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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Choke.

another soulmate au nobody asked for :)

Akaashi Keiji x female reader x Bokuto Koutarou

TW dub-con, implied future non-con

It wasn’t a good day to begin with.

You’re late, rushing through the busy campus hallways to make it to an exam that quite frankly you’re at least 70% sure you’re going to fail, mostly because instead of cramming last night you’d been… otherwise occupied with your boyfriend.

And you really, really just want this whole thing to just be over with already.

With your nose stuck in your textbook, frantically pouring over your notes right up until the very last second, it’s hardly a surprise that you don’t see the two of them rushing down the hallway in the opposite direction until you’re quite literally colliding with the taller of the pair – the broad shouldered one.

Your notes go flying, the last of your coffee too and for one split second, you’re pretty positive that you’re gonna end up flat on your ass with a little more than some bruised pride. But just as you’re about to hit the ground, not one but two hands reach for you, catch you, and the very second they do, you feel it:

A flash of guilt and momentary alarm, embarrassment, you think, and chagrin, each emotion hitting you like a sledgehammer, overwhelming you, one after the other in a dizzying blur that’s distinctly other, and then–

Shock.

Dawning surprise.

A rush of something warm, adoring, a happiness so bright and blinding that it makes you physically jerk backwards, almost slamming your head against the wall in the process. And two pairs of eyes – one a deep, luminous gold, the other a cool, gunmetal blue – stare at you in wide eyed wonder a split millisecond before you wrench yourself free, gasping.

The moment their grip falters, the torrent stops. You can breathe.

Blessed silence, save for the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Everything fades out around you – the students and lecturers alike bustling through the busy hallway, the humming drone of chatter that’s nearly deafening. Nothing exists but the three of you; caught in your little bubble.

And it’s dread, you think, that seeps through your blood as you stare at them.

They’re both handsome, albeit in their own ways. The taller of the two – the one who’d almost barrelled you over – looks like he could probably bench press you without breaking a sweat. His shirt isn’t exactly clinging to him, but you can see the hints of well defined muscles beneath, and the size of his biceps alone are enough to make your heart skip a beat and your mouth dry up a little. With rippling muscles, spiky black and silver hair, a strong jawline and those round, golden eyes, he looks like a modern day adonis.

His friend might’ve been shorter, his build leaner, but with his softer features, pretty eyes and dark hair, you think he’s perhaps the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. From the fineness of his nose to the gentle curve of his lips and his long, dark sweeping eyelashes, he reminds you of those white marble statues you’ve seen before in museums and art galleries– a beauty so divine, so perfect – so devastating – that it steals your breath a little.

And they’re both watching you, frozen entirely. Smiling in breathless delight, as if they can’t quite believe it either.

Soulmates.

You’ve spent your whole life wondering what it would be like, experiencing somebody else’s emotions. Studies have been done and countless books and articles written about the bond between soulmates; the intimacy of sharing emotions through touch, but nobody really knows why or how it happens.

And for some, it’s a subtle thing. A suggestion, a whisper against their own consciousness, easily brushed aside. Others feel it stronger.

For you, it was like drowning. Choking under the sudden, intense barrage of feelings that weren’t yours. Maybe it’s because there’s two of them – and that much at least you’re sure of. You don’t have the words to explain it, but they’d felt separate somehow, distinctive from one another – kind of like fingerprints, you suppose.

There’s no denying the bond, no denying that they’re both your soulmates, and all you can think of is that you don’t want it. Not here, not now. Not them.

The dark haired one seems to realise quicker than his friend that you’re not reacting how you’re supposed to, you’re just standing there, rigid and tense, gaping at them. And the slight smile that graced his perfect lips starts to waver, his brows drawing together when finally his friend cottons on.

He reaches for you, the beginnings of a pout taking shape on his face, and you move without even thinking, jerking out of reach with a sharp breath. His hand hangs outstretched for a beat too long, a noise like a kicked puppy leaving his lips as he realises that you’re flinching away from him; away from your soulmate. He looks heartbroken, and he’s yet to utter a single word.

You don’t give him a chance. You’re not some cold, unfeeling beast; there’s a twinge in your heart, a heaviness that’s far too close to guilt settling in your stomach, but you just can’t. And with shaking hands you bend over and hastily grab up your things, forcing yourself not to meet their confused, hurt stares when you right yourself.

“I– I’m sorry,” you murmur, and before either one of them can try to stop you, you disappear into the crowd, racing for your exam.

—

The lights are on when you make it back home, the familiar, comforting scent of home cooked food filling your apartment.

“Hey, babe,” your boyfriend calls out as you wearily drop your purse by the door and kick out of your shoes. His back’s to you, attention fixed on the simmering saucepan on the stovetop, but he glances over his shoulder as he continues, “How’d your exam go?”

And you can’t help it, you burst into tears.

Painful, heaving sobs that might’ve had you collapsing onto the floor if he hadn’t swept across the room to snatch you up into his arms. “That bad, huh?” Kuguri jokes, but the words sound hollow.

“I found them,” you mutter into his chest, and the way he stiffens, his grip tightening for just a moment has your heart breaking all over again.

Kuguri doesn’t say much as he leads you to the couch, he just lets you talk. It’s almost worse, you think, the way he doesn’t react.

Because you both knew this was coming at some point. For months you’ve tried to convince yourself that you could feel him when you were together.

You felt his love when he held you, right?

Happy when he was happy?

But you’d known, both of you, that as much as you wished it otherwise, he wasn’t your soulmate, and you weren’t his. And whether it was today or six months down the line, this was always going to happen.

“You don’t have to…” you trail off, searching his eyes desperately for anything other than the gentle resignation lingering there. “I love you.”

He smiles at that, cups your cheek in his hand and brushes away the stray tear that spills. “I know you do, but–” it’s not enough. “They’re your soulmates. Don’t you think they deserve a chance to make you happy?”

He’s gone when you wake the next morning.

—

In a university of thousands, a sprawling city campus, you honestly believe that in spite of everything, you probably won’t see them again. They don’t know your name, or what you study, you don’t live in the dorms like some of the other students; the chances of just randomly bumping into them again are slim, soulmates or no.

Of course, there are facebook groups and pages set up to reconnect lost soulmates, but you’d have to actually want to find them to try something like that.

(Part of you wonders whether they’ve tried)

The universe has a sense of humour, it seems, because when your paths cross next, it’s not at uni, it’s at the little corner store a few blocks down from your apartment.

At 2am in the morning.

And you’re staring intently at the freezer, mentally weighing up exactly what kind of ice cream you need to sate your craving when you hear the sharp intake of breath behind you.

“Holy crap, you’re here.”

It’s stupid, you think, the way your stomach flutters when you turn to find him staring in wide eyed wonder; the taller one, with the spiky hair and those impossibly wide, honey eyes.

He’s smiling, his entire face lit up like a christmas tree at the sight of you. As if you hadn’t run off without so much as an acknowledgement the last time you’d met. As if seeing you here, looking like shit – makeup free and dressed in your old favourite sweats – is the absolute best thing that could have happened.

And when your cheeks grow hot, you’re not entirely sure if it’s embarrassment over the way you look, the fact that he’s caught you buying ice cream that you fully intend to let melt just a little bit before polishing off at two in the morning, or if it’s shame over how badly you’d reacted the last time you’d seen him.

But if he notices your inner turmoil, he doesn’t show it, grinning widely as he calls back over his shoulder, “Akaashi!”

You still haven’t uttered a peep, haven’t moved. Just like last time you’re caught feeling like a kid with their hand stuck in the cookie jar as your other soulmate rounds the corner, his attention fixed on the ingredients list of the rice cracker snacks in his hands, a basket full of groceries tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“Bokuto, I was just around the corner, there’s no need to shout.”

Pretty steel blue eyes flicker up for a split second, then quickly do a double take as he realises that it’s you – his errant soulmate, standing struck dumb, here of all places. “Oh.”

Oh.

Akaashi eyes you for a moment, and you watch as his throat bobs unsteadily, but just as with Bokuto, he can’t seem to help the smile that creeps across his face. It’s softer than his friend’s, not so blinding but warm nonetheless. Genuine. There’s no animosity there, and it should put you at ease – they don’t seem to blame you, at least.

It should, but it doesn’t.

Even now, there’s a little voice in your head urging you to forget your late night cravings, turn tail and run. Nevermind that they’d likely just follow you, much less that you’d look like an absolute fucking idiot, fleeing from your soulmates who so far have done nothing wrong.

It’s not supposed to be this awkward, right? It’s not supposed to be difficult, but even when they’re smiling at you, there’s a tension that digs its claws into you and refuses to relent. Your heart thumps unevenly, like a scared little bunny caught in a trap and the wolves are circling.

If it’s normal, then your parents and every other soulmated pair you’ve ever met certainly kept it to themselves. Maybe it’s the guilt, you think. Maybe you’re just being overdramatic. They’re your soulmates, right? They probably just want to talk, to get to know you, and right now you’re the one being standoffish and rude.

It occurs to you then that you still haven’t spoken, and they’re both staring at you somewhat expectantly. You really are fucking this up, aren’t you?

“H-hi,” you manage to muster, forcing yourself to smile back. Tiny and timidly, perhaps, but it’s a smile.

It seems to work, because Bokuto positively beams at you and Akaashi sets down his basket to slide in closer, a pleased little hum escaping his throat.

Aside from the faint sound of the radio playing in the background and the cashier casually flicking through a magazine up at the register, the store is quiet. It’s just the three of you, except this time there really is no running off and disappearing into the crowd. Which is fine, you need to face them sooner or later, right?

Give them a chance?

Otherwise everything else, all that heartbreak and the lonely nights since will have been all for nothing. So you swallow tightly, take a soft, steadying breath, and press on.

“I, um… I’m sorry about last time. You know with… everything,” you finish lamely, mentally cringing at the sheer awkwardness of it. “I had an exam.”

But again, your soulmates don’t seem to take it personally, the darker haired one (Akaashi, your brain helpfully supplies) nodding slightly.

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” He has a nice voice, calming and smooth, and though the words seem to carry a different weight you find yourself nodding along with him. You can do this, you can make an effort.

This is fine.

You swallow again, tongue darting out to wet your lips, “I’m Y/N,” you introduce, clutching just a little bit tighter at the handles of your own shopping basket.

You don’t extend a hand, nor try to go in for a hug, but standing there rigidly feels wrong too. They’re strangers, yes, but they’re also not, and you don’t quite know how to act around somebody like that, somebody you’re supposedly fated for but know nothing about. All you know is that the last time they touched you, it was too much. It hurt. And even as you catch sight of the slightly disheartened expression on Bokuto’s face, you’re hesitant to put yourself through it again.

“It’s pretty,” Akaashi compliments, and there’s a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks as he says it. “Suits you.”

Your own probably aren’t much better, with the blood that rushes to your face. You drop your gaze a little, nibbling on your bottom lip, “O-oh, uh… thank you.”

When you glance back up to Bokuto, you find him staring at you again, not with the same hurt expression as before, but something akin to wonder. He seems speechless, in awe of your flustered state, and you wonder how he can bounce that quickly from emotion to emotion without giving himself whiplash. But it seems like your attention is just the thing he needs to pull himself out of it, because he closes his gaping mouth and grins again.

“Y/N,” he repeats, like he’s testing it out, rolling your name over his tongue. “You probably heard, but I’m Bokuto– you can call me Koutarou, though.”

There’s a beat of silence, and he’s quick to add, “And that’s Akaashi.”

“Keiji,” Akaashi corrects, shooting you another gentle smile.

First names. It makes sense, you suppose, but the familiarity of it all still doesn’t sit quite right with you. But now that introductions are out of the way, you don't have a clue what you’re supposed to say now - ‘so, soulmates; crazy, huh?’ doesn’t exactly feel appropriate, given the circumstances.

You’re distinctly aware that it’s the middle of the night and you’re at a convenience store and while this might not be the worst time to run into your soulmates again, it’s not far off.

Maybe that’s not a bad thing, though, because at least it kind of gives you an out. Shifting your weight from one foot to another, you clear your throat, “I hope you guys don’t think I’m being rude or anything, but it is kinda late…” you trail off, hoping they’ll pick up what you’re putting down.

And while Bokuto’s brow furrows, Akaashi at least has the decency to look a little abashed. “Yeah, no, of course. We’re just so… we’re glad we ran into you again.”

Your cheeks heat again, and to save yourself from having to meet their gazes head on, you quickly spin around, open the freezer door and grab the first pint ice cream that you see. “I just came for this,” you laugh, fighting back a wince at how hollow and fake it all sounds.

“Here,” Bokuto says, and before you can react he’s snatching it from your grip (thankfully keeping his hand from brushing against yours) and places it atop the basket in Akaashi’s arms. “Our treat.”

He beams at you, and you’re honestly too stunned to reply. You don’t really want him paying for it, but if it gets you out of this awkward encounter any quicker, you’ll swallow down your protests and let it go.

And so you trail meekly after the two of them as they head to the cashier, and when Akaashi passes you the bag you’re so careful to avoid his touch, a fact he notes with the slightest of frowns, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“It’s late,” he says instead as the three of you exit into the brisk night air. And then those gunmetal eyes are on you, studying you for a moment. You realise what he’s about to say the moment he opens his mouth again, “Can we walk you home? Or to the bus stop at least?”

Your stomach lurches at the thought of it, of two veritable strangers knowing where you live, but–

He’s not wrong, exactly. It is late, and in hindsight it was probably stupid for you to have come out at this time of the night alone in the first place, whether it was a safe neighbourhood or not. And they’re not strangers, they’re your soulmates.

You have to try.

So you nod. ‘It’s just down the road,” you murmur, but as the two of them fall into step either side of you, sharing a distinctly satisfied look between themselves, you think that it wouldn’t have mattered how far it was. They would have walked with you anywhere.

Yet their expressions of mild surprise (disappointment, maybe?) when you stop them less than five minutes later in front of your apartment block almost makes you laugh. “This is me.”

Bokuto eyes the building for just a moment before his attention returns to you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Lie, that little voice inside your head urges, but you force yourself to ignore it. You have to try. “Uh, not much, I guess…”

Even as you say the words, your hands tighten on your bag, twisting nervously – a sign they either don’t read or wilfully ignore as Bokuto brightens up once again.

“Awesome! Wanna swing by ours to chill for a little bit?”

Like a date, you think as your gaze flickers between the two. Yet Akaashi’s watching you just as intently, those dark eyes far more inscrutable than Bokuto’s, which doesn’t help ease the uncomfortable feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach. There’s really no reason for you to say no, no polite way for you to turn them down. They’re your soulmates, you’re supposed to want this. “Um…”

“Or we can come here, if you want? Or head into the city and do something there, maybe go see a movie or something? Whatever you’d prefer.”

“No!” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them, the idea of the two of them in your apartment, your home just feels like… too much. “No,” you repeat again, quieter, forcing your features to soften into a hesitant smile. “Your place is good.”

That way you can leave if it all gets to be too much. It’s just a casual hang out. It’ll be fine.

Both of them seem to relax at your agreement, and you quickly take out your phone to grab Akaashi’s number – sending him a message so he has your number too.

“Perfect,” he says, his voice a purr that sends a ripple of something running down your spine. “I’ll text you the address in the morning.”

You smile at both of them, thanking them again for the ice cream and for walking back with you, even if it was only a few hundred metres. And you think you’re in the clear as you start walking up the steps, trying to balance your keys, your phone and your bags when the sound of your name being called makes you turn around.

Bokuto’s there, a step behind you, and before you can even so much as blink he’s grabbing at your hand, tugging you forward and kissing you.

Just like last time, it’s instantaneous and overwhelming. You feel it all – his giddy excitement, the stirrings of something deeper, less innocent as he cradles your body to his.

And the love.

Oh god. It’s not mere affection, not some fleeting, superficial thing. It pours over you in unrelenting waves, crushing you under the force of it – you can’t even feel his tongue moving against yours, or the way he sucks on your bottom lip, groaning quietly.

You can’t breathe, can’t think. It’s too much, too much, too strong, too sudden, you can’t BREATHE.

Your trembling hands finds his shoulders, and as your head spins, nausea churning in your gut you don’t waste a second, shoving him away from you with enough force that he actually stumbles back a little.

Though you’ll admit it’s probably more from shock than any strength you actually possess.

And you don’t dare look to Akaashi as tears fill your eyes, a heaving gasp leaving your lips. Bokuto’s eyes are wide, his mouth agape; he looks confused more than horrified as you stumble back, almost tripping over the last step.

“D-don’t touch me,” you gasp, “please.”

There’s pain in his eyes as your tears well up and spill over and you choke back another sob, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything else. Limbs trembling, you force yourself upright, clutching at the keys in your fist as you skitter towards the door.

You hear one of them, Akaashi you think, calling out your name, but you don’t pause, don’t look back – throwing open the lobby door and slamming it shut behind you.

And your heart pounds as you climb the steps two at a time, and it’s only once you're in the safety of your own apartment, with the door shut and firmly locked that you allow yourself to breathe. You realise distantly that at some point – probably on the steps outside – you dropped the ice cream they’d bought for you, but you can’t find it within yourself to care. The first time you realise was an accident, they had no way of knowing you were their soulmate, much less how you’d react when they’d touched you. But that–

That wasn’t right.

It wasn’t normal.

Those feelings, that love, you’ve never experienced anything like it, and yet it’s left you feeling filthy; tainted. Scared. It was too much; boundless and abundant, the kind of love that devours and chokes, selfishly strangling everything in its environment to thrive. Overpowering and solely directed at you. How was it supposed to do anything but terrify you. And how can he possibly believe that he loves you like that already?

Soulmates or not, you don’t know him!

This– this whole thing is wrong.

You can’t stop yourself from checking the locks on your apartment another three times before you slip under the covers of your bed, trying to will sleep to find you.

On the nightstand beside you, your phone vibrates, but you refuse to check it, knowing full well that it’s them.

It doesn’t stop.

And with every new notification your blood pressure climbs, and there’s a part of you that’s telling you you have no reason to be reacting like this – whatever happened on those steps, it’s not like they’re going to hurt you.

It was an accident, a misunderstanding.

But they’re still blowing your phone up with notifications and they know where you live and no matter what you tell yourself, you can’t seem to quell the disquiet that eats away at you.

And it’s a cruel thing to do, you know it is, but you don’t know what else to do as you finally give in, swiping your phone up and searching for his contact. The phone rings once, twice, three times and there’s a sinking feeling in your chest when you realise he’s not going to pick up–

“Hello?” Kuguri’s voice is groggy, heavy with sleep and you can almost picture him, sitting up in bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes, running a hand through his messy bed hair. “Fuck, do you know what time it is, Y/N? Why’re you calling me so late?”

There’s a pause, pregnant and heavy, and the only sound that leaves you is the soft hitch in your breath.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, quieter this time, an edge of worry in his tone.

You haven’t spoken to him in weeks, since he’d left without a word and broke your heart, but he’s the only one you want to talk to right now.

“I-I’m sorry for calling,” you begin, sniffling back your tears. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

—

When you drag yourself out of bed only a few short hours later, your body’s still crying out for a little more sleep, but you can’t afford to indulge.

Like you’d planned, you send the message first thing, ignoring the flood of unread texts above – both from Akaashi and an unknown number you can only assume is Bokuto’s.

I’m sorry about last night, just need some space.

You have nothing to be sorry for – even if it wasn’t for the frankly unsettling emotions you’d felt, Bokuto’d still kissed you without your permission. But Kuguri said it was better that way – they were less likely to freak out and panic or whatever. You hadn’t questioned it too much, it didn’t really matter what you said so long as they knew you didn’t want them anywhere near you… at least until you figured this whole thing out. And you trusted Kuguri on this.

God knows why he’d even answered your call in the first place, but you’re impossibly glad that he did. Gladder still that he hadn’t hung up on you the moment he’d realised why you were calling.

You scoff down a quick breakfast, before hopping into the shower. The scalding water’s a welcome relief, waking you up more than your coffee had and allowing you the space to think.

Kuguri’s got errands to run this morning, but he’d said you were welcome to stop by his place anytime. He’d insisted on it actually, telling you in no uncertain terms to pack an overnight bag.

‘Look, I’m probably being an overprotective asshole, alright, but I don’t want you there by yourself, so either you come here or I’m coming over there.’

And the thought that you’d need somebody there to protect you, that either one of your soulmates would do anything–

But it’s not so much about them, you think, but you. You’d been a mess when you’d called him, and despite how everything had gone down, Kuguri still cared about you – you can’t just turn those feelings off overnight – is it any wonder that you’d worried him?

Distantly, you register your phone going off a few more times as you busy yourself in washing your hair. You assume it’s Kuguri checking up on you, making sure that you’re alright – you pay it no mind, humming quietly as you reach for your conditioner.

And by the time you slip from your bathroom, wrapped in a big, fluffy towel it’s probably closer to mid-morning than you’d like. You don’t bother blow drying your hair or putting on makeup, instead heading to your room to get dressed and grab some clothes to take to Kuguri’s.

Except there’s a knocking at the door that stops you in your tracks.

You hadn’t heard the buzzer for the building’s main door go off, which meant that it was probably just your landlord stopping by, or one of your neighbours. You know the little girl who lives in the apartment next to yours likes to bake with her dad and sometimes drops off freshly made cookies and treats, so you hastily throw on enough clothes to pass as decent.

“Coming,” you sing out, racing across the room to reach the door.

Except when you throw it open, it’s not one of your neighbours standing out in your hallway, nor is it your elderly landlord.

Akaashi and Bokuto crowd the empty space; Bokuto grinning widely, Akaashi’s dark eyes fixed on yours.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he murmurs, a faint frown tugging at his features as studies your face. “We were worried about you.”

And there’s so many things wrong with the fact that they’re here; least of all being how the hell they got into the building to begin with, but you can’t afford to think of any of that. You simply need to get them out of here without causing a fuss. Now.

They’re still your soulmates, you remind yourself as your heart rate picks up. They won’t do anything to hurt you.

“I-I told you I needed space, please go,” you mutter, clutching so tightly at the edge of the door that your knuckles turn white. “Please,” you beg again when neither of them make a move to leave.

“I told you, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says, his smile slipping in favour of a wounded pout, “She’s afraid of us. Her soulmates.”

And you don’t know what compels you to shake your head instead of just slamming the door in their faces, “N-no, I just–”

“She’s just skittish,” Akaashi interrupts, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Overwhelmed – this is all new to her. It’s okay, princess,” he says, addressing you this time with a teasing little smirk, “We’ll be gentle, okay? We’re going to take good care of you.”

It’s the final blow to your tentative politeness. As panic sinks its teeth into you, you skitter backwards, scrambling to shut the front door before they can get in–

Bokuto’s faster. They both are.

Stronger, too.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere bokuto x reader #yandere akaashi x reader #yandere bokuto kotaro x reader #yandere akaashi keiji x reader #yandere bokuto koutarou #yandere akaashi keiji #tw dub con #tw implied noncon #soulmate au

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thenerdkingqueen · 3 years

Text

an analysis/easter eggs/things that i've noticed on Tommyinnit's Unbeatable Method of Avoiding Sudden Death

spoilers, be aware psa: most of this was said by the creator themself on the final chapter, also this is a pretty long post

Easter Eggs:

the angel reaching tommy (the fic starts with angel approaching tommy and it end with the angel and tommy)

mention of how tommy is young (in his limbo he is 16 but in real life he is 12)

someone saying "tommy is not a hero"

mentions of how clementine is a blessing from the gods/his guardian/his saviour

a gun that cannot kill people

everytime that tommy is close to "dying" some miracle happens and he's saved (most, if not all, the times it happens with clementine present or because of clementine)

tommy avoiding the news

a lot of religious symbolism (tommy mentioning jesus, affirming that clementine is a gift from gods, calling michael a demon, etc)

clementine being "rebellious" (on my notes this started around chapter 5, starts to disagree more with tommy around chapter 14 and then this becomes prominent towards the end)

tommy subconsciously believing that he set fire to the building/city (mentioned in multiple chapters, first in chapter 6 and so on and on)

ranboo liking spaghetti

tommy childish behavior that can only be comprehended in the end of the fic

tommy playing with techno's sword (alluding to the real world were techno was into fencing)

tommy mentioning the five stages of grief

mentions of how the fic is supposed to follow the same ideas as cartoon shows about heroes (tubbo talking about how the characters don't have "plot armour" because they aren't the "main characters", tommy talking about a beach episode and bloopers, etc)

tommy always trying to be the one to save the others (how he reasures tubbo that hes the one supposed to save the others, saving techno on a mission, wilbur telling him that he saved them, etc)

the reality changing in a way that fits tommy the best (in my notes i said that the first time that we see this happening is when tommy goes to buy fast food and somehow got an order that they didn't have at first)

tommy missing the jump but wilbur catches him before he falls (it happens in chapter 9 and in chapter 28)

techno being defenestrated the most alluding to his death

techno not wanting to babysit tommy (chapter 10, chapter 14 and chapter 27)

tommy calling wilbur bald

chapters were is just a conversation between clementine and tommy

multiple mentions of how tommy is "not ready"

mentions of how tommy misses his family (chapter 18 with wilbur saying that "its okay" if tommy missed him, chapter 23 with tommy mentioning that he "missed this")

mentions of the world falling apart

tommy's mom loving clementines tea

the news on tv

tommy being a fan of vigilantes

wilbur singing

Paragraphs that are worth mentioning:

Tommy in chapter 6 about Tubbo:

“Shhh,” Tommy soothes calmly, “I’m reminiscing about our relationship. I’m grieving.” Tubbo stares at him in exasperation. “Grieving what?” “The end.”

Tommy about himself also in chapter 6:

Maybe he did die.

Now that he’s aware, he can feel the wind blowing through his hair, feels his soaked suit sticking to his body uncomfortably. He shivers."

Tubbo and Tommy in chapter 7:

"Tommy pouts, “Why are you leaving me?” Tubbo sighs, “Tommy you know I have to go at some point.”

also in chapter 7:

“No Ranboo slander in this household,” Tubbo says sternly, “I’ll be back soon Tom.” “You won’t,” Tommy sniffs, “You’re leaving forever.”

the world around Tommy while he's sick (foreshadowing):

"The world blurs for a second and he stabilizes himself against the wall."

Clementine in chapter 7:

“ Tommy ,” A voice croons for him. “ Wake up. Wake up Tommy,” It says, “ You need to wake up. This isn’t re-“

Tommy and Clementine in chapter 9, Tommy showing that he is on denial:

"Clementine does a flip. “No, no. We don’t talk about what happened. Nothing happened. I don’t even know what you are talking about, like I honestly have no idea what you are about. I don’t even know what heroes are. Who are heroes? That’s crazy, never heard of them. Do they even exist? That’s crazy. Clementine shut the fuck up,” He groans, shuddering as he relives the embarrassment of a lifetime. Clementine stares."

foreshadowing in chapter 11:

"Tommy glares at them. How do they not understand the severity of the situation? Children, the lot of them. “You will all understand soon enough,” Tommy sighs, shaking his head, “And then, you will feel deep, deep regret.”

foreshadowing again on chapter 23:

“Mhm,” He cries into the man’s chest, “Okay,” He believes. He chooses to believe Wilbur. “I’ve- I’ve missed this,” He confesses. I’ve missed you, he doesn’t say. “I know,” Wilbur hums. “It’s okay. Merry Christmas, Tommy.”

the narrative changing and the people around tommy realizing where they are/tommy and the people around him acting weird:

Wilbur in chapter 25:

“You can stop, if you want,” Wilbur looks him in the eye. Tommy’s grin freezes. “What?” “You can stop, Tommy. We don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Phil and Tommy on chapter 25:

"Phil frowns, offended, “You don’t like heroes.” “They don’t exist.” Phil laughs this time, slightly bewildered, “Mate, I’m a hero.” Tommy turns to him, eyes dulled, “Are you?”

Tommy and Jack on chapter 26:

“I mean, really, when have you actually helped someone? Other than yourself, that is,” Manifold scoffs. “You think you’re so above everyone here, above the world-“ “That’s because I am, ” Tommy stares, eyes hard."

my actual thoughts/analysis (this is very disorganized because it's literally just the notes the I made when i was re-reading):

Tommy's limbo is a world made by him, he aged himself up (he was 12 but 16 in the limbo) and i think thats one of the reasons of why swears a lot (in chapter 27 philza says that tommy could only swear in his adolescence)

Through the fic we can see how much Tommy resents and feels guilty about everything that happened, the multiple mentions of how he didn't know who "burned the building" are an example

i genuinely believe that the hoodie that he wears in the fic is wilbur's hoodie (in chapter 27 they are fighting because of a hoodie) and i think that is an indirect way of tommy saying "i love you" and "i miss you"

i also believe that the reason of why he lives in an apartment with tubbo is because he feels guilty for not being able to save him

In the beginning of the fic tommy deflects what happened and projects in a much lighter, much happier, way. He has a gun that cannot kill, he thinks that fire is "pogchamp", he jokes about defenestration, etc

At some point the world building start to get "weird", tommy being hired wouldn't make sense in the actual world but since it's a world made by a child with childish ideas he ends up getting hired anyways, a lot of times Tommy acts like a kid and not a teenager, later is explained that hes actually 12

Tommy also don't want to leave but he wants to be saved, this is shown when he begs for Clementine to save him in chapter 12, he wants his life back but he also wants Clementine to be part of it

Eneli starts to refer to the boys as brothers in cahpter 19, before this tommy was just an orphan (this fact is refuted in chapter 23, when tommy says that he "wasn't always a orphan")

Tommy struggles to say what Clementine is to him, probably because he realized that she is not his daughter but his mother, my best bet is that Tommy made Clementine to be his daughter because he couldn't bare the thought of having a mother, he mentions that "parents do the abandoning" and i feel like that its how he felt when his mother died, before he also mentioned how she already abandoned him once, he is also super protective of her, and in chapter 26 he almost lost her entirely. In some ways Clementine is death, and thats something that he cannot and does not want to deal with, but shes also his mother and he loves her (this can be see through the fic but especially in chapter 26)

I feel like Phil having wings is a red herring to fool the reader, this makes the reader believe that he is the one who saved Tommy in the beginning

#tumoasd #tommyinnit's unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death #please i wrote this in separated days and i still feel like im missing something or just repeating eneli #anyways here it is #tommyinnit #eneli #:D

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP Recap (December 6/2020) - End of Week

What started as a sad but calm day ended with a revolution where morality was questioned and blood was shed. The server’s first canon death since the three lives rule was implemented occurred, and all hell broke loose.

Dream’s motivations have started to be laid bare, but whether or not he’s in the wrong or right remains foggy as ever in a world where everyone’s morals are gray.

Also, the prison’s construction continues and some strange red corruptions called “Blood Vines” have sprouted up on the server.

A short summary of the week’s total events is at the end of the post.

---

- HBomb hosts Niki and Wilbur’s L’Cast

- Fundy continues work on the chess board

- Ranboo is leaving a book with messages to communicate with Tommy

- Fundy and Ranboo visit Tommy and help him through the Nether to find blaze rods. It’s a very...interesting...time... Fundy fills Tommy in on the fact that Dream is officially recognizing L’manburg as a country.

- Tommy falls in lava and loses all his stuff

- Then he burns to death

- Then he falls in lava and loses all his stuff again

- He FINALLY gets an ender chest

- Lazar asks him for help since he’d fallen in lava and needed help getting out. As Tommy does so, Lazar questions why Tommy hasn’t turned against L’manburg. Tommy says it’s because Tubbo is there, but Lazar points out that Tubbo was the one who exiled him.

- Ghostbur comes on and says he has a gift.

- Tommy attempts to rescue Lazar from the depths of the lava pit. Techno starts arguing with him.

- Tommy falls in lava and loses all his stuff again. He gives up on helping Lazar, who is understandably annoyed at him.

- Philza joins the call wondering wtf is happening and why Tommy keeps dying, but Tommy just ends stream

- Psyche! After credits scene. Ghostbur asks Tommy to return to Logstedshire so he dies in lava to fast-travel back. Ghostbur gives Tommy a lodestone compass named “Your Tubbo” that points back to L’manburg at all times. Tommy puts the compass in his ender chest right next to the discs, saying he’ll keep it close to his heart.

- Thunder’s frustrated that Tommy got exiled exiled because the Prank War he was setting up between Dream and Tommy can no longer happen and Thunder’s great villain arc has been cancelled - he is no longer a villain now.

- Now, he wants to do the clay prank to George instead to try and get Dream and George to turn on each other as revenge for Dream burning his house.

- Puffy builds Tommy a second Christmas Tree.

--- Note: From this point on I tried to include more specific details than normal since it’s an important and confusing event ---

- Quackity declares war on the Dream SMP from Mexican L’manburg. He gets George, Sapnap and Karl on to help. He’s rigged TNT under Eret’s castle bridge and wants to invoke the same ideas as the Mexican Revolution. He wants to put M.L. on the map by staging an assassination and using George’s dethronement as an excuse to start a political movement.

- Sapnap wants to take on Technoblade but Quackity tells him that they have to take things step by step and that it’s an extremely bad idea to do it now.

- Eret asks Hbomb to be one of his knights. HBomb agrees.

- George wants his kingship back

The explosion goes to plan with H and Puffy as witnesses.

--- ---

CANON DEATH: KARL

Cause: Death by explosion and falling

--- ---

- George distracts Eret while Quackity, Sapnap and Karl steal his throne. Punz joins Eret’s side as one of his other knights.

- The M.L. side reconvenes in L’manburg and drink invisibility potions. Dream is in Mexican L’manburg. He is tearing the dirt to shreds. Meanwhile, Eret gives a speech to his Knights as they head to Party Island. Dream, alone, is invisible in Boomerville.

- Sapnap gets Dream to log (he says it’s lag). The Dream SMP faction blows up M.L. with TNT. The Mexican L’manburgians kill Puffy.

- They want to head to the Holy Land. Dream says he wants to talk. They collect at the Church.

- They argue. Dream threatens to kill Quackity permanently and make sure Mexican L’manburg can never rise again. (Also Karl’s acting is genuinely good holy shit)

- Sapnap tells George that he thinks Dream has completely turned against them, and that they’re better off disowning him.

---

Dream: “You’re painting me as this tyrant when I’m just trying to maintain peace.”

He refers to it as his castle, his throne. He calls the people of M.L. “terrorists.”

---

He says that in his eyes, Mexican L’manburg does not even exist, and that he’ll speak to Tubbo about making sure he sees that it doesn’t exist as well.

M.L. argues that putting a human life above a few blocks of gold is more important.

Dream refers to himself as the “ruler” of the Dream SMP, the “leader,” letting it slip that “king” is a meaningless title.

He says that Quackity is causing the most problems, the number one “enemy” of the SMP right now. Similar to how he referred to Tommy defying him.

He says that Quackity is not like Tubbo, who is a “fair, just ruler” and that is why New L’manburg is recognized and Mexican L’manburg is not. Tubbo would never do what Quackity did. Wilbur and Jschlatt and Tommy would. He says that he waited until New L’manburg had a reasonable leader to recognize it.

- “Un-killing” is implied to be a thing, where the person who gave you your canon death can take it back.

---

Dream: “The king is a figurehead and he knows that!”

Eret: “I do.”

Quackity: “So that’s what you are Eret -- a puppet--”

Dream: “Yes! -- no he’s not a puppet-- h-he has no power and I have - and - it’s the same thing and--”

(Dream proceeds to deny Eret being a “puppet”)

---

- Quackity decides to dissolve Mexican L’manburg for a clean slate and call it something else. He wants the server to have a precedent of establishing new countries without having to go to Dream for recognition every time.

- Eret agrees to recognize Quackity’s new country if they apologize and return the throne.

--- ---

CANON UNDEATHING: KARL (?)*

* Dream says that the death is still canon later since plot was based around it. I don’t know what Karl considers his death count to be?

--- ---

- Sapnap declares that he no longer wants to fight Techno but Dream instead. He says he wants to slay Dream in front of everyone.

- Overall, Dream and Eret declare it a “failed coup” and say that the destruction is just a consequence of “what happens when you don’t plan anything” but Quackity is satisfied that his new country has been “put on the map.”

- Quackity declares the country to be named “El Rapids” in honor of Cedar Rapids.

- Punz no longer wants to be an official Knight.

- Quackity misses Ghostbur and wants to speak with him. He tells Ghostbur about the war. Ghostbur asks if it was a revolution - Quackity says yes! Ghostbur also informs Quackity that he burnt the sacred texts - How to Sex 2 - in lava.

- Karl streams with the intention of rebuilding and preparing for Pokimane’s visit

- Karl steals Eret’s Museum Llamas and gets caught in the act. Fortunately this doesn’t spark up the war again. They take a llama to Party Island.

- They get into trouble at Boomerville and Lazar joins.

- Dream comes online and asks Sam about the prison’s progress. Bad gets annoyed at Sam for destroying the beachfront property value, and he didn’t authorize the seizure of the land. Dream is there helping to shovel but Bad wants him to stop. Bad is angry about the prison being built and starts shouting at Sam.

- Bad tries to negotiate with Dream. Dream refers to the prison as containing a “prisoner.” Singular. And that the prisoner would have nothing, and Bad would be in charge of helping to guard it. There are going to be multiple “layers.”

- The prison will be in the middle of the ocean bit, and Bad would have a terraformed beachfront property. All of the land would be considered property of the Badlands - including the prison.

- People are going to have to go through PORTALS to escape the prison.

- Bad starts to come around to the prison idea. Dream tells Sam he thinks they need more hands to help, potentially Ant and Eret.

- A strange, giant red “egg” has appeared in the corner of Bad’s statue room. He feels a strange aura coming from it, and he’s unable to bring himself to break it.

- Dream says Eret can’t help with the prison but he can help make the beach nicer. Bad says he might want to put Tommy in the prison but Dream says no, Tommy’s already exiled. So the prison isn’t for Tommy.

- Once the prisoner is in there, Dream says they would only be able to be let out “by the server.” It’s got certain secrets that only Dream and Sam know about. Sam says that he could potentially escape from it, but it will be so impenetrable that even if you know the secrets it would still be difficult to escape from.

- Bad shows Dream the Egg. Dream gets creeped out by it.

- Another Red Corruption has appeared near Hutt’s Pizza, and another at the Mansion. Everyone swears that it wasn’t there before, and there wasn’t enough time for someone to place all of it manually in the time that they were down there.

- Bad stabs Dream for trying to “hurt it.” He likes it for some reason.

- Bad asks Dream about who the prison’s for. Dream says “if you can’t kill somebody, you need to lock them up.” He mentions that it’s one of the more powerful people on the server, someone who either provides a threat now or in the future. He has someone in mind.

--- ---

Dream explains to Bad and Sam that the reason he switched sides in the Manberg-Pogtopia War was because Schlatt gave him something.

And that thing is “a card up his sleeve” until he needs it.

A book of great value.

It puts Dream in danger if people know of it, but also gives Dream power.

The “most valuable thing on the server.”

Something pertaining to the prison.

Something where they wouldn’t believe Dream if he told them what he was given.

--- ---

- The corruption grows AGAIN despite Dream, Sam and Bad all being in the middle of the ocean

- Another corruption appears on Tommy’s Power Tower

- The water level in New L’manburg has risen again, covering George and Quackity’s mushroom house

- The prison is going to be as tall as a MOUNTAIN

- Dream proposes the idea of Bad giving him the disc to piss off Tommy. Bad says that Skeppy has it so he’ll have to ask some other time. He might trade some information about Schlatt’s book in return for the disc.

- Bad says he likes the name a dono came up with for the corruption -- “Blood Vines”

- Dream and Sam removed the Blood Vines on the Mansion to Bad’s dismay. Sam burns the Vines and Bad goes on a murderous rampage against him.

- Technoblade got a “Bee our guest” achievement

- Dream burns down the Eiffel Tower again.

- The prison will be reinforced with 15 layers of obsidian, and the guards will have Ender Pearl Stasis Chambers that are alarm-activated.

- The Blood Vines have sprouted up from Schlatt’s Grave.

