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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

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if the world was ending | b.b.

summary: bucky knows he’s still in love with you a year after the two of you mutually agreed to break up. when one phone call spirals into one plan being made and then another, and then suddenly he’s staying at your place, he wonders if there may be a chance to try again.

WARNINGS: small angst, a whole lotta fluff, literally fluff, swearing, mentions of s e x but they don’t do the do pairing: modern!bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 6.7k

a/n: inspired by if the world was ending by jp saxe (ft. julia michaels). a kinda real take on how sometimes the timing just isn’t right for a relationship and how sometimes it is.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Your voice echoes in his car and he nearly shivers at how gentle, sleepy, you sound. He wondered where you’d be: at a bar or at home, working overtime or eating out after a long night, on a date. The thought had made him tired, sad, but it didn’t tear a hole through him as it once would.

“Was there something you needed? Are you okay?” you ask, something shifting on your end and he stops at a red light, turning on his left turn light. He doesn’t know where he’s driving to or how long he’s going to just press on until he goes home. The clicking of the light fills his head. “I know the earthquake was a bit weird.”

“Earthquake?” He remembers it at the mere word. Him not even feeling it, not even realizing he was driving through one until Sam had called him from the office asking if he was okay. “There was an earthquake, yeah. I’m fine. Didn’t even know it happened until after it happened.”

“Yeah. Stuck in traffic?”

He laughs, softly, because you still know him so well. “Yeah. Got trapped in the office.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

You’re never fucking here! It’s like I’m dating a ghost and I don’t know if it’s because I’m boring you or if you just don’t love me anymore. Your voice, angry, twisted with grief and frustration, rattles in his skull as he clears his throat. The light switches green and he turns, driving until he spots an off ramp he knows leads to the highway

“Yeah.” It comes out tight and choked.

Of course I do. I love you, I just—

Just what?

“Yeah,” you say for lack of anything else. There is nothing but silence, but the sound of your gentle breathing and the sound of commercials running.

“Did you fall asleep watching TV again?” he teases, his throat easing up a bit as you chuckle with a slight sigh.

“Yeah.” You sound like you’re smiling. Bucky hopes you are. “Just staying up late.” Because I’m still used to waiting up for you, the hopeful voice in his head adds quietly. “What’s up? We haven’t talked in a few months.”

Because I just figured out how not to text you when every little thing happens.

“I just thought of you,” he says, “after the earthquake happened. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Your end of the line falls silent and he hides his sigh. He knew it was a mistake. “I thought of you, too.” Your voice is hushed, tender, still full of a love both of you agreed wasn’t meant to be. The thought has always made Bucky torn with sorrow, shackled with guilt and regret. He doesn’t know if they are simply not strong enough to fight for their love or if their love just wasn’t meant to be so strong.

He doesn’t know. What he does know is that he is still in love with you—he always will be.

“Well, I’m glad you’re safe,” he says. “I still care about you a lot.”

“Yeah, I know.” You reply so instantaneously that he is convinced and he finds himself driving down familiar roads. His feet ache and he’s exhausted, but he keeps going. He doesn’t want to go home. “I care about you, too.”

You were my best friend.

“How’ve you been?” he asks.

“I’m okay. Single, if that’s what you really want to know,” you confess openly and his eyebrows rise. You don’t sound disappointed or angry about it, but he wonders if you still love him like he adores you. “But, yeah. Work is okay.”

“That’s good.”

“How’s Alpine?”

Bucky chuckles at the thought of the white cat back home. He’d been the one thing they truly fought over when they broke up, and he knows his cat misses you more than he does sometimes, if the persistent clawing in the middle of the night is anything to go by. He’s taken to shutting the windows to prevent his stupid cat from trying to make his way back to you, for his own sanity and Alpine’s safety.

“He misses you.”

“Well, you know he’s welcome to visit any time,” you point out. You let out a heavy breath and Bucky thinks maybe you’ve laid down or sat up, but he wonders what the apartment they used to share together looks like now. You always rearrange it however you see fit. It’s one of the most frustrating things about you but Bucky could never bare to tell you to stop.

It kept their life together ever flowing, different despite living in the same place.

He pulls over at a gas station when he notices the light flicker on.

“You know if the world was actually ending, I’d drop everything for you,” he says to ease the silence but it doesn’t. Instead, it only prolongs it and he sighs, eyes closing. “I don’t say it to confuse you or cause you pain. I just… wanted you to know. I—”

“I love you, too,” you murmur, voice dulcet and soft as feathers he can imagine you kissing the words into his skin. He tilts his head back until it rests against the headrest and he swallows. He doesn’t expect it to hurt but it does. Like a dull knife jabbing into his side. Not quite enough to bleed but enough to bruise. “I do. I don’t think I’ll ever not love you.”

“Yeah.”

“I just wished it’d work out.”

“Me too.”

Knock. Knock. Bucky opens his eyes to see a station attendant mouth ‘gas’ and he nods, rolling down the window.

“Fill up, thanks,” Bucky says, and the guy nods. He unhooks his phone from the bluetooth and shoves it between his ear and shoulder, fiddling with his wallet. “Do you want anything from the gas station? Did you eat?” He doesn’t mean to sound boyfriendly but it’s natural and he can count all the late nights he’d walk in with no question to buy you candy or chips. He hands his card to the attendant, taking hold of his phone again and switching off the engine.

“I didn’t. I fell asleep before I could,” you confess and he shakes his head to himself, looking out the window. It’s not too busy. The only other person is a dad filling up his gas while his kids are knocked out asleep in the back. “I don’t wanna bother you. I’m gonna go to McDonald’s anyway.”

“I could meet you there?” He winces at how much he immediately regrets his words and you let out a soft breath of surprise. “If you’re comfortable, I mean. It’s the one by the apartment, right?”

“Yeah.” You pause for a moment as if thinking it over. “Yeah, that would be nice.” He knows if you didn’t want to, you’d say so and he wonders how he lucked out. “Give me fifteen minutes?”

“No need to dress up,” he assures but you scoff as it sounds like you get up.

“I’m going to look like utter garbage next to you in your suit. The pillow is permanently marked into my face.”

“It’s casual and it’s McDonald’s, although that’s not really healthy.”

“Fine, you health nut. Always trying to make me make better food choices.” You sound only vaguely annoyed and he knows you’re just joking. Your voice echoes in a way that tells him you’re in the bathroom. God, the fact that he still remembers the sound of your voice in different rooms over the phone is a red flag for his heart. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“There’s a new place on the corner of your block.” He knows that because he drove past your apartment building too many times to count, trying to work up the nerve to confess he regrets everything: not spending enough time with you, being a shitty boyfriend, changing from the man you love. Not to get you to take him back, just to apologize.

You deserve better than his preoccupied, stubborn, uncaring, can’t-delegate-his-time-to-spend-time-with-the-love-of-his-life ass.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to try that place,” you comment, your voice distant. “It’s on the way to the bus stop and since my car broke down—”

“What? Your car broke down?”

“What?” Your voice picks up again as the guy hands back Bucky’s card and receipt. Bucky connects his phone to the bluetooth audio as the engine ignites once again. “Oh, yeah. A few days ago, it wouldn’t start. I’m lucky I wasn’t in the middle of the road.”

“I could take a look at it, doll,” he offers, pulling out of the gas station. He doesn’t even realize what he’s called you until the silence hits and he clears his throat. “You know, still know a few things about cars from back in the day.”

“Yeah. Bet that hot ass mechanic is still in there somewhere,” you reply. “I don’t want to trouble you. It’s late as it is.”

“It’s fine. Promise.” He wonders if it hurts as much for you to hear it as it is for him to even say the word. He can only repress the guilt poking at his sides. “We can eat and then I can take a look.”

Your sigh is heavy, tired, but he thinks there is just the slightest smile in your lips as you agree, “Okay. But you’re not paying for my food.”

“Old habits die hard, doll. I can’t say I can do that.”

“James—” A warning is edging into your tone and he laughs. As if he could ever be afraid of you, just seeing and imagining the adorable pout he always wanted to kiss off your face. This is a bad idea.

“Oh, no,” he mocks, “she called me James.”

“It’s your name, doofus.” Maybe you’re wrinkling your nose in annoyance, maybe your eyes are narrowed in an effort to hide the mirth seeping into your gaze. He doesn’t know, but a prickling sensation pokes into his limbs as he just imagines seeing you again. “I’ll see you in a bit? Drive safe.”

“I will. See you in ten, doll.”

He hangs up before you can comment on the pet name.

Walking into the bistro, he scans the place to find you sitting in the corner. The place is all wood and warm off-white paint and light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Plants are everywhere, and he quirks an eyebrow at the tiny succulent sitting on the hostess stand. The lighting is mostly dimmed down to provide a more intimate setting, and a few other people are sitting and chatting as he approaches you. There’s a candle in the middle of the table, painting you in orange-gold.

You perk up when you spot him, and he notices with a half-smile you sit on your hands like you do when you’re nervous, your knees bouncing as you release a hand to wave. He sets down his coat over the back of his chair, sitting down and he soaks in the sight of you. Although he said you didn’t need to dress up, you’ve put on a nice light-blue off-shoulder top and a pair of dark-washed jeans, swiped on a shiny layer of pink lipgloss he knows tastes like strawberries, and winged your eyes black with eyeliner.

In short, you’ve managed to go from beautiful to exquisite, and he doesn’t need the comparison. He’s been wowed before.

“Hi, Bucky,” you say lowly, the menu open before you. A waitress comes to offer him another and he looks up with a small thank you before his eyes fall to the words he can’t quite focus on. “You look nice, as usual.” A small grin catches his eye and he sucks in a breath when he’s met with your face again.

Every goddamn time, you take his breath away.

“And you’re…. you’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen. As usual.”

He doesn’t miss the way you lower your eyes to the menu, picking it up and tilting it so you can hide your face. He smiles to himself and looks at the salads.

Bucky can’t quite remember when the last time he laughed like this, full of life and light and easy. “Stop laughing!”

“Was that even English?”

“Bucky—”

“It was honestly like you had a stroke.”

“I honestly did.” “Do I need to call 911?”

“I hate you. I am trying to live my life here, Barnes.” You snort into your iced tea at the memory replaying in your head, covering your nose and lips with the side of your hand as you bite into the straw. You’ve been recounting the tale of how you nearly ripped Natasha’s hair out with your bare fists on pure accident when you both completely lost the ability to speak English and choked on air, causing Bucky to just lose it. “It wasn’t even that funny.”

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“I can’t. I have this face,” you retort sourly and he takes a deep breath in an attempt to stop the ache in his gut as the waitress places the small apple pie between them as well as two dessert forks. A scoop of ice cream is slowly melting on the flakey crust and he picks up a fork just as you do. “This was really nice, Buck. Hanging out with you again.”

“Yeah. We should do it more often,” he says, twirling the fork in his grasp and allowing you the first bite. You manage to catch ice cream and steaming apple pie on your fork and blow on it carefully before placing it in your mouth. You nearly sigh, your eyes closing and he digs in too. Warm syrup seeps into his blood first when he chews down on the apple filling before a sense of longing for home fills his soul. His stomach heats up from the inside and he sinks into his bones with relief. This is exactly what he needed. “We can be friends, y’know.”

“Yeah, well, I guess.” You smile for a moment before focusing on the pie again. “You know, maybe the distance was good. We got time to stand on our own two feet again.”

“Yeah.” He grins softly, almost sad but not quite. You look so blissful in the warm light of the restaurant, gentle music filling the air. The restaurant has gotten fuller since they’ve entered and sometimes Bucky wishes it was just them in this little slice of healthy heaven, but you’ve gotten remarkably brighter the more people have entered. “It took some guts to end this, I guess.”

“Five years,” you agree. “Think it might’ve been a waste of time when we knew we wanted different things?”

“Well, it wasn’t so bad all the time. Maybe thirty percent of the time.”

“Ten.”

“Fifteen.”

“Five. Five percent was terrible and it was all near the end,” you state and Bucky swallows, the sugar of the pie turning sickly sweet in his mouth. “You can’t sell yourself short, Buck. I know that you regret a lot of things, but we both weren’t perfect in this relationship.” You stab the crust half-heartedly. “And maybe we could’ve found common ground. I mean, we both wanted Alpine, didn’t we?”

“And two or three kids,” he intones dully. He remembers the nights they’d lay awake researching names for their hypothetical baby, staying up to god knows when to read all about colic and teething and how to even survive the trimesters without tearing off your hair. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I never could imagine a family with anyone before you,” you confess, bringing another bite of apple pie to your mouth. The ice cream melts between the prongs of the fork and he grimaces when it lands way too close to your sleeve. You wipe it away with your used napkin. “I never told you that before but I really could see us being happy, Buck.”

“So could I.” The corner of his mouth twitches up, prompting your lips to begin to pull into a small smile. Something sad lingers in your eyes, though, and he leans onto his fist, elbow digging into the table as he tries to think of a way of getting that smile back on your face. “We would’ve made cute babies.” You raise your eyebrows, a doubtful smile digging into your cheeks.

“That’s what I said to Nat after we broke up. She said she always prayed your genes were stronger than Steve’s.”

“They have blonde children.”

“They climb walls and pretend they’re masterclass spies.”

“Okay, fair enough. How is Nat?”

“How’s Steve?” you shoot back playfully. “She’s okay. Tired, but with the new baby and all, it’s a given.”

“I have no idea how Steve convinced her to give him another kid.”

“That’s what I said!” you exclaim, setting down your fork and holding your fingers to your temples. “Okay, so, Nat loves kids but she agreed to two for Steve when they got married and now they’re having number three and it’s like wow.” Bucky laughs at the wondrous light in your eyes. “Maybe the sex is that good.”

Bucky chuckles, his eyes squinting as you pick up your fork again. “They probably talked about it a lot, debated, made slideshows. Knowing Steve, he wouldn’t do a thing out of Nat’s comfort zone even though he wants enough kids to build a Rogers basketball team.”

”Honestly, that would be so cool, but we both know who wears the pants in the relationship.”

“Steve is very happy wearing the skirt.”

“Yeah.” It falls to silence. They finish up their apple pie and you appear to be deep in thought so Bucky doesn’t say anything. Suddenly, you shake your head, chewing on the straw of your iced tea. “Was the sex good?”

Bucky’s eyes widen but you only stare him with honest eyes. You want to know like he didn’t turn into a mess when you kissed the spot underneath his jaw, like the simplest swipe of your fingers up his leg, the tiniest trail on his inner thigh, didn’t make him nothing more than melted putty in your hands.

“Fuck yes.” He sighs. He hasn’t had sex in a year. “Especially the last time after Wanda and Vis got married?”

“We didn’t make it past the kitchen. That was good.”

“Yeah.”

You hum as you think and Bucky pokes at the soggy flakes on the plate. You look at him and he looks at the plate and there’s a strange silence that comes over the table that has been wild with laughter for nearly an hour, maybe more. He leans back into his chair, his prong nudging an uneaten nibble of apple.

“Always thought we should’ve ended in bed,” he finally says half-heartedly. “That mattress took a hell of a beating whenever we argued.”

“Or, whenever you came home after a business trip. I’d miss you so much.” You grin and there’s something mentally exhausted in it. “I miss you so much but I think it figured out how to think about you without it hurting, too.”

“I’m glad.” He lets go of his fork and offers his hand, palm up. You reach forward and grab it, the heat of you sinking into his muscles. His fingers fold over your hand and squeeze. His thumb runs over your knuckles. “I miss you, too.”

“Will we want one check or two?” the waitress asks suddenly and their hands spring apart. Bucky fishes out his wallet, looking up at her.

“Two.”

“One.”

The two look at each other. You narrow your eyes, eyebrows furrowing together. “We agreed that we would split.”

“No, you said it and I disagreed and then you got distracted.” He grins triumphantly as your hands still in your bag and he pulls out his debit card.

“One and I’ll pay by card,” Bucky clarifies and she nods, slipping away to get it.

“Jerk,” you mutter crossly. You cross your arms underneath your breasts and lean back against your chair. “I can pay for my food just fine.”

“It’s not about whether you can or can’t. It’s about me wanting to pay for you,” he retorts.

He pays and the two get up, grabbing their jackets and leaving the bistro. They stop dead in their tracks underneath the small canopy when they notice the startling, thunderous rain.

“What the fuck,” you state flatly, staring at the puddles forming in the dents of the sidewalk and Bucky grimaces. The air isn’t frigid but it isn’t warm either, and he bundles his coat around himself as he tries to figure out how to stay dry. You’re tugging a scarf around your neck, your overcoat already settled well on your shoulders as you look at him. He’s got his own raincoat folded over his arm and he shivers against the thought of getting wet.

“I hope it’s not too presumptuous a thing to do to say I parked in the apartment’s visitor lot,” he begins and you raise your eyebrow. “I wanted to make sure you got home safe and maybe take a look at that car?”

“Oh, right. Too bad we could’ve used your car right about now.” You smile, pulling the hair out from underneath. “Okay. What’s our game plan?”

“Stay dry.”

Your smile turns wry. “Apt.”

“Here.” Unfolding his jacket, he holds it above his head. “Get under and then we run.”

“We are not gonna make it.”

“Gotta try. Get under.” You slip beneath his arm, your hands wrapping around his waist and he takes a deep breath to prepare himself. “Let’s go.” They sprint out into the pouring rain, their shoes slapping against the wet pavement as they run up the block.

“This isn’t working, Buck!” You twist as you try to keep pace but it’s clear that they’re both gonna get soaked. Bucky can’t quite run with you latched onto him so he throws his coat over you, tugging it tight around you before grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you into his arms. As if on instinct, your legs wrap around his waist. Rain soaks into his skull and he squints as it drops into his eyes while you hold the jacket to your head and he tries to regulate his breathing. Your arm looped around his neck, you press against him in an effort to take off some of the weight in his arms.

Your heat soaks into his dress shirt and he pants into your ear, finally reaching the apartment lobby’s door. Dropping you in a dry spot beneath the glass shelter, he shakes his head and flicks off the wet while you unlock the doors.

“Are you good?” he asks, heat burning into his cheeks and you glance at him as you pull open the door. He rakes a hand through his hair, grabbing the jacket you’ve extended to him.

“I’m dry,” you affirm. “Come on. We’ve gotta get you dry.”

