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valerienrhapsody · 2 months

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Chapter 9: The Dawson Daisy

Evaine was lost in thought, much as she had been all morning, when she was meant to be sweeping the shop floors. She normally liked visiting her mom’s gardening store, helping out with what little she could do. Stocking and shelving were pretty boring tasks, and she was hopeless at processing online orders, but she enjoyed working with her hands and taking care of the actual plants. Any other day, she would have been perfectly content to be there with the music playing over the loudspeaker and the light chatter as her mom and Parker helped customers.

But today was a day unlike any other, try as she might to put on a smile and carry on. Today, she was seeing the world in a new light, a glaring light that illuminated things that ought to stay in the dark. Today, she had watched out the car window a little too eagerly as they were driving into town, just to catch a glimpse of the monster house. Jesse’s house, now. There had been at least three different company vans parked in the driveway, and numerous workers scurried about the grounds, but not a single hint or remnant of what occurred there last night. Her mother had been quick to notice the hubbub around the house which had been deserted for her entire life, and Evaine feigned ignorance on the matter. She couldn’t even begin to explain if she wanted to. That was only one of the many things swimming around her head, keeping her distracted as she halfheartedly went about the tasks she usually enjoyed.

“Uh…excuse me.” Parker, her mother’s only employee, brought her back to reality. He stood over her by a fair few inches, dark brown hair falling in the way of his glasses, dirt smudging his nose and forehead from where he’d tried to brush it away. His arms were full of soil sacks as he tried to squeeze past her down the narrow aisle where she had been standing like a slack-jawed zombie.

“Oh, sorry,” Evaine said, stepping back to let him through. Besides “hello” that was the first time Parker had spoken to her all morning, having busied himself with the physical work and heavy lifting while her mother ran the front. It wasn’t like she had expected anything different as he seemed to be the only person in Jericho who was more awkward and shy than she was.

“E,” her mother called from the front desk, motioning her over with a wave that made all the decorative pins on her smock jingle and click together. It was getting close to the afternoon lull, so there were no customers or phone calls, bringing a welcome slowdown to what had been a fairly busy morning.

Evaine gladly set the broom aside, hopeful that her mom would have something more interesting for her to work on so she could finally get her head out of the clouds. She made her way up to the front register, leaning her elbows onto the counter to take the weight off her feet for a moment.

“What do you think about Parker?” her mom asked, whispering secretively as she leaned in close.

“He seems alright,” Evaine said without giving him much thought. “He’s worked here for a full year, right? Thinking of giving him a promotion?”

“No, not like that,” her mom said with a little eye roll. She made a quick glance around the store to make sure the boy in question was still out of earshot. “I mean, as in someone you might want to invite over for dinner sometime, or out on a date.”

Evaine blanched, horrified that her mother was even breaching that subject. She had always shown an interest in her daughter’s personal life, but Evaine supposed they had different ideas of where the personal boundary lay between them. Her mom loved to ask about her social life, or lack thereof, always wanting to offer advice and ideas on how to make friends while Evaine would rather avoid the subject altogether. She hated being reminded how lame it was that she had no friends, no romantic interests, nothing about herself that she thought was worth talking about. She knew her mom only wanted to be helpful and feel involved, but for Evaine, it was a humiliating experience.

But on today of all days, she was less concerned with what she didn’t have to say, and more with what she couldn’t say. Her mom knew her better than anyone and would surely sniff out a lie in a heartbeat, so Evaine controlled her expression by pretending to look at Parker with honest consideration.

“I really don’t think of him that way,” she answered hesitantly, hoping she looked more embarrassed than suspicious. “And I know for a fact he doesn’t think of me like that, either. He sits in the same area of the quad as I do during lunch, so I know his friends have been making fun of him for having a crush on Tayshia Johnson.”

“Tayshia Johnson the cheerleader? Her mom’s on the community garden committee,” her mom noted with approving recognition, as if she already liked Tayshia by association. Evaine couldn’t really blame her; everyone liked Tayshia Johnson. “Does she like him?”

“She doesn’t know he exists,” Evaine said, unable to help a little snort at Parker’s expense. She could feel bad about it later; for now, she just wanted to steer the focus away from herself. “From the way his friends talk, it sounds like he’s too scared to even say hi.”

“See? Then there’s no problem with shooting your shot,” her mom said, elbowing her in the ribs in a friendly way. “A guy like him might not be able to see what’s right in front of him, but if you give him the opportunity, he might surprise you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Parker’s full of hidden depths and all that, but he’s just not for me,” Evaine answered bluntly. “I think we’re just too alike to be a good match in that way. We’re both shy and awkward; every time we’ve been alone together, it’s just dead silence. I would want someone who makes up for those things I lack, or at least makes me comfortable enough to get over them.”

“I guess that’s fair. Plus, it would suck to have to fire you if things ended badly,” her mom teased before her voice took on a more gentle, caring tone. “I just know you’ve been kind of lonely lately; I thought it might help to have a little time with someone besides me.”

For the umpteenth time that morning, the urge to tell her mom about last night bubbled up into her throat, and she had to physically bite back the words before she spilled the whole thing.

“Actually, I kinda met someone last night.” Woops.

“And you’re just telling me this now?” her mom practically burst, eyes going as wide as saucers. “Who is it? He or she? How did you meet? What happened?!”

“Dial it back, mom; I really don’t want to get my hopes up by talking about it too much,” she said, mentally congratulating herself on a nice save. “We just met while I was out getting dinner last night, and he seemed…nice, I guess. It wasn’t for very long, I don’t know much about him, but if anything comes of it, I promise you’ll be the first to know. I think I just need the space to figure this out, you know? Let it happen naturally if there’s anything there.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, I won’t pry,” her mom promised, not dimming in the slightest. “You go at your own pace, but just remember that you always have someone here to talk to about anything. I happen to know a thing or two about this stuff, I’ve been around the block a few times myself—”

“MOM.”

Thankfully, they were interrupted by the bell on the shop door as Alec walked in, probably on his lunch break from the library. He looked especially chipper compared to his usual self, if one could consider him to be chipper at all. His flannel of the day was carefully buttoned at the wrist against an early fall breeze, and it seemed to be less wrinkly than it should have been after a morning of work. His jeans weren’t even that dirty, and he seemed to have trimmed his mustache that morning.

“Good afternoon, Dawsons, Parker,” he greeted as he walked in, waving for Parker at the other end of the store. He strolled right up to the checkout counter and set down a little basket wrapped in a checkered cloth. “As promised, giant cookies from Rosita’s Bakery.”

“Oh Al, you didn’t have to do that,” Evaine’s mother said politely, even though she had practically shot up at the mention of “cookie”. She eagerly reached over the counter to undress the basket, revealing a half dozen cookies the size of a splayed hand.

“It wasn’t any trouble. Got an order of peanut butter cookies for m’self,” he said, winking at Evaine when she jokingly stuck her tongue out in disgust.

“You know, this reminds me,” her mother said around a mouthful of cookie. “I should put together a welcome basket for the new neighbor. I don’t know if you saw, but some poor soul decided to move into the monster house. There were workers out there just this morning doing something to the yard.”

Evaine busied herself with unwrapping a cookie to hide the grimace that crossed her face when she thought about that spot of the yard where Jesse had dragged the body of Jensen Calloway, carelessly tossing the heart away and out of sight from the main road. Whatever warmth or joy she had felt about being able to confide in her mother was effectively washed away by chilling unease.

“Miss Dawson, it may be none of my business, but I’ve heard some unkind things about that new neighbor,” Alec said, his tone quickly turning serious. Evaine tensed at the sound of it, suddenly very interested in hearing what he could possibly know about Jesse Rayne. “Now, I won’t say much, I’m not about to go condemning a man I’ve never met, but I hear he comes from a pretty shady background. People around him tend to get hurt, if you catch my drift. I know you want to be neighborly, and that’s very kind of you, but it would put this old man’s mind at ease if you ladies stayed well away from that house. Just send a welcome by post, and don’t bother with a return address.”

“Really? I never would have known!” her mother said, one hand flying to her heart with the shock, but her blue eyes were alight with interest for such juicy drama.

“Where did you hear this?” Evaine asked, concealing the accusation with an expression of curiosity. “Didn’t he just move in?”

“From my cousin, actually,” he said, reminding her that he had disclosed such plans when she saw him yesterday. “She’s an investigator for a law firm in Montana, but she’s been following his case as far as Boston, that’s where he’s just moved from. She realized he had come to Jericho, so she reached out to me, wanted to give me a heads up. I figured I’d warn you ladies to err on the side of caution, just in case.”

“That’s so kind of you, Alec,” Evaine’s mother said, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I’ll just send him a fruit basket, say it’s a welcome from the whole neighborhood and nothing more.”

“That’d probably be best,” Alec agreed, as if the change in attitude was a mark of wisdom for herself and not the product of his own design. “I best get a move on; I wanted to catch Lonnie Hill before he goes making a fuss about the construction. His property is on the western border of the monster house, and you know he’s been complaining for years about the overgrowth spilling onto his land.”

“Of course, he’d better know who he’s dealing with before he says something he’ll regret,” her mom said in a knowing way. “Thanks, Al, for the cookies, too. You’re too good to us.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Evaine hurried to add, forcing as natural a smile as she could muster. Alec didn’t seem to notice as he bashfully waved away their gratitude.

“Y’all be safe now,” he said, giving them that wrinkly bulldog smile of his before turning to leave the shop.

Evaine watched him go, her eyes narrowing when she spied the pleasant expression drop from his face just as soon as he was out the door, like a mask falling off. That chipperness she noted earlier suddenly revealed itself as the façade it was, just a way to hide the tension of his shoulders and balled up fists. Alec was putting on a show for them, not just lying, but using their friendship to manipulate them for his own ends. He was troubled, unwilling to let it show, and determined to keep them from seeking out their new neighbor.

It couldn’t be a coincidence, a gut feeling told her as much. Jesse was certainly being followed and investigated, that much was true, but if Alec’s cousin had anything to do with it, that could only mean that she was a hunter like Jensen Calloway. If she had warned her cousin about Jesse, that could only mean that Alec knew what he was.

Alec turned to look back through the window of the shop, his expression grim, but determined.

Oh yeah, I’m right about this, Evaine thought as she watched. You know something.

#By Nightfall #original work #young adult #paranormal romance #vampires #monsters #monsterhunters #witchcraft #coming of age #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: blood #if anyone reading sees any trigger warning suggestions please let me know #writer #writblr

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ashwin-the-artless · 9 months

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My linguistic habits

First of all, my new header image now says 'bem hihe' in it. This literally translates to 'beauty is you' (or more directly 'you beauty'). It's a cupola in VOS word order with the verb missing and implied. More figuratively, it means 'you are the epitome of beauty/harmony/the sublime/grace/etc'. 'Hihe' is a much broader concept than simple aesthetic beauty.

Anyway, on `etekeyerrinwuf that is how we say 'thank you', though we don't give thanks like that in all the same places U.S. English speakers do.

I've found it pretty easy to adapt, though, because my hosts give me impulses that don't typically steer me wrong when I'm fronting.

Anyway, bragging about that!

(It has significance in the book I just wrote - that you might not get to read for a while, actually - I'll let you know when it's published.)

But, also!

That is all relevant to a habit of speech I have that I can't really differentiate from the way plural systems often talk and Inmararräo word order.

So.

Frequently, I will leave out the subject of a sentence and just do Verb-Predicate/Object, like, "Went home."

In Inmararräo, the full sentence would be rendered, "Went home I."

In English, the full sentence would be, "I went home."

So, a lot of plural systems, I've noticed, when speaking about themselves, will leave out the first person pronoun. No 'I', no 'we'.

This seems to happen most often with systems who use 'we' frequently while with trusted people, and who don't want to use it around strangers, so they mask by leaving out the pronoun altogether.

But, also, sometimes it's just hard to figure out if you're talking about yourself as a system member or the whole system, so leaving out the personal pronoun avoids committing to one or the other.

But!

On the Inmararräo side of things, we just leave out the subject whenever it's easily implied from the context! Usually if the previous sentence establishes it. Like, "Am tired I. Went home."

I mean, a lot of English speakers do that, too: "I'm tired. Went home."

But, I do it a LOT more often. And I know this because I live with people whose first language is English, and I've written down their dialogue too, and I do it way more than they do.

Now, the tricky bit, for the book I'm writing, was deciding if I leave that in my own dialogue as an authentic representation of my speech, even though it probably sounds like extremely colloquial English only a very fluent speaker would do? Or do I rewrite and render my dialogue to sound more like that of an alien who is trying to speak perfect English, with no contractions and very simple, careful sentences.

I found myself, frustratingly, leaning toward the latter decision, feeling really self conscious of what readers might think. And I find that annoying.

It's not representative of plural speaking patterns (and I have been the member of two plural systems now, for nearly five hundred of your years). And it is not representative of Inmararräo speaking habits, especially when we're not speaking English all that well (I speak and write English very well, obviously, though, thanks to Sarah and Goreth - but I've had my moments).

So, when I rewrite the book before sending it to the publishers, I'm probably going to revert my dialogue back to what I probably really said during the events of the story.

So, anyway, that's what I'm thinking about this - um - oh look, it's the afternoon.

Shit.

#Inmararräo #The End of the Tunnel #memnärrä

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wonderlandleighleigh · 2 years

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Hi! I have a question for you concerning TMMM and identity.

Since Jewish culture is an integral part of this show, it's natural that anyone who wants to write a TMMM fic would have to learn about Jewish humor and traditions and quite probably use them in their writing. Do you think it's appropriate for people of other ethnicities to touch upon those subjects (e. g. when writing about Midges standup or family interactions)? Or should goyish people just avoid the Jewish ethnicity topics in their fics altogether? I'm more inclined to believe the latter, especially with jokes, but what do you think?

P.S. I'm not Jewish, just a curious Ukrainian. I thought about writing a TMMM fic, but then imagined how I would feel if I saw a shitty portrayal of my people.

P.P.S. I hope it's polite to ask. Feel free to tell me off if it's not.

Hi there!

So I'm going to preface this by saying: one Jew does not an entire people's opinion make. So whatever I think? It's just kinda what I think.

I think that if you're willing to sit down and do the research on Jewish humor, identity, and family life/dynamics, and portray them in a way that, yes, is funny and truthful, but also shows some respect, then it's totally fine. Write away!

The great thing about this show is that it shows an ENORMOUS swath of different personalities. Midge, Noah, Moishe, Joel, Shirley, Rose, Abe and Lenny are all Jewish, and they are SO DIFFERENT! And it's not something we see on television very often. Usually there is one token Jew, and they are one of two things:

an insulting stereotype

"Jewish" but they don't practice Judaism and we don't get to see the dynamics of their family or how being Jewish informs their life.

But you have the intellectual, upper class set in the Weissmans, right? Art, Science and Mathematics. We're shown that Rose's family is very wealthy. We are led to believe that Abe's family also had money if he was chosen by the matchmaker for Rose.

Then you have the working class, climbed the class ladder Maisels. They're loud, they're anxious, they're combative. They are everything that we think of when we think of Jews. Old Jews especially. What keeps them from tipping into stereotypes is that we see vulnerable moments with them. We get to experience life with them.

(on an unrelated note, Joel's insistence that he is an underdog, even though he's not, likely comes from growing up with parents who WERE underdogs. Who really scrambled their way up.)

And Lenny is there, waving his lower class, Jewish show biz fam "I'm from Long Island and my mother was a stripper comedian and likely did Vaudeville before it totally died" flag.

All Jews. All from intensely different backgrounds. All intensely different people.

So in thinking about all of this, I'm not so sure if it's about writing Jewishness, so much as it is about writing these specific Jewish characters in character as related to their Jewishness. Obviously using Yiddish words and centering things around Jewish holidays and going to Synagogue on Saturday mornings/Friday nights will make anything with these characters more authentic, but you don't have to if you don't know how.

But also, keep in mind, that as a modern Jewish person, I am ALSO a little out of my depth! These characters were all born 1933 and beforehand, and their Jewish lives are so intensely different from my own. Their challenges were different. They were so much closer to events like the Holocaust. During season 2, during that big number at the end of the Catskills trip, where it's all the kids (and Susie) doing that around the world skit, Shirley comments about the poor taste in having a Russian segment in a room full of Jews.

Which. To be honest, I mean. Lots of Russians still don't like us LOL. But it's nowhere near as fresh! If Shirley's parents were Russian, it's likely they were murdered and run out of town by pogroms.

Keep in mind that Abe was born 1898. His mother was likely born in the 1870's. Rose's time spent in Paris in her youth happened in the 1920's. Which is 100 years ago now. Viewed through a modern lens, their lived experience was so long ago, it feels a little staggering.

While I have a leg up in having grown up with Jewish grandparents and great grandparents, it's no substitute for a lived experience.

So! If you're willing to do the research, and not rely on lazy stereotypes, and also realize that you might get some things wrong (we all do!), then I say go for it!

I hope this helped! <3

#fic stuff #Jewishness in TV #TMMM

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ruinaimagines · 2 years

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HCs about Roland appreciating his s/o coming out as nonbinary please? And also thanks for your hard work! This blog is very wholesome and I love reading it!!

I’m glad you enjoy the blog! And yes you may absolutely have some headcanons.

Roland Appreciating S/O Coming Out as Nonbinary Headcanons:

Roland would absolutely be welcoming to this. He really doesn’t care about the gender of the individual he’s with, it’s purely personality and experiences with him.

Nonbinary people are nothing new in the City, and it’d honestly be a bit stranger if they were. There’s people turning themselves into cyborgs, inhuman individuals stemming from singularities, whatever’s going on with distortions, so why would anyone really care about people not identifying with their assigned birth gender? It’s an embraced concept if anything.

Problem is even with the prior knowledge that it’s generally well received, and knowing that Roland would be supportive doesn’t mean it’s any less nerve wracking. Coming out is really difficult even if you know it’s going to go well. Whether it’s the fear of some big change or shift, or just the uncertainty that you can never truly know, it’s not easy by any means.

Luckily all of that worry can be released when you finally do come out, and it goes really well! He can tell just by your behavior you’re nervous, so his top priority is to let you know that he doesn’t mind one bit. He’s very casual in his tone but it doesn't get rid of the fact he knows this is important.

He’ll thank you for telling him and if you’re open to it, will begin asking some questions to get acquainted with the change. He’ll ask what pronouns you prefer, or if you’re fine with the same, whether you’d like to be addressed as feminine, masculine, or neither, and even if you have a different name you’d prefer.

He’s very well educated on the subject, and is good at remembering and adapting as well. If there’s something he doesn’t understand he’ll respectfully ask or try to learn more about it, after all he wants to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

If you had fears about it being some large change or that you’d be treated differently, don’t. He’s very subtle and it really just feels like things are back to normal, except now you’re truly being recognized as who you are.

He’ll ask you who you have and haven’t come out to yet. He absolutely does not want to make the mistake of outing you to someone when you aren’t ready for it, and will make sure that doesn’t happen. Unless you say that it’s okay for him to regard you as how you prefer with them, he’ll always ask in advance what course of action he should take, or just avoid using gendered terms altogether.

Sometimes just saying “I’m nonbinary” doesn’t feel like it’s enough, and you want to explain how your identity has evolved over time. Even if it’s through abstract descriptions, he’s very open to listening to you try to make sense of how you feel. Nonbinary is a very large umbrella term, so you might want to go further into details about what you prefer. He wants to make sure you’re being perceived the way you want to, and for that reason is very respectful.

While he definitely has a good idea on how to handle things, he’s not going to pretend like he knows you better than yourself. If ever he gets something wrong, he encourages you to correct him and doesn’t take offense when you do.

Want to go searching for some new clothes that feel like they better represent you? You can expect Roland to accompany you. Now he’s definitely not the best when it comes to fashion which is why his outfits are usually more simple, he’s still willing to give suggestions. It’s your choice on whether or not you should take those suggestions.

Why just stop at what you wear? The library is capable of manifesting almost anything with some practice, and with that can allow you to decorate quite a bit. If you’re someone who associates with certain colors, symbols, or objects, it could be quite fun to base your room off of that!

Don’t worry if you share a room with Roland either. He doesn’t really care too much about physical appearances of things, and you get a lot more value out of it than he does.

It can actually be nice to have someone who knows how to add some flare to a living space. If you just let him choose, it’s more bland and boring. Looking out for the little things you add though makes it not only a lot more enjoyable but also less mundane.

If you’re someone where your identity or preferred pronouns changes from time to time, don’t even worry about it. So long as you let him know beforehand you can be certain he keeps that in mind.

Whether it’s because you haven’t entirely figured something out, or just happen to feel differently from time to time everything is welcome. There’s no rush he’s putting onto you, because if anything it’s more stressful for you. It isn’t difficult to change words from time to time.

Speaking of which he’s really good at using a variety of your preferred pronouns! If there’s more than just one set, he’ll ensure to switch up from time to time. Even if you don’t particularly care what people use for you, it’s still nice to see the dedication and thinking he has in keeping things new.

Maybe you’d like to present yourself in public a certain way, but have anxiety or doubts while doing so. Roland offers great moral support and certainty through words of reassurance. It’s easier to forget about what others think when you have someone by your side to talk to, after all.

Not all people experience gender dysphoria, but if you happen to, he will try his best to help out. Whether it’s through soothing your worries, giving affirmations, or just being besides you he’ll do all that he can.

