you, that of course I want to be with you!”

“Well, how am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me!” His words stabbed her right where it hurt, hitting her fears right in the heart.

Harry turned, his body facing the counter, fingers gripping the edge of the marble. He sucked in breath after breath trying to calm himself down and Y/N tried to find it within herself to have sympathy for him, but she just…couldn’t. She was so pissed off at him she couldn’t think straight.

“I’m not some girl waiting around for Harry Styles to come home, begging him to never leave me,” Y/N said. She was done. She was done with this fight, with him expecting her to be someone she wasn’t. “I’m me and I’m waiting for Harry, the person I care for so deeply it hurts—you are held to the same standards as every other guy, no matter how busy your schedule is. I should not be expected to fit into your schedule all the time. It goes both ways and you operated this week as if it was entirely my job to stay in touch with you. And I am not going to stay in a relationship like that.”

Harry’s head whipped to hers, eyes boring straight into her. “Are you saying you want to break up?”

Y/N tried to keep her head high, tried to hold back the tears. “If you’re going to do this when you’re on tour, I’m done. You know what I want—it’s the same thing I wanted from this relationship the moment I met you. You’re the only one who seems to think things have changed.” And with that, she stormed out of the room, which was probably petty but she didn’t care. She was so mad at him for his actions and his words that she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him.

Harry didn’t follow her.

At 1 o’clock, a knock came on her door.

“If you still want to come, we have to leave for the premiere in an hour. It’s up to you.” And with that, he walked away, not even waiting for her to open the door.

She sat on the bed, considering her options. Did she go and support him anyway, pretend everything was fine? Or did she stay here—or maybe find a hotel—and leave him alone for the premiere?

He had told her how nervous he was about this. This was his first time on a movie red carpet as an actor and he was freaking out about it before he left, a ball of anxiety that she had to carefully untangle. The thought of him being up there alone pained her, despite how his hurtful words lingered in her head. That she had to get over it as if it was that simple.

The red dress she had bought for the premiere hung in the bathroom where she had left it while she showered so the wrinkles would leave the fabric. It was beautiful—a tiered taffeta skirt that cinched in at the waist, a caged bodice showing off her shoulders. When she had tried it on she had felt beautiful, powerful, as if she could take on anything and everything. She had spent a ton of money on the dress and she didn’t want to waste it.

So she got up, turning on BANKS and set about her hair and makeup in the bathroom, praising Hanna for teaching her how to do her makeup in college. She painted her lips red, in the shade that she adored wearing, and twisted up her hair into a chignon that emphasized her neck. Running her fingers along the skin she remembered when Harry had kissed it, but the love bite he had left behind was long healed. Was she asking too much of him? She wondered as she looked at herself in the mirror. Was he right, were her fears stifling him?

Then she remembered what Hanna had told her. That he wasn’t anyone different from other guys she had dated, and what she was asking from him wasn’t out of left field. Any guy she would date she would except to check in with her when he was traveling and Harry was no different, no matter what his job was.

Harry was waiting downstairs for her, probably having heard her rummaging around in the closet. When he heard her heels on the stairs, he looked up and his eyesight on her skin burned because he looked gorgeous. Maybe this was a horrible idea, she thought as she made her way towards him. She would have to touch him all night, look at him in his tailored suit, gaze into his green eyes as they were photographed on the red carpet.

“You look beautiful,” he said, words gravelly in his throat.

She stopped a few paces away from him. “Thanks.”

He fiddled with his keys, the silence stretching between them. “Thank you for coming with me. I know you have no reason to, but having you there…It means a lot.”

Instead of replying, because she didn’t have words for him, she just nodded. Because she did have a reason—even though she was mad at him, she still cared for him. Despite not wanting to, she still craved him giving her a kiss on the cheek as they walked out the door.

The drive to the red carpet was quiet, the radio playing softly in the background the only sound. They sat on either side of the backseat, Y/N staring out the window while Harry fiddled with his phone. She hadn’t been to London since she was 18 for her graduation present from her mom, and the city held warm memories for her. She wondered if that would change after today.

When they pulled up, an anxiety Y/N didn’t know she was holding started building, the sight of the photographers and the screams from the fans barricaded in. With all that had been happening, she had somehow forgotten what going to the premiere meant for her. Her eyes fell to Harry who was staring at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She had never done this before and he knew that.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he said, trying to calm her fears. “Promise.” It helped. At least she wouldn’t be completely alone. “Ready?” He stretched out a hand to her and she took it, letting him help her from the car.

The second her feet hit the pavement, the screams got louder. Fans with signs and their phones outstretched on either side of the wide red carpet, the word DUNKIRK in large white letters closest to the entrance to the theater. Harry’s hand gripped her as she stood, thankful for his body to help her keep balanced.

“Just smile as best you can,” he whispered in her ear as the car pulled away behind them. “And if your eyes start hurting from the flashes, just look at me, okay?”

Y/N nodded, and with his hand in hers, fingers entertained, they made their way down the carpet. He stopped a few times to take photos with fans and sign cards, but all that time he never strayed too far from Y/N’s side. With his arm securely wrapped around her waist, they stood for photos, Y/N trying to stand up as straight as she could and smile sweetly. Harry was a pro at this, a smile practiced for years, but she didn’t have the same experience. She was just a regular person who didn’t know which side was her bad side and had her eyes closed in half her photos.

The cameramen screamed questions at them, about their relationship, if they were married. They’d never quite publicly announced their relationship, Harry preferring to keep his private life private, so this was the first time they’d ever even publicly been out as a couple. And for it to be like this…Y/N hated it. She wanted to stand there and be utterly infatuated with Harry like she usually was, but this time her spine was rimrod straight, trying to keep her emotions in check. It was awkward, the way he tentatively touched her body, not wanting to overstep but also wanting to present the aura of normalcy.

Then they took a few steps and rotated to another set of cameras and Y/N understood what Harry had meant about her eyes hurting from the flashes. She turned her head to him and he found her eyes, giving her a wide smile meant just for her. Without thinking about it, her hand pressed to his suit right over his heart, the soft material of his suit jacket butter under her fingers. Then, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, softly and sweetly and to most it wouldn’t have meant much. But to Y/N, it was the first time he had kissed her since she’d seen him. And the feeling of his lips on her skin lingered, a tingle moving through her body. Her hand gripped his back a little tighter and he just kept smiling at her, utterly entranced by her eyes.

Their bodies had betrayed them. To anyone who looked, they would have seen perfectly fine, not that they had been fighting only two hours ago. But they knew the reality, and this moment, their bodies close together and emotions running through them without being able to stop it, it made it clear that neither of them wanted to break up. They would just have to find a way to move through it.

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bananaofswifts · 4 years

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In the new Taylor Swift documentary, “Miss Americana,” which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival Thursday night, there’s a montage of derogatory commentary about the singer that has appeared on cable shows over the years. One of the less nasty remarks: “She’s too skinny. It bothers me.”

As it turns out, it eventually bothered Swift, too.

In one of the most revealing and surprising segments of the Netflix film, Swift talks for several minutes about having struggled in the past with an eating disorder.

After being pictured facing a phalanx of photographers after she emerges from her front door, Swift is heard in voiceover saying that “it’s not good for me to see pictures of myself every day.” Although she says “it’s only happened a few times, and I’m not in any way proud of it,” Swift admits there have been times in the past when she’s seen “a picture of me where I feel like I looked like my tummy was too big, or… someone said that I looked pregnant … and that’ll just trigger me to just starve a little bit — just stop eating.”

Swift elaborated on what she’s gone through with that in her interview with Variety for this week’s cover story, saying that it was difficult for her to speak up about it for the documentary.

“I didn’t know if I was going to feel comfortable with talking about body image and talking about the stuff I’ve gone through in terms of how unhealthy that’s been for me — my relationship with food and all that over the years,” she tells Variety. “But the way that Lana (Wilson, the film’s director) tells the story, it really makes sense. I’m not as articulate as I should be about this topic because there are so many people who could talk about it in a better way. But all I know is my own experience. And my relationship with food was exactly the same psychology that I applied to everything else in my life: If I was given a pat on the head, I registered that as good. If I was given a punishment, I registered that as bad.”

In the quiet of a hotel suite, she goes into greater detail on how formative an effect that one early tabloid torpedo had on her. “I remember how, when I was 18, that was the first time I was on the cover of a magazine,” she says. “And the headline was like ‘Pregnant at 18?’ And it was because I had worn something that made my lower stomach look not flat. So I just registered that as a punishment. And then I’d walk into a photo shoot and be in the dressing room and somebody who worked at a magazine would say, ‘Oh, wow, this is so amazing that you can fit into the sample sizes. Usually we have to make alterations to the dresses, but we can take them right off the runway and put them on you!’ And I looked at that as a pat on the head. You register that enough times, and you just start to accommodate everything towards praise and punishment, including your own body.”

She hesitates. “I think I’ve never really wanted to talk about that before, and I’m pretty uncomfortable talking about it now,” she says quietly. “But in the context of every other thing that I was doing or not doing in my life, I think it makes sense” to have it in the film, she says.

Wilson, the director, is proud of Swift for taking up the subject with such candor. “That’s one of my favorite sequences of the film,” she says. “I was surprised, of course. But I love how she’s kind of thinking out loud about it. And every woman will see themselves in that sequence. I just have no doubt.”

The filmmaker points out that there were clearly plenty of people who didn’t think Swift was too thin back in the mid-2010s. “You can also just not notice people being really skinny, because we’re all so accustomed to seeing women on magazine covers who are unhealthy-skinny, and that’s become normalized.” Even with non-celebrities, Wilson says, everybody’s a body critic. “It’s incessant, and I can say this as a woman: It’s amazing to me how people are constantly like ‘You look skinny’ or ‘You’ve gained weight.’ People you barely know say this to you. And it feels awful, and you can’t win either way. So I think it’s really brave to see someone who is a role model for so many girls and women be really honest about that. I think it will have a huge impact.”

As much as Swift may be seen as a role model for speaking frankly on the subject, she’s got her own favorite artist, so to speak, when it comes to advocacy for women’s bodily self-image issues.

“I love people like (actress and activist) Jameela Jamil, because she says things in a really articulate way,” the singer tells us. “The way she speaks about body image, it’s almost like she speaks in a hook. If you read her quotes about women and body image and aging and the way that women are treated in our industry and portrayed in the media, I swear the way she speaks is like lyrics, and it gets stuck in my head and it calms me down. Because women are held to such a ridiculous standard of beauty. We’re seeing so much on social media that makes us feel like we are less than, or we’re not what we should be, that you kind of need a mantra to repeat in your head when you start to have harmful or unhealthy thoughts. So she’s one of the people who, when I read what she says, it sticks with me and it helps me.”

In the film, then-and-now photos illustrate just how thin Swift had gotten during the “1989” era, versus the still svelte but healthier look she sported by the time she toured behind the “Reputation” album in 2018. Swift says that her under-eating in that earlier time severely affected her stamina on tour.

“I thought that I was supposed to feel like I was going to pass out at the end of a show, or in the middle of it,” she attests in the documentary. “Now I realize, no, if you eat food, have energy, get stronger, you can do all these shows and not feel (enervated).” Swift says she doesn’t care so much now if someone comments on a weight gain, and she’s reconciled “the fact that I’m a size 6 instead of a size double-zero.” Swift says she was completely unaware that anything was wrong in her double-zero era, and had a defense at the ready should it come up. If anyone expressed concern, she’d say, “‘What are you talking about? Of course I eat. …. I exercise a lot.’ And I did exercise a lot. But I wasn’t eating.”

Few women viewing the film will fail to nod their heads as Swift describes the impossibility of any body shape or size living up to all the standards for beauty. “If you’re thin enough, then you don’t have that ass that everybody wants,” she says in the film. “But if you have enough weight on you to have an ass, your stomach isn’t flat enough. It’s all just f—ing impossible.” As she became aware of the problem, Swift says in the film, it would cause her to “go into a real shame/hate spiral.”

The word “shame” comes up elsewhere in conversation with Swift, who by virtue of becoming one of the most celebrated women in the world has also had to deal with more catty comments than almost any celebrity in the world — and hasn’t always succeeded in shaking it all off.

“I was watching a Netflix Brené Brown special on shame, because I read a lot of her books, because I have dealings with shame every once in awhile,” Swift tells Variety. “She was saying something like, ‘It’s ridiculous to say “I don’t care what anyone thinks about me,” because that’s not possible. But you can decide whose opinions matter more and whose opinions you put more weight on.’ And I think that is really part of growing up, if you’re going to do it right. That’s part of hoping to find some sort of maturity and balance in your life.”

She continues, “I don’t expect anyone with a pop career to learn how to do that within the first 10 years. And I know that there’s a lot of bad stuff that’s gone on recently, a lot of really hard stuff my family is going through, and a lot of opposition and feeling pressure or suppression of one kind or another. But I am actually really happy. Because I pick and choose now, for the most part, what I care deeply about. And I think that’s made a huge difference.”

#taylor swift #exclusive #variety

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skepticalarrie · 3 years

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allie what do you think about louis' behavior change? a big difference between louis 2011 and louis 2013/4 onwards. I confess that I always thought he had matured. But then I saw a documentary of several gay / bi men telling their experiences, one of them said that when he was eight years old his mother put him on cognitive behavioral therapy, which was basically to change his behavior, change his way of speaking, she made him train a more "manly" walk, among other things, in the end he says "there started a chase in my head about all my behavior and about my personality, and about everything". When he said that, i remembered louis. but sometimes I think I'm doing a lot of fanfic in my head thinking that this may have happened to Louis, but it's not as if it were impossible, we are talking about the music industry, one of the dirtiest places that exists.

Are you kidding me? Absolutely, anon! 2010-2012(ish) Louis was LOUD LOUD LOUD, chatty, happy, chaotic, all over the place. I agree with you, people do grow up and get more mature. 19 y/o Louis definetly looked like one of those kids who had too much sugar by accident, so it was expected for him to lose a bit of that as he was getting older, but the way he changed his behaviour is just very unusual, people don't grow out of it lol. C'mon, we can clearly watch him progressively "losing" his flamboyance. And then 2014 was just brutal, he was very self-aware of his behaviour, of his voice, he was barely talking in interviews, we could almost hear him overthink every single movement on stage. Painful to watch.

Personally, I don't think they made him go through therapies or trainings to change or anything like that. I have absolutely no doubts that's real a thing, but idk I don't feel that's the case here. But I think it's very clear someone said to him he had to tone it down the gay thing a lot. Over and over. He was the gay one (and the loud one) and One Direction couldn't have the gay one (and I bet he pissed a lot of people for being the loud one). So I think all this change of behaviour wasn't necessarily someone behind the scenes telling him "don't do this" or "don't act like that" everyday or saying things like "you can't act like that anymore from today on". I feel like everything was very progressive, all their closeting. I don't think they ever realised how deep they were until it was up to their necks. Maybe that was just him trying to slowly cope with everything and trying to eradicate the way he acted completely because he was told he could not show his flamboyance like he used to. I'm just very happy to see now that as the years go by he seems to be getting a lot of his confidence back, specially as a solo artist. I was dying to see him on tour night after night getting more confident with his voice and his movements and all that. We'll get there eventually.

#ask #closeting #louis’ image #media training #louis’ closet #2013 #2014

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swaps55 · 4 years

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I'm so glad you said mshenko is what you wanna write because it's what I wanted to request! your mass effect fics rock. if we can suggest a place and a reason, then "in the street" and "longing"! and mshenko, please :)

Shepard’s face is pressed against the window of the shuttle as it descends towards the landing pad. Garrus would give good credits to be on the other side of it, looking at that weird, fleshy human nose mashed up against the glass.

It’s rare Shepard looks like an idiot. Garrus takes a lot of enjoyment in those moments when they come.

“You look like an idiot.”

He also enjoys pointing them out.

“I saved the galaxy,” Shepard replies, mashing his face even closer against the glass. “I can look like an idiot if I damn well feel like it.”

No doubt he’s scanning the ground for a familiar face, even though this high up he wouldn’t be able to tell Kaidan from a pyjack.

“You know, up until right now I held on to the belief that you saved that galaxy for me. Now I see the truth. It hurts, Shepard.”

Shepard tears his face away from the window to grin. “I’d never let anyone come between us, big guy.”

Garrus’ mandibles quiver.

“Ok. Fine. Kaidan bats even one eye and I let him come right between us.”

“It’s the hair, isn’t it. I can’t compete with the hair.”

Shepard chuckles, slouching back in his seat and fidgeting, knee bouncing as he waits for the shuttle to land.

Sure you don’t want to come? Garrus had asked Kaidan when this entire expedition had come up.

Everything that happened on Tuchanka is something I wasn’t part of, Kaidan had told him. I think it would do him good to just spend time with you. The person who was with him through all of it.

There’d been more than a little guilt in his voice, and it spiked more than a little worry about Shepard. Aside from being a little more quiet, inward, than normal, every time they’ve talked Shepard seems...ok But Garrus knows almost better than anyone how good Shepard is at hiding things.

I worry about him, Garrus.

So Garrus worries, too. But upon seeing him in person again Garrus had been pleasantly surprised to see his old friend looking and sounding more like he had in the days when all they had to contend with was a rogue Spectre. Less weight on his shoulders. Less lead in his steps. Maybe that worry is misplaced.

Kaidan’s always been overprotective of Shepard. But then again, so has Garrus. Few people knew just how bad things had gotten leading up to the Omega 4. Maybe Shepard’s told Kaidan about it. Maybe he hasn’t.

Maybe there are a few things Shepard will never let get between them.

They’d spent a week on Tuchanka touring the rebuilding efforts, playing with broods of tiny, headbutting krogan, reviewing expansion plans with Wrex and Bakara, and watching a stockpile of shark documentaries Shepard had put together with Grunt. The entire time Shepard had been so much like himself that Garrus was almost baffled. He thrived with the krogan.

Up until the dedication ceremony, anyway. At the very mention of Mordin’s name Shepard went into the same lockdown Garrus remembers all too well from those late nights in the galley during the Cerberus days.

Those had not been good nights.

It had taken Shepard a while to shake it off. Long enough that Garrus had gotten Kaidan on the comm to ask what to do.

Keep him looking forward. Point him at the future. Not the past. He needs to remember what it was all for.

With all the damn krogan hatchlings rolling around that hadn’t been too hard. One squirming, reptilian bowling ball later and Shepard had been all smiles.

But now that it’s over and home is in sight, Garrus gets a glimpse at the other future that’s kept Shepard moving forward.

The moment the shuttle door opens Shepard flies through it. No corona propels him on this particular occasion, but the speed is similar.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll get your bag,” Garrus grumps. He’s already having nightmares of what it’s going to be like to spend a week on Earth, alone with the two of them and no backup. Mentally he calculates how long it would take Tali to get here from Rannoch.

The only reason he catches up is because Shepard slows down to search the crowd waiting on the platform, and Kaidan isn’t there. Shepard scowls. “Where the hell is he?”

Garrus points. Across the street on the other side of the platform a familiar human slams the door of a skycar, expression frazzled.

Shepard doesn’t even look before darting into the street. Try telling Shepard that traffic doesn’t give a shit how many times he saved the galaxy.

But Shepard somehow bends the universe to his will, like he always does. He reaches Kaidan unscathed, wraps him up in his arms and kisses him so deeply Garrus clears his throat and looks away. He also waits until the sign tells him it’s safe to cross the damn street.

“Hey, you,” Kaidan tells Shepard with a grin, then glances at Garrus. “Did you forget someone?”

“No,” Shepard replies. “But this weird turian keeps following me around. I think he wants my autograph.”

Garrus snorts.

“Come on, big guy,” Shepard calls out. “You’re gonna love the orchard. Lots of space for target shooting, and a lake where I can kick your ass skipping rocks.”

“Your life sounds very exciting,” Garrus replies.

Shepard’s gaze slides to Kaidan, expression soft. “Yeah.”

That’s the moment Garrus stops worrying. Whatever bad days are still ahead of him, Shepard will pull through. Because if he needs to look to the future to remember what it was all for, he doesn’t need to look any further than the hand clasped firmly in his.

#captainshakespear #mshenko #kaidan alenko #garrus vakarian #mass effect #my fic #i am sorry this took so long #didn't have the right idea until last night #at which point I got very excited because GARRUS #i love garbus #and i need to write so much more of him and shepard #i hope you enjoy!

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jalapeno-princess · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3: Home Is Where The Heart Is

Mark Tuan X Reader

Part 3 of the “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” Series

Word Count: 10K

Genre: Angsty Angst (This chapter is actually the saddest one of the five chapters but don’t worry, it gets better soon)

Summary: Distance makes the heart grow fonder—or does it?

A/N: Hey guys! So this part sounded better in my head(it’s kind of all over the place) but so is my life hahahaha please enjoy! (Italics are past tense but I bet y’all already knew that)

“I’m sorry, but the number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later—“

The frustrated groan that fell from your lips was expected. This was the sixth time you tried to get in contact with your boyfriend tonight but all your attempts went straight to voicemail. You knew being in a long distance relationship was going to be difficult; not having Mark around anymore was driving you to the brink of insanity more and more each day.

It didn’t help that there was a seven hour time difference between the two of you. When he would be waking up, you were in the middle of class and if you were about to go to sleep, he was getting ready to go to soccer practice. As much as you tried to make sure that Mark heading off to college wasn’t going to affect your relationship in any way, there was only so much you could do to stop yourself from worrying about what the future really held for the two of you.

From the beginning of your relationship up until now, you and Mark experience distance on multiple occasions. However, the twenty-minute distance between your elementary school and his middle school was nothing compared to being stuck in California while he went off to study at New York University.

You remembered the day he found out he was accepted like it was yesterday. Not only was Mark extremely talented in almost every single sport any college had to offer, but the grades he maintained all throughout his high school career was unbelievable. It was only natural for all these colleges to reach out to him; offering many different kinds of scholarships and even full rides to some of the universities Mark could only dream of being able to attend.

When you were younger, the older boy would always fantasize about traveling to New York. He would watch all kinds of shows, documentaries and anything kind of tour program that the travel channel had to offer. At the time, you thought it was extremely adorable. Any time Mark seemed very passionate about something never failed to pull on your heartstrings. But when the many acceptance letters began coming in the mail, you wanted nothing more than to rip them all up.

You’d be lying if you said the breathtaking grin on his face each time he opened up one of the letters didn’t make you happy yourself. You were extremely proud of Mark for being able to excel in almost every single thing that he put his heart in to. To this day, it boggled your mind at the idea of how perfect he genuinely was. There was not one letter of rejection and it wasn’t shocking to you. Mark was the kind of student athlete every school wish they could have.

He had acceptance letters from almost every university in California and you tried to indirectly hint towards wanting him to choose from one of them. At the same time, you forced yourself to accept whatever it was that he wanted. After all, it was his life—his future. You were being selfish for wanting to get in the way of that. Unfortunately, everything you’ve been worried about since you’ve realized Mark was going away for college at the beginning of your sophomore seemed to come true.

Fights began to occur whether you liked it or not. Deep down, you knew it was harder for him because he was thousands of miles away from his friends, his family and his favorite person—but that was his choice. His schedule and your schedule tended to collide. You were both extremely busy at the same time and it was evident that making time for one another was harder than you both thought it would be.

He called you every single day for the first month that he got settled in and he never failed to mention just how much he hated it. The campus was huge; your parents allowed you to go up with him and his family to explore New York City together while helping him set up his dorm. It was honestly one of the best experiences in your entire life. Just like Mark, you’ve always dreamt about traveling the world and the longer you two were dating, all you ever really wanted to do was experience going on trips all around the world with him.

For the most part of the trip, the Tuan family had an itinerary of what they wanted to do while in New York but they did give you and Mark some free time to do whatever it was that your hearts desired. You found yourself at Central Park having a cute little picnic that he planned out prior to landing in New York and he also took you to the skating rink in the middle of Times Square. Watching him fall on his ass multiple times made you come to the realization that maybe Mark wasn’t perfect at everything—but that didn’t matter. He was still flawless in your eyes; and it was one less activity for you to get jealous over.

