#and the real What If is what if taylor Kept being able to handle the fact that winston's (a) just someone they interact w/differently

[unproduciblesmackdown]

was already thinking that if sacker was in on it, which she was, it would've made sense if she'd met up with winston before the scene we got, and the meeting with also spyros for some reason was more for show....why not give us a reprise of a one-on-one meeting between winston & taylor like in 3x09, the first episode with winston proper; he doesn't want them in his house again after [7x03 wags subplot no reason] but can call/text to name a time & place....think taylor would've also had a more believably doable time editing his coding if he'd set them up for that b/c they'd given Any info about what they needed to do with it here, but surely we're not sparing such nerd stuff another thought. invoke the drama like that ostensibly winston couldn't uno reverse any "haha. this extortion" like if you're gonna threaten that then You do it, right here, right now, maybe more difficult thusly one-on-one without being tasked as accessories to someone else's power trip, and after definitely having decided on "forget the personal consequences in the face of my ethical quest," though still hardly makes sense why they were all like that in all of 7x03. let winston do the employee breakup like yeah i'll do it and in return lea me alone, which, foreshadowing perhaps their already thinking of doing Other Things like ttmf now in the ease of being like yeah okay despite the value....but even if implicitly winston's given up on taylor (and presumably rian) he should get to express as much more outright after all that and more

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 1

Part 1 - Snap Back

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 7400

Chapter summary: 

In which the mission goes to hell and you and Steve clash. Again.

Series masterlist

Warnings: blood, canon-typical violence, mention of gunshot wounds, hints of unhealthy relationship to pain, mention of death, some angst

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

Steve Rogers was a very large man. Over two hundred pounds of muscle, over six feet three tall, he towered and loomed and hovered above everything and everyone. And yet, his body seemed too small to contain the huge ball of righteous anger, too small to contain the magnitude of the jerk he was being at the moment.

It must have been one of his greatest talents.

And you understood. You understood why he was pacing around, his face the perfect storm with lightning flashing from his eyes, his voice thundering; the mission was a failure, fire and destruction left behind without the important data retrieved. Hell, you understood a little too well how much of that was your fault therefore he had every right to be angry with you.

And yet. Yet, you couldn’t comprehend how that supposedly righteous man spitted around words full of rage when he was to blame himself too.

He was the one to pull you out. He was the one to shake you and break your concentration before your spectre, able to waltz behind locked doors without a key, could deliver the drive to another agent. He was the one to make you snap back, your astral projection dissipating.

Yes, your spectre had been barely walking. Yes, it had got shot in the gut and you really damn felt it. Yes, you – it, really – had been hanging on a tread, with you already at peace with the fact that once you’d snap back, you’d wake up in a hospital bed, because your body wouldn’t handle the strain. Yes, maybe you would have failed anyway, snapping back before you could do what you were supposed to. But now you’d never know, would you?

Because Steven Grant Rogers, Mr. Captain America with the ego of the size of his very moniker, couldn’t have handled you straying from his explicit order to get out earlier.

You were still shaky on your feet, barely having beaten your dizziness and having been walking the fine line of consciousness for way too long, hurting like hell the whole time, but good god, did you have the energy to fight that blonde disaster screaming you down. Especially since he was doing so in front of everyone as you remained seated on the stretcher and kept pulling at the i.v. with custom-made saline to get it from your arm and make the situation at least a bit less humiliating for you.

The audacity. The audacity it had to take for him to call you reckless and scold you for not disappearing faster despite the fact there had been another set of files that caught you eye and needed to be copied. His utter confidence that his plan was as flawless as the first kiss in the early era Taylor Swift songs; confidence that you would have got out safely and the Hydra agent would have never caught you off guard if you just listened to your Captain.

Well fuck your Captain.

You knew you were a failure. You knew that in the end, you were to blame for not getting the intel out in time before the base blown up, the flash drive lying somewhere in the corridor abandoned. Tony Stark might like to tell you that with your abilities defied the basic laws of physics, namely the law of conservation of matter and energy, but you didn’t defy them that much. You couldn’t carry things back by simply grabbing them as the spectre and snapping back to your real body; you had tried countless times, but that wasn’t how things worked, even if you wanted them to – and surely Captain Rogers did as well.

But he was the one to make you snap back. And he was able to do that, because despite the poorly masked hate he appeared to feel towards you at times, he still often made the strategic decision to be the one protecting your actual body; your paraconscious, softly levitating body, completely vulnerable to an attack. Apparently, he was the only one who could be trusted to do it after all.

Whoever called him a golden boy and actually meant it had to be an idiot.  

“You should have let me do it! I would have been able to get it to Lincoln or someone else!” you argued, hands pushing at the stretcher to stand up at last, wincing at the ghost of a sharp pain tearing at your abdomen. Never mind that, that was nothing new – Rogers’ unsolicited attack and complete lack of accountability were.

He only scoffed at your argument, crossing his arms on his stupidly wide chest. The bragger. The impossible cannot-do-wrong arse-

“Would you? You were going to pass out! I know the signs by now-”

“So what?!”

“So what?!” he echoed on full volume, throwing his arm out just as wildly as the whole tantrum. “I carried you out of there because you couldn’t walk!”

How dared he-

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned regret, lowering your voice as you finally managed to rise to your feet. “I must have been such a terrible imposition to your superstrength!”

“That’s not the problem and you know it!”

Then what was his problem, you wanted to ask, but you knew that question was futile. You knew the answer already and it was annoyingly fitting to a considerably newer Talor Swift song: it was you. You were the problem he had. And the even bigger problem was that he couldn’t have you delivered back express to Coulson, because lately it seemed this team needed someone with the ability to project more than the new SHIELD did. He was stuck with you; with your apparently incapable ass.

“Do I?!” you questioned. “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t just walk off a massive blood loss!”

Rogers winced as you spitted out the words; good. Maybe he’d think twice before yelling at you next time when the Quinjet hadn’t even touched the ground yet and everyone could watch your failure in HD since he served it to them on a silver platter.

You winced too as you breathed in deeply and fresh claws of pain dug into your abdomen again; really not good. But not unusual, even as there was no trace of the bullet wound on your body – because it wasn’t your actual body that got hit, not really. Still, the pain remained.

Yet, that was nothing to stop you from staring at Rogers as he glared at you with hard eyes, leaning forward, jaw so damn tense you might cut yourself on the tendons if you touched it.  

“You wouldn’t have suffered-- that if you’d have just followed orders!”

“Oh really?! Get over yourself, oh Mighty Captain!”

“Get over-” he repeated as if he couldn’t comprehend you just said that, breathing in deeply to ground himself and failing spectacularly since his voice was still full of accusation. “You should have brought us intel and instead we have nothing!”

You stepped forward to get your retort across almost as quickly as you felt everything in you recoil in guilt – because Rogers was right. Of course, he was right. And you knew that. You wanted to scream and cry and throw up and take a damn nap or maybe just wake up from this fucked up dream but you couldn’t, could you?

You could barely do anything.

“Well, I’m sorry! Okay?! I couldn’t do it and I’m fucking sorry! I know I fucked up! I should have pushed through more, I know, and you have no idea how pissed I am at me! But maybe I would have been just fine, if--- you shouldn’t have stopped me!”

“I wouldn’t have to snap you back if you just did what you were supposed to do!”

You grinded your teeth. Stupid, big-headed pig-headed supersoldier, if he had had any idea-

“What were you going to say just now?” he demanded, standing even taller than before, the mask of anger and disappointment shifting towards challenge.

Fight me. Yell back. Try telling me I’m wrong, when you know I’m not.

Goddamn him. He was so damn self-assured, so overconfident it would get him killed one day and you’d be there to watch like a useless dumbass, because you couldn’t do the one thing every single agent on this team should do: have your teammates’ back.

But you couldn’t tell him that. You couldn’t.

Your shoulders sagged, exhaustion washing over you.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, minding your volume even as most Avengers and other agents got the memo and tried to give you as much privacy as possible. Bless that useless gesture. “I told you, I’m sorry. I know I need to learn to push myself more despite the pain when the stakes are high, but it’s…” You caught a flash of a new emotion you couldn’t decipher in his eyes and you looked away, scoffing, frustration flaring up again. “Why am I even telling you, what would you know about that, huh?”

What would the perfectly mighty walk-it-off Captain know about you peasants and your struggles. Ziltch. He was perfection personified, never wrong, never weak, never-

The sharp intake of breath had you snap your gaze back – and your heart stumbled in your chest. One brief glance at him and you regretted your words instantly. For one, you were too well-aware of the fact that they were bullshit. For two, you might as well wave a red cloth in front of an already enraged bull.

Steve Rogers bristled, teeth practically bared like those of an animal; he snarled like one too, but it was the tone that had cut you. The tone said so much more than his actual words and that message was like a muleta for you for a change.

“Is that what you think? You think I don’t feel pain?!”

“Maybe you don’t feel anything at all!” you snapped, throwing your arms up, gritting your teeth and closing your fists at the sharp bite at your belly at the movement. For fuck’s sake- “It sure as hell looks like it to me, to everyone! Especially since you’re yelling at me right now! I know I fucked up but it’s not easy on me either!”

The realization that he was acting like an asshole must have been quick – he froze for but a split second – but the fact he cared little for that was even faster, his counterattack coming in hot.

“Well, allow me to correct you, agent, I do feel pain – and I don’t have the luxury to switch it off when I snap back into my real body because I only have one!”

And you laughed. The burst of sardonic laugh tasted like hysteria on your tongue, actual tears burning in your eyes.

Switch it off. Switch it off as you pleased. God, that was funny. That was hilarious. So hilarious you wanted to cry. You pretended that the palm that you lifted to your face was to muffle the laughter and not to check whether some of your tears didn’t escape.

“Ooooh, ohohohooo, you think being me is so great, don’t you? Walk a mile in my shoes, Captain, we’ll see how you’ll like it!” you spat, laughing again. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t only walk, would you? You’d fucking dance en pointe and throw in a few grands jetés en tournant just for the kicks, huh? Because you are Mr.Perfect!”

Despite your challenging words, his demeanour changed in as if you snapped your fingers and the reason for that had your chest tighten in panic.

He noticed the tears. You could tell because he blinked, eyes suddenly roaming your face, his voice falling so quiet you barely heard it all of sudden; but perhaps that was only due to the ringing in your ears, the pulsing in your temples.

“That’s not--- I didn’t mean to--“

You cared shit about what he meant or didn’t mean at the moment. He saw you weak. Again. Not only you had failed, hadn’t handled the mission physically, now you were falling apart mentally right in front of him.

He was going to bench you. Worse, he was going to send you express to Coulson despite needing someone with your abilities and he would never ask you to join the Avengers again.

Fight. Show him you have the fire. Show him you’ve got what it takes. Don’t let him think you gave up.

“Well guess what, Captain, I feel pain too and I don’t have the luxury to heal in a few seconds!”

“I don’t heal that-“ he objected lowly and that was the last drop. The last drop and you cracked.

“I KNOW, okay?! You heal faster than anyone, but you still need to heal, because you can get hurt and you can get killed!” His eyes went wide and you gulped; he heard your voice break. Fuck. “Even if you don’t act like it, because you’re the mighty Captain, after all-“ you added quickly to divert his attention.

And the distraction worked. Too bad it didn’t work for you, words still spilling since the dam had been broken.

“Would you stop calling me-“

“Not all of us can be perfect soldiers, the ultimate heroes! Not all of us can do what you do, just push through everything! We fail, we hurt and we barely survive only to disappoint people like you!” you cried out.

It was the line about disappointment, you were certain – something in his expression shifted again and this time, all fight left your body for good, something inside you breaking. The new emotion on his face almost looked like compassion and you didn’t need that. You didn’t need the demigod amongst men and women to pity you and feel for you, especially not now. Not now when you didn’t deserve it because he was right and now this? You hadn’t been fast enough and strong enough – and he might have scolded you for in front of everyone, but now it seemed as if he regretted that because he needed to be the bigger person just to be fucking more perfect and you couldn’t bear it. You never could.

There was a reason why you always jumped to defence when he showed disappointment in you.

Your voice came out as but a whisper, but you made sure it was firm one. “I failed. I disappointed you and everyone else, I know. I’m sorry. I shall accept the punishment as you see fit even if that doesn’t make up for my failure.”

Nor blind nor deaf, Steve’s demeanour changed too; his eyes were suddenly as kind as his words and that was the worst part.

“I have no doubt you tried your best, Spectre, and that’s all we can ever do. The only punishment which will come is one for not following orders.”

You couldn’t help it. You should have, since you were already in such a mess, most of it of your own making, but hearing him utter those words, him of all people. The irony. You scoffed.

And like a charm, all of his benevolence evaporated in an instant; his back straightened, head held high.

“You’ve got anything to say?”

The words prickled at your tongue but you swallowed them. No. Don’t say it.

“No, sir.” Good girl.

“Clearly, you do,” Rogers opposed, eyes dark as they watched you sharply.

Well, then. Bad girl it was.

“Do I? Fine. You’re a big fat hypocrite.”

You might have as well stuck a bar into a bee hive and poked around, aiming for the queen. Rogers went from slightly annoyed to ballistic in a split second, back in your face.  

“Excuse me?!”

“Excused. I bet you were aaaaaaall about following orders in your time, weren’t you?” you mocked him, knowing you were so on point it had to burn him – that was, if he took a moment to actually consider your words, the words of the inferior, painfully imperfect being. “Even now. Never reckless, never out of line if you feel like it’s the right thing to do. Never pushy with your superstrength, never just removing people who stand in your way, because you can and you will get away with it, because you are the saint who does no wrong, not at all-“

It was his turn to scoff, his eyes burning with bright blue flame of righteousness – and disdain.

“You think being me is so great, don’t you?” he threw back your earlier words, bitter, clearly regretting the sympathy he had found for you earlier. He crossed his arms on his chest again, shaking his head, a sardonic smile on his lips. “You have me all figured out.”

“Yes. Yes, I do. So I know you’d do the same in my place and I know that’s why you’re so angry with me. We always get mad when we’re offered a mirror, don’t we?” you pressed, mirroring his bitter smile indeed.

Something flashed in his eyes, voice dropping low. Dangerously low. “I am angry. You have no idea, Spectre.”

Good. Then you had at least something in common.

“Well, so am I. You have no authority to decide when I have enough-“

“As your captain, I actually do-” he interjected, raising his voice again and you just rolled your eyes.

You were insanely grateful for the familiar sensation of slight popping in your ears, the gentle swing of the floor under your feet. You’d be more grateful for it if you didn’t have to stifle a cry, when your body naturally attempted to balance it out and didn’t feel the burn in your abdomen, but you couldn’t always get what you wanted, could you?

Case on a damn point.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, right,” you said, looking straight into your captain’s eyes, sticking your chin out defiantly, saccharine voice of obedience dripping from your lips, heavy with sarcasm. “Well, if you, sir, have anything else to say, say it now, because we’re landing and I’m about to take a shower and sleep for a week. That is if I am allowed. Or do I need to submit an official request?”

You couldn’t tell whether he wanted to shout again or do exactly what you suggested you would do; because suddenly he, too, seemed dead tired, as if your shouting match exhausted him more than the mission or your failure. He stared at you, silent, for a few long moments – a few too many, almost enough to make you feel guilty again for calling him out on his bullshit, enough to make you consider apologizing for that.

Then he sighed. “No, you don’t, Agent. I hope you’ll rest well.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a shocked beat. His voice was surprisingly soft and sincere, his gaze roaming over you head to toe, seemingly concerned.

Did you just break him? Kindness was far from uncommon in him – once you’d calm down, you’d be more inclined to believe that again, you knew as much – but the sudden change genuinely startled you.

“Uhm… thanks,” you muttered, too taken aback to talk back as you walked backwards. He truly looked worn down to a bone, his brain no doubt racing, already figuring out how to fix the mess you had left behind. He looked like he needed a goddamn nap himself. Except you didn’t think he’d take it; that was part of his problem.

Hypocrite.

You swallowed the you too and simply nodded sharply before you walked away, emotions swirling wildly; and at the centre of them all, remorse and puzzlement, wrapped in a familiar sensation of agony.

Winter Soldier was a moniker Steve Rogers loathed; but the reputation which came with that name was not unearned.

When Bucky appeared behind his shoulder out of nowhere, no sound having been made, Steve nearly jumped out of his skin; and it was a true testament to how upset he was that he hadn’t heard Bucky sneak up on him despite his slightly enhanced senses.

“Well, that went spectacularly,” Bucky hummed, instantly making Steve groan internally.

He did not want to deal with this – he wanted to forget about this whole ordeal. The fact itself that Bucky was cheery about a sleeper Hydra cell simply because he had an opportunity to tease him about what had just gone down only added to his annoyance.

He was tired. He was mad. He was confused. He was disappointed – both in you and himself. He was… frustrated. So frustrated; then again, those emotions and the last one in general were no news in your presence, much like many others, but those in particular he wanted to ponder over even less.

“Bucky, don’t,” he warned his friend lowly, glancing at him from the corner of his eye as they made a slow way out of the jet.

It was a waste of words, really: Steve didn’t know what he was thinking, believing the warning would actually discourage Bucky from speaking.

“You know, maybe if you told her that the main reason why you’re so pissed-“

“Buck-“

“- is the fact that she’s challenging your authority which makes you question yourself, and that you’re terrified every time she gets hurt or loses consciousness, be it her projection or, god forbid, her real body, because you care juuuust a little too much for her, then maybe… “

Steve loved his best friend; but if looks could kill, the one he shot him at the verbalized implications, however truthful, could have murdered him on spot.

“Just saying,” Bucky said, shrugging as he kept up with Steve’s sudden strut, a grin audible in his voice. “Communication is key.”

“You need to stop hanging out with Sam,” Steve grumbled. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bucky snorted, causing Steve’s head to whip in his direction in annoyance. Didn’t Bucky have a lady to tend to? Why did he have to stick around and poke around Steve’s already exhausted brain and feed the already messy whirlwind of emotion? Oh right. Bucky would say it was payback for all the years Bucky spent saving Steve’s puny ass from the back alleys.

“Right. Just like you had no idea what she was talking about when she called you a hypocrite, because you wouldn’t do the same, try to deliver all the files you could even if it meant you’d bleed the heck out, right? Your real body, that is, because you only have one…”

Goddamnit Bucky.

“Bucky, that’s enough.”

“Nope,” his friend quipped, smiling charmingly at the group of agents they passed in the hallway and briefly, Steve imagined what they had to look like; a brooding Captain practically running away from the sunshine-like Winter Soldier. Clint would call them comedy gold; and Steve didn’t give a damn. Today had been a clusterfuck of disasters with you and him in the centre of it.

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. Steve just shot him another glare as they rounded the corner, the corridor now blissfully empty. And sadly, endless with nowhere to hide. “Too bad, punk. You might be the Captain, but you’re still my friend. I’ll be bothering your reckless ass and call you out till the end of the line. And I’m telling you – you two need to get your shit together and make up. And maybe you should finally tell her you’d like to make out. But if I were you, I’d start with that apology.”

Steve stopped so abruptly Bucky nearly collided with him. The flare or anger – because goddammit was Bucky right in certain things and it was truly bothersome to hear those – licked at his gut. As he turned to give his most loyal and precious friend a piece of his mind in return, he found him with a knowing smirk on his face. Why were they friends again?

“Really? An apology?” Steve questioned, the idea absurd even as guilt had already joined the party a while ago. “For what exactly? She should have--- one of those days, she’s gonna-” Steve swallowed against the lump in his throat. He did not like the way the sentence could end. How you could end. But he’d scream at you again before he’d admit that; you brought out that side of him for some reason. You brought out a lot of things, most of them unpleasant. Most of them. “She should have followed orders.”

Bucky’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline – which wasn’t too high given how much he’d let his hair grow, but it still served the purpose of irritating Steve.

“Sure she should. And if you have always followed orders, I’d be dead.”

Steve winced as if he got punched in the gut, all flames of anger put out at once. Bucky just shrugged, unbothered by his hypothetical death.

“That’s a fact, punk. And here’s another: your mother would have boxed your ears for treating a lady the way you just did.”

And this isn’t you, Steve heard the unspoken words and with those he couldn’t argue.

The truth was, Steve didn’t recognize himself around you. He hadn’t more than once but it had never got as intense as it had just now. He felt almost possessed, an astral projection of his own, except he couldn’t control it as it raised its voice like that, in front of the whole team no less. And the worst thing was, it wasn’t a projection; the blame was entirely on him as he failed to contain the onslaught of emotion so sharp and large that he just let it all out. Almost all of it.

The one urge he tried to contain was the one to just slam you to a wall and scream the whole truth before he’d vent his frustration with you in a completely different way, with nips of teeth on that lower lip of yours, always pouting a bit when you got into one of your not so frequent but not so rare arguments, having you scream his name in ecstasy instead of defiance, a breathy whine of Mighty Captain without the snark. He was sure that would have raised a few eyebrows, but hopefully the room would clear in three seconds flat after your back would have hit the wall.

In all honesty, the whole scene had been surreal as it was; Steve had had trouble recognizing you as well. You had disagreed with him a few times, yes, you challenged his authority and questioned his decisions, yes; he had a pretty strong feeling that he was most definitely not your favourite person and more often than not, he didn’t quite understand you – but you had never so blatantly disobeyed an order. You had never endangered a mission or your teammates, never played this much of a Russian roulette, even if one might call you an overachiever which sometimes came with a bit of recklessness by default.

It was true that you could be unpredictable at times; one day you followed instructions to a tee, dutiful, meticulous even; another day, you stood firmly in opposition. One day you dotted on others in almost an overbearing quality, another day it was like you evaporated from the face of Earth, completely absent. But what came over you today, Steve had had no idea – you had been not only reckless, but to a great point, careless. Steve’s mind was blown, but not in the good sense.

That said, he was not pleased with himself either, particularly with the fact was that he had acted impulsively during the mission too. You were definitely right to call him out on it; but that didn’t mean he liked it.

He glanced at Bucky, who was watching him with one corner of his lips still raised knowingly, only fuelling Steve’s ire. Despite all that, Steve knew Bucky was right. And unlike when he was in your presence, he didn’t feel the need to deny that completely.

Sarah Rogers, god rest her precious soul, would have been profoundly disappointed in his behaviour and she would have let him hear it too, despite the infinite kindness and forgiveness she had carried in her heart.

“I know,” Steve sighed. “I shouldn’t have--- she’s just so- I-“

“I know, punk,” Bucky said forgivingly. “I know. That girl has some serious fire in her and she’s not the easiest to deal with, even if she means well, no doubt. Who does that only remind me of…?”

Steve glared at him, unimpressed – he was aware, thank you very much. Not only opposites attracted. Though he was quite certain this attraction was one-sided; and completely insane.

Bucky just grinned and patted Steve’s shoulder.

“Take a nap, Steve. We all deserve one, even if things didn’t go as planned. We’ll get them next time – as a team. Share some of that burden you strap to your shoulders every time to strap on that shield, would you? It can do wonders, believe me.”

“You really do need to stop hanging out with Sam and spend more time with Nat,” Steve uttered, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Shut up, punk, you love me mental health conscious.”

A full grin attacked Steve’s lips now, troubles forgotten momentarily, unlike the fact why Bucky Barnes was his best friend.

“Jury’s out, jerk” 

Even as you felt the fire of rage slowly dying, you tried to feed it; because it kept you on your feet. You had not in fact went to lie down, even as you felt those feet dragging more than walking to Natasha Romanoff’ office. She didn’t spend too much time in it, always having better things to do than paperwork, but you knew she’d want her report to be done as fast as possible to move on exactly to those more important things.

And you knew that as long as she was there, her office was conveniently the best place to talk, the camera system disabled.

“Well, hello,” the redhead hummed as she had Jarvis let you storm in, breathless for more than one reason.

Your abdomen was throbbing, but you didn’t have time for that. It wasn’t like you were going to bleed out from a non-existent wound.

“We need to go back there and fix it.”

The infamous Black Widow only raised her eyebrow at your dishevelled state and frantic words, leaning back into her chair. You admitted you had to be a sight to the devil himself since you probably looked like hell, but you rarely let that stop you.

“Water under bridge, Spectre. The base is blown so there’s nothing to go back to and the rest of them will go deep under-“

You shook your head, stalking to her desk, leaning onto your hands, fingers spasming at the bite of pain. Bad idea. And bad phrasing.

“No, Natasha, we—” She scanned you head to toe, her other eyebrow arching as well as you had boldly invaded her space, practically asking to be removed. Violently. You didn’t have the energy to lean back, not right away. You weren’t friends, so you had no right to be so close, but she’d get over it, you were sure. The worst thing to happen would be her breaking off your wrist or something. “What I mean is that we have to act now and get those files. All of them.”

Her gaze zeroed on your face, unnervingly searching and seeing, head tilting to side in genuine curiosity.

“What exactly was in those files that it made you hesitate? You rarely ignore orders,” she stated matter-of-factly, causing you to retreat and step back. Oh. Crap. Black Widow in offensive. She walked around the desk, leaning her weight onto it, crossing her arms over her chest. “What did you see, Spectre?”

You gulped; there was no way around it, even as panic made your breathing even harder. There were so many things wrong with what you were about to say and you had no capacity to analyse why you felt the way you felt about it, let alone why you felt even worse about the fact you were the reason why you hadn’t got the intel to others.

“Steve’s initials.”

Even as her brows had smoothened, they arched again now, eyes growing wide. You swallowed against the lump in your throat.

“I tried to copy it and just opened it for a bit, too immersed to notice the unfriendly. Naturally, I got the bullet for my trouble before I neutralized him, but that’s beside the point,” you said, not missing the corner of her lips twitching. “They were… Natasha, they weren’t just some photos or whatever. Those were… they were inventing some shit. It was physics, chemistry, half of the things I didn’t understand, but I don’t think they were replicating the serum – I think they were trying to neutralize it, neutralize Steve specifically.”

And there was no way I was going to leave that there, was left unspoken, but she heard it. Of course she did; this was Natasha Romanoff you were talking to. She didn’t need you two to be friends to read between the lines of what you were saying.

“I see,” she said slowly, the damn intensity of her gaze not relenting. “And you didn’t tell Steve that when he was yelling you down, because…?”

“It was irrelevant.”

“Bullshit.”

“He wouldn’t believe me.”

She scoffed, glaring you down. “That’s bullshit too and you know it.”

Okay, that was fair. But believing was a lot different from taking action. His damn pride would have still had him snapping you back to your real body even if you had yelled at him through the comms what kind of intel you had been carrying on the drive before he messed it up for you – and him. What the heck had he been thinking, breaking your concentration like that? The utter confusion at his actions – because surely it couldn’t have been he had been so angry with you to endanger the mission – only made the matter of your fight worse.

Natasha was right, however – that was just water under bridge. You sure as hell weren’t about to go ask him what possessed him to be more insufferable than normal and you could hardly fly to the pile of debris you had left behind when the place blew up to search for scraps of hard drives.

“Fine. I didn’t think he’d take it seriously,” you admitted at last.

“Now we’re talking,” Natasha said, nodding, a small smirk appearing on her lips, making you frown.

She sure was taking it in stride all of sudden, almost as if--- was she amused? You hoped that was only a mask and in her sharp mind, she was already building a battleplan. She had to. She was one of Steve’s closest friends, real friends, you knew as much. Sometimes her nonchalance truly irritated you. Would it kill her to show more emotion?

Hypocrite.

“But that’s not enough,” she added. “Steve, bless his heart, can be an ass, but not a complete idiot. Any other particular reason why you’d keep it from him?”

Your face was a mask of neutrality. Or you hoped so.

“Nope.”

Natasha watched you sceptically and you swallowed against the lump in your throat.

Naturally, there was a plethora of reasons and on top of them sat the fact that he’d know. He’d know how much you cared. He probably figured out anyway and maybe he wasn’t one to make fun of you for that – scratch that, he definitely wasn’t, he was too much of a good guy for that – but that meant nothing. Caring for people was dangerous; caring for people when you failed meant they’d be taken away. Having people to care for – good people – was a privilege, a reward, one that could easily be confiscated unless you reached perfection.

And yes. You knew Steve Rogers was a good guy, even when he decided to yell at you in front of everyone and challenged you and made you want to smash him against the wall and bite into his stupid plump lower lip and then cuddle him and tell him he didn’t have to be so strong and that people cared about his safety too. Of course you knew he felt pain, but he just never showed it, and it was just so damn irritating, because you needed him to be only human too, so you wouldn’t feel so pathetic despite your powers, so you’d feel a little more worthy. You were well-aware that your way of thinking wasn’t healthy, especially since Steve was a person you could never and should never compare yourself to because that standard was just impossibly high, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t try to meet it. That didn’t mean your family hadn’t set the standards just as high. Perfection was not an unreachable standard, even as it always seemed to be out of reach for you.

However, knowing that precisely that was one of the main reasons why you admired Steve as much as you wanted to punch him to his perfect teeth didn’t help you coexist with him or stopped you from acting like a five-year-old in his vicinity.

On top of that, you were fully aware of how disappointed he would be in you for failing in one particular task which you were sure he considered the most important one: to have your teammates’ six. And you wouldn’t handle that; you were selfish even to that point. To have Captain Rogers learn you hadn’t been strong and fast enough to retrieve data which increased the chance of keeping a key member of your team safe and watch his reaction up close would break your damn barely patched up heart.

Natasha continued to watch you as you zoned out, her smirk growing. “Right. No other reason at all then.”

Oh, she knew about it all, alright. You had no doubt. She might not show much emotion, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t mastered reading other people’s tells. If you had any emotional capacity left, you’d be ashamed at how your face burned under her watchful gaze.

“Will you please tell the others about the files?” you asked instead, causing her to tilt her head to side a fraction again.

“I will, but why should I? Why, when you can be the one to do it? If nothing else, you should tell Steve,” she said, almost motherly you supposed – not that you’d know. “Those were files about him – he deserves the truth and to hear it from you. I’m sure he’d be less angry with you too.”

Somehow, her last suggestion was even more terrifying than Steve Rogers being all in your face and snarling. You attempted a smile, masking the anxiety curling in your gut by exhaustion.

“Maybe. I just… it might be childish, but I don’t… I don’t have the energy for that now. Tell me what else I can do and I will, but not that.”

She watched you silently for several long moments, a small smile curling up her lips – almost a compassionate one. What was it with people and their damn compassion today? You had fucked up. Why was Steve the only one to acknowledge that and why was he relatively nice about it in the end, just like Natasha now? Frankly, as much as you preferred not being completely on Black Widow’s bad side, earning her pity was exponentially worse.

“You know, most things are not going to go away just because you pretend that they don’t exist. Least of all feelings.”

It’s been working out pretty well for you, you wanted to throw back, but Bucky Barnes, the love and the lover who was one of the few people who could slip under the hard shell of Natasha Romanoff, would probably argue with you that it worked for her the best when she did let someone in. But unlike you, Natasha Romanoff did not make mistakes and was an epitome of perfection herself so she could afford that. Natasha Romanoff was terrifying; you’d like to watch someone try to mess with her.

You, on the other hand, were no Black Widow. You could and even had to keep pretending in order to exist.

“Just watch me.”

She sighed, letting her hands fall to her sides. “Go to bed, Spectre. I know you still feel that gunshot wound.”

You froze.

Your heart skipped a beat – several beats, you were sure – because your chest suddenly hurt, panic clawing up your throat anew.

She knew. She knew.

How did she--- how? You always fought so hard to hide it, as much as of a pain that was; horrible pun included.

Yes, you sure as hell still felt the gunshot wound. With every move. With every breath. Every time you had strained your muscles to yell back at Steve.

The pain of whatever injury your spectre sustained alwayslingered. Ironically, it was only thing you actually were able to carry when you snapped back. It stayed with you for a while; not the whole time that it would take for the wound to heal, but it still took days sometimes, days of pain whose intensity slowly faded away. An invisible aching wound – like a pain in a phantom limb. There was no evidence of an injury in your body, but your brain still registered it. No therapeutic approach had worked when you finally accepted that despite what you had been taught, this wasn’t normal; only for having to accept that with no solution in sight, it actually was normal. Then again, what was normal when you only had one sample to examine?

“You mostly hide it well, don’t worry,” Natasha’s voice snapped you from your dark thoughts, uncharacteristically soft. “Your secret is safe with me. But that doesn’t mean it should.”

“It definitely should,” you said in at instant, eyes hard despite the tell-tale burn of tears you felt. If anyone knew – anyone else, that was, apparently – you’d be done. Benched forever.

I do feel pain and I don’t have the luxury to switch it off when I snap back into my real body, Steve had thrown at you. If he hadn’t noticed, you were good; you had indeed hid it well enough and that was all that mattered; despite bickering and yelling, he was still willing to work with you. But that would change very quickly; and he had the authority to kick you out of this team and this business completely.

Sure, Natasha had the power to bench you and even fire you as well, but judging by the way she was looking at you now, no matter how disapprovingly and somewhat proud at once, she wouldn’t. It would be okay – as long as she’d keep her mouth shut about it just as Andy had. Andrew Garner, the only person who had known your painful secret and encouraged you to engage with various therapy approaches to rid you off your burden. He had taken the secret to the grave, never having told nor Coulson, nor the rest of his team.

The one person who had known about this was dead; and if that wasn’t a clear enough message that no one else was supposed be trusted with this, you didn’t know what else would.

“It should,” you repeated, inhaling and instantly regretting it. You swallowed as Natasha didn’t miss the tiny hitch in your breath. Dammit you needed to get better at hiding it. And you would. “Please. Tell me what else I can do.”

Perhaps it was your true superpower to make people sigh, not to project into another room, because the redhead observed you for another long moment before sighing again.

“I meant it, Spectre – go to bed. After I’ll tell the others, we might need you. Rested. With as much as you can give.”

One corner of your lips rose in a tired defiant smirk. “I can give everything.”

