#Most likely not going to happen BUT A GUY CAN DREAM GODDAMMIT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angryinternetduck · 3 years ago

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yellow & blue

[not my pic] Hello and welcome to 2.7k words of pure angst! This doesn’t really have a purpose lol but it’s sad and angsty and features 2020 Brits Harry so why not!!! Have some depressed Harry, angelic reader, and yellow suits. Featuring Harry Styles x famous!reader. Inspired by Woman by Harry Styles, It Isn’t Right by the Platters, and When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars (which should give you an idea of just how angsty this is lmao).

The first time he met you, Harry was wearing a yellow suit. The first thing you said to him was a compliment about it. That suit sparked a conversation, and that conversation sparked an interest, and that interest sparked the best two years of Harry’s life.

If Harry said he hadn’t thought about that suit while preparing for the 2020 Brits, he’d be lying.

The chatter of the table he’s at isn’t boring by any means, but it’s not anywhere near captivating enough to keep Harry’s attention on the conversation and off of you. He heard about your new boyfriend, of course - who hasn’t - but this is your first public appearance together and Harry is having just a little bit of trouble breathing.

It’s been four months. Four months since you broke up, three since the news went public.

As far as the public knew, the separation was mutual. As a brand new artist, you needed to take a second to find yourself as a person. As Harry Styles, the man the myth the legend, Harry needed to focus on his next album and possible future acting career. He also supported you in your decision, and knew that the two of you would, of course, remain the best of friends.

Most of that’s true. You only just released your second album - which is doing spectacularly, of course - and Harry really does need to get this next album done. But it wasn’t mutual. Harry doesn’t think any of his break ups have been truly mutual. You broke up with him. There isn’t really any getting around it. Not that the public has to know.

The problem is that Harry understands why you broke up with him. As heartbreaking as it is, he realizes what he did. He knows that he wasn’t a good boyfriend. He doesn’t really have an excuse, either; he can explain away his faults all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re just too good for him.

Which makes it all the more depressing to watch you positively glow without him.

Part of him wants to go over and beg for your forgiveness. He wants to walk over and get on his knees and say, I love you with all my heart and I’ll never make another mistake again and I’ll love you forever and ever, please, please take me back, I’ll do anything.

Another part of him loves you too much to do that. Maybe you’re meant to be with this new guy. Maybe he’s your one, your only, the one worthy of all your love and attention. Maybe he’ll make you happy in ways Harry never did.

Because really, all Harry wants is for you to be happy. He wants you to glow like this all the time, to forget the feeling of sadness, to never cry a single tear again. He wants the only pain you ever feel to be an ache in your cheeks from all your smiling.

He just wishes he could be the one putting that smile on your face.

One thing he’s noticed is that your happiness seems to coincide directly with his. Whenever you’re happy, he’s happy. Not at the moment, actually, because you seem happy as a clam and Harry feels like his chest is caving in on itself, but whenever Harry thinks “happiness,” he thinks of moments with you. Of moments when you were happy. Moments when you were happy because of him, with him, for him.

He surprised you with a picnic one year for your birthday. He went all out, spreading a blanket down and everything, and the two of you drank wine, ate sandwiches and snacks out of a picnic basket, and talked in Harry’s back yard until after the sun came up.

Whenever Harry thinks “happiness,” that is the moment that pops into his head.

It wasn’t a loud sort of happiness, either. It wasn’t a bouncing on top of the world, adrenaline rushing through his blood, head pounding with excitement and joy and energy sort of happiness. He wasn’t breathless or wide eyed or buzzing with emotion.

No, this was a quiet happiness. It was the very definition of content. It was your head on his shoulder, your hand intertwined with his, your whispers of, “I love you,” the soft kisses exchanged as the sun set and the stars began to twinkle into the sky. It was your giggles at his jokes, your eyes brighter than the moon, softer than the wispy clouds suspended in air.

Harry’s getting a hollow ache in his chest just thinking about it. It hurts, really, because each of those memories, those days, those nights, carved a little hole in him and filled him with love and adoration and the purest happiness anyone’s ever experienced in the history of the world.

Now that you’re gone, that happiness has disappeared and all that’s left is a hollow, empty pit.

Since you’ve been gone, other memories have started creeping out of the shadows. These are different memories, memories of Harry’s failure and your disappointment and nights spent apart and tears sliding down your cheeks.

The problem with these memories is that it’s not a specific memory. It’s not one singular memory that Harry can turn over and over in his head and decide what went wrong. It’s not one thing that Harry can think about and solidify and apologize for.

It’s a whole bunch of things. It’s all the nights spent at the studio instead of with you. It’s all the last minute anniversary gifts and half hearted, distracted dinners, and all the forgetting of events and details. It’s the gradual falling away of random weeknight flowers, it’s the slow decline of hidden poems around the house he set out for you to find.

Well, maybe there is one thing. It might have been that one date night he cancelled. It was at the very end, during the knowing glances after frequent fights, after the slow, painful descent into acceptance but before the official conversation.

Dancing with the Stars had come on TV one night.

“Hey, I’m a star,” you murmured to him, curled up against him on the couch.

“Got that right,” Harry hummed, and you smiled up at him, and that smile made this night one of the good memories. “It should be just us two,” you told him, watching the pairs made up of one professional dancer and one celebrity dance on screen. “No professional.”

You giggled. “Yeah, we’re too good for them anyway.”

You took to dancing around the house after that night. Your dancing always brought a smile to Harry’s face. Funny how all you had to do was twirl, laugh, smile, breathe, and Harry would want to smother you in kisses and gift you his entire heart.

Sometimes you managed to rope him into it. Often you wouldn’t. Often, Harry would wake up to soft music playing in the kitchen, and he would walk in and see you dancing. He’d sip his coffee, and you would spin around and make up fancy footwork, and Harry would grin and blow you kisses and whisper, “I love you.”

He offered to take you dancing one night. He lay next to you in bed and traced his fingertips over your cheeks, lips, nose, and told you all about the night the two of you would have. He talked about live music and warm food and twinkling stars and dancing. You closed your eyes and smiled and hummed one of his songs, and Harry kissed you.

Then he got busy at the studio on the night you decided on. He stayed long. He called you. You didn’t pick up, because you were in the shower, getting ready for you big night. And you didn’t see the voicemail until after you were ready, until after you were sitting on the couch waiting for him, and when you saw the voicemail you jumped up because you didn’t look at the time it was sent, and you thought the voicemail was him calling because he was outside to pick you up.

You weren’t crying when he arrived at home. You just had a quiet sort of disappointment in your eyes, one that was almost more painful than tears, because this look told Harry that some part of you expected this. Harry didn’t look particularly guilty because he hadn’t realized how excited you were. He thought you probably didn’t even get ready. He thought you’d say, “Aw, well,” and move on.

He didn’t think he’d find you on the sofa, dressed in the most beautiful summer dress he’d ever seen, looking like an angel with a broken wing. He never dreamed you’d be so upset, never dreamed he’d be the reason for you being so upset.

That was the night he realized he was nothing but a mortal man in the presence of an angel.

An actual, real live angel.

An actual, real live angel who was losing her glow because of him.

Harry takes a miserable sip of his drink and tries to involve himself in the conversation happening around him. It doesn’t work. The noise level in the room is almost headache inducing, but somehow Harry can still pick out your laugh through the chatter.

He thinks, for a moment, that he’d like a shot of that laughter. He’d like to bathe in your happiness just once more. Maybe that’s all the closure he needs. A gasp of fresh air after what seems like eons of suffocating loneliness.

Then Harry thinks he sounds pathetic even in his own head and he excuses himself from his table. He walks almost blindly through the halls without even a semblance of an idea as to where he’s going. It’s quiet out here, at least, and he can clear his head, and take a breath, and maybe -

"Hey.”

Harry freezes.

For a moment, he thinks he’s imagining things. Then he turns around, and as it happens, he’s not.

There you are, in all your glory, a hesitant smile on your lips. You’re wearing a lavender dress. It fits you perfectly, makes you look like you’re floating off the ground, and Harry wants to cry because it matches his bow perfectly and that wasn’t even planned and goddammit, universe, that’s just salt in a gaping wound.

“Nice suit,” you say, and now your smile looks more sad than hesitant, and Harry feels the tears building in his throat because you remember too, of course you do, and Harry opens his mouth to reply but he can’t get his words out and now he’s on the verge of tears not only because he’s sad but also because he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks,” Harry finally chokes out.

“You’re welcome.”

The corridor suddenly feels long and empty and silent.

“Heard Feather on the radio the other day,” you say.

Feather. One word, a million memories shifting through Harry’s head faster than lightning.

A gifted necklace, filled notebooks, picked out notes, hummed melodies. Murmured lyrics in ears in early mornings. Night after night in the studio, together. Rubbish takeaway food, in the studio, together. Laughter over everything and nothing. Falling over each other in the booth, soft sighs and blissful gasps replacing giggles and shrieks of amusement. Late, late nights, together. Hearing it on the radio for the first time, together, almost driving off the road because of the excitement.

Hearing it on the radio last time, alone, almost driving off the road because of the stab of grief.

Harry’s not sure what to say to that. What do you expect him to? Oh, great, me too, fantastic song, innit? So he pauses for a moment and then replies, “We should make a sequel.” That gets a laugh out of you, and the thought strikes Harry to bottle it up and wear it in a little bottle around his neck.

“That would be something, huh?” you say.

“Call me,” Harry says. “I’ll book a studio.”

You smile. “Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t forget,” Harry tells you.

“I won’t,” you say, and there’s a beat of silence. Your smile fades as you look at him, as he looks at you, and Harry looks away because your smile’s about to disappear completely and Harry doesn’t think he could stand being the cause of your smile disappearing one more time.

You clear your throat. “Alright, well… Expect that call.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you around, H,” you say.

“See ya.”

You turn around and walk away. Float away. Fly away.

Again.

Flight, Harry thinks, watching you go. That’s what the sequel would be called. Feather. Flight.

You wore a white dress the first time the two of you performed it live. It’s such a love song. It’s the sappiest shit ever written by anyone in the entire world. If anyone else had written it, Harry would’ve rolled his eyes and said, Bullshit.

But it wasn’t. The song wasn’t, the love wasn’t, nothing was. It was the complete opposite. As pure and true as love could possibly be. Which makes it all the more painful that Harry couldn’t keep his shit together enough for you.

That’s another one of the Happy Memories: that first time performing together. You in your white dress, Harry in a silver, shimmering suit. The two of you did a whole choreography; you messed up every other move and Harry tripped over his own feet quite a few times, but the effort was there. The combination of the overwhelming yet familiar excitement of being on stage and the otherworldly bliss of simply being in your presence is a feeling Harry will never forget.

The air in the hallway grows heavier and heavier with each passing second.

Harry should get back to his table.

He starts to walk. He peers up at the ceiling as he does, hands locked behind his back, deep in thought. People are cheering out in the main room. Harry listens to the noise and closes his eyes, trying to shut his brain off.

The fans, he remembers, were devastated upon hearing the news of your breakup. It was kept quiet long enough that the questions and concerns weren’t particularly invasive, but it still hurt. It hurt like hell. It was ripping off the bandaid of the first month and poking and prying at the wound until Harry cried onstage and ducked out of an interview and missed a show.

Feather was taken off the setlist.

Once, during a lull in a show, the audience began to sing it. That was kind of strange. Harry looked up at the bright lights and swaying figures and heard his song, your song, being sung back to him by hundreds of strangers. It occurred to him, then, that it was not, in reality, your song. By that point, it meant something to other people as well.

That was very strange.

Harry ended up strumming out the chords for them. He smiled when the audience grew louder.

He heard later that the exact same thing happened to you. It was a few nights later, maybe the next week, and there were some technical issues. In the quiet, the fans began to sing Feather. You joined in just a second later, adding in your bit of the choreography.

Harry tried his hardest not to watch the footage, he really did, but he couldn’t help it.

He cried a lot that night.

When he finally makes it back to the main room, you’re situated under your new boyfriend’s arm, smiling brilliantly. Harry looks away as he sits down and downs the last of his drink. He grins at whoever’s talking at his table and shuts off his brain.

At the end of the night, through an alcohol- and exhaustion-muddled haze, Harry spots you by the door. He sweeps you up and plants a big messy kiss on your cheek, which you return with giggles and a kiss of your own. Harry leaves the 2020 Brits with two lipstick prints on him.

Despite the pictures splattered everywhere the next morning, Harry feels an air of contentment.

It’s done, he thinks, taking a deep breath. It’s done, and that’s good.

Because really, nothing gold can stay.

Not even the gold of a yellow suit.

***

ummm... yeah lol. hope u liked it...? lskdjf anyway there's that.

thx for reading! a reblog and some feedback would be fantastique!!!!

masterlist | ask

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

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In the Strangest Place (We Just Might Find Love) - Pt.1

Type: two-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 3700

Summary: You’re hiding from your boss in a supply closet, minding your own business, when a stranger joins you unexpectedly.

This is not a beginning of a steamy story; given the reason you’re hanging out in the dark, even a make-out session is honestly the last thing you want to fantasize about right now.

But that doesn’t mean that the nice stranger cannot make your day much better.

Warnings: mention of sexual harassment, a bit of angst, attempt at humour, language

You were on the verge of screaming – or crying, you honestly weren't sure anymore. But you knew you were done. You had worked your fingers to a bone just to get here; to become a little bee in the most famous hive in Manhattan. Stark Industries. The Stark/Avengers Tower. The beacon of the New York skyline. The dream coming true.

Yeah, not so much.

You hadn't expected super-important assignments – after all, you were just an assistant to the head of one of too many departments – but God, you had not expected to be handling coffee so often. To be running ridiculous errands. Your degree from MIT should actually mean something here! If nothing else than that you were not just some pretty face and that you fucking didn’t deserve the treatment you were receiving.

And that was the root of trouble, really. You could handle making your way up, it would be tiring but not surprising, it was pretty much what you had assigned for.

But you had not assigned for the sexist comments, disgusting innuendo and for the grabby hands of your sleazy boss. Thomas Gregory was a fucking nightmare of a man and you swore that you were quitting if he called you a ‘Dollface’ or slapped your ass one more time.

And that was how you had got here, into this very moment; hiding in a dark supply closet like a creep with two cups of overpriced coffee in a cup holder and a piece of organic carob-nut muffin.

You weren't about to come out any time soon, because you simply knew your boss still would be a pig and give you yet another reason to hand in your notice and you had fucking wanted this job for so long, worked for it so hard and sacrificed too much that you just couldn't make yourself to quit no matter how much your skin cringed and your stomach rolled over every time Thomas Gregory touched you. It was so frustrating you wanted to scream.

Or cry, you still couldn't solve the dilemma. Maybe both.

You barely registered the hurried footsteps – and then the door was yanked open, you glimpsed a tall blond male figure and suddenly there was dark again. Except there was one more body in the very limited room of the closet, making you press your back onto the shelf.

Something rattled with your movement and the newcomer hissed a barely audible ‘Be quiet’ as two columns of muscles that were probably his arms framed your head leaning onto the very same shelf, so you could both fit in here.

The little order leaving his lips broke the last seal inside you. You were tired, frustrated and were receiving enough humiliation as it was, you did not need some random guy invading your hideout, barking orders.

“Look, mister, if you have any problem with me trying to make a little space for you in this tiny-ass closet, I recommend you to-”

“Shh!” he hushed you and you thought you had never heard someone whisper so urgently; at least it sounded less bossy than before. It did not mollify you though, because this guy actually had enough impudence to-

“Don't you dare to shush me-!”

A hand went to cover your mouth and you let out an exasperated mumble of curses, while his voice continued.

“Please, just— I'm sorry, please, don't make a sound, my friend is trying to set me up and-”

Your eyes went wide and he suddenly fell silent. Before you could question his methods of shutting you up, his exclaim or the pause, and ask him to be so kind to find another closet, another male voice sounded somewhere behind the door.

“Come on, Steeeve. Man, don't be such a prude. Lillian is a great chic, okay?”

The man – the friend, you assumed – seemed annoyed and you couldn't believe that Steve had not been kidding you. He was actually hiding for the very reason he had offered you. You nodded as you heard the stranger behind the door move and the hand covering your mouth hesitantly disappeared.

“It's just a lip piercing, don't be such a tight-ass. It can actually be quite fun, you wouldn't believe what a girl can do with such thing…”

“Gross,” you commented soundlessly and you could feel your companion’s eyes burning a hole into your head in silent agreement.

“Goddammit, Steve!”

The voice and the footsteps slowly disappeared in the distance and you… you were face to face with a stranger named Steve in a limited space of a dark supply closet, his breath tickling your scalp, his cologne very much assaulting your nose; at least it was a pleasant assault.

“I'm sorry for being so rude. And thank you,” his voice caressed your hairline gently and hearing his suddenly polite tone and evaluating this whole situation, you could barely hold back a giggle all of sudden.

“You're welcome, Steve. How long has this been going on?”

“Two days-” That didn't sound too bad, he could probably take a lot more- “-at this level. With Lillian. It was Emily before that and Angelina before that. In smaller scale, it's been happening for about four months,” he recited dutifully as if he was reporting a status to his boss and this time you couldn’t help it – you giggled.

When you could feel the wounded gaze he gave you, you obediently made a sympathetic noise.

“Aww, poor you, your friend supplying you with no doubt great relationship material…”

“That’s what he said! But I don't want a relationship material. I don't want any material, not even his… one-night stand material. What does that mean anyway? These are women he's talking about, not a material-”

You let out a tiny pleased sound at his exasperation, which shut him up. You wondered if it was your turn to speak – it was hard to tell, supply-closet conversations weren't exactly your area of expertise.

