#or it would end with James going back to the spotlight and speaking out about his mental health and helping people | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

comfortbucky · 3 years ago

Note

Hey! If requests are still open I was wondering if I could request a fluffy fic where reader is having a bad day and Bucky notices and cheers them up? 💗💗

HELL YEAH!!!

REQUESTS!!! ARE!!! OPEN!!!

𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗲𝘁 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚

pairing: bodyguard!bucky x fem!reader

warnings: anxiety, anxiety attack

tags: grumpy!bucky, bodyguard!bucky, fluffy bucky!!!

A/N: okay i have never written bodyguard!bucky before but i just thought it would be such a sweet concept to see him being soft🥺

sorry if the ending is kind of bad😭 i didn’t know how to quite wrap it all up, but i hope u enjoy!!!!!!!! <3 i had so much fun writing about bodyguard!bucky!!!!!

word count: 2.9k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

Y/N groaned as her phone alarm went off and hit snooze for the fifth time. She reached her hand out, head facing away and resting on her pillow, fumbling for her phone to turn off the incessant sound. Before she could shut it off, the noise stopped. Y/N turned her head slightly to see a large, dark figure in the corner of her eye. She turned her head fully to see her bodyguard with a frown on his face as he shut her alarm off.

“Your alarm, it’s annoying,” Bucky grumbled. “You should get up anyways, busy schedule today.” He walked out of the room before she could respond. Super soldier hearing was no joke if he was able to hear her alarm from his bedroom down the hall. Y/N sighed as her face planted into the pillow.

She was not looking forward to the events planned out for the day. During the day, there was a slew of interviews she had, back to back, and at night, a gala she was being forced to attend by her father.

Being the daughter of a wealthy tech tycoon had its perks for sure, but Y/N did not consider all of the press she did as a part of them. She never liked being in the spotlight but was forced to be, a birthright she had. Growing up with her dad, she’d developed a fascination for tinkering with computers, game consoles, and everything in-between. She spent a lot, practically all of her free time, with her dad when her mom had passed away. Her dad ended up throwing himself into his life’s work and she worked with him closely in the beginning, but slowly started to drift apart from him as she started to make a name for herself.

Earlier that week, her dad had sent her a text, informing her that a big announcement would be made at the gala. Big parties and large crowds weren’t really her thing, but it seemed like she didn’t have the option to avoid this one.

She got ready for the day, walking down to her kitchen to see her bodyguard, Bucky, sitting at the table, reading a book. As soon as he heard her come down the steps, he stood up and put his book away.

“C’mon, we’re already running late,” he mumbled, making his way to the door. Y/N rolled her eyes in response, grabbing a granola bar as she briskly followed behind him.

When her dad became a big name in the world of tech, the last thing Y/N thought she needed was a bodyguard, but her dad felt otherwise. It took one, very close call, of her almost getting mugged for her dad to immediately assign a personal bodyguard for her. She insisted that it was unnecessary, seeing that she was a fully grown adult, but her dad refused, as he was the one paying for Bucky’s salary.

Bucky had always been rather closed off since the beginning, and not much had changed since he was first assigned to her a little over a year ago. He kept their relationship very professional, only speaking when necessary and leaving the room whenever he wasn’t needed. She had tried to get him to open up more, learn about his past, but he always shut her questions down by either ignoring her or changing the topic to discussing something work-related. He was an enigma to her, which only left her wanting to solve the mystery that was James Bucky Barnes but couldn’t seem to crack the code.

Her first two interviews went smoothly, exactly what she was used to. A couple of questions about her current projects at work, some about her dad sprinkled in, and what she had planned for the future. It was a format she was used to and had come to appreciate, not exactly enjoying being the center of attention. During her last interview, however, she was caught off guard by one of the last questions she was asked.

“I know this might be an awkward question to ask, but I just have to! The people want to know: do you think your dad’s ever going to return to the dating pool?”

Y/N choked on her saliva. She knew her dad was an attractive man, seeing posts on social media of people fawning over him. Although she found it to be very weird and uncomfortable, she just brushed it all aside, not wanting to think about it as it only led to her thinking about the loss of her mom, a sore spot for her.

Y/N cleared her throat and forced out a chuckle. “I think that’s a question only he can answer, I don’t always know what’s going on in that crazy head of his.”

The interviewer laughed and proceeded to transition into the next segment. Y/N quickly thanked the interviewer and left, Bucky swiftly following behind. He had a feeling that something was off, as Y/N would typically stay behind to chat with the interviewer, crew members, even the service staff, whenever she finished an interview. It was always something he admired about her, how down to earth she remained, despite all of the privileges she had. She went out of her way to thank everyone on set, no matter how small their role might seem. He always told the drivers to pull the car up a little later than originally planned, just so she would have the extra time to talk.

Y/N pushed the doors open, only to find an empty street. She turned around and gave Bucky a curious look.

“Sorry, the driver just texted me,” he said, as he sent a text to the driver, telling him to come now. “He’s running late.”

Y/N nodded and leaned against the wall, looking down to fiddle with her hands. Bucky leaned against the opposite wall, facing her, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You okay?”

