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savoytrufflephd · 1 year ago

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The questions of Laurent’s being and behavior…

I have been informed, via @thickenmyblood’s asks (since mine were apparently not set to accept anonymous asks – which I have now changed) that my opinion about HIUH Laurent’s character is incorrect. I have been informed that he’s abusive.

My PhD isn’t in English (though it is in the humanities), but my wife was an English major and she has often told me that interpretations aren’t right or wrong, but they are stronger or weaker in the sense that they are supported by the text.

So, let’s go…

First things first. Let me be clear about the following:

The question of whether or not Laurent is abusive in this piece of fanfiction has no bearing whatsoever on whether any person you know in real life is abusive.

Similarly, any arguments that Laurent can change or that Laurent deserves a second chance have no bearing whatsoever on whether any person you know in real life can change or deserves a second chance.

Neither HIUH nor any fic should be taken as a life advice manual. Just because there are therapists in this fic does not mean that @thickenmyblood is a mental health professional or your therapist.

I am also not a therapist, nor am I trying to give you life advice when I speak of my enjoyment of HIUH.

But if I were to give you life advice, it would be this: If a piece of fanfiction makes you so angry that you feel the need to send abusive anonymous comments to the author and/or ask that author to pass on your comment “correcting” the opinion of a reader writing about that story, you should probably stop reading that fic. It is clearly not good for you. Metaphorically speaking, you are in an abusive relationship with that fic and you should end it. Write the story off and move on.

Okay, that said, the question of whether Laurent is abusive in HIUH is probably more of a series of questions:

Has HIUH Laurent engaged in abusive behaviors?

If so, do those abusive behaviors necessarily indicate that he is and will always be an abuser?

If not, what evidence do we have that HIUH Laurent can and will stop engaging in abusive behaviors?

If HIUH Laurent stops engaging in abusive behaviors, what reasons, if any, does HIUH Damen have to return to the relationship despite past abuse?

BONUS:

A. Is an HIUH Laurent who harms Damen through abusive behavior mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?

B. Is an HIUH Damen who chooses to be with Laurent despite past abuse mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?

1. Has Laurent engaged in abusive behaviors?

Yes. Although we are limited by a potentially unreliable narrator (Damen), who does not believe Laurent is abusive, we are clearly and intentionally both told and shown in the text that Laurent has engaged in abusive behavior. We are told when Neo explains as much to a skeptical Damen:

“Then you must know I’m only trying to get a feeling on how educated you are on the subject of abuse between romantic partners.” “But why ? I just told you Laurent and I never—” “Do you know what emotional abuse looks like, Damen?” “Yes.” “Give me a definition.” It’s hot in the room, all of the sudden. “It’s… making someone. Feel bad.” “It’s consistent and repeated humiliation,” Neo says. “Gaslighting. Manipulation. Verbal abuse can sometimes overlap with this. Have you ever experienced this while in your relationship with Laurent?” “We weren’t abusive.” “Did you insult each other?” “No,” Damen says. It was so long ago, it was a lifetime back. He can’t remember. “It’s—not like that. Humiliation? We never—” “You’ve said that sometimes Laurent made you feel as though the things you were feeling were inadequate.” You’re being a fucking idiot, Laurent had said about the pink sweatshirt. “What if he was right?” “It’s never right to invalidate your partner’s feelings.” “We weren’t abusive.” “Damen,” Neo says, the soft caress before a blow. “What if we think about it from—” “There’s nothing to think about. I’m telling you, it wasn’t like that. How the fuck did you get to that conclusion? Because I complained about us arguing?” Neo ruffles his notes. “Contempt. Shame. Hurt. That’s what abusers thrive on. There’s quite a lot of those things in here.” “Laurent’s not an abuser,” Damen snaps. “Maybe not, but he grew up with one, didn’t he? These are learned traits.” Damen folds forward as though to vomit. That’s—He’s made a mistake. They argued, they yelled, they said things they didn’t mean, but they never hit each other or threw cutlery at each other’s heads. They went to bed angry, and Damen slept on the couch, and there would be rolling eyes and huffs and annoyance in the following days, but that’s not—Laurent is not— You’re sweet, Damen had said, hand to Laurent’s cheek. A sweetheart. He remembers meaning it, remembers Laurent not liking it. He also remembers Laurent’s sweetness, scarcer in the end and cloying in the beginning. Breakfast in bed, letting Damen pick what show to watch, giving up half his trail mix bag because he knew Damen liked the dried fruit pieces most. You’ll do great, you always do great. A protein shake prepped and ready to go, peace and quiet the nights before important court days. But also bigger things, biggest things. There was—and sharing a bed, and curling up under Damen to read, and letting Damen carry Nicaise up the stairs, and holding his hand under the table as firm functions, and kissing just to kiss, just because, just— He’s explained Laurent wrong.

And we are shown in the moments when Damen and Laurent talk and Damen expects a belittling response from Laurent:

“There are,” Laurent starts, stops. Starts again, “I didn’t.” He has both elbows on the table, which he used to despise. Tables are for cutlery and food, not limbs. Something about the way he rubs at the skin under his eyes makes Damen’s stomach cower as if expecting a blow. “Agnes recommended it months before you—came back. It wasn’t my idea.”

“I met him?” For once, Laurent doesn’t mock him for his question. “It was at that school play I couldn’t go to. The one Nicaise got that huge part in.”

“I want to know when the twenty-four hours are up,” Damen says, loudly, too loudly, “so we can go to the police station and report him missing. For fuck’s sake, Laurent, will you stop ? He could be seriously hurt, and you’re sitting here, berating me about the way I phrased a question. Do you even give a shit about him? Do you even—” He cuts himself off when he sees Laurent’s expression. Like he did last time with Nicaise, Damen braces himself for what’s to come, goes over the list of things Laurent can hurl at him, tries to minimize the inevitable damage. The comment will be about Nikandros, about his soft childhood in Ios, about the time he tried to discipline Nicaise by himself and ended up covered in vomit. Nothing happens. There’s only Laurent, turning his face to the side so Damen can’t stare at it any longer. In the silence of the car, Laurent’s breathing shakes.

“Is his name really Dog?” Laurent says, sitting down next to Damen. Between them, the two cups of coffee and the small pile of croissants both steam. “I didn’t believe Nicaise when he told me.” “I,” Damen starts, lie ready on his tongue, and stops. It’s very meta. “I’m not good with names.” Laurent picks up his coffee instead of agreeing with Damen. Instead of mocking. The space between their bodies is comfortable enough—they’re not touching, not even their knees or thighs. They’re not looking at each other either, not with the entire park stretching green and busy in front of them.

2. If so, do those abusive behaviors necessarily indicate that he is and will always be an abuser?

I take this to be one of the major points of contention on the part of the angry readers. As you can probably guess, I don’t think the text suggests that Laurent in inherently abusive. Besides the stuff coming in my answer to question 3, we have several reasons to believe that Laurent’s abusive behavior is the product of particular circumstances rather than a generalized personality dysfunction.

We know, and Neo just reminded us above, that abusive behaviors are learned behaviors. We know Laurent was abused in multiple ways before he was able to leave his uncle’s house. We know that he is still very young and that it has not been that long since his uncle’s trial. We know he has not been comfortable talking to Damen about his abuse, which gives us reason to believe he still experiences a great deal of shame. That shame is hinted at here:

“He respects you,” Laurent says before Damen has made up his mind about the yelling. “He looks at you and sees a standard to meet. Normalcy. It’s hard to disappoint people you respect. Especially people like you.” “Like me.” “You do things your way. Everyone else does them wrong.” “That’s,” Damen starts. The absolute inaccuracy of the phrase leaves him hanging. “What the fuck?” Laurent ignores him. “He doesn’t respect me, and he also knows I have no room to judge. It’s different. We’re—it’s just different.”

We also know that Laurent is specifically and intentionally not abusive toward Nicaise. We have seen that he has been absorbing a ton of anger, vilification, derision, denigration from Nicaise almost entirely without complaint and without lashing out at Nicaise in return. In fact, after the breaking of the paperweight, when Laurent feels that he might not be able to avoid reacting in a way he will regret, he calls Damen to safely remove Nicaise from the situation. Having taken the lock off Nicaise’s door for reasons many parents would no doubt consider justified, he realizes it was a mistake:

Damen doesn’t look down at the twisted little bolts on the floor. “Actually, you should watch this part in case you ever want to dismantle it again.” “I won’t.” Damen rubs his sleeve over a weird spot on the knob. “You’re betting a lot on Nicaise’s hypothetical good behavior.” “It was dumb, taking the lock away as punishment. I…” Laurent’s thumb glides over the edge of the glass. It traces a full circle before stopping and going white, digging in. His jaw twitches like he’s munching on something. “Privacy shouldn’t be a reward.” “Wasn’t this about safety? He locked himself in, wouldn’t come out or reply when you called…” Laurent’s reply is slow to come. After a while, Damen stops expecting it to come at all. He goes back to testing the lock—twice, waiting for that click sound—opens the door, closes it, and rattles the knob a bit. Just to be sure. “My uncle made it about safety too,” Laurent says. “Locks on doors were for adults. Not children.” The lonely ice cube in his glass floats around aimlessly, not quite touching its confines. “The first to go were the bedroom locks. What if there’s a fire and you can’t get out? What if someone breaks in through the window and—well.” Laurent smiles, small and ugly. “That kind of thing. You know.”

He ensures that Nicaise sees a therapist, meets with that therapist regularly, and follows professional advice about putting Nicaise on medication.

Laurent also maintains a strong friendship with Ancel, whose judgment the text has taught us to trust, through Damen’s evolving relationship with him. Laurent is capable of non-abusive, non-superficial relationships.

3. If not, what evidence do we have that HIUH Laurent can and will stop engaging in abusive behaviors?

From the moment we see Laurent interact with Damen in the present of this story, he is trying to treat Damen better. Not because he thinks he can get back together with Damen, but because he realizes he needs to make a relationship with Damen possible for Nicaise. We have already seen above that most of the time when Damen expects Laurent’s ridicule in this story, he does not actually receive it. In very stressful conversations, when Laurent does lash out, he now tends to pull back or even to acknowledge and apologize:

Coffee. Damen takes two long sips, trying to rinse the bad taste out of his mouth. They’ve had arguments in public before, probably louder than this one. For some reason, the thought isn’t as comforting as Damen would have once found it. They broke up to be better than they were together, didn’t they? They should be better. Except this doesn’t feel better. Or different. Laurent says, “That was out of line.” Now, cooled off, Damen feels clammy. Wobbly. He knows Laurent is right, and yet the thought of sitting through a reprimand makes him want to melt away. “It was.” “I—apologize.” Damen looks up from his coffee to Laurent’s profile. He’s facing the wrong way, Damen thinks stupidly, because the window is to their left. “You apologize.” Half a question. “Go ahead,” Laurent says. “Rub it in.” Damen doesn’t want to. Nausea is curling around him, closing in. “I was out of line too, so.”

And we know now that Laurent has thought through some of his past behaviors toward Damen:

“I was angry at you,” Laurent says, “all the time. Sometimes it was justified, but when it wasn’t I just—I found ways to justify it. That wasn’t fair. Of me.” Damen’s palm is numb around the glass. “Why were you angry?” “Nicaise.” “Justified,” Damen says. “And the rest of it?” Laurent is facing him again. “Paschal says I have a tendency to expect the worst from everyone. Especially you. You’d make comments, and I’d think you were being cruel instead of…” “Instead of what? Ignorant?” Laurent doesn’t reply. “That makes no sense,” Damen says. “We never argued about me being fucking sadistic. We argued about you acting like some things were obvious and I was simply too much of an idiot to get them.” “I never thought you were an idiot.” “You said it often enough.” “I’m—sorry,” Laurent says. “It doesn’t change anything, but—even if you had been the biggest idiot in the world, you didn’t deserve…” A blinking spree follows. “I’m sorry.”

We know that Laurent is still in therapy, and we know that he has been talking about his relationship with Damen there because Paschal has suggested couples counseling for them. And Laurent has invited Damen to do that couples counseling, showing that he wants them to build a better foundation for their relationship going forward.

4. If HIUH Laurent stops engaging in abusive behaviors, what reasons, if any, does HIUH Damen have to return to the relationship despite past abuse?

Damen is deeply in love with Laurent. At the beginning of the story, he is in denial about this fact, but the uncontrollable flow of his thoughts still shows us how much he feels the loss of their relationship. Once he and Laurent are speaking again, seeing improvements in their communication, and experiencing moments of comfort and fun in their interactions – and once Laurent has broken up with Maxime – Damen admits to himself that he wants to be back together. Neo, as usual, prompts the self-recognition:

“I’m asking you to think about what life might look like in two years,” Neo says, “for you and Laurent. Time does not only pass for you, Damen.” A smile, crinkling the corners of Neo’s eyes. “That’d be ideal, wouldn’t it?” Two years. Damen sits with the question for a while, looking at it, prodding it. In two years, Nicaise will have gone away to college. Maybe Laurent will move, relocate, start over somewhere closer to Vask. He’ll post about his new life on Instagram, or details of it will make it to Damen as second-hand gossip. They could still be friends, over text or the phone or fucking letters, Damen thinks, yet there’s something bitter in the back of his throat, filling up his mouth like vomit. Maybe Laurent will date again. Probably. Most likely. And Damen— When he looks up from the armrest, Neo is looking straight back. Damen can’t say it. Earlier today, as he typed his last email of the day at the office, he kept drafting a plan for today’s session. He’d explain his argument with Laurent, then the party at Ancel’s, then the way he keeps looking at Laurent in all the wrong lights, in all the wrong ways, and still finds himself wanting to kiss him. Neo would make a disapproving face, maybe, but it would be easy to brush off; anyone that doesn’t know Laurent would find it hard to understand how easy it is to want to kiss him. Except that isn’t all Damen wants. What Damen wants isn’t a settling of the score, a cleaning of the slate. He doesn’t want to do it once for old times’ sake, or twice out of gluttony. He doesn’t want to make any long-distance phone calls, write any letters, see any pictures on Instagram of Laurent and someone that isn’t him. He doesn’t want things to stay like this, in this careful antiseptic stage. He doesn’t want them to be friends. “It’s not what I want,” Damen says, at last. Neo leans back into his chair. He rolls his wrist once. “You think it’s what I should want, right? Letting go and all.” “I wouldn’t say that,” Neo says. “Should and shouldn’t are very loaded words. It also doesn’t matter what I think you should or shouldn’t do, in general. What is it that you want, since we’ve already established what it is that you don’t?” Don’t make me say it out loud. “I want,” Damen starts, and stops. The words look so stupid, jumbled inside his head. I want him back, like Laurent is a toy someone took away and won’t return. Like Damen is a child, begging. Don’t make me say it. Seconds trickle by, piling into a minute. Then two. “Do you want to be in a relationship with Laurent again?” “I thought I already was,” Damen says. “A friendship is a kind of relationship. You said that.” Neo closes his eyes, keeps them like that for a while. “I did, yes. Let me rephrase that—do you want to be in a romantic relationship with Laurent? Again?” There is no loophole this time, no two-meaning word Damen can latch onto. The truth sits heavy in him, not on his chest but somewhere deeper, inside a little crevice between some (probably important) organs. Saying no would be lying, saying yes would be diminishing. “I want things to be good,” Damen says. “That’s all.”

And in chapter 19, Damen is brutally honest with himself about how, even after everything, he still wants Laurent:

“You meet new people,” Neo says. “You go on dates, make new friends, find new interests. Despite what you might think right now, Laurent isn’t your only option. Dare I say, Laurent might not even be your best option.” The room is dark, darker than it was when the phone call started, but Damen’s eyes hurt like he’s been staring at a ball of light for too long. Everything hurts in a strange, modest way. A throb here, faint. An ache there, heatless. “I don’t want other options,” Damen says. “Well.” “How fucked up is that?” “Pretty fucked up,” Neo says. It makes Damen stop blinking. “Luckily, you’re already doing therapy. It’s only bound to get less complicated from here on. Or more, depending on how you look at it.” “I don’t even wanna look at it, to be honest.” “Then don’t. Take time off, let things cool down, think about what’s been said… No one is asking you to choose right this second.” It’s not that anyone is asking. It’s that it feels like he’s already made his choice.

“You didn’t tell me,” Damen says before he can think not to. “Tell you what?” “How bad it was.” Laurent’s thumb traces the t in team. It’s a bit crooked, even from Damen’s perspective. “It was pretty bad,” he says, slowly, “before you came back. Things were better once he started seeing you again.” “You call that better?” “Yes,” Laurent says. I would have come back, Damen thinks, if you’d told me. Except it’s not true; he would have come back for much less. He’s here now, sitting across from Laurent in this mediocre coffee shop, talking things out, making an effort, thinking of reaching out to finally, finally, hold Laurent’s hand. It’s strange, looking at Laurent and knowing he’s the only other person on earth that feels the same way he does. Where else would Damen go? Who else would he talk to? No one will ever get it, not the way Laurent does. And Laurent knows it. He must, or else he would not be sitting here either. There is only this, Damen thinks. At least for him, there will only ever be this.