“Kudos for that thinking,” you noted after short silence and the darker shadow of his figure tilted his head. “Did you try to tell him that you weren't interested…? Of course you did, why am I asking, that was a stupid question…”

“It's okay. I'm sorry, I got a little… carried away. It just… it's like talking to a brick wall.”

You hummed in sympathy again and the room fell into silence once more.

It was ridiculous how much your mind started working over hundred percent, trying to come up with something appropriate to say. The best you could do was:

“Hey, you want a cup of overpriced organic coffee? I happen to have two.”

The needy noise that let his lips was downright pornographic. Or maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, the strange environment finally getting to you.

“I knew I smelled coffee here! I thought I went completely insane.”

You couldn't help but smile at that. Yeah, you knew the feeling all too well.

“Nope, your senses were not playing tricks on you. Help yourself. It should be around your left hand.” A rustling of a paper bag. “Oh. That's a carob-nut muffin – with carob instead of cocoa. You can have that too, I won't need that.”

“Alright, I gotta ask. Why are you hiding in a supply closet, with a muffin and two cups of expensive coffee nonetheless? And may I hand you one?”

“Such a gentleman. Thanks,” you murmured and accepted the cup. You weren't lying about not needing it – you wouldn't. Because you were about to quit; it was inevitable.

You sipped the warm liquid, its taste as bitter as the reason behind your actions.

“So?”

“I'm hiding from my boss.”

Your voice must have sounded terrible, because his own softened at the confession.

“And why is that?”

“Because if I bring him his coffee and muffin, he'll probably call me his good girl and— and slap my butt and-”

“I beg your pardon?” he growled, like honest to God growled, the strange sound warming your scalp.

And it was the righteous outrage in the sound he let out, the reaction that you needed, someone agreeing with you – a stranger, who wouldn’t feel obliged to do so just it was a duty of being a good friend to you – that made the levee break. Suddenly tears were streaming down your face, anger and humiliation, and your breath was hitching in embarrassing hiccups and the dark space felt so anonymous and safe at the same time that you didn't even care anymore.

“And if he does that I’ll have to– to quit, because I-I'm so fucking fed up with his dis-disgusting hands and si-sickening voice voicing his lizard thoughts a-and I ca-can't quit goddammit, I worked so fucking hard to-to get a job h-here and-”

You didn't realise your hands started trembling until the cup disappeared from them, placed back on the shelf, and a pair of much bigger and warmer hands gently enveloped yours, his body shifting just a little closer as he lost the support that had been keeping some distance between you.

“Hey, hey, shh, it's gonna be okay…” his voice washed over you soothingly, sounding almost at your ear.

Still, there was space between your bodies, a respectable distance – as respectable as possible in the limited space. It was as if he acknowledged it could make you uncomfortable – which probably wasn't exactly hard to figure out, given what you just told him.

“I'm sorry,” you sobbed and cleared your throat afterwards in attempt to compose yourself. “I didn't mean to load that on you, my problems are none of your concern-”

“Like hell they aren't. Sexual harassment on a workplace is everyone's concern, or it should be,” he grunted. His hands tightened their grip, not uncomfortably – reassuring. “This okay?”

You smiled through your tears. This Steve guy was really sweet to you. You almost forgot what it was like to be treated with respect.

“Y-yeah. Thank you for-- for asking. That was really nice.”

He huffed. “It should be a normal human decency. And I did grab you before that, sorry.”

“Something tells me you would let go if I said no more vehemently.”

“Of course I would.”

You gave him a watery smile he couldn't see and tried to calm your breathing completely. His thumb caressing your wrist helped. You wondered which department he was from; if his skills in comforting came with a job description or if he was a natural.

“Have you… have you tried to fill in a report?” he asked hesitantly, making your heart stop.

Oh yeah, you had. It had ended up in a shredder machine, because Thomas had spotted it. He had made you do it yourself, standing over you and watching, claiming the complaint had been baseless and it would pointless to hand it anyway, because he would explain the HR how it truly was. That you had made a move and he, the good father and husband he had been, politely turned you down, which turned you vengeful.

You whispered the story to Steve, your voice trembling, more tears escaping and you could immediately tell he believed you – because his grip grew steely strong, his teeth grinding.

“This is wrong. You should have never been forced to work for a man like him– objectifying you, touching you, threatening you, that's just--- you should talk to Tony,” he blurted out in the end and you frowned.

“Who's Tony?”

You had checked the whole HR department via their website when doing your research. You couldn't recall any Tony.

There was a short pause, broken by Steve's confused voice. “Stark.”

You blinked, wondering if Steve was joking. He didn't sound like he was joking, which was strange, because so far, he had seemed to be a smart and reasonable man.

“There's no way I'm scoring a meeting with Mr. Stark. And it's not like he’s dealing with things like that.”

“...Talk to Pepper then. I doubt she has bigger than zero tolerance for harassment,” he exclaimed confidently as if talking to Pepper Potts (this time you assumed whom he was talking about – did he call all of the big bosses their first name…?) was an option for a regular human being like you. Realizing that all over again though, that was tough.

“While I believe that’s her policy, it's not like I can just walk into her office.”

Steve seemed to consider that, while his thumb was still drawing patterns on your skin, almost subconsciously.

“I think you could. But if you're worried it might take a while and you’re scared to go back to your office now, let me walk you. I can explain him that every employee deserves to be treated with respect,” he offered finally, deadly serious, yet still sounding kind.

Your heart swelled. A guy you just met (in a supply closet, a good story to be narrated at parties, you supposed), suggested to help you out, no hesitation. God, wasn't he just too pure for this world?

“I… thank you, Steve. But… while you do have an impressive frame, I think it would only get worse. I think I'll just enjoy this extremely hipster coffee, which I'll later have to pay for no doubt and… and go face my boss to hand him my resignation. There are plenty jobs, right? I can as well serve coffee in a café,” you said with a sad smile, letting your hands slip from his comfortable hold.

“That's not right. Especially if you worked hard to– not to mention it's a matter of principle. You run away once and… running is a very hard habit to break,” he whispered, as if a secret, trying to reason with you.

You bit your lip when the truth of his words washed over you, along with the way he spoke; with such a strong believe in principles that should stand a standard. It… he made you forgot your own trouble for a second as you let yourself get lost in him. In the way he treated you, the protector's persona, yet not forced. He had suggested you to ‘let him come with you’, not even a note of command in his approach. This was not a man seeing an opportunity to be a hero when spotting the damsel in distress; this was a man who believed in what was right and wanted to fix things that were apparently broken. You wished there were more men like him, selfishly wanting one of them to be your boss.

“And men like these – they need to be put in line,” he added darkly, snapping you from your daydreaming of a better world. “Let me come with you. I'll—I’ll help you fill in the forms, walk you to HR. You don't have to deal with this alone.”

For all the comfort the dark had offered you so far, you wished for a little bit more light now, enough to see his face, his eyes. You knew they would be burning with honesty, you were sure of it, maybe a little rage aimed at a man who dared to treat another human being the way he did.

The offer was so tempting. But just imagining the security escorting Steve from the building for wanting to help you was enough to put out the fiery need to accept. It was ridiculous to care so much about his well-being after what could be minutes of knowing him, but no one could call you out on it. And if they did, you could always play it cool with ‘matter of principles’; good people only deserved good things.

You carefully reached out, hoping to find his hand again. Your heart skipped a beat when you brushed his thigh instead, but at least his hand was right next to it. He released a surprised breath when you took it into yours, way smaller one. You bit your lip when leaning in a little, blindly trying to meet his gaze.

“You’re a good man, Steve. I’m sorry your friend is giving you a hard time, you don't deserve that – even though I'm sure he means well. If you ever want to get him off your back...” you wavered at the ridiculous idea, but hey, why the hell not, he had offered to help you out first, “you can say you're seeing someone. Give him my card. I'll confirm we're together – he seems like a kind of a guy who would check.”

Shocked breathless laugh erupted from his chest and you assumed you hit the nail on the head. You fished out one of your business cards, handing it to him and releasing his hand then.

It was time to leave and face your fate, but Steve didn't make any attempt at moving out of the closet.

In fact, he seemed to examine the card for a while and then he quietly read out your name. You gasped in surprise. How the hell could he see anything? You could barely make out his silhouette!

“How-”

“I'm used to working in dark spaces,” he muttered absently. “Would you really do that?”

Slightly taken aback he was considering your offer, you nodded, only to realize he couldn't see it--- actually, he probably could.

“I would. Hell, I think I could handle one uncomfortable dinner with your friend vetting me,” you added, slightly amused at the idea. When you could hear his shocked exhale and wanted to take it back. “I didn't mean to-”

“Let me come with you to your office,” he repeated like a broken record and you frowned at the sudden change of topic.

“What-”

“It could throw your boss off your back for long enough for you to deal with the complaint. If you would be comfortable enough to play my girlfriend for a dinner time, why not now?”

Your eyes went wide and you almost choked on air.

“I-what? I told you it would probably only make it worse-”

“It will work.”

“How can you be so-”

The door yanked open and your eyes were hit by an unpleasantly sharp light, making you squint.

“Holy-” a ridiculously familiar voice you couldn’t place breathed out. “Wilson! I found him! You’ve gotta see this!”

You wanted to see the owner of the voice, but your view was completely blocked by the broad chest of your companion.

So you at least raised your head to meet Steve face to face so to speak. You couldn’t see much, your eyes still adjusting; with the light shining from behind him, playing a mysterious game with his blond locks, framing his impressive figure, he looked like a freaking angel, beautiful and righteous, bringing justice, yet wrapped in an aura of peace and serenity. You barely kept your jaw from falling on the floor.

You kept staring, focusing on his face, and slowly started realizing that his features too, were familiar. Mortification was creeping up your back as the puzzle pieces started falling into place, creating a horrifying picture, making you wish for the Earth to swallow you.

The voice from behind Steve’s back resolved the last doubts you had about your temporary mysterious roommate.

“Wouldn’t peg you as a get-freaky-in-a-closet kind of guy, Capsicle.”

You wanted to immediately protest that you had definitely not been getting freaky in the closet, but your brain was still frozen because of the big revelation – that you had just been comforted, hell, that you had just offered to be a fake date to Captain America.

You simply stared at him, unbeing able to hold your jaw from falling anymore. Because– because-- oh god.

Now it made perfect sense that he thought Thomas Gregory would be intimidated… by the idea of harassing Captain America’s girlfriend. You couldn’t really blame Steve for being sure it would work. Also, it kinda explained why he called Mr. Stark or Ms. Potts their first names – they were on the first name basis.

Which really was the least relevant thing right now.

A bashful smile appeared on Steve’s lips, a little guilty perhaps, and you just… giggled at the absurdity. You couldn’t help it. You had just spent minutes in a supply closet with Steve Rogers without having a single clue about it and while you didn’t do anything heated as someone would assume, it was one of the most amazing minutes of your life.

You must have looked like an idiot or something, because he chuckled too, completely ignoring another male voice growing in volume as the newcomer approached.

“Holy hell, man! I can’t believe what I’m seeing!”

At those words, Steve tentatively took your hand with an encouraging smile and led you out to the hall. You were met with two pairs of curious eyes examining you from head to toe. You lowered your gaze, now fully aware of the fact they belonged to Tony Stark – the Iron Man – and Samuel Wilson – the Falcon.

Well. Now the ‘party story’ finally got the right juice.

“Then don’t, Sam, because it’s not what it looks like,” Steve replied to his match-maker friend and took a deep breath, squeezing your hand tighter. “Tony, this woman would like to report harassment on her workplace.”

Your head snapped to Steve’s face with panicked gaze. What the hell was he doing?!

Tony Stark made a noise of disapproval.

“Couldn’t you try harder so she wouldn’t complain about you?”

“Tony,” Steve addressed him, his voice solemn just like his expression, which clearly surprised the billionaire. “I’m serious. It’s not about me. Her boss is the reason why she was hiding here.”

Without commenting any further, Steve handed him your business card and Mr. Stark hummed. You weren’t brave enough to look up. Was he going to wave it off? Was he going to fire you?

He said your name, making you gulp in fright. You had to look up now and you really didn’t wanna, too afraid of what you’d see. You were shocked to meet with a searching gaze, but not a mean one.

“It is true? Is your boss giving you trouble? Making sexist comments? Worse?”

You felt tears in your eyes, utterly taken aback by his sensitive tone, the inviting light in his eyes. It was too much to bear and you wanted to escape the kind gaze; and he wouldn’t let you. You only managed to nod when you felt Steve’s thumb caressing the back of your hand.

Mr. Stark sighed, adding a dark ��goddammit’, and returned Steve the business card.

“Alright, kids. Let’s have a trip.”

And you just stared.

…what?

Part 2

I know, I know, Steve is a little bit of Knight-In-Shining-Armour here, but it made sense to me O:-)

Happy weekend!

Thank you for reading!

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #civilian reader #in the strangest place we just might find love #anika ann

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cherryblossomriot · 4 years ago

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i had a dream the other day that was basically a dinluke cowboy au and it has been HAUNTING me, so just allow me to deposit it upon you like my subconscious drop kicked it onto me:

Luke is a disabled veteran who has returned from war one hand lighter and several scars heavier. When he returns, his family, who are heavily involved in the politics/military of this fictional land, don’t understand his now jaded and melancholic view of both the world, but also the ideologies that they so strongly believe in, leading him to constantly feel like an outcast even among the people that he so dearly loves. They’re all passionate and strong-willed, but they still don’t understand, not his struggles with mental health or his new perspective, and it just makes things worse and worse and worse. Anakin is a general, and though he’s seen the gruesomeness of war firsthand, he’s also become desensitized to it and has anger-management issues, so he often almost finds a sort of refuge within the chaos of battle, so he clearly cannot even fathom the emotions and trauma that Luke is trying to sort through, much less know how to deal with them properly. Padme is a senator and cares deeply about the crimes and seemingly senseless violence occurring during the war, but she’s also a politician and knows how to play the long game, so when Luke comes to her, he leaves feeling misunderstood and pushed aside. Leia is the only one who seemingly understands, as the pair of them have a deep, intrinsic bond, but she doesn’t fully grasp Luke’s moods and doesn’t handle his breakdowns and flashbacks well. So everyone feels a little upset, a little unsettled, and a lot like they don’t understand why and how Luke has changed, which leads to Luke feeling more and more out of place within his own family. The war ends relatively soon after Luke’s return, which leads to parades which leads to awards which leads to balls and banquets, all of which Luke is forced to attend, his heart dragging but his head held high, because he’s an Amidala-Skywalker goddammit, and we have a certain responsibility and image to maintain to the public and everyone who endured so much. So Luke has to sit there through awards and boasts of glory and mentions of battle scars and it goes on and on and on, and he has to smile and bear it and accept the medal that they’re giving him because he did such a great service to his country and-he has a panic attack. A nasty one that leads to him having to flee from a ballroom, and outside to the gardens. Once he’s there, he realizes that he doesn’t want to go back in. At all. So he runs away. He just picks a direction and goes, stealing a car on the way (this is a modern au but also fictional countries because I don’t want to get into real politics, hooo boy no siree). In the middle of nowhere, he gets caught in a storm and basically crashes his car and passes out.

But when he wakes up! That’s when the fun begins.

He’s in this cozy sort of bedroom, and this hot guy is fast asleep in the chair beside his bed, and is that a little kid in his lap? Anyway, the hot guy wakes up, introduces himself as Din Djarin in the softest, most attractive voice Luke has ever heard with his own two ears, and doesn’t ask him where he’s from or what he was doing driving in the middle of bumfuck nowhere at 3 in the morning, so Luke is obligated to have a lil crush on him, even though he’s not sure about the kid. So he asks, and Din introduces him to his son Grogu, who waves at him and signs hello, because, as Din explains, he doesn’t speak much, and the foster system wasn’t too kind to him, so he’s got a little bit of trauma to work through. And Luke just, instantly falls in love with this soft dad and his cute little son who can shift his features from the biggest, most pleading puppy eyes ever to the face of a demented gremlin who will try to eat the frog he caught in the backyard, no matter how slimy it is, or how hard it tries to wriggle out of his hands. Din tells Luke that he can stay for however long he needs, because Luke’s kinda injured from his accident, and anyway, once he’s healed up, they always could use another hand on the farm. So Luke stays, and he meets all of Din’s other farm hands (and shitty friends). There’s Boba, who doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s always something slightly ominous and menacing, and Luke thinks that his name sounds familiar...hey wasn’t he on the news for robbing a couple banks a few years back?...no, surely not..., Fennec, who speaks even less than Boba, and manages to be far, far more intimidating, but also helps Luke with his prosthetic and gives him fun little tips that always sound more like she’s cut off a lot more limbs than she’s lost. Cara Dune (who is not gina carano but i digress) is also there, and she’s just constantly a harbinger of chaos, but will babysit Grogu whenever Din wants to brood and stare longingly into the distance (or at Luke who’s also brooding as the sun sets but shhh). Bo-Katan and the gang are there, and while Bo-Katan grumbles about how the old ranch boss had different/better methods on how to run things, she still follows Din’s lead and helps him with the finances and taxes. They all take to Luke like a wildfire, because Luke is a sunshine boy who can make friends with literally anyone and somehow manages to make Din not only smile but laugh, but also because they can tell he’s got a lot of trauma and pain bubbling just under the surface, and they all silently but collectively agreed a long time ago that they are the patron saints of troubled and lost souls.