Coming out to an individual can really be a big thing for that person, so if you want some kind of celebration don’t feel guilty for asking! Even if it isn’t anything too big, just a little get together and break you can expect something.

While he certainly doesn’t excel at baking, he really will do his best to make you any small treats if you’re interested. I wouldn’t trust him with a whole cake, but something smaller like cookies are manageable.

I think a sweet little thing he’d try to do to commemorate the moment would be putting frosting down in the color of whatever flag you may align yourself with. In his head the result is very clean, smooth, and amazing, but in reality… Well, at least it has all the colors?

Alternatively, he could make your favorite food! That’s something he’s much better with, and you can rely on the result to not be questionable. Either way it’s edible, and even if it comes out looking a bit odd, that only brings more enjoyment to it.

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spooky-nerd · 3 years

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I Wrote an MSR Christmas Fic in September, Sorry

Christmas comes but once a year, or so he’s been told. Which means that he has 364 days (at least) to strategize. And yet, he never quite manages to be able to escape it.

He’s come close a small handful of times. A mere brush with victory followed by crushing defeat. In 1971 he was hospitalized with appendicitis on December 24. Unfortunately, the hospital gave out little teddy bears with santa hats that year to all of the children. In 1994, he tried lying low in his apartment, but Mrs. Sanders from across the hall had dropped off a fruitcake wrapped in red and green paper with a ridiculously frilled bow. The fruitcake had tasted horrible, but then that had been comforting, because he has never had a fruitcake that didn’t taste horrible and would find the very idea to be unsettling to say the least.

Twice he has nearly managed to avoid Christmas altogether. An almost impossible feat, and a coveted one amongst those who bemoan the holiday like he does.

He is not a grinch, as some would suspect, and his heart is not withered and cold. He does not have a propensity for stealing presents from under trees, and he has never once uttered the words “bah, humbug!”. He just does not care for Christmas.

This had come as a shock to Scully during their first year of partnership. She had whisked into the office on December 23rd in a cloud of merriment, smelling like peppermint and humming festively. “So, what are your Christmas plans?” she had asked innocently.

“Well, I’ll probably microwave some popcorn and watch Plan 9 From Outer Space,” he had said in complete seriousness. In spite of his delivery, she had laughed. Probably at the absurdity of it, which likely was obvious to outside observers, he had realized then. And yet, his world-weary soul had lacked the energy to care.

“You’re serious?” She had dropped the smile, and in its place was that frown of disappointment that he was rapidly becoming acquainted with. For some reason, he had felt a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, I’ve just never been one for the holidays.”

“But Mulder, it’s Christmas,” she had said, her incredulity ratcheting up impossibly higher.

“Oh I know, Scully. Trust me, I know. 104.9 started playing Christmas music in October. My building super put up tinsel in all the hallways on November 1st. I’ve been visually assaulted by this holiday on every street corner since the day after Black Friday. I know it’s Christmas. I just don’t really care.” He had shrugged, in case the rant came off a little too harsh. Not that Scully was easily intimidated. He was quickly beginning to learn that too.

She had shrugged, already poised to drop the subject. “Alright. Enjoy your popcorn, then.”

He had smiled. “Thanks, Scully.”

She had paused, turned back to him. He had gotten a whiff of peppermint again, and wondered if it was a new holiday perfume, or just the everyday magic of her. “You know, November 1st is a little early for tinsel.”

Looking back, it is possible that he had begun to fall in love with her then.

* * *

In the four years that Scully has been his partner, he has discovered that she has exactly one flaw: she loves Christmas. The music, the food, the gifts, the decorations, she eats them all up with a little festively-adorned spoon. At his request, she had refrained from stringing lights up in the office, but in exchange, he is forced to accept one Christmas gift from her each year.

Of course, he isn’t a monster, so every year, he buys her a present, too. Usually something quite ridiculous and useless. Their second Christmas together, he had bought her a mug depicting the entire cast of General Hospital. “It made me think of you,” he had said, to which she had raised an eyebrow and smiled, sliding her own present across the desk to him with false demureness. He had given her a suspicious look and ripped into the gift with exaggerated zeal, just to make her laugh. With delight he had pulled out a tie with little green aliens and flying saucers.

“Scully,” he had said, completely smitten. She had smiled and shrugged. He had decided that is was possible he didn’t hate gift exchanges as much as he had previously thought.

* * *

On December 23rd, 1997, he walks into the office and she is not there. It is not a surprise to him, but it is a blow nonetheless. She should be here, bringing him hot chocolate in addition to his morning coffee, placing a gift on his desk wrapped in ribbon so clinquant and overwhelmingly jubilant that it makes his eyes hurt. She should be here, making him dislike the holiday less and less with each passing moment. And if she can’t be here, he should be there with her. He calls Skinner and tells him he is taking a personal day. He does not explain further but he does not need to.

“Okay. Tell her I said Merry Christmas,” Skinner says.

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

* * *

Within an hour, he is at her doorstep with a hazardously overstuffed plastic grocery bag, a six-foot spruce that is growing heavier by the minute, and a gift wrapped in paper that had been sparkly at one time but has now transferred all of its glitter onto his coat.

It takes her a worryingly long time to answer the door. But she does eventually, looking completely drained, a sweater wrapped around her thin frame. She is cold all the time now and she never complains but it has not escaped his notice. She looks exhausted, but it stops his breath how beautiful she is all the same.

She is surprised to see him. Even more shocked by the one-man window display he has become.

“Mulder? What are you doing?” Confusion, but also a smile in her voice that he can see glittering in her eyes, too.

“I thought I’d bring the party to you, Scully.” He is still a little out of breath, but he smiles, and finally she laughs, melodic and joyful. She lets him in.

* * *

With the muted tones of Bing Crosby playing smooth and unobtrusive underneath, he makes them hot chocolate, dons a Santa hat, and gets to work decorating her tree. She sits on the end of her couch nearest him and opens up the little boxes of colorful Christmas ornaments, handing them to him one-by-one with delicate care. He gets tangled more than once in the Christmas lights, each time extricating himself in a flurry of limbs and curses. It’s worth it to hear her laugh. He wants to close his eyes and listen to the sound and pretend everything is okay.

When he is finished, she holds out her hands wordlessly and he helps her stand up. He wraps an arm around her and they lean against one another, admiring the finished tree. He wonders if she knows it means so much more to him than just a nice gesture. Her grip tightens around him in a brief hug.

“Mulder,” she says softly. “I don’t even know what to say. You really didn’t have to do all this.”

They are quiet for a moment. Bing Crosby sings that it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. He finds that he agrees.

“I wanted to, Scully. I wanted to be here. The office doesn’t feel right without you,” he says. “Besides, you would’ve done the same.”

She huffs a small laugh. “You hate Christmas.”

“No I don’t.” She looks up at him and he meets her gaze. “I don’t.”

* * *

Exactly one year later, she is safe and whole and mulling over a file, tapping an absent beat on their desk with her pencil. He bounds into the office, over-laden with a diverse assortment of ridiculous Christmas paraphernalia. He dumps it all on the floor in an unceremonious heap, shakes the snow out of his hair, and tosses her a goofy smile.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, out of breath. “Wanna help me deck the halls?”

When they are finished, the office has never looked more unprofessional. They couldn’t be prouder of themselves. Before she leaves for the night, she gives him his gift and a kiss on the cheek. Also very unprofessional, as is the alarming rate at which his heart is beating. It’s just about the only thing he can think about over the holidays, and that in itself brings clarity.

* * *

Her hand is icy where it settles atop his on the steering wheel. He risks only a brief glance in her direction. ‘It’s really coming down out there,’ he had said obligatorily about thirty minutes earlier, squinting into the critical sliver of light their headlights were slashing through the dark flurries of snow.

“Let’s stop for the night,” she says. He nods and gets off at the next exit without question.

They find a motel down a nearly deserted back road that makes them both touch the concealed weapons at their hips just for comfort. The attendant wordlessly accepts their cash and slides them a key.

“You know what’s messed up?” he says as he flops onto the bed after a cursory inspection for suspicious stains.

“What?” she says, rooting through her bag for their toothbrushes.

“I don’t even know where we are.”

She sighs, a weary sound that he has gotten used to hearing in the months they’ve been on the road. Almost four months now.

“We are somewhere in the southern part of Kentucky. That’s all I know.”

“Scully,” he begins, the word absolutely riddled with guilt.

“Mulder, stop. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” They’ve had this small scrap of conversation several times. He keeps waiting for her response to change but it never does.

Silence except for her continued rummaging. Then, a triumphant “Aha!”

He peeks out from under the arm slung across his face. “What-“ He stops at the sight of her wearing a santa hat and holding a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper and held together with duct tape. She smiles and inclines her head triumphantly. The hat tilts adorably and the little pompom falls in front of her face. He laughs in spite of everything. In the spirit of the season, she joins him.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

He shakes his head, in awe once again. “I love you.”

* * *

In an unremarkable house, in an unremarkable room, in an unremarkable chair sits a man. He is unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He is holding in his hand a two-inch long replica of a Louisville Slugger that has been made into a keychain. A gas station trinket, unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He turns it over in his hands and cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. It takes him back to a motel on a snowy night in southeastern Kentucky, and he has a mind to stay there awhile.

She walks in at that moment, wearing the most hideous sweater he has ever seen. After a moment of stunned silence he lets out a loud gut laugh. She smiles, spreading her hands in a silent ‘ta-da’. The sweater is red and green, and knit into it are alternating rows of Christmas trees, presents, wreaths, some colorful blobs that inexplicably might be potted ferns, and a pair of kissing reindeer, both of which have antlers.

“You look horrible,” he says, still chuckling. “I love it.”

“I found it at a Goodwill.”

“An ironic name for a store that would sell such an act of violence.”

She laughs. “I’m thinking of adding it to my regular rotation. I could get you one, too, and then we could match.”

“Well, people in town already think we’re crazy. Maybe it’s time to start leaning into it.”

She heads to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, and he puts his hand in his pocket for the thousandth time that day, touching the small box like he’s afraid it will disappear. While she putters around the kitchen, he stares at the winking lights of their Christmas tree and gathers his thoughts.

Within minutes she is back with two steaming mugs filled much too full, sloshing dangerously. She sips a little out of both of them, burns her tongue, and hands him his. The mugs are hot. She pulls her sleeves up until only the tips of her fingers are peeking out and holds the mug that way. He watches the entire scene, completely enamored.

She throws herself onto the couch with a sigh and it is a Christmas miracle that she does not spill any of the hot chocolate on that horrendously festive sweater. He settles down next to her and sips gingerly from his mug, contemplating the mystery of those reindeer.

“Is it a misunderstanding of deer anatomy or a political statement, do you think?” she says, clearly reading his mind. He makes a mental note to open up an unofficial investigation into how she keeps being able to do that.

“All I know is it’s my favorite thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Aww. Thanks.”

“I am curious about those potted ferns, though.”

“Is that what they are?”

They wait there together, sipping and talking about everything and nothing until the hour whittles down to nil and the clock strikes midnight, Christmas Day. He puts an arm around her shoulders and marvels at the way her head fits so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.” He whispers it like a treasured secret.

She turns to kiss him. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers back. Then she is up, grabbing his presents. She is eager for him to see one of them, and has been carrying the secret of what it is around with her for weeks. She hands it to him first, and he makes a show of opening it agonizingly slowly. She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently until he picks up the pace.

“Oh wow, Scully,” he says softly when he pulls the tissue paper aside to reveal a vintage restored Polaroid camera. “Thank you. This…wow.” He runs a hand over the glossy surface appreciatively, and then points it at her. “Say cheese.”

Within moments, the photo of her completely unprepared and squinting painfully at the sudden flash develops.

“Ugh,” she giggles.

“I’m keeping it.” He slips it into his pocket before she can snatch it away. His knuckles bump the small box, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He retrieves the gift from under the tree and watches her open it. “Oh, Mulder,” she says, pulling the typewriter out of its box. He’d had to place an anonymous ad in the paper for that one. They had decided at the beginning of their life on the run that they would use only the most basic technology, which meant burner phones and nondigital alternatives. “It’s beautiful.”

It is. It’s an Underwood, glossy white, impeccably maintained. He’d paid a small fortune to a very old man for this one. They had met in a public park. He had paid in cash. The man had brought it in an old shoebox inside a brown paper grocery sack. The whole transaction had felt vaguely illegal. The man had looked at least 100.

“Thank you.” She gives him a hug. She smells like hot chocolate and peppermint. It reminds him of a Christmas many years ago. A conversation about why he didn’t like Christmas. Oh how things have changed.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” he says when she pulls away. She raises an eyebrow. She hates to be outdone, especially on Christmas. Incredulity turns into disbelief when he pulls out the small box.

“Mulder,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with unshed tears when he gets on his knee in front of her, and if he’s going to make it through this, he cannot look at her.

“Scully, I-“ his voice catches immediately. He clears his throat. “I know that the past few years have been…well there’s no words for it. You are the only thing that has gotten me through. You’ve been there Scully, since the beginning you’ve been there and I- I can’t imagine my life without you. I want so much more for you. You deserve so much more, and I…I wish that I could give you more. But this is all I have to offer, Scully. This is everything I have. I want to grow old with you and, and love you and support you and laugh with you until the end of time. I promise to be faithful. I promise to have your back and to be there for you always.” He takes a shaky breath. “Dana Katherine Scully, will you marry me?”

He looks into her eyes, and he sees everything there. The love and devotion that had started small and fragile and had grown into something ineffably strong. He cannot imagine a life without this woman. Bing Crosby’s voice floats quietly over from the record player, singing about having a merry little Christmas. He wants a life with her, a thousand more little Christmases just like this one, filled to the brim with ridiculous, garish holiday cheer. She takes a deep breath, the words that will determine their future poised on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes. Of course I will.”

- - - - - - - -

Note: Btw, I wasn’t lying about that sweater

#txf fic #msr #the x files fanfic #the x files #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #txf fanfic #msr fanfic #christmas fic #x files fanfic #mine

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alonfic · 3 years

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second nature

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x reader genre: college + bff to lovers au | fluff, pining pining pining wc: 4,767 description: love is complicated; it tends to bloom in desire, in impulse. sometimes you just need to stop the overthinking and just do. in other words, you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend and decide to take matters into your own hands. author’s note: completely self-indulgent. i just wanted a scene where mc jumps into kuroo’s arms and kisses him after a win. sue me.

People do stupid things when they’re in love. You don’t know who said it, if this is some universal conclusion, or maybe Hercules’s Megara is a love genius who you should take notes from. Then again, she did twice, and was saved by her destined lover the second time around. You aren’t all that sure this is a fate prescribed to you by the stars nor is it one that you want for yourself, but it makes you wonder if your love life would be easier if it could have that Disney-esque theatrics just for a happy ending.

Then again, you don’t think Disney has any love stories about best friends turning into lovers, just strangers to lovers. But how do you fall in love with someone you haven’t spent years together cultivating memories with? How do you not look back and smile at the stories of chasing fireflies in the summertime or running from the ocean’s kiss because it’s just a tad too cold even in the late spring? Could it be possible to imagine a love built out of the blue?

Perhaps that part of unexpectedness could be the suspect. Being around him is comfortable; easy as breathing. He’s always been there, always a faint image in the back of your mind as you walk down memory lane, and still there as you walk down this strange path of adulthood. He’s never one to push too hard or let you fall without reaching a hand out to hold you steady.

In truth, you don’t think about loving your best friend. At least you try not to at first. It isn’t something you’re supposed to do or anything that could proceed painlessly, and you’re no masochist. Maybe you are. Wouldn’t you have extracted yourself from the situation sooner if you weren’t?

Then again, you didn’t choose to love him one morning, it just happened.

You consider ignoring Kuroo when it happens. Or if there’s any chance of going back.

It isn’t anything against him because you obviously wouldn’t feel the way that you do if you considered him a shitty person. But that’s the problem. Well, not the problem, more like the reason. The heart of your pining has always been a consistent figure. A loving one that has always had your back even when you both were kids; him the notoriously shy boy who clung to his father’s leg when you and your mother first stopped by, and you the painfully hard-headed one who lacked control when you came bounding up to him with the intent of friendship.

Funny how things seem to take on a reverse effect as he approaches you in the same confidence. His smile unaltered by the slight changes in you, how you tense up ever-so-slightly and squeak affirmations when he mentions going out later that night as a treat for surviving midterms. It shouldn’t mean anything more, really, these are normal interactions for you both. The small celebrations are your favorite things to do, so you hope it doesn’t feel weird when you say yes and he looks at you like he’s over the moon kind of happy.

You don’t say a word when his hand is on the small of your back in the slightly crowded ramen shop. It’s been a longtime favorite of your and his, and surviving the quarter is a celebration in and of itself. Everything is normal. These things, like guiding you to a table, are normal. Your hyperfixations on them are hardly normal though.

Was he always this touchy? Of course, you ponder this. It’s your brain wondering and hoping to figure out what the motivations of these actions are even if he’s done them before. He’s always been keen on physical touch with you. Ever the one to wrap an arm around your shoulders while you two walk around shopping centers or the park to keep potential intruders away and to keep you from getting swept up in the crowds. Sometimes holding your hand when things get tense and he wants you to know he’s there. They’re normal for him by all accounts, and there hasn’t been a time where any of that has felt out of place, at least until now. And it isn’t because of him, it’s you.

If you had an allowance to dream and believe in your idealistic side, this would be a new beginning and his way of easing you into intimate gestures. You don’t though. Your realistic side won’t let you. He just doesn’t make it very easy on you as he sits in front of you under very grainy incandescent lighting—the very non-ideal kind to consider one’s love for somebody—and still manages to get you feel the same things you had when you awoke to him cooking breakfast in your kitchen after a late night study session. The very stupid morning that brought you to this conclusion.

When he says your name, you realize the server is there. You’re naturally a little embarrassed because you haven’t even had a chance to glance at the menu, still a little more spaced out than usual, though it shouldn’t be that big of a problem. You already know what you want, and so does Kuroo.

He jumps in and asks if you want your usual choice, to which you simply nod so he can tell the server who leaves just as quickly as they had come. Kuroo looks like he wants to say something, probably ask about what’s going on with you, but instead something else catches his eye.

He leans over the table and his fingertips find some stray locks of yours dangerously trying to kiss the corner of your lip. His fingertips graze your cheek rather slowly. Painfully slow, even. It doesn’t help the sweat on your palms or the pounding of your chest. Hell, your heart feels like it might fall out if he continues going at such a snail’s pace, but eventually he gets the strands behind your ear.

He smiles at you again, and this time you know it’s all over.

There is no going back.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

You almost deny it altogether, almost. But this is Kuroo. You know better than to try and lie to the boy you’ve known since middle school, the same boy who knows when something’s wrong before you even have a chance to register that something’s wrong. It sometimes makes you want to curse at him and wish this whole thing would just come to a halt instead of continuing on this weird precipice of change. But you stop yourself and step aside so he can enter your apartment, making his way through the long hallway and turning right to take a perch on the barstool at your kitchen isle.

He’s right anyway. It’s been days since you realized your feelings and even more since you two went out to get ramen together. But you’d be damned to admit the truth.

“Been busy.” You settle on this because it’s a safe answer, at least relatively so, though he hardly looks even the slightest bit convinced. The fact that you lean on the opposite side of the granite countertop is enough to solidify his doubt, but you decide to play the fool anyway. “What?”

“Are you alright? Have I done something to upset you?” Kuroo asks this genuinely, and you can tell most definitively by the slight crease in his brow and the small line his lips have become. It isn’t a frown by any means, it’s his pensive expression. He must be trying to think back on anything he’s either said or done in the past couple of weeks, but you know he wouldn’t be able to guess it.

Not that “it” is all that major. How do you even describe the sensation of falling in love with your best friend? How do you even dare face them after you’ve done it? And where do you even go from there when it’s happened? These are the things you’ve mulled over; they’re also the things that have stopped you from immediately treating your friendship with Kuroo like business as usual. You don’t think there’s any going back once you say something. No matter the times you’ve imagined what could happen or what it would be like to cross that bridge, a bit of reality grounds you from all impulsive acts.

Of course, you would love to just kiss him and run your hands through his beautifully soft sable hair. You wouldn’t hesitate to finally tell him your feelings if you didn’t think there was anything to lose or if you weren’t in the right state of mind, at least there’s the cushion of not caring and simple selfishness in all of that. It takes a lot to shake it all out of your head, at least to just try to, as he watches you in that unnervingly analytical way.

“Are you sure I haven’t done anything?” You can tell he’s trying to probe now, perhaps hoping for an opening to atone for any misgiving he might’ve done without realizing. His voice is soft, comforting. “If I did, I really am sorry.”

You shake your head again, this time for him and his question. You’re starting to feel a little bad for keeping this from him. “You haven’t done anything, I promise. I’ve just been preoccupied with some things. It’s getting better, so really, no need to worry.”

You hope the half-truths are enough to keep his interrogative questions and inquisitorial stare at bay. At least enough to change the subject, he’s the one who called about coming here, after all.

“If you’re sure?” He tries once more, just to give you an out. It isn’t like you to keep anything from him, and he knows this, but you can’t help but want to keep this one thing under lock-and-key. At least for now, or forever.

You nod. “What’s up anyway?”

“Well, I’ve been missing my best friend like crazy since someone’s been ghosting me for the past two weeks.”