So there is that. Damen is hopelessly devoted to Laurent. But that doesn’t make getting back together with him a good decision. Love would not be a good reason to return to an abusive relationship.

Another NOT good reason would be Damen believing the fact that he made mistakes cancels out Laurent’s harmful behavior. The text makes that explicitly clear through Neo:

Neo’s pen hops; a period appears at the end of a sentence. “Apologies can be hard to navigate. It’s sort of like… You’ve wronged me, and you know that you’ve wronged me, and now you’re apologizing for it while expecting me to forgive you. It’s quite a lot to put on a person.” “There are degrees to wrong,” Damen says. His chair feels smaller, like it’s locking him in instead of holding him up. The armrests keep getting in the way of his elbows. “And it’s not like I didn’t have stuff I had to apologize for too. I don’t get why you’re trying to make this seem like a bad thing.” “I’m not.” “Then why—” “Do you think you deserved an apology from Laurent?” Damen leans back and back and back, until his shoulder blades find something solid. Did he deserve…? He’d wanted one, once. In Nikandros’s guest room, with only beige and white and terracotta everything around him, he’d had staring matches with his own phone. He’d thought Laurent might call, at the very beginning. Apologizing. Begging. But Laurent never did. “Yeah,” Damen says. Neo’s head begins to tilt. “You don’t sound too sure about that.” “I am sure.” “All right,” Neo says. “Why do you deserve an apology?” “I told you already. He treated me like I was an idiot.” “How?” “How—what?” “How exactly did he treat you like you were an idiot? What were his actions towards you?” “I,” Damen starts, but something in Neo’s face makes him pause. “He’d say things when we argued.” “Such as?” “That I was an asshole.” Neo nods. “And how did you feel when you heard him say that? Did you feel like it was fair?” “I felt like he was an asshole,” Damen says. “Sometimes.” “Whereas now you feel like he was right?” He was right about Nicaise. And maybe about Ancel, too. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” “I don’t want you to say anything,” Neo says. “I’m just trying to get you to think about things from a different perspective. Laurent apologized, which is an important—not to say crucial—step in rebuilding any kind of relationship. But it seems to me that you’re holding onto this newly found belief that because you acted a certain way, because you made mistakes, you somehow deserved the way he treated you throughout the last stages of your relationship.” “That’s not what I think,” Damen says. “All right. Then you think you deserved the apology because the way he treated you was wrong.” “Yes. But…” “But…?” Damen’s face feels hot, the heat lodged right over his molars. “Doesn’t it kind of cancel out? Like, we both fucked up.” “Those are two different issues,” Neo says. “So no, they don’t cancel out. What he did to you and what you did to him are obviously connected, but someone doing something wrong or bad is not an excuse to do the wrong or bad thing back to them.” Neo gives his pen a tap. “Or it does, I suppose. It depends on your belief system. But you don’t strike me as an ‘eye for an eye’ fan.” I don’t want any eyes, Damen thinks.

I interpret the failed second try (or second strike) of Damen and Laurent’s relationship to have been somewhat based on the “cancel out” reasoning from above. The “cancel out” and move past approach did not work because they failed to address the many insecurities, communication failures, and problematic patterns that plagued the first time around. A discussion with Neo (again) makes this clear. Damen hasn’t yet learned to listen to what Laurent is saying without letting his insecurities and anger get in the way:

But Damen isn’t in Laurent’s position. You’ll never get it, Laurent had said about Nicaise. Maybe it’s true. “I get why he did it. I’ve been thinking, and it’s not—I get it. Nicaise being embarrassed, wanting Laurent in the room because he was the least angry of—” “I don’t think that’s why,” Neo says. “Or at least, that’s not what you’ve just told me Laurent said about the whole thing.” “What?” “Laurent talked extensively about roles. Did you notice that?” “No.” “He presents himself as the scapegoat for Nicaise’s anger, while you’re the one Nicaise admires and wants to impress.” Tap, tap, tap. Damen imagines Neo’s fingers flying across the keyboard. “It seems to me Nicaise wasn’t concerned about the different intensity levels of your—as in, yours and Laurent’s—anger. He knew you were both angry.” “Laurent was better at handling it.” “Was he?” “I couldn’t stop thinking about the guy,” Damen says. Guys, his brain supplies, helpful as ever. “I still can’t. Even now, I know it’s not—that’s not important. I was yelling at Nicaise. I wasn’t listening.” “And that’s why Nicaise didn’t want you to go with him to the clinic?” Damen closes his eyes. He needs to repaint his ceiling, do something about the lack of texture there. “Laurent said something about abandonment,” Neo tries. A nudge. “You’ve mentioned Nicaise doesn’t do well with change, that he’s got a tendency to latch onto routines and people. Do you think it might be possible that he was trying to preserve the relationship he has with you?” “By keeping me out of a medical examination room.” “Yes.” “That’s what Laurent said.” “Well,” Neo says. “It sounds plausible.”

Damen wanted magically for them to be over their past:

“Right,” Damen says. “You don’t do should and shouldn’t. I forgot.” “Are you upset?” Are you angry with me? “I don’t know,” Damen says. “We were supposed to be past this, and now it’s out there and I can’t—we can’t—” “How were you supposed to be past this, if this had never been discussed before today?” “You said it’s impossible to discuss everything.”

So, I don’t think it’s a strong interpretation of the text to say that @thickenmyblood is trying to present Damen in an unfairly negative light in order to excuse Laurent’s much worse behavior and thereby make it okay for them to get back together. Cancelling out isn’t what the HEA of the story is set up to be about.

That said – and given the fact that Damen is still in love with Laurent – what GOOD reasons might Damen have to try the relationship again?

For one, he is beginning to understand better what the fights with Laurent about Nicaise were about. Moreover, they have now explicitly acknowledged that they are co-parenting Nicaise and Laurent has expressed a clear commitment to them parenting Nicaise as a team.

For another, Damen has a much improved understanding of the role of therapy and the complexities of mental health. He has a long ways to go on this front, but I don’t think we’ll see him dismissing or belittling Laurent’s mental health needs. Moreover, Damen has ways of addressing his own mental health needs and talking things through with a person who doesn’t share his triggers and emotional investments around Laurent.

For a third, he has made a commitment to working through their issues in therapy and has concluded that he trusts Laurent to try just as hard as he will to repair and strengthen their relationship.

Crucially, Damen has also learned to stand up for himself when he feels Laurent is implying that he is incapable of understanding things. This means he can point it out and Laurent can recognize when he is retreating into a defensive, harmful pattern. This also allows Damen to indicate that something isn’t obvious to him and to ask Laurent to explain it kindly and clearly. I think that is the only way they can reconcile their very different life histories and relationships to social normativity.

ONCE AGAIN, believing this about HIUH Damen relative to HIUH Laurent does not mean that I believe this is something all (or even very many) real life people who were previously in unhealthy relationships should aim for or could achieve.

Which brings us to our bonus questions:

A. Is an HIUH Laurent who harms Damen through abusive behavior mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?

No, in fact, this is not a mischaracterization. Laurent abused Damen in canon. He took him as a slave. He sought Damen’s public humiliation. He had Damen whipped to an extent that would have killed most other people. He placed Damen in a situation that (for almost any other person) would have resulted in a violent public rape. He also forced Damen to engage in public and non-consensual oral sex. Later, when he understood Damen more emotionally and was feeling insecure or threatened, he lied about his feelings and motivations out of shame and self-hatred and with the aim of hurting Damen enough to drive him away.

B. Is an HIUH Damen who chooses to be with Laurent despite past abuse mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?

Damen fell in love with Laurent after all that abuse because he came to understand its source and because he saw other sides of Laurent that were caring and honorable and expressed a commitment to achieving justice, even if not by fully honest means. He came to understand Laurent as a survivor, even before he became aware of what exactly Laurent had survived. He stuck with Laurent through all of Laurent’s attempts to push him away and fought for what should have been an impossible relationship. And throughout this process, he learned about his own naivete and to question key elements of his upbringing, like the quest for war glory and the belief that “perfect treatment” justified slavery.

Captive Prince is a seductive and enthralling trilogy. And we willingly suspend any disbelief about whether Laurent’s trauma can truly be overcome simply by Damen’s noble nature and magical healing cock.

Why not do the same for HIUH? (Or, you know, just stop reading it.)

Although I do think Maca may owe us some healing cock. Just sayin’.

#captive prince #captive prince fanfic #hiuh #damen x laurent #thickenmyblood #hand in unlovable hand #neither my wife nor child reads this fic and i suck at fandom these days but i need to talk about this masterwork #clearly when you are just about to finish your academic book you experience a sudden need to analyze the fuck out of other things

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scoonsalicious · 10 months ago

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the first thing i really want to say, i hate being right. i really hate it this time. WE WERE ROOTING FOR YOU BUCKY. I !!! WAS !!! FUCKING !!! ROOTING !!! FOR !!! YOU !!! I'll be calling you other names now until further notice. honestly, what more can I say? I basically said all the thoughts I had on my previous ask, and while at first they were based on theories, well, now they're not 😭 I'm not even mad at him anymore, I'm just so drained and tired of it all. Disappointed really. Just disappointed. I do know he didn't do the "<3" tho. Since Jethro went through his phone so she probably changed it herself. But that's the least of everyone's problem right now.

Like I said, if he had just confessed right off the bat, it wouldn't have been as bad, in my opinion at least. I mean, it's still a shitty thing to do no matter the semantics or technically, but it's the LYING. It's truly what fucks a person up. And yes with what you said!!! Brendon took so many choices away from Pocket!!! She was blindsided and manipulated to some degree and it's just. sigh. so disappointed.

Now, let me put my theory cap on because lol surprise, I have some. You said the first time didn't count. So something must've happened and I know you said it wasn't SA but sex pollen? could be? Or omg, something Hydra put because you know how they would probably want super soldiers to procreate even if it's against their will? What if Jacinta knows that code? and ..... shit, omg. wait. I just realized something. I really had to stare at my screen because this could be mind blowing but I also could be so wrong because this probably won't make any sense. BUT, (i know this will seem like i'm defending him but hear me out) if the first time wasn't his choice (not fully anyway), he probably still felt disgusted by himself that it happened. So, the second time, do you think Bob did it to punish himself? Like doing the act didn't give him any pleasure at all, just disgust and guilt and regret and actual physical pain? !!! TW !!! but kinda self-harm but in a different way? Because maybe in the back of his mind, he knew this would destroy Pocket, and the thought of that itself is so painful to him that, he did it as a way to punish himself? To hurt himself by hurting pocket? Which is a really fucked up mental gymnastic but idk okay, i have no idea how my brain works LMAO. He needs a new therapist my god. Or maybe he needs two. Or maybe I'm just way over my head and the reason the second time happened was because that was the time he saw the articles. OR could be both a mixture of both. And again, he had an actually devil in his shoulder. But still, to given in that easily. Weakass supersoldier if you ask me. Like I said, the whole "I did it for revenge" cuts differently too. Honestly just basically what i said on my previous ask hahaha

Sigh, I know there's something else going on. I know something was cooking underneath all that. I'm sure Jenny had more at play to this than Baker. I don't think she's that lucky that the universe just decided for everything to fall into place like that. I'm sure she had all the string. Like yes, I won't deny Bryan is an asshole, and he still did what he did. But still, no matter if there was something that happened that led up to the act (apart from the articles which is shitty on its own as a reason but he's a fragile weakass man so) It still won't change how he lied about it after. I do think the heaviest part of it, especially to Pocket, wasn't exactly the fact that he slept with Junia but the fact that he lied about it and covered it up.

I will add tho, as much as I am looking forward for Pocket to have her villain origin story, because she absolutely does deserve it, I'm just hoping she won't do something that she's regret later on. Though right now, I also have no idea how she's ever going to forgive him. We'll just have to wait and see as everything unfolds.

Honestly, I don't think I've got anything more to add. I'm just sitting here sighing and shaking my head as I'm typing this. Though I can't wait for the truth to unravel, because I really do have a feeling there's more than meets the eye. I'll probably pop back in if I have a new theory, but either way. You're amazing as always!

— Jnon 🤍

I think getting your posts are the favorite part of my day!

Let's address! I'm sorry you were right. I hate that you were right, but right you were. Pocket is also definitely drained and tired from it, too. Exhausted. Brutus definitely did not do the <3; he didn't even know how to unblock her. Venus Flytrap (going with a V-name this time, lol) did it all herself.

Part of what hurts Pocket so much is that Buckwheat knows her history, knows how much trouble she has with trusting people, and yet, he keeps lying. It's one of those "I lied because I knew the truth would hurt you," but he doesn't realize that the truth is so much more easy for her to digest than having to constantly wonder if he's being honest with her, just to find out he's not. One of the things they bonded over, early on in their friendship, was that they had had their bodies used by others, without their consent, so she thought he understood how important that was for her, and to have him make the same decisions her abusers did, by taking away her ability for informed consent, that's what's killing her. She thought he knew her better than that. Your theories! The "first time" doesn't have anything to do with sex pollen or Hydra. You are definitely close in that he felt disgusted with himself, which has a lot to do why the first time doesn't count. You'll have to wait until Chapter 27 to find out! It really was a happy accident for Jaeger Bomb that the articles happened. She didn't pull any strings, but she absolutely used them to her advantage. If they hadn't come out, she would have most likely come up with some other diabolical plan to get what she wanted. Pocket's going to face some dark times coming up, definitely. There will be a lot of self-destructive behavior and spiraling, but she's not gonna go full-on Thanos or anything (who could blame her if she did, let's be honest). The only person she's really going to hurt, going forward, is herself :( As always, Jnon, it is a pleasure. Thank you so much for bringing such happiness to my days <3 I love you!

#unwanted #jnon report

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 2 years ago

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Hi. Can't think of trigger warnings, maybe for crappy therapy and a bad therapist and some mentions of physical illness. Looking for advice. Nickname purple

I'm just wondering if you have any advice on how to get over a fear of/reluctance to seek therapy (and to am extent medical care in general). More and more often I'm starting to think I'll never be able to function normally without some help but I'm so scared to get it. In part I think this came from my mom's own mental illness and how whatever pills she took (no idea what they were or even what they were for besides that there were a lot) left her so out of it all the time and sometimes made her destructive on top of neglectful, and from my dad's distrust of the medical system as a whole, to the point of ignoring his doctors after a heart attack, not seeing care for cancer until it had progressed too far too fix, and generally being reluctant to get me any medical care and being mad at my mom if she took me to the doctor for anything, because it was babying me and would make me think it was okay to be weak and I should be stronger and trust God before 'weird medicine'. Between that and most people in my life growing up basically thinking mental Illness isn't real and anyone who claims to have it is faking maliciously or, especially if they claim to have significant past trauma, flat out delusional (and yes, they applied this to me, even when I was actively suicidal or had visible marks from abuse).

I got sent to a therapist when I was twelve, against my will in a whole court ordered thing, and while I don't remember many specifics of the first session I know I was reluctant to talk and he ended up screaming at me until I shut down. The few additional sessions there were went better, though only because I coasted through and just tried to give the most 'normal' responses to anything he said so I'd be allowed out of it all sooner.

Now, well into adulthood, my issues have only gotten worse and worse. It feels my mind is falling apart and I'm so frequently scared, my emotional regulation and memory are practically non-existent. I can't get away from self harm or disordered eating (though I often doubt a therapist would think those things are significant), can barely keep myself from falling back into substances. I can barely get a job or keep it and sometimes the only thing keeping me here is being scared to die though sometimes that doesn't even work (I'm not actively suicidal right now just to clarify). More than ever it feels like I'm barely real or even alive.

But I'm still scared to even try to schedule a therapy or psychiatrist appointment. I'm scared I won't even be able to talk when asked what's wrong since more and more now I've been having verbal shutdowns, especially in frightening enchantments or under the slightest stress, which I respond to worse than ever lately. I've been thinking of writing down a summary of what's going on but I don't know if they'll accept that, if they'll want me to talk normally. I'm scared they'll want me to go into past trauma but I just can't, not to a stranger or sometimes to anyone at all. I'm scared they'll think I'm just making everything up and turn me away. I'm scared they'll think I'm just a whiny child that can't handle normal life, or I'm just looking for some excuse to not participate in society or get drugs or something (funny, since I'm afraid to take meds and I'd probably just refuse if prescribed something controlled). I'm just scared and I know I won't be able to take it if I get even a fraction of the treatment I did at that therapist back then or most other times I've tried to bring up anything wrong with me to people in my life. I just don't know what to do I'm sorry I'm sorry

Hi Purple, I am so sorry for your experiences, and would like to start by validating your mental health struggles, and trauma history, and commend you for the self awareness it takes to want to develop new coping skills for a healthy functioning base line. We all deserve the space and time to explore what that means for us, and I hope you find yours as well. It makes all the sense in the world to me, that with both your background, and experiences, that the thought of seeking out therapy would feel the way it does for you. I deeply empathize with it, and know it is something that unfortunately does happen within the medical community. I had the opportunity to reply to a previous ask about something similar that I'll link here as well, but essentially, I'd like to copy over two core parts of it: This link about red flags in therapists (not to discourage!) but to help validate your experiences and not potentially self-gas light yourself as you navigate new medical professionals along your healing journey.