“You don’t have to.” Walking into the apartment lobby, he’s hit by a wave of nostalgia. It’s been a year since he’s breathed in the filtered air that carries just a whiff of vanilla. Before, it was five years coming home to this. Rubbing his shoes on the carpet, he follows after you with a squeak and he drips all over the tiled floor while you get to the elevator. “Whew.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you point out, peering at him. “I’m not gonna complain if I get wet but you are and I’m not, so I’m gonna feel bad if I don’t at least get you a towel.”

“I didn’t want you to get wet,” he replies stubbornly. “We can just look at your car and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“You’re not bothering me, Buck.”

“Still.” The elevator doors open and they walk in. You swipe your fob before pressing the floor and lean against the rail while he drips onto the middle of the floor. Wiping at some of the droplets dotting his head, he turns to you and grins. “Bet it’s just like old times.”

“God, don’t remind me. I can’t believe you asked me out right before we fell on Splash Mountain.”

“It made it memorable and you said yes.”

You laugh. “I guess so. Steve lost fifteen dollars to Nat who I clearly remember saying if you can convince me to say yes to Splash Mountain you can get me to say yes to a date.” The elevator chime and the doors open. You walk out and the keys jingle against your fingers. “Do you want anything to drink? I can make some tea.”

“Nah.”

“You hate tea. Right. Well, how does hot chocolate sound?” You glance back at him with an impish curl to your mouth. He resists the want to grab your hand and instead does a small jog to catch up with you. You walk with your hands shoved in your pockets and he casts his gaze ahead of him, swallowing.

“Perfect.”

“That was actually a pretty good place, you know. I’m gonna need to go more often.”

“Yeah. The spaghetti was al dente and everything.” He hears you snort at his comment, reaching the door and opening it with a quick twist of your keys. He doesn’t know what to expect of the apartment he’s moved out of, but when you step in to reveal what used to be his home, he knows he shouldn’t have expected so much to change. The furniture has shifted, that much was a given, but that’s about it. It still smells like your strawberry shampoo everywhere and fresh laundry, and there’s still the dent on the wall from when Steve had tripped and spilled four bottles of beer he’d been carrying. The stains were removed. The dent Steve made with his head was not.

“Welcome home,” you joke weakly to him, your eyes flashing for a moment before you turn to head to the bathroom. He hangs up his coat, unbuttoning his dress shirt and you reappear with a towel before looking at the mess that is your ex-boyfriend. He’s soggy wet everywhere, even his socks. He thinks he might’ve stepped in a deep puddle based on the pant cuff absolutely plastered to his ankle.

You hand him the towel, eyes surveying the damage of his clothes and you chew on your lip. He runs his strands of hair through the towel, the heat of the memory of your body against his fighting off the chill nipping at his skin. You’ve always done that. Your hugs are warmer than any fire that he’s ever known and just the trail of your fingers has left a fire in its wake.

“I have the clothes you said I could keep,” you state lamely and he looks at you with surprise. He thought you’d have donated or burned it all by now. It was the hoodies and sweats he didn’t want anymore because they looked terrible on him and way better on you, but anything is better than being squelchy and soaked to the core. “I could get them out.”

“That’d be nice.”

“Alright. Help yourself to… well, anything. You know where it all is.” Peeling off his shirt, he heads to the sink where you keep plastic bags beneath the sink and throw it in, following it with his undershirt. Running the towel over his skin, he sighs. His heart doesn’t thunder nor does it beat wildly—that was young love—but it does feel fuller now that he’s here.

“Here.” You toss a red hoodie at him and a pair of black sweats follow after. He catches both with a grin, but it soon fades when he realizes what he holds and what you wear. You’ve changed into more comfortable clothes, wearing a matching hoodie to the one he holds in his hands.

Thing 1 and Thing 2. Right. Before we were even dating. Just best friends.

“Old time’s sake.”

“Always said you should keep it for the next guy to come along,” he says, pulling it over his head. Your eyes stay on his own. Definitely past young love. You don’t even look at his abs and something about how familiar it is makes him sigh into the fabric of the hoodie.

“Well, it never seemed right. This was when we were best friends, Buck,” you point out. He’s against the counter so it hides him changing out of his pants and into the sweats while you bustle around to gather what’s needed for hot chocolate. “I miss us.”

“Especially when we started sleeping together. Best sex ever,” he cheers and you laugh, getting a pot on the stove. Shuffling in beside you, he grabs some mugs and searches for the marshmallows while you get the milk to boiling.

As he brushes past, his hand rests on his back and trails across, and it’s not until you’re looking at him that he realizes.

“That was habit. I’m sorry.” He blinks. It’d been so natural to do, it’s strange to think it’s wrong now. “My bad.”

“It’s okay.” You grab a whisk and a measuring spoon, waiting patiently by the stovetop. “If I wasn’t comfortable with you touching me, I’d have reacted. You know that.”

Because of your shitty ex that isn’t me. Yeah, I know, he thinks. You’ve got a streak and I hate that I’m part of it.

“Yeah.” He pours marshmallows into the bottom of each mug. “Sorry I’ve gotta add to your string of terrible ex boyfriends.”

“Bucky!” The intensity of your voice makes him turn to you in surprise and you stand there, hands on your hips, face warped in an image of vexation. “If I hear you say you were a bad boyfriend one more time, I’ll smack you with a pan. You weren’t. If I have to spend the rest of my life, convincing you and reassuring you just so you’re brave enough to get back out there, then fine.”

“Doll, I—”

“I mean, seriously. You’re a fucking great boyfriend. You spent time with me but you gave me space, you listened, you always made sure I was comfortable and you’re so patient.” You turn back to your pot, dumping in some hot cocoa powder and whisking it a bit more angrily than he thinks you intend. “You do these things that seem small but mean the world to me, and you’re always looking out for me. I just… there is no way to say you were a bad boyfriend.” You look at him again and his eyes are wide as he regards you. “I don’t want you thinking just because we didn’t work out, no one ever will.”

He’s quiet as you gently pour each cup full of hot chocolate, the marshmallows floating to the top and he leans on the counter by his hand, looking down.

“It’s more than just the sex that I miss,” he says suddenly, and you look at him, expression easing.

“I know.”

“No, it’s… more. I miss your laugh, and the way you fold my clothes, and the tiny little post-it’s you leave on the fridge. I’m not asking you to take me back, I just… I’m still in love with you, you know? You’re the love of my life. It fucking sucks that apparently we aren’t meant to be.”

“I’m still in love with you, too,” you whisper, handing him a cup of burning heat.

“You ever think we could have a second chance?” he wonders, trying not to sound too hopeful. You smile behind your porcelain mug, just a tinge sad and sip before nodding. You set down the mug against the counter with a soft clatter and so does he, his finger tracing the rim of the white mug.

“I want to think so,” you murmur. Your eyes are focused on the small movement of his finger and he presses his lips together, trying to get something out. But then you turn away with your mug towards the couch and he follows after you. The TV switched on, you flip through the channels. “My car’s parked in my usual spot, if you actually do wanna take a look. I can’t force you to.”

“Maybe in the morning? You still take Saturdays off, right?”

“Yeah. Unless I get called in.” He walks up to you and sinks into the couch beside you. You lean on the armrest, knees tucked beneath your bum as he sits on the opposite end. They sip their drinks, a quiet falling over them. No one knows how to talk after the mention of a chance a relationship can come back to life once again. You pipe up when there’s a commercial break and Bucky blinks. “You know how you said you’d drop everything for me if the world was actually ending?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Of course.” He thinks about it for a moment. “Sky could be falling but it wouldn’t matter, long as I knew you were safe and that I was holding you tight, protecting you how I could.” You unfurl from your ball, leaning forward to set down your cup of melted marshmallows and hot chocolate and he drains the rest of it down. It settles in his gut warmly, but it also squirms as you sit up and face him. He sets down the mug. “All I want to do is protect you. I know in the end, it was me who was hurting you and just… I never wanted that. I wouldn’t let anything touch you if I could help it.”

“It’s impossible not to hurt people you love. That’s part of it all, Buck. And I’m sure I hurt you too, and I’m sorry for that,” you say, reaching forward past the knees tucked your chest. He takes your offered hand. “But I’m glad that you’re always here. That I know you have my back. Just know that I have yours. You can count on me.”

He squeezes your fingers gently and you smile wider. His own lips pull into a tender smile as he gently pulls you into him and you go willingly, crawling across the couch to rest against him. His arm settles around your shoulders as he extends his legs over the cushions. You nestle yourself, your cheek on his chest and his thumb rubs circles along your arm, gentle pressure through the sleeve of your hoodie.

He looks down at you, and you look up at him, and there’s a moment when that is all there is—two lovers on a night in, too tired to sleep, unwilling to part for even a moment. You touch his cheek, and his thumb swipes over yours as his lips part.

“There’s no one else for me,” he whispers and your hand flattens against his cheek. He sits up and so do you, your other hand on his waist while his settle on your hips. There is something intense about his gaze, and by the twitch of your lip, he knows you’re bemused, but he’s serious.

“Bucky, there’s always going to be someone out there for you that isn’t me, no matter how much we both hate it.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “I love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.” It is simple for him. The simplest thing he knows. Your eyebrows furrow together and you open your mouth but he continues on, “I’ll love you even if the sun goes black and the moon splits into two. I’ll love you even if you get married, even if you don’t, even if you have kids, even if you have none. I’ll love you if you become a dog person or even a fish person, and I’ll love you even if you move away.” You shift in his lap, and he swallows, shaking his head at the incredulous feeling you bring to him. Love fills him up and drains him hollow, and you are everything.

“I’ll love you if I never see you again. I’ll love you if I see you once every six months, and I will love you if I am lucky enough to see you every day. I’ll love you when you’re old and grey and don’t remember who I am. I’ll love you enough to bring you back. This isn’t young love anymore. We danced around each other for three years before we got together—I’m past the honeymoon phase. This is fucking real for me. When I say there is no one else, I mean that I will never love anyone like how I love you. And I’m fine with that, as long as you’re happy.”

A beat. Bucky can hear his heart in his chest, slow and beating. He is sure of this and your eyes scan him, searching for lies. There are none.

“The hot chocolate inspired this?” you question teasingly, but your voice trembles, soft as feathers and he wonders if it is the same emotion that stitched his heart and lights it on fire. He is dynamite dormant, waiting for a spark.

“Everything about this night did,” he murmurs. Your thumb swipes at his lip, a gentle thing and he smiles. His own gaze stays on your eyes and he remembers a time when he’d do anything to kiss you. Now all he wants is your smile.

“I don’t know if I love you as much as you love me,” you begin quietly, your words tasting like chocolate and sugar against his skin. He chuckles. “But I do love you a whole damn lot.”

“Never one for words, huh.”

“I prefer action,” you agree. Their noses brush and his lungs hitch as you close your eyes. He does too, the presence of you nearly overwhelming. His every nerve tingles and his hand on your hip tightens as your lips gently meet his. He doesn’t know anything but the familiarity of you against him, the gentle tug of your fingers in his hair, the blissful quiet that fills his head as his chest explodes. He kisses you back but you pull away, a soft smile on your face. Your arms loop around his neck as he looks at you and you look thoughtful. “That sounded a lot like Lemony Snicket the more I think about it.”

“I read books to my best friend’s kids,” he points out and you laugh. “Sarah really likes A Series of Unfortunate Events.”

“Well, we can’t fault her. Steve and Natasha are some of the biggest bookworms ever.”

“Doll, she’s four.”

“She’s a smart kid.” You shrug innocently and he laughs, scrunching up his nose. It has always been easy with you. Tentatively pressing another kiss against your mouth, he feels you reciprocate it quickly and his smile spreads wider across his face. Your arms tug him closer. “Bucky,” you mumble against his mouth and he hums against you. His fingers bunch the fabric at your waist and you squirm in his lap, inching to get closer. “I want to try again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your fingers dust over his brow, swiping away hair that’s fallen into his face. He grins, eyes closed blissfully at how fond the gesture it is. “I know we can do this.” His eyes flutter open at half-mast, watching you as you carefully trace down his cheek. “It’s gonna be okay, right? We’re gonna make it work, right?”

“We’re gonna do our damn hardest to try.”

“Okay.” You hug him tightly, resting your head on his shoulder and he wraps you in a tight embrace, letting you melt into him. Your whole body seems to relax in his hold and he closes his eyes, burying his face in your neck. “I needed a hug.”

“Well, you can always count on me to give you one now, doll.” You pull back and he raises his chin as a slight smirk twitches at your lip.

“Never thought I’d be thankful for an earthquake,” you whisper nefariously and he laughs into your mouth as you press a kiss hard enough to push him onto his back. He falls, legs straightening along the length of the couch. You fall with him, your hands on either side of his head and he simply holds you to him, laughing when you pepper kisses down his neck. You know every ticklish spot on his body and he can’t help but raise his head to expose the expanse of his neck.

“You’re evil,” he gasps, scandalized, and you peek up at him through your eyelashes, your eyebrow arched. He meets your eyes and it’s like the sun is in his chest. He is lighter than he has been in months.

“You love me anyway,” you say.

Bucky can’t help but agree.

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spookybias · 4 years

Text

ᝰ frozen ideals | park sunghoon ˎˊ˗

paring: park sunghoon x gender neutral! reader

genre: slice of life ─ fluff, slight angst

content: idol! sunghoon x figure skater! reader, more than friends but less than lovers au, i ramble a bit about what a home is.

synopsis: sunghoon revisits the ice rink, and after seeing you, begins to have doubts on what he really wants in life.

word count: 2.7k

note: this only took a couple of days, so it’s not my best work. i kind of overdid it i guess? this was supposed to be short, but i just couldn’t stop. i also cried while writing a couple of paragraphs of this lol. one more thing, i’m not the best with endings, so i’m not sure if you guys will understand it. it is happy, though.

SUNGHOON DIDN'T VISIT THE ICE RINK AS OFTEN AS HE BEFORE. During his figure skating career, he was often at the ice rink at least 3-4 times a week. Sometimes before school hours, other times after school hours, and many times during school hours. If he thought his life as a professional figure skater was busy, his belief had changed once advancing from trainee to applicant to contestant, and finally, to idol.

Sunghoon’s time was divided between training, schoolwork, competitions, and every now and then, interviews.

His schedule was now made up of all the tasks of a predebut idol. There were photoshoots, interviews, and vocal and dance practices to attend. His free time was given away, -but only out of love for his fans- to sudden vlive sessions and random social media updates. he rarely ever had time to himself nowadays, as even what was left after all of his daily routines and weekly events was often used to eat, freshen up, and rest. And none of this would compare to the schedule that was to come once him and the boys made their debut.

There were times where he thought back to his days on the ice; what would life be like if he hadn’t quit figure skating?

It had been a long time since he had visited the ice rink, and while all the other boys used their one free day off in a while to visit their family back home, or to hang out with their old friends at their favorite place, Sunghoon found himself back at the ice rink. But who’s to say that this favorite place of his that he spent many times at alone, wasn’t his home?

Home isn’t where you live. No, that was your apartment, your house, your condo or your space at the shelter, maybe even the streets. Home is the place that provides you with a sense of security, an overwhelming amount of happiness, a much more avaliable version of cloud 9. Even when you’ve been there twenty times in one week, forty times in one month, the place still feels like a new visit each time. That’s a home.

Often, it isn’t what you do at said place that makes it a home. It’s the safe space founded by the very things about that place that make you happy. The angle at which the lights hit, the background noise that boasts behind you when you’re having fun, the people inhabiting the environment. All these things still feel new, but recognizable every time you visit.

This was the case for Park Sunghoon. You were his safe space.

The ice rink was nearly empty except for you, your coach, and the advisor who kept watch to make sure there weren’t any mishaps in the rink. This wasn’t meant to be a private meeting. You almost always arrived as soon as the rink opened, and so there were never really people there.

Sunghoon had shown up out of the blue after waking up with a sudden urge to visit the rink. It wasn’t until he stood in the seating area, looking over the frost, did he realize how much he missed. He remembered the goosebumps that grazed his skin when the chilly air hit his bare arms and the numb feeling you get on your butt when you land on it after falling back.

He longed for it all, but maybe not enough to quit his new career.

You noticed the lanky boy outside the rink after landing a toe loop. You were a skater, sure, but you weren’t the most coordinated one. You had often made it to competitions with Sunghoon, but you wouldn’t ever make it as far as he did. Still, you loved ice skating, and you would only get better.

That being said, you hadn’t gotten better just yet and were easily distracted. Skidding to a halt, you cheerfully waved to Sunghoon. “Hi, Hoonie!” That meant your eyes were off the cracking ice in front of you, and you tripped, flying forward.

Sunghoon rushed out onto the ice, panic gracing his features. He was accustomed to the ice, and carefully but quickly made it to you in his converse.

“____, are you okay?” Sunghoon didn’t wait for an answer, wrapping one of your arms around his neck and hoisting you up bridal style. “I haven’t seen you in months, and when I finally do I cause an accident.” He shook his head.

You chuckled at his self-disappointment. You waited for him to put you down on the bleachers before telling him, “It wasn’t that big of a deal Sunghoon. I’ve fallen hundreds of times. Ninety out of a hundred of those times, you weren’t there to help me.”

“If it was no big deal, then why did you need me to carry you off the ice?”

You smiled mockingly, eyes shut tight and lips pressed together, a compressed smile at its finest. “I didn’t. I just wanted a free ride.”

Sunghoon shook his head, laughing. His laugh was light like a feather, quiet like a baby’s snore. “You always were lazy,” He replied jokingly.

“Hey! I’ve been practicing really hard! Someone has to take your place, remember? And you’re not here to coach me anymore.”

It was true. After word got around that the Park Sunghoon had quit his career as a professional figure skater, everyone in you guys’ age range seemed to be fighting to be known as the best. For awhile, Sunghoon offered you tips and techniques for mastering his most known tricks. You were someone dear to him, and even when you guys were competing against each other, he secretly hoped you’d do better than him.

The young boy only got busier, though, and could no longer help you train.

“____!” You were snapped out of your conversation by your coach, Eunkyung. She walked up to the two of you. The way she eyed Sunghoon -a look of disbelief mixed with digust- made you gulp. “Stop fooling around. He isn’t here to train you anymore, therefore, he’s wasting valuable time.”

You knew how Eunkyung felt towards Sunghoon. She had dreams of making it as big as him when she was the same age, but couldn’t due to financial situations. Seeing someone who had everything she wanted in a figure skating career give it all up irked her soul. She had openly voiced her opinions on Park Sunghoon to you and the other trainees.

“Please, Eunkyung.” You begged in a low voice, but Sunghoon could still hear. Something about you begging Eunkyung to let him stay made his heart flutter. “We hardly see each other anymore. I really missed him.”