The look Natasha gave you before you spun on your heels told you that precisely that was both the blessing and the problem. But you didn’t need to be told more than twice to go to bed.

As you walked out, trying your hardest to walk completely straight and not hunch over even a bit, you heard Natasha’s completely exhausted sigh.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Alright folks, life's been quite busy so this was born through sweat and tears and I don't think it will get better any time soon, but hopefully the result will be worth it 🥰

There are and will be a few distant references to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. I think you should be fine whout having watched the show.

Thank you for reading 🥰 As always, if you have he time and energy, I'd greatly appreciate your reblogs and feedback, be it even a key smash or yelling at me should the need arise 🤭

[dilfdoctordoom]

On Tom Taylor, the Current Nightwing Run & Ableism

I did mention I was gonna do a post about it, so here we are. There are some things I want to make clear before we begin: the issue exploded on Twitter on the very first day of disabled Pride month; disabled people have been discussing the ableism in Taylor’s Nightwing run since it began; nobody has blamed Taylor for what happened to Barbara in 2011. We are, however, blaming him for the way she is written in his series during 2021. 

I am also going to be discussing the ableism in the fandom in this post. The reactions I have seen, from here to Twitter to TikTok, are showing not only a great misunderstanding of the situation, but a purposeful misunderstanding. The very real reasons disabled people are angry right now have been twisted to make us seem ridiculous and overly sensitive and I cannot help but feel that is very intentional.

Another quick addition: disabled people are not a monolith. Barbara Gordon spent over 20 years as a paralyzed wheelchair user. Stating (and I would like to note, never truly showing) that she is a part time cane user now is still erasing her disability. These things are not interchangeable.

So, with that out of the way, let’s begin.

Tom Taylor’s run is ableist. That is a fact of this situation. He made the active choice to include a version of Barbara Gordon that is ableist caricature. Story wise, the role that Barbara plays could have easily been filled by anyone else. There is no real season, within the narrative and outside of it, for Taylor to include this version of Barbara Gordon, who has received a decade of criticism from disabled people. It’s very well known that this iteration is problematic, to put it kindly, and Taylor is aware of that. 

He made the active decision to include her, anyway, showing, at the very least, that he is passively, if not actively, ableist. Passive ableism is still ableism and disabled people are allowed to take issue with that.

That alone is reason enough for disabled people to be angry. But that’s not why things exploded on Twitter.

On July 1st, the very first day of disabled pride month, the new design for Barbara was dropped. After months of teasing Barbara’s return to a wheelchair using Oracle (see: Last Days of The DC Universe, Batgirl (2016), etc), they debuted... a new Batgirl costume that the artist has openly said draws inspiration from the Burnside suit.

There’s a lot of issues to unpack here, so let’s start small: the issue with consciously calling back to Burnside. The Burnside era of Batgirl stories was... beyond awful. The villain of the series’ first arc, was an AI based on Barbara’s brain patterns when she was disabled. It was evil because of all the rage and pain Barbara felt. The actual Barbara, on the other hand, was good -- because she was able bodied. Because her PTSD had been tossed aside. It was a horrifically ableist era that drove the idea that Barbara’s life was terrible when she was disabled; that it was some horrible, twisted secret.

Comics have kept that narrative going. Barbara is seen hiding books on chronic pain; she reacts aggressively to the mere idea that she could be in a wheelchair again, acting like it would be weakness. Whereas Barbara had once been Oracle not because of, but in spite of, her disability, who was fantastic representation for the disabled community, she now acts like it is the most shameful thing in her life.

To call back to Burnside is to call back to that ableism and make no critique of it. If anything, it’s to embrace the ideas of that era.

There is also the design itself to consider. Many people have pointed out the inclusion of a back brace, as if that saves it from ableism -- it does not. Any person who has ever worn a back brace can take one look at this design and know that they did not consult a disabled person. Hell, by how impractical that thing is, I doubt they even Googled a picture of a back brace.

It’s a superficial acknowledgement that Barbara is supposed to be disabled. Something that was apparently thrown in to appease the numerous complaints of Barbara being able bodied; something that no one working on it put any effort into.

When it comes to aids, this is not a new thing for Barbara in Infinite Frontier. She’s said to be using a cane occasionally, that we got a better look at in Batman: Urban Legends, and as any cane user can tell you... that is not a cane that could feasibly be used. It’s another pathetic attempt to acknowledge that Barbara is supposed to be disabled, without actually doing anything of importance.

[IMAGE ID:  A segmented cane with a tri-pointed handle with a wrist strap. There is a stripe across the sections to connection them, labelled “solar battery charger buttons”. The text reads: “telescoping antenna doubles as cane or weapon if needed”. END ID]

Dropping this design (which we have now established to be problematic) on the very first day of disabled pride month is a sickening move. The very first day, and DC has doubled down on their disability erasure, thrown in superficial things like a back brace to act like it’s fine.

Tom Taylor is definitely involved in this, whether you like it not. No, he is not in anyway responsible for the events of the New 52 and what they did to Barbara Gordon, but that does not absolve him of blame for what is currently being done to her in his run.

When the design dropped, it started trending due to disabled fans reactions. To be clear: we were directly calling out the ableism in this design. This was Tom Taylor’s response:

[IMAGE ID: A tweet from TomTaylorMade that says: “Hey, @Bruna_Redono_F I think our new Batgirl suit is getting some attention.” He then adds a winky face emoji and tags @jesswchen and @drinkpinkkink. Attached are a screenshot showing that Batgirl is trending in the United States and a picture of the design itself. END ID]

This is him, bragging about how the disabled community reacted. Perhaps before this tweet, you could’ve made an argument that he was not ableist, but after he flaunted the fact that disabled people were rightly furious over this, like it was something to be proud of? No. If you are defending him, you are a part of the problem.

Taylor has included ableist writing in his Nightwing run, beyond the inherent ableism that comes with the current iteration of Barbara Gordon (whose inclusion, yet again, is his decision).

[IMAGE ID: A panel from Nightwing #79. Barbara and Dick are standing in his apartment. Barbara is saying: “I have some pretty new technology holding my spine together. I’m happy to do most things -- eat pizza in the park, take down low-level thugs -- but leaping from rooftops seems... unwise.” END ID]

What Barbara says in the panel above has bothered a lot of disabled people. The implication that she couldn’t “eat pizza in the park’ and “take down low-level thugs” without a spinal implant that conveniently erases her disability is... fucked up, to put it mildly. Those are both things that Barbara has done in a wheelchair. The first one is something wheelchair users can do and the implication that it’s not is beyond offensive.

But, let’s leave Barbara behind for a moment. I have previously mentioned that disabled people have been discussing the ableism present in this run long before July -- and that ableism is not only centred on Barbara. Dick is also a player in all this.

Dick Grayson was shot in the head. I don’t believe I need to retread the story, but just in case: Dick was shot in the head by KGBeast, developed amnesia from the event, and went by Ric Grayson for a long enough period in comics. If you have been active within the DC fandom for the past year or so, you know all about this controversial storyline and its fallout.

The Ric Grayson arc concluded itself the issue before Taylor became the writer for the series and ever since his tenure has begun, Taylor has completely ignored the reality of Dick being a disabled man. We understand this is comics, that things do not function the way they do in our world, but still -- it is clear that this gunshot wound to the head has affected Dick massively. We had an entire arc dedicated to how he struggled to find himself in the aftermath.

Taylor is choosing to write Dick as an able-bodied man, despite his canonical injuries and how they would impact his life.

This man is choosing to give empty gestures towards Barbara being a disabled woman (as discussed above, the completely dysfunctional back brace, etc) whilst writing her as able-bodied as possible. He writes both Dick and Barbara as able bodied as humanly possible. That is ableist. He is ableist. This is the same man that said he made a dog disabled ‘in honour of Barbara’. I do not think I need to elaborate on why that is bad.

The least he could’ve done, was get a sensitivity reader. We know that Taylor is not beyond getting people from marginalized communities to consult on his work (see: Suicide Squad), so why, when writing two characters that should be disabled, one that the disabled community have been criticising for a decade, does he not reach out to a single disabled person? A mere Google search could’ve improved the situation massively. In both the new design and the current writing, it is beyond clear that this is not just an able-bodied person writing it -- it’s an ableist person.

He could have listened to the numerous disabled fans that spoke out. Instead, he chose not only to refuse to do that, but to describe justifiable anger as ‘raging’. He treated us like we were crazy for daring to speak out about blatant ableism being parading around of us in our pride month.

Tom Taylor has failed to do the bare minimum and in doing so, he is, at very, very least, guilty of complicity. Again: passive ableism is still ableism.

The argument at hand is not just about Barbara Gordon and the continuing ableism that shines out from her current writing. The argument is about the treatment of disabled characters in his run. It has also become about the way he treats physically disabled people.

We also can’t have this conversation without acknowledging the fandom’s role in it all. I waited a day to write this up, to allow all the reactions to flood in... and I am sickened.

We have everything across the board. Able-bodied people that have actually listened to disabled people, who have supported us (which is deeply appreciated). Able-bodied people who may have had good intentions, but a skewed sense of the situation and perpetuating some of the more insidious lies being spread around (IE. that this is only about the new costume).

There are, obviously, the ableist reactions, though, that we will be discussing here. People deeming the current issues as ‘crazy’, calling disabled people ‘overly sensitive’ and ‘delusional’. Many people have completely glossed over the examples given for why Taylor, specifically, is ableist, and instead have resorted to telling disabled people that we are wrong and should be mad at DC instead.

It’s important to note that Tom Taylor is an adult man. He doesn’t need a fandom to attack disabled people for daring to call him out. He is not the victim in this situation; he has, for quite a few disabled people, been the aggressor.

I have seen claims that Infinite Frontier is a ‘slow burn’, implying that disabled people need to patient... as if we have not waited a decade for less ableist writing. There is a complete refusal from able-bodied fans to actually listen to what disabled people are saying. They would much rather rush to the defence of the (honestly rather mediocre) current Nightwing run. 

Disabled fans know that comic book spaces are ableist. We know that both DC and Marvel and many of their writers are ableist. We are still allowed to be pissed as hell about it and acting like the current reaction being had right now is disabled people being ‘overdramatic’ is yet another example of how the able-bodied side of the fandom both refuses to listen to and undermine disabled people when we call out ableism.

We know it when we see it. We always do and we always will and we will always be able to recognize it far faster than an able-bodied person. If this many disabled fans are coming out and talking about an issue, calling it ableism, then it’s time for you shut up and listen.

Stop being a part of the problem and start supporting disabled fans for once.

[peeterparkr]

perennial;tom holland|sixteen.

chapter sixteen: coneflowers

↳ flower meanings: justice

chapter summary: fragile box, please handle with care. 

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: angst but not for tom and y/n :) , mentions of sex, timmy, cherry, fluff. 

word count: 11.6K

SOCIAL MEDIA BEFORE THE CHAPTER: none

previous chapter next chapter   perennial masterlist.

perfidy  ( series masterlist)

I know it took me forever to write this, I’ve been having a hard time, my dog passed and I have been grieving, however, somehow I found the strenght to write. 

I know, it’s long. I know, I’m too descriptive.idc :) I liked it. it’s my writing and i’m sharing it with you, hope you enjoy it. 

thanks to @erodasghosts​ for being a real one and helping me out. 

btw stop sending anon hate it’s getting tiring 

tags aren’t working, please leave feedback asdakd listen to taylor swift 

Someone once said, to never fall in love, everything that falls, breaks. Y/n knew she was fragile but she’d broken enough to know she couldn’t break again. She was but pieces now. However, she could mend it with love. 

There is always that inexplicable feeling of joy when you get to wake up being held by one’s love, it is believed to be one of the most pleasurable moments, or at least it was for y/n to ever think of. If not the most pleasurable one. You can always long to go to bed with someone, but to wish for someone’s mornings, when they have a new day, talks about the most intimate act of all. 

She was usually the one to wake up earlier than him, usually watching as the sun would creep in from the window to warm his cheekbones. So peacefully as he was far away, dreaming. Golden streaking under his lips. 

Y/n always wondered if he ever dreamed of her. Often dreams are senseless, and fun, however dreams can turn into nightmares. 

Nightmares which would disappear whenever she was close to him. 

As usual, she had opened her eyes before him. How could anyone doubt them? She inquired to herself, her fingers delicately traced his skin, as he was away in his own world. 

There was no feeling of storms approaching and if it did, she knew she’d be able to dance with him. And they would bloom again. Though they were not right now, they would eventually. 

 “Y/N?” He said sheepishly, an eye half open. 

Y/n jumped, slightly startled. 

She smiled, “good morning.” 

And it was a good one. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” He asked, chuckling as his arm tried to bring her close. 

She blushed, and placed a kiss on his nose, “I—I got lost….in… your eyes?” 

He scoffed, “my closed eyes?” He laughed, trying still to open one eye completely. 

“I—was thinking and your face happened to be the view I had,” she said. 

“The only view you need,” he smirked, nuzzling into her hair. 

She rolled her  eyes, placing soft small kisses around his jaw. 

It is never easy to understand why the heart chooses what it chooses. If someone dared to ask she wouldn’t have the answer. Maybe she did. 

She could tell them about the fact that she was herself, and how she wanted to see how his eyelashes shined against the moonlight. How his silences spoke to her more than words. Or how her body was tattooed by his kiss. How after everything, they wanted to fight for their love. 

“Go back to sleep, love,” he said. “We don’t have to be awake.” 

She rolled her eyes, “no,” she stated before gluing her lips to his neck, kissing her way across it. 

“Oh,” he chuckled and she felt the vibrations through his neck. “Or you can… do that.” He lifted his head slightly, allowing her to get her lips on the sweet spot he loved. 

She giggled as she continued. 

“I think I can get used to this,” his eyes fluttered open. 

Love is not something that has a formula, there is no reason as to why someone loves someone. But looking at him, maybe she could think of some reasons. 

To the world, and the world being the people in the house, they were the enemies who had turned into lovers. Y/N knew better, they were lovers who had tried so hard to fool the world into believing they were enemies that they ended up believing it. 

“Hm, you must,” she warned him, now moving her lips up to the corner of his, he blushed and finally watched her. 

“Oh, will it be like this?” He smirked and finally managed to open his eyes, he tried stretching out but his hands were too eager to hold her again. 

“Maybe,” she chuckled. 

Had they not had those moments alone all their life? A certain calmness they shared whenever no one was around, and even when they would mock and bicker, it would be a strange familiarity. Was he not able to make her laugh? And cry? And feel every emotion. Every single one of them, and one who is powerful enough to know how to break you but chooses to love you instead and heal you is incredible. Someone who tried to mend the delicate parts. 

Being enemies had only shown them they could love each other even on their worst sides. And it had built them up, in a good way. They would have fun, competition. Even after all their battles, she found peace in him. Besides they both knew they didn’t need each other but they chose each other. They were not meant to be but damn, did they fight for each other. 

She finally caught his lips in hers, as he managed to turn her around and deepen the kiss, his arms embracing her as close as he could. She knew no one understood how they could be so in love after everything. 

Y/N guessed no one would understand, how after everything her eyes still shined when he smiled at her. How she wanted sunrises and sunsets, and the fun that might come in between. And to write a new story, one that the world didn’t have to know. 

“Every morning?” He asked her, after pulling away from the kiss. “Is that a promise?” 

She bit her lip, “Not every morning.” 

He frowned. 

“Some other mornings I might not kiss your neck, maybe your forehead,” she giggled. 

He chuckled, as he blushed, “Oh, I like that idea.” 

“Hm, you do?” She grinned. “How about…. Your ear?” 

He smiled, “I like that, too.” 

“Uh… your jaw.” 

“Yes,” Tom confirmed again. 

She kept watching him with mischief, “uh… how about your chest?” 

“Yes?” 

“Hm…your shoulder?” 

“Y/N, let’s just agree that I like your lips on any part of me,” he laughed before getting his own lips caressed on her neck. “Though I like them better on mine.” 

Maybe that had been her mistake, to try and get everyone to know a story that only them seemed to understand. Though they were always trying and running and hiding. As if they were merely prays trying to be hunted and they were scared of the very next roadblock, the next needle that would pop them.

“Hm, good, and I like yours,” she agreed. He served as a great blanket,she thought before pulling him to a deeper kiss. 

And yet they’d have each other at the end of the day, and a kiss to look up to as if it was the first time.  There were no other two people so different and so impossible for everyone else but that worked together so well. They saw their truth in each other, and though it was stupid, it was real. 

Y/N loved Tom because she didn’t need a reason for it. And she wouldn’t feel guilty every time he told her he loved her, she did not have to. And she had not given up because she knew Tom turned everything bright, that was his goddam gift and curse, he turned everything golden. Midas touch that sometimes turned things into gold when they were not worth turning into. 

Even them, who were so broken, he managed to make it perfect. 

Because they were them. No one else had to understand and though she knew they had been waiting for explanations the night before she did not have to give them any because she did not want their point of view. She only wanted Tom’s. And his, it was looking so bright. 

She pulled away this time, “hm are we supposed to tell them?” 

“Hm,” he kissed his way down to her neck and then to the valley between the slight cleavage that could show a bit of her breasts. “Probably.” 

“I guess they will ask for an explanation,” she said, as her hands landed on his hair, twirling her fingers around it. “I mean, James saw me on the verge of killing you yesterday and today you are—“

Tom chuckled as he looked up. “Right, they looked very confused yesterday.” 

Y/N grinned, “wouldn’t you be, idiot?” 

“Not with us, no,” he admitted as he rolled off, now resting his head on his hand, watching her. 

“Why not?” Y/N frowned. 

He laughed, as if it was rather obvious. “We’ve been doing this since we were kids, idiot,” he remarked the nickname. “Fight to death, then be friends for five minutes,” he chuckled as his hands traced up her body. “Except this isn’t—friendship, or not the PG-13 version of it—“

“This is definitely not the PG-13 version,” she agreed. “But this isn’t friendship.” 

“No, and it won’t last five minutes,” he smirked as his eyes turned with lust at her. “Forty-five maybe?” His eyes were burning with lust as he kept kissing his way down.

“No,” she rolled her eyes, giggling. “Not right now, Thomas.” 

“Why not?” He looked up with mischief.

She chuckled, “what would they say if they heard us?” 

“Do we still have to be alone for us to work out?” He questioned. “Didn’t we agree on not—being secretive?” 

She bit her lip, “No, but… I am not exactly fond of the idea of them listening to us have sex.” 

Tom had made a point. And it was the point that they both knew it, it’s always been that way, Rome, New York, now his room. What a magical place it was when they were alone. Getting away to be happy because nobody wanted to see them tumble down. 

He laughed, “Oh, I—well, we don’t have to be—uh, I thought we could-“

“Easy, Tom,” she said then, rolling her eyes. “I think I also told you I want to slow things down.” 

He paused, “right—But you—“

“I know,” she gulped. “I know I can’t stop myself but we both get to put boundaries, and— I need to sort things out.” 

“Yeah, right, right—“

“But—that doesn’t mean,” she coughed. “That I don’t love waking up to you.” 

He watched her with a smile. “I know, I know,” he kissed the corner of her lips, more sweetly now and rolled off. “So, are we going to tell them?” 

“I believe we—“she chuckled. “Maybe they’ll assume we are—in a good place.” 

“Yeah, I mean—“ 

“I just—“ she sat up, Tom watched her, still laying down. “I need you to—understand something, I’m—Please just bear with me?” She asked him. “I don’t want to lose this, so—“

He was calm, even smiling as he watched her, his hand reached to her hair, slowly stroking it. So different, neither of them waiting to attack.

“I—“ she didn’t know how to put it in words. 

“No, no, I get it, calmer, I know you need time to figure out your thoughts but I’m here—“he said. “We need to figure it out, slowly, and talk to people. Cherry, Tim.” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. 

“Yes I know, ease your thoughts. You always have something in your mind but we agreed on figuring out how to soothe your mind.”

“Yours too.”

“But we have each other, don’t we?” He asked, a calm soothing smile. “We are figuring it out, together.” 

She beamed. “Yeah.” 

“I like this new us,” he pointed out. 

“What? The talking ones?” Y/N laughed.

“Yes,” he smirked. 

“Thought you’d be more fond of the ones that ignore everything and make out,” she sassed. 

“We can talk about it and then make out and other stuff, darling, they don’t cancel each other out, I like talking.” 

“I hate it, I barely know how to speak my thoughts.”

He chuckled, “that’s not true, idiot.” 

“No, but it was easier painting each other as villains,” she pointed out. “And we could’ve left it all behind and make out... and yet.”

“And yet, we spent all night talking.” 

They had. Figuring out why they worked, and it made sense. The flowers had never dried, not theirs, at least. Y/N had finally accepted it to herself, mostly. That they would work out not because they wouldn’t have any battles but because they would win them, if they were together. 

They didn’t blame each other, but they both assumed they’d hurt each other and they wouldn’t forget it. To leave it behind would let the wounds open, to acknowledge them would let the scars heal. 

But they both knew they weren’t going to now. That was the difference. Both of them would excel on trying to be the best for them. 

However, both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, and that’s why their decision was so strong. 

“How are you feeling now?” He asked. 

Not empty anymore, she thought. “Confused,” she admitted. 

She had the right to be confused. Her heart had been juggling with different emotions over the last 72 hours, a rollercoaster of emotions that didn’t quite mix. She still had her own words circling in her mind, about past wounds. About the kiss she’d seen. Though she knew it hadn’t been Tom. 

That was a difference, and yes, it hurt. But Tom had not been the one to kiss cherry. Tom had not kissed Cherry to hurt y/n. 

The kiss had been a mistake. And y/n knew she could forgive mistakes. 

That was the one difference between after Rome and this. This hadnt been a thought out plan. 

“Is there anything I can do?” He questioned, holding her hand. 

She looked at him, not really. But now at least she didn’t question whether he loved her or not. She knew he did. 

The thing is. She hadn’t seen the kiss coming, and that’s what had shocked her the most, and now she was starting to come back from her thoughts. 

“No, I just need to rest,” she said. “I think my emotions just need a break.” 

“We can have a break today,” he said. “I thought we said we would have it.” 

But she couldn’t have it, not yet. 

The decision they’d taken wasn’t permanent, just for now, at least.  Filming and then they’ll figure it out back in London, though she was slightly scared because he would be away to film, again, and she’d be left alone. But not lonely now, that would be a huge difference and she’d be looking forward to seeing him again. And she wouldn’t have to worry about the heartbreak now. 

“I guess,” she plopped back on next to him. 

“This week has been so stressful,” he pointed out. “I’m exhausted.” 

They were exhausted, both of them, from being adorable to the heartbreak, to the fight to making up and then fighting again and then talking, and talking. 

“We made the right choice, right?” She asked. Because she was sure they had but maybe it was just both of them being exhausted of feeling. 

“Are you having second thoughts?” He asked. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” 

“No, I do,” she said. “I think it’ll also be easier to talk to each other.” 

“Yes,” he smiled slightly. “In the quiet and peace of this very room.” 

She looked around. “It needs stuff,” she smiled. 

“Stuff?” He grinned. 

“Yeah, it’s too—plain.” 

“I’m sure we will take care of that,” he pulled her close. “I’m sure the Polaroids you’ll take will be the perfect decor. But—Look, see over there? Vinyls.” 

She laughed, “having them on the floor isn’t exactly decor.” 

“It’s art, darling, it turns you on,” he mocked. 

She laughed, “ah, right, it does.”

“But you’re right it’s plain,” 

She nuzzled close to him, “yeah.” 

“So more vinyls, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“And the Polaroids…?” 

She grinned, “yes.” 

“I actually,” he coughed. “Have some.” 

She glanced up with curiosity, “the ones I gave back with the box?” 

He chuckled, “yeah,” he glanced over. “Dude you really said let’s wreck this man’s emotions didn’t you?” 

She pursed her lips and cupped his face, “why?” 

“You literally—made a dvd,” he reminded her. “With videos of us?” He chuckled. “Like—you really said: ah yeah, fuck him, let’s remind him that we’ve done this before and that we transformed it into a relationship, and then you—Fucking saved the beer cap from that one time we—“ he cleared his throat. 

“Yeah when we first hooked up. And that controller from the first kiss—“

“I’m surprised,” he admitted. “Are you a kleptomaniac?” He laughed. 

“Maybe? I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s just—“

“They remind you of moments, right?” He questioned, 

“Yeah,” she sighed.

He looked at her, “why did you give them to me?” 

“Because—“she paused, “I know what I said in the script, and I know it was awful but I also—wanted to show you that I had written another story, you know? That that story was the one that made us and built us up and that I’ve been—Though it’s stupid, trrasuring it?” 

He stayed quiet. 

“I—Did I give you the letter, too?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah—I just—-you don’t know how many times I drowned going back through the memories, trying to figure out the puzzle. When—back in Rome it was my way of bottling up, as if keeping it in a box meant keeping my broken heart in a drawer?” 

He nodded. 

“But I—After we—I don’t know when we were with that whole enemies with benefits things and we kind of—Broke up? Can we call it that way?” 

“Uh… When was this?”  

“When—“she chuckled. “I—Well I was scared because all of sudden you were getting all coupley—I mean you bloody made me have breakfast with your parents and made me hold your hand the entire time.” 

He smirked, “Yes.” 

“Well, after that—You learned Tim had kissed me, which by the way, he did—I wasn’t—“ 

Tom rolled his eyes, “Yeah, seems—believable, but—Why did you—-Why did you suddenly just say no? Like—I was the one to kind of suggest—a relationship?”

“That was not suggesting a relationship,” she laughed. “Tommy I love you but your way of—“

He scoffed, “I—Okay, but what about that day?” 

“I was so confused because I—I finally opened up that box and it was like—as if—As if I—“

Tom seemed confused. “As if you opened your heart?” He said dramatically. He seemed amused. 

She rolled her eyes, “yes, Tom, and you should start getting used to that, all my metaphors.” 

“Sorry, I forget we are dating and that now I can’t mock you,” he confessed. 

“No, you can mock me but….” 

“Right but then I have to kiss you?” He grinned, leaning over.

She pushed his face away, earning a glare. “Ew, no.” 

He laughed, “What?” 

Y/n nudged him. “No, but like—I did it as if it was—I don’t know—But like that box?” She said. “I wouldn’t mind having that dress hanging around until… It hurt, like, all of my—Like I only boxed them when it hurt.” 

He remained quiet. 

“And then… It just… I couldn’t keep boxing it away, you know?” 

“And why did you give it to me?” 

“Because when—after the engagement party,” she started, “I guess it was—“

“Did you want me to see the heartbreak?” He asked. 

“No,” she shook her head. “I realized I boxed it because everything boxed is a good thing. None of it were—sad memories. I didn’t box the yellow flowers you gave me—I mean I didn’t have them but, I boxed the one you brought after prom, what I mean is that I only stayed with the good things? If that makes sense?” 

“Yeah, no I guess it’s—“

“And I gave them to you I guess as a lame excuse of trying to—Be like—Hey we have a lot of good things because we often try and forget that.” 

“Right,” he coughed. 

“And I think we shouldn’t, you know?” she said. “Like yes, we’ve been talking about the bad parts, but we also have a lot of good ones, you know?” 

He smiled.

 “What—what did you do with it?” She asked.

“It’s back home,” he said and then smiled. “Which could be your home when we come back, too…” 

She rolled her eyes, “So good for taking things slow.” 

He peppered her with soft kisses across her face.

“Tommy,” she giggled. 

 “We will talk about it, you know, eventually….” He reminded her,

“Yeah, I know,” she grinned. “No—but, yeah, that box, I have—“she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I thought you would burn it.” 

He chuckled, “I—honestly I did think about it, like when you did, burning the flowers right in my face.” 

“I was broken-hearted and petty,” she said. 

He chuckled, “it was aesthetic.”

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Am I wrong? Don’t you do everything for it?” He teased. 

“Oh, yes, I cried for months just because it would be aesthetically pleasing,” she snapped, pushing herself far from him. 

“I’m joking, hey, I’m joking,” he pulled her back to him. “Can we go back to decorating matters?”

“No.”  

“Ah, please, I know you’re dying to change this stupid room with your polaroids, and… maybe flowers?” He smirked. 

Y/n rolled her eyes, “you’re so stupid, yes,” she grinned before kissing him sweetly. “There’s—also, do you have some clear space for my clothes—?” 

“Yeah, I think,” he gave it a thought. “Yes there’s plenty of space, your clothes will be safe.” 

This was what she needed. Those little conversations about being normal, not about their past or not about how much her heart was breaking. 

“Hopefully they’ll stay there all the time,” he added. 

She raised her brows in confusion. 

“Oh please darling, it'll be better if we wear no clothes at all,” he suggested so smoothly, y/n thought she would melt. 

“You’re an idiot,” she blushed, giggling softly. 

“You love me,” he stated smugly. 

She grinned, “yeah, I do.” 

It was time for him to blush, and kiss her, gently. Leaving soft tray of kisses across her face. 

She smiled, “So, how about I— tell your brothers and you tell mine,” she suggested. 

Tom laughed, pulling away nervously , “are you trying to get rid of me?” 

“What? No!” She was clearly confused. 

“Look, y/n, love, darling, princess, angel—“ 

She rolled her eyes with a knowing smile, “what?”

“I love you but I don’t think I have the balls to tell your brother you are moving in,” he said. 

She laughed, “why not?” 

“You’re really asking?” He cackled. “Didn’t you hear him last night?” 

Ah, she had. James said: I swear to god, if they have make up sex I’ll kill him. 

“I mean,” she laughed, “he wasn’t wrong, he did say that we had make up sex—. That’s kind of—“

“No, no it’s not what happened,” Tom cleared his throat. “I mean, yes a little, but it wasn’t that, like, we talked, a lot and we got to many conclusions.” 

“Yes but we still—“

“So what? He said he would kill me!” He laughed. “The fact that it did happen—I mean he doesn’t know it happened but—“

She giggled, “but what?”

“I am not risking being killed by your brother.” 

“You are not going to tell him that, you’re going to tell him I am moving in,” she reminded him. “Not the… sex part.”

“Please, but telling him you are moving in is basically telling him we are going to have sex on a daily basis.” 

She raised her brows, “we are not—“

“You can’t keep your hands off me, dumbass, he will know.”

“I am not, but—That’s beside the point, I am not moving in because of that, did you really think—?”

“I know you—I know it’s not because of that but this is James we are talking about—He will assume.” 

It was only partly why she was moving in. No, not the sex but to be with him. They’d work it out together and being together more time would help. Besides, she knew that she had to get rid of Tim. Not because of Tom’s jealousy, no, but because Tim had too much power in her mind and she did not know if she was strong enough to stop him. It wasn’t that Tim still had her feelings, no, but she had to know who she was without Tim, and who she was with Tom. She liked the version she was with Tom, the kind of person who was willing to see the best and try and show the best. Y/n liked who she was around Tom now. This version, the one that was willing to make her most complicated thoughts less complicated. The one that smiled when waking up, the one that smiled after a kiss. 

Y/N didn’t need Tom, technically. She knew that she could be fine in an apartment on her own, but she wanted him. And her wishes had become so strong they’d turn into a necessity. Her body was tattooed with him, her heart had his name carved. 

Her time away from him had been only a proof that she’d come back to him. Maybe he was an addiction. Maybe she was young and stupid, but she knew him too well to know that it was better to keep him around than to be away from him. 

Tom was a part of her, and trying to deny it would only bring her down. So she’d said yes to his proposal to move in. Because she knew it wasn’t a proposal that came from fear, it had been a proposal that had come from passion. 

The sky was clear. After the storms. They didn’t have to dance under the rain because she’d finally punched the hole through the roof. They’d come back to each other. 

Though they could assume that she’d take revenge over his mistake, and he could take his own, neither of them would, because why would they ever break what they love.

And she wouldn’t because they’d be chasing shadows and she didn’t need that. 

Maybe they had to drown together, or understand they’d both drowned.

But the water, though still slightly altered, was swimmable, because she had him. And that’s all she needed right now, he was the only answer to the many of her questions. 

“Well, if he assumes it,” she chuckled, “it’s on him. Besides, if he assumes it that’s gross, why does he assume his little sister is having sex?” That made him laugh, “besides, I don’t care. It’s our decision, they don’t know about us.” 

There was something about them that they managed to see each other. 

“They do know us,” he pointed out. 

“Yes, separately, they don’t see this,” she pointed out. “I think they don’t fully understand us, and honestly, I don’t need them to.” 

Tom tilted his head. 

“Eventually they’ll see it, but I think they do, already, they just have this version of us, and we do, too, but I think we—“

“We are more than that, yes,” Tom agreed. 

“They don’t know about the things we do, they don’t know about the I love you’s.” 

He closed his eyes, “did you just fucking quote One Direction?” 

“They don’t know about the up all nights—“ she sang. 

“Stop. You’re ruining this.” 

“They don’t know—“

“Shut up, I love you but you should stop,” Tom laughed. “No—I hate you.” 

“I hate you, too,” she grinned, leaning down to kiss him. How marvelous, her enemies to lovers story had turned out. 

“Are… we avoiding going out and facing them?” He asked in between kisses. 

“Hm. I think so,” she admitted. 

They would have to face them, and so they, though they’d rather stay savoring each others’ words, they went to the kitchen, where they would be received with their spectators. 

Sam, James and Clark. There was no sight of Harry, y/n noticed. 

They froze when they saw them. As if with a word they could destroy each other. Y/N didn’t like to think of them so fragile but she understood where they came from. 

“Hello,” Tom was the one to break the silence. 

They didn’t answer. 

“Good morning,” y/n was next. 

Clark smiled, “good morning!” He greeted them. “How did you guys sleep?” He had a mischievous and knowing look on his face. 

“Fantastic,” Tom said. 

Y/N smiled, “Good, how about you guys?” 

“Ah, slept next to an idiot, but it was lovely,” he said. 

James glared at his fiancé. 

“Ah, me too,” y/n grinned. “It comes as a surprise, does it not? How incredibly soothing it is to sleep next to an idiot.” 

