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bonnie-the-butcher · 2 months ago

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Rip Tide | Chapter X

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 10.312 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Lil bit of tooth-rotting barry fluff to wash down the tension of the last chapter. Honestly, I love him so so so much. He's the best character, the outer banks writers actually robbed us. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

It takes you a moment to process the situation.

No remnants of moonlight ever peek from your windows, but the distant lamp of your porch buzzes precariously, bathing just the left half of Barry’s face with a glow as pitiful as his expression. – Please, sweetheart. – His hand brushes the doorframe beside you, lighter still in hand as he shifts closer, dragging the smooth plastic across your arm in a slow, sloppy plea. – Look, I know— I know I fucked up. I just— His breath is ragged, heavy. Almost acidic. – I freaked out.

– Are you drunk? – His eyes widen. It's so dark you can barely make out his pupils from his irises, but as soon as he looks away, you know what his problem is. – You’re high. – The disappointment in your voice is palpable. He steps away, and then steps closer, hands sifting nervously at his sides. – Barry, for fuck’s sakes,

– I’m sorry. – He whispers, both hands on your arms now. – I’m really sorry. I just— I don’t know, look, I was stressed out.

– I’m sure turning and running while someone died in my arms was very stressful for you.

– Please. – He breathes, and you get a clear whiff of the alcohol in his system as he steps closer, almost stuttering as you instinctively recoil from the smell. – Look, please, sweetheart, I know I fucked up. I came here to apologize.

– And you did. You can leave know.

He doesn’t let you move. Holding on tighter, Barry makes you look him in the eye. The lights on the porch flicker right then, just enough that you can see how much his pupils are blown. – Let’s talk about it, okay?

– There’s nothing to talk about.

– Yes, there is! – His grip tightens, fingers pressing against your skin. – C’mon, sweetheart, please. – His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to reel you in. Like the blood on your hands was just his problem, not yours. – You don’t gotta look at me like that.

You stare back, jaw tight. – Like what?

– Like I just kicked your goddamn puppy. – He breathes out a slow, humorless laugh, tilting his head just slightly. That easy, effortless charm—his default armor—still lingers, but it’s cracked now. His pupils are too wide, his shoulders too tense.

His thumb traces one slow circle against your arm, absentminded, jittery. – Look, I know I fucked up, alright? I panicked. I ain't proud of it, but I ain't never been built for that kinda shit. That ain't me.

Barry exhales through his nose, shaking his head with that same exasperated, half-drunk, half-high smirk—but it doesn’t land. Not this time.

– C’mon now, sweetheart—

– No. – You shove at his chest, frustration clawing its way out of you, burning, ugly, real. – No, you don’t get to charm your way out of this one, okay?!

His mouth opens, but you don’t let him speak. The words are pouring out, sharp and reckless.

– You always do this, Bee! Always! – Your breath hitches, your voice going hoarse with the weight of it. – Whenever shit gets tough, you run! You leave me holding the bag, then you ignore me for DAYS, no calls, no texts, no “hey, I’m alive, actually,” no nothing! And you come back, with your little smile and your apologies, and I’m supposed to just— Your voice cracks, and you hate that it does. – This is BULLSHIT, Barry! BULLSHIT!

Barry flinches. Not much. Not enough that anyone else would notice. But you do.

For a second, just a second, his bravado cracks. His expression falters, his fingers twitch against your arms like he wants to pull you closer and push you away at the same time.

– I ain’t never ignored you. – His voice is lower now, rougher. There’s no teasing lilt, no half-assed charm. Just something weary.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. – Oh, fuck off, Barry—

– I mean it— No, don't look at me like that, okay?! I wouldn’t ignore you. If you called, if you needed my help, I woulda—

– When did you ever answer my calls after this shit, Barry? No, honestly?! WHEN?

– Don't talk like that. You can’t say that! – His grip tightens, grounding, desperate. – I stayed away 'cause I knew if I came back too soon, I’d just fuck it up worse. I’d say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing. I was tryna give you space, a’ight? I was tryna—

His words stumble over each other, cut short like he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. Like he’s afraid to.

His lips part, but nothing comes out.

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

Then, almost tentative—

– You ever think maybe I ran 'cause I knew I couldn't fix it?

– And I did? – It isn’t just a crack in your voice anymore, it just collapsed. You can feel the weight of the entire week crashing upon you, every fuck-up, every fight, ever blow-out. All the things you had to deal with, the things he wasn’t there to help you with, amounting within your chest, pressing against your ribcage. You can barely breathe. – He was dying, bee. I was gonna kill myself if he’d died right there in my hands Barry, I couldn’t deal with that guilt, man!

He scoffs, shaking his head, tongue running along his teeth. – You think I don’t know what it looked like? You think I ain’t been playing it back over and over in my head, trying to make sense of it? – He exhales sharply. – Shit, sweetheart, I barely even remember leaving. One second I was there, the next I was gone. And you were just—

He stops. Swallows. Looks away, the muscle in his jaw flexing.

– You were just sitting there, holding him like the whole world hadn’t just cracked open.

The words feel too honest, like they slipped out before he could shove them back down. The porch light flickers again, just enough to highlight the tension in his face—he looks gone. Hollowed out, horrified.

For a second, he just stands there, chest rising and falling unevenly, thumb still tracing that absentminded pattern against your skin.

Then, voice lower, almost pleading—

– Just—just let me make it right.

– That’s not the point, Bee.

– Yeah it is! It is! I’m here now! I can—

– But that’s just it! You’re here now. When the dust settles, when you can just say an apology and get forgiveness free of charge, that’s when you’re here! But when I need you, you vanish!

Barry’s breath stutters—just a fraction—but it’s enough. You see it. Feel it in the way his grip tightens, like he can physically hold the conversation together, keep it from slipping through his fingers like everything else.

– That—that ain’t fair, – he mutters, voice hoarse, like he’s already lost the argument but can’t bear to let it go. – I didn’t mean to vanish, sweetheart.

You laugh, sharp and hollow. – Yeah? Well, you did.

His jaw clenches, the muscle twitching like he’s biting something back. He hates this. Hates being cornered, hates that he has no smooth exit, no half-smirk or lazy drawl that can fix this.

– I didn't know what the fuck to do! – He bursts, voice cracking at the edges. – You were— Jesus, he was lying dead there, he weren’t even moving, you were just—

He stops, running a hand down his face like he can wipe the memory away. Like he hasn’t been seeing it every time he closes his eyes.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. Unsteady. Exposed.

– I ain’t never been scared like that before.

Your chest tightens.

He exhales hard, like he’s bracing himself for a hit, like he knows you won’t let that slide.

– I'm sorry, Bee. I really am, but— You shake your head, throat thick. – You think I wasn’t scared? You think I didn’t need you right then?

Barry’s lips part, but nothing comes out.

– You could’ve stayed. That's what fucks me up. – The words barely make it out, shaking with everything you haven’t said. – You could’ve— I don’t know, just— sat there and did nothing. Lied to me. Told me he was gonna be fine, even if we both knew he wasn’t. But you didn’t even try, Bee. You just left.

Barry flinches. Actually flinches.

He drags a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking away, to the ground, to the porch light, anywhere but you.

– I know. – The words are low. Like they cost him something.

– Then why do you keep doing it?

The question lands heavy, shoving the breath out of both of you.

Barry just looks at you. You don’t see the swagger, the easy smirk, the teasing warmth. He’s a little boy again, that kid you met at the supermarket, sitting alone behind the refrigerators, waiting for a mom that never returned.

For a second, the room is silent. Just the buzz of the porch light, the distant hum of cicadas.

Then, barely above a whisper—

– Because I don’t know how to stay.

And suddenly, it’s not just about this.

It’s not just about that night, or the drugs, or the mistakes, or Rafe. It’s about all of it. Every time he’s slipped away when things got too real, every time he’s left you picking up the pieces. It’s not just habit—it’s who he is.

And maybe—maybe he hates that about himself as much as you do. You stare at him, the weight of those words sinking in slow, like lead in your chest.

Because I don’t know how to stay.

Like it’s just that simple. Like it’s just a fact of life. Like it’s something he’s already accepted about himself. Like that line doesn't kill you, like it doesn’t tear you apart.

You shake your head, breath uneven. – That’s not good enough, Bee.

Barry exhales through his nose, slow and tired, like he already knew you were gonna say that. Like he already knew he didn’t have an answer that would fix it.

– I know.

– Then fucking do something about it! – Your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. You shove at his chest, and this time, he actually stumbles back a step. – You act like this is just—just some part of you that can’t be changed, but it’s not, Barry! You’re making a choice every time you walk away! Every time you leave me standing there, waiting for you to come back!

Your throat tightens, a lump wedging itself so deep you can barely breathe around it.

– Do you even realize what that does to me? – Barry looks like you just knocked the wind out of him. – You don't, do you? That’s cause you have other people. But I don't, Barry! You’re the only one I got!

His mouth opens, then shuts again. His fingers twitch, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

And you’re shaking now, all of it catching up to you at once. The fear, the frustration, the gut-wrenching ache of realizing that you’re always gonna be the one waiting.

– You can’t keep leaving when shit gets hard, man. You can’t. I need you. I need you with me. Fuck, Barry, I just need you to be here! That's all I'm asking for! – You press the heel of your palm against your forehead, like you can physically push back the tears threatening to spill. – I can’t keep doing this with you, Bee. I just can’t.

Barry stiffens.

And for the first time since he showed up, there’s something almost panicked in his expression.

– Don’t say that.

It’s quiet. A whisper.

But it hits you like a gut-punch.

You let out a shaky breath, wiping at your face. – Why not? You gonna run away again?

Barry swallows hard, dragging a hand over his mouth. His gaze flickers—over your face, down to your hands, back up again.

He’s unraveling, but not in the way he usually does. Not in anger, not in frustration.

In something softer.

Something terrified.

He takes a slow step forward, careful, cautious. Like he’s walking a tightrope. Like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.

– I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if you’re not waiting for me anymore.

That breaks you wide open.

Your breath stutters, chest rising and falling like you just ran a mile, but you haven’t—you’ve just been standing here, bleeding out in front of him, watching him do the same.

And the worst part?

You believe him.

That’s your fatal flaw. You always believe him.

You believe that he doesn’t know. That it’s never even crossed his mind that one day you might not be there. That one day, he’d turn back and find nothing waiting for him.

Because you always are.

His fingers flex at his sides, restless, like they’re waiting for permission to reach for you. His mouth parts slightly, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

– I know I ain't what you need me to be. I know I don’t always show up right, or say the right shit, or—or stay when I should.

A breath comes out of you. Heavy, charged. You feel as if it lingers between you when you open your mouth again, almost scared to look him in the eye.

– I don’t care if you show up right. I don’t. I like you much better when you’re fucking up then when you’re not around. – Barry stills, his breath catches, eyes flickering to yours. – I don’t need to miss you to like you Bee, I already like you.

His breath hitches, eyes softening. In the dark of your room, his shoulders ease the littlest bit. You see the flame then, the warm orange glow that comes from your lighter as he flicks the switch, once, twice. Illuminating his tightening grip around the cheap plastic. – Yeah? – The word comes out small, almost unsure.

– Yeah. – It should be obvious. It's all you think about. All you worry over. – God Barry, you’re my best friend! – The words seem to knock something out of him. He looks down at his hands, at your lighter, thumb playing with the switch again. – Shit, man. You’re my only friend. All these pieces of shit out here, they ain’t worth a damn.

His eyes drift up to you again as you turn around, pacing with your hands in your hair around the three or four feet of open floor your tiny room has to offer. You feel the weight of his gaze, the words lingering just out of reach.

– I went to look for you at your job today, – He says, almost hesitantly, as if he’s confessing a sin. – that— That kook, with the eyebrows, he told me a server got you fired. – You breathe and nod, falling down on your bed, the exhaustion crystalized within you. – It was Kie, wasn’t it? She got you fired.

You huff, almost a laugh.

If your father was dead, he’d be sitting in hell, laughing his ass off. – So everyone saw that coming before I did, huh?

Barry’s face darkens, but he has the grace not to say what you both know: that you’re a fool. You oughta’ve been blind for Rafe Cameron and Barry both to see the flaw in someone’s character before you did.

You exhale the disappointment in you along with your breath, feeling the springy bed dip and creak as Barry sits down beside you.

– She’s a kook. – He leans back against the wall, still playing around with the lighter. – And she's your brother’s friend. That’s like, the square root of snake.

You can’t help the laugh, but you don’t feel the humor.

– I always do that, don’t I? I always go for the worst possible person, and everybody tells me they’re fucked up, and I still have the nerve to be surprised when they fuck me over.

– That ain’t a bad thing.

Though you appreciate the kind words, you’re not too impressed by the lie in them. – Yeah right.

– Nah, I’m serious. You see the good in everybody. – He laughs then, his hand warm against your knee. – Shit, you saw the good in me.

– You are good, Barry. – His lips part slightly, like he’s not sure how to take them. – You’ve been good since we were kids.

He scoffs, shaking his head. – You didn’t know me. Before, I mean. I was shit.

You let your hand rest against his, over your knee. You can feel the fresh cuts on his knuckles. He always boxed his hands raw when he was stressed out. – I know you now. – He looks at you, almost hopeful. His ears move like a bunny rabbit’s as he zeroes in. – As long as I know you until we die, I’m fine with the shit you did before we met.

He exhales slowly, turning his face away as he clutches your knee tighter, and wipes his face.

There's a beat of silence between you then, and for a moment all you hear is his breathing and the sound of his sniffling.

– I’m sorry I left you there. – His jaw clenches, like he’s trying to shove the words back down, but they keep coming. – But I’m here now. – He exhales sharply, shaking his head. – And I swear to fucking God, I ain’t going nowhere. Not this time.

The promise settles in the space between you, thick and uncertain, but you can feel the weight of it in your bones, tangible, true. You search his face, looking for something—anything—that might tell you if he actually means it.

And then, in true Barry fashion—

He ruins it.

– Well, maybe if the cops show up, then I gotta go. – He tilts his head, smirking just slightly, like he's testing the water, seeing if he can pull you back from the edge. – I can’t go to jail, y’know? I’m too pretty, they’d be fighting over this booty like it was Pearl Harbor or some shit.

You blink at him. Once. Twice.

And then, against all logic, you snort.

It’s short, barely anything, but Barry pounces on it, his grin widening.

– Oh, don’t do that, sweetheart. Don’t pretend you ain't charmed.

– I will literally strangle you.

– Kinky.

You smack his arm—hard—but there’s no real heat behind it, and he just laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe he got you to crack.

The tension in your chest loosens, just slightly, the weight of the night settling in less like a knife, more like an ache.

And Barry sees it.

He exhales through his nose, voice dipping lower, warmer, turning his hand over your knee to hold yours. – There’s my girl.

Your stomach twists, and you look away before he can see how hard that lands in you.

You shake your head, exhaling slow. – You’re fucking horrible, you know that?

He grins, rocking back on his heels. – Yeah. But you love me anyway.

You roll your eyes, but don’t deny it.

Barry smiles—soft, relieved—Like maybe, just maybe, this is something he can fix. – We shouldn’t sit here, moping around, y’know? – You lift your gaze to find him already looking at you, that lazy smirk giving you the slightest glimpse of his white grin, his gold tooth. – I know somewhere we can go.

– If you say the—

– The River Styx, that’s right. C’mon. If we go now we can still catch Jerry and Finnegan.

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly gives you a migraine.

Of course he’d say The River Styx.

It’s always The River Styx.

That shit hole of a bar—the one that plays nothing but old Irish rebel songs that sound like they were pulled straight from the depths of the world war one trenches, where the drinks are so cheap you have to wonder if they’re even legal, where there's no one except old men and overly tattooed ex-convicts. You’ve spent more nights there than you can count, balanced on the shifty stools before the counter, nursing something that burned down your throat like gasoline while Barry leaned in too close, trying to teach you to play pool or singing along to whatever song the old men were screaming to.

A place where, every single time, you drank too much.

And every single time you drank too much, you ended up in his bed.

The thought barely forms before the memory hits, visceral and immediate:

The day you lost your virginity.

Barry’s arm slung over your shoulder as you stumbled through the dark, both of you way past your limit, his breath warm against your neck as he muttered something low and amused into your ear. The porch creaking beneath you as he collapsed onto the couch, pulling you down with him, the weight of him pressing you into the worn cushions.

His hands, so sure, so solid, roaming over your sides, tugging at the hem of your shirt. His mouth, slow and coaxing, murmuring sweet nothings against your lips.

And you—giddy and young, and reckless and naive, and so, so drunk—laughing as you pulled him down, kissing him like you had something to prove.

The memory lingers, stinging like a fresh wound.

You shake your head, physically shaking it off, like you can force it back into the corner of your mind where it belongs.

– No. – The word is firm. Final. You cross your arms. – I don’t feel like drinking shitty moonshine and listening to old men wail about the Irish potato famine for three hours.

Barry raises a brow, and laughs, easily amused by your bad mood. – That’s cold, sweetheart. That’s culture.

– Boo hoo. – You huff. – I can't anyway, I have to be at Rafe's tomorrow at eight.

Barry stills, just barely, not even hiding the distaste on his face.

– Rafe? – His brows pull together. – What the hell are you gonna do at Rafe Cameron's house at eight o’clock in the fucking morning?

You shrug, not sure how to explain it. – Rafe offered me a job. One of his private chefs quit, so I took his place.

Something shifts in Barry’s face.

It’s subtle, but you see it. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his lips press together for half a second before solidifying in something displeased, almost angry.

– The fuck kinda person needs a “private chef”?