The prison’s unofficial name as of right now is “Pandora’s Vault,” but it is subject to change.

Upcoming events:

- Karl will be touring Pokimane around soon

Potentially Scrapped:

- Elytra Challenge

- Bad and Skeppy’s plan to burn the disc *

* Bad mentioned it on stream, but it’s unclear if it’ll still happen

END OF WEEK RECAP:

11/30: Fundy bonds with Wilbur, Cursed Lore Day

12/01: Creation of Mexican L’manburg, Girl Dream visits, Mexican Manhunt

Note: not sure what’s up with 12/02. Probably messed up the dates? Whoops.

12/03: Sleepy Bois Family splits in half, dethroning of George

12/04: Day of the Exile, Badlands start to divide

12/05: Tommy’s first full day in Logsted, Sean’s visit

12/06: The Mexican L’manburg Revolution, end of M.L., start of El Rapids

---

!!! SPOILERS AHEAD !!!

- Wilbur had two special lodestone compasses in his inventory. He didn’t want HBomb to see, but H looked anyway.

#mcyt #dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts #dream smp end of week recaps

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jjkpls · 3 years

Text

the wishlist (m) - 2

“Since when do we buy each other sextoys?”

> genre : light angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 5k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity; chaotic oc; clueless koo

previous - next

It all starts with the first box and the vague memory of a warm touch on your face.

When you wake up that morning, groggy from exhaustion and the sensation of having spent the night waking up, again and again, you sense something. You struggle to point out if you’ve dreamt or if it really happened, but there’s the lingering of a warm hand's trace, cupping your cheek, soothing the stress lines on your forehead, and softly brushing your hair back from your face. You can’t tell if it’s happened but it left a lovely sensation both on your skin and heart.

You get up and out of bed, slowly stroll to your living room with a lazy hand raising to your head, meaning to scratch at the snake nest you expect to be sitting on it. Instead, your fingers are met with a rather neat braid you definitely didn’t go to sleep with as you were too fucking done with this day to even try and deal with your tight bun -the very bun that elongated your time to fall asleep by at least a good half an hour. The same fingers that caressed your face took care of your hair and you know exactly to whom they belong.

Of course, giddiness ensues and the mildly serious feeling of mortification -you despise the idea of not knowing in what state he found you, in what state of ugly, of dishevelled, of smelly. There’s no room for embarrassment in this friendship, not this kind anyway, fortunately or not, he’s seen you at your worst (at a time when you didn’t care much if he did or not) so it counters, always a bit, the shame.

He hasn't left your side yet, has he? And he’s exposing himself to this face of yours, so why should you feel bad about it? He sneaks into your apartment at night just to brush your face and bring the covers up to your chin, tuck you nicely in as if he’s your mom or something, so why should you care. He doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind. He’s the best of friends. The best of all the people you know and the best of your friends.

And of course, naturally fitting this role, you’d find the morning of Christmas, a mysterious box you’ve never seen before sitting on your coffee table.

The girls, your friends, have presents for you, you know they do, but yesterday you were working and couldn’t see them, therefore, the little celebration was reported and you didn’t expect, you wouldn’t expect them to come at night or early in the morning to bring you your gifts. It can wait (so they decided).

But Jungkook is sweet like no one else is.

And he came to wish you a merry Christmas even if you were too tired to wish him back and he left a present for you.

There’s not a name attached to it but it’s obvious it comes from him. There’s just a post-it he stole from your desk, with a Merry Christmas written on it, the lines of the letters, round and neat, you’d recognize from any other lettering and a bunny with teeth as big as the eyes smiling at you, drawn next to it.

The box is so pretty, you feel an actual pressure thinking about opening it, as if there is a certain way, a proper way, to go about it.

And apparently, there is. You go wash your face and rinse your mouth, prepare yourself one of your good teas, tear the curtain wide open and slowly, almost ceremoniously, take a seat on the ground, right in front of it.

The box is neat. You don’t know what’s inside, probably a perfume or some kit for the bath you’d assume, but you already know that whatever is inside, even if it’s not of your liking -which is impossible, it comes from Jungkook-, will be balanced out by the appearance of this perfectly elegant, tasteful box that you’ll use again to stock anything, maybe your face masks, maybe nothing -it’ll just sit, looking good on a shelf.

It’s a pastel blue, with a black rose drawn on top of it, the icon to a brand you absolutely don’t recognize. With fingers trembling with excitement you drag the box to yourself, it’s mildly heavy, for some reasons, it gives you a little rush of anxiety. There’s just a tiny black ribbon holding the box firmly closed. A tiny pull on it and it slips open.

Slowly you lift the lid, a grin already plastered on your face, hurting your cheeks. You expect a blinding magical light to come out of it, with the sound of bells ringing near your ears and sense to suddenly knock into you as you’d understand what wondrous present is in front of you.

But none of it comes. There's just a thing hidden inside a black satin bag.

It’s not a perfume nor a bath kit and you’re confused.

A bit scared.

Honestly, maybe a little shameful part of you has guessed it. But the louder yet weaker rest of you can’t see it. It would be too... ludicrous. And wouldn’t make sense, would it? You’ve never actually seen any in real life so how would you know what the packaging would look like and how would you come to this conclusion now? And how, why, how would he, Jeon Jungkook, come about to offer you this?

Doesn’t make any sense.

But somehow, when you pick up the courage to open the little bag and drag the object out of it, you hardly even gasp in surprise when you discover a dildo. You just let it drop to the table, thumping loudly the fake wood.

Why did you guess it to be that and why did he get you this shit?

Scorching red seize your face and your whole being.

You are infuriated.

How dares he? You are mortified. How dares he?

What does this fucking mean?

A joke?

Is it a joke?

If it a joke then what’s the fucking point? It’s not fucking funny. It’s weird as hell and you can’t believe he came in the middle of the night, pretending to be Santa to leave you a fucking kidding present as if your miserable life needed that.

And if it’s not then what the actual fuck? Does he think you’re that desperate? Does he have really no notion of boundaries?

Conveniently your phone lays centimetres away from the offending thing, you don’t even need to get up to grab it and therefore, you start looking furiously for his name in your recent call list. After only two rings as if he was just expecting your call, his bright hello reaches your ear.

“What the actual fuck, Jeon?” He must hear the madness in your voice, both the anger and the hysteria. There’s a pause during which he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a sound and you even check your screen to make sure he hasn’t hung up on you.

“That’s- not- the reaction I expected.” He sounds sheepish. Mumbled words, lisped syllables, long pauses.

“What did you expect?” You yell a bit, you can just picture him, dragging the phone out of earshot and winding, the same way you do when your mom who doesn’t get the concept of telephone screams in it each time she calls you. The realization hits you, that in your quiet little apartment, in this (for once) quiet morning, you are screeching like a banshee. You quiet down instantly, some of the anger soothed down by embarrassment. “Are you insane?” You whisper in his ear and comically, he starts whispering too, with the same alterations to his usually bright and open tone.

“M’not. I just- you said that’s what you wanted so I got it for you.”

Now he’s making stuff up and blaming this insanity on you and that serves to raise a bit more the bar of anger -along with the loudness of your voice, “When have I ever said that I wanted a-“ You choke on your own saliva once your brain realizes that you’re supposed to say the word, out loud, to him. In an angry whisper, as if someone, your mother, for example, could be listening “fucking dildo!” You blush furiously at that and it’s ridiculous. Probably the reason why you didn’t own one in the first place and maybe shouldn’t yet. Because you’re a grown-ass woman of a quarter of a century, living alone and admittedly independent and responsible for your own existence, but you can’t even say the word “dildo” out loud to this asshole of a friend who apparently, and that’s new news, doesn’t have an issue talking about sex and everything related to it with you.

“Y-you said-“ There’s a pregnant pause. You can’t know for sure since you’re not seeing him if he’s faking it or not but he sounds confused as hell. Like he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s wrong. Moron. “You said you wanted sex but not a boyfriend so I thought- it’s pretty much- it’s exactly what it is. Why are you so mad?”

The question in itself serves to drag you a little further over the edge. So much so, it clogs your brain with anguish and leaves you unable to give him an answer.

When he’s starting to talk again, maybe ask again his question, you just hung up, slamming your phone down on the carpet.

You hear it vibrate to life twice before it shuts down completely. Good. At least he knows you well enough, still, to assume rightfully so that you won’t pick up his calls anymore. Not today.

You just have the time to pack the dildo back in its bag and inside its box, throw away your tea that tastes unbearably bitter and maniacally scrub your face in an attempt to get rid of the red patches that don’t want to fucking leave before the telling high beeps of your front door’s digital lock alert you. Your face is soaking in cold water, another attempt to cool it, your face and your troubled mind.

You mean to ignore him. Dipping your head further in the filled up sink, closing your eyes tight shut hoping somehow it’ll help you push aside the calls of your name better.

For a few seconds, it works. You can’t hear him anymore. You wonder if the furious pleas you were chanting in your head could have been loud enough to make the sound of the door slamming behind him as he would have left, completely quiet.

He’s such a try-hard. You hung up on him because he’s saying batshit crazy things and his first reflex is to barge in your house again. You really need to change your lock and not tell him. You can do that. You’re an adult and you have the right to your own fucking place. It’s not a fucking benevolent stay in, for fuck's sake.

The cold water really seems to work. You feel better, light-headed, coming down after the earlier hysteria. And knowing that he’s left and won’t pursue this mess any further, for now, surely helps a lot.

Except it doesn’t last for, as soon as your face leaves the water, your hands reaching clumsily for a towel that falls magically in them, one wipe at your eyes and your worst nightmare is standing right in front of you.

“Fucking- Jungkook!” Burying your face back in the towel, drying your face as much as possible, maybe even trying for a second to suffocate yourself, you wish vainly that when you’ll take it off he would have disappeared.

He is still here though. Watching with dark eyes and a straight severe line replacing the cute button he owns for a mouth, he looks awfully serious for a guy that’s never really serious. Your towel ends up centimetres away from his face, he catches it right before it touches him. You hoped it would blind and confuse him momentarily, long enough for you to escape but of course, this guy would never miss a shot, even a surprise one.

“Why are you like this?” He asks when you try and push him from the ribs, out of the door frame. You hate that you think about it. About his chest being so hard and warm and his fucking smell of sweat that you’d recognize amongst any others (pretty easily as any other makes you gag and this one, probably because you’re a primary animal guided by hormones, leaves you dizzy and wanting). He doesn’t budge until he decides to, mercilessly stepping aside to let you through. Because you’re an idiot, you don’t think and head for the living room and it’s only once you’re there, very aware of his steps following you, that the devilish object of your discord is right fucking there, obnoxiously sitting on the middle of your coffee table. You groan and squeeze your eyes tight.

What meditation technique, an extra effective one, could you use right now before you definitely lose it and throw yourself out the window?

Before you find one, you end up clinging to the opposite wall, forehead pressed to it, back to him, in a vain attempt to suppress yourself from the situation. You might look a little insane or at best, somehow on edge, but who cares at this point?

“Jungkook, if I don’t pick up your call, do you think I want to see your face?”

“But why though?” His tone is still harsher than usual. You notice it and you notice you don’t hate it either. What a little bitch you are. If you like his usual self, with the bright smile, soft words, boisterous laugh, dainty manners, you can’t deny that this rougher version of him, genuinely pissed off as you’ve never seen him, tickles your fancy. You’re fucked. “Seriously these days you- you’re such-“

“I’m what?” You bark, swirling on your feet, expression distorted by an offence he hasn’t even made yet. You completed the sentence he’s never finished with terrible words that you’ve never heard him use talking about anyone: bitch, hysterical, cunt.

“You’re trying to pick a fight with me all the fucking time, I don’t get it!”

Now you feel terrible. You’re still bothered by the raw edges of his tone, it’s literally sending electric shocks to your lower tummy. But his eyebrows have dropped and his fiery dark eyes have turned shiny and sad, your heart hurts in your bosom.

Ugh.

You’re such a bitch.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m insufferable. I’m on my period. Sorry.” You send a mental apology to womanhood. You're just an idiot lacking imagination.

Jungkook frowns, his eyebrows dancing in all kind of ways, before they settle for an, unfortunately for you, attractive finale, one straight down, one tilt up. He stares at you, dubious.

“For three weeks. You’ve been on your period for three weeks.”

The first thing you take notes of is the fact that he dated it way shorter than you would have. Honestly, you found yourself becoming a weirdo with inappropriate feelings that reindeer you into an asshole for at least a month and a half. Before that, it was extremely tamed, totally under control. You’d just notice his handsome face and cute smiles and nice smell, thinking “oh yeah that’s right. He’s kinda attractive. How funny I never really noticed.” And slowly it progressed to not being able to handle him touching you without having something close to a panic attack.

The second thing you note is that he doesn’t believe you. His stare is insistent, turns a bit dark as he lingers, studying your own eyes with judgment in his. He’s frowning even more, looks down at the floor and sighs so deep, heartbreakingly so. He looks hurt that you’re lying and don’t want to share what's really been up with you. If only you could be a better liar.

“It happens sometimes, all women are diff-“

He just sat down on your sofa, eyes fixed on the blue box. Before you can finish your sentence, he sends you a glare that awfully looks like a threat. You shut up. He doesn’t believe you anyway. He knows you and your periods (sort of) way too well. He knows you’re in pain the first day, you’re a bit tender on the following ones and he takes it upon himself to be gentler and not try to play WWE with you on those but you don’t turn into a mean dragon. This much he knows for sure.

There’s something he’s seeking for within the box. He’s grabbed it, holds it now in between his fingertips, piercing virtual holes into it. It’s probably the answer he didn’t find in your eyes.

It makes you flush furiously. Seeing his pretty hands with his long fingers touching it. Here’s the reason, he would have caught it on your cheeks if he wasn’t so busy looking for it elsewhere.

“I really thought that- you’d like it.” He sounds so saddened. You’re caught off guard. Again. So this present wasn’t meant to be a joke. It is a genuine one. It makes sense that he’s hurt then. You’re shitting all over his gift but how could you not? How could he believe that you could just accept that for a random gift? Slowly he makes the top of the box slide up, pout sucked in in concentration, dimple out. Your heart seems to stop at that. He’s not going to take it out, is he?

He can’t take it in his hands.

You’ll die if he takes it in his hands.

Fortunately, he just opens the box, looks at the satin bag, looks at it with a pained expression as if he feels bad for the thing, then closes it back.

“The woman at the shop said that it’s one of the best ones, for starters.” He sulks like a child. Bottom lip all plumped out, shiny eyes under curved eyebrows.

Jungkook looks up at you, ultimate sad puppy look on.

“She said the size and the texture were perfect if you’ve never used one before. It wouldn’t be too... what was that again?” He asks aloud as if you’d know. And you’re mortified. On behalf of him. The concept that he’s not embarrassed right now and that he went to an actual shop, browsed through the shelves and asked an actual saleswoman for help is absolutely insane. Unbelievable if it were not for the sincerity he’s dipped in. “And I picked blue because I know you like this colour. It matches your planner, doesn’t it?” He adds as if he’s not sure when obviously he knows.

It is surprisingly very close in shade. And so what? He expected you to love it so much, take fucking aesthetic pictures with it and your planner sitting on your fake marble desktop, next to Diego the succulent? What an idiot. And for how fucking long did he talk to that woman?

Silence hangs heavy between you. You watch as he scowls some more, mumbles under his breath while staring with despair at the box.

Slowly, resolute to be the better friend you have not successfully been these past weeks (months), you leave your protecting wall. Taking a seat on the carpet, on the opposite side of the table, you do your best to ignore the blue patch invading the bottom of your vision and try to give him the softest expression you can come up with at this moment.

“Why are you so butthurt?”

His curiously perfect round eyes raise in a swift motion, pouty lips agape in a silent little gasp.

“Sorry.” You apologize before he even gets to respond because, maybe, you could try harder to be good and nice to him.

“Because it’s a present.” He starts at a very slow pace. He pauses between words like he’s addressing a dim, dim brain. And he might be honestly. But he’s one to talk. How can he not see an issue? “That I’ve looked for and bought for you. That’s why I’m butthurt, what do you mean?”

“But- since when are we buying each other-“ You need to grow up. There’s no one else but him hearing you and since your last conversation about it, when he too was embarrassed, he’s able to say it just fine apparently. Still, you whisper the following, “sex toys?”

“Since you turned twenty-five and said you were interested in it.” His right-hand raises from the box to start flapping the air and you know it means bad news. He’s upset. When he needs his hands to further accompany his speech, it means he’s a bit too taken by the conversation. And in this case, you don’t feel like it’s a good idea for him to be. “When you were fourteen and into Legos, I bought you a set of Legos.”

Hardly makes sense.

“You’re just going to pretend it’s a random present?”

“It’s not random. I put thought into it.” His eyes are digging up intensively in your own. It might be desperation that leads you to remain still, allow him to look. Hopefully, he won’t dig deep enough to find stuff he shouldn’t. “Why do you hate it? I thought- I don’t know- you’re a- flourished single woman and-“

Flourished? Really? The words don’t come out of your mouth but he reads them on your face and an adorable smile cracks open the mask of gravity.

“Jungkook.” You owe him an effort. Maybe you should look into why it requires an act of inhuman courage for you to admit your shame. It might be because if he were anyone else, you’d be embarrassed by the present for five seconds because clearly, you’re still half of a fucking child but soon enough, you’d probably be enchanted by the thing. Who doesn’t need a good sex toy? You definitely do. You thought about getting one for a long while but never got to it for some reasons and here’s one offered to you (in a very pretty shade of baby blue).

The thing is you don’t think about anyone sexually except for him (and his friend Jimin, once in a while, just by curiosity because the guy is a very sexual being). If you don’t even consider them in this light, you don’t have to think about them using it, do you? But he’s all you think about, unfortunately. And you’re friends. And it feels like one step closer to your fantasy while simultaneously one step closer to betrayal. And he certainly is not offering you this wishing for you to keep close in mind the fact that this is his. His present. He knows about it. Maybe can think of you using it and liking it without any further implications. Because obviously, it’s not like that for him. “It's awkward. How can you not see that.”

“Is it? What is?”

“First of all, we don’t- we- don’t even talk about... it. And suddenly you’re buying me- this?”

“Yeah, I realized that too!” It’s too much enthusiasm. Eyes too big and hands not leaving the air. You can already guess his next sentence. It’s probably going to be a terrible suggestion. “I talk about sex all the time with the guys,” Your eyebrows jump to your hairline at that. You’re not even that surprised but the formulation could probably be fixed. “and you talk about it with your girls, right? But we’ve known each other the longest and we never talk about it. Isn’t it fucked up?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’-”

“Well, I would. I am.”

“Don’t you- don’t you see that you’re a boy and coincidentally you can easily talk about it with the guys who happen to be boys and I am a girl, right? And I-“ Who would have thought? It took you fifteen years to finally be giving him the beginning of the talk about the birds and the bees. You would have given it to him sooner if you’d have known how far behind he’s been.

“But what if I need girl advice-“

“I’m sure Jimin knows a whole lot about girls, Jeon.”

“From a girl point of view. Real girl advice.”

“Jungkook-“

“If I ask what the G spot exactly feels like, what-“

“Jungkook!”

He’s amused, the fucker. He’s not as clueless as he sounds. But the crooked grin on his face is too telling. He might just be messing with you. Usually, when he’s just playing he wouldn’t insist so much, he wouldn’t take the conversation this far so surely, there are some genuine intentions. However, he's still having way too much fun.

With his frowned nose, and squinting shiny orbs and stupid bunny teeth.

“You’re just embarrassed, aren’t you?” You might have terribly loud red streaks painting your cheeks that you try naively to cover with your hands. He can see it all and silently, he nods his head, looking like he’s reached the final touch of his experiment. “How? What happened to the teenage girl who spent her nights writing dirty stories about Harry Styles?”

Horror.

How the fuck-

“How the fuck do you know about that?”

“You showed me!” He defends, hands high above in the air like a soccer player claiming innocence. “You did! You don’t remember?” No, you don’t. But you can tell he’s not lying. Apparently, young you was quite the fearless bitch.

What happened indeed?

Years happened. A growing sense of self-preservation along with them. Undesired feelings for an idiot with a bunny smile. An inappropriate sense of shame along with those.

“Anyway. So it’s a bribe for girl advice?” You ask, chin pointing to the box. Jungkook looks down on it, drums his fingertips lightly on the top before he looks up, beaming.

“Sort of.” Shrugging, he adds with a shifty eye that telltales a certain vulnerable sincerity. “I just wish for us to be able to share everything. Be comfortable like before.”

“Before what?” He stares for a long time, mouth shut. He then blinks the moment away and for the first time, you might believe ever, Jungkook looks like he might have a secret too.

“Just before. Back in the days, I mean.” He simply explains. His attention is back on the stupid box. He’s staring at the rose on top of it. Fingers playing with the corner of it.

“Back in your old days.”

“You’re older than me. So you really don’t want it?” Here he comes again with the sad puppy face. Why would it be breaking his dumb little heart to refuse a dildo from him? What kind of insane parallel universe is this? “Is it like a 'men are fine but little Jeon Jungkookie still has cooties so I can’t accept his present, it’s gross'?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” Defeated, he sighs. Another one of those soul-harming sighs. “Fine. I’ll get it refunded and you’ll buy yourself something else with the money then.”

Is he really going to make you do that?

As if the question is even to be raised. He can make you do anything.

“No, Guk, sorry. It’s fine. Sorry.” You start, hands clasping over the box you drag your side of the table. The only way you can do it is if you don’t actively think about what’s inside. “I’ll keep it. Sorry.”

“So you kind of want it?” He is grinning from one ear to the other. You can feel him giddy and excited, kind of jumpy on his seat and really, you don’t see any difference with the excitement he portrays each time he gets you any kind of presents and you tell him that you like it.

“I won’t use it.” It’s almost a threat. Eyes squinted in severe slits, index finger millimetres away from poking his eye. “It’s a gift so I won’t make you get a refund, that’s rude but- I won’t use it.” After a second of seemingly deep reflection, he breaks out in his loud, annoying boyish laughter. Eyes watery at the corners and hands clapping like a stupid seal. “I’m serious!”

“Sure.” He’s still cackling, the idiot. “But you should. The lady said it’s a best seller too.”

“Great. I don’t care.”

He has his eyebrows high, a twitch in his wide grin, and the amused black orbs. He doesn’t believe you one bit. “Course, you don’t.”

The idea that he sincerely expects you to use it might drive your delusional brain for a loop. He just wants to be the best gift-giver, the best Santa, and wants you to make good use of whatever he's got you. But how can he not consider that you could not use something like that, to pleasure yourself, when it’s directly related to him, your best friend? It’s weird as hell. It can’t be just weird to you.

Unfortunately, there’s no one you can come up with the question to have them agree with you. You already know what the girls will say. They’re even worse than you when it comes to Jeon Jungkook and your ambiguous (on your side solely) friendship. They’ll say the ship is sailed and start buying themselves bridesmaid matching dresses.

They don’t understand. It’s not like they’ve grown up with someone like him. Someone rather simple, authentic and kind, so much so, so much more than most people, that it turns him complicated because so different from other humans you can meet. There’s nothing to be read in between the lines with him. It’s always lovingly honest, blatant, generous.

He doesn’t mean anything else behind the gift besides a “have a good one!”.

And you didn’t mean anything else but the truth when you said you wouldn’t use it.

At the moment, anyway, you meant it.

A/N: hoping it makes sense and is not too raw, edited it at midnight TT; may i manifest a sugar daddy that would pay me to stay home and write fanfiction for you guys all day :). i really hope you like it, and hope also that you can handle the secondhand embarrassement because even i struggled. let me know what you think of the series so far, sending everyone reading this an infinite amount of virtual kisses and hugs, take care of yourself, love yourself and others a lot, BYEE.

tag list: @moon-asia @btstrasht @jkbangtan7 @taehugger @kaepjjangiya @daggerbeneathmygown @cuteipat @jinsalpaca

PLEASE ASK TO BE TAGGED IN THE COMMENT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! TY <3

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theasstour · 3 years

Photo

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟕.𝟓𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐧

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reblogged and sent me an ask after last chapter ❣️ I might not have gotten through all the asks yet, but know that I see all of you and I appreciate you more than I will ever find the right words to articulate �� Thank you for the kind words and for reminding me of how fun it is to post my stories on here! Love you sm sm sm 🥰

Tuesday, 4 November 2017

One of the worst things Y/N knew of was seeing someone she cared about go through something troubling. If she knew them well enough, it would be written out on their face and in their gestures, making it so that she could not ever look past it and pretend everything was alright. Her ability to read people, to understand their wants and to see when something was off, was something she had crafted over many years of being a people pleaser. Now, it came naturally to her to study a person’s way of acting, talking, being, and then make them happy accordingly.

She realised when she grew older that the reason she did this was so people would look past her body and like her for who she actually was. She hated herself sometimes for still giving in to this need to please people all the time. She hated the things it had made her do in the past, how she had bent herself over backwards for people who did not, and would never, give a single shit about her. Though she felt at home in her body, she felt content in it, these tendencies to constantly make up for how she looked, to make light of it or make people feel comfortable around her, still hung around. With absolutely everything she was, Y/N hated that part of herself. She did not have to make up for anything. What did she have to apologise for? For existing? It did not make sense to her, but it had made sense to those that bullied her in school and those skinny people whose worst fear was becoming fat. Y/N’s worst fear, because of this, was not being liked. She realised how it all connected now.

Y/N realised how this need to please people came into play as she was sitting in a seminar room with Hayden, Chloe, Thian, Annalise, and three others from the International Society that Annalise often went to. Annalise was whispering in Dutch to the other Dutch girl she had met, while the rest of the room was relatively silent. Hayden had put on some music to lighten the mood, but it was evident that they were unsatisfied and sad. They were eight people; a single game of Uno was being played in a room that had been made so that at least 20 people would show up. Hayden had bought five decks of Uno, only for the one they brought with them to London to be the one the group ended up using. Their eyes drifted to the door every so often, silently begging for anyone else to show up to what looked to be a disastrous start to their Uno Society.

After two hours, they had to get out of the seminar room and go back home. As they were cleaning up, Y/N walked over to Hayden and helped them put their Uno decks and everything else they brought, back in their bag.

“More people will show up next time,” Y/N assured them.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I genuinely think more people will show up at one point.”

Hayden smiled at Y/N, though it did not reach their eyes. “If we don’t have at least 15 people by the third meeting, this won’t be considered a society by Helmond standards and we won’t be allowed to meet on campus grounds.”

Y/N felt a small tinge of panic at that. This was not usually the society people would jump to be part of, it would take a little while for people to want to show up to an Uno Society on a Tuesday every fortnight.

“We can hope more people will come, but I doubt they will,” Hayden said.

“There aren’t a lot of people our age who play Uno, though,” Chloe said as Hayden and Y/N made their way to the door.

Y/N furrowed her brows at Chloe’s comment, but did not say a word.

“No, but I love Uno, and it’s a very social game. It’ll be fun if a lot of people show up, you know?” Hayden said, closing the door behind them before they walked down the corridor for the exit.

“Obviously, people just don’t know what they’re missing,” Thian chimed in, showing off his usually wide, happy beam. “It’s a great idea, Hay.”

“Really? It’s not bound to flop?” Hayden asked, scrunching up their nose as if they could not quite believe what Thian was saying.

“Of course not,” Annalise said.

“It’s a nice break from all the assignments,” Y/N said.

“By the way, speaking of assignments,” Chloe groaned. “Y/N, have you started on the Othello presentation yet?”

“You haven’t had the presentation yet?” Thian asked.

“No, different Introduction to English Studies seminar groups have presentations at different dates,” Chloe said. “Since Y/N and I are seminar group E, we have it last. Monday, 4th of December.”

“That’s still a while away, though,” Hayden pointed out. “You still got a month.”

“Yeah, but the presentation’s 40% of the final grade. I know I’ll ace the essay, but we only get to have a five-minute presentation on Othello.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “How am I supposed to talk about how Othello’s a sexist play in just five minutes?”

“Easy,” Thian said. “You talk about how it’s a sexist play for just five minutes. You love to talk, it’ll be easy peasy.”

“I love to gossip, this is entirely different,” Chloe complained.

“Not really,” Y/N said, cocking her head a little to the side as the group rounded a corner. “You’re essentially just gonna gossip about Othello and what’s wrong with him and the way Shakespeare wrote the play.”

Chloe stared at Y/N for a few seconds, pursing her lips as she thought. A grin spread out across her lips and she nudged Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

“It’s gonna be fine,” Annalise smiled.

“And by the time that happens, the Uno society will be history,” Hayden mumbled, making Thian pout his bottom lip and wrap an arm around Hayden’s shoulders. They all made their way back to Dinwiddy, Lancaster Complex, and Fleming Hall, three of the seven different campus accommodations. Dinwiddy was definitely of a bit better standard than Lancaster and Fleming, but Y/N was sure that, had she decided to live on campus, she would have gone for either Lancaster or Fleming like Annalise, Thian, and Hayden. She said goodbye to all of them and went on her way, walking back to Haggerston while talking to her parents on the phone. They always insisted she call them if she walked out alone at night, no matter how many people were around.

The shops she strolled by were starting to put up Christmas decorations and sales, making Y/N long for holiday. She just wanted a few days off uni. Though it was only the first year, the amount of work they were getting was ridiculous, and Y/N felt like she either spent most of her time in the library with her Literature gang, or at a café with Nathan, doing uni work. The fact that Christmas lights and decorations were already making an appearance, gave her some hope.

Getting to Orsman Road was no problem, and Y/N hung up with her parents when she reached the flat building. The mere thought of her bed made her knees buckle, she could not wait to be snuggled up in a blanket and watching the newest true crime series on Netflix. Once inside, she got her shoes and outwear off, then walked straight for the kitchen. She halted.

In a pair of worn-out black rugby shorts and a black hoodie, Harry stood pouring water into the kettle. The muscles in his legs flexed and unflexed as he moved, making it impossible to look away from his thighs. Y/N could not find the right words to express just how much she hated those tiny shorts. It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Except he didn’t. He was very much just trying to wear something comfortable at home and Y/N was ogling him. He looked up as she entered.

“Hi,” Y/N said, walking over to the fridge where she kept her oat and banana milk.

“Hi,” Harry answered, watching her as she walked before putting the kettle on. “Been out shagging old men?”

Y/N blinked a few times before looking over at Harry as he put a teabag into his mug. “You’re very obsessed with my sex life.”

“I’m just nosy.”

Y/N sighed, knowing this was true from experience, and went back to getting her milk out of the fridge. “No, I was at a society meeting. The first one, actually.”

“Oh?” She could see in her peripheral vision that he turned around to watch her. “What kind of society?”

“Uno.”

Silence settled in the kitchen, and Y/N could hear Nathan and Mason in the living room next door playing something on the PlayStation. Y/N could feel Harry continue to just look at her as she poured herself a glass of the oat and banana milk. It was not until the milk was back in the fridge and Y/N met his eyes, that Harry spoke again.

“Uno?”

“Like the card game.”

“That’s… a niche interest.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And you’re being judgemental.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide. “No, no, no! I-“ He stopped himself, taking a grip of the kettle and quickly pouring himself a cuppa before meeting Y/N’s eyes again, something frantic shining within his own. “It’s just a very specific interest and society.”

She raised one of her shoulders. “Which is what makes it so amazing.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Harry said quickly, gesturing at her with his hand as if he completely agreed. Y/N wanted to laugh at how fast he was talking, as if he was desperate for her to understand that he was not being judgemental. “How was it?”

“Barely anyone showed up,” Y/N explained, sipping her milk.

Harry frowned. “Really?”

“Yeah, and at least 15 people total have to show up for it to be considered a society, or else Hayden, my course mate, can’t continue hosting on campus grounds.” Y/N sighed, looking at the ground. “Basically, if Hayden doesn’t find, like, twelve more people to join within the next two times, we won’t have a society any longer.”

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but just then, the sound of quick footsteps could be heard, and then Nathan’s face appeared in the doorway. A grin spread out on his face as he met Y/N’s eyes.

“Thought I heard you come in!” he exclaimed. “We’re playing GTA, wanna come drive some people over?”

Y/N smiled at that, scrunching up her nose. “As appealing as that sounds, I’m gonna have to decline.”

Nathan pouted his lips and Harry stood watching quietly. “Why?” Nathan asked.

“Have an essay that I need to finish.”

Nathan sighed heavily. “Fine. Guess I’ll let you write that bloody essay.”

“Excuse you? ‘Let me’?” Y/N rolled her eyes and Nathan laughed. She gave him and then Harry a smile, making her way out of the kitchen.

“Have a good night,” she heard Harry say as she walked through the doorway. She gave him another smile before walking up the stairs and to her room. She quickly got out of her clothes and into loungewear, taking all her make-up off and finding a fluffy blanket she could sit under in bed as she started writing her Introduction to English Studies essay. She could hear the boys shouting and playing downstairs and drowned it out by putting her earbuds in and shutting them out.

She ended up reading academic articles and writing down an essay plan until she felt her eyelids get heavy a few hours later. Putting her laptop away and finishing her oat and banana milk, Y/N took her contacts off and started getting ready for bed. The door to the room beside hers opened and closed, she could hear Harry rummaging in his room, though the sound was not disturbing in any way. The only disturbing thing about it was the fact that it was Harry, but Y/N was learning to accept that. It had only taken her two months, but she was coming to terms with the fact that Harry Styles, an ex-good friend of hers and person she had sex with once, was living and sleeping in the room right next to hers.

Friday, 17 November 2017

The pizza at Domino’s was absolutely amazing, but working for them was anything but. This was only Y/N’s first shift, and she was already dreading her next. Not only would she be bringing home with her the memories of a horrible first day on her new job, but she would also be bringing the smell of greasy pizza. She would have to do a deep clean in the shower before going to bed, she was not rubbing that smell onto her bedsheets.

With some experience working for Pizza Express before, Y/N was already well-versed working for a pizza chain. Pizza Express had been her job from 15 until she moved off to uni at 19, which she knew was what must have given her this new job at Domino’s rather quickly. As much experience as she had working at Pizza Express serving people, she had never been the one to drive around delivering pizzas. After all, she had not gotten her license until sometime last year, so it had never been a possibility. However, in the job description for this position at Domino’s, it had clearly stated that Y/N would be working mostly as a delivery driver, something that sounded chill at first, until she realised she would have to go deliver pizza to people that would be anything but friendly. Or maybe a little too friendly. Because of her inexperience in this particular field of the job, she had another employer join her for her first shift.

Isla was very quiet, maybe even a little too quiet for Y/N’s taste. She would mostly just stare out the window, sometimes chime in to help Y/N pick a quicker route, or help her make out how much she owed the customer if they paid a few quid too many. Other than that, Isla did not really offer much conversation wise. Even when the two of them picked up the pizzas for their first drive, the first time they spent together, Isla did not say much.

“Have you worked here long?” Y/N asked, giving Isla a smile so she would know that she was actually asking out of curiosity and not because she felt obliged to.

“A year.”

Y/N nodded as she sat down behind the wheel, Isla sitting down in the passenger seat. “I worked in Pizza Express at home in Nottingham before I moved here. Dunno why, I’ve always preferred Domino’s to Pizza Express. Though, Zizzi is top tier.”

Isla only nodded slightly.

Y/N had waited for a response, but realising she would not be getting one, she started the Domino’s car and started driving in the direction out of the parking spot on the street beside the tiny restaurant on Homefield Street. Y/N almost drove right into the Domino’s mopeds that all stood on the spot in front of the car. She just knew that at one point, she would be driving one of those. She followed the instructions on the GPS, up Hoxton Street, in the direction of Lavender Grove. Without any radio on, the car was very quiet. Too quiet. It made Y/N break out in sweat.

“Do you drive around with deliveries often?” Y/N asked.

Isla shook her head. “No.”

Y/N whipped her head back in the direction of the street in front of her, trying to produce spit so she could nervously swallow. Her mouth was too dry. “You work by the till then?”

“Mostly.”

Y/N smiled. “That’s the best place to work, isn’t it? Don’t have to drive around, don’t have to actually make the food.”

Isla gave a feeble smile. “I suppose.”

God, all Y/N wanted as an okay day. All she wanted was for one single day to be alright.

Isla would twine a single piece of her brown, bushy hair around her finger sometimes, then put it behind her ear, only to go back to fidgeting with it. Y/N was unsure if she was nervous to be in a car with someone she did not know, or if she was just deep in thought. Y/N wanted to get to know Isla, to make a friend at her new workplace, but she did not want to harass Isla if it meant it would make her uncomfortable. It was clear that she did not like being this close to Y/N considering the two had never met before and would now be spending a good six hours together. Therefore, to not push away what she hoped to be a future mate, she only made occasional conversation and then left Isla mostly to herself. She could sense that was what her companion wanted most of all.

In a particularly dodgy part of Lea Bridge, Y/N was delivering three pizzas to what she knew even before knocking on the door, would be to a rather creepy encounter. The man that opened the door was bald with glassy eyes and a blue tee shirt tucked into his grey joggers. At the sight of Y/N, he grinned.

“Three pepperonis?” she asked, wondering if this man just really loved pepperoni pizzas or if he was hosting a party.

“That’s me, yeah.”

“Alright.” Y/N handed him the three pizzas just as another man emerged from behind him, and it was then that Y/N noticed the incredible stench of alcohol and cigarettes. Some 80s rock was playing from a stereo and there did not seem to be much light on inside the flat. Y/N suddenly felt very sick.

“You pre-paid,” she stated, more to reassure herself that she could just leave than to make them aware that she knew they did not have to go get any money to pay her. “Have a nice night.”

“Wouldn’t be nice if you didn’t stick around,” the bald one holding the pizzas said.

“Yeah, why don’t you come inside? Have a bite with us?” the other one offered. “You look like a hard-working girl, why don’t you take a few minutes off with us?”

Y/N could feel her heart begin to beat faster, her hands begin to sweat. “No, I have to get back to work,” she said, giving them a smile before walking off.

“Wait, we didn’t give you a tip!”

“Come back, love!”

Y/N tuned them out as she walked down the stairs, keeping an eye over her shoulder and her ears on alert as she made her way back to the car. Isla was sat on her phone when Y/N sat back down in the driver’s seat, putting her seatbelt on a little too fast and gripping the steering wheel harder than she had previously. She just wanted to get away from those men, she just wanted that shift to be over.

“You okay?” Isla asked. The first question she ever asked Y/N. First time she ever took initiative to start a conversation. Y/N really appreciated it in that moment.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, sighing heavily. “Just hate men.”

Isla must have understood what Y/N was talking about because she nodded, looking straight ahead at the road in front of them. “I’m sorry you met the worst type of customers on your first night.”

“Had to meet them at one point, though,” Y/N said.

“You shouldn’t have to meet them at all.”

Y/N felt that statement reverberate through the car, lay in the air between them for quite some time after it was said. She could not stop thinking about it as she drove to the next destination, feeling disgusted and angry. Had she stayed there a second longer, she would have had to resist the urge to knee them both in the space between their legs. This was just one of the stupid encounters that night, though the rest were more so on the scale of weird than disgusting. Like a man that was clearly high thanking Y/N for his frozen milk when he had ordered three Ben and Jerry’s, or a woman with her hair a mess, make-up completely destroyed, and just her dress robes on, snatching the pizza out of Y/N’s hand before hurrying back inside. It was a strange few hours, and as she drove the car back to Domino’s Homefield Street, Y/N felt absolutely drained of energy.

Walking home after her shift at 3:30am was next to torture, she just wanted to be in bed, cosy underneath the covers, and forget about the fact that she was working tomorrow night as well. Though the Hoxton Street was washed in the yellow lights from the streetlamps and the occasional car driving by, it was anything but empty. Drunk people were walking home from pubs, while others, like her, walked home from another nightshift, and some were just out for a night stroll. She walked without listening to music, not feeling comfortable with not being completely aware of her surroundings when it was dark out. Besides, she was so tired as well, listening to music would probably put her to sleep.