But also this part:

"Of course it’s very understandable that without feeling safe, the appointment could feel so jarring that even if you meet a kind one, it could be hard to convey what you’re looking for.

My first advice would be to ask if someone can go with you, someone you feel comfortable with, and who you might even be able to practice a dialogue with beforehand.

Even if they can, or cannot come, my second piece of advice is to have your questions written down as well. Worst come to worst, if you feel unable to verbally share your concerns, perhaps you could slide them over so they can reply.

My third piece of advice is to ask for a print out of the after visit summary, with clear instructions and follow up to what the next steps might be - something you can refer to in the future as well." Regardless of what you choose moving forward, I hope you find someone who helps you feel seen, heard, and encourages you along your healing path.

Mod Kat

#trauma talks #mod kat #therapy #purple

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after-nine-at-the-oasis · 9 months ago

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OOP dang o.o

Yeah go off Aaron 😤😤😌

It's not like a friendship (though they kinda had one) but getting betrayed by your therapist must be such a weird hurtful thing :((

Ahh nice :o :D well at least we got stuff out of her :)) and while she's alive lol

Okay that's good <3

Phew :'))

And yeah Bailey xDD

I hope we don't have to deal with Jason tonight 😭 like before the end of this episode xd

Yeahh she's out there in the middle of nowhere somewhere 😬

Hmm unless she talks her way out of it again xD

Angela last time you did that your enemy vowed revenge and set a hitman after your husband and child xdd xD

Maybe let's not lol

The others want in though, you really did have to call dibs xD

Aww hey guys :'o :')))

Lol xD

Hey you deserve it, you guys both do lol

Weird elevator noise there, kinda satisfying though

Aww yeah :'))

Lol yeah xD it's nice that he can be honest about it though :')))

AWW yeahh :')) y'all :'D 😭😭❤️

AWWW honeyy 🥺🥺❤️😭

Ik they're not about to get back together but is he about to apologize and like, vow to make up for it?? Idek-

Awww 🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭💔❤️❤️

AWWW honeyyy 😭😭😭😭😭💔💔❤️ :'(( DD':

Bro you're the one that broke up with her like yes what she allows but you can make up some of the distance you created yourself 😭😭

I'm struggling to express what I mean bc I know he is just just xdd like you broke up with her, it's not like she didn't want you around you know lol? Even if she's reasonably upset about it now xdd and you were fighting

Guagh anyway xdd at least we got some closure for them this season lol xd 😭

OOP hey guys o.o

Oughh noo 😭😭😭 >:((

Just them getting out of general xDD

But also. . . wesley angst 😏😌👀

Eh it won't be after this xD

Lol yeah xD

As if you guys aren't going to the same place xD

Unless he just goes off to some random place and disappears lol

That would be wild xD rarely or never to be seen again LOL

I sincerely doubt it but you know XD

Awww hey guys :'))

Lol fair Bailey xD though he did t exactly have a choice in the matter slfkjdgs

LOL SLFKDHS OOF

Didn't know that was it xD

Eh close enough

Oof lol

I know the feeling of a laugh pain xD from like being hurt in the wrong area lol (though I have not been shot in the side xD)

Aww ayy :'))

LOL she also compiled xDD

Awww y'all :')))

I was thinking you'd say what age lol, but yeah that's important too :o

Oop?

Is it gonna be Jason as him o.o

OOPE no wait he's probably telling them of him getting out of jail O.O

And then he breaks in two seconds later lol xD not enough time of a warning

But eh maybe (HOPEFULLY PLEEASE) it is xdd

YEP O.O

And good thing we're mentioning Oscar too o.o 😬😬

Yeahhh uh oh is right xdd

From their faces lol

AUOAAGHHHHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭😬😬😳💔💔❤️

Y'all I'm stressed xD

But also. . . once again. . . the angst 😏😏👀👀😌

I love me some good angst, especially involving Oscar even if it doesn't directly involve Wesley because I can pretend it does xD but also it might 👀👀👀😌 :DD

Anyway WHERE'S MY BABY WOPEZ NAME

I know they said maybe or even probably not by the end of the season but my gosh 😭😭😭

Going with Xochtil or Samara y'all xdd not even a guess I'm just deciding lol /lh

Anyway I think we could get a Wesley/Wopez storyline out of this, especially since it'll be next season 👀👀 I mean it's been a while for them, right :D?

Although waiting for Elijah and Oscar at the same time could be cool, and we may want to wait a little longer for that lol. Maybe Elijah from prison, or Oscar laying low for a while? Aeh idk :))

Anyway! I've been chatting a lot lol, but official/full review coming out later (probably in a few days) :D

I love you all!!

See you next time for that :)) 🥰!

#the rookie #oasis's the rookie chatter #absolutely wild episode all around o.o #a bunch going on xd #loved it though :D #and hey a few injuries for the finale lol!#nolan's been the main one but scrapes and bruises for chenford and loves me the vest shot for angela :D #anyway!!! loved the episode I thought it was great :)))#this really has been a great season :'))#ughh can't believe it's over already xdd #at least we get another lol <33 #this is a lot of shows (seasons) ending at one for me 😭 xD #but tgd being the finale of the series I think has made it a bit easier lol #these don't hurt as much in comparison/when they could be that xdd :')#anyway :DD!!#super fun time :))#thanks for an amazing season guys :'))#the cast crew and everyone else and the fandom too :'DD #it's been great :)))#and I'm scared for next time lol #I love you all :DDD ❤️❤️❤️❤️!!!!#byeeee :))) 🥰🥰🥰🥰 <333!!!!

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munsonology · 1 year ago

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Well I need a new therapist lmaoooo

I told her I was uncomfortable regarding a certain celebrity.

I don't mind them as a person, though I feel they are v performative on certain topics and exploits things for money. My main issue is they don't tell their fans anything like they don't say hey no death threats. Maybe they have and then I would feel slightly better about the person, but the fans are moreso my issue.

Regular fans are fine, my sister is. But its the rabid stans who want to crawl in the celebrity's ribcage to breathe the same air as them. Crazy. True definition of stan. Like, I know someone who quite literally went to this celeb's concert not once but THREE times. Fine no big deal, enjoy, I've been to a concert more than once just not in the same concert season lineup thing. Except they then begged for money because they had spent their money for rent and their BABY who is going through a growth spurt has no clothes that fit- this person even said they spent the money on the concert in the comments. Like what???? I've seen fans doxx people for having a differing opinion. Just not people I feel comfortable associating with

Normally idc im not involved whatever, just avoid them. The REASON it got brought up to my therapist, wasn't because I just randomly dislike this celeb. That isnt the reason.

The REASON it got brought up is because Spotify wrapped happened and I mentioned that I was uncomfortable because two people who severely fucked me up mentally (one was emotionally abusive and the other harassed and stalked me) had this artist in their top 5. Also My ex friend who ended up posting pictures of my house when she knew I had a stalker (I had moved snd they hadn't found this place until they posted) also had this artist in top 5. (And yes if was malicious, we had an argument and then they posted the outside of my house, sure they deleted the post later but the guy had already seen it as she had a public account and he followed some of my friends on fake accounts. We weren't friends after this)

I made the comment that they all had widely different tastes but all liked the same artist, and I made a joke that I should have known it was a red flag (we had spent the therapy session discussing signs i should have noticed in these people and ways they were alike which made me even think of the artist WHICH is why it was brought up).

And to be fair the reasons I listed of the people who have done things to me are probably why I dislike the celeb.

But my therapist actually called me stupid and wrong because apparently the artist was in THEIR top 5. Which, uh, okay my bad. Started going hard against me, even cursed at me So I again point out that in my mind it's linked to my abusers and people who betrayed my trust, and my therapist went "the majority isnt like that" to which I mentioned the rest of the points about things I've seen online. I guess I could have just apologized but she was coming at me and I was already on edge talking about everything, then they called me stupid and berating me...

Well I was uncomfortable then but i thought "hey, you did insult someone they obviously like, it's normal to be a lil defensive" and was like well we can move past. But no, quite literally this last session sealed the deal, because instead of talking about my trauma or anything, she made me listen to their albums. Which wtf??? Who does that irl?? Explained all the nuances and the theories and shit I DONT CARE about. I tried to tell them, but ok I also infodump on things I care about. Then they told me that my abusers must not be THAT bad because they have good taste. I walked out. Still got charged for the full session, and I filed a complaint. I dont see how they have their license????

I'm pissed rn haha and it actually had the opposite effect and has solidified that I do not like this artist in my mind. At. All.

Aww bestie that sucks 😭 first thank you for sharing! Second, this therapist is completely unprofessional. They shouldn’t have let their personal like of this artist affect how they’re treating you during the sessions YOU pay for.

And the fact that someone spent their rent money and their baby’s money…where’s the priorities, where’s the values, where’s the morals?

For me, I’ve also disliked a celebrity because of their fans and fandoms. Especially on twitter. I could write a whole thesis on how dysfunctional this fandom is on twitter 💀

There’s good and bad sides to all fandoms, I think in general we all have to find where we fit and surround ourselves with people who value us as much as we value them.

Anon, you have every right to like or not like something. That’s what makes friendships beautiful. I hope you’re able to find a therapist that can support you properly anon 🩷😭 some of these people get their license out a happy meal

#sav’s mailroom #sav’s anons

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furryphantomnacho · 2 years ago

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Things have been strange. We had a conversation, a deep one, where I told him that I'm not okay with the unfairness in our relationship anymore. I said that I wanted to believe that it wasn't intentional, that was the reason I had stayed, because I believed with all my being that he didn't mean to do the things he did, but that didn't make it not hurt when he did them anyway. He admitted he's immature. And selfish. And that he doesn't understand others' feelings when I explained that most people don't have the same reactions as him. He's so focused on how others have wronged him in the slightest that he doesn't recognize it when he does it to someone else. I told him that sounded like narcissism in the clinical sense.

He ran with it. Diagnosed himself. Told his therapist that I helped him figure it out. He has been trying to make jokes about it, and for the past 10 days or so, he's been doing more around the house.

And I want to be appreciative and hopeful, but I feel a hesitation. There are still so many little jabs here and there. He's started doing the laundry more, but mostly only his. Keeps his clothes separate from mine and the kids. Did a load of their clothes, washed, dried, and dumped back in baskets to be sorted and folded later. Goes grocery shopping, but really only for items he needs to make dinner unless I ask for other things. Has been more involved with the kids lately, but one of them has already come to me in private because she felt he reacted too harshly and the punishment was too severe for the incident.

I felt it was.

Found out a week ago that he had bought himself another guitar pedal. Not only that, but he hid it and had it shipped to a coworkers house and then snuck it in ours. Didn't say a word about it. This was a point of contention for me. Our meet anniversary and valentines is a day apart. The meet anniversary has always meant more than our wedding date for reasons that he knows. We had been fighting, and he didn't get me anything. I did, though, bought him a couple of decent gifts, nothing extravagant but things he had been looking at. His reasoning for not getting me anything was that we were fighting, and he didn't think I would want anything from him. We've been together for 13 years. 13 years of him knowing that even if we're fighting or arguing, I'm still going to give him gifts and show him that I'm thinking of him. 13 years worth of birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and just because reasons. He had also bought himself a guitar pedal then, too.

So yes, that hurt. He didn't try to make up for it either.

So when I discovered he had bought and hid another one, it felt like another slap to the chest. His first response was not sorry, it was "how'd you find out?"

In an unrelated discovery, I found out a friend of mine has a new job. This friend is less of a friend and more of a real-life personal hero of mine. I did go back to work for a short time, but three weeks in, a tornado ripped through the building I was in and killed several people. This individual saved my life, probably literally, and my husband knows this. He didn't know who they were exactly but knew of them.

On Fridays, he has his own therapy appointment and will leave work early to grab lunch and peruse the local geek store. Where my friend now works. I asked if he knew my husband and he said he recognized him when he came in but something felt off about it. I mentioned it in passing, that this person works at this store he likes to visit and recognized him and he got quiet. So quiet. This was odd.

What is more odd to me, though, is that prior to that conversation, the topic of relationships came up. He was swearing to me that if anything happened to us, he would be alone and listed reasons why, number one of those is his self-diagnosed narcissism. Somehow the conversation parlayed into emotional connections and how that was borderline cheating too and again, he got quiet. Asked me if I was trying to accuse him of something. Said I had a way of just staring that made it feel like I was waiting for a confession or looking for something.

This morning, I got up early. He was in his room, getting ready for work. Our house is old and noisy. I know he heard me come down the stairs. In the 2 mins I was in the bathroom, which he had to pass right by and would notice its occupied, he grabbed his stuff and hightailed it out of the house. He was getting into his car by the time I made it to the back door. When I called him and said that wasn't cool, that I know that he knew I had gotten up, he said he didn't want to interrupt me while I was in there. . . Which sounds nice on the surface, but it's a literal joke in this house about how quick I can use the facilities.

He knows these things. After years and years and years and he still claims ignorance to the most basic portions of our relationship and personalities. And I'm supposed to be okay with this. With his constant reasoning and assumptions that have nothing to do at all with the lessons the years have taught us.

And I know it's petty, but christ would it kill him to shake out the trash bag so it doesn't get the annoying air bubble and you can actually fit the trash in the can?!

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years ago

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last christmas, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Last Christmas, she gave you her heart, wrapped up with a note saying, I love you. She meant it. This Christmas, you give her back the stuff she left at your place and run into her next-door neighbor that knew all about your love. Somehow, you end up explaining why it went wrong.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of previous w/w relationship; pansexual reader; mentions of bad parents and discrimination / prejudice; reader def needs a therapist and Jeon Jungkook is not a therapist; JK is also reader's ex-gf's next-door neighbor; pining; awk tension; I cannot shut up about JK's big peepers; smut (fem reader, a lot of making out [both lips and bodies], light scratching, so much grinding, cowgirl); motorcycle-owning!JK takes you on a ride, whee

inspired by Wham!'s 'Last Christmas'; you are the shitty ex, don't read this unless you're okay with that and, yes, some decisions are made

You handed the bag over.

“This is it.”

“T… Thanks.”

The cold stung your cheeks. Around your neck was a dark green and black plaid scarf, thick layers shielding your heart that was exposed to the winter thanks to your open parka. Your hands returned to their tucked position in your fleece-lined pockets. You smiled, ever so slightly.

“You look pretty. The short hair suits your face well.”

She reached up to touch the tips of the chin-length bob, wispy front bangs framing her gentle eyes, not quite looking at you. You noticed her short nails were painted a light shimmery gold, suiting the holiday season. Her lips pursed and she breathed in deeply, looking straight into your eyes.

“Don’t say stuff like that. We’re not together anymore,” she said decisively.

“Ah… right.”

You left the smile on your face.

Right, because you could no longer compliment a person after dating them and then breaking up with them. Rules of some code apparently you didn’t get the memo for. The breeze whipped around your body, chilling moments as you stood at the doorstep of your former lover, feeling a strange kind of satisfaction seeing in her shiver in her fuzzy cream sweater and fleece pajama pants, complete with ivory fur slippers. But those thoughts were cruel to think and so was the bitterness.

She glanced at you.

You felt bad, seeing the glisten in her eyes.

In a box labelled donations in your apartment, there was a knit scarf, checkered peach and cream, the note included long gone, probably in a trashcan. Last Christmas, that scarf had been in silvery wrapping paper with a white silk ribbon, the package shaking in her hands and accompanied by a nervous smile, handed over for you to open, seeing the note first and then the handmade gift.

I love you above the handiwork of love.

It wasn’t the very next day, but you were still giving it away.

“I hope you have a nice holiday,” you said, bowing lightly.

“A-Ah, yeah,” she stuttered, clutching the brown bag of the few sweaters and joggers she had left at your apartment, all laundered and folded neatly the way she usually folded them. You had remembered, and this would be the last time you needed to remember how to delicately tuck sweaters into themselves like cake rolls. “I’m going to see my mom and dad. You should…” And she trailed off, knowing full well you weren’t going to see your parents. “You should eat something nice.”

You nodded.

Smile.

“I will. Take care.”