When Luke gets better and starts to help out, he’s constantly upset with himself because he used to help out at his aunt and uncle’s farm in the summers when he was a kid, and he knows how to do this stuff, but his prosthetic is really throwing him off and his body has sustained a lot of other injuries that make doing manual labor a much more different experience than it used to be, but everyone is really patient with him and helps him out, especially Din. At one point, Din is so nice that Luke just loses it, because he doesn’t understand how Din can be so kind and so patient, and care about him so much, and kind of calls himself broken and useless in front of Din, and Din gets super protective and grabs his hands (real and prosthetic) and tells him that he’s not broken or useless, and you’re so sweet and wonderful, and can’t you see? Ever since you’ve been here, everyone’s been so much happier, so much lighter. You’ve brought something precious to us, but most of all to me. And they’re standing really close and for a second Luke thinks Din is going to kiss him, but instead, Luke realizes that he’s crying, and Din just wraps his arms around him and holds him.

After that, time sort of blurs, marked by things like Grogu climbing into Luke’s bed because he sensed that he was having a nightmare, and Din waking up to find the pair of them coloring in a serene silence, Luke getting the hang of ranch life and his prosthetic and dealing with his panic attacks and flashbacks as they come, and Din enduring relentless badgering from his friends because hey, if you don’t marry Luke, I will and Fennec, you’re a lesbian and that doesn’t matter, it’ll be a marriage of twink and butch solidarity. And all the while, Din and Luke are spinning closer and closer towards each other, two suns hurtling in their orbit to the other with an inescapable certainty.

When it finally happens, they’ve just gotten back from one of those cowboy dances (idk what they’re called...hoedowns? yeah okay) (and yes, I wanted to hit all of the cliches in the book, thank you very much), and Grogu’s fallen fast asleep on Luke’s shoulder. After they tuck him up all snug in his bed, they head out to the porch, because it’s raining outside, and the steady thrum of water droplets splattering on the roof and on the grass is the most soothing sound Luke has ever heard (aside from Din’s voice), and he’s a little too afraid to go to sleep and ruin his perfect night with a nightmare. They stand there for a while, silence binding them together, shoulders brushing every now and then, hesitant and questioning. Luke thinks about how Din had asked him to dance earlier, his lips tilted in a teasing, but achingly soft smile, and how his heart had pounded a tattoo to the shape of his ribs when they’d pushed up so close together, the fast, rowdy dances of the beginning of the night having faded to something lasting, something meaningful. Luke remembers the ball he’d run away from, how the dancing had been cold, almost jeering in a way, and Luke realizes how far he’s come, how different it is here. And suddenly, there isn’t a question in his mind anymore. He turns toward Din, who turns toward him, and when he leans forward, Din breathes an uncertain “Luke-”, but he doesn’t get to finish the thought. Luke kisses him, and he kisses back, and it’s just them. There are hands in hair and noses nudged together, and at some point, they move, without either of them releasing the other, into the house and into Din’s bedroom. Buttons are unbuttoned, and whole stretches of skin are kissed, and when it’s over, they curl up together, Din tucking his head into the crook of Luke’s neck and falling asleep there.

When they wake up, Luke explains why he came here, why he ran away, all the while Din looks at him with his beautiful dark eyes and runs his hands through Luke’s hair, which is catching the sunlight filtering in through the window and making him look like he has a halo, all the while never once condemning him for keeping it a secret this whole time. After he’s finished, he expects some sort of shocked reaction-after all, his family’s pretty famous, but all Din does is kiss him and ask, “Wait, so you have a twin?”

It’s so unexpected that Luke throws his head back and bursts into uncontrollable, and very contagious peals of laughter, and when he’s finally able to breathe again, he kisses Din’s forehead and murmurs, “I love you.”

Din, who has been touch starved and lonely for years (no time for relationships when you’ve got a business to run and a toddler to raise), tears up and kisses him, too overwhelmed for words. But Luke understands.

And then Grogu pushes his way into the room holding up a box of Frosted Flakes above his head and shaking it, as if to say, I’d like to eat now, please.

Din and Luke stifle their smiles into the other’s shoulder, and when they get up, Luke can’t help but think that he’s finally where he belongs.

----

It takes approximately .5 seconds for all the others to figure out they’re together now, and Cara and Bo-Katan (of all people) start cheering immediately, to Din and Luke’s shock. Boba and Fennec grumble and begrudgingly hand over a huge wad of cash each to Cara and Bo-Katan because they thought it would take them at least another two weeks to get together. Din’s very done with his friends at this point, but he takes one look at Luke’s flustered but smiling face and decides he won’t kill them all this time.

And if everyone thought Luke was a lot of excitement for a humble ranch in the middle of nowhere, then they are in no way, shape, or form, prepared for when his very angry twin sister shows up with a himbo with a shit-eating grin and his 7 foot tall best friend she hired to track her brother down.

(needless to say, Boba punches Han within two minutes of interaction).

#dinluke #dinluke headcanon #dinluke fic #skydalorian #luke skywalker #din djaren #bo-katan kryze #fennec shand #leia organa #they just love each other a lot #and i am but a conduit of that love #Han takes one look at Boba and decides it's his life mission to just annoy the shit out of him #he stays away from fennec though #she's very scary #and she has no time for his dumbass #leia is even more angry and hard to deal with than she usually would be #because not only has her twin brother been missing for like four months #but she has had to deal with han thee peak dumbass solo for at least a week and its driving her insane #Chewwy fits right in #he hangs out with fennec and they go out and shoot cans together #leia hears that luke and din are together now #and she's like #you saw one (1) dilf and couldn't help yourself could you #and din's like #what's a dilf????#and luke is like #it means you're very hot #and leia rolls her eyes

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madcatdaderpydrawer-blog · 3 years ago

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About time I did more soul stuff

Paige: What does 'take out' mean? Keith: Food. Isabelle: Dating Paxton: Murder Justin: IT CAN MEAN ALL THREE IF YOU'RE NOT A COWARD.

Paige: I’m an idiot. Keith: Isabelle: Paxton: Justin: Paige: Keith: If you’re waiting for us to disagree, this is going to be a long day.

(GODDAMN THAT’S COLD KEITH)

Paige: Bridge the generation gap by combining old and new slang into one! Keith: Tubular AF! Isabelle: Mood to the max! Paxton, annoyed: Groovy, I hate it. Justin, just as annoyed: If she breathes, she’s a square.

(They are both dying inside but their dumbass friends are enjoying it so they will deal with it. Also Paxton saying “Groovy, I hate it” is hilarious efhbef)

Paige: So uhhh... my question is: my friend keeps on going into the pantry and grabbing handfuls of fettuccine... uncooked... Paxton: I would hope they're not grabbing handfuls of cooked fettuccine! Justin: In your pantry! Paige: Yeah... and eating them raw, and they keep calling them 'chips'. ... How do I make them stop? Paxton: Is your friend here? Paige, motioning to Keith: Yeah. Paxton, to Keith: You're a monster! Words MEAN things! >:( Isabelle: Does anybody remember- I haven't been to Olive Garden in many moons- but they DO have a like- fettuccine bottle that you can just- grab em out of and chew- Isabelle: HOLD ON. WAS THIS A PRANK YOU GUYS PULLED ON ME WHEN WE WENT TO OLIVE GARDEN AS KIDS?! Isabelle: NO, STOP. EVERYBODY SHUT UP. DO THEY GIVE YOU RAW FETTUCCINE TO CHEW ON IN THE LOBBY OF THE OLIVE GARDEN Everyone else: No. Isabelle, to Paxton and Justin: YOU FUCKIN BASTARDS Paxton: YAAAAAAAAY! Justin: THE PRESTIGE!

(this is canon and no one can convince me otherwise)

Paige: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Keith: 'Prettiest Smile' Isabelle: 'Nicest Personality' Paxton: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Justin: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

(Goddammit why can’t you two JUST BE NORMAL-)

Paige: Good responses for being stabbed with a knife? Keith: Rude. Isabelle: That’s fair. Paxton: Not again. Justin: Are you going to want this back?

(Justin- the negotiator)

Paige: Good responses for being stabbed with a knife? Keith: Rude. Isabelle: That’s fair. Paxton: Not again. Justin: Are you going to want this back?

Paige: Looking left cause you don’t treat me right Keith: Looking right because you left Isabelle: Looking up cause you let me down Paxton: Looking down cause you fucked up Justin: What is wrong with you guys

Paige: Anyone d- Keith: Depressed? Isabelle: Drained? Paxton: Dumb? Justin: Disliked? Paige: -done with their work... what is wrong with you people ...

Paige: You're a loose cannon, Keith. Keith: No, I'm not. I'm a cannon maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me? Isabelle: I think you play by your own rules. Paxton: No way, they think rules were made to be broken. Paige: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon. Keith: No, I'm just a reckless renegade. Justin is a loose cannon. Justin: *smashes a chair*

(Scavenging for parts like a true pro)

Paige: You kidnapped Keith? That’s illegal! Isabelle: But Paige, what’s more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing Keith, or destroying our dreams? Paige: Kidnapping Keith, Isabelle!!! Paxton: Paige, listen, whatever I may think of you right now- these guys are counting on you to inspire them! Paige: What, to kidnap people?!?! Paxton: To work together! Paige: TO KIDNAP PEOPLE?!?!?!?! Justin: Paige, we all agreed a celebrity is a not a people.

(soul swap au)

Paige: That's it, we're gonna go out and find what we need! Paxton: To the city? Paige: Yeah, no matter what! Justin: Well- How exactly do you propose we do that, exactly? Paige: I... I don't know! Keith: Oh come off it, be serious! Paige: I am serious! Keith: You're insane! Isabelle: Why, if only we were all wiener dogs, our problems would be solved! Everyone: Paige: What??? Isabelle: Or maybe it was a basset hound! Keith, panicked: YOU'RE ALL INSANE!

(This feels like something that would happen in grouptale. Look, Isabelle just got hit by a flying rock, she’ll be fine in a couple of minutes-)

Paige: Bye Keith! Bye Isabelle! Bye Paxton! Bye Justin! Bye Keith! Isabelle: You said ‘bye Keith’ twice. Paige: I like Keith.

(As you should)

Paige: Rules are made to be broken. Keith: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Isabelle: Uh, piñatas. Paxton: Glow sticks. Justin: Karate boards. Bentley: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Paige: Rules. Keith:

(Reminds me of the underswap au)

*Squad reactions to being told ‘I love you’* Paige: Thanks fam! Keith: oh no Isabelle: *cries* I love you too Paxton: Sounds fake but okay Justin: *A flustered mess* Bentley: can i get a refund

(PFFFF “Oh no”)

Paige: Everytime I hear someone talking about updog, I’m torn between not wanting to fall for it and wanting to help them complete their joke. Keith: Okay, but what is updog? Isabelle: Updog is a long sausage in a bun, often served with ketchup, mustard, onions, and/or relish. Paxton: Not, that’s a hot dog. An updog is when a new version or patch of an application is released. Justin: No, that's an update. You’re thinking of the fourth largest city in Sweden. Bentley: Surely, that’s Uppsala, where’s updog is the giant spider in Harry Potter. Paige: That’s Aragog. Updog is a symbol conventionally used for an arbitrarily small number in analysis proofs. Paxton: You’re thinking of epsilon. Updog is an upward-moving air current. Isabelle: No, that’s an updraft. An updog is the modern version of a henway. Keith: What’s a henway?? Paige: Oh, about five pounds.

(I like to think she did this on purpose)

*The squad is over at Paige's house* Keith: Ohhhh, we each get our own oven? Paige: ... N-No... Paige, laughing: How many ovens do you think I have??? Keith, motioning to their kitchen: Three, I thought! Isabelle: I see a- Paige, motioning to one device: This is a microwave. Keith: Oh, well I- Paige: Hey wait wait, actually- hang on- *fiddles with the buttons on the microwave* Paige, amazed: Its got a bake setting! Paxton: Ohoho, you learn something new every day! Justin: Do we- Do we roshambo for who gets to pick first? Paige: Now I've just discovered I have more ovens than I thought, we don't have to roshambo nothin! Paige: I am someone who owns four ovens... Paige, louder and way too happy: I am someone... who owns FOUR OVENS... Paige: I didn't know I was so rich with ovens... Bentley, pointing to another appliance: Also the toaster oven! Paige: Keith: Ohhh, toasty boy! Four- Five ovens! Paige: Paige, fucking ECSTATIC: I AM SOMEONE WHO OWNS FIVE OVENS

(The single braincell)

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tommytranselo · 3 years ago

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some headcanons about henry’s childhood & father

the FP files list 6 brothers. i think henry was the youngest partly bc it makes the most sense to me why (apparently) only he was sent to america but also because i think henry being a literal seventh son is very fitting given he’s superstitious and has...odd luck (things go wrong constantly but he keeps escaping death).

a lot of his brothers were already establishing their own lives when henry was a baby, and several of them got married when he was a kid; some of them moved. by his teenage years he rarely saw them all in the same place, and a couple of them he was already beginning to lose contact with even before leaving sicily

(context for this: i didn’t realize at first they’re listed alphabetically, not by age, but whatever) the second youngest brother was salvatore, and he and henry were always close. they wrote letters back and forth for a while; after silvio died, sal said he was taking their mother and leaving the country, maybe heading for greece. they made it, barely, but after a while the letters petered off, and then in 1940 greece was invaded, and, well. henry never knew what happened.

silvio was a very quiet, unemotional man–think vito corleone from the godfather. he never raised a hand to any of his sons and rarely even raised his voice, but he was terrifying when he wanted to be and even scared the shit out of henry sometimes; with just a look and a few words he could leave grown men shaking in their shoes, and it’s something henry’s tried to emulate despite that not really being his own personality. he was no-nonsense, set in his ways, and very catholic, which is partly why henry’s remained so as well despite it seeming contradictory to his line of work.

his mother was a lot more of a loudmouth than his father, and she’d seen some shit in her time. one of henry’s combat lines is (iirc) “like my mother always said, you can never have too much ammo,” so (because i think women with big guns are cool) she was the first to ever let him shoot–she was a crack shot with a rifle and let him fire hers once when he was a kid, and it promptly knocked him on his ass–they never planned to tell his father about that, but one of henry’s brothers let it slip, and silvio was pissed. he taught henry to shoot a pistol later, but eleanora trained him with the rifle, and mother and son share a fondness for big guns (the classic box art has henry holding a rifle despite never using one in game, but i can dream).

silvio never let his sons use profanity; he thought it was coarse and unprofessional, and blasphemy in particular he scolded sharply. henry never really swore much till he picked it up from clemente’s guys, and luca quickly had him using fuck as a comma. he still doesn’t really blaspheme unless he’s really upset, so if you hear him drop a “goddammit!” you’d better be worried.

henry never really outright lied to his father much because he wanted to be a good son, but he was dishonest–he was very much a “don’t tell dad” kid and had a bad habit of lying by omission, being evasive, saying things that weren’t “technically” lies and thinking it didn’t count; he’s a known lover of loophole abuse, and sal used to joke he should become a lawyer. after realizing honesty wouldn’t get him anything in clemente’s organization, he gave up on the technicalities and just started lying about everything.

the reason his english is so good is because his father wanted him to learn early, and he started studying at 13 (heh). henry thought (or told himself) at first it had to do with connections in america and eventually helping out with the family business, but it was always about silvio being concerned with the political situation in sicily and thinking they might need to leave. looking back, henry sees that as one of the first signs he should’ve known something was wrong. he also saw a lot of american movies both as a kid (as imports were common post-wwi) and after arriving in the states, which helped as well.

he used to run small(er) jobs for his father, along with several of his brothers, and he’s been “in the business” for the majority of his life. it was one of those jobs he got shot for the first time, at age 17. they rushed him to the doctor, his dad driving and sal in the backseat with him trying to calm him down. henry completely went to pieces crying and panicking, and his father said nothing about it, but he looked so disappointed that henry swore never to cry in front of him again. it was a promise he kept, even two years later when he was leaving for the first time–he waited till he was out of sight.

there was a brief time when he deeply resented his father for sending him away–shipping him off to a foreign country, alone, his entire life turned upside down all at once; he was bitter even if he knew it probably saved his life. those feelings changed once he got the inevitable news of his father’s arrest and later death, and he always kind of blamed himself for not making silvio come with him or doing something. after working under clemente for awhile, though, he started to realize he was right about being too old to make the trip–not just physically, but he was too set in his ways and couldn’t have adapted.

wrt what he says in ch5, “wiseguy” and “man of honor” mean very different things to henry–his father was the latter, and most of the gangsters he met in america were the former. he tries to explain the difference to vito once, but ends up getting agitated and quickly tells him to forget it. he idolized his father as a kid, always wanted to be him, and the shame of not living up to him is something he grapples with daily.

#this got long oops #headcanons #mafia 2 #henry tomasino #the dash is going wild tonight so why not drop this

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imgonnapanic · 4 years ago

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Karasuno’s Worst Fears

A...creation by yours truly. Tw: death, rejection, self esteem problems, emotional issues, abandonment, arrest, fear of authority. If any of these topics trigger you, please scroll.

Daichi is scared of losing his friends and family. What if he comes home one day to find no one there to greet him? No one there to tell him it will all be okay? No more emotional support from his team? Just the thought of it makes him shiver.

Sugawara is scared of death. He knows it’s natural, and everyone will be on the brink of death someday, but it just irks him to the core. The fact that Karasuno, his teammates, classmates, teachers will inevitably be gone one day kills him on the inside. Oh my fucking god no pun intended.

Asahi is scared of being arrested. It’s a valid fear that he’s grown accustomed to over time. He’s a big guy, and when someone points their finger and screams a lie, police will believe them. And sure, he can always go to court, but what if that never works out? He’ll be stuck in jail for something he didn’t even do.

Noya is scared of abandonment. He tells himself that he shouldn’t get too attached, but he will anyways. He knows that he comes on a little strong at times, but he means well in the long run. Still, that doesn’t stop him from beginning to think. Do they not like him? Did he do something wrong? Goddammit, this happens every time.

Tanaka is afraid of new people. He’s paranoid. He doesn’t trust them. What if they hurt him? His friends? His sister? He brushes it off as being brash and abrasive, but there’s something lingering in him that he just can’t ignore. How the hell do you deal with that?