The emphasis on ‘someone’ makes you snort, just a little and only for a moment because he shoots you a playful glare. You hold your hands up in surrender in hopes of spurring the conversation forward. Just because you wanted to avoid him to keep the truth under wraps doesn’t mean you haven’t missed the cheeky bastard.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, with a faint smile. “Has it been that hard without me?”

“The hardest! Kenma’s sick of me, you know. Him, I’m used to wanting to keep me away. But you? That’s a different playing field.” It’s all in a playful jest, of course, and whatever the case may be for you, you know that Kuroo doesn’t mind. He knows it would be for a good reason, even if you don’t think this is all that good of a reason to try and push him away. It’s a hard thing to do when it’s clear that he has no intentions of being set aside, and how can you, given the history here?

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, o’dramatic one?” Of course, you’ll play it off, just to see the toothy grin on his lips, and watch the light dance in the hickory of his eyes as he considers his next quip. You wonder if he’ll have you do something stupid just to make up for the sudden separation, although you’re grateful that he’s a more benevolent schemer where you’re concerned. You expect him to charge you a free coffee or something.

“Come to my game on Saturday, please,” Kuroo coughs the last word, as if it might be painful for him to say, or maybe he’s trying to play off sounding forceful, which has never been his forte.

You can’t help but smile albeit confused at the sudden news when it feels like it’s been ages since his last high school game. “A game? With who?”

“It’s just a reunion game against Karasuno, since it’s a rare occasion where we all happen to be free at the same time, and you know us. We’re always hankering for another Battle at the Garbage Dump.”

Before you can say anything, he adds, “If you love me, you’ll come!”

You probably miss the way he looks at you a little more longingly than he once did, as if there’s something he means in these cheeky words. They should mean nothing more than provocations, a mild itch of guilt tripping, but only in good nature. It couldn’t possibly mean anything in the way that you’re hoping. No, not at all.

You know he only means it all in a lighthearted way, but you can’t deny the way your heart seems to rumble with a very distinct sound of early springtime thunder and you feel the back of your throat go dry. Of course, you can’t deny this truth, not even when it’s disguised like this. And anyway, who would you be if you missed out on one of his games?

Of course, you’ll go.

When Kozume calls you over, you already know it’s a mistake to oblige.

The moment you get there, he’s playing a game though he pays a little more attention to you when he sees how much you tense up at the sound of Kuroo’s name. It’s enough for the conversation to completely focus on the former Nekoma captain, and you’re almost certain you want to go home already. If anything, you might be able to cite that you had some homework you need to sort out before the big game.

“You shouldn’t keep lying to yourself. Plus, I know you finished all your homework so you wouldn’t be distracted for the game,” Kozume points out, shooting you a brief pointed look. “You’ve been avoiding me too, you know.”

And this is why: visiting Kozume means speculations, and speculations means hopes, and those mean disappointments because reality is just that cruel. You tell him so in your apology, even when he pointedly ignores the question and instead asks you one.

“When do you think you’ll tell him?”

You look at him incredulously. “Why would I do that?”

The sheer idea is preposterous; confessing to Kuroo might invite trouble for the two of you and the state of your friendship. Sure, you tried ignoring him and seeing if that could help, but that was a bust. Telling him would probably be even worse. Probably the worst thing you could do in this situation. Is it even possible to be okay after confessing to your best friend?

“You’re both idiots who deserve to be together. Why else would I ask?”

He isn’t even looking at you as he says any of this, instead focusing his attention on the characters in his game. His own little fantasy. A part of you is envious of the escapism, wishing for a bit of that for yourself at the moment. At least you can forge a love story from camaraderie there, and in a game world like that, it’s acceptable. Loving your best friend in the modern reality? Not so much.

You’re a little confused at Kozume’s wording. What was he trying to say? Kuroo liked you back? The thought makes you shake your head.

“Easier for you to say,” you roll your eyes at him, certain he hasn’t seen it, but he clicks his tongue at you anyway.

“If you did something, or let yourself do something, life would be so much easier for the both of you.”

“You say this with the assumption that he feels something too,” you point out, still in disbelief. After all, why would Kuroo love you back as more than a friend?

“Why do you even love him anyway?”

You can’t help but reply so nonchalantly when it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “Why not?”

There are many answers to that question, probably more than you care to admit, let alone to Kozume. Even without meeting his eyes or saying a word about any of it, he seems to know already. It’s unnerving. Have you always been this easy to read? Does Kuroo know too?

“Why don’t you just tell him?”

“It’d make things too complicated.”

In other words: it’s easier to tell the truth when you’re not speaking to Kuroo about the whole thing. Hell, it’s easier to address it when it isn’t directly to him. It happened, and obviously there’s no way to strip the power from it now.

“Is that what’s really stopping you?”

You take a moment to consider this, and maybe the large part is the fear of consequence, if there will be one, what it will be, that sort of thing.

“Yeah…”

“Then stop thinking and just do something about it. I’ve never known you to take things lying down. Talk to him after the game or something.”

You don’t say anything, but you consider it.

The day of the game is supposed to be simple. It isn’t like it’s supposed to bloom into anything, and yet you find yourself thrumming with excitement when Kuroo easily finds you in the crowd before he’s set to enter the gym.

You don’t care to admit how much you enjoy this or the sight of seeing him in that vibrant shade of red. The same way you’ve seen him in countless games. It stirs something in your chest as you’re reminded of those days, like this revelation of your feelings might have bloomed sooner than you realized.

“Come find me after the game,” Kuroo tells you with that beautifully toothy grin of his, and you find that you can hardly breathe. “I have something to tell you when I win.”

When did he get so damn good looking? You want to wonder, though that would only be one of many ponderings. You don’t know what his words mean, or why the implication makes your heart react the way it does, but you hope against your own ideals just to remain in reality. At least you try to.

It’s hard once the game begins.

Watching him play feels like falling in love again.

You don’t know what it is in the way Kuroo carries himself or how he seems to dance across the court with a hitch in any of his movements, but it’s addictive to watch. How easily he remains himself even on the court. The very cheeky grin flashes at his opponents, particularly Tsukishima, who looks more and more fired up as they contain their rally. They don’t look much different than when they first played against one another in high school, though they all seem to carry a newfound sense of wisdom in this game they’ve been destined to play time and time again.

Each rally feels like it goes on for longer than the last, as if everything will be gone in a single drop, and perhaps it’s true to say that this mirrors that of love. How you may try as you might to keep the secret of loving away from reality, but it all comes crashing down eventually. It feels that way when you see the final round reach a neck and neck standstill. Neither side wants the ball to drop, to allot victory to their opponent, of course.

It’s Kuroo’s determination that stands out to you. The way he seems to cheer his team on even without words as he tries his best to keep the orange, green, and white ball in play. He’s never been one to give up no matter the circumstances. He’s always found a way to move things in his favor, and he’s never once wavered, even in the beginning of his time with volleyball, he’s always tried, even with losses under his belt.

It’s strangely beautiful to bear witness to this play once more. You don’t know what it is when he looks back at you before his notoriously accurate block with a small, yet triumphant smile, like he knows this’ll win the game, or even so, bring them closer to it, but it rouses something even stranger in your chest as you cheer alongside everyone else in celebration of the first point of two needed to finally win the game. This is by no means a big game like the Inter-high or anything, but it feels that way. Maybe that’s why everything seems to stand out to you. It feels like something big might happen.

Simple as this game might be, it feels like everything when they reach the end of the rally.

They win, and you rise from your seat without a second thought.

You don’t think about what you’re doing.

Your limbs seem to move on their own accord as the rest of the team does a final bow to the audience. You don’t bother stopping to wonder if Kuroo’s searching the crowd for you as you make your way down the stairs, or what the little frown on his face means when his gaze lingers on the spot right behind the banner as soon as you reach the hallway across from the court. Your spot.

No, you don’t stop to think about it.

You don’t even stop moving as you call his name or as you see the light come back to his beautiful hickory eyes. You don’t stop to consider what that might mean either.

Instead you run to him at full speed without bumping into anyone, truly a miracle in and of itself, and instead of stopping right before him with your feet planted firmly on the ground like any other person, you choose to jump. You don’t know why. You don’t think about why either. You just believe that he won’t drop you because he’s never given you a reason to believe otherwise. In fact, you absolutely trust him to catch you now more than ever, and to no one’s surprise, he does.

There are so many things you want to do—reasonable things that any normal best friend supporting their best friend would do. You want to say congratulations. You want to just hug him and jump down because you want to believe that this will be like any other hug you’ve shared with this man you’ve known for years. And maybe it could’ve been that simple if you had just stopped to consider what your actions would mean to him, you, and everyone else. But you don’t bother with the frivolities, you don’t want to yet.

Because when you really look at Kuroo, you catch sight of something beautiful. A sight all too familiar to you and the years of memories you’ve shared together. It’s him in his most purest form; little drops of sweat falling at the sides of his face, an elated grin in all its toothy glory, and the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes becoming more and more prominent. And yet, there’s something a little too new in the way that he looks back at you, the way his gaze lingers on your lips and only snaps back up to your eyes when you say his name.

Your grip around his shoulders tightens and his lips fall a little closer together like he might say something, but you don’t give him a chance. It’s hard when you find yourself on a roll of impulses, like you’re untouchable from consequence.

Maybe you’ve watched too many romance movies, or maybe read too many stories where the best friends finally get together after years of pining and being called idiots by everyone around them. You know it’s all too silly, and you and Kuroo have spent evenings mocking the theatrics of boombox accompanied confessions and singing over the loudspeakers with the marching band as the main male lead’s instrumental track. They’re endearing in the moment, but so painfully unreal, you almost wish this world was entirely fantasy for just a taste of what could be with Kuroo. That’s the true villain, maybe. You can’t stop yourself now.

Everything everyone has ever speculated about you two flies over your head, and for once in a great while, you stop caring enough to just do what you’ve always wanted to do, to finally actualize the fantasies you’ve played out over and over in your head.

Fuck it, you decide. If there’s any time to do this, it’s now. The extra shit can wait.

So, before any words, you kiss him.

You take note of the way he responds so gently to the initiation. It’s a tentative pressure, as if he’s testing the waters to see what you can handle before you pull away. But you don’t. You remain, and maybe part of that has to do with the adrenaline coursing through your veins or maybe it’s the part of you that seeks this wish fulfillment and wants to bask in it before reality sinks it.

The whole thing is indescribable. Of course, it is. All of your fantasies have never gotten you as far as the real deal. You wouldn’t have guessed just how close to peppermint he would taste, or that there would be a slight hint of honeyed lemons in the aftertaste. Like the treat promises, you feel invigorated, rejuvenated, and maybe even worst of all, hungry for a little more.

This is why you readjust your grip around his shoulders as you attempt to deepen the kiss. In response, his grip on your thighs tighten, as if he might be afraid you’ll disappear. And to your surprise, he kisses you back with just as much fervor, like it might be the last time.

You don’t remember what draws you apart, whether it’s one of his teammates jeering at you two or if it’s your respective needs to breathe, but you’re inclined to etch this new sight of him to memory. The way his chest heaves, his pupils dilated, and his lips all pink and swollen. It’s new and beautiful, and you wonder if it’ll happen again.

And then it hits you.

What you’ve done. Your head spins just a little.

“I’ve fucked us up, haven’t I?” Your words are no louder than a whisper, but it feels like it’s only you two right now. Nothing else to cut into this moment, though you almost sort of wish for an opportunity to sink into the ground because what the fuck did you just do?

All you can do is try to shake yourself away from him, back down to the ground, back to reality.

Kuroo keeps you in place and takes the chance to really look at you. His eyes scan your face for a trace of truth, not that this would be a hard feat anyway. You’ve never been good at hiding anything from him, not when you were kids, and most certainly not now. You wonder if he can read, “I’m totally and utterly in love with you” from your eyes or if it somehow materialized across your forehead like Kozume and Nobuyuki have always teased you.

“That’s not entirely fair,” he says, still faint with his usual teasing.

“Huh?” Your eyebrows knit together, and your lips seem to pull into an involuntary frown.

“That implies that you were the only one who compromised our friendship…” he pauses for a second as his bottom lip trembles and he gives an inaudible swallow, “right?”

“What are you getting at?” Simply the implication is enough to bring lightning to your skin, as if to resuscitate you back to a more serene state. Your heart can’t seem to handle this overload, however. You wonder if he can hear it.

“I think you know what I’m getting at...”

His cheeks have gone pinker than the cherry blossoms in spring. Of course, it should’ve been enough to confirm your suspicions. You could’ve left it at that, but for your sake, for your very own heart, you tell him what you need.

“Say it.”

One more look at you and it’s enough for him. Somehow you know that without being told.

“I love you.”

Your heart trembles, even louder now, like a thunderstorm. That strange calmness remains. The kind only he can elicit in you.

Kuroo looks at you in wait, in wonder, as if your answer wasn’t as clear as day already. You laugh a little and the corners of his lips turn upward.

“I love you too.”

He lets you drop down, of course, but only after another kiss.

You hold his hand and walk through the double doors you entered through.

This time together.

#kuroo scenarios #kuroo imagines #kuroo fanfic #kuroo fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #emwrites #title: second nature

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rafesgfs · 4 years

Text

side to side

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: In which you're performing your hit single in front of your fellow Avengers cast-mates and Chris can't seem to take his eyes off of you, catching the attention of a few cameras.

"I'm here with the biggest pop-star of this generation, and she plays the very talented daughter of Tony Stark," the interviewer announced your name, smiling brightly at you as the camera panned your way. The hundreds of thousands of fans at home screaming when your face appeared. "How do you feel with all your nominations tonight?"

You smiled at the camera, giving a small wave at the people watching at home. "Honestly, I'm just glad I was even considered for these nominations. I mean, my girls Taylor, and Billie...they're amazing and I'm so happy to be put in the same category as them."

The lady grinned at you, her eyes twinkling. Or maybe it was her sparkly dress, the fabric nearly blinding you with how it shined under the lights. "If you ask me, you've got a pretty good chance at winning. I mean, your hit single—Side to Side—surpassed, like, a billion views in just a month? That's impressive."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without my fans." you replied, winking at the camera.

It was that time of the year again, where every artist, actor, and YouTuber hit the stage for the People's Choice Awards. With your crazy schedule, and the lack of sleep, you had planned to skip the award show until your friend, and co-star, Chris Evans—Captain America himself—convinced you otherwise. Even with the categories you've been nominated for had been more than a handful, but it was the begging and constant complaining from Chris that made you get off your tired ass and put it into a tight dress.

Your hit single, Side to Side, had everyone anticipated for your performance, unsure if you would be performing until the producers had put your name into the advertisement, making fans blow up Twitter. You were sure they had advertised your own song, along with your movie nominations, more than you ever had.

With nominations of Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Action Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Female Movie Star of the Year (Amara Stark), Female Artist of the Year, Song of the Year (Side to Side), Music Video of the Year (Into You), Beauty Influencer of the Year, and Social Celebrity of the Year, you had your hands full, which had only made your manager glow with happiness.

"Of course!" the interviewer agreed, glancing at the teleprompter filled with tiny words. "It was rumored that you wouldn't be coming, and a lot of us were upset, including me. Was that just a rumor or..."

"Actually, it's not that far off. I'm fucking—oh, shit—oh no!" you gasped, covering your mouth before anymore foul words could come out on live television. Instead of correcting you, the lady laughed, patting your arm softly. "Can't say that on tv. My bad. I, uh, with everything going on, I've been really tired, and I haven't slept in a week. I just wanted to chill, and accept my nominations at home but someone convinced me to come. So, if I say or do anything ridiculous tonight, I'm blaming him and my lack of sleep."

She nodded, clapping slowly. "I think that's fair. Is that someone, your onscreen father, RDJ?"

"He was one of the many people who unsuccessfully changed my mind, but no, it was Chris Evans. He promised me a day with his adorable dog, Dodger, and I couldn't refuse." you said, grinning at how his face had changed from hopeless to cocky as soon as he brought up Dodger.

"If I'm remembering this correctly, Chris Evans is that very handsome man you had kissed in your music video earlier this year. Into You, right? How do you feel kissing one of your co-stars outside of the movies your working on?"

"Technically, it was still acting, and I have kissed him before, so it wasn't awkward at all." you answered, glad Chris had accepted the role. Not only had it sky-rocketed the views and streams, but it made you feel better that it was his lips you were kissing and not a random model's. Yet, it didn't feel as professional as it had before when you pulled away after a take.

In scenes where you had to kiss the Boston actor, it was as professional as kicking Anthony Mackie's ass in Civil War but the kisses you shared on the set of the music video was definitely more personal. At the time, you had brushed it off as Chris being recently single, but now that you had broken up with Henry, you started questioning it again.

The interviewer nodded, squinting once more to read the words off the teleprompter before asking you another question that would certainly make the headlines. "I've been reading up on all those juicy tabloids and I've got one question that would satisfy my curiosity. Was Into You written about Henry Cavill or Tom Ellis?"

Usually, that type of question made you change the subject or altogether avoid the matter but this time, you wanted to joke about your failed engagement. "Henry, but Side to Side was written about Tom since I wanted more Grammy's considering the last album I put out won me a few. But this time, I'm gonna do it without an engagement."

The woman faked a laugh, surprised by the blunt honesty of your answer. "Um, you certainly do have a thing for British men, eh? I don't want to keep you up, but one more thing, for the fans. They've been dying to know if there's anything going on between you and Chris Evans. Any tea you wanna spill?"

"There's none to spill. We're just friends but it's always amusing scrolling through Twitter to find these edits of us." you replied, fidgeting slightly with the hem of your dress. Like usual, you had wondered if you should've worn something less extra but you had let your stylist play dress up with you for the past few months.

"Of course. Well, good luck to you, and I can't wait to see your performance." she said, giving you a little pat on the shoulders before announcing your name once again.

You got off the little platform, immediately taking Chris' awaiting hand, holding onto it as you climbed down the steps in your dangerous stilettos. Sighing, you leaned on him, trying to avoid the blinding camera flashes. "That was more exhausting than I thought it would be. You need to get me some caffeine after this is over because there's no way I'm making it to the after show without at least a few cans of Red Bull."

"So dramatic." Chris grinned, childishly sticking his tongue out as he guided you down the red carpet, stopping when told to take a picture. He let go of your hand, only to wrap it around your waist as you posed for the pictures. "Are you going to the after party?"

Posing seriously for a few seconds, you let your smile back on your face, facing the man beside you. "I was thinking about it, take a few photos, and head back home. Aren't you?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could ditch it and just hang out. You know, I did promise you some time with Dodger and you could waste a couple hours sleeping." he replied, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Flashing you a shit-eating smirk, he nudged you a little, pulling you away from the blinding flashes. "What do you say?"

You opened your mouth to answer only to be cut off by your manager, Alexandre coming out of nowhere to rip you away from Chris' arms. The latin man sighed in annoyance, glancing at his watch while giving you the look you've seen too many times before. "You're supposed to be in wardrobe right now. Get your ass backstage, and change before you miss your own performance. As for you, Mr. Evans, Megan wants your ass in a chair."

"I'll see you after." you say, getting dragged by your manager, winking at the actor before walking towards the changing area, the cameras following you until they couldn't enter the area.

Getting ready before a huge performance always calmed you down, maybe it was the smell of makeup or the feel of designer clothing made especially for you, but something about it made you feel comfortable and cozy. It was like a routine, especially with all the music videos and movies you had to film, the makeup, the hair.

They made you sit back, giving you your phone like a child while they made you even more sparkly than before, making sure you'd stand out against the flashing lights during the performance. A performance you made sure no one would ever forget. Smiling, you let your thoughts drift back to a certain super soldier as you were pampered.

—

"Welcome to the People's Choice Awards!"

The room darkened, the blue and pinks lights focusing on the stage as cameras all turned towards your shadow. Making sure your mic was set properly, tried to see past the darkness, to see a familiar face or two but with the headache coming on from the tight half-ponytail didn't help your case. The music started, the beat vibrating, you flipped your hair, and started.

"I've been there all night

I've been there all day (Nicki Minaj)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Let then hoes know)"

You rode the bike, belting out in your microphone, the attached headset limiting your movements a little. Gripping the handles, you made eye contact at the camera to your left, winking at it as you pedaled.

"I'm talkin' to ya

See you standing over there with your body

Feeling like I wanna rock with your body

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'

I'm comin' at ya

'Cause I know you got a bad reputation

Doesn't matter, 'cause you give me temptation

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'"

As you had sung, your eyes had adjusted to the bright spotlight focused on you, seeing a shadow of the one person you wanted to make you walk side to side. While you had answered the reporter's question, you hadn't been completely honest. Some of the lyrics had been written for the Bostonian; or to be more exact, your sex fantasies. With the chorus coming up, you let go of the handles, trying not to fall on your ass as you clapped your hands above your head, the claps matching the beat.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I..."

Trying to be bold, you stared at him, his face in particular. The spotlight had blinded you so much that you couldn't see what his reaction was—or anyone's for that matter—but maybe it was a good thing. After all, his gaze always made you blush no matter how hard you tried not to. Pedaling faster, you threw your head back, hoping the motion would draw everyone's—Chris'—eyes on your chest.

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

With the help of a shirtless dancer, you got off your bike, taking the sheer jacket from him, and putting it on as you walked towards the front of the stage, moving your hips in to the beat of the song. Resting a hand on a shirtless dancer, you positioned yourself so you were grinding your ass against his crotch, throwing back an arm around his neck.