The days seemed to fly by to both his and your dismay and soon, you and his family were just hours away from heading back to California. You deemed yourself old enough to say that leaving Mark had to be the hardest thing you have ever done so far in your entire life. You’ve never seen him cry so much before and you didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Sure, the idea of not having his family around really upset him; but the fact that he was no longer going to be able to see that breathtakingly beautiful smile of yours—nor would he get to hear your contagious in person really broke his heart. If it were up to him, he would’ve held you captive and prevented you from going on that six-hour plane ride home. His grip on your hand as you all drove over to the airport was tight while his face was hidden in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck—I made a mistake didn’t I?”

You gently pulled him away from your nape in order to look at him and you could’ve sworn you’ve never felt a pain in your chest like you did when you saw his eyes so swollen and red from all the tears he cried. Out of force of habit, you cupped both his cheeks and tried to give him the best fake smile you ever put on before.

“No, you didn’t make any mistake babe. If anything, this decision had to be one of the best ones you’ve made so far. Four years will be over before you know it. Trust me, you’ll be over the moon when you finally become a successful engineer and you’ll learn that it was all worth it.”

“Will it be worth it though? Leaving you—no longer physically being with you. Not being able to kiss these pretty lips of yours, not being able to hold you as much as I want to, not getting to hold these dainty little fingers of yours that seem to fit mind so effortlessly; like they were made for me. God y/n, I’m going to miss you so fucking much. I don’t think I can do this. I can’t live without you.”

The tears were practically burning at your eyelids. Then don’t. You wanted nothing more than for him to change his mind and those two little words were on the tip of your tongue—but it was too late. He was already registered; he had a jersey for all three sports teams he was going to be a part of. His dorm was filled with all his items—this was going to be his home for the next four years and you just had to accept it for what it was.

“This is your future Mark—“

“You’re my future baby. All I want—all I could ever need, for the rest of my life is you y/n. I’ve known it since I was seven years old and I’ll know it when we’re eighty. Promise me, we’ll be okay. Please. I know it’ll be hard; missing you is probably the only thing really fucking me over right now. I can’t promise you that things are going to stay the same between us as much as I would hope it could, but don’t give up on me. Okay? I love you y/n, more than I could ever fathom in to words. We’re going to be okay.”

His words from that night came back like a slap to the face. It was like they were taunting you. The two of you were definitely not okay. Although his college experience was off to a rough start, things seemed to fall in to place for your boyfriend during the second month. When football season began, he had something to do to take his mind off of how much his heart was longing to be with you.

You felt at ease knowing that he was finally getting used to being so far away and that he was actually enjoying his college escapades. He informed you on all the new friends he was making, how practices were longer and more grueling, how the campus food was nothing compared to his mom’s cooking and how people in New York would walk like they were on steroids.

If only you could say you were having as much of a fun time with school as he was. Junior year wasn’t all that you thought it would be—but you also blamed yourself for your disinterest in anything that didn’t regard your boyfriend. Your life revolved around Mark and it was something you never wanted to admit out loud in fear of sounding pathetic. What person in their right minds would spend the only free time they had sitting around with their phone in their hand, waiting for a call from their boyfriend? Only you apparently.

Your family were quick to pick up on how you were no longer yourself; everyone and their mothers were well aware of how much Mark meant to you and equally aware of how much you meant to him. The two of you were magnets; where you would go, he would follow. Nobody could separate the two of you even if they tried.

There was a gravitational pull between you and your boyfriend and everyone knew that his absence had to be the reason you were always so out of it. You might have been there physically; whether you were at school, hanging out with your friends or just sitting at dinner with your family—but mentally, you were with Mark.

Your mom was actually the one who talked you in to either getting a job or joining a club. Seeing as how you weren’t someone who liked to interact with anybody you didn’t really know on a personal level, you decided to go with the former and found yourself applying to many different jobs. Unlike a lot of your classmates who chose to work at coffee shops or at the state library, you accepted the job at a grocery store ten minutes away from your house.

It wasn’t the most ideal job, but you could use some extra money. The first day of work was pretty simple; it was more of an orientation to get you prepared for your next shift. Your manager went over what was expected of you as a cashier, how you were supposed to wear your uniform, where you could find items if customers were to come up and ask you for assistance and other necessary information about your responsibilities.

Right as you were packing up your things and preparing to head home for the day, it was then you walked in to the break room and noticed someone sitting on one of the couches. That someone just so happened to be one of the biggest pains in your ass.

“Jaebeom, what the hell are you doing here?”

When you first were introduced to him a little over five months ago, you didn’t think he was going to get under your skin like he has been for the last few weeks. In the first week of his arrival from Korea, your teacher gave you the responsibility of showing him around the school. Not only did you not feel as if you were personable enough to be the one to actually give a campus tour, you cringed at the idea of having to be alone with him.

At first, he attempted at small talk with you; he wanted to know what your favorite food was, how your high school experience was so far, if you were in any extracurricular activities and the kind of music you listened to. You decided to not give him the time of day and tried to limit any interactions with him specifically because you didn’t think Mark would be too fond at the idea of you befriending another guy. Especially one he wasn’t all that familiar with.

You also felt that there was a chance Jaebeom took a liking to you. Although you never really thought too highly of yourself nor did you want to assume that he had developed feelings for you, he always seemed so eager in wanting to talk to you. In fact, you had yet to see him try and pester anyone else the way he would with you. It was if he was picking on you purposely.

A part of you felt as if you were being extremely rude towards him; he was nothing but friendly and patient towards you and you were nothing but hostile with him. His kind personality only lasted for so long. When he realized that you had no intention on being friends with him, his considerate nature took a 360 degree turn.

Out of nowhere, his flirtatious compliments soon turned in to insults. He also started picking on you; throwing paper airplanes in your direction to get your attention, always selecting the good supplies before giving you a chance to and even hiding your things while you were away from the table. You knew you were at fault for his behavior; your hostility towards him when he was nothing but nice to you was unfair on your part. But you knew guys like Jaebeom—you had a feeling he was like most of the guys at your school. As much as you enjoyed hanging out with Mark’s friends, they obviously only chased after girls for sex.

Your boyfriend was the only one with genuine interest in relationships and being in love. Jaebeom didn’t seem at all different; it’s as if his aura screamed trouble and the last thing you needed was someone to meddle with your relationship in any way. The older boy looked up at you incredulously; he was wearing the uniform you were just given and he was sitting in the break room—obviously that meant he was an employee and you were well aware of that.

It was just that you had a hard time processing; or accepting rather the fact that you were going to be working alongside someone you considered an enemy. Out of all the places—why did he have to work at the same grocery store that you just got hired at? He already gave you so much stress at school, you could only imagine it was going to be worse now that he was your coworker. You found out in that same week that he was a stock member, so you wouldn’t have to deal with him at all which you were glad to say the least.

The less time you had to spend around him, the better. To your dismay, your contact with Mark went from a couple times a day to only once or twice a week if you were lucky. That wasn’t the worst part; the distance seemed to be getting in the way of everything. For the last three years in high school, you were good with keeping up your grades. You were also very good whenever it came to participation and answering any questions your teachers would ask you.

You didn’t realize just how unhappy and dejected you were until you and your parents were called in to the office by your counselor to talk about your grades. Not only were you failing two classes, you were one letter grade away from being on probation. Your parents wanted to be understanding; although you never involved anyone in to your relationship, they were well aware that your behavior was the subject of Mark’s absence and his failing to call and text you. You began to feel like he no longer loved you the way that he used to—the way you still did with him.

If he did, wouldn’t he use every minute of his free time, no matter how exhausted he was to talk with you? There were countless nights you’d stay up past midnight because it was the only time he’d be able to contact you. Here you were bending over backwards in order to even get a glimpse of him and yet—he couldn’t; or didn’t even think about doing the same for you and it sucked. It sucked because all your biggest nightmares were coming to life right before your eyes and there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t help but cry every time you thought about how he practically begged you to never give up on your relationship, no matter how hard it was.

Where was the boy who claimed to love you more than life itself? The same boy who would call you up at 2 in the morning just to cry over how much he missed going to sleep with you in his arms? Where was the boy who was willing to give up his entire college career if it meant being able to see you every day and who was this stranger who couldn’t care less about how you’ve been doing?

A part of you felt as if you wanted to confront Mark and tell him about how you felt, but you never got around to it because if he ever did get in contact with you, it was to complain about what he was suffering through or how his life was going. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be there for him; you were so grateful that Mark trusted you with all of his worries and problems, but you missed being able to do the same with him. You didn’t want to accept it, but your boyfriend no longer cared about you and it was a hard pill to swallow.

As irresponsible as it was for you to cry while at work, there was one day in particular that you just had enough. You stayed up the entire night before, contemplating your relationship with Mark and wondering if it was even worth fighting for anymore. Keeping up a long distance relationship was a team effort and you knew you were the only one putting in your heart and soul to make sure it wouldn’t fall apart.

Your manager had a feeling something was off with you that day as soon as she saw you walk in with your shoulders slumped and tear stains on your cheek. When you were ringing up customers, you had zero energy and you weren’t even trying to put on a fake smile—you just did not want to be there at all. Most of your friends felt like giving you your space even if they were extremely concerned with your well being. But they didn’t feel like there was anything they could do.

Your sister moved out of the house to live with her boyfriend a couple of months ago and both of your brothers were away at college. It was just you and your parents and even then, they would both work up until late. You felt so alone—and it wasn’t like you had Mark to run to. Everything in your life was falling apart and you were so unhappy. You loved Mark, more than you wanted to; and more than he deserved as of right now.

There was nothing more you wanted than to fly up to New York and knock some sense in to him—you also wanted to kiss him for as long as time permitted you to. Only one hour in to your shift, your manager pulled you to the side and asked you if everything was okay.

Honestly, you didn’t know how to respond. You were definitely not okay; nothing was okay. By the weary expression on your face, she knew something was wrong and instead of trying to force it out of you, she allowed you a fifteen-minute break just to take a little breather.

Sure, you have been working there for quite a while; but you didn’t want to take advantage of your manager’s kindness. She already had done so much for you; whether it was switching around your schedule so you could study for your midterms or finding someone to cover your shift if you called in sick so you didn’t have to, you knew she was an employer who genuinely cared about her employees and it was something you would be forever grateful for.

Once she told you to head to the back, you found yourself releasing the quietest whimper before you broke down in tears. You didn’t care whether or not someone were to walk in on you crying, everything was just too much for you to handle. Your chest felt tight and your throat grew sore with every sob. Why was all of this happening to you?

Just months ago, you were living out your best life. You had your entire family to come home to every day, your grades were almost perfect, you had both your friends and Mark’s friends to make you laugh and take your mind off of how difficult school could be but most importantly, you had Mark. You were so busy wallowing in self-pity that you failed to notice that you were no longer the only person in the break room.

You felt Jaebeom before you saw him. He glided his hand gently along your back as a way to get you to slow down your heaving. When he noticed that you leaned back in to his comforting touch, he took that as a sign to hold you even closer—and he did. Jaebeom had brought you on to his lap and began to run his fingers through your hair while rocking you back and forth.

Although he knew he was getting in to dangerous territory; there was no way he could just let you cry by yourself. There was a chance you would be mad at him for taking advantage of you while you were in such a vulnerable state, but he didn’t care. He’d accept whatever you were to throw at him once you realized what he did to help console you.

What you weren’t aware of, was that he did in fact have a crush on you. It may have been a suspicion on your part, but it was true—and he made it painfully obvious that he liked you. On his first day when your science teacher had him sit with you, he was captivated by your beauty. Sure, Jaebeom has seen many pretty girls in his lifetime, but something about you stood out to him and he could explain what it was because he didn’t know himself.

However, when your teacher had you bring him around the school—take him to his classes, show him where all the important buildings and offices were; he learned that you were a no nonsense kind of person. You were also very bold and blunt; something he wasn’t used to in a girl. Maybe that’s why he liked you so much. Unlike other girls, you hardly ever batted an eye to him nor did you appear to desire his attention. It wasn’t something he was used to; Jaebeom was always well-known and well-liked by his peers.

In the few months he’s been at your school for, he grew to be a crowd favorite. Everyone in your junior class either wanted to be him, be friends with him or date him. You however, wanted nothing to do with him and something about that made him all the more interested in you. He didn’t know why, but seeing you cry made his chest feel heavy. He had no idea why you were so upset, but he wanted to beat up whoever it was that made you cry.

Even if it wasn’t towards him, he’d observe the way you were such a bright and bubbly person whether it was with customers, your fellow classmates or your teachers. It was a bit of a stretch to desire a friendship with you, but he at least wanted to be civil. Jaebeom wasn’t going to lie, he got a kick out of teasing you and doing things he knew would get a rise out of you, but it was his only way of really getting to interact with you and he was going to take whatever he could get. When he realized you were no longer crying, he decided it would be best to get you off of his lap. You shocked both yourself and Jaebeom when you stopped his movements and cuddled in to his chest even closer.

“Wait—just a couple more minutes. Please?”

You didn’t know what came over you in that moment; whether it was because you were lonely and felt as if you had no one, or because this was the first time in a long time that someone held you in such a comforting way, but you didn’t want him to let go. You couldn’t help feeling as if it was wrong; being held by another guy who wasn’t your boyfriend—you knew Mark wouldn’t be all too happy if he were to find out that you were the one who wanted to continue being held by Jaebeom, but you weren’t able to find it in yourself to care.

The two of you stayed like that until Jaebeom told you he had to clock in, but once the two of you got up from off the ground, he pulled you against his chest and held you ever so gently. This was the first time you ever felt anything other than disgust for him and it actually felt pretty nice. He could’ve have just left you there; he could’ve allowed you to cry all by yourself and honestly he should have with the crude way you’ve been treating him, but he didn’t. You were evidently hurting and Jaebeom came to your rescue.

From that day on, your friendship with the kind-heartened boy blossomed immensely. Instead of hiding in one of your classes or in the back of your school library for lunch, you were now meeting Jaebeom in the courtyard. It took you a while to come to accept it, but being around Jaebeom felt like a breath of fresh air. Although his presence didn’t completely take your mind off of your failing relationship and what was barely left of it, he did make you laugh with some of the corniest jokes and he also brought you some of his mom’s homemade strawberry milk.

The longer you were friends with him, the more you learned that he was the complete opposite of what you thought he was. First, he was the biggest momma’s boy. Well—other than Mark, but being an only child, Jaebeom was always clingy and overprotective when it came to his mom. He wasn’t embarrassed to answer her calls if he were around you and one day, he brought you over to her café in order to let you try a few of her other concoctions. He was also a huge cat lover.

He was the proud father to five different cats he all adopted from the humane society. The fact that surprised you the most though; was that he was a b-boy dancer. He didn’t give off the vibes of being passionate for dance, but at the same time you didn’t think he was capable of taking care of anyone but himself—let alone five cats. You didn’t want to believe that there was anyone else for you other than your boyfriend—nor did you think you harbored any romantic feelings for Jaebeom; but at the same time, your chest would feel empty every time he would drop you home.

You wanted to believe that the love you had for Mark was enough to fight off the feelings you assumed were growing for the boy in question. It wasn’t until he called you outside of your house on a Saturday with a bouquet of roses in his right hand and a teddy bear in his left. You would never be able to forget how shy and flustered he looked; you never thought you’d see the day Im Jaebeom’s cheeks would be flushed with pink—it was even harder to process that you were the reason.

“Hey—I uh—would you maybe want to—I was wondering if you and I could—Junior prom?”

Shit. You were too focused on everything else going on in your life that you failed to remember than prom was in less than a month. Honestly; you didn’t really care about going. Mark never asked you about it and when you tried to bring it up to him one night, he told you he would be busy on that day so you ultimately decided you wouldn’t go.

There really wasn’t any point in going anyway; you were hardly close with anyone in your year and you didn’t want to waste hundreds of dollars on a night where you’d be alone and miserable. Plus, you already got to experience both Junior and Senior prom with Mark. Both nights were too amazing to even describe. Mark never failed to compliment how beautiful he thought you looked; in fact, most of the night was spent with him staring at you in awe of your beauty. There was no way you would be able to go to prom without tearing up over how much has changed in less than a year.

A year ago, Mark rented out a hotel room for the two of you to return back to once prom was finished and you knew exactly what his plans were for the rest of the night once he pressed you up against the elevator mirror and kissed you with all the energy he could muster. Even if you weren’t really in the mood to go, you didn’t have it in you to tell Jaebeom no.

Knowing the kind of guy he was, you were sure it took a lot for him to build enough courage to ask you such a nerve-wrecking question. The two of you may have been friends; but that didn’t necessarily mean you would want to go with him. As soon as he saw the small smile that he was falling for faster than he’d like to admit rise upon your face while you nodded your head in agreement, he returned back an even bigger and toothier grin. He was quick to hand you the gifts and pulled you in to his warm embrace before your mind could really process what was happening.

“I like you a lot y/n. Would you be my girlfriend?”

Hearing those words made your head spin. At this point, you were confident that Jaebeom liked you. He was so sophisticated and chic around anyone else but to you, he would conform in to the smallest little baby. He was so soft for you and followed you around like a lost puppy. You’d be stupid if you didn’t think there was even the smallest chance that he liked you.

Seeing him with such hopefulness in his eyes broke your heart; your relationship may not have been what it used to be, but there was no way you would ever cheat on Mark—nor did you want to give up on him just yet. You were waiting—what for, you had no idea. But there was a tiny voice in your head begging you not to give up on him just yet. You wanted to believe that one day soon, he would realize exactly what he was doing to you. He would realize how he was breaking your heart and if he didn’t hurry up and get his shit together, he would lose you completely.

“Jaebeom, I’m so sorry—I can’t—I—I have a boyfriend.”

When you watched his face practically drop at your confession, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Why didn’t you say something earlier? How could you lead him on like this? He was nothing but caring and thoughtfull; everything Jaebeom did was to make you happy. Something that only your boyfriend should be worrying about.

You didn’t feel like you needed to tell him everything about yourself nor did you feel as though that information was all that important. Yet—you couldn’t help but feel as though there was another reason as to why you didn’t tell him. You didn’t think it was because you didn’t want him knowing you were in a relationship just in case he did have feelings for you.

So what was the real reason? His frown was quick to disappear and you felt as if you’ve known the older boy long enough to distinguish his real smiles from the fake ones. The smile he was currently giving you did not reach his eyes. You wanted to reach out to him and give him a hug—but you would only be giving him more confusing signals.

“Jaebeom—“

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it okay? I should have expected it. There was no way someone so beautiful with such a charismatic and gracious personality was single. Please know that I won’t let my feelings for you get in the way of our friendship okay? Your boyfriend is a very lucky guy; I hope he knows that. I’ll see you on Monday, have a nice day.”

That was the first time you ever cried over someone who wasn’t Mark. Your heart hurt from Jaebeom. It was evident that he wasn’t a relationship kind of guy; nor did he seem to be the kind of person who would buy flowers for someone but he did so—for you. Jaebeom was changing his ways in order to impress you—to be the lucky guy who got to be the one who called you his. But that position has been taken for over ten years now and there was a battle going on between your mind and your heart on whether you wanted to continue your relationship or if you wanted to take a break from it.

That following Monday; you could tell Jaebeom was trying his best to show that the rejection wasn’t affecting him in anyway, but he was only human. You were the first girl ever that he fell head over heels for; so it was a lot for him not only to face rejection, but to hear the reason as to why. He wasn’t as talkative nor did he really show interest in anything at all. You even tried to come up with all kinds of conversations about topics you knew he was heavily interested in, but all your efforts failed.

You broke Im Jaebeom.

Thankfully, things didn’t stay awkward between the two of you for too long. If the only way he could have you in his life was as a friend, he was going to take it. Prom night finally arrived and you knew you should have been excited, but you couldn’t wait to get it over with. You didn’t even tell Mark that you decided to go—you didn’t think he would care anyway. It was disheartening for you to come to the realization that your relationship was causing you more anguish and pain than it was excitement and adoration.

When did Mark grow tired of having to put effort in to your relationship? When did he realize that you were the last thing he should be worrying about? When did he stop loving you? As much as you didn’t want to think or even believe that your boyfriend fell out of love with you, there was no other explanation as to why he’s been acting the way he has towards you. Sometimes, you felt that the only reason why Mark continued to stay in the relationship was because it was convenient for him. Your relationship continued for a span of a decade.

You were all he has known for the last ten years. You’ve seen it all; the good, the bad and the ugly. The idea of starting over with someone else, having to get used to someone else must’ve been troublesome. While you got ready for your prom, you were quick to pick up on your mom’s unusual behavior.

She was constantly texting someone on her phone and she motioned for your dad to walk over to where she was so she could show him what was making her so animated. You wanted to think it was because she was just excited that you agreed to go to prom, but something in your gut told you there was more to her exuberant exterior. You were just getting the finishing touches of your makeup done when the doorbell rang and your mom wasted no time making her way downstairs.

“Y/n! Jaebeom is here, and he’s looking especially handsome today!”

Your parents were aware of your friendship with the older boy and they seemed to approve of him. They were fond of the idea that he took care of you in the way Mark always did when he was still in California. You decided to leave out the fact that he liked you just in case it caused any unnecessary drama. After you finished putting on your dress and your heels, you started heading down to the living room and you could’ve sworn your heart rate increased as soon as your eyes landed on him.

Everyone with good eyesight could see that Jaebeom was exceptionally good-looking. You actually hated just how handsome he really was; but seeing him with his hair slicked back, wearing a suit and tie was all the more breathtaking. You didn’t think it was possible he could get any more handsome than he already was. When his eyes landed on you, his eyes widened in shock and you even saw his jaw drop a little bit. His stunned reaction was making you feel things you know you shouldn’t have been.

“Wow y/n you look—wow—“

You giggled softly as you playfully pinched his cheek as a way to prevent him from seeing the effect his words were having on you. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself. Shall we get going?”

He placed your corsage on your wrist and gave you his arm to hold while saying goodbye to both your parents. Jaebeom in more or less words, was the perfect gentleman. From the moment you both arrived to the hotel, he opened every single door for you, pulled out your chair for you and helped lift your dress to prevent it from dragging.

As amazing as the night had been so far, you despised the fact that you wished it was Mark there with you instead of Jaebeom; but it was only human of you to do so. No matter how much hell he was currently putting you through, you would rather go through the ends of the earth to be with him than to go to heaven with anyone else.

When your date excused himself to the bathroom, you decided to go on your phone until he was too come back. Right as you saw that you got a text notification, curiosity got the best of you since the only people who would get in contact with you these days were your parents, your siblings and Jaebeom. At first, you just assumed it was your sister wishing you a good time or your mom reminding you to watch your step. However, your heart both fluttered and sank when you finally opened up the message and saw who it was from.

Babe: Hey, are you free right now? Can we talk? 9:23 p.m.

You wanted to laugh hysterically. Out of all the times he could contact you, it had to be the night of your prom. A night where you were supposed to have fun and enjoy your last year and a half in high school. Was he really being serious right now? You wanted to leave his message on read; you told him that you were going to prom and you were sure he must’ve seen a couple of posts on social media from some of his friends in your grade that he still kept in touch with. But your heart was dying to hear what he had to say.

For some reason, you thought it was something negative. Those three words never led to anything good. Was he finally feeling the distance between the two of you? Was it suffocating him as it was slowly killing you? You didn’t know what he was going to tell you, but you couldn’t let it wait.

You: Sure, let me just go outside real quick. 9:24 p.m.

You decided to send Jaebeom a quick message that you needed to make a phone call so that he didn’t worry about your sudden disappearance. Once you made your way outside, you gave yourself a few seconds to recollect your thoughts. The last time you had a conversation with him that lasted for longer than five minutes was almost two weeks ago. It was currently almost summertime, yet the temperature was in the low sixties, so you began to rub alongside your arms to keep warm. After taking in a deep breath, you pulled up his contact and dialed his number.

“Hey baby. How are you?”

You absentmindedly rolled your eyes at his question. What did he care? How you’ve been no longer seemed to matter to him for over four months now, so what was so different about tonight? “I’m fine. What is it that you wanted to talk about? I’m kind of busy right now.”

You didn’t mean to come off so coldly, but you were just so frustrated with the entire situation and you were anticipating something negative to fall from his lips.