Tom chuckled and eyed their breakfast, as if trying to decide what he would have for him. Sam watched them with irony. 

“Surprising indeed,” Clark answered. 

“What?” James asked. 

“You wouldn’t know James, you are the idiot in the relationship. “Where’s Harry?” Y/n asked with curiosity. 

Sam smirked. “Not here.” 

Tom stole a piece of bacon from Sam’s plate earning a glare from his younger brother. 

“Not—?”Y/n frowned, very unaware of the situation. “Alright—uh, what can I have for breakfa—“

“Alright that’s enough,” James interrupted. “You guys are going to act as if nothing happened?” 

Tom took a deep breath, “good morning, James.” 

“Good morning?” James mocked. “Good morning? That’s all you have to say?” 

Tom chuckled, “sorry, how did you sleep, James?” 

James was losing it. 

“Are you kidding us?” James asked. “You—y/n almost murdered him yesterday—“

Y/N chuckled, “so? You pretended to be straight for fourteen years. And now you’re here engaged to a man, we all pretend to be things we’re not.” 

Clark bursted out laughing. 

“What the fuck,” was all James could say. 

Clark placed a hand on his shoulders, immediately James calmed down. “Jamie, love we talked about this—“ 

“I’m—You guys just—“ James couldn’t even speak.

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes, “it’s none of your business, James, but if you must know, I made out with him for 10 hours straight and forgot about it.” 

Tom was the one to freak out now, “no, no no—We didn’t—No, we—we talked okay?” 

Y/N laughed, “yeah—Fine.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, “I think what James here means is that we are tired of not knowing how the hell to act around this and we need an update.” 

“Yeah. So about that,” y/n said. “First, I need you to understand that this is between Tom and me,” she cleared up. “Whatever we are going through, we don’t need you to meddle in, and we don’t want you to take sides or whatever, because there is no sides here, this is not y/n versus Tom, this is not a prank war, this is not—“

Tom cleared his throat. 

Y/N closed her eyes, “we came into a realization that we—no, we’ve always known who we are when we are together. We know each other, and we love you guys but this is our thing.” 

Clark smiled and then turned to James as if telling him: ‘I told you so’. 

“We—“Tom was the one to speak now. “I think what she’s trying to say is that we don’t want you guys to be worried about it.” 

 “Yes,” she said. “And...You guys all know us, we know, I know, James, I know you know me and want to protect me, however you guys barely know who we are together,” Y/N continued. 

James watched them, “We only want what’s best.” 

“Yes but how do you know what’s best for us?” Y/N asked. “And it’s… Look, I’ve never meddled in your relationship with Clark, I barely even knew about it and look at you guys.” 

“Yes but you guys-” James tried to intrude again. 

“We know,” Tom said. “We know, though it’s not perfect, it’s our relationship, and…” Tom took a deep breath. “Yes, you’ve been witnesses to the bad parts, and only the bad parts, but… we… We also have some very good ones, like back in New York, Rome or just this morning, and maybe that’s on us, because we’ve always feared about it and… We’ve always been so…” 

“Yeah, what we thought was that we… We are so scared of the outcome that we’ve always shielded ourselves by being alone, and we don’t have to,” y/n finished his sentence. 

“And yes, it’s not perfect, but it is the best that has happened to us and though it’s hard to believe we've brought the best of each other..” Tom cleared his throat. “We have.” 

“Yes, I know it’s hard to believe but I love the y/n I am when this idiot is around,” she admitted. 

James was listening now, Clark couldn’t help but smile and Sam was, honestly, just confused. 

“We’ve overcome the worst heartbreaks and we both know each other’s worst and we are willing to bring the best,” Tom said. “We are willing to work it out and step out of the idea we have of each other because we also know we are trying to become our best versions.” 

Sam nodded, “Cool, now, can we just please be aware of your relationship status? Though we won’t meddle I think we’re very involved in this and might as well—you know, be aware.” 

Y/N and Tom looked at each other, it was weird why they felt so insecure about it yet there was no reason to. 

“She’s moving in,” Tom announced, firmly but regretted it instantly. “Uh—Just—“

The room was incredibly quiet. Of course they had expected this, they had been on the verge of breaking up right now and this outcome was nothing of what they had expected. 

Y/N nodded, that’s all she could do. She walked closer to Tom. 

James took a deep breath, Clark held his hand, knowing that James was probably about to lose his shit. He didn’t. 

James didn’t look at Tom, he looked at his sister, who only reached out for her lover’s hand, now uneasy and kind of sweaty. 

Sam wanted to roll his eyes, and not because he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t sure why. 

Y/n thought  she knew what they were thinking, that they were completely crazy. That they wouldn’t last. That it was just another stupid idea. Like back when they were children and they had decided to play at the tree house together and five minutes in y/n had climbed down crying because Tom had said something mean. Or that one time when they had gone to the movies when they were younger and said they would share the popcorn and Tom had ended up with the bucket on his head. 

Like the old times when they always said they would be fine and then five minutes later they’d be at each other’s throat or on top of each other trying to hit the other. 

Y/n thought they were thinking that. And they probably were. 

The difference was that she didn’t care this time, because she knew that this time probably, yes, she’d be on his throat, but with her lips tracing its way and if someone was on top of each other, well, she would… really like that. 

“Alright,” James said, finally breaking the silence. 

That was new.

And everybody was confused. 

“Just know, that this is my sister, Thomas,” he added. “Please just stay five feet apart at all times. Separate bedrooms.” 

Tom chuckled nervously, he was sweating. He would actually take that in mind, he tried to walk away. He wasn’t sure why he was scared of James, it’s not like James would hurt him. Maybe it was a matter of trying not to disappoint him. 

“No, thanks for the suggestion,” y/n smiled. “But I’m good. He’s a good pillow.” 

James wanted to ask a million questions, and he only was squeezing Clark’s hand. Clark thought he would end up losing it. 

“So—breakfast?” Y/n said with a smug smirk.

Sam kept watching them with curiosity.

“Just—Just—“James was startled, y/n could tell, “I—“He was warned with a glare by Clark. “I need—I need to know, please, I just—how the hell—How did you guys even go—from—?” 

“From what? Enemies to this?” Y/N questioned. 

“That I can answer, she flirted once for 20 seconds and  I became obsessed with her,” Tom said and then laughed. “No, I’m joking, well, no—Not really, but she kissed me once and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.” 

Y/n smiled. “Yeah, he smiled at me once and that was it for me, also, I’m attracted to stupid. And he happens to be—“

“No—“James tried to say something but y/n interrupted him again. 

“Ah okay, well we flirted at some bar once and we—“y/n started. 

“Danced! Yeah, to that song from Risky Business!” Tom didn’t let her finish knowing damn well that hadn’t happened but he would not let her say they had flirted and hooked up and ended up with this. 

“Ah, yeah, but that didn’t happen until after—“

“I flirted with you on set,” Tom reminded her. 

She grinned,”that was flirting? Well, okay yes—“

“No, I didn’t mean—,” James tried speaking again.

“Ah sorry,James,” y/n laughed. “Right so—In his car—“

“We got pancakes at midnight,” Tom interrupted yet again. Did she want him dead? 

“And then I held hands with her having breakfast once and I realized I wanted to wake up every morning to her,” Tom said. 

Y/n glared, “that’s—“

“Yes, and we danced to that song from Dirty Dancing and she ended up madly in love with me.” 

“Yes and then on the plane—“y/n continued with a smirk, she was mocking him. She clearly knew what she was doing. This was Tom and Y/n in their splendor. She was teasing. 

“Yes we had a date,” Tom glared, interrupting again. “And then we danced in the middle of the street in New York..” 

“Why the hell is there so much dancing,” Sam asked.

Y/n laughed, “yeah, dancing.” 

James rolled his eyes, “I don’t care about whatever happened—“

“That’s the thing, James,” y/n said. “I know you’re asking how the hell did I turn from almost murdering him to now moving in with him, and that’s exactly the explanation I’m giving you. All those little details in our relationship? That’s what led us here.” 

James took a deep breath. Clark brushed his back trying to soothe him. Y/N knew they weren’t exactly happy with this, but this was it. 

Even last time she was nervous about it. How would they react, and how they feared they would respond. But why did it matter? 

Though she knew that they would be supportive, no matter what. They would be supportive. It was not then that mattered. 

She knew her mind could easily be manipulated by someone else. Someone who was not at that house. 

Y/N and Tom both expected James to say his infamous words ‘I’m happy you’re happy.’ Which would mean he didn’t agree. 

He didn’t, instead he said, “Dont’ fuck it up, please, I love you both too much and I really want you both to be happy, and if you guys make each other happy then don’t be fucking stupid.” 

They had his approval, not that it mattered. 

Sam had been quiet. Dangerously quiet.

Y/N knew not to push him. 

They had breakfast, and it had been calm. Clark had been kind enough to change the subject of conversation and brought the subject of the wedding though James had been reluctant. They did talk about it, and Tom had tried to make some points on it by recalling that he’d been the one to introduce Tom and Clark. 

“Introducing me to the love of my life won’t redeem you from even holding my sister’s hand, Thomas.” 

But though the sky was clear, y/n knew they had to drive to the storm, the difference this time, they’d go together. 

Y/N had given it a thought, she was not sure how she would talk to Cherry. She was going to...eventually. 

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” Sam had asked as y/n and Tom were splashing water at each other while doing the dishes. 

Tom glanced at his brother. 

“Alone?” Sam remarked. 

Y/N chuckled, “Yeah, sure.” 

And she left with him. Tom didn’t know what that was about. Though he knew he didn’t have to worry, one because Sam would get y/n against him, not that he had to, and besides y/n had made sure to make Tom know that she wouldn’t let their relationship tumble down over little doubts and fears. 

Sam wouldn’t give her any. But he knew that there was something bothering Sam, he wondered what. But if it was a problem with Tom, he would’ve talked it with him. 

Tom never really understood Sam and y/n’s relationship, it was very peculiar and fun, he knew. He knew y/n trusted Sam with her life. And Sam trusted her with his. 

It took him a while, he’d seen them talking far away. 

“What’s--up with them?” Tom asked James and Clark who were on their way to go out, Clark explained they’d go tourist. 

“Dunno, maybe he’s trying to bring some reason to y/n and try and convince her not to date you,” James joked with a smug smirk. 

Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes, “You’re really hating this, huh?” 

Clark nudged James, “No, he doesn’t, he’s just being a bitter asshole, like the big brother he was to be.” 

“Yeah,” James confirmed. “I hate any guy who dates her, she may be a pain in the ass but no one deserves her.” 

Tom was slightly hurt by that, though he agreed, he knew James had never been this reluctant as when she was dating Tim. Tom faked a laugh anyway.

Clark glared at James. “You’re doing exactly what I fucking told you not to.” 

“Please,” James grinned. “Tom perfectly knows I’m joking, they’re so bloody meant to be it’s making me sick, but I still forbid you to even fucking hold her hand,” he said as he put on a jacket. 

Tom was slightly calmed by that statement. “‘Lright.” 

“But no, I wouldn’t worry about Sam, Sam is probably talking about a theory he came up about something, he was watching Sherlock last night, I think so… You know how he is.” 

Tom chuckled, “right.” 

“And they haven’t seen each other in so long so he just probably took the chance.” 

“Right,” Tom said, and it did make sense. 

Clark and James left, eventually after telling Tom their plans. Tom was still slightly nervous. 

When y/n came back, her eyes were distraught and distracted. 

“Everything okay?” Tom asked, quickly. 

She licked her lips, “Yeah, yeah, we…” 

“You don’t seem alright,” Tom pointed out. 

“Yeah, I… No,  don’t worry, Sam just…” She nodded to herself, as if she was figuring out her thoughts on her own. 

“You sure?” Tom pushed. 

Y/N only nodded before walking away

Sam was walking by too, “Don’t worry, let her… sit in her thoughts.” 

“What did you say to her?” Tom asked. 

“Nothing that prejudices you, don’t worry,” Sam said. 

Y/N needed some clothes and to start packing. y/n was quiet for another moments, and then asked to go to her flat, she wasn’t distraught anymore. Tom and her talked again, he didn’t push the Sam subject, but they talked, apparently it was something they were doing now. While in the car, just like they had in the morning, talking, calmly. With a few jokes in between. 

Y/n didn’t know how, probably Tom either but he was teasing, like old times. Both of them making fun of each other, remembering. 

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked as they were climbing the outside stairs to y/n’s apartment, he reached for her hand to stop her. 

She looked back, she wondered how their silhouettes looked, very Romeo and Juliet probably. Romantic. 

“Do what?” She asked, “go upstairs?” 

“No, dumbass,” he chuckled, as he took a step forward but she was still ahead. “Move in?” 

Honestly, she did have some doubts, that had nothing to do with Tom, and nothing to do with her apartment. Y/N had doubts on herself, not with Tom, but she—still was unsure on how she would feel when they would have to leave, eventually. Back to London. She was doubting the process of going back to London. And moving in with Tom meant she’d eventually have to. Or—what if she had to stay? How would she find another apartment—or would she have to move in back with Emma and Tim? Would Emma even stay in LA? And would Tim? 

No worries with Emma but—Tim. 

She’d worry about it later. 

“Yes,” she smiled as she pulled his hand, he climbed to the same step. “I’m sure, besides, it’s not like I’m moving in today, I’m just—getting some clothes,” she reminded him. 

“Right?” 

“Are you sure?” She asked. Maybe he hadn’t asked because of her but because of him. Maybe Tom was second guessing the proposal that had come in so abruptly. 

Y/N had not initially answered when he had asked, after all, he had blurted it out in a very compromising position.

“What?” she had asked. 

“That—was stupid wasn’t it?” It had been. But, really, y/n was used to his stupidity. 

And they had remained quiet on the ride. Tom had been so embarrassed for even daring to think of it, let alone asking it. 

Tom had tried to cut the silence. “I—“

“I just—“she laughed as she interrupted. “So—I was—you know, on top of you and you thought—Yes, I want to move in with her, that was what was going through your mind?” 

Tom turned red, “I—no—“

“Your mind was elsewhere while we—was it that boring—?”

“No!” He coughed. “I—No, nothing like that—No, I just—It was on my mind before it happened and—“

“It was on your mind?” 

“Yes. You mentioned how you had to move out and I couldn’t help but think that—I—forget it, it’s stupid.” 

“It’s not.” 

“What?” 

She had paused. “How crazy would it be? Like—Even in New York we had to get rid of the other room because—“

“Yes but—This is months—“

She paused, “right.” 

“I mean—I would love to,” he admitted. “We could—I dunno, waking up to you every morning sounds like a dream come true.” 

She only smiled shyly. 

“But no, it’s stupid right? Uh—should we go for something to eat?” 

“Yeah—“

“I—no—I actually did mean it,” he confessed. “I do mean it, it wasn’t the heat of the moment or whatever.” 

“You’re asking me to move in with you?” She questioned. As if trying to make him realize what he was really offering. 

“Yes, I am,” he had said firmly. “I—just think about the perks we would have.” 

“Oh, no, I know about those—“she sassed, chuckling slightly. 

“Like—we could drive together to set all the time and you could—Uh, there’s this room that you could use to write? Yes—and uh, we don’t even have to be on the same room, when James leaves you can take the room he was sleeping in.” 

She was amused, and watched him with a smirk, “so, roommates? Is that where we are standing now?” 

“No—But if you think it’s soon—“

“It is soon,” she pointed out. “But when have we ever—been good with any timing in our relationship?” 

He chuckled nervously, “true—But I mean—if it’s too soon then we don’t have to sleep on the same bed.”

She only watched him. 

They did go to a drive thru, and stayed quiet again. Tom had been so nervous about it. And he knew y/n didn’t believe him that he actually was offering it to her. 

“So, want to be my roommate?” He offered as he’d drove home, they had stayed at the car, sitting on the trunk, probably because neither of them wanted to face everyone in the house yet. 

“I—have been thinking about it,” she admitted. “But—being honest.” 

“Yes?” 

“I don’t think we could stay in separate rooms,” she recalled. “I—I mean—“

“Why—not?” 

“Tom.” 

“I—I—it’s cause, I know it’s soon but that way you don’t have to find another place, and—“

“No, no—I—like the idea but—“

“Yes?” 

“But… Are you seriously offering being… roommates?” 

He coughed, “Roommates who kiss occasionally.” 

She rolled her eyes, “Uh-huh.” 

“Look I… I don’t know, I… Ideally, you could move in and we’d be sharing a room,” he hesitated. 

“So coupley,” she joked. 

“I thought we… were that?” He questioned. 

She gave him a smile, “Well, yes, that’s why I figured we can’t be in separate rooms, and honestly even if we were I know I’d crawl my way to you.” 

He watched her with curiosity, as if he couldn’t quite understand why she was asking if he was sure. He was, and it didn’t matter if they moved in or not, she was his home, as cliché as it may sound. And it was exciting, though a bit scary, he was sure of it. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he grinned. “Why-wouldn’t I be?” 

The sun had posed on her lashes as she dedicated him a very shy smile. Tom wasn’t scared anymore. Though they’d started in a very cheerful spring and ended in New York for a very nice summer, the autumn was now their very best. A breeze made her hair fly, and they kept their way, Tom could only smile at the way the sun made its way through her face, as if it was made to shine on her. 

Tom knew they had to still mend each other’s hearts, delicately. But they had each other for so, and the future looked bright. Just like the sun in her face.

Y/N opened the door to the apartment, and Tom feared just a little, that their incredible drea would tumble down if Tim was there. He… wasn’t. 

Was it selfish to think that he somehow knew y/n would eventually come back to him? Was it that selfish to have that feeling so strong? He had thought about it, all night. A love so stubborn that they’d find a way to each other, even pretend to hate just to have a reason to talk to each other. Maybe they were young and knew nothing about love and it was stupid, but they knew everything about each other. 

He knew they’d be able to talk about the rain, they’d danced enough under it to know they would see it bittersweet. Maybe it wasn’t selfish to think she’d come back, because he knew he would, too. 

Y/N walked in and stared at the couch, curiously. There were a few clothes here and there. 

“What?” Tom asked. 

“I didn’t see the car,” she pointed out. She headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge, getting out two beers, handing him one, “I guess they’re not here… the place is…” She shook her head as she frowned. “Nothing.” 

He knew it meant something, but if she didn’t want to share it then it meant she didn’t want him to know. He didn’t push it. 

He followed after her into her room, he sat on the bed and looked around. Her room was so… her. She always managed to make things hers, as if she had this mystical touch to transform everything into beautiful things. He always wondered how she did it, how she managed to turn the not so nice apartment into something liveable. 

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t broken up with him, because she’d even turn her heartbreak into something beautiful.

There was something beautiful in them, fragile things often tend to be the most expensive and the things you care for the most. He looked at the flowers, dried out now but decorative. Pretty. 

Her camera, some writings, polaroids. She was looking through her clothes, and Tom only remembered when she was packing back for New York. But she had boxes now. 

He beamed as he then walked through her room, he could still smell the perfume from the flowers hanging. All of them were yellow, or some tone near yellow. She had maps, also, with some places circled. He saw her notebook that she took to set, the script with scribbles and his name circled. Flowers sketched around it, he smiled. 

But there was a noise heard outside, a laugh? 

Both Tom and y/n frowned and tried to peek through the door, and then a view they had not expected. Emma’s laughter echoed through the apartment as she made her way to the kitchen, topless or her bare back gave away that impression, with Harry following right behind wearing only a pair of boxers, harmonizing his laughter with his, as he ran to her and hugged her from behind, kissing her bare neck. 

Both y/n and Tom widened their eyes as they turned to each other, with surprise. Tom quickly rushed to close the door, Y/N did the same as they quietly closed her bedroom door. And as soon as they had, they both tried not to laugh. 

“Oh my god,” both of them whispered, red from embarrassment, still trying to contain their laughter. 

“What the fuck?” Tom asked, happy for his brother, but also very uncomfortable. 

She snorted, “I don’t know,” she answered quietly. “Oh my god?” 

“Do you think they fucked?” Tom asked. 

“That’s your brother!” She playfully smacked his arm, giggling. “But… Oh my god, they totally did.” 

“Oh for fucking sure they did.” 

“That’s why Harry wasn’t—oh my god?”

“I… oh my god,” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I saw her boobs,” Y/N laughed, a bit too loud and Tom quickly covered her mouth. 

“Shut up, idiot,” He said. “They’re like fucking deers, they’ll be startled!” 

Y/N couldn’t stop giggling so instead she buried into his chest, expecting the shirt to cover the sound. 

“I… Okay, but…” Tom smirked. “Do you think they pulled a ‘Tom and y/n’ and just…?” 

“I mean,” she chuckled. “It’s an effective method. 

Tom chuckled. “He fucking judged us yesterday—?”

“Yes but I guess he saw us and went: huh that worked for them?” 

Tom cackled. “I can’t believe Emma would give in—“

“Oh, so you—“she frowned. “Emma wouldn’t but I would?” 

Tom knew he had fucked up, as he often does, cause he’s a man and an idiot. “Shit—No—I didn’t.” 

“Am I that easy to persuade?” She asked. 

“No—I don’t mean it, like that, I just mean that—“

“That Emma wouldn’t be up for makeup sex but I would?” 

“You have—been up for—,” he stated. “Look—I didn’t—“

She chuckled, “so you think you are in control of it?” She pointed out. 

“Psh, I know you can’t resist me, darling.”

She smirked, “Tommy, please.” 

He gulped, “I—okay, no I’m not but I didn’t mean it like that.” Tom rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Fine, you can do whatever you want to me, I give in.” 

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Harry!” And a giggle was heard from outside. 

Tom closed his eyes. “Wait—Please—please tell me they’re not going to—Go for it, again.” 

Y/N looked up. “I—I—Hope not?” She was scared. 

 “Are we trapped?” Tom asked. 

Y/n chuckled, “seems like we are.” 

“Great,” Tom sighed as he plopped on the bed. “Do you think she—forgave him?” 

“Shut up, you’re an idiot,” they heard Emma yell.  

Y/N listened and nodded before sitting beside him, handing him his beer “Dunno, but did you hear? Poor thing she’s bloody in love with him.” 

“She called him an idiot,” Tom pointed out, confused..

Y/N chuckled to herself, watching him comically, she smirked before drinking from her beer, “I know, dumbass.” 

Tom frowned, “So, she is mad right?” 

“Oh my god,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m—Oh.” 

He was an idiot. 

Tom, even if he would not dare to say it out loud was slightly jealous of his brother. In a weird way. In a way that Tom aspired to be the most adorable couple and Harry and Emma had always been 1st on that place. 

Tom knew Harry and Emma specialized on being adorable, hence why Harry would not stand Tom and y/n. 

They were such different couples. But there were a lot of similarities, Harry and y/n were very alike, very reserved. Tom and Emma were also very alike, so open and so cheerful. 

But Harry and Emma had more in common, they were very different in the way they approached things, which often came as a blessing and more often than not, it was not a blessing. They were so stubborn. 

Which was the difference with y/n and Tom who were so different, y/n was so into her world, calmly escaping in films, music, clothing, pretty things. While Tom escaped with the gym, golf and parties. 

Y/N loved quiet, Tom loved loud and yet. 

They were there, locked in y/n’s room and though there probably were a million other things to do, they both laid down with their feet resting against the wall. Trying to ignore Harry and Emma who god knows what they were doing. Talking about everything and nothing at all. 

Hands playing with each other’s hands. 

“No, but like—Mr. Darcy is just—“y/n sighed, dramatically. “He is a dream come true.”

Tom chuckled, “He’s emotionally unavailable.” 

“Yes, he is an idiot,” y/n pointed out, “which—of course , it makes sense I’d fall in love with him.” 

“I don’t understand why—Like, okay, the actor is handsome but—“

“Oh my god Thomas, no,” she interrupted. “I mean yes but it’s the story.”

Tom laughed. “The story?”

“It’s enemies to lovers,” she said as if it was obvious enough already. 

It’s fair to point out now, Tom was very dumb. “What?” He proved it with that. 

“I—“She chuckled. “Tommy, okay—So it’s—enemies to lovers who love each other but they don’t give in because of their misconceptions of each other.” 

“Yeah, it’s in the title—pride and prejudice,” he remarked. “So what? Why do you love it so much?”

Y/N looked at him as if she was reconsidering every life choice she’d ever made. “I—It’s ironic, even, Thomas.” 

“What is?” 

“What were we before we dated?” 

“Sad?” 

“I—“she chuckled. “No—I mean.” 

“What?”

“We were enemies, Thomas.” 

Tom then realized how stupid he was. He closed his eyes as he finally made the realization. “Oh.” 

“Yes—Oh, dumbass.” 

“But—Okay, I thought we would be more like Mr Bingley and Jane” 

She laughed, softly. “Please, you’re not nearly as adorable and you were just as emotionally unavailable to me half your life.”

“I was—Okay but like—I—I thought.”

“No, those two out there? They’re Bingley and Jane.” 

“Oh, makes sense...so, you and I are Mr. Darcy and Lizzie?”

“No, we are idiots.” 

Tom nudged her. “Yes, idiot but I meant—“

“Hm are we?”she questioned. 

“You’re just as stubborn as she is so,” Tom smirked. “I love you most ardently.” 

“You have bewitched me body and soul,” she proclaimed. 

“I think we are like them, even better,” he grinned. 

“No, I love you but no, we are not,” she smiled.“However, I do wonder how Jane and Bingley are doing.” 

Tom laughed. “I am pretty sure we are good to go out, are you ready to go? Packed enough for some days at least?” 

“Yeah, almost,” y/n said as she stood up after kissing his cheek. 

Tom watched her, “what did you and Sam talk about?” 

Y/N paused, “Stuff.” 

So she didn’t want to tell him, why? Tom coughed, “Uh, but are you okay?” 

“He… just made the type of questions Sam usually makes, you know, the one that… makes you think” y/n said and then took a deep breath. 

“Oh, those are… dangerous,” Tom pointed out. 

She turned to him,“I know-We agreed on talking, but let me just figure this one out and then I can tell you.” 

“Should I be worried?” he asked.

“No, not you,” she said. 

“Someone should?” 

She chuckled, “I… No, but… It’s just…” 

Tom only watched, still nervously and anxiously sitting on her bed. 

She smiled at him and dropped what she was doing, she walked over to him and wrapped her hands around him, “trust me, you don’t have to worry,” and she kissed the top of his head. 

Y/N picked up some of her stuff, as she’d walked out, she made sure neither Harry or Emma were around, they did not have to know they were there. Tom followed after helping her with some more stuff. But just as they were making their way, two doors opened, Emma’s and the front door. 

And then the flat was too crowded. 

Too crowded. 

Tim had walked in with Cherry following behind, stopping abruptly as they’d seen the other two couples. Emma was probably debating whether to watch the couple who had been already inside or the one just coming in. 

Emma felt this one familiar feeling, like she could hear sirens and she could see the red fire burning all the flat, like when she’d seen her own engagement party tumble down. Her skin scorched as the flames grew stronger. 

Harry felt it, too. Glass shattered for him, and now if he walked any further, he would shatter. Both of them were tired of this. Harry didn’t want to feel this fragile but he couldn't help it. 

Everyone remained frozen, as if they knew they were in a minefield and any further movement would break them all apart. Tom’s only instinct was to reach for y/n’s arm, as if he was protecting her. He only looked at her, trying to figure out what exactly was going through her mind. 

Y/N’s expression was very hard to read, but she gripped on tight to the box she was holding. Her skin was blazing, too, Tom could tell. Was she angry? Disappointed? Had her heartbreak come back? 

Was she mad at him or Tim? Or Cherry? Her sight was focused on those last two. Her breathing was fractured. 

Everyone remained completely still. 

Waiting for someone to shatter the utter and raging silence still lingered in the room.

Tom was the most scared one. But Tom only glared at Tim, whichever his intentions with Cherry were, were probably not good. And he was angry not only for y/n, but for Cherry. Tom was well aware of the power Tim held with vulnerable people and Tom could tell Cherry would be vulnerable right now. 

Tim opened his mouth but nothing could come out, he glared back at Tom. Tom tried to fight the urge to punch Tim in the face. Because probably Tim was judging y/n and Tim would probably try and persuade y/n into thinking this was a bad idea. 

Tim eyed the box up and down, then looked at y/n. 

“Please, for the love of god, do it somewhere else, whatever the fuck you’re doing, don’t do it here, don’t ruin my day,” Emma finally spoke, out loud. It’s fair to point out, they were dressed now. Fully dressed. Tom assumed they would go out. 

Harry only glanced at Tom, as if warning him to listen to Emma. 

Tom sighed. 

Tim glared at Emma. 

The next movement was made by y/n. She only walked past Tim and Cherry, ignoring them. 

Tom was… surprised. 

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” Cherry’s voice had barely come out of her mouth, as if each word had physically pained her. 

Y/N stopped, glared at Tim and then turned to Cherry. “Sure.” 

No one had expected that from her. Especially Tim, he thought y/n would have only ignored her and just escaped. Tim didn’t know this, but y/n didn’t blame Cherry.

“Not fucking with this,” Emma dragged Harry out the apartment, they didn’t fucking need this drama. And they wouldn’t deal with it. She snatched the car keys from Timmy and kept dragging Harry. “Good luck,” she warned to y/n. 

“Bye,” Harry whispered led to them. 

Y/N watched them, Tom swore he saw her smile a little, but it was quickly erased as she turned to cherry. “So?” 

Cherry blinked, also baffled by y/n’s positive answer. 

“Right now?” Y/N asked. 

Tom only watched them. 

Cherry gulped, “Yeah, yeah--” 

“Here?” Y/N questioned. 

“I... Don’t know,” Cherry said, but she was speaking carefully. Terrified of y/n. Not that her cousin would be harsh on her, but y/n’s blank expression was enough to scare her off. 

“Your mum’s cafe is only a few blocks away, we could walk there,” Y/N suggested and then walked back to the flat, leaving the box on the counter. She gave a reassuring nod to Tom. 

Tom wasn’t scared of Cherry, it’s only fair to note. Tom was actually calm;  they could talk, but he wondered what Tim’s twisted mind had planned this time. Why the hell had Tim brought her here? 

Tim coughed, “are you guys sure?” 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be sure, Timothée?” Y/N questioned. “It’s my cousin, I should speak to her. None of your fucking business.” 

Tim frowned, she’d never spoken to him like that. 

Tom smirked, just lightly. 

“Of course,” Tim hissed. “But—“

“But what?” Y/N snapped. “You’re good to go, Cherry?” Cherry watched between everyone, she then directed a single glance to Tom. She was hurt, and Tom recognized that face. Not from Cherry, Cherry had the same face y/n had when he’d shown up at her house to give her the yellow flowers. The same damn face, so hurt. 

“Do you—“Tim pushed. 

“Oh my god, fucking leave her alone,” Tom interrupted again. “Can’t you for once fucking leave her alone?” 

Tim scoffed, “you’re one to talk?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I—I’m not even going to—“ she left, Cherry carefully followed behind. 

Tim seemed stressed. 

Tom was angry, he was about to go back into y/n’s room, when Tim spoke again, “Why the fuck does she get back to you when you’re always the shittiest to her?” 

“I’m not going to fucking argue this with you,” Tom snapped. “I don’t even want to bloody ask why the fuck you brought Cherry here?” 

“How the fuck was I supposed to know—?”

 “No, fucking no, I dont bloody care and you know what? Also fucking leave Cherry alone I know your thing is going after vulnerable girls or whatever the fuck but—“

“I’m not—“

“Fucking stay away from them, both,” Tom warned. “Cherry doesn’t need a manipulative fucker like you.” 

Tim watched him with repulsion, “You do realize you hurt them both by doing exactly the fucking same? You were a piece of shit—“

“And are you fucking taking advantage of that? Are you going to bloody antagonize me again?” Tom barked. 

“You bloody antagonize yourself!” Tim yelled at him. “Like are you fucking serious? You really just fuck everything up, it’s so incredibly stupid. I am really just impressed by it.” 

“I know I fuck up, but I own it! You have no business in my relationship with y/n—“

“No, I know that—“

“And I don’t want you to fucking come close to her, You never bloody admit what you fucking do, you just fucking paint yourself as the hero when you know damn well you are manipulating them, and you are doing the same thing with Cherry?” Tom blurted, he knew that if y/n was gullible and vulnerable she didn’t even come near to Cherry. And Tom did care for Cherry, in his own way, and Tom did not want to see it again, Tim being painted as the hero. 

“Doing what?” Tim had his posture hard enough, arms crossed with his eyes burning with rage. He did not stand him. 

“For fuck’s sake, you don’t even see it?”

“What I see is you slept with y/n’s cousin and fucking tricked her again, both of them,” Tim snarked. “You were not here. You always come back when she’s doing better—You we’re not here when she was crying, she was so destroyed, yet again.” 

“Ah, yes I was living rainbows and butterflies,” Tom rolled his eyes. 

Tim could not believe Tom dared to be sarcastic. “You made a fucking mess yourself, the script wasn’t even that bad for starters and you were the one to ruin Emma’s engagement, only because you fucking assumed y/n loved Harry. Which is the one most stupid thing you’ve ever done in your life,” Tim continued. 

Tom only clenched his jaw. 

“You decided to make everything big as you always fucking do and not talk, because you—“

“How many words did she not get from you? Did you not bloody tell her I am her—what was it—perfidy?” 

Tim stayed quiet. 

“I’m not saying I wasn’t shit but you painted me as a—monster, yes that’s the word she used. I admit I broke her heart, but you don’t bloody know a thing about me and y/n—“Tom was fuming.

“I didn’t have to.” But Tim seemed cold now, and he was hearing it, 

“Why don’t you bloody realize it? Yes I’ve hurt y/n, but you’ve hurt her too much, too. She feels so guilty, you’ve managed to make her feel guilty for not loving you—That's why she does all of this—I—I can’t deal with this, there’s no bloody point. And I meant it, stay away from Cherry.” 