Orsman Road was completely deserted, only a few people walking home from The Stag’s Head passed her smelling of beer and cigarettes. This street was darker, smaller, and less busy than Hoxton Street, so Y/N opted to walk in the middle of the road instead of in the shadows. She felt less vulnerable that way. As she reached the flat building, she got her keys out of her purse and went to unlock the door.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

She jumped, keys falling onto the asphalt. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Harry standing there with the smuggest, most infuriating look on his face. God, how she wanted to slap him until his teeth fell out. While she contemplated how to physically hurt him, Harry bent down, picked up Y/N’s keys, and put them back in her hand.

“Don’t lose those,” he said. “50 quid to get a new pair.”

Y/N only narrowed her eyes, unlocking the door for them both and striding on to the next floor. After opening the door to the flat, she got her shoes off, and walked straight for the kitchen. She needed strawberries, especially after the shift she just had. The door closed behind Harry and she heard him lock it before taking his shoes and jacket off, too. As she turned around after closing the fridge door, Harry stood by the kettle, filling it up with water.

“Didn’t know you worked at Domino’s,” he said, looking over at her briefly, nodding at her black Domino’s fleece jacket before turning his attention back to the kettle.

“Just started.”

“How’re you finding it?” he asked.

Y/N sighed, leaning her hip against the counter. “Considering this was my first shift and I have to show up again to work another nightshift tomorrow…” She pursed her lips as if deep in thought. “I’d say shite.”

Harry laughed, stopping the tap. “Tea?”

“No, I bought myself some banana and oat milk from M&S earlier, I’ll just have that. Thank you, though.” She gestured at what she had placed on the counter while he was busy with the kettle.

Harry watched her as she got herself a glass for the milk. “Can’t for the life of me remember you being a Tory.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh, you don’t remember me hating the poor?” she said, putting on a posh accent, Harry could not hold back his own laughter. “Quite a big part of my personality, don’t know how you missed it. Now-“ She put the milk back in the fridge. “-If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go spend five weeks at my £1.000.000 18 century holiday house in Surrey.”

Harry’s laughter echoed through the kitchen as he put the kettle on, shaking his head at her. “No, but how’d you like your first shift? Anything like Pizza Express?”

Why the fuck did he remember that? Why did he have to remember everything? Bloody hell…

“Not for me. There were just a lot of creepy men, and some very dodgy neighbourhoods. I’m sure that’s not all there is to the job as a delivery driver, I’m sure I was just unlucky my first time, but I can’t really afford to quit unless I have a backup.”

Harry frowned at that. “If you don’t like it and you feel unsafe, you don’t have to continue doing it.”

She nodded her head. “No, I know, but it’s still the only job I could find and that I could get at the moment. I’ll apply to others later.”

Harry’s frown deepened, crossing his arms over his black, tee-shirt covered chest. No tattoos on display. She wondered why he only had tattoos on his chest and torso.

“Yeah, alright…” he said, voice a little darker than before. “But if you feel unsafe-“

“-Harry, I practiced capoeira when I was younger, remember?”

At that, as if he was slowly unveiling a memory he had not thought about in a little too long, Harry smiled. A small, fond smile that Y/N remembered from a previous life; a life with far less troubles, far less complications than this one.

“Of course I do.”

Not “yes”. Not just “I do”. “Of course”. He had said “of course”, as if remembering was a privilege. As if not remembering would be the strangest thing in the world. Y/N hated that this man did not forget a single thing. Never had, never would.

“Well,” she said, trying to act normal after that. “Well, I can hold my own.”

“Good to know,” Harry smiled, getting a teabag from his cupboard. As he turned his body and face away from her, she saw something glisten in the lights of the kitchen. Two earrings. Two gold earrings right next to one another. In his ear. Y/N would never admit to it out loud, the sight made her mouth salivate. “But I still think you should quit if you don’t like your work.”

Y/N opened the strawberry container and took one out, taking a bite. She needed to look away from Harry, away from his two earrings, and away from him because he was making some points. She knew where Harry was coming from, she really did, but she could not go on living in London, using money every single day, and not have an income. Until something better came along, this would be her job. “How’s the pub?”

“Alright,” Harry said, pouring hot water into his mug. “I’m having my last shift there December 15th.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re quitting?”

“Yeah, I’m starting a new job in January.”

She raised her eyebrows, meeting his gaze again. “Okay, good for you. What one?”

“Tattoo artist.”

He had to be fucking kidding at this point. Y/N had to do everything to keep her eye from twitching.

“Just got my tattoo license, so I’m ready to go come January.”

Y/N did not want to admit it. She could not admit it. She physically could not. But… everything about Harry… everything he did, everything he said… It all hit different. And it did not help that Y/N, who loved tattoos, getting them, having them on her body, and seeing them on someone else’s, was now made aware that Harry could legally give people tattoos. He was going to become a tattoo artist in January. Y/N wanted to eat chalk.

Harry just looked at her, studying her face. “You okay?”

She swallowed the strawberry bite she had just taken. “Fantastic.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Did you draw your own tattoos then?”

For the second time that night, Y/N was witness to Harry’s smug smile. He raised his cuppa, cocking his head a little to the side as he said, “You’ve seen my tattoos?”

Y/N wanted to die.

“You’ve been sneaking into my room to watch me sleep, that it?” Harry asked. “You’ve probably seen the tattoo I have by my crotch then, too-“

“-Oi!” Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “Piss off. I saw them when you were wearing that low-neck top at Footprint.”

Harry took a sip of his tea. “If you say so.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and Harry laughed.

“It’s jokes, Y/N.”

“Good. I’m genuinely scared you think I fancy you.”

Harry smiled. “You mean you don’t? Really?”

She took a hold of her strawberries and milk. “Goodnight, wanker.”

“I’m a dreamboat, what about this-“ Harry gestured at himself, flexing his arm muscles that weren’t really there. “-Doesn’t give you the fanny flutters?”

“You’re disgusting.”

Harry laughed.

“I was just interested to know about your job as a tattoo artist ‘cause I love tattoos,” Y/N explained.

Harry’s eyes travelled down to Y/N’s hand where the ‘M’ was tattooed, it lingered there for a moment too long. For some unknown reason, a tingle started up in Y/N’s thumb, making its way up her arm and to her breasts, then her stomach. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to her ribs where he must have seen her ‘saudade’ tattoo. Though it was not visible right then, it seemed as if Harry was seeing it all the same, sensing it somehow. At last, his eyes met hers, and Y/N felt something in her throat stop working. The tingle that had laid in her stomach just seconds earlier exploded, slithering all throughout her body and making her hyper aware of how knowledgeable Harry was of the tattoos on her body; of her. He must have paid more attention to her than she thought he had. Something about that made it hard to breathe. Bloody hell, she hated how fucking fit he was. She hated how she reacted to his glance, to his attention.

“I can tell,” he said, voice a tinge darker than before.

She was surely about to explode. Blinking a few times, she held her strawberries up, nodding her head to Harry in a silent goodbye, then made her way towards the door.

“Oh, Y/N,” Harry said, making her look over her shoulder at him. “Do you want some Ginger Nuts? I’m having some with my tea-“

“-No thanks. Goodnight.” Y/N walked straight out of the door and to her room, needing to stick her head out her window to cool down in the Regent’s Canal breeze before sitting down in her bed again. How could he be considerate, respectful, smart, pretty, and sexy at the same time? Some otherworldly powers had truly been at work these last few years to make Harry Styles into everything Y/N was attracted to.

She did not even want him as a boyfriend, she never had, there had never been any romantic feelings between them before and there never would be, but he was just so… so… frustrating. In every single sense of the word. He was just… very attractive. Very pleasing to look at. Everything that got to Y/N. And Y/N wanted to scream at Harry for making it so hard to ignore him, and at herself for falling for it.

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Y/N was originally going to travel home to Nottingham that Friday so she could stay home that weekend. She had not been home since September, and though they only had two weeks of uni left before Christmas break, she wanted to go home this weekend. She missed her parents terribly and wanted to see them so badly, she could simply not wait until Christmas. So, because it was the last Wednesday of the month, Y/N travelled back up to Nottingham.

Every last Wednesday of every month, Davi would invite all of his Brazilian family who had settled in Nottingham after he had, as well as Lottie’s parents, over for feijoada. Brazil has many region-specific dishes, yet the one that best translates into a nationwide dish is the beloved feijoada. The name stems from the word feijão, which is Portuguese for bean, and also the key ingredient of feijoada, which is essentially a bean stew mixed with beef and pork. Though, depending on what region of Brazil you are in, you will find different ingredients added to the feijoada.

In Rio de Janeiro and Minas Gerais, feijoada is almost always cooked with black beans, while in Bahia, red or brown beans are preferred. In Bahia and Sergipe, they also usually add extra vegetables to the feijoada such as plantain, kale, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and pumpkin. However, in the rest of Brazil, feijoada is simply beans and meat with no additional vegetables. It is served with white rice, shredded kale with bits of fried bacon, crispy pork crackling, and slices of oranges that are meant to aid the digestion of the heavy meal. Which is what Y/N had grown up eating.

Typically, it is served at noon on Wednesdays and Saturdays, as this hearty meal is a thick mixture that will have you full in no time. The only activity Y/N would recommend after it, is bed and a good book. Maybe even a little nap. Their big family often used to eat it during the weekend as it meant more time spent with the family, more time spent chatting and being social, but Davi who worked in a bakery, had often worked Saturday and Sunday afternoons, meaning that it would fit best for the family to keep the tradition of hosting the meal on Wednesdays at Davi and Lottie’s house. Which was why Y/N was on her way home that Wednesday at the end of November.

Closing Vidas Secas by Graciliano Ramos that she had just been reading, Y/N got up from her seat to get off the train. Graciliano Ramos was Y/N’s favourite writer of all time. Though she loved English Literature and especially loved studying it, she always found his works to be better than most. He was the only modernist writer she could stand. São Bernardo was her favourite of his novels. A story about a man who, having been born poor, gets rich using any ruthless means he can and ends up utterly alone. It had stuck with Y/N her entire life. The main character’s ability to love others, his selfishness, and arrogance, make up one of the most complex characters of world literature, in Y/N’s opinion.

In the last chapter of São Bernardo when Paulo Honório reflects on his life alone at night, Y/N found some of the best few pages she had ever read. The closing words ‘I ruined my life stupidly’ express the agony of a man whom Y/N learned to despise throughout the book, but who, thanks to the mastery of the author, leads us with him through his tragic life choices towards self-destruction. Y/N got goosebumps just thinking about it.

Stepping off the train with her small bag and book under her arm, Y/N walked straight for the train station exit. She recognised her mother’s brown hair in a bun at the top of her head, a pair of colourful flare trousers on along with a white buffer jacket. Lottie jumped up and down at the sight of Y/N and ran for her daughter, throwing her arms around her in a tight embrace.

“My baby,” she said, kissing Y/N’s cheeks and forehead. “Oh, my Y/N.”

Y/N hugged her mother back, burying her face in her mother’s neck. She did not care that she could hear Vidas Secas fall into the tiled floor or that her bag would get dirty where it lay, all she cared about was her mother’s embrace and the smell of home around her. She was fluent in two languages, yet Y/N could not find a word that could quite capture how happy she was to be home just now.

“Okay, my dove,” Lotte said, taking Y/N’s bag off the floor. Y/N bent down and picked up her book, bringing it to her chest. “Let’s go home.”

The two of them walked out to the car park, and Lottie quickly started driving them in the direction of Y/N’s childhood home. The familiar ride and the familiar city outside the car windows made her relax, sinking far into the seat until she felt enveloped in safeness and contentment. It didn’t take them long to reach the semi-detached brick house, all their family members’ cars parked out front and visible in the windows overlooking the street. Y/N took her own bag this time, and her mother led the way up the stairs to the house so she could open the door for her.

There was no time for Y/N to go upstairs with her bag and book, because she was bombarded with hugs and kisses the second she stepped inside. Her grandfather, avô, her grandmother, avó, her papai’s two sisters and her aunties, tia Gilma and tia Lara, their husbands and her uncles, tio Jaren and uncle Finnley – who was British and had met Lara after she moved here -, and her seven cousins, or primos. They all came rushing to her, with her British grandmother and grandfather grinning and waiting for her to be done hugging and kissing everyone. Being with them and smelling feijoada everywhere, made Y/N almost tear up. Blimey, ever since moving away to University, she had become so incredibly sappy.

“Amorinzho!” came like a scream from the kitchen. Davi came out into the foyer with his apron still on and the biggest grin on his face. He threw his arms around Y/N. “Eu tenho saudade de você.”

She had missed him, too. So much. She felt safer, more at ease, almost more herself now that she was reunited with her parents close.

So, she told him that as she whispered, “Eu também senti sua falta,” back. Her papai hugged her a little tighter at that, grinning at her with tears in his eyes as he squeezed her shoulders.

“Y/N!” avó shouted from where she now sat in the living room, her grey hair in a long braid down her back and a big knitted cardigan wrapped tightly around her small frame. “Venha comer!”

“I’ll come eat in a second,” Y/N said. “I just need to put my bag in my room.”

“I’ll do that for you, my sausage,” Y/N’s grandfather said, stroking her cheek before he bent down and brought the bag with him up the stairs to her room. Since her mother had been an only child, her parents, Y/N’s grandparents, had always been very caring and constantly present as Y/N and Marcela had been their only grandchildren. Not that her avós had not been present, because they really had, her entire family had, but her grandparents’ life had no meaning if it were not for Lottie, Y/N and Marcela.

Y/N walked past all her family and to the kitchen where her papai stood making her a plate of feijoada. He handed it to her and she smiled at him before helping herself to some rice. Just then, Lottie walked into the kitchen as well, hugging Y/N from behind before she walked over to make her daughter something to drink. Silence stretched out in the kitchen as conversation started back up again in the living room, everyone talking about everything and nothing, in English and Portuguese. But, something that was unusual for her parents, they did not say a single thing. Though this might not be unusual for some, it was extremely unusual for someone who came from a generally very talkative family.

“Charlotte,” Davi said, looking over at Lottie. “We should…”

“Not yet.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder at her parents. “What?”

“We should tell her.”

“She just got home, Davi,” Lottie reasoned. “We can tell her later. Let her enjoy her feijoada.”

“No, what’s going on?” Y/N asked again, turning her body to face them now.

“No, amorinzha,” Davi said, squeezing Y/N’s shoulder. “Your mother is right; we can talk about it later. It’s not appropriate to do it now.”

“What’s going on? What’re you talking about?” Y/N looked at her papai, then at her mum, both of them sharing a look with one another that Y/N did not understand. Over the years, she had become a master at deciphering what her parents were discussing when they shared looks, though she never managed to quite understand the proper subject of discussion, she could detect the mood. She understood this was more of a serious matter.

“Tell me,” Y/N said, feeling her heart begin to beat a little harder, a little faster, the more time went by without any of them saying anything.

“Fine,” Lottie sighed. “Put your plate down first.”

Y/N did so reluctantly, not taking her eyes off of her parents. If it was serious enough for her mother to want her to put her food down so she would not drop her plate, then Y/N was on the fence if she even wanted to know what was going on or if she wanted to live in blissful ignorance of it.

“Your pai and I have decided to sell the cabin.”

Y/N’s heart stopped beating. Her body felt numb, the chatter in the living room deceased to exist as she just looked at her mother, and then at her papai. Her mum, and then pai. Suddenly, as if slapped with a brick, Y/N’s brain roared to life and her body came as hot as coal. She looked at her mother who had been the one to speak, her mouth falling open and shutting again as she continued to process what she had just been told.

“You’re… you’re going to sell the cabin?” Y/N asked them, just to be completely sure that what she heard was correct.

“Yes,” Davi answered.

“You’re selling the cabin?” She could not believe it.

“Y/N-“

“-You’re selling our Newport cabin? The one in Wales?” she asked again, her voice rising now. They did not have any other cabins, but Y/N just had to know she was not mistaken. They couldn’t… They couldn’t just…

“Y/N, we never go there anymore,” Lottie reasoned. “We want to spend the money we use on the cabin on something else, we don’t know what yet.”

“So, you’re just going to sell the cabin where your daughter was murdered?” Y/N asked, voice filled with so much rage she barely recognised herself when she spoke. “Where Marcela was most likely stabbed? You’re selling that cabin?”

“We’re never there because she was… she was killed…” Davi cleared his throat. “Spending time inside that cabin when we know what happened inside it, does not feel right.”

“No, selling it isn’t right,” Y/N said. “What if there’s more evidence inside? What if there’s somewhere they haven’t looked?”

“Baby, they have cleaned out the cabin and there’s nowhere they haven’t looked. There’s nothing more they can investigate,” Lottie explained. “We don’t want to own that cabin anymore.”

“Kit murdered Marcela in there,” Y/N said. “Her murderous ex-boyfriend is running around somewhere because no one investigated that cabin thoroughly enough.”

“Selling it doesn’t mean they are going to stop investigating Marcela’s case, amorzinho,” Davi pointed out.

“We don’t… We still don’t know if Kit did it,” Lottie mumbled. “It was most likely him, but there could have been someone else who killed Marcela, Y/N.”

“Marcela’s body hasn’t been found, there’s no trace of Kit’s blood or remains on that property. That murderer is on the loose, something inside that cabin can tell us he killed her, I am sure of it.”

“Y/N, Kit hasn’t been seen since the murder either. Maybe he was killed, too,” Lottie said.

“Mum, Kit was a rubbish person, why are you sticking up for him?” Y/N groaned, running her hands over her face.

“We decided, Y/N,” Davi mumbled, rubbing his daughter’s back. “It’s happening.”

That was all Y/N needed to hear. She took her plate in one hand and the glass with water her mother had made her in another, and she walked straight past everyone in the living room and up to her room. She felt like a child stomping past everyone like that, but she just needed to be with her thoughts. There was absolutely no way they were selling that cabin. Not that cabin. Y/N was sure there was evidence in there somewhere, the police and the investigators had just not looked thoroughly enough. That was all. And if they had done a shite job, well… that just meant Y/N had to do it for them. She had to go to that cabin and look for herself once and for all. After all, who else would? It did not seem like anyone cared anymore.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 21th March, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta readers! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @sunflowerstache 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh 🏛️

FIC PAGE | COME TALK !!!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #1dff #:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD COME TALK PLSSSS :DDDDDDDDDDDDDD

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lesbianrobin · 3 years

Note

What do you think are the good and bad aspects of each season of ST?

ok 1. thank u for this question omg and 2. this answer may or may not be a mess, but either way it’s long (almost 7k words lmao) bc i’m insane, which is why it’s under a cut. it’s still by no means an exhaustive list but these are the things that just kinda came to mind.

also i realize you asked “good and bad” and i wrote this whole post as “strengths and weaknesses” which um. is not Exactly what you asked. but close enough <3 i also ended up including a lot of au ideas ksjdckmn bc like i personally hate when people say a certain plot or whatever was bad without suggesting anything that could have improved it yknow so whenever possible i tried to provide Some idea for fixing the issues i had with the show!!

season 1

strengths (this is probably gonna be the longest section but that’s because a lot of these strengths also apply to s2/s3 by default)

nostalgia and authenticity

this one’s pretty simple, but i think that season one did a good job of blending classic eighties media homages (such as the many many e.t./el parallels) with explicit pop culture references (such as mike’s yoda impression, mentions of the x-men, etc) to create a show that’s essentially dripping in early eighties nostalgia without it feeling too forced. before st, i think the most popular depiction of the eighties in mainstream media was that overly exaggerated neon scrunchie aesthetic from the mid to late eighties, and it was usually done in a comedic sense first and foremost. st took a different approach, instead focusing on the early eighties, a time that’s often ignored in favor of going either Full Seventies or Full Eighties, and i think that this choice likely resonated with adults who lived through the eighties and hadn’t yet seen something that felt quite so accurate to their own adolescence. a lot of young people who watched st were totally unfamiliar with this period of time, unfamiliar with books/movies like “stand by me” that st borrows from heavily, and i think st lent more seriousness to the eighties than most young people had experienced so far, and this was refreshing and interesting!

the use of dnd in the show is also quite genius in a way i’m not sure i can articulate?? it isn’t something Everyone would have played at the time, but it’s something that existed within a different context back in the eighties than it does today, and it really lent a sort of authenticity to the naming of the show’s sci-fi elements. like, of course these kids would name parallel dimensions and monsters and superpowers after these similar things in their favorite game! it just feels so real and it grounds st in our reality moreso than you might expect from the typical sci-fi or horror universe.

utilization of existing tropes

almost every single character in st clearly originates from some popular trope. the plot itself is riddled with classic eighties movie tropes. almost every single element of stranger things can be clearly traced back to some iconic eighties film or just to, like, overused horror/sci-fi/mystery/coming-of-age movie tropes in general. this might sound like a bad thing, but it really works in st’s favor! starting off with familiar tropes gives st the ability to easily create a lot of complexity and make a big impact by selectively deviating from those familiar, comfortable tropes!! while el’s whole plot, hopper’s character, etc, are all examples of this in action, i think the steve/nancy/jonathan plot is the greatest example. even from the start, the fact that good girl barb dies while nancy is off having sex with her asshole boyfriend is an incredibly thorough inversion of the most well-known horror movie trope in the book. how often do girls in horror movies have sex for the first time, walk home alone in the dark of night, and live to tell the tale? nancy and jonathan’s dynamic at first glance is a sort of classic “good girl meets boy from the wrong side of the tracks, discovers he’s actually got a heart of gold” thing, but instead of following this well-trodden path, st diverged. nancy is brash, impulsive, and at times downright insensitive. jonathan is angry, bitter, and actually a bit of a creep at first. while they have the capacity to emotionally connect and support one another, they can also bring out each other’s darker side, which is not what we’ve come to expect from that initial tropey dynamic.

in addition, steve, the popular rich asshole boyfriend, is actually... a human being! unlike the cartoonishly evil jocks that we’ve come to expect (especially from eighties movies), steve has complexity. despite his initial immaturity and selfishness, he’s also kind to barb, he backs off when nancy says no, he’s gentle and sweet when they sleep together, his first big Dick Move of the season is in defense of nancy, he realizes the error of his ways after the fight and does what he can to fix it, he’s worried about nancy when he sees that she’s hurt at jonathan’s house, and to top it all off, he ends up saving both nancy and jonathan’s lives when he could have just walked away, and the three of them all work together to fight the demogorgon. like... steve began as the most stereotypical character of all time, and by the end of the season, he had one of the most compelling and unique arcs among the whole cast!

finally, at the very end of the season, instead of dumping steve for jonathan as expected, nancy ends up getting back together with steve, and they’re both on friendly terms with jonathan. i realize that i just kinda. summarized s1. but my POINT is that i don’t think the dynamics between the monster hunting trio would be nearly as fun and interesting had the characters of nancy, steve, and jonathan not been set up to follow certain paths that we already had charted in our own heads. like, within the first couple episodes of s1, it’s pretty obvious that nancy and steve are gonna break up, nancy will get with jonathan, and steve will either die or go full evil or just never be seen again. like, duh! you’ve seen this story a million times! you know that’s how it’s gonna go! so, when the story DOESN’T go that way, the impact of each character’s arc and the relationship dynamics become stronger due to their unexpected complexity and authenticity.

distinct plotlines separated by age group

this one’s rather obvious, but the way that the adults in s1 were essentially in a conspiracy thriller while the teens were in a horror flick and the kids were in a sci fi power-of-friendship story and all three converged at the end... wow. brilliant showstopping etc. not only was it just really well done and unique, it also gave stranger things near-universal appeal. like, there’s genuinely something for pretty much everyone in season one!

casting

obviously this applies to every season sorta by default, but when i think about what made season one So successful, i always think about the cast, and not just winona ryder. yes, she’s absolutely amazing in the show and it’s very doubtful that st would be as big as it is today without her name being attached to it from the start!! however, i think the greatest determining factor in st’s success is the casting of the kids, particularly millie bobby brown. like... el is just absolutely incredible. she’s amazing. this has all been said many times before so i won’t harp on it, but millie and the other kids are all So talented and charismatic and i think their casting has been instrumental to the show’s success.

strong visuals

the way that multicolored christmas lights which have been around for decades are now kinda like. a Stranger Things thing. jesus christ. those lights are probably the biggest stroke of stylistic genius on the show.

atmosphere and setting

this is probably like. the least important one here for me sdjncdsc because i think s2 and s3 both had like Even Better atmospheres and shit but s1 was good too and it laid the groundwork!! i know a lot of people would have preferred st be set somewhere more Spooky with lots of fog or giant forests or whatnot, and while i do enjoy thinking about alternate st settings and how they might alter the vibe, i think hawkins indiana was a good choice. as the duffers have said, placing stranger things in a fictional town allows them more flexibility than if they’d gone with their original plan of using montauk, new york. besides that, i think the plainness and like... flatness... of small-town indiana just Works. like, the fact that hawkins is never really scary on the surface is a big part of the horror in the lab’s actions and their impact. hawkins isn’t somewhere that people just disappear all the time. it isn’t somewhere known for strange occurrences (prior to s1, that is). it isn’t somewhere shrouded in mist and secrecy. hawkins on its surface seems like the sort of place with no secrets and nothing to fear, and that’s the point! the lab is out in the open! it’s right there! everything is so close to the surface, yet so far out of the public eye, and i think that really works.

the byers family’s whole deal (specifically the joyce/jonathan dynamic)

this is going here bc i miss it so bad in s2 and s3. i’m not one of those people who believe The Byers Are The Whole Point of the show, because st is and always has been an ensemble, and el, hopper, and the wheelers are just as instrumental to the plot as the byers, but ANYWAY, i do think the byers were one of the most interesting aspects of s1. joyce’s difficulties with supporting her sons as a poor and (implied mentally ill) single mother, jonathan’s stress as a result of having to earn money, care for his brother, and keep the house in order when his mother is unable to do so, and the resulting tension between them when will’s disappearance and supposed “death” brings the situation to a tipping point? holy shit! it’s so good! that argument after they see will’s “body” is just incredible and gut-wrenching. their relationship feels so real and messy and i think it’s just... good. also winona ryder REALLY acted her heart out and she carried a lot of s1 which i think people often forget to mention so i’m saying it here.

weaknesses

pacing/timing

ok so pacing is probably going to go in each season’s weaknesses, to be honest, because i think they all had a blend of some good and some bad pacing. good pacing is invisible pacing, though, so i probably won’t be putting it in any of the strengths sections and will only be focusing on it in the weaknesses. i’m also probably not going to talk about weird day/night cycle things, just because i don’t want to get nitpicky on timelines because that would require going back and rewatching things to double check timing which i don’t wanna do at the moment lmao. anyway, when i think of bad pacing in season one, i primarily think of two things: nancy’s little trip into the upside down and subsequent sleepover with jonathan, and the sort of staggered nature of the climax in the final episode. the latter is simple so i’ll explain it first: while i understand that each group’s respective climax is like part of a chain reaction and that’s why each big moment happens separately and at different times, i think that st is strongest when the whole group is together, and i think that makes the stakes feel higher too, so i’m not In Love with the way s1 separated everyone and gave each group their own climax.

okay, now on to the nancy/upside down thing! idk if i’ve ever talked about it before, but i think the worst decision made in s1 by far is the inclusion of nancy’s brief trip into the upside down, wherein she dives headfirst into another dimension with absolutely no backup, watches the demogorgon chow down, freaks out and runs around for a minute, and then leaves. like... what the fuck? even putting aside what an idiotic decision this was (because i do think nancy’s tendency to rush into things headfirst is an intentional and consistent character trait), it just kind of destroys any remaining suspense surrounding the demogorgon and the upside down, and it accomplishes basically nothing besides scaring nancy enough to have jonathan sleep over, which is lame. i will break it down.

like, first of all, nancy just getting to waltz in and out of the upside down and get a good, long look at the demogorgon makes the entire thing far less mysterious, and by extension far less scary. like... before this scene, we the audience haven’t got a good look at the demogorgon. we’ve seen its silhouette briefly and we’ve seen a blurry picture of it, but nothing more, and i think that is far more effective at building fear than this jaunt nancy goes on which gives us a full view of the thing and makes it into less of a horrifying nightmare and into more of a humanoid animal. like, maybe this is just me, but i found the demogorgon far less intimidating after that scene than before. it also lets nancy and jonathan know For Sure that they’re right without providing any crucial information that they need to fight the demogorgon (aka it’s unnecessary to the plot), which removes a very compelling story element (the faith nancy and jonathan need to have in order to keep going against a vague and poorly understood enemy, the doubt they might have about each other and their own sanity, the possibility that they might be wrong, the trust they need to have in each other) a bit earlier in the plot than i believe is ideal. at the end of episode 5, nancy goes into the upside down and jonathan doesn’t know where she is and it’s intense!!! you’re thinking like, oh fuck, not only is nancy missing and fighting for her life now too, jonathan might be implicated in her disappearance!! some people already think he’s the one who killed will and people know that he took creepy pictures of barb and nancy before they both disappeared, maybe this is gonna cause some serious problems for him!! maybe nancy will find will in the upside down and she’ll help him survive!! fuck, maybe she’ll actually die!! this is huge!! and then episode 6 starts and they’re immediately like oh nevermind jonathan found the tree and got nancy out and she’s fine. my point with all of this is that nancy entering the upside down could have done A Lot in the grand scheme of the plot, but all it did was just... get jonathan to sleep over so he and nancy could have some awkward romance moments and steve could see them together and pick a fight. which could have honestly happened at Any point while nancy and jonathan were working together to hunt down the demogorgon, without ruining the demogorgon’s and the upside down’s mystique. so yeah <3

weird behavior and dumbass decisions that make no sense (aka the whole camera thing)

gonna go off about the teen plot again sorry but: why was nancy so unbothered and quick to forgive jonathan for taking those pictures? girl what the fuck are you doing? why wasn’t that a bigger deal? why was jonathan’s motivation for doing it so weak and why did they just kind of forget about the whole thing? why did nancy TRACK HIM DOWN AT THE FUNERAL HOME while he was PICKING OUT HIS BABY BROTHER’S CASKET to be like hey can you tell me what’s in this creepshot you took? it’s insane. it’s so insane. i mean i think the funeral home thing is hilarious and i don’t mind it being in the show necessarily but like my point here is that i think a lot of character decisions in s1 just kind of.. happened because they Needed to happen for the plot. like, they wrote this plot that required jonathan to be secretly taking pictures of the party and required him and nancy to work together after seeing something odd in the pictures, but they didn’t like... really consider what that event would mean for their characterization and relationship. the whole thing was sort of just dropped with minimal discussion and i think it did both nancy and jonathan’s characters a disservice and was really mishandled.

lighting and saturation/color grading

i am literally begging horror/sci-fi shows to let me see shit. i GET IT okay i understand that when you’re doing cgi effects it helps to keep the lights down and i’m not mad at any of the lighting in the demogorgon/upside down scenes!! i’m really not i think the demogorgon scenes in s1 all look sick!! but like... dude. the colors. where are they. why does everyone look like a vampire. i know blah blah this was probably an intentional stylistic choice intended to mimic film at the time blah blah but dude a lot of old movies are very colorful!! please just let people have color in their faces so everyone doesn’t look like a sheet of paper!!! also i’m white and not a professional lighting designer so yknow grain of salt but i think lucas was kinda poorly served by the lighting sometimes in s1. not Hugely so, not to the degree that i’ve seen poc be poorly served by lighting in other shows, but there were some times where it felt kinda like the lighting setup was just not designed with darker skin in mind.

horror

i just personally don’t find s1 very scary like... ever. i don’t think they were really Trying to be extremely scary yknow so i’m not counting this as a big deal, but i do think that each season has improved on the horror aspects. i think s1′s horror lies more in the mystery and the unknown than in what’s seen onscreen, and as i’ve said already, i think s1 kind of fumbled that suspense ball.

season 2

strengths

the possession plot

i’ll warn u rn this whole s2 strengths section is probably gonna be really short bc idk like. how much there is to really say i feel like it’s all so self-explanatory skjncmn. anyway yeah the possession plot!! eerie as fuck, and noah OWNED. so did winona tbh and finn and sean etc but like. noah. wow! i think the possession plot helped the show maintain a good amount of tension and suspense throughout the season, and a lot of scenes with possessed!will are flatout disturbing to watch. in a good way. i think the mindflayer and will’s possession were far more genuinely frightening than s1′s demogorgon, and it provided a new layer of depth and intrigue to the antagonist besides just “bad monster want eat people.”

tone and aesthetics

halloween season... literally halloween season. halloween season. that is all.

actually i will elaborate a bit and just say that i think s2 did a good job of having the sort of foreboding vibe that s1 was often going for, but without the annoying darkness and desaturation. so points for that.

also st2 is like one of the best Autumn pieces of media ever like it just. like steve and dustin on those train tracks with the fallen leaves all around them.... god. god the vibes are unparalleled. all of the halloween stuff also really contributes to the nostalgia st runs on yknow it makes you think about childhood and trick-or-treating and you kind of get transported like damn... i remember going to the rich neighborhoods to score the good candy..... idk i just think the whole thing is incredibly effective.

“babysitter” steve

by sending nancy and jonathan off together, the show created a problem: what to do with steve? this problem pushed them to create the unconventional and unexpected duo of steve and dustin, and the world is so much brighter for it. seriously though we all know steve and dustin are great i don’t need to argue that point. all i’ll add is that i think allowing steve to grow in this way, serving as a mentor figure and becoming genuine friends with someone so unexpected, really took the originality of his character to the next level. no longer content just to defy his archetype, in s2 steve begins branching out in ways that never would have been considered in s1, creating an incredibly complex and interesting person from the sort of character that most shows would have simply written out or killed off for convenience’s sake. and it works and steve and dustin are such a joy to watch and i love them. <3

the lucas/max plot

so first of all max mayfield is the most perfect baby girl on god’s green earth and idk what i would do without her but anyway. i think lumax is the best romantic relationship in the show and not just because they’re the only ones with like an age-appropriate approach to the whole thing. it’s also because their relationship accomplishes more than just putting the two of them in a relationship!! lucas and max spending time together motivates billy to do his evil shit, providing more conflict in the narrative, and it also helps establish max as part of the group in a relatively natural way while giving both her and lucas a great subplot. lucas (and dustin) has a crush on the new girl, they start spending some time together, and lucas ends up needing to decide whether he’ll keep the secret of the upside down and lose her, or risk both of their lives by telling her the truth. that’s a pretty big, character-defining decision that he gets to make!! max has to choose whether to trust this boy she barely knows and endanger herself, or to walk away and stay safe, yet another great character-defining choice that also contributes to the sense we get as an audience of max as somebody who’s incredibly lonely and desperate for love and connection. this post is way too long already and i have a ton more to say so i’ll stop now but yeah i think lumax really Works in the show without ever distracting or detracting from the overall plot and narrative in the way that some other ships (coughjancycough) often do.

balance between the normal and abnormal

s2 i think did a pretty solid job of melding daily life with more fantastical sci-fi horror elements. i enjoyed seeing so much of the kids at school in the first few episodes!! you really get a strong sense of where they’re at in life, what their daily lives are like, and you get a sort of gradual shift into madness that makes everything feel more grounded than i think it would if they had just leapt straight into the horror shit, yknow?

the el and hopper dynamic

go back and rewatch s2 and tell me that’s not one of the most moving portrayals of parenthood and trauma and growing up that you’ve ever seen. you can’t. or well you can but i won’t listen. i really can’t imagine stranger things without el and hopper’s relationship, and it’s my absolute favorite part of s2. their whole dynamic is so beautiful and complex, and gives them each amazing personal arcs in addition! the black hole scene is literally one of the show’s greatest moments of all time. any given scene between the two of them in s2 is just guaranteed to be heartwarming as well as heartbreaking, and i think that makes for an incredible show.

weaknesses

flashbacks

okay this applies to Every season they All have too many flashbacks but in s2 specifically... please stop showing me shit from season one. i watched it. i know what happened. you don’t need to spoon feed everything to me!! flashbacks can be a really helpful way of delivering information to an audience, but st has a bad habit of not only being kinda demeaning in how often they flash back to shit that the audience already knows, but they also have a bad habit of using flashbacks almost as a crutch to avoid having to deliver information subtly and naturally.

you know i gotta say it... the lost sister

this is so sad. the lost sister really is like a great concept for an st episode, and i’m not mad about the idea of st taking a break from the normal action to focus on one story for a full episode, but the execution of it was just dreadful. kali and her crew feel very over-the-top and stereotypical, and its placement in the season totally kills the tension and excitement that was built in “the spy.”

i think the lost sister honestly could have gone over far better, even with the stereotypical fake-feeling gang kali has, if they had just swapped it with “the spy” like... ok, the end of episode five has el setting off to find kali and will collapsing on the ground seizing. right? imagine if, instead of immediately following will to the lab, we’d followed el. we don’t know what’s happening with will, but it’s a very simple cliffhanger that leaves us on edge without making us feel cheated by the show cutting away. we follow el on her little journey, everything happens much the same as canon, and then at the end, el sees hopper in scrubs. she sees mike, screaming, sees that they’re both in danger. holy shit!!! what the fuck!!! what’s happened since we left will seizing on the ground??? we feel el’s fear and confusion. she decides to go home. and then... boom. “the lost sister” is over. now, we rewind, right back to will seizing on the ground, and “the spy” commences. we learn how they got into the danger that el saw in the end of “the lost sister,” and we sit on the edge of our seats all through “the spy” and “the mind flayer,” KNOWING that el is on her way back to save them but not knowing when she’ll arrive!! idk i don’t think that would have necessarily saved lost sister but i think it may have alleviated some of the issues that i and many others have with it, timing-wise.

the nancy/jonathan sidequest

once again, the idea of nancy going off on her own little mission to find justice for barb after s1 is like. amazing. genuinely i love that plot for her and i can’t imagine anything better for her to have focused on in s2. unfortunately though i think her and jonathan’s little trip to see murray was just kind of... lame. the whole thing just felt like an excuse to get the two of them alone together, yknow? which is fine i guess people contrive all sorts of situations to get characters alone together for romance reasons but in this case i think it just really doesn’t work for me because of what it’s juxtaposed with. like, will is POSSESSED, and jonathan is just off on a mini road trip and sleeping with his bestie, and jonathan never seems to communicate to joyce/will that he left town, and joyce never like... thinks to tell him that will is like sick and fucked up and they’re looking at him in the lab??? like it’s so weird i know joyce always forgets about jonathan when shit’s happening with will but jfc you’d think at some point in that like... 72-ish-hour period where jonathan was out of town she would have thought about him. like at least once. maybe i’m forgetting something and she mentioned him sometime and i missed it but even still, i hate the juxtaposition of nancy and jonathan just like cheers-ing at murray’s place and sleeping together and whatnot while everyone else is dealing with possession or trying to hunt down dart yknow? it feels really boring in comparison and i think it could have been done far better. like it was SO insanely easy for them to get into the lab and get an admission of guilt and escape with it!! i think it might have been a lot more engaging if maybe someone from the lab tailed them to murray’s place and they had to like lose the tail and race to get the recording out to as many news outlets as possible before they got caught, or something like that. the tension in their plotline is completely resolved in episode four!! episodes five and six are just them screwing around and addressing envelopes. while there were a lot of strong ideas in this plotline (i really enjoy nancy going out of her way to get justice, and the fact that they have to water down the story to make it believable), i just think the focus on nancy and jonathan getting together hindered it a lot without adding a ton to the plot or their individual characters.

season 3

strengths

starcourt mall as a setting

while i don’t think the mall was utilized quite to its full potential (something i could make a separate post about if anyone’s interested), i do think that starcourt was a genius addition to the series. i’ve said this before, but building a new mall is a literal Perfect in-universe justification for a significant leap forward in fashion and aesthetics, and it provides a great location for characters to just... be characters. idk how else to articulate this i just think that the mall is a great setting to let people interact with each other and to bring people together who may not have been otherwise (i.e. scoops troop). not to mention how sick it was to see the mall get wrecked toward the end kdjncdkm like they were able to do so much more with the mall in terms of like The Finale than they could with just the byers house or the cabin or the school or even the lab. i love all the back tunnels they run through it’s such a fun like acknowledgement of how this glitzy eighties mall is just a real place where employees get shipments and take out the trash and shit idk it’s all about the perfect facade and what’s hidden what’s underneath what’s hiding in plain sight etc etc i’m just saying words now. anyway.