“Aw shit—I forgot. Tonight is your junior prom right? Damnit—if it’s any consolation baby, you look so fucking beautiful.”

You were confused at his compliment; when did he get a chance to see you? Since you weren’t all too excited for tonight, you didn’t really post anything—nor did you feel the need to send him any pictures. Maybe your mom sent him photos of you or something. Right as you were about to respond, there were two hands that lightly covered your eyes.

You knew exactly who it was without even having to guess; these were the hands you’ve held for more than half of your life. The same hands that would wipe away any tears that would fall from your eyelids. Mark. He spun you around and immediately placed a searing kiss upon your lips before you could even say or do anything.

“Hi baby, missed me?” Seeing him for the first time in almost five months should have been more thrilling, yet when you looked at him, you felt nothing. No butterflies, no sparks, no increasing of your heart rate—nothing. When you looked at him, you didn’t see the love of your life.

The boy in front of you held no familiarity at all. You wanted to react; you wanted to cry—to wrap your arms around him and kiss him all around his handsome face. You wanted to go in to detail about how much you’ve missed him and how these last five months without him were extremely difficult—but nothing came out. You could tell by his furrowed brows and the way he was biting his lip that he wasn’t expecting such an emotionless reaction from you.

“What are you doing here Mark?”

He frowned. Mark had a feeling he was being such an asshole towards you for the last few months. He knew the distance between the two of you was all his fault. It was killing him as much as it was with you. What you didn’t know, was that he took on a job in order to make some money for a trip back home—to see you. To say he was tired was an understatement.

If he wasn’t at school, he was at work. If he wasn’t at work, he was at practice and the only time he had to rest was right before bed. There was no excuse for not reaching out to you more often; honestly all he wanted to do was to call you and see what you were up to. That’s why all your calls were so short. He didn’t care what the two of you talked about or how long the conversation lasted, he just wanted to hear your voice. It was what kept him going.

No matter how hard college was for him, he knew he was going to get to see you again soon. If only he knew what his absence was going to do to your relationship; then he would’ve just asked his parents to pay for his flight home but it was a pride thing. Mark hated having to depend on people. He was independent from the day he could walk. Your reaction was the complete opposite of what he was expecting, but it wasn’t exactly unexpected.

“I wanted to surprise you. Listen, I can explain why I haven’t been so involved in our relationship these days and I’m really sorry y/n. I’ve been such a jerk and you really don’t deserve that but—“

“I think we need to take a break.”

You couldn’t even look at him; you were sure the two hours of makeup that the makeup artist work so hard on would get ruined if you were to see his reaction. It took you a long time to come to that decision; not once in your ten years of knowing him and loving him for would you have ever thought you would want to take a break from him. You never wanted to be away from Mark—ever. But he was never around anyway and waiting on him only interfered with what was going on in your life. It was also taking a huge toll on your mental health and you no longer wanted to give him that power anymore.

“Y/n, you don’t mean that. Baby you’re just mad and you have every right to be. But please, hear me out—“ You let out a scoff of disbelief.

“Hear you out? All I ever seem to do is hear you out Mark. Everything is always about you! Go check your messages. It’s always me—I’m always the one reaching out to you. I’m always the one initiating the calls, I’m the one staying up till the wee hours of the morning and going to school so exhausted just so I can talk to you. I—I can’t help but feel as though you fell out of love with me. Don’t get me wrong, your happiness, your health and your well-being is all I care about. But you don’t seem to give two shits about me or anything that goes on in my life Mark. I got a new job—I tried to tell you, but I never get any word in before you have to leave for school or for practice. I’m also on probation—my grades are shit right now and if I don’t get my act together, they’re going to hold me back an entire year and guess what Mark—it’s all your fault. I’m tired Mark. I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

“So that’s it? You’re going to give up all these years—these wonderful, amazing and unfathomably perfect years together because you’re being stubborn and refuse to hear me out? You’re giving up on us so easily y/n! You claimed that I fell out of love with you—you and I both know I am still so madly in love with you and I’m always going to be in love with you Damnit! What happened to all our plans huh? What happened to forever? You and I are soulmates y/n—did you forget that?”

“Of course I didn’t Mark—but don’t you dare play the victim in this. Our relationship is no longer what it used to be. I tried so hard—so fucking hard to get it back to what it used to be but each and every single one of my efforts went to shit because you obviously don’t think anything is wrong. I’m dying Mark. This relationship is going to be the death of me. I’m unhappy Mark. I haven’t been happy in such a long time. I’ve missed you so fucking much—“

“I’m here now baby. Fuck y/n I’m so fucking sorry baby. Please—please, please—let me fix this. I can fix this. I’m not letting you go this easy—fuck I’m never letting you go y/n. Get it through that thick head of yours. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

You hesitantly brought your hand up to cup his cheek and released a gentle breath of relief when you felt him lean in to your palm. You grazed his bottom lip with your thumb before leaving a chaste kiss against his lips. Your heart was begging you to hear him out—stupid heart. Such a stupid—stupid heart.

In his eyes, you could see the little boy who added an extra red piece in the slot when you weren’t looking so that you could win connect four against him. The same boy who gave you his shoes to wear as he walked with just socks on because he saw how much pain your heels caused you at his junior prom. There was not a doubt in your mind that Mark loved you even if you kept trying to convince yourself that he didn’t.

The love he had for you was still there. It just wasn’t as fierce or as strong as it used to be. You wanted to deepen the kiss; you loved kissing Mark. There was nothing you missed more than having his pretty lips meld perfectly with yours—but you knew if you were to kiss him, your entire speech about going on a break was going to be for nothing. You rested your head against his chest before placing a gentle kiss right below his jaw.

“I love you Mark. I truly believe I was made for loving you and I’m always going to love you. I have every intention to getting married to you, starting a family with you and spending the rest of my life with you. But right now, I think we need some time apart in order to find ourselves again. I lost myself loving you Mark—I gave you everything and you took it all without hesitance until there was nothing left. I need to learn to live without you Mark. I’m not giving up on us—I’m just doing what I feel is going to bring us back to each other again. You are my person Mark Tuan and I’m yours.”

The two of you stood there for what felt like hours. His grips were tight on your waist and you began to tear up as soon as his chest began to heave against yours. You knew he was crying and you weren’t actually expecting any kind of emotion out of him; you were still so shocked to hear him grow angry with your decision. When you looked up at him and saw his eyes were now bloodshot red and filled with tears; you were ultimately regretting your decision. You wiped a tears away with your fingers and pecked his nose lovingly.

“Don’t cry baby. In due time, we’ll be fine.”

You were selfish; you were the one pushing him away, yet you still wanted as much time with Mark as you possibly could get. You didn’t know just how long it would take for you to heal, so you wanted to cherish this moment while you still could. Unfortunately, your little reunion with Mark was interrupted and you had a bad feeling that things were right about to go downhill.

“Hey y/n, they’re going to start announcing the king and queen did you want to—oh—uh—hey man, you must be Mark. Nice to meet you.”

Mark’s grip on your waist tightened as his jaw clenched; yeah—this wasn’t going to end well. Mark was the definition of a jealous boyfriend. One time, he almost ended up twisting BamBam’s arm when the younger boy made a joke about how you were in the bedroom. He was extremely protective and territorial over you—but since he’s been absent, he had yet to hear about who this guy was that seemed to know who he was.

His eyes landed on Jaebeom’s tie and how it matched your dress perfectly. It only made him wonder—who exactly was this guy to you and why were you at the prom with him?

“Jaebeom, do you think you could go inside? I’ll be right there.”

He looked at your worried expression then noticed how both of Mark’s fists were balled at his sides. Jaebeom wasn’t stupid; he wasn’t all that bright when it came to his studies, but he could tell that you weren’t as happy as you played yourself off to be. Seeing how tense you and Mark both were, he couldn’t help but feel that your boyfriend was the reason.

As much as he wanted to call Mark out for making you cry so much these days, it wasn’t his place to do so. He was just your friend and if he wanted it to stay that way, he knew it was best to keep his mouth shut. You relaxed when you saw him nod in agreement before walking back inside of the ballroom.

“Mark, I think it’s time for me to head back—“

“Him. Is he the reason why you’re leaving me? Did you fall in love with him? Did you cheat on me y/n? Did you get lonely while I was away—working my fucking ass off at a job I hate in order to save enough money so I could come and see you?—“

“Mark, stop. You know it’s not like that—“

“Needed another dick to keep you satisfied while I was away? Is that what it is? What—did he say all these nice things about you to get you to fall for him? What is it y/n? What’s so good about him huh? What does he have that I’m lacking—“

“ENOUGH! Don’t you dare accuse me of cheating on you. You and I both know I would never EVER do such a fucking thing. My heart—this pathetic heart and what’s left of it, my mind, my spirit, my body—you own it all. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want anyone else but you for you to get it through your fucking head? Stop trying to play the victim Mark! You’re at fault here! Accept it! Jaebeom is just a friend—he was here for me when I had nobody. I had no friends—my siblings are all out of the house—my parents are gone all the time and my boyfriend only calls me when he wants to—when it’s convenient for him. Jaebeom is a genuine friend Mark. You should be happy that I had him to keep me sane. Instead of wondering who he is to me, you should be focused on what you are to me. Good night Mark.”

Jaebeom tried his best to cheer you up in any way possible, but he could tell by your body language alone that you just wanted to go home. He didn’t hear what happened after he left, but the curiosity was eating away at him. However, you already looked so distraught—he didn’t want to add on to it. You felt bad for Jaebeom—this was just as much his prom night as much as it was yours and now you ruined it for the both of you. What you could use was a three-month long nap. When Jaebeom dropped you home, he placed a soft kiss on your cheek before wiping a tear from your face that you didn’t even know fell.

“I don’t know what happened earlier and I don’t expect you to tell me. But just know I’ll be ready to listen whenever you’re ready to talk.”

You didn’t know what it is that you did to deserve such an amazing friend like Jaebeom—if someone were to put you through what you’ve been putting him through since the day you met him, you would’ve dropped that person completely. But here he was—so understanding—so willing to give up and sacrifice anything for your happiness. You made a mental note to make it up to him once you were mentally ready to do anything.

Your parents were shocked beyond words to see you coming back alone—they actually didn’t expect you to come home at all knowing that Mark was going to surprise you. They actually conspired with Mark to go and surprise you at the hotel because they’ve noticed how broken you’ve been for the last few months and they were hoping that seeing him again would get you in a better mood. Your mom was about to approach you, but it was evident that you just wanted to go to sleep.

Only three days in to your break with Mark did you realize you may have made a brief lapse of judgement. Sure, it was as if nothing has changed. You were already used to not hearing from him; but now that you knew the two of you currently were not a couple, it made things all the more difficult. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days and days felt like months. Waking up felt like a chore; you missed him like crazy.

Even if you only heard from him on his time, it was better than not hearing from him at all. Exactly one month after that heartbreaking night at your prom, you found yourself on a plane to New York. Once school was out for the summer, you found yourself at the grocery store almost every single day in order to make enough money to afford a round-trip plane ticket to see Mark with the hopes of mending your broken relationship. In this last month, you came to the realization that you were willing to have Mark in your life even if it was only once or twice a week; it was better than not having him at all.

“A105, A106, A107—A108. Here goes nothing.”

You were afraid that in the last month, Mark could have realized that maybe this break should be a permanent decision. He hasn’t tried to get in touch with you once since your prom night nor did he try to visit you once while he was still in California—but then again, you couldn’t blame him. He was giving you the space you asked for; now, you were hoping and praying he was going to open the door and welcome you with open arms. You knocked a few times and it felt as though you were about to throw up your heart. When you had yet to hear a response, you reached forward to knock again. When the door finally opened, the person behind it wasn’t who you were hoping it would be.

“Y/n?”

#got7 imagines #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines #got7 #got7 mark

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x--daughters-of-darkness--x · 3 years

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The Pretty Reckless’ Taylor Momsen Lives for ‘Death by Rock and Roll’

“The 27 Club” is a depressing cultural phenomenon — it’s the age musical luminaries Amy Winehouse, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Mia Zapata of the Gits, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix died.

The Pretty Reckless singer Taylor Momsen is now is 27 but was 25 when she wrote a reckoning in the semi-autobiographical “25.” The song appears on Death By Rock and Roll, the band’s fourth record. The LP is a stunner; a dozen stellar songs that are at once reverential, referential and intensely personal.

In the past four years, Momsen lost two hugely important people in her life. In 2017, Chris Cornell died by suicide, and not long after, her musical mentor and best friend Kato Khandwala died in a motorcycle crash. Understandably, Momsen was devastated. Thanks in no small part to the catharsis of music, the age of 27 seems to be a renewal, as she exorcises her pain in Death By Rock and Roll. The Pretty Reckless’ best album to date, the passion and pain are palpable in both music and lyrics. The plaintive “Got So High” could be an alt-rock chart-topper, in wonderful contrast to the raw rallying cry and aggressive gutter-rock feel of the title track. She moves easily from the quirky cinematic moment of “Broomsticks” into the fiery, feminist coven-call that is “Witches Burn.”

Speaking from her pandemic hideout in Maine, Momsen isn’t on the other side of the grieving process.

“I’d be a liar to say that I’m, you know, over things,” she tells SPIN. “I’m still in the process of healing, but the making of this record really was just a huge step forward. I was in a very, very dark space there for a while, and if it wasn’t for the making of this record, I don’t know if I would be here right now.”

She wallowed, but ultimately her instinct for self-preservation kicked in. As did a worldwide pandemic. Masking up is nothing new for Momsen, who calls herself “a super hypochondriac” who hasn’t left her house since March.

“Even before COVID, I was strict. It probably stems from being a singer and not wanting to get sick on tour, because you never fully recover. So [I always flew wearing] masks,” Momsen says.

Though she’s healthy, and it’s probably not an exaggeration to say that, emotionally, Momsen was saved by rock and roll. “I keep just sticking to the word rebirth,” she says. “I know it sounds cliché, but it really does feel like that for the band.”

While the songs are truthful, sometimes sad, always powerful, they’re never a pity party. “I keep trying to want to put a positive spin on it because I don’t want it to be this representation of this very morbid thing,” Momsen says. The concept behind Death By Rock & Roll is a positive rallying crying, something a band might shout together before going on stage. “It’s an ethic that we live our life by; go out your own way, rock and roll till I die,” she continues. “Don’t let anyone tell me differently.”

The phrase “death by rock and roll” was coined as the band’s de facto motto by Khandwala, which made it an appropriate choice for the album title. The band’s friend, producer and touchstone, Khandwala died in 2018 at the age of 47. He was with The Pretty Reckless from 2010’s Light Me Up to 2014’s Going To Hell and 2016’s Who You Selling For.

Khandwala’s memory bookends the album: A recording of his actual footsteps on a wooden floor begins the record, and the final song is the poignant tribute “Harley Darling,” a stellar ballad that could be a hit on Americana/country radio. If the only way around something is through it, Momsen dove in headfirst, putting all her angst, love, sadness and power into the songs.

“The record delves into a lot of darkness and a lot of sadness. There was no way around that as a writer. And as a person. It just became so a part of who I was that I couldn’t avoid it. But I think by writing it and getting it out, that was a huge part of the healing process.”

Wanting to use music to process and express her emotions, she called Khandwala, who had produced every The Pretty Reckless album, to talk about recording.

But then came the call that Khandwala had died.

“That was the nail in the coffin for me. I threw my hands up in the air and kind of went ‘Yeah, I give up.’ I went down a very dark rabbit hole of depression and substance abuse and everything that comes with that.” she confesses. Momsen was so down that she couldn’t even listen to music. Eventually, listening to her favorite artists helped her. “I started with the Beatles, listening to every detail, the whole Anthology, and just going through what made me fall in love with music when I was young.”

The band – drummer Jamie Perkins, guitarist Ben Phillips and bassist Mark Damon – met Momsen through Khandwala and were all equally devastated, processing losses in their own ways. They were on tour with Soundgarden in 2017, which was a thrill but ended in tragedy when Cornell died.

“As an artist [being asked to open the tour] was the highest compliment that you could possibly get,” she says. “If you know anything about me, I mean Soundgarden is just the epitome [when it comes to rock bands]. I was there that last night in Detroit,” she remembers. “I talked to him at night I gave him a hug and said goodbye. When I wake up to that news the next morning … It just went from the most elating experience to the one of the most devastating. And Kato was at all those shows.”

Cornell’s death shook Momsen and the band profoundly. She says it “took me down to a place where I wasn’t useful in the middle of a record cycle.” The Pretty Reckless were supposed to be on the road for another year, but Momsen wasn’t up to performing as she dealt with her grief. “I couldn’t grieve and continue to get on stage every night and pretend, put on this big rock show like everything was okay. I left the tour,” she says.

With time, she was able to listen to Soundgarden’s music, and eventually, she picked up a guitar. Death by Rock & Roll was a record that was easy in the worst way possible.

“I didn’t have to try to write it. It was more just a necessity that I didn’t even know I needed. It just kind of poured out of me,” Momsen says of the writing process. “There were a lot of tears during the recording. We put everything we had into this album, physically, emotionally. There are good days, bad days, obviously. I think the full spectrum of emotions was spanned on making this, from anger to tears of happiness to tears of sadness.” Some days were too difficult for Momsen even to attempt vocals, too heartbroken from the past few years.

That said, Momsen, in conversation, along with the record itself, aren’t outwardly mournful. Her voice has laughter and life. “I’m ecstatic for people to hear the album and to share it because I’m really proud of it. I know it sounds cliche, but it really does feel like the first album, like we had to start from scratch again, and we didn’t know how that was going to go.”

Still, there are songs where Momsen chooses not to divulge the true inspiration to inquisitive journalists. “I think it’s unfair to the listener to detail song lyrics in a personal manner. It takes away what it means to [the listener].” She offers up an example to clarify: “I’m a huge Pink Floyd fan. (She references “The Great Gig in the Sky” in the song “Rock and Roll Heaven.”) I’ve watched every documentary ever made about Pink Floyd. In one, Roger Waters is talking about ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond,’ going into depth about what the song was about to him, about Syd Barrett.”

Momsen was shocked to learn the song’s true story. “It was so not how I had taken that song my entire life! I’m glad that I know the story now. But if I had known before I listened to it, I think that it would have changed my perspective of the song. It wouldn’t have had the same impact that it had on me and my personal life. That’s why I don’t like to do that.”

Death by Rock and Roll reaffirms The Pretty Reckless’ love of rock and roll, along with the people who made them who they are, musically and as individuals. “I think because we went through so much trauma, and so much loss, that this record, in one way, feels so much like a gift. We’re given the gift of rebirth; I mean, how many artists can say that? As artists, you struggle to find inspiration always. In this case, inspiration was just thrust upon me.”

With a record that marks such a powerful turning point for The Pretty Reckless, talking about Khandwala and Cornell will be inevitable and ongoing. “This record starts and ends with my love letter to Kato. So there’s no getting around talking about that,” Momsen concedes. “But it’s so much more than that. I think it’s reflecting on the cycle of life. You come into this world with nothing but your soul, and you leave it with nothing but your soul.”

#Taylor Momsen #the pretty reckless #2021 interviews

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path-of-my-childhood · 4 years

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Taylor Swift Opens Up About Overcoming Struggle With Eating Disorder

By: Chris Willman for Variety Date: January 23rd 2020

Taylor Swift tells Variety more about "how unhealthy that's been for me - my relationship with food," a subject boldly broached in her Sundance documentary, "Miss Americana."

As it turns out, it eventually bothered Swift, too.

In one of the most revealing and surprising segments of the Netflix film, Swift talks for several minutes about having struggled in the past with an eating disorder.

After being pictured facing a phalanx of photographers after she emerges from her front door, Swift is heard in voiceover saying that “it’s not good for me to see pictures of myself every day.” Although she says “it’s only happened a few times, and I’m not in any way proud of it,” Swift admits there have been times in the past when she’s seen “a picture of me where I feel like I looked like my tummy was too big, or... someone said that I looked pregnant... and that’ll just trigger me to just starve a little bit - just stop eating.”

Swift elaborated on what she’s gone through with that in her interview with Variety for this week’s cover story, saying that it was difficult for her to speak up about it for the documentary.

“I didn’t know if I was going to feel comfortable with talking about body image and talking about the stuff I’ve gone through in terms of how unhealthy that’s been for me - my relationship with food and all that over the years,” she tells Variety. “But the way that Lana (Wilson, the film’s director) tells the story, it really makes sense. I’m not as articulate as I should be about this topic because there are so many people who could talk about it in a better way. But all I know is my own experience. And my relationship with food was exactly the same psychology that I applied to everything else in my life: If I was given a pat on the head, I registered that as good. If I was given a punishment, I registered that as bad.”

As much as Swift may be seen as a role model for speaking frankly on the subject, she’s got her own favorite artist, so to speak, when it comes to advocacy for women’s bodily self-image issues.

“I thought that I was supposed to feel like I was going to pass out at the end of a show, or in the middle of it,” she attests in the documentary. “Now I realize, no, if you eat food, have energy, get stronger, you can do all these shows and not feel (enervated).” Swift says she doesn’t care so much now if someone comments on a weight gain, and she’s reconciled “the fact that I’m a size 6 instead of a size double-zero.” Swift says she was completely unaware that anything was wrong in her double-zero era, and had a defense at the ready should it come up. If anyone expressed concern, she’d say, “‘What are you talking about? Of course I eat... I exercise a lot.’ And I did exercise a lot. But I wasn’t eating.”

The word “shame” comes up elsewhere in conversation with Swift, who by virtue of becoming one of the most celebrated women in the world has also had to deal with more catty comments than almost any celebrity in the world - and hasn’t always succeeded in shaking it all off.

*** You can read other parts of Taylor’s interview with Variety here: Taylor Swift: No Longer ‘Polite at All Costs’ and How Midterm Elections Inspired Taylor Swift’s New Song, ‘Only the Young’

#another bonus part #taylor swift #interview #variety #sundance 2020 #Taylor Swift: Miss Americana #lover era #Lana Wilson #body image #tw: ed

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yoddream · 4 years

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recluse | n.jm

pairing: jaemin x fem!reader

summary: being a teenager was difficult. being a teenager in new york city living the life as a superhero was next to impossible.

word count: LMAO I ACTUALLY HAVE ONE THIS TIME 14.6k i’m sorry

warnings: swearing, secret keeping(???), violence, a lot of talk about stitches, choking, chenle being mad cute

notes: y’all i’m not gonna lie, i don’t know how i feel about the writing of this. it was really difficult, and i feel like there are things that could’ve been left out, but i also feel like they show development. idk, lemme know what you think. also, is this beta-read? of course not

It started out with a simple spider bite. All you wanted to do was go on a field trip with your science class to a genetics lab, maybe get some pictures in, but it couldn’t be that easy. That was your life. The tour guide had shown you spiders that they were testing on. You looked in one of the cases and noticed it was empty. Before you could say anything, something stung your neck.

You couldn’t really remember what happened after that. The rest of that day was hazy. You’d woken up the next day with perfect vision, muscles, and webs shooting from your wrists. You’d decided to use your new “powers” (because Renjun refused to call them anything else) to fight crime. Of course, it hadn’t been your idea. Your best friend, Huang Renjun, convinced you to use it for good because “what was the point of having webs shoot from your wrists and being able to climb walls if you weren’t going to use them for anything?” The point is that you would be safe, but he never listened to that reasoning. Thus, Recluse was born.

You were grateful for whoever named you “Recluse.” It was definitely better than when the mayor had tried calling you “Spider-Girl.” It hadn’t sat right with anyone, so some journalist came up with your name. You stopped criminals before they could get away from the police, and every once in a while, there was a villain who’d somehow developed superpowers that you had to fight to protect the city. It was amazing how your attendance wasn’t atrocious with the amount of times you had to go out and fight crime. Then again, whenever you went out to fight the schools of New York City would be dismissed early.

Of course, you couldn’t take all the credit for the work you did. Renjun and his cousin, Chenle, were the ones that helped track the crime. You could feel the danger, but it was still hard to find it. Chenle was also your nurse. Whatever injury you had, he tended to it. Luckily, there hadn’t been any critical wounds yet, but you feared the day he couldn’t do anything but bring you to the hospital.