Ennoshita is scared of authority figures. He’s constantly avoiding being scolded, but it’s hard not to be when your friends are constantly throwing caution to the wind. He’s not just the voice of reason. He’s the voice of impression, because if they’ll never do it, he will.

Kinoshita is scared of being left behind. He straight up watched Yamaguchi, a first year, outshine him. It tends to happen when you’re introverted, he finds. But Yamaguchi? The little suck-up to Tsukishima? That shouldn’t have happened. (God, that physically pained me to write. No more Yams slander here.)

Narita’s worst fear is losing his sense of normalcy. He gets up, he goes to school, practices, comes home, eats, and goes to bed. It’s all you need in the long run, and it keeps him sane. He doesn’t need to be the best, he needs to have a routine. If he doesn’t, it all comes crumbling down.

Kageyama’s worst fear is being hated. It happened to him once, and that was one of the most painful and emotionally damaging things he’s ever had to go through. He earnestly tries to be liked, he just wishes people could see through to him. But for the most part, people just think he’s a grump who’s made no progress. He has, right? Right?

Hinata’s worst fear is no one taking him seriously. He’s worked his ass off to get to where he is now. Now the question is, will they see Hinata as hardworking, or a 5’4 wannabe that has too much energy? Will his family support him, or just giggle about how committed he is? He’s serious. Dead serious.

Tsukishima is scared of commitment. Every idea that comes into his head is just a meaningless concept. He breaks it down, and the more he thinks about it, the farther away it seems. He’s just an average person, and he’s definitely no prodigy. What makes anyone think someone like him could do something that great? They are all idiots for believing in him.

Yamaguchi is terrorized by the idea of waking up one day and finding out the people he used to know and trust will finally see him for what he is. A freak. A coward. Another neutral face in the crowd. He keeps Tsukishima close. He keeps Yachi close. He even keeps Shimada close in fear that one day they’ll consider him...lame.

Kiyoko is scared of injuries. Her whole track career was gone because of them. A whole dream, shattered. She’s glad she could find solace in managing volleyball, of course, but every time she sees a running track, she remembers what she was forced to leave. Now, it’s too late. She can only watch.

Yachi is scared of failure. From the minute she stepped into her first grade school class, she was always picking up chairs, doing her work to a T, and looking up as her teachers praised her for being such a smart, sweet little girl. Now, she’s in high school. This is where she really needs to make an impact. But the real question is, will she?

#haikyuu #anime #anime art #sports anime #haikyuu headcannons #karasuno headcanons #daichi headcanon #sugawara koushi headcanons #asahi headcanons #nishinoya headcanons #tanaka headcanons #ennoshita headcanons #kinoshita headcanons #narita headcanons #kageyama headcanons #hinata shoyo headcanons #tsukishima kei headcanons #yamaguchi headcanons #haikyuu angst

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satendou · 4 years ago

Text

⟼ distance

⍣ 365 days of sun series | next | 1/2

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: iwaizumi hajime/reader/oikawa tooru

⇢ au: 365!au, poly!au, college!au, pro!oikawa

⇢ summary: prequel to 365 days; oikawa goes to argentina, leaving you and iwaizumi behind

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: pre-relationship, cursing, fluff, mild angst

⇢ word count: 6757

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: a few things. 1) i did not particularly care for how correct the timeline is or how correct the actual offer, signing, etc happens. 2) the cut is a little weird bc i when i wrote this, i wrote as one fic but it turned out to be 18k words so...no. 3) i love this whole fic sm so i hope you guys do too!

“I’ve had an offer.”

Oikawa’s voice cut through the sound of your and Iwaizumi’s playful arguing and the sound of video game music that filled the room.

“That’s great news, Tooru!” you exclaimed, looking up at him leaned against the door. Your smile fell when you met his eyes, a pained mix of happy and uncertain. It was such a rare look that you couldn’t place any moment in recent memory that you had seen it.

“What?” you asked, setting the controller on the table. The sound playing from the TV cut out without warning, and Iwaizumi shifted on the couch beside you, leaning close enough that you could feel his warmth through your sweater. It was mid-winter in Tokyo and you had stayed home after classes were cancelled, choosing to hang out together rather than frolic in the snow. “Tooru?”

He bit his lip as he considered the news he had just been delivered. It was an actual dream come true, exactly what he had wanted all this time. But then why did it feel like someone had just punched him in the stomach? “The offer is for um, a team down in--” He sighed. “--in Argentina. It’s one of the top teams in the world, and they want me to be first string.”

“Oh.”

You said it at the same time as Iwaizumi, both staring at Oikawa’s pained expression.

“Then you need to take it,” Iwaizumi continued, his sharp words cutting through the tense air like a knife. He knew what Oikawa was thinking, what he was worried about, and couldn’t let him think no one would support him. He’d be lost without his best friend, but this was Oikawa’s chance at his dream. “And Argentina is far enough away that we won’t have to deal with you anymore. We deserve a break from your drama.”

You smacked him on the arm for that, but Oikawa chuckled.

“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. I know you’ll actually really miss me, you adorable tsun. I’ll come back to visit, so don’t give away my room,” he said, and you were relieved to see his expression lighten. He kicked off from the door and plopped down on the couch beside you, slinging his arm around your shoulders. “And I know our dear _____ is going to be so lonely without me.”

You mimed throwing up into Iwaizumi’s lap. “Like hell. It’ll be so peaceful without you here. _____, my girlfriend broke up with me for the third time. Iwa-chan, why hasn’t she texted me back it’s been two minutes.”

“_____, can you bring me an ice pack? My dumbass overdid it again and my knee hurts,” Iwaizumi mocked, and Oikawa yelped in indignation.

“I do not sound like that or say those things,” he said, pulling his arm from your shoulders to cross them over his chest. There was a warm glow in his heart as the three of you bantered, stemming from the undying support the two of you had always given him in the pursuit of his dreams-- even if you were really mean to him while doing it. “Thank you, guys.”

You stopped laughing at him, both you and Iwaizumi turning to stare at him before you smiled. “You sap. Of course we’re going to support you no matter what! We’re gonna miss you, though. Like, bad,” you answered, and your throat tightened a little at the thought of him being halfway around the world. The three of you had been inseparable for years, even ending up attending the same college in Tokyo, though that had been because it had the best courses for the majors you and Iwaizumi wanted and Oikawa loved their volleyball team. It was a no brainer to get an apartment together when you found out you’d all been accepted either.

“Speak for yourself, _____. I’ll be glad when he’s gone. And don’t expect us to run all over the world chasing you, either,” Iwa said, picking up the controller off the table again and unmuting the TV. As soon as he unpaused the game, his character died. “Goddammit.”

“You really deserve this, Tooru. More than anyone,” you said, bumping against his shoulder.

Oikawa looked down at your face, eyes lit up with happiness as you smiled. He hid his face in the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo with a grin, warmth bubbling in his chest all over again. He was finally going to live his dream and he had the two people he loved most in the world at his back. He couldn’t imagine anything better than that.

So many words danced on his tongue, his thoughts a jumbled mess and he opened his mouth to let them spill out.

“Yeah, I guess I do, don’t I?” You groaned as Iwaizumi reached around you to smack the back of his head, and he snickered into your hair, his arms squeezing you into his side. “I love you guys.”

Picking up the controller, you let him cling to you like the monkey he was as you rejoined the game. “Yeah, sure, Shittykawa. We love you too.”

There was a lot of planning after he accepted the offer, outside of what the agency would take care of. He just had to find an apartment within his budget and they would take care of securing it for him before he arrived, and travel was taken care of.

Naturally, what was his responsibility became yours.

“Don’t you own anything besides basketball shorts and sweatpants?” you asked, holding up what had to be the sixtieth pair of shorts in the last thirty minutes. You were helping him pick out what clothes he was going to be taking to San Juan with him, leaving the rest in his room in Tokyo for when he visited. They all smelled like him, the light and breezy cologne he wore that seemed to stick to everything, including you.

You were struck by the realization that when he left, that smell would fade from everything, including you. And the idea that you would never be teased for smelling like Oikawa again caused your heart to clench.

Your face must have twisted because Oikawa’s happy babbling cut off.

“_____? What is it?” Setting the longsleeve t-shirt he held in his hands aside, he turned to fully face you while you turned fully away from him. He gripped your shoulders, trying to force you to turn to look at him, which you resisted at first. When he heard the light sniffling though, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Fast as lightning, you turned and threw your arms around his neck, hiding your face in his shoulder. Without hesitation, he hauled you closer, rubbing your back as you cried into his neck. Between sobs you managed to choke out, “I’m gonna miss your stupid face so much. And what am I gonna do when the apartment stops smelling like your cheapass cologne? Am I gonna have to wear it?”

Your fingers twisted in the soft white t-shirt he wore. You hadn’t meant to cry, really you hadn’t, because you knew things like this would only make it harder for him to leave. And as much as you did want him to stay here with you, you also knew he would never be happy unless he was in the spotlight playing volleyball. But your tears soaked his shirt anyway as you tried to stifle your sniffling.

He burst into laughter at your childish whining, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

“Awe, I already knew that, princess. Everyone’s going to miss me,” he said, putting on that smug air that came so naturally. He was just trying to cheer you up though, and you could see through him like a window, laughing into his shoulder.

One hand curled into your hair, holding you close as he took in your warmth and your sadness. It was a mirror to his own, tempered by a cautious enthusiasm that his future-- and his dreams-- were about to take off. He was being selfish throughout all of this-- selfishly keeping you close while selfishly leaving you at the same time.

That warmth he always felt whenever you were close welled up again, and he smiled.

“I’ll miss you too, you know,” he whispered into your hair, and felt your arms slide back up around his neck, squeezing so tight he thought his breathing would stop. “You and Iwa, more than anyone.”

“Well, you’ll come back,” you whispered back, resting your cheek on his shoulder, facing away from his neck. “You’re like a parasite. We’ll never be rid of you.”

Oikawa’s shoulders shook underneath your head and you smiled.

“Help me pick apartments,” Oikawa demanded, folding himself into the empty seat beside Iwaizumi. He had his laptop in hand, a dozen or so tabs open to different apartments near the stadium his new team called home. He would be leaving in a few days to check them and the stadium out, and likely to sign the contract while he was down there. Truth be told, he was nervous.

“Don’t you have any manners, you damn brat?” Iwaizumi asked, even as he set his phone to the side. He’d been surfing through DoorDash, looking for something to get for dinner. You would be home from classes soon and no doubt starving. “I’m ordering dinner.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. _____ said she was going to stop and pick up something for us. I requested takoyaki, but she said she wasn’t feeling it,” Oikawa answered with a pout.

“Probably,” Iwaizumi said as Oikawa flipped to the first tab and he turned the screen to show him, “because she’s been doing labs with crustaceans in biology all week.”

It was a 3 bedroom, 2 bath with an open floor plan and a lot of windows. Newly refurbished and expensive. Not that Oikawa wouldn’t be able to afford it.

Iwaizumi shrugged. It wasn’t terrible, and definitely Oikawa’s style. He liked lots of natural light for his Instagram photos, and that apartment definitely provided.

“I should’ve waited for _____,” he grumbled, but flipped to the next one anyway.

Another 3 bedroom, 2 bath, smaller than the last and darker, in both light and color scheme, but no less expensive. Instantly Iwaizumi grunted and shook his head, and there was a small gratification as Oikawa instantly X’d out of the tab, letting it get lost in the void.

If there was one thing Oikawa valued above a volleyball player’s skills, it was your and Iwaizumi’s opinions. You knew him just as well as he knew himself, and better, in some ways. If Iwaizumi thought that apartment wasn’t good enough, then it wasn’t good enough.

The next few went much the same way. 3 bedroom, 2 bath, too dark or too small, too old-school or too extravagant. Each and every time Iwaizumi said no, Oikawa was secretly relieved to click the X button. A lot of the apartments he’d found weren’t to his taste, but he also knew his tastes were dramatic, hence the need for Iwaizumi’s down-to-earth opinions.

“Hey, I have a question,” Iwaizumi said when apartment number nine was bookmarked. It was a close contender with number one, the only other one he had agreed with. He knew Oikawa would never be happy living in a closed in, dark space. He was a lot like a plant.

A really mouthy, annoying plant. Like that tentacuwhatever from Harry Potter. Clingy and needed attention nonstop or else he’d cause trouble. What was he saying?

Oh right.

Oikawa paused his scrolling to look up at Iwaizumi, who had settled back into the couch, his arm slung across the back just above Oikawa’s shoulders. With his leg pressed to his, Oikawa was practically tucked into his side as they fought to both see the laptop screen.

“What’s that, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi leaned back in, his cheek right next to Oikawa’s. “Why are all these apartments three bedroom?”

In response, Oikawa spluttered. “Well, I mean, you know, it’s for if-- if friends want to come stay for a while or-- or you know. Geez, Iwa-chan, I do have those you know. And I’ll make more in Argentina. Might even replace you, if you aren’t careful.”

Iwaizumi’s arm curled tight around Oikawa’s neck then, his voice dangerously low as he growled, “No one will ever put up with you like I do, so good luck.”

Smirking, he pulled away and settled back down into the couch, picking his phone up again to see a text from you, asking if soba was alright for dinner. Typing his response, he said to Oikawa, “Soba is for dinner. And you may as well close out of the other tabs. I think the first one is the best one. Think we could come with you and pick out our rooms for ourselves?”

Oikawa choked.

The day of his permanent departure finally arrived.

To all three of you, it felt too quick and sudden, like you had blinked and the time had disappeared while your eyes were closed. All that morning, the three of you skirted around the topic as you dealt with the last minute details.

“Hey, you want this shirt right? You better--”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Oi, Shit-- Tooru, you’re forgetting these, dumbass, and I’m not mailing ‘em to you.”

As the time whittled down to nothing, you found yourselves standing in the living room, staring at each other. You had sworn up and down that you wouldn’t get sappy or cry or do anything to make it any harder on Oikawa than it already clearly was. But the tension in the air, the strange, manic sparkle in his eyes as he stared the two of you down broke whatever resolve you had and you threw yourself at him, tears welling in your eyes.

His fingers, previously wrapped around the handle of his suitcase, found their way into your hair, his other arm winding around you as the suitcase hit the floor with a clattering of plastic, squeezing you tight enough to force the air from your lungs. And yet it wasn’t close enough, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his back, pressing yourself even closer, until there wasn’t an ounce of space between you.

Against your will, the tears spilled over and wetted his shirt, but he paid it no mind, too lost in breathing in the smell of your shampoo and the feel of your warmth for close to the last time.

Behind you, Iwaizumi sighed, turning his eyes up to the ceiling, thankful that Oikawa’s eyes were closed so he couldn’t see the glittering in his own. Much as he might like to give his friend hell, he was going to miss him. A lot. More than he liked to admit.

Another set of arms came around you, completing the missing piece as you stood there and cried into Oikawa’s chest. You could feel tears in your hair and it only made you squeeze him tighter. The urge, the need to ask him to stay, just for another day, welled up so strong you had to bite your tongue to keep the words in. Truth be told, you weren’t sure if he would say no, but no way were you going to put him in that position.

“We’re gonna be late, Oikawa,” you whispered into his shirt and felt him nod against your head, but no one made a move to pull away.

It took all your willpower-- and a few elbows in a few ribs-- to pull away from them. Oikawa’s lips parted, his hands still reaching out for you, and you took one while Iwaizumi picked up his forgotten suitcase.

“Oi, Lazykawa,” he barked, “I’ll get this, you get your carry-on. _____, make sure he doesn’t get lost.”

At that, Oikawa gasped in mock outrage, placing his free hand over his heart and affecting a hurt tone. “How could you think so low of me, Iwa-chan? Do you think I’m so stupid?”

From the hallway, a very deadpan, “Yes,” rang out and you snorted in laughter.

“Really, Tooru, how could you not see that coming?” you asked while he picked up his bag. His fingers stayed laced with yours while you locked the door behind you. Doing it one handed was difficult and took longer than if you’d had your other hand, but neither of you were inclined to let go.

Iwaizumi was waiting impatiently outside the taxi, his foot tapping arrhythmically against the snowy pavement. His fingers were freezing and his eyes narrowed as he watched the two of you walk down the stairs hand in hand, both wearing sad smiles as you looked back at him.

“If you two take any longer he’s gonna miss his flight,” he snapped, holding the door open for both of you. His mood settled when you patted his cheek before sliding in beside Oikawa. It was a bit cramped with two 6’ tall athletes wedged into the tight space, but frankly there weren’t a lot of other places you’d rather be.

Now if only you weren’t stuck between them on your way to the airport to see one of them off to the other side of the freakin’ world.

The ride, in typical fashion when doing something you don’t want to do, took both too long and not enough time. You filled it with jokes and memories as each held one of your hands, mostly about what you thought San Juan would be like and of games he and Iwaizumi had played in while you cheered your heart out in the stands.

Their number one fanatic, they affectionately called you. A lot of your highschool career was spent with them just because there was so much jealousy among the other students that you were so close to them. You were grateful to them for so much you couldn’t even begin to list them all, but you could at least say number one on the list was loving you the way they did.

Oikawa was met at the airport by some diehard fans and his family, all teary eyed and clamoring for his attention, and you looked at Iwaizumi. He shared a resigned, grateful expression with you, glad you had said your goodbyes in the privacy of your apartment. There was no way you were going to get it here, surrounded the way he was.

While you stood on the outskirts, watching Oikawa smile and simper for everyone while making his way further inside, he looked back and his smile changed. From polite and sweet, it morphed into something genuine and deep, and even from a distance you could see the glitter in his eyes.