You roll your eyes. – Barry.

– I’m just saying, – He shrugs, leaning back against the headboard, but there’s something too easy about it now. Like he’s trying not to care. – Dude's got a personal cook? Ain’t that what his stepmom’s for?

You chuckle, the woman's words echoing in your mind. – Rose “doesn't need to cook, because she works.”

– She said that?

– To my face. While I was working. – It's so ridiculous, it's almost funny. – Gotta love rich people. I wish I could walk around saying whatever like consequences just don't exist.

Barry scoffs, shaking his head. But his fingers tap against his thigh—quick, restless. – How did he even know you needed a job?

– I saw him just after I got fired.

Barry’s hand stops.

– You called him!?

– Of course not. He just— I don't know, he just sorta happened to be there. He saw me crying and—

– You were crying?!

– My boss was horrible to me. – You swallow hard, the image burning behind your eyes as your eyes close. – He made me take the coat off there, in front of everyone.

Your throat tightens as you say it. You don’t know why you say it, only that it’s been sitting in your chest for days, heavy and unresolved.

– After Kie got me fired. He— You clear your throat, suddenly uncomfortable. – He— He called me all these things, and I don’t know, it just felt like— You stop yourself short. The words lingers at the tip of your tongue: like him.

You can’t speak about your father, not with Barry, the single person in the world who hates him more than you do.

But you don’t need to say anything.

The way his eyes darken tell you he knows exactly who you're talking about. You feel the tick of his hand against yours, how it hardens, as if he had to physically hold himself back.

His jaw clenches, his tongue running over his teeth before he exhales through his nose, like he’s biting back a reaction.

– Anyway. Rafe just found me there, and he made me feel better. We talked, and then—

– I don’t wanna hear this shit.

You don't know why you laugh. His jaw ticks and his breath gets heavier, he seems like a rottweiler puppy, growling and barking before throwing a little tantrum. – We didn't sleep together, you moron. Jesus, do you really think I'm that easy?!

– Of course not. But the way you said it— A word forms in his lips, but he bites it back.

– The way I said it? – You scoff, shaking your head. – What, like a normal human being recounting a normal conversation?

Barry exhales sharply, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to keep something trapped there. His fingers tap against his thigh again—faster this time, like a tell he doesn’t even realize he has.

– Like someone who got real cozy with Rafe fucking Cameron all of a sudden.

You let out a laugh, because it’s Barry—because it’s so stupid, the idea of him sitting here getting all huffy over Rafe like some jealous ex.

– Cozy? – You shake your head, grinning. – Jesus, Bee, you sound like my brother.

Barry scoffs, tilting his head, watching you with something a little sharper now. – Yeah? Well, maybe your brother’s got a point for once.

You raise a brow, amused. – That’s rich, coming from you. Since when do you side with John B on anything?

Barry shrugs, all faux-indifference, but there’s something tight in the motion. Something too controlled. – Since he ain't wrong.

You roll your eyes, stretching out on the bed, kicking your feet up onto the headboard, casual as anything. – Okay, Sheriff, tell me—what exactly is the crime here?

Barry doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, lips pressing into a thin line. – I don’t like him.

– You don’t like Rafe? You who introduced me to Rafe? You who always has him over at your place?

– He's not my fucking friend, okay?! He's just an annoying piece of shit who keeps buying drugs from me. What’d you want me to do? Throw money away?!

– Bee?

– Stop. – He sits up, pulling his hand away. – I ain’t playing okay?! Rafe is a jerk.

You snort. – Wow. Groundbreaking insight. So original. So fresh.

– I’m serious. – His voice dips lower, losing some of that teasing edge.

You tilt your head, smirking. – Yeah? – You make a show of looking around. – We at a town hall or something? You’re preaching to the choir, Bee. Rafe Cameron is an asshole. Everybody knows that.

– And yet, – Barry leans in, his eyes locking onto yours in that slow, deliberate way that makes something prickle under your skin. – Here you are, cooking his fancy little meals, letting him wipe your damn tears.

You blink at him.

Once.

Twice.

Then you burst out laughing.

Because what the fuck?

– Barry, oh my God, – you wheeze, covering your face with your hands. – Listen to yourself right now. You sound like—

You don’t even get to finish the thought before Barry shakes his head, standing up abruptly, pacing a few steps like he needs to physically shake something off.

– It ain’t funny.

That only makes you laugh harder.

– It’s hilarious, – You correct, wiping at your eyes, trying to breathe through it. – What, you think I’m about to run off and marry him now? Start wearin’ pearls and calling Rose Cameron “mother”?!

Barry doesn’t answer.

And for the first time, it hits you: He’s actually bothered. Not in the over-the-top, dramatic way he usually plays shit up for laughs. Really bothered.

The realization makes your laughter falter, just slightly.

– Barry?

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw, shaking his head like he’s disappointed—but not in you. In himself. Like he doesn’t know why this is getting to him.

– Whatever. – His voice is quieter now, rougher around the edges. – Do what you want.

You frown. – Bee— You try not to laugh, because you don't want to insult him, but you can't even help it. – Barry, don’t tell me you're jealous?

He glares at you, causing your laughter to grow, it's absurd. Its preposterous. Barry and jealousy.

– You are! You think I'm gonna run off with Rafe and leave you behind!

– Fuck off. – He growls. – Nah, I mean it. – He shrugs, but it’s stiff, unnatural. Like he’s trying way too hard to be casual. – Ain’t my business, right?

But he doesn’t look at you when he says it.

You sit up, watching him. His shoulders are tense, his hands twitchy like he needs something to do. Like if he stands still too long, you’ll see too much.

You already do.

– Bee.

– Drop it. – His voice is rough, final.

But you don’t.

You push yourself off the bed, stepping in front of him. He doesn’t look at you, just rubs a hand over his jaw, exhaling slow through his nose like he’s trying to force himself to let it go.

Like he’s trying to convince himself it doesn’t matter.

You tip your head, watching him.

Then, softer—

– You’re acting weird.

Barry scoffs, shaking his head. – I ain't acting nothing.

You cross your arms. – You got all pissy the second I said Rafe’s name.

– I did not get—

– You literally stood up like the bed was on fire, Barry.

He huffs, shaking his head again, but still—he won’t look at you.

And that’s how you know.

You take a step closer, reaching for him, fingers brushing against his wrist. He flinches, like the contact burns, but he doesn’t pull away.

Not really.

– What’s going on with you?

Barry exhales sharply, tilting his head back like he’s searching for patience on the fucking ceiling.

– Nothing, alright?

You roll your eyes. – Oh, yeah. That was super convincing. Next time, try throwing in a “gee whiz, golly” for extra effect.

Barry finally looks at you, and it’s exasperated, but there’s something else there too. Something tired.

– Jesus, you don’t let shit go, do you?

You smile, sweet, tilting your head. – Not when it comes to you.

That makes something shift in him.

You know it's a low blow, but it disarms him.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His jaw clenches, his hands flex. He looks like he wants to argue, wants to deny it, but there’s nothing he can say, nothing that would make it not true.

You step closer, pressing your palm against his chest.

He tenses at first, stiff as a board, but you don’t move away. Just stay there, steady and warm, your fingers spreading slightly over the fabric of his shirt.

– Bee, – You say, softer now. Calmer. – Talk to me.

Barry exhales again, but it’s different this time. Less frustrated, more… resigned. His head drops forward slightly, and for a second, you think he might actually say something, but then he just mutters—

– I fucking hate when you do that.

You grin. – Do what?

He lifts his head, eyes flicking over your face, lips twitching like he wants to be annoyed, but it’s already slipping.

– That. – He gestures vaguely. – That whole “I’m real soft and understanding” thing. Makes me feel all… fucking—

He groans, tipping his head back again.

You laugh, tilting your head to meet his gaze. – What? Warm and fuzzy? Like you got actual feelings and shit?

Barry glares at you. – Shut the fuck up.

But you see it. The way his body relaxes just slightly. The way he leans into your touch now, rather than away from it. The way he melts.

Like he always does.

You shake your head, grinning, and before he can process what’s happening, you grab him, pulling him into a hug.

Barry immediately stiffens. – Oh, hell no—

– Shut up, – you laugh against his shoulder, squeezing him tighter. – You’re not gonna lose me to the dark side, Bee. I’m not about to become Rafe Cameron’s bestie and start sipping champagne on yachts.

Barry makes a disgusted sound, muttering – I’d rather you fucking die.

You snort, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Barry huffs, stiff and uncooperative at first, arms glued to his sides like he’s actively refusing to participate.

Then he breathes out, slow and quiet.

And after a few beats, his hands come up, grudgingly, settling on your waist, then tightening just slightly, like he hates that he wants to hold you back, but he does it anyway.

His chin rests against the top of your head, and you feel him exhale, something heavy leaving his chest. – You’re real fucking annoying, you know that? – His voice is lower now, softer.

– Mhm. – You grin against his shirt. – But you loooove me.

Barry scoffs, but you don’t miss the way his fingers flex slightly against your back. – Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head, sweetheart.

His chin stays resting on your head, his breath coming slow and steady, his arms firm and real around you. He’s here, for once. Not running, not making a joke out of it.

Just here.

The tension drains out of him like someone pulled a plug, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt, like he needs the contact more than he’s willing to say.

You hum against his chest, smirking.

– See? This isn’t so bad, is it?

Barry doesn’t answer at first. Just stays exactly where he is, his arms tightening slightly, like he’s afraid to let go. – Shut up.

You grin, tilting your head up to smirk at him. – Wow. I really have you whipped, huh?

Barry scoffs, pulling back slightly to shoot you a glare, but it’s weak.

You grin harder.

– You love this. Admit it.

His jaw twitches. – I will literally murder you in cold blood.

You gasp, hand over your heart. – You wouldn’t hurt me, Bee. Look at you, you're a marshmallow.

Barry narrows his eyes. – Alright, that’s enough of that.

And before you can react, he grabs you, twisting you around in one fluid motion, throwing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

– Hey, hey, hey! – You squeal, smacking at his back. – Barry, put me the fuck down!

He laughs, full and unrestrained, the sound vibrating through his chest as he spins you around, ignoring your protests.

– Nah, sweetheart, you wanna talk big? Let’s see you talk with your face in the fucking mattress.

He tosses you onto the bed, and you bounce, letting out a shriek before bursting into laughter. Barry grins, watching you with a look so fond it almost makes your heart hurt. You’re still laughing, shaking your head as he flops down beside you, grinning like an idiot. – You’re the worst.

He smirks, tilting his head at you. – You’re the one who’s putting up with it. I don't hear you complain when I'm paying for drinks.

You’re breathing easy, the air between you light and warm and safe, the weight of the night melting away into something that just feels good.

Barry flops onto the bed beside you, still grinning, breath unsteady from laughing so hard. You’re both just lying there, staring at the ceiling, shoulders shaking from the last remnants of laughter.

Your ribs ache, your cheeks hurt from smiling, but you can’t stop.

His arm is thrown haphazardly across your stomach, warm and solid, like it just landed there on instinct. You don’t move it. – You’re ridiculous, – you mutter, still breathless.

– And you’re obsessed with me, – Barry shoots back, a lazy smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

You snort. – Oh, totally. I wake up every morning thinking about how much I wanna be Barry fucking Russo.

He hums, mock-thoughtful. – Can’t blame you. I’d wanna be me too.

You smack his chest, and he lets out an exaggerated oof, before turning on his side to face you, his head propped up on his hand.

His eyes flicker over your face, softening just slightly.

And for once, he doesn’t say anything cocky.

Just looks at you.

– What?

Barry exhales, shaking his head. – Nothin’.

– You’re staring, Bee.

– So?

– So, you’re being weird.

Barry smirks, but it’s softer now. – You ever just look at someone and think, “Damn. This dumbass really puts up with my shit?”

You grin, biting your lip. – Every time I look at you, actually.

Barry chuckles, shaking his head. – You little shit.

– Takes one to know one.

He grabs your wrist, rolling onto his back and dragging you with him, pulling you half on top of him like you’re just a part of him now.

You yelp, but he just laughs, shifting so you’re tucked against his side, his arm slung lazy over your back. – Aww, someone needs a cuddle!

– Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and enjoy it, sweetheart.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move. Instead, you let your fingers trace absentminded shapes against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

Barry hums, content. – See? Ain’t this nice?

You let out a mock-sigh. – Guess I can tolerate it.

Barry grins, tugging you closer, resting his chin against the top of your head.

– Knew you loved me.

You just shake your head, smiling, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.

You feel like you might actually fall asleep then. A comfortable, resting sleep. Nothing like these half-hearted black-outs you’ve been having. Barry’s breath is even, whistling against the loose strands of your hair softly, a breeze upon a placid ocean, and your mind drifts away, quiet, content.

The lightness of it lingers on your face for a moment, but like your energy, the smile also fizzles out. Barry shifts, just slightly, stretching his arms with a lazy groan before grabbing you again, pulling you right back into his chest like it's just natural.

Like it’s comfortable.

And it is.

His warmth seeps into you, his breathing low and steady, and he pulls you even closer as you tell him to lay on his side. Your body feels heavy now, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of your conscience, blurring your surroundings out.

There’s a sound, some mumbled words that whisper through your hair as you lay there, head tucked under your friend’s chin, but you can’t register them. Whatever that was, you hum to it, half-heartedly, the thought of asking on what he said only tangentially floating through your mind as your breath syncs with his and your mind finally shuts down, before you can even ask what he said.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you sleep.

Not the restless, fractured kind of sleep that leaves you more exhausted than before. Not the kind where your mind keeps running half-heartedly, processing a thousand worries at once, replaying every mistake, every conversation, every single thing you should have said but didn’t.

Just sleep. Real sleep. Deep, warm, safe, and dreamless.

The morning soaks through you slowly as the sun invades your room.

Your senses return to you, one by one. —You feel the perfectly comfortable warmth of an embrace that’s shifted through the hours. Your limbs aren’t numb, but still, they’re tangled. On the sheets, around Barry’s, in your own old clothes. You blink, still foggy, before tilting your head to see him splayed out beside you, completely at peace, mouth slightly open, one arm thrown dramatically over his face like he’s posing for a Renaissance painting. You can smell the cigarettes he smoked before coming here, the smoke still clinging to his clothes. You hear his snoring, low and soft like the purr of an engine, and then— The distant clang of dishes, the low murmur of voices, the thud of something hitting the counter too hard.

Your perfect moment, corrupted by the life outside of it.

Your body stirs before your mind does, pulling you from the heavy weight of sleep into the early light of morning. Your watch, thrown somewhere on your pillow where your arm had rested at some point, marks 6:21. Just enough time to shower and get ready.

Your stomach grumbles as you sit up, but you’ve given up on breakfast before you can even think about it, knowing damn well John would never bother to go grocery shopping.

It’s been a while since you actually resented the thought of having to get up.

With the watch weighing heavy in your palm, you linger in that same spot for another moment, taking in the softness, the calm. It feels like a safe haven: the wrinkled sheets thrown half-hazardly over the two of you, the tiny twin bed creaking as you move, the soft, almost content huff Barry lets out as you adjust the pillow under his head, stirring without waking as you gather the courage to stand.

The floor creaks as you walk, the dresser’s drawer creaks as you pull on it, and you take one last look at the room, at Barry, at the sun casting long golden streaks of light across the stale air, as if keeping that image could keep you from the storm you know is brewing outside.

Still, you allow yourself to savor it, the last fleeting taste of what could’ve been a decent day.

John and Sarah’s voices are clearer as you step out into the hallway, but you don’t allow yourself the energy to decode their words. The bathroom door opens and closes behind you, the clothes you picked out fall, still folded, over the lid of your laundry basket, and you throw the towel on the hook, eyeing yourself in the mirror before facing another cold shower.

Your good mood is officially gone, fallen to the corruption of your own skepticism, and to the fact your brother still has not fixed the fucking heater.

The water is colder than normal, but you let it hit you anyway, let it wash away the last remnants of sleep, of comfort, of safety.

By the time you step out your skin is pricked with goosebumps, your hair damp and dripping as you reach for your towel. You avoid your reflection in the mirror this time, focus instead on the small streaks of condensation gathering on the glass.

The floor is rougher beneath your bare feet, the air cooler, the walls closer.

The house itself feels different.

John and Sarah’s voices come into focus as you approach the kitchen, their conversation sharp and muffled all at once. You catch only bits and pieces—your name, Rafe’s name, something about him—but you don’t linger on it.

You already know what they’re saying.

You already know what they think.

The conversation stops as soon as you step into the room.

Abrupt. Jarring.

Like they weren’t expecting you, despite the fact that you live here.

– Good morning. – You say, thoughtless, already reaching for the coffee pot. Its still hot, but the jar is empty— You’re not surprised that he would make just enough for him and Sarah, but still, its no less annoying.

– For who?

You can’t even take him seriously. – Jesus Christ, John. What's your problem?

– Well, for starters—

You cut him off before he can begin. – The question was rhetorical, dumbass. – You move around them, from the pot to the counter, trying to make coffee and doing your best not to meet his eye. – “Good morning” is a well-wish. “What's your problem” is a rhetorical question. You could’ve kept quiet and spared us both the embarrassment.

– You’re ridiculous.

You measure the powder into the filter, crumpling the empty package and throwing it across the room to the trash overflowing in the corner. – You could’ve at least taken out the trash.

He scoffs, a bitter laugh on his lips as he looks up. – You’re unbelievable. We didn’t even start the argument and you’re already deflecting! This has got to be a record.

– Great, How about you measure the greatness of this record after taking out the trash?