You took a step back and bowed again, taking your graceful exit from the front porch of that apartment that you would never walk into again.

You headed for the stairs, being careful when it came to the snow-slicked stone steps. Good thing your black boots had sturdy, thick treads. You reached back and pulled the hood of your parka up, fleece blanketing your head and ears, instantly warming your cold hair. It was already getting dark. You barely saw the sun these days, with work and all. There was something nice about the winter evening though, not as thick as the humid summer nights. Crisp and chilly, sure, but maybe you could argue that was all you were anyway.

Shit, holding a pity party for yourself? That’s rich.

The voice was inner self-loathing was nice and loud tonight, huh.

You heard your name being called from the garage at the bottom of the stairs. You looked up to see a familiar resident of these apartments.

Your ex-girlfriend’s next-door neighbor, in fact.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He smiled and waved, jogging over, something large and round under his arm. Black leather jacket, his gloves matching his jacket. Black jeans. Heavy-duty boots. You took a couple steps towards him, and then you spied the parked motorcycle, and finally recognizing that it was a motorcycle helmet he was holding. The sweater underneath with the somewhat tacky, bright red-and-white candy cane print didn’t quite match the rest of his ensemble.

He looked down when he realized you were staring at his chest and laughed. “Ah, yeah, I came back from a work party. Christmas lunch before we go on break. Theme was ugly sweaters.”

You blinked. “You could have tried harder.”

He grinned. “Yeah, my co-worker Jimin said that too, but I told him he was ugly enough for us both.”

You shook your head with a sheepish smile as the young man looked way too proud of himself burning someone who wasn’t even here to defend themselves. Well, supposedly he burned them publicly already. Poor Jimin. You had never met this Park Jimin Jungkook occasionally talked about, but they seemed to have a brotherly friendship, complete with Jungkook providing shithead younger brother quips.

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” Jungkook said, tilting his head.

Oh. Right.

You pointed up and prepared yourself to say it again and again until everyone knew.

“We broke up.”

“Oh…” His expression fell, big round brown eyes and the downturn of his lips. Man, Jeon Jungkook looking sad was not something you realized you needed to brace yourself for until now. It almost made you sad seeing his expression. “I’m sorry to hear that. I liked watching movies with you two, since you like Marvel stuff.”

You chuckled. “I’m not banned from going to the theater. I can still go to opening nights with you, if you want.”

He scratched his cheek, nodding slowly. “She wouldn’t feel weird seeing you with me?” he asked.

Oh.

Right.

If it was only you and Jeon Jungkook going to the movies, then, of course, people would think certain things.

You answered him honestly.

“I don’t know.”

You didn’t need to give answers, but Jungkook was your ex’s next-door neighbor and you had made friends with the guy before she did. Would be odd, considering she had proximity on her side, but, as it turns out, she was the lesbian and you were the pansexual. She had other priorities than the man living next door. He was not that interesting to her.

You shrugged. “I don’t know how she would feel, but what’s done is done and life goes on.”

Jungkook blinked at you.

You puffed out your left cheek and then exhaled heavily. “As you can expect from my reaction, it was me who broke up with her.” You clicked your tongue. “It wasn’t her. It was me. I have issues when women try to take care of me, even if they only have good intentions.” You reached up and pushed your parka hood back, letting the cold wind pierce your skin again, eager to feel something else. “Doesn’t really happen to me when it’s men, but women? Hah... I tried to tell myself that that wasn’t it, but facts are facts. In the end, I didn’t like her anymore and it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.”

Sounded awful coming out of your mouth.

Truth was ugly.

“I thought I would feel like shit not being with her during Christmas, but actually I feel worse because I’m actually glad I’m out.”

You glanced at Jungkook, who was staring at you with those big brown eyes. For his part, he simply accepted when you introduced his neighbor as your girlfriend back then. Didn’t pry much. It had come up in conversation about representation in movies, and you both clarified your sexualities. Jungkook’s reaction was, oh, cool. But, of course, you hadn’t specified about the differences of various romantic relationships for you personally, until now.

You winced. “Sorry. Kinda dumped all that on you.”

He shook his head quickly, his long black hair flying about like floppy puppy ears. “No, no. It’s okay. Have you talked to anyone about the breakup?” He held up his free hand, pulling it back a little. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. It’s just… I mean, I knew you two a little bit, so… I can listen, if you wanna say stuff.”

You opened your mouth, ready to say, yeah, I’ve talked about it, but then you realized, no, you haven’t talked to anyone about the breakup. You didn’t really have friends outside of the ones related to your previous relationship, and, well, he was standing right here. You certainly weren’t going to tell your parents about dating, least of all dating outside of the heteronormative. They already didn’t like you for various reasons and being anything but heterosexual was probably going to lead to full-on pitchforks and chasing. Not your idea of a fun Christmas, you had to admit.

Mostly because you were the one that had to do the outrunning.

Jungkook rubbed the back of his head, screwing up his face. “Uh, well, a friend much smarter than me told me once that good and bad is relative to who you’re talking to and that most of the time no one is good or bad because there are too many ways to judge.” As he spoke, his eyebrows became more knitted together in increasing confusion of unsure recollection. “Um. Something like that.”

You half-smiled. “Hm, ever considered becoming a therapist?”

Jungkook frowned, looking displeased. “Sounds complicated.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry. You would totally suck at it.”

He harrumphed. “Anyway,” he concluded gruffly, chopping the air, his Busan accent coming out with the flourishment. “I’m saying you don’t have to be sad or feel anything in particular.”

You nodded.

Awkward silence.

Jungkook suddenly perked up and pointed to his bike behind him. “Oh! Did I tell you? I got my motorcycle license over a month ago.”

No, he didn’t tell you, because at the point you had already broken up with your now-ex and stopped coming to this apartment complex. But you glossed over that detail and shook your head, cocking your chin to the metal monster. “Yours?”

He grinned, bouncing like the Energizer bunny. “Yup! Mine! I bought it as soon as I got my license. I always wanted one. Want a ride? I have an extra helmet upstairs.” He pointed up excitedly. “It’ll only take me a second to grab it.”

He knew you didn’t drive here and usually walked here from the train station because it was easier. You looked at the silver and black motorcycle and then back at him, seeing the bubbling eagerness and childlike joy in those sparkly big peepers. What the hell.

“Sure.”

He grinned.

You always liked Jungkook because he had such an expressive face.

He hurried past you and reached out to nudge your arm towards to the stairs. You stood steadfast, your head following his face as you saw his changing expression.

Time slowed.

So did Jungkook, stopping, standing beside you, his motorcycle helmet and arm in between your bodies.

You looked up at him.

Eyes connected.

Your hands lifted and you took his motorcycle helmet from him, ticking your head upstairs.

“I shouldn’t go back up there,” you softly said.

For a moment, he didn’t understand. You knew what he intended, you to follow him up to help carry the extra helmet so he had a hand free to lock the door again. But he hadn’t quite thought about why you were here in the first place, days away from Christmas, after months of not seeing you, and now the comprehension was creeping into his eyes, the wheels of his brain moving in real time right in front of you. You nodded slowly as his lips formed a small ‘o’ accompanied by quick, sharp nods as he bounded up the stone steps two at a time.

“I’ll be fast!”

“Don’t break a leg,” you scolded, rolling your eyes as he completely ignored you, but he held onto the railing, so at least he wouldn’t tumble down and squash you if he tripped.

That left you standing there in relative silence, holding Jeon Jungkook’s helmet and staring at his fairly new motorcycle, only a couple floors underneath your ex-girlfriend who you recently gave back all her things that she had left in your home, the only trace of her now being your memories that would fade in time.

You felt a bit weird, not minding too much about it.

Also felt a bit weird realizing in a few minutes you would be holding onto her next-door neighbor’s waist, your chest to his broad back.

I’m an asshole.

You sighed, remembering the apprehension you had felt embarking on this relationship. Maybe you should have listened to it, but, then again, hard to say. No one wants to believe they have issues. Also, she was quite cute and convincing at the time. Unlike in past relationships, she was already secure and didn’t make you feel ashamed about not being strictly lesbian or heterosexual. It made you think that this was right, this was how it should be, and then it started getting a little too serious.

You kept thinking, I’ll get over it.

You did not get over it.

Then you realized what you really meant was, I must get over it to prove that my shitty upbringing didn’t affect me but all I’m doing is pretending that I’m over it when I’m not.

Yeah, well.

You ended up breaking up with a nice, pretty girl that you weren’t really in love with. She had just made you feel secure because she actually accepted your sexuality, which was awesome but not enough.

So, why did you feel like a complete and total jerk, like you wasted her time, as if you weren’t worthy of it?

Don’t know.

You stared at the motorcycle in front of you.

He must feel free when riding it.

“I got the helmet!”

You didn’t even turn around when you heard Jungkook’s announcement. You were too busy transitioning out of your reflections. “Don’t you know motorcycle accidents are much more likely than car accidents?”

Jungkook popped into view, holding out the other helmet in his hands. You exchanged the one you were carrying with his, and he shrugged. “Everybody dies.”

“Morbid.”

“At least I wouldn’t die knowing I never got to ride a motorbike like I wanted to when I was a kid,” he pointed out, revealing a bit of his inked skin under his leather sleeve. “Same reason I got tattoos.”

“Bet your mom loves that.”

“My mom just has to love my personality,” he laughed. “And I got defiance from her, so she’s doomed.”

You shook your head with a smile. Jungkook showed you how to put the helmet on.

“Just stay safe.”

“Don’t you mean drive safe?”

“It’s not just you on the road, dude.”

Suddenly, his hands stopped moving after you put it on. Now you were staring at Jungkook through the opening, about to close the visor, but then those brown orbs found yours. There was a strange intangible ripple between you and him. He tilted his head.

“Why are you talking as if you’re not here about to get on the bike with me?”

Everybody dies.

You pointed to the helmet. It felt heavy and odd. You were unaccustomed to the tightness. It smelled clean though. “I am. Why else would I put this thing on?”

Maybe I’m already dead because I don’t feel bad about what I did.

You wondered if you should feel bad, even though you did the right thing, even though you knew there were no real villains and heroes in this situation, even though you knew you both were only people that chose how to live their lives. How were you supposed to know if you were dragging things on or running away? The only thing you knew was that she deserved someone who really loved her as much as she loved you. It wasn’t her fault you didn’t. You just had to be honest about it.

Right?

Jungkook nodded and stuck on his helmet, fitting it snugly and climbed onto the motorcycle, unlocking it as signaling you to get on behind him.

“Hold onto me here. Set your feet there. Yeah.”

He was warm and solid and present.

He even smelled nice.

You didn’t think about it too much. What was there to think about? Life was complicated. You could spend countless hours analyzing why you made certain decisions, if they were wrong or right and in which eyes that mattered, and then all those thoughts blew away when the mechanical monster underneath you roared to life, loud and vicious and pure power wielded with skillful hands, and you held on tighter to Jungkook, startled by the sound, yet not scared for some reason.

Just fascinated as Jungkook pulled out of his parking spot and zoomed out of the garage, onto the road.

It was fuckin’ cold.

Layers of green-and-black plaid between Jungkook’s back and your sweater, shielding your racing heart, wind and speed and thrill shooting throughout your veins, the winter night flashing past, blurring streetlamps and stoplights, forgetting the cold, your hands tucked inside Jungkook’s jacket, fingers fanning over his waist and ribcage, feeling his muscles under the tacky sweater.

You closed your eyes.

At least I wouldn’t die knowing I never got to ride a motorbike like I wanted to when I was a kid.

You used to think about riding a motorcycle when you were in middle school, although you had been looking at those smaller, zippy Japanese models, not a Harley-Davidson. You always assumed only loud obnoxious Americans rode that kind of stuff.

What?

Movies didn’t help.

Unfair stereotypes aside, it had been only a passing thought for you. One among many rebellious teenage desires. Cringe. That was hard to admit. But apparently for Jungkook it was a dream that he had turned into a reality and, while someone could view it in whatever negative light they wished, you saw it as walking the walk. You could respect that.

You leaned against him.

Felt the cold but there was something hot under layers of green-and-black plaid.

This is what joyride means, huh?

You were slowing down. Opened your eyes and saw Jungkook turning, seeing a parking lot and, across that, a field of white covered in a walkway of colorful lights. Oh. That was right. The park over here had put up this light display called Festival of Lights, where local artists had created wire sculptures covered in Christmas string lights which were displayed along a walkable path.

You went her last year, holding her hand.

You got off and took off your helmet, entranced by the bright twinkling displays, barely making out a gingerbread man doing a handstand.

“Wanna walk?”

You glanced at Jungkook. “What about this? Should I carry it?”

He laughed, waving to the sudden open top-box behind the seat. “Put it in here.”

You handed the helmet to him and watched in fascination. “Oh. I didn’t know there was a space to put stuff.”

He grinned. “Come on, let’s go.”

You following his bouncing jog with a loose stride, closing your fingers into your palm and remembering the feeling of his solid body in your hands only moments before. Furrowed your brows and shook your head, approaching the entrance, seeing a family several meters ahead, tired parents with a couple of loud kids pointing excitedly at a lit-up snowman holding six candy canes like Wolverine claws.

“Have you been here this year yet?”

“Ah, no,” you absentmindedly replied, seeing Santa and his reindeer. Classic, and well-done. “Haven’t had the time.”

“There’s one at the end I think you’ll like,” Jungkook was saying excitedly. “But I think the food vendors went home already. There was a hotteok truck and another one that sold roasted sweet potatoes, mmm, but maybe you can come back some other time.”

“Uh huh.”

You knocked into Jungkook’s back and bounced, vigorously shaking your head. “Ow.”

“Sorry, there’s ice. Careful.”

“Oh.”

You realized Jungkook was looking at you and you let go of his arm, not even realizing you had grabbed it out of instinct so you didn’t trip. A weird moment of muteness. You looked past him to see three chipmunks flashing in red, blue, and green scarves.

You looked up at Jungkook, who had followed your eye line to the three cuties.

“Jungkook.”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you ask your neighbor why I wasn’t coming over anymore?”

Those brown eyes looked away from the twinkling artificial stars to your eyes. There was a little bit a guilt. They shifted away and came back and you realized Jungkook didn’t know how to lie but he also wasn’t sure if he was about to be out of line either.

“I… I heard her crying. A lot. And it’s none of my business,” he mumbled, frowning. “My mom told me not to be nosy,” he added under his breath.

You almost snorted. “You told your mom that you were worried about the lesbian couple next door?”

Jungkook squinted at you, annoyed. “No, I told my mom that I was worried that my friend might have broken up, so I asked her if I should do anything. Something nice?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed weird especially when Black Panther: Wakanda Forever came out, and I was going to ask if you, I mean, you both were going to the midnight release but…”

The kids were yelling in the distance and you didn’t even hear them.

You were just staring at Jungkook and noticing that his ears were turning bright red.

All the adrenaline from the speed and, now, everything slammed on the brakes.

“I didn’t cry.”

He blinked slowly. “What?”

You breathed out, looking around you, at snow and lights and white, and then at Jungkook, wearing all black and that candy-cane sweater, at yourself and your dark monochrome outfit, and then you admitted it again. “I didn’t cry, and I feel kinda shitty for it.”

“Oh.”

You stepped past Jungkook and walked down the carved-out path, following footprints and hard work. He followed and you acknowledged him, looking from one festive decoration to another, admiring the creations and spinning through the inner workings of your mind. “I felt frustrated. I know sexual attraction and romantic relationships are two different things, but I wanted to believe they weren’t. I wanted to believe that enough time had passed and I was okay, but I wasn’t okay and maybe I’ll never be okay, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

You glanced up.

Jungkook looked confused and thoughtful at the same time. “I think you said before you don’t talk to your parents?”

“Yeah. They’re assholes.”

“Oh.”

That wasn’t very descriptive so you gave a brief explanation. “They looked at me like a product they made. A child was an object that they could program to do things they weren’t able to do, like make lots of money, marry rich, and in general sacrifice all my autotomy for their every beck and call.” You shrugged. “A dog would have more grace than their child.”

“Ouch.”

“Also, they would not understand that I’m pansexual. I think I’d be shot on the spot.”

“Don’t talk to them,” he puffed heatedly.

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement. “And, yeah, I’m sure that kind of upbringing affected my romantic relationships.” And lots of other things, but that wasn’t the point right now.

“Everybody goes through stuff like that.”

You looked at him.

Jungkook shrugged. “My last girlfriend said all I care about is myself and there’s a reason why all my friends are older than me and called me irresponsible, selfish, and childish.”

“Are you?”

He frowned. “I don’t think so? I do the dishes and always fold my laundry.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Only fold?”

“Okay, sometimes I leave it on the table for a little while,” he grumbled.

You chuckled. “How long ago was this?”

“Um, couple years ago? Maybe five?”