"Been tryna hide it

Baby, what's it gonna hurt if they don't know?

Makin' everybody think that we solo

Just as long as you know you got me

And boy, I got ya

'Cause tonight I'm making deal with the devil

And I know it's gonna get me in trouble

Just as long as you know you got me"

Sashaying to the little balance beam at the front of the stage, you made sure your hips swayed more than usual.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

A few seconds after your note ended, you strike a pose on the balance beam, posing for a few more seconds while the cameras turned their attention away from you and onto the queen of rap herself: Nicki Minaj. The leather, pink bodysuit was identical to yours except for the color, her attitude fitting the badass outfit. She began to walk towards the stage, never breaking eye contact with the camera in front of her while the men pretending to work out to the choreo.

"Uh, yeah

This the new style with the fresh type of flow

Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle

Come through yo, get you this type of blow

If you want a ménage, I got a tricycle

All these bitches' flows is my mini-me

Body smoking, so they call me Young Nicki Chimney

Rappers in they feelings 'cause they feelin' me

Uh, I-I give zero fucks and I got zero chill in me

Kissing me, copped the blue box that say Tiffany

Curry with the shot, just tell 'em to call me Stephanie

Gun pop, then I make my gum pop

I'm the queen of rap"

By the time she had finished her verse, you had caught up with the multitasking of both working out and singing, able to use your full singing capabilities for your high note. Nicki joined you on stage, hyping up the crowd while you built up for the high note, almost every camera pointed at you except for the one focused on capturing the headline-worthy expression slapped on Chris' face.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give em up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all night, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)

I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all day, baby) (Ooh, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)"

Both you and Nicki motioned for the dancers to come towards you, curling your index finger at the sexy men. Singing the refrain, you both made them drop to their knees in front of you, as if they were kneeling at your command.

Just as the last note was sung, everyone clapped, the majority standing up, and more cheered. You noticed Chris hadn't done either, still sitting in his motionless while two camera men pointed their cameras at him. Your eyebrows furrowed, thankfully after the spotlight had shifted over to the miniature stage where the two hosts were babbling about nominations.

You were ushered off the stage along with the queen of rap herself, taking a few backstage photos before quickly returning back to your dressing room to change into your tailored dress. Your mind had wandered to why Chris hadn't applauded—not that he was obliged too, but a little something would've nice, especially with all the days put into the performance.

Taking a deep breath, you entered the big room, filled with your co-stars and other A-list celebrities. Little did you know you'd find out the reason to your question in the morning.

—

The loud ringtone woke you up, the sound obnoxious and borderline abuse to your ears. Beside you, Chris groaned, rolling onto his stomach, trying to muffle the sound of the call with his arm draped over his head. Putting him out his misery, you lazily reached for your phone, pressing the green button with dread, seeing the name across the screen.

"Hello—"

"You're trending on Twitter." Alexandre announced, happy with the results of the previous awards show. While it wasn't something as big as a Grammy or Oscar, judging by the amount of awards you had taken home, you became the people's favorite. "Hold on, lemme rephrase that. You and Chris are trending. Number one, world wide."

Glancing at the man sleeping beside you, you sat up, confused by the information given to you. You blamed Chris for making you stay up so late for your confusion. "Um, why? Did I accidentally have another nip slip?"

"What the hell?" Chris mumbled, rolling onto his back, his arm grazing your bare stomach. He immediately took it back, sitting up to look over your puzzled face. "What's going on?"

You shrugged, putting your phone on speaker so Alexandre could explain. Your manager chuckled, knowing you had stayed the night with Chris. He was just waiting for the day you'd finally have the guts to speak about the growing sexual tension. "Okay, Alex, explain."

"As much as I would love to go into full detail, I have other stuff to do so, I'm going to give you the basics. Chris' reaction to your performance went viral, people are shipping the both of you, and there's been thousands of memes made." Alexandre replied, a smile evident in his voice. "Anyways, I have to go. Got some interviews to schedule. Have fun getting your way out of this, Chris."

Your phone screen went back to the home screen, a picture of your family dog, Buster, smiling widely. Looking at Chris, you saw his eyes widened, his hands coming to rest of his face in embarrassment as he fell back onto the bed with a bounce, his head nearly hitting the headboard. "Oh, fuck."

"Are you going to show me what your face looked like or do I have to scroll through Twitter until I find it? Oh! Maybe they edited it in my performance." you thought out load, tapping on the YouTube app. You hadn't trusted yourself enough to log into your official account, knowing you'd probably make a mistake so you opted for having a secondary account where you could watch cat videos without the anxiety of posting something stupid.

Chris' hand snatched your phone away, tucking it in his pocket, the sweats he had slept in was somehow wrinkled, and his shirt damp from the warmth. "You wanna get some food? I'll cook some bacon but you'll have to make the pancakes 'cause the last time—"

"I wanna see your reaction." you whined, reaching across his stomach for your phone. Chris turned his body away from you, shielding the phone from your reach. "Chris!"

He waved your attempt away, rolling off the bed, his feet hitting the floor before you could fall back on the mattress.You poured, getting on all fours, crawling towards the edge. Chris took a step back, brows furrowing. "It's not important. Let's get you some food."

"Fine." you mumbled, an idea making you light up. Rolling off the bed, you glanced at his phone on the nightstand, exposed and easy to take. With quick reflexes, you grabbed his phone, rolling back on the bed until you reached the other side, making it impossible for him to reach for his phone back.

"Hey!" the Bostonian shouted, launching himself on the bed in attempt to get his phone back. He made a noise as you rushed out of your room, locking yourself in the nearby bathroom, laughing evilly when he threw himself at the door. He yelled out your name, his fist banging on the door. "I'm serious! Don't!"

Ignoring his begging, you opened his phone with your thumbprint. How ironic how much he didn't want you to look at his phone when he was the one who insisted you have the password to it. His arguments became louder as you opened up his Twitter, immediately heading to the trending section, seeing both your names at the number one spot.

"Damn, I look hot." you joked out loud, making Chris silent for a second before pleading for you not to continue. You smirked, scrolling through the tweets, trying to find his reaction. "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you? Did you fall on your face or something?"

Chris groaned, banging his head on the door in defeat as he heard your almost inaudible gasp, that quickly turned into little giggles. If he wasn't so embarrassed, he would've broken the door down to hold you in his arms. "Oh, no."

Bursting out into hard laughter, you fell into the large bathtub, hitting your head on the wall but you couldn't care less. The expression on his face during your performance had been borderline comical, the wide eyes, the jaw hanging open, the open hand resting on his chin while his eyes stayed strained on you the whole time, never wavering from your body, the sexy choreography making his jeans tight.

Cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West, tears ran down your cheeks, your stomach cramping from the maniacal laughter. Lifting yourself up from the tub, you stumbled to the door, your loud laugh ringing out towards the whole house. You let Chris in the bathroom, his phone quickly taken from your hand but it was too late. The blush on his cheeks wasn't going away anytime soon. You leaned against him, your head resting on his chest, while you panted out a question. "Why did you look like you were trying to attract flies in your mouth?"

Chris groaned again, covering his eyes with a hand while the other rested on your back. "You're not going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Oh, God, no." you giggled, wiping the tears away, beginning to calm down. Glancing up at him, you noticed everything above the shoulders was gleaming red, the embarrassment too unbearable for him. "Chris, you looked exactly like the first time we were forced to share a bed together."

"Yeah, you have that affect on me."

"You gonna tell me why you looked so ... shocked? Or do I have to search through Twitter and go with whatever fan theory makes the most sense?" you asked, unable to keep the smug grin off your face. Chris closed his eyes, wishing he hadn't made you come to the awards show in the first place. You raised an eyebrow, fingers itching towards his phone. "You know I'll do it, Evans."

The man raised his hands, taking them off of you as he paced around the bathroom, deciding if this embarrassing moment was the right time to finally confess. "It's just, you know, the dance was so ... sexual and hot that I probably wasn't the only one looking at you like that. You can't exactly blame me for being shocked, watching the girl I'm in love with—"

Chris stopped as you be watched the colors drain out of your face, immediately freezing when he realized what he had said. Both of you stared at each other, eyes wide, not moving a muscle, barely blinking; the atmosphere so tense neither of you were breathing, waiting for the other to talk. But neither of you wanted to go first, terrified.

It wasn't until you started to feel dizzy that you realized you hadn't been breathing, letting out a huge breath, trying to relax while Chris did the same, his hands shaking, a nervous tick he got whenever he was anxious. You got the courage to speak first.

"What?"

It was better than nothing.

Chris was so nervous he nearly ran out of the room. There wasn't some kind of handbook or script he could read, helping him tell one of his best friends how head over heels he was for her. So, he said what his brain was stewing. "What?"

"What—what?" you replied, unsure if he even said the L word, so lightheaded by the sudden confession.

The actor stilled, eyes widening even further, while his eyebrows shot up his forehead. "What?"

"What?"

"Say what one more time, Evans, and I will make nothing but mac and cheese for the rest of your stay." you threatened softly, getting tired of not having an answer to your one-worded question.

Chris took a deep breath, hands trembling as he clasped them together, hoping to find the right words, hoping his inner thoughts would come out clear, giving you the answer you asked for. "I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?"

"What you were saying before. You know, before you looked like you saw a ghost and almost stopped breathing. I think that would be a good start." you replied, backing up to take a seat on the plush chair. Chris mirrored your actions, putting down the lid to the toilet before sitting down.

"This isn't the way I wanted you to find out." Chris whispered, his blue eyes trained on the emotions that flashed on your face. Your uncertainty of the situation didn't help his anxiety.

"Okay, um, were you going to tell me in the first place?" you asked, playing with the hem of your shirt—it had been a borrowed Patriots shirt from him. Looking back, you realized all the little things he'd done hadn't been because his platonic love for you. "Or were you just going to keep letting it be this way?"

Fidgeting with his hands, Chris peered through his eyelashes, seeing the hurt flash across your face before you quickly composed it. "Scott was hyping me up, trying to convince me to tell you before you got into another relationship. Do you know the real reason I broke up with Jenny? It hurt like hell when you announced you were engaged. Fuck, I couldn't even pretend to be happy because you were going to have the life I wanted with you, with someone who wasn't me. It was selfish and I got really mad at myself for being a dick."

"But—"

"And then the horrible, horrible relief I felt when you called off the engagement." Chris continued, his heart clenching. "Truth to be told, that was the day I found out I was in love with you, breaking things off with Jenny. Of course, I wanted to wait until you moved on, hoping to be the friend you went to but with my schedule, that was impossible. So, you seemed out comfort in Henry fucking Cavill."

"You're in love with me?" you whispered, hoping this wasn't some kind of cruel dream. If it was, you wouldn't mind staying.

The actor nodded, waiting for you to call him names and rush out. "Yes. You can leave or slap me or whatever you want to do but I love you."

You got up, running a hand through your hair. "Okay."

Chris' heart sank, wishing for any other kind of reaction, wishing you'd do something. Taking a deep breath, he got up. "Is this a goodbye?"

Frowning, you walked up to him, taking his face between with your hands, pressing your lips softly to his. You could feel his heart beat, the little organ beating so hard. You pulled away before he could recover from his shock, before he could kiss you back.

"Hello."

#chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #reader insert #marvel #chris evans x singer!reader #nicki minaj #ariana grande #fluff #side to side #song fic

581 notes · View notes

rebeccccccaaa · 4 years

Text

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ɴᴇʀᴅ ⓟⓐⓡⓣ ①

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ғʀᴀᴛʙᴏʏ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇs x sʜʏ-ɪsʜ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀᴜ

(ɪɴᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇᴅ ɪ ɢᴜᴇss)

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: (two part series!) You’re starting to struggle in class and decide to ask your professor for some tutoring or extra classes to boost your grade. He ends up assigning the last person you’d expect to tutor you. (is it really a surprise though?)

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: none in this chapter ;)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟸.𝟸ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅs (sᴏʀʀʏ ɪᴛ’s ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ)

______________________

You stare at your work for what seems like hours before deciding to glance at the clock only to find it’s been 20 mins. This subject was never your strong suit but in order to earn your desired degree, you had to take this class. You’d been putting it off for some time but it’s just better to get it over with then struggle right before graduation. So here you are sitting and staring at the work that just doesn’t seem to make sense.

By the time your professor released the class for the day, you’d barely even lifted your pen from the table.

“Y/n, could I speak to you for a minute?” your professor said, “James, if you could stay as well.”

“What’s up, professor?” Bucky flashed a cheeky smile. The bastard has always been charming since you saw him and especially taking a couple classes with him too. A huge player too of course. I mean what’s a frat boy without getting laid after every party they throw.

“Lemme speak to you first,” he gestured to you, “how is the assignment going?”

You were a bit embarrassed to admit that you were struggling a lot especially in front of Bucky. He’s actually a pretty nice person but not really being a super social one yourself, he tends to intimidate you along with the rest of his friends more than you’d like to admit.

“Well if I’m being honest, I can’t seem to grasp onto the material. I’m really trying but I just can’t,” you practically whispered.

You didn’t want to but you took a quick glance at Bucky to see what he was probably thinking but thankfully he was on his phone; probably giving you as much privacy as he could.

“Well is there anything you like me to do to help in understanding the material? Maybe a tutor?”

“Yes, that would probably be beneficial,” you chuckled.

“Perfect, because James here is one the best students I’ve had,” ok kinda backhanded.

Bucky’s head shot up when he heard his name and quickly put his phone away averted his attention to the professor.

“Right James?”

“Hmm?”

“James here has a 97% in the class. He’s got the highest grade of all my classes,” the professor seemed like a proud father to him. Bucky merely just shook his head, getting really shy almost. Bucky, shy? Weird.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he murmured.

“Nope, 100% true. Your teachers and I talk a lot about you. You’re very gifted, James,” James looked at you completely embarrassed. You stood with wide eyes because you didn’t think frat boys actually took their studies seriously. They’re usually up late with all the parties they throw every weekend and some of them are so indulged into their sports that they probably didn’t have time to get A’s in their classes.

“So what do you say, Y/n? Willing to let him tutor you?”

“I mean if he has time and wants to, I’d be very appreciative of it.”

“Yeah I guess I can,” he smiled.

“Thank you, and thank you too, Professor.”

“Looking forward to that assignment, Y/n. Now scram, kids.”

“Hey thanks for-”

“You can’t tell anyone that I'm tutoring you,” he cut you off, not in a mean way, just panicked.

“Oh ok.”

“I mean it. Look it was already hard getting into the frat house and now being head of house, it’ll be embarrassing if they found out I’m a nerd.”

“What’s so bad about being a nerd?”

“I don’t know. It’s like an unspoken rule I guess.”

“What a nerd,” you joked.

“Whatever,” he chuckled, “So your place or mine?”

“Huh?” you questioned.

“For tutoring? Do you want me to come over?”

“Oh I thought we would do that in the library or something,” you responded.

“I mean we can, I just didn’t know what time and the library closes pretty early.”

“You can come over. I’ll ask my roommate if it’s ok.”

“Ok, let me get your number so we can coordinate.”

“Ok, thanks again, Tom.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he smiled back.

+++

“Girl what are you getting yourself into?” your roommate, Natasha questioned.

“What do you mean?”

“Buck is gonna tutor you? I’m pretty sure he knows jack shit about what is going on in that class.” Right, no one knows he’s practically a genius.

“I don’t know. My professor said he could help me so I’m gonna give it a shot. He can’t stupider than me, especially with this subject.”

“Ok,” she mocked.

“But if he tries anything let me know,” she warned.

“Why would he try anything?” you asked, confused about the sudden subject change.

“Y/n, Bucky is a huge player. He’s hooked up with like more than half the girls in the sorority houses. Hell, even I hooked up with him.”

“Oh my god, what!”

“It was last year when I was in a house. I hated it so I moved out this year. Still friends with Wanda though. You’d like her.”

“Ok well I don’t think he will, I mean look at me.”

“What?”

You hesitated because you weren’t the most confident person. There was nothing wrong with you but there also wasn’t anything special. You were barely a social person let alone some who could easily pursue a relationship or even a hook up.

“I think you’re hot, but something tells me you think otherwise,” Nat said.

“I don’t wanna get into it but just know you won’t have to worry about anything happening.”

You texted Bucky that he could come over whenever he was available and about 30 mins later he was knocking on your door ready to help you with the assignment.

+++

Obviously nothing happened that night, or the night after, or the night after. Or the next four weeks after. Bucky was actually helping you understand the material a lot better. You were still a bit confused but not as much as before. During your sessions you were beginning to learn a lot more things about Bucky like how his childhood best friend Steve Rogers was also a member in the house; and also knows about his prodigy brain.

“How’s the tutoring going?” Steve asked walking into the kitchen where you and Bucky were doing work.

“Good I guess,” you responded.

“Well I’ll uh, leave you two be.”

He didn’t in fact leave but instead start gesturing quite aggressively to ask you more questions to get to know you better. See what you didn’t know was that Bucky had taken even more of a liking to you since starting your study sessions together. He never pursued anything because he didn’t want to scare you and definitely didn’t want you to think that he was taking advantage of the situation you guys were in; you know being your tutor and all.

Sure Bucky was kind of a player but the rumors of sleeping with another girl at every party every weekend wasn’t totally true. He hooked up with a couple girls but he wasn’t a sex addict. And he definitely didn’t leave them high and dry. He would usually meet up with the girls but they didn’t seem to want anything more than a one night stand.

He sort of gave up on finding a relationship and soon after altogether stopped having sex, especially at their parties the boys host every weekend. He definitely wasn’t waiting until marriage but he didn’t want to feel used anymore because that was seemingly the case after each ‘hook-up’ that happened.

When Bucky first saw you in class, he truly thought you the most beautiful girl ever. He quickly caught on to the fact that you were not a social person; you weren’t exactly shy but definitely didn’t initiate conversation. You always kept to yourself in the back of each classroom and quietly did your work. Bucky goddamn fell head over heels for you.

But you two never talked.

Every chance he got to initiate some sort of conversation was quickly taken away whether it’d be the end of class time where you’d briskly leave the classroom to attend your next lecture, or the boys in his house would meet up with him completely interfering with his window to talk to you. And it’s not like you ever went to any of the frat parties.

So he continued to chase you all the while having absolutely no idea one of the most well known and well liked frat boys at the university having this massive giant enormous fat crush on you. And to top it off, now that he’s certainly got all the time in the world to finally get to know you, he freezes up and can only seem to answer your questions… about school.

You didn’t take Bucky to be such an awkward guy. You definitely didn’t think with all the girls that are constantly after him and how charismatic he seemed he would actually be super quiet awkward after the initial ‘Hey, what’s up!’.

You grew a liking to him though because he wasn’t annoying. The majority of guys in the house were pretty loud and obnoxious whenever you got the chance to hear them usually while you were studying in Bucky’s room because again, no one really knew how much of a nerd he really was. But you never actually met the rest of the boys. You’d always managed to sneak out to avoid confrontation about why you're even there.

Speaking of loud and obnoxious frat boys.

“Hey hey hey!” they walked in.

Immediately you and Bucky grabbed all the papers and threw them in your backpack while Steve went out to hopefully stall the boys from coming into the kitchen like they always did after football practice.

As soon as the last paper went inside your bag, the boys walked past Steve into the kitchen to find you and Bucky standing there awkwardly.

“Who’s this?” Tony asked.

“This is a girl in my class, Y/n.”

“Whatcha doing here?”

“She’s tutoring me,” Bucky quickly lied. Ironically.

“Oh man, dude,” one of the boys laughed.

“Well we’ll be out of your hair. Good luck, Bucky and don’t annoy her.”

“We’ll be in my room studying you guys are fine,” Bucky grabbed your arm and took upstairs to his room.

“So they’re fine with you being tutored but not tutoring?” you asked in a mocking tone.

“It’s a weird rule but also a lot of the guys downstairs get tutored too. Like Vis, and Thor, oh Thor. Loki does too and Steve. But if I’m being honest, I do in fact think Bruce and Tony are science nerds. But Tony sleeps around enough to distract from it, not Bruce so much but he’s pretty quiet.”

“Ugh, boys.”

“Anyways, shall we continue?” he chuckled.

“I guess, yeah.”

After about an hour in his room, you ended up leaning out of studying and more into talking and getting to know each other; properly this time.

“And yeah, that’s how my sister’s pants exploded.”

“That’s hilarious.”

There was a moment of silence between you two before it got too awkward and you spoke out.

“I should probably get going.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“I can call a cab. It’s fi-”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted, “I’ll drive you. It’s not a big deal.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Yeah. It’s totally fine.”

You told Bucky your address to your apartment and remained in silence during the majority of the car ride.

“You know I never striked you as a quiet person,” you broke the silence.

“What? I’m not a quiet person.”

“Yes you are. Everytime we have a study session it’s usually silent until I have to ask you a question about something.”

“Well, it’s not my intention to be so awkward around you.”

“Why are you?” you asked him.

“I don’t know,” then it got quiet again.

You arrived at your apartment and unclicked your seatbelt. You turned to Bucky to say goodbye and realized how close you two were. Admittedly you didn’t mind too much; what you didn’t expect was for Bucky to in fact kiss you. He grabbed your arm gently and pulled closer to him as his eyes closed, lips moving against yours slowly. You weren’t exactly mad but you weren’t also happy with this outcome.