That was it. Sunghoon’s ears were suddenly on fire. When had you gotten so bold?

“Fine. Thirty minutes. Don’t expect another break today because this is the only one you’ll be getting.” Eunkyung walked off muttering something about ungrateful teens and the next competition being in three weeks.

You began to move from the bench Sunghoon had dropped you off at, but immediately sat back down, a hiss escaping your lips.

“You said you were fine.” Sunghoon placed a protective hand on your shoulder, as if the pain was a person making their way towards you.

“I am fine.” You stared out onto the ice trying to wiggle out the static shooting through your leg.

“That isn’t the kind of sound people make when they’re fine, ____. I’ll get Eunkyung.”

“No.” Your voice was firm. “It’s just a cramp, Sunghoon. You know figure skaters get cramps.”

Sunghoon stood quietly, looking down at you, but you avoided eye contact. “Okay.”

“I get them a lot. Eunkyung says it’s because I don’t stretch enough beforehand. We used to stretch together, remember? But you’re not here anymore so I forget.” The statement sounded more spiteful than you intended.

Sunghoon wondered if you were mad at him, and hiding your anger with fake excitement towards seeing him again. Did you secretly wish that he had never come back?

You kept bringing up the past and reminding him that he wasn’t around anymore. It was times like these where he questioned what he really wanted.

The two of you sat in silence. Just basking in each other’s existence was enough. That’s what was so mesmerizing about your friendship. Sometimes all the two of you did was sit next to each other, and it felt like so much fun.

“It’s been awhile, huh, ice prince?” You broke the silence and smiled playfully. “Did you miss me?” Your tone was teasing when you asked, but deep down you knew that if the answer was no your heart would shatter.

Sunghoon didn’t bother to even fight back. “Yeah, I did.” He liked it when you called him ice prince. It could get him to admit anything. It could even make him admit he was in love with you, but you didn’t need to know that.

“You never text me anymore.” He couldn’t figure out if it was a normal statement or a sad one. “I know you’re busy, though.” He exhaled being grateful for that add-on. “What’s it like?”

“I love it.” Sunghoon simply stated. You hardly even finished asking the question when he had answered. “It’s a lot of work, and sometimes I can’t believe I made it, but I love it.”

“You love Jake especially too, right?” You teased.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You know I’m kidding,” You shook your head, laughing. Sunghoon missed hearing your laugh. The audio recordings from old videos of you two together just weren’t enough for him anymore.

“You know you’re the only…” Sunghoon trailed off and looked away. Talking about his feelings for you was difficult for him. It was difficult for you too. You didn’t need him to finish his sentence. Of course, you often needed reassurance that you hadn’t been replaced, but just the first few words of his statement were enough. You knew what he meant.

He was the only one for you too.

“Do you think what I’m doing is right?” Sunghoon suddenly questioned. For some reason he was holding back a sob, and he wasn’t sure why.

You stared at a scrape in the ice for a moment, before finally turning to the boy of your dreams. “Yes.” You nodded your head, smiling. “I watch your vlives and read your interviews and I retweet all your photos and cheer on all your moments.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You were happy for Sunghoon, but it hurt that he was doubting his desires after a long time of trying to prove himself.

You continued, “Sometimes my friends tell me I’m whipped, but I’m just really happy for you, Hoonie. So please don’t doubt yourself.”

Sunghoon was glad that only one tear had escaped. He didn’t want you to cry over him. “There are days where I try to imagine what life would be like if I was still here. Skating with you and everyone else.”

You replied almost instantly. “Well stop imagining those things. You’re not here anymore. You can’t let what you thought you wanted interfere with what you really want. You didn’t leave anyone or anything behind. It’s not like you forgot about this place. We still love you, and we’re rooting for you and always have been. You spent so long trying to prove yourself to everybody. Don’t let those years be in vein. If you quit, I swear I’ll-”

“I’m not going to quit.” Sunghoon stopped you. “If you’re proud of me, then I must be doing the right thing.”

You let out a breath and smiled, turning away from the boy once again. “Ideals change, ice prince. You’re allowed to change.”

Sunghoon looked over at you, noting how you avoided eye contact. He found it really cute. “Thank you, ____.” The two of you shared a smile, and then Sunghoon looked down to your left leg. “How is it? Is the cramp gone?”

You stood up, wiggled your left foot, and hopped on your left leg for good measure. “Yep! Think we can go around the rink for a bit before my break is up?”

Sunghoon’s cheeks turned pink. “Are you asking me out?”

You tightened your laces and laughed. “I would never."

SUNGHOON SKATED BESIDE YOU. This wasn’t a date. Despite your hands clasped together tightly but comfortably and the statements shared between the two of you earlier, you and Sunghoon were not a thing. The two of you were just a couple of friends who almost had something due to your shared interest and quiet bonding. You loved each other and it wasn’t complicated, but it was uncharted territory neither of you were ready to enter.

You skidded to a stop. “I’ve been practicing really hard,” You told Sunghoon again. You skated circles around him. “Eunkyung says that with a couple more months of training, I can make it farther than you ever did.”

“Is that a threat?” Sunghoon began following after you, the two of you facing each other, skating sideways to form a small circle around the spot you guys had just been standing in.

“Yes, it is.” You stuck your tongue out at him. “But seriously. It’s so much work ‘cause you’re known for doing the most.” You rolled your eyes, remembering the countless laps Eunkyung made you skate around the ice rink. You brightened up when you remembered something else. “I’ve been getting a lot better at salchows, though, which we all know I am terrible at. Look.”

Sunghoon watched in amazement as you skated around the rink, performing salchows over and over again. Your landings were a little slopping, but you could easily fix that.

“I wanna show you something else before you go.” Suddenly Sunghoon remembered that he had to leave soon, as your break would be up, and he had to see his mother in a bit. He followed you out the ice rink.

You opened your backpack, which Sunghoon had just now noticed was left out on the bleachers. He would have to remind you not to do that. If the rink got crowded, someone could steal your stuff. You pulled out a black notebook and handed it to Sunghoon.

He opened the notebook, puzzled at the lines and numbers all over the pages along with little doodles. However, his confusion went away once he realized that the little doodles were diagrams of figure skating tricks, and the lines and numbers all matched up to physics calculations.

“After you left, I honestly forgot a lot of your tips. It was hard using your methods without you being around to coach me.” You looked down at your hands. “I take physics in school, so I’ve been using it to help me with figure skating.”

Sunghoon was in awe. In his mind, he had been selfish to keep wishing he could be back at the rink just to help you. If he had stayed, he would just be stopping you from finding your own techniques, from realizing your full potential. He now realized that he didn’t have to keep worrying about if you were okay. You were doing just fine without him, and although that thought would be negative to most, Sunghoon was proud of you.

“____, this is amazing.”

“You don’t think it’s nerdy?”

“Of course not. You’re a genius,” Sunghoon stated. The embarrassment that had just filled your senses was quickly replaced by fluster. “Um, thanks, Hoonie.”

The two of you continued to flip through the book together, you pointing out tiny notes that you wanted Sunghoon to see, and him asking questions and nodding his head in intrigue. Sunghoon flipped to the most recent diagram, and examined the page.

“What’s this?” Sunghoon pointed to a diagram of a trick he had never seen before.

“Oh! Eunkyung says that if I want to stand out I should combine a couple of moves and form my own tricks, and name them something cool. I need to show the judges how I stand out from the other contestants.” You looked over the page, and caught a small note in your handwriting. Suddenly feeling nervous, you tried to change the subject. “Uh, why don’t we skate some more.”

Sunghoon glanced at you before scanning the page once more. And then he saw it. The diagram was a mix of a salchow and a toe loop, two moves Sunghoon was very much known for perfecting. Under the diagram were two words that made Sunghoon’s heart flutter.

Ice Prince.

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steves-on-a-plane · 3 years

Text

Trending Cap

Words: 843 Pairing: Sam Wilson X Reader Also Staring: Bucky Barnes Summary: When Reader finds out Sam, as the new Captain America, isn't planning on doing anything special to celebrate 4th of July she suggests he recreates a viral TikTok trend. With the help of Reader and Bucky, Sam adds his own twist to the trend to great success.

“So, what are you doing for the fourth, Sam Eagle?” You asked the newly minted Captain America. You tossed yourself onto his couch and made yourself comfortable in his Washington, DC apartment.

“Who the hell is Sam Eagle?” Sam laughed.

“He’s a Muppet.” Bucky supplied as he walked into the kitchen carrying a six pack of beers. “He’s an eagle Muppet who’s whole personality is freedom and loving America. You have wings and you’re Captain America now. Also, your name is Sam. It’s a very funny joke.” He assured.

“Now you expect me to believe you know who the Muppets are?” Sam shook his head as Bucky began packing his beers into the fridge.

“I have a television in my apartment.” Bucky reminded him.

“To answer your question, [Y/N], this is what I’m doing. Sarah’s taking the boys off on a long weekend trip so I invited my two friends over and I’m going to cook some food, we’re going to hang out.” Sam shrugged. “What more could I want?”

“Ok, but I meant more like what are you doing as Captain America?” You clarified. “Like I know Steve used to go way over the top because it was his birthday and all, but are you not even going to post like a Cap meme or TikTok dance or anything?”

“A TikTok dance?” Sam chuckled.

“Why not?” You shrugged. “Maybe not a dance, but there’s this audio that’s been getting pretty popular.”

You reached for your phone which was dangling precariously off the edge of Sam’s coffee table. You opened the TikTok app and searched for the audio you wanted. Once you found it you played it for Bucky and Sam. The Audio started with the Star-Spangled Singer’s singing the verse of The Star Spangled Man with a Plan, the song from Steve’s old USO shows. Once the audio reached the line “We can’t ignore there’s a front and a war we must win” the background music changed to a more modern beat mixed with Sam’s very recent speech “I know there are millions of people who are going to hate me for it. Even now, here, I feel it. The stares, the judgement, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. And I’m still here. No super serum. No. Blonde hair or blue eyes. The only power I have is that I believe we can do better.”

“The trend is sort of a way to celebrate you as the new Cap.” You explained. “What most people do is they’ll do something like wear 1940’s fashion until the part where the music changes and then they switch to modern clothes. There are also some pretty impressive cosplays on here with homemade suits. For those typically its someone who starts out in a replica Steve suit and ends in a replica of yours. Usually they’ll act all hokey and exaggerated during the first bit and switch to a very serious lip-sync when it gets to the Captain Sam part.”

“[Y/N]’s right.” Bucky commented as he scrolled through TikTok on his own phone. “Walker might not be the only one you have to fight for the shield. These are some pretty impressive…what did you call them?”

“Cosplayers.” You supplied.

“Dress up people.” Bucky nodded.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” Sam nodded. “But the two or you have to help me.”

“Perfect! I’ve always wanted to raid your closet!” C’mon Buck, you can be my onset 1940s fashion consultant.” You dragged him towards Sam’s bedroom.

“[Y/N]! Don’t even think about taking one of my flannel shirts!” Sam called after you.

“Two shirts it is then!” You shouted back.

With Bucky’s help you were able to piece together a presentable 1940s stye outfit from Sam’s closet. The outfit consisted of Khaki slacks, a brown belt, brown leather shoes and a brown and beige stripped shirt. The collar wasn’t exactly wide enough for the time, Bucky wanted to point out, but it would do in a pinch. Luckily the wallpaper in the living room of Sam’s apartment looked ancient. It probable hadn’t been updated since the 1920’s let alone the 40s.

So, you positioned Sam in a corner of the room where most of his modern amenities were out of sight and filmed him dancing and mouthed along to the Star Spangled Man song. When the music stopped you stopped filming. Sam changed most of the way into his cap suit. He gave you the signal and you began filming. Sam added on pieces to his outfit, like his wings, and his goggles while repeating his speech. When he reached his final line “I believe we can do better.” He looked directly into the camera. You held his gaze for a second before cutting off the recording.

“People are going to love it, Sam.” You told him confidently.

“We’ll see I guess.” He took his phone from you and added his own caption to the video. “Wanted to get in on the trend. Have a safe and happy 4th of July.” He added in a few hashtags before posting the video.

“Now will the two of you let me enjoy the rest of my day in peace?” Sam asked setting his phone down.

“I don’t know, I kind of want to see you make a Sam Eagle TikTok now that [Y/N] has put that idea in my head.” Bucky announced.

“This is my place.” Sam reminded you both. “I can kick you out any time.”

“I was promised cold beer and free food. I’m not leaving until I get both.” Bucky insisted. “And don’t bother asking if I’d throw hands with Captain America because we both know you wouldn’t be the first or even the second to find out that answer is yes.” Bucky sat down on the couch you’d once occupied. Sam had a witty retort prepped and ready to fire, but his phone began to buzz in his hand.

“Our TikTok’s got a like.” He shared proudly. His phone buzzed again. “Oh another one!”

“There’s a few comments too.” Bucky said. “’Welcome to the App Cap’ and ‘It’s the 40’s fit for me.’ [Y/N], what does fit mean?”

Within minutes Sam’s phone was booming with notifications. They were happening so frequently he had to set the sound to completely silent just so he could hear himself think. There were a few negative comments. Someone had dredged out the classic “Not My Cap” hashtag, but overall the response was positive. After twenty-four hours the video had over 500 thousand likes and ten thousand comments.

“[Y/N], you want a job as my social media/PR?” Sam jokingly texted you the next morning. “But seriously, it was a good idea. Thanks for the assist.”

“Anything for you, Cap.” You replied back. “You can pay me back with dinner next Saturday night. I’m still dreaming of last night’s dinner. Oh also, I stole a flannel from your closet.” You added a winking emoji before sending Sam a photo of you wearing his flannel shirt.

“It’s yours.” He replied. “That shirt’s never looked so good.”

“I can think of one place it might look better. You’re floor.” You sent, trying to sound flirty.

“That’s probably where you found it in the first place.” He messaged back with a series of laugh emojis. “You can return it if you want.”

“You’re so oblivious!” You told him with an eyeroll emoji. “The shirt is mine, and…” But before you could send another reply a new message from Sam came through.

“I’m just joking. Are you free tomorrow for dinner?” He wanted to know.

“We just had dinner together yesterday.” You reminded him.

“Now who’s oblivious? You have to eat every day don’t you? And Bucky wont be at this dinner.” He texted back all in one message.

“Ohhhhhh.” You typed several extra ‘H’s to emphasize your realization. “I’ll see you at 6, your place.”

#Sam Wilson #Sam Wilson Captain America #Sam Wilson x Reader #Sam Wilson Reader Insert #Sam Wilson Fan Fiction #Sam Wilson Fan Fic #Sam Wilson FF #4th of July #TikTok

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years

Text

Maybe you could create one where Sander has been at Robbe's house for several days and he doesn't want to be on his side, so Senne bothers him for being so in love. and you could add if you can something from the other alpha so that it continues to provoke Sander's jealousy. and as always strength and love!

can you write something about that Sander accidentally cut his hand and Robbe taking care of him.

Maybe you could continue with the other day after nesting, as Sander watches Robbe sleep and realizes that he wants to stay with him for more days, but he doesn't know how to ask Robbe. and he looks for excuses to extend his visit, but when he sees that Robbe receives a message from the other alpha asking him for a new appointment because Robbe "is perfect". confirming to Sander that he just wants to be with Robbe.

Part 7

They went to bed really late, Sander is not sure, but it felt like the sun was starting to warm the sheets underneath him when he fell asleep.

Maybe it wasn’t the sun, maybe the sheets were still warm from the rolling around every time, trying to find a cold spot where they could start all over again. His head is hurting a little, but it’s easy to ignore when he feels a weight on his chest, drool drying where he feels a slow and warm breath against his naked chest. And the smell is even better.

If he could, Sander would definitely save Robbe’s smell somewhere that he could smell it whenever needed. It gets even better when they’re together, can even cure his hangover and shame for being found drunk inside a bar, craving Robbe’s reassurance that he was still the one.

Sander huffs laughter, covering his face with his hand, embarrassed but also happy that Robbe went looking and even found him. Only he could find Sander. Robbe is still clearly far from waking up, but Sander still misses him, still needs to look at Robbe with his open brown eyes staring up at Sander and know that he still likes him, even if just a little bit.

So Sander moves carefully, with his eyes constantly on Robbe’s face, stopping whenever he frowns and whines, even if just a little, slowly lying on his side, pulling his arms from underneath Robbe’s head.

Once he’s out of Robbe’s reach, his instincts crave his touch and his warm again, but Sander controls himself, crawling on top of Robbe, carefully sitting on his tighs as Robbe pulls his pillow closer, burying his face against it and falling back asleep. Sander watches for a little more, trying to save every detail perfectly inside his brain, but then he wants to kiss Robbe so badly.

He moves back to his knees and hands again, smiling to the sleepy Robbe underneath him, starting to kiss the side of his neck, looking up constantly to make sure Robbe’s eyes are still shut.

Sander makes sure to not miss a single inch of his back, smiling against his smooth skin when Robbe shivers or when he feels his muscles moving under his skin due to Sander’s kisses.

He stops when his shin bumps into Robbe’s underwear and looks up, almost sure Robbe is awake by now, just pretending to be asleep. Sander kisses the small of his back slowly, getting closer and closer to his boxers.

“Stop.” Robbe whispers with a raspy voice and Sander does as he’s told, just touching Robbe’s skin when he asks.

“What? I wasn’t going anywhere…” Sander teases, biting his lip when he feels Robbe quietly lifting his hips from the mattress. He whines and opens his legs, bending one leg up to the side until his left foot meets his right knee.

“I know, that’s why I asked you to stop...because I’m gonna have to force you to go lower…” Sander looks up and he can’t see, but he hears Robbe’s smile in the way that he talks.

Sander likes to tease and Robbe likes it too, so Sander bites as close as he can to Robbe’s boxers, slowly moving it down with both his hands, having to swallow his own moan when he feels Robbe’s ass filling both his hands.

He’s not in a rush so he takes his times sitting on his heels, slowly pulling Robbe’s underwear down his legs, carefully taking it off his feet. Robbe’s phone keeps buzzing nonstop on his nightstand, but Sander is more than happy to ignore it, but Robbe moves away from him, snaking up the bed to reach for it.

“Robbe…”

“Just a second, stay right where you are.” Sander sighs as loud as he can to make his annoyance clear, but he sits back on his heels like he was told to do and he waits. Robbe moves to lie on his back and press play and Sander’s patience flies out the window the instant he hears the voice.