“You were barely an adult,” you commented, seeing a face-down figure with white hair in a bun and something that looked suspiciously like deer tracks on the back of that red coat. Uh. You decided not to comment and move on. “Still learning.”

“Learning to be a dick, she’d probably say now. She would tell me not to get a bike for sure.”

“Thought the whole point she was dating you was because you had a dick.”

Jungkook laughed, loud and vibrant, the lights making his cheeks glow. “Well, she’s married now so I guess she found a better one.”

“Or settled.”

“Damn, you would think you were the one who dated her,” he snickered. You could tell he was enjoying this though, those brown orbs sparkling a little too bright. There was a little bit of a jealous streak in him, you could sense. “I think I was dating the wrong kind of girl though. I think I have to date someone who shares my interests more. I like being with the person I like all the time. I don’t want them to be sick of me.”

“Mmm. I can see that. Pretty childish of you.”

“Hey!”

You laughed, nudging his side. “As long as you know you are the problem.”

He narrowed his eyes.

You grinned. “I didn’t say you weren’t a fun problem to have.”

Jungkook leaned closer, squinting harder.

You grinned wider.

Then you realized he was so close and he realized he was so close, both of you backing up at the same time. A little too fast, simultaneously darting your hands out and grabbing each other’s forearms, you grasping his right with your left hand and his right hand on your left sleeve, squeezing hard, immediately regaining balance.

You let go.

He let go.

Speed under a green-black plaid scarf, something hot and moving fast under all those layers.

“Sorry.”

“Ah, no, my fault. Sorry.”

You jerked your head towards the light displays and started walking again, trying to move past this sudden weirdness. You pointed out the various ones you liked. Yellow pill-shaped Minions decorating a Christmas tree. A curtain of lights programmed to look like falling snowflakes. Penguins sliding down a light-up hill. Slowing down. Breathing. You glanced at Jungkook.

He looked somewhat ashamed.

“Hey.”

He tilted his head, inquiring with his big eyes and pink nose. “Hm?”

“I’m glad you took me here. I don’t think I’ve done anything festive this year.”

“O… Oh.” He looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his head. “I thought it might be cool. Cheer you up a bit.”

“Yeah. It’s funny. A lot of people think I don’t like this season.”

You saw Jungkook rub his nose, realizing it was cold. “Huh? Why?” he asked nasally.

You glanced down at your dark color palette. “Well, you know me, I like Halloween most, but I actually enjoy Christmas quite a lot. Not because I have any particularly nice memories around it,” you mused. “Ah, I mean when I was a kid. But, I don’t know, maybe that made me appreciate the spirit of the holiday time more than all the capitalistic stuff surrounding it, since I didn’t participate much in that.”

Jungkook blinked, puzzled. “You didn’t get gifts?”

You thought about it. “Hmm, not until I was an adult and only when I was dating someone who gave gifts.”

He pursed his lips and then reached out, taking your elbow and pulling your along, to the corner.

“Come on. This can be your gift.”

You stumbled behind him, craning your head in confusion. “Huh?”

“Did you watch Wakanda Forever?”

“Of course, I did. You know Black Panther is my favorite.”

“Then, look.”

Your eyes widened as the bright display of Black Panther, black lights complete with the purple highlights and signature action pose loomed among the other creations, slightly out of place because it wasn’t holiday-themed or even remotely Korean, but apparently none of that mattered and it didn’t matter to you as you admired the craftsmanship of the wire structure underneath, obvious it was specifically Chadwick Boseman’s T’Challa from the violet details.

“Oh, shit. That’s sick,” you breathed, staring at the display for far too long and probably burning it into your eyeballs.

“I knew you’d like it right away.”

“That’s so random that it’s here.”

“I mean it’s not Christmas, but the movie did come out a month ago, so I guess they made an exception ‘cause it was so cool.”

“I mean this feels like Christmas to me. Put a Santa hat on him and call it a day.”

Jungkook laughed. “Okay, I’ll sneak one on in the night.”

You whipped your head to him, wiggling your eyebrows. “I mean…”

“It turns off automatically at midnight to save power…” he trailed off, putting on a scheming face.

“Would you go to jail for that? Is a Santa hat vandalism?”

“I didn’t commit a crime if I don’t get caught,” he countered.

You gave him a look. “Sounds like someone belongs on the naughty list.”

Jungkook scrunched up his face.

“Naughty or nice depends on who’s asking.”

He stuck his little pink tongue out.

You poked the tongue tip sticking out of his lips.

Instant wet warmth on your index finger. Jungkook jumped, startled at your quick action and even you snapped back, surprised at yourself. Why had you done that? A wave of fluster, and you froze, hand hovering in the air, and Jungkook rapidly blinking, cheeks turning bright red. Silence. Couldn’t even say sorry, too stunned at your action to try to double back to apologies. Big brown eyes framed with windswept black locks, something unsaid hanging between you and Jeon Jungkook.

A casual friendship.

Kept at a fixed distance for… reasons.

Well, it had been.

Nobody was stupid, but time and place meant something.

Fast lane, not feeling the cold, racing pulse, lowering your hand, and you could feel it. You knew it was there, but time and place and all those other things.

“Sorry,” you finally said.

Jungkook’s eyes started darting in all directions. “It… It’s okay.”

“It’s kind of not. No one should be touching other people’s tongues without permission,” you pointed out.

He wasn’t really looking at you. “It’s okay… I forgive you.”

“Stop pretending I’m not a bundle of walking problems.”

Now those brown orbs finally scooting back to you.

There was no getting around that.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not a fun problem to have,” Jungkook mumbled softly.

Yeah, especially not after this irresponsible, selfish, childish guy said something like that.

There was a lot of shit you could say, but none of it seemed right. They sounded like excuses, or lame roundabouts, or too much too fast, like getting a whole sleeve of heavily-inked tattoos in a little under two years and a bigass motorbike after passing your motorcycle license exam. They sounded like feebleness in what was pretty clear, and you didn’t believe in saying something that wasn’t the truth.

“Um...”

Jungkook continued staring at you like a lost reindeer even though his nose was quite red.

You decided it was best to give a response. “Yeah?”

“You… You’re not doing anything on Christmas?” he asked.

“Ah, no. Nope, I just get a day off work.”

An extended silence.

You verbally approached very carefully. “You wanna… uh… hang out at my place?”

“Oh…” Man, this conversation sure was something. “I can bring some food and stuff. I can cook.”

“Me too.”

“You… like pork belly, right?”

“Yeah. It’s my favorite.”

Good fuckin’ gracious.

You couldn’t stand it anymore and exasperatedly put your head in your hand. “Just…” You saw Jungkook peering at you, looking worried. You put your hand down, resolving yourself quite quickly. “Okay. Give me your number. I’ll text you the address.” You didn’t think about it too much. Just yanked your phone out of your inner pocket and furiously typed down the numbers that came out of Jungkook’s mouth, your frozen fingers needing to press more than once, but you eventually got there.

After you pressed send, you immediately jerked your head up and looked at those big brown eyes very seriously.

“I… We… What happens, happens,” you finally said.

Jungkook nodded determinedly. “Yeah.”

It was pretty obvious what was going to happen but, then again, there were children around.

Last Christmas you received a gift with a note that said I love you.

This year, you would receive…?

“You think Die Hard is a Christmas film?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Sure?”

The actual movie didn’t really matter. Mostly because you fell asleep on top of him and woke up to a black television screen, wrapped in a fuzzy red velvet blanket, and Jeon Jungkook staring at you in the darkness. You blinked slowly. Could barely make out his face in the faint light of the open window, seeing the shape of his parted lips, the shine of his large eyes, the waves of black hair that cradled his cheeks.

You had animated conversation over dinner, funny stories of Jungkook’s friends and viral videos you had both seen on the internet, so natural it was almost frightening, complete with weird tense moments of silence that you or he pushed along, resolute, knowing how you got here, and yet.

Chills all over despite the warmth under the blanket.

He was not wearing a tacky sweater now. Just a simple black and white plaid flannel and a white t-shirt under, paired with loose black pants. Oversized and cozy to go with your fleece red-and-black checkered long pajamas. He smelled the same as he did the other day. He didn’t bring anything with him but a large glass Tupperware of food and his motorcycle helmet, saying he forgot to leave it by his bike. His heavy black coat was hanging in the hall closet by the front door.

You stared at Jungkook, saying nothing.

Stayed close.

He leaned in.

You closed the distance.

You were pretty sure you had a soul of ice.

Then again, Jungkook had said earlier in the night that he had been told in his fortune that he had too much fire in him, so maybe it canceled out or something.

You wanted to say you had an entire, deep discussion of, is this a good idea, or perhaps even, what is courteous and respectful but also fulfills the personal desires of the very obvious between us, but there was only heavy making out and lip-locking and breathless gasps and your hands around his waist again, warm and solid and present, and you shuddered, breathing him in, pulling him close, pressing your body to his.

Jungkook didn’t waste time.

His hands were on your hips, his wispy moan trailing over your lips.

Oh no. You tried to resist the addictive sensation that demanded to be chased, your lower body rolling into his, feeling was what very real and very apparent, his shaking breath tickling your lower lip and chin, whine shimmering in his throat. He liked it. Pulled you closer, increasing the pressure, your clothed pussy practically riding his clothed dick.

You caught his moaning mouth and felt the electricity of his arousal enter your lungs, your hands tangling into his hair, pulling his head back, first lightly and then when he didn’t relent, harder, tearing a moan from his throat, loud and vicious and pure power of his vocal cords vibrating under your kisses, nipping at his neck and leaving small possessive marks that he encouraged with gasping, don’t stop, don’t stop, please, falling apart in your skillful hands, tracing the crown of his head, his ears, his jaw.

You ran your tongue over his collarbone and then softly trailed back with kisses.

“O-Oh, fuuuuck me…”

That was the idea, yeah.

He was unbuttoning your pajama shirt.

“Wha… Why are you wearing a bra?”

You guessed that was not supposed to sound whiny but then again Jungkook was pouting in frustration.

“I generally wear bras. You know, to hold my tits.”

He puffed his cheeks. “Don’t ladies usually not wear bras at home?”

“I imagine the situation might change if there was a hot man involved.”

An involuntarily shiver travelled all over Jungkook and the only reason you could feel it was because you were basically humping his dick.

“Also, we can’t talk much if you are distracted by my nipples,” you added.

You felt an agile hand creeping around to the back clasp. “What if I want to be distracted by your nipples…?” he trailed off experimentally, giving you a curious, mischievous look.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Sounds like someone belongs on the naughty list.”

He tilted his head, sending dark strands over one eye and his cheek.

“Who’s asking?” he purred, his silvery voice low and deep.

Well, shit.

The man knew how to be sexy.

You raked your fingers through his thick black hair, feeling him tremble under you.

“Leader of the naughty list herself,” you breathed back, leaning in to kiss him again.

While it was true that Jungkook had not come with some last-minute wrapped trinket, he had brought a hard dick and abundant horniness, and that was a pretty good gift in your book. You showed him your boobs and those nipples he was so keen about – well, technically, he showed himself and audibly gasped when your bra tumbled off. You weren’t sure if he was acting or not, but that question was answered too, because he lifted you by the waist and ran his tongue over your cleavage and then started making out with your chest.

“Oh…!”

Your turn to be surprised and you clutched his head, gasping, pushing him to suck, and he didn’t need any more signs, circling his tongue around the hard nab and then his eyelids fluttered, moaning deep in his chest. Hot shivers at the feeling of his warm mouth and gentle insistence, your body pressing into him, matching his rhythm and sound, holding his free hand to your neglected breast while his other hand splayed over your lower back, strong and secure. Your thighs squeezed his waist, feeling his desire melt into yours.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know.

You just didn’t act on it and neither did Jungkook, other than the occasional puppy eyes because he was terrible at lying. He had made a conscious effort to stay securely in the friendzone out of respect. You had appreciated that, really. But then there was that chance meeting, and, even then, you knew he took you to the Festival of Lights just to cheer you up, not to put you in any complex or awkward situation, but, again, he was bad at lying and there was no getting around this very intense attraction between you and Jeon Jungkook.

Hence the current kissing down your stomach and you leaning back, slow cascading moan falling from your lips as you felt his dance around your bellybutton and he pulled down the waistband of your pajama pants, following your hip line.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy…”

Your fingertips grazing the lines of his legs, nails applying dainty pressure that made him quiver under you, his breath hitching as you placed your hands on his thighs and pressed your fingers inward, lifting yourself back up. Leaning down to kiss him again, tasting traces of you on his lips. Slowly peelings his clothes off, tangling him in them just to see his eyebrows knit in frustration, so cute, but you didn’t say, not yet, and then your clothes were in a rumpled pile on the living room floor. You in your panties and him in his boxer briefs, and you straddled his waist, kissing him repeatedly, rubbing your chest into his, feeling him under you.

Hot.

Shivering.

Overwhelmed with sensation, rolling his hips and hard cock into your covered heat.

He liked the feeling of your fingernails running down his chest. You did it once, just to test, and he reached for your hands, pulling them back up, more, and you watched his body writhe and fall apart under your touch, his head tipping back and lifting up his torso to add more pressure, moan hiking when you scratched down his sides and kissed his chest, licking his nipples, traveling to his back, earning a stronger reaction and his fingers sinking into your ass, his erection throbbing in between your thighs that squeezed his tense hips.

“Fuck, oh, fuck…”

You could feel the dampness occurring, both from you and him.

“J… Jungkook…”

You couldn’t stop kissing him, continuously telling yourself last one, but that was ages ago, lips locked and drunk on foreplay, on his body and his sound, vibrant and carnal, a mix of cute and sexy that was practically illegal. Couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop whispering to him how nice he felt, how nice he tasted, careless, absorbed in the strength of his lust.

“C-Can I fuck you…? I brought condoms in my coat, j-just in case…”

“Naughty boy,” you scolded and didn’t mean it, and it was dangerous, so dangerous the way Jungkook desperately moaned as you placed your hand over his damp, pulsing hardness and rubbed him through his underwear, too dangerous with the way he looked at you and gasped, you wanna sit in this naughty boy’s lap?

Thankfully, that was the extent of that.

Also, you didn’t bother going all the way to the hall closet when you had plenty of condoms in your bedroom.

And, yeah, you sat in his lap.

”Oooh, wow, y-you feel soooo fucking good…“

Could have been either of you or both of you saying it. You wouldn’t remember if you thought about it later, because you were too busy rocking your hips and trying to find the correct rhythm again. It was easier than you thought, maybe because of Jungkook’s roaming hands on your thighs, hips, breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure across your torso that matched the satisfying fullness deep inside, and, right there, finding the correct depth and forcefulness, chasing it immediately, building the steady pace with the condom wrapper tumbling down your sheets and hitting your knee.

You snatched it and chucked the foil wrapper over the side of your bed.

“Oh!”

“Forget about it, fuck me, Jungkook, fuck me.”

He angled his hips up and you rode him, relentless pleasure and waves of need satisfied by thrusting, clenching around his thick, hard cock, losing yourself in the shocking bliss.

You closed your eyes.

Felt the heat, so intense it sent chills up and down your spine. Couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, hands on his chest, tense and vibrating under harsh smacks and craving more, your name in Jungkook’s breathless voice addicting. His sound, intoxicating. His body, telling, unable to lie and you could be nothing but be honest, so good, fuck, feels so fucking good, speeding in the fast lane and soaring from the feeling.

There was no doubt that Jungkook was someone special.

You looked down, just for a moment, catching those brown eyes, glassy and fucked-out and watching you like you were everything and more.

I need him.

The thought was so intense and raw that you felt something inside you snap, your breath cutting off, torrential crash and orgasm seizing you by the throat, throwing your head back, your hair sweeping your shoulders, and you came around him, jerking your hips to bury him deeper, oh, fuck, yeees, suspended in the blissful, powerful rush, feeling your liquid honey leak out and down, covering him with it, the scent of sex rising between your bodies.

Jungkook lifted his hips and your body by doing so, his hands strongly grasping your waist, moaning with you, thrusting hard and fast, fucking your through your orgasm and you immediately tumbled into another peak, back-to-back intensity, feverish pitch of your joined voices as he came too, rock-hard and twitching inside your pulsating tightness, holding both of you up by a miracle.

Or sheer lust.

Nice or naughty, right?

For a moment, mute, stunned silence at the shared feeling between you and him.

Sure, it was pretty damn obvious you were going to fuck.

You just didn’t expect it to feel this good and this right.

Down, down, down. Slow, serene, subliminal, the way he sank down and both your gazes left the ceiling, sinking into your sheets, your eyes and his eyes connecting, quiet but an entire conversation humming between your bodies.

“J… Jungkook.”

He was panting hard, sweat glistening on his chest and forehead, his long black hair a mess your pillows. “Y… Yeah?”

“It’s… It’s a bit late…”

Well, actually, you had no idea what time it was.