You walked to your biology class with Renjun and Chenle on either side of you, talking about how to improve the system that detected crime. They weren’t being quiet at all, and you were scared someone was going to find out your secret, so you elbowed them in their sides. They complained to you about how cruel you were, but you stopped them.

“If you want people to find out the truth, keep fucking talking, but I personally don’t want anyone to know who I am,” you hissed.

They hung their heads and apologized as you stopped outside your class. Rolling your eyes, you pushed them in the direction of their classes before heading inside. You took your seat at the lab table, already regretting taking the course. It was an AP class, so it wasn’t required, but you figured it would look good on college applications. Now, though, you just wished you had study hall instead so you could nap. You’d been up late the night before stopping an art thief, and you hadn’t gotten home until three in the morning.

The stool next to you screeched as your lab partner sat down. You glanced over at Na Jaemin and grabbed a napkin from your bag before handing it to him. He looked at you in confusion, so you motioned to your own mouth.

“You’ve got some lipstick,” you mumbled.

He let out a surprised, “oh!” and wiped his face, grimacing at how much red was stained on the napkin in his hand. “Thanks. I asked Alli if she’d left anything, but she apparently lied to me.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you busied yourself with getting your binder and book out. The feeling of someone watching you was making your skin itch, so you looked towards the doorway. Jaemin’s girlfriend, Alli, was glaring at you from the hallway before she stomped away. Your blood ran cold as you feared what she would do to you. Alli wasn’t scared to hit somebody, and she picked on you more than others because you were Jaemin’s lab partner.

You maybe also had a slight crush on him. How couldn’t you, though? He was handsome, he was nice, and he was smart. He never treated you poorly, unlike the people who actually knew you existed. Whenever you two had to work on a lab, he listened to every word you said, even though biology was probably boring to him. It was east to develop a crush on Jaemin.

Class dragged on as your teacher showed some documentary. There were definitely some snores from a couple kids around the room. You could feel your own eyes start to slide shut, but if you fell asleep you were sure to get a detention. Sometimes, you really regretted becoming Recluse. You didn’t sleep as much anymore, and it was taking a toll on your classwork. You couldn’t just disappear, though. Crime would increase tenfold once word got around that Recluse had left.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. You gathered your things and stepped into the hallway, ready to head to your next class. You could see Chenle and Renjun heading towards you, but before you could take another step, your hair was yanked as you were thrown into a row of lockers. A silence fell upon the crowd as Alli hovered over you, your body curled up on the ground.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, flirting with my boyfriend?” she asked before kicking you in the stomach.

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” you gasped out as you tried to stand up.

She growled and yelled, “Liar!” before punching you in the face. “You gave him a napkin to wipe his face!”

“He n-needed—” You were cut off by another punch to the face.

“Alli, what the hell?” you heard Jaemin shout, tearing the girl off you, but not before her fist connected with your cheek one more time.

Renjun and Chenle rushed over and helped you down the hallway as Jaemin and Alli got into an argument. You were led into a classroom that was used for storage and sat on a desk. Chenle pulled a first-aid kit from his backpack and put on some gloves before he started dabbing at the cuts on your face while Renjun stood nearby.

“Ow, ow, ow!” you whined.

“I know, I know. It’ll be over soon,” Chenle said apologetically.

“God, that girl is insane,” Renjun commented as the bell rang for the next class.

“Maybe he’ll actually break up with her this time,” the younger boy replied.

“I did.”

The three of you turned to the doorway where Jaemin was standing, seemingly out of breath. He took a small step forward, as if he was scared of getting too close. Chenle turned back to you and put a couple bandages on your face before throwing everything away.

“So much for the teachers stepping in,” he mumbled. “Do you feel dizzy at all? Are the lights too bright?”

“I’m fine, Chenle. No concussion,” you assured him.

“Can I talk to Y/N for a second?” Jaemin asked.

Your friends looked to you. You nodded to them that it was okay, so they packed everything up and headed out, but not before Chenle pressed a kiss to your forehead. He was very protective of you since he was the one that tended to your wounds every time you were Recluse.

“Does this happen often?” Jaemin questioned as he eyed your bandages.

“I’m really clumsy,” you lied.

“Alli also hates that Y/N’s your lab partner!” Renjun called from the hallway.

“It’s mostly because I’m clumsy.” You looked around the classroom before returning your attention to him. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

He rose an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you?”

You waved your hand. “Nobody notices that I’m missing.”

He frowned but nodded. “Okay. See you ‘round, Y/N.”

As soon as he was gone, Renjun and Chenle appeared in the doorway. You rolled your eyes, grabbed your bag, and jumped off the desk, but you doubled over from the pain that blossomed from your stomach. They rushed over and helped you stand, the three of you silently hoping the city wouldn’t need Recluse until you were healed. Of course, the world was cruel and never listened to your silent pleas.

You were fighting Silver Slash. He was a new villain, one that looked like an Edward-Scissorhands wannabe. You had no idea what he’d been using the blades for, but it definitely wasn’t for good. He cackled as you chased him through the streets, easily slicing through whatever web you shot. You were swinging when he lashed out, cutting your stomach. You immediately fell and skid across the asphalt.

“Y/N!” Renjun and Chenle shouted in the earpiece.

“I’m fine,” you grunted as you held your middle.

Silver Slash swiped out again, nicking your arm. You cried out and attempted to shoot a web at him, but he dodged it with ease and tripped you up. You fell hard on the ground and groaned when his foot landed on your stomach. One of the blades rested on your neck, and you froze. Any wrong movement could end your life.

“No,” Renjun mumbled.

“Give it up, Recluse. You’ve got nowhere to go,” Silver Slash said with a cackle.

With quick thinking, you shot web at his face. He yelped and stumbled back, barely missing your face with his blade. You then pinned the entirety of his arms to a building, leaving him defenseless. The police arrived as you clutched at your wounds. An EMT started to approach you, but you panicked and attempted to swing away. When you tried to use the arm that was cut, you couldn’t help but yelp in pain, and you let go of the web. You managed to shoot out before you hit the ground.

A lot of excruciating pain later, you were lying on Chenle’s desk as he stitched you up, apologizing profusely whenever you whimpered. Renjun was sitting on the bed, his face twisted with worry. This wasn’t the first time you were seriously hurt, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the blade that had rested along your throat. Your fights were usually broadcasted on TV or some social media website, so it was easy for your friends to watch.

“Okay, all set,” Chenle said before helping you sit up.

You pulled your shirt down and looked at Renjun. He stood up and walked over, pulling you into a tight hug. You could feel Chenle join from behind, being careful of your new stitches. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you managed to hold them in.

“Don’t scare us like that again,” Renjun mumbled into your neck.

“You know I can’t promise that,” you said.

“Pretend you can. Just for tonight,” Chenle begged.

Sighing, you told them, “I promise.”

///

You walked into school slowly, worried you would break the sutures Chenle had so meticulously sewn into your stomach a few days ago. This was your first day back since the fight with Silver Slash; normally you would be worried of somebody linking the two, but you were in so much pain that you hadn’t cared. Your Aunt May was furious that you’d been badly hurt, but she’d let you stay home to recover a little.

“What the hell are you doing carrying your backpack?” Renjun hissed as he started to slide it from your shoulder.

“Trying not to cause any suspicion, asshole. I’d rather be in pain than have somebody find out who I am,” you snapped quietly.

“Fine, but if your stitches somehow manage to rip open, good luck. Chenle doesn’t have that shit in his first-aid kit.”

Rolling your eyes, you opened your locker and started switching books out. “I’ll be fine, Renjun.”

He and Chenle walked you around the whole school, refusing to leave your sides until they saw you sit down for the period. When they dropped you off at biology, Jaemin was already there, which was surprising. Then again, he no longer had a girlfriend to hold him up.

“Hey, you’re back,” your lab partner commented.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“You said that nobody notices when you’re missing, but I did,” he explained.

“O-Oh. Well, congratulations. You’re the only one besides Chenle and Renjun.” You could feel your cheeks heating up, so you turned to your backpack, but you winced in pain as your stitches pulled when you reached for your bag.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied.

You tried to focus on the lecture, but your whole body still hurt. Out of all the things you’d developed when being bitten by that stupid spider, you didn’t get healing. It was infuriating, having to sit out and be careful of whatever wounds you were given. Thankfully, the city understood when you couldn’t show up, especially when they always watched the beating you were given. The stitches were definitely a setback, but you didn’t have much choice but to wait for it to completely heal.

At the end of class, Jaemin picked up your backpack and walked out the room, ignoring your protests. When you exited the room, he was waiting by the door. Renjun and Chenle were a few feet away, confused at the scene that was before them.

“Give me my backpack,” you demanded.

“You’re clearly still in pain from the fight,” Jaemin argued.

You froze as your friends gasped quietly. “What?”

Did he know you were Recluse? You’d tried for so long to keep it a secret, so how’d he figure it out?

“When Alli beat you up? Are you sure you don’t have a concussion?” he asked.

Oh, thank god. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m still in a little pain, but my friends can help me.”

“No way. She was pissed at you because of me, so I’ll carry your things. It’s the least I could do after what she did.”

You knew you would lose this argument, so you sighed and started walking to your next class. Chenle and Renjun caught up with the two of you, Chenle throwing an arm over your shoulders. You winced when his hand brushed against the stitches in your triceps. Hiding your injuries was going to be a lot harder than you thought, especially when everyone thought your injuries weren’t as bad as they truly were.

When you reached the lunchroom, you walked over to your usual table and sat down, Renjun and Chenle taking their usual spots across from you. Instead of dropping your bag and leaving, Jaemin took one of the seats by your side and started pulling out a lunch box from his backpack.

“Uh,” you stuttered.

“Don’t you usually sit with the Lees and that Park kid?” Renjun questioned.

“Yeah, but Jisung is Alli’s cousin, and Jeno and Haechan are friends with her,” Jaemin explained. “I’ve been hiding from them the past few days.”

Two trays landed on the table harshly, making the four of you jump. Haechan and Jeno were glaring at the boy next to you, making him cower under their gaze. You could see Jisung standing nearby, looking more upset than angry.

“Dude, where the hell have you been?” Jeno demanded. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I-I—”

“You broke up with Alli and fucking disappeared,” Haechan added.

“Aren’t you guys friends with her?” Renjun asked.

Jeno shook his head. “We’re friends with Jisung. When Jaemin and Alli started dating, he invited Jisung to sit with them. We joined, like, a day later.”

“I hate my cousin,” Jisung piped up. “Sitting with them was like sitting alone, so I brought them with me.”

“Well, feel free to join us,” Chenle said with a grin.

The three boys didn’t hesitate to join your little group. Jisung sat next to Chenle, while Jeno sat next to you and Haechan next to Jaemin. You gingerly pulled your lunch out of your bag, your stitches stretching with every move. You managed to get it without drawing attention to yourself, which was good. They boys that had invaded your table hadn’t noticed you at all, so you were able to eat without worrying about them staring at the bruises on your face.

Halfway through lunch, the hairs on the back of your neck rose. It wasn’t from danger, but rather somebody watching you. You slowly turned around and found Alli’s eyes on you. If looks could kill, you’d have been murdered. You whipped back around, wincing at the stitches in your stomach pulling. Renjun sent a questioning look your way, but you shook your head. You didn’t want your friends to worry about you.

When the bell rang, Jeno turned to you and asked, “Ready for math?”

You were shocked. “You know who I am?”

He chuckled and nodded. “You and Chenle sit in the back, and you were in my English class a couple years ago.”

“Not to mention you got the shit kicked out of you a few days ago,” Haechan added, which earned him a slap to the back of the head from Jaemin.

“Ignore him. He’s just pissed he didn’t know who you were until after that.”

“It’s not fair!” Haechan whined. “I wanna know who finally made Jaemin break up with that bitch!”

Stares were definitely directed towards you when people saw Jeno not only walking with you, but also carrying your backpack. Who was this girl that was suddenly in the company of first Na Jaemin, and then Lee Jeno? You didn’t like the attention on you; it was invasive, having everyone stare at you as you simply walked to your next class. You hoped it wouldn’t last long.

At the end of the day, you managed to escape that horrid building without running into any of the boys. You needed some time to yourself to breathe and not worry about being Recluse or having your classmates stare as you were accompanied by a group that was more popular than you. It felt weird to walk home by yourself, though. Usually Chenle and Renjun would accompany you on their way to Koreatown.

Their parents grew up along the border of Korea and China, and even though Chenle’s parents moved to Shanghai once they were married, he learned Korean from them. Renjun learned both languages from living where he did. Renjun moved to New York first, his parents unable to find a place in Chinatown so they found a place in Koreatown. When Chenle’s family moved to New York a few years later, his parents wanted to be close to Renjun’s family, so they moved into the same neighborhood. You knew the other guys also lived there, their parents either being from Korea or first-generation Korean-American.

“Hey Aunt May,” you said when you entered the apartment.

“Hey! Where are Renjun and Chenle?” she asked as she exited the kitchen.

You shrugged. “I left school before them.”

“Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

You headed to your room without another thing to say. You so badly wanted to collapse onto your bed, but you couldn’t with the stitches. Frustrated, you threw your backpack to the ground and laid down. Your hands grabbed at a blanket and pulled it over your body and face. You couldn’t move your body however you wanted, you couldn’t carry your own fucking backpack, and you couldn’t swing through the city to clear your thoughts. You felt trapped.

There was a sudden knock on your window. You jumped at the sound that tore through your quiet room. Your curtains were opened, so it wasn’t like you could just ignore it. Annoyed, you removed the blanket from your head to find Renjun and Chenle on the other side of the glass, the younger boy holding up his first-aid kit. You opened your window to let them in.

“Did you forget your appointment with Nurse Zhong?” Chenle joked. “Lie back on your bed.”

You did as you were told and pulled your shirt up enough to reveal the stiches. Chenle pulled some gloves on and started poking and prodding, cleaning around the wound. Renjun stood nearby, his arms crossed as he watched.

“What happened to you earlier? Haechan said he saw you rushing down the street when school ended,” Renjun said.

“I just needed some time to myself,” you stated.

Chenle frowned with a nod. “Yeah, today was odd. I felt really overwhelmed by the time the last bell rang. The wound seems a little irritated, but that could be from moving around so much. Nothing seems to be infected, though, so that’s good. Let me check out your arm, and then you should be all set.”

He helped you sit up and lifted your sleeve to check the other cut. Once he determined that it was okay, he put new bandages over the sutures and packed everything up. Then, he and Renjun sat on the bed with you in silence, knowing you didn’t want to speak but needed them to stay. You eventually took your homework out and worked on it together. When Aunt May knocked on your door, she told the three of you that dinner was ready. Even though she didn’t have the super senses you did, she always knew whenever your friends were in your room, whether they came through the door or the fire escape.

After the boys were gone, you crawled onto the fire escape wearing a large sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants; you were pretty sure neither of them belonged to you, but that was what Chenle and Renjun got for leaving them at your place. You watched the cars drive by below, their headlights and brake lights mesmerizing. Aunt May joined you not too long after, two mugs of hot chocolate in her hands.

“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” she asked.

You let out a sigh. “I think my friend group is about to grow to six people, and I don’t want it to.”

“How come?”

“Because I either have to keep my secret from four people, or I have to tell them all. I don’t know which one is worse.” You took a sip of your hot chocolate and looked at the city that you’d dedicated your life to protect. “One could put them all in danger, and one could ruin everything when they eventually find out.”

“You think they’d find out?” she questioned.

“Chenle wasn’t supposed to find out, but I showed up in Renjun’s room with my suit torn from Dr. Octopus,” you pointed out. “Do you remember how upset he was that he didn’t know?”

Your aunt let out a loud laugh. “Oh, I remember. He wouldn’t talk to either of you for almost two weeks. What changed his mind, again?”

Your mood dropped. “I showed up at Renjun’s again with that gash in my side. Their families were having dinner, and I fell to the floor in Renjun’s room. He knew that it was me, so he came by to check on me. He almost screamed when he saw all the blood, but I’d managed to stop him in time. By the time their dinner was over and Chenle came by to check on Renjun and me, I’d already lost so much blood that I almost passed out.”

Aunt May wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “That’s right. He had a first-aid kit in his backpack with sutures stolen from the vet’s office he works at, right?”

Nodding, you said, “He was so calm when stitching me up, but then he started crying once everything was away and I was bandaged. He begged me to go to him whenever I needed help, and our friend group was suddenly okay again. We had to throw away so many towels, though. Mrs. Huang was so pissed that half of them were missing, so the three of us saved up money to replace them.

“God, Aunt May. I can’t do that to four more people. Renjun and Chenle go through so much when dealing with me. I won’t make the others do the same.” You placed your head in your hands and shook your head. “What the hell am I gonna do?”

Your Aunt took a deep breath as she thought. She wanted you to have more friends, but your life wasn’t normal enough to just make them left and right. You had to really choose who you could trust just in case your secret was revealed to them. “I think that you should trust your gut. It sounds like you want to be friends with them, and your secret shouldn’t stop you from doing so. Your secret can’t be hidden forever, and that’s something you have to accept. You just have to hope that when they do eventually find out, they’ll still be your friend. If not, then good riddance.”

You smiled and hugged Aunt May. She was all you had after your parents died in a plane crash. You were just a baby when it had happened, and she was barely twenty-three when she adopted you, but you had nowhere else to go. There were no other relatives, and nobody liked to see a family split up. She always knew how to solve your problems, and you were forever grateful for that.

///

The day your stitches were taken out, you immediately put on your new suit (thanks to the anonymous donor that always made you one; you had your suspicions that it was Tony Stark, but there was no way to prove it) and swung through the city, finally landing on a skyscraper to look at city you called your home. You could hear the people below notice you and start gossiping. It didn’t take long for all of New York to know that Recluse was back.

There was a sudden alarm going off a few streets away. It was from a car, and you could hear glass shatter as someone broke into it. Shooting a web to a nearby building, you made your way to where the crook was. You landed on the car as it sped off, almost losing your balance. Kneeling down, you poked your head through the broken window.

“You know, motor vehicle theft can send you to prison for up to four years,” you announced.

You shot a web at the brake pedal, and the car came to a screeching halt. The thief tried to punch you, but you dodged it with ease. Flipping off the car, you opened the door and wrapped the thief up before dragging him out the car. He tried to rip the webbing, but everyone in New York knew that it was difficult to do with your bare hands.

What you didn’t expect was for the thief to have a knife. He cut through his restraint and lunged at you. You managed to escape the blade, crying out, “Hey! I just got my stitches taken out!”

You punched him in the face and then kneed him in the stomach. He dropped the knife, so you kicked him in the side and restrained him as the police arrived. Before they could say anything to you, you shot a line to the closest building and flew through the streets.

“Welcome back, Recluse,” Renjun said in your ear.

“It’s good to be back.”

You were heading home when you heard a scream. Changing direction, you landed upon Jaemin being held over the edge of a bridge by a couple random gang members. Your heart raced at the sight; seeing someone you knew in danger was completely different than the regular civilian.

“Now, what should we do since we have him?” one of the guys asked with a smirk.

“Please, let me go!” Jaemin begged.

“Let you go? Okay,” the other man said.

Everything was suddenly in slow motion. You flew forward as they let Jaemin drop. Webs shooting out, you trapped the gang members to a tree as you went over the bridge as well. One arm wrapped around Jaemin as another shot a string out to swing you over to a hill nearby. Jaemin fell to the ground, so you crouched down. His eyes were wide with fear that still coursed through his veins, despite him being safe.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He looked at you before lunging forward to pull you into a hug. “Thank you, Recluse.”

His voice was so weak, and his whole body was shaking. You hugged him back, carding your gloved fingers through his hair. “No problem. It’s what I’m here for.”

Somebody must’ve called the police, because you could hear them arrive to the tree the gang members were stuck to. You stepped away from Jaemin and tried to leave, but he stopped you. One look at him told you he was afraid to walk the rest of the way home.

“I’ll follow you from up high, okay?” you promised.

He nodded and watched you swing to the apartment building that was nearby. He started his walk back home, and you followed him like you promised. He flinched every time someone walked near him, but then his shoulders relaxed a little once they were gone. As he reached the steps to his building, he looked up. He raised a hand to wave at you before heading inside. You listened until you heard his parents greet him, and then you headed back home.

“Was that Na Jaemin?” Renjun asked.

You jumped, forgetting that Renjun and Chenle could hear everything. “Yeah. He needed some help.”

The next morning, you could hear Jeno telling Haechan and Chenle about Recluse stopping the car thief. You approached the group with a grin and threw an arm around Chenle’s shoulders, despite him being taller than you. It didn’t take long for the others to join you, and Jeno repeated the story for them, since he’d watched the stream of the fight.

“God, Recluse is amazing,” Jeno said with a happy sigh.

“And she’s hot,” Haechan commented.

“How do you know? She wears a mask,” Renjun pointed out.

“Her body, duh! Her suit fits her really well.”

“She saved me last night.”

Everyone turned to Jaemin, completely shocked at what he told them. Jisung was brave enough to ask, “What happened?”

“Some, uh, some gang members hung me over a bridge and dropped me. She caught me in time.”

You could feel Renjun and Chenle’s eyes on you. So maybe you forgot to tell them what had happened. It was traumatizing for both you and Jaemin. One wrong move, and he would’ve been dead. You were so glad you hadn’t messed up, but you’d also barely got that string of web to hit the bridge before your bodies slammed to the ground.

“Holy shit, dude. Are you okay?” you asked.

“I am now. I would be dead if it wasn’t for her,” he said, a small smile on his face as he talked to you.

It was Friday, so everybody was on edge, ready for the weekend to start. Jisung and Chenle apparently had plans to go to the arcade that had opened last week in Koreatown. Jeno and Haechan were going to Boston for the weekend. Jaemin had relatives visiting, so he was stuck home. You and Renjun lied about having your own plans when you were invited to Boston, but the truth was that you had to stay in case Recluse was needed, and Renjun refused to let you work alone, even if it was for a couple days.

That night, you couldn’t help but put on your suit and travel to Jaemin’s place. What he’d gone through wasn’t something anyone could get over quickly. You made sure your earpiece was off so Renjun didn’t know you were out. What you were doing was completely reckless, but you needed to know that he was okay, especially after your talk with Aunt May.

You landed on the fire escape and peeked into his room. He was sitting at his desk, doing his homework. Tapping on the glass, you watched him whip around and smile before coming over to open the window. He leaned against the windowsill and propped his chin on his fist, staring at you.

“On patrol?” he asked.

“You could say that,” you replied, pitching your voice a little deeper to disguise it. “How are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Good, I guess. Didn’t sleep very well last night, but my friends luckily live in the same neighborhood with me, so I didn’t have to walk home alone after school. Why, are you worried about me?”

“I worry about everyone I save,” you stated. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. See you around.”

He told you to wait, but you ignored him to head back home.

///

You crawled through Chenle’s window and fell to the ground, announcing your arrival. You knew he was home, so you hoped he was the one that found you and not his parents. Your side still hurt like hell from the electrocution of Dr. Octopus’ tentacles. He’d broken out of prison and managed to get his machine back, and the fight was brutal.

The door flew open, slamming into the wall. You looked over and found not only Chenle, but Jisung as well. Your eyes widened at the sight of one of your new friends, and you started to panic. Chenle, however, sprang into action and pulled out his first-aid kit.

“Damn it, why didn’t you call me?” he asked.

“Didn’t realize you had a friend over,” you replied.

“We ran home when we heard about Dr. Octopus. Jisung, go to the fridge and grab an ice pack. Wrap it in a towel from the linen closet and bring it back here,” he ordered. When Jisung didn’t move right away, he snapped, “Jisung, now!”

The younger boy rushed out the room, and Chenle ripped your mask off. Your hand reached out to grab it, but he stopped you. “I need to make sure there’s nothing broken in your face. He hit you pretty hard out there.”

“But Jisung—”

“Do you really think I care right now?” he hissed.

“I do!” You grabbed your mask and pulled it back on. “It’s dangerous enough that you two know. Adding Jisung will just make it worse. I can’t risk it.”