– Are you serious? – He groans. You look at him with a straight face, arms crossed over your chest. – You are un-fucking-believable.

You breathe and smile, humorless. – We haven’t even started the argument and you’re already repeating yourself. Damn, John. This has got to be a record.

– Is EVERYTHING a fucking game to you?!

– I don’t know. But hey, since you seem to think I spend all my time around Rafe, maybe you should go and ask him.

His eyes bore into yours, sharp and cutting. – This is not the own you think it is, Y/n.

– And you don’t have as much dog in this fight as you think you do, John. – Your breathing is measured, and you’re counting to a hundred in your head. You’re committed not to losing it this time. You can’t let him get to you, but you feel every expression he makes grinding at your nerves, and you’re sinking your nails into your palms before his mouth even opens. – We’re even. Let’s leave it at that.

– Oh sure, that’s a great idea. My sister is a traitor without a fucking conscience who can’t even be bothered to tell me about what goes on in her life, but let’s leave it at that, right?!— We’re not even, actually. We’re not even close—

– Oh my God, get to it already! We’ve had this fight three times this week, can we just jump to the highlights?! I’m working for Rafe. You’re pissed I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t have time. And I didn’t have time, because the moment I could have used to tell you was spent having THIS EXACT FUCKING TALK. – You lost it. You just did, your hands gesture wildly because you feel that whatever it was that you had to hold onto—your sanity, your dignity, your temper— is slipping through your fingers as you speak. – So go ahead! Jump to it, John! Just storm out and have your tantrum already so we can stop pretending any of this bullshit matters at all!

– This is our fucking life we’re talking about! Of course it matters!

– No, no. That’s just it. This isn’t my life, actually. This is the John B show! You run around and you do your little things and you have your little adventures and you think you’re the star around which the rest of the universe revolves! So when I go out and I do something without your stamp of approval, you think I’m out to get you! But I’m not John! I’m not trying to fuck you over! I’m just trying to put food on our fucking table!

– Oh here we go again. – He scoffs.

– Yes! Yes, we’re going there again. So sit down on the chair, my chair, the one that you broke and I had to fix. Then you can have a cup of coffee, which I bought, and you burned through. And maybe, when you’re done not washing the dishes, you can go and have a cold shower, since that’s the only option we’ve got, because your ass can’t even follow through on the little responsibilities you fucking have!

You’re tired of repeating this, tired of saying it over and over again. But he doesn’t listen.

– Why does everything have to be about money with you?!

– NEWS FLASH motherfucker, that’s the only reason I’m working for Rafe, which is the reason why you’re mad at me, which is the reason why we’re having this conversation in the first place!

The words hang between you.

John’s chest rises and falls hard, his fists clenched at his sides, his mouth still open, like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

He just laughs, bitter, venomous.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

You’re both just standing there, breathing hard, staring each other down like you’re waiting for the other to swing first.

John scoffs, shaking his head, running a hand down his face. – You know what? – His voice is lower now, not calmer, just quieter. – Forget it. Just—forget it.

He turns away, reaching for his mug, but his grip is too tight, and the coffee inside sloshes over the rim, spilling onto the counter. He curses under his breath, slamming it down harder than necessary.

You watch him for a second, jaw tight.

Your hand is clutching your arm, your foot is bouncing. You feel the need for movement surging through your bones as he takes a step towards the door, and you know you shouldn’t do it. But if you spend another fucking day lingering in the things you two left unsaid you’re gonna choke in your own words and this is gonna end badly for the both of you.

So you rush, and you grab him, and you tug him back like a ragdoll. – Don’t walk away from me!

He scoffs. – What? Too hard to sit alone with your guilty conscience?

– Not really, no. But it must run in the family, since you can sit alone with your conscience all day and still never stop being a fucking hypocrite.

John yanks his arm free, spinning to face you, eyes burning. – You don’t get to call me a hypocrite when you’re the one crawling into bed with fucking Rafe Cameron.

Your breath stutters for half a second before rage swallows it whole. – Do we have to go through this every fucking day?! I’m not fucking Rafe! He offered me a job! I took it because we can’t afford to live any worse than how we’re already living without actually starving!

– We’re fine! – He shouts, shoving at you. – We’re living just fine! You’re not doing this out of some need to survive, you’re doing this because you have this burning desire to piss me the fuck off! I’ve got news for you too, Y/n. Your need for attention isn’t gonna fix the fact you fucked it up with dad! It’s not gonna fix the fact your mother didn’t love you. So maybe you can sit with that feeling and figure out another way to get me to look at you without having to humiliate us both!

You’re frozen in place, looking at him.

You see Sarah shifting uncomfortably in the corner, her eyes drifting between the two of you like she’s trying to figure out which direction to run in.

The breath that escapes you feels like it’s been there for years. But there is no great realization. No mask comes off, no true colors are revealed. You’ve seen this all already. You’ve heard these insults in countless different fonts, countless different arguments. And though it hurts no less to hear, somehow you find it in yourself to laugh. – I don’t know how you find it within yourself to be so low.

He looks at you, lips parted, as if he is the one who is surprised by the words.

You breathe in.

– You’re right, John.

It comes out of your lips like chains falling off of you.

It’s been written on the walls for years, and yet you spent so long a time with your head down, it never occurred for you to read the warnings.

– You’re right. This is the John show. I’m a backup character. I don’t live for myself. I live for you. – The rope keeps falling, and falling. The more you talk, the clearer it gets. – All the money I make goes to this house. And all the money you make goes to you.

It doesn’t weigh heavy.

It doesn’t hurt to say.

It’s there, and it’s true.

– All this time I thought you were in denial, but you’re not. You’re just living a completely different life. I’ve been scraping by for FUCK— The anger falls like sack of bricks, hard, sharp corners and rough sides grating against your fragile bones. It hurts. It bruises. You can feel yourself split open, you can feel yourself bleed out. – I’ve been scraping by so you could do what?

– Y/n…

– What, John?! WHAT?! So you could do what?! Drink yourself stupid with your little friends and talk shit about kooks while you’ve been living the EXACT SAME FUCKING LIFE AS THEM?! Is that why I work? So you can— You look at Sarah, and you think of her house. The life she’s putting aside to pretend she has some character. – So you can eat lamb at Ward Cameron’s and humiliate me? You haven’t stopped eating so I could eat. You haven’t been convincing yourself you like a job where you’re constantly humiliated so it can be bearable to barely pay the bills. You’ve been spending it all in beer, and weed, and food that you DON’T EVEN FUCKING LEAVE FOR ME.

The coffee is done. Sitting there on the pot, untouched. Scalding.

You don’t remember the last thing you ate at your house.

The last decent night of sleep you had on your own bed.

The last time you enjoyed any of the things you’ve been killing yourself for.

You back yourself into a corner, you look away from John, from Sarah, from this house that’s been draining at you like a fucking leech.

John looks stunned.

Not guilty. Not sorry. Just—stunned.

Like he never thought you’d say it out loud.

Like he never thought you’d realize it.

Sarah’s still frozen, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, like she’s waiting to see if this is where it ends. If this is where you finally walk out.

You feel like you should keep talking, like you should scream, like you should break something—but there’s nothing left to say.

You already said it.

And that’s the worst part: John knows you’re right. He knows.

But instead of admitting it—

He laughs.

Short. Bitter.

And when he looks at you again, his jaw is set, his fists clenched at his sides. – Is that what you have to say? – His voice is quiet, but it cuts just the same. – That I’m useless? That I don’t pull my weight?

– You are. – It's bitter too, but when the words leave your lips you feel like you've eaten for the first time in weeks. – You're useless. And you don’t pull your weight. But I've never asked you to. That's my own fault. I don’t need you to be useful, John. I don’t need you to be a man. I don’t even need you to be my brother. Shit, clearly, you’re none of those fucking things. But I expected that if you were gonna freeload off of me, at least you’d have the decency to leave me the fuck alone as to how I make the money you so carelessly flit around.

You look away, to the bin forgotten in the corner. To the clock, marking the little time you still have to get this over with above the window.

And for once, you don't feel the world resting on your shoulders.

For once, it isn’t on you to hold this crumbling house up.

– Take out the trash. Call someone to fix the heater, and clean up after yourself for once. Cause if I get home, and things are still the way I left it, I’m leaving you here, and you can support this house on your own.

John scoffs, but it's stuttered. Unsure. Like he’s trying to call a bluff he isn’t actually sure won’t stand the scrutiny. – You don’t have anywhere to go.

– I can live off of what I make. You, on the other hand, can’t live off of your own delusions.

– Walk away.

You don’t answer.

Because he’s not answering you.

He’s just flipping it around, turning it into something else, something easier for him to fight against.

Your stomach turns.

You push off the wall, shaking your head.

John scoffs. – Oh, no. We’re talking now, right? Let’s talk. Go ahead. Tell me I’m a selfish piece of shit—

– I don’t need to. – Your voice is tired now. Not angry. Not screaming. Just done.

That shuts him up faster than anything else could have.

Sarah finally moves, stepping forward, voice cautious, but the bomb has gone off, she’s trying to diffuse something that’s already blown you all into pieces.

– Hey. Maybe we should all just—

But you don’t stay to listen.

You don’t want to hear whatever half-hearted bullshit John is about to spit out next.

You turn, walking away, feeling the weight of the house pressing down on you with every step.

And as you get to the doorway—

You see Barry.

Standing right there.

Arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen door.

Like he’s been standing there for a while.

Watching. Listening.

His expression is unreadable.

But his eyes say everything you need to hear.

He moves back, arm out as you pass the doorway, and he gathers his things quietly as you put on your shoes.

The house is silent as you lace up your sneakers, the argument still thick in the air behind you.

But you don’t look back.

Barry doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, doesn’t tell you that you were right or wrong—he doesn’t have to. You already know. Instead, he moves easily: grabs his jacket, tucks your lighter in his pocket, reaches for the helmet sitting on the table.

He spins it once between his fingers, then holds it out to you.

A simple motion. Nothing grand. Nothing spoken.

But he smiles as you reach out to take it, and he laughs, softly, contently, as you lead him out.

The morning air hits sharp against your skin, cool and steady, grounding you in a way the house never could.

Barry swings a leg over his bike, Rafe's bike, settling in easy, waiting for you to do the same.

You exhale, slipping onto the seat behind him, arms looping loosely around his waist as he kicks the stand back.

And when the engine rumbles beneath you, drowning out the house, the argument, the weight of everything inside—

You breathe.

And for once, it's easy.

Barry doesn’t look back.

He just shifts the bike into gear, rolls out onto the road, and drives.

You barely register the road you two leave behind until he’s pulling into the Camerons’ driveway. But you step off the bike, hand him his helmet, and he holds your hand. – You can stay with me, you know?

– Huh?

– Tonight. I’ll pick you up, you can stay at mine. That oughta scare him.

The laughter on his lips is airy, meant to be. That’s what you like about him, you realize—Barry doesn’t second guess things. He lives for him, and him alone, never doubting that’s how things are meant to go. It’s hurt you before, but you see it now, fully-formed, mature, and vulnerable— He holds the helmet between you almost like an invitation. Come with me. The gesture says. Run with me, wild like me, happy like me.

And you’ll be damned.

Because at the moment, there’s nothing you want more.

– I don’t need to scare him, Bee. – You hum, but it isn’t pensive. You can think about John now, and your chest doesn’t tighten, your voice doesn’t crack. – He can do what he wants.

– So can we.

You smile despite yourself.

That’s another thing you like about Barry: he always says we.

With him, it’s never, “I want, I need, I can”. It’s “we’re gonna, we can, we will.” Like the two of you are two halves of one conscience.

– And what do we want to do? – You ask.

He smiles wide, pulling at the helmet to bring you closer, his hand resting at the dip of your waist. – Go to The River Styx and drink our asses off. You get the bed.

– Wow. Unmissable deal.

– That’s how it is with me, sweetheart.

– So if I get the bed, where do you sleep?

He pretends to ponder, flashing you that golden grin as he looks back at you. – On top of you?

– You’ve been missing pillows or something?

– I’ve been missing you. – He says. And it's so simple. So completely free of any strings attached it almost feels foreign to hear it.

– You never lost me, Bee. I’m always here for you.

– Always? – This time it’s small, and though he’s never uncertain, it’s almost like he’s begging to be reaffirmed.

And you do.

Not because it doesn’t cost you anything, but because it enriches you to say things as openly as he does. – Always. Cross my heart.

Barry hums, tilting his head, looking at you like he’s committing you to memory.

Then, in one fluid motion, he tugs you forward, arms wrapping around you, face buried in the crook of your neck.

You feel held.

The steadiness of his arms, the weight of his relief, the strength that it gives you.

Held.

Fully, completely, like he’s not just pulling you in, but holding himself up too, steadying himself against you the way you’ve steadied yourself against him a thousand times before.

Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his jacket, your face pressing into his shoulder, breathing him in—smoke and Barry, something familiar and grounding. Something that never changes.

For a moment, the world outside of this doesn’t exist. Just his breath against your skin, the quiet hum in his chest, the weight of him solid and real against you.

You pull back, hands sliding over his shoulders as you step away.

It’s over, but it doesn’t feel like it. The ghost of his warmth lingers around you just as the smirk he had before lingers on his lips.

– I’ll call you for a ride when I’m done.

Barry smirks, his grip still loose at your waist. – You can ride me whenever you want, sweetheart.

You scoff, shoving at his chest, and he laughs, stepping back, grinning like an idiot.

You shake your head, turning toward the house, but then—

Then you look up.

The silhouette on the window, lingering silently behind curtains that are all too white, all too frigid. The look in his eyes. That radioactive blue that you can’t get a read on, lingering far. But not on you, on Barry.

You feel the air shift.

You swallow, turning back to Barry, but he’s already climbing onto the bike, completely unaware of Rafe’s eyes.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvillaintrophy

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cutielando · 9 months ago

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Hello love, how is everything going?🫂

I'm the one from the Jay in the truck fic, which was amazing, you made someone very happy today (someone is me)😚🩷

If you have time you could write one where Jay dates the reader but he is a few years younger than him, but he's so proud to have met a girl like her, maybe someone on the team makes playful comments about it because he is tough in part but it is as if he was always so soft with her that they come to not know him. maybe they even see a couple of hickeys on him but he looks proud because he is LITERALLY so in love that he kisses the ground where she steps and he loves that they know he has a girl, a little pretentious about it🤭

Maybe also after a difficult case he looks for her because she is his safe space.🫶🏼🥹

This is a bit messy but I'm not good at putting ideas together, I apologize, also english is not my first language in case this is something difficult to understand.🥹🫶🏼

Also sorry that there are so many haha you can take them if you want or just let them pass if you don't feel comfortable, sending you love!💌

comfort person | jay halstead

synopsis: in which he worships you

pairing: jay halstead x younger!reader

my masterlist

Jay couldn't believe his luck, in all honesty.

Ever since he could remember, his luck when it came to love and personal relationships was close to being non-existent. His relationship history was excellent proof of that.

But everything seemed to change for the better when he met you.

You had met in a bar, out of all places. Hit it off right away, chatted over a drink, promised to stay in touch.

And oh boy, had you stayed in touch.

You were wary of hanging out with Jay at first, mainly because of the dangers of his job (that he sometimes reminded you of) and because of the age difference.

5 years was not that much, if you were being realistic, but it was still something. You were afraid that you wouldn’t be the woman he was looking for, maybe his expectations in life didn’t align with yours.

Thankfully, you were very wrong about that.

And so, you found yourself together, 1 year later, happier and more in love than ever. Much to the joy of his team, who made it their mission to tease the fuck out of Jay every single day at the precinct.

Especially when they would notice certain marks on his neck after a wild night in bed.

Such an instance was right after the team had finished a very hard case involving a child kidnapping. When Jay got home, you could tell he was absolutely hammered and needed to unwind, so you did the thing you knew would help him out.

The next morning at the precinct, you went with him to say hi to the team, but you got teased instead.

“Woah, did an animal attack you last night?” Adam asked Jay as soon as he got a good look at his colleague.

Jay furrowed his eyebrows, while you were trying to hide your blush in his bicep.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, checking his arms for any kind of marks.

Adam smirked and pointed to his neck, which immediately made your boyfriend realize what he was talking about.

Even though you couldn’t see it because you were hiding your face into his arm, you could tell Jay was blushing furiously while being teased by his close friend.

“Don’t you dare say a word” Jay threatened Adam, who could only laugh at the situation between the two of you.

“I’m gonna go now” you murmured to Jay, quickly standing on your tiptoes to peck his cheek before basically running out of the precinct.

Jay could only blame Adam for your quick departure, much faster than what he had been hoping.

“She certainly keeps you active” Ruzek said once he came back from their break room with a cup of coffee.

“Shut up, Ruz. You’re just jealous you’re not getting any” Jay commented, making Adam act offended.

"I'm just saying, she's sure keeping you busy and fit" Adam continued, giving Jay a sly smile.

"She makes me happy" Jay confessed, smiling to himself when he thought about you and your relationship.

The conversation died with that, a new case putting a pause on Jay's thoughts about you for the time being.

Jay hadn't expected the case to be as rough as it was, and he felt awful by the time he got home to you. He was tired, his limbs were sore and his heart ached. The only thing he wanted in that moment was the sole comfort of your presence, your comforting hugs and just quality time spent away from his job.

When you heard the keys in the lock, you excitedly ran to the front door to welcome him, but your smile was instantly wiped off your face when you saw just how broken and tired he was.

"Rough day?" you asked as you cautiously watched him taking off his shoes and hanging his coat on the hanger.