“Y-Yeah, it kinda is…” he breathed, caressing your hips with his fingertips, relentless energy under you, eyes so big and brown that you could drown in that comforting darkness.

“Can you just…”

A pause, racing hearts beating together.

“Stay?” you asked, tentative and unsure.

Jungkook squeezed your thigh, reassurance in his touch.

“I wanna stay,” he stated, nodding determinedly.

So, he stayed, the start of many Christmases to come.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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pagesfromthevoid · 3 years ago

Text

False God | m.m. | 2

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Warnings: So much language. Violence. Mostly language.

Author’s Note: Honestly I didn’t think this would be in demand so I’m really excited. Thank you for all the positive feedback. I’m not sure the direction I’m going but it’s going somewhere.

Series Masterlist | Request here

The remainder of their walk was awkward —at least for her. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable with his presence or even his comment. Absolutely not; she could handle flirting. The issue was that it had been a while since she flirted with anyone. Been with anyone. Being a hero…it didn’t leave a lot of time for hooking up, let alone romance.

The last time she had anything with anyone was when she met Sam a few years back. There a this sweet spot for a few months. Where things were normal, and level headed. Right after HYDRA and SHIELD fell but before they’d lost control of Ultron. It was a rare time; it’s how she got roped into helping Bucky in the first place. But they had both agreed that dating just wasn’t going to work. Something was off; they were both still busy and they weren’t actually doing anything special at the end of the day. It was easier to just called it quits shortly before everything went wrong again.

And now she was a almost certain her blind lawyer was flirting with her.

Scratch almost.

He totally was.

And she was being the awkward one.

A blind man was flirting with her and she was being weird about it. She had to let that thought sink in as they walked in silence. He couldn’t even see her and he was flirting with her. Did that make life easier for him? Didn’t have to worry about not finding someone physically when he just could hear them and poof. Pretty voice, pretty person.

Maybe she didn’t understand how blindness worked.

Maybe she didn’t understand how Matt Murdock worked.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he suddenly said, interrupting her thoughts.

She quickly shook her head, then remembered he wouldn’t see that. “No, you didn’t. I just…how the hell do I respond to that?”

Matt laughed, nodding in agreement. “That’s fair, I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Have you actually?”

He paused for a beat, as if considering his answer carefully. “Yes, though not specifically because of you.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” she replied with relief, smiling some to herself. “Wouldn’t want you to go to hell because of me.”

“Oh no, I’m already going to hell. It’s the Catholic way. If anything, you’ll go because of me.”

She glanced at him as they approached her building, brow raised. “You have…a weird relationship with religion.”

“You have no idea,” he laughed again as they stopped in front of the doors. Matt released her arm, placing his hand in his pocket. “I assume this is you, then?”

She nodded, looking up at the building for a moment. Two agents stood by the doors, waiting. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to have visitors so I don’t think I can invite you up.” Did she really want to have someone in her house though? Especially Matt. Especially her flirty lawyer. “Let me talk to Woo about privileges later.”

“We can always say it’s a legal meeting,” he reminded her, grin on his face.

Okay so maybe he was nice. Maybe he was cute, and charming, and she wanted to flirt with him too. But she knew better; and this was starting to push her luck. Especially with the agents who were standing outside her building, waiting for her to walk inside.

“Let’s not risk me getting in more trouble, just so you can flirt with me,” she teased, pushing his shoulder lightly.

“What’s life without a little risk?”

“My therapist would say dangerous and reckless.”

“Your therapist is probably right.”

She bit back another laugh before she rolled her eyes. “Do you need me to call you a ride?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

But Matt shook his head. “No, no. My office isn’t far from here —“

“How would you know that?”

“What’s the address?”

“515 S. Washington Avenue?”

“So you’re about half a mile from my office.”

“That doesn’t explain how you knew that —“

“Have a good night, miss,” he interrupted, waving some before he walked off.

She watched him go, confused. The agents at her door called for her to go inside, and with a huff and one last glance towards Matt’s retreating figure, she followed orders.

“Did you hear all that?” She asked one of the agents.

“You are allowed visitors, yes.”

“That would have been helpful five minutes ago,” she grumbled but then shook her head. “That was weird right? That he knew where we were without me having ever told him?”

The agent didn’t answer her, returning to his post. She mumbled a rude comment, then went inside. Something just felt off about Matt in that moment and she started to consider the other odd things he did. Little things.

Her urge to use her powers and break the Accords was very strong suddenly.

*****

There wasn’t an opportunity to pry into Matt’s head presented in the coming weeks. He had picked up a case for something else, and whenever she called, Foggy answered. Suddenly she felt ghosted, which was stupid because it wasn’t like they were seeing each other. He was her lawyer; her flirty lawyer. Her super attractive, charming lawyer.

But her lawyer nonetheless.

She busied herself with other trivial experiences, trying to get the thought of him out of her head. Her goal for the first month was to read every book on her top shelf, which she did. She painted the kitchen —some awful, bright blue that she thought clashed with everything but brought a little joy to her. She figured if she was going to be trapped inside, it needed to be cheery. And what was cheerier than bright, sky blue? Nothing. Especially with the dreary weather that was coming down outside.

She tried to avoid watching the news the best she could, mostly to avoid any stories about the Avengers. Woo updated her randomly, and had told her today about the ‘Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.’ (“Does he dress like the devil?” She asked. “Nah, black mask that covers his eyes.” “That seems stupid and impractical.” “Yeah well, keep an eye out since you live near there.”). Because that’s what she wanted to do. Keep an eye out for a vigilante who wasn’t going to be arrested like she was.

The degree never got started but she did take to reading on the roof. Some days, she spent all day up there —until the sun went down. Then she’d use her phone as a flashlight to keep reading. She read half her top shelf like that; a book a day (or so, at least). And today was no different.

She had been up there since late in the afternoon, having spent her morning painting. With her break, she took to the roof to finish reading some smutty romance book she had picked up a few years back. It had been collecting dust, and it was honestly a terribly written thing, but she kept going. She had to finish it.

Except when she heard crash from down below, and someone started screaming.

She threw her book to the ground, pushing herself off the lawn chair and ran to the edge of the building. Two men were climbing the fire escape, shoving and kicking each other. One with a mask on and another she recognized from old files; a hit man that she swore had gone underground. Just as she was about to call Woo —anyone, honestly —the hit man was thrown off the fire escape and hit the ground with unceremonious thud.

“Jesus Christ,” she practically yelled, causing the masked man to look up at her. He was a floor down but she was close enough to see he was battered.

“You need to go inside,” he yelled at her.

“And you need medical attention, so come up here and both of us will get what we need,” she argued, reaching out for him to take her hand. He hesitated but grabbed it, pulling himself up. She looked him over, taking count of the stab wounds and lacerations. The upside to being a SHIELD operative was the medical knowledge. “You look like hell.”

“Feel like it too,” he groaned as he dropped onto the roof, laying on his back.

“My kit is inside. You’re not gonna die if I leave you here, will you?” She asked. He gave her a thumbs up as a response. Without any more delays, she ran downstairs.

When she returned from her apartment, he was sitting against the wall, breathing heavily. Her medical kit was a sorry excuse, since she no longer needed it, but it still had the essentials. Medical grade thread for needles and stitches, as well as various bandages and patches meant to accelerate healing. They were something Dr. Banner had been working on, so she wasn’t sure if they quite worked but good to have anyway.

Dropping to her knees beside him, she moved to take his mask off but he grabbed her hand before she could. Instead of being put off by his move, she just pulled herself away.

“You’re bleeding through the mask, I need to make sure —“

“No,” he practically snapped at her. “You can’t. I’m fine. Just…just stitch me up and I’ll go.”

“You’ve been stabbed at least twice, you won’t be going anywhere tonight. And I think you have broken ribs.”

“I’m fine,” he reiterated, trying to stand to prove a point. He gasped in pain however and fell back.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed that even when banned from being a hero, she was cleaning up after them. “I forgot how much I fucking hate heroes,” she mumbled under her breath, coaxing him onto his back.

After several strings of profanities from his end, as well as several snappish comments from her, most of his wounds were cleaned and stitched. His face, however, was still bleeding through the mask.

“Listen, I doubt I know who you are even without the mask on —“

“It’s not worth the risk —“

“And regardless, I’m a retired Avenger. I know about keeping secrets —“ she continued, cutting him off. But they were breaking into each other’s words over and over. Her hands reached for his mask again and he grabbed her wrists, staring her down intensely.

“Do not take off my mask —“

“Listen to me,” she finally snapped, “I don’t give a single shit who you are. You’re putting my house arrest at risk by showing up here half dying —“ he tried to interrupt but she jabbed his ribs, causing him to gasp in pain instead of speak. “If I truly cared to know who you were, I would have fucking read your mind by now.” She yanked her hands away from him, standing up. “But fine. Go blind for all I care. I have better shit to do than deal with some vigilante asshole.”

She started to walk away, grabbing her medical kit and book as she went. There was a deep sigh that fell from his lips before he finally said, “Can’t go blind if you already are.”

It struck her like a whip, and she froze in her tracks. The overwhelming annoyance that she felt was being replaced by genuine anger as she finally drew her final conclusion.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Slowly, she turned to face him. All the blood was rushing to her head from frustration, ready to throw hands with the idiot on her roof. With the idiot she was now almost certain she knew. All the little things added up; sort of at least. The mask was in his hands and he was sitting up again, looking up at her through clouded eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Murdock?”

“I…so many things, honestly,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. He forced himself to stand, though it was clearly through agony.

She refused to take any pity on him. “So you can actually see. You’re faking being blind.”

“What? No, I’m actually blind —“

“You climbed my fire escape and murdered a man! Blind people can’t do that!” She yelled at him as he approached her, hands up. Police sirens started wailing in the background. She pointed to the door of the roof, “Go inside before you get me arrested, you fucking cretin.”

“I genuinely don’t know where I’m going —“

“Figure it out,” she snapped as she walked ahead of him, opening the door.

Following the sound of her footsteps (or he could see, who fucking knew? Not her apparently), Matt limped his way to the door and got inside. She peered around the corner, making sure it was clear, before she grabbed his arm. He made a pained noise but she didn’t care, dragging him down the hallway towards her apartment. He didn’t complain, knowing full well he deserved the treatment he was getting. She peered around one last corner before she pushed open her apartment door and forced him inside.

“Sit.”

“Where?”

“On a cactus preferably, but I don’t care. Figure it out.”

Another heavy sigh came from him as he fumbled some through the apartment. She didn’t understand what he could do or couldn’t. She didn’t care at this moment. Watching him find her couch was punishment enough for the poor idiot, she decided. And the stab wounds. Those were an excellent punishment, though hopefully they wouldn’t kill him.

Considering her situation, she walked into her bedroom. Matt listened closely, trying to determine what she was doing. It sounded like she was going through her clothes, and his suspicions were confirmed when she returned and threw a shirt and pants at him.

“Those are Sam’s, but they should fit. Put them on in case the police show up asking questions.”

“I should leave.”

“You should take off your clothes before I push you out a window.”

“This isn’t how I imagined you telling me to do that.”

For a moment, she simply stared him down. Waiting. It wasn’t like she was asking him to strip down so she could fuck him. That’s not what wanted at the moment. He needed to take the bloody clothes off so she could hide them and not get arrested. But it’s those comments. Those little, suggestive comments of his. I’ve been to church a lot since I met you. This isn’t how I imagined you telling me to do that. For fucks sake, she shouldn’t be into him right now.

“Change your clothes,” she repeated, looking away from him now. “And then you’re going to tell me everything.”

———

Series Masterlist

———

Taglist: @thebisexual-disaster @chims-kookies @bigdinosaur0 @ferxaniti @heybabyshae @notalxx @gothicxbarbie @dark-night-sky-99 @blacxk-moony @celestialissues @pinkybee926 @jasontoddthezombie @killthebutt4fly @bex-tk1 @softieekayy

#matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil

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katishome · 3 years ago

Text

Grumps n’ Sweets

Pairings: CEO!Harry x Chef!Y/n

Summary: Harrys mending on his broken heart when he runs into the one person that could save him.

Warnings: Slight angst, swearing, aggressive behavior.

Word count: 1.5k

Harry still cried into his pillow every night wishing she was there. He’d never forgive himself for fucking everything up. He didn’t even know where she was, or what she did. Had she gone back to Georgia? God knows. Maybe she went to live with her dad in Miami. Probably not, but things might have changed.

“How are we doing today Harry?” Ruth, Harry’s therapist, asked.

“The same,” he replied flatly.

“Sad?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “And angry.”

“What’s going through your head right now?” Ruth wondered.

“I’m furious with myself. I can’t believe I let her go, and I can’t believe I still haven’t fucking done anything about it.”

When they had broken up, and Harry began seeing Ruth, he decided to not ever tell her her name. So they just said her, that was all that was needed to say, he would get too emotional if he heard her name again. He saved his tears for his pillow.

“If she were here, what would you do? What would you say to her?”

“I-I’d ask if I could touch her, and I’d apologize for everything. And if she said I could touch her, I’d h-hug her so tight. And tell her I love her, an-and I’ll never hurt her again,” he was getting emotional. So his lips formed a straight line and his soft tone turned cold.

Ruth had asked this question once before, and she knew that over the years Harry only became more remorseful. So she knew that couldn’t be all he had to say. “Harry, try not to shut down. I know this is so hard for you, but you won’t get anywhere if you close yourself off.”

“‘ave a meeting. Thank you Ruth, I’ll talk to you later.”

That was that, shutting his computer, he blew his nose into a tissue before walking to the conference room.

He was always a closed book. He wasn’t exactly mean, but private. That all changed when she left. His moods became permanently sour, he was stoic and cruel. An intern getting him the wrong coffee? Fired. Walking into his office without permission, even though you knocked? Fired. People could hear his screams from all around the office when someone was fired. His comforting smile was never seen again.

***

“What?” Harry spat.

“U-um they were out of uh- the um almond croissants,” Laura, his new intern, stuttered.

“Uh uh I uh don’t fucking care! Go to a different bakery then!”

Harry didn’t care for the pastry, you could barely taste the nuts and if you did it was just a burnt flavor. He usually just let it sit on his desk until he was too hungry to wait for Laura to bring him what he actually wanted and pick the almonds off to eat it. Although Harry hated the taste, he loved the smell. He ordered it every morning, reminiscing how she used to have one every Saturday morning and pouting about how it was cold once she actually sat down to eat it.

“I did, they didn’t have any either.”

“Then get me a chocolate one,” he ordered.

“Y-yes sir.”

Those he actually liked, but

ate with a sour expression.

***

“Mr. Styles?”

“What?”

“I have your coffee,” Laura smiled gently. She placed the cup in front of him.

“The fuck is this, Laura?” He spat as he tried to look through the small hole you drink from.

“It’s your coffee!” She was too loud and chipper.

“‘Chai Tea Latte’ sound like my order?”

She jumped back at his booming voice.

“I- No Mr. Styles, I’ll go get your coffee.”

“Black fucking coffee one sugar! What’s so hard to remember?” Laura picked up the coffee and fled from his office, her heels clicking against the tile.

***

Harry sat back and sipped his coffee, frowning at the creamy taste. Storming out of the office and to the elevator, he harshly threw the cup into the trash can beside Laura’s desk. Huffing and glaring at his useless assistant. You would probably feel his anger if you were to stand next to him. He was fucking fuming.

“Medium black coffee, one sugar,” he mumbled.

“Okay! What’s the name?”

“Harry.”

And there she was. Just kneading some dough he could only assume was for the croissants. Has she been here all these years? At the little coffee shop across the street? The one with the candles on the counter? And the display of little cakes and tarts? She’s been hidden away in that kitchen all this time?

“Styles Da-”

“It’s me, Laura. Move my next meeting to this afternoon,” he demanded.

“Ok Mr. Styles, anything else?”

“No, goodbye Laura.”

He sat down at a table in the middle of the shop, where he had a good sight of her moving around and cooking. He even forgot about his half drunk coffee until it was cold. And only left when his client called to inform him he was on his way.

***

He did the same thing on Thursday. Moved all his meetings and appointments to the afternoon so he could sit and watch her. Now he didn’t need to eat those god awful croissants just so he could have a little piece of her with him; now she was actually there, and he could eat whatever he felt like.

Then again on Friday.

Even came in on his days off just so he could see her.

The 5 different baristas had even begun to remember his coffee order, since he was trying to go through the food menu to find what he liked best. So far it was the Lemon-Strawberry scone.

Harry didn’t know what he was going to do about it, he’d have to speak to Ruth. But for now, he was content with just being in her presence, even if she was in another room entirely. She was there, and happy, and that’s all that matters.

***

“Would you like some lunch Mr. Styles? That coffee shop across the street has some really good fresh pasta!”

“Sure, get me whatever. And a salad.”