Despite Bucky not hooking up with anyone for a long time now and being completely enamored by you, you still believe he was a ladies man because he hadn’t told you otherwise. You didn’t want to be another name added to the list of a frat boy’s one night stands. So you pulled away with slightly furrowed brows and Bucky realized he fucked up.

“Thanks again, Bucky,” you quickly got out of the car, not acknowledging him shouting your name before the car door closed. You ran up the steps to enter your apartment as fast as you can, still feeling the taste of him on your lips and tongue. God why did he have to do that?

Bucky sat in his car for a bit but decided to leave to not bother you and possibly fuck things up more than they already are. He’ll wait for you to come to him so he doesn’t seem invasive. Yeah that’s the plan.

But things don’t normally go to plan right?

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky #bucky fluff #frat!boy bucky barnes #collage!bucky #collage au

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lostinthewiind · 3 years

Text

3AM in the City

Tetsurō Kuroo - Haikyuu

Synopsis: after high school, you don’t see Kuroo as much as you used to, and not nearly as much as you would like. The only exception is when he calls you up at 3AM to go for a drive—an offer you never turn down; and tonight’s events are exactly why you don’t.

Rating: PG

Warnings: some kissing, nothing you haven’t seen in the movies before kids. A little angsty if you squint?

As far as you knew, it was just another Friday night you would be spending at home alone, which you didn’t mind in the slightest. As much as you enjoyed going out just as much as the next person, you still knew how to appreciate a quiet night in by yourself.

Scrolling through your phone, the bright, white light illuminating your face in the otherwise pitch black room, you glanced up at the corner of the small device in your hands and took noticed of the time. 3AM.

Letting out a yawn, almost as if in response to realizing just how late it was, you shifted in bed a little, trying to decide if you should try to get some sleep or keep mindlessly prowling social media for a little while longer.

Before you could make up your mind, however, a notification for an incoming phone call took over your entire screen, startling you a little more than you would like to admit. A small smile toyed at the corners of your mouth as you read the caller ID and answered the call.

“Hello?” You pressed the phone to your ear and sighed, body ready to climb out of bed. You already knew why he was calling . . . it was the only reason he called anymore.

“Hey.” His voice was smooth and casual over the phone, indicating that he hadn’t just woken up, meaning he hadn’t slept at all yet; which wasn’t exactly uncharacteristic of Kuroo. “Did I wake you?”

You shook your head instinctively, even though he couldn’t see it. “No,” you answered. “Just lying in bed.”

There was a short pause before he spoke again. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You had already known before you answered the phone that you would be saying yes to his proposition, but instead of responding right away, you hummed softly, pretending to think about it—pretending you weren’t as eager to see him as you actually were.

“Sure.” You swung your legs over the side of your bed and started searching for some clothes in the dark, unwilling to turn on the bright overhead light and ruin the late-night trance that you enjoyed so much.

“Meet you in ten,” he said before hanging up.

“Yeah,” you sighed, even though he was no longer on the other line. Thankfully, you knew this was just the way that Kuroo was—he was just bad at talking over the phone—but you still wished he sounded even a little excited to see you after so long.

Pulling on the same outfit you had been wearing that day, purely because they were sitting at the end of your bed and had been easy to find, you tucked your phone into your pocket and fixed yourself up a little before heading out the door.

Like always, you waited at the street corner for Kuroo to drive up and pick you up. When he arrived almost exactly ten minutes after he had ended the phone call, you jumped into the passenger’s seat of the incredibly expensive and lavish car he drove. That vehicle was his pride and joy and sometimes you were honestly surprised he even let you inside of it considering how little he seemed to care about you lately.

Before you could even get your seat belt on, he was speeding away from the curb and heading out of your neighbourhood. Glancing over at the man you used to consider your best friend, you noticed the creases between his brows and the way his lips stretched into a thin, tight line. Something was bothering him, but then again, he didn’t ask you to accompany him on mindless cruises at 3AM when all was well in his life.

Knowing that it would be a couple of minutes before he warmed up to your presence and wanted to talk, you turned up the radio and watched the scenery pass by out the window. In the distance, you could see the glowing lights of downtown Tokyo, the bustling hub of the city that you usually avoided due to how busy and crowded it was.

The city in the middle of the night was a completely different story, however. Maybe it was the way the many colourful advertisements and store signs illuminated the dark night sky, or maybe it was the way the streets emptied out enough for the overwhelming aura to dissipate just enough, but driving through the streets at night brought you a sense of euphoric calm that simply couldn’t be obtained during daylight.

Looking back at Kuroo, you took note of how his face had relaxed, even if just a little. You watched his hands tense around the steering wheel, griping tight before relaxing and tapping his fingers against the leather. Feeling your eyes on him, he finally looked over at you and acknowledged your presence.

“How have you been?” he asked seemingly out of nowhere, as if he just realized he would have to make conversation with you eventually.

Your heart fluttered slightly, joy spreading through you at the thought that he genuinely cared about how you were doing. “Fine, thank you,” you told him. “And you?”

“Okay,” he lied. You knew it was a lie, because even though he had changed drastically since high school, he was still just as bad at bending the truth, especially when it came to you.

“That’s good.” You rested your head against the window and observed the passing buildings and how they grew taller and taller the further into the city Kuroo drove.

As silence consumed the inside of the car once more, you became keenly aware of the music playing in the background; so, when a certain song that brought back a lot of memories started playing, you noticed it before Kuroo.

Your eyes widened a little as you looked from the radio to Kuroo, waiting to see if he remembered it as well—hoping he remembered it.

Feeling your eyes on him once more, he cocked a dark brow in your direction. “What?”

“This song.” You gestured lazily to the speaker. “Do you remember it?”

Kuroo chewed on his bottom lip as he listened, and for a moment, you thought he had actually forgotten. Then, a wondrous smile spread across his dimly lit face and he nodded. “Yeah, course I remember.” His spirits seemed to have increased ten-fold. “You always insisted we play it, and every time we did, you would sing every single word. Without fail. Every. Single. Time.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. “What can I say? It’s a good song.” You turned up the volume a couple more notches.

This time, when the conversation ceased, the vehicle wasn’t filled to the brim with thick tension. Instead, you found yourself thinking back to your days in high school—those incredible three years that you would give anything in the world to return to. Back then, you and Kuroo had been nearly inseparable. Back then, you hadn’t had to fight for his attention.

Back then, you genuinely felt like he wanted to be around you.

Looking to your former-friend and now casual acquaintance, you watched him carefully as he drove, his eyes glued to the road in front of himself. You wondered what had happened. What had gone so wrong that he felt the need to distance himself from you? Had you done something to push him away . . . or was that just the way high school friendships played out?

The question as to what series of events had taken place to get you to where you were now was one that you were unable to answer. The only thing you knew for sure was that you missed Kuroo . . . more than you probably should, but you missed him nevertheless.

Feeling a sudden burst of confidence, either from the inspiring city lights or the nostalgic song, or maybe both, you shifted in your seat to face the man beside you and cleared your throat.

“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you?” you asked matter-of-factly.

Kuroo glanced over at you for a split-second, blinking a few times in response. He was clearly taken aback by your sudden and direct inquiry, and you completely expected him to ignore you altogether or change the subject. What you didn’t expect was for him to turn into the nearest parking lot, park the car, and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

Worry and curiosity coursing through your veins, you sat silent and still, waiting for him to speak or move or do anything.

“I feel lost,” he finally said, his line of sight falling to his lap. There was a pause, and you were unsure if he was going to elaborate more or leave it at that. When you opened your mouth to respond, however, he continued. “Work takes up all of my time . . . so much so that I’m starting to realize I’ve cut ties with everyone I used to know without even noticing it; not until it was too late. And the worst part is, work isn’t even going well. This corporate ladder bullshit is way harder than I ever imagined. I feel stupid for throwing away everything I had for something I might not ever be able to obtain . . . for something I don’t even enjoy. It feels like it’s all for nothing.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. Kuroo had never been that open about his feelings with you before; not unless you had pried for days-on-end or he was plastered drunk.

You were unsure how to respond at first, so you did what you usually did when people came to you with a problem; you tried to put yourself in their shoes and then give the advice you thought you would want to hear.

“Well, I’m sure it’s not all for nothing,” you told him. “You didn’t get into business because you hated it. Sure, maybe the spark is a little dimmer right now or you’re going through a really rough patch . . . but don’t doubt yourself over one little bump in the road.”

Slowly, Kuroo turned his head toward you, his dark eyes landing on you for more than a few seconds for the first time that night. “But how do I know if it’s worth throwing everything else away over?”

“It’s not,” you said simply. “No job is worth throwing everything else in your life away over. But the best part is, you don’t have to choose between a career and a social life, and anyone who says you do is just plain lazy or insanely bad at time management.”

Kuroo cracked a smile at that and a puff of air that could be interpreted as a soft laugh passed his lips.

“So my advice is just try to do better from here on out.” You smiled back. “Everyone has a hard time every once in a while. If the people in your life truly care about you, they will understand.”

“Do you understand?” he asked.

This time, you didn’t hesitate at all. There was no need to play coy or pretend like you cared less than you really did. “I do.” You nodded. “I’ve missed you.”

Kuroo’s eyes softened and his small smile faltered for half a beat. “I’ve missed you too.”

Before you knew what was happening, Kuroo’s large hand was caressing your cheek and his lips were pressed against yours. Even though it was the middle of the night, you swore your entire world lit up at that moment. You had known you had wanted your best friend back, but this was so much better. This was more than you could have ever hoped for.

“I’ve been horrible to you.” Kuroo whispered against your lips, his fingertips trailing down the side of your neck and sending shivers up your spine. “I know this is a lot to ask . . . but can you ever forgive me?”

“Just promise to call me more than once a month . . . and maybe during the day sometimes,” you chuckled.

He laughed, his hot breath warming your face. “I can do that.”

“Then yes, I forgive you.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #lostinthewiind #kuroo #kuroo testuro #kuroo x reader #fanfiction #reader #reader insert #x reader #one shot #post-high school #spicy #fluff #3AM in the City

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fructidor · 3 years

Text

Random amrev figures and their MBTI types!

Overview of the MBTI theory & Cognitive Stack

MBTI Theory

I vs. E = Introvert vs. Extravert. Introverts tend to be more shy and work independently, while Extraverts are more social and like working & interacting with others.

N vs. S = Intuitive vs. Sensor. Intuitives are people who always think ahead and are tired idealists. Sensors spend more time focusing on the now than the future, and take their information through their senses.

T vs. F = Thinker vs. Feeler. Thinkers tend to use their head rather than their heart to make important decisions in their lives, while Feelers use their emotions more to make decisions than their heads.

J vs. P = Judger vs. Perceiver. Judgers tend to follow a set structure when it comes to subjects, while Perceivers tend to go more with the flow, going where life takes them.

Cognitive Functions

Cognitive functions are the way you process the world around you and make decisions. Cognitive functions ultimately determine your type. They are scales of Intuition vs Sensing and Thinking vs Feeling. Then there is this thing called a cognitive stack. The way you order this is very important because it shows which cognitive function is the most dominant and least dominant.

Primary → Most natural (and comfortable) function; the internal “mother tongue”

Auxiliary → Supporting function, usually connected with creation and job choice

Tertiary → Function where individual often takes action steps to improve upon

Inferior → Activates under extreme stress, generally avoided out of self-protection

Extraverted Sensing (Se)

Taking action, using all five senses, going forward. Se takes in the present moment in its entirety, and makes rapid decisions on the fly. During times of crisis and emergencies, individuals with primary or auxiliary Se can make the best out of the situation.

Introverted Sensing (Si)

Associations, metaphors, nostalgia. Si can travel back to any point in time through a single scent or sound. Important information (and sometimes interesting trivia) is stored in filing cabinets, where it can be retrieved at any later time.

Extraverted Intuition (Ne)

Brainstorming, thinking outside the box, idea generation. Ne easily hops from idea to idea, while making abstract connections. Many artists—especially poets—use significant Ne in their work. To the outside, Ne seems quick, random, and extremely “jumpy.”

Introverted Intuition (Ni)

Time-space awareness, predicting the future, hunches. Ni is a far-reaching, visionary function—and can picture the future, sometimes with scary-accurate results.

Extraverted Feeling (Fe)

Expressive emotions, social norms, etiquette. Fe respects the consensus of the group, and puts harmony above personal desires. The function often acts as a mediator between groups, as it naturally puts others�� needs above its own.

Introverted Feeling (Fi)

Values, notions of “right” and “wrong,” likes and dislikes. Fi is a deeply personal and intense function that digs to the core of the human condition. Convictions, morals, and strong beliefs all fall under the Fi umbrella.

Extraverted Thinking (Te)

Facts, pros and cons, methodological step-by-step strategies. Te respects rules and regulations—and takes great pride in a job well done. Checklists and clear-cut meeting agendas get Te’s gears going—a top-down approach floats its boat.

Introverted Thinking (Ti)

Iterations, holistic reasoning, agile strategies. Ti takes a bottom-up approach to problem-solving, and fixates on information management. When new data comes in that contradicts old beliefs, Ti will shift like a fluid crystalline framework.

We'll start off very simply, with George Washington.

Washington = ISTJ.

Cognitive Stack: SiTeFiNe

I = Introverted

S = Sensor

T = Thinker

J = Judger

Type Description: ISTJs are responsible organizers, driven to create and enforce order within systems and institutions. They are neat and orderly, inside and out, and tend to have a procedure for everything they do. Reliable and dutiful, ISTJs want to uphold tradition and follow regulations.

ISTJs are steady, productive contributors. Although they are Introverted, ISTJs are rarely isolated; typical ISTJs know just where they belong in life, and want to understand how they can participate in established organizations and systems. They concern themselves with maintaining the social order and making sure that standards are met.

Additional Notes: Washington is the stereotypical ISTJ. He fits all the criteria and it honestly just matches up the best.

John Adams = INTJ

Cognitive Stack: NiTeFiSe

I = Introverted

N = Intuitive

T = Thinker

J = Judger

Type Description: INTJs are analytical problem-solvers, eager to improve systems and processes with their innovative ideas. They have a talent for seeing possibilities for improvement, whether at work, at home, or in themselves.

Often intellectual, INTJs enjoy logical reasoning and complex problem-solving. They approach life by analyzing the theory behind what they see, and are typically focused inward, on their own thoughtful study of the world around them. INTJs are drawn to logical systems and are much less comfortable with the unpredictable nature of other people and their emotions. They are typically independent and selective about their relationships, preferring to associate with people who they find intellectually stimulating.

Additional Notes: I mean, John Adams could go several ways with me, but INTJ seems to work out the most fine. I don't have an objection to it.

Thomas Jefferson: INFJ

Cognitive Stack: NiFeTiSe

I = Introverted

N = Intuitive

F = Feeler

J = Judger

Type Description: INFJs are creative nurturers with a strong sense of personal integrity and a drive to help others realize their potential. Creative and dedicated, they have a talent for helping others with original solutions to their personal challenges.

The Counselor has a unique ability to intuit others' emotions and motivations, and will often know how someone else is feeling before that person knows it themself. They trust their insights about others and have strong faith in their ability to read people. Although they are sensitive, they are also reserved; the INFJ is a private sort, and is selective about sharing intimate thoughts and feelings.

Additional Notes: This doesn't seem overly like Jefferson at first, but overall the cognitive function stack matches up the most. You could make the case that he is an INTJ, but honestly I feel that Te would not be his auxiliary function. Fe would be a much better type.

James Madison: INTP

Cognitive Stack: TiNeSiFe

I = Introverted

N = Intuitive

T = Thinker

P = Perceiver

Type Description: INTPs are philosophical innovators, fascinated by logical analysis, systems, and design. They are preoccupied with theory, and search for the universal law behind everything they see. They want to understand the unifying themes of life, in all their complexity.

INTPs are detached, analytical observers who can seem oblivious to the world around them because they are so deeply absorbed in thought. They spend much of their time in their own heads: exploring concepts, making connections, and seeking understanding of how things work. To the Architect, life is an ongoing inquiry into the mysteries of the universe.

Additional Notes: Another ✨ Stereotype ✨. I just feel that whenever I think of INTPs, I think of Madison. He just fits, again, all the criteria and makes the most sense.

Alexander Hamilton: ENTJ

Cognitive Stack: TeNiSeFi

E = Extravert

N = Intuitive

T = Thinker

J = Judger

Type Description: ENTJs are strategic leaders, motivated to organize change. They are quick to see inefficiency and conceptualize new solutions, and enjoy developing long-range plans to accomplish their vision. They excel at logical reasoning and are usually articulate and quick-witted.

ENTJs are analytical and objective, and like bringing order to the world around them. When there are flaws in a system, the ENTJ sees them, and enjoys the process of discovering and implementing a better way. ENTJs are assertive and enjoy taking charge; they see their role as that of leader and manager, organizing people and processes to achieve their goals.

Additional Notes: I'm actually a ENTJ, so I had a lot of this stuff in my head. I mean, I could kind of see Hamilton being an ENTJ, but I'm still pretty mad that he is, considering I hate him. But, it kind of makes sense, and it’s to the point that I can’t ignore it and just have to accept the fact.

Benjamin Franklin: ENTP

Cognitive Stack: NeTiFeSi

E = Extravert

N = Intuitive

T = Thinker

P = Perceiver

Type Description: ENTPs are energized by challenge and are often inspired by a problem that others perceive as impossible to solve. They are confident in their ability to think creatively, and may assume that others are too tied to tradition to see a new way. ENTPs rely on their ingenuity to deal with the world around them, and rarely find preparation necessary. They will often jump into a new situation and trust themselves to adapt as they go.

ENTPs are masters of re-inventing the wheel and often refuse to do a task the same way twice. They question norms and often ignore them altogether. Established procedures are uninspiring to the Visionary, who would much rather try a new method (or two) than go along with the standard.

Additional Notes: I just feel that in general, Franklin is the stereotype of the ENTP type too. They are honestly all inventors, and out of the box thinkers? Who do I think of when I hear this personality trope? Franklin.

James Monroe: ESTJ

Cognitive Functions: TeSiNeFi

E = Extravert

S = Sensor

T = Thinker

J = Judger

Type Description: ESTJs are hardworking traditionalists, eager to take charge in organizing projects and people. Orderly, rule-abiding, and conscientious, ESTJs like to get things done, and tend to go about projects in a systematic, methodical way.

ESTJs are the consummate organizers, and want to bring structure to their surroundings. They value predictability and prefer things to proceed in a logical order. When they see a lack of organization, the ESTJ often takes the initiative to establish processes and guidelines, so that everyone knows what's expected.

Additional Notes: Monroe is definitely not the founder that I focus the most on, but the criteria for the ESTJ type fits him really well from what I’ve read and heard. Don’t really have an objection to this, and I support it enough to place it in this document.

John Jay: INTP

Cognitive Stack: TiNeSiFe

I = Introverted

N = Intuitive

T = Thinker

P = Perceiver

Additional Notes: Wow, another INTP? Yes. Again, Jay isn’t the founder that I spend the most time with, but the INTP type fits him the most. Funny how a diplomat has Fe as an inferior function...it doesn’t matter much here though, as what matters is the fact that all the other functions match up the most. And, I guess Hamilton was thinking of INTPs when he wanted to write the Federalist Papers, huh?

Aaron Burr: INFJ?

Cognitive Stack: NiFeTiSe

I = Introverted

N = Intuitive

F = Feeler

J = Judger

The Counselor has a unique ability to intuit others' emotions and motivations, and will often know how someone else is feeling before that person knows it himself. They trust their insights about others and have strong faith in their ability to read people. Although they are sensitive, they are also reserved; the INFJ is a private sort, and is selective about sharing intimate thoughts and feelings.

Additional Notes: I can’t ever decide with this man. Before I found out cognitive functions existed, I had my heart set on him being an INTJ. Now I know that cognitive functions do exist, however, I find that he fits more of an INFJ function set. I still can see him as an INTJ, no doubt about that, but I’ll settle for the other Ni dom for now.

John Laurens: ENFP

Cognitive Stack: NeFiTeSi

E = Extravert

N = Intuitive

F = Feeler

P = Perceiver

Type Description: ENFPs are people-centered creators with a focus on possibilities and a contagious enthusiasm for new ideas, people and activities. Energetic, warm, and passionate, ENFPs love to help other people explore their creative potential.

ENFPs are typically agile and expressive communicators, using their wit, humor, and mastery of language to create engaging stories. Imaginative and original, ENFPs often have a strong artistic side. They are drawn to art because of its ability to express inventive ideas and create a deeper understanding of human experience.

Additional Notes: In general, I feel that Laurens just matches up the ENFP stereotype really well and all the cognitive functions. I mean, NeFi is pretty accurate for him, and I think at this point it’s self explanatory. Not to mention the fact that ENTJ & ENFP are, arguably, the most compatible personality types of the whole entire MBTI system.

Marquis de Lafayette: ENFJ

Cognitive Stack: FeNiSeTi

E = Extravert

N = Intuitive

F = Feeler

J = Judger

Type Description: ENFJs are idealist organizers, driven to implement their vision of what is best for humanity. They often act as catalysts for human growth because of their ability to see potential in other people and their charisma in persuading others to their ideas. They are focused on values and vision, and are passionate about the possibilities for people.