He sighed but didn’t push it. He knew you were right, but he couldn’t help but worry. Broken bones were really bad, especially when not treated properly.

“Does Renjun know you’re here?” he asked quietly as you could hear Jisung’s footsteps get closer.

You nodded and said, “He also knows to stay quiet because of Jisung.”

“You better not have told the others she’s here,” Chenle stated as Jisung entered the room again.

The other boy handed over the ice pack with a frown. “That would be stupid and dangerous for the two of you.”

“We just have to make sure,” you told him.

Chenle pulled on some gloves and looked at the burn on your side. It was blistering, and he could tell you were trying not to cry. He had you place the ice pack on your head as he dabbed at the blood that was dripping down your ribs. He then applied some burn cream and wrapped it up. When you stood up, you started to walk towards the window, but he stopped you.

“I really need to check that nothing’s broken in your face,” he said.

“I’m fine, Chenle. It was nice meeting you, Jisung.”

You could hear Jisung shout a, “You too!” before bombarding Chenle with questions. You felt bad, but you needed the help, and calling him before you arrived wasn’t the first thing on your mind when you escaped as the police were arresting Dr. Octopus.

“That was too close,” Renjun said.

“No shit.”

The rest of your weekend was, luckily, uneventful. Aunt May made you ice your face while she yelled at you for not being more careful like you’d promised. She also asked Chenle how to check for broken bones in the face before deciding that you managed to stay in one piece this time.

On Monday, you thought you covered the bruises on your face pretty well with makeup, but by the reactions of the others, you were dead wrong. Jaemin, Jeno, and Haechan crowded around you, talking over each other as they asked question after question. You looked at your other friends and froze when you saw Jisung staring at you, his eyes narrowed.

“Jesus Christ, Renjun and I went biking and I fell down a hill in Central Park,” you snapped, shoving Haechan’s hand away. “And that hurts, Haechan.”

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled.

“Man, you weren’t lying when you said you’re clumsy,” Jaemin commented.

“Never doubt me.”

During your free period, you escaped to the library. Word on the street was that there was a new villain named Siren, and you needed to research as much of them as you could so you were prepared when you would eventually face off against them. You found a table in the back corner of the library and pulled out your laptop. As you logged onto it, the chair in front of you was pulled out. Jisung sat down, throwing his bag onto the ground.

“What’s up, bud?” you asked.

“I won’t tell anyone,” was his response.

You cocked an eyebrow. “Little lost here.”

“You think I didn’t notice you grab your side earlier when Jeno bumped into you? Or that the bruises on your face are definitely worse than if you fell off a bike?” He leaned back in his chair.

“Okay, what is it you want?” you questioned.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Like I said, I won’t tell anyone. Friends don’t tell each other’s secrets.”

You were frozen in place. Did he really want nothing in return? The only reason why you’d trusted Renjun and Chenle was because they were your best friends. Was Jisung the same?

“Why?”

“Telling people puts us all in danger. I would feel horrible if something happened to you or anyone else because I decided to tell someone,” he replied.

You sighed. “Okay. Can you help me research then?”

He smiled and scrambled to take a seat next to you. You made sure no one was around before telling him about what you knew, which wasn’t a lot. He pulled out his own laptop and started looking at online chats and fan sites, hoping to find something on Siren. You looked at articles that were written about them. From what you could tell, Siren was a girl, and she could control water. She could also sing a song to lure anyone in. It would be extremely risky to fight her, knowing she could control you or anyone who could hear her voice.

During lunch, it hit you that someone else knew. Someone else knew, which meant another life was forever in danger. Your stomach twisted at the thought, and you could feel the food you just ate start to rise in your throat again. Your chair scraped against the tile as you pushed it back, ignoring the calls of your name as you ran out the cafeteria. You ran to the closest bathroom and threw the door open, falling to your knees in the nearest stall and vomiting everything that was in your stomach. The bathroom door squeaked open, and somebody was holding your hair back. You could hear Renjun’s soothing words in your ear, assuring you it was going to be okay, but it wasn’t. A poor sixteen-year-old was in danger, and it was all your fault.

You grabbed some toilet paper and wiped your mouth before turning around. Renjun and Chenle were luckily the only ones in the room with you, which made it easier for you to say, “Jisung knows.”

“How?” Renjun asked.

“The bruises on my face were a big tell, and then Jeno bumped into my side earlier. He put it together,” you explained.

“Shit. Did he threaten you at all?” Chenle questioned.

You shook your head. “He doesn’t want anything. All he said was that ‘friends don’t tell each other’s secrets.’”

“Well, at least I can check your face whenever he’s over,” the younger boy pointed out.

“God, I should’ve called that day. It would’ve been enough time for you to either get him out or distract him or something. From now on, nobody else can find out unless I say so,” you stated.

They nodded in agreement and left the bathroom to let you clean up. You rinsed your mouth out and stared in the mirror, your hands clutching the sink. The makeup was barely covering the bruising, so you took a makeup wipe from your bag and cleaned it all off. There was no point in covering it, anyway. Your hair was a frizzy mess, and there were dark circles under your eyes from being up almost all night in pain.

You exited the bathroom and almost ran into your whole friend group. Haechan handed you your backpack, which you took while thanking him. Jaemin asked if you were okay, so you nodded, but you could tell he didn’t believe you. Thankfully, he didn’t question it, so you were able to walk to your next class in peace.

///

Jaemin was in trouble again. He was hanging from the fire escape of an abandoned building, the rusted bolts having broken under his weight. The police were on the street, waiting for the fire department, but they were held up a couple streets away in traffic. He could feel his hands slipping from the sweat produced by his palms.

“I don’t wanna die,” he whispered.

The metal creaked as he held on. The whole thing shifted, causing his hand to slip. He screamed as his body cut through the air, but then someone grabbed him, and he was standing on the roof of a café. He looked over to you, and a big sigh left his body.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I just needed to get away and think.”

“Don’t be. We all need those moments,” you assured him. “Pick somewhere safe next time, okay?”

He nodded. “This building has never been a problem, but I guess I can’t say that anymore.”

“You’ll find another one. Ready to head home?”

He nodded, so you told him to wrap his arms tightly around you before you launched yourself in the air. You made sure your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist so he wouldn’t slip. When you made it to his apartment building, you landed on the roof so you wouldn’t be seen. He looked at the door leading to the stairs before turning to you again.

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done,” he said.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you stated.

“Stay safe, please.” And with that, he was disappearing into his building.

You woke up the next morning feeling jittery. You were going to breakfast with all the guys, and you were filled with anxiety. It was the first time you weren’t hanging out with just Renjun and Chenle, and you didn’t know how to act. Do you act yourself, or do you put on a mask? Did you even dress the same? Should you dress nicer? You looked at your phone and opened the text that was waiting in the new group chat with them.

Haechan: I don’t know about you guys, but I’m showing up in sweats

You threw on some sneakers and headed out, yelling out to Aunt May that you’d be back soon. When you exited your apartment building, Renjun and Chenle were waiting for you. They hadn’t heard you, so you sneaked up and jumped on Chenle’s back, shooting a small web at Renjun’s hood before pulling it to choke him jokingly. Chenle yelped while Renjun scrambled to get the string off his sweatshirt.

“You’re evil,” the older boy complained.

Chenle’s arms hooked under your knees as he added, “I don’t know how the city thinks you’re a hero.”

You pulled a lock of his hair. “Say it louder, why don’t you.”

“Sorry.”

You were carried the few blocks to the diner when you complained about having to hold onto Jaemin the night before. Jaemin and Haechan looked amused at the sight of you on Chenle’s back. Your trusty steed gently dropped you into the booth before sliding next to you, throwing an arm along the back of the seat. Renjun sat across and tangled his feet with you.

“What’s with the royal treatment?” Jeno asked.

“She decided she wanted to go jogging last night, and now her legs hurt,” Renjun lied.

“And I treat her like the queen she is,” Chenle joked.

You rolled your eyes and laid your head on his shoulder as the waitress approached the table. You recognized her as somebody from Chenle and Jisung’s grade. A glare was sent your way as she took in the position you two were in. Once she was gone with your drink orders on her notepad, your eyelids fell closed from the body heat that radiated from Chenle and Jaemin.

“Looks like our waitress is jealous of Y/N,” Haechan commented. “She was practically glaring daggers at Chenle’s arm around you.”

“Well, when Chenle finally gets a girlfriend she’ll have to fight me for his love,” you joked.

A silence fell over the group. You opened your eyes to see what was wrong, only to find everyone but your best friends staring at you in shock. “What?”

“You two aren’t dating?” Jeno asked.

“No. Did you all think that?” Chenle wondered.

“Have you seen how the two of you act?” Jisung gestured to you. “You’re always touching!”

“Yeah, it’s easy to mistake it,” Renjun commented. “Chenle’s just really protective of Y/N, and she enjoys the attention. But I’m still her best friend.”

You laughed at that last part. “Of course, Renjun. You’re my number one.”

You were in the middle of eating breakfast when there was an explosion outside. The seven of you ducked under the table as glass shattered and went flying. You could hear maniacal laughter ring through the streets. It sounded familiar, but you didn’t know who it was.

“Oh, Recluse! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” the female voice shouted.

“We need to get out of here,” you said as you started to move, but Jaemin grabbed your arm.

“Are you kidding me? It’s not safe out there!” he scolded.

“We can’t just stay in one spot! That’s the easiest way to be found,” you argued. “Come on, we can slip through the back and use the alleys to get away.”

You and the guys stayed low as you sneaked into the kitchen to use the back door. Once you were in the alley, you took off running, ignoring Jaemin yelling your name. You had to get home fast to change into your suit. Luckily, you lived close, so you ran up the stairs instead of using the elevator. When you threw yourself through the door of the apartment, Aunt May had your suit in hand. You changed quickly, not caring that you were standing in front of her, and then you were jumping out the window and flying through the streets. Your earpiece was nothing but static, but that was to be expected. As far as you knew, Renjun and Chenle were still with the others.

“Ah, there you are! I was wondering when you would show up.”

You looked over from your perch on a building’s ledge to face a girl in an all-white suit. A mask was covering the upper half of her head. She was standing on a wave of water that she produced from a broken fire hydrant nearby. This must be Siren, you thought to yourself.

“What do you want?” you asked.

A grin spread across her face. It sent a chill down your spine. “I just want men to listen to me for once.”

She opened her mouth and started singing. You covered your ears and looked to the street. Your friends were standing on the sidewalk, staring at the scene unfolding before them. Jisung had covered his ears, but the others were walking towards where Siren was hovering. Jisung looked at you, a look of fear on his face.

“Get them out of here!” you shouted as you commanded your suit to play the loudest music it could find.

When he didn’t do anything, you swung down and found a tech store nearby. When you ran in, nobody was around, so you used your web to grab six sets of headphones. You then ran out and plugged a set into Jisung’s phone, turning the music up loudly before placing the set over his ears. He looked around and grabbed the other pairs from you before running after your friends. You turned your attention back to Siren and swung up. You kicked her in the jaw, which stopped her singing. Her eyes landed on you as she seethed before opening her mouth and screeching. You could feel the vibrations from her scream, and you watched as the buildings around you shook. There was debris falling everywhere, and you yelled when you saw some flying towards your friends. They managed to dodge it in time, but you motioned for them to leave. Your music turned off as Siren started yelling at you.

“This isn’t over, Recluse! I will get my revenge!” She threw a large wave of water at you, and your body smacked into the wall of the diner. You fell onto the awning that hung over one of the windows, bouncing a little against the fabric.

“Recluse! Are you okay?” you heard somebody ask.

Groaning, you sat up and looked at your friends. Their heads were swiveling, as if searching for something. Renjun looked at you and mouthed, “Go,” right as Haechan asked where you’d gone.

Luckily, your suit was waterproof, so by the time you reached home, there wasn’t a single drop on it from swinging through the streets. You changed quickly and ran back downstairs to find your friends. Chenle spotted you first and threw his arms around you.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked in your ear.

“I’m good, I’m good,” you assured him.

“Y/N! Where the hell did you go?” Jeno asked.

“I just started running. I thought you guys were behind me, but when I noticed you weren’t, I tried to go back. The police had blocked the street off, so I couldn’t get through,” you lied. “I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

“I’m just glad we’re all okay,” Jisung said. “That was close.”

“Jisung, how’d you know to block our ears?” Haechan questioned.

The youngest shrugged. “Recluse put a pair of headphones on my head and told me to do the same to you guys.”

After the morning’s events, you all decided to head to Chenle’s place. He lived in a penthouse, so it was easy to decide where to go with the amount of people in your friend group. You collapsed onto the couch as soon as you walked into the Zhong’s home, exhausted from your fight. Renjun lied on top of you, making you groan at the sudden weight.

“Thanks for saving us,” he said quietly.

“Dog pile!” Jaemin shouted before lying atop Renjun.

It didn’t take long for all of them to try to add to the pile. You could barely breathe, but you were surprisingly okay with that. Maybe it was because you could hear the others giggling. Maybe it was because you knew it was all fun and games. Maybe it was because of the grin on Jaemin’s face when you locked eyes.

Chenle brought you all to the theatre room. You had to go to the bathroom first, so when you arrived, you didn’t know who to sit with. Everyone was paired up, curled together with blankets. Jaemin noticed your hesitance and patted the spot that wasn’t occupied by Jeno on the couch they were sitting on. You crawled into the spot and thanked him when he covered you with the blanket.

You didn’t know what movie you were watching, but it didn’t matter. Jaemin had an arm around you, and you were so warm. It was nice compared to the quickly-chilling city as the seasons were getting ready to change. Your head fell onto his chest as your eyes closed, the sounds around you fading away.

Jaemin looked down at your sleeping form. It was the first time that day that you’d looked completely relaxed. When you two were just lab partners, he worried about the dark circles that seemed to be tattooed under your eyes and the black-and-blue clouds that seemed to constantly paint your skin. Now that you two were friends, that worry was almost tripled. He didn’t like to see any of his friends hurt, but with you it was different. There wasn’t a single day you weren’t covered in some kind of injury.

You shifted in your sleep, snuggling closer to him. He couldn’t help but smile. It was clear you had issues trusting people, so seeing you lie with him so easily made his heart swell. He silently vowed to himself that he would never break that trust.

///

You threw punch after punch, your opponent dodging every one that came his way. He sent a couple back, barely missing your face. Lunging forward, you were shocked when he grabbed you and threw your body onto the mat, pinning you. You struggled, but there was no way you could get out of it without revealing your super strength.

“That’s enough, Jeno,” Jaemin announced.

The weight on you suddenly lifted, and a hand was held out. You took it and let Jeno help you up before grabbing your water bottle that was next to the mat.

You’d had another encounter with Alli. Jeno and Jaemin broke it up before it got too bad, but you were still bleeding and bruised. Jaemin had told Jeno to call Chenle before yelling at her. The rest of your friends had shown up in the hallway, apparently together when Chenle got the call. They had all watched as he expertly patched you up before Jeno offered to teach you to defend yourself. You were hesitant to agree, but Renjun and Chenle convinced you to take him up on his offer. Jaemin came along to make sure Jeno didn’t go too far. The only problem was that he wasn’t giving you a chance to figure out how to control your strength while also getting out of whatever hold Jeno had you in.

“Wanna go again?” Jeno asked.

You nodded, so the two of you got into position, waiting for Jaemin’s call. Once he shouted out, you lunged forward and tried to knock Jeno off his feet. He easily wrapped an arm around your neck and fell backwards, your back to his chest. His legs wrapped around your hips to keep a good hold on you. Before you could even think about how to get out, Jaemin called it off again. Huffing, you stood up and faced away from the boy.

“Jaemin, give her a chance to get out,” Jeno said. “She can do it. She just needs time to think.”

There was a hesitant, “Fine,” so you faced Jeno on the mat again and waited. At the call, you circled each other for a few seconds before Jeno took a step forward. You dodged it and tried to jump on his back, but he turned around and caught you. He threw you off and got you into the same chokehold from before. You could see Jaemin wanted to stop the fight, but you needed to figure out how to get out of it. Jeno wasn’t hurting you much, making sure he kept his promise to go easy.

However, when his hold became a little tighter, something took over you. You threw your body to the side to roll the two of you over, and then you jabbed your elbow into his side. He fell off and started to praise you, but you didn’t hear it as you straddled his waist and punched him in the face a couple times. He cried out in pain, which snapped you out of it. He was cradling his face, and you could see some blood and a few tears. Your hands started to shake as you got off him. You could hear Jaemin call out your name, but it sounded distant. Panicking, you grabbed your bag and sneakers and ran out of the gym as fast as you could.

What the hell had you just done? Jeno was just trying to help you, and you hurt him. You couldn’t even remember if you’d used your full strength or held back. Either way, you were too scared to face both him and Jaemin.

Chenle opened the door not too long after you had knocked. He ushered you in when he saw the tears that stained your face. Renjun and Jisung were hanging out in the family room, but they jumped up once they saw you. He waved them off and led you to his room, pushing you towards the bathroom. He grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from his closet, handing them to you before closing the bathroom door, leaving you alone. You undressed and started the shower up, letting the steam fill the room before stepping through the glass door. The hot water pelted your skin, creating a harsh flush on the sensitive surface. You quickly washed your body, trying to muffle the sobs that threatened to escape your lips.

Once you were done showering, you changed into the clothes Chenle had provided and stepped back into his room. It was empty, and his bed looked so inviting, so you crawled under the sheets and felt the exhaustion hit you like a truck. You ignored your phone that was vibrating, instead falling asleep fairly quickly.

The creak of the door woke you up. You looked over, expecting it to be Chenle or Renjun, but froze when your eyes landed on Jeno standing in the doorway. You threw the covers over your head in hopes of him leaving, but the footsteps that grew closer told you otherwise. The bed dipped under his weight as sat down, and he slowly pulled your shield down. You looked at him with tear-filled eyes, taking in the bruises that had blossomed on his face from where you’d hit him.

“I’ve been trying to call you for the last two hours,” he stated. When you didn’t say anything, he let out a sigh. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” you asked in a small voice as you sat up.

“Of course not. You proved that you can defend yourself, and that’s all I wanted,” he explained. “You scared us when you ran away, though, especially when you weren’t picking up your phone.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s okay.”

“Did I break anything?”

He chuckled. “Chenle checked me out. Everything’s still in place. Is it okay if I hug you?”

You nodded, so he wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back soothingly. You could feel tears prick at your eyes again, but you held them back. When he pulled away, you wiped at your face and smiled at him.

“Come on. Jaemin’s been freaking out since you ran away. I think he was more worried than me,” he said, helping you get out of bed.

You shuffled down the hallway, sticking close to Jeno’s back. When the two of you appeared in the family room, the rest of the group looked towards you. You weren’t surprised Haechan had shown up at some point. Jaemin leaped off the couch and rushed over, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he whispered in your ear. “I thought something bad had happened to you.”

You apologized and pulled away. “How’d you guys even find me?”

Renjun said, “I went to check on you and saw the notifications on your phone. Jaemin had called you, like, fifty times, so I told them you were here.”

“You messed up Jeno’s pretty face,” Haechan joked.

The others snapped his name, but you laughed at the comment. Jeno’s face was pretty swollen, and there was a cut on his lip from his teeth when you’d punched his jaw. You couldn’t help but admit that he was still pretty handsome, even with the injuries. When they laughed, you realized you’d said it out loud.

When Aunt May called you home, Jaemin accompanied you on your walk back. You moved slowly down the sidewalk, enjoying his company as he told you stories about him and Jeno when they were kids. Your heart fluttered when you saw the fond smile on his face.

You knew what was happening, and there was no way to stop it. You were developing deeper feelings for the Na boy. It was no longer just a crush. The feeling in your gut told you what you already knew; falling for him was dangerous. You wouldn’t be able to act on it. If he ever asked you out, you would have to turn him down. Being a superhero meant giving up the right to a love life.

///

It was in the middle of the night when you decided to visit Jaemin as Recluse. You could tell he still had issues with being alone at night. When he’d walked you home the other night, you changed into your suit quickly and followed him. You could hear his heart racing as he rushed to his apartment building. He’d put on a brave face to make sure you got home okay.

You hung upside down and lowered yourself enough to see through his window. It was dark in his room, but his face was lit up by his phone screen. Three taps on the glass, though. He looked over and waited for his eyes to adjust before smiling when his eyes landed on a familiar superhero mask.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I mean, I’m flattered that you’re visiting me, but it seems a little stalkerish, doesn’t it?”

“Would you rather it be someone like Green Goblin or Screwball?” you questioned.

He hummed. “Green Goblin is dead, and Screwball is in prison.”

“Guess I’ll go,” you said.

“Wait!” He grabbed your arm gently. “Why are you here?”

You hesitated. “The other night, I was in the neighborhood—”

“Fitting.”

“—shut up, I was in the neighborhood when I saw you walking a girl home. You’re quite a good actor if she thought you were okay,” you finished. “Still worried about getting jumped?”

He shrugged. “Little bit, but it’s nice to know that there’s a superhero who will be there to save me.”

“How do you know I’ll be there?” you questioned.

“I was talking about Captain America. Geez, not everything is about you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You got me there.”

He stared at you with a smile on his face before slowly reaching out. When his fingers grazed your neck, you pulled back a little. You asked softly, “What are you doing?”

“Do you trust me?”

When you didn’t answer, he tried again. He paused to see your reaction before continuing when you didn’t pull away. His fingers inched under your mask, pulling it down enough you reveal your mouth before leaning in and kissing you.

Despite the weird position, the kiss was wonderful. He was gentle, cupping your face as lips moved against yours. Your heart was soaring; Jaemin was kissing you. Jaemin was kissing you!

And then it all came crashing down. Jaemin wasn’t kissing you.

Jaemin was kissing Recluse.

You pulled away and yanked your mask back on. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I—I’m sorry,” he stuttered.

You rushed home, not hearing whatever he was yelling to you. You could feel your eyes start to water from the heartbreak that made your chest feel like it was torn open. Jaemin kissed you because of the mask you wear, not because of who was under said mask. He didn’t feel anything towards Y/N, and that was something you’d have to accept right away.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

The next morning, you almost skipped school before remembering you had a test in biology. You got ready for school quickly and walked alone, not bothering to wait for Chenle, Renjun, and Jisung. There was a decision that had to be made, and you needed all the time to think about it that you could get.

There was luckily no one waiting for you at your locker, so you started to grab your books. Somebody leaned against the locker next to you, but you tried to ignore him. When he inched closer, you rolled your eyes and turned your attention to him.

“What?” you asked.

“You ready for the test?” Jaemin asked with a smile.

“Hope so. I studied all week,” you replied.

“I can tell. You’ve got serious bags under your eyes.”

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up. Body stiffening, you looked around to see if anything stood out, but there was nothing. Your senses were never wrong, so seeing nothing out of the ordinary had you on edge. What was nearby that was considered dangerous?

“Hey, you okay?” he questioned as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

You flinched at the touch, so he pulled away quickly, mumbling an apology. Guard up, you slammed your locker closed and stormed down the hallway, determined to find the source that was making your senses go haywire. Your head swiveled left and right as you looked at the other students and teachers. Everything seemed fine.

“Y/N, are you sure you’re—”

“God, Jaemin, will you just leave me alone?!” you shouted.

The hallway was suddenly quiet. Jaemin stared at you with wide eyes, his knuckles turning white as the grasp on his backpack strap tightened. You could see his Adam’s apple bob before he gave you a jerky nod, turned around, and walked away. You heart sank in your chest at the sight, but you ignored it. There was a threat, and some boy that didn’t even like you as much as you did him could not get in the way.

Everything seemed to calm down for a couple hours. You were able to concentrate on taking notes, and then you took your test in biology. You could feel Jaemin’s eyes on you a couple times, but you did your best to ignore it. It was only when you left that class were your senses on edge again. You looked around the hallway, but again there was nothing. Jaemin was standing behind you, shifting on his feet as if he was uncomfortable. Then again, with how you had reacted earlier, you would feel the same way.

“Y/N, Jaemin!”

Before Jaemin could say anything to Renjun and Chenle, you grabbed the two and dragged them down the hallway, ignoring their squawks of protests until you were in the classroom that Chenle had patched you up in after the fight. You made sure no one had followed and closed the door for safe measure.