Wait. The cafe across the street? Nevermind, he’ll get it himself.

“Actually Laura, why don’t you take off the rest of the day? I’ll get my own lunch.”

***

He found time to go and sit at the small shop at around 2:30. It was relatively empty and his usual baristas were nowhere to be soon.

“I’ll be right with you!” A voice shouted from the kitchen. Y/n’s voice. She walked out and stopped in her tracks, and Harry’s breath caught in his chest. This was not how he was planning to confront her, what now?

“Harry,” she sighed.

“Y/n.” His heart was going a mile a minute. He had butterflies in his stomach.

They just stood and stared for a moment.

“We’re closed.”

“You just said you’d be right with me,” Harry almost whined.

“Well, now we’re closed.” She was short and uncaring, “come back earlier tomorrow then.”

So he did, and requested for the chef to take his “allergy specific” order. He had no allergies, he just wanted an excuse to talk to her.

“Harry, I have to work. Order something or leave, I can’t stand here all day.”

***

Everyday this week, He would stand outside the shop’s front door at exactly 9:28 A.M. Two minutes before they open. Thinking of how he was going to make her smile, and how he’d ask for her number.

And everyday this week, Y/n unlocked the door and made a beeline for the kitchen before he could even start his sentence.

He frowned deeply when it wasn’t Y/n who unlocked the door on Friday morning. Pouting to himself as he ordered his coffee and stomped his way back to his office. Even though she refused to acknowledge him, seeing her up close was keeping him going.

And after another two weeks of being completely ignored, he decided to show up 15 minutes before they opened, that would surely guarantee that she said something to him.

He wasn’t expecting it to snow, but he decided to go along with the plan anyways. Maybe he should’ve worn some warmer clothes though.

He was too busy blowing warm air onto his hands to realize the door open.

“What Harry? What do you want?”

“Please, Y/n. C’mon. Just five minutes, please,” he begged.

“No, Harry. Go back to your office.”

***

“She won’t fuckin’ talk to me!” He shouted.

“Harry, deep breaths. She doesn’t want to talk to you, she’s not ready. You need to give her space-”

“I don’t want to give her space, I want her to talk to me,” he whined. Deep down, Harry was a soft, sensitive baby. There were 4 people that got to see him like that, Ruth, his mom, stepdad, and sister. No one else.

“Don’t push it, if you push her, she’ll be less likely to want to talk, Harry. You need to let her think.”

“She’s had weeks to think! I’ve stopped by everyday for weeks! Sometimes multiple times a day!”

“Is that letting her breathe and giving her space, Harry?”

“No,” he frowned sheepishly. His eyes filled with tears and he let out a whimper.

“But I love her.”

Part 2

#harry styles #grumpsnsweets #harry styles writing #kat’s writing #harry styles series #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles soft #kat’s posts

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heyyyharry · 4 years ago

Text

Happier

(inspired by happier by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.4k

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Part 1: Drivers License

Part 2: Deja Vu

A/N: I edited the original lyrics to match the POV :)

Harry had come up with a thousand scenarios of how this day would play out. Actually, he’d been thinking of this day since the moment he’d received the news. He didn’t dare to hope that she’d say yes to coming back for a sequel. He’d been sure that they would write her character off, give a lame excuse for how his love interest could not make a return and make his character forget about her completely to move on with a new girl in town. It would have been great if it was that easy in real life. Once someone was written off the script, they were gone for good. Real-life relationships were not that simple. Goodbye didn’t mean ‘never see you again’. You would still share the same friend circle and social bubbles, and it was worse when you two worked in the same industry. Harry didn’t know how he’d lasted a year without running into her, not since the Grammys.

“Didn’t you two date?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes stayed glued on Y/N from across the room. She wasn’t looking his way, too busy saying hello to everyone else. “No,” he repeated, more to himself than to his co-star. “We didn’t.”

“But she wrote an entire album about you,” said the other twin. What was her name again? Lulu?

“Luna!” cried her sister, Lex. “You can’t ask him that!”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said with a tight smile, slightly annoyed by the blonde twins, but he didn’t want to seem like an ass on the first day of filming. “And I don’t know if it was for me. You should ask Y/N.”

“Ask me what?”

Harry flinched when he looked up and saw Y/N padding towards them. She hugged the twins, who seemed way too excited. Harry guessed they were Y/N’s fans. They gave off crazy fangirl vibes, probably just pretending not to know the drama to interrogate him. He couldn’t blame them for assuming he was the villain and definitely could not blame Y/N for portraying him as one. It was more important that he knew who he was and how much he had changed since his last relationship. Maybe they could finally be friends.

“Were they bothering you?” Y/N asked him once the twins had left.

Harry nodded. “They’re your friends?”

“Oh, I met them last year on tour. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They were on Disney.”

“I don’t watch Disney,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Well, not today’s Disney.”

“Understandable.” Y/N nodded and bit her lip. She seemed guarded with her straight back and hands hidden behind her. She eyed him up and down, quite subtle yet noticeable. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Yeah, but mostly tired because of tour.”

“You’re done?”

“Yup, last night was the last show.”

“Nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Harry blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Y/N giggled. “You still sound very...you.”

“Well, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you should. But it’s been a year so…I mean, you haven’t changed much.”

“Right,” he said lowly, his eyes falling to his feet. Harry supposed he should say something else, perhaps bringing up another random topic to discuss, but all he could think about was what had happened between them. Things had been messy, hadn’t they? How could they go back to before that? Before her first song about him. Before he’d chosen someone else over her.

Or he could talk about her new relationship. She’d been in a happy relationship for almost six months, right? No wait, hadn’t they broke up two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure because he hadn’t been catching up. If they’d broken up, he’d sound like an ass to even mention her ex’s name. He should just stay quiet.

“I’ll see you later?” she said, gesturing at her stylist who was waiting by the door.

Harry could ask her right now -- the reason she’d agreed to film the sequel to their first movie together. He’d heard from a very reliable source that she’d specifically asked her agent to decline any project that he was in. So did this mean they were good? That she didn’t hate him anymore? He could have gathered his courage and got the answer right then…

“Yeah, see you.”

...but he didn’t.

And so she gave him a smile and a little wave, then happily returned to her stylist.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“See you, Annie!” Y/N said as she put the rest of her things into her tote bag. Her new driver had got her schedule mixed up, and so she had to wait here for another half an hour. She was in no rush. It had been a light first day, and she’d had a fun time getting to know the new cast members and catching up with old friends.

She sat on the sofa in the lobby, legs crossed, texting her best friend about her day. She’d purposely left out the short off-screen conversation with Harry, and her best friend didn’t even bother to ask. In their world, he didn’t exist, and his name was censored in every conversation like a curse word that was even worse than ‘cunt’. Nevertheless, she didn’t hate him anymore. She was doing just fine on her own, being busy with her career, and she’d been in a happy relationship after her fall out with him.

She and the guy, a model, had broken up two weeks ago due to long distance and some differences that they could not change. They had ended on good terms and decided to stay friends. They said you could only stay friends with your ex when you still had feelings for each other, or you had never loved each other that much in the first place. For her, it was probably the latter. Her previous relationship had been more platonic than romantic, apparently. So she had nothing but the best to say about him.

As she was going through her camera roll, just reminiscing about the past, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Harry. He offered a smile and gestured to the spot beside her on the sofa. “May I sit here? My ride is late.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hurriedly scooted over.

“Good job today,” he said. “You were great.”

“Thanks, so were you.” She smiled, and they both looked away at the same time. This was so awkward. She hated small talk. She’d never had to have small talk with Harry. Conversations with him used to be so easy and natural and silly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t them.

“Can we just be normal?”

At first, Y/N thought she’d been the one who’d said it, so when she realised it’d been Harry, she was speechless.

He swallowed and sat a bit straighter, still not looking at her. “I don’t want us to be weird and awkward.”

“Okay,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, not to sound like an ass but when Joey kept forgetting his lines, I was so pissed off, I could throw a chair at the wall.”

“Right?!” exclaimed Y/N, feeling free to have finally broken out of her shell. “Like, he doesn’t even have many lines. I know he’s new but damn...you can’t get far if you don’t learn your goddamn lines.”

Harry shook with laughter. “Oh God, we sound like dicks, don’t we?”

“Maybe.” Y/N laughed, covering her mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be nice in this industry. It’s impossible.”

“Shhh, if someone heard this, we would be into big trouble.”

“Oh please, I’ve had worse articles written about me than ‘Y/N speaks facts about her lazy co-star’.”

Harry tossed his head back and cackled. “The worst one I’ve got this week was ‘Harry Styles hates therapists.’”

“What?!” Y/N gasped. “No way! That’s so stupid!”

“Right?” Harry rolled his eyes. “I could get all my therapists to speak up for me but I’m kinda immune to bullshit now.”

“Therapists? Like plural?”

“Yeah, one in every city.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N rubbed her hands onto her legs. “Rough year?”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned back. “You have no idea.” Then he swept his hair out of his eyes, sucked in a breath, and finally looked at her. “I wish I could have talked to you, though.”

She bit her tongue, knowing what she was about to say next would disappoint her best friend so much, but she had to. “So do I.”

Harry looked taken aback before his lips curled into a smile. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I haven’t talked to you in a year, and I feel like I know everything that’s happened to you except that I don’t.”

What he’d just said might make no sense for most people, but Y/N knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and wetted her lip. “You only know as much as everyone else does.”

“Yeah, I got updates on you from the news and our friends.”

“Same.” Y/N smiled back. “I hate how they write articles about your new haircut but not mine.”

“I like your new hair colour.”

“Thanks. I like your new car.”

Then they both burst out laughing. It was fun and also a little bit strange that Y/N didn’t feel the same anxiety talking to him as she used to. It must be because they had grown and were now meeting again as better people.

“Damn, my ride's here,” Y/N said as she read the text from her driver. “I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry stood up and followed Y/N to the entrance. “Hey, just wondering--”

“Yeah?”

“Am I...am I still blocked?” He looked a bit flustered as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “On your phone. Because I remember you having my number blocked--”

“I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I should’ve sent you a happy birthday text but...I didn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong ideas.”

“My ex.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They smiled at each other one last time before saying goodbye. Y/N knew it was silly, but she was hoping he would go after her.

Ding.

A notification popped up when she was in the car. She was almost home, and it was from Harry’s number. He’d sent her a link with a message that said, “Hope you like it :)”.

Curious, she tapped on it and was directed to an audio file titled ‘Track 5’. The upload date was last year. About two weeks after their short conversation at the Grammys.

Hurriedly, she fumbled inside her bag for her iPods and put it on before she pressed play.

“Hey, Jeff, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this song. Listen and let me know if it should go on the album.”

Then came the piano intro. It sounded good, so Y/N wondered how it hadn’t ended up on his last album.

But when he started to sing...

We ended a while ago Your friends are mine, you know, I know You've moved on, found someone new One more guy who brings out the better in you

And I thought my heart was detached From all the sunlight of our past But he’s so nice, he’s so funny Does he mean you forgot about me?

Oh, I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

And does he tell you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? An eternal love bullshit he might not even mean Remember when you were with me I meant it when you heard it first from me

And now I'm pickin' him apart Like cuttin' him down will make you miss my wretched heart But he’s charming, he looks kind He probably gives you butterflies

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy I wish you all the best, really Say you love him, baby Just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on him I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

The song was for her. He’d written it when her new relationship had gone public. Y/N sat there, staring blankly ahead until the honking of a car tore open her inner peace, and reality came crashing back in. The driver dropped her off at her house. Instead of going inside, she stood on her front steps and replayed the song one more time. When it ended, she decided to text him: Why didn’t this make it to the album?

She didn’t know where he was now, but it showed ‘typing’ in less than a second, as if he’d been waiting in their chat since he’d sent that link.

You would’ve hated me, Y/N.

True, she replied. Still, I would’ve loved the song lowkey. And added, I love it btw.

He took so long to type that it was driving her crazy. She flopped down on the concrete stair with her phone clutched in her hands, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Anxiety popped like a balloon when his message appeared: Were you happier?

She reread it again and again.

No.

I wasn’t either, he responded. I kept getting deja vu.

Ha, nice reference.

That song is my guilty pleasure. Love listening to you roasting me on loop.

That last message made Y/N bury her face into her palm and giggle like a fool. She thought for a second and wrote: I could come roast you in person now if that’s what you prefer. I think we’ve never had a proper roasting.

Can we meet, Y/N? Or are you busy now?

No, not busy.

Great, I’ll pick you up.

Just tell me where, she responded with a smile on her face. I got my drivers license now :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic

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hangovercurse · 4 years ago

Text

I’d Drop it All for You

Pictures of you and Pete are spread all over the internet, causing a whirlwind of hate to enter your social media.

Request: “Pete content please! anything !!! smut fluff whatever”

Pete x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, depictions of depression and anxiety

A/N: *Insert normal spiel about respecting A.G. and only using her for plot purposes. No harm intended.* Also I wrote most of this after a meeting with my therapist so... enjoy :) (He’s so cute in this gif I wanna kiss his face)

Word Count: 1820

You weren’t one of those people who loved being the center of attention. You knew that being in the spotlight also meant constantly living under a microscope, and you decided a long time ago that that was not for you.

But you were lucky enough to work as an assistant art director at just 24. You were hoping that The King of Staten Island, your newest project, would help get your name out into the professional world. But that wasn’t the only thing to come out of the film.

It happened unexpectedly, you showed up on set the first day, ready to do whatever the art director required of you. You couldn’t help but be slightly distracted by the lead actor and writer, Pete Davidson. He was so kind and funny, and he wasn’t uptight like everyone else.

After a few hours of filming, he came up to you, introducing himself. He said he “wanted to get to know everyone working on the project,” but you didn’t see him introducing himself to anyone else. You two started talking during breaks. Then he started sitting with you at lunch. Then he was asking for your number.

In a matter of weeks he was asking you out to dinner, taking you to a cozy restaurant that you absolutely adored. He walked you home, his hand grazing yours until you intertwined your fingers.

It was all very romantic, so when Pete asked if he could take you on another, you obviously said yes. Flash forward two weeks and he finally got the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, even though you were both exclusively seeing each other already.

After filming ended 2 months later, you were still working on the film in post, which meant you had an excuse to stay in Staten Island with Pete. After about 2 weeks in post, you spent more nights in his bed than your hotel’s.

Nearly 6 months later and you were happier than ever. You were splitting your time between your small apartment in the Bronx and Pete’s basement apartment. Pete introduced you to most of his friends, and you introduced him to yours.

But other than your small circles of friends, you kept your relationship fairly quiet. Pete doesn’t have social media and yours is strictly professional, so there are no pictures of you two together. You weren’t hiding each other, you loved each other, you just had no reason to tell tabloids. And you were perfectly happy with that.

Which made it so much worse when various news sites had pictures of you two holding hands. Had they been anyone else you would’ve thought they were cute, walking along the South Beach oceanside at night.

Pete had been in the SNL studio all day when the pictures were released, while you were in his apartment, trying your best to focus on the photoset in front of you. The production team wanted the film to scream “teen romance,” which basically entails subtle pink undertones and a higher saturation. But you couldn’t quite get the coloring right, probably because you weren’t actually focusing on the colors.

You sighed, looking at the time and realizing that Pete won’t be back until sometime after 2am, which was a whole 5 hours away. You let out a huff, pushing away from the desk and making your way to Pete’s closet and searching for one of his hoodies. They always smelled like him (and weed), so it was a comfort to you.

You crashed onto the bed, finding the phone that you had tossed there a few hours earlier. Turning it on you were surprised by the number of notifications you were getting. You knew the photos had surfaced but you weren’t expecting this.

Your Instagram was blowing up with new follows, likes, and comments. It was kind of exciting at first until you started reading some of the comments.

I mean, we knew he would downgrade from Ari, but this is like… really far down.

This girl really thinks she’s special just bc Pete’s dating her. Hun he could do so much better

Who is she?!? Literally no one.

Someone needs to show her how to dress

That hairstyle is not it honey

Pete Davidson is dating YOU??? He could do sooo much better

Ari was prettier sorry not sorry

The entire comment section on your last post, a picture of you on the set of your latest film, was pretty much the same. There were some nice comments, but a lot of mean ones.

And you couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop looking at them. It felt so cliché, but it was like all of your deepest insecurities about being with Pete were thrown out on the table.

You knew that Pete had a fairly large following, and that a lot of people had really strong feelings about him. You had expected that if and when your relationship went public you would have a lot of people watching you, scrutinizing you. But you didn’t care because Pete was worth it.

Now you weren’t so sure. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle people talking bad about you, because you definitely could, even if it hurt. You just weren’t expecting the amount of people comparing you to Ariana or saying that Pete could do so much better.