ENFJs are typically energetic and driven, and often have a lot on their plates. They are tuned into the needs of others and acutely aware of human suffering; however, they also tend to be optimistic and forward-thinking, intuitively seeing opportunity for improvement. The ENFJ is ambitious, but their ambition is not self-serving: rather, they feel personally responsible for making the world a better place.

Additional Notes: I feel that Lafayette could also match up with the ENFP personality type easily, but I decided not to fully go for it. Why, I don’t know. I feel the ENFP stereotype I have fully reserved for Laurens, and that Lafayette has taken my ENFJ stereotype as a substitute. I also used to think of Lafayette being an ENFJ highly before I learned about cognitive functions; once I did learn about them I started debating his type. In the end, I’ve just decided on him being an ENFX (x being a variable for either j or p), albeit with a ENFJ lean.

Elizabeth Schuyler-Hamilton: INFP

Cognitive Functions: FiNeSiTe

I = Introvert

N = Intuitive

F = Feeler

P = Perceiver

Type Description: INFPs are imaginative idealists, guided by their own core values and beliefs. To an INFP, possibilities are paramount; the realism of the moment is only of passing concern. They see potential for a better future, and pursue truth and meaning with their own individual flair.

INFPs are sensitive, caring, and compassionate, and are deeply concerned with the personal growth of themselves and others. Individualistic and nonjudgmental, INFPs believe that each person must find their own path. They enjoy spending time exploring their own ideas and values, and are gently encouraging to others to do the same. INFPs are creative and often artistic; they enjoy finding new outlets for self-expression.

Additional Notes: INFPs are often seen as the “cinnamon roll” of the MBTI types (their dominant Fi and auxiliary Ne playing a big part in this) and who is more of a cinnamon roll than Eliza. I know this is honestly more of a Hamilton thing than an Amrev one, but I felt like I wanted to include her, as she was really the person I spent the most time focusing on, MBTI wise, before I encountered Amrev and everything that was left of my Hamilton infatuation dissipated.

#i wrote this a month ago but i’m posting it now #i think it’s also on ao3?#amrev #alexander hamilton #john laurens #george washington #john adams #thomas jefferson #james madison #john jay #james monroe #marquis de lafayette #elizabeth schuyler #benjamin franklin

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baubabble · 4 years

Text

“Diamonds and Dances” Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Summary: You and Spencer used to date at the Academy. When you graduated, you broke it off. Later, when you are assigned to the BAU, old feelings resurface. When Hotch assigns the two of you to go undercover together at an event, how will those feelings evolve?

Word Count: 5258

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Cherry” by Harry Styles

Note: My first attempt at writing Spencer! Thank you for all the love on my Hotch series!

-------

“If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. If they don't, they never were.”― Kahlil Gibran

The case had finally hit a dead end.

You and the rest of the team were sitting in the Los Angeles FBI Field Office, staring at the ceiling. Four couples had been brutally murdered at local events over the past sixth months and so far, the local agents had nothing. When Garcia was given the request for assistance, Hotch had taken the case immediately.

You had been at the BAU for more than a year now and you had never been this frustrated. You could tell that the more seasoned agents such as Morgan and Rossi were just as annoyed that no leads were surfacing as well.

Spinning lazily in your chair, your eyes fell on Reid as they usually did. Spencer Reid was the one that got away in more ways than one. You and the doctor had met at the Academy and instantly hit it off. The two of you had dated for almost a year before you had broken it off. Spencer was going to the BAU and you were going to sex crimes. It was just the way it had to be. You were happy to make a clean break rather than trying to tackle a complicated relationship.

That is until Strauss had requested you to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. You had been hesitant at first for many reasons. Then, Aaron Hotchner had called you personally and encouraged you to take the position. He was aware of your history with Reid and said he would do his best to make sure the environment was as professional as possible.

Which is how you found yourself at a crossroads with your current case. “I’m about to shove pencils in my eyes,” Garcia said from beside you. Penelope had been asked to join the team on this case due to the unsub’s signature at hacking into security systems and traffic cams.

“You too?” you asked, turning to her.

“My brain has never felt tired before,” Garcia said. “Is this normal?”

“I think we all need some rest, Baby Girl,” Derek said as he rolled over to Penelope and began massaging her shoulders. You watched the action with a hint of envy. There was too much going on inside your head for anything right now. Pushing back from the table, you stood up.

“I need some air,” you announced and headed out of the conference room. The team watched after you for a moment before returning to their work, except one member’s eyes remained fixed on your exit.

------

Spencer Reid was the best problem solver the team had.

He never had problems with finding the missing puzzle piece in the case or analyzing a criminal’s motives. However, there was one problem, he couldn’t quite crack.

You.

Reid had never gotten over your breakup. He sat awake for nights after you had broken it off trying to figure out what he had done wrong. He had confided in everyone he knew. His mother said that you just weren’t the right person for him, but Spencer disagreed. You were perfect for him, perfect for each other. He didn’t know what went wrong. One day the two of you had been smiling, laughing, and then it was like a switch had flipped and you just ended it.

Then when you had joined the BAU, hope reentered Spencer’s mind. Perhaps this was a chance to tell you how he felt and maybe even rekindle something from years before. However, those thoughts were quickly dismissed when he overheard a conversation you were having with Penelope about a man named Robbie, your new boyfriend.

Watching the way your face lit up when you spoke about the new man in your life felt like ice to his heart. He remembered when you used to look like that when you spoke about him and now it was reserved for someone else. Shortly after this, he had confided in JJ about the issue, finally expressing his thoughts to another member of the team.

“It’s been years, Spence,” JJ had told him, rubbing his back affectionately as he sat on her couch watching Henry play with a new toy Will had bought him. “It’s normal for people to move on.”

“But I haven’t,” Spencer had said. “I haven’t, JJ, and I don’t know if I can handle seeing her every day and knowing she’s with someone else.”

“Who knows,” JJ had said, “maybe the universe will be in your favor.”

“You know I don’t believe in any of that.”

“Maybe just this once you can,” JJ had said before squeezing his arm and then dropping the subject altogether.

------

You stood out on the terrace of the field office, listening to the bustling city around you.

You never liked Los Angeles. It wasn’t like DC, there were too many people, too many skyscrapers, and the grating sound of traffic always made you want to scream. When you were working in sex crimes, you would head to the roof when things got too complicated to try and clear your mind. Most of the time it would work, other times, such as now, would just make you more irritated.

“You know, I’m not sure the air in this city is the best for clearing your head,” Hotch said as he exited out onto the terrace. You smiled to yourself as you stared out at the City of Angels.

“Did Penelope tell you to check on me?” you asked as he joined you at the railing.

“Maybe,” Hotch said with a shrug. “Are you okay?”

“Just frustrated,” you explained. “It’s been a while since we’ve been at such a big roadblock.”

“I wasn’t referring to the case, (Y/N),” Hotch said with a knowing look. You sighed, turning to look at him. “I’ve noticed you’ve seemed out of sorts for the past couple of weeks.”

“Which means the rest of the team has too,” you figured.

“Maybe, but they won’t confront you about it.”

“But you will?” you asked, amused.

“I’m your boss, it’s my job,” Hotch said. You smiled at that. “I’ve just seen a change in you and I’m assuming it is to do with your personal life.”

“Isn’t it always?” you asked with a chuckle. “I’m okay, Hotch. Just going through the awkward phase that happens after a breakup.” Hotch nodded in understanding.

“Ah, you and your boyfriend ended things,” he realized.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to make a big deal about it. Especially at work,” you said with a look that conveyed more than the words you were saying.

“I completely understand,” said Hotch. “On the brighter side, I think we may have an idea on how to draw the unsub out.”

“Am I going to like it?” you asked. Hotch grimaced. “I’ll take that as a no.”

-------

You were right, you definitely didn’t like it.

“Undercover?” you asked as you leaned against the wall of the conference room. Spencer sat in his chair across the room from you, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s the best idea we’ve been able to come up with,” Rossi said, “plus, with your work in sex crimes, you have the most undercover hours next to Emily.” You held your tongue before you could suggest why Emily just couldn’t do it. “You are the unsub’s type and so is Reid. If we are correct about the profile and where he is hitting next, the two of you should be the perfect lure.”

When Hotch and Rossi explained that you and Spencer would be going undercover as a married couple to the next charity event in hopes of finally catching Daniel Hill, the unsub, you were less than thrilled. This would not be your first time going undercover, that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that you would have to pretend to be married to Spencer and by the looks of it, he seemed even less than thrilled about the situation.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Hotch asked, glancing between you and Reid.

“No, Sir,” you said and Spencer shook his head.

“It may be a little bit awkward with (Y/N)’s boo,” Morgan joked and Penelope kicked him under the table. When you didn’t laugh, Derek realized what the look on your face meant. “Oh…(Y/L/N), I didn’t realize…”

“It’s fine,” you said, pushing off the wall. “Robbie and I are done. It’s been done for a bit now and I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with so none of us have to stay in this city any longer.”

“Amen to that,” Emily said.

“I’m going to send debrief packets to your hotel rooms,” Hotch said. “The event is tonight so I need you to be ready.”

“Yes, Sir,” you and Spencer said at the same time. Hotch then dismissed the rest of you and you headed for the door, needing to get back to the hotel and start preparing for the evening. Spencer caught up to you as you walked through the office.

“Hey,” he said, pulling you to a stop, “are you going to be okay with this?”

“Yes, Spencer,” you said. “It’s our job and we’ll get it done.”

“I know, but we haven’t really worked closely together since you joined and to put on an undercover operation like this…” he trailed off, but you could tell what he was thinking. You always could.

“Spencer,” you said softly, “do me a favor, okay?”

“Anything.”

“For the next ten hours or so, let’s not be (Y/N) and Spencer. I agree that we have never truly talked about what happened between us since I joined the team, but tonight is not the time. I want to, I do, but we need to get through this night. So, until we get this son of a bitch, we are just two agents on a mission. No baggage. Deal?” Spencer let out a breath, his eyes narrowing slightly as he mulled over your words. Eventually, he nodded.

“Deal.”

-----

The undercover packet had arrived just as you stepped out of the shower.

It was a basic cover. You and Spencer would be attending the event as Mr. and Mrs. Kelling, a wealthy couple from Maine. Your alias, Miranda Kelling, was nothing like you and that was how you preferred it. The more you could distance yourself from an undercover mission, the better. Spencer was playing Anderson Kelling and he was the president of a tech conglomerate that Garcia was writing up now. At least he would be able to cover for the both of you if anyone asked any questions.

A little bit later, a knock came at your door, and you were met with a smiling Penelope. In her hands was a white garment bag. “Please tell me it’s not pink,” you said as you let her in.”

“Oh, please,” Garcia scoffed. “You act as if I don’t know you at all. Undercover or not, I know you would never wear pink.” You laughed quietly as Garcia laid the bag out on the bed and unzipped it.

The dress was simple. A dark eggplant color that was low in the back and high at the neck. The slit was tasteful and knowing Garcia, it would fit you perfectly. However, while it was beautiful, your heart jumped just looking at it. The color of the gown was the same color as the dress you had worn on your first date with Spencer when he had taken you to a film festival. Whether Penelope knew that or not, didn’t matter. You knew it would matter to him.

“Do you like it?” Garcia asked. You nodded, unable to speak. “I can get something else if you don’t.”

“Penelope, it’s great,” you said, “really. Please tell me you have shoes to go with it.” Garcia then smiled and held up the other bag in her hands.

“Strappy or pumps?” she asked, shaking the bag before you. You gave in and laughed along with your friend as you let her accessorize you for the gala.

It was another hour before Garcia left to meet up with Morgan and JJ who were outfitting their security van that would be parked in the loading zone of the venue. The next time someone knocked on your door. You knew who it would be.

Pulling the door open, Spencer stood there with his hands in his pockets and his signature smile. You stepped aside and he entered, looking around the room awkwardly. “Did you read through the packet?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

“Twice,” you assured him. “Is that why you’re here? To make sure I did my homework?” you asked, amusement in your eyes. He rolled his eyes and you could tell he was starting to loosen up a bit more.

“I just wanted to make sure we were on the same side for the cover,” he explained “And to give you this,” he said as he dug into his pocket and produced a small velvet box.

“Ah,” you said, realizing what it was. He handed it to you and you took it quickly, placing it down next to the necklace Garcia had brought for you to wear. You didn’t want to open it in front of Reid. Everything was already awkward enough. “So, Mr. Kelling,” you began, “tell me about your company.”

The two of you went back and forth asking questions about each other’s covers. Pretending to be other people was actually helping you talk to him. Thinking of him as this imaginary husband was much easier than staring into those warm brown eyes and seeing the man who once held you like you were the most important thing in the universe.

“You know,” Spencer said as he lay on his back on your bed, “Morgan was supposed to do this with you.”

“Derek? Undercover as a tech guy?” you asked with a laugh. Reid sat up and looked at you as you sat at the small table, your file in your hands. He smiled softly as you chuckled. “That would have been something to see.”

“Maybe next time,” Spencer said. “You know, once he’s had more time to prepare. Hotch asked me because I didn’t have to do any additional research. I would have said no, but we need to find this guy and since we’ve already gotten his accomplice, I just thought—”

“Spencer,” you said, cutting him off, “you’re running on fumes.” He took a breath. That was something you always said when he started rambling when he got nervous. It was also something he did when he was avoiding what he was actually saying.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you said, “but just for the record, I’m not upset you were assigned to do this mission with me.”

“You’re not?” he asked. You shook your head.

“Nope,” you said and it was the truth. In fact, you were just incredibly nervous about being this close to him for the first time in years. “So stop stressing. Everything is going to work out fine.” You got up and approached him. You gripped him by the shoulders and looked at him in the eye. “Now, go put on your tux so we can get this bastard.”

------

You stood in front of the floor-length mirror as you fussed with the gown.

Garcia sure did know how to pick ballgowns. The deep purple dress fit you perfectly. Paired with the nude heels and the light jewelry, you looked as expensive as Miranda Kelling was supposed to be. The large diamond sat on your left hand felt way too heavy. You lifted your hand to your face, tilting it so the diamond glittered in the low light.

When you had first lifted the lid to the box, your eyes had widened at the sheer size of the diamond. Apparently Rossi knew someone in LA with ties to a jeweler and you were renting the piece for the evening. Just placing it on your finger felt...wrong. And not just because of the price, but because you imagined the first time you wore a wedding ring it would on your actual wedding day and not for a sting.

The thought of Spencer having a matching band on his left hand sent a thrill through you that you weren’t expecting. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about it in the past. When the two of you were together at the academy, the subject of marriage had come up frequently. It was always said with a bout of laughter afterward. Neither of you had ever said anything to make the other think that you were being serious, but at times, you definitely were. Snapping out of your thoughts, you finished your look with a swipe of lipstick and then headed for the door.

Stepping out into the lobby of the garish hotel, you spotted Rossi immediately. He was dressed as a chauffeur as he would be the one to take you and Reid to the event to keep up appearances. Walking around the corner, you finally saw your date for the evening. Spencer wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo. His hair was combed and his shoes shined in the glittering light of the chandelier that swung above him. Hearing the clicks of your heels, he turned towards you and his mouth fell open.

He quickly controlled his expression, but you had seen it. The look in his eyes as he beheld you strolling towards him. It was a familiar look, one he had given you in the past and everything began flooding back. You tried to ignore it as you joined him and Rossi. “This is all very ‘James Bond’,” you said, looking at the three of you.

“Well, just go easy on the martinis you two,” Rossi said with a small smile. Then from his pocket, he produced a white rose. “Morgan got the partner to talk and he agreed to help if we offered him a deal. He made the call and told Hill that the target this evening will be with a beautiful woman and wearing this on his jacket,” Rossi said as he tucked the rose into Spencer’s lapel.

“Great, nothing says ‘murder me’ like a rose,” Spencer muttered as he adjusted the flower. You smiled to yourself at his attempt at a joke. Rossi was watching both you, his eyes flickering back and forth.

“Just stick to the plan and this will all be over before you know it,” Rossi said as he gestured you out to the car. You and Reid followed him, neither of you saying anything. You had expected it to be awkward, but this felt...alien. It was also starting to become clear why Hotch had assigned you to this mission with Spencer. He most likely figured you wouldn’t have to do much acting, but seeing him dressed up and with that wedding band on his finger, you felt as if you were looking at a stranger. You had no idea how you were going to make it through the evening.

-----

Arriving at the venue, Rossi helped you from the car, giving your arm a final squeeze before leaving you in Spencer’s capable hands.

As Rossi drove away, Reid held out his arm to you. Slipping into the character of Miranda Kelling, you took his arm and smiled at him warmly. Spencer, or rather, Anderson, smiled back and led you into the venue.

The party was fit for Los Angeles. The garish decorations were shiny metallic and smartly dressed waiters milled around with flutes of champagne. The other patrons were dressed just as well as the two of you and as they laughed, more champagne was poured and more money was spent. You weren’t even sure what charity they were supporting at the event.

Your eyes scanned the surroundings, trying to pick up on any agents, but Hotch had said nobody was going to be on the floor except for the two of you. Hill was too smart and would pick them out in a heartbeat.

You and Spencer walked around the room, keeping close to one another. As a waiter passed by, you grabbed a flute off the tray and drank half in one go. The liquid courage did nothing to satiate the nerves that bubbled in your stomach. As you finished your drink, you looked for another, but Spencer had stepped in front of you, giving you a concerned look.

“What?” you asked, keeping your face pleasant in case the unsub or others were watching.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I know you aren’t thrilled to be with me tonight, but I can also tell that something else is bothering you.”

“Very perceptive,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “Look, I can’t talk to you about this right now.” He sighed and then took your hand. To anyone else, it would just look like a husband holding his wife’s hand, but you knew he was feeling for your pulse point. Something he always did when he wanted you to tell him the truth. It was both charming and infuriating.

“Is this about Robbie?” Spencer asked and your hand froze in his grip. He nodded to himself as he realized he had finally guessed right. “He never deserved you.” You took your hand back and tried to walk away. However, Spencer had another idea. Gently taking your wrist, Reid pulled you to the dance floor, spinning you into his arms.

Not wanting to cause a scene, you played along, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other in his right hand. The two of you swayed back and forth in silence for a moment before he finally spoke again. “You look so beautiful,” he said softly.

“Spencer,” you sighed, dropping your gaze to the buttons on his shirt, “please don’t.”

“Why?” he asked.

“You know why,” you said, your eyes meeting his. He looked down at you as if you were the only person in the room and it took you back to the first time you had danced with him.

It was at an event the Academy hosted for the new recruits. The two of you had just met during orientation and he had been bold enough to ask you to dance when he noticed you sitting by yourself at a lone table. Both of you had been very awkward on your feet, but you had managed to get a rhythm going and among all the laughter and stepping on toes, it had been the first step in developing feelings for the man before you.

“I noticed the color of your dress as soon as you walked into the lobby,” Spencer said, his fingers curling tighter around your own. “I always did love you in purple.” Ducking your head, you rested your forehead against his chest, just trying not to think about his hand on your waist or the fact that he was wearing the same cologne he always did. The one that smelled like wood and parchment. Reid pulled you in closer, his hand moving to the small of your back.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered.

“I don’t want you to think about him,” Reid said, turning you both in a slow circle, “because I can’t do it anymore.” Pulling back, you looked up at him with curious eyes.

“Do what?” you asked.

“All those months when you were with him… seeing you smile when you and Garcia spoke about him or when he would drop flowers off for you at the office,” Spencer sighed. “I couldn’t handle it, (Y/N).” Hearing that confession slip from his lips made you stumble in your heels. He kept his hands tight on you, keeping you steady. Just as he always had. “I never stopped loving you,” he whispered.

Your eyes fell closed at his words and every emotion you had tried to shove down since the day the two of you had parted ways came surging back into the forefront of your mind. Spencer Reid was looking at you as if you hung the moon and while he would probably say something along the lines of ‘that’s impossible, a human wouldn’t be able to hang the moon’, that was what you saw in his eyes.

“Don’t you remember?” he continued.

“Spencer…” you said, but he couldn’t stop.

“My mom, (Y/N),” he said. “Don’t you remember how much she loves you? You were one of the only people who could keep her calm and she loved to tell you stories about the things she’s learned over the years. I remember everything about our time together.”

“You have an eidetic memory,” you reminded him.

“That’s not the reason I remember,” he said, placing his hand under your chin. You couldn’t help the tears that pricked your eyes at his words. At that moment, the mission was forgotten and everything was moving in slow motion. “Tell me, (Y/N),” he said, “tell me that you don’t love me, Tell me and I’ll stop.”

“I can’t do that,” you whispered. A small gasp escaped him at your confession and it was as if his entire body relaxed at your words. Spencer leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, drinking you in. The orchestra in the background played a score fit for the moment and if you weren’t supposed to be on duty, you would have stayed in that moment forever. Spencer pulled back and glanced down at your lips, but before either of you could move in closer, you spotted a man watching the two of you.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked.

“Hill,” you whispered, plastering a fake smile on your face as you looked up at your fake husband. “He’s dressed as a caterer. The long scar on his cheek is just as the partner said. Looks like Morgan’s interrogation techniques are getting better.” Spencer took you and spun you around so he could get a visual, glancing briefly before grinning down at you. He then lifted your left hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

“Shall we go somewhere more private, Mrs. Kelling?” he asked and you nodded, taking him by the hand and dragging him towards the service hall. Everything in you was fighting to stay focused as you slipped back into your FBI persona. With Spencer’s confession, work was the last thing you wanted to do, but this man had killed enough people and the two of you were the last chance to take him down.