Y/N looked up at Bucky to find a gentle look in his eyes, slightly taken aback at the sight. She always found herself drawn to his piercing blue eyes, but they usually had a colder glint to them. This was a look she’d never seen before.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” she replied, averting her gaze down as she felt her cheeks flush at the sight of Bucky’s soft gaze.

The car arrived, cutting off Bucky’s train of thought as he was thinking of what to say to her. For a moment he debated on continuing the conversation in the car but figured she already had a long night ahead of her and didn’t want to push any further.

After a quick pit stop back to Y/N’s place, allowing her to change into an evening gown, the car headed to the venue of the gala. Bucky got out of the car before her, walking around to the other side to open her door. Before she stepped out, Y/N took a deep breath in and exhaled, plastering a fake smile on her face as a surge of flashing lights from cameras greeted her. Bucky watched, seeing her seamlessly transform from Y/N, the girl who needed to set a million alarms before actually waking up, to Y/N, tech extraordinaire, one of the most powerful people in the tech world.

Once they were inside the venue, Bucky stuck to his usual routine. Scope out the exits, look for any potential threats, and make sure Y/N was in his eyesight. Bucky kept close by but also kept his distance. He wanted to make sure that he gave her enough space whenever they were out, knowing that having him around was her dad’s idea and that she wasn’t too fond of having security detail in the first place. So he did everything he could to make himself blend in with the crowd, allowing her to roam freely, only following her when she moved out of his line of vision.

Y/N walked around, not knowing a single soul but making polite small talk with the rest of the guests. She became accustomed to knowing how to act at these types of events over the span of her adult life. Food, drinks, more food, home. Crowds made her uneasy, but she always felt calmer when she saw Bucky in her peripheral vision. Y/N would never admit it out loud, but over the last year, he had become a constant source of relief at these public events. Just knowing that he was there if she felt uncomfortable, unsafe, or wanted to leave early made her public outings much more bearable.

“Hey, sweetie! I’m so glad you made it.” Y/N turned around at the sound of her dad’s voice and smiled, moving in to hug him.

“Yeah well, you said you had a big announcement, so I figured I’d stop by,” she joked, eliciting a chuckle from her dad as they pulled away from each other.

“I’m about to make it now,” he started, placing his hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “And I was wondering if you could join me on stage for it? I know that’s not your thing, but it would mean so much to me, Y/N.”

While she absolutely hated the idea of having to stand in front of thousands of people, she reluctantly nodded. Y/N and her dad had slowly grown apart the past several years, only talking a couple times a month to catch up. With both of their busy schedules, they always seemed to miss each other. Despite their growing apart, she would do anything for her dad, especially if it meant so much to him.

Bucky slowly followed behind, as Y/N and her dad walked up to the stage. Y/N glanced behind her to give a slight smile to Bucky, to which he nodded back. He stood backstage, watching them from behind the curtains.

“Hi everyone, thanks so much for coming out tonight,” Y/N’s dad spoke into the mic. She was standing beside him, hands clasped in front of her, trying to look calm and not totally anxious.

“Since the success of my brand, people have said that I am a man who has everything. And I definitely have a lot to be thankful for, my company, my friends, and most importantly, my daughter.” Her dad extended a hand out to point to Y/N and the crowd cheered. Bucky couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips. Despite his brooding attitude, he had come to grow fond of Y/N, being able to see her for who she truly was. She was smart, witty, and had a heart of gold.

“The only thing I’ve been missing,” her dad looks down at the ground for a second, before looking back out at the crowd. “Is someone to share it all with.” Y/N’s smile faltered and felt her stomach drop. She couldn’t fully register the words coming out of her dad’s mouth.

“After Sarah, my wife had passed, I didn’t think I would be able to love again. Until I met Alyssa.” Y/N was frozen in place upon hearing her dad’s confession. She’d never heard of anyone named Alyssa during any of their catch-up calls and now he was saying he loved her? Y/N quickly turned as a woman walked out on stage. The woman walked over to her dad and he wrapped one of his arms around her waist before speaking.

“Now I feel complete, now I have everything.” He pulled Y/N to him and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, smiling for the cameras ahead. There were a lot of strategies Y/N had devised over the years to deal with potential unexpected and uncomfortable situations in a composed manner to avoid having a PR nightmare.

She didn’t have one for this.

Tearing herself from her dad’s hold, she ran off stage, heading towards the exit that led to the outside. Y/N took in the fresh air, trying to stop her hyperventilating. It wasn’t working. Her chest felt tight as she began gasping for air, struggling to take in oxygen.

She was having a panic attack. It was nothing she hadn’t experienced before, but it had been so long since she’d had one. The last time she remembered, was at her mom’s funeral.

Her mom. Her dad. Alyssa.

Her thoughts were pushed aside as her vision blurred, her eyes swelling up with tears. Y/N felt like she had no control over her body and shut her eyes, allowing the panic to consume her.

Then, a firm, but gentle, warm feeling in her hands.

Y/N blinked her eyes open to reveal Bucky, standing in front of her. She looked down and saw that it was his hands in hers, holding them tight.

“Can you breathe for me, honey?”