He laughed and said something, and the tone of the crowd changed, dispersing slowly until it was only his family left. Something was said to his mother, who was clinging to his hand with tears streaming down her cheeks, then he was making his way towards the two of you.

“I’ve only got a few minutes before I have to check in so I…” he said, but trailed off, scratching the back of his head. The words were stuck in his throat, too hard to say to the two of you. He could put on a show for the crowd all day, playing the part but as soon as he was placed in front of you, it was like someone had corked him. “I’m really gonna miss you guys. Who’s gonna cheer me on at games now?”

A sigh rode on the tail of the laugh that escaped you while Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed, looking very much like he was going to kick Oikawa into the luggage carousel.

“Oh, I don’t know, you dumbass. Maybe the thousands of adoring fans you’re going to gain with your face plastered all over national television?” he asked, his fingers flexing with the restrained urge. It was muscle memory at this point, he couldn’t be blamed.

Oikawa’s face fell, though Iwaizumi’s voice held no bite and Oikawa wasn’t really upset. Setting his hand on his hip, he pointed at Iwaizumi. “It won’t be the same and you know it. You better watch every game. I’ll know if you haven’t.”

Iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. “How are you gonna know, idiot?”

Oikawa’s arm snaked around your shoulder, still pointing to Iwaizumi as he tugged you into his side. The smile he wore was somehow both fake and so genuine it almost hurt to look at. “Well, our little _____ will tell me if you haven’t, won’t you?”

Before you could answer, the loudspeaker sounded, announcing his flight was ready for check-in, and all the humor left you in a breath.

“Tooru,” his mother called, beckoning towards him with her hands.

“Just a minute, mom,” he called over his shoulder, and his typically playful eyes were soft as he stared down at you. One hand took yours while the other met your cheek, thumb wiping away the tear that had managed to escape without your notice. “I’ll call you when I land. And text you every day. And you better not let anyone take my room, I’ll need somewhere to sleep when I come back to visit. Lord knows I won’t be able to stay with them while I’m here.”

“Tooru,” his mother called again, sounding desperate now. You couldn’t blame her, Oikawa had spent an altogether longer time saying goodbye to you than he had with them since he’d arrived. Besides, the place his family held in line for him was moving forward rapidly-- as rapidly as the time you had left with him was shortening.

“You better not forget us, Tooru, or we’ll come down to Argentina and kick your ass,” you said, all three of you stumbling towards the line. He ducked under the rope, still holding your hand in a death grip, still unwilling to let go. “Or Haji will. I’ll keep a lookout so we don’t get arrested.”

At that, all three of you burst into laughter, the action causing the dam to break and then you were all crying too. In a split second decision Oikawa couldn’t explain, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead in a chaste kiss, letting it linger there as he said, “I could never forget you. Either of you. My best friends and the people I love the most.”

“Love you too, Tooru. Give ‘em hell,” you whispered into his chest before pulling away.

“Go, before your family has a shit fit,” Iwaizumi said, pushing at his shoulder. But Oikawa’s hand covered his for a fraction of a second and squeezed with strength that only came with practicing serves for hours on end. Some unnamed emotion flitted in his eyes, but Iwaizumi nodded in understanding. “Come see us soon, alright?”

Oikawa’s throat tightened until all he could do was nod. With one last look at you, he turned and walked towards the front of the line, becoming obscured by the throngs of people.

An arm came around Iwaizumi’s waist and he instinctively curled his around your shoulders. He could feel the tears wetting his shoulder, where your face was pressed into his shirt. His own throat was sore as he held his tears back and he rubbed your arm as he fought to catch just one last glimpse of the last third of his trio.

But he was gone, off to the other side of the world and away from you. Some cynical part of Iwaizumi said he was gone forever, that in typical Oikawa fashion he would get down there and completely forget about the two of you. That wasn’t what the more rational side said, though. That side said he was being completely unfair to his friend, and he was inclined to agree with it more.

Leading you back out to the entrance, he hailed a taxi and helped you in, where you wrapped yourself around him again, causing him to laugh.

“It isn’t forever, you know,” he said, petting your hair. Of course, he would never tell you what he had been thinking just a few minutes ago. It wouldn’t help, even if it did turn out to be true. “We’ll see him again, probably a lot sooner than we’d like.”

As if to prove his point, both of your phones pinged with a new notification.

When you swiped them open, you found a message in the group chat that was so typical of Oikawa that Iwaizumi snorted before you both burst into laughter.

‘First class sucks without anyone to share it with. And the wine is bleh. I miss u guys :(‘

Each of you answered, Iwaizumi with a typical ‘you’re an idiot’ and you with an ‘i miss u too bby :’(‘.

You received one last text, telling you he had to shut his phone off and then you settled your head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder to stare out the window. The scenery passed by in a blur while you focused on Iwaizumi’s rough thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

After a few minutes, you hummed thoughtfully. “What should we get for dinner?”

“How does takoyaki sound?”

It was several months after Oikawa had left and both you and Iwaizumi were coming up on a small break from school. Since he’d left, Oikawa’s texts and calls had been spotty at best, though he made the effort to send a goodnight text into the group chat every night. When he’d first realized that he was failing in his promise, he’d apologized while telling you he would try harder.

Iwaizumi had shut that down real quick and you could imagine him tapping on his phone furiously during study period, wearing a scowl that would have had Oikawa cowering in the corner if he’d seen it.

‘Shut up, idiot. You’re training, right? Then train. We’re adults. We understand, right, _____?’

In your biology class, you had snuck a quick response. Even as adults, your teacher was a real bastard about using phones in class, and being caught could end in a pop quiz.

‘Yeah, you brat. Stop stretching yourself so thin or they’ll kick you out and you’ll have to come back to Japan and start all over,’ you typed, having to erase the word ‘home’ in favor of something less...that. Sometimes the way Oikawa talked, when your schedules lined up and you could talk on the phone properly, he sounded like all you’d have to do was ask and he’d be on the first plane out of San Juan. Even he still slipped up and called it home, often correcting himself afterwards as if to convince himself.

After that, he stopped apologizing, but he also stopped responding nearly as much. That didn’t stop you from using the group chat. You could see where Oikawa had read and reacted to certain messages and knew that even if he was busy, he was still there. And that in itself made the separation easier.

Two weeks before that break started, you received a long text in the group chat, both of your phones going off on the table. Only Iwaizumi picked his up, already knowing who it was from-- the chat had a special tone, so you knew whether to pick it up immediately or not.

‘Hey guys, I know this is sudden and a little short notice, but you have that break coming up, don’t you? I’m going to have my first game down here during that time so I was wondering if you’d want to come down and visit? Ik it’s only been a few months but you know how much i miss your stupid faces, and san juan is so pretty this time of year. I can pay for the tickets down here (obviously) and your rooms already have beds so you can stay with me! Isn’t that great? I have to go, but let me know!’

Iwaizumi stared at the text, a vein ticking in his forehead, while you read over his shoulder. It was clear Oikawa was excited at the prospect, but planning a trip like that in only two weeks was going to be hell.

“Does he even realize how full of himself he sounds?” Iwaizumi snapped, crossing his arms over his chest after you took his phone. “‘I can pay for the tickets’-- my ass. I’m gonna beat him senseless when we see him.”

“So…” you said, already typing away on his phone, “does that mean I should tell him to buy two tickets, since he’s so kindly offered?”

He caught sight of your smirk and followed it up with one of his own, belatedly realizing what he’d just said. “Well, since he can obviously afford it, may as well let him.”

You sent the text out without making any changes and Iwaizumi didn’t know if he should kiss you or smack you.

Oikawa was a lot more active in chat over the next couple of weeks, talking nonstop about how excited he was to see you. Iwaizumi was taking the blow up with more grace than you had ever imagined, and then you realized why.

“Haji, aren’t you excited to see Tooru? And I never thought I’d actually go to Argentina. I’m kinda nervous,” you teased one night over takeout and beers. A movie Iwaizumi had picked up while he bought snacks at the store played in the background, though it was so bad neither of you were really paying attention.

He looked up from his phone, where he was no doubt texting Oikawa, looking thoughtful. You expected a huff or a denial, but he surprised you-- a lot, actually.

“Yeah, I’m really excited. It’s been...too quiet without that brat around,” he said, and frowned. “I miss him.”

You set your fork in the takeout box, staring blankly at the TV while you processed that admission. Iwaizumi wasn’t much for talking about his feelings. He was very action oriented, as you and Oikawa knew too well, so to hear him say it meant something.

“I really miss him too, you know,” you murmured, playing with your fingers. It wasn’t something that bothered you too often, but Iwaizumi’s confession had brought it to the forefront of your thoughts and you allowed yourself to wallow just a little. “I can’t wait to see him.”

“I can’t either. I know I don’t say it nearly enough, but I love you both,” he said, his ears heating up at the admission. It was only easy to say in the dark, when he could focus on his phone instead of the embarrassment the words brought. It wasn’t something he said very often, no matter how much he thought it.

You giggled, flicking a fry you had been about to eat at him. “You’re such a sap. Tooru really is rubbing off on you, Haji.”

Throwing it back at you, he playfully snapped, “Don’t compare me to Shittykawa, _____. I’m nothing like him.”

“You’re right. You’re much smarter than he is,” you replied, chucking the fry back into the top part of your takeout box.

It felt so good to just relax and hang out with Iwaizumi. Your schedules had both been so packed with classes and work, and even when one was free the other rarely was, that you hadn’t had a spare moment with him in weeks. It was the first night that you had free since Oikawa first invited you down and, though you had been flooded with requests to go out to bars or clubs, you just wanted to stay in. Expecting to be alone that night too, you were pleasantly surprised when Iwa had shown up with two takeout boxes and a six pack of beer. It felt like all the tension you had been carrying over the last few weeks had dissipated and that things were normal.

Shitty movies, shitty beer, and Iwa. All you really needed was Oikawa, and you would have him in a few days.

Your heart fluttered in your stomach, your chest tightening at the thought of seeing him again. It felt like years had passed since he left, between your hectic schedules and sporadic texts. More than once you had come home exhausted and wanting to just go to bed, maybe cry a little from the stress, and you were suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of something missing. The little negative voice in the back of your head would nag as you laid awake, staring at your ceiling, hoping your phone would light up or Iwa would walk through the door and fill the silence of the apartment.

It was nights like that that made you wonder if everything you were doing was worth it, if you were somehow losing Iwaizumi and Oikawa, and the doubt hurt more than anything else. It was a constant tug-of-war with yourself; you knew that eventually you would have to let them go, but only when you were good and ready, and ready you most certainly were not.

There was hope that this trip would help ease some of your doubt and fears, that seeing Oikawa in his element might prove to you that everything the three of you had accomplished made all the long days and sleepless nights worth something. But there was a part of you that was nervous that going down there would prove that the gap you were afraid of truly existed, and then what would you do?

“You know,” Iwaizumi said carefully, watching your face. “I really needed this. I’ve missed you too.”

He didn’t know what you were thinking exactly, but he could see you were well in your own head and that the thoughts weren’t pleasant. The both of you had been under a lot of pressure lately, with finals and jobs and projects over the last few months, and he could tell it was getting to you. Besides that, he had missed you fiercely in the interim, often coming home to find you already asleep or still out. Sometimes you had left him something to eat but other times he was the one leaving you food. Little sticky notes adorned the fridge with thank you’s and other endearing notes to each other as well, reminding each of you that you weren’t alone.

He looked forward to those and the passing moments he could see you in the morning before classes or work. It was the only time you had, sipping coffee as you chatted about meaningless things before rushing around to get ready because you had wasted too much time talking, but you would do it again the next time anyway.

“Same,” you said, smiling. There was an odd feeling in your chest, like you had drank too much coffee, your heart racing far too fast for your liking.

Iwa quirked a brow at the strange look on your face, like an amused grimace, and laughed when you poked your lip out. You glanced at him and the look morphed to one of happiness, and he rolled his eyes. “Come here, stupid. Let’s put Netflix on and watch Wipeout or something.”

He grunted at the impact of you launching yourself at his chest. The couch bounced as you cackled, squirming around until you could lean back his side and he pushed at your head in response, scowling.

“What’s wrong, Iwa?” you asked as you made yourself comfortable, pulling his arm down around your shoulders in a familiar manner. Tilting your head back, you continued to grin maniacally at him. “You seem annoyed.”

“Yeah, that’s because I have a bratty ass roommate who seems intent on aggravating me. Thought I’d seen the end of it when Shittykawa left,” he grumbled, but the corners of his lips turned up, a soft look in his eyes as he scowled. “Guess not.”

He flipped through the Netflix menu, looking for something to watch. They had removed Wipeout, but the search menu pulled up similar titles, and you pointed at the third one down.

“Guess not. What’s ‘The Floor Is Lava’? It looks similar,” you said, and he clicked into it. It was close enough so he hit play. “Anyway what’s new with you? What about that girl from your uh...chemistry class…?”

He had mentioned her a few times in the morning when you were supposed to be getting ready, but her name escaped you. Talking about her brought that same strange feeling back into your chest, and you squinted as you tried to recognize it. It was familiar somehow but foreign too, like you had experienced it before but it was so long ago you had forgotten.

“Oh,” he said, and shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah it-- eh. I didn’t have time to spare and we kinda drifted apart.”

He didn’t tell you that most of the free time he did have was spent with you. At first he had been really into her, but as his schedule became more packed and he spent less time at home, he had had to make a choice. It was one he wasn’t even aware of making until she had pointed it out to him.

“I know she’s your best friend and all, but you spend more time with her than me!” she had griped one evening over video chat. It was the only time he really saw her anymore, and he squirmed at her accusation. It wasn’t incorrect and it left him feeling guilty because it wasn’t fair to her. When he didn’t answer, she scoffed. “Maybe you should date her instead, since you’re so up her ass!”

She had hung up and he had mulled it over for days afterwards, when he couldn’t push it from his mind. It felt wrong to consider you in that way, like he was doing something dirty, and the next time he saw you he felt almost sleazy. Her words flooded his brain again, causing his face to flush, turning away to continue fixing your coffees. It was a while before he felt settled again after that, his heart picking up speed every time your name flashed on his phone-- because of course he didn’t see you for days after that.

He had to tell himself it was normal to want to spend time at home with you rather than go out to bars or crowded restaurants after spending days on end coming in late from classes and work. Because it was normal right? To want to be with you in the comfort of the apartment than out with anyone else?

The tightness in your chest eased at his words, and you giggled, fiddling with his fingers. “Guess that explains why you’re here with me instead of out with her, huh? Kinda sucks, being so busy. We have no free time to do anything.”

Iwa nodded, pinching one of your fingers between his and squeezing, listening to you squeal playfully. It felt good to be spending time with you in a way he never felt with anyone else and he tried not to overthink it. “Yeah, but in a few days we’ll be responsibility free.”

“True. I can’t wait. ‘M gonna shut my phone off and let everyone assume I’m dead,” you said as you picked up your phone to scroll through your Insta. Oikawa had posted a new photo just before he went to bed of him mid-set to one of his team members, his tongue poking out between his lips as he concentrated. It was gorgeous, his skin much tanner than he had been while living in Japan and he was so pretty it almost hurt. You clicked the heart beneath it, one of the thousands already there.

Part of you expected to be introduced to a new girlfriend when you arrived, and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about that. Picturing an unknown woman hanging around made you grimace, and you were gonna murder him if he did that.

Iwaizumi laughed, patting your hand. “Let’s not do that or they might send someone after us, and I for one don’t feel like being chased through the streets of San Juan by Matsukawa and Hanamaki.”

“Yikes, you’re right,” you said, turning your attention from your phone to the TV, where a trio of people were currently navigating what appeared to be a bedroom. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by the sound of the TV and you passed the rest of the night that way.

⇥ masterlist

⍣ 365 days of sun series | next

#iwaizumi x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #tooru oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader x oikawa #.distance

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blizzardfluffykpop · 3 years ago

Text

Daisies

Summary: Daisies mean innocence and purity, even in the most dangerous situations the two of you know that your love is pure and everlasting.

Oneshot

Fluff, Mafia AU

Word Count: 1,980

Yugyeom X Reader

[Mentions: Jinyoung]

Based on All Your Fault [but fluffy], references to Heart’s Magic Man.

It is all your fault that I fell for you. The way you looked at me had me falling faster than pouring rain. Maybe I should have listened to my mother, who told me that falling for a mafia man was a bad idea. “But mom, you fell for a mafia man.” She sighs, “And you see what happened?” I scoff over the phone, “But I know he’s different.” “Come on home, baby. I love you. I would never want anything bad to happen to you. Come home before you are into deep.” I roll my eyes and look at the picture frame that holds a photo of my first date with Kim Yugyeom. “I love you, Mom. I am home here. I’ll be okay.”

It’s date night, a biweekly tradition. Yugyeom comes home with a bright smile and picks me up, and spins me around. I laugh, and he sets me down, “Do you know where you wanna go?” I ask him since it’s his turn. He scrunches up his nose, “Maybe an art museum and then to a fancy restaurant?” I smile, and he goes up and changes into a brown bomber jacket with a cream tee shirt. His jeans remain the same as we pull on our shoes. My mom's voice rings in my head again. 'I would never want anything bad to happen to you.' I shake my head knowing I am most protected when I stand next to Yugyeom. We hop into his Lincoln Continental and head off to a museum.

Heart comes on over the radio that’s playing softly, “Come on home, baby. Momma cried on the phone.” Oh, come on now, isn’t this getting a little too coincidental? We hold hands, our masks concealing our identities as we walk around admiring the artwork. As we finish up the tour, I ask him where to next. He asks if going to a bar was okay, instead of the restaurant idea. I shrug, “It’s your choice tonight, after all.” He smiles, and we hop back into his car.