Hey, Robbe...it’s me. You left me on read last night after our date...I’m sorry if I said something stupid or...I don’t know, wasn’t what you were expecting...I thought our date was doing so fucking good. Please, can we have another one? If I didn’t say or do anything wrong and you just really needed to go, can we have another one? Maybe we could go somewhere...more private...Anyway, please, Robbe. If you feel like it, let’s go on another date...you’re perfect and I’m not one to give up easily.

Sander quickly crawls on top of Robbe again, grabbing Robbe’s phone from his hand - keeping it high enough over his head so Robbe won’t reach - before he can start typing a reply to that ridiculously cheesy and disgusting audio.

“You were on a date last night?” Sander is glad he managed to hide how feral he’s going inside because of the newfound information.

Robbe tries to reach his phone, but Sander is sitting on his stomach, not letting him move much. “It was just a couple of drinks.”

“Why did you leave him? It sounds like it was sudden…”

“I wanted to go look for you,” Robbe answers easily with no shame. Sander frowns, but his instincts love Robbe’s words, he almost hums because of it.

“Why?”

“Just because.” Robbe settles back against his pillow, sighing in annoyance, but his body is still very relaxed.

“It was because of the heat.” It’s the only explanation Sander can think of and one side of him gets really cocky thinking about Robbe needing him during his heat, not anyone else.

“No, Sander. You always think everything is that physical, huh?”

“It isn’t?” He has to ask, sounding more confident than how he feels. “Are you going to answer him?”

“Should I just read and ignore his texts?”

“Yes?” It’s the obvious answer, but Sander knows Robbe would never do that. He’s way too nice.

“Sander…”

He rolls his eyes and gives Robbe his phone back, moving away from him, searching for his underwear in the mess of clothes, blankets, and pillows they threw out of the bed during the night. Everything smells the same and Sander just wants a quick way out, not feeling like listening to his Robbe flirty-texting someone else.

So he finally finds it and puts his underwear and rushes out of the bedroom, ignoring Robbe’s requests for him to stay in bed.

Robbe’s place is oddly organized and clean. It’s probably part of his nesting craves. Not that he’s not usually organized, but it feels extra clean and homey this morning. The soft yellow sun light diffusing when meeting Robbe’s white curtains turn the whole flat into a pastel yellow. It’s very soft, but Sander starts to feel too hot with all this warm light surrounding him from every direction.

Sander goes straight to the kitchen, looking down, too inside himself to remember where the cups are. With each cabinet he opens and doesn’t find what he’s looking for, Sander gets more frustrated, thinking that Robbe is not there to tell him where things are because he’s too busy trying to keep a stranger interested. His heart is beating too fast, too big inside his small ribcage.

He finally finds the cups, glasses ones that feel heavy on his hand, probably expensive. And Sander just needs to let some of his energy out and it just feels too necessary not to.

He throws the glass across the room with all his strength, watching as one cup turns into hundreds of pieces on the old tile floor.

It helps, but only for the quickest second. Way too soon, Sander is back to feeling anxious, feeling his skin harsh and sensitive, almost too tight for him and he just wants to scream, to find another way to let his frustrations out.

Robbe’s worried voice is muffled by the walls between them, but it makes Sander start moving around the kitchen, collecting all the glass from the floor, putting it all on his palm to find a way to throw away after.

He hears the smooth sound Robbe’s socks make as he rushes against the wood floor and stops at the kitchen door.

“What happened?” Sander could hear Robbe coming and still, he jumps when he hears him just a few feet away from him, instantly feeling one of the glasses sinking into his palm.

“Fuck!” He gets up and drops all the glass inside the sink, opening his hand again to see a string of blood turn wider in his palm, soon painting his whole hand bright red.

“Shit, Sander…” Robbe comes closer before he can ask him not to, grabbing his hand and opening the tap and the cold water hits the cut instantly. “Do you think there’s some glass inside your cut?” Robbe leans down, looking at his hand closely.

Sander can handle pain, he thinks he’s quite good at it, but something about this cut crossing his entire palm crosswise it’s almost unbearable.

“No, shit, it was just a cut, it’s clean.” He’s not sure, but he says like he is, Robbe’s body is in front of him, keeping Sander from seeing his own hand. He feels Robbe’s gentle touch close to his injury, pressing carefully, still letting the water wash the blood out.

Sander puts his working hand on Robbe’s shoulder, his inspection is starting to make Sander nauseous and dizzy.

“Can you just get me some bandage?”

His touch makes Robbe listen and nod his head, instantly putting his hand carefully down against the cold counter, rushing to the bathroom. Sander can hear when his nervous hands drop probably everything inside his cabinets in search of something to put on Sander’s hand. He doesn’t look at his hand, but lets it under the water, waiting for Robbe.

More loud noises, Robbe probably kicking things out of his way to go back to the kitchen.

“Here.” He rushes to Sander’s side, putting a bunch of plastic bags on the counter, opening the bandages, and biting some tape off to put around the bandages.

Sander lets him lead, distracting himself by how gentle and caring Robbe is. He cleans and dries the cut very carefully, looking closely as he puts the bandage precisely over it, rolling the tape all around his hand on both ends, making sure it’s not too tight, but tight enough.

“I don’t wanna lose you, Robbe.” He realizes and says it out loud at the same time, noticing how Robbe is caught by surprise, stopping for a second from gathering all the empty packages.

“I'm afraid that's not possible either, so…” He says easily, with no weight or actual meaning to his words, and Sander bites the inside of his cheek, hating that he was to explain when he’s talking seriously. Even if he takes it so lightly, Sander doesn’t want his bite to be an excuse that Robbe often uses to Sander and to himself as to why they keep coming back to each other.

Sander is in love. He knows that now and he thinks Robbe might be in love too and the thought of it just being because of his bite makes Sander want to leave and never come back, feeling so ashamed. Robbe is better off without him anyway.

Robbe finally lets go of his hand and turns around, but his eyes only meet Sander’s for a brief moment, stepping to the side to throw everything away. Sander inhales deeply, looking at Robbe. “You have a choice, I won't force you to be with me, you don’t deserve that. I’m sure a lot of people did it differently, not staying with...you know, the ones.”

Robbe nods his head, still looking down, leaning against the counter behind him.

“I know.”

“I like you, Robbe. That’s what you wanna hear? I’m falling in love with you and I just don’t know what to do with that, I never fell in love before and I’m just fucking struggling! But I do like you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, the two of us, forever.”

Robbe looks up through his lashes and huffs the smallest laughter, his long, soft brown hair moving with him and Sander wishes he could live this morning over and over again, for the rest of his life.

#wtfock #robbe x sander #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe #Sobbe!Abo AU

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

i’m putting out my hand, you don’t wanna hold it (gigi x nicky) - ella

a/n - The aftermath of an almost relationship between the Nicky and Gigi post-show. Kind of a ‘what if they also had a branjie moment in s12’. Anyway, first angst AND first fic that’s over 2k words, yay!! Thank u to my amazing perfect beautiful beta @pink-grapefruit-cafe for correcting my tenses (as always) :> this is also posted on ao3, and feel free to hit me up here @dawningofdrag. Hope this was a decent comeback 💗

‘it’s weird seeing us flirt on national television’

Gigi’s heart skipped a beat when she heard her phone ding from the coffee table in front of her, already knowing who sent her the sudden text.

It was cold. It was the middle of March and the nonexistent heating of her apartment caused her fingers to shiver as she reached for her phone. The blankets that wrapped around her shoulders fell off as she reached out, feet kicking out of the bundle of fabric and placing themselves on her carpeted floor.

The latest episode of drag race had just finished airing, the commercials that came after it playing on Gigi’s flatscreen and it’s overproduced audio filled the small confinement of her living room. Their blatant flirting in untucked had just played on-screen mere moments ago, and the 22-year-old could already hear the intense screaming of the fans in her head. She turned off her notifications for Twitter and Instagram before the episode even aired, aware that the second the moment Nicky grabbed Gigi’s hand was televised everyone would go batshit crazy.

She opened her phone, tapping away until she got to her most recent text, the blue, red, and white heart next to the sender’s name all too familiar. Probably a little too familiar for Gigi’s liking.

It was the first time Nicky texted her since they spent summer together in LA last year, and the text preceding Nicky’s most recent one stung in a way the younger queen didn’t necessarily find appealing. The romantic nicknames and pink heart emojis brought back memories the American would rather forget.

“You’re beautiful,” Gigi whispered into the French queen’s ear, arms tightly wrapped around Nicky’s neck. The feeling of her bare, sweaty skin on hers elicited a loud moan from her swollen lips. “Fuck- right there-”

The empty hotel room Gigi called home for the past two weeks was now dim, the lamp by her bedside table the only source of light they had bothered to keep on. The plain white sheets were barely hanging onto the corners of the thick mattress they laid on, tank tops, vintage tees, and colored pants discarded by the foot of the bed. Hungry grasps and a desperate need for touch caused Gigi’s hotel room to look like a tornado passed through, but she didn’t mind. She was willing to clean up the mess they had created if it meant feeling the way she currently did, pressed tight to Nicky’s chest.

Their non-stop flirting on set the past two weeks had finally turned into more than just dirty jokes and accidental hand touches. Gigi had teetered on the edge of the limit she had set for herself for a while now, Nicky standing on the imaginary line with her.

But the second Nicky locked lips with her after the first elimination, the self-control she prided herself in turned nonexistent. The older queen had cupped her cheeks and leaned in and before she could stop herself, Gigi kissed back. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around the french queen’s waist, holding tight and wishing the feeling she experienced once their lips met would last longer than the few seconds it lasted.

It all happened so suddenly. The hand holding, the kiss, the three hickeys on her collarbone Nicky created in the empty set bathroom before they rode the van back to the hotel. Gigi felt like she was dreaming with how quickly their relationship had escalated the past six hours. Before she knew it, their naked bodies had collided and fuck, it felt good.

Nicky moved quicker as she placed her hands on Gigi’s shoulders, her thrusts, powerful and quick. A loud whine escaped Gigi’s lips as she threw her head back into the pillow. The queen on top of her leaned down and claimed her with dark bruises on her prominent shoulder blades to accompany the ones left on her skin hours ago. Gigi writhed and moved underneath her, the collision of Nicky’s skin with her own enough to almost drive her over the edge. Her long nails dug into the older queen’s back as she savored in every movement Nicky’s hips made.

“So fucking good-” She heard Nicky exhale, her tan hands clutching her waist. Gigi looked up to meet her dark eyes, a shiver running down her spine. “So fucking beautiful.”

‘I know its kinda weird lmao’

Gigi set her phone down to take a deep breath, pulling back the fleece blanket around her, trying to find some sort of solace in the heat it provided. The thoughts of Nicky overwhelmed her like a tidal wave, crashing and breaking and ruining the sandcastle wall she’d built to protect herself. God, Nicky was going to be the death of her.

The thousands of memories she had shared with Nicky came in so quickly, and Gigi was pretty sure they didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon. Every waking moment she spent with the French queen replayed in her head, rolling like they were the videos in her camera roll she would find herself watching at three in the morning when she’s had too much to drink.

She heard her phone buzz, pulling her out of the trance she found herself in. She slowly moved to grab the phone that laid screen-side down, toying with its clear case before she found the courage to pick it up and read Nicky’s response. She took a deep breath and opened it.

‘do you miss it?’

“Fuck.” Gigi let the curse slip through her lips, mind going a million miles a minute.

“Why do you have to go back to New York?” Gigi whined, still not bothering to let go of her tight grasp on the older queen. Her words slurred a little, her droopy eyes meeting the French queen’s dark brown ones. “I wanna spend more time with you-”

It was chilly, the late-night breeze probably a bit too strong for Gigi who’d only worn a denim jacket and a vintage tee. The stars shone brightly above them, sky clear from the clouds that would soon arrive in the fall. She looked down at her hand that was wrapped firmly around Nicky’s, and just like that, she was warm. The interlocking of their fingers was enough for the low temperature of night to no longer bother her.

She looked at Nicky, and she thought about how she shone just as much as the clear, bright stars of the California summer.

The alcohol had hit her over an hour ago, the normal filter she’d put her words (and sometimes if needed, even her thoughts) was currently non-existent.

They had just spent a full night out in Los Angeles getting drunk at Showgirls and eating their body weight in greasy bar food. There was not a single regret in their minds. Well, none for the time being. Those would probably come in the late morning.

All of a sudden, Nicky stopped in her tracks, turning to face the younger queen who stood next to her. She lifted her hands, trailing them up the pale queen’s body before cupping Gigi’s cheeks. She had drunk a little more than she planned on and it prohibited her ability to think before she did anything.

She pressed a kiss on the taller queen’s forehead, then her nose, and finally a longer, lasting one on her lover’s glossed lips. “You’re cute when you’re drunk. Do you know that?”

Gigi couldn’t hide the giggles that erupted from her mouth, looking away as her cheeks flushed. “You’re cute too.”

She stared at the blue cloud on her phone screen for longer than she’d be willing to admit, sitting back down as she thought of a way to reply without sounding… weird? bitter? desperate? The heavy feeling in her chest intensified the longer she thought of a reply.

Her emotions went haywire and she could already feel her fingers tremble. Her breath deepened with every inhale, bottom lip between her pearly white teeth. The loud commercials that played from her TV turned to background noise, the sentence displayed on her phone screen causing her focus to shift.

Maybe she was angry. Maybe she was furious.

But she missed Nicky. She missed Nicky more than she wanted to, and Gigi didn’t think she could deny that no matter how hard she tried.

They had ended whatever they had almost a year ago, but Gigi still found herself missing the way Nicky’s arms felt around her when they slept. Gigi missed the way her tan skin would shine under the bright California sun when they would sneak off to the beach after a long day of lounging around in the American’s shoebox of an apartment. She missed the way her dark hair would smell, the scent of her musky perfume that reminded her of the mornings where they held each other until the heat of the season pushed them away.

After what felt like hours of contemplation, Gigi finally responded to the text with simple words. She couldn’t bring herself to add more to it, afraid that saying too much could lead the conversation to places she didn’t want to go.

‘i do’

Gigi waited by her phone for a reply, her eyes constantly checking to see if her home screen had lit up to display her lock screen and the time. She got up to leave her finished glass of wine on the kitchen sink, attempting to distract herself from the reply she so anxiously waited for.

She jumped when she heard her phone go off, her hands reaching to grab the device like her life depended on the words written in Nicky’s response.

‘i miss it too, sometimes.’

Gigi thought of making Nicky lunch before she had to leave for New York.

She wasn’t a cook by any means, she never really enjoyed it simply because it was more work than purchasing food from the restaurants down the street from her apartment. But it was a special occasion, and the American thought there was no harm in a simple romantic gesture. She was head over heels anyway, and according to her judgement, there was no point in hiding it anymore.

She whipped up a pretty little sandwich for the older queen who was smoking a couple of cigarettes on the pathetic excuse of a balcony Gigi possessed in her apartment. Nicky sat on the one chair she could squeeze into the tight space, tan legs resting on the metal railing that was slowly getting colder the closer they got to fall. The younger queen took a couple of photos of the cross-cut she had carefully plated on one of the many three plates she possessed, posting the dish on her story before walking to her bedroom where the balcony jutted out across her unmade bed.

“- no it’s not! You know I’m not ready for that shit.” She heard Nicky exclaim from the balcony.

Gigi slowly walked up to her, watching her flick the ashes from her second cigarette into the vintage marble ashtray the younger queen had bought for Nicky when she heard she was coming. Gigi let a soft smile paint her glossed lips, more than excited for the reaction she could possibly acquire from the New York native.

“Of course we aren’t serious, Kandy.” Nicky scoffed, dragging a long inhale of the smoke as it filled her lungs and left it just as quick. “I don’t do the whole relationship thing, takes too much effort.”

“I just came here to have some fun! Let me hook up and have fun in peace, you bitch.” Nicky snickered, waving around her hands as she talked as if the person on the other side of the phone was right in front of her.

Gigi felt numb.

‘but i’m not ready for what you want and you know that.’

She had moved to her bedroom by the time the next message came to flash itself on Gigi’s phone screen. It was dark now, dim yellow fairy lights the only thing illuminating the cozy space in the dark winter night. She tried to distract herself even more from the blue cloud that littered her brain as she busied herself before bed. She didn’t bother replying the first time, fully aware where the conversation was leading to. She didn’t want to go there. Not yet. Gigi didn’t believe she was ready for it.

Her fingers still shook like they always did when she was too emotional, the quiver of her hands evident when she went to brush her teeth. She laughed it off the second she noticed, instead, focusing on the rest of her nightly routine that she deemed more important than the second text which was waiting on the bed she used to share. More important than the sinking feeling in her chest she tried to convince herself wasn’t there.

She had settled into bed before reading the latest text but her desperate attempts to keep her feelings at bay were failing her.

The grip on her black phone tightened, her manicured fingers hovering over her phone’s keyboard unable to conjure up a proper response. She felt a lump in her throat form as she held back the tears that sat by the edge of her light brown eyes, and she remembered the time she cried the same tears only months before. “Fuck you, Nicky.”

Gigi’s voice cracked as she whispered, gritting her teeth in order to suppress the great anger that was dying to leave her chest and into the phone in front of her. She couldn’t breathe, her vision blurred from the tears that were collecting in her eyes. She found herself choking on the sobs she held back, so she dropped the phone on her green comforter.

Fuck, she wanted to call her.

She wanted to call her and beg for another chance. Her fingers itched, wanting to pick up the phone once more and tap the call button. It was a risk that Gigi herself didn’t think she should take, but her brain lingered on the thought for a while. She knew she was getting desperate for the queen on the other side of the phone, and denying it didn’t help her at all. Fuck, maybe if they met again, if they spent another summer together in California, if her lips lingered a second longer on hers, it could change Nicky’s mind.

But instead of saying so, she replied.

‘i know.’

“What are we, Nicky?” The question left Gigi’s lips before she had realized it.

Nicky had ignored her since she heard the loud clatter of a plate dropping itself on the dresser by the balcony door.

The atmosphere inside the small apartment had changed drastically in the matter of milliseconds. Gigi scrubbed on the dishes harder than she usually did, closed the bathroom door much louder than normal, and you could hear her dismayed grunts when her hair didn’t sit on top of her head the way she wanted it to. Nicky had finished packing, rolling her large purple luggage by the front door when Gigi spat out the words she dreaded to hear.