And Tim wasn’t in love, but he did fall, and until then he finally broke. Had he been breaking y/n all this time? 

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[novelconcepts]

Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it. 

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like? 

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle. 

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun. 

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it. 

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from. 

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left. 

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity. 

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves. 

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated. 

She looked real. 

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available. 

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it. 

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours. 

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach. 

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good. 

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself. 

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system. 

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night? 

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons. 

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit. 

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough. 

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?” 

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a  different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively. 

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now. 

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart. 

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on. 

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette. 

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips. 

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says. 

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane. 

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?” 

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight. 

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make. 

[hockeylvr59]

Ooh okay I have a song fix request for Cale makar!!! You are in love by Taylor Swift

Okay, so this song is perfect for Cale. I wasn’t sure quite how to write this but then I realized it was kind of a perfect short form format for an ongoing concept I’ve talked about with @makethecupbigger. So I hope you enjoy it and if you have any questions about the full mental story (because I skimmed and skipped a lot of things) feel free to ask. This ended up being 1,868 words including the song lyrics. 

__________

One look, dark room

Meant just for you

Time moved too fast, you play it back

Buttons on a coat, lighthearted joke

No proof, not much, but you saw enough

Meeting Cale had been a surprise, another twist on the roller coaster of your life. From losing your older sister and becoming a mother to your four-month-old niece to picking up everything and moving across the country to Denver, Colorado, it was too much for a 22-year-old to handle. 

That was probably why when you met a beautiful blonde woman at a music class for your now six-month-old little one, you spilled out everything in response to her soft eyes and caring question. 

That conversation was how you’d ended up spending a Sunday afternoon watching football in the home of Gabe Landeskog, captain of the Colorado Avalanche. You’d been shocked and slightly embarrassed when he answered the door, greeting you and taking the plate of cookies you’d brought along before ushering you and the tiny bundle in your arms into the house with a warm smile. How had you not placed it before? You weren’t sure but you did your best to not freak out, instead greeting Mel and letting her take your jackets before making your way to the living room where Matt Calvert and his wife Courtney were located. 

You’d been cuddling little Emerson when Cale had walked through the door just as the game kicked off having been out in the backyard playing with the Calvert’s boys. You’d felt his eyes on you immediately and you ducked your head into Emerson’s tiny body in response. The feeling of his eyes barely left you for the rest of the afternoon as you cheered at the game and when Emerson crawled across the living room floor and pulled her tiny body onto the young defenseman’s lap his soft voice spoke directly to you for the first time assuring you that she was fine. The sight of him brushing his fingers against the fine coating of dark hair on her head made your heart do things it had never done before and as you moved to leave so you could get Emerson to bed you thanked him softly as he held her while you buttoned your coat. You joked that you appreciated him humoring her because she evidently wasn’t used to the avid sports fan side of you just yet and the way he looked at you spoke so many things you didn’t understand, couldn’t understand for so many reasons. 

The light reflects the chain on your neck

He says, "Look up"

And your shoulders brush

No proof, one touch, but you felt enough

It had been a few weeks since that afternoon watching football when Mel had invited you and Emerson to join her and Gabe and Linnea and Matt and Courtney and the kids on a weekend hike. Being in a new city with no one to rely on and an infant that needed constant care was hard and you appreciated Mel’s efforts to make sure that you weren’t completely detached from the outside world. 

When you’d met them at the national park, you were surprised to see Cale there but you chalked up his presence to some team bonding thing and just tried to focus on the beautiful warm fall day. Of course, the problem with going on a hike with a bunch of pro athletes and their families was that while normally this hike would be no problem, you weren’t used to doing this kind of thing with a 16-pound baby attached to your chest. Emerson’s presence had thrown your weight off balance a couple of times and though you had thankfully been able to steady yourself, you could feel your stamina weakening as the group stopped by a stream to take a short break. 

It had been Mel’s suggestion for you to let Cale carry Emerson for a while. Looking over at the now shirtless defenseman he assured you that he was willing if you wanted before coming over as you unstrapped the baby from your own chest to affix her to Cale’s. Struggling with one of the straps Cale murmured for you to look up and after a moment you were helping to shift Emerson to him, your fingers brushing against his solid muscles accidentally. The touch sent sparks through your body, sparks that were foreign to you. Between the sparks and the way Cale holding Emerson like she was weightless looked you knew you were in trouble, you just didn’t know how much. 

You can hear it in the silence (Silence), silence (Silence), you

You can feel it on the way home (Way home), way home (Way home), you

You can see it with the lights out (Lights out), lights out (Lights out)

You are in love, true love

You are in love

When Cale had finally asked you out, you were hesitant. You had baggage, more baggage than Cale could possibly understand, more baggage than it would ever be fair to dump on him. But he persisted, insisting that he didn’t care that you were a mom, that he thought Emerson was adorable and didn’t care if dates with you also meant dates with her. It was only then that you’d learned of and corrected his misconceptions, that Emerson wasn’t biologically your daughter and therefore none of this was that easy. 

Cale was patient though, he didn’t push but he kept coming around. He made it his goal to prove to you that you could let him in and that there was nothing that would scare him away. For months you assumed that if he loved anyone it was Emerson because how could you not love her but eventually Cale started tumbling your walls not brick by brick but crumbling them all at once. 

Morning, his place

Burnt toast, Sunday

You keep his shirt, he keeps his word

And for once, you let go

Of your fears and your ghosts

One step, not much, but it said enough

Months of casual dates and tiptoeing around things turned more serious with a simple knock on a door. It had been your sister’s birthday, the first since her passing, and you found yourself drowning in waves of grief, unable to keep yourself afloat. Driving aimlessly for a while had led you to Cale’s place and when you knocked on the door, a sleeping baby in your arms he accepted you into his home without question, pulling you close and holding you tight. You told him everything that night and he didn’t run, didn’t pull away. Instead, he only pulled you closer, dressing you in one of his shirts before cuddling close, letting you cry nearly a year’s worth of bottled-up tears. 

When you left the next morning you left some of your baggage abandoned, taking with you instead his shirt and a piece of something bigger and better. 

You kiss on sidewalks

You fight and you talk

One night, he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says "You're my best friend"

And you knew what it was, he is in love

Bigger and better comes with bumps in the road and on at least one occasion you screamed at him wondering why he was even bothering with someone like you. Yet somehow, you made it through, trying to be there for him the same way he was for you. 

When the Avs were eliminated from playoffs you weren’t sure what to do or how Cale would respond so you opted to give him space for the first night. But when he didn’t respond to you the next day you made your way to his place finding him a shell of himself in bed. Crawling in beside him, you and Emerson spent the whole day just taking care of him and loving him and when he woke that night thanking you, you knew that it wasn’t just Emerson he loved, it was you. 

You can hear it in the silence (Silence), silence (Silence), you

You can feel it on the way home (Way home), way home (Way home), you

You can see it with the lights out (Lights out), lights out (Lights out)

You are in love, true love

Being loved by Cale and loving him in return was everything you didn’t know was possible. It was waking up in his arms. It was snuggling on the couch. It was watching him with Emerson, being a dad you never thought she’d have. It was the way he defended you to his parents, the way he’d asked you to spend the summer with him in Calgary. 

It was seeing your little girl surrounded by rose petals in the yard of your summer rental before turning to find him on one knee promising to love you forever. 

And so it goes

You two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round

And he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown

And you understand now

Why they lost their minds and fought the wars

And why I've spent my whole life trying to put it into words

You married on a snowy November morning in the woods of the same park where you’d taken your first hike just months after getting engaged. As you stood wrapped in Cale’s arms to ward off the cold, you finally knew that this was it, this is real and true and forever. Later, when you slow danced in the home Cale had purchased for you, the first family photo, one from your wedding just hours earlier, hung on the living room wall, as so many family photos would in the years to come. 

'Cause you can hear it in the silence

You can feel it on the way home

You can see it with the lights out

You are in love, true love

You are in love

When you found out you were expecting your first child together you heard it in his shock and awe. 

When you drove home beside your Stanley Cup-winning husband you felt it. 

And when you slipped into bed after feeding your newborn daughter you could see it as his eyes glimmered with love. 

You can hear it in the silence (Silence), silence (Silence), you

You can feel it on the way home (Way home), way home (Way home), you

You can see it with the lights out (Lights out), lights out (Lights out)

You are in love, true love

You are in love

You can hear it in the silence (Silence), silence (Silence), you

You can feel it on the way home (Way home), way home (Way home), you

You can see it with the lights out (Lights out), lights out (Lights out)

You are in love, true love

You are in love

When you’d met Cale by surprise on a Sunday afternoon, you never knew that it would lead to so many happy years of marriage, six wonderful kids, three Stanley Cups, and so many many joys. 

That every day you would hear, feel, and see Cale’s love for you all around. That you would ever know true love.

[nomtterwhere]

highly requested part two to this fic!!

a/n: this is...vey long, i literally just couldn’t stop writing. (it’s actually so long that i reached the limit of text blocks, so now there’s going to be a part 3 so stay tuned for that!) but i hope you guys liked it!! also, the way i wrote elle in this is nothing like how she is in the movie, she is nowhere near as mature as this lol.

summary: after your break up with marco, you head to the beach for the senior weekend, where you finally have to face him

word count: 5854

it had been two months since you broke up with marco and you still haven’t talked to him. he’s sent you text message after text message before you blocked him, not wanting to hear anything from him. at school, you avoided him in the halls, taking every possible out-of-the-way route. and when in classes you shared with him, you avoided the urge to even glance at him.

you could feel his gaze on you, though. it took everything in you not to take one look at the boy you once called your own, but you were determined to stay strong. and as soon as class was over, you made sure you were the first one out the door.

rachel acted as your guard during school, walking with you in the hall, helping you avoid both marco and elle. you stopped going to your locker. it’s not like you ever used it anyway, it had become more a spot for you and marco to talk between classes than anything else. now, it was just an ugly reminder of your ex.

outside of school, rachel kept inviting you out with her and lee but you declined everytime.

“rach, it’s okay. really.” you said to her one night after she invited you to a movie night with her and lee. “you don’t have to include me in everything you guys do. you deserve time with your boyfriend.”

“...okay.” she responded uneasily. “but you know you’re always welcome to hang out with us.”

you would take her up on her offer every once in a while, but made sure to give them space when they needed. instead, you started spending more time with your friends (that weren’t dating anyone) and tried to enjoy the rest of your senior year.

marco had come over twice that first week, but each time your mom, bless her, would cover for you.

“i know she’s here, could i please just talk to her?” marco pleaded.

your mom slightly shook her head as you watched from the top of the stairs. “marco, i don’t know what happened between you two, but i do know she doesn’t want to see you right now.”

that was the night of the ddr competition and after that, your mom had come upstairs and held you while you cried into her shoulder. even now, you still hadn’t told her that he had kissed elle, just that you had broken up. you told yourself you didn’t know why you couldn’t just tell her the truth, despite you always telling her everything.

but subconsciously, there was a part of you that wanted to get back together with him. and you knew that if your mom knew that he had cheated on you, there would be no chance of that happening.

but it’s two months later and while you weren’t totally over it, you were much better. you weren’t your relationship, and it took you a while to realize the breakup didn’t mean the end of you.

and now you found yourself getting ready for a senior weekend on the beach, any remains of the heartbroken girl you once were left behind you. there was no doubt you would run into marco there, considering the entire senior class was going, but you refused to dwell on that.

as you finished getting ready, your phone buzzed with a text message from your friend liz.

slowpoke much? hurry up, i’m ready to go!!

you laughed as you quickly typed out a reply, letting her know you would pick her up soon. you then unplugged your phone charger before throwing it inside your bag, then grabbed it and headed downstairs.

at the bottom of the stairs was a medium sized cooler and when you opened it, it was filled with mike’s hard bottles and white claws. you grinned and turned to your mom who was sitting at the dining table on her ipad and wrapped your arms around her shoulders.

“thank you, thank you, thank you!” you said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

she just let out a laugh. “now i bought it because i trust you. be safe, please.”

“i will, promise.” you gave her one last hug. “love you momma.”

“i love you too, baby. have fun!”

“see you sunday!” you called as you left the house.

you headed outside, giving a quick wave to your neighbor as you walked to your car.

she waved back and glanced at the cooler you dragged behind and the overnight bag over your shoulder. “senior weekend?”

you gave her a sheepish smile and nodded.

she winked, then glanced back at her house. she looked at you again and mimicked locking her lips and throwing away the key.

you laughed at the gesture, knowing her husband was a police officer.

you winked back at her. “thanks.”

after picking up liz, cora, and justine the four of you arrived at the beach, saying hi to your friends that had already arrived and checking into the motel room you had booked.

“okay, first things first.” you announced when your entered the room. “we are not letting anyone else in this room, okay? this is not going to be the room that gets trashed.” you stated and they nodded in agreement.

cora nodded to the cooler. “except that’s going to be the reason people will want to be in here.”

you gave her a grin. “and that’s exactly why it’s going in taylor’s room.”

“genius!” cora said, falling back onto her bed.

you laughed, taking out a few drinks and placing them in the minifridge for just the four of you. as soon as you stood up, justine made her way over it, pulling out a white claw.

“justine, it’s two pm.” cora said with a look.

justine cracked open the can and took a long drink. “and what about it?”

you laughed, heading out the door with the cooler. “i’ll be right back.”

you checked the text message taylor had sent you with his room number, realizing that you would have to go upstairs. you groaned, lifting the cooler with both hands, knowing you weren’t going to be able to roll it up the stairs.

you reached his door, knocking on it with your foot. putting down the cooler at this point seemed futile, considering you knew he would make you carry it inside.

except it wasn’t taylor that opened the door. instead, you were met with marco.

just your luck that they’re roommates.

he had been laughing at whoever was talking to him before he opened the door and the sound seemed to completely erase the past two months of healing you had been doing because suddenly all you wanted was to fall into his arms and let him hold you and laugh together and—

“y/n.” god, you forgot how great your name sounded coming from his mouth.

he smiled at you, then seemed to remember that you had spent the last eight weeks avoiding the hell out of him and cleared his throat.

“i, um,” you adjusted the cooler in your hands, raising it a little. “taylor said i could leave these here.”

“oh yeah, of course. here, let me get that.” he reached for the cooler, taking the handles from you and relieving you of the heavy weight.

“thanks.” you placed your hands in the pockets of your shorts, unsure of what else to do with them.

he stood there, still holding the cooler, but with none of the struggle you seemed to have.

of course, you thought as you tried to restrain yourself from glancing at his bare arms.

“look, y/n—” luckily for you, he was interrupted before he could finish his statement.

“y/n!” taylor said, entering the doorway. he looked down at the cooler marco was holding and his eyes widened at you. “did you bring this? you’re the best.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “yes, i told you i was going to. have you been drinking already?”

“maybe like, a little bit.”

marco sighed, turning to you. “the answer is yes. since noon.”

“only like this much!” he holds his thumb and pointer finger out, only an inch of space between them. “okay, maybe a little bit more than that but jeez man, why you gotta be such a buzzkill!”

he turned his attention to you. “god, your ex is a real piece of work you know. i can see why you broke up with him.”

you laughed awkwardly. “yeah, okay taylor. um, i’m gonna go. you have fun, boys.”

you turned and walked away, ignoring marco calling out your name behind you. you entered your own room, immediately being hit in the face with a towel. after the initial shock factor wore off, you removed it from your face and saw your friends in their swimsuits, rubbing on sunscreen and grabbing things to bring to the beach.

“get in your swimsuit girl, we’re heading to the beach!” liz said, putting on sunglasses. “a bunch of people are down there already and i refuse to miss out on any moment.”

you laughed, throwing the towel back at them. “okay, okay!”

you removed your top and shorts, having worn your swimsuit underneath your clothes. you were putting them in your bag when you heard a whistle from the other side of the room.

justine lifted her own sunglasses to the top of her head. “damn, girl. where did you get that?”

your skin got warm at her comment. the swimsuit in question was normally out of your comfort zone, but for some reason when you had tried it on for the first time, you felt a surge of confidence.

it was a black one piece, but it was cut deep down the middle of your chest, cut out on the sides and the back, allowing for open space for your skin to show. and in front, there were two sections made of mesh. whoever said one pieces couldn’t be sexy clearly has never seen this one.

“holy shit, y/n. and i thought i looked hot.” liz added.

cora gave you a sly smile. “marco’s not going to know what hit him.”

you gave her a look. “please, this has nothing to do with marco.”

“oh, sure, of course not.” she says, walking towards you and leaning in and whispering, “but it never hurts to show them what they’re missing out on.”

you looked at her and pretended to think about it before giving your response. “okay, so maybe the swimsuit is a little bit about marco.”

the four of you burst into laughter before gathering the rest of your stuff and heading out the door. after making sure everyone had their key, you shut the door behind you and made the five minute walk to the beach.

for the most part it was just the seniors that had come for the weekend, but you saw a couple other groups of people spread out along the beach. the four of you found a clear spot a few feet from the lifeguard tower to put your towels down.

justine propped up the large umbrella she had dragged along with her from the motel along with her beach chair. she laid down in her chair underneath it, closing her eyes, and slipping her sunglasses onto her face.

“do you even plan on going in the water?” you asked her, spraying sunscreen onto your skin.

“nope. my plan today is to get his attention.” she nods to the lifeguard near us. “but i’ve gotta get my energy up first, so i’ll just be taking a nap if you need me.”

you just laughed, throwing your sunscreen bottle onto your towel and tucked your phone into your beach bag.

“i’m gonna stay and tan for a little so i can watch our stuff, don’t worry.” cora said as she watched you throw your sweatshirt over your bag.

you gave her a grateful smile before standing back up.

“looks like you’ve caught someone’s attention.” cora said, laying back on her towel, nodding her head behind her.

you looked up and saw marco, taylor, and and few more boys walking towards the beach, all of them talking excitedly to each other. except marco’s gaze was focused on one thing.

you.

you watched as his eyes scanned your body from top to bottom, his eyes stopping on the cut out parts of your swimsuit. you felt a small shiver course through your body at his actions. you knew you looked goof, but when marco looked at you like that... 

you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift as well. he was only in swim trunks, putting his upper body on display for all to see. as he got closer, his muscles only became more defined, his skin practically glowing underneath the sun.

“um, chile...anyways, so.” cora said, snapping you out of your reverie until you looked at her. “y’all are practically eye fucking each other, you know.”

you laughed at her, sparing one last glance at marco, only to see that his eyes were still on you. you looked away quickly before he could notice and turned back to cora.

“mission accomplished.”

she gave you a high five before you linked arms with liz and made your way to the shore, knowing you were giving marco a nice view of your backside as well.

as if liz could read your mind, she laughed and leaned in to whisper. “oh, you are bad.”

you moved in front of her, walking backwards towards the water. “who, me?” you feigned innocence.

she shook her head smiling, and then reached forward, pushing you backwards.

you hadn’t even realized you had reached the shore and when you fell back, you fell right into the ocean. you stood up laughing, pushing your hair out of your face.

“oh, you’re dead.” you say and liz squeals, jumping into the water herself.

the two of you join a group of your other friends, hanging out for a while before you head back.

when you get back to your station, cora is sitting up on her towel and the beach chair next to her is empty.

“where’s—?” cora cuts you off, pointing in one direction.

you follow where her finger is pointing and see justine talking to the lifeguard that was stationed a few feet away from us. good for her.

“well alright then.” you said with raised eyebrows and a proud smile before looking back at cora. “if you wanna head down, i can watch our stuff for a while. i’m pretty tired of being in the water, anyway.”

she smiled at you. “thanks!” she started towards the water before turning and taking off her sunglasses.

you held open your hands and she tossed them to you. you set her sunglasses down next to you and decided to take justine’s chair to sit in. it’s not like she was using it. you settled yourself in the chair, grateful for the shade the umbrella provided and pulled out your phone, put your earbuds in, and started scrolling through tik tok.

maybe an hour had passed when you felt a hand tapping on your shoulder. you quickly took out your earbuds, turning to whoever tapped you.

“oh, i’m so sorry, i didn’t...” your voice trailed off as you realized who it was that had tapped you.

elle evans.

“can we talk?” she asked.

she looked nervous. good. she should be! what kind of nerve does she have coming up to you after kissing you boyfriend on stage in front of thousands of people?

but before you could say any of this to her, she spoke again.

“i know you have no reason to speak to me and i understand that you probably hate me. i just, really want to explain.” she said.

you wanted to say no. you wanted to say no so badly and just stay mad at her. but even you couldn’t admit that your curiosity was getting the best of you.

so you just nodded, motioning for her to sit down on one of the towels.

she looked grateful, giving you a smile before taking a seat.

“look, i’m just going to get right to it. i know it was wrong, what i did. but i was hurt. i was angry. and marco had been so nice to me for so long and i thought noah was cheating on me so...” she trailed off so you finished her sentence.

“you cheated on him instead?”

elle looked at you, remorse in her eyes. “yeah.” she sighed. “i know, it’s all so stupid and i’m not proud of it, i want you to know that. but i was lucky enough that noah forgave me for that. and i know you haven’t forgiven marco.”

you swallowed, looking down.

“i wasn’t even thinking of you when i kissed marco and that’s on me. i am so, so sorry y/n. and i wish there was some way i could make it up to you.”

you sighed, looking her in the eye. “look, elle. thank you for apologizing to me. that’s great that noah forgave you, but that’s not something i can just overlook...it’s not just on you, it’s on him too.”

she let a moment of silence pass between you.

“you know he would always talk about you during our practices?”

your gaze had drifted back to the ocean but went back to her when she spoke again. “what?”

“he felt so guilty every time he had to cancel on you. and maybe i should’ve taken that as a sign as to what i was doing, but i didn’t. and for that i apologize too. but with the way he talked about you, i really didn’t think anything i could do would ruin what you had.

“i guess that was pretty ignorant of me.” she laughed a little. “y/n, he loves you. he really does. and i get it, the kiss was completely out of line and you don’t owe him or me anything. but if you think for a second that marco would ever choose me over you, you’re wrong.”

you didn’t say anything in response to that. what exactly were you supposed to say?

and when elle realized you weren’t going to respond, she sighed. “of course, i can’t change your mind and i don’t know how you feel. all i ask if that you talk to him. he misses you.” and with that, she got up and left without another word.

you laid back in your chair, putting your earbuds back in and turning on some music. you thought about what elle said, and you appreciated her coming to talk to you, but it still didn’t erase what marco had done.

but at the same time...

had he really been talking about you to her? did he really feel sorry about the canceled dates? because to you, it always felt like he was choosing her over you.

maybe elle was right, maybe you should just talk to him.

you groaned, closing your eyes. i thought this weekend was supposed to be fun and stress free, you thought.

you reopened your eyes and saw liz and justine standing over you.

“what was elle doing over here?” liz immediately said.

you loved how protective your friends were and smiled at them, making sure they knew it was nothing they had to worry about.

“it’s okay guys, she just wanted to talk.”

“about what?” justine was giving a nasty look in elle’s general direction.

“actually, she apologized.” you said and both of their head snapped to you.

“apologizes, huh?” justine said.

“yeah. but i don’t wanna talk about that right now, let’s just relax, yeah?” you said, trying to distract them.

they obviously wanted to talk about it but your distaste for the subject must have been clear on your face because they backed off.

“if you insist. but you have to get out of my chair first.” justine said with a smile.

you laughed, grabbed your phone and got up from the chair to sit on your towel. “how did it go with the lifeguard?”

“well, i got his snap and a date with him tonight, so you tell me.” justine said, laying back on her chair.

“you have to teach me how to do that.” liz said, sitting down on the towel beside her.

later that night, justine was off on her date with the lifeguard but the rest of the seniors were out on the beach, having a bonfire.

you, cora, and liz were in your room, getting ready to head out onto the beach when you heard something topple over.

you jumped, looking over your shoulder at the hair straightener that liz had dropped.

“oops.” she giggled.

“shit, liz.” cora said, picking it up and decided to finish liz’s hair for her. “are you drunk already?”

“honestly, i haven’t been sober since four pm today.” she admitted.

you shook your head, strapping on your sandals before standing. “why am i not surprised.”

cora looked up from liz’s hair and grinned. “i love the outfit. very cute.”

you looked at yourself in the mirror. you were wearing a spaghetti strap lavender crop top with black cotton shorts and gold sandals. you smiled at yourself.

“yeah, i think so.” you turned to cora. “thank you.”

“i think you look hot.” liz said with a funny smile.

“of course you do.” you said, slipping your phone into your pocket.

you stayed in the room until cora finished straightening liz’s hair and then you all went down to the bonfire together.

you headed straight for the cooler that stood on the outskirts of the large group, grabbing a white claw. there was music playing, and everyone was either dancing with one another or just hanging out by the fire.

you took a seat on one of the logs surrounding the fire, not in too much a partying mood for tonight.

“mind if i sit here?”

you didn’t need to look up to know it was marco who had asked but you did anyway, and made eye contact with the boy in question.

you shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

that seemed good enough for him because he took a seat next to you, leaving space between you. not enough apparently because you could still smell his cologne, the scent making its way into your senses.

marco fiddled with the drink in his hand, obviously thinking. you recognized the habit as one he did whenever he needed to get something off his chest.

“whatever it is, you can just say it.” you say.

he looked over at you and then looked back at his drink. “elle told me she talked to you.”

“yeah. she did.” you looked at him, but he was still looking at his drink.

“and from what she’s told me, sounds like i was living rent free in your mind.” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“you were. you are.” he said back, except he was 100% serious.

he finally looked up and met your eyes. “you’re all i think about.”

at that moment, you heard a scream and looked over to see one of the boys had tossed cora over his shoulder, carrying her to the water as our classmates cheered him on.

“can we...go on a walk or something? just find somewhere quiet to talk?” marco asked you over the commotion.

you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid talking to him any longer, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to. so you nodded, standing up alongside him, finishing off the last of your drink before tossing the can in a garbage bag by one of the logs.

marco did the same and the two of you started walking away from the bonfire.

“you might wanna take your sandals off, it might make walking a little easier.” he said to you and you shot him a look.

“i think i’ll be fine, thank you very much.”

you regretted your decision as soon as you took that first step but you were determined not to say anything. but with every step you took, you could feel sand getting into your sandals and finally you groaned in defeat.

“hang on.” you said and bent down, unbuckling them and then slipping them off your feet.

you gathered your sandals in your hand and continued walking, feeling the sand moving beneath your feet.

“that’s better.” you said.

you looked over at marco when you realized he was laughing.

“and what exactly is so funny? don’t forget you’re already in hot water with me.” you raised an eyebrow.

“just reminds me of when we went to the beach earlier this year and i told you to bring a blanket, a sweatshirt, anything really, because it was going to get cold.”

you rolled your eyes at the memory. “right, and i didn’t. but only because i really didn’t think anything of the weather.”

“nuh uh, i believe your exact words were, ‘i do what i want.’” he raised an eyebrow at you.

“and what is your point exactly?” you laughed.

“well considering you spent the rest of the day in my hoodie and huddled under my blanket, mi amor, my point is that you can be extremely stubborn.” he laughed, before he realized what he said.

your heart clenched at the nickname, missing it already. but it reminded you of why you were out here with him in the first place.

“why did you kiss her?” you asked, quietly.

he paused and you inhaled, holding your breath in fear of his response.

“i could stand here and say i don’t know, but that would be a lie. i think...i think it was because a part of me thought i was already losing you.”

you stopped. “wait, what?” you looked at him. “why?”

he shrugged. “we never really talked about college and what would happen after graduation. i kind of assumed you would want to break up. and when i had rehearsals with elle, it didn’t seem to bother you that much, even when i had to cancel dates. i mean, until you said something at the competition, i didn’t realize how you felt about the whole thing. i thought it was because you were, i don’t know, getting tired of me.”

he may have had a point. despite your initial feelings towards him spending all of his time with elle, you never really expressed that to him. he would tell you he had to miss a date and you always responded with, “that’s okay, maybe next time.”

“so, at the competition, when elle kissed me, it felt like i had nothing to lose. but i’m an idiot. i don’t even like her. and when i saw you,” he looked at you, his voice thick with emotion. “i realized how much i screwed up. i couldn’t believe that i had hurt you like that.”

“marco.” you were standing in front of him now. “i need you to realize that every canceled date resulted in me calling rachel to scream my head off about the lack of time we were spending together. but i wasn’t about to tell you to not help her, i wasn’t going to be that girlfriend.

“i do realize that i could have said something sooner, though . elle had mentioned how you were upset about the dates we missed as well.” you glared at him. “but that doesn’t excuse you kissing her on live television!”

he shook his head. “no i know, i know. and it’s not an excuse, it’s just how i felt. what i did, no matter the reason, was wrong. and i am so, so sorry y/n. i never should have kissed her, and i regret it more than anything. i regret losing you.”

you turned your back to him, afraid you were going to start crying and you didn’t want him to see.

you had been avoiding him for so long for this very reason. you didn’t want to hear an apology. you didn’t want to forgive him.

but hearing him apologize and regret what he did made you question why you didn’t want to hear it. while your heart wasn’t completely full once again, heating those words did something to you. it made you feel...heard.

both elle and marco took the initiative to come to you even after you making it clear that you refused to speak to either of them for the past two months. despite what they did, that says a lot about their character.

“y/n?” marco called from behind you.

you took a deep breath before turning to face him once again.

“i forgive you.”

marco looked shocked. “i—thank you.”

“and i’m sorry for ignoring you and refusing to even give you the chance to apologize. i just,” you shrugged. “wasn’t ready.”

he nodded, gazing at you intently. “i completely understand. what i did...” he swallowed. “you were hurt. you were angry. hell, i would be too.”

“yeah, well. that hurt and anger didn’t do anything for me. but you and elle talking to me did. so thank you.”

“i had to let you know how i was sorry. i couldn’t let you go thinking there was anyone in this world i would rather be with than you.” he said, and when you looked in his eyes, you could see he was sincere.

“marco.” you breathed, realizing how close the two of you were.

one of his arms slipped around your waist and you let him pull you even closer. your breaths mingled as your lips were only centimeters apart and you felt your eyelids start to flutter shut.

“tell me to stop and i will.” he whispered to you.

every pulse in your body was screaming at you to just let him kiss you, to fall into his arms and be his again. but in your brain, there that one rational part that was telling you to stop this now.

damn your rationale.

but you knew it was right. you were both running high on emotions, whatever you did now, you weren’t sure you wouldn’t regret it tomorrow. so you tilted your head down, grabbing onto his forearms.

“i can’t.” you managed to croak out.

he exhaled, his mouth by your ear now so you felt the rush of air against your skin.

“i want to, believe me. but right now i just, i can’t.”

he nodded. “you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

you wrapped your arms around his waists in a hug and rested your head against his chest. marco hesitates for a moment, making sure you weren’t going to pull away before hugging you back. his chin rested on the top of your head and the familiar embrace filled you with warmth.

“can we just talk?” you mumbled into his shirt.

he chuckled lightly. “of course. whatever you want.”

so you did. the two of you sat on the sand and talked. about elle, the ddr competition, what you forgiving him meant. but you also talked about the past two months. college acceptances, last minute applications, applying for scholarships, any accomplishments, everything. you talked and talked until you ended up falling asleep on the beach.

you slowly blinked your eyes open as you felt the sunlight hit them. you sat up and looked to your side where marco was still dozed off. you looked at him with a small smile, you had missed seeing him in such a peaceful state. you remembered the times he had woken up before you whenever he slept over at your house, opening your eyes to see his brown eyes gazing down at you lovingly. it was rare that you ever woke up before him, so this sight was a rare one.

his was lying on his back and you could see his chest gently rise and fall with every breath he took. at some point his shirt had come unbuttoned and the wind blew it back against the sand, exposing his chest. you rolled your eyes at yourself, compelling yourself not to even think about it. you traveled your gaze up to his face and saw the relaxed expression. the emotion from early last night was no longer there, he was just...marco.

in all honesty, you probably could have spent the rest of the morning waiting for him to wake up. but you weren’t 100% sure what your reaction would be to seeing him in the morning for the first time in a while. so, you brushed a few of the curls on his forehead back into place, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead before getting up and walking back to the motel.

you entered your room as quietly as you could. a quick look at your phone let you know it was nine am and you were unsure of whether or not your friends were hungover.

however, as soon as you entered the room, you were met with cora pouncing on you.

“she’s back!” she yelled as your other two roommates groaned in response.

“what?” liz mumbled from underneath a pillow.

“okay, spill. where were you all night?” cora demanded.

“oh, please. like we don’t all know the answer.” justine sat up on her bed and gave you a teasing smile. “with marcoooo!” she singsonged, making kissy faces at you.

you rolled your eyes. “okay, it wasn’t like that.”

“wait, so you were with marco?” cora gasped. “and on the beach? you dirty dog.”

“why is everyone yelling?” liz grumbled, pressing the pillow against her head tighter.

you couldn’t but laugh at what cora was implying. “yes, i was with marco, but we just talked! honestly. it was nice.”

“you just talked all night? huh. i’m not buyin’ it. you?” cora turned to justine.

she shook her head. “nope. liz?”

“absolutely not.” her muffled voice came.

you scoffed. “well, i don’t care what you think happened. because i’m telling you nothing happened.”

“okay, say we believed you. what did you talk about?” justine said.

you shrugged, taking a seat on your bed and tossing your sandals to the ground. “everything. i mean, we haven’t talked in two months, we had some stuff to unpack.”

“are you guys getting back together...?” liz asked, peeking her head out from beneath the pillow.

the other two watched you intently, waiting for your response and you laughed.

“right now? no. i don’t know. all i know is we talked, fell asleep on the beach, and it was nice. that’s all.” you said. “i missed talking to him.”

“so what happens now?” cora asked you.