willingness to experiment and go against expectations

gay robin. neon aesthetics. giant fucking meat monster. i know some people hate both the neon and the meat monster but i personally think they were kind of amazing and like. yknow regardless of personal tastes i think it’s impossible to deny that s3 had a lot of incredible visuals, and they’re all visuals that just wouldn’t have been possible if the show were too afraid to stray from its s1 aesthetic. robin being canonically gay (and her resulting friendship with steve) and the season’s striking visuals are two things that most everyone (besides like homophobes skjncdknm) can agree were great, right? and they were both departures from where the show began and what we all expected!! so yeah i think while some of the experimentation in s3 wasn’t ideal it was also that experimentation that allowed for some of the season’s strongest elements to come about.

the hospital sequence (and the season’s action/horror scenes in general)

this one is fairly self-explanatory. while they may have underutilized the “body snatching” element of the season, the hospital sequence with nancy and jonathan fighting off their possessed bosses did an amazing job of building tension and creating a genuine sense of really intense and personal danger.

in general i think that s3 melded action and horror rather well, particularly in the sauna test, the hospital, and when the mindflayer busts through the roof of hop’s cabin. horror can come from many things, and in this case, st elicited horror largely from the feeling of helplessness, and it was really effective for me personally. i think it worked better for me than s1′s brand of horror because it doesn’t rely so much on a lack of knowledge or a sense of suspense that inevitable disappears upon a second viewing.

the body horror we got in s3 was also really fun! that’s it i just think all the blood and guts and slime were fun and i would like more of them. once again, the impacts of body horror are less dependent upon the viewer being in the dark or unsure as to what’s happening, and as such i think it tends to be a little more effective at eliciting reaction in the long term.

timing and mechanics of the battle of starcourt/finale

i think the battle of starcourt is just fucking awesome, and beyond that personal opinion, i think it’s the most high-stakes and intense finale of all three seasons, and this is for two main reasons! 1. el is out of commission, and 2. (almost) everyone is in the same cental location. this means that (almost) everyone is in danger all at once, and they are all working together at the same time to fight the same threat. s1/s2 have their groups more fragmented for the finales, and while i understand why in each case and i wouldn’t call either season’s finale necessarily weak, i do think the centralized nature of the s3 finale just Works on another level. in s1 and s2, large segments of the cast are already perfectly safe by the time el dispatches the primary threat. in s3, however, everybody save for dustin and erica is still in danger up until the last moment, and el is seemingly (you can def debate how much power she still had in her when she peeked into billy’s mind and whether the memory broke the mindflayer’s hold on him or if she was actually controlling him to some degree) completely vulnerable. this increases the tension and raises the stakes, making the finale a real crescendo to fortissimo as opposed to a series of little mezzo forte moments. i hope everyone reading this knows music idk how else to phrase that my brain is stupid.

emphasis on friendship and adolescence (but in a different way than s1/2)

this is definitely a controversial one but i think that s3 really did like... show a side of friendship that had been more or less unexplored thus far in the show. el and max were amazing, and i think it’s really nice that we got an opportunity to see the kids have some growing pains as well as see them support each other through Normal Adolescent Stuff like boyfriends and breakups instead of just like. death and trauma. this is maybe just a personal preference, but i think it can be really enlightening and provide a lot of depth when you get to see how characters respond to normal everyday conflict and not just how they respond to giant world-ending conflict!! letting el use her powers for goofy teenage shit like spying on boys and messing with mean girls at the mall is not only fun for her and the audience, but it also really emphasizes just how much those powers are a part of el, making it that much more devastating when she loses them at the end of the season.

weaknesses

tonal dissonance

so this is like. obvious. but it must still be said! i won’t go on and on about it since we all know this so i’ll try to like talk about it from an angle people don’t usually? anyway. it seems to me like they were maybe a little worried about s3 being too dark. while the choice to really lean into humor was definitely driven by the sorts of eighties teen films from which s3 drew inspiration (like fast times at ridgemont high), i think it was also done in an attempt to alleviate the more troubling implications of some events in the season, particularly the russian bunker plot. like, yeah, st can be incredibly dark, but if they’d played the whole “children being stuck inside of a foreign military base, tied up, tortured, and drugged” thing completely straight without the humorous elements that exist in canon, it had the potential to be like... disturbing on a new level. steve and robin don’t have powers like el yknow their kidnapping/torture doesn’t have any sci-fi elements to sorta soften the blow. they’re just innocent teenagers being brutalized and traumatized by grown men. so anyway yeah i think maybe the writers were concerned about this storyline coming off as too dark and they wanted it to be a little more whimsical but they ended up pushing way too hard in that direction and creating extreme dissonance at times. this goes for joyce/hopper/murray/alexei too, but to a lesser extent. i think the ridiculousness in that group felt a lot more like... realistic. but still.

newspaper plot

once again i feel like i don’t even need to say this skjdncmn we all know it was insane how the show basically ended up delivering the message “while misogyny is a serious problem poverty and classism are not” and i’ve said it on this blog a million times so i don’t need to repeat myself. i’ll focus on another weak point of this plot: the fact that it completely separates nancy and jonathan from everyone else. once again, the show’s preoccupation with j/ancy held them back! like... can you imagine a version of s3 where nancy and jonathan both worked in the mall? i have a lot of ideas about this possible au and like how the plot could play out differently if they worked in the mall but first of all it’s just more realistic, second of all it further utilizes the mall as a central setting, and third of all, it would bring everyone together. as it is in canon, nancy and jonathan were unnecessarily isolated from the rest of the group, and this isolation was detrimental to both of their characters. like, they only ever get to interact with each other! if they’d gotten summer jobs in the mall, they could have had more interactions with the kids/steve/robin, and they absolutely still could have had a similar argument! maybe in this case, nancy notices the rat thing (or something else odd) herself when taking out the trash behind the mall, and she wants jonathan to ditch work with her to check it out bc she thinks it may be related to the lab. jonathan doesn’t want to ditch work because he needs his job, nancy argues that they’re working shitty mall jobs anyway and who cares if they get fired, and we get more or less the same thing as s3 without the cartoonishly over-the-top misogyny. i mean honestly i think the rat shit could have been cut entirely it didn’t rly... accomplish much of anything. in my opinion. like imagine s3 without the rat plot you literally would not be missing anything except it would be more surprising when the dudes melted into goo at the hospital. so yeah i think it would have been better if nancy and jonathan had jobs at the mall, weren’t isolated from everybody else, and were maybe absorbed into the party’s plot or the scoops troop’s plot from very early on, allowing them to interact with more characters and have a less... dumb.... plot. like god splitting up nancy and jonathan between the party/scoops troop would have been So Much better i just. sdkjcnksdmn anyway yeah.

briefness of group reunion/separation of groups

remember in s2 at the beginning of “the gate,” where mike and hopper had a confrontation and max and el met for the first time and el hugged everyone and steve and nancy had their sad little moment together outside... where’s that energy? obviously the s2 reunion wasn’t that long either, but it made space for some significant emotional moments to take place. s3′s reunion had some hopper/el/mike resolution, but besides that... there was nothing, really. i just think that the whole group getting together in s3 was SO exciting and powerful the way they did it (with both the scoops troop and the adults having their own Big Moment reconnecting with team griswold family), but the emotional potential was more or less squandered.

i also think in s3 at times they were really stretching to keep everybody separated even though it made no sense. and like... in s1 the separation worked bc nobody else knew that (x group) was experiencing weird shit too, and beyond that, each group (as i mentioned in the s1 section) was sort of operating within their own genre and bringing something unique to the season. they’ve stopped doing that though! now, the groups aren’t separate bc each plot is tonally/structurally different, the groups are just separate bc... they need to be, because it’s a big ensemble cast and you can’t just have them all be together for a whole season or it would be way too difficult to coordinate things and keep the show dynamic. all this is to say that i’m excited for s4 because the location differences make it so there’s a Reason for each plot to be separate at the beginning, and i think that’ll work better.

general ridiculousness

i dont mean like i think it’s bad that they made jokes this is just me lumping in all the dumb shit like hopper not worrying about el and not wanting to check on the kids, him and joyce bickering long after they both know they and their children are in danger, max seemingly forgetting that billy is a racist abuser, etc etc. i think many of these are just a symptom of the show 1. trying desperately to keep the groups split up a certain way even though it may not make any sense, and 2. trying to fit into a certain genre/trope mold when their actual characters are more complex than the tropes they’re imitating. this is so fucking long already i am not gonna elaborate further rn but i trust u all know what i mean.

soooo... yeah, that’s about all! i mean it’s not all there are definitely many more things i could talk about and i know i focused sorta disproportionately on the teens which is my bad :/ but i’m done for now. thank you for asking, and apologies for the delay in responding!! i’m sure some people reading (if anyone read this far) will disagree with some of what i’ve said and that’s alright like i’m not The Authority on st or anything i’m just trying to talk about like my own thoughts yknow? so yeah luv u all i hope someone enjoyed reading this!!

#asks #em talks #lesbianrobin.canon #stranger things #if u actually read all this i love u and im sorry #these r just my opinions!! and im sure i misremembered some shit my brain is swiss cheese #i did my best tho

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nonagesimus · 3 years

Note

Tristan what if I promoted about Jess noticing Sam avoiding salty foods or his cross necklace leaving faint red marks :)) stuff like that:)) yknow the demon blood affecting him early on

Their first Christmas Jess was flying out on the 23rd, so they did gifts on the 22nd. In Jess’ dorm, because Sam had absolutely no decorations up, and when Jess had asked why he’d just shrugged and said he couldn’t be bothered. But he was happy enough watching her unwrap a set of bracelets that she knew he spent more on than they’d agreed to. But she didn’t call him out, because she had too. See, while he didn’t go to a Sunday service- at least as far as she knew - he liked wearing a cross. It wasn’t a sentimental thing, either, because when the chain had broken and he lost one he wasn’t sad, he just got a new one the very next day. But he kept buying the cheap ones, so he’d had a thin red rash, worst where the cross itself sat, the entire time she’d known him.

Sterling silver was a little bit of a splurge, but it was worth it.

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

“Shouldn’t trigger the nickel allergy either,” she said. He grinned at her, taking off the one he was wearing and replacing it with the new one.

“Thanks, babe,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

She got back after Christmas and he picked her up from the airport in her car. The chain around his neck was the new one, but the rash was still there. She frowned, hurt a little despite herself.

Waited until later in the evening to comment.

“If you like your old one better it’s fine, you don’t have to wear this just ‘cause I got it for you.” She said, lying in bed with her fingers resting on the cross.

“What?” he asked, so genuinely confused she sat up to look at his face.

“The rash,” she said. “You’ve been wearing your old cross.”

“I’ve been wearing this one since you gave it to me,” he said. “I think it’s just not a nickel allergy, I must just have sensitive skin. It doesn’t itch or anything.”

Jess didn’t quite believe him, but she didn’t push. And she only ever saw him wearing the silver cross, and that rash never did go down.

—

Jess always thought she was a healthy eater, but that was before she met Sam. Ate-meat-only-once-or-twice-a week Sam, bought-fruit-on-seven-eleven-snack-runs Sam, got-the-depressing-mcdonald’s-side-salad-instead-of-fries Sam. Didn’t-even-use-the-little-paper-seasoning-sachets-that-came-with-the-depressing-salad Sam. Brady, already grumpy from something that’d happened in his morning biology lab, had already made three snide comments about low sodium diets that Sam had ignored and Jess used as excuse to throw ketchup packets - that at least perked him up a bit.

“It’s not a health thing,” Sam protested eventually. “I just don’t like the taste that much.”

“The taste of salt,” Brady said, drily. “A thing that only exists to make things taste better.”

“You could say the same thing about cilantro and according to you that ruins everything it touches,” Sam pointed out.

Brady shrugged. “If I wanted my burrito to taste like soap, I’d put soap in my burrito.”

Sam sighed, reached over, and stole a few fries off Brady’s tray. Dodged Brady’s attempt to grab him easily and popped them in his mouth.

“Will you shut up now?” he asked, before taking a long swig of his drink.

“Sure, if you stop stealing my fries,” Brady said.

“Great,” Sam said, rolling his jaw like he was trying to scrape an unpleasant sensation off his tongue.

—

Junior year Jess stayed behind for Christmas. Sam was still a little antsy at the prospect of spending a week in her parent’s house, and she didn’t really understand but wasn’t going to push. Instead she decorated their apartment, and forced Sam to make hot chocolate even though it was still pretty warm in Palo Alto.

“Do you think,” he started nervously, “I haven’t been in a long time but- I was thinking of going to Mass on Christmas morning? You don’t have to come.”

“Of course I’ll come,” Jess said.

The closest Catholic to campus was St Thomas Aquinas, complete with spires and stained glass for all it was built of wood. Jess’ family had been baptists, but Sam had promised to lead her through any of the pomp and ceremony she wasn’t used to. Starting with the basin of holy water at the door - she mimicked him as he wet his fingers and did the sign of the cross. There was a slight grimace on his face, and as she put her hand on his back a tension in his spine.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

But as the service went on, he just seemed to get worse. The blood drained out of his face, while the ends of his fingers went pink. Fever damp, then starting to sweat bullets. They had to stand and he swayed a little into her; she tried to take some of his weight without it looking too obvious. All the ceremony he’d promised to guide her through he was half-a-step behind on, hazy like he was thinking through a fog. A few times she squeezed his arm, trying to find out if he wanted to leave, but every time he just shook his head.

Finally, the service ended and Jess dragged Sam out past the Priest who was politely wishing people a Merry Christmas and out the door. There was a tremor running through him. And he barely protested the manhandling, just let her pour him in to the passenger seat of her car.

“You should’ve let me get you out earlier if you were feeling this sick,” she said.

He was sitting with his head tipped right back, eyes shut, breathing shallow. “I didn’t feel that bad,” he said.

And maybe it wasn’t the bad, because he’d stopped sweating bullets by the time they got back to the apartment. An hour later his forehead didn’t feel warm, and he’d gotten his colour back. As he improved, though, he only seemed to get more withdrawn. Swapping illness for a shadow in his eyes. As much as Jess tried to get him to talk, he refused.

“Sorry for ruining Christmas,” he said, as they lay on the couch. More into her neck than to her face.

“You didn’t,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

He didn’t answer.

#supernatural #samjess #samjess fic #sam winchester #jessica moore #my fic #long post

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staticscreenwriting · 3 years

Text

LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES // 7

SEVEN - SERENDIPITY

Trigger warning: Alcohol, food

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

“Okay, that’s ridiculous!” Bucky mumbles around a spoonful of fruit loops.

“What is?”

“This,” he responds and points his now empty spoon accusingly at John Cusack. “This whole fate thing. The book, sure, might happen. But the dollar bill? Never!”

(Y/N) puts her empty bowl on the couch table, turning her body towards Bucky and sitting in a criss-cross style. “You telling me you don’t believe in fate and soulmates and that some people are destined to be together.”

“No,” Bucky retorts in a tone that implies it was a silly question to even ask him. “I am 106 years old. If those things were true you'd think I would've found my destined partner by now."

"Maybe you have" (Y/N) shrugs. "Maybe it's Leah. Have you called her anyway?"

Bucky looks down sheepishly into the colorful milk swirling through his bowl. "No."

“ What? Why not? “

“Because it hasn’t — oh I don't know. It just hasn’t felt right.”

He’d been debating on giving her a call many times, never actually going through with it. At first, it was for a fear of failure, rejection. Now though, Leah doesn’t cross his mind as much as before. His thoughts, he noticed recently, are occupied by another person. And it wouldn't be fair to Leah or himself to try and build something on shaky ground at best.

“ Dude, I’m educating you on romance and you are too afraid to call this girl? “

“ Educating me? You are forcing me to watch rom coms. “

“ Forcing you? “ (Y/N) gasps and dramatically slaps her hand to her chest right above where her heart is. “ Are you saying you’re not having fun? “

There’s a smirk on her face, tiny and barely there but he notices it anyway. He’s started noticing the small things. Like how her nose scrunches up when she smiles and how she twiddles with her fingers when she’s nervous.

“ If I didn’t have fun I wouldn’t be here. “ Bucky replies and bumps his leg against her knee. Truth be told, he’d be here anyway. Even if she’d make him watch the most boring movie in the entire world he’d stay right there with her. Sometimes the world doesn't seem so rough and ruthless when she’s there beside him. Sometimes he feels like he could genuinely be happy.

“ Good, “ (Y/N) responds and places a quick kiss on his cheek that very nearly gives him a heart attack. Soft touches are something she grants him every so often and while he is getting used to it, it’s still foreign. It’s something he enjoys quite a lot though.

“Anyway, soulmates finding their way back to each other despite all odds is such a rom-com stable. Like the kiss in the rain or the airport chase or the top-of-the-stairs-moment.”

“ The what ? “

(Y/N) scoffs at him as if she’s never been asked a more ridiculous question in her life.

“ The moment when the girl gets a makeover or she dresses up in some ballgown and her love interest waits at the bottom of the stairs for her and when he sees her he’s so enamored and enchanted by her and ideally there’s some cheesy 90s love song playing in the background. And she meets him at the bottom, walking in slow motion obviously, and they don’t kiss or anything but the looks they share are enough to let the audience know what they feel for one another.”

Her words are heavy with passion and longing and magic and for a second Bucky wishes, he could be the one to give her that moment.

“ But okay, grumpy. You go on not believing in soulmates. I’ll change your mind one day, trust me.”

He doesn’t doubt it for a second.

They sink back into their blissful calm as John Cusak and Kate Beckinsale reconnect on the ice rink in front of Rockefeller Center as an ocean of Christmas lights twinkles in the background.

“ I’ve never been ice skating there. Been living here for so many years now and that’s still something I’ve never done. “ (Y/N) pipes up, a longing swinging alone with her words. “ Have you? “

“ Mmmh. Used to take a lot of girls on dates there. “

“ Oh sorry, I forgot you were a big charmer back in the day. “

“ Saw the first-ever Christmas tree getting set up in 1933. '' he continues to say. Sometimes talking about the past makes him sad. It’s a time he will never be able to go back to. A man he will never be again.

But sometimes, like today, he’s able to recall little snippets of memories and remember how he felt in that exact moment. And those are worth all the pain that thinking about the future might bring.

“ That — is weird flex but actually really cool. “

Bucky doesn’t think of himself as cool. He’s a grumpy 106-year-old who is completely disillusioned with the world around him. If (Y/N) thinks so though, he’s not gonna try to change her mind.

She snuggles back into him, body leaning against the smooth vibranium arm. A part of him he never felt really belonged to himself. Something he had been given to kill, to defend, to fight. If something so dangerous can be a place of comfort to her, Maybe, he thinks, it’s not so bad after all. Maybe sometimes you just have to let go of the part and change your perspective of things.

For a while, they get lost in the movie, in the fictional love of two strangers. He remembers the romance novels his mothers used to read. The way she would get lost in them. Maybe to escape her own life for just a second and follow along with the stories and the people that seemed so much grander than her own existence as a housewife stuck in a life that seems too small to contain her in all her wonderful glory. His mother, Bucky always knew even at a young age, deserved more than she had been given. She was smart and funny and she loved her kids as much as a heart could love another. But her days were dull and her marriage was one of convenience more than anything. She had ideas, beautiful stories swirled around her head, and she’d tell them to him and his sister before she’d tuck them into bed. And yet that is where they stayed, in her mind and in her children's memories. She was never resentful though. She took things as they came and she made them beautiful.

He wonders sometimes, what would’ve come from her ideas if she had been given the chance to tell them to a bigger audience. She could’ve put those rom-coms to shame.

A knock on the front door startles (Y/N), making her get up from the couch and follow LAdy towards the entrance. There’s a definite lack of warmth where she used to be and Bucky feels himself missing her already.

“ It’s probably Robin, she left her favorite jacket here the other — mom? “

The air fills with a chaotic mix of several voices one speaking over the other while the charm on Lady’s collar underlines it all with a jingling sound like that of a small bell.

Before he can even think about how to react, (Y/N) steps back into the living room followed by two more people. A woman who looks like an older version of her and a man. They seem lost in conversation still, talking about their travel to NYC and the fact that the man, who Bucky assumes is (Y/N)’s father, refused to ask for directions.

That’s until their eyes fall on Bucky. The woman regards him with a gentle smile on her face, polite and warm as mothers usually are. The man though. There’s something in his eyes, in his demeanor, that changed once he set sight on Bucky and it doesn’t feel good. Bucky knows what it’s like to be recognized. People see him and then they see all the bodies left in his wake, all the blood on his hands, all the pain and the suffering and the —

“ Sergeant Barnes. “

They used to call him that in Wakanda, as a sign of respect, he believes. To make him realize that they do not see him as the thread he used to be but the man he once was. Other than that it’s been a long time since people referred to him as Sergeant Barnes. It’s a title he takes pride in, something he worked hard for. It also belongs to a man he isn’t anymore. Bucky isn’t sure he still earns it. Still owns it.

“ Uh — hello. “

“Dad, “ (Y/N) says and pushes past her parents to stand next to Bucky. Her hand rests on his arm as a sign of comfort and reassurance. He appreciates it very much. “ Mom. This is Bucky. “

“ I can’t believe it. “ her father exclaims, still not taking his eyes off of Bucky.

“ Dad. “

“ I can not believe it. I can’t believe you! “

There it is. Although Bucky has always been very aware that he wasn’t nearly worth (Y/N)’s time, having it thrown in his face hurts more than he likes to admit.

“ Dad … “

“ You know James Barnes, and you tell me nothing about it? (Y/N) I’ve — I’ve spent so much time researching this man revising all the information people before me have gathered and making sure his legacy and his place in Steve Rogers' life get acknowledged and now I’d have the chance to ask him personally and you — you keep it a secret from me? “

Wait … what ?

“ Bucky, “ (Y/N) says and looks up at him with her gorgeous eyes that never seem to fail at calming him down. “These are my parents and as you can tell, my dad’s a big fan of yours. “

The next few minutes are a chaos of handshakes and nice-to-meet-yous and hugs. Her mother hugs Bucky real tightly, the way mothers do when they know someone needs a hug. And she doesn’t flinch when she feels the metal arm. She just hugs him a little tighter.

“ Why are you guys here? “ (Y/N) asks as her father throws an arm around her shoulder

“ Well, you asked us to look after Lady while you’re gone. “ her mother replies as if it’s the obvious answer.

“ Yeah, but we don’t leave until Friday afternoon. It’s Thursday. “

“ That is truuuue. But dad and I thought we’d surprise you and take you out for a nice dinner since we won’t be spending Christmas together, we thought we could at least try to make up for it. “

(Y/N) shakes her head at her mother’s words. “ I told you guys, it’s not a big deal. You go enjoy your cruise. “

“ And we will but you’re our girl and we want to take you out for dinner. Give your old parents that much, will you” her father jokes and ruffles her hair as if she was just a little girl and maybe she is in that moment, wrapped in his arms.

“ I uh — Bucky and I had plans. “

“ What plans? “ her mother asks, eyebrows raised.

“ Watching movies. “

“ Oh, those aren’t plans. Go get dressed! “

“ And James will obviously come with us, “ her dad adds “ I am not done asking him questions. “

It’s not December yet but the restaurant is already decked out in Christmas lights and tastefully placed sparkly ornaments. The soft lull of Christmas carols being played on a piano flows through the room and Bucky is thankful to discover that while so much has changed, many of those songs have stayed the same. Maybe things aren’t all different right now. Maybe the fundamental things have stayed the same. Like the feeling of being with your family sitting by the tree, singing songs that have been passed down from your parents to you.

(Y/N) sits next to him, lips painted the exact same shade of red as her slouchy knit sweater. She looks so cozy and comfortable and soft and if he’s being really honest with himself, all he wants to do is hold her tight and get lost in her warmth. But this is good, as good as it can ever get, really. Sitting next to her, across from her parents who have been nothing but kind to him. They’re eating good food, drinking delicious drinks and her parents are sharing funny and slightly embarrassing stories about (Y/N). This is the first time he’s meeting anyone’s parents as the man he is now. And even back in the 40s things weren’t this calm and easy. If you went to meet a woman’s parents you better came prepared. This feels nice. Like he gets to be part of a family for just a teeny tiny moment.

“ So, how long have you guys been together? “ her mother asks around a fork of tiramisu. While Bucky only looks at her with wide eyes, (Y/N) almost chokes on her wine.

“ Mom, we’re — not. We’re friends. “

“ Oh,” her mother replies, looking unconvinced as her eyes move back and forth between (Y/N) and Bucky “ I guess I must’ve read that wrong. Shame, you would make adorable babies. “

“ Mom!”

Bucky’s sure his cheeks are the same color as her sweater and her lips and her fingernails. A beautiful bright red. Like a Santa’s hat.

“ I know, babe. You’re an independent woman who makes her own decisions and if you decide not to have babies that’s alright with us. As long as you are happy, so are we. Lady makes for a wonderful substitute grandchild. Just sayin’ if you were to have babies with Bucky they would turn out really cute. “

“ Okay, how about we stop talking about my imaginary potential future children, huh? You go tell me more about work, dad. How about that? “

As her dad starts talking about some history classes he teaches and the students, Bucky notices the change in (Y/N)’s demeanor. Her laid-back ease is gone. She keeps fidgeting with her hair and the rings on her hand. Without really thinking about it, like his body is working on autopilot, Bucky reaches out and grabs her hand under the table. It’s still weird, touching soft skin with his metal hand without the intention of inflicting pain. It’s nice though. It’s wonderful.

She doesn’t let go for a long time.

Restrooms in restaurants are places where time is slightly altered. You’re sheltered from the noises of the main room but they’re still faintly audible through the door. The clinking of glasses and cutlery, the laughter, and the voices as they flow together like waves in an ocean.

It feels like you get a break from the real world for just a moment. To catch yourself. To take a breath. To look at yourself in the mirror and decide your next steps as the music sounds from the overhead speakers in a duller version as if someone wrapped the lyrics in thick cotton padding.

(Y/N) washes her hands while looking at her reflection. Today’s a good day. It’s not going the way she has expected it but it’s a good day nonetheless. Bucky and her parents get along like a house on fire. It’s a nice feeling but it also makes her so acutely aware of all the what-ifs floating around her head and her heart. Would it feel like this if she and Bucky were more than friends? Would it feel this — right?

Before her mind can come up with an answer to her own question, the door to the restrooms swings open letting in a sliver of the noise outside. Her mother steps in and looks at her with that signature mom smile. Like she knows you better than you know yourself. And maybe that isn’t entirely wrong.

“ Your dad and I are going to take a cab to the hotel. We’ll come over to yours tomorrow before you leave. Is that okay? Bucky said he’d walk you home.”

Of course, he’d say that. He’s a gentleman. He’s Bucky.

“ Sure that’s fine. I’m glad you guys came a day early. I missed you. “

“ We missed you too, baby,” she responds and pulls (Y/N) into a hug.

“ Now tell me something,” she says and takes (Y/N)’s face in between her hands. “ You and Bucky. There’s something there. “

(Y/N) shakes free from her mother's touch and faces the mirror, leaning both hands against the marble sink. “ Mom, can you leave it. “

“ I see the way you guys look at each other. I — you haven’t been this happy in so long. He makes you happy. “

As she lifts her head and looks into her own eyes in the mirror, (Y/N) feels a flood of emotions wash over her. Emotions she’s tried so hard to suppress and others she wasn’t even aware were there in the first place. And it’s all comes crashing down pulling her under and spitting her back out.

“ So what if he makes me happy. We’re not gonna happen. I can not lose a friend and he can’t either. It would kill us both. “

“ Oh honey, “ she goes to pull (Y/N) into another hug but she just shakes her head in response.

“ No. No, mom. It’s okay. I’m okay with it being the way it is. “

“ Are you sure? “

Is she? (Y/N) looks back at herself. You think you know yourself and what you want and how you feel and then someone asks you, truthfully asks you if you’re sure. And you can only stare and wonder. Well, are you?

And sometimes it’s way easier to lie, to both the other person and yourself, than to really face your fears and your feelings and everything you do or don’t understand about yourself.

“ Yeah. I am sure. “

It’s true. New York City never seems to fully go to sleep. There’s always a light on somewhere, guiding you through the dark, guiding you home.

It doesn’t fully go to sleep but it slows down. The air gets heavier, the noise gets quieter.

(Y/N) and Bucky slowly make their way through the familiar streets of their neighborhood as the city lights and the stars fight over who gets to shine more brightly upon them.

It’s a chilly evening, winter is truly just around the corner, and the air feels pregnant with the promise of snow and yet (Y/N) feels a warmth course through her that is unlike any other. A warmth that can only be brought on by being with your loved ones.

“ It’s a lovely night,” she says as her heels create a clip-clap sound against the pavement.

Bucky has his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket and his ever-present scowl decorates his face and yet, even Bucky can’t deny that it is a lovely night. One with so much potential. For — for lovers.

“ It really is.”

“ If life was a movie, “ (Y/N) says “ this would be when we realized that we're in love"

Bucky only raises his eyebrow at her, pushing her to elaborate. And maybe it’s a bit selfish. Maybe he just wants to hear her entertain the thought of them two as something more for just a little bit longer. Even if it’s just pretend.

“ We’d get a montage of some quirky dates that we didn’t realize were dates. Then the camera would pan down on us tonight, walking underneath the stars, the city lights glowing around us. There’d be some piano music in the background to set the mood. We’d have a deep talk about our fears or messed up childhoods or the meaning of life. And then you’d make me laugh and I’d accidentally hold your hand. You’d drop me off at my door, think about kissing my lips but then end up kissing my forehead. Once you leave I’d lean against my door, sink down to my floor, and grin like a fool because that’s the moment I realize I am in love with you and the audience would sigh in relief because they knew all along. “

“ That sounds nice,” Bucky replies, eyes staring into the distance as he tries to picture it all, safe it as a mental snapshot to go back to in quiet moments.

“ Yeah, well what a shame life is not a movie and we’re not in love. What a waste of a lovely night. “

“ Guess it’s perfect for a couple, huh? “ Bucky has to agree with her.

“ Mmmh. Or at least someone not in heels, “ (Y/N) jokes looking down at her shoes.

“ You want me to find a couple? Gift our night to them ? “ Bucky asks as they continue their journey down the Brooklyn streets.

“ Absolutely not, sir! “ (Y/N) responds and links her arm with his as she pulls him along. “ I like our night. I want to keep it for ourselves. “

And so they continue their walk home. Words that want to be said, that need to be said, hang heavy in the air, and yet they both decide to stay quiet and just enjoy the silence and comfort of their lovely little night.

The door feels like mocking her as it comes into view, cutting their moment short, putting an end to this blissful night.

She doesn’t want it to end. Doesn’t want to go inside and quite literally close the door to all the possibilities this night seems to hold out to her. If she was just brave enough to reach out and grab them.

(Y/N) unlock the door and turns back around to face Bucky. Something seems to hang in the air right between them and that feeling only gets stronger as their eyes lock. For a moment all there is, is silence and an abundance of unspoken words. And a fear that comes with speaking them. Of messing something up. Of being vulnerable.

Bucky smiles at her then. She loves his smile. It’s so rare but it’s so beautiful to look at. It gives you the feeling of having done something right.

“ Thanks for today, “ he says as if there’s anything to thank her for.

“ For what? “

“ Letting me be a part of your family. Thought maybe you didn’t want your parents to know about me. Thanks for — not being ashamed of me or anything. “

“ Oh Bucky, “ she says and grabs his hand, “ You are my friend and I love you. I’d never be ashamed of you. If anything I’m a little embarrassed by the way my dad kept pestering you with questions. Uh — why are you looking at me like that. “

“ You love me? “ his voice comes out but a mere whisper and his eyes are wide in shock.

“ Yes. You’re my friend, I love you. Bucky when — when was the last time someone told you they love you? “ (Y/N) asks as her hand softly strokes the side of his face.

“ 1942 “

“ Well, guess I’ll have to keep reminding you then, make up for lost time. I love you, Bucky Barnes. “

She can’t even blink before she’s wrapped up in his arms. Despite what one would think, Bucky is always warm. Even the vibranium arm. Everything radiates warmth and comfort. She could stay here forever.

Slowly he pulls away, looks deep into her eyes, lowers his head, and places his lips against her forehead. “ I love you too. “

He smiles at her once more then leaves. And while she won't admit it to anyone, ever, (Y/N) goes inside, leans against her door, sinks to the floor, and doesn't even try to suppress the foolish smile spreading on her lips.

Robin’s laughter fills the halls of the beautiful Inn where just tomorrow she’ll say I do.

“ This was your doing! You scheming little shit.” (Y/N) grumbles from the corner of her mouth as she slides up to Robin.

“ It wasn’t, “ the red-haired girl laughs “ but I wish it was. It’s hilarious.“

Redstone Lodge is a beautiful Inn located in upstate New York. It looks out onto a lake and is surrounded by lots and lots of Christmas trees all year round. It’s made of bricks and big wooden panels. Very rustic and yet cozy and elegant. In the yard, there’s a huge tent with a wooden floor and a see-through roof. That’s where the reception will be held tomorrow.

Redstone Lodge has 35 rooms all of which have been distributed to the various guests. They’re beautiful rooms with nice decor and comfortable beds. Well — a bed. One. Singular.

“ This is like some fanfiction trope, Robin. There is only one bed? “

“ Look," Robin says and pulls (Y/N) closer “ if you want to switch, find someone to switch with. I’m sure someone is willing to. But I’m just saying that if you two are friends, shouldn’t you be able to sleep in a bed together and not make it weird? “

She has a point and she knows it and she also knows that (Y/N) knows it.

Huffing a breath of annoyance (Y/N) grumbles an “okay fine” before letting Robin be taken hostage by yet another overly excited aunt and returns to Bucky’s side as he stands on the front steps looking out into the vast area. It really is a beautiful place to get married.

“ Hey so uh — bad news is that this is the only room they have so we’ll have to share a bed. Good news is they got some movies to take up to the room and I found some really dope rom-coms. “

“It's okay, don't worry. I promise I won't hog the blanket,” Bucky says and nods his head into the direction of the lake “ wanna take a walk? “

“ Sure. Yeah, why not. “

In all honesty (Y/N) isn’t the biggest fan of walking around the woods with no particular destination in mind and yet she can’t help but feel a sense of happiness fill her as she links her arm with Bucky’s once again.

She realized a while ago that she tends to gravitate towards his left side. It isn’t a conscious decision but maybe it’s a good one nonetheless.

Maybe it’ll show him that every part of him is worth loving, even the ones he doesn’t love himself.

“ When was the last time you did something crazy? “

He doesn’t like the way those words sound tumbling from her lips. He does, however, like very much how her eyes sparkle in the light of the setting sun. Their walk had turned into a bit of a hike and by the time they’ve finally made it back to the lake, the sun is about to set. Everyone seems to have retreated back into the lodge, maybe to sit by the big cozy fireplace or up to their room with their several beds. More than one. plural.

Bucky doesn’t want to let go of their time together though. Not yet. Just a little bit longer. And if that means agreeing to one of her weird ideas, so be it.

"Uh well, I fought aliens a few months ago."

"Huh … well see that's not an answer I was prepared for I mean more like, when did you last do something stupid but fun?"

“Like dancing in the middle of a street or having a cake fight in a parking lot?”

“Yeah …. like that.”

She looks at him again with that mischief and that softness. Like a mix of all things that make you feel alive shine back at him from her eyes.

“Wanna go swimming?” (Y/N) asks and smirks at him.

“Now? It’s freezing.”

“ I know,” she replies and shrugs her shoulders “ and I know it’s silly and dumb and we’ll probably get sick but I kinda wanna do it anyway. Wait … can you get sick?”

“Huh?”

“Because of the serum.”

“You know, they didn’t exactly give me a manual when they injected it so — guess we’ll have to find out.”

“So you’re in?”

Bucky only nods his head in agreement. She doesn’t need to know that he’d agree to anything she suggests. Any little thing.

The woods around them are dark and thick and where they probably should be scary they are comforting now. They’re a shelter from the eyes of onlookers. A safe roof and walls to keep their little bubble safe and hold their moment tight and safe.

“Holy shit, it’s freezing!” (Y/N) hisses through clenched teeth as the water reaches up to her shoulders, the straps of her yellow bra the only colors shining through the dark night.

Don’t think about it. He has to tell himself. Don’t think about the fact that she’s only in her underwear. Don’t think about her soft skin and her smile and what her body feels like against yours. Don’t!

He doesn’t have to scold himself for too long before a cold splash of water hits him right in the face.

“Oh, you made a mistake” Bucky calls out to a laughing (Y/N) who tries her best to tread water and get as far away from him as possible but fails to do so, being wrapped up in his arms only seconds later.

For the next few minutes, they splash around like children at the neighborhood pool.

The cold of the night and the lake rattle their bones but neither of them seems to care as a familiar warmth wraps itself around their hearts.

It’s really fascinating how the little moments can become so meaningful. How one person can mean so much so quickly. How drastically your life can change just because of one single person and their kindness and their love.

“Oh-oh!” (Y/N) exclaims excitedly and lays little enthusiastic slaps on Bucky’s shoulder “let’s do the dirty dancing lift. You can lift me, right?”

“I have a vibranium arm…”

“Right. Yeah. Right.”

Bucky places his hands on her waist and pulls her a little closer, trying to ignore the incessant thumping of his heart that feels like it wants to break out of his chest. “Okay on 3.”

“One”

Her eyes look deep into his as if trying to search for something in them. Secrets. Hidden feelings. The truth.

“Two”

And when she smiles, almost shy, it seems for a second that she’s found whatever she’s been looking for. He hopes she likes the secret she uncovers. He hopes it doesn’t scare her off from loving him.

“Three”

In a swift motion, he lifts her up above his head, holding her strong and steady as drops of water, cold as ice, rain down on him while (Y/N) laughs and stretches out her arms.

“We did it! I’m flying, Jack!”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She retorts and lets out another laugh. Yeah, maybe he’s freezing his ass off but to hear her laugh like that, makes it all worth it.

He doesn’t let her fall over like they do in the movie, instead, he grips her waist tighter, slowly and gently lowers her back into the water. And when she’s back right in front of him, chest against his, he should be letting go of her, but he doesn’t.

While his head keeps screaming at him to just let go, his heart tells him otherwise, makes him stay right there.

(Y/N)’s arms move across his chest and gently wrap themselves around his neck before her fingers start to delicately play with his hair.

He wonders if any person has ever felt the way he does in that moment. He wonders if maybe a poet or a writer or a musician has and if maybe they wrote a poem or a book or a song about it. Maybe that would help him understand. Maybe he could read it or listen to it and keep this moment captured in that piece of art forever. Because he fears that no memory can ever do justice to the way he feels when she moves closer.

When her hand cups his face when her nose nuzzles against his so gently as if she’s afraid he’ll pull away any second.

It’s just them and their wildly beating hearts and the woods providing them shelter and the water setting the scene and the stars shining down upon them.

It’s just them — until it isn’t.

“(Y/N), Bucky? You guys out there?” Robin's voice calls out into the night as her silhouette appears against the light coming from the porch of the Inn.

“Yes, it’s us. We’ll be right in.” (Y/N) calls back, having moved away slightly. The spell is broken and Bucky lifts his hand off of her, immediately missing the contact.

“It’s freezing, we should probably go inside.” She says and grants him a smile, though it doesn’t entirely reach her eyes and he can faintly see her shivering.

“Yeah let’s go. Get you warmed up.”

They don’t talk about their moment as they head inside and get swallowed by the group of people all hyped up with excitement for the coming day.

Bucky is sure though that as long as there are stars in the sky, he will not forget this moment however fleeting and insignificant it might seem.