“I have to go-” She avoided Gigi’s gaze like it would hurt her if they met eyes. The American walked closer to the smaller queen in front of her, picking at the skin around her thumbs to ease the myriad of thoughts that ran through her head a mile a minute.

“Nicky, please.” She spoke softly, but it was as if she was alone in the room. Nicky still refused to look at the younger queen and reply no matter how long she seemed to wait.

“Answer me,” Gigi spoke much louder now, her pain still somehow passing through the tough wall she tried to put up with her second request at a reply. She felt like screaming.

The room fell silent, Nicky not even daring to move. It was so quiet Gigi could hear the faint rumble of a motorcycle from the roads close by.

“Please.” Her voice cracked, eyes bloodshot from holding back in the tears that were itching to flow. She allowed only a single tear to stream down her face, fingers shaking as she subconsciously wrapped her hands around her lean frame. Gigi closed her eyes.

“You said you don’t want anything serious but you held me when I told you I was cold.” She called out, finally harboring the strength to keep talking.

“You held my hand when we walked around Sunset and you told me about your dreams when we ate breakfast.” She continued, the tears from her light brown eyes now everflowing as she couldn’t find the willpower to hold them back any longer. Gigi wanted to stop talking in case it got her into waters so deep she wouldn’t be able to resurface, but she kept going.

“Gigi-“

“You wouldn’t come to California for me if you didn’t want me the way I want you.”

Gigi could start to feel the thick humid air that accompanied the coming autumn season, a heavy feeling on her shoulders starting to build up and cause her shoulders to slump.

She scoffed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, already feeling the quiver of her hands as she brought them up. “For the past two weeks, we’ve spent every second together and only now do I realize-”

Gigi took in a shaky breath. “- you’re fucking playing with me.”

“I am not-”

“But you are!” The brunette let out a laugh, bloodshot eyes meeting Nicky’s for the first time since the phone call. “I’m just some toy, huh? You think you can come and go whenever you please and you expect me to not get hurt?”

“I didn’t want you to get so attached-“

“Bullshit, Nicky.”

They stared at each other for what felt like hours, neither showing signs of backing down now that Nicky finally had the courage to face the younger queen. She grasped the handle of her luggage tightly, knuckles turning white at how hard she was holding onto it.

“I’m young, but I’m not fucking stupid,” Gigi whispered through her tears after an eternity of silence. She met the older queen’s eyes one last time before she watched her tan hands reach for the front door.

Nicky opened the front door and left.

‘you’ll find someone out there who will want the same thing you want, i promise.’

Gigi hated Nicky.

She hated Nicky with every fibre of her being, the pain and anger consuming her every thought when her brain would bring back their warm summer memories. She wanted nothing but for the pain to leave her exhausted soul and transfer itself to Nicky, make her experience the heavy emotions she’d carried on her back ever since Nicky had left to go back to New York. She felt her blood boiling at the thought of the way Nicky knew where to hold her when she needed to be held-

The way Nicky knew exactly what to say at any given moment, no matter the circumstance.

The way Nicky would press a kiss on her forehead and suddenly everything she worried about disappeared.

She hated Nicky, but fuck, she loved her too.

Gigi loved Nicky. She missed her, wanted her, loved her. And that was all she needed to stop hating her.

It was four in the morning when Gigi finally replied.

‘what if i want that someone to be you.’

#rpdr fanfiction #nicky doll #gigi goode #gigi x nicky #angst #canon compliant #very mild smut #ella #s12 #on set fic

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tepre · 4 years

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Do you have any advice on finishing a story & having the courage of posting it? I don't mean to bother but idk why you're the first author I thought of.

OH EXCELLENT QUESTION!! Ok disclaimer, this answer won’t be groundbreaking, but all the same.

In literary theory there’s usually a hardline distinction between the AUTHOR and the IMPLIED NARRATOR. The idea behind that is that the author is a real person and we can’t say anything about them or their motivations or thoughts as long as they’re not in the room. The IMPLIED NARRATOR is the imaginary character/voice who’s telling you the story. When I write, ‘Draco’s walk was a brisk, cold line that cut quickly across the room’, there’s the me who writes it, sitting in bed eating soggy oats and trying not to think about how I need to fold the wash already, and then there’s the voice YOU hear/imagine, how they’re a disembodied entity, with a clipped accent, and a purpose, and is probably NEVER distracted by anything and isn’t sitting in bed and CERTAINLY not eating soggy oats.

It’s a narrator. The voice in an audio book. And it’s this narrator voice that throws us the fuck off, as readers who are also writers, because what we don’t hear in that narration is the CACOPHONY of layered voices that made a sentence what it is: all the literature the writer has read to inspire them, the conversations they’ve had that inspired them, the voices of friends or cheerleaders or betas or editors going over and over and over, “maybe add--?” “better delete--” “perhaps rephrase the--”

So my advice is: remember that writing is not a solitary sport, and that there is no fixed timeline for any length of story to be finished. Some authors write entire manuscripts in a week (this does not mean they’re good), but also some of the best short stories I’ve read I know took over 10 years to get right. The book/fic you read is like watching a play: everyone in the audience understands the stage is a DISPLAY of work, and that none of the players wandered onto stage at random and went ‘haha what’s this anyway here’s a monologue :)’. I would say, FOR ME, the most valuable thing I learned as a writer was to let other people in. Usually I set a word-limit in that: once I hit 10K, someone else will get to read it (or something). Make sure you let this person know what you’re looking for: just excitement, or also content-related questions, or no questions at all, etc. This isn’t editorial yet. This is just LETTING someone sit with you.

For me, this helps a lot in the process of finishing. Having someone else care about The Thing. On a more practical note: if it’s the getting-words-on-paper part that’s the issue, then my go-to trick is setting VERY LOW daily word counts. 150 words a day, every day. Or 250. Or 50. It doesn’t matter. The first few days you’ll just do the 150 you’ve set for yourself and that’d be that. And then eventually you’ll go over that limit, and then suddenly you’ll go WAY over, or you’ll finish the thing, or something. Or you’ll just 150-a-day your way until the finish line.

If habitual hyper-editing of what you’ve written so far is your main problem, then try this: copy paste the last sentence into a new document, and continue writing from there. Then you don’t have to open the old document every time and you won’t be tempted to edit before you finish.

NOW, as for the posting: once you’ve finished, pick a day. If it’s a short thing, of COURSE you can post it on the same day, but in terms of finding the courage?? Picking a day in the near future helps for me. Then I prepare everything, I have my draft ready, I’ve re-done the summary a million times, re-written the tags even more, I have my notes, my formatted text, all of it. And then I just wait for the day and the time I’ve decided and all there’s left is to just click post. Tell someone you’re gonna do this. Have them hold your hand.

Literally every single author you’ve read and enjoyed has shat bricks over the thing they’re about to post/their novel. I think every single one of my works is THE WORST THING I’VE EVER PRODUCED the moment I post it. And then, as comments come in, if they’re positive, I think everyone is lying. When they’re not, I’m like, I KNEW IT. And then that passes. Usually, when the anxiety is Extra, I try to make everything smaller than it feels in that moment: if ONE of my friends like it, then it’s a success. If ONE person I don’t know yet likes it, even better!! If NO ONE likes it, then that’s also a sort of success, because I put it out there, and that’s hard for me, so yeah. Like that! Rather than try and recreate an entire literary genre in a fic, I try to break it down to the things that matter to me: my friends, my creative education, my ability to get better.

HOPE THIS HELPS, FRIEND!! ALSO JSYK, I EDITED THIS POST LIKE 300 TIMES SO YEAH IT NEVER ENDS HAHA

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dvp95 · 4 years

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quiet on widow’s peak (4)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.9k (this chapter), 13.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Phil did not invite Chris and Sophie to come to Rossendale with him. Not because he doesn't like spending time with them, but because he wouldn't know how to explain a situation to his parents that he doesn't even understand himself. To his knowledge, PJ also did not invite them.

"Change it," Chris whines from the backseat. He'd lost the scuffle against Phil to claim the front, and he's been complaining about Phil's music choices for half the trip so far in retaliation.

"You like McFly," Phil huffs, continuing his search for an album that won't elicit a loud sigh from behind him.

"That's fucking slander, is what that is. You hear that, PJ?"

"Oh, I hear you both," PJ says, flat. "Loud and clear."

They've only been driving for probably forty minutes and PJ already looks like he wants to kick them all out of his car. Phil doesn't exactly blame him, although he resents being lumped in with Chris in the 'annoying background noise' category.

He has no idea how they've managed to invite themselves along, but Phil was too polite and PJ was too smitten to tell them off when they came out to the car with their bags.

So, this is a group activity now. Phil's parents had been thrilled to hear it when he texted them the updated situation - they're taking it as a sign that Phil has a motley crew of good friends again, like he'd had as a kid and again in uni. He supposes that they're not wrong, exactly, but he's definitely anxious about introducing them to Chris.

"I like this song," Sophie says, mild, and Chris closes his mouth.

"Fine, this one is alright," he says begrudgingly. Phil glances at them in the rearview - Sophie is patting Chris' knee and giving him the sort of smile that always makes Phil feel like he shouldn't be present. He looks back down at his phone so he doesn't have to sit with that feeling too long.

PJ turns up the volume, probably to curb any more bickering before he has to toss them all out of his car, and Phil tries to just lose himself in the music for a little bit.

His friends sing along at varying levels of obnoxiousness and Phil tries not to keep opening the Tumblr app to see if someone has messaged him. Well, someone specific. I'm going north today!, is the last message sent between them, and Phil is still waiting for Winnie to offer to meet up or something.

After their non-starter interview, Phil and Winnie kept missing each other's free time to finish it over Skype. Phil kind of wants to hear more from them before he checks it out himself, but that's not looking likely at this point, especially if he's lugging his housemates along with him all weekend.

Phil opens a puzzle game on his phone and lets the mostly-mindless swiping distract him. It's a long drive up to Rossendale, and the last thing Phil wants is to be left alone with his thoughts.

Phil's parents love having guests round almost as much as they love to have him home, so Phil isn't at all surprised to walk in and smell a roast cooking. He expects that treats will be made as soon as the oven is free, because that's what his mum is like.

"Hello," Phil calls into the house, kicking off his shoes. His friends follow his lead - PJ puts his boots carefully on the mat that Phil didn't bother aiming for, and Sophie struggles with a particularly stubborn knot in her laces - as he hangs up his jacket. "Mum? Dad?"

"Child," his mum greets him happily, appearing in the entry to the kitchen and making grabby hands at him until he envelops her in a hug.

"Missed you," Phil tells her, quiet enough that his friends won't hear to make fun of him.

"Oh, I missed you," she says, giving him a kiss on the side of his face. She turns her beaming smile onto his housemates, who all pause in what they're doing like a frozen tableau. It's a little funny. "More children! Hello! I'm Kathryn, it's so nice to meet you. And so nice to see you again, PJ," she adds in that somewhat pointed voice that Phil hates so very much.

"Hello, Kath," PJ says, grinning wide. He gives her a hug, too. Chris holds out his hand for her to shake when she's done squeezing the life out of PJ, but Kath will have none of it.

"Don't be silly," she says, wrapping her arms tight around Chris' waist with a laugh. "We hug in this family."

"Really?" Chris asks, and the look he gives Phil is almost more embarrassing than if he'd asked 'so why isn't your son a hugger?' out loud. "Something smells absolutely delicious, Kathryn. Is that you, or is supper cooking?"

Phil stops himself from groaning out loud, but barely. He probably shouldn't be surprised at all that Chris' cheeky, flirtatious charm extends to mothers as well. Kath laughs and smacks lightly at Chris' chest before she turns to Sophie.

Skilled at making people feel comfortable in four seconds flat, Kath chatters away about supper and how lovely Sophie's curls are and how long it's been since she's seen Phil, did they know how long it's been? She herds them all into the kitchen like they're cattle and insists that Phil take their things upstairs while she puts the kettle on.

"Er, alright," Phil says, looking at the small collection of bags that they'd brought with them. Their clothes and toiletries are all there, of course, but so is all the filming and hunting equipment. He'll have to make at least two trips.

"Your father got the guest room and Martyn's room all set up before he went out," she tells him, either not noticing or ignoring his internal struggle.

Oh, wonderful. Phil had somehow forgotten about the part where they had three beds for four of them. He's positive that his housemates won't mind sharing with each other, but now he's been tasked with the anxiety-inducing puzzle of whose bags to put where.

"Okay," Phil says again, even though they've moved on to talking about their favourite kinds of cakes so that Kath can wow them all with her skills. He tries to catch PJ's eye, but PJ is too wrapped up in a conversation about strawberries to notice.

Alright, well. Phil grabs as many bags as he can carry and brings them upstairs, feeling some tension deep inside him get a little tighter as he notices that most of their personal effects are packed away, either in storage or already on the island, and his childhood home looks more like a show home than he's comfortable with. The stairs only creak a little under his weight, nothing like the old house in Brighton, but Phil still feels unsettled.

In the end, he throws PJ and Sophie in the guest room. It's a selfish move more than anything, because he's brought PJ for enough visits to be familiar with the way his parents look at each other every time PJ teases him.

They don't ask. They're not the type of people to pry, and Phil isn't the type of people to offer information unprompted. They've all been in this limbo for years where Phil doesn't tell them that he likes boys and they don't outright question if PJ is just a friend and, frankly, Phil is tired of it. So, Chris can sleep alone.

He takes his own bags up last, because he knows that stepping into his bedroom and seeing all the personality stripped from it is going to make him feel things he isn’t prepared to feel. Phil takes a deep breath before he goes inside, and releases it shakily as he drops his things on the floor.

The beige carpet is almost mocking him, telling him that it's time to grow up, and Phil leaves the room as fast as he can.

God it is so hard to get anything done here. Sorry to complain at you randomly but like... I forgot how hard it is to work when my parents are hovering and asking a million questions lmao

Winnie still hasn't responded to Phil's early morning message, but the frustration of his parents distracting him and his friends from their work is starting to get to him. Chris has completely charmed them, somehow, and both Sophie and PJ are too polite to put headphones on and ignore them the way Phil has decided to.

Surprisingly, he gets a reply right away: omg how have i never considered the fact that you had to tell your parents you wanted to hunt ghosts for a living thats so fucking funny also that sucks i live in a house full of students and i always have to go to the coffee shop to work on essays and shit

There's nothing good like that where my parents live. Your coffee place is in the city, right?

“No! He didn’t!” Chris is laughing, somewhere in the living room, and Phil has to turn up the white noise on his headphones. The idea of his parents and housemates trading embarrassing stories about him while he's holed up at the table with audio files he hates makes him itch.

yeah, Winnie says. Phil is so thrown off by the short message that his fingers pause on the keyboard.

Is he annoying them? He doesn't mean to. Phil thinks over the messages they've exchanged since talking on Skype, the wheel of worst case scenarios spinning quickly.

Before Phil can apologise or even really get his anxious mind to settle down, his laptop bloops again, once, twice, three times. Relief from the worry that Winnie doesn't like talking to him curls around Phil's shoulders, relaxing them.

It's a screenshot of Google Maps with an address pulled up, a different building circled in a bright blue. yeah i hella recommend and it's really close to wilkins as well, is the message accompanying the screenshot. Then, right afterwards, 10/10 hot chocolate if i do say so myself.

Phil isn't very big on hot chocolate on its own, but he is very big on quiet coffee shops.

It takes a lot of cajoling and promises that he won't be out too late for Phil to convince his parents that they'll be fine to drive to the city by themselves. His dad gets the same look on his face that he always does when Phil talks about work, but his mum merely pats his cheek and says, "Oh, love, be careful. I'll be cross if I have to get you from the police again."

"That was one time," Phil says, feeling his face flush as Chris looks at him with glee.

"One time too many," Nigel says, a bit too sternly to be a joke. Phil wonders if his friends pick up on it or if they just think he's banting like he's been all through supper, that same dry humour that Phil can see in Martyn making him funnier than his housemates had expected.

PJ and Sophie both laugh a bit, so... probably just Phil's knowledge of his dad making it more pointed than it really needs to be.

The coffee shop is open late, so Phil and his housemates decide to do some recon at the Wilkins place. The sun hasn't quite set yet, and the street isn't completely deserted or anything, so they have to wait for a good moment to leave the car.

They're careful. They've done this before.

The Wilkins place is an older townhouse in Rusholme with windows that have been boarded up since the early noughties because they kept getting broken. Technically, someone still owns the property, but the Wilkins family either didn't care about it or had forgotten it existed, because it's been abandoned as long as Phil can remember.

It also isn't very scary in his memory. It's draughty and has rats scurrying about, but the electricity and heating still worked, somehow, and the social situations he'd gotten thrown into at Martyn's shoulder were definitely more nerve-wracking than the house itself.

All of these things are still more or less true, according to everything Phil has been told, but when Phil climbs in through the loose boards of the kitchen window, the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. He hesitates for so long on the sill that Chris pushes a bit at him, reminding him to move before some annoyed neighbour calls the police.

It's dim inside but not so dark that Phil's eyes strain; the streetlights and setting sun filter in through the boards and showcase the dust covering every surface.

Phil helps Sophie and then Chris through the window, PJ giving them boosts from the outside. They take the various bags from PJ and Sophie immediately pulls out the camera, ignoring the thuds that PJ's feet make as he launches himself up and clambers in like a monkey.

"Sexy," Chris drawls as PJ nearly tumbles onto his face. He's grabbing out equipment of his own, and so Phil is tasked with getting PJ through the window safely.

"At least I've got a modicum of upper body strength," PJ says. Neither of them are bothering to whisper, and that's making Phil anxious.

He can't put his finger on it, but... it doesn't feel like they're alone in here. There's probably someone hiding out from the chill of late October in one of the various empty rooms, and Phil's worst case scenario wheel is spinning so fast it's making him dizzy.

"Do you hear that?" Sophie asks, hushed. That stops PJ and Chris from continuing their bickering, and all three men freeze as they strain for whatever it is that Sophie's hearing. After a moment of complete silence, Sophie shakes her head. "It stopped. Hopefully the mic caught it over you lot."

PJ looks appropriately abashed, but Chris just shrugs. He's got a flashlight and an EMF meter, and he slings one of the bags over his shoulder before disappearing.

This is technically for Phil's channel - they're checking the place out, and Sophie is filming just in case something happens - but Phil still feels weird when PJ ducks off in another direction and Sophie stays at his side instead of following one of her boys, camera steady in her hands and the tip of her nose pink from the cool air.