I should have known he had work-related business at the bar. I felt him tense up the second we walked in. I raised a brow but didn’t say a word as he led me over to the stools. Once I sat down, he suddenly spun around, catching sight of whoever he was after. He pulls out his silver gun and fires away. His glare sends shivers down my spine, and when he turns back towards me, his eyes light back up. He snaps his fingers, and his cohorts come out from the bar. Cleaning up his mess before any cops can show up. I ask him softly, “Why did you do that?” He shrugs, “I’ve been tracking him for a while. Finally caught up to him.” I nod, although it's not a reason in my head. But good enough, I guess. He orders us two monster chocolate milkshakes. “Still my Gyeomie.” He laughs, “Always for you, baby.” He kisses my forehead, and I feel my heart melt a little.

Yugyeom’s not home that’s weird he’s usually home by now. I shrug and grab my trash bags and take them towards the dumpster. Telling Dalkyum goodbye, “Don’t worry, I will be right back.” I lock the door and make the three-minute trek to the dumpster. When I see someone lying on trash bags outside of the dumpster, I hope they're not dead,... I shake off my nerves and go to throw out my trash. Then, suddenly, I recognize the person lying in the pile of trash. I gasp, dropping the trash bag, the sound ricocheting off the buildings as it hits the pavement. His eyes shoot open, and he reaches for his gun. When he recognizes it’s me, he sighs, and I see the blood covering his face. I get up closer and lay on top of the garbage. “What happened?!” He groans when I notice his stomach is blood red. What if mom was right? Without a second thought, I take off my shirt and rip off a long strip. Lifting his shirt, he hisses. “Fuck that hurts, (Y/n).” I nod, and before I can ask what made the circle-shaped wound. He answers me, “That guy's goons from the other night,... I was walking home to our place, and they broke a beer bottle on the side of the building. I got a swing in before the one stabbed me in the stomach with the bottle.” He doesn’t go into more detail as I wrap it up and put pressure on it.

For some reason, I can’t help but laugh as I realize my mom was right. I almost got to see Yugyeom stabbed to death. If he’s not bleeding out right now, that is. I explain my laughter, “You know, my dad was a King Pin.” He looks over at me with a raised brow, “Really? How did you get out of the mafia life?” I shrug, “My mom ran away as fast as she could after she saw him get stabbed to death. No one knew of my mom since they had just started dating after their one nightstand. And nine months later, my mom had me. She told me everything she knew about him. She didn’t want me to be with you because she watched her lover get stabbed to death. All because he owed some money,... She didn’t want me to lose you the same way.” He laughs as he coughs up blood. “Funny how that works, huh?” I shake my head with tears in my eyes as the reality dawns on me.

He reaches for something in the troves of the bags and hands me a bundle of daisies, “I planned on giving you these when I saw you later tonight.” I sigh heavily, “I love you so much, Gyeom. Please,... please don’t die on me.” He smirks weakly, “I wouldn’t... dr-dream of it.” I place a kiss on his lips and ask, “What do you want me to do?” He shakes his head, “A drag of a cigarette would be nice right now.” I sigh and dig through my pockets. “How did you know I hid them from you?” He makes a face at me, and I sigh, “I didn’t want you to cough up your lungs, you know?” I pull out the pack and a lighter. I take a drag from it first before passing it to Yugyeom.

He sighs deeply and lets out the smoke. “You know, I watched you take them. You’re not that sneaky,... But I promised myself I would try to quit.” I roll my eyes at him, “Yeah?” He nods, “For you, I would give up my own life.” My eyes nearly pop out of my head, “Please don’t risk something that means so much to me.” He pulls the cigarette from his lips, and I wipe the blood from underneath it off. He shakily brings his hand up to my face and pulls me in for a kiss. We pull away, and I look him in his eyes. And he tells me, “I think Jinyoung is coming,...” On cue, I hear the sound of tire screech to a halt. “Goddammit, how did you get yourself into this mess?!” Jinyoung yells sternly. I shake my head, “I honestly couldn’t tell you. I came out to dump some trash at the dumpster, and here he was laying.” Jinyoung sighs, “Help me dump him in the car?” I shrug, and we both lug up the tall man. “Thanks.” Jinyoung rolls his eyes, “Don’t mention it. No, seriously.” A smile creeping up his face, he grabs a sanitizer out of the van. He sprays it over the trash before we throw it all into the overflowing dumpster.

Instead of joining Jinyoung in the front, I go over to sit on the bench seat in the back. I pull the door shut to the side compartment of the van as Jinyoung hits the gas hard. I fly back, “Jinyoung!” I growl, and Yugyeom lets out a laugh and pulls me near him. “The seatbelts don’t work on the bench seat, by the way. The safest place is next to me.” I sigh, “You got that right.” I place the daisies that I kept safe on the bench seat.

Jinyoung patches him up once we arrive at his house, “Now, take good care of this little rascal.” Yugyeom laughs, “You love me, Jinyoung.” He gives Yugyeom a blank look, “Yeah, I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” I grin and thank him, and Jinyoung nods, “Now, go have a date night or whatever you kids do nowadays.” We walk home together. I hold the daisies close to me. He asks if I still have the pack of cigarettes as we pass the dumpster he was bleeding out in front of. I nod and hand them over to him, and he gives me a beautiful smile. He tosses them a bit in his hands before he whips them into the dumpster. “I told you, I’d give them up.” I roll my eyes, “If it relieved your anxiety, you didn’t have to give them up.” He kisses my forehead, “You relieve my anxiety, plus you’ve done more for me than that pack ever did.” I shake my head before I pull him in for a kiss. “You know, you’re the best at doing the worst.” He raises his eyebrow, “You could kill someone and still look flawless. You could get beat the fuck out of, and you still look like a million bucks.” He runs a hand through his hair, “How can you describe a criminal so beautifully?” I bring his hand up to my lips and tell him, “Because the criminal I’m in love with is so much more than his crimes.” As we reach the first step to our apartment, he turns me towards him. “I love you. You’re the light of my life. Thank you for loving and taking care of me.”

I call my mom later that night and tell her what happened, “Oh, honey, are you okay?” I tell her I am, that I’m glad she worried about Yugyeom and me. But that I know, nothing can come in between us now. I’m deeply in love with him, and I don’t think anything could ever change that. I come to sit down next to him on our shared bed. “Wanna say anything to him?”

He smiles and takes the phone from me, and I hear him laugh. He smiles over at me, “Honestly, I don’t think they could ever get me to stop loving them.” He grabs my hand, and we intertwine them together. “I promise, (M/n), nothing could stop me from protecting them. I’ll keep them safe, don’t worry, I’ll hand you back to them.” She tells me she loves me and that to take good care of the lengthy troublesome man. I promise to and tell her goodbye before hanging up and cuddling up to Yugyeom. “You know, it’s only been a year since we have been together but, I’m deeply, madly, in love with you,” I tell him while looking into his eyes. “I find myself falling more and more in love with you than I ever thought possible each day.” He tells me and pecks my cheek. We get under the covers, and he reaches over and turns off the lamp. “Good night.” We say in unison and can’t help but laugh. “Can I be the little spoon tonight?” He asks me softly, “I was hoping you would ask that.” I drape my arms over his torso and bring him into my body. Our legs tangled together comfortably, and I realize there is nowhere I’d rather be than here with him in my arms where the world looks so soft.

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devinescribe · 3 years ago

Text

Ruin Us

Chapter 14 to '100 Promises'

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Warnings: Swearing, nightmares, mentions of rape, death threats, panic attacks and I think that's about it

You hoped you didn't have nightmares.

But hoping for such a thing was wishful thinking.

"No... nonononono, silly girl! He's not here. You should check down there, I heard his father called for him," the voice taunted. You hated that voice. "Oh! Or maybe he's up there! Where you found his note! Maybe he really did it this time!" You stood in a dark room. The walls, floor, ceiling were pitch black. There was only light was a dim light where you stood.

You didn't know where the voice was coming from. All you knew was that it was taunting you.

"He's fine," you said, your hands shaking even though your voice sounded brave. "Is he?" The voice laughed. "Nonononononono! I think you're mistaken! He's over here!" The voice said, getting distorted with every 'no' it said. In the room, a screen in front of you lit up. It showed a video of you two being on the roof, and suddenly him falling off. You gasped. Another screen lit up. Another, another, another. And which each one, a new way of him dying.

You covered your ear. You couldn't stand it. All around you was noise. He was crying. He was screaming. He was begging you to help. You couldn't. You screamed, "Stop it! Make it stop!" repeatedly as if it would. All the screens shut off. You were panting, and shaking, tears you didn't know had formed fell from your eyes. You dropped to the floor. "You're a liar! He's fine!" You screamed out into the darkness. You heard slow dragging footsteps getting close to you. "Is he? Or are you lying again?" The voice said. As it got closer, you started to recognize it. "You're a liar liar pants on fire!" The voice sounded younger this time. Even still, you knew who it was. "Liar! Why are you such a liar!" It shouted, going back to sounding like him. Just distorted. The footsteps got even closer, and you could finally see the body of the person. The face was covered by the shadows. "I'm not a liar! Not! I'm not I'm not I'm not!" You shouted. "You are! Liar!" It hissed. Why was it saying it in his voice? It hurt so much more coming from him. "I-i didn't lie to you, I promise!" You whimpered. "You promised you wouldn't lie... why would you lie to me? I trusted you," he asked. It sounded like he was crying. "I-i didn't! You can still trust me!" You cried. "Why did you lie to me?"

You woke up with a start, sitting up. You gasped, holding a hand to your chest. You looked besides you. Niragi was still there. You started crying quietly, curling up next to him. "Hngh... eh? What's wrong sweetheart?" You heard Niragi groan sleepily. "I-it was so scary!" You whimpered, hiding your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. "Are you mad at me? I'm sorry I lied to you, I was scared I'm sorry please don't hate me," you rambled, tears soaking through his shirt. " 'M not mad... we talked about this already. I'm just happy you're ok... did you have a nightmare?" He asked. You nodded.

You had been having a lot of nightmares recently. Most having to do with Niragi. This was one of the worst ones.

You had had nightmares since you were a kid. You had them when you met Niragi. You've kept having them into your adult life.

You woke up with a start. Without thinking, you wiped the tears from your eyes, and got up from bed. You went over to the balcony, and started to climb down the stairs you had made.

You were soon on the ground, and ran over to Niragis house. His light wasn't on like it usually was. Was he a sleep? Then you saw a sticky note on his window. ''I'm in the tree house working on something. If you need anything don't be afraid to go back there. There's a flashlight in the bush by my window since I know you're scared of being alone in the dark. Be safe (Y/N)," you read the note. You sniffled, and found the flashlight.

Walking through the path at night was terrifying. Anything or anyone could jump out at any moment.

But the safety of the lights on in the tree house, made you run to it. You found the ladder, held the flashlight in your mouth, and began climbing. Once you got up there, you saw Niragi working on something on the desk. Just like his note had said. "Gi-gi..." you whispered. He turned around with a smile. Whatever he was working on on his desk, he hid from your view. "(Y/N), what's up?" He asked. You walked over, but he stopped you. "Here, let's go over there," he said, grabbing your hand. He lead you over to the beanbag chairs you had.

"So, what's up?" He asked once more. "Had a nightmare," you whispered. It must have been bad if you came out to look for him. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked. "It was really scary this time! I-i didn't know if it was a dream, or if... if it had really happened, so I came to look for you. You always make me feel better," you whimpered, hugging him. He hugged you back, knowing you were probably not feeling the best right now. If you were crying it must be bad. "It's ok... tell me if you want," he whispered. You nodded, and he got up, leading you with him. First, he grabbed some blankets, and then he turned off the light. You followed him around, till he pulled you down on the beanbags again. "And you made me get up why?" You asked with a small laugh. "Because. Anyways... you still want to talk about it?"

"Are you ok? Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, yawning after he finished. You looked over seeing it was 2 am. You had woken him up. It seemed like you couldn't do anything right this night. You felt so utterly guilty, helpless, and tired that you just started sobbing. "I- I'm sorry imsorryimsorryimsorry," you apologized through hiccuping sobs. He looked down through sleepy eyes, and gently rubbed your back. "It's alright... you didn't do anything wrong sweetheart," he whispered. That nickname... Why was it making you feel weird?

"Sweetheart-"

"My sweetheart-"

"- sweetheart"

That's why. It's the nickname he had had for his ex girlfriends. He was tired, he probably wasn't thinking straight. No way would he call you that nickname if he weren't so tired.

It was reserved for his lovers. You knew you weren't his lover. It made you feel ...

Sad?

Why would you be sad, you liked him as a friend, didn't you?

"C-can... can I tell you... why I hadn't told you about what happened?" You whispered. "Of course. Go ahead," he said softly.

"If you tell that fucking loser what happened here today, you're dead. And so is he. Got it?" They threatened, gripping onto your hair tightly, pulling you up by it. You tried nodding, tears falling from your eyes. "I can't fucking hear you, slut," one spat, pulling a knife from his pocket. You flinched. "Y-yes! I got it!" You shouted through sobs. He let you go, your body falling to the ground. "Good. Let's go."

You lay there, unable to move. Not because of them, but because you couldn't. Getting up meant having to face the reality of what happened. Getting up would mean going home, cleaning up, and pretending this hadn't happened. Getting up would mean not telling Niragi. Getting up to you, meant letting them win.

But you had to get up.

So you did. Picking yourself off from the floor, you leaned on the tree behind you for support. You found your backpack, and grabbed it quickly, not wanting to stay here for a minute longer. Then you remembered that your clothes must be stained. You looked down to see blood running down your leg. "This really fucking happened...." you whimpered as tears filled your eyes. You fell to your knees, clutching your chest. You let out a loud scream as sobs racked through your whole body. You were scared, dirty, and guilty. All you could think about was having to face Niragi. Having to look at him, reminding him of the promises you'd made, but breaking one of them without him knowing. For the rest of your life. You felt horrible. You wanted to go home, and fall asleep forever.

"(Y-y/N)... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry I blew up at you about it sweetheart. I was being really fucking selfish darling. You... you've been through much more than I have. Yet you're still a better fucking person than I'll ever be. I... I had no right to be angry, upset, or disappointed in you. I didn't. It wasn't fair to you," he apologized, holding onto your tightly. You sniffled, snuggling into him further. '' S'ok... you didn't know," you whispered. "No. It's not. It's not ok at all. This is what I mean! You've only known people being cruel to you! Your father, the guys at school, people at work, goddammit people on the streets! And you've only ever been kind! Even when people don't deserve your forgiveness you give it to them! You might be cruel sometimes, but you've only been cruel to those who deserve it! My mother was kind! I had you! My grandmother! Your grandmother! I had a girlfriend in high school for a while! People have been kind to me, but I'm the worst fucking person! I don't... I don't deserve... your forgiveness," he yelled, sitting up, getting quieter at the end. He hated how he made this about himself. He didn't mean to, he really didn't. It just came out. "That's not true Suguru. You do deserve it. I've had people that were kind to me. I had you. I didn't need anything else. That was enough for me," you said, sitting up next to him. You put a hand on his shoulder, and smiled. "It's (Y/N) and Suguru against the world, forever and always right?" You giggled. "Yeah... (Y/N) and Suguru against the world... forever and always," he answered.

His thoughts were getting clouded over. You were there. You were so sweet. So nice. Adventurous, crazy, synical, caring, apathetic, confident, clever, funny. Everything at once. A contradiction of a woman. Perfect. That was another way to describe you. Everything he's ever wanted. He turned to face you, noticing how your eyes kept glancing at him.

You were also trapped in your thoughts. He had called you sweetheart and darling. While he was no longer tired. Two names reserved for lovers. What did that mean? Was he just overcome with emotion in that moment? He was your best friend. You did notice the butterflies in your stomach when he had said it. Each time seeming stronger than the last. A feeling of that's the way it was supposed to be. Like he was meant to call you those things. Like those words were made specifically for him to call you by them. You saw him staring at your face, trying to study you as well.

"Do you need something?" You asked with a smile. "Yeah, actually. You."

That was all he said, before pulling you into him. Your lips met with his own, and it felt like a puzzle was finally solved. A story getting it's happy ending. Magic. You kissed him back with just as much passion. It felt right. For his hands to be on you. For his lips to be on your own. For his skin to be on yours. It had felt right back then, and it still felt right now.

All the years that you had wondered why your relationships didn't work out were answered with this one kiss. Niragi. It was because you never loved them. You loved Niragi.

Niragi felt the same. Questions that were finally answered to him as well. He now knew his mother was right. He really did love you. That's why he never had interest in anyone. The girls he dated or slept with had never really been interesting to him. He only dated them to not make them feel bad. But really, it was you. You were the right choice...

And then he pulled away. Just as suddenly as the kiss had happened. "I... I need to go," he stated, getting off of your bed, out towards the door. "W-wait I-"

Before you could finish your sentence, he was gone. Out of the door, leaving you alone, confused, and sad. "Of course he regretted it... he doesn't like me that way. He was just in an emotional state that clouded his judgement... I... I am but a fool if I thought anything besides that," you whispered as tears filled your eyes.

As soon as he closed the door to your room, he ran into his.

"Fuck! Why did I do that? 15 years of friendship ruined. Gods I'm so dumb!" He yelled into his pillow. He didn't notice the tears that stained his pillow. He didn't care. 'Now you're truly alone. Great job. You're so good at ruining things Niragi. It should be your professional job! Niragi Suguru, professional opportunity ruiner! Niragi Suguru professional loner! You're so good at being alone, count that as the only thing you're good at!' The voice in his head taunted him. It taunted him for being so stupid to think a woman like you would ever love someone like him. For being alone. It brought up the fact he was alone so much, he felt his room grow smaller, and the breath in his lungs grow shorter. He couldn't see straight. His chest felt tight. The darkness in his room grew darker. Until he passed out.