TAGLIST FORM (fill this out to be added)

Taglist // if you want to be added or taken off just message me :) //:

@zaynyierulez - @je-like-you - @dracoxxyoflam - @jackiehollanderr - @majo240820 - @kay-gilles - @booksb4looksstuff - @jckie94 - @charmed-asylum - @shawnie--jo - @yllwtaxi - @tailsoflightning - @giuliarogers - @mangoogirl - @gerim-1995 - @elen-alambil - @threeminutesoflife - @writeroutoftime - @buckybarn3s - @rosaline-black - @kenziekugler22 - @vghz82 - @frnkensteingrl - @lovefreylove - @cherryofdeath - @bluemoon-icecream - @mariusprincess-blog -

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x freader #james barnes x f!reader #james barnes x reader #James Barnes x female reader #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

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freakie-deakie · 3 years

Text

Lucas // How To: Kill an Idea

i have been really struggling with feeling numb lately and i super projected that onto this character. i really do apologize if it doesn’t make for the most interesting read. i may or may not end up rewriting this when i’m feeling better.

Warnings: emotional numbness and detachment

Masterlist

THIS IS PART 2!!! Read part one here: How To: Hurt My Feelings

Lucas x Reader (angst // 7.3k words); ft. stepbrother!Johnny

The way the lights reflected off the water brought only distant memories of the Han flowing through the city of Seoul and mirroring the life around it. The bustle of the city, the calm of the river banks. The things that you neighbored so long ago.

You could become so lost in the remnants of the past - that you would forget to lose yourself in the readiness of the moment.

You owed the Garonne. After tirelessly looking over you for months on end, you owed her your presence at the very least. How dare you look at her in all of her beauty and only think of another.

She smiled at you nonetheless. The Garonne sat with you one last night and told you how much she would miss you - how much all of Bordeaux would miss you. She told you that the stone buildings, the ones in the alleyway that you cut through every night as you return to your dorm, didn't know what they were going to do without you. She told you that the little birds that had nested outside of your window had practiced a sadder song to sing after you left. She swore that the lights in the city shone brighter than they ever had before when you landed and that they would fade upon your departure.

She made you promise that you would come back to see all of them: the buildings, the birds, and the lights. On your own accord, you promised you would come back to see her.

The Garonne waved you off that night, sending you to bed and wishing you a restful slumber and a safe flight in the morning.

Tired and stiff, you limp out of the terminal with your laptop clutched to your chest and a yawn escaping your lips. You mindlessly followed the crowd of other travelers to baggage claim and patiently waited for your suitcase to be sorted onto the conveyor belt.

"Pardon me, Mademoiselle," a familiar voice reached your ears, "I believe a poor boy has been waiting far too long to see you here."

You spun on your heel, a bright smile suddenly overtaking your features. "Lucas," you call quietly as you envelop him in a tight hug. You had barely moved for sixteen hours straight, but once in his arms, every desire for motion ceased. It seemed that he agreed, as he latched onto you and refused to let go.

"I missed you," he admitted before placing a kiss on the top of your head and moving to grab your bag off the belt.

"I missed you more," you answered softly.

He took your hand and kissed it before leading you through the airport and down to the parking garage where your brother was waiting, leaned up against his car, and dusting the cigarette ashes off of his sleeve.

"Hey there, Miss France," he says as he moves to envelop you in a hug of his own. "How was your flight?"

"It was fine," you answer simply. "Long, but fine."

"Well, you have an hour-long car trip to give us the highlights of France, if you're not too tired. We could stop by a late-night diner too if you're hungry."

You nodded along as you climbed into the car, enjoying the banter after your long trip. But as you rode in the passenger seat home (funny, you thought, that you still called it home), you took in things about the city that you never really appreciated.

The locals that ignored the do-not-cross signs, the billboards that were so shrouded in smog that you could barely read them, the stray cats that freely wandered the city like it was their own personal playground. All the things that you used to neighbor.

And when you got to the bridge that you'd longed to see since you left, the Han welcomed you home with as much love for you as it had six months ago. You made it a point to tell him about the Garonne sometime. You think he would enjoy hearing about her.

"The pastries," you say simply. "It was France; of course the pastries were the best."

Johnny dropped you back at your apartment and your boyfriend opted to stay the night, helping you settle back into the space that you could once again call your own.

Another tenant had contracted your apartment for the time you were away - there were a few more cuts and bruises than you remember leaving, but it was nothing you couldn't patch up. The bed wasn't where you had it, the shower knobs had been replaced, and an empty curtain rod rest stretched along your window seal.

"The stuff you left with us, it's still back at the frat," he chuckles awkwardly.

"That's okay." You offer him a small smile and plop down on one of the only four pieces of stand-alone furniture left in the space, the old black sofa in the same spot it's always been. "At least they didn't take my couch."

"Y/N, darling, I don't know if I would lay on that if I were you."

His words took a moment to register, but when they did your eyes shot open and you were out of your seat comically fast. "Oh God, ew..."

He laughed again and pressed a small kiss to your temple. "Let's take a shower and then we'll figure things out, okay? And you know, you don't have to sleep here tonight. There are no sheets on the bed or anything, so you can-"

You cut him off with a quick kiss and lead him to the bathroom, ready for a warm shower to take away all of your travel pains.

"Not really," you answered honestly, rolling your head to the side to look at your boyfriend. You'd been looking at his ceiling for a while, head resting on his thigh while he played with your hair. It felt nice, you thought, to get a chance to live in your memories - specifically the memories you had left with him here in his room, the ones that always waited for you while you were away. "All of my days in France were spent doing something or another. By myself, with the people that I met. So no, it never really got mundane. I didn't think that kind of life existed for anyone over the age of nine." You let out a small but heavy breath. "I guess I had to experience it for myself to understand."

Lucas doesn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he focuses on gently detangling a knot that his fingers had caught on. Your hair was longer now than it was.

"I'm happy for you," he reassures you. He doesn't quite know what he's reassuring, but he reassures you nonetheless.

"Lucas?" you ask softly.

"Hmm?" he responds, his gruff voice sounding tired.

"What would you have done if I didn't come back?" His finger stop working in your mess of locks and all of his attention is focused on dissecting what you just asked him.

"I don't know what answer you want me to give you," he says smally, glancing down at you before retraining his gaze on the ceiling, its texture nearly lost in the dark.

"There isn't a certain answer I want. I'm just curious."

"I don't understand the question," he almost interrupts, suddenly a bit tenser than he was only moments ago.

"I don't mean anything by it, Lucas. It's not a loaded question." Your soft voice is enough to lul his hand back to its comforting motions. "Would you have gone after me or would you have let me go?"

"I would have gone after you without a second thought. Definitely, I would have."

"I thought about staying you know."

There's a pause, a small silence of thought on both ends.

"Why didn't you," he asks with genuine curiosity.

"It wasn't home. You weren't there."

A wolf whistle follows you into the kitchen the next morning and you feel the need to suppress your groan.

"If I knew you were staying the night, I would have held a cup against the door."

"Oh, gross, Jaehyun," you sneer, turning to jab your elbow into the older boy's side.

"What? Not everyone gets to tour France." You can't help but dramatically roll your eyes and threaten him with a punch.

"Do you want a cup of coffee? I was about to put on a pot."

"Sure," he smiles gratefully. "And you can tell me about Bordeaux while we wait."

"Oh, it was beautiful," you think back as you prepare the grounds. "As the sun was setting, the sky would turn golden. If there were any clouds that evening, they would turn all different shades of pink. The lights over the water - words wouldn't do it justice."

Jaehyun chuckles before yawning out, "Well, that's a first."

"Jung Jaehyun, if you are trying to say that I talk too much-"

"That's not what I'm saying," he defends. "I mean you always have a way with words. It's your thing, ya' know. Words."

You hum, turning back to your task. "I guess I hadn't thought about it that way - at least not for a while."

The door to the kitchen swings open and another boy ungracefully stumbles into the kitchen. Haechan is clad in a plain T-shirt and dark shorts (if you could call them that). His hair is no longer silver; it's now a dusty brown, curling up into the picture of a sandstorm blowing about his head. He looked healthier, or maybe just more mature since you last saw him. He'd filled out a bit, and grown into those long limbs of his.

"Man, what's will all the commotion in here? It's Saturday and- Y/N?" The boy immediately perks up upon seeing you. "Oh my gosh, Y/N! You're back!" He hugs you and sits down at the island beside his older friend, suddenly as energetic as a child on Christmas morning. "Great, because I made a list of pranks we're gonna pull together. Jaehyun, since you're here, I guess you can help us too. Okay, first of all, we're gonna shove a bag of chocolate powder mix down the shower drain. I'd like to make sure that one gets Mark because he blamed me for breaking Johnny's lamp."

There were things you would have to readjust to in Korea. Things that you didn't think would catch you off guard, yet still managed to turn you around every now and again. The wet bath was one of them; you were going to miss your tub. You also suddenly found bowing a bit more strange than you originally had, as well as keeping personal space when you greeted someone altogether. Most prominently, the language barrier that you weren't so sure you'd ever really overcome in your first life in Korea.

Words were suddenly weird to you again. Ideas that could manifest themselves in one language but not another. At times, there were no proper parallels, nor were there ways in which to express everything going on inside your head.

Though you tried your hardest, what little French you learned simply wouldn't translate properly to English, or the English wouldn't translate to Korean, or the Korean to French, or the French to Korean, or the Korean to the English. The words just never came out the way you wanted them to, and in a way, it was like a piece of you fell away from the rest, lost somewhere between all of your different lives.

Lucas noticed how much quieter you seemed since you'd returned.

You made it a point to generally avoid contact with everyone while you were away. You occasionally checked in with them to let them know that you were alive, but other than that had kept your space. You became more dedicated to learning about yourself and how to care for your well-being. You began making decisions of your own, from what you would eat every night and how early you would wake up every morning to what debacles were worth your time and energy. You decided that most of them weren't. You decided that pondering your life was taking years off of it, and that you didn't like to eat snails. You decided that you weren't so bad after all, and for that matter, no one else was either. You decided to live.

"Hey, can I see something on your Instagram real quick?" you asked softly, setting your bowl of fancy ramen on the coffee table in front of you. "I think one of my friends just had a baby and I wanted to see if she's posted any pictures yet."

Without giving it much thought, Lucas hands you his phone and turns back to his meal. "What happened to your Instagram?" he questioned.

"Deleted it," you quip, pulling up your friend's account. He hears you coo before you shove the device back into his hands, urging him to look at the baby. He thought the child, redfaced and wet, looked like an alien, though he'd never tell you that.

"Why'd you delete it?" he pursues.

You simply shrug and cover more of your legs with the blanket that rested on the both of you. "Didn't need it." He gives you an unsatisfied groan, but you can't think of a better answer. It was simple - while you took plenty of photos to document your life, you no longer found it necessary to post them.

"Okay," he tries, "what about your Kakao Story?"

"Deleted."

"So you no longer use Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Skype, Instagram, or Kakao Story? What if someone needs to contact you?"

"I still have Kakao and Discord."

"Okay, what about my posts? Or your other friends'?"

"If they have something to tell me, they will," you sip your hot tea and lean into his side.

"It’s like she doesn't want to talk to me. She doesn't want to talk to anyone," groans Lucas as he sprawls out on Mark's bed. "She doesn't talk nearly as much as she used to."

Mark's hand didn't stop relaying notes to his journal as he talked with Lucas, translating as many of his lyrical ideas onto paper as he could keep up with.

"She's not the same person she used to be, Lucas."

Lucas had trouble making sense of it, why Mark sounded so sure about that. It almost hurt his pride that one of his roommates was telling him something about you, his girlfriend.

"Who is?" Lucas rubs his eyes. "We've all grown up since then."

Mark's hand halts. "Since then?"

"Since-" he sighs. "Ya' know, since... Since we..."

"Don't hurt yourself," Mark chuckles. "Maybe," he offers, "this chapter of your life is written in a different style. Did you even notice? That your life hasn't been going the same since she got back?"

"Of course it's not the same," the elder defends. "It's infinitely better."

"Spare me. Look, I'm just saying, the less she talks, the more dialog you're putting in your own book. And I think it's better this way. I mean, I can't tell you how to write your life, but I can honestly say I think you're doing better now than you were before. You started using your words instead of acting on impulse. That's not easy, man. Words are hard."

Words: your staple, your foundation, your life. They were your nothing anymore.

And Lucas didn't know how to understand.

He tried not to take it personally, but soon you fell into almost complete silence both with him and his friends. When you joined them for a Smash Bros competition, you didn't exclaim your victories nor mourn your defeats. When you dressed, you didn't ask for his opinions on the color of your lipstick nor the type of heel you should wear. When you laid in bed with him and watched his fan turn above your heads, you refused to humor his desire to hear your voice. And he took the fault upon himself.

He felt guilty asking anything of you anymore because you never opened your mouth to ask for favors in return.

"Y/N, will you come cuddle with me?" he calls with as much endearment as he can shove into his tone.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

You hadn't watched the news in months, and he knew that. You, ever the stickler for meaningful conversation, had devoted large portions of your time to staying up to date before. As of late, however, you preferred "to watch the world crash and burn around you from a first-person point-of-view rather than a third-person point-of-view."

He hoped that sitting you down to watch the news for a while would spark a fire in your opinionated soul. So imagine his reaction when you crawled into his arms and fell asleep, paying absolutely no mind to the colors or words on the screen.

His next plan was to plant your favorite novel in the hands of your favorite philosopher.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

He shoved the book into Doyoung's hands with a stern "fix her." Needless to say, Doyoung had the book read within a couple of days and Lucas invited you over as soon as his friend flipped through the pages for the final time.

"A piece of modern art," he suggests. "A sorrow lost to the sands of time and a meaning forgotten by society."

Lucas watches in amazement as you sit and nod along to everything that Doyoung says. You didn't interject your ideas even once. You just listened.

He was running out of ideas. So his last plot was his last hope that there may be a bit of yourself left inside of you. He would take you on a date - the best date you've ever been on - and thrust so much happiness and gratefulness onto you that you wouldn't be able to contain it so silently. He knew it was a dirty trick, but how else was he to make sure that you were okay if you would no longer tell him anything about yourself.

This was for your own good, he reminded himself.

Really, he should have asked you out first, before he came barging into your apartment (tidier than he'd ever seen it before and reeking of cleaner) with a bundle of flowers and demanding your attention for the evening.

Surprise.

He was about to push open the door to your bedroom when he heard a soft sniffle from inside. His eyes widened and his shoulders fell. His heart broke when he heard a small sob fall from your lips.

He peeked inside. It was dark, mind the laptop that sat on your desk and illuminating your shaking form. You laid your head on one arm and used your other hand to rake through your stringy hair. Your glasses had been tossed to the shadowy void and your cheeks were wet and sticky.

The header of your philosophy paper stared you down as you unraveled before it. The rest of the blank page was absolutely daunting. Your acceptance of the world around you had drained away your ability to have a coherent cognitive thought about it, forget about writing one.

To some extent, you missed the days when you were confident in your ability to build empires out of words. Now, you couldn't even build a ten-page paper, especially not by 11:59 pm that night.

To a greater extreme, you couldn't understand why you would want to return to your opinionated ways or your charismatic skills that abused fact until it bent to your will. What purpose did fact or, more importantly, idea have anymore, other than to aid your ability to charm others to abide by your purpose?

It felt wrong to write a definitive philosophical thesis, especially when you couldn't bring yourself to definitively believe in anything particular.

"Y/N," you jumped at the sound of your own name and quickly wiped your cheeks with the back of your sleeves, sitting up straighter and making yourself more presentable before you turned around to face him. Lucas saw it all. He watched you put your mask back on right before his eyes, and he realized that you were hurting in ways that he couldn't see until now.

"Lucas," you cursed your shaky voice. "What's up? Why are you here?"

He takes a few quiet steps until he's standing before you and kneels to look into your eyes. There are things that he wants to say, 'you're scaring me' being the most prominent, but he knows he should choose his words more carefully.

"I want to know what's going on. I want to help." He slips his hands into your own and rests them on your knees.

"I just don't think you can," you answer simply.

"Can you tell me what's the matter?"

You shake your head and the tears come rushing back to your eyes. "I don't know what's the matter." It's honest. You don't know why your head can't wrap around your assignments, or your conversations, or your own thoughts as of late.

All that time spent with yourself taught you how to understand yourself and your own needs. You feel that you have exchanged your understanding of the world around you for a simpler version of life. Did that make you selfish? You didn't know.

All Lucas could do was watch you as you fell back into your frustrations. It didn't take long before your brows were knitted back together, your nose was running, and your eyes had glazed over as you retreated back inside of yourself.

"Y/N," he softly called. Your eyes only met his for a second before they were cast somewhere else and your attention ran away from you once again.

"I think," you started, unsure of every word that slipped past your lips. "I think you should go."

You didn't know how to explain to him that you were afraid of what he might think of you at that moment, or that you didn't want to hurt his feelings any more than you guessed you already had.

"I don't want to go. I'm tired of leaving you alone." He stood, gently pulling you to stand with him, and led you to the edge of your bed with a delicate touch. "You don't have to sleep. You don't have to talk. Just lay here with me for a little while and let me be close to you."

"You know," Lucas started as he tossed the noodles in the pan. He'd tucked you into the couch earlier that evening and told you to forget the paper you'd been stressing over. You happily complied. "I don't know how to say this any better." You listened keenly as you pulled a throw pillow into your lap and wrapped yourself around it. "I know that this is probably the last thing you want to talk about, but I did something very wrong to you. I'm still sorry, and I hope you know that. But..." He cast you a quick glance over his shoulder before reaching for the seasoning in your pantry. "I don't think I ever gave you the chance to yell at me. Or like, to be mad at me - ya' know?"

You thought for a moment, front teeth chewing on your thumbnail before you shook your head softly and answered, "I don't want to yell at you. I don't want to be mad at you."

You heard a repressed sound of discouragement before looking to see him dishing your dinner plates. "I wish you would. I wish you would yell at me and tell me what I did was wrong. I wish you would be angry with me for a little while. I wish you would just tell me something about how you feel about it."

He handed you your plate and watched as you ran back inside of your own head. He watched your eyes glaze over as you replayed his words, and yet you made sense of almost none of them. You didn't understand what he was asking of you.

You toyed with your food as you tried to process his request. You didn't even notice when he took his seat beside you, nor did you notice the burning gaze he watched you with.

"Y/N," he called, shaking you out of your trance. "I want you to yell at me." You looked at him like a deer caught in headlights - big black eyes staring down a deadly light. "How did you feel when it happened? Shout something horrific at me about what was going through your head at the time."

You took a small bite and swallowed, training your eyes on the coffee table before you. "I don't remember."

You looked so small, so helpless, and so distant. You were there, right next to him, and yet you were so far away. He was having trouble finding you.

"Yell. Break something. For fuck's sake, please."

The more pressure he applied, the further you seemed to slip away. Before he knew it, you were gone.

"That's not her anymore." He found himself on Mark's bed once again, tucked into the younger boy's covers and pouring out his heart. "She's not all there. She just looks so empty now."

"Dude, I don't know why you come to me for this sort of thing. It's not like I'm just great with girls," the younger quips from his desk chair. "And Johnny would know more about her than I would-"

"No. He absolutely cannot know that I broke his sister."

Mark hummed in thought for a moment before he laid his pen down in his textbook and turned his full body to his friend. "Lucas, be honest with me about something." Lucas nodded. "Did you see anyone else while she was in France?"

Lucas shook his head as he took in his friend's words carefully. He had no right to be mad at the accusation, so he kept his temper in check until a particularly vile thought trotted across his mind. He sat up immediately. "Oh God, do you think that she did? Do you think she considered it a break and she slept with someone else?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying- hey- Lucas, stop." Lucas was already to his feet and out the door before he could finish. "So not my fault," he grumbled to himself.

Finally, it all made sense to him. You couldn't be mad at him if you were also guilty. You couldn't yell at him for committing a sin you'd also committed. He was going to redress the scale. He was going to make you the word again. He was going to be the action.

The solid thuds against your wooden door made you jump up from your floor. Adrenaline spread through your fingertips and you took a step back towards your bedroom.

"We need to talk."

Lucas sounded angry. You pushed and pulled with your memory, but found no trace of experiencing this feeling before: fear of him. You moved against your gut to let him in. You barely opened the door before he pushed his way inside, rattling off accusation after accusation.

"Did you think we were on a break? Because we weren't on a break."

You just listened.

"Did you just forget about me while you were there? Did you just ignore the fact that I was waiting for you? I was stuck here, waiting for you every day while you were in France."

You didn't speak.

"So you just got to do whatever you wanted while I had to sulk here? You just couldn't control yourself, huh? Do you know how hard it was to keep control of myself while you were gone?"

'It was hard?' you thought.

"How about we take another break then? How about this time, I get to sleep with whoever I want? Well? Aren't you even going to open your mouth to defend yourself?"

You didn't.

"Am I wrong?" He prompted. "I didn't think so. Now we're on a break. Now you can fuck around with whoever you want."

Shocked couldn't begin to describe the state he left you in. You stood there, clambering for answers as to what could have sent him on a warpath to your apartment in the first place. His seemingly unprompted fit of jealous rage couldn't really have been sparked without a cause, you figured.

Maybe he'd seen pictures of you with your male friends in France. Maybe a rumor had been spread about you. Maybe he was just tired of you and feeding himself a rotten narrative as an excuse to break up with you.

You didn't want to know. You opted to rather accept his decision, and all of your own emotions that came flooding back with it.

"Hey man, have you talked to Y/N lately? She took one of my classes last year, and I wanted to see if I could get her notes before semester tests." Haechan asks his elder who lay sprawled on the couch.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p.'

"What?" Haechan asked, looking up from his phone. "What do you mean you haven't talked to her?"

Lucas lazily yawned and reached for his soda can beside him. "It's not like she's my girlfriend or something. I'm not her keeper."

"Shit, Lucas, you didn't," Mark groaned, rubbing his temple.

"No, you were right. She was sleeping with other guys while she was in France. She didn't even try to deny it."

"Hang on, I never said that. You conjured that one up all on your own, buddy."

Haechan frowned as his frat members debated. He was focused on a much bigger issue at large.

"When did you break up with her?" he asks cautiously.

"Hey, we're just on a break. Don't go getting any ideas-"

"Jesus fuck, can your ego get any bigger?" Lucas crossed his arms and refocused his attention on the television, jaw clenched tightly. "You're so annoying," Haechan mumbled under his breath, already moving towards the door and shooting your brother a message telling him to meet in front of your apartment.

"Damn, you got called annoying by Haechan. How does that feel?"

"Can it, Lee."

You could feel it all, the swarm of emotions swirling and twirling around inside your chest, and yet you couldn't begin to name any of them. All you knew was that it hurt and you wanted it to stop.

You laid in your bed and watched your ceiling fondly. You liked how it didn't move. You didn't struggle to keep up with it. And it was dependable; it would always be there.

You didn't move when the knock at your front door finally registered in your ears; you were tired of playing doorman in your own residence.

You were just tired actually.

"Y/N," Johnny called, lightly pushing open the door to your bedroom. A strong sense of deja vu winded you. You knew this scene, you'd lived it before. "It's me and Haechan. I'm sorry we didn't call first." You didn't know how they managed to get inside, nor did you care. You just wanted to sleep.

Johnny took a seat next to you on the side of your bed. He brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes in an attempt to capture your attention. That's when the smell hit you. The heavy stench of cigarettes washed over all of your senses causing you to retract from his touch. He looked shaken at first, scared that he might have hurt you.

"You didn’t smoke before," you recalled. It was almost a feat in and of itself to remember the bitter past, but the small victory was stifled by the thick, wet air of the bitter present.

His eyes softened before he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack he'd bought just a few days before. "I started a few months ago while you were away. I knew you wouldn't be happy about it."

"I don't care," you answered promptly before slowly pulling yourself to sit up against your headboard.

Haechan watched from the doorway. He wondered if he'd ever seen someone in this state before, or if he ever would again. He looked at you and almost failed to see the human being in front of him. He watched you move like a frightened animal, stiff and weary. He watched your untrained gaze flicker between your brother and your brother's outstretched hand.

This couldn't have just been the work of Lucas, he concluded. There were more deeply rooted implications here. There was an unresolved issue before your idiot boyfriend played to his own role.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't know," you answered honestly.

Johnny looked to Haechan for support, but the younger could offer only his presence in this situation.

"That's okay," your brother soothed. "Haechan," he turned to your mutual friend, "can you call Ten and Yuta and see if they've, uh, noticed anything weird lately about..." He gestured to you. Haechan excused himself to place the calls. "Food? Food always helps, right?" he tried with a dry chuckle. You paid absolutely no mind to him.

"I can't take this," Ten muttered to himself, excusing himself from your bedroom. Five boys had soon found themselves huddled in your doorway, watching your every move intently as you resisted every attempt your brother made to move you.

You felt like a lab rat, being looked at from all angles as Johnny poked and prodded to see what would make you tick. It felt humiliating.

"Let's just go for a drive," he tried again, gently pulling your arms away from your chest and trying to guide you out of bed.

"No," you answered again, pulling yourself away from him and settling further back into your bed.

"Maybe we should just let her be for tonight," Jaehyun suggested, moving to stand beside your brother whose head was fallen in defeat.

"I can't just leave her like this, Jae. I still don't understand what's going on."

"Just give her some space," Jaehyun tried again. "This clearly isn't very effective."

Johnny sighed but ended up in compliance as everyone except for Jungwoo moved to your living room. They quietly deliberated as Jungwoo read allowed one of your favorite novels from the end of your bed, hoping against all hope that it would in some way bring you back from the void in which your mind seemed to currently reside.

"Honestly, we had planned to just come and cheer her up," Haechan had said. "We didn't know we'd find her like this. But I can't say it really surprised me, she's been off for months now."

"I thought something seemed weird. She hasn't said much to me in a while."

"Me either."

"Yeah, same."

Everyone generally agreed with Ten's statement.

"Do you guys think something happened in France?" Jaehyun suggests.

"Or maybe things haven't been going so well between her and Lucas for a while?" Yuta offers.

"Everything just feels like it's spinning," you said, cutting off Jungwoo's reading of Mary Shelley's finest work. He was just happy to have heard you say anything at all. "Everything is going so fast around me. I just wanna take a nap, sleep for a while." As you relayed your simple disposition, you found yourself moving to lay on your side, plenty warm but unwilling to relinquish your comforter. "I don't feel like I belong here, so I'm going to sleep instead."

Jungwoo set the book to the side and laid himself down at the end of your bed. "I don't feel like I belong here sometimes either," he relates.

"But you do," you say, looking over his features and seeing every sharp and jagged curve for the first time.

"You do too," he promises.

Hours of hushed worries bled into the night, and you awoke alone in your apartment in the morning. You had no initial intention of getting out of bed. It was the hardcover copy of Frankenstein standing upright on your bedside table that stirred your aching joints into motion.

Then you remembered.

How could you ever even forget?

The Han River smiled when you arrived, taking a seat on his bank. He asked you why you'd been such an unfamiliar face as of late, to which you had no reply. He thanked you for coming to visit him nonetheless and told you about how much Seoul had missed you while you were away. He told you about the alley cats and how they missed the treats you would occasionally leave for them on your way to classes. He told you about how much the sky cried about you spending spring away. He told you that the city lights drowned out the stars while you were gone, but let them peak back into the city when you returned.

You had no beating heart to pour out into his water, so instead, you gave him your soul. The Han understood and sat with you until you bore no more faults on which to complain. He told you he missed you. You told him that you missed him too. You told him about the Garonne and how much you thought he would like her. Then he sent you off into the afternoon bustle of the city with a watchful eye.

You wondered the streets for a while. Not a penny in your pocket, and still you found so many little joys in all the cracks and crevices of Seoul. You pet the stray cats; they'd always been particularly fond of you. You walked around an antique shop making wild guesses about the past lives of every item in sight. You climbed a tree in the park without a damn to spare the onlookers. By sunset, your feet had taken you back to your campus and directly to the front door of your apartment.

"How about some tea?" you ask yourself as you push the door open, not half expecting to be ambushed by a group of concerned young men demanding to know where you were.

"Would you all like some tea too?"

It was still a struggle to hear your voice most of the time, but visible relief settled over those who'd seen you cowering from your brother in your bedroom only days prior. They all continued to check in on you frequently, as they still had difficulties coaxing you away from your apartment.

"Lucas," Johnny had finally caught him lurking in the kitchen around midnight. He was beginning to grow irritable with how troublesome he had become to locate.

Lucas froze, cup ramen clasped in one hand with chopsticks in the other. Busted like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Look, I'm sorry about your sister," he started without really knowing where he was going. "I know that I kinda jumped the gun-"

"I don't want to fight with you again," the elder said. He had kept his calm since the situation had arisen. The last time you and your boyfriend had a falling out, all hell broke loose in their dorms. He had landed a good solid punch on the more-than-deserving idiot and held the belief that he probably deserved a few more. However, he'd rather not have everyone in a frenzy once more, turning against one another. "I just need you to tell me what was going on before you left."

Lucas's shoulders slump and he sets his late-night meal on the countertop. "I was just so frustrated. She always let me into her head before - but when she came back, she just stopped talking to me. She shut me out," he relayed. "I tried everything I could think of. I tried to make her really happy, I tried to make her really mad. She wouldn't talk to me."

"She won't talk to me either," Johnny said, resting a reassuring hand on Lucas's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he responds, taking some measure of the blame upon himself. He felt that maybe if he'd had more patience with you, he could have helped you to get better. Now you were detaching yourself from not only him but your other friends and family as well. "Do you think she would want to see me?"

Your brother shrugged but a small smirk played on his lips. "I dunno. Maybe you should go find out tomorrow."

Needless to say, Lucas felt displaced and burdened by heavy guilt as he stood in your doorway, looking down on your fragile body. The last time he came knocking on your door in the most awful hours of the morning, he begged and cried on his knees for you not to leave him. He felt himself resist the urge to fall to the ground and repeat his mantra of pleas.

You didn't ask him why he was there so early in the morning, nor did you ask him if he wanted to come in. Your stare made his skin feel cold. He cleared his throat to dispel some of the awkward tension that he felt clawing at his airways.

"Can I come in?" Without a word, you moved to the side. "Thank you. Were you asleep?"

"No," you say simply, trailing behind him as he steps into your kitchen.

He lets out a low chuckle as he glances around the room. It looked so surprisingly unhomely and clean. Not a single dish in the sink, nor a potted plant out of place. "I keep messing up pretty badly, don't I?"

He hated the empty way you looked at him. It was as if you didn't know him. It was as if you had just let a complete stranger into your apartment.

"I don't understand, and I'm really trying to. I know that you know that things have changed since you got back. I don't know what that means yet, but I do know that I still love you. And that I'm stupid. I know that too."

You hummed along, a thoughtful expression overtaking your blank features.

"And I know that I’m sorry. I let a stupid idea get into my head and I let it hurt my own feelings. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Please don't leave me."

You didn't offer an answer, instead opening your arms and inviting him back into your embrace. He placed a small kiss on your lips, something he felt like he hadn't done in ages, and wrapped himself around you in an effort to keep you by his side forever.

"Are you happy here in Seoul?" your boyfriend asked, picking at the grass in front of his crossed legs. He looked at you as you looked down at the water. "I mean, I know you don't want to go back to (country), and I have a feeling that you don't exactly want to go live with my family in China. But like, would you rather be in Bordeaux? Or would you rather stay here?"

"I don't know." He hummed and waited for you to elaborate, but you made no real effort to.

"I know that we're still young and we don't have to make any decisions about where we want to live yet," he cooed, looking up to watch the sun set behind the large city towers, "but would you stay here in Seoul with me for a little while?"

You nodded, reaching over to take his hand in your own before pulling him to lay in the grass with you.

"You know, you're not the same person that you were before you left. I've realized that," he said with a sad smile as he looked over at you and placed a small kiss on your chin, pulling a small giggle from your lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I can't wait to get to know you again."

76 notes · View notes

itcameuponamidnightqueer · 3 years

Note

fake dating 10, any pairing you want

damie + “please just hold my hand, that person’s basically undressing me with their eyes.”

trope prompts

It’s not that Jamie doesn’t want to be at this school function, it’s just that—

No, that’s a lie. She definitely doesn’t want to be here, and wouldn’t if she weren’t part of the staff. Wouldn’t be here if Dani hadn’t tricked her, really, because Jamie’s usually pretty good about saying no even at work.

“Rebecca’s back from traveling,” Dani had tried, and Jamie said no because who knows how long that’ll last.

“Owen said he’s gonna ask Hannah out,” she’d tried next, and Jamie had actually laughed in her face.

“Someone is actually going to have to physically force those two together,” she’d replied, and Dani’s eyes lit up, prompting her with a quirk of an eyebrow.

In no world does Jamie want to be that person.

Dani had sighed. “Free booze,” she’d grumbled, desperate. Jamie had rolled her eyes and opened the door to her well-stocked liquor cabinet.

Dani had pursed her lips together and turned her face away, almost quick enough for Jamie to miss the grin she was failing to suppress.

If Jamie weren’t constantly on the lookout for that smile, she might have succeeded.

Dani had sighed again, raked a hand through her fluffy, perfect hair, and flopped back on the couch.

“Okay, fine,” she huffed. “You win, don’t come, we’ll hang out over the weekend and I’ll just tell you all about how lonely I was at the party—my first party without Eddie, which everyone will probably be asking me about and I’ll have to field awkward questions all night—”

Jamie scoffed. “And you think I’m going to magically make them not be awkward?”

“No,” Dani answered, a little too quickly. “I think you’d glare at them so hard they wouldn’t even ask me in the first place.”

“I think I’ve just been insulted!”

“No,” Dani laughed, “you just have that whole—” She scrunched her eyebrows together and set her shoulders, curled her lip upwards into an unmistakable hint of a sneer. Her voice, when she spoke, was half an octave lower and at least six countries away from Jamie’s accent. “—’Don’t fuck wiv’ me’ vibe going on,” she finished.

Jamie had taken a few long moments to blink away the urge to kiss her.

“You’ve gotten worse,” she’d finally said. “Almost a year and a half working together and you’ve gotten worse.”

“Come to the party and you can spend the whole time teaching me.”

“Dani.”

“Jamie.”

Her eyes weren’t wide anymore; they’d shrunk back to being shy and vulnerable, the stormy kind of blue that Jamie didn’t ever see unless they were alone. Jamie had spent the better part of a year not acknowledging her feelings for Dani, and she was good at it. Not always good enough to escape Hannah’s shrewd gaze, but enough to where it was a genuine friendship, and she only felt the roar of devotion flare up in the quietest, most private of moments.

Jamie was excellent at controlling her emotions. She’d spent an entire lifetime honing that skill, protecting herself from the surprisingly large amount of people who seemed destined to hurt her.

Jamie had nothing on Dani Clayton.

Dani could suppress any negative feeling until it almost ceased to exist; she had an incredible way of just...willing things not to happen. It had taken months for her to reveal the cracks in her relationship with Eddie, and even then Jamie sat by and watched, completely blown away, by how quickly and how sincerely Dani put the mask back up around people who only wanted to see silk and porcelain. The crazy thing about it was that Dani meant it; Dani gave all of her attention to everyone who asked for it. She didn’t have an insincere bone in her body.

But, god—Jamie’s life had been shit before, and still nothing made her sadder than watching Dani perform.

If all it took for her not to do that was one party, well, she could table the rest of it for later.

She’d picked up her phone and opened up the group chat they had with Hannah, Owen, and Rebecca.

“Right,” she’d groaned, “guess we’ve gotta coordinate who’s driving because the only way I’m getting through this is if I’m very, very drunk.”

And so Jamie finds herself at the not-yet-Christmas, ambiguously-winter end-of-semester party, sticking to Rebecca like a leech while she regales groups of coworkers with the same six stories of her very impulsive, wildly successful trip around the world. Dani, meanwhile, hasn’t been answering any awkward questions, from what Jamie’s heard, and is instead relaxed and popular as she chats with all of their friends.

Jamie almost turned around ten minutes in, once it became clear what the tone of the night would be. But there was no sense in bailing when she was already there and hadn’t driven herself, and—

Who would be there for Dani to look at, every twenty minutes or so, just for reassurance or to check in or whatever kind of comfort she might be seeking. (Jamie doesn’t know for sure what it is. She knows what she hopes it is. But that’s something else for the ‘later’ bag.)

She stays. Jamie stays and drinks and laughs and eventually gets sucked into the party of it all, which is why she’s five minutes into her best story of youthful shenanigans that didn’t end in a visit from the cops, and absolutely doesn’t notice the anxious blonde rushing at her from across the room.

“Hold my hand, hold my hand, hold my hand,” Dani urges, arm outstretched as she speeds closer. She hits Jamie’s elbow when she gets close enough and finally manages to wrestle Jamie’s hand into an iron grip.

Jamie, sufficiently interrupted, stops talking and looks down. “What’s going on here, then?”

Dani takes a deep breath and plasters on the worst attempt at a smile Jamie’s ever seen, which is still pretty good by most peoples’ standards. “Remember all those awkward questions I thought I’d get about Eddie?” she says through clenched teeth.

“Yep.”

“Thought they’d be full of pity, not flirting.”

Jamie’s head shoots up, trying to pick out the offenders, but Dani slaps her elbow again.

“Don’t look!” she hisses. “We have to make this convincing.”

“Make what convincing?” Jamie narrows her eyes and takes a long sip of her drink. “You’re pulling me into some kind of scheme, Poppins, and I know I’ve told you what happened the last time somebody did that…”

Dani laughs, high and fluttery and nervous in the back of her throat. “Please just hold my hand,” she implores. “Nathan is basically undressing me with his eyes but I think you can scare him off if he sees us together.”

“Nathan?” Jamie starts to scan the room again, a little less obviously this time. “Nathan Ford, the school’s sluttiest social studies teacher?”

“Mhm.”

“The same Nathan Ford who’s walking over right now?”

“What!” Dani straightens up, rigid and spooked like a deer in the road. “I can’t believe—I was so careful; is he stalking me?”

The anxiety is short-lived and replaced very quickly with anger once Jamie can no longer hold in her laughter.

“You,” Dani says, prying Jamie’s drink from her other hand, “tricked me.”

“You tricked me first,” Jamie winks.

“I don’t even think he’s in here anymore.”

Jamie shrugs. “Probably not.”

“You made me think I was in so much trouble…”

“You’re always safe with me, Poppins.”

Dani finishes the drink.

The funny thing is, neither of them lets go.

Nathan Ford isn’t the only slutty teacher and it doesn’t take Jamie long to get a glimpse of what Dani’s been dealing with, the men—single and married—who look at her just a little too long, a little too presumptuously. Dani, of course, handles it with grace and charm, and Jamie thinks that maybe she didn’t need her grumpy buffer after all.

She holds tight anyway, just in case.

It’s a dangerous thing to do, parade a fake relationship in front of all of their coworkers, but it doesn’t feel wrong or forced. They’re going on a break soon, Jamie rationalizes. School is going on a two-week break and everyone is drunk and no one is going to remember the scandal of the fourth grade teacher clinging all night to the newest member of the art department. If they do...well, everything can be laughed off or pushed down or forgotten eventually.

So they cling and they talk and Jamie expertly lets every too-interested man know, with absolute certainty, that their efforts should be directed elsewhere. She tickles her fingers against Dani’s, throws in a few isn’t that right, love’s every once in a while, rubs a hand on her back when the moment feels right. And Dani—

Dani invades her space—presses their shoulders together, scratches at the inside of Jamie’s wrist, wipes a stray bit of liquor from the side of her mouth after an untidy sip. Jamie feels all of this and lets it wash over her, lets it sink under her skin and warm her body until she feels like she could start a fire with her hands.

The night winds down and people filter out and eventually there isn’t anyone left to fool. But Dani’s hand is still in hers and Jamie is more than happy to be slow and soft with her. She stays, for the tenth and fifteenth and hundredth time.

It’s just the five of them left, eventually, and they migrate to the bar when the party room in the back seems too large for such a small group. They situate themselves on stools in the corner, and the conversation flows without a hitch. It always has with this group—Owen, Hannah, and Rebecca first, then Dani, then Jamie. She’d tell them all how much it really means to know them if anyone got enough drink in her.