"Yeah, got a tough care after you came home" he sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before going into the bedroom, placing his gun and badge into his safe before coming back out and joining you on the couch.

He melted into the soft couch, his hand finding yours instantly. You felt for him, not even wanting to imagine how tough his job must get on the hard days, like this one.

You moved Jay's head off the back of the couch and maneuvered him until he was resting his head into your lap, your fingers softly running through his soft hair.

"You want to talk about it?" you asked softly, careful not to disturb the serene atmosphere that had settled between the two of you.

His eyes opened and looked at you, dozens of emotions swimming behind his irises. The only thoughts that occupied his head were how lucky he was to have you, how cared for he was and how much he loved you. He cherished you more than you could ever know, especially in moments like this one, when he is reminded of just how grateful he should be for the life he has.

"I love you" he whispered softly, making you smile at him and lean down to peck his lips, your free hand caressing the side of his face softly.

"I love you more" you whispered back, licking your lips.

And so, the entire evening was spent exactly like that, whispering love confessions to each other like they were a secret to the entire world.

But you loved every second of it.

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#imagines #oneshots #fanfiction #one shot #character x reader #jay halstead fluff #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x you #jay halstead fanfic #jesse lee soffer #chicago pd #jay halstead oneshot #jay halstead fanfiction #one chicago

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mt-oe · 1 year ago

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𝙎𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙖 𝙃𝙤𝙩—bandmate mizu

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

I'm so so sorry for not being able to keep up with requests that well. My program is taking a lot of my time and beating the shit out of me (esp. u immunology and serology >:c).

Anyways, here's a sort of prequel for my headcanons because band au Mizu is so yummy.

Enjoy! Mwa mwa:*

warning: not proofread, she/her for mizu, will refer to her as a boy (bc she canonically appears like a man), implied afab reader

"But you're so good at playing the guitar, and you have the charisma too. You should definitely join our band. Even our manager is amazing. She—"

"For the last time, Ringo. I don't want to join your stupid band."

Mizu and Ringo were already getting ready to go home after finishing their term-end project for their elective, which just so happened to be music. She didn't really think it through when she enlisted and just picked whichever she thought was the easiest. Ringo, however, just picked the same elective as Mizu.

She carefully placed her electric guitar in its case, zipping it up and securing the locks before slinging it over her shoulder. "I have better things to do and joining a band is a waste of time," she added as she walked up to the door.

Ringo followed after her, a smile still on his face despite the rejection. "You never know. This might even be your calling," he chimed as they exited the room, making her groan out of annoyance. They headed into the parking lot where Mizu's bike was parked. "We have an audition in a week if you want," he said, waiting for his friend to put on her helmet.

Once Mizu was finished putting on her helmet, she hopped on and leaned forward, pushing her weight to retract the center stand. "Not interested," she groaned out, slightly muffled behind her helmet. Her foot kickstarted the bike on before she revved the engine up a bit.

"Well if you decide to change your mind, just send me a message." Ringo stepped back a bit to give Mizu some space to move. She grunted in response and drove forward, leaving her friend waving and shout goodbyes at her.

What's so great about joining a stupid band anyway?

It's probably just filled with pretentious kids pretending to be as good as their idols but can't even memorize which strings their hammer ons should be.

Another groan escaped her lips the more she thought about the offer. It was annoying. Yet, a somehow, a small part of her wanted to play even more. The desire ringing at the back of her head like an itch she couldn't scratch off.

What if she did join?

What if it was as much fun as Ringo always said it was?

A sigh escaped her lips at how bothered she was by her thoughts. Why was she even thinking about this? She can always play her instruments at home. A crowd wouldn't make a difference, she thought as the wind whizzed past.

Her thoughts continued to race as she drove home. This band thing was stupid. Maybe she shouldn't attend the audition after a—

"Hey goofy boy!" a voice called out.

'What? Me?' she thought, lifting her visor to look around for the source of the voice. Across the stoplight, she saw another woman waving at her enthusiastically. It was almost ridiculous to look at. She raised an eyebrow, looking at her sides and behind her to see if you were talking to someone else before pointing to herself inquisitively.

"Yes you! Across the stoplight! C'mere!" you yelled, signaling her to stop in front of the cafe you were standing in front of, not really caring if other people were looking at you with how silly you were being.

Her blue eyes narrowed at you, clearly suspicious of your intentions. And yet, the way you were smiling and calling her over made her feel...something. Once the light turned green, she drove over to you, pulling up at the lot in front of the cafe.

You walked over to her, letting out a sigh of relief as she kicked the side stands on. "What do you want?" she asked in a low voice that clearly indicated that she didn't trust you even one bit.

"That.." You pointed to the guitar case on her back, making her raise an eyebrow cautiously. What did you want with her baby huh? She was so ready to throw hands.

"What model? And how long have you been playing?" you asked, still pointing to her guitar. Mizu looked over her shoulder being sighing. This was a waste of time. "I'm not inclined to tell you that," she replied, getting ready to kick her side stands off.

You snorted at her cold reply before leaning closer until she was face-to-face with you no matter how much she pulled away. The proximity allowing her to take in your features better and you were quite...pretty?

No. Wait.

Let's focus on how much of nuisance you were being.

Before she could even kick off her side stands, you already blocked her foot with yours. "Join our band," you said in a serious tone, showing her a business card before placing it in her jacket, smile still on your face.

Mizu groaned and rolled her eyes. "No. Now get your foot off before I kick it off," she replied. Yet, you kept your foot in the way of her stands, making her eyebrows knit together. "You look really goofy riding that bike of yours with a huge ass guitar case on your back," you said, eyes glancing at her guitar case before staring into her eyes intently. "You have talent, don't you?"

The smile on your face despite how serious and forward you were being was unnerving. "So what? I'm not going to join your band," she said in a low voice. Indeed, she was quite stubborn, but nowhere near your level. This motorist was the diamond in the rough you were looking for. "Goofy boy, join me in the café. It's my treat."

There was no way she's going into that café just for you to give her your sales talk and convince her to join your stupid unknown band. Not in a million years

—was what she thought.

Yet here she was, helmet off and sitting in front of you with a cup of matcha latte, watching you take a bite out of the cake you bought for yourself. After taking a slow sip, she sighed and narrowed her eyes at you. "I thought we were here talk about your band," she scoffed.

You smiled at her yet again, fork still in between your lips. "You're not going to talk right away, right? So let's take our time." A small 'tch' escaped her lips as she leaned back against the chair.

"Fine. I'll talk," she replied, staring at you up and down. Now that she was able to sit down and relax the tiniest bit, she was finally taking her time to look at you. And you weren't an eyesore at all. In fact, you were really fucking cute.

She's still not joining your band though.

A small giggle escaped your lips as you placed the fork down, resting your elbows on the table and intertwining your fingers together. "What model?" you asked, eyes darting to the guitar case beside your table.

Mizu glanced at it as her hands wrapped around the handle of her cup. "A les paul," she replied before taking a sip. Your smile widened before you took a sip from your cup as well, setting it down when she set hers down. "How long have you been playing?"

"Long enough," she replied, glancing at you, rolling her eyes at how you stared at her with curiosity, as if coercing her to tell more. "Fine, fine...before I started high school. I think. Maybe even longer."

You hummed in satisfaction and took another bite out of your cake. "Any other instruments?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow back at you. "A bass. A mustang."

Silence washed over both of you as you continued to eat your cake, making her feel a bit nervous. A small clink was heard as you put your fork down after taking your final bite. "What's your name, goofy boy?"

"Mizu," she replied before taking her drink into her hands. She downed it in one go, placing the cup down and picking her guitar case up. "This is pointless. I'm leaving," she said in a low husky voice, getting ready to stand up.

It was clear to her that she shouldn't have given so much time to you. She wasn't even interested in joining. Maybe if you weren't so cute, she wouldn't have tried to hear you out.

Before she can even stand up, you beat her to it, pushing her back down on the chair gently. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as you leaned forward again.

"I'll make you a star."

Huh?

Her clear surprise and confusion made you giggle. What the hell were you talking about? You pulled away and placed your hands on your hips, giving her a confident smile.

"Talent recognizes talent, Mizu. It may not be now, but I'll make you a star," you beamed.

Mizu blinked before scoffing. "That's ridiculous," she sneered before standing up and putting her helmet on. "For the last time, I'm not fucking joining your stupid audition."

Was what she said.

But here she was, a week later, sitting down inside the studio hallway. Her eyes watched as the auditionees chatted amongst themselves. Those who were done with the audition complaining about how strict the judge was, who she learned was just one person.

Her nerves were sending jitters to the tips of fingers, her throat tightening up slightly in anticipation. She closed her eyes and took a deep inhale before exhaling slowly. Just as she opened her eyes, she jumped slightly at the sight of a familiar pair of feet in front of her.

"I knew you were going to change your mind," her friend's voice chimed.

Looking up, she made eye contact with Ringo who was beaming at her, drumsticks tied to his stubby hands. "But how did you know where our studio is?"

This was the band Ringo was talking about? Oh boy.

She grunted and handed him the business card you snuck into her jacket. "The address is written there," she said with a sigh. He let out a small "oh" before his eyes widened even more. "So you've met her before," he replied cheerfully, handing the business card back.

"Who?" she asked, a serious yet curious look on her face. He looked confused for a moment before he replied, "Our manager. The one who handed you that card?" She wanted to ask more questions, but then a voice suddenly called for the drummer. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I gotta go. Bye!"

Upon Ringo leaving, Mizu sat back down and closed her eyes again, resting her elbows on her knees.

Some time later, all the auditionees had finished and yet, it seems that all of them had been rejected. "This is a waste of time. I should have left earlier," she muttered to herself.

Just as she was about to leave the studio, her name was called, leaving her with no choice. Slowly, she entered the room only to be greeted with—

"You came!" your voice beamed.

Her eyes scanned around the room to see you sitting down on a chair, holding some papers, as well as the other band members presumably. "And you're the manager apparently," she said plainly. A chuckle escaping your lips as you nodded. "You can get ready whenever you want to."

Once her guitar was plugged in and ready to go, she looked up at you again, waiting for any further instructions. Despite her mind telling her that there was nothing to be nervous about, her gut was squeezing and churning from anticipation.

Should she do her best? Or should she fuck this up?

Your eyes watched her carefully, observing how she handled her guitar. "Play any song you'd like," you said, leaning forward in your seat as you set the papers down on a chair beside you.

No. She didn't want to be in this stupid band. She's not going to do her best.

Why the fuck would she do that?

This wasn't even worth it.

Nononononononono—

She looked down on her guitar before beginning to strum the familiar intro of Smells Like Teen Spirit. Despite her bobbing her head slightly, it was clear through her body language that she wasn't even trying at all.

The smile on your face slowly disappeared until all that was left was an unreadably neutral expression. Once she was done, she looked at you with a bored expression. "Well?"

You sighed at her, giving her the same bored expression back, making her smirk a bit. "Guess I'm not in, am I?" She unplugged her guitar, getting ready to put it back in the case before your hands stopped her.

"Sit back down. We're not done," you said in a serious tone, facial expression neutral yet your eyes told her that you were daaaaaaaamn annoyed with how little of an effort she put in. The look in your eyes, they way you were gripping the neck of her guitar, did something to her. "I don't owe you a performance," she replied.

You glared at her lightly before snatching her guitar from her hands, causing her to glare at you. She tried to grab her guitar back but you kept evading her as you plugged it back in. Once it was plugged back on, you pushed towards her, making her stumble back a bit from how harsh you did it.

"Now sit down and play. Talent recognizes talent, Mizu," you growled at her. The scene causing everyone in the room to go quiet. It was clear to them that you were pissed. "If not, then sell that guitar. You're wasting it."

After all, the only thing you hated more than the equipment suddenly breaking was wasted potential. And Mizu was wasting a LOT of potential.

Your words struck a nerve in her causing her. With a loud screech, she pulled the chair towards her and sat down. "Fine. If it gets you to shut the fuck up."

She looked at you with one final glare as she leaned back, hands beginning to move against her guitar.

She began playing Hotel California, immediately skipping to the guitar rift at the end of the song.

By the normal person's ear, it wasn't anything special. There were more impressive sounding songs out there. But to you, you knew how difficult it was to get the tone of the song right with how slow it was compared to other rifts. If she made a mistake here, a wrong pluck, a wrong drag, a wrong vibrato, the mistake would be so painfully obvious.

And yet, here Mizu was, playing it perfectly with the same angry look on her face. She was damn mad at you for touching her guitar, for pushing her towards your stupid fucking band. And yet, she couldn't help but want to impress you.

Did she really not want to be in the band?

Why was she trying so fucking hard then?

Like her body was moving on its own.

Like her hands were itching to play more.

As she ended the song, she looked down at the ground. Suddenly, the sound of clapping caused her to perk up and look at you. The sight causing her breath to hitch a blush to dust over her cheeks. That was when she knew the answer to her question.

It was you and your proud little smile.

That cute fucking smile.

All the annoyance and anger you held at her melted off during her little performance. You knew you saw talent. The moment you saw that goofy looking motorist with the awkwardly large hard guitar case at the stoplight, talent already hit you like a damn truck.

Although she knew you were satisfied with her performance, she couldn't help but want to try more. She'll try. She'll damn try for the hottest fucking manager she has ever seen. Her earlier hesitations of whether she wanted to join the band or not disappearing.

Call it a gay agenda but she was going to secure this fucking spot. She'll be best fucking guitarist you have ever heard or seen.

Just as you were about to congratulate her, she raised a hand up to cut you off. "Wait—fuck—that was too easy. I... goddamnit. Wait, I'll try doing something harder," she said in a panicked slur.

Her hands immediately went back to her guitar, eyes narrowing in thought. If an impressive guitar rift was what she needed...

Suddenly, she began playing the guitar rift for Free Bird. Eyes glued to her guitar, palms sweating a bit as she hit every chord, every pluck, every fucking bend.

You couldn't place your finger on what it was, but somehow, it felt like she was playing more passionately. Like she was putting her all into this one song. Was it the way she was bobbing her head? Or the way she moved her guitar during every vibrato? Maybe the way her body moved with the music?

Once the song ended, she closed her eyes and let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. You couldn't help but giggle at how flustered she looked, making her blush again.

"Am I in?" she asked, looking at you with hidden desperation in her eyes, making you giggle even more. Her eyebrows furrowed as you continued to laugh, not really answering her question. "Well?"

A gulp went down her throat as you stood up from your chair and picking up the papers you previously held. "Mizu," you giggled out, "You were already in from the moment you tried again."

...

Well that was embarrassing.

You handed her the contract and a pen, humming as she read the content before signing. Looking at her signature, your smile widened. This flustered looking guitarist was exactly what you were looking for and you just hit jackpot.

"You won't regret this, Mizu. I swear." She glanced at you, scanning the big smile you had on your face before looking down at her guitar and unplugging it. "I better not."

Suddenly, you lunged forward at her. Her eyes widened when you suddenly took her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers together. "Talent recognizes talent," you repeated, leaning closer to her, grip tightening with every word.

"I'll make you a star."

She'll be your star.

#bes mizu x reader #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu #mizu x reader #bes mizu #bes x reader #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu imagine #mizu x you #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x fem!reader #bes #Spotify

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jailforwriter · 1 month ago

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Let's get into...

Look, at the end of the day, writing is word choice. You're choosing which words to put in what order to make other people feel Some Type Of Way about the result. But there are 4 bits of advice perennially swirling about the bowels of writing forums that, misapplied, might make you shit the metaphorical bed of optimal communication, and I very much don't want that for you. I'm staunchly pro-avoiding the literary runs, in fact. So let's get into how.

On the chopping block today is my nemesis:

"Cut all adverbs"

I'm not going to pretend that I don't know why this advice exists. All two reasons it exists, even. Let's break them down:

Too many adverbs: we're all guilty of inundating sentences with adverbs. There are many moving components to scenes, and there's often a desire to express every last one of them. It's not enough to say that the ball rolled down the empty street; the reader simply must know that the ball crept exceedingly slowly, cautiously inching downwardly and toward the eerily empty street. But see, that's clunky. It doesn't flow well, doesn't add anything that couldn't have been expressed more concisely through better wording, and, most importantly, it insults the reader's imagination. By overexplaining, you're taking away their (admittedly limited, but crucial!) agency to picture things themselves. Womp womp.

Redundant adverbs: pretentious people have invented far too many words over the years for anyone to be out here saying "ran quickly". Running is inherently quick, my guy. Otherwise, we'd be saying walking or jogging or promenading (yes, really). This is the moment to break out the thesaurus and realize that sprinted, raced, and dashed all say what you wanted them to say and bring an evocative, nuanced vibe to the sentence. And nuance is tasty. Nuance is the sauce that the quirked up white boy (the sentence) was goated with. So we're better off just saying "ran" and saving that adverb for when it's actually trying to communicate complexities, which we'll expound on once we get into why adverbs are hot, actually.

NOTE: this crops up particularly often in dialogue. "Said angrily" is a dialogue tag that may seem inoffensive — until you remember that snapped exists, and furthermore, so does slamming the door in their face.

So then when/where in the annoyingly nondescript hell should I use adverbs?

Fundamentally, when they add meaning to stuff. To elaborate:

Substance: a sad smile is different from a regular smile, and should be described as such. If you just say "they smiled", people will assume it's a "normal" (i.e. happy) smile and call it day. If someone almost smiles, it's also telling us something different than if we'd said that they didn't smile at all; now we can't tell that they found the joke funny but chose not to smile, and the interaction loses substance. (Moreover, waiting and waiting patiently aren't the same thing, as I'm sure your mom pointed out when she still told you off because you "gave her attitude" by breathing too hard while you waited for her to press play on the VCR.)