“i’m not sure. but i feel a lot better about whatever does happen now.” you say confidently.

with that final statement, your friends drop the subject. you didn’t want to think to much about this anymore. last night was great but you were determined to make the most of the last two days of this beach trip.

the marco situation would have to wait.

taglist: @mayakblack @devilishdior @write-from-the-heart @shherlxck @minnyvees @lover1307 @sonnyalice @caro1115 @sandovalali12 @yongboxerrr

keep an eye out for part three (which will be the final part) and if you want to be added to the taglist, send me an ask! requests are always open!

[mdawritings]

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 12

II.I

Masterlist

Warnings: References to violence, canon-typical descriptions of violence, crime scenes, and death.

Song(s): "Bruises" by Lewis Capaldi and "I Almost Do" by Taylor Swift

It’s almost eight years until you hear the name Aaron Hotchner again.

You’re anxiously awaiting the call about your reassignment within the FBI. You had completed your year of mandated leave, gone through the required psych evaluations, gone through the training protocols. You’re ready to get back into the action, or, at least, you’re ready enough to get back to work. That’s when you receive the final message.

Your reinstatement was to be within the Quantico headquarters. This way, the brass could keep a close eye on you, while still utilizing your skills in the best possible way. So you flew into Quantico late Saturday night, moving into the cheapest apartment you could find. It was in a terrible area but being out of work for a year leaves you without much spare cash to live lavishly. Without your government-issued weapon, you check the deadlock every time you turn your back to the door for too long.

You have hardly any furniture in the apartment, most of the decor being the piles and piles of boxes in the center of your living room. You’re exhausted, in every possible way, so you settle for a fast shower, during which you’re entirely paranoid someone is going to break into your apartment. You collapse onto your bed, barely having the energy to even put the sheets on the bed to make it. The call comes through your phone shortly after you fall asleep, which means you don’t check your messages until early Sunday.

“This is Erin Strauss of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m calling to inform you that the council has processed your psych evaluation and administered a new gun registration and badge for you. You will now be working under me as a profiler within the BAU. It is my understanding that you’ve taken quite a few profiling classes in your training as a negotiator and you’re well equipped for this job. There will be a slight adjustment period but nothing that I do not believe you are capable of handling. You will start in your new position on Monday. Meet me at my office and I can brief you about the basics and then Agent Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, will take it from there.”

You practically drop the phone. Your hands shake slightly, as you click off the phone and place it back onto your bedside table. You write Strauss an email in response, apologizing for missing her call, accepting the position, thanking her for the opportunity, and expressing your immense gratitude for such an esteemed position with such a great team. But that’s a lie. For a split second, you believe it's possible that this Aaron Hotchner is a completely different one than your Aaron Hotchner. You’ve never been a believer in fate or destiny. But for this to be a coincidence is simply unbelievable. Isn’t he supposed to be tormenting more students, torturing more girls, breaking more hearts? How did he end up as the BAU Unit Chief within the FBI?

You’re in shock, Strauss only leaving you about 24 hours to process it all and prepare for a new job. There’s no way you could request reassignment to a different unit. You’ve already been given your second chance. It’s now or never to get back into the FBI.

You’ve been out of work for a year. For a year, you’ve been struggling to cope with the loss of coworkers and innocent people. A loss that’s completely on your shoulders. Blood that’s on your hands. It was enough of an adjustment to get back to normal. Well as close to normal as can be. Your government-issued therapist, as you like to call her, attempted to dismantle this idea. She tried her best to remove the guilt from your mind, but after the government aid for the sessions ran out, you abandoned all hope of restoring yourself to the mental state you were in before. Everything in your life now is the after. You can’t live in the before. It’s too painful.

But now? Now it feels like all the work you’ve done to heal, to move on, to continue your life is rapidly unraveling in front of you. How would you adjust to seeing Aaron Hotchner once again? You hope that by now, he won’t have as much of an impact on you. You’ve experienced so much life, so much living, so much loss since then.

You’ve had other relationships, loved other people, slept with other people, but the impact that Hotch had on your life is permanent. When you think about it too long it feels ridiculous, the fact that a silly little fling in your early 20s has managed to change you so much. So much so, that now, at 29, you can still sense remnants of his impact on your life. They’re small moments, in which you realize that your behavior has changed so drastically over the years because of him. Your tongue is sharper. You stand up for yourself more often, and you never ever let anyone walk all over you the way he did.

You spend the day worrying yourself sick about the new position. You can’t turn it down. This job is your last chance.

Monday morning, your alarm rings wildly next to you in bed, but your eyes are already open. You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past hour unable to sleep. You’ve been tossing and turning restlessly, unable to focus on anything else but the last few memories you have of Aaron Hotchner. Your mind first goes to that last day of classes, thinking about the way he smiled at you from across his desk. The way that damn leather-bound book felt in your hands. The way that he kissed you. He made you feel so special. Your mind then travels to the rest of that weekend, one in which he managed to rip your heart out of your chest and tear it into a million little pieces.

You think of the last thing you heard from him. Those same words he had spoken to you once before, but spoken to someone else. At that moment, you realized that you were nothing special. You were just another girl Professor Hotchner used for sex.

You’re hopeful that you will be able to move forward with professionalism. There’s a second where you consider the possibility of becoming friends with Aaron Hotchner, but you know that’s impossible. You can’t look at him and ignore all the hurt he caused you. You can, however, be professional. You know you can work with him. It might just tear you up inside, but you can do it. You have to.

However, you wonder what kind of person he’s become in the past eight years. You know you’ve changed dramatically, but what has happened to him? How has his life gone? How did he end up in the FBI?

You wonder if he’s learned to love. The man that you knew was one who was seemingly incapable of ever loving anyone. It’s clear to you that back then he was too selfish, too wrapped up in his own head to dedicate anything real to anyone else. And if he ever did feel anything real for you, he was too emotionally damaged to handle it, work through it, or to tell you about it.

Your alarm rings again. You snooze it again. What will you say to him? What do you want your first words to be to him? Will you tell him off? Should you even acknowledge the past? Or should you just put on your best air of professionalism and approach this as you would any new job? It seems impossible to push aside the past and treat him as a new person. Because he’s not a new person. He’s a man who has shaped every decision you’ve made in your life since knowing him.

You eventually convince yourself to get out of bed, reminding yourself that it’s pointless to fight inevitables. You dig through the moving boxes, pulling out your coffee maker and a thermos, filling it up to the top, already expecting the Quantico office coffee to be bad. You haven’t worked in a year, but you do remember always having to make your own coffee before work.

While the coffee brews, you pack a go-bag, an item that Strauss heavily emphasized the importance of for this job. You would be traveling a lot for each case, and you have to be ready to leave at any moment. You’re not sure why your reassignment is with the BAU. Your therapist emphasized a lifestyle of structure and predictability. If there’s one thing you’ve heard about the life of these profilers, it’s that the hours are irregular.

You get dressed, slipping on a clean pressed, black pair of slacks and a white button-down blouse. You slide on a comfortable pair of boots, ones that look nice and professional but don’t hinder your movement in the event that you get called away on a case.

One benefit of the irregular hours is that your personal time is limited. If you can occupy your mind with work, you can avoid getting sucked up into your own head. Like right now. You grip your bag as it jostles against your side on the bus. You drink your coffee a little too fast, which doesn’t ease the unnatural level of fear coursing through you.

This shouldn’t scare you so much. But the old wounds that you fought so hard to turn to scar tissue are reopening and they hurt just as much as the day Hotch inflicted them upon you.

You get to the Quantico headquarters a few minutes early, giving you enough time to get your new ID from the front desk. You get into the elevator, rocking back and forth on your toes anxiously. He’s here. He could be anywhere. Every time the elevator doors open to a different floor, you fear that you’ll come face to face with him. You’re sure that he’s probably on the sixth floor. The BAU floor. He’s probably in his office waiting to welcome the new agent. Does he know that you’re the new agent? Does he know who you are? Does he know what’s happened to you this past year?

You were assured that most of the details of your ‘leave’ were kept confidential. All that was publicized was a tragic bombing. The bomber sacrificed himself for the cause. Only a few people were able to escape, but all with severe injuries. The FBI didn’t want to admit their involvement. Their failure to save those people. Your failure to save those people.

You get to Strauss’s office, struggling to pay attention as she walks you through the basics, hands you your new badge, and a new gun. You holster the weapon, pulling your go-bag onto your shoulder, fiddling with the straps nervously.

Strauss finishes her introductory speech and takes a moment to look you over, “Agent, are you sure you’re ready to get back to work?” It doesn’t take a profiler to notice your nerves. Ever since the start of your leave, nerves and anxiety aren’t an uncommon occurrence, but this is more than usual. Your body is practically vibrating.

Despite the sick feeling in your stomach, you manage a nod, “I’m sorry.” You apologize for appearing distracted, “Yes ma’am. I’m ready.”

You can tell she’s unconvinced. Strauss leads you through the relatively crowded bullpen. You spot an empty desk across from a woman with long black hair, who is too busy laughing with the blonde sitting on top of her desk to notice that the tall skinny one across from them has just spilled coffee all over himself and his paperwork. You assume that the empty one is to be your desk. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you glance up at the two offices on the catwalk. One of them has the blinds tightly drawn and through the other, you can just barely see an older gentleman working on his laptop. David Rossi. You know him. You read just about every single one of his books on Sunday in preparation for this new job.

Your profiling skills are mediocre at best. Strauss argues that out of all possible candidates you had the most office experience and field experience. You’re really not sure how that helps. How could a traumatized and failed crisis negotiator who hasn’t been in the field in nearly a year provide anything helpful for the BAU?

Old habits resurfaced and you buried yourself in published literature and textbooks and research. You weren’t about to walk into a new job feeling unprepared, especially not one in which Aaron Hotchner would be your new boss. Now, at this moment, trailing behind Straus, as your body seems detached from your mind, dreading the moment that she opens that door to Aaron’s office, no amount of studying or preparation seems sufficient.

Rossi steps out of his office just as you and Strauss reach the top of the stairs. You lock eyes with him and despite not even knowing who you are, he gives you a reassuring nod. Damn profilers. Your body language is probably a dead giveaway. Strauss knocks on the door.

“Come in.” That voice. You could never forget it. Strauss reaches for the handle and you’re tempted to run away. Turn around and walk away. At least then you could leave with your sanity semi-intact. However, your curiosity has been piqued at this point. You have to know. You have to see him. You step through the doorway into the office and finally get a good look at the man.

He's hunched over, body turned slightly away from the desk. He has a phone pressed to his ear and he’s speaking in a gentle, hushed tone, "Yeah I know buddy." He glances over at you and Strauss. As if out of a movie, he does a double-take. It’s almost as if it takes a second for his eyes to really process what he’s really seeing. And what he’s really seeing is you. The look on his face tells you that he barely recognizes you, now eight years older, in professional clothes, and a face that’s just a little more weathered from all that you’ve been through.

Your memories of him are not faint as your eyes stay locked with his. They’re not just faded remnants of your moments together. Staring at him, eyes drinking in every inch of him, it all comes back more vivid than ever. You can practically feel his fluffy hair tangled in your fingers. From your position, you can just faintly smell his cologne. That’s a scent that hasn’t changed. The sensory memories are overwhelming. The passion, the secrecy, the pleasure. But that quickly changes, making the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach grow at an all-consuming rate. That night. That night he grabbed you by the front of your shirt, the way he snapped at you, the completely ice-cold manner in which you spoke those last few words to him, I’m done.

That Aaron Hotchner is not the man sitting in front of you. You barely recognize him. His hair is shorter, more strictly gelled in place. His white shirt is buttoned all the way up. He has a suit jacket on. His tie is done up perfectly. You can’t help but take note of the bags under his eyes, the increase of lines on his face. Obviously, he’s aged, but the way his face has changed, it’s not just age. You can see his eyes are dull, glossed over. For as neatly put together he is from the neck down, his face looks tired.

Hotch seems to forget he was just on the phone, entirely taken aback by the fact that you’re actually there, standing in front of him. "I’m sorry I can’t be with you right now but get a lot of rest and I’ll be home before you know it. I have to go. I love you too." He hangs up and you try to hide the shock on your face as those words come out of his mouth. Words you dreamt of him saying. Words that haunted you for months nearly a decade ago.

"Agent Hotchner, this is the crisis negotiation transfer I was discussing with you," Strauss nods at you, and Hotch stands up, smoothing out his tie, placing his hands flat on the desk. "This is Agent—"

"Y/N." His voice is firm. Hearing his name fall from your lips is enough to send you running in the opposite direction. Fear and anxiety overcome you, your legs going weak as he sticks out a hand to shake yours, but you can’t seem to get yourself to move forward to touch his hand, "I’m sorry, Agent Y/L/N." He corrects his mistake.

His hand hovers in the air for a moment, waiting for you to reach forward to shake it. Your shoes drag across the carpet, as you reach forward to shake his hand. His warm, rough hand envelops yours. At one point in your life, just the touch of his skin against yours would send sparks up and down your arm. Just that handshake would’ve been enough to ignite your skin and make you feel alive.

You feel nothing. Just a simple handshake. Your heart is attempting to jump out of your throat, beating rapidly and pounding against your ribcage so hard you think your chest visibly moves. However, his touch no longer thrills you. Maybe you are finally over Aaron Hotchner.

"You two know each other?” Strauss gestures between the two of you.

"No," You reply without missing a beat. You shake your head, finally able to get words out. You have to force your eyes off of Hotch and look at Strauss, "Well, yes. Agent Hotchner lectured at my law school a few times. When he was a federal prosecutor.”

Strauss gives a small nod of acknowledgment, “Agent Hotchner can show you the ropes from here. I expect updates from the field,” Her eyes shoot over to you. Updates about you, she means. In case you manage to fuck up again.

You watch as Strauss leaves the office not turning your eyes to Hotch at the desk in front of you. You look out the window, gesturing to the agents in the bullpen you passed, “I’m assuming the extra desk in the bullpen is mine?”

Hotch tilts his head down, letting out a small breath, “Yes. Agent Y/L/N—”

“And everyone in the bullpen, is that the whole team? I know Agent Rossi’s office is next to yours and I only saw three agents in the bullpen but I assume there are more?”

“Yes. We have a technical analyst and another member of the team. You’ll be introduced to them shortly, however–” that’s not what he really wants to talk to you about. Its clear that there’s so much he wants to say, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. You keep your mind focused on the important questions on there about the job. You know that a conversation with him about anything else just might break you.

“And in terms of training, you can see I passed my gun qualifications again. Are there any other evaluations or training protocols? Or will my time from the academy be sufficient preparation for this position?” You rattle off your questions. His face is a mixture of shock and frustration. He has his arms crossed against his chest. He tucks his bottom lip in, biting at it lightly.

“Y/N,” He places his hands firmly down on the desk. This time he doesn’t answer your questions. He’s tired of your avoidance, “What are you doing here?”

You take a pause at the sound of your first name, swallowing slowly, “I’m here on reassignment from crisis negotiation. I’m supposed to be working as a profiler on your team in the BAU.”

“You know what I mean,” Hotch presses the issue a little further.

“With all due respect, I’m not sure what you are searching for from me but if the implication is that I am here for anything other than the job then you are sorely mistaken,” You huff out and cross your arms against your chest, mirroring his closed-off body language. “Sir.”

“That’s not what I was implying,” Hotch places a hand on his forehead, rubbing roughly, trying to ease his frustration. You’re not quite sure where he gets off being so short and snippy with you. “I’m just… The last time I saw you, you were on track to be a lawyer and now you’re standing in front of me, in my office, joining my team. It just all seems very—”

“Sir?” You turn and see a different blonde standing in the doorway. She has a bright pink floral dress on, two large flowers in her hair, a file in her hands, and a pink fuzzy pen tucked behind her ear. “Sorry to interrupt,” She steps forward, stumbling a little in her high heels, sticking her hand out to shake yours, “Penelope Garcia, technical analyst, computer geek, and all-around wizard of the keyboard.”

You smile at her and stick your hand out to introduce yourself, “It’s great to meet you.”

“Sir, you remember that the Indiana PD contacted us about a possible serial?” She lets out a shaky breath, squinting her eyes and looking away as she opens the file, holding it out to Hotch, “Another body.”

Hotch has to reach past you to take the file and you audibly suck in your breath as his arm glides past your torso. “Same signature?” He looks over the photos.

Garcia lets out a small shudder, “Yeah the victim’s hands… the unsub he… don’t make me say it, sir.” She squeaks out.

“Gather the team,” He gives a nod before finally looking back at you, “You think you’re ready to get back to work?”

“Yes Sir,” You sigh, pull your go-bag further up your shoulder. You start to follow him out the door but he stops short in front of you.

“We’ll talk later,” He stumbles over his words a little. You’re making him nervous. You see his hand at his side. His fingers rubbing against one another. There’s one thing that hasn’t changed in years. He still has the same nervous behaviors.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about,” You mumble under your breath as you follow him to the conference room. You speak quietly but from the way he tilts his head, stretches his neck, and takes a deep breath, you know your comment was loud enough for him to hear.

You take a seat at the roundtable, watching as the three agents from earlier are now joined by a tall, muscular black man who ruffles the top of the skinny kid’s head, messing up his hair, “I’m just teasing kid, I like the haircut. Makes you look young.”

“Yeah like I need anything to make me look younger. Everyone already thinks I’m a teenager,” The skinny one tries to smooth his hair back into place, but it doesn’t really help, leaving small strands sticking up in the air.

“Everyone this is Agent Y/L/N, she’s joining us from Crisis Negotiation,” Hotch pulls out his chair, right next to yours. You feel your whole body tense up, as the close proximity really allows you to smell his familiar cologne. Eight years and he still hasn’t bought a new one. Great.

“Joining us?” The muscular one stands just a bit behind you, making himself a cup of coffee but turns and walks to take a seat, giving you a slow once over. It’s not a flirtatious one, but a wary scan of your body. You’re becoming acutely aware of how exposed you feel in a room full of professional profilers.

“Strauss thinks we need the extra help, especially with the recent increase in requests for BAU help, and I don’t disagree with her,” Hotch looks around the table at his coworkers before looking to you, “Agents Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, Rossi, and Dr. Reid.” Hotch points out each member, who all give you small nods and waves of acknowledgment as he introduces them.

“Crisis negotiation, huh?” Morgan continues to push the subject. You can tell he’s not really happy about a new addition to the team. You’re guessing it’s coming from a place of protectiveness of his team. You understand his hesitance. The team probably works well together, a new person is a whole new dynamic. If you could pick any other position you would, you have no specific interest in the BAU, but it’s a second chance and you’re not going to screw it up, no matter how much you wish that anyone else in the world besides Hotch was unit chief.

“I think the job took a small amount of profiling,” You shrug and give Agent Morgan a smile, hoping to get in his good graces soon, “Obviously not as much as this but it did take a level of interpretation of the behavior of criminals who take hostages in addition to a complex understanding of intergroup dynamics and how that might impact a situation.”

“There’ll be time to play nice and get to know each other later,” Hotch cuts the introductions short. “Garcia, the case?”

“Right,” She clicks on the monitor at the front while Hotch slides a tablet over to you. You take it from him, your fingertips just brushing against his. Everything about the interaction feels like eight years ago. He manages to keep his best poker face, all the while you feel the small sparks shoot across your skin. Those damn sparks. Except you’re very quickly realizing that the Hotch in front of you is nothing like eight years ago.

There’s something deeply broken about his eyes. You could never forget those eyes. When you first met him you thought they were deep brown. Then you spent enough time watching him, studying every detail of his face and learned that they were a beautiful light brown. Small golden flecks in his eyes become more pronounced in the sun. His eyes are different now. First of all, the deep undereye bags that frame them make him look years older than his actual age. His brow seems permanently set in that furrowed position. It’s a familiar expression of his. You had the joy of seeing that brow lift when the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. Smiling seems to be the last thing this current Aaron Hotchner wants to do.

You realize you’re staring a little bit too long and tune back into Garcia’s case briefing, “All three victims were undergraduate students. Indiana’s campus hosts both undergrad and grad students from the law school and med school.”

“Which means a huge suspect pool.” Hotch points out.

“How are we sure that the unsub is from inside the community?” You look around the table. You can see the way that Morgan’s brows raise at the question. How else are you going to learn without asking questions?

Rossi, however, swoops in to save you from embarrassment, “The first victim had mace in her backpack, however, she never used it. The second victim had no defensive wounds on her body. The third victim—”

“Was killed in an office meeting room. To gain access to that building you need a school ID,” You nod, filling in the gaps. “I forget that technology and security have dramatically improved since I was in school.”

“Come on, kid, at least you had cell phones in college,” Rossi gives a small smile, nudging your arm.

“And how do we know these are all connected?” Morgan gestures to his tablet in front of him.

You scoff slightly and look up at Morgan, “I’m sorry, I know it’s important to find common victimology, MO, or signature before connecting the crimes but how many violent crimes occur on college campuses in this short of a time? They have to be connected.”

“Statistically, some of the most dangerous and violent college campuses report that nearly 10 students for every 1000 will be a victim of violent crime. However, that statistic seems to include any form of violent crime meaning murder, negligent manslaughter, aggravated assault, robbery, but most prevalent on most college campuses is rape as a form of violent crime. In terms of how frequent—” The tall skinny one, Reid, rattles off a series of facts at you and you can’t help but smile. He’s cute. He looks about your age, “That was more of a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”

You fight a smile at Reid’s confused face and nod. “All the victims had the same cuts on their hands,” Prentiss points up at the monitor.

“Weird,” You mumble under your breath.

“What?” JJ turns to you.

“Oh. Nothing it’s just… hands are a weird thing to mutilate. Damage to the face shows high levels of rage and a deep hatred for the victim, removal of eyes or ears or damage to the mouth could symbolize the removal of a sense in order to punish the victims for some misuse of those senses. But hands… hands are different.” You tip your pen back to your mouth, placing the end on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly as you think. You can feel Hotch’s focus on you. If you turn, you’re sure you’ll just catch him as he looks away.

He’s profiling you. You don’t need to look at him to know that. He was always good at reading you, not that you did much to hide your feelings back then. You felt everything so openly. You were so full of passion, so determined to be the best at everything you set your mind to. Hotch made you realize that feeling everything so deeply, so freely, opens you up to a world of hurt. You put on your best poker face, keeping your body language neutral while you still feel his eyes on you.

“Hands are not inherently symbolic of one thing.” Reid agrees with you.

“So we have to try and decipher why this mutilation is a compulsion for the unsub,” Hotch nods, “Wheels up in 30.” Everyone tucks all their belongings away. Hotch is quick to stand up from his seat at the table, storm down the catwalk back to his office, closing the door loudly. You try to ignore the weird looks from the team as you introduce yourself to all of them.

You watch as Morgan is one of the first to leave the conference room, walking after him, “Hey, Agent Morgan!” You run to catch him at the top of the stairs, “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off so rude in there.” You shake your head.

“No problem,” He states simply, intending to walk down the stairs.

“I get it, I’m new, I’m throwing off the team dynamic and you don’t seem like the type to trust me immediately.” You stick out a hand to shake his, “But I’m committed to this team and I want to earn your respect in time.”

He nods, giving you one of those judgmental once overs again, “From what I can tell, Hotch doesn’t seem too pleased about you being here. Now just because he’s my boss, doesn’t mean I have to always agree with him, but if he’s wary, then I’m wary.” He avoids shaking your hand. Your suspicions about Morgan seem to be proven before your eyes. He doesn’t trust easily. He’s been burned by someone he trusted in the past. You can relate to that. You’re not a very open or trustworthy person anymore either.

“Agent Hotchner and I knew each other a really long time ago. A lifetime ago. Way before his time at the BAU. I’m sure he’s just not thrilled about his past colliding with his present,” You nod taking a few steps back to let Morgan continue down the stairs, “I just hope… I hope you can learn to trust me, and I, you.” You smile softly. Morgan seems stuck in his place. You can’t tell whether or not he’s surprised by your manners, or if you’ve just driven further the wedge between you two.

“See you on the jet,” He speaks up as he walks down the stairs, scooping his go-bag from under his desk and disappearing around a corner down the hallway.

When you turn to walk back to the conference room, you catch Agent Hotchner’s eyeline through the blinds of his office. He’s watching you, studying you, trying to read you. However, he definitely does not get access to you anymore.

You’re determined to keep your animosity towards Hotch private. No reason for the team to detect that anything is wrong. But throughout the case, there are moments it slips. First, it was on the jet...

You step onto the jet, looking around, taking the entire environment in. You were never blessed with a private jet in your time in crisis negotiation, just stuck with driving from place to place. Morgan reaches across you, taking your bag and stowing it away in the back for you. It’s a simple gesture, but from the look in his eye as he does it, you can tell Morgan is already reevaluating his judgment of you.

You’re one of the last on the jet and you see everyone settled around the table and surrounding seats. The only available seat is the one next to Hotch by the window. You’d have to ask him to get up… or squeeze past him. You try to cover it up but nearly everyone notices the way that you eye the seat before deciding against it. You end up leaning against the arm of the sofa that JJ is sitting on. Once again, Hotch’s gaze lingers on you as you do. He’s taking note of the way you’re actively avoiding him, and he’s right. You’re actively avoiding any alone time with him. Minimize the alone time, minimize the pain.

You run through the facts of the case again, Reid rambling on about the significance of hands throughout different cultures, the importance of sensory neurons on the skin of your hands, and how hand size is an indicator for a lot of things. You share a small smirk with Morgan, who is clearly warming up to you because you both know the one thing that hand size is rumored to correlate with.

Morgan shoots you a small smirk before saying what you were both thinking, “That’s interesting and all kid, but any knowledge in that big brain of yours about whether hand size is related to—”

Hotch cuts off Morgan, “Focus, please.” He gestures with his hand to stop the conversation and you have to hide your smile. It’s nice to smile. You weren’t expecting to feel anything but pain today. Hotch puts a fast end to that feeling of happiness.

“When we land, JJ and Rossi head to the local police and talk to the families of the victims. Prentiss and Morgan, you’ll head to the ME, get a better evaluation of the state of the body,” Hotch pauses for a second. He takes in a slow breath as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say. Once he says what’s coming next, it’s all official. You start your first case. He’s your boss, you’re his subordinate. You’re in each other's lives again whether you like it or not. “Y/L/N, Reid, and I will go to the most recent crime scene,” Hotch nods and you feel the blood drain from your face, that sick and twisty knot growing in the pit of your stomach. You knew you’d have to work with him, that’s part of the job, but he’s already keeping you close to him. Maybe he doesn’t trust you.

From the way he spoke to you in his office, it’s clear he thinks you’re here as some sort of revenge. Some convoluted vindictive scheme to ruin his life.

“You look terrified,” Prentiss tries to tease you.

You look around at the team and shake your head, “College campuses,” You scrunch up your face in disgust and shake your head, “Undergrad sucked because I was younger than everyone, so I missed out on all the fun.”

“Damn, we got another kid genius on our hands, don’t we?” Morgan reaches out a hand to high-five you. “Like our own female Einstein.” Your eyes immediately flick to Hotch. That nickname. No one’s called you any form of that nickname since him. “Watch out Reid, you’ve got competition.”

“I was 14 when I was in college,” Reid states in an attempt to one-up you, but it’s clear that he’s just joking. He knows he’s smart but he doesn’t seem like the cocky type, at least what you can tell so far.

“Don’t worry, brainiac,” You laugh at him, “You are the only genius on this team.”

“And grad school?” JJ pipes up, catching onto the way you dropped the sentence.

“I dropped out of law school after my first year,” You clear your throat uncomfortably, “Wasn’t for me I guess.” The air seems suffocating. Your face is burning hot. You feign extreme interest in the crime scene photos on your tablet, knowing that if you look up, your face will give you away to Hotch. The last thing you want is for him to know how much he affected you.

He said it himself: So in 10 years from now, when you're at the top of your career, know that it's all because of me. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Everything that has happened for the past eight years happened because of his impact on your life.

You remind yourself yet again to try and keep the conversations focused on the case. The team wants to get to know you, but every personal conversation seems to lead back to Hotch.

The second slip-up comes when you arrive at the crime scene...

“She told her roommate she was coming here to study, that she had booked the meeting room just for herself.” Reid lifts up the crime scene tape, holding it up for you to slip under. You give a small smile at the gesture.

“But she told her friends she was meeting with her professor here for extra help.” Hotch shakes his head, pulling on a pair of gloves. You glance over at Reid as he does the same.

He looks at you for a second before he raises his brows in realization, letting out a small ‘oh.’ He digs into his pocket and hands you a pair of gloves. “I usually grab them from the crime scene team,” He nods.

You take them from him, “Thank you.” You like Reid. He’s kind and smart and polite. He’s your age, but you can see that he’s worlds ahead of you in terms of knowledge. You wonder just how much is going on inside that brain of his. When you look at him you can see the gears constantly turning, he’s always working over something in his brain, forming theories, or running through facts.

“She was stabbed in the back and the back of the head, correct?” You glance over at Hotch for confirmation.

“Yes.” He plays with the fingertips of his gloves, paying more attention to you rather than the scene. Without the body, there’s not much to go on, it’s your average office space. You see a log on the wall with the names of who has scheduled the room. They haven’t wiped away the victim’s work from the whiteboard. It looks like some form of math.

“Linear algebra,” Reid speaks up as he sorts through some of the papers left on the table in the center of the room.

You nod and smile, “Math never was my strong suit in school. I was definitely more entranced by a book rather than formulas and numbers.”

Reid’s face lights up with joy, “If you ever want any book recommendations, please do ask. I just finished an absolutely amazing biography about Albert Einstein. It’s not that long of a read. It’s only about 1200 pages. You know I’m sure that I have a copy…” He catches sight of Hotch’s stern expression, stopping himself mid-sentence.

You both go silent as you skim through the pages of work scattered on the floor. You then analyze the writing on the whiteboard, leaning in close. Hotch speaks up again tilting his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in confusion at your behavior, “What are you thinking?”

“It wasn’t random. This was planned out. The unsub specifically sought out her.”

“How do you figure that?” Hotch questions you, but not in the hostile accusatory way you’re expecting.

You hesitate, losing your train of thought the longer you look at Hotch, so you look back to the whiteboard, “When you’re waiting to meet someone, you expect someone to come in, right? So if she had her back turned, writing up equations on this whiteboard, she wouldn’t think twice of the door opening. If you’re not expecting someone and you hear the door open.” You point at the whiteboard.

“You would turn around to see who it is,” Hotch finishes your sentence.

“That’s why all her wounds were to the back,” You fall into a rhythm with Hotch. He’s following your train of thought.

“So the unsub had to know she would be here ahead of time,” Hotch sighs and digs in his pocket for his phone, “Garcia, I need your help.” He clicks his phone onto the speaker and places it down on the table.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Her chipper voice comes through the phone. You can picture her office probably matches her appearance. Probably bright, full of color. For a technical analyst, she probably still has a hefty collection of colorful and funky pens. You remember the octopus mug she was holding when she walked into Hotch’s office this morning.

“This building has a key card access system. Can you access the log of everyone who swiped into this building on the day and around the time of the third murder?”

“Sir, it’s not a matter of can or can’t. You know I can,” Her voice is laced with a smile.

“Check that list for the professor that she claimed she was meeting with,” Hotch adds.

“He…” She trails and you hear the ambient sounds of her rapid typing and clicking. There’s a pause. Her voice grows small, “He accessed the building around the time of her death.”

“He’s our prime suspect. We need to bring him in,” Hotch concludes, “Garcia, you’re the best.”

“Aw I know,” She giggles softly, “PG out!”

“Imagine that,” You chuckle bitterly, “She comes in here to meet her professor, someone she trusts, and she gets stabbed in the back.” You shake your head, the words slipping out before you even realize the weight of what you’ve implied.

Reid doesn’t catch on to the look that you and Hotch exchange. Hotch looks as if he’s seen a ghost. He’s not shocked by what you’ve said, but by the fact that you even said anything. It’s the first sign of hostility towards him. The first crumb or clue into how you feel about him after all these years. The answer is betrayed. You still feel betrayed.

“We should deliver the profile.” Hotch leaves the crime scene at a brisk pace, leaving Reid clueless, and you and that damned twisting knot of anxiety in your stomach.

The rest of your interactions with Hotch are limited for most of the case, restricted to only group discussions that are entirely professional. No more slip-ups, no more sideways glances. What all your interactions were rife in, was that intrusive look of his eyes. Every few minutes you can feel his eyes on you, scanning your posture, your facial expressions, searching for any idea of what you might be thinking or feeling.

You try your best to avoid it, opting to go check out every lead, just for the opportunity to get some space from him. You feel smothered and suffocated. You’re so on edge, you’ve torn your nail beds to shreds. He is seemingly unfazed by your presence. That is if you don’t consider how often you catch him rubbing his fingers at his side or up by his face or biting his bottom lip. Every time you catch him, however, he stops.

You’re having a difficult time reading how he feels about you being here. You just want to know how he feels about you after all these years. Does he still harbor feelings for you? Does he still care about you? The sleep deprivation from working so hard and the excess caffeine you’ve consumed don’t help to slow down your thoughts which seem to be moving at a million miles a minute. At least while you’re working you can put all your energy into solving the case, helping the team, and parsing through evidence.

It gets worse at night when you’re alone in the hotel room. You try to bring the case file back into the room, working on it in bed until you can barely keep your eyes open, but you find that you don’t get any work done, your brain a continuous stream of questions.

You’ve been able to profile every member of the team pretty efficiently. You have a good understanding of how Reid’s brain works. The comfort that he has with numbers and facts. He uses his intelligence to cover up for his social insecurities. Morgan puts on a tough exterior, but really he’s hesitant to let people in and trust them. Prentiss, similar to Morgan, seems to keep everyone at arm's length, preferring to be the confidant rather than the one doing the confiding in someone else. JJ struggles to separate her emotions from the work, a quality that is not in and of itself a flaw, but you can tell it weighs on her heavily. Rossi has the most experience and constantly feels inclined to be a figure, a leader while trying to balance cooperation rather than individualism. He’s used to being a lone wolf, doing the job on his own.