You and Reid pushed into the hallway, giggling like drunk teenagers.

You stumbled on your dress and he held you up, pulling on his bow tie. It didn’t take long for the killer to follow. You and Spencer were pressed against a wall, Reid’s hands going into your hair. He smiled down at you and slinked away as if you were playing a game. When he went to follow you, that’s when you were grabbed from behind.

“Move and she dies,” Hill said, waving his gun around. Spencer raised his hands in mock surrender and then he looked at you. “On your knees!” Hill yelled, but Spencer didn’t move. With a quick nod to you, you slammed your stiletto into the top of his foot. A shot rang out as the bullet pierced the ceiling, but you both moved faster. Spencer grabbed hold of the unsub as you took the gun from his grasp. Reid spun Hill around and slammed him into the floor.

“FBI,” Spencer said, “Daniel Hill, you are under arrest for the murders of Caitlin and Adam Dever, Brooke and Ryan Wood, Joanne and James Black, and Greta and Lewis Joy…” as Spencer continued to read him his rights, you disabled the gun and let out a deep breath. From your right, Hotch and Prentiss came running down the hall, their guns were drawn. JJ and Morgan weren’t far behind.

As Spencer got Hill to his feet, you turned and walked away. There was too much going on inside your mind and you had to get air. Walking past, Morgan, you placed the confiscated gun into his hands as you continued to move past your team. You could hear Reid calling out to you, but you couldn’t stop moving. You just needed to think.

-----

Once everything had calmed down, you all went back to your respective hotel rooms.

As soon as your door closed behind you, your heels were off and you headed right for the balcony. Garcia had texted you earlier and told you Hill would be processed and that Rossi and Emily had gotten a full confession out of him and his partner. That was enough for you to relax a little bit further, but there was still the issue of what happened before.

Then, as if the universe was listening there was a knock on your door. Pulling the sliding door behind you, you went to your door. You didn’t need to look through the peephole to know who it was. Unlocking the chain, you pulled open the door and were met with Spencer. He was still wearing his disheveled tuxedo, but his hair was no longer neat. It was how he always wore, the way you loved it. In his hand was a single yellow lily, your favourite flower.

You stepped aside and invited him in, closing the door quietly behind you. “You just left,” he said as you turned to face him. His long fingers were holding the flower by its stem, twirling it around.

“I just needed time, Spencer.”

“I know,” he said with a soft smile and then offered you the flower. You took it, pressing its petals to your nose. “I know how you think (Y/N), which is why I waited a bit before showing up here.”

“You always did know me best,” you said as you lay the lily on the stand by the door.

“I still like to think I do,” he said, reaching for your hand. You let him take it as you had earlier on the dance floor. He dragged you towards him, placing his hands on your hips gently. “You are so incredible,” he whispered.

“I never cared about him as much as I cared for you, Spencer,” you admitted. “When I broke things off after we graduated from the Academy, I thought I was doing us a favor. I thought it would be too complicated, that we would struggle with the time apart. I was so wrong. I am so sorry that I didn’t believe in us enough to stay.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks at this point and Spencer was shaking his head.

“Don’t apologize, (Y/N),” he said. “I understand. I think I always did, but I meant what I said earlier: I never stopped loving you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“And you think I did?” you asked. “God, Spencer, I love you so much and I should have told you the moment I walked into the BAU.” Spencer’s face split into a grin and he didn’t even hesitate to pull you into him. His lips met yours and your hands wound into his unruly hair. Light burst behind your eyes as the two of you finally said hello once again. Spencer Reid was the one for you and you would never doubt that ever again.

“One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”― Paulo Coelho

#Spencer Reid #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #reader insert #spencer reid x reader #cm #cm imagine #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #jj #derek morgan #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic

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sylvctica · 2 years

Text

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.

name: sylvie.

eye color: forest green.

hair style / color: matching forest green, comes to be around hip length. often held up in a high ponytail with fringes and bangs loose, half tied back with a ribbon, or completely loose.

height: 6′3″ ( human ), 9′6″ ( half-feral ), 15″ / 4m ( true )

clothing style: loose frilly blouse, waist-high dark pants with knee-high leather boots, though their fashion shifts around pretty frequently, that is just what they’re often found in.

best physical feature: their facial features and hair; pointed ears seem to be quite uncommon amidst the people of Teyvat outside of a set handful. gradiented hair is uncommon as well, their hair is thick and voluminous, silky soft to the touch. their boobies.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.

your fears: “ it’d be inhuman to not have some fears! definitely birds, don’t like them all too much if they’re not the smart ones. ”

your guilty pleasure: " i don’t think i have any i’d consider ‘guilty’ pleasures ... i do enjoy window shopping and eating. ”

your ambitions for the future: " ... unsure, for now i do just take everything day by day. i do have some hopes for the gears of fate, but i can’t say exactly what those are, nor what the outcomes will be. it is all in the hands of the people. all i can say is i hope i can just keep adventuring in peace. ”

𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺.

your first thoughts waking up: “ i wanna sleep more. and then what’s to eat. ”

what you think about most: “ hard to say, my thoughts are pretty all over the place and topics, so there’s no one real prominent thing that’s not influenced by ongoing events. ”

what you think about before bed: " incoherent things, plans for tomorrow. ”

what you think your best quality is: " i’d like to think i’m pretty funny and light-hearted to relax people around me. ”

𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻’𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹?

single or group dates: “ to me, a group date just feels more like a group hangout. any time with zhongli is well spent though. so, i guess uh ... both? ”

to be loved or respected: “ can one co-exist without the other? it would not be love if you do not respect the other to some degree ... though i suppose one can respect without needing love. hm. i suppose i’d take love regardless. ”

beauty or brains: " brains. beauty is subjective to all people, and although i can appreciate a pretty person, if their personality gets in the way ... different story altogether. if you can hold up conversations, and we overlap in interests, who cares what a person looks like? ”

dogs or cats: " both! ”

𝑫𝑶 𝒀𝑶𝑼…

lie: " yes, if need be. ”

believe in yourself: " sure, you are your own provider and host, after all. ”

believe in love: " i do, considering i now personally understand what it feels like, but it is not an easy thing to find and pursue. ”

want someone: " already there. ”

𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑵…

been on stage: " yep! usually pretty disasterous if i need to sing. ”

done drugs: “ tried a few, but they don’t work on my body chemistry, so i just stopped after a few attempts. ”

changed who you were to fit in: " not at my core, but i have had to fake identities a lot, so if you’re meaning quite literally, then yes. ”

𝑭𝑨𝑽𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑺.

favorite color: “ call it generic, but forest colours. yellows and oranges and reds are also pretty high on my list. ”

favorite animal: " none! i enjoy all animals the same for the most part. minus birds, but i can still enjoy them from afar. ”

favorite movie: " mm, i don’t have one in particular ... those are those moving picture things, yeah? i know fontaine is producing them, but i haven’t looked into it. ”

favorite book: " i’ve found myself to be a big fan of the light novels from inazuma; though i think i just have a preference for fictive writing in general. it’s a neat insight into the human mind when it’s let loose. ”

favorite game: " uhh ... board games? i usually try to avoid games because they end up making me get too competitive, unless they’re solo based. otherwise, if sparring counts, i’d choose that. ”

𝑨𝑮𝑬.

day your next birthday will be: “ march 20th is my ‘birthday’ ... at least it’s the day i was ‘born’ truly if i remember right. ”

how old will you be: “ old! i’m already in my 5000′s, i’ve stopped keeping track of the exacts a while back. it’s not that i don’t know, but no point in getting into the specifics and saying 5231 years old; it’s a mouthful. ″

age you lost your virginity: “ ehe, a little over a year ago ... ”

𝑰𝑵 𝑨 𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑶𝑵.

best personality: “ ... hm, it’s hard to say. those who can handle humour and can return it, and people who can put up with my conversations. those with a genuine curiousness and love for the world. obviously, it’s a broad, generic statement but i can’t really box people into ‘oh this is what i enjoy for a personality’ when everyone is different. ”

best eye color: “ don’t care. ”

best hair color: " don’t care. ”

best thing to do with a partner: “ i dunno, just things you’d normally do with those you care for? chatting, going out and hanging out somewhere ... sure, cuddling i guess and being intimate, but to me just the concept of spending time with a person is more than enough for me, it doesn’t need to be ‘made special’ or anything. ”

𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑺𝑯 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬.

i love: " being alive. ”

i feel: " sleepy. ”

i hide: " who i am. ”

i miss: “ old friends. ”

i wish: " they’re okay. ”

stole from: @zhuangshii >:)c tagging: point emoji at u

#SYLVIE // DASH GAMES.#OOC // WAITING FOR QUEUE.

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strangerobin · 3 years

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Rue: Chapter 9 (Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Note: I'm literally in tears right now. I have 7000+ words over 13 pages on my word processor just for this chapter.

Night after night, summer and winter, the torment of storms, the arrow-like stillness of fine weather, held their court without interference.’

The swaying wheat and barley waved in the warm breeze; the burning sun burned like the beacon it was. The entire world was brown and golden. It was hot, it was suffocating. It was terrible.

“The land is barren.” Adeline muttered, her body rocking to and fro with the movement of the wagon, her eyes were trained into the far distance, squinting in the broiling sun.

“You’re being over dramatic.” Henriette’s tone was dry, her hands on the reins, spurring the horses to continue its trot.

“I hate it here already.” Adeline announced, crossing her arms in a huff. “Why couldn’t we have gone somewhere else? Somewhere with more greenery than this? There’s still plenty of places to hide in Louisiana-”

“Staying in the same place over and over will attract attention and you know it.” Henriette was losing her patience too, turning her head sharply to glare at her sister. “Your father will find us if we keep staying in the same place.” The lines on her face and around her eyes deepening, the ever growing frown settling over her wrinkled forehead.

“…We left Ralph in Orleans. All alone.” Adeline bowed her head in grief, hiding her face behind her hair and avoiding those piercing eyes of her sisters. “Six feet under and his body wasn’t even cold when we left.”

Her sister sighed again, though this time it betrayed a tenderness and affection that she only displayed towards her loved ones, freeing one hand to gently comb back Adeline’s soft tresses.

“Silly girl. How many times do I have to tell you? Ralph hasn’t gone anywhere, he’s always with you and me. Always.”

“He’s dead, that’s what he is.”

Henriette continued rubbing her shoulder’s soothingly, as if she were comforting a child. “But he’ll always be in our hearts, and that’s what matters.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Come Addie, let’s not fight.” The older woman smiled lightly, turning the younger girl’s head towards her for closer inspection. There were bags under her eyes and an unnatural pallor, a sullenness swirling behind. Even her usual bright eyes were dulled. “I hate it when you’re angry or sad.”

The younger girl shook her head and curled around the older ones side, much like a feline would.

“I still hate it here. Everything’s so dry and barren and ugly. I’m only putting up with it because of you.”

“What will you do when I’m gone?” Henriette sighed.

“Then I’ll just have to die and pursue you."

“Silly girl.” The elder smiled at the other indulgently, yet her eyes betrayed a melancholy she failed to hide. “You don’t mean that.”

He saw them long before they arrived.

Initially a speck in the distance, and then gradually enlarging until he could see their wagon gradually pulling into town along the dusty highway.

In truth, Jasper had noticed the old lady at the front first; her face hard and etched into a permanent frown, doing nothing to dispel the presence of her wrinkles and only succeeding in making more pronounced than ever. He would have turned away back to his field then had he not caught sight of her in the setting sun, the last of the sun rays reflecting a pale face.

She had a simple shawl wrapped around her head, protecting her from the dust. But it did nothing to hide the beauty she possessed, there was an ethereal feel to it; a otherworldliness. There was also a melancholy to the girl; with her head bowed, eyes downcast, looking so dejected. It captured his attention, struck a chord in his heart, and later he would stop to think about her, in his work, during mealtime, before he went to bed, in his walk.

His eyes followed their receding figure unconsciously as they made their way into town.

He did not know her name yet.

But she had unknowingly sent a ripple in the pool of his heart

Except he did not know of any of this yet.

It was another sleepless night.

Adeline clutched at the tattered copy of To The Lighthouse she had found fallen behind the shelf in the library and staggered downstairs.

Sleep had evaded her yet again. When was the last time she had had a good night’s rest? Or perhaps it was herself who was avoiding it altogether. Whichever it was, she barely slept a wink in the past week. she could almost feel the rush of agitation in her nerves now, the lethargy in her frame, the shortness of her temper.

She needed to get out.

This was a paradise for vampires she supposed. A secretive hideout for the Cullens, no one bothered them here. The town was too enamoured by the dazzling family, the town’s police chief was Bella’s dad and the only visitors they ever had were the wolves from the nearby indigenous tribe. And anyways there was ever only one person who came most of the time.

But it still unnerved her. The jitteriness she experienced in Colorado never fully left her. And she was still startled by the smallest things, the tiniest sounds.

It was the house. She finally concluded. It was Jasper.

She couldn’t rest with Jasper around. No she couldn’t.

Pocketing the few cigarettes she still had remaining into her worn satchel, Adeline grabbed the giant coffee flask she had prepared and stalked out of the house into the dreary morning of Forks in only a thin parka and boots.

As she stalked down the clearing at the back of the house, she felt a shiver down her spine and a feeling of being watched. Turning back she just made out a silhouette at the upper left window.

She didn’t need to squint to know who it was.

She flipped the bird at him before turning around to leave in a huff.

Jasper saw her multiple times in town over the next few days. The two had settled down into one of the cottages his parents had owned bordering their own farming fields; he had yet to formally acquaint with his new neighbours. But it would seem that the arrival of the girl had already sent the town into frenzy.

For one, her dress making skill was excellent. Her embroidery so fine and so meticulous that all the ladies of the town were soon sending in requests, until she had to put them on hold until she could finish the earlier ones first.

Two, she was soon the gossip of the entire town. She’d already had seven proposals in the course of a week, all of which she had rejected without even a side eye. Men were in awe of her beauty and wondered aloud at her ever downcast eyes and the enigma that she was. For the women in town though, she was the subject they loved to hate, for monopolising the attention of the other half of the town. Jealously was an ugly sentiment and hostility an ever isolating one. And the girl soon found herself alone and alienated without a single soul to call as friend.

Soon they had a third topic to discuss on.

She was seen trying to storm the local bookshop for new reading materials, but on seeing her, the store owner had kindly redirected her back to her ladies’ weekly digest.

“You don’t make any sense! Why am I not allowed to read?! It’s only a novel!"

“Child, novels are hardly a suitable reading material for a lady. It promotes unrealistic fancies in young minds like yours.”

“That’s a condescending observation sir.”

“Who do you say you live with again?”

“My grandmama.”

“Well young lady, I suggest you have a word with you grandmother then.”

“Wait!”

The man slammed his door in her face.

And no matter how hard she pounced on the wooden door, the shopkeeper refused to open the door again to the girl.

“Darling, sweetheart.” A pair of well-meaning elderly ladies stopped in their tracks to regard the girl. “Don’t be mad at the man, he’s only trying to do you good. What kind of gentleman of good status would want a woman with her head stuck in a book? It’ll only spur you on into fantasies after fantasies; no man would want a wife who would neglect the family. What would you possibly do then?”

Her lips pursed now and Jasper could see how upset she was with the way her shoulders were hunched and her teeth biting into her lips so hard it drew blood but somehow her eyes shone with a fierce defiance he had never seen.

“A man who loves me would not ask me to give up any of that.”

She let slipped this one sentence before turning to leave with her head held high.

“What a peculiar young girl.” The lady turned to her equally surprised friend and wondered aloud.

The crowd dispersed to return to their day and errands.

Only Jasper was rooted where he was, his mind replaying the conversation the girl and the lady had, the silent dignity, the crackling flame inside her.

He looked to the bookshop again.

Adeline always thought that their relationship now was like a predator to its prey; Jasper always on the outlook, ready to pounce anytime she showed the slightest weakness. But when she did look closely, it wasn’t difficult to find him shuffling awkwardly in the corner when they were in the same room, looking at her with unveiled longing and then the predator would turn into a wounded puppy.

Adeline wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. That he should feel hurt and yet still longed for her, instead of choosing to hate her for all she had done. It was beyond her comprehension. If their fortunes had reversed, she couldn’t say for certain if she would feel the same.

She wondered if he ever thought of the past, their past together. Because she was convinced that he viewed it through a rose tinted lens

Adeline lighted a cigarette and puffed thoughtfully. What she had read at the break of dawn still fresh on her mind.

“There it was before her - life. Life: she thought but she did not finish her thought. She took a look at life, for she had a clear sense of it there, something real, something private, which she shared neither with her children nor with her husband. A sort of transaction went on between them, in which she was on one side, and life was on another, and she was always trying to get the better of it, as it was of her; and sometimes they parleyed (when she sat alone); there were, she remembered, great reconciliation scenes; but for the most part, oddly enough, she must admit that she felt this thing that she called life terrible, hostile, and quick to pounce on you if you gave it a chance.”

She must admit, Woolf’s writings always did have a knack of making one feel and think differently; to approach life, time and memory in a new light; to reflect. The lighthouse, was the never changing vantage point in the passage of time, the ever eluding desire that one chased after but never could quite grasp; ten years was a very long time in a life span, people change, for better or for worse; people die, and all was left was a memory frozen in time. And even that fades, lost in time and space. Nothing was everlasting, no mark or testimony survives the void.

Not even love.

The brutality of life and reality had made sure that it did not.

She briefly considered her own life.

The innocent child Henriette had protected at all cost when she was alive, who was immediately killed by her father after Hettie’s death, gutted and left to her own demise in some dirty gutter. And in her place, all that was left was this new emotionally dead and drained Adeline. Haunted by her own past, her deeds and her misfortunes, completely broken and never quite pieced back together right.

Adeline had taken the gamble with life and lost miserably.

The fog was getting thicker now, the wind lost somewhere in the thicket. The spring air was stagnant, and the soft tendrils of smoke curled around her hair, her frame. For a moment, she stopped in her tracks, just to take in this present moment that would soon morph into another forgotten memory of hers.

He found her at the far end of his parents’ field, looking out into distance, sniffing.

“Hey are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She sniffed again no doubt surprised that someone had crept on her, scrubbing at her face furiously. “Never better.” Before turning around to scrutinise him.

“Who are you?”

“I don’t think we’ve formally met ma’am, I’m Jasper Whitlock.”

“You’re Mr and Mrs Whitlock’s second son.” The girl gasped, before ducking her head formally and shaking his hand. “I’m Adeline, Adeline Ruelle. Your mother’s told me about you.” She looked around again before smiling awkwardly and gesturing to the fields. “I’m trespassing. This is your land. I’ll go-”

“No, no. It’s uh… it’s alright. I don’t mind, Miss Ruelle.”

“But still. I shouldn’t be disturbing the lot of you.”

“Wait. Uh I… I couldn’t help but saw what happened in the town square.”

“Oh.” She frowned before looking down, clearly getting the wrong idea. He wasn’t there to reprimand her too. “It’s alright, I won’t-”

“No wait, I don’t mean it that way. Here.” He quickly thrusted the bundle he had been hiding behind his back this whole time.

Confused, Adeline clutched at the bundle, feeling the hard texture of the package before looking up to stare at him agape. Her hand quickly dove in to tear at the wrapping paper to reveal a hardback book.

“Frankenstein?” She held the book up questioningly. “Why are you giving me this?”

“You wanted this right? Or was it not this? I could take it back and change it if you want-”

“No, no. This was what I was looking for. But why are you giving me this?”

“Because you wanted it.” He stated as a matter of fact. When his answer didn’t dispel the confused look on Adeline’s face, Jasper struggled to explain himself more. “I don’t think they were right in refusing to let you read just because they think it’s not suitable for a lady. Anyone should be allowed to pursue their own knowledge…”

“This isn’t really the most educating thing you know.” For the first time, there was a playful smirk on her lips. “It’s a novel on a man making a monster.”

“You know what I mean.”

Evidently she was grateful. “I- how can I ever thank you for this? How much does this cost? I’ll pay you back the money… I’ll pay you double for all your trouble-”

“No, no it’s fine. Please don’t pay me. I wanted to help. You looked so sad and I just wanted to cheer you up is all.”

“Wait, where are you going, Mr Whitlock sir?! Wait.”

In his mind he had embarrassed himself. It was a stupid move buying her the book. Now she would think him worse than all her other suitors. He had intruded into her privacy and had condescended her by deciding that she would want the book. He had never lost his cool once before, not in front of the girls who had flirted with him, and this new girl had come along and thrown him off his balance.

He didn’t realise till then that his heart was beating erratically and his hand clenched over it unconsciously.

What a stupid stupid man that he was.

“Adeline.”

She was momentarily shocked from her thoughts. Looking up, she found that she had come across the Cullens. There was Alice with the little family.

Alice looked concerned, no doubt surprised by her haggard look and her sleep deprived countenance. Even Bella and Edward looked alerted too. Despite being eccentric, Alice was, Adeline concluded, actually quite a nice person, overly friendly maybe.

“You look tired, are you alright?”

“I’m alright.” She shrugged nonchalantly. Even though the exhaustion was catching up on her fast.

Alice hesitated before smiling. “We’re going to hunt. Do you want to join us?”