"What did you hear?" Phil murmurs, beckoning her further into the house. The sound of creaking wood is so loud, like it's right above their heads, and Phil can only hope that it's one of his friends going upstairs.

"It could have been the wind," Sophie says mildly. "Or rats."

"Is that what it sounded like?"

Sophie blinks up at him and her mouth twists in an emotion that Phil can't place. "No. No, it sounded like a person talking."

Yeah, that's what Phil was afraid of. "Someone might be living here," he whispers, focusing on the dark hallway and trusting that Sophie is following.

The creaking again, this time from beside them, and Phil peeks his head around the corner to confirm that the staircase is what he's hearing. Chris is halfway up it, flashlight off between his teeth as he grips the railing like he's afraid the stairs are going to give out under him.

Phil hates this part. He'd rather do this completely alone than have to herd his friends like sheep. He leaves Chris to his own devices and moves into the lounge. This is where the majority of the litter is, empty bottles and cans and crisp bags everywhere. Phil takes a couple photos of it all and sends them to Martyn.

Remember your friend who used to bring a garbage bag to every party? Looks like he was the only one lol

He pauses. All too aware of Sophie's eyes and possibly the camera lens on him, Phil sends the photo to Winnie as well with a different caption: Does it always look like this?

Neither of them respond by the time Phil has picked his way through the first floor, which is at least good for his focus, but it doesn't explain why the house feels so much different than it had seven or eight years ago. Phil feels unsettled here in a way that he doesn't usually get anymore, goosebumps down his arms that aren't from the cold and the constant, unnerving feeling that someone is looking at him from the shadows.

Phil's phone buzzes as he and Sophie debate in whispers if they should go upstairs. Phil hates leaving anything to someone else, even if it's just a few rooms that surely PJ and Chris are capable of exploring on their own. He's in the middle of trying to explain that to Sophie when his voice catches in his throat.

"Peej says we should go," Phil says, interrupting himself. "He found something weird in the attic."

"What's he doing in the attic?" Sophie hisses.

"Dunno. I didn't even know there was an attic."

"We should go, then," says Sophie, like that decides it. Although it does rankle a bit to be lower on the totem pole of his own project, Phil has to admit that Sophie is right. If PJ is saying that it's time to go, then it's time to go.

Phil climbs out of the window first, taking the equipment with him, and then helps hoist Sophie safely down. She's so small that it's not even a strain, really, even with how little exercise Phil gets. They wait, huddled together, and Phil feels some of the knot in his chest start to loosen when he hears Chris and PJ arguing in whispers before the window boards get slid out of the way again.

"What did you find?" Phil asks immediately, and PJ hushes him on his way down.

"Let's go, I'll tell you at the café," he whispers, leading the way down the pavement with strides so purposeful that Phil wonders if he's been in this area before. It's all the rest of them can do to keep up with him, and Phil spares a moment to feel sorry for Sophie and her short legs.

He hangs back with her and lets Chris keep pace with PJ. Chris is still talking at a silent PJ in a hushed, passionate tone, like he's fighting with a brick wall, and Phil doesn't need to be involved in that.

The coffee shop is only a couple of streets away, but the tension that the Wilkins place and PJ's subsequent discovery has brought to the group makes it feel much further. PJ stops in front of a purple door, and Phil has a begrudging respect for his ability to remember where something is after simply being told the address. The shop is small and a little dingy, but the lighting inside is soft through the narrow windows and there's a fireplace that Phil longs to curl up in front of like a cat.

Chris scowls at PJ and holds the door open for him in the same breath. Phil doesn't understand their relationship and at this point he's too afraid to ask, but he ducks into the inviting warmth anyway to try to get the goosebumps off his skin.

The two employees behind the counter look at the door like they've been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. A girl with brightly-coloured hair is holding a bunch of marshmallows, a hand poised mid-throw, and an unreasonably tall guy with an unreasonably large mouth is gawping as one of the marshmallows hits him in the chin.

"You missed," Phil informs them, grinning a bit as he unwinds his scarf.

"Oops," the girl laughs, setting the marshmallows down and pulling up a customer service smile. "What can I get for you guys?"

While PJ and Sophie pore over the menu and Chris starts asking if she'll throw marshmallows into his mouth if he asks very nicely, Phil's eyes drift to the other worker.

His mouth is still open, a bit, and his face flushes when their eyes meet. "Er," he says, glancing behind him as if Phil is looking at someone else, and that's so endearing that Phil is sufficiently distracted from the mystery down the street.

Phil isn't extremely self-conscious or anything, but he also knows he's not going to be the hottest guy in a room, so he's a bit flattered and a lot confused about this guy's reaction to him.

The thing is, the guy is very attractive. A couple of perfect curls poke out from under his cap, and there's some type of shimmer on his face that Phil could not put a name to if you paid him. He knows literally nothing about makeup, but he knows that it makes this giant of a man look softer and his blush even more obvious when it deepens.

"Hi," Phil says, giving him a little wave. He can still hear Chris chattering on and Sophie debating the merits of a hot chocolate versus a cappuccino, so he's pretty sure nobody is paying them any attention. The guy twitches like he wants to look over his shoulder again, but he stops himself.

"Uh, hi? Sorry to be, like, weird, I just - I didn't expect -"

The voice is familiar, the rambling is familiar, and then it clicks. "Oh, hi," Phil says again, warmer this time. He steps closer to the counter and grins up at them - an unusual thing in itself, since Phil doesn't meet many people taller than him. "You didn't mention that you work here."

Winnie's shoulders slump forward in a kind of relief, and they scratch the back of their neck, looking awkward and out of place even in an outfit that coordinates with the colour scheme of the whole shop. Phil looks the uniform over and immediately regrets it, because he didn't mean to see Winnie's name tag and now he feels weird about knowing something he wasn't actually told. He doesn't feel too weird about being here, though, because - well. Winnie had technically invited him.

"Honestly, I didn't know you'd be 'investigating' so soon," says Winnie. They're still blushing and the finger quotes are somehow cute, even though they're being used to poke at Phil's career. Their nails are dark and sparkly, and Phil desperately needs to stop noticing things about their hands. "I would have told you, probably, or I'd just - I dunno, try to make a better first impression."

"You're making a fine first impression," Phil assures them.

Winnie snorts. "Oh, bullshit."

"Phil," PJ says, nudging him. Phil suddenly remembers that there are, in fact, other people around him, and he can't just keep looking at Winnie's long, dark eyelashes. "What are you having?"

Honestly, Phil hasn't even looked at the menu. He's so easily distracted by pretty boys with big hands and - oh, right, he's got to be careful about that, even in his own head. Especially in his own head. Winnie isn't a pretty boy, he really shouldn't be thinking about them like that at all.

"Uh," Phil says eloquently. He's very particular with his hot drinks, usually, but he's got a lot going on in his mind right now and it's easier just to shrug at Winnie than to look away and think. "Dunno, actually. Surprise me?"

Winnie smiles, and Phil's stomach twists. "I can do that."

#quiet on widow's peak #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words

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camillemontespan · 5 years

Text

a week at aunt olivia and uncle leo’s [part two]

Part One here!

This will be more than a one shot or two shot. I’m loving writing this. Expect more!

@jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @moonlightgem7 @emceesynonymroll @pug-bitch @burnsoslow @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @pedudley @notoriouscs @dcbbw @emichelle @star-spangled-eyes @drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @be-still-my-aching-heart @carabeth

Day 4

Lily devoured her bowl of Unicorn Wishes cereal. She had gotten up early specially so she could see Olivia before her kickboxing class and to ask her something important. Leo was sat beside her, also eating Unicorn Wishes. He was obsessed since being introduced to it when Lily arrived.

'Aunt Olivia...' she began in a hesitant voice.

Olivia looked up from cutting a banana to go in her smoothie. 'Yeah babe?'

Lily turned red. 'Can I have a play date after school?'

'Sure. Who?'

Lily looked down at her cereal and replied very, very quietly. Leo leaned close to her and said with humour, 'Lily? We're really old, we can't hear very well.'

Lily swallowed. 'Milo.'

Olivia's mouth dropped open. 'You mean the boy we spoke about at bath time?!'

Lily sank down in her chair. 'Yes..'

'Is Milo a boyfriend?' Leo asked, nudging her. 'Does he treat you right? Does he give you presents?'

Lily turned to him, her face lighting up. 'He gave me a LEAF!'

*************************************************

Olivia didn't know the rules for playdates so she decided to ring Drake and Camille.

The phone picked up but it took a while for one of them to answer. Instead, Olivia was subjected to what could only be a lovers quarrel.

'I can't get out of the clingfilm!' Camille hissed. 'Help me!'

The phone jostled. 'This fucking Vaseline..' Drake growled. Olivia heard clingfilm tearing and Drake groaning, 'Fucks sake, it's all over my hands!'

Eventually.. 'Olivia, hi!'

Camille was bright and cheery. Olivia snorted. 'Having fun?'

'What kind of sex hell did you get this move from?' Camille hissed. 'I swear I don't do nearly enough yoga to help!'

'That's what the vaseline is for, it helps.. movement,' Olivia explained. Leo chuckled, listening.

'Okay, what's up?' Camille asked.

'Lily has asked if she can have a play date.'

'Aww! Who with?'

Olivia sighed. 'Milo.'

'Milo? Milo... Oh the cute little guy with the long hair?! She wants to play with Milo? Adorable -'

The phone jostled again and Olivia was greeted by a pissed off Drake.

'Who the fuck is Milo?'

Olivia sniggered. 'Your daughters boyfriend.' She knew how protective Drake was of Lily and wished she could see his face right now.

There was a silence from Drake. Camille, on the other hand, was telling him to breathe.

Finally, he spoke.

'Nope. No boys until she's 21.'

Olivia rolled her eyes. 'He's four.'

'He's a boy.'

'He's four.'

'Still a boy, still a dick.'

Olivia laughed. 'Drake come on. He's a friend. Isn't it nice she has friends?'

'Sure, but not if they're boys!'

'Drake you're being ridiculous,' Olivia said. 'They're just going to play in the garden, watch TV and scream like banshees.'

Drake sighed. 'I just didn't expect this to happen so soon..'

'He gave her a leaf,' Olivia said, smirking.

'He gave her a fucking what now?'

***************************************************

Camille managed to convince Drake that a playdate would be fine. He had just managed to calm down when Olivia realised that she had made plans for that evening. Book Club. Fucking Book Club.

'Okay no way, playdate is not happening!' Drake protested.

'Leo will be here, he can look after them!' Olivia said.

'Oh sure, Leo. The former manwhore looking after a four year old manwhore in training, great situation-'

'Is he bitching about me?' Leo asked his mouth full of Unicorn Wishes. 'Heh. Love you Drake!' he called.

Olivia held back laughter. 'Drake, Leo is so good with Lily. He can handle one other child.'

Leo fist bumped the air. 'Damn straight I can!'

Drake sighed. 'Fine. But any issues, call us. Anything at all, call us-’

'Bye, love ya!' Olivia said loudly, hanging up. She looked at Lily who was watching, her breath held.

'Milo can come over!' Olivia told her. 'Better get all dressed up!'

'I need to find him a leaf!' Lily shrieked, jumping down. 'Uncle Leo, help me find a leaf!'

*************************************************

Leo helped Lily pick a leaf that was a burnt orange colour and bigger than her hand. As he drove her to playgroup, she held the leaf in her hand like it was precious cargo.

She was wearing a yellow dress embroidered with daisies over a stripy red and white jumper and sparkly pink wellington boots. It wasn’t even raining; she just decided she really wanted to wear her sparkly wellington boots. Leo had let her pick her outfit herself and has taken a photo to send to Drake captioned, ‘Ya girl’s all dressed up for her boyfriendddd.’

Drake texted back saying ‘fuck you.’

Leo dropped her off at playgroup and smiled at all the moms who were checking him out. He was so different to their husbands; for one thing, he was a prince.

Stacey ran over to him, grinning. ‘Leo!’ She then curtsied then thought maybe that was too much so held out her hand to shake his. Leo chuckled. ‘Hi, Stacey, right?’

‘Yes! Is Olivia still coming to Book Club tonight?’

‘I believe she is,’ Leo drawled, his mouth quirking up in the corner as he imagined Olivia at a book club with these mothers.

‘Fantastic. Rachel’s bringing her famous lemon squares!’

Leo nodded, holding back laughter. Lemon squares. Olivia and lemon squares.

**************************************************************************

Stacey dropped off Milo after playgroup. Apparently, Milo had loved the leaf that Lily had given him and was now holding her hand as she dragged him over to where Leo was sat watching TV.

‘Uncle Leo, this is Milo! Milo, this is my uncle Leo. He’s the best.’

Leo raised a hand. ‘Hey kiddo. How ya doin?’

Milo blushed and looked down at the floor. He was shy.

Olivia was finished getting ready for book club. She was wearing black leather trousers, a lace red top and thigh high black boots. ‘Wish me luck,’ she groaned, giving Leo a kiss. She chucked Milo under the chin and brought Lily in for a hug.

‘There’s pizza in the freezer,’ she told Leo, ‘give them that. Maybe add some spinach on top so Camille won’t freak about the lack of greens.’

‘Love you Aunt Olivia!’ Lily cried. Olivia smirked. ‘Love ya too, babe.’

******************************************************************************

Olivia had only read four pages of the assigned book. She didn’t know what it was about so she had done a quick Wikipedia browse to get up to speed. It sounded awful but hey, she wasn’t much of a reader or a student really. When she attended tutoring in the palace with Liam and Drake as a teenager, she was the one who sat in the back making spitballs and aiming them at Drake’s head.

She arrived at Stacey’s house with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Olivia was not a cosy, cute, ‘bake a cake for fun’ kind of woman. She was never going to be that kind of person. She was daggers, murder documentaries and red wine.

Stacey greeted her with enthusiasm and led her into the house. ‘So amazing you could come!’ she cried. ‘Ladies, Olivia’s here!’

Olivia was taken into the living room where four other women sat around the coffee table. On the table were baked goods and tea. Easy listening music was playing softly in the background. They were all wearing sweater vests, like fucking Bertrand Beaumont.

Fuck.

‘Hi everyone,’ she said awkwardly. Stacey grinned. ‘Sit down beside me!’

Olivia sat down and crossed her legs; one of the women looked at her boots in surprise.

‘So, this is Rachel, Jemma, Katherine and Mandy.’

‘Hi Olivia!’ they all said in unison with fixed smiles. Olivia wondered if they were robots. Robots would be better.

One of them poured her a cup of tea. ‘I’m Rachel,’ she said, giving Olivia a warm smile. ‘It’s so nice you’re here.’

‘It’s certainly different,’ Olivia said. She took a sip of tea and wished it was something stronger.

‘I thought you were going to serve wine?’ she said.

Stacey blinked. ‘Oh yes.. I have wine in the fridge if you prefer that?’

Great, now Olivia felt like a floozy.

‘Um, it’s okay-’

‘I’ll have wine,’ Rachel said, jumping in. ‘Ladies? Wine?’

She was clearly trying to make Olivia feel more comfortable. Olivia could handle anything if she had a dagger on her person but when faced with social situations like this... she wanted to hide. She was grateful when she saw the bottle of wine being brought through.

They began to discuss the book. Olivia sat in silence, murmuring the occasional ‘mmm’ in agreement. God, she was bored. This book sounded shit. The wine was going down quite nicely because all she did was drink instead of talking.

‘What did you think Olivia?’

They all turned to her. She sighed. ‘Look, I’ll be honest. I haven’t read it. I went on Wikipedia earlier but that’s all. Sorry. Do I get an F?’

They all stared in silence until they let out peals of laughter. ‘Oh thank god!’ Rachel cried. ‘I only read one chapter, I’ve been bullshitting the rest!’

‘I asked my oldest son to tell me what it was about since he read it in school last year,’ Katherine admitted.

‘I listened to the audio book..’ Mandy said, ‘but that was on the train to work so I’ve only gotten to chapter three..’

Stacey blinked in shock. ‘So none of you have read it?’

They all shook their head. ‘So why bother having a book club?!’ Stacey asked, her voice rising. ‘Why even meet? What can we talk about that’s not our kids?’

‘Dick.’

They all turned to Olivia who was reclining on the sofa with a smirk on her face.

‘Dick?’ Stacey whispered.

‘If you want, I can tell you about Leo’s dick but only if you talk about your partners,’ Olivia said casually.

Rachel jumped up and down on her seat. ‘I want to hear about the prince’s dick!’

**********************************************************************************

Lily and Milo demolished the pizza, slyly picking off the spinach. They were sat on the floor watching Peppa Pig and Leo was lying on the sofa with his laptop. This was easy. Taking care of kids was a walk in the park. Just let them eat junk, watch what they want and they’re happy. And he was looking after two of them! That was one more than Drake and Camille.

Leo, Lily and Milo had danced around to 90s trance music in the kitchen. ‘No no, no no no no, no no no, THERE’S NO LIMIT!’ they had screamed as they danced, jumped and spun around. Lily had never heard trance in her life but her eyes bulged as she shrieked, ‘this is the best music everrrrrr!’

The kids finished their pizza and then ran off to play. Leo changed the channel to put on something more grown up, say Deadpool for example, and settled down to watch.

His peace was destroyed when he heard a piercing scream.

Leo bolted up from the sofa and rushed into the hall where the screaming had come from. ‘Oh fuck!’ he cursed, running to where Lily was crumpled on the floor at the foot of the stairs. Milo was standing with his hands to his mouth, whimpering.

‘What happened?’ Leo asked.

‘She fell,’ Milo said quietly. ‘Tripped on the stairs..’

Lily was crying and Leo scooped her up, sitting down on the step with her on his lap. ‘Honey, where are you hurt?’

She pointed to her head where a small bump was beginning to form. Leo swallowed, trying not to freak. Okay, what helped bumps? A wet cloth? A bag of frozen peas?

A BAG OF FROZEN PEAS.

He hastily carried her to the kitchen, followed by a still whimpering Milo, and set her down on the kitchen counter. He rifled through the freezer until he found a bag of peas and he gently pressed them to her head. ‘There you go, this will help,’ he told her softly. Gently, he wiped her tears away with his finger.

Leo looked down at Milo. ‘Hey kiddo,’ he whispered. ‘Want some ice cream?’

Milo smiled wobbily and Leo grinned, taking out a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and two spoons. He set Milo on the counter too and the two kids started to spoon up ice cream for themselves. Leo watched them and sank down at the table, relieved that disaster was averted.