#alice in borderland #niragi #×reader #angst #i very much enjoy hurting your feelings why do you ask?

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bitchybutcher · 3 years ago

Text

Texts I sent a friend the first time I watched The Boys, Season 2:

- Gird your loins

- I’m dying to know more about Black Noir

- Ugh ffs Homelander smarming about on stage at Translucents funeral

- It’s an empty box but I suppose how would people know cause invisible corpse

- WHY IS ANNIE SINGING AT THE INVISIBLE PERVS FUNERAL

- Aw no straight in with Sad Kevin

- Oh ok angry drunk Kevin

- Ugh not these Samaritans Embrace fuckers again

- Oh Annie. Parroting the company line. I hope she’s gonna fuck them all over

- SAD HUGHIE OH NO

- BILLY JOOOOOELLLL

- Aw Kimiko is learning

- Her lil smile

- Oooh Hughie is a liiiiiar

- Meeting on the subway like a couple shifty teenagers

- Oh I forgot they microchipped the supes like dogs

- Oh nooooo young love angst

- Oh no a Sad Kevin incident

- Aaaaand he’s been arrested

- A nice archer bailed him out

- Omfg the fake Butcher re-enactment

- Oh do NOT tell me this crazy bastard is gonna drink the frozen breast milk

- Oh fuck he is

- What the FUCK, HOMELANDER

- This visually impaired ninja seems nice

- That probably means he’s gonna turn out to be a dick

- OH FUCK

- Homelander what the fuuuuuck

- Ok what the shit is happening here in the motel

- WHAT

- What the fuuuuuck

- I – MM is making a dolls house? That’s so cute

- Oh shit smuggled people

- Homelander is nuts with power

- Uhhhh who is Carol and why is she staring at Kevin while he sleeps

- Finally an archer who is honest about how useless they can be once they run out of arrows

- Oh noooo are they gonna try brainwash Kevin with homeopathic stuff? And why do they keep offering him Fresca

- OH FUCK ME NOT ANOTHER RELIGION THING

- Oh Hughie has grown a pair since last season. Good for him

- Where’s Butcherrrrrrrr

- Body gore porn dude is called Gecko that’s too cute a name for him

- Stormfront seems like fun

- She’s gonna be pissing off Homelander so much I like her already

- OH WHAT THE FUCK THE CIA LADYS HEAD EXPLODED

- I like Stan

- Giving Homelander the dressing down he needs

- I know it’s convenient for Toni to wear the padded suit all the time but does Homelander ever wear anything else

- Oh hiiii Becca I still think you’re a bitch and Butcher deserved better

- BUTCHERRRRR YASSSSS

- “Daddy’s home”

- I’m dead. It’s official.

- The fuckin smirk and the voice I’m fuckin dead

- OH NO KEVIN IS TRYING THE CHURCH THING

- Is he making shroom tea

- Why is Patton Oswalt voicing Kevin’s gills this is delightful

- Atrain is awake again that’s not good

- I’m cracking up at Sad Kevin and his singing gills

- Homelander is gone way off the deep end oh boy

- Awwww soft Maeve in the hospital with her girlfriend

- I want to like Becca but I can’t shake the bad feeling

- Homelander is a terrible father

- I mean I know he has no role models to base his parenting on, but yikes

- It’s like if Scar was raising Simba instead of Mufasa

- ….are the gang raiding a party city store

- I love how Frenchie always looks a mix of horrified and amazed whenever Kimiko kills someone

- AWWW IT’S HER BROTHER YAY

- Oh shiiiiiiiit

- Butcher STOP JUST SHOOTING PEOPLE

- You were right this season is weird

- I like Kimiko’s brothers bedazzled denim jacket

- Butcher don’t punch Hughie wtf

- Starting with Hughie listening to the same song again, nice

- Butcher is terrible at apologising it’s so cute

- I’m sorry did Hughie just fall over trying to throw a punch

- The kid’s a dandelion omg

- Why are they on a boat? Did Karl just decide “I like being on boats lemme go on a boat”?

- I see what you mean about Homelander being scary

- He’s completely insane

- Why does this storyboard guys shirt say assbinder

- Chace Crawford is an excessively veiny man

- BLACK NOIR IS CRYING

- Or possibly laughing

- Hard to tell when they have no face

- Annie actually leaked all the compound V stuff good for her

- FRENCHIE KISSED HUGHIE

- Homelander is gonna get this kid killed tryna make him fly

- Honestly the kid looks more like Hughie

- OH MY GOD HE PUSHED HIM OFF THE ROOF

- OH MY SWEET FUCKING JESUS HOMELANDER YOU CAN’T DO THAT

- Oop there’s the laser eyes

- Oh Homelander is back at the Tower and freaking Maeve out

- OH FUCK THE BROTHER IS LOOSE

- Hughie don’t do it

- Oh ok I thought he was gonna jump off the boat

- Kevin and the cult weirdos are up to something

- Hughie no you don’t call the girl you like crying over Billy Joel lyrics

- Oh god boyo you don’t then drop the L word in the same voice message!

- He’s hopeless

- Oh nooooo Kevin is attacking the boat goddammit Kevin

- OH FUCK A WHALE

- For fuck sake Kevin

- Ewwwww

- Butcher what the fuck

- Hughie having a nervous breakdown inside of a whale

- No but why is Karl so hot covered in blood

- Actually I didn’t even need to include the blood part of that question

- Oh boy here we go, the 7 show up to find Sad Kevin crying over spilt whale

- ….why is Stormfront tryna get all up in Homelander’s ass?? I thought she was cool but now she’s all lemme suck that radioactive dick

- OH NO

- Poor Kevin he’s worked so hard to accept his gills and now Homelander has knocked him back down

- Oooo dear Atrain is having a heart attack again this isn’t good

- Oh fuck is Hughie gon get caught

- Oh no it’s Annie it’s ok

- OH FUCK

- ANNIE WHY

- THAT’S YOUR HUGHIE

- OH MAN KIMIKO’S BROTHER IS BADASS YES SQUASH THE SMUG PRICK

- Oh I do NOT like Stormfront holy fuckin shit what’s wrong with this woman

- Poor Kimiko

- What’s with the random woman talking about calling off her wedding?

- Why is Frenchie taking drugs

- FUCK SAKE FRENCHIE DON’T TRY KISS A GIRL WHEN SHE’S GRIEVING

- What the FUCK is thiiiiis

- Is he dreaming or is this the shapeshifter tryna stay alive by granting Homelander some sick wish

- Yikes I feel bad for Doppelganger

- I am fascinated by whoever and whatever the fuck Black Noir is

- MM sees right through everyone’s bullshit

- I feel so bad for Annie

- Ooooo Atrain getting fired

- MM having to put up with Hughie and Annie having a we didn’t start the fire singalong 😂

- Ok who’s in the weird group therapy sesh with these women with strange views on love

- Vending machine date so cute

- Omfg ahahahaha the girl with the Ed Sheeran tattoo

- I really want to like Becca cause she stands up to Homelander but I can’t shake the suspicions about her

- I feel bad for Butcher

- Homelander is a scary good liar

- Oh shit interviewer lady is pulling out the diversity questions

- OH FUCK

- HE’S OUTED MAEVE

- Poor Maeve what the fuck

- Ugh Stormfront

- Shut your racist hole bitch

- Oh shit Kimiko on the warpath

- Frenchie! Kimiko listen to him he’s tryna help

- MM is doing a lotta sharing this episode

- Ohhhh something bad is gonna come out about this Liberty lady they’re looking for oh fuck

- Wait WHAT. STORMFRONT IS LIBERTY

- Stormfront is like 70????

- She’s really good with social media for an old bird

- Ohhh fuck Homelander is pisssssssssed

- Christ you’d know Homelander was an only child

- Bitch you better not be fucking Butcher over

- I FUCKIN KNEW IT

- BECCA YOU RAGING BITCH

- Got her goodbye fuck then called the supercops on him cause he’s a little broken? FUCK BECCA

- Oh no Annie don’t give Hughie the “we can’t do this” talk

- Pick your emo ass up and stop being melodramatic

- All these women are chatting to Kevin?? Why??

- Also this most recent one is super weird

- THEY WERE INTERVIEWING TO BE KEVINS WIFE

- This cult thing is so fuckin weird omfg

- KEVIN GET YOUR SAD BUTT OUT OF THE CULT

- Oh gross not the Doppelganger shit again

- Doppelganger is really bad at flirting

- ….

- WHAT THE SHIT

- Nonononono don’t do the selfcest

- Not even Homelander is that fucked up

- This is super weird

- Why is Homelander crying

- OH SHIT HE KILLED HIM

- Uhhhh are they doing a lesbian scene in a vcu movie

- Christ that was terrible and way too on the nose

- “Strong female lesbians”

- Homelander you himbo fuck what other kind of lesbian do you get

- I feel bad for Ashley

- She just wants to do her job well

- Poor Butcher. His lil heart is broken

- Oh no baby you’re hurt and upset? That’s so sad let me suck your dick about it

- Oh no what’s he gonna do

- BUTCHER WHAT THE SHIT

- I mean it’s really fuckin hot but still

- There’s always a cut on the cheekbone

- “They’ve been moving her around like a Catholic priest” omg HUGHIE

- Aww he called Hughie his canary

- Oh shit are Frenchie and Kimiko missing?

- KEVIN GOT MARRIED

- BILLY HAS AN AUNTIE

- Doggiiiiie

- Awwwww soft Butcher with his dog

- Aaaand now I feel bad for Atrain cause he’s being kicked to the curb

- Oh gross this interview with Kevin and his cult wife

- This is so cringe holy fuck

- Bring back the Patton Oswalt gills

- Why are the gangsters discussing musicals specifically Hamilton

- FUCKING HELL KIMIKO PEELED OFF THAT GUYS FACE

- Ahahaha the boys showed up at Butchers aunties house

- The dog’s name is Terror that’s so cute

- Hahahaha Hughie was holding the fuck pig

- Why is there a sniper on the roof

- Oh shit it’s Black Noir

- Ugh what does Annie’s mom want and why is Stormfront being her friend

- Oh hey it’s dickless

- These two writer dudes are hella irritating

- �� Poor Elena getting dragged into this shit

- Yes Maeve scheme against his ass

- Heartbroken Butcher is so tired

- He needs a hug

- Hughie give Butcher a hug please

- Why is Kimiko in a church

- Oh hey its Frenchie’s other girlfriend

- Oh ok Kimiko is doing hits that’s fair

- The old man just looking away like “I do not see it”

- Aw no Frenchie don’t break up with Kimiko

- Oh fuck off Cult Kevin

- Stormfront again?????

- Does this bitch ever fuck off

- DID SHE JUST CALL ATRAIN GARBAGE

- Wait why is Homelander giving an unapproved speech

- This is gonna end in someone getting murdered isn’t it

- OH FUCK

- That’s a lot more murder than I expected

- Ohhhh phew ok he was just daydreaming

- Ashley is gonna go bald from stress

- I adore grumpy Butcher

- Omg auntie Judy is a drug dealer I love her

- Ohhhh shit Homelander is having a nervous breakdown

- BOBBY FROM X-MEN????

- Uhhhh why is Homelander talking to Stormfront this can’t be good

- Ooh MM set a trap this gon be good

- BUTCHER HAS A BROTHER???? THAT HUGHIE IS LIKE

- Oop Lenny is dead

- The random explosions as Black Noir trips the traps

- Oh shit Butcher locked the others out to face Black Noir alone

- YES MM

- OH NO MM

- YES HUGHIE

- Oh fuck did he KO Butcher

- Shiiiit shit shit shit

- Yes Butcher save your Hughie

- Oh good they all survived

- For fuck sake Kevin stop with the cult shit

- Maeve please save Kevin from the cult

- Annie why are you sneaking around don’t do it

- There’s a lot of shots of Annie’s bum

- What the fuck is Sage Grove

- Stormfront needs to go choke on a bag of dicks

- Oh fuck no not Homelander again

- Uhhhhhhh

- Stormfront x Homelander was not what I was expecting

- These two have the WEIRDEST relationship

- They’re gonna do some really fucked up supe bdsm shit aren’t they

- Frenchie is Betty White. Fair enough

- Wait what is happening. Why is Annie letting Frenchie at her with a lil saw

- Ohhh the chip

- “This might sting a little” FRENCHIE IT’S A FUCKIN SAW

- Oh fuck that’s a big chip

- Oh look it’s loves psychotic dream

- Well that’s suitably gross

- Aww Kimiko hugging Annie

- Butcher is so menacing I love him

- Kevin tryna be helpful to his buddies he’s so cute

- NO! NO BAD KEVIN! STOP TRYING TO MAKE PEOPLE JOIN YOUR CULT

- Kimiko with her brass knuckle

- Oh man, flowers??? Homelander has it BAD

- Annie back the fuck off and leave Butcher alone

- OH SHIT IT’S STORMFRONT AT THE HOSPITAL NOOOO

- What the fuck is going on at this hospital

- OH FUCK BOBBY FROM X-MEN IS LAMPLIGHTER

- Oh shit who got let out

- What does Cindy do

- OH SHIT SHE’S THE HEAD BURSTER

- Aaaaaaand now they’re all out

- Good job, guys

- Ewwwwww acid vomit

- OH NO HUGHIE

- Are you kidding me?? Annie can’t go all Starlight unless there’s a power source in the immediate vicinity??

- What kinda fuckin shite superpower is that

- Aha Butcher agrees with me

- Ok so I’m guessing Homelander went berserk on set

- Uhhhh apparently Cult Lunch is a therapy sesh?

- Atrain get outta there

- This cult leader guy is an arsehole

- Hospital escape lookin like a horror survival game

- Awwww flashbacks to happy times

- Omfg Butcher with the slicked back hair

- Welp, Annie just killed a guy

- Oh shit a baby seat

- Annie is gonna have a bad case of the guilts now

- Oh fuck ok Lamplighter killed the kids by accident

- So Frenchie went to save his friend instead of tailing

- Oh god that’s the penis isn’t it

- Stormfront to the…rescue? Maybe? She’s gonna kill Lamplighter isn’t she

- Oh, no ok she didn’t kill him

- Aw no sad Butcher cause Hughie’s hurt

- Oh nooooo Elena found a video from the plane

- Mallory gon kill sad Lamplighter?

- Stormfront is coming clean to Homelander? Whaaaa

- She was buddies with the Nazis??? SHE WAS MARRIED TO THE VOUGHT FOUNDER GUY

- Oh fuck the head burster is still alive

- A montage of how Stormfront is brainwashing people into racist attacks, nice

- I hate Annie’s mom so much

- Black Noir has just fuckin LAMPED Annie

- Butchers mum called him 😂😂

- Oh shit his dad died

- Why are Hughie and Lamplighter watching knock off supe porn

- Oh boy a racist rally

- Homelander just threw Annie under the bus

- Hughie that’s a really weird pep talk

- And he’s gonna get Lamplighter killed

- BUTCHERS MUM IS ADORABLE

- Oh shit it’s Denethor

- And he’s not dead

- Oh fuck he’s why Lenny died?

- Shit Lenny shot himself

- Butcher was SAS???

- WHERE ARE MY PICS OF BUTCHER IN HIS ARMY UNIFORM

- Ah fuck he’s bringing stepmommy Stormfront to meet the kid

- I have an urge to run my fingers through Butchers beard

- Frenchie and Kimiko are too cute she’s teaching him her sign language

- Is this a cult birthday party?

- Poor Eagle the Archer. He pissed off the cult so he’s gon be excommunicated

- Uhhhh kiddo made a Lego film?

- Good for him

- I know it shouldn’t be sexy when Butcher starts threatening to brutally murder people in his growly voice, I know, but hear me out: sexy growly voice

- 11/10 would let Karl Urban murder me

- Oh FUCK Lamplighter killed himself

- Poor Hughie

- Why do all the bad things happen to him, like having to saw off a dead guy’s hand with a broken whiskey decanter

- Annie versus Black Noir, beat his/her ass girl!