Ah, so they were going to hunt. She remembered her surprise when for the first time she had heard that they were vegetarians and that they only fed on animals. Henriette had half forced half bullied her to adopt this kind of diet since she was born, yet she had never seen another doing the same before.

But she didn’t like to hunt in the presence of another, it made her self conscious. And anyways, she was trying her best to steer away from the company of the family.

“It’s alright.” She remained aloof. “I’ll hunt on my way.”

“Will we expect you by dinnertime?” Bella spoke up at the back, Adeline could literally see the trying in her effort to be nice. She quickly looked to Edward who’s face remained neutral.

“Hmph. I’ll be back.” She nodded her head at the latter.

Their paths diverging, the rest of the clan soon took their leave of her. And Adeline looked on at their receding back from her spot.

They would all soon be a distant memory of hers, there was no need to be formally acquainted with any of them.

‘With her foot on the threshold she waited a moment longer in a scene which was vanishing even as she looked, and then, as she moved and took Minta's arm and left the room, it changed, it shaped itself differently; it had become, she knew, giving one last look at it over her shoulder, already the past.’

This time she was waiting for him.

The moment she caught sight of him strolling towards the perimeter of his fields after supper, Adeline immediately jogged towards him, a large basket in tow.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, Mr Whitlock.” She chirped, an unusually bright smile graced over her porcelain features, a stark contrast to the melancholy he saw on her first day in town.

He decided that he loved seeing her smile more than anything right then.

“Jasper is fine ma’am.” He ducked his head bashfully. “Mr Whitlock’s my dad if you will, everyone around here just calls me Jasper, Miss Ruelle.”

“Fine. But then you must call me Adeline. It’s only fair.”

“Miss Adeline.” He bowed half out of jest.

“Adeline.” She corrected him, though there was a twinkle in her eyes. “So where’re you headed to?”

“I’m just heading to the creek down below to rest for a bit, it’s been a long day.”

Adeline nodded in understanding and he was somewhat amused to find the girl trotting behind him. Chuckling, Jasper swooped in to take a grasp at the handle of the basket and carried it. When they finally settled at a shady spot near the creek, Adeline leaned forward to open the latch of the basket.

“I wanted to thank you,” she began, pulling out a batch of baked cookies. “For the book.”

“Its nothing-”

“No! It wasn’t just anything! I…” He watched as she frowned and look away, debilitating with herself, trying to find the right words to express herself.

“No one’s ever done this for me… ever.” She finally murmured, her hands playing at her aprons absentmindedly. “So… yeah.” She pulled at her ear sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m sure you’re not interested in my ramblings. I should go… it’s your rest time.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

They sat in mutual silence, though there was less initial awkwardness.

“Do you-”

“So I-”

They started at the same time. Sheepish, Jasper gestured for Adeline to continue speaking. She smiled another of her easy smile.

“What I wanted to say was that you really don’t know how much it means for me… for you to get that book for me. My grandfather taught me how to read and write. And between the both of us, this was our most favourite book of all time. But his copy was destroyed in the floods some years ago so when he died… I wanted something to remember him by. That’s why I desperately wanted it at the bookshop.” She grew sentimental then. “Of course it’s not the same copy we used to have, but it’s the sentiment of it that’s the most important.”

“Then I’m glad I got it for you.” And he meant it from the bottom of his heart.

“Here.” She handed him a cookie, “you still haven’t tried it yet.”

Tentatively, he took a bite out of it. “It’s delicious!"

Adeline grinned, evidently proud. “Of course. And they said no decent southern gentleman would want me. You’ve just proven them wrong!”

Jasper laughed. “Well you’ve certainly stolen my stomach away with that amazing bakery.”

Adeline reclined onto her elbows in her spot and squinted in the dazzling sun. “You know it’s not half as bad here as I initially thought.”

“Must be because of my company.” He spoke jokingly.

“Hmm. Maybe." Jasper found himself observing Adeline’s every move. Now she was closing her eyes, basking in the glory of the setting sun, humming to herself. The warm ray of light accentuating her long neck and her collarbones and-

She turned suddenly, her excited eyes on him.

“Have you ever read Frankenstein?”

She knew she was getting closer and closer towards the sea, despite the fog being thick and hanging over the threshold. She just knew.

There was the faint crashing of waves now, getting louder by the minute. And the brambles of the forest floor was spreading out.

Now all she needed to do was-

And she stepped out into the sunlight. Despite the sun, it was not the Texan sun she remembered from her memories, it barely gave her warmth. But it did dispel some of the mist that clung around her like tendrils. Here was a cliff of some sort, with the sea roaring right below her feet, the moss and the wildflowers carpeting the entire forest ground until it ended abruptly at the ledge, to a steep drop of some fifty or even sixty feet.

It was indeed beautiful.

Adeline watched mesmerised, how the waves licked the cliff side, thundering, throwing up white foam and algae and whatnots.

Sighing, she leaned back against a tree trunk. The sky was grey and endless in the horizon. It was dreary, and she felt that it suited her more than the Texan sun and blue sky ever did.

She readjusted her sitting position against the tree and took out her book.

James and Cam and Mr Ramsey were heading to the lighthouse now and Lily Briscoe was finishing off her painting ten years later.

‘“It will rain,” he remembered his father saying. “You won’t be able to go to the Lighthouse.”

The Lighthouse was then a silvery, misty-looking tower with a yellow eye, that opened suddenly, and softly in the evening. Now—

James looked at the Lighthouse. He could see the white-washed rocks; the tower, stark and straight; he could see that it was barred with black and white; he could see windows in it; he could even see washing spread on the rocks to dry. So that was the Lighthouse, was it?

No, the other was also the Lighthouse. For nothing was simply one thing. The other Lighthouse was true too. It was sometimes hardly to be seen across the bay. In the evening one looked up and saw the eye opening and shutting and the light seemed to reach them in that airy sunny garden where they sat.’

She closed the book with a sigh.

To be fair, she knew that Jasper thought about their past, just as she did. Except, they each remembered things and events differently. Or maybe it was just that for her, with the knowledge of hindsight, everything was brought into a new light and became tainted.

Could she look back with pure joy now? At her days with him which was now, in hindsight, filled with regret and more importantly, guilt.

There was some truth in it she supposed.

Perhaps there were more facets in their memory than she would give credit for. There was the truth, and then there were all the different angles you could appraise it from. Both were looking at the lighthouse, but he no doubt looked on with fondness and through a rose tinted lens, and she with hindsight could only look on with a sense of dread.

She only wished that he would not be so enamoured by his sentiments that he was blindsided by the truth.

With that thought, her mood soured again and she threw the book into the ground. Subconsciously, her hand went to the locket hidden beneath her shirt where she fingered the engravings to calm herself.

Adeline closed her eyes and listened to the sea.

After that fateful afternoon, Adeline was showing up at the fields every few days. And the creek immediately became their mutual meeting point. And on days when she was too busy with her work to venture out, Jasper would swing by, just to see her, have a chat. They lived close enough, and he was always giving excuses after excuses about why he was there. Excuses he thought she saw through with that complicit smile and the twinkle always present in her eyes. Her grandmother was less impressed however, but she never treated him ill, always being ever cordial, receiving him, making tea, working in the corner, muttering to herself in French.

The days blurred into one, and towards the end of that summer, his parents invited the Adeline and her grandmother over for dinner one fine evening. His mother took an immediate liking towards the girl, and his father called her the daughter he always wanted.

It made Jasper feel giddy, that his family loved her so much. He was almost proud.

It would be the best summer he ever had.

They had read Milton, the Odysseus, the Aeneid, Austen, Dickens, and many more.

He was always surprised to see Adeline brimming with so much knowledge at such a young age. He had wondered at the background of her grandfather, but she always deflected the questions with a wistful smile then he learnt not to ask them anymore.

It was perhaps cliche to say, but she really was not like other girls. Adeline was open, she was kind and sincere and more importantly she was the sun herself, a burning beacon, radiating with warmth. One look at her and he found the day’s worth of handwork and fatigue to be nothing.

Jasper knew the implication of his thundering heart. Romance was not something new to him, he’d heard it from fieldworkers, men who were only a few years older than him.

But he had his doubts too.

He saw how the men tried to talk to her, and though she never mentioned it once to him, he heard enough to know about all the confessions and declarations and proposals she received on a regular basis. Her refusals did nothing to quell his disheartened heart. Her suitors ranged from various backgrounds including pretty boys with wealthy backgrounds and ancestors who were founding members of this town even.

What was he? Nothing but a simple farmer boy. How was he to compete with then?

Every time he heard of another refusal, his hope would get a little higher, that perhaps her smiles and her openness were only directed at him. Yet one look at himself and his meagre possessions, and he would lose what little confidence he had.

Even so, even so she never missed a day with him. Never forgot an engagement, never failed to show up.

That she would welcome him warmly each time, with her radiant smile and her gentle words, even if she would ramble on and on about her long and tiring day and her tedious work.

He was failing miserably to quell his beating heart. Some days It was pure agony, other days he would find himself hope against all hope that perhaps, just perhaps that she would reciprocate even a fraction of his feelings.

But his doubts held him back each time, when he was on the brink of a confession. He would be reminded of the string of failed proposals that came before his and he would become afraid and stopped himself short.

Was it better to protect this friendship, this comradeship that they had?

But with each passing summer day, as he got ready for harvest, his heart was becoming more and more heavy.

It was too much.

He didn’t think he could go on like this.

The ravens cawed and she awoke with a start. Standing up immediately, she was dazed to find that she was not in her simple attire of boots and parka anymore. Gone was the sea and the grey horizon; the pines surrounding her were tall and ominous, a light mist was beginning to form around her, obscuring her sight further on. She was in her Sunday best again, the cream coloured dress with those understated embroideries she had seen herself. There was the chain of daisies at the hem of her sleeves and around her collar. She looked around, trying to comprehend her surrounding.

So she was in a dream then.

A nightmare perhaps.

Might as well walk to the very end of it so that she could wake. Though she loathed to think how it would end, hopefully not with her screaming bloody murder again.

Trudging onwards, the claustrophobia was getting more and more intense, the fog thickening and the trees crowding more and more together until there was no distinguishable path that she could follow. She felt suffocated.

Just then, there was a chill around her heart and it began to thump fiercely. Turning her head cautiously towards her back, she was instantly struck by an intense fear.

Run, her instinct was screaming in her ears.

She ran like the frightened bunny that she was. She could hear the laughters of her sisters, and worse of all. The shoutings of her father.

There seemed to be no end. The brambles tore at her dress, tearing the embroideries, the mud splattering all over her apron, the loose branches leaving small open cuts over her hands and face. The laughters behind her never ceased. She was bone chilled and yet she daren’t stop in her tracks. For fear of being caught, for fear of a punishment worse than death.

And just when all hope was lost, there in the distance was an opening!

And out she ran into a field of wheat and barley. Shocked, she looked back cautiously at the edge of the forest she had just dashed through.

The eeriness had gone and it was only just a stretch of low woodland and shrubberies. Her nightmarish forest was gone.

Cocking her head to the side in confusion, Adeline nevertheless continued to trudge on and at the end of the wheat field, a warm inviting cottage stood in its midst.

The smoke gently curled around the chimney, the vines over the walls, the blue cornflowers at the windows.

It was painfully the same as she had remembered.

She quietly opened the latch to the door and stepped inside the threshold.

“You’re back.” As her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, she saw a man in a simple cotton white shirt and dark pants gently settling the white bundle in his arms into a crib. “How was your walk? Refreshing?”

“Yes…” Adeline stuttered. “Jasper?"

“Yes darling?” The man turned with a tender smile towards her, arms opening wide to welcome her. This time she did not hesitate and rushed towards his strong inviting embrace. Breathing in the strong familiar scent, feeling the warmth he radiated. All the while avoiding glancing at the crib she had seen.

“I’m tired.” She murmured. “Take me to bed?” She pleaded.

Jasper only chuckled.

As they finally settled in bed, his calloused hands, overused at the farm, began its motion of combing through her hair slowly, soothingly just like he did all the time when the two were in bed. Adeline closed her eyes and sighed. She didn’t want to wake up from this and back to the icy cold acquaintance that they now shared.

“I had the strangest dream.” She murmured to him, burrowing deeper into his embrace, her ear rested on his chest, and she could hear the strong beating of his beating heart. “I dreamt that I left you. And that it destroyed you so badly that you became something I couldn’t even recognise anymore. And then I hated you so much and you resented me so much for turning you into what you became.”

“Left me…” Jasper repeated to himself, his hand froze momentarily in its motion.

Adeline looked up in desperation. If this was a dream, at least she would keep him happy. This much she could do at the very least.

“It was only just a dream though.” She tried to smile, raising a hand to trace his strong jawline. “I could never leave you.”

He resumed his soothing motion, combing through her hair, massaging her scalp. She hummed and turned to listen to his beating heart again.

“No, because what would happen to us if you actually left?”

Ah… the bundle in the crib.

She imagined a young boy, with golden curls around his temple and warm inviting hazel eyes. Who would call her maman, who she would teach French to, and raise him and teach him well, just as she had done to her handful of brothers and sisters. It would’ve been domestic bliss. It would’ve been what she wanted if she had been human.

She was drifting in and out of consciousness again as she lingered in her impossible dreams.

The soothing motion over her scalp never ceased. In fact it became more and more concrete.

“Adeline…. Adeline…”

There was someone calling to her softly, far away, at the edge of her consciousness. And it was getting nearer and nearer.

Somehow she felt safe, warm and calm. A sense of serenity washed over her.

She was protected.

She felt a light peck over her lips.

A chaste little kiss.

She chastised without opening her eyes, though her lips were slowly pulling into a small smile.

“What are you playing at-” she mumbled in her sleep.

And then she descended into sweet oblivion.

They met in the fields as usual the sun casting its shadow towards the east, amongst the waving barley and the golden wheat. Adeline was chatting animatedly about the latest novel she had been reading.

He cleared his throat when she stopped to take a breath in between.

“I have something to tell you.”

Her brows shot up no doubt finally realising that she had been hogging the conversation table for the last half an hour or so, but she quickly composed herself and gave him a reassuring smile. “What is it? I’m all ears.”

“I’m joining the army.”

“What?”

“I’m joining the Texas cavalry.”

“Why?” She looked bewildered, and there was a frantic look in her eye. “Don’t you have enough to do in the farm? The harvests and the cattle’s and… everything! Have you talked this through with your parents?!”

“I have. They are in full support of it.”

“But why?” She pouted her lips cutely, but her voices sounded betrayed. “I enjoy our time with you here everyday, don’t you? If you join the army, you’ll be working and training everyday. I-” she stopped and looked away, embarrassed, scuffing the sole of her shoe over the ground petulantly.

He chuckled. How to make her understand? That he was doing this exactly because of her.

“Besides, you’re a landowner yourself. I know the land isn’t much, but it should be enough for you right?”

“Adeline.”

“So why would you suddenly decide you want to become a soldier?”

“Adeline.”

“I mean sure I know you’ll excel in it anyways. You’re going to charm you way up. Then you’ll forget little ol me.”

“Adeline.” Jasper finally had to smirk. "You never let people finish what they have to say.”

Adeline huffed in annoyance and crossed her arm. “Fine. By all means!”

What she didn’t expect next was for him to clasp her hand in his.

“You might think that a farmer is well respected enough, but I’m a second son. When my parents die, my brother will inherit the farm. I can help with the farm, but it will never be mine. I’ll never have an income as prosperous as my brother will if I continue to work for him. When I do marry and then someday have children of mine, would I want them to endure the same fate as I have?”

“But if you love her then surely-”

“Would I be able to have better marriage prospect as my brother does? The answer is no. I would never be able to do better than him, I would be at a disadvantage, less likely to get the girl of my dreams. No decent gentleman would marry their own precious daughter to a second son. That is, unless if I make a name for myself in some other way.”

“By joining the army?”

“It was either that or become a priest.”

“There are other ways surely! You can study to be a lawyer or… or a businessman or anything other than joining the army!”

“Don’t you find some of the younger soldiers charming and dashing? I overheard you chatting with-”

“I care about you too much to want to see you get hurt!”

There was a solemnity in her clear blue eyes that betrayed nothing but sincerity and concern. It left him feeling giddy, that gave him a confidence he had been lacking for sometime to carry out what he was about to do that he had psyched himself up to do for weeks now. He couldn’t help but grin.

But it irked her to new heights.

“Stop it, don’t laugh! It’s not a laughing matter!” Adeline pouted again, slapping him in the arm repeatedly, and this time there were angry tears threatening to fall from her beautiful orbs. “I worry about you! Even if you seem no have no care about your own safety!”

“Fine! Go! Go join the bloody army if you love it so much for some bloody girl you think you’ve fallen in love with! See if I care when you get killed off by some stupid I don’t know what!”

She turned around and by the slight tremor in her shoulder and the sniffing he realised with a newfound panic that she was crying. This wasn’t what he had intended to do.

“Adeline.” He soothed, coaxing the girl to turn around to face him. “Are you crying?”

“No I’m not.”

“Hush, then turn around see that I can see you properly.”

When she did turn, he could still see the devastation over her face. The tear trails over the apples of her cheek, those eyes brimmed with unshed tears. But she stared back with great defiance, her chin held haughtily up. He has to suppress a tender sigh, his heart was so heavy with love for this girl, the little treacherous thing thumping against his chest so loudly he was sure she would’ve heard it.

“Adeline, you must know how important this is for me."

She looked away then and feigned boredom. “Why are you telling me this Mr Whitlock? You’re wasting your time on me. Shouldn’t you be looking for your bloody lover to her about this.”

“I really should shouldn’t I? But I need your help and advice.” He studied her closely as she bit her lips so hard it almost drew blood, as she raised a hand to finger her earring in an effort to calm her nerves mo doubt. He slowly reached out a hand to hold her chin and turn her pretty face back to his before delivering the final blow.

“But suppose I’m looking at her already right now as I speak?”

“Looking at her…?”

“Won’t you tell me how do I stop her tears and make her understand that I’m joining the army so that I can have a future with her? So that I can stand on my own and go to her grandmother to ask for permission to court her and marry her?”

He saw the moment the realisation hit her, Adeline’s mouth dropped as she stared mutely at him.

“You… I… I don’t think I understand what you-”

“I’m telling you that I love you Adeline. And I want to marry you.”

He stopped abruptly then to take a deep breath, his heart beating ferociously now, the rush in his ears was almost deafening, he was too fearful of what she would say.

But when her looked into her eyes, there was a newfound vulnerability, one he had never seen before. She wet her trembling lips.

“This isn’t a joke you’re pulling on me is this?”

“I would never joke about this.” He said with resolute.

Bashful, she looked down and sucked at her lips. And if he had looked closely, he would have seen how her cheeks were tinted red, not by the summer heat or the burning sin.

“No one has ever said that to me.” Her eyes were brimming with tears again though her lips were slowly, but surely drawing up into a smile. “I think… I love you too Jasper Whitlock.”

And that was the straw for him.

He stepped forward to close the gap between them, long arms stretching out to hold her tightly. Her arms slowly wound themselves around his neck, their face inches apart, looking straight into each other’s eyes.

“Don’t you think we’re a little too close for propriety’s sake, Mr Whitlock?” The corner of her lips tugging up playfully.

“Hush”. He thought his heart was going to burst. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

And under the setting Texan sun, amongst a golden burning world, they shared their first ever kiss, two hearts beating as one.

The thick clouds above were for once finally dispersing and the radiant sunbeams filtered in between, producing a luminous effect as it struck his skin.

The motion in his hand never ceasing, gently combing through Adeline’s hair as she herself laid on his chest, breathing in and out calmly. Without the hostility and the jitteriness, Jasper was almost fooled into believing that this Adeline was the same Adeline from his past.

But she was not.

Jasper sighed again, his heart so full of emotions it was painful.

He had wandered out after she left the house and subconsciously, or perhaps guided by a vengeful angel, he had stumbled across her, in the midst of a nightmare, curling into herself, whimpering. He acted on his natural instincts to soothe away the frown, and it mystified him that the moment he laid his hand on her head did the whimpering stopped. He couldn’t resist stealing a light kiss from those plump lips.

Looking down at Adeline’s serene sleeping face, Jasper wished he didn’t have to hide himself like this, that he could’ve held her when she was awake, her radiant smile guided towards him and himself only. Not like this, not when she wouldn’t even know that it was him who had comforted her and held her in her sleep, had warded away her nightmares, even if just for a few moments only.

Oh but he couldn’t let her know.

Every small movement now would send him into caution, to extricate himself from her before she woke, lest she would run away, lest he would startle her, deepen this gulf between them.

He surveyed their immediate surrounding, there was Adeline’s cassette player, the tiny thing’s battery had long since stopped running. He made a remark to ask her about the mixtape she had been listening to. The emptied coffee flask, the burnt cigarette butts. And there lying open with its cover up, its spine breaking right in the middle, was Rosalie’s old battered copy of To the Lighthouse. He remembered watching her going all out just to hide it behind the shelf.

It’s too painful. She had finally confessed one rainy day. But I can’t bear to throw it away. It’s like a mirror you hold up to juxtapose it with your own life.

He never read it, not in depth anyways.

He reached out to grab it and randomly flipped through it, scanning the words as he did so.

‘To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain. And then to want and not to have- to want and want- how that wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!’

“What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”

#jasper hale x you #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x oc #jasper hale imagine #jasperhale #twilight angst #twilight imagine

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