This new Aaron Hotchner is a mystery. He’s closed off. He is entirely business. Even when Garcia cracks a joke or embarrasses herself. You all laugh and smirk at her, but his face never changes. When you all get off track, he sternly reminds you of the importance of the case at hand. That’s his job, but there’s something more to it that you can’t quite figure out. There’s a sense of urgency, as there usually is with these cases, but almost this feeling that he’s constantly running out of time.

Even his office provided you with very little to profile. You remember a few photos from Hotch’s office. One of him and a small boy. A son, possibly? There was another of him and a blonde woman hugging the little boy. Your first guess is wife, but you don’t remember him wearing a ring.

You can’t profile him. He’s closed himself off to that. Yet you find yourself coming back to the same question over and over again, does he still care about you? You get a glimpse at the answer as you and the team track down the location of your unsub, three days into the case.

You lean forward from the backseat of the SUV, looking between Morgan and Hotch in the front, “What does the profile say about this kind of unsub’s behavior once faced with police and authority like us?”

The two men exchange knowing looks. You have your suspicions but you really just want them to vocalize what you’re thinking, “He won’t let us take him in without a fight.”

“Suicide by cop,” You mutter frustratedly, “Great.”

“It’s likely, but that doesn’t mean we don’t try to talk him out of it.” Hotch clarifies, gesturing with an outstretched palm that he takes off the wheel temporarily. He pulls up to the small house, sirens off. “A big show will just scare him into making sudden moves to get us to shoot to kill. Morgan, you head around the back. Y/L/N and I will take the front.”

You nod, knowing the rest of the team isn’t far behind you all, but they’ve all been instructed to try and appear as discreetly as possible. You get out of the SUV, watching as Morgan runs around back. Both you and Hotch approach the door. Hotch kicks the door down. The unsub sits casually in an armchair, holding a gun that he twirls in his fingers. He knew you were coming.

Then Hotch does something that complicates your questions about him. It’s subtle but you notice it immediately. He instinctively moves a little in front of you. He doesn’t block your line of fire, but he blocks the unsubs. He’s shielding you with his body.

Your profile is right, the unsub doesn’t want to be taken in peacefully, resulting in Morgan putting two bullets in him from behind when he raises his gun to you and Hotch. AT first, you think Hotch put his body in front of yours by accident.

It wasn’t an accident. He gave a small look over his shoulder at your location before taking a few steps right, to block you. Then you assume it was purely because of his status as team leader. He doesn’t want the members of his team to get hurt. That also doesn’t seem to make sense to you. No matter how much he wants the team to be protected he wouldn’t do that. He would trust Morgan to get the shot if you two couldn’t.

So why would he shield you?

Almost everyone but you, Rossi, and Hotch are sleeping on the jet home. You have a book out in front of you, but you’re barely reading, just attempting to look deeply enchanted by the novel to avoid any awkward eye contact or conversation with Hotch. The only sounds in the plane are the whirring of the engines, the wind outside, and Hotch’s typing on his computer as he finishes up the report for the case.

Rossi sits down across from you on the jet, placing down a small glass of some amber liquid, which you assume is whiskey, in front of you.

“Trying to get me drunk, Agent Rossi?” You tease him, tearing your eyes away from the book you weren’t reading.

He laughs heartily, taking a sip from his own glass, “I thought I’d welcome you with something from my own personal stash.”

“Where do you keep it hidden in here? You know… just in case I’m curious,” You smirk and reach for the glass. It’s nice of Rossi to sit with you and talk to you.

Rossi just smiles, shaking his head a little, “You did well out there, kid,” He puts the glass down, to roll his ring around his finger. You’ve noticed he does it a lot when he’s thinking. “You can read all the books in the world, but profiling in the field, thinking on your feet, analyzing a crime scene, it’s all much different than the words on a page.”

“I’m realizing that,” You trail your finger around the rim of the glass, “My previous position incorporated a lot of what you guys do here.”

“I’m sure that makes this job a lot harder. You probably want to put the past behind you.” Your head snaps up to look at him. No one told the team where you came from. Even Hotch doesn’t know. “I remember hearing about the incident.”

“The FBI tried to bury their involvement,” You sigh and finish off the glass, noting how smooth the alcohol goes down. You’ve learned how to handle alcohol really well this past year. “They keep all the details top secret. However, that didn’t stop them from throwing me under the bus.”

“What happened in New York was not your fault.” Rossi’s voice drops in volume as he leans closer, keeping your conversation more private, “The brass has a habit of blaming agents instead of criminals. You couldn’t have stopped it. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

You exhale loudly, air rushing over your teeth as you give a little shake of your head in disagreement, “Agent Rossi, I’m sure you’re experienced enough to know this, but as reassuring and comforting it is to hear you say those words it doesn’t necessarily—”

“It doesn’t change how you feel. I know. I understand,” He pauses, “Don’t let it consume you. All of us have been where you are right now. Some of us are currently where you are right now, constantly consumed by guilt over something that wasn’t even our fault.” You get the sense that he isn’t talking about himself. You don't need to reply. The both of you sit in silence for a while.

You start up a conversation again, this time about Virginia and DC, where you’re living, when you moved, what you studied in school, where you grew up. Rossi loves to tease you and every few sentences he’ll simply reply, ‘I already knew that’ acting as if he could profile every fact about you.

You like him a lot. You like everyone a lot. Just as the jet lands and you’re all packing up your desks back at Quantico, Rossi offers to drive you home.

“Let me just check in with Agent Hotchner before I leave,” You glance up at the office. You know you have to check in with him, it’s your first case finished, you’re new, he’s your new boss, but so far, you’ve managed to avoid being alone with him and you’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.

You knock lightly on the open door, to which Hotch responds, “Come in.”

“I just wanted to check-in, you know, with it being my first case and everything,” You nod, taking just a few steps into the office, leaving as much distance between you and Hotch. He stands at his desk, focusing intently on your face. You know he’s trying to read your intentions. He’s searching for the hidden meaning behind your words. And for once, in the past few days, you don’t have any meaning behind your words. You have had enough small slip-ups and double meanings. This time, you truly just mean to check-in.

“You did really good work out there, Agent. You’re a fast learner, you pay attention to details, you work well with the team,” He rattles off a series of compliments, “Strauss is going to request a formal evaluation with me and I’ll be sure to report how quickly you’ve adapted.”

“Thank you, sir,” You try your best to function with the utmost composure.

“Hotch,” He corrects you.

You ignore the correction, “Is that all, sir?”

“If you need anything… I mean I’ve read through your psych evaluations and I know the details are classified but–“ Hotch is struggling with his words. You know what he’s trying to say. He wants to tell you he’s here for you. Funny. Really, it is. Funny that he doesn’t realize the one thing that might send you spiraling is being around him. “I just mean if it all gets to be too much, it’s okay to take a step back. I… I understand.”

“You do?” Your words come out more bitter than intended. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this. You had gone this whole case without snapping. It’s childish and immature. You can be professional. But right now, you can only see one thing: boiling hot rage at Hotch. How could he possibly understand how you feel? You pause to take a breath, “Thank you, but I’m okay. Goodnight, sir.” You walk to the door, wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

“Y/N—” Hotch calls out, his voice softer, less firm, less professional. “Please,” You beg, finally breaking. Your voice is raw with emotion. You’ve been holding all the pain in for the past three days and your plea comes out sounding more broken than you intend to. You don’t turn around but place a hand on the doorframe. “Please… don’t make this harder than it already is.” You wait for a moment, hoping, praying, that he doesn’t try to talk to you anymore. A moment of silence serves as confirmation that he isn’t going to keep pushing you to talk.

You get down the stairs, meeting Rossi at the elevators. “Thank you… for driving me home.” You try and hide your face from him, hoping he doesn't see the sheen in your eyes as you fight away the tears that have been fighting their way out for the past three days.

“Anytime,” He nods, holding an arm over the elevator doors for you as they open. You think he can sense something is wrong. He’s probably been able to sense something is wrong between you and Hotch since the minute you made eye contact with him your first morning. If he does, however, he also knows not to ask or press the issue.

You flick the lights on in your apartment. You look over the boxes, still left unpacked. Not much of a home yet. You have no place of safety, of comfort yet. You feel like a guest in your own place. However, the thought of unpacking all the boxes right now is way too intimidating.

Deep steady breath in. Shaky breath out. You bite at your lip harshly. You haven’t cried over Aaron Hotchner in years. You drop your bag by the door, kicking your shoes off. You turn to close the door and everything starts to bubble up inside you. The anger, frustration, sadness, heartbreak. It’s all too much. You’ve been through so much these past eight years. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But fuck. It hurts.

You let out a frustrated yell. It’s a scream that feels good to let out but ends up scratching your throat. You slam your fist against the door, ignoring the way it sears your knuckles. You pace your apartment, trying to steady your breathing.

You’ve been suffocating the past three days. Three long days of close quarters with Aaron Hotchner. Even after all these years, he manages to suck all the oxygen out of the room, leaving you breathless. In another life, you remember thinking how much you loved suffocating around him, but now, it tears you up inside. Your chest burns and aches, your head is fuzzy, and his presence is dizzying. It’s not exhilarating. It’s not exciting. It’s not all-consuming in the way you remember. You’re just trying to keep your head above water, but the current is strong and the rapids are relentless. You’re sinking under the surface quickly and you don’t know how to pull yourself up out of it.

You walk over to the stack of boxes, pushing them aside until you find the exact one you’re looking for. You rip open the top, tearing the tape off. The box is full of books, one of many that you brought with you. It’s organized perfectly so that when you unpack it you can set up your personal library just the way you had it back home in New York. So it doesn’t take you long to find that book. That damned book. The cover is faded. The dark brown leather is weathered and much lighter. The spine has lost all structure and the pages have changed color.

You sit down exactly where you stand, cross-legged on the floor, you open to that first page. You look at the all-too-familiar note. You were tempted, over the years, to burn the book, tear that first page out, cross out every one of his notes. But you never could do it. Deep down, no matter how bad he had hurt you, the book seemed to remain separate from that.

Maybe it’s because it’s a constant reminder that you weren’t some naive, foolish, young child. You hadn’t deluded yourself into thinking Hotch cared for you. He did. There was some sense of care and attention to detail. The book is evidence of that. However, it forces you to hold on to an image of Hotch that clearly is not the prevailing personality. Looking at the book reminds you of the bashful, almost embarrassed, man who handed it to you in his office so long ago. The careful way he traced your jawline, the way he tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing it out of the way to really get a good look at your face. That image of him sometimes wins out when you think of Aaron Hotchner. You want to remember him that way, but that only seems to prolong your pain. It makes you want him back.

You lay down on the floor pressing the book close to your heart. You could simply pick up the phone. You could just call him, tell him you want to start all over. But you can’t start all over. Being with Aaron Hotchner was a lifetime ago. That doesn’t change how vividly you can remember being with him. For the first few years, you hated him with every fiber of your being. You thought about what would happen if you ever saw him again. You would scream at him. Tell him off, curse him out. But as the years passed, you stopped hating him. There’s a fine line between love and hate. And as you know, Aaron Hotchner has always been good at keeping lines blurry.

Everything in you is screaming at you to pick up the phone. You’ve dreamed of hearing his voice tell you, “Let’s try again... please.” But you fight the urge. You close your eyes, the cold floor of your apartment sending a chill through you, enough to keep your wits about you.

——

Hotch runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes forcing himself to stay awake, forcing his attention back to the case report. His attempts to work fail, his mind always traveling back to you. He knew you would be a different person. It’s been eight years. He’s a different person. What he didn’t expect was how much of you is still the same.

That bright look in your eyes while discussing the case was one he had seen so many times while you poured over a novel in his office. You still talk with your hands, punctuating every sentence with a little shake or gesture of your fingers. You crack your knuckles when you’re thinking.

The differences are clear to him too. You don’t hold your tongue. You’re blunt. Brutally honest, almost to a fault. You seem to have pushed aside any attempt at politeness, or social niceties. You no longer feel so openly. He finds it much harder to read your face and body language. Your thoughts are not as clear to him as they used to be. He used to know exactly what you were thinking. He can tell you’ve practiced your poker face. He tried his best the past three days to get a read on how you feel about him. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past. All of that was before Haley. And indulging in thoughts of before is just simply too painful for him.

He walks to the window, looking out at the city. He wonders where you are tonight. Are you thinking about him? Are you hurting? Or has it been so long that he’s unimportant to you? Is someone holding you close to them, pressing soft kisses to your lips, whispering comforting words?

He could just pick up the phone and call you. He could profusely apologize. Not that his apology would mean anything, but it’s a speech he’s been rehearsing for years. He loved Haley with his whole heart. She was his whole world, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t regret how he treated you. Haley showed him a world of love, yet he managed to ruin that as well. He prioritized the job over her. Look where that got him.

Hotch knows you will never forgive him. He has never forgiven himself, but he can’t help but think about what would happen if he showed up on your doorstep. Would you immediately turn him away? Or would you let him in? Would you hear him out?

He shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the lights of DC. He walks to the kitchen, pouring a fresh mug of coffee. He can’t call you. Too much has happened. He thinks about the sleeping little boy upstairs. Every night he’s tormented by memories. He can still remember what it felt like to hold Haley’s lifeless body in his arms. When he does get sleep, visions of Haley’s dead eyes, his bloodied clothes, Foyet’s knife, invade his dreams. He frequently wakes up coated in sweat, the scars on his chest and stomach stinging with the same intensity as the day Foyet inflicted the stab wounds.

Which is why he feels immense guilt over the fact that three days ago, he shook your hand to welcome you to the team, and it ignited every nerve in his body. Everything has changed, but your hand in his made him feel alive.

Chapter 13: II.II →

[burning-the-write-oil]

Chip Taylor Blurb

Summary: Reader and Chip are indecisive about what to have for dinner.

Characters: Chip Taylor/F!Reader

Words: close to 600

Warnings: Light smut, implications of oral sex (female receiving), implications of previous sexual acts

A/N: So this came from nowhere! I’ve been having a crisis over Matthew Gray Gubler recently and got around to watching 68 Kill last night. Needless to say, I fell in love with Chip Taylor and needed to give him some happiness. I wrote this while at work today and it’s super short and has no real purpose besides the fact of me not being able to get him out of my head. So enjoy! Feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

“Literally just pick something.” 

“I don’t know what to pick.”

“Well, I chose last time.”

“You did not!”

“Yep. We got Greek.”

You groaned, pulling the blankets over your head and over your nude body. Choosing what to have for dinner was always a difficult task for you and Chip. With both of you being indecisive, it took twice the amount of time. You heard him chuckle and couldn’t stop the small grin spreading on your lips. You loved the sound of his laugh. The sound of his voice. Everything about him honestly.

“Please Chip...” You pleaded, moving the blankets off of your face to look over at him. 

He was sitting halfway under the blankets of my queen bed. The blankets, unfortunately, hid his lower half but did manage to leave his bare chest on display. You briefly admired the smooth, tanned skin of his chest, up to his strong neck, and to his well-defined jaw and soft, pink lips.

“You look incredibly adorable right now, but it’s still not my turn.” He smirked at her frustrated expression, running a hand through his messy, brown locks. Post-sex hair was a good look for him.

You say up beside him, holding the sheets to your chest as you met his gaze. You bit the corner of your lip, attempting to make your expression as innocent as possible as you teasingly pulled the sheets away from your breasts, exposing them little by little. You immediately noticed his eyes trail down and you could see them darken ever so slightly, making your nipples begin to harden again. You both were just going at it 15 minutes ago but honestly, you could go again. Dangerously intoxicating is how he described you and you found him the exact same.

He shifted slightly, leaning closer to you and pressing his forehead to yours. He barely brushed his lips against yours before whispering, “Nice try.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him back playfully as he laughed at your reaction. He loved teasing you. 

“Chip, I’ll fight you.”

“You literally won’t.”

“I might.”

“No, you just want me to pin you to the bed and have my way with you.”

You blushed at his retort. He wasn’t wrong…

“I guess if nothing else, you could just eat me.” You mumbled nonchalantly, beginning to bite at the corner of your thumb in faux distraction.

“As tempting as that is, I think we both need sustenance. I don’t like hangry you as much.”

You shrugged with an understanding nod, “She is kind of a bitch.”

“Tell you what,” He started, pushing the blankets off both of us, exposing our bodies to the cool air of the bedroom. “You choose and I’ll stay down here until you can’t handle anymore. See if we can break a new record.” He spoke lowly, running his fingers teasingly along my inner thighs and moving to sit between them.

You exhaled shakily, looking into his deep brown eyes amidst my internal debate. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Moments later you answered, “Pizza.” The literal first thing that popped into your mind.

He shook his head with a grin, beginning to move into his stomach in between your legs. 

“Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours as

 he blew cool air against your warm center.

Your body immediately tensed and you could feel the arousal flow through your body.

“Now, if you’re done being bad, be a good girl, and scream for me.”

Chip always kept his word.

[marmolady]

There Was This Girl

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Rourke Ending. Estela Montoya is a loner. She keeps herself to herself. But there's just something about the girl in her Chemistry class....

Word Count: 3738

Chronology: This the first part of my Rourke ending series.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic

There was this girl. Blonde… electric blue eyes. Not all that tall, not all that short. Just another average blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl in your average American college. The girl… Taylor she’d said she was called, looked to Estela to be just an ordinary anyone. Which was why she bothered Estela so. The way that girl played upon her mind after bumping into her just the once; that was anything but ordinary. After that… well, Estela didn’t seem to be able to keep herself from bumping into Taylor. It was almost as if that girl, that average, ordinary girl, had been seeking her out.

Estela had made a point of keeping to herself in the days since beginning her studies as a freshman at Hartfeld University. Though she’d been raised by her uncle in San Trobida, away from the trappings of her lineage, she was certain that it wouldn’t be long before she was known here as the daughter of the Emperor and the Second Empress. It was a connection she’d long despised. That she and her uncle had spent the last however many years fighting against a dictatorship was laughably ironic when it was none other than a cruel dictator who’d sired her… who still kept a hold over her mother. Had it been down to Estela, she’d never have come to this place, but at her uncle’s insistence that she arm herself with the best education they could give her, she’d relented. Quite an achievement in persuasion on his part. It was not every day that Estela Montoya backed down.

There must have been a reason she was drawn to that girl, Taylor. Maybe it was the simple fact that people tended not to talk to Estela. She liked it that way, for so long as she was left alone, her identity never seemed to be an issue—despite her striking resemblance to the Second Empress. Other students would whisper—or rather, not bother to—behind her back, mulling upon the reasons for her enforced solitude, for the scarring that marked her serious face. Their speculations were frequently cruel in tone. Perhaps that was why the openly friendly way that Taylor had greeted her; no hesitation, no mistrust, had stuck with her.

“Hey-- you mind if I sit here? It’s kind of crowded everywhere else; I don’t think I can handle the noise right now.”

A frown darkened Estela’s face, born of suspicion that had been drilled into her since she was small, but she nodded. It was hard to resent Taylor a simple desire for peace and quiet-- the new food court was for the most part a headache waiting to happen.

Taylor sat down with an exhale-- relief?-- and began to eat. After a moment, she looked back up, meeting Estela’s eyes before they could pointedly dart away.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I… I get the impression you like to keep to yourself.”

Estela’s frown deepened. Maybe… maybe she did. She felt lonely sometimes, but solitude was now second nature; it was easy.

“Let’s just say it’s better that way. For me… for anyone who doesn’t want to wind up hurt.”

Taylor studied Estela’s face, and a couple of times opened her mouth as if to start talking, before reassessing and remaining quiet. Estela looked back, unblinking, mirroring the curiosity before her. She’d never much been drawn to blue eyes. Used to the cruel, icy gaze of her father, that coldness was anticipated. But Taylor’s weren’t like that. Not at all. They were bright, sparkling and warm like the sun on the sea. They were kind. And when Taylor’s smile reached them, they made something both alarming and pleasurable bubble up in Estela’s stomach. Then, Taylor finally managed to get her words out; shaky, unsure.

“Well, if you ever feel like… you know, some company, you should know that I enjoy being in yours. And I wouldn’t mind just… hanging out sometime.”

Estela averted her gaze, painfully aware of the heat blossoming upon her cheeks, spreading rapidly to her ears and the back of her neck. She could only hope that Taylor didn’t notice that fierce blush. Was she attracted to Taylor? Like, really attracted to her. Was that what this was? Intensely focused as she’d been on the family business in San Trobida, she’d never had the time for foolish crushes. Any such feelings had been trifling, fleeting. She might have looked at a person and thought the nice to look at, but it hadn’t been like this. There hadn’t been the butterflies. There hadn’t been the throb between her legs, nor the goose-bumps rising up her neck. Agonisingly uncomfortable, Estela took her food and strode off without a look back.

And then, that night, everything changed.

She was on a hillside, overlooking a sparkling sea. Smiling beside her… Taylor.

“I’ve seen a few sunsets,” Taylor said, but this is something else.”

It was. The colours upon the vast sea were sublime.

“My view is better,” said Estela. She stared into Taylor’s lovely face, taking every feature in.

Taylor blushed a little, and deflected. “I think you found your light too. We should take some pictures while we’re up here.”

For a moment, Estela said nothing, unable or unwilling to tear herself from simply basking in the glow of the beautiful person beside her. Oh, how her stomach fluttered.

“Something like this is hard to capture,” she said at last. “It’s more special if we have to remember it.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s ours alone that way.”

Together, they sat down in the cool grass, knees touching, and watched the shift of colours across the water and sky.

“I…,” said Estela, “used to avoid getting this close to people.”

“I remember,” Taylor said… somewhat sadly. “There was a time when it was hard to talk to you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was afraid of hurting you… of losing you and everyone else.”

“Believe me, I worry about it too. We’re gonna find the others though. We’re all in this together.”

Again, Estela fell quiet, thoughtful; then…, “Yes.”

It was getting too much. She had to be nearer to Taylor. She edged closer, reaching for her hand, and utterly powerless to look away from those gentle blue eyes….

Then Taylor moved in and was kissing her. So soft and tender. Estela closed her eyes, letting herself know nothing but for the feel of Taylor’s lips as they caressed her own. She let her arms wander, feeling, knowing every inch of Taylor’s body, and the kisses became harder, more urgent.

She shifted back, a fire in her raging wildly… an aching need.

“I want you, Taylor…. Now.”

And Taylor whispered back, “I want you too.”

Clothes were torn off, Estela’s heart pounded like a drum, and not for a moment did her eyes leave Taylor until they were both bare in the glow of the sunset.

“Come to me.”

Estela sat bolt upright in bed.

Holy fuck. What the fucking fuck was that?

What was this-- some sort of gay awakening? Never before had Estela felt  so… so… intoxicated by another person. It was all at once frightening and addictive. Her heartbeat quickening, Estela let her hand delve into her pyjama pants, feeling. She shuddered to her own touch as her mind’s eye showed her Taylor’s lips… blurring out of focus… drawing her in until she was moaning against them. Then, as if zapped by an electric shock, she pulled her hand back up. Shit, shit shit… you can not feel like that! You don’t even know this girl!

But you want to.

Damnit, she was aching for that woman. That couldn’t have been a normal dream. In a normal dream, she wouldn't have woken up with the memory so vivid that she could practically feel the ghost of Taylor’s breath against her lips.

You could actually try talking to her. Maybe if you weren’t so fucking repressed it wouldn’t explode out of you like… that.

After an age, Estela managed to shut out her thoughts long enough to drop back off to sleep. But there she was again…. Taylor.

“I brought you a blanket… if you’re cold.”

Estela recoiled, eyes narrowing. “…Why?”

“I don’t know. To be nice?”

Though Taylor looked confused, she kept holding out the blanket. And Estela took it, draping it over her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She looked up to the stars-- stars that seemed to be… in the wrong place? “Where I’m from, people don’t do things for you without expecting something in return.”

For a moment, Taylor didn’t appear to quite know what to say to that. “Well…. Maybe people just want to be liked in return.”

“Isn’t that pathetic?” Estela quietly scoffed. “How lonely we all are?” She shifted her gaze from the night sky and smiled at Taylor. “But at least you’re honest about it.”

Again, she woke up. What the hell was going on?

________________________

The next week was unbearable. Estela wasn’t sure what it was-- was she putting out some kind of signal to the universe?-- but she couldn’t seem to keep herself from running into Taylor. If her presence had felt inescapable before, it had been nothing compared to this. In the halls. In the cafe-- which after a few days Estela had simply started avoiding completely. In Introductory Chemistry, in which of all the people she could have been grouped with for their practical component… of course, Taylor. Even just walking across campus between lessons, their paths would inexplicably cross. And each night, Estela would find herself lost in visions too vivid, too real to be dreams in the sense she knew.

Taylor holding her hand as they prepared to step through a mysterious portal with a group of other students. Taylor kissing her passionately while they tumbled, weightless in what looked to be some kind of space station. Taylor reaching desperately for her as she fell out the gaping side of a helicopter.

Whispered ‘I love you’s, exchanged huddled in a tent beneath the starriest of skies.

Awakening with tears streaming down her face was fast becoming Estela’s normal. Some weird crush, maybe she could’ve been able to handle, but the loneliness… it sent an ache down to her bones, a sadness that engulfed her whole body. She’d felt Taylor’s arms around her… the warmth, the comfort. She’d experienced some higher plane of bliss. But in reality, she hadn’t. And that hollow space left behind when she opened her eyes each morning hit like a slap in the face.

She lay in her bed, closing her eyes and trying to think of anything that might distract her from imagining Taylor spooning against her back-- why couldn’t she just be kept awake stressing about exams like all the other students? It would be better than this. Anything would be better than this.

With a groan, Estela hauled herself up and switched on the light. She poured herself a glass of water, and rubbed her temples.

I’m losing my fucking mind….

A piece of paper scrunched on her desk drew her eye. She’d thrown that thing out twice already, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself from rescuing it from the waste-paper basket within an hour. Taylor had given her a scribbled note of her details; where her room was, her phone number. ‘Just in case you ever need a friend’ she’d said.

It was too late to call. Estela downed her water in a single long gulp. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’m just gonna face her head-on.

What was the worst that could happen? This was just some girl she had a crush on, after all.

It was nothing but a very strange, very intense crush.

______________________________

The lecture theatre always filled up quickly for Introductory Chemistry. Estela never had to worry too much about finding a seat; as long as she didn’t leave it too late, all she had to do was move toward the area of her choice, and people would usually scatter. There was no denying that it hurt. Estela had gotten used to being alone; throughout her life, the only person who’d ever wanted to give her the time of day had been her uncle. And… well, the gentle-eyed blonde that she now found herself making a beeline for.

Painfully aware that her cheeks were burning hot and no doubt had flushed a bright red, she approached.

“Hi.” It wasn’t smooth. Estela tried to look anywhere but Taylor’s face. How was she supposed to look her in the eye when the things she’d been dreaming had been so… so… well, there hadn’t always been many clothes involved. “You don’t mind if I…?”

Taylor’s face cracked into a smile, big and broad and genuine. And the guy next to her-- Diego, Estela was pretty sure his name was-- looked, for some reason, almost as happy.

“Sit with us!” Taylor cried. “Maybe you can explain some of this crap to me. I swear these equations just go in one ear and out the other. Sorry-- I don’t think you’ve met properly? Diego-Estela, Estela- Diego.”

Estela nodded stiffly. It seemed that Taylor was around Diego a lot. A mortifying thought occurred to her… were they together? She couldn’t just assume Taylor was single. And… not straight. She certainly didn’t seem especially heterosexual in those blasted dreams….

God, my cheeks must be so bright-fucking-red you could probably see them from space. Joder.

“Hi,” she deadpanned.

“Hi,” said Diego, a little awkwardly.

And then, as if struck by a bolt from the blue, it dawned on Estela-- she knew his face. Not just from around Hartfeld; Diego had been there in the background in the dreams. He’d been one of the students. It wasn’t random… it was, aside from herself and Taylor, nine other people who were definitely Hartfeld students Estela knew by sight. Always those same students. And some other guy… and, uh, some tall elf-like man with blue skin, but that was probably just her dream-mind being creative.

All right. That’s very, very weird. Why those same nine people?

With the lecture beginning, Estela pushed those thoughts from her mind. She could ponder over her dreams later, when she didn’t have the woman who’d been on her mind all week sitting right there next to her.

As it happened, sitting with Taylor through a lecture turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. Perhaps because their focus was not directly on one another, Estela found she could relax a little. Taylor just slipped into her companionship as if it were natural, as if it were something they did every day.

As if they knew one another.

Taylor dropped her pen, and instinctively, Estela ducked down to pick it up. For a moment she hesitated, tucking a loose strand of hair behind hair, then handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, lingering there… and Estela felt a pleasurable flip-flopping of her stomach. When their eyes met, Taylor’s smile was sweet and soft.

“You dropped this,” Estela murmured.

“Thanks,” came the whispered reply.

Okay, Estela thought to herself, maybe… maybe getting to know Taylor-- actually getting to know Taylor, not some dreamland bullshit-- wouldn’t be the worst thing.

___________________________

In the days to come, Estela would sit by Taylor for their shared lectures. It became easy; she’d just sit and quietly just enjoy the company. If Diego was there, he’d usually chatter on about something or other that meant nothing to Estela, but it was hard not to be happy when Taylor was laughing along with her best friend.

The dreams didn’t stop. If anything, they were getting stranger. She dreamed herself pummelling some woman from Rourke International into the snow… punching the ever-living daylights out of her. Why? Taylor had been there, standing by. And then… a great, lumbering beast staggered out of the trees.… And she woke up. Then there’d been sea monsters, and pirates, and a hulking sabre-toothed cat…. What was consistent, though, was Taylor. Always Taylor.

During their next Chemistry lecture, Taylor seemed oddly… uneasy, as if something was on her mind. She was twitchy, and stared off into space as if oblivious to every word the professor was saying. What was more, Diego was quiet. Estela felt a sinking feeling in her stomach; something was wrong-- was it her? Of course it was her. It only made sense that Taylor got with the program eventually; no one wanted to be around the scary loner.

When the lecture finished and all the other students filed out, Taylor lingered, even after Diego had hurried off to his next class. She looked so lost and confused.

Estela spoke quietly. “Am I, um… am I making you uncomfortable? You don’t have to be polite if you’d rather I sat somewhere else….”

Taylor jumped, jolted from her clearly troubled thoughts. “No! No, I… I’m sorry. My head’s a mess right now.” She offered Estela a shaky smile. “But I do….” She took a deep breath. “I so need to talk to you about something. Not here-- the next class will be in here soon.”

Estela followed Taylor to the shade of a big tree, out of earshot of the crowds moving between lecture theatres. Every instinct in her told her this was bad news. Something was wrong… really wrong. She waited for Taylor to speak, not having a clue what to expect to hear.

“So, what is it? Are you okay?”

"This... isn't going to make much sense, okay? But it's the truth. I swear, I'm not lying to you." Taylor looked as if she was on the verge of tears. “You don’t know me,” she said simply after a tense pause, her tone at odds with the pain behind her eyes, pain that made Estela’s drop, “but you did once. Not in the past-- in the future….” Frustration played upon her face, and something like… desperation? “The world wasn’t meant to be like this. Rourke wasn’t meant to be ruling over everything. It was everything; all of history, hell maybe even time itself-- he bent it to his will and made it his plaything. You… think I’m crazy.”

Estela’s face clouded over as she digested what she was being told. Slowly, word by word, letting it sink in.

Yes. Yes, Taylor was clearly crazy. Fuck. Is that why she’s got me so wigged out? She’s obsessed with Rourke; no damn wonder she’s been trying to stalk me.

“Do you remember, ‘Stel? You’ve got to remember something-- La Huerta? We were on Rourke’s private island--”

“Listen.”  Estela spoke with an ice-cold edge to her voice. She’d been taken for a fool. As if anyone could have wanted to be close to her simply for her. ‘Just want to be liked in return’?-- bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. How could she have been so stupid?

“That bastard is nothing, nothing to do with me. And if you come around talking insane conspiracy theories, it is not going to end well for you.” It wasn’t a threat, so much as a warning. Rourke was dangerous, and this weirdo was playing with fire. Whatever was wrong with Taylor, and clearly something was, it was messing with Estela’s head. She couldn’t be swept up in that bullshit. If she drew Rourke’s attention to herself, her very freedom could go up in flames. “Now, if you know what’s good for you-- if you don’t have a goddamn death wish… you stay away from me.”

She hadn’t been prepared for the look of utter devastation in Taylor’s face as it crumbled at those words. It threw Estela off-guard, and even through her anger, some inexplicable protective urge flared up within her. As if Taylor’s hurt was a knife twisting in her own chest. It was more than she knew what to do with. Her heart drumming furiously against her ribs, Estela pierced Taylor with a hard, lingering stare.

“Stay,” she growled, even as the effect of her words was terrible pain. Pain so all-engulfing that she could fall to her knees on the spot. “Away.”

And she fled.

[miraculousandbts]

BTS | AMAs

P.S. The story is in y/n's perspective. Just because I wanted to.

Summary: You get your first big nomination, but you just had to stumble into a very handsome stranger.

Pairing: OT7 X Reader (Platonic)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: Reader’s train of thought goes crazy every once in a while. I feel like this should be a warning.

I was hugging my manager and jumping in circles with her, as a way of expressing my happiness. Ashley was not only my manager, but also one of my closest friends, always supporting me and believing in me since the start. Both of us were ecstatic with the news, and this was our way of showing it. Aside from jumping, we both were also screaming very loudly. I had never been so thankful for having a house near the forest area without neighbours.

Oh, wait! I never introduced myself; how rude of me. (Yes, I was thinking about the Thea Stilton books...) I'm y/n, a singer and songwriter. I live in LA. Me and Ash were just watching the American Music Awards nominations, and we just couldn't control our excitement when they took my name. This was my first nomination for an award. It wouldn't be that big of a deal for an experienced artist or someone who has been in the industry for long, but I'm still a rookie, debuting only two years ago.