- HUGHIE COME SAVE YOUR ANNIE

- YAY MAEVE

- Black Noir has an almond allergy that’s such an off the wall weakness

- Annie’s favourite chocolate bar saved her life

- Well Maeve did, technically. But still

- Omg Hughie accidentally saving Annie’s mom

- Hughie and Annie are too cute

- Oh shiiiiit Homelander screwed the pooch and showed the kid everything

- HAHA SUCK IT BECCA

- OH SHIT HEADS ARE BURSTING ALL OVER THE PLACE

- Butcher in his lil jumper

- For a non-American, this school safety psa video is supremely weird

- BOBBY FROM SUPERNATURALS CHARACTER IS CALLED BOB

- BOBBY FROM SUPERNATURALS CHARACTER IS JUST BOBBY FROM SUPERNATURAL BUT FANCY

- Annie’s mom critiquing her choice in boyfriends while in mortal danger is gas

- And typical

- The lads going nuts with weapons they’re so happy look at them

- And Butcher in his lil jumper again he looks so comfy

- I would very much like to cuddle him in the soft jumper and give him beard scritches

- Annie ffs let Hughie enjoy his Billy Joel, that’s a good choice

- Ahahaha Maeve just called Hughie a twink

- She’s not wrong

- Oh fuck off Becca

- Uuuuugh OF COURSE Mr Edgar is in with the cult

- Oop Atrain overheard all of that

- Poor Ashley she’s going bald from stress

- The kid is gonna have a meltdown

- Poor Hughie with his mom leaving

- I wonder if she’ll pop up at some point and turn out to be a supe that would be fun

- ATRAIN YOU CAN’T JUST APPEAR IN A CAR LIKE THAT YOU COULDA KILLED SOMEONE

- Hold the phone is Homelander actually being a good dad for a minute

- What the actual fuck is Stormfront on with this white genocide shit

- Ahahaha the news broke

- Uh oh the Vought soldiers got caught by Homelander

- OH SHIT

- MM BETTER BE OK

- Becca fuckin constantly squawking about Ryan is so annoying

- WHY IS KIMIKO LAUGHING

- It’s adorable but still

- Oh FUCK she snapped her neck

- She’ll be fine

- She’s like a wolverine, snapped neck won’t keep her down

- AYYYYY MAEVE

- The lads just watching them kicking the shit out of her like uhhh

- Oh hey Becca did something useful and stabbed the Nazi in the eye

- Huh. The kid melted Stormfront

- Good for him

- AHAHAHA YES HE GOT BECCA TOO

- BYEEEEE FELICIAAAAA

- I mean yeah, heartbroken sad Butcher isn’t nice to see, but Becca sucked

- Aaaand now Homelander covered in blood has arrived to listen to Stormfront babble in German

- This is like in those scenes where it’s like oh who will the dog go to

- Ayyy Atrain got back into the 7

- Aww poor Kevin getting rejected again

- See Kevin this is why we don’t join cults

- Annie thought he was breaking up with her, girl don’t be daft

- Butcher and the kid, not awkward at all

- The one lesson Butcher can teach a kid – “don’t be a cunt”

- Aww happy endings for all the boys

- Aaaaand a “happy ending” for Homelander too by the looks of it

- Oh ffs a corrupt politician in with the cult, what a surprise

- HIS HEAD BURST

- Wait the politician lady is the head burster? I’m so confused

- Confusion may have been aided by it being almost 3am

- Hughie getting a real job, bless him

- Too bad it’s with the head burster

- Oh this is such a good song to end the season with

- Welp, now begins the long wait for season 3, I guess

- Should I sleep or find fic to read

- Body says sleep, heart says fic

- That’s a lie, heart says Butcher

- ….Butcher fics it is

#theboys #theboystv #theboysmemes #theboystextposts #I'm back with more insanity #middle of the night is probably not a good time to be texting but hey ho #I'm still a shameless ho for Billy Butcher #that's so sad let me suck your dick about it #I mean like damn #Karl Urban doesn't mess around when it comes to thirst trapping #I need season 3 like yesterday #amazon please #the boys #season 3 #I need it

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yikeswtfmate · 4 years ago

Text

Golden // Part 1

Summary: There’s this cute guy Y/N keeps seeing on her morning run.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: swearing; sexual references

A/N: in case anyone’s wondering - this is verbatim my train of thought when writing, before all the editing happens; enjoy this fic that came to me in a fever dream/ sleep deprivation/ stress induced delirium/ post CATFA rewatch; this is also the reason why no one should take me seriously ever

masterlist // next part

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since Y/N moved to this side of the city, two weeks since her evening jog suddenly became her morning run, two weeks since she’s met the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen in her entire life. It’s been two weeks since she’s perfected her morning routine to the point where she now knows exactly when to tie her shoelaces on the bench next to the West gate in order to see him round the corner into the park.

It’s 5:43 am on a Wednesday morning and if anyone would’ve told her two weeks ago that there would come a time she’d wake up by choice at this ungodly hour she would’ve laughed in their face and fluffed her pillow.

It all started when Sam convinced her to meet him at 5:30 that day in exchange for helping her out with moving. He never showed up and later explained he slept during his 20 alarms because Clint insisted on a “calmer, more relaxing alarm that won’t instantly make you want to murder someone.” Hell would have followed, if it weren’t for the cute guy that passed before her eyes – a nod in her direction, eyes sparkling in the sunrise and Jesus Christ, for the love that’s all holy, this guy is a wonder. So Y/N not only forgot all about Sam’s treason, but her focus was completely diverted to that huge back that seemed to be bursting at his shirt’s seams.

5:44 and Golden Boy seems to now be hesitating for a moment when he sees her – a novelty, truly, considering his acknowledgement always only extended to a nod and a smile. Y/N is even more confused when he stops right next to her. Does she have toothpaste on her cheek? Did she forget to put on a shirt? Oh god, Y/N, whatever you did, please tell me you put on deodorant at least.

“Hi.” He says and oh fuck, if his voice doesn’t sound like melting sugar from a cotton candy.

“Hi?”

Her answer comes out more like a question, but at this point, Y/N is more panicked that this guy actually exists and isn’t just a continuous delirium caused by her sexual frustration. He smiles and wouldn’t it be funny if she actually said that out loud. Ha ha, Y/N, you dumb clown, you’re not in a rom-com, stop it. Focus.

“I can send you the link of a company that makes great running shoes.”

A few seconds pass, he’s still smiling and Y/N realises she should maybe say something and not just blink continuously at him.

“What?” She croaks, because really his offer makes no fucking sense and there are no brain cells left in her brain now that she hears him talking.

“Your shoes.” Golden Boy points to her foot on the bench, shoelaces still untied. “You always seem to be tying them when I see you.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to tell you man, you’re on your own here. I told you you’re a dumb clown, and isn’t it great when your brain just refuses to cooperate with your mouth in order to form words? Or even say something remotely intelligent rather than – “Huh, yeah, I’ve never noticed.”

Golden Boy smiles because he knows, it’s not that hard to decipher her lingering looks or the way she’s suddenly always there when he starts his run, or even how she sometimes bites her lip when he smiles at her. He’s not dumb, he sees all of that, but he’s also wanted to be absolutely sure before making his move and to be honest, if it weren’t for Bucky’s bet, he would’ve kept staring at her legs until they would’ve both grown old without saying anything.

“I’m Steve, by the way.” He says and extends his hand which is huge, thank you very much and there’s a split second there when Y/N’s brain falls completely in the gutter.

“Y/N.” She smiles and fuck, please tell me I’m not imagining this and you really are holding my hand for far too long to be appropriate.

“Y/N.” He repeats, and he likes the taste of her name on his tongue, but he also very much likes the way she seems to be melting right there on the spot for a second. “Could I take you out for a date one of these days? I feel like 6 in the morning is maybe too early to share a bottle of wine.”

Yes, a thousand times yes. Take me here, right here on this stupid bench and anywhere you’d like, Stevie. But she only says “I’d love to.” like a well-behaved lady that her mamma supposedly raised.

“Great.” A step back and a huge grin on his face that might just split his face in half because he really does love that lip biting she’s doing but he also can’t do anything about it here without him being arrested for a) indecent exposure and/or b) indecent behaviour. “I’ll ask Sam to give me your number.”

“Sam?!” She can’t help the screech that comes out, but let’s be honest here, what the fuck?

“Yeah, he told me he knows you when I kept going on and on about you when we went out for drinks.” He winks. He winks! The audacity of this man. “I’ll pick you up at 8. I’d suggest you wear jeans.”

“Jeans? Are you taking me rock climbing or something, Steve?” Her shock is replaced by confusion yet again and Y/N wonders if this man will keep her on a rollercoaster of emotions. Did he say he knows Sam? Did he also admit he’s been talking about her for enough time that Sam picked up on exactly who she was? Did he just invite her on a date? Jeans?!?!

“Not spilling any secrets, but I’d think riding a motorcycle in a dress would be quite difficult.” He’s shouting as he’s running backwards, a wave in her direction and she’s left dumbfounded – again.

“A motorcycle? A motorcycle?!” Y/N shouts. “What do you mean a motorcycle?! Steve!” She’s more than certain he can hear her, mostly because he’s laughing at her reaction, but on the other hand, she can’t deny that her panties are already soaking just at the image of this Golden Boy on a bike. Goddammit.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic

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historic-old-guard-lover · 4 years ago

Note

Historically Booker’s native language would be Occitan and not French . He would also probably deeply resent standard / Parisian French since the government did their damnest to erase regional languages and still do it today .

Agreed! There was another post about this, but since I got an ask (I love you, anon) I’ll elaborate. Buckle up for a primer on the evolution of the French language with a brief aside for troubadours, traveling musician-poets you wish were still a career option. No, being a rock star is not quite the same.

In the early medieval period (as early as ~900CE), the country we now call France had a language divide between the northern and southern regions. In the north, they spoke langues d'oïl which is what eventually became modern standard French. In the south, they spoke Occitan or lenga d'òc and a modern form of this language is known as Provençal. Looking at the regional sub-dialects, the more northern Occitan begins to sound like a langue d’oil and the more southern dialects begin to sound like Spanish.

As I touched upon in a previous post, this is because they all share similar roots as a romance language. Even though modern standard French is a langue d’oil, occitan managed to sneak a few things into the language. If you’ve learned French as a second language, you’ll know that when you respond yes (oui) to a negative question (you don’t like cheese? / tu n’aimes pas le fromage?) that you use a different yes (si). This is a skeleton of Occitan!

The why of the invention of “standard French” is, as most “standard” things are, a detour into nationalism. In 1635, Cardinal Richelieu (under Louis XIII) founded the Académie Française (French Academy) which was tasked with standardizing the French language so that it could be exported to the rest of Europe and used to gain further prestige of the role of French philosophers during the Enlightenment. During the French Revolution, it was disregarded, but Napoleon Bonaparte restored it as part of the Institut de France (Institute of France) in 1803. To this day, the Académie is tasked with publishing the French dictionary and inventing new words for things such as “e-mails” so that the French needn’t stoop to using English loan-words.

Another part of this was the Toubon Law (August 1994) which required French (the standard French from the Académie) to be used in all official documents and advertising. It required all advertising to use French and even set a certain percentage of music on the radio that must be French. This law was literally the government going “let’s make the French french again.” If a school doesn’t instruct in French (modern, standard French of course), then they can’t receive government funds. The only exception is Breton-language schools (Breton is as north as it gets and is a langue d’oil so it still helps crush Occitan).

Since the previous paragraph probably made you mad as heck, let me give you some irony to laugh at: some French people refer to this as the loi Allgood (“law” Allgood). To explain this joke, it helps to know that Toubon is the last name of the Minister of Culture at the time the law was passed. If you break down his last name, it sounds like “tout bon” in French which translates to “all good.” People took this law saying make everything French, goddammit and replied, sure thing Minister All-Good. I love it.

Now, for the troubadours! I learned standard modern French in high school, but at university I came across Occitan because of those romantic poets. I’ll put this aside below the break so you can continue on with your day if for some reason you’re not interested in medieval French rock star-poets...

Let me begin by quoting the Wikipedia definition:

A troubadour was a composer and performer of Old Occitan lyric poetry during the High Middle Ages (1100–1350). Since the word troubadour is etymologically masculine, a female troubadour is usually called a trobairitz.

Right away you may notice a few things: 1) they wrote and sang in Occitan; 2) it was an equal-opportunity field (though it was rare for a woman to be one). The first Troubadours were mostly noblemen, but later ones could come from any social class. Yes, you read that correctly: egalitarian travelling poets! If that doesn’t sell you on these performers, I don’t know what will. The troubadours spread their tradition throughout Europe and the only thing that could stop them was the Black Plague.

As you’d expect, they mostly sang about love. A lot of their poems were about courtly love and chivalry, but they could also get bawdy. The especially good performers would be sought after by courts like famous painters. Troubadours are essentially the apex bards: romantic, witty, charming, talented, and able to make serious bank.

To finish this, I will leave you with one of the bawdiest troubadour poems I know of, Farai un vers, pos mi somelh (The Ladies with the Cat) by Guillem de Peiteus. It’s essentially the story of a dude who has sex with these women who pick up a knight on a pilgrimage (though it plays with reality and this guy’s fantasies). I’ll include it in the original Occitan, and then a translation by Robert Kehew (I believe), verse-by-verse. Forgive me for my commentary in between, but I just want you to understand how freaking clever this poem is!

Farei un vers, pos mi somelh Em vauc e m’estauc al solelh. Domnas i a de mal conselh, E sai dir cals: Cellas c’amor de cavalier Tornon a mals.

While sound asleep I’ll walk along In sunshine, making up my song. Some ladies get the rules all wrong; I’ll tell you who: The ones that turn a knight’s love down And scorn it, too.

The singer is establishing himself as a troubadour. The protagonist is dreaming, so we should be careful about what is real and imagined. He’s also invoking the trope of the philandering knight constantly falling in love and breaking his heart.

Domna fai gran pechat mortal Qe no ama cavalier leal; Mas si es monge o clergal, Non a raizo: Per dreg la deuri’hom cremar Ab un tezo.

Grave mortal sins such ladies make Who won’t make love for a knight’s sake; And they’re far worse, the ones who’ll take A monk or priest-- They ought to get burned at the stake At the very least.

The Middle Ages were not at all chaste; yes, monks and priests were having sex. This isn’t as sexist as it may come across on a first reading however. He’s not saying women shouldn’t have sex (he’s actually saying that it’s a sin not to being having sex), he’s just upset that women who are clearly willing to have sex are turning *him* down. He’s not going to get any awards for feminist of the year, but he’s not the worst. I’m sure this would rouse cheers from a tavern.

En Alvernhe, part Lemozi, M’en aniey totz sols a tapi: Trobei la moller d’en Guari E d’en Bernart; Saluderon mi simplamentz Per sant Launart.

Down in Auvergne, past Limousin, Out wandering on the sly I ran Into the wives of Sir Guarin And Sir Bernard; They spoke a poper welcome then By St. Leonard.

These are recognizable locations along a pilgrimage route. There’s a good chance that these names are replaceable (Bernard can be replaced with any last name that rhymes with a saint) and this song could be used to goad the audience. And no, he hasn’t had sex with these ladies yet. They’re just saying hello (for now).

La unam diz en son latin: “E Dieus vos salf, don pelerin; Mout mi semblatz de bel aizin, Mon escient; Mas trop vezem anar pel mon De folla gent.”

One said in her dialect, “Sir Pilgrim, may the Lord protect Men so sweet-manned, so correct, With such fine ways; This whole world’s full of lunatics And rogues, these days.”

I think most would agree that this is happening in the knight’s sex-dream because she’s just sweet talking him. The awesome part is that the “dialect” reflects the singer actually adopting a Northern French language (they’re mutually intelligible). Guillem didn’t have to go that hardcore, but he did.

Ar auzires qu’ai respondut; Anc no li diz bat ni but, Ni fer ni fust no ai mentaugut, Mas sol aitan: “Barbariol, babariol, Babarian.”

For my reply--I’ll swear to you I didn’t tell them Bah or Boo, I answered nothing false of true; I just said, then, “Babario, babariew, Babarian.”

This guy just mocks their accents as a reply. Wildin’.

So diz n’Agnes a n’Ermessen: “Trobat avem que anam queren. Sor, per amor Deu, l’alberguem, Qe ben es mutz, E ja per lui nostre conselh Non er saubutz.”

So Agnes said to Ermaline, “Let’s take him home, quick; don’t waste time. He’s just the thing we’d hoped to find: Mute as a stone. No matter what we’ve got in mind, It won’t get known.”

In this stanza we see two repeats and a new thing. First, the names are easy to replace (Agnes doesn’t even have to rhyme with anything) so that this can be done to call out a specific woman’s name. Second, the language skills are being flaunted again as this Occitan-speaker is just casually showcasing that he can sing about sex in other languages too, thankyouverymuch. Lastly, this is WOMEN voicing their desire, not men. The man is silent, they think he’s incapable of speech. This is two women in a poem/song getting to steer the story how they please. Stepping back, this is a guy’s sex-dream so you could argue he’s just got a kink for dominant women, but regardless that’s a pretty cool way to turn masculinity on its head.

La unam pres sotz son mantel Menet m’en sa cambra, al fornel. Sapchatz qu’a mi fo bon a bel, El focs fo bos, Et eu calfei me volentiers Als gros carbos.

Under her cloak, one let me hide; We slipped up to her room’s fireside. By now I thought one could abide To play this role-- Right willingly I warmed myself At their live coals.

Yes, this dude is saying he’s more than happy to let the women take charge. Don’t kink-shame him.

A manjar mi deron capos, E sapchatz agui mais de dos, E noi ac cog ni cogastros, Mas sol nos tres, El pans fo blancs el vins fo bos El pebr’ espes.

They served fat capons for our fare-- I didn’t stop at just one pair; We had no cook or cook’s boy there, But just us three. The bread was white, the pepper hot, The wine flowed free.

A capon is a castrated rooster, fattened for eating. He’s being fattened (and emasculated by letting them take control) before the women get down to their fun with him.

“Sor, aquest hom es enginhos, E laissa lo parlar per nos: Nos aportem nostre gat ros De mantenent, Qel fara parlar az estros, Si de renz ment.”

N’Agnes anet per l’enujos, E fo granz et ac loncz guinhos: E eu, can lo vi entre nos, Aig n’espavent, Q’a pauc non perdei la valor E l’ardiment.

“Wait, sister, this could be a fake; He might play dumb just for our sake. See if our big red cat’s awake And fetch him, quick. Right here’s one silence we should break If it’s a trick.”

So Agnes brought that wicked beast, Mustachioed, huge, and full of yeast; To see him sitting at our feast-- Seemed less than good; I very nearly lost my nerve And hardihood.

So yes, he’s joking about almost loosing his boner and there’s that language play again. The big part of the ending, however, is the imagery of the red cat. Cats are typically associated with women, and the color red tempts the mind into thinking of it as female passion or some kind of prowling sexuality (with undertones of evil). The subtext here is that they’re going to test him by letting this cat scratch him up to see if he’ll cry out. If he can keep his mouth shut and allow the womens’ passions, he can stay. If he can’t, he’s out. Ultimately, I’m going to say that this poem is subtly for women’s empowerment. Go scratch up your knights, ladies.

#the old guard #historic #reference #sebastien le livre #booker #french #nationalism #language standardization #occitan #troubadours #i wish i was as cool as troubadours #so underappreciated #asks #lovely anon

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