Pacing: someone shaking their head slowly is different from them shaking their head at regular, normal human speeds. The latter is simple negation, whereas the former has an element of emotional nuance, of why the hell did they do that that way? Was it anger or regret? Denial, maybe? No idea! But now the reader gets to ponder about it, and that's where interest is born, methinks.

Tone: there aren't too many ways to interpret someone saying "I hate you". It's a pretty straightforward phrase, for the most part, deployed with devastating expertise by schoolchildren whose parents won't give into capitalistic fads and buy them a Stanley cup. But if I were to say "I hate you" softly, then ah. Things change. We have contrasting emotions now. Depth. Is it really an "I love you" in disguise? Am I just mad that you're making me order at the counter when you know I get, like, weird when I have to ask them for no pickles? Perchance. The takeaway here is that the adverb made it so that you can't take the sentence at face-value, and that, unlike pickles, is very satisfying.

The other 3 horsemen of the misconstrued writing advice apocalypse (word choice edition) will be coming soon, so please keep an eye out for seals breaking on ominous scrolls. Happy writing!

#writing #writeblr #writing community #writing advice #writing tips

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solsticehymns · 1 month ago

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marauders + favorite tv shows: headcanons

JAMES would be binge watching the great british bake off on a weeknight. any kind of cooking show or other cheesy network show; real estate shows like house hunters or property brothers, TLC shows like my strange addiction? oh my god he's LOCKED IN. james change the channel wtf we are currently watching a girl eat her mattress. he's like i know.... it''s so fascinating.....

SIRIUS would pretend to watch all these deep intellectual dramas, i can see him having a big peaky blinders phase. he would be rly into game of thrones and (not exactly a show but) star wars the franchise. but his real guilty pleasure? any trashy dating show. love island us/uk/aus he's seen them all. too hot to handle, love is blind, 90 day fiance, THE BACHELOR/BACHELORETTE. he has embarrassingly strong opinions about every contestant. "no i just don't think she's there for the right reasons!" "sirius it's been two episodes." "THAT'S ENOUGH"

REMUS would watch a lot of period dramas and like historical shows you don't quite understand. typical boy stuff, some war dramas, some documentaries on the history of the printer, y'know. definitely watched a whole documentary on the sinking of the titanic and then when you made him watch titanic (1997) he smugly pointed out all the inaccuracies. his guilty pleasure? true crime, he's half-convinced he's figured out who jack the ripper was...

REGULUS honestly hates tv and mostly watches things just so you'll stop bugging him about it. he likes the darker, weirder shows more. if you're ever watching criminal minds, one of the rly spooky twisted ones? oh he's paying attention for sure. but if he ever does get bored in his own free time i feel like deep down he would be an anime guy, like the most pretentious unheard of anime. you just don't get it

EVAN would love all the crime-centric shows, i can see him loving money heist, breaking bad and its spinoffs, narcos. anything action packed and fast paced and this man is sat. also sports like duh, but he would sit and watch all the behind the scenes documentaries and after-game footage. his guilty pleasure would 100% be gossip girl or greys anatomy or one of those "girly drama" teen shows. the snippy little comments he'd make during... she's right though, serena's hair does look like trash

and last but not least, BARTY would love the dark, cynical, offbeat shows. black mirror, manifest, the boys. something that leaves you wondering what the hell you just witnessed. also unironically LOVES rick and morty and will go on unprompted rants about how genius it is. the sociopolitical themes bro. late at night when no one else is around, he gets deep into conspiracy theories. dunno, love, the moon landing footage looks a bit shabby to me. yeah, see, the shadows? totally misaligned. fake news.

☀️🌻 masterlist

#marauders era #marauders #marauders headcanon #james potter #james potter headcanon #sirius black #sirius black headcanon #remus lupin #remus lupin headcanon #regulus black #regulus black headcanon #evan rosier #evan rosier headcanon #barty crouch jr #barty crouch jr headcanon #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders incorrect quotes

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savepc2023 · 2 years ago

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Do they have rizz?

🤨📸

Robin: Yes. A hundred times yes. Students see them walking by and they swoon. Specifically, they've got that 'girl/boy next door' rizz. Everyone (and by everyone I mean the more wholesome of the bunch because let's be honest most of them are downright nasty) wants to kiss their dimples.

Whitney: Well... yes and no? They have charisma, but it's more of aaaaa uh. Like they make an lasting impression. And maybe if they were nice they'd be somewhat on par with Robin. But they're not so all they got going for them is they're rough and sexy and people are into that. But in terms of romance? Hell no. No one wants to get with them like that.

Pure Sydney: Yes but to only a select few: The ones that have a certain type, which iiiis 'pure awkward baby girl/boy that is considered a role model'. Because to be honest if you're not one of those people you'd probably be a little scared and a bit annoyed of sydney tbh. Especially if you're a bit of a mischievous student bc what if they tell on you or smth??? nah. And plus they have a killer glare that just screams 'gtfo my way'.

Corrupted Sydney: The rizziest of them all. The rizzanator. The rizzly bear. The three rizzketeers. They are so hot and for what. With proper communication with pc (if they're dating), they openly flirt with literally everyone. Innuendos thrown into the air and suggestive pick up lines whispered huskily....lord. But that's about as far as it goes, they love leaving people hot and bothered just to sneak off with you to tickle your neck with kisses.

Kylar: Hear me out. Hear me out. Now you might think they have ZERO rizz and YOU'RE RIGHT. THEY HAVE ZERO. ZILCH. NADA. BUT THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT GIVES THEM RIZZ. THEY'RE PATHETIC AND SOME PEOPLE(me) LOVE THAT. Except the people that take an interest in them are too afraid to approach them lest they transfer some of his encounters with bullies to themself. Either that or it's purely sexual like they just want to fuck them and toss them aside.

Avery: N.....no. They're hot as fuck, don't get me wrong but that's....about where it ends. Unlike Whitney, nobody even wants to fuck them because uhhh bad attitude. Also most of the town seems to be into obedient subs? So yeah. Like their arrogance, their bitchy-ness, their pride and how pretentious they come across..........ew. But yeah, no bitches no rizz and definitely no head. (I'd still peg them tho)

Eden: No. He looks hot but he's too scary for that to give anyone confidence to strut up to him. Also there's almost no one to rizz up when you're living deep inside the woods in a cabin. There's a reason the only time he got a bitch was because they developed stockholm syndrome.

Alex: Yes<3 Similar to Robin in a way but unlike with them when people feel at ease and comfortable, with Alex you feel energized. Like you just wanna fuckinf chase eachother and end up tackling the other and just make out in the open. Like oughhh he is so sexy and cute. Save a horse, ride a farmer.

#🖤journal #degrees of lewdity #dol #robin the orphan #dol robin #whitney the bully #dol whitney #kylar the loner #dol kylar #sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen #dol sydney #avery the businessperson #dol avery #eden the hunter #dol eden #alex the farmhand #dol alex

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losergender · 1 year ago

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masterpost of solangelo + others fic recommendations

absolutely no one asked for these but i need them all storaged in one place.

[ list goes from solangelo multi-chaptered fics to one-shots + other ships at the end ! will be updated from time to time ! ]

last edited : 17 - 01 - 2025

SERIES !

twenty four seven, i hate my love for you - buoyantsaturn (https://archiveofourown.org/series/2626789)

-> au in which will has just won the voice and is working on his first album but cannot for the life of him stand his producer, nico.

dear reader - wrongcaitlyn (https://archiveofourown.org/series/3453715)

-> au in which nico becomes a popstar over the course of the years and tries to navigate that through his relationship with his childhood best friend (and later boyfriend) will <3

MULTICHAPTERED SOLANGELO FICS !

just an animal, looking for a home - ikeasharksss (https://archiveofourown.org/works/44264458)

Mortal 1987 AU. Nico is running away from his home in Washington, DC to find his sister, Bianca, at UCLA. Will is running away from his home in rural Texas to find his long-lost father, Lester Apollo Papadopoulos, in Hollywood. The two of them meet on the road and become runaway buddies, going on a journey together to survive Greyhound buses, amateur punk bands, Pizza Huts, pretentious music tastes, and their own pasts, tooth and nail.

talk your talk and go viral (i just need this love to spiral) - wrongcaitlyn (https://archiveofourown.org/works/46368430)

“Keep telling yourself that,” Will says quietly, because even though the door is closed, speaking any louder would seem wrong. “You’re too harsh on yourself. If you wrote songs or something, you’d easily get on the Billboard Hot 100. Dad would help you. I would, too.” “Promote it to your seven followers?” “Yes!” Nico laughs, and then Will is joining him, and they’re closer than before, but it’s nothing unusual. It’s been this way since before stupid feelings and stupid crushes, and Nico would be damned if he let it change just because of that. or a celebrity au ft. childhood friends to lovers, a bit of trauma, and a famous friend group (plus leo).

of crowns and claws - PawsOnTheKeyboard (https://archiveofourown.org/works/47818261)

Freshly sixteen, Nico takes off on a ceremonial quest, one meant to prove to the kingdom that he would be able to take over the throne when King Hades, his father, was gone. The issue? Nico has little desire to be king and even less motivation to do what's expected of him. Because while 'prove yourself capable of rule' was a vague task, Nico knew what his father and the kingdom expected from him. If Nico didn't return with a dead dragon, his quest would be regarded as a failure. Because his father had killed many dragons on his own quest when he was a boy, had deemed dragons and dragon shifters as the natural enemy of the Kingdom of Olympus, so it just made sense that his son would follow in his footsteps and do the same. Or, it made sense to anyone who wasn't Nico, because he shared none of the hatred his father had for dragons and dragon shifters and expected his quest to result in disappointment from his father and the rest of the kingdom. So when he left on his sixteenth birthday, he had no plan, and almost immediately injured himself. His savior is a stranger that soon becomes a dear friend. And he also might be why Nico decides to openly defy his father.

can't see you, im losing my mind this time? - rabbit_soup (https://archiveofourown.org/works/38765766)

“You’ve got micro-pieces of glass in your skin, and I can’t in my right mind let that stuff just fester in there.” “Glass…? Where—?” He racked his brain, slowly glancing up at Will. He didn’t remember breaking any glass on the quest. “Strangest thing,” Will said, pulling an orange container out of the box. On its side, it read Arm and Hammer, Baking Soda in thick white lettering. “Both Annabeth and Percy swung by a few minutes ago, talking about the exact same thing—glass in their hands! The both of ‘em! Isn’t that interesting?” The glass beaches in Tartarus... Nico thought.

The Rose of Paphos - Tundras_and_Taigas (https://archiveofourown.org/works/30327402)

During a trip up to the Big House’s attic, Will, Valentina, and Mitchell stumble across an old relic of Aphrodite’s: the Rose of Paphos. Created by Hephaestus as a courting gift, the ancient metal rose blooms whenever it's held by someone who harbours romantic love for another. When the rose reveals Will's hidden feelings for an unnamed camper, Nico isn't sure whether to hold out hope or try to move on. OR: Nico and Will need a little nudge. Aphrodite is happy to oblige.

peach tea - ghosttotheparty (https://archiveofourown.org/works/48987730)

He sits up after a moment, but Nico doesn’t let go of his fingers, so he lifts the arm that’s awkward between them and sets it behind Nico, leaning back to rest on it. Nico just looks at the tapestry. Will brushes his thumb over the side of Nico’s hand gently. His skin is soft. Nico’s fingers tighten on Will’s. It kind of feels like neither of them wants to move. Will doesn’t mind. or; Will falls in love with the new kid.

Opportunity Knocks - nikkiRa (https://archiveofourown.org/works/5690698)

Two years after the war with Gaia, Nico tries to run away again, but on the way he is ambushed by Aphrodite, who has decided to take a personal interest in him - lucky him. Nico finds himself stuck in a Groundhog Day situation, reliving the same day over and over until he can figure out what the hell Aphrodite wants from him.

SOLANGELO ONE-SHOTS !

way down hadestown - sunflowersandscreams (https://archiveofourown.org/works/43765872)

Will was so excited for this year’s musical. He’d always loved the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice; the tragedy of two lovers, so enamoured with each other yet their relationship so fraught with tension. Hadestown was so romantic. “Don’t look back,” Lou Ellen murmured. “But Nico – y'know, di Angelo? – he’s, like, staring at you.” “He is?” Will moved to turn his head, and Lou Ellen grabbed his face. “I said don’t look back.” “Well, the entire point of this show is that I am incapable of not looking back.”

Bigger 'n Texas - notalotgoingonatthisinstant (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217360)

The accent. The accent was his problem. Well, it wasn’t his only problem. There were a lot of other things that drew Nico to the son of Apollo, to the point of him actually considering if he returned his feelings. All he knew was that he was going crazy and one of them would have to speak soon. . . . "'I’ll be back real quick with lunch,' Will told him. 'Don’t go anywhere. Unless I’m not back in twenty minutes, then you can hunt down my siblings until you find the culprit,' he winked. Nico told the skeletal butterflies in his stomach to quiet down and managed to keep a smile on his face until the door closed behind Will. Then he smacked himself in the forehead for being so stupid stupid stupid, again. First, get a crush on the live version of his childhood game hero. Then get a crush on the caring healer who was nursing him back to life. What was his problem?"

carving through the dark (to get so far) - doeheart (https://archiveofourown.org/works/51640546)

"Your soulmate wears all the bad things you believe about yourself on their skin. They hold it for you so you don't have to. When you look at the things you don’t like about yourself, you also have to face someone who loves you. It’s like feeling whole again. Apollo’s the god of truth, you know. So there are no lies between soulmates." Will got his first soulmark at night. Coiled around his bicep like a snake, the word 'cursed' hissed in jet-black letters. The marks kept coming after that. An au where all the worst things your soulmate believes about themselves show up on your skin. Will wants to know why his soulmate hates himself.

i'm a mess (but i'm the mess that you wanted) - wrongcaitlyn (https://archiveofourown.org/works/45649279)

He manages to dodge the bullets - he’s only been playing this game for over ten years. He knows the Ghost King’s ploys, his tricks, and his gadgets. Will was there when he first thought of most of them, after all. But back then, they were ideas for a better future - a future where they were together. Whether that came with the downfall of Olympus or just survival, Will knows this - it never involved murder. That’s how he knows Nico has changed. or solangelo as a timebomb-canon-divergent-au with a happy ending

Those walls I built didn't even put up a fight - sazandorable (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482184)

"Is it morally okay to stab a medic with their own scissors?" Nico asked Cecil. (Not that he usually cared about morally okay, as Octavian might demonstrate.) Nico's three days in the infirmary go by faster than he'd thought, and Will just won't stop flirting.

i could be your hero - sundaysabotage (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528247)

“I just don’t get it,” he huffs to Will as they put up holiday decorations in the unusually quiet infirmary, “they talk to me like I’m supposed to know stuff. Like I’m the new Percy or something.” Nico expects Will to laugh at this, shrug off his concerns as unfounded and tell him he’s being over-dramatic like usual. He is wrong. “Okay, babe, don’t take this the wrong way. But, you kind of are the new Percy.”

OTHERS !

Like a New Yorker - notalotgoingonatthisinstant (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25231837)

Annabeth knew Percy was from New York City. Born and raised. She was very aware of that fact whenever she couldn’t understand what he’d said because he’d spoken so fast that there were barely any words. She had gotten used to it, having lived in New York for a while. What she hadn’t exactly gotten used to yet was… well. How many times he could let f*** slip in front of the little kids at Camp. // OR Percy curses like a true New Yorker and son of Poseidon, Annabeth's trying to keep things flowing, and Piper makes fun of him so he makes fun of her. Because, really, sometimes she sounds like a Kardashian and he sounds like he's not even speaking English.

King-sized Candy Bars - liktetolaugh (https://archiveofourown.org/works/44380360)

It takes a week or two for Percy and Grover to actually become friends, even after they're roomed together. Because Percy, twelve years old, pragmatic, and hostile, is about as easy to make friends with as Thalia was. Hopefully, Grover will pull it off in the end.

Stars on the Water - liketolaugh (https://archiveofourown.org/works/38319247) i love this one so much

"I dunno, I just think it would make a lot of things easier for a lot of people," Percy said to Thalia, when she just stared at him. His cheek rested in his hand, a rare pensive look leaving his eyes distant and unfocused. "Mom has Paul now, so it’ll be easier on her if she doesn’t have to worry about me mucking things up. Dad won’t have to keep threatening war every time Zeus gets his toga twisted. The prophecy’s done, so I won’t be bringing it down on Nico. And no one will have to worry about me blowing up another volcano."

Fathoms Below - inkncoffee (https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403855/chapters/10001051)

King Poseidon has forbidden any of his merpeople from visiting the surface and the dangerous landwalkers that dwell on it. Naturally, that made Prince Percy want to talk to the pretty blonde landwalker even more. After rescuing the princess from drowning, Percy trades his fin for legs to better understand this strange new world and the beautiful gray eyed girl he saved. Only, he has no idea what he's doing and the princess doesn't seem to either. Know what he's doing that is. "Oh, Seaweed Brain." He was pretty sure that was an insult.

forever going with the flow (but you're friction) - wrongcaitlyn (https://archiveofourown.org/works/58466251/chapters/148934692)

“Who’s the opener?” Magnus asks Blitz, signing at the same time for Hearth. He usually looks these things up beforehand, but then again, the concert had been a last-second sort of thing. Annabeth had offered some spots in the VIP section of one of her friend’s shows while he and his friends were in town, and because Magnus has gotten quite used to Annabeth throwing around random excursions, he immediately said yes. Blitz shrugs, but a moment later, the name appears across the screen, and he helpfully reads out: “Alex Fierro.” Magnus would scoff and say, “Thanks,” sarcastically if his attention wasn’t caught once again by the figure on the stage. Alex Fierro, apparently, grabs the mic just as the music starts. It’s hard to see her—or him? Them?— before Alex appears on the screen, her full frame in view. Magnus can’t help but stare. or a celebrity au ft. a world tour, no sexuality crises, and some threats of decapitation.