Until then, she’ll scoff at group texts and drag her feet to parties and settle into the fact that they all know it’s for show anyway.

She props her head on her hand and listens, quickly approaching the sleepy part of drinking. She tries not to watch Dani too much while they all talk but it’s difficult—Dani is noticeable at a distance and absolutely striking up close. The curl of her lips as she smiles, the way they overtake her entire face if she means it enough (and she usually does); the laughter that pours out of her and directly into the hearts of anyone lucky enough to be listening; the way her ears look bigger when she hooks her hair behind them, how she only does that when she’s in very comfortable company.

After about thirty minutes, Jamie gets up to retrieve their coats before she does something stupid, like playfully tug at Dani’s earlobe or reach in to straighten the collar on her shirt.

She returns shortly, holding her leather jacket and Dani’s very puffy winter coat, and sits down without a word, content to wait for a natural break in the conversation. She folds the coats over her lap and fiddles with a coaster on the counter.

Dani absently reaches back to still her fingers after about a minute. A simple gesture—resting her hand atop Jamie’s, perhaps swiping her thumb across the back of her hand. Nothing like the displays they’d been putting on earlier. So unlike them, in fact, that Jamie doesn’t notice it at all.

Owen, Hannah, and Rebecca can’t take their eyes off it.

“So, what, were you waiting to tell me until I got back?”

Jamie nurses the dregs of her beer. “Tell you what?”

“This, what is this!” Rebecca exclaims, fluttering her fingers in the direction of Jamie and Dani’s still-clasped hands. “I go gallivanting around the world for an entire year and neither of you mention that you’ve shacked up?”

Jamie and Dani look at their hands, look at each other, and start speaking at the same time.

“We’re not dating, it was just a stupid thing for tonight—”

“Jamie’s doing me a favor since Eddie’s gone and men are creepy—”

“Right, sure.” Rebecca squints and fixes both of them with a sly glance. “It’s just for tonight, to ward off creepy men, which is why you’re still doing it since there are so many of them around now.”

“Must have just gotten used to it,” Dani offers weakly.

“Of course, which is why you still haven’t let go.”

Jamie lets go and tries not to telegraph how much she misses the weight of Dani’s hand.

“You’re definitely not dating,” Rebecca continues, “which is why Jamie got up and got her coat and Dani’s, and left the rest of us hanging.”

Dani looks down and finally notices the coat in Jamie’s lap. “You got my coat?” she asks, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah,” Jamie shrugs. “Seemed like you were ready to go.”

“Yeah, but I was—I was still talking.”

Jamie waves a hand. “You were telling the piano lesson story; you always tell that when you want the night to wind down.”

“No, I—” Dani frowns and retrieves her purse from where it’s hooked around the stool; she rummages through it frantically, her movements loose and messy. “How did you get my coat check ticket?”

“Took that from ya ages ago, Poppins,” Jamie answers. “You were so nervous you were gonna rub the number right off it, and then we’d both be shit outta luck.”

Jamie watches as the expression on Dani’s face morphs, unfurls from stern, puzzled ridges and relaxes into fondness, into twinkling eyes and soft cheeks, a mischievous affection that floors Jamie every time she sees it. Every time, she wonders how many people have been lucky enough to have been on the receiving end of this look, and hopes that the answer is ‘very few’.

“We should, um, probably go,” Dani whispers.

Jamie smiles. “We all drove here together,” she reminds Dani, just as quietly.

Dani slumps back. She reaches for her coat but instead of grabbing it, simply rests her hand on top, like she’s waiting.

Jamie breathes deeply and avoids looking at Rebecca.

“Owen, mate,” she says, daring him to tease her, “maybe you could drop off Dani and me first.”

#the haunting of bly manor #damie #dani x jamie #dani clayton #jamie taylor #can't believe it's taken me this long to jump on the bly manor bandwagon but #here i am boys here i am world!!#as usual: this got out of hand!!!#tumblr fic #long post #anonymous #carments

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annabethy · 3 years

Text

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 24: christmas carols

Character A doesn’t feel the Christmas spirit but Character B, who lives above them, keeps playing Christmas carols really loud,, percabeth

Annabeth has never been one to thoroughly enjoy the holidays. She doesn’t necessarily have anything against them, but they’re just not for her. They never have been, for as long as she can remember.

She didn’t get any presents when she was little. Her family did the bare minimum for Christmas. There might have been a tree with the blandest decorations, but that was it. So she grew up with a rather distasteful opinion towards Christmas too. To be fair, it’s more to do with her family than the actual holiday itself, but there’s an association, and now she can’t stand either.

That’s why she decided to move away from California as fast as possible. She graduated high school and booked it, not looking back since. And it was difficult surviving in New York City without any financial support, especially as a college student, but she managed. She worked hard and found a decent apartment.

Or she had thought she found a decent apartment, but there’s ear-shattering Christmas carols playing above her head that cause her to rethink that particular detail.

“You’re kidding me,” she mutters as another starts to play. It’s not even muffled – that’s how loud the music is, and she genuinely doesn’t understand how another person can be so oblivious.

She tries to brush it off for the better part of an hour, assuming that someone else would ask them to shut up, but nothing happens. If anything, it gets worse because the Christmas carols get louder and more unbearable.

An hour finally passes and her willpower fades.

Annabeth tugs on a jacket and slides her feet into the first shoes she sees. She’s vaguely aware of moving around with much more aggression than the situation calls for, but now the person above her seems to have started singing along, and she thinks that violence is the only language this person understands.

It only takes a few seconds of knocking at their door before it swings open. The person she now knows is a guy has a smile on his face that quickly falls when he takes in her own face.

“Hey,” he starts, eyes roaming her face. “Are you okay?”

“Actually, I’m not,” she says. “I think my brain may be hemorrhaging.”

She can see his face morph into confusion. His green eyes actually look a bit concerned for her as he scratches his neck. “What do you mean?”

“Your music is so loud it’s making my brain bleed,” she snaps. “Can you just, you know, have some consideration for those around you and turn it down?”

“My music is too loud?”

“It’s giving me a headache, so I don’t know how you haven’t gone deaf yet.”

“But… they’re Christmas carols.”

“Yeah, I was able to hear that. Because they were loud.” “You don’t like Christmas carols?” He asks it with such passion that she thinks he’ll be seriously offended if she says no.

“I think Christmas carols are a disgrace to humanity.”

He actually gasps, a hand over his heart, but there’s a subtle grin on his face that lets her know he’s only messing with her. “I am so sorry for you.”

Annabeth’s jaw drops slightly. “Sorry for me? I’m sorry that you have horrible music taste.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “You don’t even know me, so how could you possibly know I have bad music taste?”

“I’ve been listening to you blast music for an hour, so trust me when I saw I know.”

He laughs. “Come on, you have to at least give me a chance to prove you wrong.”

“Prove me wrong?”

“To show you I have amazing music taste, and that Christmas carols are the best things to exist.”

She watches as his eyes trace over her, and she can practically sense the approval in his eyes. It makes her heat up just a little bit, and she crosses her arms over herself. “How do you plan on proving that to me?”

“You could come in and I will give you a three hour long monologue about the history of carols and their importance to the Christmas culture.”

She blinks.

“Or you could come in and help me make a gingerbread house while singing Christmas carols with me,” he suggests.

“You’re inviting a stranger into your apartment? What if I were a serial killer?”

“Jokes on you because I don’t have any cereal in my apartment.”

It takes her a moment to get the joke before she snorts at its pure lameness.

“At least let me make up for destroying your brain,” he says, opening the door wider.

“I still don’t know your name.”

“I’m Percy,” he says as though it makes up for everything else.

He’s funny, she decides. “Annabeth.”

He lifts the side of his lips in a lopsided smile. He doesn’t say anything else, simply stepping aside to let her in. She can’t believe she’s actually considering walking into a stranger’s apartment, but then she remembers that he was blasting Christmas carols, so how dangerous could he really be?

She walks inside and the music seems to increase tenfold. He goes to lower the volume from his phone, and it offers immediate relief as the pounding in her eardrums stop.

“Is that better?” he asks.

“The volume is better,” she says, “but the music is still abhorrent.”

“You take that back.”

Annabeth laughs softly as she joins him at the counter. There’s a gingerbread house out and in complete shambles. There is also piped frosting, and it gives her the impression that this is not his first attempt at this.

She looks up at him and finds his eyes already on her. It’s not in a rude way — he seems to be more intrigued by her than anything, and she doesn’t blame him. They’ve lived right next to each other, yet they’ve never met before. She’s just as fascinated by him and his distasteful melodies.

“You wouldn’t happen to be good at gingerbread houses, would you?” he asks, hopeful.

“Actually, I happen to be a competitive gingerbread house maker.”

“Really?”

“I’m an architect,” she tells him, twisting the plate with the house on them. “And I make a mean gingerbread house.”

“Please help me.”

“Why do you even need to make this?”

“I was bored because all my friends went home for Christmas, so I figured why not make a gingerbread house except I can’t get the sides of the house to stick for shit.”

“Enough said.” With that, Annabeth ties her hair up in an impromptu bun, grabbing the frosting from the counter. She truly did not come up to his apartment with any intention other than to make him feel pain for the suffering he’s caused, but then he presented her with this challenge, and she just couldn’t resist.

She certainly didn’t intent on liking it in his apartment either. He’s super kind she learns quickly. He offers her a helping hand and complements her every move, and he’s generally a very inclusive person. He asks her questions about herself and seems to be genuinely interested in her answers. It’s subtle, but in the back of her mind she thinks that she really likes him.

It’s mortifying that it happens in the span of one night, but even the three hours spent with them attempting to piece together a masterpiece (and baking more pieces at Annabeth’s request so that they can recreate a mansion) she finds herself laughing more than she has in months.

“I can’t believe you’re actually this good at making gingerbread houses,” he comments, leaning in close as she pipes an individual icicle onto the roof of it.

“I’m not sure what you expected from an architect.”

“Yeah, but… the person who just happens to come so they can murder me is exactly who I needed. You know what they call that?”

“Coincidence?”

“A Christmas miracle!”

She rolls her eyes, setting the icing down. “I’m only here for the decorating.”

“And because I need to show you that Christmas music is a blessing,” he reminds her. “It’s not possible.”

“It is, actually, because while you’ve been decorating, you’ve also been doing this little dance.

She freezes, just now realizing what she was doing. “I have not.”

“You have,” he says. “It’s cute.”

“I would simply never dance to Christmas music because I hate Christmas.”

“What reason could you possibly have for hating Christmas?”

“I never got to put the star on top of the tree.”

“Is that it?” Percy rolls his eyes. “You can put the star on top of my tree.”

Annabeth’s heart immediately jumps up, and she can’t stop the smile that spreads across her face. It’s so silly, putting a star on top of the tree, but it’s made her so excited for some reason.

“Do you want to?”

“It’s okay,” she says, keeping her voice steady. He smiles softly, grabbing her hand and dragging her away from the kitchen counter. His tree is small in the corner of the living room, and it’s mostly decorated. There is a box of ornaments sitting on a table besides him that lets her know he just hasn’t gotten the chance to finish decorating, and the star is beside it. He picks it up and hands it to her, an amused look on his face.

“Here,” he says.

She crosses her arms. “I’m not doing it if you’re going to laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you!” he assures.

“You’re laughing right now.”

“Because it’s adorable. Come on. Please?”

She gives him a last look before setting the star on top of the tree. It’s a bit taller than her so she has to stand on her toes and lean over it, and he steadies her with a hand on her waist. She takes a step back to look at it. It’s a bit crooked, but as she goes to fix it, he stops her.

“Leave it. It’s perfect.”

“It’s crooked.”

“That’s the point of Christmas! It doesn’t need to be perfect. It’s supposed to be warm and fun and leave you with that fuzzy feeling.”

Annabeth definitely feels that fuzzy feeling, but it’s not from the tree. It’s from the look he’s giving her that makes her face blush.

“You’re not going anywhere for Christmas, are you?”

She glances at him. “No. Why?”

“I just assumed because you said your family wasn’t the best. But I don’t think you should be alone for Christmas.”

“You’re alone for Christmas,” she points out.

“And I was trying to blast music to forget that little fact. It wasn’t working very well, but now you’re here!” She smirks.

“I think you should come over tomorrow so that neither of us have to be alone on Christmas.”

“I don’t want to intrude, Percy.”

“You’ve been here for hours now, and I’ve loved every second of it.” He elbows her lightly. “Come on. We can even make another gingerbread house.”

“I do love making gingerbread houses,” she says with a smile morphing into her face.

“Also I kind of like you.”

“Even if I came here with the intention of yelling at you?”

“To be fair, you did yell at me. I just thought you were cute and invited you in anyways, and you came in so you must also think I’m cute.”

“I think there might be a flaw in your logic there.”

“But am I wrong?”

She doesn’t answer because he’s not wrong. He’s sweeter than frosting, and he’s looking at her with such adoration that she really doesn’t want to leave and be alone on Christmas. Now she doesn’t have to.

“I’ll stay,” she playfully concedes, “if you really want me to.”

“I do.”

“But only on two conditions,” she says.

“And what are those conditions?”

“One, you have to put on some good Christmas music.” “What do you mean good Christmas music!”

“And two,” she starts, laughing at his bewildered expression, “Kiss me.”

That gets him to laugh, throwing his head back. “A kiss?”

“A kiss,” she confirms. “After all, you think I’m ‘cute.’”

His fingers curl around her waist. “You’re very cute. My cute neighbor.”

“And if you kiss me, then… maybe it can be more than just a cute neighbor.”

She knows she’s pushing her luck, but she’s always been good at reading people, and she can read him. She knows he feels the same thing she is. His eyes burn bright.

“If you say so,” he whispers, pulling her in and kissing her hard. It takes her breath away, and she wonders how she’s missed someone right in front of her.

Hours earlier, she’d been upset that he was playing music so loud, but now…

She’d never tell him, but she thinks she might like Christmas carols.

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #my writing

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riversofmars · 3 years

Note

I have an idea for a prompt! How about 13 becomes human again for whatever reason, she meets River, and without either knowing the other still manage to get together?

Thank you for this brilliant prompt! Not gonna lie, I was thinking coffee shop AU initially but I think I’ve come up with something better!

For River this is set post Manhattan pre Darillium while she’s teaching at Luna U, she hasn't met 13 and obviously doesn't recognise her. 13 - for whatever reason as per the prompt - is under the influence of the Chameleon Arch and human, not remembering who she is.

Hope you like it!

Rating: G

Word Count: 1800

AO3

Stuff of Legends

“What are you doing in here?“

The Doctor jumped when a voice cut through the silence at Luna University Library. It was late, very late, in fact. 2am was fast approaching and the library had been empty apart from her. She had chosen the time deliberately, she had banked on people being asleep or off partying for fresher’s week.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was…“ She looked around anxiously to see a figure approaching along the rows of shelves.

“You know this area is restricted, right?“ A woman came into view, wild curly hair, silky blouse and a keen sparkle in her eyes. There as a sort of amusement in her voice and she tilted her head as she looked her up and down. The Doctor got the sense she wouldn’t tell on her, at least not yet.

“Yeah, well, uhh… my archive request was denied so I thought…“ She didn’t really know what to say. She knew access to this section of the Library was restricted but she had come a long way for it and when her request was denied by the Academy of Time Travel, she had decided to go about it another way.

“You thought you would sneak in here instead?“ The woman concluded with a smirk.

“Well, they didn’t really give an explanation so…“ The Doctor scratched the back of her head. She was anxious about having been caught but so far, the other woman didn’t seem to mind too much. Perhaps she had snuck in here as well.

“Oh there was this incident, quite a long time ago now, a student snuck into the Academy’s archives and took an ancient vortex manipulator to have a sneak peak at her future essay papers… I mean, you can’t plagiarise yourself so they could hardly expel her but they did get a lot pickier with admitting people to their archives.“ The woman explained pleasantly.

“Well, firstly, that’s very clever of the student and secondly, very unreasonable to restrict everyone else’s access to the archives when some of us have actual research to do.“ The Doctor huffed, somewhere between admiration and annoyance. “Surely the student in question has long graduated…“

“And is a professor now. Professor River Song.“ River extended her hand to her with a smirk and the Doctor’s face fell.

“Oh, uhh… you’re a professor? You work here, I…I shouldn’t be here…“ She stammered, realising her mistake. This woman was staff! And she had caught her red handed.

“No, you shouldn’t be and yet you are.“ River observed sounding surprisingly unbothered about it which sort of made sense if she had been the student in question. The Doctor wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or worried. “What are you doing?“ River asked curiously and looked to the books the Doctor had gathered on a desk.

“Uh… just some research…“ The Doctor answered nervously.

“What are you studying?“ River picked up a book that she knew well. It was one of the more comprehensive guides on supposed Timelord meddling through time.

“Well, not technically a student…“ The Doctor admitted. She wasn’t sure what to say. This woman was thoroughly confusing. She was a professor here but also seemed to have an affinity for bending the rules. Could she trust her not to rat her out?

“So you didn’t just sneak into the Academy’s library section but into the university in general?“ River sounded impressed.

“No, I mean, I’m not a student, I’m a doctor, visiting lecturer… Luna University is meant to have the greatest collection of Timelord artefacts so…“ The Doctor felt the need to set the record straight.

“A doctor, huh? You sure you’re old enough?“ River smirked and the Doctor found herself blushing under her appraising gaze. Was she flirting with her?

“You don’t exactly strike me as a stuffy old professor either.“ She retorted before she could think better of it.

“Touché.“ River laughed lightly and looked back at the collection of books, scriptures and star charts. “Why the interests in the Timelords? Most people don’t even believe them to be real.“ She observed picking up another book to read the back of it.

“I don’t know, I just… personal interest, I guess. Something about them just intrigues me.“ The Doctor replied growing more self conscious. She felt a little silly. A lot of academics looked down on those paddling theories that the Timelords actually existed. Most people believed them to be the stuff of legends. While time travel was certainly real, the idea of almost celestial beings able to live forever seemed too fantastical to be true. While there was certainly something the legends were based on, there was no way of knowing which bits were fact and which were fiction.

“What’s your field?“ River asked curiously putting the book down.

“Astrophysics.“ The Doctor answered slowly. “Yours?“

“Archeology.“ River replied in amusement. “I’m much more likely to take an interest in this sort of thing than you, how do the Timelords relate to your research?“ It was a fair question.

“Star charts… well, that’s where I started. Everything else doesn’t really relate. I’m just… curious, they’re fascinating.“ The Doctor admitted, sticking her hands in the pockets of her coat before shrugging.

“Well, the stuff of legends always is.“ River chuckled.

“Unfortunately, I’m not likely to getting any answers here.“ The Doctor sighed feeling a little bit more comfortable now. It didn’t look like this woman would tell on her but it seemed to have been a wasted trip regardless.

“Answers to what?“ River asked and the Doctor shrugged again, with a little laugh this time:

“You know, I don’t even know… I can’t really explain it… never mind.“ She waved it off. “I can’t read it anyway, whatever this language is, I don’t understand it.“ She opened one of the books and held it out to River, pointing out the circular writing.

“It’s High Gallifreyan.“ River answered as she took the book off her. “The language of the Timelords, that’s what it’s called.“ Her eyes skimmed the page.

“You make it sound like they actually existed.“ The Doctor chuckled. “Is that your field of archeology? Mystical civilisations?“

“Perhaps.“ River winked. “Would you like some help?“ She handed the book back over with a smile.

“You can… you can read this?“ The Doctor exclaimed in shock, surprise and delight all at once.

“Don’t tell anyone.“ River chuckled and looked around to check no-one had heard her.

“How?!“ The Doctor didn’t know what to say. “How do you know how to read this? It’s not like you can just take language classes in this, can you?“ She was in awe.

“My husband taught me.“ River revealed with a sly sort of smile.

“Your husband?“ The Doctor’s face fell, she didn’t even know why she felt disappointed but she did. She had only just met this woman.

“Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?“ River had picked up on it right away and the Doctor blushed scarlet.

“What? No, I mean…“ She stuttered. “Uhm, your husband… does that mean, are you telling me you’re married to a… Timelord?“ The Doctor tried to deflect.

“If you presume that to be his one defining feature, I suppose so.“ River shrugged.

“So they are real? Timelords are actually…“ The Doctor didn’t know what to say.

“He is also the last Timelord. Or was… I’m not actually sure where he is these days, we haven’t seen each other in a while.“ River sighed with another shrug.

“But you just said he’s your husband.“ The Doctor frowned, she wasn’t making a whole lot of sense.

“He’s not the type to allow himself to be held too tightly.“ River smiled though the Doctor was sure there was a sadness behind her eyes. “We… things are complicated, when you’re married to a time traveller. For all I know I might never see him again.“

“And you’re just fine with that?“ The Doctor asked softly.

“Like you say, if he’s really a Timelord, he’s the stuff of legends. An ageless god. You don’t expect the sunset to admire you back.“ River retorted returning her attention to the books on the table, she ran her fingers over one of the ancient star charts absentmindedly.

“That sounds painful.“ The Doctor mused sharing in her sadness.

“Makes you appreciate the shared times all the more.“ River grinned as her wistfulness passed and the Doctor smiled and nodded, she understood. “To be honest, I don’t like being tied down either so we suit each other very well.“ River smirked gaining her swagger back.

“I see.“ The Doctor chuckled.

“That means if you would like to get a drink sometime, or if you would like some help translating these, I’m available.“ River elaborated when her initial statement didn’t have the desired effect of flustering the blonde. She looked up from the star charts to the Doctor waiting for the penny to drop. Her explanation did the trick as the Doctor went red in the face again.

“Really? I mean… you’re not… he’s not gonna…“ She stammered.

“Every time could be the last time, every Christmas could be last Christmas, that’s the thing about time, something you learn as a time traveller, you have to learn to live in the present.“ River winked and reached out and ran her fingers along the yellow braces the Doctor was wearing. “You do remind me a lot of him, you know, I don’t know… probably just my imagination. Or the fact that I’m really very attracted to you.“ She smirked.

“You’re uhh… very forward…“ The Doctor swallowed nervously.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.“ River’s confidence faltered for a moment, genuine concern came over her. “If I misread the situations, I…“

“No, no, it’s fine, I mean… I’d like a drink. With you.“ The Doctor burst out quickly, she didn’t want her to change her mind. “I’d like to go for a drink with you and spend some time together…“

“Good. I mean, great!“ River grinned, relieved. “There is this nice little bar across campus… You don’t need these books, I can tell you everything you could possibly want to know.“

“Lead the way, Professor.“ The Doctor nodded, a grin spreading across her face.

“I don’t think you ever told me your name, what do I call you, Doctor?“ River asked mirroring her expression.

“Maybe just that. I know it probably doesn’t make a whole lot of sense but I never really… felt comfortable with my name… Jane Smith… just doesn’t mean anything to me. Most people just call me Doctor.“ The Doctor shrugged with an apologetic smile. She wasn’t sure if River would understand but she thought it best to be honest.

“Is that so…“ River gave her a smile, her expression incredibly hard to read. “It’s a funny old universe, isn’t it.“ She held out her hand to the Doctor. “You never know what the future holds, you just live it.“

#doctor who #fanfiction #prompt #space wives #river song #Thirteen #thirteenth doctor #river x thirteen #river x the doctor #yowzah #Alex Kingston #Jodie whittaker #femslash #otp #old married couple #AU #chameleon arch #chameleon au

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

Only Live Forever in the Lights You Make

Hey, remember that time Killian met Meg in some tunnels in the Underworld and introduced himself as “Captain Killian Jones” before he called himself “Captain Hook”? Because I do and, surprise, I’ve got some feelings about it! As always, I am still on my season five ‘ish, so here is about 4.2K of name-based feelings, some out of place flirting and some, surprise, Captain Cobra Swan that I didn’t plan on until I typed it. I hope you guys got all the carbs you wanted yesterday.

All credit always and forever to @shireness-says for constantly telling me to keep shoving words at the internet. Even before she reads said words. (I only listened to Arctic Monkeys and My Chemical Romance while writing this. Take from that what you will.)

----

The words are heavy on his tongue.

Still, as if they don’t belong there, or never really did and the feeling makes him ache. Although most of him aches at this point. Killian is sure his gashes have scrapes and those scrapes have bruises and gaping wounds that are likely far more metaphorical than he’s willing to admit. Staring out at the expanse of Main Street doesn’t particularly help. Hazy air hangs low over cracked asphalt, thin branches and dead leaves that only swirl slightly against the barely-there breeze coming from the Gods know where.

There’s no water here. No hint of salt-tinged air.

Occasionally there are some strikes of lightning, leaving the sky bright enough that Killian swears he can see for miles. He wishes he couldn’t. None of it looks right, feels even more wrong, and he supposes that’s to be expected in a place like this, but it also seems like another metaphor of sorts and maybe the torture hasn’t ceased yet.

Maybe it won’t.

He deserves that, he’s sure.

Darkness doesn’t scare him much anymore, at least the more literal variety — or so he will swear, but this is somehow even worse. Every flash of light that cracks across the sky dredges up memories of the kind of storms that threatened to capsize any of the ships he once called home, and he imagines it’s something about extremes.

Complete darkness can blind a man, but so can light. Stunning him, until he has to blink away the dots that hang in front of his eyes and the dots never entirely disappear.

He shouldn’t have told that lass his name.

Foolish, that’s what it was.

“I can hear you thinking from upstairs,” Emma murmurs, slumped against the side of the railing that should lead up to her room in her parent’s loft. Something similar exists in this place, of course. He can’t imagine the blankets on that bed are as soft as the ones he only barely remembers falling into, what now feels like several lifetimes ago and—

“Might be getting worse now, actually,” she adds, “surprised there isn’t steam coming out of your ears too. Y’know, just for good measure.”

Letting out a breath, he’s all too aware of how slumped his shoulders are when he turns. Emma lifts her eyebrows.

“The streets are already steaming,” Killian says, “anything else seems like overkill, doesn’t it?” “Stupid word.” “Aye, that it is. In poor taste.”

“What are you thinking about?” He tilts his head. Strands of hair fall towards his eyes, but Killian doesn’t make any effort to brush them away. “Did he fall asleep?” “Yeah,” Emma nods, eyes flitting back towards her room and the space she’d marched Henry into nearly fifteen minutes earlier. “About time, too. I think he was half a second away from falling asleep standing, could barely keep his eyes open anymore.” “Stubbornness is an inherited trait.” She clicks her tongue. “You think?” “Rather pointed.” “Nah, definitely round,” Emma objects, “in a circle-type way that could bring us back to my question and what you’re thinking about and—” “—Henry shouldn’t be here.” “No.” Jerking his head up the way he does only guarantees that several muscles in the back of his neck almost audibly object to the movement, Emma giving him a tight-lipped smile that isn’t exactly his, but is at least getting there, and that’s something almost vaguely positive.

Her hair is longer than Killian remembers it being.

He tried to remember that.

Before.

Wandering — stumbling, more like — around those caves, blood dripping down the side of his face, caking the same strands of hair that now threaten to actually poke him in the eye, and all he could think about was the exact shade of gold Emma’s hair turned in the moonlight. Preferably when she was also sitting in the harbor, feet hanging above the waves as they passed his flask between them. Or on the deck of his ship.

He didn’t allow himself that particular fantasy very often, though. Getting both felt distinctly like the kind of selfishness he’s now hoping to avoid.

“Stubborn,” Emma shrugs.

“Something about circles, love.” “And going in them, yeah. But I’m also legitimately worried about that pinch between your eyebrows, so seems like as good a time as any to fess.” “Fess?” “Confess,” she amends, “more slang.” Killian’s smile isn’t really that. Is more a grimace and twist of his lips, and yet the weight he’s only marginally worried has taken the place of his heart lightens ever so slightly. Nothing beats yet. He’s still dead. “I like that one, actually.” “When we get home I’ll make you a list.” “Of slang?” “Whatever you want.” Neither one of them move.

He’d like to move. Would love to, really. To cross this space and pull Emma flush against him until she grumbles about the inevitably uncomfortable nature of her perched on either one of his thighs and how his chin digs into her shoulder when he tries to breathe her in, but something about the overall tension in her jaw and the weight of those yet-to-be acknowledged words keeps Killian rooted to the spot.

Every one of those words came out quicker than the last, as if they were an admission Emma wasn’t entirely ready to make and he’s fairly certain the pinch between his eyebrows won’t ever disappear completely. He hopes she doesn’t cut her hair.

He hopes to get his fingers in that hair eventually.

“I mean—” Emma stammers, color rushing in her cheek. “Within—y’know, within...no, fuck that. Whatever you want. Lists of...I don’t know, movies and books and you’re a giant dweeb right? So you’ve got to like books.” “I do, in fact.” “Yeah, yeah, I figured. I just—do they have holidays in the Enchanted Forest? No Thanksgiving or Christmas, right?” Killian shakes his head. Gets the hair away from his eyes. And makes it easier to see the exact moment Emma starts wringing her fingers together. The railing is very likely digging into her shoulder now. “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” she continues, “but uh...shit, what about birthdays? That’s a thing, right?” “Do you think I get two now?”

One side of his mouth tugs up. Despite any efforts otherwise and his own, rather intimate, knowledge of that edge Emma is quite obviously teetering on.

Killian’s been balancing there for the better part of the last few days. Ever since she appeared in front of him again, magic wrapping around him and making goosebumps prickle on his skin, a low heat that felt as if he’d been put on simmer without any threat of boiling because he’s not all that capable of boiling anymore, just festering and stewing and—

“I told that lass my name,” Killian says, voice hardly loud enough to qualify as any sort of sound. One of Emma’s knuckles crack. “The one in the caves, another one of Hades’ prisoners. I can’t—Gods, I can’t remember her name.” “Megara,” Emma whispers. “Yeah, I know.” He quirks an eyebrow, a sudden retreat back to flirting that’s not entirely honest. It’s very likely he’s something of a cad. And it’s easier that way. To slink back into the role, and the person he was and that person deserves everything he’s gotten and may still get.

Of course, he can’t keep it up for very long.

Not with Emma staring at him like that — far too appraising and understanding, and the whole thing fails rather quickly.

Completely. Immediately. A few other words that end in ‘ly,’ just to drive the point home. “Wow, you totally suck at that.” Laughter rumbles in the back of Killian’s throat before he can even begin to rationalize the sound, rubbing his fingers into the raw skin just above his brace. “Fraid you’ll have to be more specific, darling.” “Low blow.” “Endearments, or…” “It’s not going to work,” Emma objects, rolling her eyes when Killian’s mouth shifts in the very specific kind of smirk he knows has always worked. “You don’t just get to start playing pirate and think I’ll swoon enough to get distracted.”

“Suggests I’m still able to distract you.” “Like that would change.”

Heat ripples up his spine. Surprisingly, so. The flicker of normalcy catches Killian off guard, facade slipping for half a moment, and that’s far more time than Emma needs. His hair is greasy when he runs his fingers through it. “Are you something of a soothsayer then, Your Highness? Good at reading minds now?” “More circles, babe. Open books, and all that.” He hums. Can’t do much else, actually. Emotion claws at the center of him, threatens to take root in that stagnant heart of his, and maybe that will help, but it also feels like it could drown him if it had a mind to. The give and take of all this may very well drive him insane quicker than anything Hades could hope for. “How do you know that?” “Which part?” “About the girl,” Killian says, “did you find her?” Emma scrunches her nose. “Regina and I did. In the forest. There was blood and—” She shivers. Tries to hide it, but open book works both ways and he’s always been able to tell when she’s thinking too. Or being inherently stubborn. “I was...well, I wasn’t cool about it.” “Sounds suspiciously like a compliment.” “Ass.” Staying upright is becoming increasingly difficult. “I believe that’s been well-documented, m’dear. I’m sorry about that.” “My inability to insult you better?” “That you thought it was my blood.”

“Presumptuous,” Emma grumbles, although that sort of misses the insult mark as well and he’s genuinely not sure who moves first. Creaking joints give way to a groaning floor, a tangle of limbs and hands that almost immediately search for skin. If only to remind the other that they’re here and real and at least partially alive.

If Killian feels his pulse pick up, he’s sure he imagines it.

That’s not possible.

“And,’ he adds, Emma’s back against the nearest wall now. He has no idea how his head found her thigh. He’s not going to complain. She doesn’t when she inevitably notices how goddamn greasy his hair is. Fair is only fair, after all.

“And?” Eyes fluttering shut, Killian briefly worries for the state of his muscles. Which appear to be unspooling the longer Emma’s fingers move, tracing over his temple and the furrows of his forehead and it takes all the self control he’s only marginally in possession of not to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her stomach and sob.

“And,” he repeats, “that you were ever uncool about any of this.” Her body shakes when she laughs — soft and disbelieving, which is another marker in the stubborn column, really. Killian doesn’t mention that. He closes his eyes. Breathes. Counts his inhales and takes his time on his exhales, only a little disappointed that the honeysuckle scent has disappeared from Emma’s hair.

“Can I tell you something?” “Anything.” “Half the reason I think we should make a slang list,” Emma says, “is so you can say more of it. Might be one of my favorite things.” “A slang puppet, huh? Here to entertain you.” “Why are you freaking out about telling Megara who—by the way, was not nearly as snarky as her Disney counterpart would have me believe.” “I’m sure being chased around by the three-headed beast of the Underworld will do that to a person.”

Emma’s thumb taps his jaw. Three times. Exactly. “Ah now I feel like an ass.” “Impossible,” Killian mumbles. Turning his head isn’t easy, but he doesn’t have to worry about the rest of his body when he’s splayed out across the floor like this and the muscles in Emma’s stomach noticeably contract when he noses at the hem of her shirt.

She squirms. Above him and below him, and there it is again. More metaphors. More dichotomy, or some other philosophical bullshit he’s not willing to think about now. When Emma’s breath noticeably hitches. As soon as Killian’s teeth graze her skin.

“Distracting—” Gasping, Emma’s nails drag across his scalp. Which isn’t as unpleasant as it probably should be. “Ah shit, I can’t think of—” “Scoundrel? Miscreant? Blackguard?” “What century is that last one from?” “Not nice at all, love,” Killian chides, but Emma just widens her eyes and perhaps they’re both dancing. Without any music. “Probably around the time the first King George ascended the throne.” “There was more than one King George?” “Several, if memory serves. You know those royals. Can’t concern themselves with naming creativity, have to honor the past and whatnot.” “Whatnot,” Emma echoes with a smile. “You want to tell me now? About Megara and how she knew your name.” “I told her, we’ve been over this already.” “Yeah, but—” The rest of the sentence disappears on Emma’s shrug, her lower lip twisted between her teeth. Nerves radiate off her, falling in waves Killian can almost see and nearly remind him of the real thing.

Time doesn’t mean much here. Days pass on loop, and exhaustion is a guarantee more than an occasional state of being. And yet, somehow — as the last few flickers of warmth continue to lap at the base of Killian’s spine, and Emma’s fingers return to their pattern through his hair, something almost like moonlight casts a welcome shadow across the floor. Stretching over Emma’s outstretched legs and bent ankles, it curls up her arm, lingering at her elbow before it drifts towards her hunched shoulders and the edge of Killian’s wrist and then—

It’s gone.

Disappearing as quickly as it arrived, Killian wonders if he imagined it. He didn’t. He knows, he didn’t. Just as easily as he knows it didn’t happen simply because of him.

He licks his lips once.

“I found her,” he starts, “or she found me, I suppose. Not easy to keep your direction underground.” Glancing up, Killian finds Emma’s eyes on him. Wide, they don’t quite demand an explanation, but they want one and he supposes wanting is half the battle. At least metaphorically. “No stars underground, you see.” “Real confident in your navigational abilities huh, Captain?” “Only if you’ll keep saying that.”

She can’t be comfortable when she bends. Twists towards him, and kisses the top of his absolutely disgusting hair.

There’s a shower upstairs. In the right version of it. He’s not sure what’s here. He can’t bring himself to go up there.

An absolute coward.

“Anyway,” Killian continues, “there was a three-headed monster, this lass, and I—we weren’t both going to get out.” “You let her go, though. Told her to go.” He nods. Talking is something of a challenge once more. “As if you’d ever do anything else,” Emma mumbles, a note of pride in her voice that makes every one of Killian’s internal organs clench. That’s all they can do, really. None of them are working all that great, after all.

“That’s not true.” Tensing, Emma’s fingers still. “That wasn’t really you.” “Ah, that’s not totally true, either. It was at least partially me, all those deep-rooted desires given free reign. But I wanted...she was so scared, Swan.” He doesn’t bother mentioning the rest. Being more specific seems pointless, especially when Emma’s fingers stay exactly where they are. And she knows, anyway. He was terrified. Of what he’d lost and what he’d done and what he’d still be willing to do, if it meant she got out of here.

Safe.

He wants them all safe.

“I told her to find you,” he rasps. “That—I knew you were here, could...feel it, almost. No matter where I was or—” This may be their least organized conversation. Full of tiptoeing and heavy words, unspoken meaning that neither one of them is entirely ready to give credence to yet. “Gave her my name, my—my real name.”

Hair brushes the top of his head, softer than it has any right to be and several things in Killian’s chest threaten to combust. “I was doing a lot of yelling of your name in that bloody forest.” “Joke, or…” “Fresh out of jokes, I think.” He noses at her jeans, not sure if he’s desperate to touch her or the opposite. Desperate to brand himself there, so she’ll remember. No matter what else happens. “I didn’t even think about it,” he admits, “just—I told her to find you, said I was Captain Killian Jones, like that was something I could say, and that you needed to know I was here.” Emma’s silent for a moment.

Another. Two moments. That become three and four and then Killian’s counting his inhales again and doing his best not to stare too intently at her. She kisses his hair again. Luke she can’t help herself.

“Had to use the title, didn’t you?” Killian exhales. “Haven’t in quite some time.” “Did you think I wouldn’t have known it was you?” Emma teases, so the joke-thing was something of a lie. A nice one as far as misplaced lies go. Making another noise, he finally burrows closer to her until it’s closer to snuggling and clinging and another round of goosebumps explode on his skin when her hand flattens against his back. “Or,” she says, “was it something else?” “Several somethings, maybe.” “Wanna ballpark for me?” “Not sure I understand that one, actually.” “I don’t need all the somethings, but a few would be good right now. We can get to the rest of them later.”

Those words don’t necessarily fall on top of him. They’re as heavy as the rest, all that meaning and the possibility for a future that seems as distant and impossible as the past or the overall softness of the bedding upstairs. So, while gravity does its best to pull the words down on top of Killian, there’s an ease to them that makes it feel as if they’re simply resting across his back, a reminder that helps keep him pressed to this plane and this place and Emma’s left thigh.

Which is one of his favorite places to be, quite frankly.

Usually without the jeans in the way, but dead beggars can’t be choosers.

“I don’t know why I did that. The name, I—” “Liar, liar.” “Would you like to talk about pants, Swan? Because I have my fair share of thoughts regarding the ones you were wearing in Storybrooke.” “I didn’t pick that outfit.” “Rather good happenstance, then.” “Is deflection a required pirate characteristic?” she asks. “Distract your enemy with half-hearted compliments and—” “—Oh no, those are full-hearted, I guarantee.” “If nothing else, I did look stupid good in those pants.” “Hair left something to be desired, but the pants fit like a glove.” Her smile almost reaches her eyes. Obvious when light filters through the gauzy curtains, once more. “Flirt.” “Only with you.” Emma’s eyes widen. Not in surprise. Closer to frustration. A hint of impatience. The stubborn sort of determination that requires an answer. “And, I—I wanted it.” “Wanted what?” “To be that. Again, I suppose. After everything. All that I’d done, and how much I’d hurt you, I—”

“—You didn’t…” “Swan, let’s be honest that’s the worst lie either one of us has told.” “Ever?” “If not longer.” Huffing out a laugh, she slides further down the wall, a move that can’t feel good on her spine, but does ensure that she’s closer to Killian and he’s still enough of a pirate to want exactly that. “But I—a very long time ago, Captain Killian Jones believed in something. Wanted something, and thought he could get it. Even if some of it was distinctly lawless.” “Probably a requirement for your line of work.” “Ah, well that king deserved all the insults you could come up with. Stealing from him, destroying everything he’d built. That felt like justice, somehow.” “Should I mention the circular nature of time again or is that redundant?” “Unnecessary,” Killian agrees, his mouth inching further up Emma’s ribcage. The noise she lets out is closer to a giggle than he’s capable of dealing with. In a place that’s always tinged vaguely red. “I suppose part of me wanted to return to that. To the ideals, maybe not the laws or the uniforms, but certainly not the…” He swallows. “Villain. Evil. Wrong.” “I never thought you were wrong,” Emma says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear. Over the ringing in Killian’s ears. And whatever rushes off her. Magic, of course. Responding to emotion and its innate desire to meet him halfway.