And it only bothered you so much because you felt it too. Your inner demons loved to remind you that Pete had dated Ariana fucking Grande and now he’s dating you. Anyone could see an obvious downgrade.

You turned your phone off and threw it on the opposite side of the bed, trying to think positive thoughts. “I am in control of my own thoughts and emotions. I am catching my negative thoughts and fixing them.” You murmured your therapist’s mantra to yourself, but it was too late. The thoughts had already taken hold of your mind.

Your eyes started to water as you could feel the heavy feeling in your chest set in. You pulled the hood over your head, pulling the straps to hide as much of your face as possible, and pulling your knees to your chest. You laid like that for a while, tears falling as doubts ran through your head. Once you had effectively exhausted your thoughts, you went numb. Your tears had stopped, but you couldn’t move. This wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but it sure wasn’t pleasurable.

There was a sort of buzzing throughout your body, almost like the feeling when your foot falls asleep, but everywhere. It seemed to block out your sound, as you didn’t hear the basement door open. You only knew that Pete was home when he sat beside you on the bed, pulling the hood off your face.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” He smiled at you. You tried your best to fake one back, but you honestly couldn’t find the energy. Pete pulled you so you were sitting up, back pressed against his front. His arms wrapped around your middle as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “What’s goin on?” He murmured against your skin.

“Did you see them?” You asked, your voice quiet and hoarse.

Pete let out a sigh, “Yeah, I saw them.” He paused, his hold on you getting tighter, like he was making sure you couldn’t leave. “I’m sorry baby. I know you didn’t want it to be a whole big thing.”

You turned your head to face him, “It’s not that. I really don’t mind that people know. We weren’t trying to hide anything.”

He smiled, “Yeah, I know I just- it was nice having this to ourselves.”

He wanted to hide you. He’s embarrassed of you.

Your inner dialogue never seemed to shut up.

You turned away from Pete, trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes. “Yeah.” You whispered.

“What’s wrong, you’re still upset.” He rocked you in his arms, kissing the top of your head. You shrugged in response, not trusting yourself to talk. “You can talk to me, y’know.”

You nodded, leaning further into Pete’s chest. “People found my Instagram.” You murmured, looking down and tracing the arrow tattoo on his hand.

“Whaddya mean? I thought it was public?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

You sighed, wishing you hadn’t said anything. “Yeah, it is. But after all the articles people started following me and shit.”

“I would ask how that’s a problem but I deleted my Instagram so I can’t really talk.” You could tell he was trying to make you feel better, but you couldn’t seem to get out of your haze.

You shook your head, deciding to drop the matter. “It’s not, I’m just being overdramatic.” You sighed, putting on a fake smile and facing him fully. “Wanna watch a movie?” You asked, trying to change the topic.

He gave you the I-know-you’re-bullshitting-me look, which made you look down. “Something’s bothering you, Y/N. And you’re trying to pretend it doesn’t because you think your feelings aren’t valid, but they are.” He tilted his head, trying to meet your eyes that were still trained on the bedsheets below you.

“Where’d you learn that one?” You chuckled half-heartedly.

“Rehab part 2” he smiled, hand coming to your jaw to tilt your head up. “C’mon, talk to me. I wanna help.”

You huffed, moving towards the opposite side of the bed where your phone laid. You opened it, finding your Instagram, and showing him the comments. His eyebrows furrowed as he scrolled through the comments. When he decided he’d had enough he put your phone down, grabbing your waist and lifting you onto his lap so you were essentially straddling him.

He leaned his forehead against your own, your noses touching. “That’s all bullshit, you know that, right?”

You looked down, biting your lip. “Y/N you’re the most amazing, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, okay? I’m in love with you, not anyone else.” Pete’s eyes were searching yours, trying to figure out what was going on in your head.

“I know.” You sighed, “It’s just hard to be with you and not compare myself to her. And then all these people started to do it too, and they kept saying that you could do so much better and you can. So, I dunno I guess I just kind of spiraled.”

Pete captured your lips in a long, passionate kiss. “Y/N. There is literally no better than you. I can’t do better because you are the best woman I have ever loved. “

You pulled Pete in for another kiss. “Thank you, Pete. I love you.”

“I love you too. If this happens again, I want you to call me. I don’t care what I’m doing, I’d drop it all for you.” You smiled, sitting in the arms of the guy you loved. The thoughts didn’t just magically go away, but for a brief moment in time, you were happy.

#pete davidson #pete davidson imagine #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson angst #pete davidson fluff

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maemelany · 4 years ago

Text

Fixing the Broken (Part 3)

Summary: People say that time heals all wounds. In your case, time made it worse.

You’ve been married to Chris for five years, but his absence spoke louder than his words. After 5 years of trying, you’ve decided that you’ve had enough, and you left him. But Chris doesn’t want to let you go; he doesn’t want to give up on your marriage.

Would he be able to fix what you consider irretrievably broken?

Warnings: Angst, tiny tiny mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.6 k

Pairing : Chris Evans x Reader

A/N: I hope you like this one. I can’t wait for your reactions about this one. I can only imagine what @fallenoutofrose will have to say about Chris’s behavior in this part 😂

Enjoy and let me know if you want me to add you to the tag list

Love x Mae ❤️

Masterlist

Prologue , Part 1 , Part 2 Part 4

“It is better to hope than despair.”

-Lailah Gifty Akita,

You finally knocked. After standing in front of that door for what felt like an eternity now, you finally knocked. Your legs felt like jelly, and your heart was pounding in your chest. You were feeling more anxious than the day of your wedding, and the irony of the situation made you almost laugh. Almost, but not quite. You were about to when Lisa opened the door.

She was as radiant as ever, a big, warm smile on her face. Honestly, it surprised you. You knew that she knew. Now that Chris was back, there was no way Lisa wouldn’t know what was going on. That man told everything to his mother.

Lisa let you in, and you followed her into the living room. The house felt like a second home to you. Actually, it felt more like home than your place with Chris sometimes. There was always something happening here. When you left your house, you almost came here. But you felt like it was unfair to Chris. Lisa was his mom, and her house was his safe place, not yours.

“Chris told me everything. How are you holding up honey, are you okay?” Lisa asked you

Her kindness broke your last defence. Her genuine, motherly concern about you made you feel guilty that you didn’t come to her sooner. Lisa had always been so kind to you, taking you in as her own daughter from the moment Chris introduced you as his girlfriend. Your lips started to shiver as you were trying your best to hold the tears back.

“Oh, honey… please don’t cry.”

She took you in her arms, and you broke into tears. It may have lasted five minutes or an hour; you weren’t sure. These days you were crying so much it was just the new normal.

Your best friend had been a great support to you, but she had to. She was your best friend. Chris’s mom was supposed to be on his side, defending her son’s best interest. Not yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me things were that bad, Y/N?” Lisa asked you

You looked away. Somehow ashamed that you thought Lisa would reject you.

“I … I don’t know. Chris is your son, and…”

“And you’re my daughter. Y/N, you’re family. We all love you!” Lisa said, taking your hands into hers. “Plus, I bet some even love you more than Chris,” Lisa joked.

You laughed, feeling a little bit more at ease now. “I’m sorry…” you whispered.

“Don’t be. I am sorry we didn’t see anything,” Lisa said

You shook your head. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t responsible, Chris and you were. It was your marriage, after all.

Lisa asked for your version of the story, and you could tell she was trying to be as partial as possible. You hated that you had to put her in that situation. She cringed when you told her Chris didn’t notice you were gone until he went to Carly’s place.

“That boy…” she said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, a sad expression on her face.

“It’s not your fault Lisa. Actually, it’s not even Chris’s fault. I can’t force him to stay married to me,” You said

“You think he feels… forced to be with you?”

You shrugged. “I mean… why else would he be as far away from me as he possibly could?”

Lisa watched you closely. You could tell she wanted to say something but was refraining herself.

“You two should talk. Maybe you could solve this…” Lisa said

“I don’t think us talking would do any good. We tried that yesterday; you should have seen how shi… messy it was”

Lisa tried to hide her smile when you stopped yourself from swearing. “If talking to each other doesn’t work, maybe you should try talking to someone else…” Lisa suggested

You frowned. You didn’t see how Chris and you talking to Lisa would help. Yes, Lisa was a wise woman, but as she said herself, she was your mother both. Knowing Chris, he would take it personally if his mother called his shit out about his marriage. You still remembered what happened the last time Lisa agreed with you instead of Chris. He was salty for days.

“I love you, Lisa, but I don’t think talking to you would fix this,” you gently said

Lisa laughed. “I wasn’t talking about me, honey. I meant a therapist.”

“A therapist? Like couples therapy, you want us to go to couples therapy?” you asked.

Lisa nodded. You never thought about that.

“I thought couples therapy was supposed to happen before couples decide they want a divorce.”

“Not necessarily. It could help you express your feelings in a safe place. And, you decided you wanted a divorce, honey. I don’t think Chris agrees with you.”

You frowned. If Lisa thought the warm smile would help you accept the subtle criticism easier, she was wrong. You were even worse than Chris when it came to being right.

You loved being right and hated being told that you could have done something wrong, especially in that very particular situation. You were right. You had to be right. It would kill you to realize you were wrong and left the man you loved for nothing.

“Do you think I went too far…” You said, the tears resurfacing

“Oh no,” Lisa immediately told you. “You did what was right for you, and that’s the most important. I can’t even imagine how you must have felt, alone in that big house.”

A huge weight lifted off your shoulders. Secretly you thought people didn’t understand you. You were married to Chris Evans, living what they thought should be a fairy tale.

Even though you and Chris were what people called a private couple, he would sometimes tell things about you or express his love for you when he was being interviewed. When those things happened, your friends would always send you messages, reminding you how lucky you were.

They didn’t know how far they were from the truth. Most of the time, you were alone in your bed when you were reading their messages. Alone and lonely.

People think they know things about your life, your marriage, but they don’t. They would have to walk in your shoes, feel what you daily felt to actually understand.

When you left Lisa’s house, she had convinced you. She made you realize that even though things between You and Chris were pretty bad, your relationship was worth saving, or at least you owed it to Chis and yourself to try. Even if therapy didn’t work, you still owed it to yourself and Chris to end things the most peacefully possible. Before being your husband, he was your friend. You needed at least that friendship to be saved.

Instead of going back to your best friend’s place, you went home. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. You started driving and found yourself taking the way home. Instead of turning back, you continued. You realized waiting wouldn’t help. You’d waited so much already, now was the time to act.

As you opened your front door, you felt submerged with that particular sent. You were home. Despite what you told Chris yesterday, this house was your home. You chose almost every piece of furniture.

Chris was more than happy to leave it to you; he didn’t understand why you needed so many pillows on the bed or a particular shade of beige for the dining chairs. Instead of explaining everything, you would just ask for his opinion when it was absolutely necessary. Plus, it was hard to decorate a house via FaceTime.

Thinking of it now, decorating this house helped you manage your loneliness for some time. You were proud of every single room, from your bedroom to the laundry room.

You found Chris and Dodger sleeping on the sofa. You weren’t surprised. The couch was probably Chris’ favorite spot in the whole house. You had your office, and he had this sofa.

You were tempted to lay next to them. They felt like home. But you didn’t want to wake Chris up. If there was one thing Chris was lacking, it was sleep. You also noticed the dark circles under his eyes yesterday, and the current situation was not helping his sleep deprivation.

When you noticed a few takeout boxes in the room, you knew exactly how to occupy yourself. Chris used to love your cooking. Your skills were definitely better than his, but as your husband liked to say, one cannot be good at everything. You smiled when you remembered how you would tease him about his horrible cooking skills, and he would remind you how messy you were.

Even now, after thirty minutes of cooking, the countertop looked more like a war zone than a kitchen island.

“It smells good.”

You jumped. You didn’t see Chris coming, and now you had tomato sauce all over your blouse.

“Chris! You scared me!” you said, looking at him.

He was leaning against the opposite wall, observing you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

You looked at him with more attention. He looked less tired. You wanted to say something, but Dodger was all over you before you could open your mouth.

“Hey, baby. I missed you so much,” you said to your dog.

Dodger started to bark. The high pitch he usually reserved to Chris when he was coming back home after long periods of absence.

It broke your heart.

“He missed you,” Chris finally said

You didn’t know what to reply. You didn’t want to say something that would create a hostile environment for the rest of the evening.

“I need to change myself,” you said, showing your now stained blouse.

You were gone before Chris could even blink. Once in your bedroom, you found everything exactly as you left it. You rolled your eyes, mentally asking yourself how Chris could be so organized. And then you realized he wasn’t that organized. It wasn’t just the bedroom that was exactly as you left it. The walking closet and the bathroom were too.

Chris wasn’t sleeping in your room, and you wondered why.

When you went downstairs, you found him making the table.

“I thought I’d made myself useful,” Chris said when he saw you.

You smiled. That was the kind of evening you used to dream about. You and your husband casually sharing dinner together.

Chris was very attentive, serving you wine, asking you if you needed anything. You wished you could be so relaxed. You wished you weren’t about to drop a massive bomb on him.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in our bedroom?”

Your question surprised you both.

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t seem… right.”

You looked at each other, your eyes saying more than a thousand words. Again, you were reminded how easy it would be to just give in, to just come back. But it would be a temporary relief, one you would only enjoy until he’d decide to leave again.

It took you the whole dinner, and filling the dishwasher, and watching the first part of a show to gather enough courage and tell Chris you two needed to see a therapist.

It happened before he was about to kiss you. You could feel it in his eyes, the way they became darker, and the way his body leaned closer to yours. You could feel your heart beating faster and the room suddenly feeling hotter than before.

You wanted to give in, you missed his touch, you missed his kisses. You missed sex with your husband. But you knew it would make things more difficult. Sex had never been a problem in your relationship. Actually, it made you forget about the problems. You couldn’t remember how many times you were on the verge of telling Chris you weren’t happy with the situation and totally forgot about it the minute his hands were on you.

“No,” you said, standing up.

You started walking around the room, trying to compose yourself. It was frustrating how all your perfect, well-prepared plans got ruined the second you were around Chris.

“Y/N,” Chris whispered.

“No, we are not having sex!” you half screamed.

You needed to convince not only Chris but yourself that you were not having sex tonight. But looking at him, looking at him, looking at you made things very hard, literally and figuratively speaking.

“We’re going to therapy,” you quickly said

Chris blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

You cleared your throat. “I said, we are going to therapy.”

You could tell he was surprised. You didn’t know if it was good or bad.

“Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

It was your turn to be surprised. You opened your mouth but closed it immediately after. You wanted Chris to explain himself before jumping to conclusions.

“With how public we are and…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, anger quickly possessing your whole body.

“Y/N…”

“You’re worried about your reputation? Do you even want us to be together, Chris?” you asked him.

“I’m not worried about my reputation. I’m worried about… our privacy.”

“Chris, therapists have a duty of confidentiality,” You said, raising your voice.

“Well, you won’t believe how many people would break it given the right sum,” he screamed back.

You wanted to scream, anything that would release the frustration you were feeling inside.

“Do you even want to fix this?” you ask, as calmly as you were able to

Chris huffed. “I was begging you to come home with me yesterday. Of course, I want to fix this.”

You crossed your arms. “me coming home right now would not fix things; it would bring us back to this,” you said, throwing your hands up.

“And this is so bad, right?” Chris asked, bitterness in his voice.

“No, this is perfect. This is what I want permanently. It will kill me to come back to this if this is not forever.”

The room went silent. So many emotions went through Chris’s eyes, and you were trying to decode them all.

Chris finally drew a long breath. “I am not going to couples therapy.”

His words stung more than you could have imagined. They also unleashed the silent anger that was rising inside of you since the beginning of that conversation.

But instead of screaming and crying and pleading with Chris, you reached for your handbag. You were done trying to negotiate with him. You were done trying to spare his feelings.

You removed the divorce papers that had been sitting in your bag for days now. You threw them on the coffee table near Chris and waited for him to look at them.

You could see him become very pale, and if you weren’t that angry, you would be worried.

“Are they…” He started

“Yes. Divorce papers. We go to therapy, or you sign them. It’s your choice.”

Chris was startled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m more than serious. I have a pen if you want to sign now.”

You looked serene, but inside, your heart was dropping lower with every second Chris wasn’t doing anything. You knew you were forcing his hand, but he left you no other choice.

“So, what is it going to be, Chris?”

Chris took the divorce agreement into his hands, and you held your breath. Your heart started beating again when he tore them in half.

He gave you a deadly stare, but at this point, you didn’t care anymore. He could be angry, scream at you, even hate you, as long as it meant you were doing something to try to fix things, you could take it all.

“Text me when you find a therapist you can trust,” you said before taking your bag to leave.

If he thought you’d be the only one sweating for this, he couldn’t be more wrong. It takes two to tango. It was about damn time for Chris to act. Because you were sure that this time feeling sorry or even good sex wouldn’t fix things.

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