#nico di angelo #will solace #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #solangelo #fic rec #fanfic recommendations #alternative universes #Ao3 #pjo fanfiction #pjo hoo toa #hoo #toa #pjo nico #nico pjo #will pjo #pjo will

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boguspearl · 6 months ago

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So after finding out just how behind i really am i decided to finally get around to watching the Miraculous awakening movie, and i must admit that when i first watched the trailer a while back i was immediately completely against it, i mean i hated the new animation designs it looked clunky and out of place and then when i realized it was just a retelling of the story i was furious i was certain they would ruin the entire thing.

Boy was i wrong, the animation while at first glance horrible and shoddy stands out and is perfect for miraculous, while in certain points it looks a bit odd but in others the animation is absolutely gorgeous,

making miraculous look even better than it already did, giving it a flair of beauty that it greatly deserves.

The story line while it doesn't hold a flame in comparison to the original show is still incredible in it's own right, the points where they changed story to fit is actually really good like for instance i love that they focused more on Adrien and Gabriel's grief because I think that's something that was always lacking in the series, i mean sure we saw Adrien grieve but it was in small moments where as the movie made it a major focus point, showing how two people who are so close to each other who have lost the same person can grieve in such different ways

One who's lost his anchor and is desperate for someone to connect with, because it feels like he has no one left in his life to lean on.

And the other who closes himself off believing that he is the only one who has suffered this loss, not seeing that he is in fact further hurting those around him in doing so.

But more than that I love the small tweaks we got to the story like the first meeting between Marinette and Adrien

Sure it's no umbrella scene but personally i kinda like this one as well, it's cute and kinda wholesome, and way better than a one episode enemies to friends trope, here we get to see a meeting between two people no outside parties just them two people trying to escape everyone else to be alone only to run into each other in what id quite possibly the cutest way ever, well I think its great anyway.

But they even changed up the ladybug and chat Noir meeting,

from what i remember chat comes off as trying to look cool, but coming off as some kind of player who doesn't take anything seriously and is always hitting on everyone, but here they made him try and look cool but instead some across as pretentious and arrogant and i kinda like this better, i mean im sure it was what they were always going for even back in episode 1 but I don't feel like that came across but here it definitely does and this just makes it better, it gives ladybug a better reason to not like him, and builds an even better foundation for the relationship they end up building as they see through each other's facades to uncover the people underneath

But not only that there's also Hawk-moth choosing to find his Akuma victims in a prison instead of waiting patiently for someone to get upset about the silliest thing

Okay let's face it while this is brilliant for the movie, it wouldn't exactly have lasted long in the series, but still it's brilliant.

But I think one of my favorite changes in the movie from the series has to he Marinette herself, i mean sure we get our lovable klutz of an MC at the beginning but as ladybug grows so does Marinette, sure we see this in the series as well in small ways like her standing up for her friends and to Chloe, but i don't think we got to properly see it, but in the movie we get to see how a little confidence can go a long way,

Like her finally just plain and simply giving Adrien a gift and asking him out, I mean sure we didn't get the over thinking Marrinette from the show but we did however get a shy, anxiety driven Marrinette

Like we get to see her practically imagining people making fun of her, when from our perspective they are mostly friendly, i like this because this is the side to anxiety a lot of shows and movies get wrong it's not just overthinking every decision because you fear the fallout it can even lead to overthinking what people are thinking of you to the point that you imagine them mocking you or you become so scared of making a fool of yourself in front of them that you close yourself off, but the movie shows us an in depth version of how ladybug changed Marrinette's life giving her the confidence to do things her nerves got in the way of before.

but my favorite change will have to be the reveal it was so absolutely stunning, from the lighting to the scenery to her calling out to him and him expecting ladybug, please for the love of ZAG i need to see the real reveal be this incredible

#miraculous world #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #miraculous awakening #miraculous movie #marrinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

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imtrashraccoon · 1 year ago

Text

He's here, he's here, he's here!!! I love this pretentious guy so much! This chapter is certainly a different one though...

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Nightmare - Sunset

Word Count: 2,296

You opened your eyes to find yourself laying in a field underneath a cloudless sky. Sitting up, you looked around and discovered the field seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.

The grass was a blueish colour and rather soft to the touch but it was completely unlike anything you'd seen before. Some of the plants had small white flowers that kind of reminded you of cotton, otherwise it was just straight grass all around. Every now and then a warm gust of breeze would cause the grass to move in a wave like pattern and tease your own hair.

The sky was a shade of brilliant gold and you soon spotted the sun, that was just about to dip below the horizon. It felt comforting and you closed your eyes for a moment to just bask in the last of its warm rays.

A few birds darted across the sky overhead and your eyes followed them until they disappeared over the horizon. They looked like red wing blackbirds and you noticed there seemed to be both males and females flying together. Somewhere off in the distance, you heard an unknown animal make a yipping sound like they were play fighting with a sibling.

You stood up and looked around a bit more. It appeared that the terrain wasn't completely flat and while the grass seemed to only be about a foot tall, you could see places where it appeared to be taller. Most of the white flowers seemed to be taller than the blades of grass as well.

It was very peaceful here...wherever here was...

You couldn't help but feel a bit unnerved at how quiet it was. Were you even on Earth anymore? You didn't know of anywhere that looked like this but you hadn't been everywhere in the world yet.

"Hello human."

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end from the sound of the deep, almost velvety voice. They sounded calm at the moment and yet there was a layer of danger in their tone.

You slowly turned around to face the mysterious voice.

It was another skeleton but he didn't look at all like the others you'd met. While the boys were pretty similar to human skeletons, this guy's bones appeared to be either completely black or covered in a substance similar to what often seeped from Killer's eye sockets. He only appeared to have one cyan eyelight in his left socket while his right one was obscured by that inky substance. You didn't know if he was blind in that socket or not, and you weren't about to ask either. The most striking thing about him though, was the four black tentacles that protruded from his back.

He was dressed differently from your friends as well. Instead of a blue hoodie and shorts, he wore a rather fancy looking dark overcoat, a gold circlet with a black moon adorned his skull, and he had gold rings on his phalanges, which ended in claws.

He seemed to radiate a sort of intimidating aura and just by looking at him, you felt a wave of dread pass through you. His good eye socket was narrowed and he had a bit of a tight smile across his face. Unfortunately, you couldn't tell if he was upset or not right now.

You clenched your fists at your sides and took a deep breath to steady your nerves. At least you weren't at knife point or being pinned down, although you couldn't be sure how long that would last.

"Am I wrong to assume that you're Nightmare?" you asked.

His grin grew wider into more of a smirk. "Indeed. I see my reputation has proceeded me."

Some more blackbirds flew overhead and he glanced up at them in a thoughtful way. He folded his arms behind his back and if you didn't already know he was a god, you definitely knew now from the way he was holding himself. His tentacles slowly undulated in a restless sort of way and you found yourself wondering if he was doing that on purpose or if the tentacles had a mind of their own.

"I'll get straight to the point," he said.

You nodded and fiddled with your fingernails nervously. "I'd appreciate it... At this point, I've nearly been decapitated, pinned against walls, and threatened at knife point. So unless you're going to do something else, I've seen it all."

"So I've heard..."

You didn't like how casual he was being about this situation. The others had all threatened your life on multiple occasions and yet here he was acting all casual like you were an acquaintance. It made you feel like a pit had formed in your gut.

Nightmare took a few slow steps towards you and tilted his skull in a thoughtful way. Interestingly, he appeared to be between Dust and Killer in matters of height, yet he was still a couple inches taller than you were. His tentacles also added a few extra inches to his height but you didn't count them.

"I've known about you from the very beginning, long before you ever knew about any of my other henchmen."

You swallowed thickly but continued to stand your ground. "So then why didn't you do anything?" you asked in a small voice.

"Because, I wanted to see how things would play out. Now that all three of my boys have come to a consensus about you, I had to come meet you in person..."

He chuckled and motioned to the surrounding field before adding, "Well, not exactly in person. This is actually a dream I specifically crafted for you."

"Huh." You looked around at the grass before looking back at the sunset again. "That explains why the sun hasn't moved a bit since I woke up at least."

Turning back to Nightmare, you smiled slightly. "This is a really pretty place though. You do good work."

He seemed rather pleased by your compliment if the way he slightly puffed out his chest a bit more was any indication. He cleared his non-existent throat and his expression returned to a more neutral one moments later.

"I didn't just bring you here to show off," he said in a more serious voice. "There is something important that you need to know..."

"I didn't think so..." You sighed and crossed your arms. "So lay it on me. What's the real issue?"

He took a few steps closer until your bodies were practically touching and he could leer over you in an admittedly intimidating way. He stood there in silence for several long seconds studying you.

"You were never meant to meet any of them. You are what some would call a side character in another's story. You exist to be a cog in the machine that drives your world forward and nothing more."

His single cyan pinprick seemed to stare into the very depths of your soul as he paused to let this revelation sink in. "Despite this, you have proven to be...exceptional, even among humans. I am frankly impressed that you managed to befriend my henchmen, despite everything they put you through."

"I think I've shaved several years off my life just dealing with Killer alone..." you muttered under your breath.

Nightmare chuckled quietly and gave you a knowing look. "There is one problem though," he continued. "Their constant coming and going the way they have been has caused extensive damage to the code that makes up this world. It has gotten to the point where it could collapse in on itself without warning."

"What?"

"Just that, not even I could do anything to fix things." He paused for a moment and studied you while you tried to process it all.

"You've gotta be kidding..." you started to say although you trailed off when he shook his skull.

"I have no reason to lie to you, human. If I didn't tell you now, you wouldn't have any idea until it's too late."

You sighed and glanced around helplessly. "Why are you telling me this?" you finally asked. "What do you get out of telling me something so awful?"

He chuckled softly, the sound of which sent chills down your spine. "I love it when people can tell I want something from them," he hummed. "I'm telling you because I would like to offer you a deal."

You crossed your arms. "There it is...what do you want from me?"

His permanent grin widened. "You have two options, human. Either you can stay in this world with everyone you've ever known until it inevitably collapses or...you can join me and break free from the limits of your own code."

You couldn't help but stare at him. The way he'd phrased it sounded so simple and yet you were immediately suspicious. You hadn't exactly heard any nice things about him, so why was he acting so...nice?

"Wow..." you finally managed to say. "So let me get this straight, you show up and tell me my world is doomed. Then, you conveniently tell me you know how to make everything better. Yeah, no, what's the catch?"

"Let's just say that there's something about you that I find interesting. I know the benefits of making fair deals and I always, always keep my word." He subtly rubbed his phalanges on his coat and glanced down at his claws.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. If he really was telling the truth, you had an idea of what might have grabbed his attention about you. He seemed like a brick wall though and you couldn't tell if he was lying or not. You couldn't even sense any emotions from him either, save for that intense aura.

"I don't trust you..." you murmured.

He tilted his skull and smiled at you. "It's your decision at the end of the day. So, I'll give you some time to think about it, however..." His tone turned icy and his smile widened considerably before he added in a lower voice, "I only have so much patience, human..."

Two of his tentacles began to slowly snake around your back as he spoke. You tried to pull away but his grip was firm and you couldn't budge. You shuddered and had to look away from him, the sight of which only seemed to make him pleased.

"I will continue to visit you in your dreams until you come to a decision. Although, I'm afraid with the state of your world's code, I won't be letting my henchmen keep making these trips to see you for their safety. You understand I'm sure..."

You hated how he was appealing to your sense of reason. You'd probably do the same in his shoes to protect your friends, granted, he was their boss and not their friend. At least he wasn't making you choose right now...

He released you and stepped away, folding his arms behind his back again. "I'm confident you'll make the correct decision," he said with a tone that sounded like he was just about finished here.

Your eyes widened and without really thinking, you reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "Wait! Don't go yet..."

You felt his body stiffen slightly and he glanced at your hand before his gaze flicked to you. He stayed quiet but there was an unamused look in his cyan eyelight. You'd better not say something stupid and risk making him upset right now...

"I can see that you care about your boys, in your own way at least, but how is this fair to them? Do they even know what you've just told me?" you asked.

He narrowed his eye socket but didn't pull away from you. "I elected to meet with you first, but I have every intention to tell them as soon as I take my leave. I am certain they won't like it any more than you do."

You were grasping at straws here but your mind was desperate for answers that may not even exist. He wanted you for your Intent, right? Apparently, you were different from other humans and he thought it was enough to offer a deal that would potentially save your life.

"What happens if I accept your deal?"

Nightmare chuckled and one of his tentacles curled around your wrist, so you couldn't let go of him now even if you wanted to. "Now that's a curious question, hm? It all depends on you though. No doubt you know what I do and what my henchmen do for me. What happens if you accept, depends on what you can bring to the table..."

That was a non-answer if you ever heard one. You opened your mouth to retort when he reached over and actually patted you on your head.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to actually empathize with me like you have the others. Though it is amusing to watch you try," he nearly purred in a tone that sounded a bit condescending. "It sort of comes with the mantle of being a god among mortals I'm afraid."

You narrowed your eyes at him and had to bite your tongue. The last thing you wanted to do right now was offend him. At least you were capable of restraining yourself compared to certain people.

He let go of you and flashed a smile that was anything but reassuring. "I will see you soon, human..."

The next thing you knew, you were in your own bed and no longer in that field. The gravity of what you'd learned was weighing down your mind but you were too tired to make an actual decision right now. There was something else on your mind though.

You were determined to befriend him.

#badsansuary #raccoons drabbles #undertale #dreamtale #nightmare sans #nightmare #nightmare x reader #reader #female reader #have some empathy dear #oneshot

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agustdiv1ne · 2 years ago

Note

CONGRATS ON 3K ASHLEE 🥳🫶🏼✨ you’re truly amazing and here’s to many more milestones!!

right so, ik this isn’t a movie, but I was wondering if you could do something along the lines of bridgerton + beomgyu + fluff and smut please 🥹 but if it really is just movies, then titanic with the same member and genre please <3 thank you in advance <3

NOW SHOWING...

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: historical fiction, romance, fluff, smսt

wc: 4.2k

details + warnings: mdni, beomgyu and mc's characters are jack and rose adjacent but they actually have a happy ending bc i said so <3, mentions of alcohol, no established dom/sub dynamics but gyu takes the lead a bit, soft + romantic sex, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't do this!!), my big dick gyu agenda makes an appearance, light dirty talk, a little possessiveness, beomgyu calls mc: love, beautiful

note: SMILES!! TYSM <33 you are one of of my longest moots and i appreciate you and your talent so much! i've unfortunately never watched bridgerton (or else i would have used that ;-;), though i do adore titanic so i ultimately went with that ^^

you have found sunsets to be far more magnificent at high sea.

tonight brings one that is, by far, one of your most beloved from the voyage thus far: a sky flushed a deep rose, billowing clouds contrived of fairy floss drifting above your head. the horizon holds clear where the roseate hue melts into the ocean and scatters about the peaks of gentle waves. it's quite a breathtaking sight, almost too good to be true. a painting; that is what it resembles — you wish that you could reach up and brush your hands through it, watch it coat and swirl about your fingertips like smudged pigments on canvas.

leaning against the railing, you inhale a deep breath of fresh, salt-heavy air. it stings as it fills your lungs. despite the beginnings of spring, the weather has remained chilly, growing further frigid whenever the sky fades to black. now, the sun hangs low, sinking closer and closer to the sea that awaits to swallow it whole — you will be forced to return back inside soon.

sighing quietly, your mind wanders to beomgyu, the man who has won over your affections over the past five days. you wish he could be here with you to see this picturesque display. where is he right now? on one of the lower decks, perhaps? should you go find him?

does he miss you as much as you do him?

not even half a day has passed since you last saw each other, but these thoughts swirl within your brain nonetheless. busy mixing with pretentious elites and the potential suitors your mother demanded that you meet throughout the day, you hadn't found time to sneak away and meet with him despite your aching desire to. you just barely avoided your mother's watchful gaze to escape out here and finally be able to breathe.

as naïve as it may sound, you feel as though you've known the charming man your entire life. strangers with a divine connection — you ponder if you must have known beomgyu in a past life, fell for him just as you do now. your typically rational mind supplies you with grandiose ideas of running away, of fleeing this suffocating, predetermined path that you were born into. he is a breath of fresh air after all of the men that you have met who only wish to marry and mold you into a submissive, obedient housewife that they can then neglect. unlike those men — no, you think, those insolent boys, he is not hungry to further his wealth, to fasten his name to yours for the sake of status. he doesn't expect you to change yourself. rather, he takes you as you are, with all your sharp edges and imperfections, and worships you down to the marrow of your bones.

the longing to wander the entire ship until you find him strikes you square in the chest like a sack of flour, knocking the breath from your lungs. your heart aches. you want to see him. you must see him.

“i should’ve known i’d find you out here.”

it's quite strange, how the hand of fate plays its cards. you whip your head around, and there he is, with his sun-kissed skin and wind-tousled hair, as if he had somehow heard your thoughts and rushed to meet you. the upward quirk of his lips conveys both fondness and mischief while he moves closer to you, gentle hands wrapping around your waist. you mirror his expression, relief flooding your system at his well-timed arrival. sliding your hands over his shoulders, you link your fingers together around the nape of his neck.