Gods, but he loves her more than he ever believed he could.

“I know that,” Killian promises, “even when I didn’t want to. Especially then.” “Make it sound less like an insult next time.” Tightening his arms isn’t easy when there’s this blasted wall in the way. Killian tries all the same. Emma doesn’t tell him to stop. “You were Captain Hook,” she adds, “when we found you. Buried under all those bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Eventually that’s really all that was left.” “I can make some more snide comments on pants, if you want. What’s the flammability of leather?” “I have no idea, honestly.” She smiles. He doesn’t check. Knows, can feel it in the very center of soul. “Ah, well, they can probably catch fire. Regina’s going to teach me how to do those ball things, anyway.” “Absolutely menacing, Your Highness.” “Don’t you forget it.”

The room is getting brighter.

Or Killian’s finally fallen off that edge. Either one seems entirely reasonable and maybe even a little enjoyable and he’s not sure when, exactly, he decides to start talking again. Only that the words arrive without much thought and even more feeling and Emma’s eyes don’t leave him.

“It was a mask. A reason for everything else, an excuse that I’d rationalized so I could fall asleep. Captain Hook was a product of his own misfortune, all those unfair hands he’d been dealt. The loss, the anger, the fury that grew every single time metal found skin. Being that, being him, allowed me to drift further and further into that darkness.” “But?” “But,” Killian repeats. “You found me under a pile of bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Oh, that’s kind of nice.” “It kind of was. After you got rid of the blade at my neck.” She flicks his chest. The knot of their limbs is another kind of miracle. “And then everything else that happened. Beanstalks, and Cora, and magic beans and—” “—You came back,” Emma cuts in. “Seems you’ve returned the favor several times over, love.” “That’s how it’s supposed to work, I think.” Maybe he’ll marry her.

The thought strikes him as suddenly as the lightning that flashes outside, a spark that’s eerily similar to the flames Emma was just talking about and there are far too many metaphors bouncing around his skull. He might just have a headache.

And yet the thought doesn’t disappear. Not immediately. No, it settles. Threatens to grow at the forefront of his brain, where the institution of marriage has never been given much consideration. Until now. With his left shoulder close to popping out of his socket, and Emma’s fingers in his hair and her back contorted while half a dozen bruises on his legs refuse to heal.

“I love you,” Killian says, unable to do anything else. Except propose, apparently. He should be alive for that.

And sitting up.

He can’t bring himself to sit up.

Only pull himself closer to Emma, until it’s obvious how much he wants and possibly needs and something about a circle. Coming back. Over and over.

“I know. Which is—” “—Good?” “Better,” Emma says. “I love you, too. Just you, you know that right?” Nodding leads to jeans scratching at his cheeks, but these pants fit fairly well too and both of them flinch at the noticeable creak coming down the stairs. Tufts of Henry’s hair stick up in every direction.

“You ok?” Emma asks her son, only to get a teenage-type shrug and genetically inherited head tilt.

Killian narrows his eyes. “What’s the matter, my boy?” The head tilt reaches an angle unaccomplished by anyone over the age of twenty-five. Killian isn’t even sure he could attempt such an angle. But it doesn’t seem to bother Henry and neither he nor Emma point out the use of those particular words in that particular order. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mutters, already stumbling forward. Falling is likely far too generous a descriptor for whatever Henry does next, another mess of limbs that adds to Killian and Emma’s knot, and there are a few more grunts than there should be.

From all of them.

Until they find something resembling comfort, Killian’s head still on Emma’s thigh and her legs stretched out so Henry can take advantage of her right one and— “Probably should have found a pillow,” Killian mutters, hoping it sounds like the apology he wants it to be. It’s not enough. Nothing ever could be, really. And he’s not all that surprised by Emma’s head shake, the way it makes her hair sway and brighten under the bit of light they’ve probably created just now and she winces when Henry’s chin digs into her knee. He starts snoring five seconds later. “I’m fine,” Emma says, and it’s impossible to argue with her. Even in this impossible place. “You’re comfortable like this.”

His heart thumps.

With wishful thinking or more misplaced hope, but it’s there all the same and he kisses exactly where his lips land.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #laura writes canon #CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP WRITING SEASON FIVE ANGST #i saw some gifs of this moment last night and my brain was like: alright go #also: if the timeline of this doesn't make sense #don't tell me #i kind of looked at some episode synopsis and then decided i absolutely did not care #and if you can't see main street from mary margaret's loft then that's just too bad

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orbitariums · 4 years

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𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟏𝟏)

notes: y’all !!! this is the smut you have been waiting forrrr, and then some! lemme know yalls thoughts!! luh u. adding tags later! ♡

playlist ( always updating! )

warnings: smut!, unprotected sex (but be safe! also miss yn will not be getting pregnant. it ain't that typa story), cuteness and rainy days <3, talk about diets

word count: 14.3k

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

When you woke up, your legs were entangled with Steve's, your arms out in front of you and his arms draped over your stomach. He woke up a bit earlier than you had, but he stayed there, not wanting to disrupt you or leave you. It took you a moment to settle into the day, the blur before your eyes disappearing slowly. Then, Steve's touch against your body registered, and you sighed, sprawling out before him, absentmindedly pressing your backside into his crotch. Your eyes shot open when you felt the very obvious and abnormally large bulge prodding into you that Steve was trying to withhold.

Normally you might have tried to initiate something, tried to tease him even more, but even though the sheer size of the bulge caused a twinge in your stomach, you snapped back to reality easily. Everything became very apparent: where you were, who you were with.

"You up?" Steve asked, his morning voice quiet and warm with a side of gruff.

"Mmm," you sighed, turning over to face him. You smiled, fondling his face gently with your fingers. "Yeah. Morning."

Steve returned the smile, almost becoming giddy like a child on Christmas at the touch of your hand on his face and the sound of your slightly raspy yet dulcet morning voice.

"Did you sleep well?" Steve asked, and you chuckled, patting his cheek once,

"You're a gentleman. And yes, I did," you leaned in to kiss his lips, sweet and soft.

You did it casually, as if you always woke up next to each other in the morning, but in reality it was magical. The touch of your lips against his was still so foreign to him, like something he was trying to understand and savor the taste of. And despite all your confidence you still had to work up quite the nerve to kiss him like this.

Steve blinked slowly, taking a good look at you, gazing into your eyes before leaning up against his pillow,

"Big day. There's not much to unpack, but we're gonna be leaving here and going to my place. We check out in about three hours. If there's anything you wanna do, just let me know. I'm gonna let you get ready."

"Okay!" you grinned, and sprung out of bed.

You got ready quickly, not wanting to miss a second of your day with Steve.

All he could do was watch you get ready from the slightly ajar bathroom door with a satisfied grin on his face - you were such a beacon of light and he loved to see that you genuinely enjoyed spending time with him. And you were so cute getting ready, bouncing around on your feet and blushing your face, leaning into the mirror to apply your makeup, which came out rosy and natural when you were done. You didn't often apply a lot of makeup in the mornings anyway, and good for Steve, who liked to be able to really see your face. Then again, in his eyes you were beautiful no matter how you decided to look.

At some point Steve gave you your privacy, and you came out of the bathroom in your outfit for the day- a tie front white blouse with a lacy black bra that peaked out from underneath, and a pair of loose fitting jeans. And of course, your given accessories - pearl earrings, a small necklace, and a few spritzes of perfume. Steve, as always, was pleased with your appearance, staring with wide, appreciative eyes.

You lifted your arms up, only showing more of the bra you wore beneath, and your tummy, chuckling,

"You like?"

"I love. You always look amazing somehow," Steve grinned, getting up himself. He approached you and took your hands in his, giving them both a squeeze. "I'm gonna get ready, then we can do whatever you like until we have to leave."

You decided you wanted to share breakfast with Steve the same way you had shared dinner last night, only a bit more casually and not as elaborate. Steve was down with anything you wanted to do, and even though he tried to apologize because you couldn't necessarily go out for breakfast, you refused to let him. When you got the room service, you ate outside in the same chairs as last night, but you curled up into your chair, pulling your knees into your chest as you ate French toast, fresh fruit and scarfed down a good amount of mimosa.

"So beautiful being so far up here," your eyes sparkled as you looked out along the New York skyline, above all the business down on the streets, only knowing blue skies twinged with orange, the sun settling in the sky.

Steve looked out at the sky where you were gazing, and squinted in admiration, smiling back softly at you,

"New York can be beautiful, despite what they say."

You giggled, shaking your head,

"Believe me, some of my friends would have choice words for me if they knew I was in New York. They still haven't gotten out of their whole: 'west coast is the best coast' mindset."

Steve just chuckled wearily, spouting some of his wisdom as he looked out at the sky,

"I can't say I believe in any of the rivalry... but I'm Brooklyn born and raised. Can't take it out of me. Even after all this time."

Steve's wistful voice drew you in- you wanted to know more about him. For once, he wasn't just a history project, but he was a human. Everything you learned about him only opened your eyes further, and you were a sucker for learning new things.

"What was it like?"

Steve turned to face you, nodding slowly,

"It was... hard. Parents died when I was young, I didn't have many friends besides Bucky. And honestly, I'm not one to pity myself. I made it this far, I guess. And I loved Brooklyn growing up. I was sick as a dog half the time, but the other half of the time I was spending it around the greatest places in the city. And getting my ass beat 'cuz I didn't know when to shut up. Sure, the movie theater got torn down for some mall and the place Buck and I used to go for milkshakes doesn't exist anymore, but... I had that. In the city I loved, and still love."

You hung on to every last word of Steve's. Everything he said just rang true even though your life experience was nothing like his own. You were gathering that Steve did have a hard life, just like the papers presented, but he made it work in his own fashion. It was what had got him this far: his drive, his belief in himself and others. And although modern life wasn't something he was used to, he was taking it day by day. And he didn't say this, but it was much easier adjusting with someone like you by his side. You were the young old soul Steve needed, and a breath of fresh air at the same time. It was a part of the reason you were so delicate to him, so special.

"Must've been hard. It doesn't sound like pity to me. I think you just don't like talking about yourself," you grinned softly.

"Huh," Steve laughed. "You're right. Never have."

A beat passed, then Steve spoke again.

"You have something," he uttered gently, leaning forward hesitantly until you gave him the go with your reassuring eyes. "Just here."

His eyes were soft and trained as he leaned in across the table, dabbing at the corner of your lip with his finger at the powdered sugar that had landed there. The food on your oblivious face only made you even cuter. And while the action was nonchalant for him, it felt so intimate to you for him to reach out and touch you so gently, to do something so tiny for you. You couldn't help the way your smile grew as you watched him dust off his hand afterwards, leaning back into his own seat.

"You're honestly so cute, Steve," you sipped at your mimosa, and he chuckled goofily, shaking his head and looking down at his plate.

"I- I don't try to be-" he stammered.

Steve was so bashful he could hardly form a competent sentence, but all you did was laugh it off, eyeing him from the rim of your mimosa glass. You had him, for sure. Who else could render a grown man, especially him, speechless?

In the time that you woke up and finished breakfast, the hours had passed by and you and Steve were ready to leave. Packing up again wasn't a hassle as you had only spent the night there and Steve was there to help. You glanced out the window, squinting your eyes before you left the room. Clouds seemed to be settling in the sky, hiding the sun that you had been admiring so highly just a few minutes before. You didn't mind though, in fact it didn't take away from your love for the New York City skyline. Sure, you had cloudy days in SoCal, but you were used to sunshine. This was refreshing, almost. The gloom was comforting, the heavy clouds seemed to close in on you and hug you. It felt cozy.

You pointed it out to Steve as you left the room, your fingers mingling with his until you held his hand gently.

"Looks like it's gonna rain," you commented.

Steve looked out the window by the elevator and sucked his teeth, frustrated,

"Ahh, this conflicts with our plans. I was gonna try to get us out somehow, but we can't really do what I planned if it's going to rain."

"Steve, it's okay," you smiled up at him genuinely, squeezing his hand and stepping into the elevator. "I'm sure whatever you had planned was great, but I'd love to spend the day inside with you in your apartment. If I'm gonna be there for the next two weeks I might as well get settled in, right?"

"You really don't mind?" Steve asked, wanting to make sure you really were okay with it all, and you nodded.

"Yeah. When I'm with you, I have fun. I don't mind what we do."

Steve gathered the nerve to reach down and kiss the top of your head, the simple, sweet gesture making your body fill up with excitement like a balloon. The smile on your face only got wider. You wanted to keep count of all the kisses you shared - four thus far. You wouldn't admit it, but this was the most whipped for a man you'd ever been.

"You're sweet," he praised you, and this time you were the one getting bashful, looking down at your feet.

You exited the elevator and headed into the same secluded back area as before. Steve put on quite the oblivious show, carrying both your heavy bags to the car, his muscles flexing unforgivably as he reached up and easily put them in the back of the car. Normally you would've offered help but you had no problem leaning against the back door, watching him work his magic. He grunted as he stored away the last of your luggage, and that set your whole body on fire. You doused it out quickly though, when he turned and faced you with an incognizant smile, looking exactly like a golden retriever puppy dog. Steve turned you on, but there was something undeniably adorable about him that made your relationship far more than just sexual.

"You ready?" he asked, squinting slightly.

You nodded, smiling softly. As per usual, Steve opened the door for you when you got into the front passenger seat of the car. You wanted to tell him he didn't have to, but you stayed silent, because something in you told you that there was a part of Steve that did it subconsciously, still used to tradition and the art of being a gentleman. When Steve got into the car next to you, you felt your chest swell with excitement knowing that you were on the way to his apartment, and that this was still only the beginning.

"I'm excited!" you locked eyes with Steve, and that feeling came bubbling up inside of him, that feeling that he couldn't resist you and the bright smile of yours that matched your luminous heart.

He started driving and you looked out the window at the streets passing by, taking in all the morning glory of New York once again. Steve kept stealing glances at you, your head nearly pressed up against the window as you drove past buildings and people. Every once in a while, you'd point in amazement at a particularly expensive or tall building, or point out places you'd just die to visit. Steve noted all of it mentally, resolving to himself that he'd take you to these places somehow, even if you couldn't necessarily be together in the public eye.

You played soft music in the car, making small talk and mindless conversation during the half hour drive from Brooklyn to Manhattan. It was just as you were pulling into the lot in the back of the apartment that it started to rain, and not just rain, it started to pour. You shrieked with excitement when you ran out of the car like a giddy child, leaving Steve no time to open the door for you. In the rain, you couldn't help but feel free, spreading your arms out like an eagle and yipping. Steve seemed disgruntled, not wanting you to get soaked or even sick from the cold downpour, but you didn't seem to mind.

"YN, you're gonna get soaked!" Steve warned, opening the trunk and starting to bring both your bags out.

"That's what she said," you trilled, and you knew you were being childish, but you reassured Steve that you were fine. "Steve, it hardly rains where I live. I need to have this."

Steve shook his head, but he laughed at the reminder that you were a sunshine girl at heart,

"You're crazy."

"Okay, okay! I'll help, and don't try to get me not to," you sauntered over to your luggage, dragging it behind you while Steve followed, chuckling to himself.

You were both soaked, and by the time you got inside to Steve's floor, you had tracked rainwater inside his house. It dripped off the sleeves of your blouse, off your shoulders and hair. But you weren't worried about that right now. You were glad to be inside Steve's apartment, the place you'd be calling home for the next two weeks. His apartment was nothing like the luxury penthouse, but to you it was even better.

It fit Steve's style, comfortable and homey, full of browns and neutrals with dark wooden floors, and almost rustic in feel. Looking at the apartment, you wouldn't have guessed that it belonged to the same man who put you in a private jet yesterday, but it was still nice and spacious. It gave Steve that human quality, and you could tell that was probably what he was looking for.

Steve watched as you walked around the apartment, introducing yourself to the new surroundings, and closed the door behind him.

"Welcome. Hope it's not too dull."

You turned, still soaking, water splashing on the floor as you did so,

"Never too dull. I like it. It's real homey."

"Good, because we'll be here for as long as you stay," Steve nodded, remembering again that you'd be here for two weeks, which honestly felt like a long time. He wanted to make sure every second was satisfying.

"That's fine with me," you smiled. "But uhm, I should probably change. I don't wanna ruin your floors."

"You won't ruin my floor. Fair though, I should change too. We're both soaked." A beat passed, then mindlessly Steve added, "I can give you one of my shirts."

You paused slightly, not because this was something you didn't want, but because it seemed so intimate to you to wear another guy's clothing. It meant that you would be wrapped in his scent in the form of an oversized t-shirt or whatever he planned to give you. He noticed the way your demeanor shifted and looked up, brows raised inquisitively,

"Is that okay?"

A goofy smile spread out across your cheeks and you nodded slowly,

"Yeah, perfect."

You changed in Steve's bedroom while he changed in the living room, and you couldn't help but linger a bit, looking around at all his things and what was in his room. It was a simple bedroom, not much in it except his bed, dresser, night tables, and a bookshelf full of hefty books he probably hadn't gotten to reading yet.

On top of his bookshelf was a drawing pad, but you didn't dare look through it - you knew how personal something like that could be. There was also a photo album with no photos actually in it, but he had tucked a bunch of pictures into the first page of the photo album. You smiled to yourself - you knew he'd probably been meaning to stock the album but just hadn't gotten to it yet. You noted this as something you could help him do while you spent time together.

You heard Steve shuffling outside of the room, so you came out of his bedroom and walked into the living room where he seemed to be setting up, looking for something to do.

"Hey," he looked over his shoulder at you, occupied with one of the shelves in the living room. He looked over again, making a double take, this time with his brows furrowed and his eyes intense. "Hey," he repeated with some intensity, pausing to take you all in.

He hadn't thought much about giving you his clothes to wear but now that he saw you in them, it was like he got the wind knocked out of him. His clothes draped around you perfectly, dangling down your legs and leaving plenty of space. His hoodie practically hung to your knees, and underneath you were only wearing a pair of cotton gray booty shorts. And not to mention, you had ditched the bra, so he could see the outline of your breasts through the hoodie he gave you, nipples poking through.

He was trying not to be so juvenile about the fact that he could practically feel all of you through your clothes - his clothes - if he were to touch you, but man did you pull it off. Besides, you had obsessed over the smell of his hoodie when you put it on, you wanted to bury your face in it the rest of the day, but you settled for putting the hood over your head instead.

And anyway, you weren't immune from the thirsting. You too looked Steve up and down, dragging your eyes along his figure, which was especially apparent in the t-shirt he wore that seemed to cling onto his muscles just the right way. And who could forget the grey sweatpants that hung almost explicitly low on his hips.

You both were thinking the same thing: "You have no idea."

You cocked your head to the side, your voice coming out quieter than you'd intended,

"Hi."

"Uh," Steve cleared his throat, turning back to the bookshelf. "Sit! I was thinking we could play board games, maybe some cards."

"I'm down!" you sat with a grunt on the pillow that was by the end of Steve's long coffee table in front of his couch.

"Cool, so I've got Scrabble, Sorry, Uno..."

Steve went on with the choices and you eventually settled on Uno. Towards the beginning you said it was a game of luck, but when you won the first two rounds, you started to spout knowledge about strategy and how Uno was a game of supreme genius. It was all in good humor, but Steve was actually competitive like you.

You griped at him, warning that you didn't want him to let you win, and he actually laughed at you, replying: "Come on, doll, who do you think you're playing against? We aren't friends right now." Steve's competitiveness was quite fun to see up close and even a turn on. It was game on. You were five games of Uno and two and a half board games in when you yawned, and Steve's ears seemed to perk up as he looked at you.

"Tired?" he asked, and your eyebrows came together, confused. You didn't even realize that you had yawned.

"Mm-mm. Tired of beating you, maybe."

Steve snorted, shaking his head,

"You're hilarious."

"Right?" you teased, making a face like it was obvious.

"I do think we should take a break though," Steve sat up and dusted his hands off on his pants, and you refrained from making another sore winner joke, following suit and getting up yourself. "I can make you some tea and we can maybe watch a movie."

"Sounds good to me," you grinned, following him into the kitchen.

It was still raining outside, and the rain ran down the small window in the kitchen behind the sink. You stood at the window, folding your arms against the counter and placing your chin on top, gazing outside as the rain poured. It was a dreary but cozy day, and who better to spend it inside with than Steve, playing board games with him in his hoodie?

After putting the kettle on, Steve glanced over at you, your arms perched on the counter, looking out at the rain falling before you. He smiled silently. You were so cute, and he loved catching you in wholesome moments like this, when you were all to yourself, like no one else was there. He got a good scope of what your life was like when you weren't together through Snapchat and everything else, but now you were under such specific circumstances. In particular, you were with him. But in this moment, he could have a real life glimpse of what you were like when you were truly alone.

He went to go pass by you, and you stood up, turning on your feet to face him, trapping the two of you between the island counter behind Steve and the sink counter behind you. You were so close together, Steve hovering you while his eyes searched your face, before settling on your own eyes.

"Hey," you grinned softly.

"Hey," Steve replied, dimples showing when he smiled and you both leaned in, closing the little space between the two of you and letting your lips brush together and then flush, skin against skin.

The bristle of Steve's growing beard tickled your chin as you pressed your body against his, this time purposefully grinding your waist into the growing bulge as you deepened the kiss. Your lips together were soft and moist, mouths sharing the same breath. The rain seemed to grow even louder then, pattering hard against the window behind you, the skies darkening ever so slowly. You tilted your head, then Steve turned his, your noses sweeping against one another as you tried to find the perfect placement, the perfect pace, settling on this slow, passionate embrace of your lips.

Last night the kiss had been desperate, almost hot and feverish although slow. This time the sensation was as if you were accustomed to the feeling of your lips against each other's, learning the curvatures of the other's mouths. It was unhurried and sensual, needing more but not digging desperately. It was just apparent what you both wanted.

And you were all too wrapped up in it, your breaths becoming heavier and filling in the silence outside of the sound of the rain pounding on the window. His hands gripped the small of your back tighter, pulling you in closer to him, while yours explored both sides of his face. Your touch sent the most pleasant churning sensation down into his stomach, making that bulge in his sweatpants even more apparent. A quiet, faint moan left your lips, the sound of it sending Steve into a frenzy. You could feel him gearing to press into you more, telling you without words what you both wanted, revving to kiss you harder, until the shrill whistle of the kettle resounded in the room.

Five times you'd kissed now.

You both pulled away, alarmed, but Steve still kept his hands on your waist, his erection still poking furiously against you. Just the bulge tucked away in his pants knocked the wind out of you - you couldn't imagine what it would feel like inside you. But now all those hot and heavy feelings were slowly sloughing away as you returned to innocence, feeling sort of flustered at how quick you'd both been to try to veer this congregation of your lips into something more.

Since that morning, something had been in the air. Maybe it was the fact that you were inside all day and it was raining outside, so it made you feel like there was nothing better to do than have sex, but whatever it was, it was getting to the both of you. And soon there would only be one thing left to do.

You cleared your throat, your voice settled although your face was frazzled, and you could hear the smile in your voice,

"You should get that."

Steve seemed to snap out of it at last, blinking fast as he peeled away from you, nodding strongly,

"Right."

You bit your lip and sat up on the kitchen sink while Steve prepared the tea. As much as you wanted to help and be close to him, you had to cool off first. You and Steve both knew what you wanted, and you knew if you let it happen, it would simply happen. But you each wanted to hold it out just a little while longer. It was just a question of how much longer that would actually be.

It seemed that you had enough time to compose yourself while Steve made the tea, asking you faintly how many spoonfuls of sugar you liked and if you wanted milk or cream, and you replied with your preferences. Steve walked over, handing you your tea, and leaned against the island behind him while you swung your legs back and forth on the counter in front of him.

He reached out his mug,

"A toast."

"To rainy days," you decided.

"To rainy days."

You sat in silence while you took the first sips of your tea, delightfully warm and settling in your stomach in just the right way.

"How about... I order some pizza, and we watch a movie," Steve suggested.

"Deal," you bit your lip, grinning at him and hopping down from the counter.

The pizza came once you finished your tea, and during that time you had both been sitting together on the couch watching junk TV, like those fake court shows that you found yourselves unusually invested in.

Steve set the pizza on the coffee table in front of the couch and opened up the box, and you leaned in to give it a whiff.

“Okay. I have a... kinda stupid question," you said after a little while, while Steve put pizza slices on plates for the both of you.

"There are no stupid questions here."

"I know, but it's stupid anyway," you bit down, wringing your hands together a bit nervously - you didn't want to come off the wrong way.

Steve noticed how your whole demeanor changed as you turned towards him, cross legged and wringing your hands together, and he couldn't help but chuckle, trying to calm you down,

"What are you about to ask me, doll?"

You laughed at how weird you realized you were behaving, and shook your head,

"I was just wondering, you know. Do you ever, like... have to diet?"

Steve actually burst out laughing, and you couldn't help but giggle along. You knew you were silly to think that he would actually be upset with you asking him something like that. And as he was laughing, you really relished the sound of his laughter. He'd chuckled before here and there and it brought you little bursts of joy, but here he was giving you a genuine belly laugh, sonorous and fully amused. It was nice to see him loosen up a little bit. He finally regained his composure, but a hand was still on his belly as he shook his head.

"I can't believe that was what you were asking me. I thought it was gonna be something difficult and soul searching the way you were acting," he teased you, but then he placed his hands over yours. "You know you can ask me anything, doll. I won't get offended."

"Promise?"

"You have my word. Besides, I don't think I could ever get mad at you. To answer your question though... I guess I have to regulate myself. But, you know, the serum... gosh, it sounds so weird to say that... it makes things a lot easier. I can't just pig out all the time though, and I still have to train. 'S not something I worry about too much, but it's not like I'm eating junk food that often anyway."

"Oh," you nodded, actually intrigued to hear this information. You didn't want to treat him like a Captain America encyclopedia, but you, like thousands of others, had very curious questions about him. It was just your luck that you could actually ask him these things, the most reliable source there was. "That makes sense."

"Uh huh," Steve passed you a plate, topped with the cheesiest pizza you'd ever seen - it was true, New Yorkers didn't play with their pizza. "You know you don't have to diet though, right? Not if you don't want to."

Your heart warmed at Steve's unwarranted kindness. Of course he would think you were wondering this for yourself, and the fact that he checked in just in case made you want to squeal.

"You're so lovely," you couldn't help but reach over and stroke his cheek before letting your hand fall back in your own lap. "I know. I really just got curious, that's all."

"It's real cute," Steve commented, laying back on the couch. "Now, what movie do you wanna watch?"

"Hmm... well have you ever seen Harry Potter?" you asked, your voice going up a pitch as you got suddenly very excited, realizing that if things went as planned and Steve liked the Harry Potter movies, you could spend your two weeks binge watching and rewatching them on your inside days, and watching even more movies with him that he hadn't seen.

"I haven't. It's been written down in my little book for so long," Steve said, not realizing he let the existence of this "little book" slip.

"Little book?" you raised your eyebrows, and he turned his head to face you, smiling sheepishly.

"It's a little lame, but I keep a bunch of pop culture stuff that people recommend to me in this little notebook. It's how I keep up with the times. God, I sound like an old man."

Your heart soared at the knowledge of this notebook's purpose. You found it so endearing that Steve kept a record of the things people recommended to him, even if it was a little sad that he still felt like he had to adjust. You wanted to pour suggestions into this little notebook and treat it like a bucket list in the two weeks you had together, without adding too much pressure on him. One of the things on that bucket list would for sure be to watch the Harry Potter movies in their entirety.

"No!" you nearly growled, your voice raising louder than you had expected, rushing closer to him and putting your hands on both his shoulders. Steve's eyes were wide as he watched you, not expecting this sudden surge in energy. "Not lame, Steve."

You often restricted him from deprecating himself, always reminding him who he was as both a figure and as a human being, and he appreciated that. But this time around you seemed extremely ardent and sincere, adding some bass in your voice as you tried to get him to see.

"Okay," Steve nodded slowly, still wide-eyed and a bit shocked.

You blinked hard.

"Not lame." You realized you were being intense, and relaxed a bit, but Steve had no idea how happy the knowledge of that list made you just now, and you never wanted him to feel like it was silly or lame. It was just a reminder that he was in a world so strange and new to him, and he was making the effort to fit in. That was all that mattered for you. "I'm sorry, it's just... I really find that very sweet. Literally never stop doing that."

Steve grinned, patting your knee to reassure you,

"I promise I won't stop."

"Good... 'cuz if you do I'm just gonna make you a new list," you smirked, and you settled back down, Steve shaking his head playfully as he put on the first movie.

Your eyes glowed with excitement as the opening began, the notorious fanfare twinkling in your ears, and you scooched in close to him, wanting to cuddle. He obliged and placed his broad arm over your shoulders, pulling a plush blanket over the both of you while you snuggled your cheek into his chest. You'd cuddled the night before but you hadn't had the chance to really take it in.

Now you were doing just that, and it felt so right being so close to Steve, being so laid up like this. It was romantic. It was what couples did. And although Steve's heart was beating, trying to make sure he was doing every little thing right, you settled in immediately, your head on his chest calming his pulsating heart.

He was quite invested in the movie. In all honesty, he'd heard lots of good things about the Harry Potter series, but he never took the time, because he never had the time to watch them. He was glad you seemed adamant on getting him to watch the movies and catch up on all the references he missed out on. And watching the movies was entertaining. But even better than just watching the movies was getting to be around you.

You snuggled into Steve like you were just meant to be tucked under him, and you weren't afraid to get close to him, your head on his heart and your legs in between his. Steve kept peeking down at you, your eyes glued animatedly to the TV as Harry, Ron and Hermione explored the dark halls of Hogwarts Castle. You even quoted the characters at times. And honestly, your commentary was the best part of all.

You spent four hours sitting through the first two movies, just huddled in together, away from the rain, the empty box of pizza sitting in front of you. You felt safe with each other in the dim lighting of Steve's living room, alone together in the most intimate of ways. And while it was wholesome, being so close and locked in together was sure to make those feelings from earlier spring up again. It was in the background of both of your minds, though you each worked so hard to keep the movie and the innocent touching at the forefront.

Steve didn't want to initiate anything until he knew you were ready, because he didn't want it to feel rushed. The both of you knew that your relationship was built on this very sexual and physical basis, so you weren't exactly shying away from it. But there was a difference in doing it online and doing it in real life, and this was something you both understood without having to say it aloud. So you were each tentative, because you both wanted it, but you weren't sure when it should happen or how to say it explicitly.

Being locked in like this the whole day, though, when it was so dark and rainy outside, definitely got you both in the mood quicker. Your desires were unspoken, but they drifted in the air when you were together, even during these innocuous, wholesome moments. It was why when you got up from the couch to get ready for bed, you had this one thing hounding your brain, fighting to come up to the forefront. You tried to tell yourself you were just being a horny 20 something, but god did you want him. In every sense of the word you wanted him, and it made you feel a lot better about wanting to get physical with him. There were actually strings attached, and you wouldn't have accepted that if it were anybody else. But with Steve you were glad the connection went beyond the physical.

But that physical connection? You wanted to plug into it very soon.

"I think I'm gonna take a shower," you said after you got up from the couch, stretching a bit.

Steve's hoodie stretched up your legs, showing the tiny pair of shorts you were wearing underneath. You followed Steve's eyes as they raked up your thighs all the way to your face. Flustered, he replied,

"Yeah, that's- that's fine. I'll uh, clean up, and we can go to bed."

"That sounds great," you smiled warmly, again feeling that cozy surge in your tummy and heart that reminded you that you had Steve all to yourself, that you were doing these intimate things like sharing the bed and wearing his clothes, cuddling while watching movies on a rainy day.

It all honestly felt like the beginning of a relationship, without all the pressures of a typical relationship. The uniqueness of your situation made a lot of things different, but that didn't always mean harder.

You had made up your mind about the physical intimacy, though. It was why you snuck that lingerie set into the bathroom when you got ready for your shower.

As you showered, you mulled over your mind how you would approach Steve. You didn't want to catch him entirely off guard or take him by surprise. Your confidence reassured you that you hadn't been reading the signs wrong, that this was something you both wanted. You still wanted to approach this the right way. And although you weren't exactly nervous, you hadn't had sex in a long time, hadn't felt the touch of someone else's hands on you more intimately for a while.

But, neither had Steve. In fact, he was sitting in his bed outside the bathroom attached to his room, his jaw clenched as he stared at the space ahead of him waiting for you to come out, his mind returning to that heated moment you shared earlier. He was a bit embarrassed at the way he'd reacted so quickly, but amazed at how fast you turned him on without even really trying. And he knew that it was in both of your minds, and he was thinking of how and when he could bring it up to you respectfully. He was beginning to realize that these things were easier online.

You took a good look at yourself in the mirror after you had changed into the set Steve bought you, and honestly, you were digging it. You figured you'd just approach him outright, let him think about it and make it clear what you wanted - what you both wanted. You had done so much together through a screen. You couldn't wait for that to become real much longer. Steve had even said it himself: "I can't wait to fuck you." That moment was emblazoned in your mind at this point.

The set fit you perfectly. You had tried it on only once before, in front of the mirror in your apartment, admiring how it fit your body, taking hundreds of pictures but not sending them to anyone, not even Steve. He'd see it when he saw it, you had decided.

But looking in the mirror now, you felt like you were on fire. Steve had picked this out himself, so you knew it would drive him crazy. The white color of the cut out lingerie bodysuit was translucent against your skin so tantalizingly, and the way the straps at the bottom hugged up your waist highlighted the shape of your hips so well. And even though it was cut out, it left just enough to the imagination. The pink satin robe over it was just an accent, left slightly open just for show.

You bit down on your lip, doing your final primp and polish before you took in a deep breath and walked out.

"Steve," you said as you stood in front of the bathroom door, facing him in his bed.

When Steve turned to face you, his entire face and body changed. He hadn't been expecting this at all, and what made it even better was that you were wearing the lingerie he bought for you. The thought of you being in something he bought you made some part of his brain light up, the part that discovered new likings.

And god, you looked gorgeous. Your body could be seen in just the right way in the piece, and he couldn't forget the way it just barely covered your breasts, and the flesh right between your thighs. But more than surprised, he was turned on. That was why he wasted no time like he usually might have by being bashful and googly eyed. He was all those things, but he wanted you the most out of all that.

"Wow," Steve said, dragging his words out. He turned so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyebrows raised as he looked you up and down, taking you all in.

You giggled, feeling Steve's eyes burning into you.

You realized how long it had been since someone looked at you that way in person. Almost every night of the week, you had all eyes on you in your shows. But it just wasn't the same. There was never that special feeling. And with Steve, you knew his reactions were genuine.

And the look in Steve's eyes, hungry in the needy sense and hungry in the commanding sense, nearly made your knees buckle. Just the thought of what was coming next seemed to have you throbbing. He seemed to have no problem making eye contact this time around, there was no sense that he was being shy.

"You look... fucking amazing," Steve breathed out, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in.

And while you knew it was true, some part of you had you folding your hands together as if you were hoping he'd think that.

"Yeah?" you asked, tilting your head and slowly shrugging off the robe, letting it drop to your waist.

Steve's breath got caught in his throat as you fully revealed the lingerie beneath, the robe pooling around your arms and waist. All he could do was nod before he found his voice again, gulping,

"Yeah." He beckoned you to him, outstretching his arm. "Come here, doll."

You inched towards him, unafraid despite how much the pounding in your chest may have indicated that you weren't. You understood your power, knew how to utilize your spectacular sexual prowess. You may have both been a little rough when it came to real life interactions, but your chemistry together was explosive. It would knock any awkwardness out of the park, or enhance it in a way that made the experience a lot less nerve wracking.

You stood in front of him, looking down at him with lust in your hooded eyes as you took in all of him.

"Take that off for me?" Steve's hand brushed against the robe.

His voice was low and teetering on the edge of desperate. You soaked in all that need, wasting no time with teasing like you usually might have, because you wanted this just as much as he did.

You took it off, letting it fall to your feet on the floor. Removing the robe showed off your legs, smooth and elongated. He took in a sharp breath, his chest hurting from how badly he wanted you. He inched his hands forward, resting them on your waist and running his hands up and down the sheer fabric of the lingerie piece. The feeling of his hands on you was so different from the feeling before, because you knew exactly what was going to happen next, the realization burning in your stomach.

Steve took his time with you, his hands on you making it so hard for you to wait. He saw the way your eyes glimmered with desire and he grinned almost devilishly.

"I know, puppy," he called you, and his hands lowered on your hips to settle you down onto his lap. Despite how wide his legs were, you straddled him with ease. He nudged his knee into your clothed center, pushing your legs even further and making you let out a loud huff. Steve let his fingers run along your cheeks as his eyes searched yours. "So goddamn beautiful."

"Steve," you panted, and he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours and letting your lips meet in yet another kiss. Six times you'd kissed now, and you weren't counting all those cute pecks on the couch earlier.

His lips sunk into yours with ease, both your mouths wet and hungry for kissing. Your bodies seemed to meld into each other's, neither of you very conscious of your movement, just knowing that you were getting closer and closer to each other. You could feel Steve breathing hard against your face, and the touch of his hands on your body felt like they were burning prints into your hot skin. You moaned into his mouth when his hands traveled down your back to cup your ass, almost tentatively, like he didn't know what to do with it.

You wanted to encourage him to go for it, and you succeeded, because he squeezed the sensitive flesh, kneading it in his hands which were larger than life. You could feel his cock through his boxers, closer than you'd ever felt it before, and you couldn't help but whimper when you rolled your hips against his length, because the friction was so unbelievable.

Steve's eyes nearly shot open when you rolled your clothed cunt against the erection still growing in his boxers, forgetting how apparent it was that he was hard, and forgetting that you would actually do something about it. Too many times he'd been left to handle things on his own. The fact that you were actually there to help him release all that tension got him going like nothing else. And he could feel the shape of you against his cock, feel your slick folds beneath what you wore like it was your bare flesh. He grunted in your mouth, eventually opening his eyes where they hung low, pulling away so your eyes met.

"You do know what you're doing, right?" he asked, not as a warning or an expression of doubt but as a confirmation that you knew the things that you were making him feel.

You rolled your eyes playfully, your smile lazy and hazy eyed,

"No, Steve, I'm grinding against your dick for no reason."

When you put it that way, it made Steve blush, returning to that bashful disposition for just a minute before he came back to the space he was in again.

"I-"

"Shh," you shushed him lightly, putting your finger over his lips, making him look up at you with almost innocent eyes. You shook your head gently. "Don't talk."

You leaned in again, taking control of the situation as your fingers squeezed at tufts of his hair, pulling gently and summoning soft groans from his lips into yours, kissing him harder this time. Hard enough that you pushed him back onto the bed, him following under your lead, overwhelmed with the feeling of your body up against him, laying his entire body down.

You kept on kissing, hot and heavy and full of touching, but it wasn't enough to satisfy the craving you both had, no matter how many times you brushed against Steve's cock, no matter how much Steve's hand creeped past your ass and his fingers brushed against your core, which was practically soaking through your lingerie. You pulled away from his lips with a pop sound, your face suddenly emerging from being buried in his as you straddled Steve’s lap, who was now shirtless and starting to get a bit hot.

"Steve," you breathed heavily, trying to catch your breath. You needed to say it aloud. "I... wanna have sex with you. I just... I think we're both ready."