****************************************************************************

Disaster was not averted.

Drake had phoned to check up on them and asked to speak to his ‘favourite girl.’ Leo hoped Lily wouldn’t blow it and reveal Leo’s uselessness with children. She chatted away to him as she sat on the sofa with the bag of peas fixed to her head and Milo sat beside her, refusing to leave her side.

He was a protective boyfriend. Much like her protective dad, who blew up when she happily said, ‘I fell down the stairs and now I’ve got peas and ice cream.’

Leo heard Drake bellow his name even when the phone was still pressed to Lily’s ear. Lily handed him the phone and whispered, ‘oops’ before helping herself to more ice cream.

‘Lover boy!’ Leo greeted him, trying to mask his nerves. He left the living room to stand in the hallway. ‘How’s the sexcation?’

‘She fell down the fucking stairs?’ Drake hissed. ‘What the hell happened?’

Leo winced. ‘She fell down the stairs yes, but it’s fine! I put a frozen bag of peas on her head and ice cream.’

‘I gathered that,’ Drake replied dryly. ‘How did it happen?’

‘Um... I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘I was watching Deadpool.’

‘You were watching Deadpool when my daughter fell down the stairs?! What the fuck, Leo?!’

Leo was about to respond when the front door burst open to reveal a laughing Olivia and a hiccuping Stacey. Olivia threw her hands up. ‘There’s my man!’ she shouted, banging into the wall. Stacey pointed at him and hollered, ‘Mr Big Dick Energy!’

They were hammered.

Book Club had clearly escalated.

There was a silence on the phone until Drake growled, ‘Is Olivia drunk?’

#drake walker #trr fanfic #olivia nevrakis #leo rhys #the royal romance

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prorevenge · 6 years

Text

Downstairs neighbors wouldn't turn down "music," nuked them from orbit.

Flashback to 2014... or so

I moved out on my own in 2013 and moved into an old house converted into a 2 floor apartment, directly across from my future in-laws.

The downstairs neighbors were loud. BLARING music at all hours (yes, all of the hours), wouldn't cut the grass or take out the trash on our shared schedule. Crappy neighbors, but never bothered me directly. The guy was pretty chill when sober and would turn the music down a little when I texted him. He was okay until his girlfriend moved in. Now add shouting matches to the mix, and all of the sudden my requests to turn down the music makes him turn it up. I can barely walk on my super-thin floor without her banging on the ceiling with a broom.

I was okay since I am heavy sleeper and could sleep through anything. My wife moved in, and I quickly found out that she is quite the opposite. Fan on turned at a certain angle in the doorway of the bathroom, door closed half way, blackout curtains with them taped to the wall so zero light comes through, zero sounds other than the fan, you get the idea.

I told her that we can't expect them to remain silent when she's ready for bed, we need to be reasonable, but the wall rattling music needs to stop during the night. She hated it during the day, but I told her there's nothing we can do then, so she would go to her parent's house a lot during the day.

I talked to neighbor-guy, he said "yeah man that's cool" but it turns out the girlfriend wasn't having it and his attitude then changed to "yeah well it's our house so you can go F yourself if you think you can tell us what to do and you can move out if you don't like it."

Something definitely had to change once she was pregnant, and then the baby came.

So I did the only thing I could do. I fought fire with fire, and maliciously complied with the law to the T. I could only report them for noise after 11:00 PM. I now forget the morning hour when the noise could start, but I believe it was 9:00 AM.

My dad has these huge old concert speakers in his garage. Professional grade, black leather bound, 5 feet tall and 3 feet wide, and a pretty nice, vintage stereo/amp.

He has two, but my apartment was so small I sadly only had room for one. We replaced our coffee table with this thing, laid face down onto our thin, office carpet.

Tired of his crap tunes, I tested this Geneva Convention-breaking device when they weren't home.

Holy cow.

I had to take everything down from tables, counters and shelves because they would shake off. I prepared audio files to feed the stereo. I was giddy like a kid with a new Christmas toy. I turned it on when I left for work and got my wife up to send her to her parents. I came home from work and hung out at her parents until it was close to bed time.

They resisted for 3 days.

On day 2, I found a pile of manure on my doorstep, but it didn't faze me.

I cycled between sine/saw/square waves in clashing chords, marching music (Washington Post March on loop), preaching clips (they weren't just atheist, but outspoken anti-Christian, so it was a must), the most stupid songs you could think of (Captain Planet theme song, Chicken dance, etc).

This poor old house rattled in ways I didn't think possible. The vibrations from the sine wave would make your vision blur.

I eventually got a text from him that read "sorry man you can stop now."

I did not.

He needed a few more days to let it sink in. Plus I had so much fun putting it together. They complained to the police and the landlord. There was nothing they could do since I wasn't doing anything wrong.

I didn't even hear music during the time of peace to follow. It was so quiet.

They would build up their courage and try again every few weeks when I wasn't home, but my wife was. I then showed her how to tame the beast so she could let it loose while I was away.

I had to give them a spanking every now and then, but they learned. They were so happy when we moved out.

(source) (story by greyspot00)

#prorevenge #by greyspot00 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #revenge story #last10

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aesthetixallyexo · 5 years

Text

good vibrations ; pcy

word count: 1.6k

genre: smut

warnings: underground rapper!au, sex toys, overstim, edging, masturbation, oral sex

‘in which loey’s got some new songs. you enjoy them differently than others.’

**see end of work for more notes

---------------------------------------

You had a ritual everytime Loey dropped something new. You’d wait for your boyfriend’s text saying his song was live, you’d grab your handy dandy toy, and find a whole new way to appreciate his music.

The idea was all yours, kind of. Another fan of Loey had posted something online about this fantastic new vibrator that pulsed with the beat of your music. Given his deep voice and the heavy bass in the majority of his tracks, it seemed like a match made in heaven.

He seemed a little apprehensive about the whole thing (you suspected that he felt like this toy was gonna replace him), but you managed to convince him how much fun the two of you could have with it together.

Neither of you were strangers to sex toys; you’d played around with cock rings and the occasional cheap local-sex-store-bargain-bin mini hitachi wand (not to mention the secret box you’d stuffed in the back of your closet with a dildo and sample lube packets), but this was different.

Despite his uncertainty, Chanyeol never knew erotic until he walked in on the sight of you coming undone to the sound of his voice and the vibrations it provided.

You’d even convinced him to let you try it on him.

Putting on the softest and slowest songs you had on your phone, you teased him with it over his boxers for well over an hour until he just couldn't take it anymore.

All music from both of your respective libraries were at your disposal, and you found that the most sultry R&B tracks were your favourite to use against him. The slow tempo and soft voices meant steady vibrations until the song reached its climax. The two of you would go at that for hours; you massaging his cock through his boxers with the vibrator while he played with your tits.

You favoured the slow pacing and the way R&B’s tease brought him over any genre you two had experimented with.

All that being said, your boyfriend’s favourite type of music method of torture varied. Of course, there was no shortage of his music and that of other rappers in the scene that he’d produced for. It got to a point where you couldn’t listen to any of his music in public with feeling arousal.

His new favourite was rock n roll; fast guitar, loud drums, and piercing voices meant you came fast and hard every damn time. As good as it was to cum to Kiss or Motley Crue, nothing was hotter to you than Chanyeol’s voice.

You’d been at home all day while Chanyeol was in the studio. He was producing and featuring on a track for an up-and-coming new artist. Sending little snippets of a song wasn't uncommon, he valued what you thought and what you could add to perfect his music.

Today was different.

He’d sent you audio of a few new songs and a message.

from: chan

to: you

you know what to do, baby girl (;

Giddy smile on your face, you put down your laundry and skipped to the bedroom. The vibrator was in the top drawer of your nightstand and the batteries were fresh. You plugged the cord into the base and pulled up the first untitled track while kicking off your panties. About four minutes in length, the song had a different vibe to his normal stuff.

A high note introduced the song and it definitely wasn’t his voice. The toy whirred to life between your thighs unexpectedly and you squealed in surprise. This was definitely the song he was featured on.

i’m starting to draw it out

just like i saw

aren’t you sick

of all of the same shapes?

The beat still hadn’t picked up yet, leaving a very soft pulse on your clit. You yearned for anything stronger. Whoever this new singer was, his voice was amazing. As the chorus began it’s build up, you saw a message from Chanyeol came through but you didn't want to stop and check it.

going on a path someone decided for you is no fun

a special wrong answer shines more

from now on, find the path that you want

go go go go

That was more like it.

no more thoughts that are measured with a ruler

do whatever you want instead of what’s nice

just like how you feel right now

do it, do it, throw yourself

You bucked your hips against the vibrator as you let out a long whine. Your fingers trailed down to your folds to collect your own arousal.

no more of what you don’t wanna do

do what you want instead of what’s typical

be free, yeah, have some lawless ideas

you’re still so young

The vibrations picked up with Loey’s verse. You whined, hips leaving the mattress completely as you rut your hips against it. What you wouldn't do to have your boyfriend there with you, teasing you with the buzzing toy between your legs while his fingers pump in and out of you.

if you did what they told you to do

you wouldn’t be able to hear

if you only used your shoulder to put on your backpack

you wouldn’t be able to dance

thin out all the decisions you made by being cautious

Collecting the juices from your pussy, you spread it across your sensitive folds. Cries of your boyfriend’s name tumbled from your lips as his voice brought you closer and closer to cumming. Your legs were shaking from the stimulation. The snippet of the song was fading out (and so were the vibrations), causing you to let out a sob.

You could practically see the shit-eating grin on your boyfriend’s face. Part of you knew he did this on purpose; bringing you just close enough to the edge to make you cry when it ends. Next song starting abruptly after a brief pause, the vibrations startled you.

i can’t breathe,

it’s like I’ve been split in half

cocaine won't replace

hearing your voice, sounding so sharp

This song was more Loey’s style; heavy bass, slow spoken words, deep voice. Again, your phone went off from somewhere on your bed, but you couldn't be bothered to check. Your orgasm washed over you in long waves and you felt your toes curl.

drunken calls

you’re makin' me high

i can feel it, a mistake

i need you by my side

Even though you came, it wasn't close to enough. Including this one, you had two songs left and you felt like it would be a disservice to your boyfriend if you stopped now. You wanted more. He would've wanted more.

baby girl

i’ve seen you with him

suffering

just can't quite reach it

The vibrations weren't quite enough anymore. You needed Chanyeol to hurry home. He always knew had to make you come undone in record time. Though it couldn't compare to his, you fucked yourself with your fingers in attempt to seek relief. Given your position, your palm pushed the vibrator against your clit and you sobbed.

“Please, Yeol!” You knew he wasn't there, but you desperately wished he was. Maybe crying out his name would make him come home faster. Hips bucking wildly, you just about reached you peak when you heard a familiar sound.

It was the click of a key in the lock.

Chanyeol was home.

And judging by the low chuckle and footsteps leading him to you, he knew exactly what you were doing. He found you fucked out; teary eyed, soaked with sweat, and hips rutting against your fingers.

“My poor little baby,” He cooed, stepping towards the bed and brushed your bangs away from your face. “Do you need to come?” Chanyeol grabbed your phone and paused the music. With the vibrations halted, you let out a whine.

Pure need radiated off you. “You still have a song left, right baby?” You nodded. Chanyeol smirked, selecting the final track. The vibrator was back in your hand and he was kneeling before your pussy. He finally dove in, dragging his tongue through your folds. The vibration kicked in and you squealed.

lovin that real love, something you feel love

turning me back to the old me

ride for my realla, i die for my realla

i give you respect like the OGs

lockin' me down like the police

You could feel the smirk on Chanyeol’s lips. He’d planned this all along and you knew it. You tugged on Chanyeol’s hair with one hand and manned the vibrator with your other. “Oh my god, more! Please!” He more than complied, fucking you with his fingers while lapping at your pussy.

i'm all yours, when you really wanna take me there

don't let me go nowhere

i’d give it all up for you, i swear

only for real love

Everything felt so intense. You were incredibly oversensitive from your last orgasm and you knew you probably weren’t going to last very long (especially if he kept his pace up). The vibrations became more intense with his parts of the song.

love is a high, we feelin’ alive

you lovin’ the size, 이 흐름을 타

i give you more, you feelin’ the flow

you never let none of them bring down the vibe

hustle to win, we be livin’ in sin

makin’ us two of a kind

Without any warning whatsoever, you came. In fact, you squirted a little on the sheets. As you basked in the glow of our orgasm, you could see the strain on your boyfriend’s pants. Perhaps you ought to pick some songs and return the favour?

THE END

------------------------------------------

vibrator in the story is called OhMiBod, liked here

songs in the fic are:

1. young by baekhyun ft loco (chanyeol has loco’s parts)

2. a mix of tempo, love shot, and stuff from a rap lyric generator

3. freal luv by far east movement ft. tinashe and chanyeol (chanyeol has f.e.m.’s parts as well as his own

#exo #exo-l #chanyeol #park chanyeol #exo smut #smut #kpop #loey #chanyeol smut

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marinsawakening · 6 years

Text

Actually while I’m on the topic of ableism you know what else bothers me? The way this site is so incredibly performative when it comes to accessibility.

Okay, so my followers (yes, all 2.5 of you and the piece of lint I found in my pocket) know that I try my best to add image descriptions to every single post I reblog. I don’t have a perfect streak, but I’m damn well trying, and regularly forgo reblogging things (like comics) because I can’t caption them.

And, every once in a while, the OP reblogs the post with my image description added, saying something like ‘thank you for the id!’ in the tags, often followed by some kind of excuse as to why they didn’t add it themselves, like “i didn’t even think to add one”. Sometimes, I even get PM’s or asks from the OP thanking me. This has always happened, even on my old blog, where I wasn’t even nearly as consistent with captioning as I am now.

And it’s the weirdest fucking thing to me. Adding image descriptions should not be some big deal? I mean, I’m sighted, and I can’t presume to speak for the blind community, but I’m pretty damn sure that making Tumblr posts accessible is pretty much the minimum you can do for them. Image descriptions are a necessary tool to make posts accessible to blind people; I should not be getting thanked or praised for adding them, it should be the norm.

But that’s not what pisses me off. What pisses me off is that I’ll go to the OP’s blog and see that, except for mine, their posts don’t have a single image description. Not before they reblogged my description, and not after, either.

Look. If you didn’t know you needed to add descriptions, now you do. If you didn’t remember to add one, this should at least serve as a temporary reminder. If you don’t know how to add image descriptions, research it or take mine as an example. But if I don’t see a single. fucking. post. captioned. I start to wonder whether you ever cared at all.

Aside from my own, the only blogs I know who consistently add image descriptions to what they make/reblog are disability blogs, and even they don’t do it nearly as often as they should! And even if they did, the idea that the disabled community is solely responsible for making posts accessible for other disabled people is fucked up as hell.

I know some people can’t add image descriptions (because of chronic pain, being blind themselves, chronic fatigue, whatever), and that’s fine. In fact, that should also not be a big deal! People’s needs (especially the needs of disabled people) are going to conflict with other people’s needs! And if everyone who didn’t have issues adding image descriptions added image descriptions to their own damn posts, they wouldn’t even need to add image descriptions the vast majority of the time, and when they do, we could pick up the slack!

But the truth is that, even to people with no actual problems adding image descriptions, which is, let’s face it, mostly abled people, accessibility doesn’t matter enough to expend that little extra effort it takes to add descriptions. They’d rather wait until someone else does it, then remember that they should be doing that with a shock of guilt, and then reblog it with some damn excuse in the tags, and forget about it and never actually make any move to make their blog accessible.

I’m using image descriptions as an example here because it’s the easiest for me to make my point with it, but here’s some other things y’all do that can make your blog either partly or completely inaccessible to disabled folks:

Picking a blog theme that puts entire posts in italics/writing long paragraphs or entire posts in italics. Italics are very hard to read for dyslexic people can make your blog inaccessible if used excessively.

Not adding audio transcripts to audio posts for d/Deaf and HOH people.

Not adding video descriptions/transcripts - again, d/Deaf and HOH people, as well as people with an auditory processing disorder, might not understand the spoken text in a video, and blind people won’t be able to see it, so they still need a transcription.

A long, unbroken paragraph of text can be hard or even impossible to read for people with ADHD.

Writing entire posts in capslock. Some people have negative reactions to this (for example, it can be associated with yelling, which can be triggering to abuse survivors). Same goes for bold text. I’m saying you should abandon it entirely, I’m just saying to be mindful when you use it.

Blog themes with tiny fonts are already annoying for abled people, but it can make your blog completely inaccessible for more than a couple of disabled people.

A blog theme that isn’t easy to navigate (for example, you need many clicks to get to the home page, or the home page is just straight up hidden) can also make your blog inaccessible, because many disabled people (including autistic people, hi) need easy-to-navigate layouts, and having a theme that requires a lot of clicks to do basic things can be a problem for people with hand problems (for example, chronic pain).

Putting GIFs in your post for no reason whatsoever. Sometimes, a GIF can help illustrate what you mean, or sometimes the GIF is the post itself. This is fine! What’s not fine is when people (looking at you, writeblr) make long posts about some kind of subject and add random GIFs to it that have no value to the post at all, other than to add some visual component that isn’t even really needed. GIFs can be inaccessible for a number of reasons (migraines, epilepsy, etc) and you shouldn’t add them when they aren’t strictly necessary or the entire point of the post.

And these are just the things that I can think off from the top of my head.

Look, we’ll never be able to make our blogs completely, 100% accessible because of the conflicting needs of many disabled people, but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try to at least not make your blogs completely inaccessible for certain disabled people.

I am sick and tired of this hellsite pretending to give a shit about us when you can’t even put in the effort to make your own blog, or at the very least your own damn posts, accessible.

Accessibility shouldn’t be an exception, it should be the norm, and if you believe that too, than I expect you to handle accordingly.

(And PS don’t bother reblogging or liking this unless you actually plan to listen to any of this. I don’t want any hollow words here, those are the reason I made this post in the first place, and if you want to reblog/like this without actually examining your own behaviour, you are part of the problem.)

#actuallydisabled #actuallyautistic #actuallyadhd #my posts #i am SICK and TIRED of this bullshit #especially when people complain that making things accessible is just 'too hard'#you know what's hard? navigating inaccessible blogs #like bitch! i have problems too!#i never have any idea what any facial expression is and describing those is always a gamble at best #but i do it anyway bc a shitty description is better than none at all!#i'm not saying this to fucking brag bc like i said this should be the norm!#i except people to push themselves to make things accessible and i don't even believe that's activism!#making your blog accessible doesn't make you a good person it just makes you a non-shitty one at best #and yes i'm including myself in that statement #now excuse me i'm off to scream in my pillow

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youcanletgo · 4 years

Text

OCD & tumblr

I feel pretty ridiculous about this, but I’m sure I’m not the only one to have experienced this or something similar.