“What the hell?” Renjun exclaimed. “First, you didn’t wait for us this morning to walk to school, then you ignored our texts, and now you want to talk to us?”

“Yeah, what gives? You can’t just expect us to act like it didn’t hurt us,” Chenle added.

“Something in this school is making my senses go crazy,” you stated.

The anger on their faces dropped as they processed that information. Finally, Renjun asked, “What happened?”

You explained to them what you had felt before homeroom. How the hairs stood up, and you were looking for the source when you’d yelled at Jaemin. Then it went away for a couple hours, but it came back when you’d left biology, but there was still no sign of any actual danger.

“Do you think maybe it was a mistake?” Chenle questioned as the bell rang.

“I don’t know how my senses could do that,” you replied. “It’s never been wrong.”

“But you’re not finding anything,” Renjun pointed out.

“I know, which is why I’m freaking out. What the hell could it be picking up?”

“We’ve gotta get to class, but if it happens again let us know,” Renjun said.

The three of you split up, and you headed to your next class. You kept an ear and eye out, but nothing was popping up. You couldn’t help but feel like you were going crazy; nothing was standing out, but your senses could clearly feel a threat.

When it was time for your free period, you headed to the library. You took your usual table in the back and sat facing the rest of the room, hoping you’ll see whatever the danger was if your body acted up again. What you didn’t expect was for Haechan to sit across from you.

“Why’d you yell at Jaemin this morning?” he asked.

“How’d you find out about that?”

“You did it in the middle of a high school hallway. How you do think I found out?”

You sighed. “I can’t explain it.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you said, “Can’t, but even if I just didn’t want to, it’s none of your business.”

“It is when it involves one of my best friends.”

You slammed your hands down on the table, making everyone in the library jump. You stood up to tower over Haechan. His jaw was clenched, but you could tell he was a little scared. “If you really think that’s going to change my mind, guess again. My life is absolute shit right now, and there’s not much I can do about it, so the last thing on my mind is how badly Jaemin’s feelings are hurt because I yelled at him this morning because he wouldn’t leave me alone when I clearly did not want to talk to him. If you have a problem with that, oh well. I don’t fucking care right now.”

You grabbed your backpack and stormed out, ignoring the librarian’s calls to you. Deciding quickly, you walked out a side door and started to head home. There was no way you would be able to pay attention in the rest of your classes, and you didn’t want to face your friends during lunch. Aunt May would be pissed, but like you had told Haechan, you didn’t care.

It didn’t take long for your phone to blow up with texts from the others, wondering where you were. You told them the truth, that you’d left during free period. Chenle immediately tried calling you, knowing something was up, but you declined. Texting was the only thing you were okay with at the moment, knowing you could stop yourself from saying something you’d regret.

You were putting your suit on to start your patrol when Renjun, Chenle, and Jisung showed up to the apartment. You let them in and headed back to your room to grab your mask.

“What the hell is going on?” Renjun questioned. “You yelled at both Jaemin and Haechan? I know it’s not just about what happened earlier.”

You sighed, playing with the cloth in your hand. “I think I’m gonna quit being Recluse.”

“What?” the three of them asked.

“Why would you do that?” Chenle pressed.

“I’m losing even more sleep with all these villains around, and—” You stopped yourself. Did you really want to reveal what had happened the night before?

“And what?” Jisung asked quietly.

“And Jaemin kissed Recluse last night.” There were quiet gasps as you felt the tears start to well. “I’ve been wanting him to kiss me for so long, and he kissed her. Doing what I do, I can’t date anyone. I can’t go out with my friends spontaneously, I can’t go on a vacation, I can’t do anything somebody my age should be doing.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Chenle said. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Because it feels ridiculous to complain about when I protect the city.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up again. You rushed to the window just in time to see a blur of white grab a very familiar figure from the sidewalk. Pulling your mask on, you launched yourself out the window and starting swinging, trying to keep up. Renjun, Chenle, and Jisung rushed to the window to watch, and Renjun noticed a bouquet lying on the sidewalk. He pulled his laptop from his bag and typed a few things before his scanner and the call to your earpiece popped up.

“What just happened?” he asked.

You grunted as you tried to move faster. “Jaemin was just snatched by Siren.”

“What? How do you know?”

“Because I saw him on the sidewalk, and I’d recognize that horrid suit anywhere.”

“Why would she take him, though?” Chenle wondered.

Your mind tried to rack through your memories of earlier that day. The first time you felt something was wrong, you looked around the hallway, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That was when you’d yelled at Jaemin. The second time he was right behind you, and the hallway seemed normal.

Wait. Who was that glaring at you?

“Oh my god. It’s Alli,” you said.

“What?”

“Alli. Alli is Siren. She was there both times earlier, glaring at Jaemin and me the whole time. I didn’t think anything of it because of how she acts,” you explained. “Renjun, have you found her on the scanner yet?”

“No, not yet. She moves faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how—oh! There she is! Alli’s located—” He stopped suddenly, and you could hear his throat click as he gulped in fear.

“What? Where is she?” you asked.

“She’s on the roof of SM’s building.”

SM Entertainment, the New York branch. Anyone who lived in Koreatown or Chinatown that wanted to get into the music industry knew of the company. It was tall, towering over the Korean neighborhood. Shiny, with all its clean windows and metal beams, it was hard to miss. You knew Renjun and Chenle had visited it a couple times before giving up once they’d realized that the work would make what they loved doing become a nightmare. Knowing how high that building was, you were afraid of fighting on the roof with Jaemin there as well. Any one of you could fall over the edge, and there was a 33% chance that it would be the only person who didn’t have any powers to save himself.

You landed on the building halfway up and crawled the rest of the way, hoping to use the time to hatch a plan. You didn’t know if he was tied up, if she would use her singing to control him to fight you, or something else. There was nothing that you could use to block his ears, either. You were going to be completely blindsided, no matter what she did.

Peeking over the ledge, you found Jaemin tied to some kind of pole. His glare was focused on Siren as she stood in front of him, a flirty smile on her face. There were a couple bruises on his face, probably from her attacking him before kidnapping him.

“Let me go,” he cried out. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“No. You men need to realize that you can’t just go around, breaking people’s hearts for no reason,” she argued. “All men do is date around, break hearts, and then act like it’s no big deal. Are you going to do that to Recluse, too?”

Shit. She must’ve seen him kiss me yesterday. “I would never do that to her.”

“And how am I supposed to believe you?” Yeah, Jaemin. How am I supposed to believe you?

“You don’t have to. I know the truth,” he stated. “Now let me go.”

You decided it was a good time to reveal yourself, so you shot a web out to grab her ankle before yanking. She dropped to the ground with a groan as you climbed over the edge. “Give it up, Siren.”

The girl stood up and turned to you, seething. “No! You two deserve whatever comes to you!”

“Why are you doing this?” Jaemin asked.

“You broke up with me for no fucking reason, and then you went and kissed her last night! What does she have that I don’t?” It was clear Alli was having a psychotic breakdown, which made the risks even higher. Whatever she decided to do she wouldn’t regret.

“Alli? What the fuck? I broke up with you because you beat Y/N up when she’d done nothing wrong!” Jaemin shouted.

“She constantly flirted with you!”

“So what if she did?! I never flirted back! All she had done was give me a fucking napkin to wipe your lipstick off my face. I don’t get how that made it okay to punch and kick her.”

“Can we not do this? I really don’t want to be in the middle of a lover’s quarrel when one of them is tied to a pole at the top of a skyscraper,” you said.

Alli turned back to you, and suddenly you were hit with a wall of water. Stumbling back, you shot a string out to stop yourself from tumbling over the edge of the roof. You then used a full web to trap Siren, but she screeched, the sound tearing it to shreds.

“Don’t think you can stop me that easily, Recluse. I’m far more powerful than you,” she hissed as she stepped forward.

Swinging a leg out, you swept her off her feet and pinned her to the ground. “I have more experience.”

You were thrown to the side before she stood up. She walked over to Jaemin, singing as she untied his restraints. You covered your ears to make sure she didn’t get control of you. She whispered something to him, and he turned to you, his face emotionless. Then, he lunged.

You squeaked and dodged him, trying to plan your next move. He suddenly tackled you to the ground, taking your hands off your ears. “Listen to her. Listen to the song.”

You struggled against his grip, despite have superhuman strength. You could hear Renjun yelling in your ear to try and block out the song, but it was no use. However, nothing felt different as the notes floated into your ear.

Of course. Even though no one could see your face, you smirked. “Neither of you know your mythology, do you?” you asked before rolling over to pin Jaemin. “You see, a siren’s song only attracts men. There’s no way to take control of me.”

You and Jaemin rolled around, trying to stop the other from winning the fight. Siren’s singing grew louder, as if it would cause Jaemin to grow stronger and faster. When he was finally on top of you, his hands encircled your neck, squeezing tight. You struggled against his grip, legs flailing as you tried to buck him off. The look in his eyes was still empty, and it scared you. You knew that once he was out of this trance, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if you were dead by his own two hands. You punched him in the face and tied him up with your webbing. When you turned around, Siren was right there. She screeched and threw her fist into your cheek. You stumbled back and tried to stay on your feet, but she jumped on you and continued bashing your face in. You could feel yourself losing consciousness as Jaemin screamed your name. Not Recluse, but your name. Before you completely blacked out, you saw a red glint in the sky.

///

It was too bright and too loud when you came to. There was hushed conversation, but it might as well have been yelling with how sensitive your ears were. A machine was beeping, keeping track of your heart rate. You tried not to move or make a noise, but your whole body hurt. You couldn’t help but whimper in pain.

“Y/N!” There was some shuffling, and then you felt Aunt May’s hand on your forehead, smoothing your hair back. “Y/N, can you hear me?”

“It hurts. It hurts so bad,” you whined.

“What hurts?”

“Everything.”

It was a couple minutes before the pain slowly died down. It obviously wouldn’t go away from the medication alone, but it was enough to make it bearable. You slowly opened your eyes, it dawning on you that you couldn’t see well due to swelling. You looked around, your eyes landing on Aunt May. Her eyes were shining with tears that had yet to fall. Looking around, you noticed that you were in a room with the walls made entirely of glass. The sleek look outside your room told you one thing: you were in the Avengers tower.

“W-what happened?” you asked.

“Mr. Stark saved you. Siren’s actions were too chaotic for you to track, so he had to step in,” she explained.

“Where are the others? Where’s Jaemin?”

“Right here.”

You turned your head to find your six friends standing on the other side of the room. Your eyes widened at the sight of them. There was no way Haechan, Jeno, and Jaemin didn’t know your secret. Your heart sank at the possibilities of them knowing.

“You asshole,” Renjun hissed. He stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. “I thought we told you to stop scaring us like that.”

“You know I can’t promise that,” you mumbled into his neck.

When he pulled away, Chenle was suddenly holding you tightly. “You’re grounded. I’m never allowing you to leave your apartment again.”

“Okay, Mom,” you joked.

The room was awkwardly silent as the others stared at you. You were uncertain as to what you should say; they were suddenly strangers, none of them knowing who you truly were until now.

“Shoot a web,” Haechan suddenly demanded.

You froze, so he repeated himself. Hesitantly, you shot one at his mouth. He jumped as it attached to his face, making the others laugh. Clawing at the web, he rolled his eyes and laughed sarcastically. “Very funny, Y/N.”

“Hey, you’re the one that asked me to shoot a web. I was just doing the rest of us a favor,” you joked.

There was a sudden pause, and then Jeno asked, “So, you’re really Recluse?”

You nodded before groaning in pain, your hand flying to your neck. You didn’t miss the look of guilt on Jaemin’s face. Even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help but feel horrible whenever his eyes landed on the dark bruises on your neck that were in the shape of his fingers.

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” you said quietly.

“Your aunt explained why you didn’t,” he assured you. “We get it.”

“I’m still pissed that Jisung knew this whole time,” Haechan mumbled.

“Hey, I only found out because she fell through Chenle’s window,” Jisung argued.

As you listened to them bicker, you couldn’t help but think about the fight. You were trying to figure out what it was that you heard before you’d blacked out. When you remembered, your eyes widened. You pushed yourself to sit up, everyone’s eyes falling to you at the sudden movement.

“I need to speak to Jaemin,” you stated.

The boys looked at each other before slowly stepping out of the room, sending curious glances your way. Jaemin stayed in his chair, leaning forward with his fingers folded together over his mouth. The two of you stared at each other for who knows how long before you said, “You knew.”

He paused before nodding, saying in a raspy voice, “I did.”

“How long?”

“Ever since the first time you saved me.”

Your jaw dropped. “When you were hanging over that bridge?”

Shaking his head, he said, “There was a time before that.”

You wracked through your memories, trying to find the first time you’d saved him. Your moments were usually one-on-one, but there was one time on the Brooklyn Bridge that would never forget.

It was before Green Goblin had died. He and Dr. Octopus had teamed up to wreak havoc on New York. They were tearing up the bridge, blowing up vehicles and hurt people left and right. A school bus had gone over the edge of the bridge with one guy inside, everyone else from the field trip running down the street. The emergency door on the back was opened, facing towards you, but he was at the other end, lying next to the steering wheel. You’d taken a big risk by letting go of both webs, one holding the bus and the other connected to the bridge, before jumping inside. You’d grabbed him and shot a string to the bridge, swinging yourselves to the edge of the river. You’d asked him if he was okay, and it was only when he nodded had you returned to the fight with the two villains.

“Your English class was on the way to a play,” you stated. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot that. How’d you know it was me, though?”

He smiled and moved his chair so it was by your bedside before gently grabbing your hand. “You sat next to me in math that year. You didn’t talk much, but I could never forget a voice like yours.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the comment. “S-so when you kissed Recluse—”

“I knew I was kissing you,” he finished. “I’d been wanting to do it for years, but I always thought you were dating Chenle.”

Your mind was reeling. He’d known this whole time? He knew it was you when he kissed you the other night? Oh my god, he knew it was you when he kissed you.

“I’ve had the biggest crush on you for I don’t know how long,” you admitted quietly. “I never thought you knew I existed until this year.”

Smiling again, he leaned forward slowly. “You’re unforgettable, Y/N.”

His lips pressed gently against yours, just like it had the other night. A deep breath rushed through your nose at the contact, your hand coming up to card through his hair as he cupped your cheeks. When he finally pulled away, it was only to rest your foreheads together.

“I know what we’re doing is dangerous,” he started, “but I don’t want to give this up. I don’t want to give you up.”

You paused to think. “It’s going to be really difficult, and I’ll probably want to give up a lot, but we can work on this. I’m able to live as a superhero while also keeping my grades up. After what happened with Alli, I don’t want to miss out on anything else.”

As he leaned in for another kiss, the doors burst open with your friends cheering. You couldn’t help but hide your face in his chest in embarrassment. He laughed and rubbed your back, pressing a kiss to your hair. You couldn’t tell yourself that everything was going to be okay, but it was definitely going to be better than before.

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meta-squash · 3 years

Text

in which squash waxes (mildly) lyrical about peter doherty just for something to do on a sunday night:

So I just watched the Arena documentary from 2006 and then immediately after watched the Puta Madres tour diaries video.

Also sorry this post starts off sad and then gets happy at the end.

First off, re: the Arena doc, all the comments on youtube were really hating on that one Tanya journalist lady but I really, really liked what she was saying. She seemed to be speaking relatively objectively, observationally, not out of any actual personal desires (or at least nothing major) but she basically said it straight up: that the media didn’t care about Peter, that he was just a money-making story to them, and that they were waiting for him to die because it would “finish the story.” It sucks to think about but it was also totally true and Peter definitely knew that. In the documentary he made it pretty obvious he knew and so many of his songs also are just speaking directly to or about the media. The people hating on her seemed to think she was wrong but I think she was absolutely right.

Something Peter makes me think of whenever I see any non-gig video of him (and some gig videos too) is the kids I used to work with when I was a summer camp counselor for 10 years. Not that he’s innocent or anything (although he does have a bit of a babyface), more that it seems like he never really developed the impulse control most people get as they get older. It’s like, if he has the urge to do something, he’s gonna do it. If he feels some type of way, he’s gonna express it, even if that mode of expression seems extreme or inappropriate to other people. If he has a thought, he’s gonna express it, even if it’s rude or interrupting or from way back in the conversation or has nothing to do with the conversation or whatever. The kids I used to work with acted that way. It’s what makes kids (and people like Peter) such amazing artists: there’s so little regard for constraints, whether societal or self-made, or expectations or pretense or whatever. You think/feel/want something and you’re gonna act on that.

(Honestly he checks so many boxes for ADHD I’m surprised he’s not diagnosed with it. But then I remember they don’t bother to diagnose adults with ADHD so I guess I’m not surprised. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he had ADHD.)

I did very much like that the BBC doc, aside from the few Professional Opinion type interviews, seemed generally very gentle with Peter. What I mean is, the interviews and footage with bandmates/Lisa/managers/etc didn’t just show, like, frustration or worry or whatever. It also made it pretty obvious how much the people around Peter did love and care for/about him and just had no idea what to do to help him. The footage of Peter while he was high, aside from the moment when he smacks the camera and spits on it (and then apologizes like a confused child), don’t demonize his using. It frames it pretty firmly as a sort of coping mechanism; there’s a bit where he’s talking about his relationship with his father and getting upset, then he makes the camera cut and when he comes back he’s visibly high. It’s sad, but I’m also glad they put it in context to the conversation, rather than just, y’know, footage of Peter getting high sprinkled throughout so it looks like he’s just doing it Because It’s Fun or whatever. Same with the footage of him and Lisa and Mick having a Difficult Conversation and he’s clearly high and also very obviously trying not to pay attention to what they’re saying about him.

And he’s just so low in that documentary. I mean I’m sure at least some of it is just the fact that he’s high and therefore spaced out but still. He’s just so low and serious and sad. And when he’s jumping around being energetic it’s things like antagonizing the lady making the show (who seems pretty nice and respectful compared to some interviewers). Even when he’s like warming up with his bandmates or singing in the hallways before gigs or whatever, it feels so detached and stuff. It’s like everyone is talking around him and he’s right there but he’s not at the same time.

And then immediately watching the Puta Madres diaries after was just amazing. It just makes me so happy that Peter was able to get out of that deep darkness and find some type of happiness. Because I think he maybe smiles twice in the BBC doc but from the get go in the diaries footage he’s smiling. He’s energetic and talkative and goofy. It just. It’s so lovely. Like, even talking about his pre-gig nervousness (which just sounds so awful and paralyzing every time he describes it in other interviews/docs), he’s more lighthearted about it. He’s laughing and goofing off and rolling around and just clearly having fun being with friends which is so nice. I mean, the diaries are curated for Fun Times, it’s not like a Serious documentary, and I’m sure there were down days and shitty times that they didn’t film but in general he seems so much lighter and brighter-eyed.

There’s a bit where their manager comes to the house they’re staying in and wakes them all up. It’s an absolute tip inside and everyone’s like definitely not ready to go even though he’s saying they have to leave in like 5 minutes but it’s all quite good-natured. And there’s a bit where Peter is jokingly acknowledging that it’s stressful for Jai to get them up and leaving when they’re definitely Not Ready At All, but even the joke-acknowledgement is more than anything he’s ever said in the other docs. And it’s not exactly an apology because it seems like something that’s genuinely a challenge for him (I feel like Peter and Time do not see eye-to-eye, high or sober, another check in the ADHD box), but gentle acknowledgement/underlying gratitude is probably better than ignoring it and just expecting the assistance.

And throughout the video he sounds more up, happier, less despairing about it. He’s so smiley and energetic and engaged.

It’s nice to be able to, I dunno, watch the Arena doc, and that weirdass 24 hours “documentary” thing, and TANIB, and the Anthems doc, and then this Puta Madres diaries video and just see Peter claw his way out of the pit and into a much better space. And I’m sure each doc has footage or whatever that ended up on the cutting room floor of much nicer moments (for the first two) and much darker or sadder moments (for the other two) but it still seems like the majority of good to bad flipped drastically from the Arena doc to the Madres video

It’s just so, so lovely to see. And a big Fuck You to the media that wanted him to die back in 2006 when that Arena doc came out.

#squash rambles #peter doherty #under a cut in case people don't want to see my thoughts and opinions about stuff that isn't song-related #just me talking about how happy i am for peter that's all plus some other random thoughts #pete doherty #the libertines #not technically but that's my tag for anything generally peter or carl related

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megabadbunny · 4 years

Text

Cartography and Ritual Observation

In all the time that she plotted and worked and strove for a happy ending, Rose realizes, she had planned for all manner of contingencies and failures. She never actually figured out what she would do if she succeeded. (She never actually planned to be happy.)

* lemon-free version on fanfiction.net *

***

She never expected to see the Doctor in her universe, in her living room, in her flat. Yet, here he is.

(Here they both are.)

The Doctor is eager to inspect everything the moment they get in from Norway, peeking inside Rose’s bedrooms and her bath, opening the refrigerator and cabinet doors, inspecting the light fixtures, overturning the few knickknacks she has accumulated in her time here. His fingers glide over everything; impossibly, Rose has almost forgotten how much he sees with his hands. He listens to her house tour with rapt attention and she can see him filing every detail of her home away.

Rose doesn’t keep much food in the cottage, so she orders some takeaway and pretends to eat it while the Doctor tucks in. She’s too unsettled to eat properly, for reasons she can’t quite explain. She turns on the telly and they watch it for a bit—it’s a “documentary” on aliens, naturally—and Rose tries not to think about the weirdness of this situation, the mundane bizarreness or strange normalcy of it all, while she plucks out and eats all of the shrimp in her fried rice. The Doctor keeps up a running commentary on the film’s inaccuracies and Rose smiles, remembering how they used to do this on the TARDIS just a few years ago.

It’s almost disturbing, how easy it is for Rose to pretend that everything’s all right—except it isn’t pretend at all, is it? Everything is all right, just not the sort of all right she’d imagined, not the kind she’d planned and worked and hoped for. But her dislike of having decisions made on her behalf (yet again) notwithstanding, she can’t deny that she ended up with a pretty good deal. A fantastic deal, even; she got everything she wanted, and more besides—the Doctor, with her, and her family and her friends and her home, and the promise of adventures in the TARDIS once more, all in the same universe again. Which, as brilliant as it is, still doesn’t answer the question niggling in the background-noise of her consciousness, growing ever-louder by the minute:

What now?

For the first time in four years, the next step is completely unknown. It’s as if, upon arriving at her destination, someone ripped the guidebook out of Rose’s hands and set it on fire right in front of her. There’s no longer any map, no itinerary, no plan. And how the fuck is Rose supposed to deal with that?

Rose’s hands long to fidget, but she forces them still, locks her leg to keep her foot from tapping impatiently. She’s doing a magnificent job, she thinks, of looking like a normal person, one who isn’t about to vibrate right out of her skin with the utter need to just get up and complete the next step of the plan already. Whatever that next step may be.

Glancing sidelong at the Doctor, Rose wonders what, besides factual inaccuracies about aliens, might be going through his head right now. If he feels Rose’s gaze heavy on him, he doesn’t say, too busy glowering at the images of the Great Pyramid of Giza flashing across the telly because according to the documentary, humans only could have built the Pyramid with the help of aliens, but according to the alien in the room, that’s a bunch of hogwash, and all that business was 100% ancient Egypt, 100% of the time; I didn’t offer so much as a tidbit of advice on the construction, only popped by long enough to nab a snack from Khufu’s coronation, you can’t beat a pomegranate grown in the cradle of the Nile. At any rate, he doesn’t look worried about plans or the future, or indeed, anything that happened fewer than 4500 years ago. Rose wonders if she should snuggle up to him, for the simple comfort of it and also just because she can, just like she used to. She remembers when she would tuck in close on the settee in the TARDIS library under the feeble pretense of being cold; the Doctor would tut at her cold hands and feet and snag her a blanket, toss it over her. But he wouldn’t make her move. He’d still wrap an arm around her shoulders, wouldn’t budge if she nestled against his side.

(She had always wondered, then, how long the sense of normalcy would last if she had leaned up to press a kiss to his throat or his cheek or his mouth, if she had tried something more. She never found out. She never did try.)