Steve knew that was what you wanted but he wasn't sure when either of you would actually advance things further. You watched him as he blinked, biting down on his lip.

"You're- you're sure?"

"I need it," you practically whined without meaning to, and fuck, Steve couldn't say no even if he wanted to - how could he when whining sounded so good coming from your lips, swollen and wet from kissing.

His eyes nearly glazed over at the sight of you on top of him, in that flimsy little piece, so frustrated and so needy, almost pouting. There was no way he could try to tempt you even more - he didn't have it in him to wait by teasing you.

"You really can't wait? You need it that bad?" he drawled, not because he wanted to taunt you, but because he wanted to hear how badly you wanted him, the way you expressed it on camera.

You couldn't resist, not when he was running his thumb along your bare thighs the way that he was, looking up at you with a sort of unintentionally cocky smirk set on his lips.

"I need you, Stevie," your face gave it all away, brows furrowed and your eyes full of desperation. You rolled your hips against him again like you were trying to prove it, nearly paralyzing yourself with the pleasure you felt just from the outline of his cock. Your legs shook and your jaw clenched. The sound of your pouty voice was almost agonizing. "You need me too."

Steve groaned at the repeated feeling, teeth grit as he decided to take matters into his own hands. You landed on your back neatly as he flipped you over with ease, now hovering over you. He was big and strong and his build was intimidating. He covered you completely and then some, and you quaked at how his body over yours almost cast a shadow. There was no innocence left in Steve's eyes, only burning desire and a need to control and be controlled. All that was running through his mind was thoughts of pleasuring you, making you cum around his tongue, his fingers, and his cock. Words couldn't express how much he wanted to bring you to that point and actually be able to touch you.

"Fuck," he uttered out, his throat tight and constricted. "I need to get you out of this."

A part of Steve wanted to rip it off, and another part of him wanted to keep some control of his senses and savor the way it looked on you. But he settled for burying his face in your neck, kissing you and leaving tiny little love bites to remind the both of you of this night. Steve's lips against your skin had you feeling so sensitive, the way he toyed at your neck and earlobe, making you shudder into his ears. Your hands flew to his back and gripped the tight muscle there, exploring the broad surface. The taste of your skin, that light sheen of sweat mixed with your natural taste had Steve aching for more - all he wanted was to bury his face in your pussy right now, then bury even more of him inside of you.

He moved onto your chest, peeling the top part off with ease, reeling back to take a good look at you. You let out a sharp intake at the feeling of the flush of air against your tits, realizing how exposed you were to Steve, who seemed ultra focused on the curve of your breasts. You looked so beautiful, half naked, writhing underneath him, waiting for what was next.

He took one of your breasts into his mouth, kissing and suckling at your nipple and making you cry out for the first time, your eyes shutting closed at the feeling of his warm lips closing against the flesh. He carried on with this until your nipples were hard stiff in his mouth, reveling in the taste of you and the noises his mouth made against you, as well as all the pleasured breaths that left your mouth as your chest rose and fell.

"So fucking beautiful, baby," he whispered kissing down the expanse of your tummy until he reached the happy trail.

You wondered if he could feel the butterflies swarming in your stomach at the sound of his praise. You watched through blurred eyes as Steve's head ducked further down your stomach, reaching that v-line that was almost covered by the bottom half of your lingerie. You almost moaned when he peeled that off with his teeth, looking dead at you as he did so.

"Steve, fuck, you swear you're not that experienced and then you do shit like this," you panted, though you couldn't stop your amusement from breaking through.

He laughed quietly, but in his blue eyes there was more dominance than there was cheeriness.

"I do my research," was all he said, the assertive nature of it all sending those butterflies swarming again.

He finally looked down at the bare flesh that was between your legs, a low groan escaping his throat as he did so. Your pussy was dripping wet and glistening, and though he'd seen it onscreen, absolutely nothing compared to the way it looked in real life. All he could think was that he was where he belonged, in between your legs. The sight of you made his cock twitch, precum practically leaking out of the tip and probably leaving a dark wet spot in his boxers.

You whimpered when you saw him looking at your pussy as it pulsed around nothing but air, needing him to say something, do something, anything. His eyes flashed up to you momentarily and he smiled slightly at the needy pout on your face, then back to your soaking pussy right in front of him. He couldn't say that he was all confident — he had a lot of things on his mind because he wanted to make sure his inexperience wouldn't hinder your pleasure. But some part of him also knew he'd make you scream.

"Such a pretty pussy," he grumbled, and reached his fingers out, gathering slick from the very entrance of your slit and running it between your folds, eliciting a gasp from you as your toes curled from the unexpected sensation.

"Fucking hell, Steve," you moaned, watching as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, tasting just the very beginnings of you and seeming to savor it.

He wished that he could lock away in his mind the noises he made come out of you, and keep on his tongue the taste of you. The sound of his name on your lips was so enticing.

"That good?" he asked, genuinely wanting to make sure - he was still so sweet even with his head between your legs.

You ran your fingers through his hair, praising him like he was a good dog,

"Mhm. So good."

He tried and failed to hide the almost giddy grin that appeared on his face, then began to kiss and suck around your inner thighs, a relaxing touch that made your head loll and your eyes roll back in your head. Then that kissing at your thighs, those wet and chaste butterfly kisses became so much closer, his lips wrapping around your clit and giving it a soft kiss. He looked up at you for reassurance,

"That okay?"

"Fuck, yes, Steve," you cried out at that zinging sensation, desperate for him to really get going. "More."

You pulled at his hair, which seemed to be a good indicator of what you wanted, and he smirked to himself, satisfied, and dove right in, not wasting anymore time.

The sound that came out of your mouth when Steve buried his face in your pussy, the tip of his tongue dragging along your entrance as he kept his lips suckling at your clit, was probably the most angelic thing Steve had ever heard. It had been so long since you'd been granted the simple luxury of getting your pussy eaten, and Steve was proving more and more by the minute that he was going to provide you with that luxury and more. The sounds you made egged him on, and he let that gentle prodding of his tongue become lapping, using his whole tongue against your wet entrance and lapping away, reveling in your bittersweet taste.

You writhed around his head, your back already arching up off the bed. You were feeling everything - Steve's mouth at your throbbing clit, his wide tongue lapping fat stripes up your slit which was coated in your thick arousal, the bristles of his growing beard against your inner thighs, the feeling of his hands at your thighs, spreading your legs apart the perfect amount for him.

"Oh," you moaned, and Steve moaned back, the vibrations of his moan running right up your core. "Mm, fuck, Stevie. Feels so fucking good."

Steve breathed out heavily, his hot breath against your core adding to the many sensations you were feeling at the moment. With each movement Steve made, your hand tugging at his hair grew tighter, only revving him up further. He wanted to make every inch of your body quake with pleasure and know that he was the reason why, he wanted to drag out all the moans he could from you until you lost your voice.

When he pulled his tongue and mouth away you whimpered, but he was right there making up for it, running his fingers along your clit in slow, tempting circles. He seemed to understand the way your pleasure operated right away, seemed to know exactly how to hold you over until you got to that point. And when he looked up, his beard and his lips glinting with your arousal, it was to your amazement that you remembered this wasn't just any old guy, but Captain America who was eating you out with such finesse. If that wasn't a sexual feat, you didn't know what was. Steve's eyes seemed feral with a glint of concentration, studying your face and the way your chest heaved up and down.

"Feels nice, doesn't it, doll?" he asked, dragging his fingers up and down on your clit and teasing your slit, making your face flex in a needy frown.

All you can do is let out a strangled moan as he keeps teasing with his fingers, running them along your pulsing slit until he dips the pad of one of his fingers in, feeling around until he slips it in entirely, earning a slight moan from you as his finger slides in. He savored the feeling of your walls, so warm and wet, hugging his finger, wanting to duplicate the feeling around his cock - but not yet. And fuck, just Steve's one finger is huge, more filling than your own fingers could be, reaching inside of you deeper than you could ever manage. You absolutely squealed when he dipped another finger inside, having to stretch you out a slight amount to even fit another finger. He raised his brows at the effort, realizing again how big every part of him was compared to you.

Then he found a pace with his fingers, pushing them in and out slowly, gently, scissoring you open and stretching you out as much as his fingers could. You moaned as he fingered you properly, thrusting his fingers in deep and slow, in and out and curving upwards at the spongy bit of flesh inside of you that made you squirm each time he pressed his fingers against it. He studied your reactions, probing at that spot inside of you with just the right amount of pressure once he understood your body.

"Yes," you mewl when he added his lips into the mix, lapping and sucking away at your clit, his own spit mingling with your arousal as the combination seemed to drip off his tongue and down his own chin.

He looked up at you, his eyes darker and lustier than you'd ever seen them, and you whimpered, combing your fingers through his hair in praise until he looked back down and closed his eyes, soft lashes pressing against his face.

He continued with this, drawing all kinds of moans and groans from your sweating throat until he lost all technique, his tongue sloppily lapping against you while he started to fuck you with his fingers, still just as deep but growing faster now. He was messy with it, losing himself in the taste of you and the feeling of your throbbing heat, closing his eyes and just going to town on you. He was really getting into the groove of pleasuring you, disregarding technicality and neatness, which was the only request you had for him: to let go. His only focus was getting you to come undone, and when Steve made a plan, he stuck to it.

"Oh, right there," the feeling of his tongue and his fingers against that spot had you spiraling in a good way — a sated moan bubbled up your throat, your hand gripping his hair hard, bringing a satisfying stinging sensation to his scalp.

Your orgasm came fast, your toes literally curling and your knees coming up, your feet sliding against the sheets. An open-mouthed, pleased moan escaped from your lips, white flashing behind your shut eyes as Steve drew the first orgasm of the night from you. And honestly, just the feeling of you coming on Steve's face was almost enough to make himself come, but he held back.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, the only word that could escape your strained chest, trying to make sense of everything that Steve was bringing out of you.

Even as you were coming, Steve didn't stop, still lapping away at your juices and fucking his fingers in and out of you at an absurd speed, drawing out your pleasure as long as he could. But you were quite honestly winded, not sure how much more of this you could take.

"S-Steve," you muttered, garnering the energy to stutter his name.

"Mm?" he hummed, his lips still against your clit, the sensation making you come again. It seemed like it shouldn't have been possible for you to come twice in such a short amount of time, but Steve's fingers still buried inside of you begged to differ. He drew back right when that happened, his brows furrowed in amazement as he watched your arousal pool out from you, his head pounding at the squelching sound your pussy made when his fingers slid out of you. "Oh, sweetheart. You're so wet."

He looked up at you, and the combination of the look in his eyes and the crease in his brow would've seemed concerned if it weren't for the fact that he was just genuinely amazed and surprised that you came twice in such a short amount of time.

"Mmph," you humphed, coming down and blinking, dazed.

"You okay, doll?" he asked, laughing quietly.

You were still shaking, still in recovery, but at least you could speak now, loosening the grip on his hair and beckoning him towards you. He gladly hovered back over you, face to face with you yet again. He blushed at the amount of slick he could feel dripping all down your thighs and legs against his own legs when he hovered over you.

"Come here," you cooed, awe shining in your eyes.

Steve leaned in and let you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, sweet and slow, an appreciation kiss for what he'd done. You could taste all of you on just his lips. When he pulled away, he found your eyes boring deep into his, serious again.

"I'm ready," you bit down on your lip, and your voice became quieter. "I need you inside me. Please?"

"Oh, princess," Steve cupped your chin, and face, grazing his thumb along your lips. "You don't have to ask."

You held Steve's gaze, comprehending all the absolute adoration in his eyes, all of it held there for you.

"So glad I got you here all to myself, doll," he murmured lovingly, vast hands stroking your face.

You smiled,

"Me too."

He took in a deep breath as he stood on his knees between your legs, pulling down his boxers and letting his cock spring out. You'd seen it before, only once, and it was huge in person, veiny and throbbing, curved just the right way. The tip was leaking with his precum, the entire shaft engorged with a particular longing. You almost felt bad, you couldn't imagine how long it had been aching, because it was especially hard.

He noticed the bewildered look on your face. You were sort of prepping yourself with the knowledge that that was going inside of you. He couldn't help but wrap his hand around the shaft, stroking his cock slowly, only allowing that slight tug as a form of relief.

"You got me," he grunted, holding back just for you.

"Let me," you practically commanded, reaching forward to take him in your hands and feel him for yourself, biting down on your lip as you indulged in the feeling of your hands wrapped around him.

He took in a sharp intake of breath when you started slowly stroking up and down, but as much as he loved the feeling, he pushed your hand away at some point, shaking his head,

"Later. Right now I need to be inside you."

You couldn't stop the sinful grin that spread across your lips when he said that and dove back down, hovering over you yet again. His forehead brushed against yours as he positioned himself at your slit, just the feeling of his tip poking against you making you whimper loudly.

"Shit," he hissed, teasing your folds in earnest now. He used his hands to guide himself, sliding the tip of his cock up and down between your folds, which were soaked in your arousal. This alone could make him come. "You're dripping, sweetheart."

You whined, bucking your hips up as you tried to get him inside of you for real, and he snapped out of it and realigned to your pleasure.

"'S okay," he reassured you, and connected his lips to yours yet again, in that sweet, heart wrenching way because you only wanted one thing. "I got you," he promised, finally sliding the tip in.

Just at the feeling of the tip buried inside of your needy cunt, your eyes shot open and you looked up at Steve, who was doing everything in his power to take it slow. Your hand flung to his shoulder and you nodded, your voice faint and coming out in whispers like you were reaching for something,

"More."

He slid in even further, going past the tip. He wasn't even halfway in, and his shaft nearly filled you up, making you squeak out in pleasure. Meanwhile, a knot was nearly formed at Steve's temple as he focused on going further and not letting go regardless of how good you felt around him, tight and slowly being stretched out. He cherished the feeling of his cock going deeper inside of you, how wet and warm you felt, walls closing around him like your pussy was designed for him. It was more than sexual, it was euphoric, making his mind go blank as you wrapped around him so graciously.

You on the other hand, were scrunching your eyes shut, overwhelmed with pleasure and need. You wanted him all inside of you, but you were adjusting to the feeling, his cock thick and long and filling you up without even being all the way inside of you. You were silent, besides the whimpers that left your quivering lips as he pushed deeper inside of you, slowly and with the steadiest hips he could manage.

“You okay, doll?" he questioned, glancing up from where you were connected and at your face instead.

"Mhm," you opened your eyes and nodded, though you were blinking away tears - the pleasure was insurmountable, twinged with a bit of pain as you tried to get used to his length.

You were no virgin, but with how big Steve was, of course you needed the guidance. He seemed to understand that without having to communicate it, which made you want to joke about how cocky he was being without even realizing. But mainly, you were just appreciative.

You kept your hand at his back for comfort, your nails lightly scratching the sweaty skin that felt like an expanse of new land to you.

"Almost there, princess, I promise," Steve's voice was low and restrained, but he was trying to reassure you, stroking your jaw with his thumb and kissing gently at your neck, sending shivers down your spine at the sensation.

He finally bottomed out, pushing all the way inside of you, and you cried out in ecstasy, your nails digging little half moons into his back. Your hands relished the feeling of the muscles in his back flexing as he made slow, tentative movements. You could feel yourself clenching around him, your walls stretched out to grow accustomed to him - not just his cock, but him. You had to adjust your whole body to him, this masterpiece of a man, and Steve felt the same way. You looked beautiful, a luster of sweat that could easily be mistaken for a natural glow painted on your body and face, your puckered nipples brushing against his own chest. His hips dug into your own as he buried himself inside of you, forcing your legs to spread out.

He liked the way he had this sort of control over you, couldn't deny the fiendish delight he got from seeing you underneath him, so fucked out and almost delicate in that way, having to accommodate to his size. But larger than that sinful delight was the way his heart swelled at your beauty, and the fact that the thing he had longed for so greatly was finally catching up to him. The sound of your moans, whimpers, all those little pants you let out without realizing, he could finally hear in real life, in the safe haven of his own ears.

And being so close to you felt incredibly intimate - it didn't feel like he was hooking up with someone for a quick intake of pleasure, which was what he had sought you out for at the start of it all. It felt like he was with someone who he belonged with.

And he was inside of you. The sound of your strangled cries brought him back to real life. Not only was Steve big, his dick had the perfect curve, reaching depths and angles that no one had ever reached before - only your toys had this power, and it was still incomparable to him. He hadn't moved, he was just letting his body sink into you and become acclimated to the delirious feeling of being all the way inside of you, unforgivably deep, your weeping pussy throbbing around his length.

"Fuck," he let out a throaty groan, his voice harsh and raspy. His mind had gone blank again, focused on only one thing. Your pussy was so tight, holding onto him like a perfect, firm handshake. He had to choke out his words, so enveloped in ecstasy. "That's... so-"

"Mm, Steve," you blinked away tears, finally acclimated to the feeling of him all the way inside of you, needing him to move. "Move, please. I can take it."

"You can take it?" he rasped out, looking down and directly into your eyes, finally moving his hips almost all the way out and then burying himself in again, feeling your wetness slide up and down his cock. "You like taking my cock?"

"Yes, you know I do. It's so fucking good, Stevie," you moaned out, bucking your hips up as you yearned for him to create a rhythm, getting the air knocked out of you when he did the same thing, this time slamming back inside of you, his hips stuttering. "Oh fuck!"

You realized how loud you were being and your hand flew to your mouth without meaning to, but Steve was quick to remove it, shaking his head,

"Be as loud as you need to, princess. Got the whole floor to myself."

You whined at the prospect, and from then on you held nothing back. Steve was fucking you now, settled on a slow, steady pace. He listened to every groan that left those pretty lips of yours, set on giving you your third orgasm of the night. And no one held out better than Steve. His endurance was impressive, you knew that. But you wanted to test him on something else.

"That all you can do, Captain?" the title rolled off your tongue so sickly sweet, causing Steve to pause before he just glared at you and set off again, this time relentlessly, pounding into you hard and fast.

You were caught off guard by the change in pace although it was what you were looking to pull out of him, and your mouth dropped open into an o-shape. This was nothing you could achieve on your own, and not even with anyone else. No, because Steve really was a supersoldier, showing off that speed you had been so in awe of even outside of the bedroom.

What made it even better was that he didn't seem to realize he was fucking you in an almost enhanced way, utilizing his powers in a way no one else could. His name seemed glued to your lips as you mewled out, nails scraping down his back like you were a cat and he was a scratching post.

"Is that enough for you, doll?" Steve asked, his lips brushing against your ear as he buried his face in your neck, even bringing a thumb to your clit and rubbing hard circles that made you feel like you were seeing stars. You could only moan in response and he shook his head slowly. "I need a yes or no, darling. Or is it too much, hmm?"

Steve's dominating purr had you shivering, had your back arching up off the bed, feeling everything so intensely.

"I-it's too much, but it's so - fucking good, oh my god," you blabbered, eyes rolling back in your head as your hands on his back explored the nape of his neck. You tugged at his hair in that way that seemed to signal that whatever he was doing, he had better keep doing it.

He kept slamming into you, rough and hard yet somehow deep and loving at the same time, his hips snapping into yours. The bedroom was filled with the lewd sounds your wet pussy made each time he slammed into you, making Steve blush despite the circumstances. And even with the amount of pleasure you were in, all the dominance Steve had over you in the moment, you fucked him back. You'd never been one to just lay there during sex, or during anything. You liked to be in charge, too.

Steve was ultimately impressed by the way you seemed to sync up with him, inching your hips forward as you slid up and down his cock, your breasts bouncing deliciously with each motion. You were both all moans and groans and hearts swelled with adoration. It felt so surreal to hear the deep moans you longed for through the screen right here in your ear. In the midst of it all you kept staring down at where you were connected, drunk on the sight of him disappearing inside of you.

"You close doll?" Steve asked when he noticed all the tell tale signs of your orgasm approaching: the way your breath sped up, the intonations of your moans, the way you clenched around him like you clenched around his fingers.

"Yes, don't stop," you practically begged him, tears welling up in your eyes from the absolute intoxication you felt, a euphoric feeling that was so new.

"'M not gonna stop," Steve chuckled, shaking his head slowly.

Even if he teased you or assumed a more dominant disposition, all Steve wanted was for you to ride out that pleasure. He didn't know if he had the heart to really make you work for it. And besides, he was getting close himself. He was surprised anyone could last very long with you to begin with, but he set his mind on your pleasure and that was exactly what he would be giving you.

Steve knew he was done for when you wrapped your legs around his waist, slowing his thrusts and forcing him to be practically submerged inside of you. He switched from pounding into you to grinding his hips against yours, moaning darkly as he watched his cock disappear completely inside of you. He seemed to reach your stomach, rearranging your guts. You grabbed onto the back of his head, forcing his face into your neck. When you came, it was like you and Steve were colliding stars, creating a supernova that shone so bright, its light traveling all through your body. You were babbling curse words and praise, moans spilling out of you as you tightened around him and came on his cock.

Steve rubbed gentle circles onto your clit as you rode the orgasm out, nodding and encouraging you, bringing you back down to earth slowly,

"That's it princess, come for me. That's it, you're good. You're perfect."

Steve kept slowly pushing and grinding his hips inside of you, letting you enjoy your orgasm until he approached his own, grit teeth and all.

"Fuck," he cried out, the loudest you'd ever heard him moan, your name tumbling out of his lips like a beautiful lyric.

Steve didn't pull out though, he just slowly lowered himself on top of you, careful not to crush you, keeping his cock inside of you as his cum filled you up in hot, long spurts. You felt ropes of cum disappearing inside of you, biting your lip at the feeling. And what a feeling it was to come inside of you, the only place he wanted to be from now on. It made him feel like you belonged with him, like he had this special privilege that no one else got. You just lay there together, heavy breathing and silence until Steve finally moved, all his cum safe inside of you.

"Fuck," he shuddered again, glancing down briefly at the mess he'd made of your completely ruined pussy. (Ruined with love.)

The comedown left you both with positive thoughts, none of the profound melancholy that could sometimes settle in after sex. Finally it had happened. The thing you'd both wanted since day one, but had never actually expected to be possible. Again you were both filled with amazement at the other, at the knowledge that either one of you actually existed. Steve was laying on the bed besides you and you were both looking up at the ceiling. He glanced over at you, his cheeks still flushed.

"Did you uh... like that?" he asked, back to the humble old Steve he'd always be, making your head snap over to look at him.

You chuckled, still out of breath,

"What do you think?"

Steve grinned to himself, feeling accomplished. All he wanted was for you to feel good with him, in every sense of the word.

"Good," he placed his hands behind his head. He glanced over at you and saw that your body was jittery, almost shaking, your legs especially. He smirked to himself, washed over with that fiendish delight once again. "Do you always shake when you come?"

You narrowed your eyes playfully, rolling towards him and kissing his neck,

"Sometimes... depends."

"Huh... good to know," Steve's lip twitched upward into a smile.

"Mm. I'm too tired to get up," you breathed out, but you had to force yourself to anyways. "But I should pee."

Steve laughed,

"Yeah. You do that."

When you came back from the bathroom after rinsing off slightly, you crawled into bed, not falling asleep immediately. Instead you turned to face Steve, your eyes twinkling even in the dark of his room.

"Steve..."

"Yeah, doll?" he replied.

"I... I really like you, okay? And I know you know that already, and I know you like me too, but it's been a while since I've been in... anything with anybody. And right now, this feels really special. I... want this to be good," you choked out, trying to organize your words, because you didn't want to be too mushy but communication was always important to you and you needed to express yourself.

Steve's heart pounded with adulation for you, and he cupped your face in his hands,

"Of course. Anything, YN. Anything, I'll do it for you. I want this to be good too. Fuck, I've been trying so hard to make everything perfect. I hope that doesn't take away from it being good."

You smiled. You knew you were in the right hands.

"I know you have. And it has been better than perfect, and it's only the second day. I really love every second we've been spending time together. I just... I like you, okay?"

"I like you," Steve repeated, and you had to stop yourself from tearing up.

"Mkay," you nodded, and Steve squeezed your cheeks, making you giggle. "Good night."

"Goodnight," Steve let you go, but ended up pulling you close anyway, the both of you facing each other as you cuddled together, Steve tucking you under his arm, fused together.

Steve didn't want to leave you in the morning although he had to go into the office, so he waited for you to wake up. And when you stirred, he kissed your forehead, waiting for you to come to.

"Morning, sweetheart," he doted on you, and you swallowed, eyes blinking open.

"Morning," your voice was all used up from moaning so much last night, and you could already tell from the feeling between your legs that you were going to be sore.

Steve noticed the way you winced slightly when you shifted your legs forward, and pouted slightly,

“You okay?"

"You're fuckin’ huuuge," you chuckled, sprawling out and stretching out your arms. "I think my cervix is wrecked. Like, indefinitely."

Steve, although he was thrown off by your aggressively dirty humor, laughed, rubbing his eyes. He looked down at his boxers under the sheets, then at you with a faux apologetic face,

"Sorry."

"Never apologize for having a big dick," you smirked.

"Noted," Steve shook his head playfully. "Hate to have to leave you, but I gotta go in this morning. Just briefly."

"That's okay," you smiled understandingly, stretching and letting the covers flop over, exposing your naked upper half which Steve glanced at tentatively, the puckered nipples and smooth skin. You were unknowingly tempting him to stay in, but he knew he couldn't. Besides, you'd need the rest - then again, he could just go down on you, that would be pleasure enough for him too- "Earth to Steve!"

"Sorry, I got distracted," he muttered, and you chortled.

"I noticed. Hey, but you should go, the quicker you leave the quicker you can come back, right?"

"Uh huh. If you need anything, text me. I got something nice planned for us later after this."

"Cool," you grinned wide, and Steve leaned forward to receive a sweet kiss from you. It all felt so domestic and lighthearted.

"Alright, I'll see you."

Steve got dressed and was out the door, driving slow on his way to the tower, his mind flashing back to moments from last night and this morning, fluctuating from burning hot to wholesomely warm. He couldn't help the etch of a smile on his lips even as he walked back into the building. He made his way to his office without seeing anyone yet, but Bucky was standing outside his door, leaning against it with a set look on his face. His arms were crossed and his eyes were narrowed - he looked like he had some serious business to take care of.

Steve raised his brows at the sight. Bucky was already a scary looking guy if you didn't know him, so the fact that he looked so determined right now made Steve think something was up, but he didn't think it had anything to do with him.

"Hey Buck," he chirped. "What's goin' on?"

Bucky didn't skip a beat, certainty ringing clear in his voice,

“I know what you've been doing.”

bonk. share your thoughts!

hope y’all loved this chapter <3

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velianmagicalgirl · 3 years

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A Letter to my Favorite Person

So I wrote this thing for Bono... I started working on it last night but I severely underestimated both how much I wanted to write and how long it would take me to write it so I had to finish it up today. So I guess in that I discovered that me and B have something in common. We're both writers and we both turn everything we write into novels because we are incapable of writing anything short. So here it is, I'm putting it under a cut because like I said, it's quite long (3500 words). It's also full of sappiness the likes of which you've never seen before. So just be prepared for that. You've been warned. But otherwise, enjoy :) (and Bono if you read this I'd not know whether to be super happy and amazed or to throw myself out the nearest window...)

Okay, so how do I even start something like this… Believe it or not, I’m not always the best at expressing my emotions or how I feel to other people. It’s not that I don’t know how I feel, I’m pretty good at that, but when it comes to talking about it, that’s where the words just kind of leave me. I guess I just kind of worry that if I truly express what I say, people won’t understand what I mean or something like that. And because of the fact that I tend to experience emotions very strongly, I worry that I might come off as too much to people.

But screw it, a lesson I’m in the middle of learning is that for people you care about, it’s important to communicate with them and tell them how you feel because, well, nobody’s a mind reader.

And well, I just have a lot to say and I want to say it. So here goes (prepare for ultimate sappiness the likes of which you have never seen before. You’ve been warned)

So, to my dearest Bono, the man who has changed my life, I just want to say… thank you? Wow, like you’ve never heard that before, right? But who says hearing “thank you” a lot is a bad thing? Obviously if a lot of people thank you for something, then you’ve done something right, and something right you’ve done indeed.

Obviously I’m sure that on some level you know just how much your music and you yourself have helped people, touched them, made their lives better, etc. I mean, you could see it every night when you got up on that stage in front of all those thousands of people. But those stadiums can only hold a few thousand people at a time and there are so many more people around the world that have been touched by you; your words, your songs, your activism and the fact that you actually go out there and attempt to make a positive impact on the world.

It reminds me of how in Paris in 2015 the entire audience sang the whole first verse of One without you having to do anything. The look on your face said it all about how happy you were, and how amazed you were. Or how, in Berlin in 2018 when you lost your voice during Beautiful Day, I’m sure you were terrified, but you didn’t need to be because the audience picked up the words and sang for you. You told them “thank you” afterwards, like you’re always so surprised at what people would do for you, or how much you inspire others, but you don’t need to be, because just that kind of guy.

I was originally going to write a poem or something, before I decided on writing this because I felt it was easier for me to get out everything I wanted to say like this, but one of the lines I thought of for the poem went a little something like this:

There is a man that has everything But he gives it away like nothing There is a man that has everything But he gives it away for nothing There is a man that has everything But he gives it to those who have nothing

I was just thinking about this the other night and it just kind of came to me that “wow, here is a man who has quite literally everything but is also incredibly humble and kind to everyone to the point where nobody that’s met him has ever had a bad thing to say about him,” and I just kind of thought to myself “wow.” I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I just wanted to point that out. I guess my point is that, you look out in the world and sometimes it’s so easy to get overwhelmed by all the darkness and the terrible things that people sometimes do, that it’s also easy to forget that there are still good people out there that are doing their best to make the world a better place for no other reason than because they want to, and because they think it’s the right thing to do. People like that are pure souls; they are rare but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And you sir, are one of those people. You may not want to be called that but it’s the truth. It kind of reminds me of the Lord of the Rings quote, “there’s still some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for,” and of course, the lyrics to Song for Someone/13 , “if there is a dark, then we shouldn’t doubt that there is a light, don’t let it go out.” Honestly, I think this may be one of the most important lyrics in any of your songs because it is just such a universally important message. Whenever you’re going through a hard time, it’s important to remember that there is a light, that you are not alone, that the darkness can be fought.

But anyway, going back to what I first said, you may have some idea of the amount of people’s lives you changed but do you really know just how many that is? And over the course of so many years? That must be an impossibly huge number.

But anyway, after this stupidly long preamble (preramble) I guess I should finally get to the whole entire point of this letter or whatever you’d call it. But hey, I guess that’s one thing we both have in common right? Everything we write turns out to be insanely long and rambly. And tagenty. What was I saying? Oh, right.

I just wanted to say that you mean a lot to me. I am one of those uncountable people that you’ve helped in some way. In a myriad of ways actually. In so many ways.

Over the past year, my mood has gone up and down like a rollercoaster for obvious reasons. Sometimes it was so hard to be positive about anything when you looked out into the world. Sometimes I would just give into despair. What were any of us doing? What was the point of anything anymore? But other days I would feel great. I would feel like I was a better person than I was before. And I would be so happy and grateful for all the friends I’ve made that I didn’t have before. And then I would go back down again. It was a real rollercoaster, and still is.

Basically, what I’m saying is, a friend once told me not too long ago that “U2 has a habit of coming into your life right when you most need them,” and looking back on that, I can say she was right. It all happened on December 25th, 2019, you know, Christmas. I was thinking of buying myself a record player but it turns out my parents were nice enough to buy one for me. Of course they got me some records to go along with it. There were a lot of them actually, but I don’t really remember them. I just remember the one that stood out to me more than the others: The Joshua Tree by U2. I actually got really excited when I saw it because I had actually heard it before, a long time ago but I never actually got around to listening to the whole thing, so I was happy that now I had the chance. I don’t think my mom realized what she had started when she did that, and neither did I at the time. I’m not going to recount the whole entire story here because that’ll take too long (that’s another story) but basically that was the moment that U2 and you too (wink wink) entered my life. And what happened a few months later? The entire world changed.

But you know what? It was okay because I had you there. Suddenly it was like I had a new friend there with me, and anytime I wanted a reprieve from the world outside, all I had to do was ask. You could make me smile, you could make me laugh, you could make me cry, but in a good way. I immersed myself in all the stories of things you had done for people, putting your kindness on display. How you could make someone’s entire day just by smiling at them. I would read those stories and I would get this feeling like my heart would burst and I would get this huge dopey smile on my face and then I would go scream into a pillow to get out some of the emotion. And then I would feel silly because here I was, a 21 year old girl, sitting alone in my room, and the guy I was basically tripping over was 59, about to turn 60! And now he’s 60, about to turn 61! And I am still only 22. But you know what, that doesn’t matter, because sometimes people are just that good, and you’re one of those people.

I remember reading one story in particular about some kids who were sitting outside your studio. You saw them, got out of the car and went up to them and signed the albums they had. You could’ve stopped at just that, you’d already made their days, you’d already given them enough happiness to power an entire country for a year, and certainly nobody would expect you to do more. But you did. You allowed them to come into your car and you drove them around for a bit while showing them a preview of How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. And I just thought to myself, “who does that? Surely this can’t be real? Surely this person can’t be real,” but you are real. And you really did do that. And for no other reason than out of the kindness of your own heart. You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do any of that. But you did. Because you’re just that kind of guy. Later on in the story, Larry mentions to the reporter who was in the car when this happened, that “he really has this insatiable urge to be all things to all people, even when we try and stop him,” and I think that’s the perfect way to describe it. Making other people happy is genuinely something you enjoy and you will go out of your way to do it for no other reason than because you know just how happy you will make those people.

And then I’m sure my parents saw what was happening and they laughed and teased me and said “oh there she goes” and yeah, they were right, there I went. And here I am still am. I don’t even know if this is making any sense anymore but sometimes, when you’re telling someone how you feel, it doesn’t always make sense. Because emotions, these weird tricky little things of the human experience, don’t always make sense. But what I mean to say does make sense, at least in the way that these kinds of things can.

These things that I feel aren’t just surface level little crushes. I think they are more than that. Because it isn’t just about how you look or the fact that you are a singer or whatever (although those things are nice I must admit, especially the first one ;) ) but something deeper. It’s because everything you do, everything you say, comes from your heart. Everything you do oozes that sweet beautiful passion of someone who really means what they say, and lives it. You’ve said it yourself before, when you’re singing, you’re not merely just singing the songs, you are living them, you are them and I think that’s beautiful. And in an era of fake people, I think that is a big part of what drew me to you. I think I could tell by watching you and listening to you that you weren’t like the others, you were real and you lived every second of it.

And I just think it’s great to have someone to look up to that is real and undeniably himself. I could learn from that. Really, I could learn a lot of things from you. Because you are so wise and intelligent, sometimes I am just wowed by the things you manage to say. You know a lot of things about the world that I couldn’t know simply because of experience. I guess you could say that I am innocence and you are experience. It’s very interesting when innocence and experience can interact with each other. The experience sees the forgotten youth and the innocence sees the wiseness and intelligence that comes with having lived the world. And both of them can learn from each other.

And for a man that is so unapologetically, so unabashedly, so undeniably himself, I could learn a thing or two from that too. I’ve always watched you be loud and proud, say what you want, be spontaneous, and go out on a whim. Whenever there was something you wanted to do, you would just do it, (whether you should’ve or not) and sure, that’s left you in a few bad situations, but you still did something. You were never left wondering “what if?” You have always been a man of action and I admire that about you. You’ve never been one to care about what others thought of you and that is something that I admire so so much. Me, not to be dramatic, but I feel like that was stamped out of me some time ago. I find myself always caring about what people think, even if those people aren’t even around. I feel like I can hear them in my head when I’m alone, just trying to do something I enjoy. And sometimes I start to wonder if it’s really other people or if it’s really just me. But I need to learn to be unapologetically me, just like you. Because after all, I’m the only person who can, right? So maybe if you stick around for a bit longer, I can do that. But only if you stick around.

Because of all that, you really are such an inspiration to me. You’re really someone who goes after what you want instead of just sitting there wondering what other people would think. And maybe I should do that too.

You’ve shown me the power of song, the way that music can move our souls and transcend us to that other place. Music is an amazing thing I think, and I’m sure you agree. It has the unique power to transcend barriers and bring people from many different places together. And I’ve been constantly wowed by your ability to write. So much of music is empty these days it seems, but you fill that hole with your irresistible passion once again.

Everything you write comes from the heart, and where else could it come from but there? I don’t think it’s possible to write the things you do without throwing your entire soul into it, which is what you do. And when you sing those same songs, the passion is on another level. It really is infectious, contagious, irresistible and incredible, it pours out and spreads over everyone like a wave until they’re all caught up in this feeling, this high that takes you to another place, if only for a few minutes. While you’re there you can find important answers to things that you wouldn’t have found otherwise. It’s a magical place.

And I think I understand just how that feels from your perspective now. When I’m alone and there’s no one around, I like to sing too. I’m not very good, in fact, I listened to myself once and wanted to throw my entire computer out the window, and I beat myself up over it for days. I told myself “how could you possibly think you were good? You don’t even know anything” and then I started thinking “what’s the point if I’m not even good?” but then, a few days later, I realized that it doesn’t really matter whether you’re good or not, what matters is if you enjoy it, if you have fun, if, in that moment, you feel like you’re releasing something held captive in your soul, if you’re telling the world (even if that world is just your bedroom) what you have to say. What matters is if, in that moment, you go to that other place. And, if you do, then that’s really all that matters.

So, because of you, because of your passion, your refusal to be anything other than unapologetically you, I think I will try. And maybe someday, we’ll meet and sing a duet together (HA!).

Another thing I love about you is your dedication to the things you love and care about. I have a feeling that anyone who knows you personally is very privileged because they get to know one of the kindest, sweetest, and most caring people there is. And of course who benefits from that the most? Of course your special woman, Ali. I used to think that such beautiful relationships like that weren’t possible in the real world, and that they only existed in fiction but it makes me happy to see that they are possible. Maybe not possible for everyone, but just the fact that they are possible at all makes me happy.

A friend told me that she met you once, in Boston in 2018. She called out your name and you looked at her, your eyes met and she forgot everything she had been meaning to say, but according to her, that was alright because your expression softened like you just knew what she wanted to say. And you know what? I believe it, because that’s just the kind of person you are. Kind, gentle, sweet, and softhearted, with eyes that can see right through us (and hopefully they’re not afraid of anything they’ve seen). I know I said at the beginning of this that it’s important to communicate because people aren’t mind readers but scratch that, maybe you are one, and I’m not writing all of this because I want you to know, but just because I wanted to be the one to tell you.

And finally, I just want to say, on a more personal note (as if this whole entire thing hasn’t been personal) I am so grateful that you came into my life. I feel like I was saved in a way. At the beginning of 2020, the world outside was good, but the world inside me wasn’t quite so. I don’t want to go into details because honestly, it’s just too embarrassing to think about and sometimes I wish I could just forget it all, but for a few years before that moment on Christmas morning, I had lost my way. I had strayed from the path and stumbled into somewhere strange where I shouldn’t have been, and I was stumbling about, constantly trying to make sense of where I was and I just kept falling. But then on that morning, and over the next few months, a light appeared. It called to me and showed me how to get out of the place I had fallen into. And when I had finally gotten out, there was a man standing there with gorgeous blue eyes and the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. He reached out his hand towards me and I grabbed it.

And so, over the next few months, even as the world outside turned dark and scary, the world inside me had turned into a light. Even as the world outside turned dark and scary with so many questions, so many unknowns, it was okay, because you were there. The first new thing that I had seen from you was in March 2020 when you put out that song you called “Let Your Love Be Known” and I think that’s what I’m doing right about now. I’m letting my love be known.

I know that in reality, you probably wouldn’t want to hear all this stuff practically elevating you to God status or something, but as you’ve said before, you already have a messianic complex, so why not puff it up a bit?

But for real, thank you. Thank you for existing, thank you being a light, thank you for being there, thank you for helping me.

Just thank you.

#personal #happy birthday bono #you're so amazing #you are indeed my favorite person #long post

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