Me and Ashley finally calmed down when a very startled guard came in and told us that we screamed so loud that he saw bats fly away from deep inside the forest. We sheepishly apologised, and decided to go to sleep. I had been recording a song the whole day, while she had been busy with manager duties, so we both were exhausted. I had actually known her for the last four years, and she often stayed over. So often, in fact, that my guest room had become 'Ashley's Room' very quickly.

After bidding each other happy good nights, we both went to bed in our respective rooms, falling asleep speedily.

*****

Taylor was applying my makeup, while I sat in the stiff makeup chair. This had been going on for the past hour, despite me telling her that I wanted light makeup and a simple dress. Instead, she and my stylist Ben decided to go against my wishes for once. Ben had prepared an extravagant dress too fancy even for a royal ball, and I was thankful it wasn't pink or blue or yellow; I absolutely did not want to look like a princess, that just wouldn't be me. Taylor kept on applying a little too much makeup on my face for my liking. She was very talented, so at least I was sure I wouldn't look bad.

Right now, she was working on my eye makeup, expertly putting on eyeliner and...something. I'm not good with this stuff. Taylor's assistant, whose name I always forgot, was painting my nails. I looked at her working. She was a pro at this. She smoothly glided the brush over my nails, effortlessly painting them purple, and then decorating them. She used as less materials as possible, knowing I hated it when even my nails felt heavy; my face was enough.

After two more hours of torture, I was finally ready. I looked breathtaking, but if I had an option, I would still go with something lighter. After another hour of sitting in the limo, we were finally there.

I got out, and there were cameras in my face. All I saw were purple blotches, because the camera men couldn't use their brains enough to shut off the flash. Or maybe those cameras didn't have an option to shut off the flash.

Anyway, I struck a few poses, blew some kisses, and walked ahead. And then I saw Dan. He was a reporter for such gigs, and I often did short interviews with him. He wasn't like the others; he didn't ask about rumours or made new ones, he didn't ask controversial questions to increase their channel's TRP.

I gave him a grin and walked towards him.

"Hey, Dan."

"Y/n! Looking beautiful as always."

"Oh, you flatter me." I kept a hand on my chest.

"Okay, stop with the over dramatics, girlie." You grinned.

He motioned his cameraman to start recording. I tuned out the whole introduction, and focused when he asked me a question, the said question being how was I feeling about being here even though it hadn't been long since my debut. "It's all thanks to my fans. I love making music, and I believe that if you do something with true passion, you will be successful. I guess this is destiny's way of showing me that what I'm doing is right. And not gonna lie, it feels like I've been feeling like I'm on a sugar rush since the nominees were announced, because of the adrenaline."

After some more questions and smiles, I finally went in.

I was too focused on not tripping on my own feet because of the long dress, so the first thing I did after entering was bump into someone. Great! I wasn't even surprised anymore, knowing how I was. "I am so sorry!" I looked up with wide eyes, only to meet kind brown ones. It took me a second to register that he wasn't alone, six other men behind him. They seemed familiar. I could tell they were from east Asia. I glanced at all of them, and then looked at him, apologising again.

"It is okay." He had a cute accent to his English, and I internally smiled, not only because of his accent, but also because he wasn't mad. I must've smiled in relief, because he looked amused. Now that I was looking at him properly, he was handsome, with a capital H. Little round face, pretty eyes, cute boop-able nose. And then he smiled. And then I died. It was the cutest smile I had ever seen!

Thankfully, I wasn't the kind of gal who would stand there checking him out. All of this took me a second, and I excused myself after thanking him.

*****

"Oh, hey!" I heard a smooth deep voice as soon as I sat down. I looked to my side and found one of the friends of the man I had bumped into earlier. I was right, my brain didn't forget. I smiled a small smile. "Hey."

Extending my hand towards him the old fashioned way, introduced myself. "Y/n."

He shook my hand, seemingly unfazed by my apparent childish behaviour. "Kim Namjoon, more commonly known as RM."

That's when it clicked. RM. K-Pop. BTS. My eyes must've widened; I was always terrible at hiding my emotions. "Everything okay?" He brought me out of my stupor. "Uh, yeah. Just, when I stumbled into one of you guys before, you all seemed familiar, I just couldn't place your faces anywhere." I replied honestly. "Oh." He simply leaned back into his chair and nodded.

"So, in which category are you nominated?" He continued.

"Top social artist. You?"

"Same. It'll be a four year streak for us if we win again."

"Ooh, really. Well then, I hope you win."

"Don't you want to win?"

"Coming here already feels like a dream. I don't think I can handle the adrenaline if I do win."

"So basically you want us to win for completely selfish purposes, huh?"

You both laughed at that remark, and continued making small talk for a while. Then he said he had to use the washroom. I hummed in his direction, and as soon as he got up, I saw the guy I had ran into in the chair next to his.

He had noticed Namjoon getting up too, so he was looking on my direction. He grinned at me, and sat in Namjoon's chair. "Hello."

"Hey."

"I am sorry. My English is not that good. Only Namjoon speaks English." He sheepishly rubbed his neck. "Why are you apologising for that?" I was genuinely curious. It was okay to not know perfect English. Even though I was a native English speaker, I still made mistakes. Everyone did. And the said language wasn't even his first language. "At the entrance, I wanted to talk."

"Oh. Well, You should have, I don't judge because of stuff like this." He smiled at that. "I will introduce you to them." He gestured to his band mates who were very engrossed in the show. Before he could do that, I interrupted him. "Hey, sorry. I haven't been in the industry for long, and I've only ever heard your guys' name, so...I only know RM and V? Is that right? So, yeah, I don't know your name."

I cursed at myself internally. Way, to go y/n! So damn awkward. He must've sensed my hesitation, because all he did was offer me his hand. Ooh, the old fashioned way. Good to know I wasn't the only one.

"Suga."

"Y/n." I shook his hand. Namjoon came back at that moment and him and Suga said something to each other in Korean. Wait, Suga? That does not sound right. Oh, right! It must be his stage name.

And then I facepalmed. Literally. I didn't think before my hand met my forehead. I must've made a pretty loud smack, because both of them were now looking at me like I was some weirdo. I sighed and slowly hid my face in my hands. "These kind of things always happen to me..." I mumbled.

I looked up when I heard them chuckling. I pouted, but I knew they could see the relief on my face that they didn't think of me like I was demented. "Don't worry, we've been living with these guys for the past eight years, these kind of things don't faze us anymore." Namjoon gestured to the other guys, who were still oblivious to their surroundings, absorbed in the performances.

I let out a breathy chuckle at the fact that they were so openly dissing their own friends. Namjoon, by now, was seated in the chair in which Suga was previously sitting in.

"So, I refuse to believe that Suga is your real name. And I would rather be literal friends with you guys, rather than two artists who just know each other."

"Yoongi. Min Yoongi." The way he said it reminded me of how Geronimo Stilton introduced himself. 'Why my brain has to go down completely random memory lanes is beyond me...and why am I thinking about a kid's book series?'

Within the next hour, I had been introduced to the other guys, and all of us were conversing about anything and everything. Seokjin was very happy that I was loving his dad jokes, Hoseok was a little too excited about my proposal of shooting a dance cover on one of mine or their songs, Jimin, Taehyung and me got along very well, as we were all the same age, and Jungkook had offered to teach me boxing, after I expressed my wish to learn it.

All in all, I was getting along very well with them. They were fun to be with, and it was absolutely adorable how they sometimes got flustered over their mistakes while talking. After the fun night ended, I congratulated them on their win, and went home, completely exhausted.

*****

"Noona!" Jungkook was the first to notice me. With wide eyes and a happy grin, he came to hug me. I had decided to surprise the boys by coming to Korea. Right now, I was standing in their dance studio. Even after four years, we were still going strong. It felt like now I had four elder brothers, two twins, and a kid. '...that was a terrible reference...god, please tell me what is wrong with me.'

Soon, all the boys came to hug me, though I tried running away to avoid their sweaty hugs, but Jungkook held me at one place, while I tried to squirm away. I should've just waited in their dorm.

"Kookie!" All I got in reply was a mischievous giggle. He really was a baby. Later that day, a collaboration between us was confirmed, and I couldn't have been happier.

Geronimo Stilton and Thea Stilton might be kids’ books, but they’re still the best!! Change my mind, I dare you.

[hockeyboysiguess]

mirrorball | a. matthews

a/n: first in a series of sixteen fics based off taylor swift’s new album, folklore. full list here.

You sighed as the front door closed behind you. It had been a long day; weddings always were. Being a wedding guest was usually just a series of slightly uncomfortable, awkward experiences back to back to the point where you became as numb to them as your feet were from your heels due to general exhaustion and open bars and all you would have to say about the evening when your co-workers asked you about it on Monday was that it was fine. You had made it through the day, thanks to champagne and your boyfriend. He intercepted some of the worst potential interactions for you, even taking on your great aunt’s cheek pats that verged on slaps for you. He had been a champion today, according to your mom, and you couldn’t agree more. 

“That was exhausting,” Auston sighed as he shuffled past you into the kitchen. “Remind me get a restraining order against your great aunt. I think she basically slapped me.” 

You laughed at his words, letting your feet carry you into the living room as you tried to will your exhausted, running mind to rest for a moment. Tonight, despite it’s obvious down being that it was a wedding and you were close enough to the age where it was considered acceptable to be getting engaged, you had a good day. Any day you could spend with Auston without the noise of his job and the world’s thoughts about the two of you was a good day. Sure, everyone at the wedding had opinions, but theirs were within scope, within the socially allowed levels of casual judgment. What you and Auston usually dealt with was out of scope, and it wore on you heavily. 

You wanted nothing more than to make everyone else happy. It was one of your best qualities, but also the one that brought you the most pain. There was only so much broken glass a person could pick up when trying to make the world a better place before their palms became bloody and scarred and parts of you started to break off in an effort to make yourself easier to tolerate, easily palatable to everyone. The parts of you that broke off, some of them broken forcibly by yourself kicking and screaming, in an effort to be adored by the masses were blending with the broken parts of the world you saw and you didn’t know what to pick up anymore. 

You felt like you were on a tightrope, balancing the person you knew you were and the person everyone wanted you to be, the person everyone would like, as you tried to walk across it. The two identities were entirely different weights. The person you were was heavy. She was real and strong and powerful, a three-dimensional human being incapable of being liked by everyone simply because she had opinions. The person everyone would like was a shallow grave, void of personality or content, waiting for the real you to fall into it and swallow you whole. You wanted so badly to be able to shed yourself of that two-dimensional false personality, but the real you was too much, too raw, too real to risk in front of the world. You chose instead to try to use it sparingly. Each time you did, it turned you into a mirrorball, reflecting and almost magnifying the best qualities of the people around you, spinning at a fast pace in an effort to provide that reflection and amplification to as many people as possible. There wasn’t space for you in it and the spinning made you constantly dizzy. Mirrors didn’t shine themselves; they simply reflected whatever was turned to them.

The killer part of it all was from your tightrope you couldn’t even see the platform you left to start your journey, nor could you see the platform you were theoretically walking it, which made you question what you were even doing on the tightrope in the first place. Was there even a platform on the other side?

Auston wasn’t like you. There were multiple parts to him, but they made up one whole human being. He brought out different parts of his personality around different people, in different environments, but he owned every single part equally; none had more weight than the other. He was solid, firm, complete. You were fractured and unbalanced, a house of torn and taped together playing cards desperately hoping a breeze didn’t come by and topple you. 

Auston didn’t really understand why you cried sometimes when everything became too much. He held you while you cried and rubbed your back gently. He didn’t understand because that desperate personality never came out to face him. You were always yourself with him. It’s why you, despite multiple failed relationships and countless almosts that led to real heartbreaks, were still here. He was different. You tried with him, because relationships take effort, but the you that tried was real and imperfect and good and he loved that you. The him that tried with you was the same one everyone else got, you just got every single piece, sometimes all at once, and you thanked your lucky stars he was easier to love than you were.

Your feet were still sort of numb thanks to your heels that you refused to take off. Auston had tried to get you to bring flats for the reception, but you’d waved him off because they didn’t go with the dress. Maybe you should’ve just swallowed the aesthetics for comfort, but you did love those heels. You sighed as you let your feet slowly start to carry you in a circle, your body swaying as you hummed one of the songs from the wedding softly to yourself. You closed your eyes and focused on your movements in an effort to clear your mind. 

When you opened your eyes, you saw Auston standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. His tall frame was leaned against it. His suit jacket was off and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loose around his neck and his hair that had been perfectly in place when you left that morning was drooping onto his forehead untamed. He had a soft, kind smile on his face that carried into his eyes and somehow deeper into him. His dark eyes were watching you sway, his smile growing as he watched and let out a soft laugh. 

“What?” you asked him, tilting your head to the side and raising an eyebrow at him. 

He laughed a little louder before pushing off the doorframe. He crossed the room until he reached you. His large hands reached for you, finding purchase on your hips. You smiled up at him as you let your arms climb up to fall over his shoulders. You kept humming along and let Auston start to sway you slowly to the tempo of the song you were humming. 

“Thank you for coming,” you told him, foregoing your humming in favor of speaking to him now. 

“Of course,” he nodded softly. “Boyfriend duty, right?” 

You laughed, making him laugh, one thing you were really good at and always wanted to be good at. He pulled you closer into his chest and continued to dance with you, slowly working you in a circle with him as you swayed to music that wasn’t playing.

“Boyfriend duty,” you agreed softly. 

“I think I did alright,” Auston told you. 

"You did great,” you replied, your voice quieter than before. “Better than I would have done if roles were reversed, but I’d give it my all.” 

Auston sighed, his head rolling back a little. His hands fidgeted with the material of your dress as he thought. You weren’t sure exactly what was going through his mind, but you could see the pained expression on his face as he debated whether or not to tell you what he was thinking. 

“You know you’re beyond good enough, right?” Auston told you as he lifted his head back so he could meet your eyes with his. “You don’t need this act you do. I like you, for you. So will everyone else.”

But they won’t. They’ll only like parts of me, the parts of me that make them feel good about themselves, but they won’t like all of me. If they don’t like all of me, what’s the point?

“Not everyone on the planet is meant to like you, you know?” 

You hadn’t realized those thoughts came out of your mouth, that they hadn’t just been in your head, until Auston replied to them. You bit your lip and dropped your eyes to the floor, staring at Auston’s dark dress shoes and your heels instead of his face. 

“And that’s a good thing. If everyone liked you, I probably wouldn’t. You’re not for everyone, baby, and that’s a good thing. I love you, the real you, the one that’s here right now. You don’t have to pretend to be this sort of personality-free robot all the time. Less people might like you, but the people who like you will like you for real things, like I do.” 

“It’s not that easy, Aus,” you sighed as you let your eyelids drop closed. You picked up your head, but kept your eyes closed. The possibility tears would fall down your cheeks when you opened your eyes was too high to risk it. Auston couldn’t handle seeing you cry. “It’s just not that simple.” 

“But it is.” Auston cut you off before you could finish. “I know it would be a change and change is scary, but you’ll be happy. You won’t cry so much.” 

You shook your head as a pathetic, sad smile fell over your face. It was a hopeless smile, full of pain from the pulling inside of you between one side that desperately wanting to do what Auston was offering and the realistic part of you that knew it would never work. 

“Auston, it’s like I’m on a trapeze. I’m swinging back and forth, but never landing somewhere fully. I’m just swinging, performing stunts at high levels of personal risk, so other people have a good time. I’m swinging back and forth between myself and the person people actually like. There’s no net. There’s no where to go. The just have to keep swinging. I can’t reach a platform.”

You opened your eyes to see Auston’s brow furrowed down and he had started shaking his head softly. He lifted one of his hands up from your hip to cup the side of you face, his thumb rubbing the few tears that had slid out away. 

“I’m the net, baby,” Auston told you. “Choose to fall. Choose to fall right now. No more swinging. Just be you, the real you, all of the time. I’ll catch you. I promise, I’ll catch you.” 

You shook your head, causing his other hand to come up to the other side of his face and hold your head in place for a moment. You had no choice but to look at him as a few tears spilled down your cheeks even though you wanted nothing more than for that not to be occurring right now. Auston pulled his lips in between his teeth as he looked at you. 

“Yes, you can,” he assured you. His voice was steady and firm, void of any doubt. He was solid and sure, a rock that had battered storm after storm and never moved an inch. This storm couldn’t hurt him and he knew it. He was tired of standing on the sidelines, watching it hurt the person he loved. “Let go. I’ll catch you. I know it’s a process, but we’ll work on it together. Just try, not for me, but for yourself. Try.”

You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath. You trusted Auston. You trusted him more than anyone else you knew. If you didn’t trust him enough to catch you, to finally stop the spinning, the breaking, the constant unbalanced sensation you carried, then this feeling would be permanent. It couldn’t be permanent. You didn’t want to feel like this anymore. You took a deep breath again. You needed to fall, you just didn’t know how. The look in Austin’s dark eyes told you he was going to be standing there, waiting for you, no matter how messy it was, that he was going to be right there while you figured out how to shed the fake skin you wore and found your footing at yourself. You didn’t know exactly how it was going to work, but the steadiness of his hands and the feeling in your chest told you this was worth the risk.

“Okay, catch me.”

[ppaperheartss]

Godzilla

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: a lil angst, some swearing

A/N: Hey! I really hope you enjoy this, I’ve worked really hard on it. Inspired by Godzilla by Kesha. Any comments or feedback are appreciated!

-

Bucky Barnes wanted to find peace. His whole life had revolved around fighting and angst and fear, and now he decided it was time for that part of his life to be over. It took him a long time to readjust to a life without meaning, without something to fight for. He spent his days wandering around the compound looking for someone he could spend time with, but most of the time the compound was a ghost town. So he kept himself occupied with therapist appointments, catching up on pop culture and exploring different music genres.

(Rumour has it that Bucky was seen working out to Taylor Swift’s new album, but he always denies it regardless.)

He was proud of everyone else on the team. Sam took on the role of Captain America with both hands and was eager to help the country with the pressing issues which the Avengers never got the chance to handle. Captain America is now the frontface for Black Lives Matter and is tackling gun violence one day at a time. He is making America great again. 

Wanda has taken on the role of training new agents and works very close with orphanages in New York to rehabilitate young people who have led traumatic lives. She even introduced the Pietro Maximoff Foundation which aims to find people that had been injured in all Avenger fights as collateral damage and get them the help they so rightly deserve.

Scott spends a lot of time with Cassie to make up for all of the years that they missed together, and he even has another little one on the way with Hope. Though Bucky isn’t very fond of children yet he’s open to the idea of a miniature sized version of Scott running around the compound and causing havoc. Even the thought of it brings a smile to his face. 

Parker recently graduated high school and now works with Bruce a lot of the time in their own lab in the centre of the city to continue on with the work that Tony had started. After the whole fiasco with his identity being outed he tends to keep a low profile, taking his time to get used to the spotlight that is everyday life as an Avenger.

Bucky is still coping with that too, honestly. It’s strange walking down a street knowing that everyone probably knows his name and his history, and has an opinion of him, when he has never seen them before in his life. Maybe he has. He struggles with his memory too.

When he was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety, it was a strange experience. He had a little knowledge on it from his uncle who had fought in war before him and suffered from the illnesses, but it was different knowing about it and being diagnosed with it he realised quickly. He’s cautious around strangers and struggles to speak to someone who he doesn’t know if he can trust yet, but his therapist Dr. Walker says he’ll develop with time. He just needs to focus on his breathing and find something to distract hunsekd. 

And he did. He went from not being able to open up the door for his takeout - which the app to order said takeout took him just a bit too long to understand - to being able to speak at veterans meetings with Sam in front of a couple dozen people. He connected well with the other veterans, especially those who had lost a limb in war, and found himself looking forward to the meetings for the chance to speak to people who shared similar life experiences and didn’t give him a sad look whenever he opened up about his nightmares. Knowing he wasn’t alone gave him a sense of belonging, something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He retired from the Avengers and moved to a small apartment in Brooklyn that Sam helped him look for. He even went couch shopping with him, making sure that he bought the deepest and comfiest one there. He didn’t mind, he loved how comfortable modern things are compared to the 30s, but he wondered why he insisted on getting that particular one. That was, until one night Sam came to his apartment blackout drunk and slept there for 15 hours straight. He only woke once to complain drunkenly about how small the blankets were, to which received a pillow to the head.

Bucky enjoys having his own place to live. He wakes up early in the morning to go on a leisurely run through his neighbourhood and watch the sky turn from red to pink to blue. He stops at the cafe at the bottom of his street for whatever pastry is fresh and a sweet coffee.

He then comes home to his cat and plants, and spends his days loving and caring for them. He found Alpine on what could have been one of the worst nights he’s experienced in his normal life. It had been raining heavily for hours and Bucky was walking home from therapy when he was jumped by a group of men. In the panic of it all he lashed out, and having not been in the field for so long he underestimated his strength.

A civilian got hurt in the scrapple, but she was so scared of who he was that she refused to take help from him. The police then arrived and Bucky had to fight his case for an hour in the pouring rain with only a running tee on. It was a witness from an apartment block on the other side of the street who came to Bucky’s aid and explained how he hadn’t started the fight and didn’t hurt the woman on purpose. He walked home in a storm of a mood, his whole body shaking with anxiety and the cold seeping into his bones, when he heard a faint meow come from a dark alley. 

He quickly swooped into action without hesitation, fishing the small creature out of the soggy box it was in and shielding it under his arm as he started to jog home.

That’s how he found himself an hour later sitting face to face with a small white cat with eyes he thought resembled his own in a strange way. He knew he was going to keep the cat without hesitation, he just wondered how something so pure could have made its way into his fuck-up of a day.

He even got a job in a coffee shop for a short while when Dr. Walker felt he was ready for it, so he could work on his social skills and how to control situations positively. He lasted a whole month in the shop and he made fairly good relationships with his colleagues and frequent customers, but he was asked to leave one afternoon as they had had a complaint from a daily customer about him. Apparently Bucky has a resting face that looks intimidating, and made the customer feel anxious. He had a tough time in his head that night. It took him a few days of wallowing in self pity and several conversations with Sam and Dr. Walker to realise he didn’t do anything wrong. He had to accept the fact he couldn’t convince everyone he was a good guy, and this is something he is still learning to accept.

He had felt so much misery over his lifetime that he thought he would never get the chance to be happy again, perhaps this new life would be enough for him. Though, he had to admit, that the fact that the only constant human interaction he had on a daily basis would be with store workers when he went grocery shopping, it was starting to make him feel lonely. It was like he lived on the moon, only watching others live their lives from a distance as he lived his own mundane life. That, of course, was before he met you.

You came shining into his life like a beam of sunlight that made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. There wasn’t a moment where your beautiful smile didn’t grace your face, and the joy on you radiated instantly made his day a whole lot better. You had been neighbours for quite a while before your first interaction, though you would always give him a chipper smile when he passed you in the hallways to which he responded to with a bashful grin.

Bucky woke up with a feeling something was wrong one day, and his suspicions were confirmed when he got a call from the nursing home informing him that Steve was sick. He knew he had to visit right away, just in case, but he didn’t know how long he would be gone and refused to leave Alpine alone. He couldn’t ask Sam, he was too busy being Captain America and a dumbass to properly care for a cat, so he moved onto what seemed to be his only other option.

The super soldier stood in your door frame (which was just too small for him to stand at his full height comfortably in) with a cat carrier in hand, blue bag slung over his shoulder and a desperate smile on his face. “Hi, I’m Bucky. Barnes. Bucky Barnes. Your neighbour. Room 6? Anyway, I need to ask a huge favour of you. I have to visit a friend out of town but I can’t leave Alpine alone - she doesn’t like it at night, and I was really, really, hoping you could watch her for a few days. I understand if you’re busy or have plans, though!”

You listened to his ramblings with an amused smile on your face, hand on the doorframe and leaning forward slightly. “Alpine?” you mused, eyebrow raised slightly.

His cheeks tinted instantly as he nodded down to the now meowing carrier. “Yeah, my cat. She’s two. She’s lovely, I promise. Doesn’t scratch or anything, she’s a real doll. You won’t even notice she’s there.”

You had bent down to look inside the carrier as he continued to ramble, only to be met with remarkable blue eyes which matched its owner’s perfectly. Cooing softly at her, you look up to meet the other pair of striking blue eyes. “Of course I’ll watch her for you. What else are neighbours for?”

He smiles instantly, shoulders relaxing as he lets out a breath. Holding out the carrier to you with his metal arm which you took instantly, he starts, “Thank you so much…”

“Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

“Y/N.” he repeats, setting the bag at your feet. “My number’s in there if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. I’m better at calling than texting. Thank you, again, I owe you.” He smiles before waving quickly as you exchange goodbyes, turning on his heel and walking quickly to his car with keys in hand. 

After closing your door you set the carrier down and open it up, lifting out the small white cat into your arms. Smiling fondly, you press a kiss between her ears. You wandered over to your window to see Bucky climbing into his car as he held a phone between his ear and shoulder, and something deep inside of you knew this was the start of something special.

After that first encounter, you and Bucky seemed to be glued to the hip. It started off as a coffee date as a thank you after he got home from the weekend in which you watched Alpine, and you were glad to hear that Steve was well. It then evolved into a home cooked dinner from you the next day because Bucky refused to let you pay for your coffee even though you insisted and you wanted to pay him back somehow. He was always a gentleman with you. 

It then turned into weekly Friday night movie nights to catch him up on what he had missed movie-wise and supermarket shopping together the next morning because Bucky loved shopping in near-empty supermarkets just as much as you. Somewhere along the line you both got keys cut for the other’s apartment and you more often than not spent everyday together, even if it was just spending your hour lunch break from work sitting on a park bench chatting. You both had formed the best friendship possible, so it was no surprise to anyone that you wound up dating. It was meant to be, really. Soulmates. 

But not when Bucky went to the gym, because there was no way you would be caught dead doing physical activities.

You loved being around Bucky; he was sweet and caring and loved to try whatever new hobby you were experimenting with. He would always taste-test your cooking and baking and never say anything mean about it - even that time you made cupcakes and used salt instead of sugar he was quick to force it down and sing its praises. He cries at dog movies and volunteered at the local animal shelter weekly after you informed him one night that he could because he was just desperate for some interaction with the dogs. You were surprised he hadn’t come home with every single dog his first day there because he just wanted them to be loved so much. 

Bucky Barnes was a Saint sculpted by gods who had a heart of gold, and you could never see him any other way. Sure, you knew his history. Hell, you had even written a paper all about him and the Howling Commandos in your college History class, but none of that mattered to you. The Winter Soldier had been gone for over a decade, the trigger words meaningless and the mystery over, and you just wanted to know Bucky. Not his past - not that he could remember much of it anyway - but his and your relationship’s future together and what possibilities come along with that.

-

Bucky loved going shopping with you. He would give you an armful of clothes and make you give him a fashion show, where he would cheer for you and clap obnoxiously and shower you with the sweetest compliments, and you both savoured every second of it. You also had a fairly decent understanding of fashion, so you would help him keep up with all of the trends and keep him looking as gorgeous as he always is. So a Saturday spent together roaming the mall should be the perfect outing for the both of you. If only you could do it alone.

You held his hand tightly in yours, fingers intertwined and palms sweating slightly, but you were sure it was only his that was. You kept him near to know he was safe and coping, because crowds were one hundred percent not his thing. Maybe that’s why recently he had taken a liking to online shopping, because you could still have your famous fashion show in the comfort of his safe, judgemental free apartment. You could feel every set of eyes follow you and the six foot ex-assassin beside you for longer than necessary as they walked past you both, but you kept your head held high. No one was ever going to make you feel bad for loving Bucky. Not now, not ever.

“Oh my God.”

“That poor girl.”

“Stay back, he’s dangerous.”

“Do we just let murderers walk free now?”

You don’t know if the people walking by tried to be discreet with their whispering or wanted you both to hear, but you could hear them so Bucky definitely heard them. Looking up at him as you feel his breathing hitch, you follow his eye line and find a small girl being whisked away by her mother with fear evident on her face. The air around you grew thick, like you could feel his suffocating anxiety grow. He didn’t want to scare anyone, and this sight seemingly pushed him over the edge into a downward spiral.

Tugging on his arm you grab his attention, flashing him a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t we get food? I’m starving.” He simply nods in response, not trusting his voice.

You sit across from him in the booth in the corner of the food court, eating happily as you watch him visibly relax into his surroundings. He has a mountain of food in front of him but you know it’s never enough, and you just grin as he reaches over to swipe some of your fries.

You both talk mindlessly about insignificant things; a jacket that caught his eye, where you’d like to go next, how you both are craving ice cream, oblivious to the numerous pairs of eyes staring at you two. The flash of a camera and a series of giggles catches your attention. You quickly look to Bucky to see his reaction, but just smile at him distracted by his milkshake which has now covered his face. You lean over the table to wipe it away with a napkin before kissing his nose gently, and he smiles happily at you as his cheeks tint red.

“Why don’t we just leave after this?” He looks up at you, and it pains you to see the hope in his eyes at the thought of leaving. “We can go to that ice cream parlour at the bottom of the avenue and have a walk in the park instead.”

You smile at him. “That sounds so much better than shopping, baby. Let me go throw all of this in the trash then we can go.”

“No, I’ve got it. I’ll be two ticks.” He slides out of the booth, pecking your lips quickly as he picks up the trays and walks over to the trash. You still have a smile on your lips as you pull on your jacket and pick up your purse, but it fades quickly when you hear a crash and yells from behind you.

Jumping out of the booth quickly you turn, finding Bucky standing with a now empty tray between a bunch of chairs and a woman draped across the floor covered in the remains of your lunch. Bucky’s shaking as he tries to stammer out an apology. You assume that they’ve bumped into each other, and with Bucky’s strength she fell back hard. 

People had started to crowd around as the woman went into painfully fake hysterics about how he had attacked her, and Bucky just stood there like a deer in headlights. Pushing through the crowd you run to him, grabbing the tray from his hands and setting it on a table. You take his hand in his, holding onto it tightly, and he leans into your touch to try to make his body as small as possible.

A hush settled over the crowd as the woman’s cries turned into whimpers when she realised she had an audience. “That thing just assaulted me! Did you see it? Doing this to a vulnerable woman!”

A few people murmured agreements to her accusations, and it only made your blood boil more. 

“Bucky is a person, not a thing,” All eyes turned on you, and you only stood taller to secure your confidence. “and he wouldn’t harm a fly. I’m sure this was all just some sort of accident.”

She scoffed as she was helped up to stand from a few bystanders. “He’s a criminal. He knows nothing but hurting people. Just look at that,” she gestured to Bucky’s metal arm that he was now trying to hide away behind his body. 

Just as you tried to defend Bucky, the crowd started getting rowdy again and you felt a tug on your hand. Looking back you see a mortified looking Bucky with glistening eyes. His voice is so weak you almost don’t catch what he says.

“Just leave it, Y/N. Please. I want to go home.” You nod quickly, fixing your bag over your shoulder and delivering the woman a scowl as you turn and practically run out of the mall together. You didn’t want to make a scene, because it always affects Bucky worse. 

The car ride is silent, you in the drivers’ seat and Bucky bouncing his knee beside you, eyes shifting around frantically. You sit in the parking lot of your apartment block for a while, Bucky’s head on your shoulder and your hand running through his hair softly as he finally lets himself go. You stay there until his shoulders ache and he can’t find anymore tears to cry. You hold him close as you walk to your apartment, and he sits on the bathroom counter as you run a warm bath. You drop in his favourite bath bomb, and that at least brings a smile to his face.

He finally begins to relax as he sinks into the warm water and you sit on the edge of the tub, treading your fingers through his hair gently. It’s quiet for a while, but both of your minds are loud. 

“I wish they would see you like I do.” Your voice cuts through the air like a knife. He sighs, shaking his head. 

“They never will. Why should they? I’m a monster.” Bucky sounds weak. He’s tired of living like this, scared that he’ll make one wrong move and his face will be plastered all over the news. 

“You’re not a monster, Buck.” You keep your voice steady. “You're the kindest, sweetest person I know. I don’t care about your past at all, and I… I love you.”

You weren’t planning to tell him you loved him for the first time, but it just seemed right in the moment.  He’s quiet for a while, and you begin to wonder if he actually heard you or has fallen asleep from the warm water and lavender. 

Bucky takes a deep breath before he speaks again. 

“I love you, too.”

You can’t control the smile that takes over your face and you lean forward, planting a kiss on his head. You hear him smile and he moves to see you. The water swishes as he moves. A wet hand cups your cheek and you lean into the touch, watching his eyes stare at your feet as he struggles to get his words out. 

“I love you so much it hurts. I wake up in the morning and see you laying beside me, and I know that I’m where I’m supposed to be. I just don’t want to screw it all up.” He finally meets your eyes. They’ve turned a stormy blue, and you can see all of his emotions swirling around them. 

You turn your head to the side and kiss the palm of his hand, your fingers still running through his hair gently. He leans in, the tension escaping his muscles. He sighs as he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You smile at him, pecking his nose quickly. 

“You could never mess this up. You’re my soulmate. Now, how about we have that ice cream now?” the two of you share a knowing smile. 

You squeal as Bucky pulls you in for a hug, both of you laughing as he soaks your clothes and peppers your face in kisses. 

-

“This is wrong, this is all wrong. I told you I should’ve worn a tie! Even Steve agreed with me on that one! I look so stupid wearing, why the hell am I wearing a leather jacket to meet your parents? Can we turn back? I’ll change quickly. Let me cut my hair. Is it too long?” Bucky pulls down the passenger mirror to inspect himself, his forehead creasing as he tries to perfect his already styled hair. 

You sigh as you reach over from the steering wheel and take his hand, bringing it over to kiss his knuckles gently. “You look great. It doesn’t matter what you wear. They’ll love you no matter what.”