They watch another film after that, and another, and finally, just when Rose is starting to wonder if he won’t need sleep to speak of in this body either, the Doctor stretches and lets out a yawn.

“I’m a bit knackered,” he announces. “But I suppose a metacrisis-regeneration will do that to you.”

After the two of them wash up for the night, there’s a brief, awkward question of which bedroom he’ll sleep in. But before Rose has to make a decision—put him in the spare room, or offer to share hers? Would offering the spare room make her seem cold and aloof, would offering her room make him feel claustrophobic?—the Doctor opens the door of the guest bed, deciding for her.

“Well,” says Rose, only a little awkwardly. But before she can say Good night, the Doctor surprises her by reaching out and pulling her in for a kiss.

It’s a very short kiss, but Rose’s brain still goes fuzzy and she’s warm everywhere he touches her, heat blossoming from his mouth, from his fingers on her shoulders, sliding down into her belly. He pulls her in close, her chest against his, and he’s so much warmer than before, so warm she can feel the heat of him even through both of their shirts. His lips part in millimeters and she can taste peppermint on his breath, the not-unpleasant reminders of toothpaste mingling with his own oh-so-human traces, working in gentle countermeasure to the softness of his lips, and the peppermint and the hormones and the warmth of him flood her mind like a pleasant buzzing fog. It’s a short kiss, yes, but her toes curl anyway and her heart races in her chest. She tells herself that it’s probably only because it’s been a while since anyone’s kissed her quite like this.

(She won’t admit that no one’s ever kissed her quite like this.)

Afterward, the Doctor pulls her into a hug. A proper hug. Arms wrapping around her body, bringing her toward him like gravity. Holding her snug and tight. Her own arms encircle him before she can even think to stop. It’s an automatic process. Touching the Doctor is still so engrained in her system, it’s right up there with breathing and blinking.

“Sorry,” he exhales into her hair, and he sounds almost out of breath—that’s a first. “It’s just—I’ve wanted to do that for ages.”

Rose can feel his heart hammering against hers. Fluttering like a creature in a cage. (A cage built for two.)

Should she invite him into her room? Is that what he wants? Is that what she wants? Is this part of the plan, now?

(What do they do, now?)

“Rose?” asks the Doctor. “Are you all right?”

Rose hesitates. She isn’t totally sure of the answer, and even if she was, she doesn’t know if she feels levelheaded enough to deliver it right now. But she can see that, despite his casual and placid demeanor all evening, now the Doctor is incredibly tense, concerned, even; she can spot it in the purse of his lips and the furrow of his brow, feel it in the rigidity of his hands on her arms.

Something eases up a little in her shoulders. He’s better at hiding it, but he’s just as nervous as she is, isn’t he? And probably feels just as lost, too.

“This isn’t really what either of us had in mind, is it?” Rose realizes aloud.

The Doctor frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...it’s not like either of us woke up the other day deciding to come back to this universe. And I can’t imagine you planned for your metacrisis-thing to happen.”

“That last one’s true enough,” says the Doctor, scratching his neck uncomfortably. “But, erm. As for the former. I had already made a decision about where I’d end up, regardless of what the other me decided.”

“You wanted to come back here?”

“Given the circumstances, yes.”

When Rose doesn’t reply, just furrows her brow in confusion, the Doctor averts his gaze. “I wasn’t so concerned about the specific location,” he says, slowly. He swallows hard. “All I knew—all I know—is that where you are, that’s where I want to be. Knew it from the second I woke up in this body. I just want to be with you.”

Rose stares at him, mouth parted in surprise.

“Only—only if that’s what you want too,” the Doctor stutters, cheeks flushing pink.

“I do,” says Rose, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as something goes fluttery in her stomach and warmth suffuses her from head to toe. “Of course I do. But I—it’s been a long few years, right? So I might need a minute, to get my thoughts and feelings and everything in order. Okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” the Doctor replies quickly. “Naturally. Makes sense. Completely.” Suddenly jittery, he steps back, hands fluttering about frantically in search of something to do before depositing themselves firmly in his pockets. “Totally understandable, imminently relatable. Molto bene. Hunky-dory. Bleh, not hunky-dory, never hunky-dory, what a dreadful-sounding phrase, please feel free to erase it from your memory immediately. But of course, take all the time you need, Rose, however long you need, I’ve got all the time in the world—well, I’ve got a good sixty years—well, could be fifty, with the way Donna’s cholesterol is going, and thanks for that, Donna—but then again, could be longer, depends on how things go with the baby TARDIS and whether anyone or anyplace in this universe has got any Werinian lipid stabilizers—but please, yeah, take whatever time you need, Rose, that’s fine by me, absolutely top-notch, spiffy, even—”

“Doctor, wait,” blurts out Rose, grabbing the Doctor by the elbow before he can sprint off to goodness-knows-where. “You don’t have to swan off.”

“I was not,” says the Doctor, who looks very much like he may bolt into the next dimension at any second, “going to swan off. Or duck off. Or goose off. Or any-other-sort-of-waterfowl-off, for that matter.”

“Sure you weren’t,” Rose teases him, smiling weakly.

“I was merely adhering to my promise of, you know. Being considerate and giving you what you need, and all that.”

“Yeah, except I asked for time,” says Rose. Her smile deepens. “Not space.”

“Right,” says the Doctor.

“An important distinction, don’t you think?”

Something about him seems to loosen just a little bit. “Very important.”

Rose grabs his hand, squeezing it reassuringly, just to make absolutely certain he knows where she stands, and feels immensely relieved when he squeezes her fingers in response. But not half a moment passes before Rose has to stifle a yawn of her own.

“All right, then,” she says quietly, almost shyly. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice soft.

“Good night, Doctor.”

He beams down at her. “Good night, Rose.”

***

Tomorrow, of course, ends up being something of a loose concept, because tomorrow is full of exciting things like Rose sleeping in (until past noon, somehow), Jackie and Tony bursting into the cottage (because it’s after noon, Rose, you haven’t stayed in that late in ages, are you dead?), Tony being so terribly excited to meet the Doctor that he wets himself just a little bit (The Oncoming Storm meets The Oncoming Piddle), and Jackie announcing that it’s time for a trip to the shops (they need to buy the Doctor things now that he’s human and here and forever).

“All right, but let’s keep it a short trip,” Rose tells her mum as the four of them head out the door. “Just for the basics.”

“Oh, of course,” Jackie replies, waving her hand dismissively. “Only the essentials.”

“One hour,” Rose says.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Jackie calls over her shoulder.

Naturally, one hour becomes two becomes five.

It’s about as weird as Rose anticipated, or rather, as weird as Rose would have anticipated, if she’d ever thought of such a thing. She half-expects the Doctor to bound away at any moment, impatient with the quaint little Earth shops and their decidedly terrestrial wares, but he seems content to poke around, to good-naturedly ignore all of Jackie’s fashion suggestions, to answer all of Tony’s many strange four-year-old’s questions. Rose keeps to herself for the most part—it’s only sort-of on-purpose, there are all sorts of feelings crawling around under her skin and she isn’t sure what to do with them—and she trails behind the rest of the group, hanging back, watching.

Her mum, Tony, the Doctor. In the same universe. In a shop together. Picking out socks and deodorant and hair gel. Years of dimension-hopping and traveling all of time and space have somehow failed to prepare Rose for how very weird this is.

Not bad, of course. But weird. Probably weird for him, too, Rose reminds herself.

“Awful quiet,” Jackie remarks at an upscale suit shop, her voice low so that only Rose can hear. She rifles through a clothing rack and pulls out a suit jacket (in blue, not brown; she’s cottoned on quickly).

“How d’you mean?” Rose asks.

Tilting her head, Jackie holds the jacket out at arm’s length, surveying the garment and the Doctor in the same glance. The jacket’s skinny, but not as skinny as he is. “Thought you’d be bouncing off the walls, the both of you,” Jackie explains. “That, or tangled up in the bedsheets.”

Rose groans. “Oh my god, Mum.”

“Don’t give me that. I know how it is. Lose the man you love, spend years pining after him, finally find a parallel version of him in an alternate universe. Bound to be some celebratory shagging, isn’t there?” Jackie replaces the jacket on the rack and grabs a different one. “Especially when he keeps wearing those tight trousers. You buying what he’s selling, or what?”

Rose closes her eyes and prays for mercy. “Mum, I’m pretty sure he can hear us.”

Both of them glance across the store to check, but the Doctor seems absorbed in the necktie display, smiling when Tony points to a tie in a shade of nearly-TARDIS-blue.

“Nah,” Jackie sniffs. “Even his hearing isn’t that good, I reckon.”

As soon as she turns away, the Doctor looks up at Rose with a wink.

(Is she imagining things, or did it suddenly get a few degrees warmer in the shop?)

***

Days pass and he hasn’t kissed her again since that first night. But to be fair, she hasn’t kissed him again, either. Rose knows it’s only because they’re each trying to respect each other’s space or personal boundaries or sensitivities or whatever, which is quite frankly silly, given that in their time together before, neither of them seemed to really know what boundaries were, much less how to respect or enforce them.

Well, that isn’t quite true, she supposes. There were plenty of boundaries that they never crossed. It just didn’t feel so obvious before.

Take, for example, nighttime habits. On the TARDIS, each night they weren’t assisting some planetside uprising (or stewing in an alien prison for assisting in said planetside uprising), there was a distinct ritual: Rose would plop down on the jumpseat or the library settee or a pallet of cushions on the engine-room floor, reading a book or trashy mag or painting her nails or simply lounging about while the Doctor researched or tinkered or plotted. Rose would often have a snack with her as well, which the Doctor would insist he wasn’t interested in, but would ultimately eat half of. Lulled into relaxation by the TARDIS’ gentle hum, Rose would eventually doze off, at which time the Doctor would quietly rouse her and remind her to go to bed. After a bout of protesting that she wasn’t really that tired (punctuated with a deep and satisfying yawn that made the Doctor raise an eyebrow in amusement), Rose would then sleepily stumble-shuffle down to the hall to her room, scrub her face and brush her teeth, and go to bed. Neither of them would see the other until the morning (or sometimes the very early morning, on days where the Doctor excitedly burst into her room without warning and subsequently had a pillow chucked at his head), and that was it. That was the ritual, with all of its implicit steps and rules and boundaries. Hands could be held, food could be shared, cuddles could be had, but certain things were not discussed, other certain things were overlooked, and each night Rose went to bed alone. It didn’t need to be spoken or thought about; it just fell into place, a river following its own daily flow. It’s much the same, now, except there’s no hand-holding and no cuddling and no touching at all, just daily business, time together in the evenings, and then separate beds in separate rooms. This is the new ritual, it seems; this is the new plan.

This explains how a whole week passes before Rose decides she has to do something about the Doctor’s nightmares.

Wrenched awake by the sounds of shouting (again, same as the previous six nights), Rose waits just long enough for her heart to stop pounding before she throws off her duvet and pads down the hall, to the spare room where the Doctor sleeps. She presses her ear to the door, listening for any additional signs of agitation, and only spares half a thought for boundaries when he cries out again in the dark and suddenly she’s pushing the door open and climbing into the bed, time and space and rules be damned. Slipping beneath the bedclothes, Rose snuggles up behind the Doctor as he hyperventilates in his sleep, snaking a hand over his stomach and ribs and chest, pulling them both close. He awakens with a jolt and a gasp, grabbing Rose’s hand with a grip like a vice.

Rose freezes, feeling the Doctor tense to stone beneath her hand and arm. She wonders if he’s angry at her, if he’s embarrassed, if she did the wrong thing, if she should have waited to come up with a better plan.

“Rose?” asks the Doctor quietly, his voice rough.

“Yeah, Doctor,” she replies in a whisper. “I’m here.”

A few moments pass in thick silence before the Doctor relaxes, sinking back down into the mattress. He loosens his death-grip on Rose’s hand, but doesn’t let go entirely; instead he tugs, just a little, until Rose snuggles in closer, cushioning herself to him completely and eliminating even the thought of space between them. Her cheek pressed against his shoulderblades, her chest to his spine, Rose can feel the precise moment he slips back into sleep, his breaths expanding and evening out into liquid slow smoothness.

He doesn’t move her hand from his chest, and it’s a long time before he lets her hand go.

Probably they should just start going to bed together, but this all becomes part of the new ritual—go about their daily business (together), stay up late (together), wash up (at the same time), go to bed (separate beds, in separate rooms), awaken at the sound of nightmares ripping the calm night air (from down the hall), climb into his bed and go to sleep (next to him), wake up (alone). It’s another rule they both follow; the Doctor may need more sleep now, but he still needs less sleep than Rose does, overall, so she isn’t too surprised that each morning she awakes in it, his bed is empty. Until one morning it isn’t.

Honey-warm light drips in lazily through the gap between drapes and Rose realizes, her eyes slowly sliding open, that for once, she isn’t entangled in a mess of bedsheets, but rather, she seems to be intertwined with rather a solid fellow-human-shaped thing. One may even go so far as to say that she is, in fact, tangled up in the limbs of a fellow human. Probably she should slip out before he wakes, do what she can to preserve this boundary she’s drawn, but she hesitates, her breath warm and trapped between her face and the Doctor’s chest. Her legs are twined with his and her arms are wrapped around his torso and one hand, the cheeky little thing, has snuck up the back of his sleep-shirt, so her palm is pressed flat against warm, pliant skin.

It’s nice, all cuddled and close like this, pressed together in their blanket-cocoon. It’s very nice. But Rose suspects it’s breaking the rules; she asked for time, so that means she’s got no right to be touching him now, like this. Besides, there’s no indication that he’s interested in anything beyond hugging, or holding hands, or the occasional wayward kiss. He could very well be totally asexual, for all Rose knows. And if that’s the case, she doesn’t want him to feel pushed, or pressured. So she pulls her hand down, hoping that a slow, gentle motion won’t disturb him, but that’s almost worse than if she’d just whipped her hand out straightaway, because now it probably feels like she’s stroking him, which, not that she minds, but what if he does? Nevermind that when she glances down (oh, that’s a mistake) she can see that his shirt has ridden up in the night to expose an entire agonizing expanse of rarely-before-seen skin, stretched thin over his hipbone and smooth over his stomach and smattered with a sparse scattering of hair leading southward, and warmth blossoms between Rose’s legs at the thought of her fingertips tracing a line down, down, down, over his flank and his hip and straight to his—

His breathing has gone shallow. He’s awake now. With Rose’s face pressed to his chest, her lips right over his heart, and her hand still half up his shirt. And with one of his legs sandwiched between hers, there’s no way he can’t feel the heat of her.

Fuck.

“Sorry,” Rose whispers anyway, because she feels like she should. She shifts in a halfhearted attempt to extricate herself from the Doctor. “I’m sorry, I just woke up like this—I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, you’re fine,” the Doctor stutters. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Rose laughs. “I was afraid I was making you uncomfortable.”

“Well, I appreciate the consideration, but I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about.”

Brow pinched in confusion, Rose shifts in the bed, extricating herself from the Doctor just enough that she can scoot up to his eye level. “Really?” she says.

He nods. “Really.”

“Oh,” says Rose, suddenly breathless, thinking of the Doctor’s wink in the shop the other day. Her hand has stilled on his lower back, near the waistband of his pyjama-bottoms and she can’t decide if she should keep moving away or if she should slip a finger beneath the elastic and see what happens next, sod the rules.

“I’m not in any particular rush,” the Doctor says, as if he can hear what she’s thinking. Or maybe it’s just that evident on her face. “I said I’d give you time, and I meant it. For whatever you need.”

Rose smiles at him. “You know just what to say to a girl, don’t you?”

“Well, it helps to have one buzzing about in your DNA.”

Rose abandons his waistband in favor of fisting her hand in the back of his shirt, squeezing him in a hug as she buries her face against his chest.

“Thank you,” she says.

He doesn’t say anything, but hugs her tightly in reply.

***

It’s Tony’s birthday party—hard to believe he’s five years old, now, feels like just yesterday that Rose was visiting him and her mum in the maternity ward and marveling over the downy-softness of his sweet little baby head—and he has decided, with all the solemnity a small child can muster, that he wants a proper garden party, something fancy and grown-up, all suits and ties and dresses and pumps. (Rose has a sneaking suspicion about the correlation of this interest in suits and the sudden arrival of the Doctor in this universe; she keeps it to herself, but can’t hide her smile when she asks Tony what he’d like for his birthday, and his immediate response includes a pair of his own red Chucks.) Of course, once the day arrives, after the cake and biscuits and presents and fancy-proper-adult-party have worn out their novelty, Tony decides he wants to play a game of hide-and-go-seek. And naturally, he starts by tagging the biggest child present.

“You’re it!” he shouts, slapping the Doctor on the leg before he and the other children run off laughing and screaming.

The Doctor glances up at Rose in question, a half-eaten treat in one hand. “I’m what?” he asks incredulously around a mouthful of biscuit.

“You’re it,” Rose laughs. When the Doctor just raises an eyebrow, confused, Rose laughs even more. “You know. You’re the one that finds all the children hiding. Haven’t you ever played hide-and-go-seek before?”

“Well, of course I have, but it’s called different things in different places, isn’t it? Not to mention it’s been several centuries and just a few planets since then.”

“At least you look good for your age,” Rose teases.

“I do, don’t I?”

“Oh, yeah. Barely have any wrinkles or grey hair or anything.”

The Doctor mock-glowers at her. “Rose Tyler. I most assuredly do not have any ‘wrinkles, or grey hair, or anything’ anywhere on my person.”

“What about the freckles?”

“Those are hardly indicative of old age. And besides, everyone knows freckles are charming. Like a bunch of little kisses from the sun, just kissing you all over.”

“Has the sun been kissing you all over, then?” asks Rose, her tongue peeking out playfully between her teeth. “Should I be jealous?”

The Doctor’s eyebrows pique with surprise as Rose registers the implications of what she just said. She begs herself not to blush.

“Just to clarify: for this particular hypothetical, are you asking if you should be jealous of me,” the Doctor asks slowly, a grin playing across his lips—and a smug grin, at that!—“or if you should be jealous of the sun?”

Huh. It’s been a little while, but Rose is fairly certain she’s being flirted-with.

“You’re a smart lad,” she says, grabbing the biscuit out of his hand. “You’ll figure it out,” she tells him, offering her own smug grin as she eats her stolen treat.

“Mr. Doctor!” shouts Tony from across the garden, drawing Rose and the Doctor’s attention to where he has decided to hide in a very obvious spot. “Come find us!”

Turning back to Rose, the Doctor clears his throat. “So I should, erm,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder toward where all the children ran off, and have the tips of his ears gone pink? “Probably go put the seek in hide-and-go-seek, right?”

“Right,” Rose says. “They’re not gonna find themselves, after all.”

“Well, it’s a good thing they’ve got me, then, isn’t it?”

“A very good thing,” says Rose, smiling.

The Doctor beams at her for just a second before darting off in search of all the children, pretending to carefully examine every nook and cranny in the garden, even those that children couldn’t possibly ever hide in, ignoring the titters of laughter that float his way from all of the poorly-hiding five-and-six-year-olds.

(He catches Rose watching him a few moments later and shoots her another wink across the garden. Cheeky bastard.)

An hour or so later, as the sun is setting and the sky darkening, the party has begun to wind down, and the staff has begun cleaning the mess away. (It still feels surreal, the staff, and the mansion and the money and the not-having-to-worry-about-every-penny, but it’s a good sort of surreal after twenty years of scraping by, and the staff are very well paid.) As Jackie and Pete start the goodbye negotiations with other sets of attending parents, Rose sets off in search of Tony and the Doctor, to lure them back to the mansion with the promise of dinner. She pokes around the poolside and the trees and the flowerbed, and has just come round the old shed when something seizes her by the shoulder and tries to pull.

With a blink Rose’s UNIT-honed instincts take over and she grabs her assailant’s hand and arm and lunges to the ground, yanking him bodily over her shoulder. He hits the grass in front of her with a solid thwack and Rose springs back, hands held defensively between her and the Doctor, just in case he—

Oh. Ah. The Doctor.

“What the hell was that?” Rose demands.

“What the hell was that?” he hisses back at her, staring up at her with wide eyes.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rose splutters. “Are you—”

She doesn’t have a chance to say Okay because the Doctor has already scrambled up from the ground to grab her once again (by the hand, from the front, this time, where she can see him coming) and he’s pulling her up to the shed with him, throwing open the doors so he can draw them both inside. It’s a tight squeeze, the two of them in there with all the old tools and tarps and equipment, but the Doctor closes the doors behind them anyway. Rose starts to ask what on earth’s gotten into him but the Doctor cuts her off with a finger held to his lips.

“Rose?” asks Tony’s voice, a few meters off to their right somewhere. “Mr. Doctor?”

Rose rolls her eyes. She opens her mouth to say that playtime is over now, ta, but before she can say anything, the Doctor switches his hand from his mouth to hers, putting his finger to her lips and stoppering her words. Normally, Rose might bat him away or grimace in irritation at him hushing her up like this, but right now, with these invisible lines drawn between them, heightening every touch to something near-electric, all Rose can think about is his finger against her mouth and his other hand still grasping hers. And as close as they’re standing, Rose notices (just like she used to back then) just how good the Doctor smells. It isn’t quite the same as before; there’s the slightest tang of sweat that never used to be there, but not in a bad way. He still smells like him, and he still smells good. (Christ, he smells good.)

The pitter-patter of little feet in the grass nearby isn’t quite enough to pull Rose out of her thoughts, though she knows it means Tony is close, and therefore close to finding them. But even if the stakes are so different now (no physical danger here, not unless the Doctor decides to surprise-attack her again), she can’t help but recall all the other times like this, the two of them holding close in a dangerous situation, before. Rose thinks of hiding from palace guards and harrowing space station escapes and prison breaks with held hands and held breaths and pounding hearts and god, she wants to kiss the Doctor so badly, she really, really does. So maybe she should, Rose thinks as the Doctor’s gaze drops from her eyes to her mouth, where his finger rests. Maybe she should just pull his hand away and push up onto the balls of her feet and press her lips against his and kiss him. Maybe it doesn’t matter that they still haven’t properly talked yet. Maybe it doesn’t matter that this dirty dingy old shed is possibly the least romantic setting she could have chosen. Maybe she should snog the everloving daylights out of him regardless. Maybe—

“Rose,” says the Doctor, his voice low, his eyes locked on hers. He leans forward, and Rose’s pulse races in her throat as his lips brush against her ear.

“Run for your life,” he whispers.

“Found you!” Tony shrieks, tossing open the shed doors. Shouting in mock-fear, the Doctor cinches his grasp on Rose’s hand and yanks her out of the shed before Tony can tag either one of them, pulling her along in a run. Rose stumbles at first, taken by surprise, not to mention that she’s still wearing her pumps. But the Doctor is laughing like a madman, pulling her along as he sprints with seemingly no effort whatsoever, and it feels just utterly glorious to be running again after weeks without and soon Rose is kicking off her pumps to better keep up with him, relishing the stretch and burn in her lungs and calves and thighs. Tony giggles and yells behind them and the Doctor laughs and whoops next to her and he’s still clutching her hand and the wind whips her hair and air expands her lungs and happiness swells in her chest and spreads to her head until she feels giddy with the rush of it and it’s been weeks since Rose grinned this hard or felt this good, it’s been months, it’s been years.

“Run for your life!” the Doctor shouts, and Rose laughs.

***

Rose may not have foreseen the Doctor returning to this universe with her, and thus may not have been able to plan for such an event, but some things still just make sense and fall into place naturally, and the Doctor working with UNIT is one such thing. (Working with, mind, not for; it’s an important distinction, he insists, and Rose rolls her eyes but plays along.) Thus it’s in the breakroom for the Applied Sciences department that Rose finds the Doctor late one night, dozing on the couch after a long day of research and alien negotiations.

Biting her lip, Rose watches him, taking a moment to appreciate this rare unguarded view. The Doctor has always looked youthful with this face, but right now, he looks young, downright vulnerable, head bowed and specs slipping down his nose and lips parted ever so slightly as he sleeps. Pale blue light from the breakroom telly bathes his face in ghostly hues, reflecting in his glasses, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Something warm swells almost uncomfortably in Rose’s chest; this may not be exactly what she was working for all these years, but damn it, he’s wonderful, and he’s beautiful, and he’s here. With her. The enormity of such a massive thought in such a quiet moment is enough to make her head spin.