“gyu,” you whisper while you surge forward to embrace him, pressing your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder. he nearly stumbles, but quickly regains his balance, returning the hug. “i missed you.”

“we saw each other this morning,” he chuckles, but the way his arms tighten around you betray his true emotions.

you deliver a light pinch to his neck in jest, mumbling against his neck, “you’re impossible.”

this simply makes him laugh harder, his chest shuddering against your own. he curls a hand under your chin to remove your face from his neck, and his chestnut-colored eyes find yours. “and you love it.”

“unfortunately, yes,” you admit with a sigh. he smiles wider at that.

a peaceful silence fills the air between you. only the sounds of the ship cutting through the sea fills your ears. turning in his hold until his back presses against your chest, you look back out to the horizon. the pink sky has faded into a muted indigo, the sun barely a semicircle along the horizon. the air has grown colder now, but the warmth that beomgyu exudes wards off the chill that runs deep beneath your skin. your place one hand atop the ones looped around your stomach, the other reaching up to play with the ends of his soft hair.

“where’d you disappear off to today?” beomgyu breaks the quiet first. he feels the way you stiffen within his hold, how your fingers stop toying with his hair, the deep breath you exhale. you can that he immediately regrets asking.

“my mother,” you begin to explain, a bitter, sour note in your voice. “she dragged me from party to party today. they weren’t even parties, really, just excuses to flaunt wealth and peacock about. it was absolutely ridiculous.”

you hear the small giggle he allows at your choice of words, and your lips turn up again. teasing, you say, “i’m glad my misery amuses you.”

“no, never,” he hastily says, oddly serious. your fingers rubbing soothing circles against his scalp is a silent confirmation that you know. a few beats of silence pass once more, your eyes trained on how the sun continues its descent below the horizon.

the ocean's maw has fully consumed the sun when he pulls you back against him, his warm breath caressing the shell of your war and causing you to shiver. the quintessentially impish lilt of his voice returns, a smirk rich on his lips.

“wanna go to a real party?”

and to a real party he takes you. a gathering on a lower deck, the tunes played by the instrument-wielding passengers brash and loud. others sing, some dance, many drink. it's as if you are walking into a brand new world, seeing colors you have never seen before. it is so disorienting yet exhilarating at the same time.

your hand enveloped in his, beomgyu guides you into the sea of noise and moving bodies with confidence towards two men who cheer his name at the sight of him. they each hold a glass of amber ale, eyes glazed over as they spot you behind their friend.

“you finally made it! thought you weren’t comin’,” the slightly taller of the two calls, his words slurred. his fox like eyes meet yours again, and he grins. “you must be the girl he’s been ravin’ about! y/n, right?”

you offer a shy nod and a polite smile, nerves apparent in the way your eyes dart across the room. next to you, beomgyu grows a bit red in the face, but holds you closer to him. how easily he picks up on your emotional state is beyond you, but appreciated.

beomgyu moves to introduce the two men, and you learn the taller one is named yeonjun. the shorter man, his eyes as round as a doe's, is named taehyun. he is far more reserved compared to the other two, but welcoming nonetheless. you converse with them for a considerable amount of time, growing more comfortable the longer you stand with them. none of them seem to care that you come from a wildly opposite walk of life as them; they treat you as a friend all the same.

the conversation soon turns to their history and how exactly they came to know beomgyu. they happened to meet while in paris, yeonjun explains, bonding over their shared heritage and quickly developing a close friendship.

“it’s a miracle we even got on this ship!” yeonjun laughs before he takes another swig of his drink. “gyu won a game of cards back at the port just before she set sail. lucky guy, ain’t he?”

“yeah,” beomgyu responds before you are able to utter a word, looking down at you with fondness coloring his gaze. “i really am.”

the two men soon depart on a search for more alcohol, leaving you and beomgyu alone. he does not take long in snatching your hand to drag you towards the makeshift dance floor.

“beomgyu, wait, i can’t—”

“c’mon!” he exclaims. “dance with me!”

he pulls you close to him as soon as you reach the space. chest to chest, hand in hand. your eyes widen, frantic.

with haste, your voice strained in order to be heard over the music, you say, “beomgyu i don’t, i don’t know this dance, i can’t do this!”

“sure you can!” he jovially yells. “just follow my lead!”

the music surges around your bodies as you begin to skip about the room. with beomgyu guiding you along to the fast-paced tempo, your apprehension melts away. you do not have to be in control, you can simply feel and allow yourself to flow along with him. you squeal as your unsuitably formal dress flutters around your legs and your heeled shoes click against the floor rhythmically. both of you laugh unabashedly, growing drunk on the excitement of it all. your heart beats erratically against your ribcage, your cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide you beam.

you feel more alive in this moment than you have in your entire life.

he spins you around and around until you grow dizzy. then, you are off once again, eventually joining a line of people holding hands and snaking about the room. you skip along with one hand held by a woman who speaks to you in rapid french and the other still taken by beomgyu, who attempts to translate her words, albeit poorly.

out of breath, you squeeze his hand, and he takes your hint; you break away from the line. others easily fill the void that you leave.

you stumble, giggling, and beomgyu catches you. harebrained and giddy and every cell of your body positively surging with joy, you are unable to even think your actions through before you are cupping his face in your hands and crashing your lips against his.

whoops and hollers sound around you, but the sole thing that permeates your senses is beomgyu's soft lips melding with your own. the grip of his hands upon your waist fortifies, but only enough to hold you to ensure your unchanging propinquity. hurried, ravenous, you devour each other in the middle of the crowd until you grow desperate for oxygen. pulling away, you draw a breath deep into your lungs, mouth agape just as the full force of what you did crashes into you, a strike of lightning straight to your chest.

and rather than fret, your lips split and their corners rise, and you laugh. you laugh and laugh and laugh until you collapse against beomgyu's chest. he gathers you up to his chest before you crash to the floor, holding you by your cheeks while he comprehends your wild eyes and glowing mien.

“are you alright?” he queries.

i think i may be in love with you, is what you wish could say, but you bite the words back before they escape.

instead, you ask, “come with me, please?”

he nods and allows you to pull him towards the stairs that you first entered from. mistakenly, you briefly meet eyes with yeonjun, who stands across the room with a suggestive smirk, eyebrows wiggling in your direction. though your cheeks grow warm, you continue to push forward, weaving your fingers through those of the man following close behind.

the trek to your private chambers takes far longer than expected. both of you are guilty of pulling each other into dark corners and giggling into each other's mouths at nearly every turn. the situation becomes dire once you reach the upper decks, dodging acquaintances of your mother through roundabout hallways. after what seems like hours, you reach the door of your room, swiftly unlocking it and pulling beomgyu inside.

without delay, he presses you up against the door, forearms caging you in, and crashes his lips to yours once more. gone is the nonsensical laughter and teasing touches — now all that remains is a carnal hunger, a bone-deep desperation to feel and to devour one another whole. his sly tongue sneaks into your mouth, dancing with your own before it retracts and his teeth graze your lower lip. you exhale a breathy whine, hands pawing at the rough linen of his shirt.

he pulls away to momentarily catch his breath before he blazes forward to kiss you once more. your finger pressed to his lips, however, halts his movements. questions dance in his pupils.

“take me to bed,” you whisper.

biting your lip, you watch as the gears within his brain churn as he processes your words, how his eyes grow impossibly darker once he does. the short journey to your bed is a blur in your mind. hands tug at clothes and undergarments until you lay bare beneath his own naked torso, his trousers low on his waist, though unable to hide the aching erection that strains the fabric.

he reaches up to tweak your nipple, causing you to inhale sharply. he finds great delight in how sensitive you are, his lips ravaging your neck until he locates the weak spot just beneath your ear. he bites down lightly. a shock of bliss jolts down your spine, and you squeal his name — god, how he would give away what little money he has to his name to hear that sound every day.

the combination of his lips gliding down your neck and his thumb circling your nipple renders you speechless, merely able to moan and grip the soft sheets below you as he brings you pleasure that you have never felt before. though his calloused hands against your skin feel much rougher than those of the men that your mother forces you to mingle with, he treats you gentler than any of your desperate suitors ever could. almost as if your body is made of glass, he does not press hard enough to inflict pain, nor does he force you to your knees to take him. no man you have lied with before has treated you in such a manner, putting your needs before his own. your heart pounds at the realization. you pray that he cannot hear it.

deprived of warning, his lips and fingers disappear from your skin. you whine at the sudden confiscation of pleasure.

“why did you stop?” you pant, breathless, trying to reach up to touch him. he captures your hands and links his fingers between your own. he presses your arms back against the sheet before he lets go.

he stares down at you for a moment, eyes trailing from your heaving chest to the swollen pout upon your lips. with a ghost of a smirk, he leans down to press a chaste peck to the corner of your mouth, his forehead now pressed against yours. eyes hooded, he breathes, “patience, beautiful. i’m gonna make you feel good, i promise.”

“hurry, then,” you plead. you feel as if you are going insane without his touch. addictive, akin to opium; you want more, you crave it.

“ah, so demanding,” he jokes, though he gives in. he allows you no time to respond as he kisses you again, leaning over you with forearm pressed into the mattress next to your head. a hand slides down your side — drawing goosebumps to your skin — to your thigh, spreading you wider for him. you inhale sharply through your nose when you feel fingers press against your soaking center, one slim, rough-skinned finger sliding slowly past your entrance. the groan he emits rumbles against your own chest. he raises his head no more than a millimeter, shuddering at the wet heat that coats his skin as he begins to thrust the digit in and out.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he curses, unable to help himself. clinging to him, you bite your lip at his ministrations, nearly drawing blood when he slips a second finger in, stretching your walls. his thumb finds the aching bud just above to ease the sting.

“g-gyu,” you whimper, the sound singing in his ears like wind chimes, urging him to move faster, curl his fingers against the spongy patch inside you, watching how your face contorts beneath him. he fixates on the spot. your hips involuntarily buck up into his thrusts in response, the cord within your stomach tightening. your gaze meets his, desperate, pleading. “gyu, i need, ‘m going to—”

“let go, beautiful,” he groans, grinding his cock into the crease of your thigh for relief. “you can do it, c’mon. let go for me.”

his deep-voiced encouragement sends you over the edge, warmth flooding your veins as your thighs quake around him, nails digging into his tanned skin. your eyes screw shut.

“that’s it,” he coos as you float back down to earth. he rubs soothing circles against the skin of your cheek. “my lovely girl.”

“want you, gyu,” you beg, stomach warm from the praise. “want you inside.”

he freezes, eyes wide. “are...are you sure?”

“i’ve never been more sure in my life,” you say. thus, his grin returns. he moves to unbutton his trousers, and you help him, grazing the hard imprint in his underwear. he hisses at the sensation, then stands from the bed to remove his remaining clothing. your mouth dries at the sight, and you gulp. he is quite well-endowed, his cock standing tall against his soft abdomen, the tip an angry crimson, the color fading as your eyes travel down the shaft. you squirm at the thought of it being inside you, stretching your walls beyond belief, pressing into every spot within you with every roll of his hips.

he settles between your thighs once again, guiding his cock against your wet folds. your poorly-veiled apprehension is not lost on him.

“i’ll go slow,” he promises, guiding the head of his cock to your awaiting entrance. “don’t wanna hurt you...you ready?”

with a deep breath, you hum in confirmation. he murmurs out a quiet “okay,” directed more towards himself than you, and shifts his hips forward. the first press brings with it a small ache. you wince, and he slows, inquiring if you are okay.

you nod. “go slow, please.”

“of course, love,” he whispers, distracting your mind from the pain with his lips. inch by inch, he sinks deeper into your walls, soon bottoming out deep inside of you with a strained moan. he stills to allow you to adjust. as soon as you do, you’re urging him to move. he obeys, thrusts slow-paced and tender until you beg for him to quicken them.

“yeah?” he coos. “y’want more? you, fuck — you have all of me already, s-so greedy.”

the roll of his hips sharpens, canting upward — faster, harder, deeper. all you can think to do is moan, the thoughts ricocheting in your mind now too jumbled for you to decipher and voice. a fire has ignited in your stomach, growing hotter and brighter when swings your legs over his shoulders. the angle of his thrusts causes the head of his cock to brush against a spot deep inside you, a place that has never been explored prior. a sound that is foreign to your ears tears itself from your chest, loud and unabashed.

above you, beomgyu groans. his head is thrown back, mouth agape, his hair a tousled mess atop his head. a few strands stick to his sweat-drenched forehead. a flush has traveled down and stained his chest, his abdomen flexing in exertion as he loses himself completely. his head drops down again, his eyes meeting yours, half-lidded and brimming with heady lust. you attempt to hide your face in the sheets, growing shy at the intensity of it all, but he reaches down to grip your chin, holding your gaze steady.

“watch me,” he orders. in a daze, you obey, glassy eyes barely able to comprehend the bombardment to your senses. his free hand locates your slick clit, rubbing quick circles, breath shaky as your walls flutter and tighten around him. “so good. so good for me, beautiful. no one can make you feel as good as i do, hm?”

“o-only you!” you manage to agree through your cries. he slips his thumb past your lips, and you immediately begin to suck on the digit.

“so pretty, such a good girl,” he mumbles out, half delirious. “will never get enough of you.”

your high slams into you in a flash, your entire body quivering around him. beomgyu rapidly pulls out, ropes of his release spilling across your abdomen as he jerks himself, gasping at how your empty hole flutters around nothing. your legs drop from his shoulders, as weak as a newborn fawn's. he collapses next to you, mopping up his release with the handkerchief sitting upon your nightstand, before he pulls you to his chest, holding you like you are about to disappear into the air. he cups your cheek gently, kissing you slowly, savoring every second. when you pull away, there lies an urgency in his expression.

“run away with me,” he whispers, searching your face for something, anything. “once this ship docks in new york, run away with me.”

your chest tightens. he feels the same — oh, he feels the same. you battle back the tears beginning to form on your waterline and hold him close, reaching up to envelop the hands on your cheeks with your own and kissing him breathless.

your forehead presses to his as you respond, a watery smile painting your lips, “where would we go?”

“anywhere you’d like,” he breathes. tears form in his own eyes — hope, unbridled joy. “just say the word.”

your blooming love is not star-crossed, but auspicious, you realize while standing on the deck of the carpathia.

you had been separated from beomgyu in the sinking of the titanic that night, in the frantic crowds shoving towards the life boats and the gunshots ringing out to maintain a semblance of order. your mother had found and pushed you onto one, lowered into the sea before you were able to leap out, to search for him. you sobbed into your palms the entire night, unknowing whether he survived the sinking or not.

but now, he is across the deck before you, alive. his clothes and hair are drenched in seawater, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders — but he's alive, so very alive. he has not spotted you, his eyes pointed out to the sea where the so-called "unsinkable" ship met its watery grave. your hands begin to shake. warm, breathing, alive.

you croak out his name, tearing away from your mother in order to sprint over to him, ignoring the weakness of your limbs and the frantic protests from your mother behind you. your calls of his name amplify in volume. he spins around, and his face melts into disbelief. he races across the remaining distance between you, feet thumping against the wooden deck. arms wrap around you as the two of you meet — two souls colliding, winding and weaving around each other like threads on a loom. tears are not lost upon either of you, streaming down both of your faces as you hold each other, skin against skin as you ensure this is not a dream, or mirage.

“i love you,” you sob. “i can’t, i didn’t know if—”

he shushes you, tucking your face into his chest. “i know, love. i know. i love you, too. we’re here now, we’re together. alive.”

you choke back a whimper, crying until you can no longer. as you shift back to look at him, you find that he's smiling. a thought hits you suddenly.

“where is yeonjun? taehyun?” you ask. he squeezes you once, pointing somewhere across the deck. following his finger, you find them: beaten down, weary, but breathing. you have never been a particularly religious person, but you think that something must be watching from above, providing you such unfair luck. they wave. you wave right back.

“we floated on top of furniture until a rescue boat found us,” he explains. “we were lucky. i was half dead when we were found.”

the thought punctures your chest, but he doesn’t let your thoughts run astray for long. “it’s okay, love. you couldn’t have done anything.”

“i know, but—”

“but nothing.” a gentle smile plays on his lips. “we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“yes,” you say, your expression reflecting his. “shall we still plan to flee?”

he grins something tired yet enthusiastic. “of course, beautiful. there's no one else i'd like to see the world with more than you.”

3k event masterlist | masterlist

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt fluff #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu drabbles #txt drabbles #beomgyu scenarios #txt fanfic #3k milestone celebration #agust.nsfw #💌 — gyu

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alltheyoungmoons · 9 months ago

Text

Record Shopping

@wolfstarmicrofic | 997 words | Rated T | ATYD Timeline Compliant | CW mention of war (nothing major)

Unintentionally wrote this on a whim yesterday and realised it fit the last two July prompts "Missing Scene" and "Fluff". Wrote this to slot into the 1979/1980s chapters of ATYD and I reference a couple of things from this other incredible short fic by @snailwriter. Song referenced is this.

March 1980 started and ended with a full moon. Remus tried to see the irony of being welcomed into his twenties by a Blue Moon. If that wasn’t an omen of things to come… but then again, he had opted out of taking Divination.

It had been a gruelling start to the year, but with the news of “Baby Prongs” on the way and the fact that Remus had been relegated to minor duties, he and Sirius had spent more time together without fighting than ever since the beginning of the war.