I need my tumblr organized. I need to tag everything, I need to plan out ahead of posting what every page will look like, I only post by the 10′s (10, 20, 30, etc at a time) because I have it set to 10 posts a page, and I check the tags of everything I plan on posting ahead of time to set out how each new thing I post will make the tags look afterwards. I’ve done this every single time I’ve posted anything in the 8 years I’ve been on tumblr.

It’s fucking exhausting.

Every once in a while something will get deleted. I used to have a lot of NSFW stuff on here, and all that’s gone. Copyrighted audio posts. Sometimes people will delete their posts that I’ve reblogged and they’ll be gone from my blog too (this doesn’t happen every time someone deletes their post I’ve noticed, but it does sometimes. I don’t know how it works.). I’ll either be made aware of deleted posts through a “flagged post” email, or I’ll see it eventually by looking through tags or going back through old pages to find something, and every once in a while I’ll purposefully look back through my thousands of pages to see if everything still looks as I set it (because I can’t not) and when it doesn’t, I’ll know it’s because something was deleted. Whenever I’ve seen this I’ve made a little post - I’ll just put a period in a text post or something - and set it to the time of the other posts on that page, so that even if that page no longer looks great, it’ll keep the rest of my pages in balance. I’ve done this hundreds of times now.

Recently, tumblr has straight up rearranged things. My archive doesn’t even fully match the order of things on my blog anymore. I don’t know why. All I know is, it’s really fucked with me mentally. I couldn’t just add these random posts anymore. No matter what I did (and I’ve spent DAYS trying), it was still going to look messed up. Posts were deleted, posts were rearranged on the same page or moved 5 pages over, and nothing could be made right anymore. All the organization gone. Even though it was never necessary, it was necessary to my having peace of mind, and only now do I have a real feeling of having lost so much time and wasted so much energy in trying to keep this blog a certain way. I love my tumblr. It’s not popular, I don’t interact with people much, I don’t make/post a lot of my own content, and I rarely get personal on here... but I love it. It’s a holding place for things I like. Photos of people I like, funny gifs, relatable text posts, adorable animals, content of my favourite shows, movies, holidays, etc, and I don’t want to delete it. I thought to try endless scrolling so that pages didn’t exist on my blog, but that makes it impossible to look through for long, and my theme doesn’t allow it anyways. On top of everything else I didn’t want to also change and configure a new theme.

So, I’ve gone through and deleted all my placeholder posts, and I’ve decided to try posting what I want, when I want, paying no mind to how it’ll look, and leaving things completely unorganized. I’ll continue to tag things and keep my page of tags for navigation (though I’ve decided to tag general categories, not stressing on every single subject), but there will be no rhyme or reason to my blog otherwise. This is so... normal. It’s what most people do. but just thinking about it is hard, and I know going forward it’s going to be sooo much easier said than done. Especially considering it’s not even easy said. Mental illness is no damn joke.

On the tiniest of bright sides, since deciding to do this I’ve felt I can go back and delete things I no longer like or agree with (I’m not finished yet, and it’s something I’m going to try not to hold myself to if I get tired of it), that I couldn’t delete before because I had to keep everything balanced.

Hopefully one day tumblr will be more sensitive to these things. At least give warnings for all deleted posts, and/or leaving those “this has been hidden from public view” posts every time, so there’s at least something left there for organizational purposes / keeping pages balanced.

I don’t expect anyone to read or interact with this post. I just feel the need to post this and have it on my blog, and keep it in my “about” section in case anyone goes there, to know that I’ve explained myself. Not because it matters to anyone else, but because it matters to me. So many people would find this absurd, caring about something so stupid. Losing sleep over keeping your blog organized, and having a panic attack realizing pictures of celebrities and videos of cats have been moved around a bit. I find it stupid too. but I can’t help it. I can and will continue to get help, to try and get better, but for now this matters to me. I wish so badly it didn’t, but it does.

Now, I’m going to post this, and I’m going to try and sleep, and the next time I’m on here, I’m going to just... post some stuff. Maybe 3, maybe 7 things. Whatever I see and feel like reblogging. Then I’m going to try not to let knowing what I’ve done overwhelm me. It’s going to be hard, but maybe I can do it. Maybe it’ll bother me for a while until it doesn’t bother me anymore. Maybe it’ll become too much and I will end up having to delete. but just maybe - this is the start of me becoming a little more carefree.

Here’s hoping. 🤞🏼

#OCD #Obsessive Compulsive Disorder #Panic Attack #Mental Illness #Tumblr #Text.#I don’t expect anyone to read or interact with this post. I just feel the need to post this and have it on my blog.

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eviecrane529-blog · 5 years

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Merge Adjustments From A number of Word Paperwork

The subsequent is a listing of releases by Merge Info. Through the use of the audio enhancing function of this program you can easily join mp3 information in one audio monitor without any trouble and bother. From here, simply go to the audio editor's platform and hit the tab that claims Load an audio file to edit. So your first mp3 track is now at the editor's timeline. Now to merge the succeeding mp3 tracks go to the Tools menu > Insert sound file, it will mechanically combine the two tracks collectively. To add extra mp3 file, simply repeat this steps until the entire audio tracks are added. For extra enhancing needs, you may as well make use of this tool to cut, break up, mix, overwrite with sound file, lower and paste elements of MP3 files. I not too way back revisited a earlier how-to I wrote up two years ago, pondering that there must be a greater option to losslessly combine a lot of MP3 information than to use three separate utilities. After having a traditional idea about this fashionable and simple -to-use MP3 Merger, simply comply with the three steps as confirmed below to combine plenty of MP3 information with it. It preserves the first monitor's media info for the new mp3 - not a large issue, simply prompted duplicate tracks for me. Polvo may've been the very best rock band in America for a stretch, merging the dissonant rock of Sonic Youth with sophisticated rhythms and influences from Asian and Indian music. The result is usually known as math rock", but Polvo never feels as chilly or impersonal as that style typically gets. Immediately's Energetic Lifestyles is Polvo's second full-length, and one of many earliest albums launched by Merge. It is a heady mix of fractured and ingenious rock music that is each heavy and seemingly at all times on the breaking point. I've by no means tried merging folders since I have not personally needed to do that yet. NEVERTHELESS, I've merged tons of songs and in addition radio programs from my free RadioSure software, and this little MP3 Merger works completely terrific, and merges quicker than a lightning flash: in the blink of an eye! I used to be utilizing this for a couple of years, but in Augtust, I lost my 2 yr old PC in a fire, and once I went to download the app once more in September, something had changed - there now was a "toolbar" that was a compulsory download with it, so I did NOT obtain it in spite of everything. I tried several different free apps, however none worked nicely; one even taking about 20 minutes to Merge mp3S just a few songs! I finally gave up on merging any files and have just been retaining them separated in folders (which is loads as a result of I ought to really be merging information on a daily basis). Stephin Merritt's three-disc epic was a vital breakthrough for both the band and the label, both inarguable proof of Merritt's songwriting talent at quite a lot of types and of Merge's capability to efficiently launch and promote such a large venture. This isn't one of the best Magnetic Fields report, however it's the most audacious and most overwhelming. It isn't a flawless collection of songs however virtually a flawless expertise, and the batting common is high sufficient to make up for the strike-outs. Those that are new to Sony Vegas platform may find plenty of difficulties at their learning stage. Just lately so many queries had been acquired concerning incapacity of software to mix video clips which can be separated through the use of break up tool. As there are few instruments in software program that works solely on a single clip, so users so usually want to mix their totally different elements of movies. In case you are additionally suffering with such a difficulty then yow will discover a useful answer under. The given steps can help you to join, merge or mix completely different sets of video files utilizing Sony (Magix) Vegas platform. These tools to merge or break up music files or MP3 files are useful for many who want to edit the audio information or tune tracks in order that your tracks do not end at an awkward moment but go ahead and play uninterrupted. Your intention could be to have some enjoyable otherwise you need to have knowledgeable go on it, regardless of the explanations you want a very good software to separate or merge MP3 files. These music split or merge tools are an actual asset in the event you occur to make your own custom made ringtones. I nonetheless do that," says Muñoz as she prepares to launch her third solo document in three years. Generally, I ship handwritten notes and chocolate to everybody. Anything I can do to show those that I'm human." Additionally, she's spent the last 18 months cultivating a community of musical mentors. Her final solo album, known as #2 Report, dedicated a whole facet that includes established artists like Alan Sparhawk of Low; Ken Stringfellow of R.E.M., Large Star and The Posies; Andy Stochansky of Ani Di Franco; and John Hermanson of Storyhill, all protecting her original songs. Mid-sized labels, like Merge and Sub Pop, discover value in the form of inventive moves Muñoz has made.

Weeny Free Audio Cutter should be one other audio merging and splitting software for you. The software program helps MP3, OGG, WMA and WAV information as the enter audio codecs, the DRM protected WMA files excluded. Due to the constructed-in audio editor of Weeny Free Audio Cutter is very useful for creating custom ringtones or managing lengthy audio recording recordsdata. Another excuse to decide on the software program ought to be the different parameters you can choose to adjust the audio recordsdata, such because the sampling frequency, channel mode and audio bitrate. Simply add a number of audio information into the checklist, and merge these files into one audio file with the software now.As soon as it had been determined the core of the new design was going to be content material-driven, I began to explore some sort options using as my sandbox. Maggie and I settled pretty shortly on a san-serif headline font (Bernino Sans Condensed) for a journalistic look, however we went forwards and backwards for a while on the font selection for the body text. I experimented with several widespread net fonts, including Adelle Internet and Tisa Professional, however none of them had the proper chemistry to stability the headline font. Finally Maggie urged Kepler, a modern serif font with with good calligraphic strokes, and I knew we had a winner. I crammed out the rest of Merge's new typographic palette with Google's free font, Lato, deciding it worked nicely for web site data and small sized text.

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terryblount · 5 years

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Spyro Reignited Trilogy – Review

20.. err, 21, years ago, Spyro The Dragon was released on the original Playstation. The 3D platformer later became an icon, alongside Crash Bandicoot, as the co-mascots of the PS1 era. Crash received a faithful remake of the trilogy of games in 2017. Thus, Spyro got its due in 2018 with the Spyro Reignited Trilogy. It includes Spyro The Dragon, Spyro 2: Ripto’s Rage and Spyro 3: Year Of The Dragon, completely remade to look and sound like how you remembered it.

My childhood was filled with times playing Spyro. I loved discovering Spyro 1 in a PAL demo disc, playing the game in black and white. Spyro 2 is the first ever game I completed 100%. And I never got around to finishing Spyro 3 because all the bootleg versions I found are intentionally broken thanks to DRM.

So of course I have to check it out and see if it lives up to my nostalgia.

Presentation

Developers Toys For Bob reversed engineered the original Spyro trilogy. The Reignited Trilogy runs on Unreal 4 engine targeting 30fps. The developers also get some leeway in adding extra details and art to them too. I love the bright pastel colours that have been preserved in the updated visuals. Spyro’s charming, cartoony aesthetic is looking better than ever.

The first Spyro game, which is filled with flat, barren landscapes by today’s standards, got the biggest of the art overhauls and it looks amazing now. The dragons you rescue are not just palette swaps, but unique realised characters. However the Gnorcs, your main goons, look less goofy but nastier- something I find personally bothered by. The rest of the casts as seen in the latter two games are okay in my book though.

There are a few more aesthetic changes that I find odd. You don’t get to see the gems you collected physically tallied during loading transitions from levels. Orbs in Spyro 2 don’t have the satisfying bouncing animation when you are awarded them. Spyro’s animations got some tweaks, his walking cycle and hover animation is different which messed a bit on my muscle memory.

But these are minor quibbles and won’t affect any new players. That’s not saying there are not any.

Some gameplay loses its clarity, obscured by the new graphics. Gems that are usually easy to spot lying on the ground can very well be hidden in the new lush grasses. Walls or surfaces that can be broken by Spyro are easy to miss. Projectile attacks that are telegraphed by use of lights and shadows are hard to see. Some of these issues are a by-product of the evolved gaming standards today, where unique textures, shadows, and lights are not as prominently used outside of making games look good.

Besides that, the use of motion blur might not be the best decision. The camera usually hangs close to the back of Spyro and you have a small, limited field of view. There are many instances where you need to navigate through tight, blind corners either while airborne during time attacks or charging after a thief. Thanks to the motion blur, you can easily lose track of what you are seeing when making sharp turns, makes for many bad screenshots or worse, can make you sick.

That’s not all, the whole subtitle debacle is unfortunate. Spyro 1 has no subtitles (just like the original) while the other two have cut-scenes without subtitles, though there are text boxes for the many character interaction. On the note of lacking accessibility, the game allows you to invert both axis options for the camera, but some mini-games do not invert the aim as you expect it should be.

Spyro Reignited Trilogy features a new dynamic soundtrack rearranged from the original soundtrack by Stewart Copeland. Don’t worry, you can switch between the new and old soundtrack in the pause menu. I kept flipping between the two scores and I’m glad to say the Reignited tracks are ever so faithful to the original with slight twists.

The original soundtrack still has this distinctive, unique sound that is lovely to hear and holds up 21 years on. And it does indeed bring a lot of nostalgia if you’ve played the original games before.

Gameplay

Hopping back to the first world in Spyro The Dragon left me smiling in delight. It takes some adjustments, those new animations threw me off at first, but controlling the little, nude purple dragon feels just like the original games. Or how similar to how I remember them at least.

For the uninitiated, in each game, Spyro has to defeat a villain. To progress, you have to collect enough collectibles (Dragons in Spyro 1, Talismans and Orbs for Spyro 2 and Dragons Eggs for Spyro 3). The little purple dragon has a simple move set. You can jump and glide (and starting Spyro 2, a hover) to get across chasms and platforms.

Enemies come in a ton of variety but your basic attack comes from your flame breath and charging them with your horns. Some enemies can be defeated by either attack or only either one or through powerups or stage gimmicks.

You have a companion, Sparx the Dragonfly, that helps you collect gems and also your health indicator. You heal up by defeating small fodder creatures which will produce butterflies that Sparx can eat. It’s a cool thing to see back in 1998 because, for the most part, the HUD is non-existent during gameplay. And it’s still cool today.

Each game is structured where you begin in a hub world, which holds a few levels. Gain enough collectibles and you can progress to the next level or hub world or boss fight.

If you are turned off from playing a collect-a-thon after playing too many modern AAA open world games, don’t worry. These Spyro games know how to make collect collectibles enjoyable. Grabbing those gems, either by your own or Sparx picking them up, will give you a good ding, a nice number pop-up and a slight rumble on the controller. The gems encourage you to scour every bit of geometry as every bit of traversable land is filled with secrets.

It’s interesting to see how the original developers Insomniac Games managed to iterate their design for each subsequent game. Spyro The Dragon has very simple level layouts but requires your utmost confidence in your platforming abilities to pull off. To the point that some hard section will have a collectible for this game, a Dragon, congratulating you for doing so. It can be difficult, but rewarding.

For Spyro 2, the game is easier in the first few levels and has a better tutorial to help you master the platforming. Levels are more linear, each with a unique objective that technically still is just reach the end of the level. The world is more fleshed out with more characters other than just dragons or Gnorcs.

Additionally, Spyro gets a ton of new moves and there is now some level gating Metroidvania style to finish 100% in some levels. Spyro 2 also introduces elaborate mini-games. From playing hockey to escort mission (sigh) and also some simple puzzles, each is unique and fun for a few minutes you have to play it.

Spyro 3 is peak Spyro, amalgamating the interesting new ideas in Spyro 2 with the difficulty ramp of Spyro 1, which does not take long to ramp up. The side content gets even more elaborate, some homages to other games of the era like Doom, Tony Hawk Pro Skater, and Time Crisis. Instead of Spyro getting new moves, you get to play as more characters in certain sections of the levels.

The new moves and additions add more variety of the usual collect-a-thon main loop. And as ever, exploration in the latter two games are highly rewarded with these fun mini-games. Though I have to warn you, that some of them are infuriatingly annoying. It’s not hard because it’s easy to understand and do. But infuriating, because some of them require trial-and-error (the whack-a-mole in Spyro 3), some will have you fight against the small field of view and motion blur (the double dragon fight in Spyro 3) and some have oddly bad controls just like the original (the minecarts in Spyro 2).

I also like to point out that I feel like Spyro 2 and Spyro 3 feels a bit less polished in some of its later levels. There are some collision issues I found. And there is one skateboard race in Spyro 3 that don’t seem to register the boost gained from doing tricks until I repeatedly retry the event. There are even bad audio and video stutters while loading in the two latter games. The game got delayed for two months as it was near release, I can’t imagine what state it was before that.

Content & Longevity

Each of the games is not that long compared to what you expect of games today. As a trilogy, it’s of okay length if you are going for full completion.

I completed 120% of Spyro 1 in 5 hours, 100% of Spyro 2 in 8 and 117% of Spyro 3 in 12. That’s at most 25 hours, or shorter if you plow through the critical path.

The latter two games have plenty of mini-games, some requiring you to backtrack to past levels. But it’s okay, the level layouts are short- you can reach the end of each level in a minute or two.

It certainly rewards the completionist. So I encourage you to collect all the collectibles for some cool bonuses at the end of each game. Though some of the side content can be annoying, it won’t take that long to complete them all.

Verdict

Personally, playing through Spyro Reignited Trilogy rekindled my love for the series. The three Spyro games were standout 3D platformers back in its day and this remake does them justice.

Spyro Reignited Trilogy faithfully recreated the three games and smartly updated it with thoughtful quality of life changes. But it stumbles in providing expected accessibility options. The new art for the world and characters are all welcome additions. Though some of the choices negatively affect the core gameplay.

The gameplay has aged well, except for some optional content which is annoyingly tricky, even back then.

Should you have any nostalgia of the first three Spyro games, Spyro Reignited Trilogy will rekindle that old flame again. If not, it’s still a solid 3D platformer in 2019 that should spark new interest and love for this genre.

Review based on the PS4 version played on a base PS4. Review copy purchased by the reviewer

Spyro Reignited Trilogy – Review published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

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askgamerluna-blog · 7 years

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