Biting her lip, Rose checks the clock. It’s nearly midnight. She’s more than ready to go home, but she sort of hates to disturb the Doctor right now. There are a few more things she can do, she decides, before she rouses him and they go home. Let him sleep for a few minutes longer, she thinks.

Rose has just turned to leave the breakroom when his hand reaches out to wrap around hers.

“’Lo,” murmurs the Doctor, his voice thick with sleep. “Time to head out?”

Rose smiles. “In a minute. You can close your eyes again.”

“Nah, I’m not tired,” says the Doctor, sitting up with a great yawn.

Rose piques an eyebrow in suspicion, her smile deepening. It is immensely gratifying to be on the opposite end of this conversation for once.

“…maybe I’m a little bit tired,” the Doctor admits.

“Just a little bit,” Rose teases.

“Only the littlest of bits,” says the Doctor, yawning again. With his free hand he reaches up beneath his specs, rubbing at his eyes. “Just give me a moment and I’ll be good to go. Yeah?”

“All right,” says Rose, moving to leave.

He still hasn’t let go of her.

“Did you want me to wait?” Rose asks.

“Only if you like,” he says casually—a little too casually, Rose thinks—so she nods, plunking down in the break room’s old comfy armchair, her fingers still twined with the Doctor’s. While they’re waiting, Rose figures she might as well watch some telly, but whatever the Doctor’s got playing looks dreadfully boring, not to mention so quiet she can barely hear it. So Rose reaches for the remote, only for the Doctor to pull it away at the last second.

Rose’s lips twitch. “Do you mind?” she asks.

“Do I mind what?” he asks, eyes trained forward on the telly.

“Do you mind if I change the channel?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Have at it.”

Maybe it was a misunderstanding, Rose reasons. He was asleep just a moment ago, after all. Probably he’s just not thinking. She reaches for the remote again.

He pulls it out of her reach again.

Rose’s eyes narrow. Her fingers drum on her thigh. Tap-tap-tap.

(Is he messing with her?)

She pretends to settle back in the chair, wriggling her bum comfortably into the cushions. He places the remote on the sofa arm between them. He rests his hand mere centimeters away. After a moment, Rose can tell he’s relaxed a little, sees the tension easing from his arm and neck.

After another moment, Rose pounces.

She dives across the furniture and naturally he’s too quick for her once again, snatching up the remote just as Rose’s fingertips glance against it.

(He is messing with her.)

(This, of course, means war.)

Rose pushes up on her knees and reaches one arm out as far as it will go, holding on first to the chair-arm and then the Doctor’s shoulder for balance, and he holds the remote just out of reach. His arms are longer than hers and he knows it and he’s using it to his advantage, the bastard. He just sits there with a slowly-spreading smug grin on his face, pretending to watch the telly even with Rose’s arm waving madly in front of his face. With every swipe of her hand, he just holds the remote further and further away, until his arm is fully extended and Rose is practically falling out of her chair. And when Rose jumps up, thinking she’ll just catch him from the other side, he switches hands, chuckling quietly to himself.

The urge to laugh bubbles up in Rose’s gut, but she pushes it down. She doesn’t have time for laughter. She only has time for vengeance.

With a quiet hmmph! she sits back down, trapping the Doctor between her body and the sofa-arm. The Doctor opens his mouth to protest and Rose takes full advantage of his tiny slip in concentration, throwing one leg over his lap in a deep lunge while her hand strains toward her prize.

Close—! She can practically feel her fingernails scraping the plastic casing, she’s so close—

—until the Doctor’s free hand grabs her by the waist and pulls her back, hard.

Rose can’t help laughing now, and he’s laughing too, both at her and with her, while she struggles against him, pushing at him with her chest pressed into his shoulder and thigh slung across his lap. (Damn, but he’s stronger than he looks; of course, so is she, but she has no desire to prove herself by harming him. The other day was a close enough call.) Writhing in his grip, Rose makes one last valiant effort, her hand straining desperately to close itself around his wrist or his shirtsleeve, maybe yank his arm closer, before he finally manages to pull her away, and she falls back with a solid thump.

“You unbelievable ass,” Rose laughs, pushing her hair away from her face.

“Me?” the Doctor asks innocently. “I was just sitting here, minding my own business, when I was assaulted—”

“I’ll show you ‘assaulted’,” Rose mutters under her breath, but she’s still grinning.

“—and then you decided to crawl all over my body like it’s some kind of sentient obstacle course!”

“Oi,” Rose chuckles, moving to stand up, “It’s not my fault you’re all arms and legs and—”

Her thigh brushes over his lap as she moves, and she freezes. Over the last few years she hasn’t had much chance to accrue what one would label a wealth of experience in the matter, but she’s fairly certain she just accidentally touched something that was neither a hand nor a leg nor a part that’s traditionally considered public touching material. And she might not be an expert, but she doesn’t think it’s typically quite that, well, hard, either.

Oh. Oh.

Rose feels like she should flush with embarrassment, or jump back and pretend nothing’s happening (observe the ritual, adhere to the boundaries, stick to the plan), but she can’t seem to move, stuck in partial suspension above the Doctor. His face is eye level with her chest, which he seems adamantly unfocused on, eyelashes fluttering just a little too rapidly, and oh my, but she’s suddenly noticing just how warm they both are, how short her skirt is, how his thighs are bracketed by hers, just how much they’ve been touching each other this whole time.

The Doctor swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the force of it. “Yes, erm,” he says quietly, and is he blushing? “I see you found my mobile,” he lies, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Your mobile,” Rose repeats.

“Yep. My mobile.”

“Right,” Rose nods. She points at the coffee table behind her, at the Doctor’s phone lying there. “That mobile?”

The Doctor closes his eyes. Rose can almost hear him silently cursing himself. “Yep. That’d be the one.”

“Of course,” Rose laughs. “So, you don’t feel anything when I…?”

“Nope,” the Doctor rushes.

Rose arches an eyebrow at him.

He sighs in frustration. “I used to have much better control over this sort of thing, you know,” he complains. “Now it’s all…misfiring synapses and…signals shooting all over the place willy-nilly, and, and, quite frankly ridiculous hormones.”

“Tell me about it,” Rose teases.

The Doctor chuckles under his breath, unable to meet her eyes. His hand is still snug against her waist, hasn’t left its spot where he pulled her down, and she can feel the warmth of him through her shirt, feel his fingers curling against her. Rose wonders if he’s even aware of doing it, and he must be, because a second later, his hand moves, spasming like he burned it. His hand settles awkwardly on the sofa next to him and Rose watches as he determinedly looks at anything but her.

God. He must be mortified.

She knows she should back away. She should. And yet…well, she notices he’s not exactly trying to get away, either.

“Do you want me to move?” she asks anyway, because she should.

The Doctor thinks about it for a second. “Interesting choice of words, move,” he says slowly. “Sort of…different connotations, aren’t there? Multi-layered word. Several different meanings.”

Rose grins. “Which one do you mean?”

He swallows again. He still can’t meet her eyes. “Erm,” he says. Followed by, “Well.” He looks like he’s thinking about it. Trying to decide. Rose thinks maybe she should help him with the process. (She’s never been afraid to cheat just a little.)

Rose eases forward until she’s straddling him, bookending his hips with her knees. She’s careful to leave some space between their bodies, just in case he changes his mind, just in case this isn’t what he wants. She can tell by the rise and fall of his chest that his breathing has sped up. She feels his thighs tense beneath her.

It never occurred to her that she could affect him quite like this. The prospect of it all is giving her a rush, hormones fizzing together in her head like a potent cocktail. Like a drug.

(They still need to talk about all these things, Rose knows.

So. She’ll talk.)

“Which one did you mean?” she asks again, conversationally, like none of it means anything. Like she isn’t sitting in his lap, feeling the faint predictions of arousal in her own body now, stirring somewhere low in her abdomen. She’s so sure she knows, almost entirely certain she can predict what he wants, but she needs to hear it. Needs to make sure she’s not taking advantage of him, that this isn’t just his fresh new human body reacting without his permission.

His fingers nervously tap the cushions next to him. He starts to ask her something, stops, glances over at the breakroom door. It’s still open, Rose realizes, and anyone in the lab could hear them. Well, it’s only Ripley in the lab, this late at night, and it’s doubtful he’s heard anything up to this point, but if their volume increases at all, he’s going to get an earful.

Rose reaches for the remote control, pulls it easily out of the Doctor’s hand.

“Was this all part of the game, then?” the Doctor asks, amusement bleeding through his nervousness.

Smiling, Rose turns around and aims the remote at the telly, turning up the volume just loud enough to mask any suspicious noises that may arise out of the room. When she turns back to the Doctor, he’s finally looking up at her face, making proper eye contact now. He doesn’t look away this time.

He looks so open and wide-eyed and pretty and god, Rose just really wants to fuck him.

“Do you want me to move,” Rose starts, sliding forward in his lap until their hips meet, her skirt rucking up around her hips until her legs are almost entirely exposed, “like this?”

Their faces are quite close now, close enough that they could kiss, if they wanted. And Rose does want. So that’s the next step of the plan. Rose does exactly that, leaning forward to press a kiss next to his lips, on his jaw, near his ear. She arches her hips into his and hears a soft breath escape him, watches in her peripheral vision as his eyes shutter closed. She does it again, until she can feel him pressing into her through her pants. His hands fly up to her hips but he doesn’t move against her.

“Doctor,” Rose breathes, her lips grazing the shell of his ear, “you need to tell me if you want me to keep going, or if you want me to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” he murmurs. “Please.”

“All right, since you asked so nicely.”

The Doctor lets out a half-laugh at that, but the sound ends in a hum when Rose starts rolling her hips against him again. She sets up a slow and steady rhythm that she knows is going to drive them both mad, even with all of these layers between them. Rose wants to look at his face, wants to see his guard slipping, but he ducks his head. He plants feather-light kisses while they move, dotting her neck and throat and collarbone with a touch that’s so faint, it simultaneously makes Rose want to squirm away and squirm closer for more. She opts for the latter, pressing into him until their chests touch and she can feel his heart hammering against her stomach. She can feel the exact size and shape of him through her pants, hot and hard and just begging for release. He still doesn’t meet her thrusts, but his hands settle on her hips, fingers skirting the edge of her waistband.

It’s been quite some time since anyone has touched Rose like this, anyone that wasn’t her anyway, and even taking that into account, it’s been a while; it doesn’t take long for her body to start crying out for more. His hold on her hips is too gentle, his kisses too light, his movements too careful. She can’t tell if he’s afraid of chasing her away or if he genuinely just doesn’t feel the same urgency she does. It feels like every single fiber of her existence is straining for him and a needy ache is growing between her thighs and she just really wants friction and heat and more and now.

“I’m heading out,” Ripley’s voice calls from the lab, startling them both. The Doctor gives a jump beneath Rose. She claps her hand over his mouth before he can make any noise. Both of them freeze, adrenaline pumping through their veins. Rose waits with bated breath for the sounds of Ripley approaching.

“Have a good night!” Ripley shouts, still in the lab.

“Thanks, you too!” Rose replies. She is supremely pleased with how normal and not at all out-of-breath she sounds.

The lights in the lab go dim, clicking out one-by-one. The breakroom plunges into darkness. Only the telly remains on, casting shadow-shapes that flicker gently over the room, voices and music shockingly loud in the quiet. Rose listens closely for the sounds of the lab door closing and locking after.

Once Ripley is well and truly gone, the Doctor relaxes a little. He heaves a sigh of relief, his breath warm against Rose’s palm. He looks up at Rose like he’s asking her what happens next.

She moves her hand out of the way and replaces it with a kiss.

The Doctor is surprised, but he warms up to the idea quickly, his lips moving against hers. He almost seems perfectly content with the close-lipped kiss, languorous and slow as it is, but his grip on her hips tightens just a little bit and he arches into her just a fraction. The sensation makes Rose’s head swim and her body flush with anticipation and want.

But it isn’t enough. Rose doesn’t need him calm and slow. She needs to see him out-of-control—needs to see him wanting her. Needs him to know how badly she wants him.

She hits the “off” button on the remote, cutting off the noise from the telly, and she scoots back just far enough that her fingers have space to unbutton the Doctor’s trousers.

“Close your eyes,” she says, brushing her lips against his jaw. “And keep them closed.”

The Doctor opens his mouth like he might protest, but he doesn’t. He licks his lips, nods, and complies.

Once Rose is certain his eyes are properly closed, no movement beneath to indicate that he’s peeking, she kisses him again, a little harder this time, and she unzips his fly, as quickly as she can without getting him caught. She strokes him through his pants, watches his brow furrow and his teeth flash as he bites his lower lip. His breaths leave his mouth with a ragged edge to them; he’s trying to breathe evenly, possibly trying to engage a bypass system he no longer has while he tries desperately not to thrust into her hand.

Good. Better.

Still not enough.

Rose hooks her fingers over the edge of his waistband and pulls it down, carefully. She edges back as she goes until she can extend one leg behind her, then the other, lowering herself to her knees on the floor.

The Doctor, eyes still closed, frowns. “Rose...?”

She leans forward and takes his cock in her mouth.

A strangled gasp tears out of him and his entire body goes stiff. Rose quickly pins down his hips with her hands and takes him in as far as she can, hollowing her cheeks. She swirls her tongue around him, applying as much pressure as she can muster. She can tell he wants to thrust, can feel it in the way he trembles; she rubs circles against his exposed hips, urging him to relax as much as he can. She moves her head up and down, slowly at first, torturing him just a little bit before she picks up speed, moving one hand to stroke whatever expanse isn’t covered by her mouth.

His hands fist helplessly in the cushions beside him. Rose looks up to find his head thrown back, teeth biting into his plump lower lip hard enough that it’s gone white. She redoubles her efforts. She hums around him, pressing her tongue firmly over where he’s most sensitive. At that, he starts panting, his stomach muscles pumping overtime with the effort of it.

Rose has never seen him like this before, never watched all the rules slip away like this, and the sight of him, gasping and desperate and so, so close to breaking, is enough to make her grow ridiculously wet and needy. She rubs her thighs together for any shred of friction she can get. A series of strained noises escapes him and that only makes it worse, so she tightens her lips around him, tightens and swallows.

“Rose,” the Doctor gasps, “Rose—ah. Stop. Stop. Let me—please—”

She ceases moving the moment the message reaches her brain and she releases him with a wet pop, sits up straight to ask him what he wants, and he leans over and shows her: framing her face in both hands, he presses his lips to hers in a punishing kiss. He urges her mouth open and his tongue slides over hers, and there it is, there’s that sense of urgency she was looking for. As his tongue explores her mouth, she wonders what he tastes there, what’s more overwhelming, the bare traces of him or the taste of her arousal—whatever it is, it stirs a moan deep in his throat and suddenly he’s pulling her up and back into his lap.

He’s still hard beneath her and in the midst of her increasingly intoxicating head-fog, Rose thinks that must be terribly uncomfortable. Rose moves to help him, to finish what she started, but he stops her. His grip on her wrist is surprisingly firm. “Not yet, please,” he says hoarsely between kisses. He holds her close with one hand while the other snakes up under her skirt, skating over her inner thigh on its way to her pants. Fingers press into her through warm, soaked cotton.

“Ah,” the Doctor mutters to himself, as if he’s just now realizing something. “Yes, that’s very—you’re really quite—”

His words fade to a satisfied hum as his fingers explore the edge of her pants, slipping under, gliding over slick skin. His strokes, gentle at first, grow firmer. Rose’s eyes fall closed at the sensation. She presses into his hand, hips tilting forward and drawing back in time with the motions of his fingers, and she lets out a whimper when he grazes over her clit. The pressure sends pleasure spiraling through her and she chases after that feeling, rocking her hips and fucking his hand until she’s so wet she thinks she might explode from need. He slips a finger inside her and she bites down on a moan.

She can feel the Doctor’s gaze on her face, gauging her reactions. A delicious thrill shivers through her but no, that won’t do, that won’t do at all, not when she’s still desperate to see him come undone.

Pulling herself up by the back of the sofa, she tries to sit up on her knees, starts to push down at her knickers. She lets out a surprised little yelp when the Doctor stops her, grabbing her hip with his free hand. At first she worries that maybe this isn’t what he wants after all, maybe he doesn’t want things to progress any further, but when he pushes her knickers to the side, she realizes that’s not true at all—he just doesn’t want her to move away from him, not even to take off her pants. He doesn’t want to wait. Which is brilliant, because Rose doesn’t want to wait anymore, either. She slides back down until she can feel the tip of his cock nudging at her, and, shifting her hips just so, she sinks down onto him, slickly, taking him in as far as she can.

The Doctor grits out a groan, his eyes losing focus, lips parting just the tiniest bit. Rose can’t help the grin that spreads across her face at that. (Can’t help the gasp that leaves her when she pushes down just a little bit more, taking him further in, the two of them sliding together deliciously.) She takes advantage of the breach in his defenses, leaning forward for another kiss and slipping her tongue along the seam of his mouth. She tilts her hips back and forth, drawing up and pushing down and pushing just a little further each time until he’s fully sheathed inside her, easing the swollen ache between her legs. When her muscles clench around his cock, she feels him tense beneath her, his legs and stomach going rigid while his brow furrows in concentration.

“Just relax,” Rose murmurs against his lips.

“Seems unlikely at this juncture,” the Doctor laughs weakly.

Grinning, Rose clutches at the Doctor’s back, nails digging into his shirts and his skin as she increases her pace and pressure, rocking her hips up and down and just losing herself in the heat and the wet and the friction of it all. For a bloke who has almost certainly never had sex—not in this fresh new body with all its sensitive new nerve endings—he is holding out magnificently, lasting far longer than Rose would have imagined. She thinks, maybe, as she feels her climax building, as the warm-tickle-yes-yes-yes builds low in her belly, that he must have held onto some truly extraordinary Time Lord willpower. Or, the thought dawns on her…

She slows her movement, hips grinding almost to a still. “Have you been practicing?” she whispers in his ear.

“What?” he asks, distracted, his voice strained and ridiculously breathy.

Rose sinks back down inch-by-inch and feels rather than hears the groan rumbling in the Doctor’s chest. “You’re holding out remarkably well, especially for the circumstances,” she says. “Have you been practicing? Touching yourself?”

When he doesn’t answer, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously, Rose nips at the pulse point beneath his ear, her tongue darting out to taste his salty-sweet skin. She slides a hand between them and rubs at where they’re joined. As her fingers ring the base of his cock, stroking him, the Doctor’s head lolls back on the couch, his eyes slamming shut.

“Yes,” he gasps out, like the admission pains him.

Rose rewards him by sliding her hips up and down, her movements agonizingly slow as she torments them both. “What do you think about?”

“What do you think?” the Doctor asks with another strained laugh. When Rose stops moving, his eyes open again and his gaze meets hers.

“You,” he confesses, panting. “Just you.”

Rose smiles and presses a hard kiss to his mouth the instant the words leave him. One of his hands flies up to grasp her by the jaw, suddenly possessive, claiming, and Rose’s lips part without hesitation as he plunders her mouth with his tongue and finally (finally) starts to move, arching up into her. She rocks against him and he meets her measure-for-measure, thrust-for-thrust. No longer content as a passive player, the Doctor slips his hands under Rose’s shirt and pushes it up over her breasts, planting kisses on every inch of skin he can reach. His thumbs circle and tease her nipples until they’re peaked and straining through the thin fabric of her bra.

Her climax quickly begins to build up again, warmth blooming through her; she’s close, she’s close, she’s so close, dancing right on the edge, pleasure rippling through her body in waves. She slides her hand back between them again, teasing her clit with fingers slippery with sweat and sex. As her muscles flutter desperately, clenching tight around him once more, the Doctor pumps his hips harder, his breaths leaving with a moan. He grasps her by the back of the head and pulls her down for one more kiss, his fingers tangling in her hair. When he bites her lower lip, flooding her with pain and warmth, Rose shudders and breaks around him and he swallows her cries. She strokes him and fucks him through her own climax into his, where he breaks the kiss in favor of burying his face in the join of her neck and shoulder, shouting as he spasms and empties into her.

Their movements slow and still until they’re both motionless, panting in the quiet dark. The Doctor winds his arms around Rose in a lazy embrace, his face still buried against her shoulder. His specs are digging into her almost uncomfortably but she doesn’t say anything, hugs him about the neck and idly strokes his sweat-dampened hair instead.

Her brain is mostly empty except for a very pleasant hazy hum. She hopes the same is true for him. Still, there’s that nagging little thought cropping up, quieter than usual, but still there, as always: What’s next?

“Are you, erm,” she tries to ask amidst shuddering breaths. “How are you doing?”

“Dunno yet,” is the muffled reply. “I’ll tell you when my legs stop feeling like jelly.”

Rose chuckles and kisses the side of his head.

They end up taking the train home, or as close to home as they can get, anyway. It’s the first time Rose has been on a train in years; she decides this is to blame for why her legs are so much wibblier than usual, why she has to shift her stance and cling to the pole so much harder than before. It’s certainly got nothing to do with the pleasantly warm soreness throbbing between her legs, certainly nothing to do with the source of said soreness.

Of course, the Doctor doesn’t seem to be having any trouble staying upright at all, jelly-leg comments notwithstanding. Of course he doesn’t.

“So,” Rose says, casually. “Not a fan of blow jobs, hm?”

It is incredibly satisfying to see him wavering just a little, his grasp tightening on the pole. “Huh?” he asks, very intelligently.

“You stopped me, earlier. You know. When I had you in my mouth.”

“Erm, well,” says the Doctor, scratching the back of his neck while flushing as brilliant a carnation-pink as Rose has ever seen. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“Why?”

The Doctor glances down at the floor, as if he finds it suddenly fascinating. “Just wanted to hold you, is all,” he murmurs.

Something in Rose’s stomach feels almost unbearably fluttery and tender at that, but before she has a chance to reply, the train gives a lurch, jostling her. She braces herself against the Doctor, one hand on the pole while the other snakes beneath his jacket, grabbing a fistful of shirt. Strictly for balance reasons, of course. It’s got nothing to do with what he just said, or the fact that she’s so very glad to be on this train with him, or how very much she loves him, or the fact that she’s planning to kiss him again.

(It’s a good plan. Very good. The best she’s ever had, possibly.)

Rose pushes onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to the Doctor’s cheek. He’s warm, beneath her lips; warm from blushing, and other things too, maybe. She kisses him again, lower, and again, on the corner of his mouth, and this time he turns his head to catch her lips with his. It’s slower than the other kisses they’ve shared, and softer. Rose has to hide her face against his chest, after, to counteract the overwhelming sweetness swelling between her lungs.

There are still things they need to discuss, of course. Big things. Big, important things. But they can wait a little while longer.

Well, most of them can, anyway.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Rose says quietly, to the Doctor’s chest.

He rests his head against hers, exhaling slowly. “Me, too.”

***

#ficandchips #tentoo x rose #tentoorose #tentoo/rose #anti turning of the tide #rose tyler #metacrisis doctor #tentoo #warning: here be lemons #here there be lemons what i wrote LITERAL YEARS AGO #poor lemons have been moldering for like FOUR YEARS????#??????????#because originally this was part of a super duper angsty post-JE fic i was working on off and on for a long time #but as much as i really liked some parts of it--it was ultimately too draining to write #because even though i likes me some angst as much as the next salty mean bitch #i do ultimately want these two idiots to get together #i can handle a fair amount of angst with rose and tenth doctor mach i but after an initial bout of angst #i'm ready for her and metacrisis doc to be happy together #even if they've got external shit to deal with -- i want them to be happy together #so instead i've just been reappropriating my favorite bits here and there--incorporating them into other works #a big chunk of it was incorporated into/transformed into 'something of the wolf'#other bits and pieces have been incorporated into the rewriting of 'in lovers meeting' (formerly 'hitchhiker's map')#and other bits have been retooled and expanded-upon to present this here fic #i'm just happy some of this writing is finally seeing the light of day dammit #:D #mbb fic

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