He grumbles a disagreement as he sinks back in his seat, changing the song playing through the car radio until he finds a depressing song to play to match his mood. You had noticed he did that a lot after only a week of dating. Whenever he’s happy you will almost always hear Michael Jackson or Queen playing from wherever he is in the apartment, and he had downloaded Spotify’s Sad Songs for whenever he felt down. 

You reach over and change the song quickly, which earns a sharp look from him. You scoff, but you both know that it’s not malicious. “Calm down, Buck. You’re just nervous. We’re having a barbecue, not a fancy meal in a fancy restaurant.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t want them to hate me. Would you leave me if they hate me?” He sounds like what a sad puppy would if it were able to speak. Stopping at a red light, you turn your body to face him. 

“I love you, okay? Nobody will ever come between us, not even my parents. Just flash them that charming smile of yours and they’ll have you hooked.” He smiles bashfully at you, and you grin as you kiss him quickly. 

After that the ride is short and sweet to your parents’ home. Honestly, you didn’t know how they were going to react to Bucky. You hadn’t told them who he was specifically, just that he was your handsome boyfriend who you loved very much. They had always been accepting of whatever life choices you made, even when you decided to drop out of college. They just wanted you to be happy. And Bucky made you happy, so that means they should accept him. 

You held onto his hand tightly as you walked up the driveway, and before flashing him one last reassuring smile you knocked the door. The air was tense and time seemed to stretch as you waited for one of your parents to open up the door. Even you were becoming slightly nervous. 

The door handle jiggles before the door flies open, and you smile fondly at your mother standing in the doorway. Bucky smiles too, though it’s a nervous one. 

It had been so long since he had felt any parental love - he thinks about his family everyday - and as selfish as it sounds he was hoping he could use this as an opportunity to finally have a stable father figure in his life. From the stories he had heard from you, he decided you had lived the life he had always dreamed of. Family trips, game nights, going out for special meals together. Even just the little things, like how you called them every night to say goodnight. He craved stability in his life, and this may be one way he can achieve it. 

She looks between you both, the smile on her face fading the longer she looks at Bucky. Just as you open your mouth you see her eyes flit downwards - straight age Bucky’s metallic hand. He adjusts his hand to loosen his grip on yours and swallows dryly. A strangled gasp escaped her lips before she grabbed your empty hand roughly, tugging you inside and scrambling to lock the door behind you. 

“Y/N! What were you thinking, bringing that monster here!” She searched your face as if she was hoping to find bruises under your makeup, and your blood boiled. 

“What the hell?” You shouted at her. Reaching back you feel for the door handle, but she takes your hand in hers before you can. 

“Do you not watch the news? He’s dangerous.” She pulls away, staring at you like you were crazy. “Has he been lying to you?”

“I know exactly who he is mom-”

“Then it’s… it’s Stockholm Syndrome. I’ve read about that! I think I’m using that right.” she says. You scoff at how ridiculous she’s being, fully conscious of Bucky standing behind the door. She only frowns. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this. That’s my boyfriend that you just locked outside.”

“Whatever’s you’re feeling isn’t love, honey. I’ve heard everything about him. Did you know he attacked some poor woman in a food court a few days ago?” There's a tinge of pity in her voice, and it only makes you more angry. 

“Oh my god,” you moan. “He is my boyfriend! That’s the James that I told you about! And you just slammed the door on his face and called him a monster.”

Her movements falter as realisation dawns on her face. She actually loves the monster, is what you assume she’s thinking. You turn and swing open the door, only to see Bucky seemingly frozen in place in shock and mortification. He just blinks and stares at you, and you just want to swaddle him up into a blanket and hold him close right on the spot. 

You reach your hand out for him, but he flinches back and stumbles down the steps. 

“Th-This is all wrong. I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have come.” He sounds weak, like a child after being scolded.

He stands there looking lost, like he wants to run away and never come back but is also too scared to turn his back on you. He isn’t leaving you, just the situation. He doesn’t know what to do. Will you hate him for this? Are you angry that he isn’t standing up for himself? But he doesn’t want to shout what he wants to say. He wants to be calm. He’s learned how to be calm. How can he learn to be calm after everything he’s gone through, but no one else can?

Your dad comes to the door and you know things will only get worse. You step down to stand beside Bucky, holding his hand tightly. 

“Y/N, what’s going on here? Who is that man?” Your dad seems just as confused about the situation as you are. 

“Mom just- ugh. I can’t believe this is actually happening.” You didn’t want to cause a scene, just because of the sheer fact that your mom knows about what happened the other day so if one person sees this who knows what it will be escalated to in the media. 

“She ruined today. Today was supposed to be amazing and she messed it all up because she didn’t want to give Bucky a chance.” 

“Sweetie, look at him,” your mom began to defend herself. “Can you blame me? All I know is that he is a killer with an arm made of metal. He could hurt you!” 

“Like you are?” She stared back at you in shock. “You took one look at him and decided he was a monster. He’s a person just like us, and he deserves to be treated like one. I’m sorry, but I can’t stand here and allow you to treat him like that. I love him and he loves me, and that’s all that matters.”

Your dad calls on you as you storm to the car, but you don’t listen. Slamming the door behind you, you push your foot in the ignition and drive away as soon as Bucky gets in the car. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. Normally he knows how to help you, but he’s never seen you like this before. You’re shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s from anger or fear. Fear that you’ve lost your parents? He’s so lost and feels terrible that he can’t help you. 

It takes about fifteen minutes for you to stop seeing red and finally slow down to the speed limit. It was like something else took over your body and you were watching from five feet away. Everything happened so quickly. What actually just happened. Are you in the wrong? Maybe you should’ve told them about him before. You don’t want to have to but you know you should have. Explain it. Him. Bucky. 

Looking over you see him half smiling patiently at you. He’s the one hurting right now, but he’s hiding it so he can be there for you. You don’t mean it, but the look he gives you when your lip trembles causes the floodgates to open. 

He manages to reach over to the wheel and guide the car off the side of the road when the road begins to get blurry from tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t know she was going to do that. Never in a million years did I think she’d do that! She-she’s horrible and nasty and-”

“Y/N, please.” Bucky reaches out and holds your hand, his other reaching up to wipe the tears off of your face. “You don’t mean that.”

“But it’s still not okay.”

“I know it’s not,” he sighs. “I just thought they would be more like you.” He smiles weakly at you. 

“So did I.” You sniff as you lean over, resting your head against his shoulder. His lips instantly reach down to kiss your head gently. 

“Let’s leave it for now, and you can call in a few days. Maybe we can convince them to come around to me. I know you want them to like me.” Bucky’s voice doesn’t sound as hopeful as his words, but he wants this for you. You’ve always had a good relationship with your parents and he doesn’t want to be the reason it’s all messed up. He knows he’s not worth it. Well… yes, I am worth it, he forces himself to think. 

He knows his worth in this relationship. He knows he means so much to you. You mean the world to him. He hopes you know that. But he knows how much your parents mean to you, and he would never want to make you choose. That’s selfish of him. 

You look up at him and smile. “You know I love you, right?” 

He smiles back. “You tell me everyday.” He bends down, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

Bucky still had a long way to go with his recovery, but you made everyday easier. He couldn’t imagine his life without you anymore. You were the reason he got out of bed everyday, the reason he cared for himself, the reason he smiled. 

Who knew Godzilla could fall in love?

[emisonme]

Here I go again.......

I've had it with you fucking STRAIGHT crapmila shippers coming at me in my asks. You are NOT changing my mind. All you are doing is pissing me off. Those who follow me, know what happens, when I get pissed, so here we go.

I actually started writing this post, because of a funny moment in an interview. Then I watched another interview, and it got even funnier. I'll warn you now, this post is going to run the gamut, but don't worry, I'll finish it on a happy note.

I haven't really been keeping up with all of Camila's interviews lately, because like many of you, I'm tired of having to hear her promote all the bullshit, instead of HER music. It's ridiculous. I decided to give in and read a few and watch a few. It was worth it.

I watched the Capital FM, or whatever the fuck it's called, and it was a priceless moment. She went from happy to be there, to ready to throw herself off a fucking bridge in a matter of seconds.

Camila's whole demeanor changed, when they asked her about her "relationship" with Mawn Shendes. She gave her orchestrated response about how she "loves" him, and then the camera cut to the interviewer real quick. It's when the camera done another quick pan back to Camila, that the truth of all this shit, was really written all over her face. My mind went straight to her choking on her own lies, in the Liar music video.  She can't even hide the truth. She is tired of all this shit.

Then I listened to the 15 minute Zane Lowe phone-in.  That one had me rolling. Camila being Camila. If she can't tell us her whole truth, she tries to tell us little truths, as she tries to remember all the fake shit she's supposed to say.

Then, I read The Sun puff piece. Yeah, that was them dropping an elephant on her ass, for not being able to hide her disgust, and fumbling on some of her answers.

I tell ya, they are constantly trying to fix a mess, this era. Instead of concocting narratives and lies, why don't you just promote your Artist and HER damn music. For fucks sake, STOP promoting  Shendes and this fake ass "relationship". Camila is about to lose her shit, over all this crap.

You know this shit is fake, when it's obvious she is sick and tired of talking about his ass. They started this shit show, with answers of wanting to keep it private and not talk publicly about it. That's the REAL Camila. Now, she is asked about it every fucking interview, and she is now having to actually answer it. She hates it, yet she HAS to. If she wasn't being contractually forced to answer this shit, she would simply do what she has always done, and not answer the damn questions.

Instead, she has a prepared stock answer ready for each interview. That's yet another way we can tell this shit is fake as fuck. One "I'm happy. I love him" is an aw moment. Two is a side eye moment. Three, is part of a fucking narrative.

He, after refusing to talk about their "relationship" before, is now finding a way to mention her name in every fucking meet & greet. He does this, even if he hasn't been asked about her, or their "relationship", at all. It's beyond absurd, at this point.

Let's get back to the Zane Lowe interview. If you haven't listened to it, you should. He asked her something along the lines of, how she handled her "break up" with the dickhead. Oh boy, did she stumble all over that one.

She did remember to say, she was devastated and upset about it. (Yay memory!) Then went on to say, it didn't really matter which one does the breaking up, it's still devastating either way, and lets you know just how much you really loved them. She then went on to say, she hasn't ever experienced the bad side of a break-up. She hasn't ever been the one broken up with.

That in itself tells us, she is the one who "dumped" the dickheads ass. (good riddance) The problem here is, you don't just dump someone you really love....especially if they really love you back. If two people really love each other, and they "make you the happiest you've ever been", there is no fucking reason to dump their ass......Unless someone else comes along, and offers you a better deal!!! Well, in this case, "a better deal" would be the equivalent of "fighting for the one you truly love"

Listen, if this fucking narrative happened, the way they want us to believe it did, then no one would have really loved anyone. If Camila really loved the dickhead, she wouldn't have dumped his ass, for Shendes. If Shendes really loved Camila, he wouldn't have even attempted to "steal" her away from someone who made her the "happiest she's ever been." That's the fucking tea!

That's why none of this shit makes any damn sense...at least not to most of us. If we were to believe this narrative, we would have to numb our brains enough to believe, Camila went from happier than she's ever been with one dickhead, to PUBLICLY sucking face with another dickhead, a few weeks later.

That's why all these damn dumbasses out there, are calling Camila a damn cheating slut. Because, if you believe this fucked up narrative, you would have to believe she is just a dick hopping fluzzy, that confuses like for love, and is a simple selfish bitch.

Some of you do believe that. Those of you who do, actually believe Shendes is a fucking saint. In reality, if you believe this fucking narrative, that means SHAWN MENDES IS A SELFISH NARCISSISTIC DICK, who "fought" for someone who was in a fucking relationship with someone else. That doesn't make him a nice guy. That would make him a fucking prick who thinks he's better than everyone else. That's the fucking tea!!

You fucking crapmila shippers like to say Camren shippers are "delusional" and "pathetic", for shipping such a "toxic" couple. You homophobic jackasses obviously don't know what toxic is, because crapmila would have Camren beat all to shit on the toxicity meter, IF YOU ACTUALLY BELIEVE THIS BULLSHIT NARRATIVE!

*breath*...Back to the Zane Lowe interview. After she said she had never experienced the getting dumped side of a relationship, she then went on to say, and I quote, "I've never been in a real relation..." Oh shit! Oops gotta fix it. after a pause..."I've only been in two relationships."

That's your real tea, Ladies and gents. That's her little truth to keep her from choking on all the lies. That she has never been in a real relationship..." If she had not had an elephant dropped on her head, and been allowed to finish that statement, she would have said, she's never been in a real relationship...with a boy/man. (She's gay, IN MY OPINION)

You know there was someone in the room, waving their hands in the air like a mad man, ready to fly drones at her head. But, that's OK, @rogergold and @shoshonnastone put together a puff piece for The Sun, to fix the narrative.

Hmm! I wonder which two "relationships" she was being forced to remember? Was it Austin and Ew? Well, it couldn't have been Austin. That FAKE narrative was destroyed a long damn time ago. First by Austin himself, then by Camila.

For shits and giggles, Camila decided to put another nail in that shit PR. How? The official narrative was that Austin DUMPED HER after she went public with their "relationship". But, she just said, she hadn't experienced getting dumped before. Oops again!

It wasn't the boy-bander. He was nothing more than propaganda for more bullshit. It wasn't early Shendes, because every time he tried to "kiss" her, she turned him down...because he kept calling her "kid". (Corden interview 2015)

The only two it could be, is the dickhead, because he was her "first real relationship", and Mawn Shendes now. Oh, I almost forgot, Mawn has publicly stated, that he can't wait to get his heart broken, so he can write his first really good album. No problem! Camila's all set to help you with that, too.

She already saved your fucking career by giving you Ceñorita, doing another duet with you, that gave you your first number 1 hit, agreeing to do a damn PR relationship with you, taking your crappy selling third album and making it Platinum, and followed your ass around on your tour, to put more asses in the seats.

She did all that for you SHAWN MENDES. All she had to do, was fuck up her own image to do it. That's a REAL FRIEND for you. How are you going to return the favor Shawn? I know, you'll probably wait for Taylor to fix it for you. Typical male behavior. Get great women to fix all your fucking problems!!!

Whatever. It's all bullshit. In my opinion, there is only one truth in all this bullshit. That truth, Camila hasn't been in a "real relationship" with Austin, Michael, Shawn, the Dickhead, or any other man/boy.

She has only been in ONE REAL RELATIONSHIP. It has been a rocky roller-coaster ride of emotions. It has gone through it's ups and downs. It's good times and bad. They have had their fights and break-ups, true love and make-ups. That's what true love is. For Camila, that's what true love is...with a woman. Not just any woman, but the woman...Lern Jergi!!!!!! !! !!!!

From first meeting at 15, to today at 22/23. From "dang she can sing" to "dang it, she's pretty, too", to "I like your shirt". From instant friendship, to immediate crushing...to "mine's Lauren". From "beautiful eyes", to longing stares. From covert booty grabs, to admiring each others butts in front of the world.  From intertwined hands, to simply trying to touch each other without the cameras noticing. From skinny dipping in Puerto Rico, to Valentine's Day on an Aussie beach. From matching rings, to sharing clothes.

They were there for each other. They defended each other. They would trade brains with each other. Before they even knew how important they were going to be to each other, something in them knew, and something in them will always know.

From strangers to friends. From friendship to true love. That's Lauren and Camila. That's Camren. That can never be erased by a fake made up false narrative.

[purplesurveys]

1114

survey by dishwallafied

WHO was the last person...

you spoke to, in person? I think it was my sister, like earlier at 1 AM. She was the last person apart from me to head upstairs for bed.

you called? I tried calling our internet service provider’s hotline to inquire about our lost connection last weekend, but all I got was a useless automated message saying they’re on top of all concerns and will be addressing ours soon, which did not make any fucking sense because I didn’t get to report my issue anyway. Their social media was virtually useless too, and my dad had to physically go to one of their offices last Monday to settle the issue.

that called you? My phone’s not near me at the moment (omg a rarity) but it was the delivery person for Reggy’s croissants. GPS has always hated our street and has never been able to identify it, so whenever anyone in the family makes a purchase for delivery we’re bound to get a call or two from the rider assigned to our order to ask for directions.

you texted? It was the same delivery guy. He had tried to call me but I was in a meeting that I couldn’t get out of, so I explained to him I could only text. I also gave him a Waze link containing the exact positioning of our house so that he could set it up on his phone.

that sent you a text? I think it was just my mobile services provider sending out some random promotional text. Idk, I never open those.

you kissed? Gabie.

that kissed you? Also her. I don’t plan on kissing anyone new any time soon.

you yelled at? I haven’t recently been in a situation where I’ve had to yell at anyone...I do slightly raise my voice a lot on video call meetings just so I’m sure everybody on the call can hear me. That’s the closest I’ve got.

that yelled at you? My mom, when she was being a real drama queen about MY money a couple of weeks ago.

you watched a movie with? I watched it by myself, but I remember calling my ex for comfort because the movie was a little scary and creepy. I also remember how bothered she sounded that I was calling her, as if I was a huge burden, so...there’s that. Y’all do me a favor and be with someone who gets delighted when you call instead of making you feel like you’re a waste of space okie?? Good

you ate dinner with? My family. My dad laksa for dinner, which was perfect because I had been watching 2 Days 1 Night yesterday and the cast members kept eating ramyeon, which made me develop a serious craving for noodles all day.

you were in a photo with? I think it had been a family selfie. My family and I were about to leave the accommodation we stayed at in Tagaytay, and my mom wanted a final photo in the living room before we stepped out.

you took a photo of? My employer sent out heart-shaped red velvet cakes for all of us for Valentine’s Day, so I took a photo of it with Cooper in the background to share to the work group chat. I definitely did not expect any goodie sendout considering I never viewed Valentine’s as a special day even when I was still in a relationship, so it was a nice surprise to receive. 

you went to a concert with? Oh my Paramore show was a solo date. Gabie did come to the arena with me and I also drove Denise, Erycka, and Leigh, but the three of them settled for a different section somewhere farther out given how they already did VIP seats for Paramore’s previous concert in 2013. It was my turn to have a front-row seat and since I didn’t know anyone who was as big of a fan as I was or was willing to shell out ₱7,000 for a VIP seat, I went by myself.

you lied to? I think it was Bea, my manager? She scheduled a quick call last Tuesday just to do a check-in with me, and she was asking how I was. Of course I had to tell her I was doing fine, which is never completely true for a lot of people, I think. I didn’t want her to ask me to open up anyway, so saying I was fine was the easy way to go.

you invited somewhere? I recently saw a music clip of a certain song that’s played a lot in bars, so I tagged my entire college barkada telling them we should go back to TK soon, at least when the lockdown and the pandemic subside considerably.

you dated? Gabie.

you dumped? It worked the other way around.

you rejected? I mean, I guess I technically rejected the girl Mik told me was interested in me. We never met since Mik refused to tell me her name or show a photo, but I informed him I wasn’t planning on talking with anyone soon so she can stop thinking I’m available.

you held hands with? Angela.

you hugged? Andi, before they got out of my car since we were parting ways for the evening.

you let cry on your shoulder? This hasn’t happened in a very long time. Most likely Gabie, but this would’ve been around at the start of 2020 when we could still see each other regularly.

that let you cry on their shoulder? Figuratively, Angela and Andi.

you bought a gift for? I got a weekend accommodation for my family, but it was really meant for my dad for his 50th birthday.

you wished a happy birthday? Hans.

that disappointed you? I was more annoyed than disappointed, but it was some random Fil-Am who was being ignorant at the Subtle Filipino Traits Facebook group. That community gives me a huge migraine most days because of Fil-Ams who continue to romanticize the ~beauty~ of the country whilst completely ignoring the socio-political trainwreck here, but the group is kind of the place to be for Filipinos so I can’t see myself leaving it either.

that stayed over at your place? They didn’t stay over for the night but Angela and Hans did a surprise visit to my house a few days after Christmas.

that let you crash at their place? Gab. I used to always crash at her place when I’ve had a few drinks.

that made you angry? Idk man, can I give Mark Zuckerberg as an answer? HAHAHA I went on Facebook first thing today and the first thing I saw was a Facebook Memory, and it was a photo of me and Gabie at Athenna’s birthday party four years ago. I got irritated at first until I remembered that we were both tagged in the post, which means it would most likely show up on her feed as a Memory as well. Just to humor my petty ass, I kinda hope the memory would make her sad, wherever she is; but otherwise seeing the Memory pop up didn’t make me sad or bothered anymore so that’s a win for meee.

that complimented you? Leah, my employer’s CEO. She did a check-in call with me recently to get to know me better, so one of the first things she asked was a list of the clients I handle. I happen to be in the team that works with the company’s more big-league clients, so once she heard the brands she told me I must be a good enough worker to be assigned those clients. It meant a lot and it still does.

whom you complimented? Bea. I just let her know how helpful she’s been with me considering I’m a fresh graduate on her first job in a work-from-home setup in the middle of a global pandemic.

you thanked? A supplier I’m currently in contact with, for work.

that thanked you? The said supplier thanked me back.

you saw, in person? My sister.

that bought you something? Dad bought siopaos for us yesterday.

that made you laugh? The cast of 2 Days 1 Night, from when I was watching the show last night.

that you said you loved? I don’t remember. I think it was Kate since she helped me out with a favor.

that said they loved you? Hannah.

you flipped off? I haven’t whipped out the finger in a while, come to think of it.

you made a silly face at? Not a person, but Cooper.

that drove you somewhere? Dad was the driver for our Tagaytay trip.

WHAT was the last thing you...

touched? Aside from my keyboard, my vape pen.

threw? Cooper’s bowling pin squeak toy. He’s gotten a lot better at catching things with his mouth, so I’ve been throwing it a lot at him to continue training him.

ate? A caramel croissant.

drank? Coffee.

found stuck in your teeth? Haven’t had this happen to me in a while.

cooked? I’ve never tried cooking anything.

baked? Idk, maybe cookies 873984732842 years ago.

threw away/tossed out? The packet for the sauce that came with the siopao my dad bought.

bought? I made a purchase for 20 bags for a work thing, but only because I was assigned to do the whole correspondence with the supplier. My manager was the one who sent over the payment when the purchase was confirmed.

sold? I don’t think I’ve ever tried selling anything before.

took a photo of? Cooper hahaha. I had been dancing to a song and he was staring at me.

were frustrated with? Our internet provider when they cut off the connection last weekend.

broke? I’m not sure if I can say I broke it, but the adaptor for my phone charger finally gave up on me the other day. I’ve taken to borrowing my sister’s for now, since she says she “doesn’t use it a lot” anyway.

spilled? Some drops of coffee spilled out of my mug when I dumped several ice cubes in it.

tripped on? Kimi. He follows me evvvvvvverywhere, so I bump into him at least once a day.

kicked? I’m not really sure.

put batteries in? Haven’t had to use batteries in a while, either.

turned on? The Bluetooth on my laptop.

turned off? The electric fan last night since I found it loud.

wrote? Other than my answers to this survey, I’ve also been talking with Angela this morning over Messenger.

wrote on? Other than my phone/laptop, my journal.

cleaned? My glasses.

stuck up your nose??? My finger when a nostril itched recently.

WHERE was the last place you...

dined at? Ramen Nagi.

ordered something to go? I don’t do takeout deliveries, but the last thing I got for delivery was banh mi and iced Vietnamese coffee last week.

bought something? Facebook Marketplace.

cried? In the living room. I came across that viral video of a guy proposing to her girlfriend at a Taylor Swift concert, when he knelt at the exact moment Taylor sang “He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring” from Love Story. It was such a sweet, classy, non-cringey public proposal and I allowed myself to be swept away by the cheesiness of it all, haha.

felt uncomfortable? Dining room table. I was sharing a story to my parents about work involving a guy and my mom asked me if I had a crush on him. My dad kind of snorted and said, “Her? Crush on a guy?” which told me he knew something was up re: my preferences lmao. They’ve never heard anything from me yet, so that made me feel awkward and I most especially didn’t want my mom to catch on to the question and suddenly put me in the hot seat.

drove to? Other than back home, I last drove to UPTC.

had an appointment at? Google Meet, hahaha.

went on vacation? Tagaytay. 

hung out with a friend? Andi and I went to a Korean barbecue place at UPTC (again), but we also drove to UP after just to revisit the good old days of being in campus.

bought clothes? H&M in Feliz.

spent more than you had planned? Ramen Nagi. I had a couple of add-ons in my meal and I didn’t know their service fee was going to be quite high, so my final bill ended up being slightly more than the budget I planned out for that day.

saw a band/singer/musician perform? Late 2019. My ex and I stopped by a jazz bar and there was a live band playing.

WHEN was the last time you...

told someone 'I love you'? Last Friday.

cried? Last night.

laughed? This morning. Cooper was being silly around me and my dad, as always. This time he was unusually behaved when we let him out, and the bizarreness of it all made us so unsettled we ended up laughing.

left your home? Last Sunday. I might go out later, too.

drank a soda/pop? Early last year. There was Coke being served at an org event, and since I felt thirsty and there was no drinking fountain around I just said fuck it and drank the soda.

made your bed? Last night when I left my room to settle in the living room.

visited a doctor? May last year.

went to the emergency room? Other than when 23 years ago when I was born, I’ve never been brought to the emergency room.

kissed someone? September.

hugged someone? Mid-January.

prayed? Six years ago. Or maybe five; I can’t really tell when exactly I made it a point to stop for good.

worked out? Around a week ago. I’m thinking if I should keep at it or if I should just stop, seeing as I’m not willing to give up my favorite foods anyway lmao.

made a phone call? I tried to make a phone call to our internet provider last weekend.

answered a phone? The other evening when the landline rang.

had an argument? Two weeks ago, instigated by my mom as usual.

played a video game? I think 2-3 weeks ago when I got in the mood to play the Switch.

played a card game? Safe to say at least a couple of years ago.

played a board game? November when we suffered a power outage for two days and had nothing to do at home.

rode a bike? LOOOOOOOOL March. The lockdown had just started and I made plans to learn how to ride a bike, but those plans fell through as soon as they began.

fell on your butt? This doesn’t happen often.

took a shower? Last night.

took a bubble bath? I can’t even remember anymore; this is a rare occasion for me.

watched TV? I last watched a TV show in general last night, but I last watched something on an actual television last Sunday when my family watched a Sunday mass livestream.

saw a movie at a theater? December 2019.

ate fast food? I got Bonchon for my family last December, if I remember correctly. My dad had done a huge favor for me and I asked what I can do to repay it, and he said to just buy dinner for the 5 of us for that evening.

ordered a pizza? Last month.

made someone laugh? I’m not sure if I had made her laugh in real life, but Angela and I had a humorous conversation over chat earlier this morning.

sang? Few minutes ago.

played a musical instrument? Absolutely no clue.

read a book? Couple of weeks ago when my employer sent me this book on PR that I was asked to read in preparation for my meeting with Leah.

drove a car? Last Sunday.

went swimming? Think it may have been my Nasugbu trip with Angela, Sofie, and Gabie back in August 2019.

got a sunburn? Idk man, when I was 8? I stopped getting sunburns as I got older.

went to church or temple? The last Sunday in March before the lockdown started.

went shopping? I did my final around of Christmas shopping last month for friends I still had to give presents to.

drank alcohol? Sometime last month after my work shift, following back-to-back meetings with my least favorite client.

smoked a cigarette? Feb last year, I think. I don’t buy cigarettes of my own and I’m also a lot more watchful of my cigarette usage, so I haven’t been able to smoke since I haven’t been around a crowd who does. I mostly vape.

threw up? I last felt like throwing up back in May, but I haven’t actualy thrown up in at least a couple of years now.

had a headache? Just this Thursday.

had a cold? No idea.

had the flu? It wasn’t strictly the flu, but I was last sick in May.

had your hair cut? March last year.

dyed your hair? Never done it.

laughed so hard that you cried? It’s happened in at least the past couple of weeks, I’m sure.

[accessibleproductions]

This is my letter to @taylorswift and I hope she can see it. I’m disabled with a brittle bone disorder & epilepsy, I’ve been through so much and just her reading it would mean the world. I need all my Taylor Swift friends to help me get this out there! I made a Tumblr just to get this done and to join in on the fun! I'm sorry for all the run on sentences and grammatical errors you're about to read, I'm typing this quickly and from the heart. I'm really a much better writer than this will suggest. My name is Sean & I am a probably one of the biggest fans of Taylor and I pray that my letter comes across as genuine as I mean it. To start I'll tell you a bit about me, which number one thing is to know, I am severely disabled. I was born with something called Osteogenesis imperfecta or simply OI, OI is a brittle bone disease that is usually passed on genetically but can sometimes be spontaneous mutation and in my case, my biological father had it as well. I had my first fracture when I was two weeks old and to date have had well over 200 of them. All throughout growing up I was in and out of hospitals, three major surgeries to put titanium rods through a few bones, I was in a double blind drug study and was diagnosed with asthma, sleep apnea, scoliosis and more along the way. It was rough but to be honest, I became very used to the medical side of things, it was my personal life that wore me down. When I was a child I was bullied severely and it never has truly stopped. I was beaten up, threatened, picked on and since an early age, I developed depression, by the time I was 10 I had already attempted suicide. I had no real outlet for my pain, I couldn't go out and "play" so I sat, festering in the horrible thoughts my mind kept producing, it really was a scary time, looking back. Around the age of 12, I started getting into music. Unlike most of the people who view music as a fun past time, I saw it as an escape from reality where I could feel a sense of normalcy, to live in another world and then bring back some peace of mind to figure out the problems in my own life. In music I wasn't in a wheelchair, no one hated me, I could do anything. Music was and is one of the only things that make life worth living, driving me to be creative and actually allowing myself to get better hand-eye coordination, amongst other physical things.I remember as I got older listening to Taylor's first record, I really dove into headfirst - it came at a time where my personal life was crumbling even more, I had graduated high school, couldn't find work and was realizing that the bullying aspect of my childhood wasn't going away but merely adapting to the outside world in the form of pure bigotry. I played that album all of the time to escape when I discovered it I was actually, again, contemplating suicide, I started it up and immediately remembered what creativity could do. Since then I've been a die hard fan and I have found myself really surviving from the inspiration she gives me. She not only stands for what her music says, but also never shies away from defending all who need it. Now what I am about to say is what happened to me in the last two years, it was very scary and I'm lucky to be alive. In March of 2017, I suffered two grand mal seizures without any prior history of epilepsy. I went into complete respiratory and cardiac arrest, was transported to the hospital and awoke with no knowledge of who or where I was. The emergency room doctors didn’t believe it to be a seizure and twelve hours later, I had another that was stronger than the first. These seizures, mixed with my brittle bone disorder, caused four broken bones with two so severe I required emergency reconstructive surgery. The second seizure also put me into cardiac and respiratory arrest where I was without any brain activity for two minutes. I was on life support for two weeks and now after the surgery, I’ve lost most functionality in my left hand due to extensive nerve damage. I’ve already spent my life in a wheelchair and now most of what little I could do on my own has been stripped from me.  I spent six months in a reclining wheelchair unable to move, lost my job and apartment and sold off everything I have to try and pay off the tens of thousands in hospital bills. I had no insurance when it all began and when I was approved for Medicaid, they wouldn't cover all of the past costs, neither did they cover completely any of the new ones. I had nothing left of myself and depression had come back tenfold. I felt worthless and a drain on my family, no longer able to really do anything for myself. Now eventually I did regain some independence, getting back in my wheelchair and being mobile, but still unable to work, make a living or do half of what I used to. It seemed like things were finally on the upswing. February 5th, 2018, I went back into the hospital after having a petite gran mal seizure caused by influenza A. I was admitted with a severely high carbon dioxide level and was put on an oxygen mask. That night, at 2:04 A.M., I again went in complete cardiac and respiratory arrest. My family got pulled away and they were told I had no pulse, the nurse wasn't hopeful, and the doctors thought it finally was over. Miraculously I was revived after 4 minutes being lifeless on the hospital bed. I woke up two days later with a breathing tube down my throat like before, I had multiple bone fractures and was kept sedated and under heavy pain medication. Doctors worked hard to figure what if anything could bring me back to normal, not even knowing if I'd even be able to speak again. By another miracle, I came off the ventilator with full cognitive function, all that remained were the bone fractures and fear of more seizure activity. I now have thousands in debt and can't work, I'm trying every day to make it better and I can say without her work she does to keep me inspired, I would not be here anymore. I'm living off of my GoFundMe which is here bit.ly/seanshealth . I can no longer really play guitar, which I did for ten years...with the extensive nerve damage, the layout of the neck for me just doesn't work. I create in any way possible because it's so important to me, it's something people don't understand is so important to me, but it really is. That's why I wanted to reach out to you and thank you. Taylor, for the work she does. The world can be beyond cruel, so many people don't care at all for the wellbeing of others and finding your place in the mess is a challenge, she gives me that focus and inspiration to be okay no matter what. I would not be alive without her work and that's a fact. Most people would find that pathetic but inspiration is an inspiration. Due to the epilepsy diagnosis, I know I can never live out my dream of seeing her live, the lights are no longer anything that I can handle. On top of that because I can't work and my massive debts, I don't own any of her music/items as I can't afford them, nor do I think I'll ever be able to live out my biggest dream of meeting Taylor. It's a sad truth that I've had to come to terms with but I thought passing along this letter may be my one shot to get my message across and maybe make some friends in the process. I suppose all in all I am just saying thank you to her for everything, for making me believe in myself, for making the world a better place with her work. I know firsthand of the darkness this world can cast but it's how we react and how we treat others that can define us. I know so many people share my sentiments and I hopefully speak for everyone when I say thank you to her for saving lives, for being who she is and I hope to realize my only dream one day of shaking her hand but most importantly, just knowing she may have heard my story is great enough... I hope everyone knows the impact everything you do can have on one person. I will continue to fight on.