Remus’ birthday fell on a Monday, so Sirius insisted on going out to celebrate that Sunday, just the two of them. They ended up record shopping in Kensington, pressed shoulder to shoulder while sifting through crates of records in companionable silence. Sirius was often quiet these days.

He was busy inspecting a copy of Pink Floyd’s The Wall when Sirius called out for him from the new releases section, waving a dark-covered record as to beckon him and grinning like a madman. He snaked his way across the displays, his eyes never leaving him, relishing in how alive he looked, a glint of the incandescent kid he’d once been illuminating his silvery irises.

“What do we have here” Remus mused when Sirius held the vinyl in front of his chest to show off the cover. It was a picture of the band - three men glancing directly at the camera with various expressions and a woman with a mane of ginger curls on her profile. Remus thought that they all sorta looked like they belonged in Slytherin, but didn’t mention it, as not to upset Sirius and as to pretend, even if just for a couple of hours, that they weren’t themselves, that they didn’t know anything about wars and dead relatives and they were just two normal, dumb twenty-somethings in love. Of course this all but lasted five seconds before Sirius, still grinning with his gaze fixed on Remus, flipped the record on the back and pointed to the fourth track with his slender index finger.

Remus had to read the short sentence three times.

“Are you fucking for real?”

“Moony, it’s perfect!”

Remus was stunned. He knew Muggles had some knowledge of magical creatures, from their shared heritage that they shrug off as “folk tales”, but he hadn’t lived between Muggles for so long that it was shocking to see such evidence in the wild, so to speak.

“You better like it because this is your birthday gift.”

“I already chose my three records, actually”

“Well lucky you I’m feeling generous, so I’m getting you a fourth. Even if they do kinda look like pretentious prats, don’t you think?”

“You’re one to talk” Remus scoffed

“Moony, don’t start calling me names now, or we won't be able to make it back to bed in time.”

Remus went to pick up the copy of The Wall he’d left behind, plus the latest single by Blondie and London Calling, which had come out a few months before. Sirius slipped him some cash and he paid, as the other boy was -still- not very acquainted with muggle currency.

They got home and had takeout from Huang’s, who was kind enough to gift them a couple of beers when he found out it was about to be Remus’ birthday. They sat in the living room, evening into night, listening to music, and as midnight quickly approached, Sirius put on the record he insisted on buying, with that stupid song. It wasn't bad, though a bit to rockabilly for Remus' taste. As the grandfather clock in Flat 7 chimed twelve times, the stereo started thumping a steady rhythm accompanied by strumming chords that sliced through the silence, immediately captivating. After a few riffs, a low voice started drawling out

I was a teenage werewolf Braces on my fangs I was a teenage werewolf And no one even said thanks And no one made me stop!

The two boys froze, exchanging a glance. It was Remus who broke first, melting into a fit of hysterics.

“It’s so stupid!”

“I know! It’s brilliant!” Sirius was wiping his eyes. How long had it been since they were happy tears?

I had a teen-land mind I had to blow my top And under teen full moon No one could make me stop! No one could make me stop!

Sirius slipped from the sofa to snuggle up to Remus, who had lain on the floor catching his breath. He kissed the tip of his nose, gently.

“Happy Birthday, Moons.”

A teenage werewolf Parallel bars A teenage girlfriend Got a lot of scars Somebody please make me stop Ohhh please…

“Would you have fancied me if I had braces on my fangs?” Remus mused jokingly.

Sirius answered with a gravity like his honour depended on it “What kind of- yes? I would’ve probably been gone even more. I like the nerd thing, if you haven’t noticed.”

You know, I have puberty rights And I have puberty wrongs No one understood me All my teeth were so long And no one made me stop!

“You can officially say you were a teenage werewolf, now”

“Yeah, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt”

Sirius slapped his arm.

“Oi!”

“What I mean is - we’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Haven’t you had a few months to adjust to the idea already?”

“Calling me old?”

“Never in a derogatory way, my love - I haven’t felt younger than sixty since I was thirteen.”

Sirius went quiet, clouding over. How much of their teenagehood had been lost to the war already? His brother would never live to see his twenties. Their futures, this new decade, were unfolding in front of them, ripe with potential and terrifying like the concrete mystery of a black hole. For now, though, Remus was content with lying on the carpet, his lover in his arms, listening to some weird Muggle band making light of his life’s curse.

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arminsumi · 2 years ago

Text

˗ˏˋ꒰ 📖 ꒱ BOOKSTORE BOY

Armin x fem!reader

Chapter index / Chapter Ⅳ

Overview; it's been some time since you visited the bookstore and Armin has been missing you a lot. But you appear just when the lonely blue-eyed boy is closing up shop for the day. His grandfather has invites you back to their house in the countryside for dinner.

Content; fluff, angst, kissing

TAGLIST; @sad-darksoul

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Armin melancholically lowered his chin onto the cash register and let out a deflating sigh. His grandfather gave him a sympathetic look.

"She hasn't been around in a while." Armin muttered.

He looked blankly at the display books in the window; they were all crammed together. There was an unmoved cart full of books standing nearby, which he hadn't had the energy or motivation to shelve away.

"She'll come around again." His grandfather assured.

"But it's been weeks..." Armin replied glumly.

There was a silence.

Armin sighed again and rubbed the side of his face with his hand. "It feels so quiet." He commented. It was clear in his voice how much he missed you.

"Chin up." His grandfather said.

Armin halfheartedly pulled himself together.

The working day had come to an end again and you hadn't been there. Armin assured his grandfather that he could close up shop himself, so he let him be and went to get groceries for dinner. Umi the cat comfortably napped in the basket that he carried.

While glumly locking the front door and rolling down the shutter, he heard someone shouting for him.

"Wait! Armin!" You called out, running towards the store.

Armin's heart leaped at the sight of you.

"H-hey!" He stuttered out in surprise.

When you reached him, you panted to catch your breath, "I-I guess I'm a little late... I forgot you closed at five."

After hearing your voice and seeing your smiling face again, it felt like not much time had passed at all since your last meeting.

"Oh... well, since you're here." Armin mumbled softly. He rolled up the shutter again and unlocked the door to the bookstore. "But we best keep the lights off, or everyone will think we're still open."

"Okay!" You beamed happily at him.

So the two of you found yourselves alone together in the bookstore, browsing the aisles in the waning sunset light. Though, admittedly, neither of you were really paying attention to the books; you were too busy catching up on each other's lives.

You explained that your schedule had gotten wildly busy. Armin felt a bit silly, because he'd been overthinking, and came to the conclusion that maybe he said something to drive you away.

It's so nice to hear his voice again, you thought. And he was thinking the same thing.

"Ah, I missed you." You laughed after he made an awful pun about something.

He stuttered, unsure how to respond, "I did as well." He managed to say, but barely.

In the back of Armin's mind, he was trying so hard to challenge his nervousness. He had so much to say. Sometimes he'd lay awake in bed, imagining the conversations that he wanted to have with you.

"I'm not good at speaking..." He admitted. It seemed random to you, but it was currently burdening his mind. "But there's a lot that I want to talk about with you."

You looked at him understandingly. "Hm... maybe we should write to each other! I've been sending letters to my friends lately, but they think it's pretentious." You laughed.

It lowered your spirits remembering that. You were so excited to send old-fashioned letters to your friends as a surprise, but only one of them was vaguely amused by the endeavor. The rest were indifferent, or called you pretentious.

"I'd say any friend who calls you that isn't a friend at all." Armin said honestly. "Personally, I think the idea is really sweet. I'd love to receive a letter from y- from a friend."

You felt your eyes light up. He may have thought he was bad with his words, but every time you talked with him you felt your spirits rise.

"Well, actually, now that you mention it..." You began shyly. "I did write a letter for you. I've been meaning to give it to you for weeks, but everything seems to be getting in my way. It's so annoying!" You complained.

Armin smiled and intently listened to you complain about your schedule and how everything seems to go wrong even when you're careful. You dug around in your bag and pulled out the letter.

"Wow, a wax seal and all? That's really pretty... where did you come by one of those?" Armin analyzed the letter's seal, admiring the pattern.

You shrugged, "I found it in my grandmother's attic. She had a whole writing kit, with a special fountain pen, but I don't know how to use one of those... so I just wrote with a ballpoint pen."

Armin laughed, "I like that. A fancy letter written in ballpoint pen." He said.

It was almost completely dark in the bookstore, except for Armin's phone torch, which he propped on the books to provide a small area of light.

"I know how to use a fountain pen..." Armin mentioned after a short silence. "I could teach you."

"Oh really! Then, we could write real old-fashioned letters – pretty ones – to each other..." You responded excitedly.

"I'd love that." He admitted, and then added with a half-laugh, "Actually, you know, sometimes I want to throw my phone into a lake."

"Me as well. I don't like receiving phone calls, or text messages. When I tried to write text messages more eloquently, then I got slapped with one of those 'you're pretentious' comments." You said.

"Was it the same person who called you pretentious for the letters?" He asked.

You nodded, "Yeah. I'm not sure why I still talk to him, I guess it's just because we've known each other for so long."

Armin felt a small pang of jealousy in his chest.

"Well, personally, I'm just bad at texting. And writing, too, for that matter. I don't think I have a single poem that I'm proud of." Armin continued, steering the conversation away from the topic of whoever this mystery man was.

"You write poetry!" You gasped, "And you never told me!"

"I'm not good at it..." He nervously ran his fingertips over the back of his neck.

In the middle of your conversation, the doorbell chimed.

Armin's grandfather appeared at the entrance with one hand carrying a basket filled with market vegetables and the other carrying a familiar Russian Blue cat.

At first, he confusedly asked why the store wasn't closed up.

But when he saw you and Armin standing in an aisle, he raised his head in understanding. "Oh, I see." he said, "Well, Armin, at this rate, it would be kind to invite the young Miss back home for a warm meal. It's getting late and cold."

"Oh! Um, sorry! Yeah... um..." Armin stuttered.

It felt like after the atmosphere between you and him was disturbed, that Armin's ability to speak significantly decreased. Like a river's flow turning turbulent after having been laminar.

"...Would you like to?" Armin asked, turning to face you.

How could you refuse the idea of coming home for a warm meal with a sweet boy and his grandfather?

"I'd love to, as long as you both don't mind having me." You responded kindly. Armin felt the tone of your voice shift since you were no longer comfortably alone with him.

"Of course not. Let's get going then." Armin's grandfather said, and you three headed out the store together.

⁕⁕⁕

The night finally took over the sky. Street lamps lit up, their globe of light appearing fuzzy and soft. You and Armin followed his grandfather like he was the leader.

Even though he said it was alright for you to call him Harry, you anyways called him Sir Arlert out of respect.

It was a long walk to their house. They lived quite far out of town, it almost felt like you were in the countryside, but not quite. Sir Arlert explained to you that this was the 'old people area'; all the veterans who dedicated their hearts in the war were serenely snuggled up in these well-built homes.

"You can't pry these homes from them. They'll never give 'em up." His grandfather chuckled. It amused you how some elderly people speak of other elderly people, as if they are not all the same age.

"To be fair, I wouldn't give up these homes either. They remind me of English cottages." You said.

Armin was being silent, keeping his hands shyly tucked behind his back as the three of you walked on the dirt road.

"But it isn't nice," Sir Arlert spoke, "Because for young people like Armin, who live with geezers like me, there are no people his age in the area; just more old geezers. It gets lonely for young men."

You tilted your head in thought. "I guess that's true."

"I don't mind it." Armin said, blushing.

His grandfather quickly responded, "Ah but you were moping about being lonely and sick of seeing the same faces until Y/n walked into the bookstore one day!" He said.

Armin blushed violently. He felt the heat searing from the top of his cheeks to the bottom of his jaw.

"Really!" You laughed.

You finally arrived at their home. It was old. And just like the books in their bookstore, it was falling apart. But inside, it was as homely and inviting as browned pages.

While Armin hopped around like a nervous bunny to prepare the kitchen for cooking, his grandfather calmly lit the fireplace and set the table at a snail's pace.

You helped Sir Arlert where you could, and went to light up some candles and gas lamps. It felt like you were in another era, it was wonderfully cozy and quiet, not like in the city where you used to live like an ant in a colony.

The fireplace crackled very quietly.

Armin's nimble hands peeled potatoes and carrots. He began chopping them up for the stew, and then you came to stand by the kitchen's archway.

"Need a helping hand?" You asked him.

His voice nearly got caught in his throat. "No, I've got it – OW! Fuck!" He yelped as he cut his finger.

"Are you alright!" You cried, and quickly rushed over to him.

"Yeah, I'm good." He stuttered.

"Aw, your finger is bleeding! Let's go to the bathroom to fix it up." You said, hastily wrapping a cloth around Armin's finger.

⁕⁕⁕

He felt conflicted; his finger hurt, but at the same time, if he hadn't accidentally sliced it, then you and him wouldn't end up alone together in the bathroom upstairs.

The bare lightbulb flickered above. The candle by the window made up for its lackluster illumination.

"Sorry." Armin apologized softly.

"For what?" You tilted your head.

"For being a bit much." He said.

"I don't know what you mean, Armin."

He was trying to string a sentence together, he was on the verge of saying the first word, but then you smiled and interrupted him.

"It's alright, Armin. You don't have to speak a word, I know." You said understandingly, gently cleaning his wound with a cotton swab soaked in alcohol.

He nodded. "I-I'm usually not this bad at speaking..." He said shamefully. "It's just nerves."

"Do I make you nervous?" You asked.

He raised his face at you. His eyes were full of light despite being in a dim room.

"A little bit." He smiled lopsidedly, looking away the second you made eye contact.

"Sorry..." You say quietly.

"Not in a bad way, though." He assured.

You pursed your lips to keep from smiling. Armin did the same.

After nursing his finger, the two of you headed downstairs to continue cooking with his grandfather, and then joined together for a warm, homely meal.

Umi was in her own cat world, except for when you and Armin began washing the dishes; then she decided she wanted to sit in the dish rack.

"It's very cold," Armin's grandfather commented, "And there's a slight drizzle. If you want to stay for the night, Armin's room has plenty space. I'll get the blankets." He said.

Armin's heart panged in his chest. His sleeves were rolled up, and he had soap suds going up to his forearm.

"Oh, I don't want to be a burden... I'm sure I can make it home before the rain gets heavier." You said.

It seemed that the gods were trying very hard to keep you and Armin together tonight, because almost two minutes after you said that, a heavy thunderstorm broke out.

Rain cascaded down the roof's eaves.

Armin's grandfather went into the hallway to take out the blankets that were stowed away into a cupboard.

After washing up, he gave Armin these blankets, and then disappeared into his bedroom with a tired 'goodnight'.

⁕⁕⁕

Armin lead you into his room; it was a small attic room, as neat and composed as his style of clothes. He insisted that he take the floor, but you came up with another idea entirely.

"Why not the both of us make a fort, and sleep in it together?" You suggested.

"A-Alright." Armin laughed. His heart beat rapidly, he could feel it.

So the two of you built a plush fort together. Armin laid the base, and you brought the chairs and draped a mismatch of blankets and sheets over it. There were dazzling fairy lights strung by the window, and glow in the dark stars on the ceiling; towers of books threatened to spill over.

The two of you kept your voices hushed and gentle throughout the night.

"I like your room." You said, laying comfortably in the fort that the two of you made.

"Oh... thanks. I actually kind of hate it." Armin said.

You laughed, "Why? What's the matter with it?"

"Well, it's small and sad." He chuckled, "Just like me." He joked.

"Armin!" You laughed with him. "I don't think it's small and sad. It's full of life, and it's got your feeling plastered all over it."

He rolled onto his side to look at you. Such a simple thing, yet it took such courage. You felt really close to him, it was like the two of you were in a bubble that the world couldn't pierce.

"What do you mean, my 'feeling'? Is that good or bad?" He asked.

"It's good." You assured him.

He smiled a little.

Although he seemed so shy and gentle, there was something in his eyes that told you another story of his personality. He was a book that you had only just begun reading, but you wanted to skip in between the pages to answer all the questions you had about the plot.

"Armin, do you consider yourself a romantic person?" You asked. It seemed random to him, and made him blush.

"Well, sort of..."

"What do you mean, 'sort of'?" You smiled under the dim light.

Armin felt lulled by your voice.

"I've never really felt like I've been in love before meeting you." He blurted out.

"Huh?"

The two of you looked at each other. You began laughing, and he did too.

"Sorry." He mumbled, hiding his face into the pillow. He recoiled so much, you felt his warmth leave your air.

"Don't hide away! I'm not startled, I'm just surprised. I didn't expect you to admit to that now." You said.

"You mean... you already knew that I like you?"

"Oh, definitely. I knew from day one." You laughed.

"Really!" Armin let out a long groan, "That's embarrassing. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable."

You shook your head, "I like you very much, too. I'll be honest, most of the time when I came into the store to browse, I wished that you'd come up to me and say hello." You admitted.

That was a surprising revelation to him; he would have never thought that you were wishing for that.

"I meant to say hello many times, my friend always encouraged me to." He said.

"And why didn't you?" You asked teasingly.

"I was too shy and too nervous." He admitted simply. "I overthink a lot, it stops me from going after what I want."

A silence passed. You looked at him with glittering eyes. Armin really felt like kissing you right then, he was thinking very hard about it.

"Am I something that you want?" You asked.

Armin blushed.

"Yeah." He said.

You were trying to figure out how to tell him that the feeling was mutual, but then you realized that words are not necessary sometimes.

So you went in for a kiss. A swift, gentle kiss. All the meaningful feelings that words couldn't contain were expressed there, on both of your quivering lips.

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