His voice came out in a soft whisper, accompanied by the warmest and welcoming smile. She shook her head, unable to control her quick and rapid breaths. Bucky squeezed her hands a little tighter, rubbing his thumb in small circles on the back of her hand.

“Yes you can, just breathe with me, okay?”

He started to breathe in and out slowly and eventually, she was able to follow his lead, deciding to focus on his eyes. There was that look from before the ride to the gala, the gentle look in his eyes. She’d always felt that his blue eyes reminded her of stormy seas, but now, now they made her think of the calmness of the ocean in the early morning, waves crashing softly on the shores.

As she regained her composure, she realized she’d been staring into Bucky’s eyes for, probably, far too long. Bucky felt her tight grip on his hands loosen and reluctantly let go of her hands. He immediately missed the softness of her hands and how small they were in comparison to his much larger, calloused, hands.

“T- Thank you,” she stuttered out, her gaze locked on the ground, as she placed her hands to her sides.

“It’s no problem. I get them too,” he replied. She looked up at him as he clarified. “Panic attacks. PTSD from serving overseas.”

Y/N face drops, her stomach churning at the thought that Bucky had ever experienced panic like she had. She returned her gaze to the ground as a silence washed over them.

“He didn’t tell me about her,” she spoke in a quiet voice. “Never brought her up once. But I guess she must be pretty special for him to do all of this.”

Bucky stood a couple steps in front of her, seeing teardrops fall from her face. She lifted her head up to wipe away her tears, her hands shaking from anxiety. Y/N placed her hands on her face and started to sob.

She was slightly hurt by the idea of her dad loving any other woman than her mom but knew that he’d have to move on eventually. What hurt her the most was the fact that he didn’t tell her, not until they were on stage, standing before a crowd of people. It was too much for her to handle and she reached her breaking point.

Bucky’s heart dropped at the sight. He cautiously stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her tightly. Something his PTSD had taught him was how pressure from a hug could help relax the nervous system and calm him down. He held her firmly in his arms until he felt her breathing slow. She looked up at him, remaining in his embrace, her eyes glassy from crying, nose red and sniffly. Bucky felt his heart skip a beat and immediately pushed the thought away.

“You wanna leave, honey?”

She nodded in response, staying in his arms for just a second longer before pulling away. Y/N longed for his warm touch, feeling like a child who had their security blanket taken away. It didn’t help that it was also cold outside, sending a chill down her spine.

Bucky noticed and shrugged his suit jacket off to wrap around her shoulders. She beamed a smile at him and he smiled back.

The pair walked around the outside of the venue to find the car when they ran into a mob of paparazzi, shouting questions at Y/N about her sudden exit. Like a reflex, she grabbed hold of Bucky’s hand and he gave her a comforting squeeze as he cleared a path towards the car.

Bucky and Y/N were sat next to each other in the car, which was not the typical seating arrangement they usually had, usually sitting on opposite ends of the car. But Y/N hadn’t let go of his hand, not quite ready to separate herself from his warmth. Bucky had absolutely no problem with that, mindlessly rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. She felt safe. She always felt safe with Bucky around.

Y/N felt her eyelids become heavy, struggling to keep them open. She was exhausted from her long day, and her panic attack had taken most of her energy away.

Bucky felt a weight on his shoulder and turned his head slightly to see Y/N’s head resting there. He felt a warmth rush to his cheeks and smiled, resting his head on top of hers.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed. “You always make me feel so safe.”

Bucky felt a surge of tenderness rush through him. That was all he ever wanted to do. He wanted to keep her safe. He kissed her forehead, causing her to snuggle closer to him.

“Of course, honey. I’m here, always.”

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dinuhsoar · 4 years ago

Text

ᴛᴏɴᴇ

― Corpse x fem!reader

Warnings: language, poorly written synopsis and imagine tbh, gif has nothing to do with imagine, possible typos,

Synopsis: Y/n is playing Among Us when her toddler of a brother starts crying. Y/n asks for help- apparently, Corpse just needs to speak. A somewhat discontinued part two of Flowers and Crowns

Cali's message: Evening everyone! As you all know, I'm not a huge fan of Corpse. However, I like reading imagines about him because they're cute and take my mind off of my struggles! I am truly sorry that I haven't been posting. Requests are open for pretty much anything. Be kind and have a lovely day! And you guys actually liked Flowers and Crowns?? Tf are you on? Clearly this one is better- but, thank you for reading Flowers and Crowns and supporting me!

Gif credit: @adventurelandia

@haikyuu-appreciation-club wanted this, so here it is, love!

You and the gang have been playing Among Us for the past hour. When the games always started, you were right on top of it, immediately saying who the imposter was. And now? Now you were first to die everytime.

You've scanned. Corpse and Toast both watched you. And you were positive they were not the imposters. So when they, Corpse, killed you in decontamination, you were so livid.

You tried ranting to the people on your stream, you really did. But they kept saying, 'of course it was Corpse,' and, 'oh look how red she is.' Now that, that much was true. No matter how devilish that move Corpse and Toast pulled, you could forgive him.

You told your stream that you'd be back, the sudden cries of your brother flooding your ears. In the time it took for you to get to his room, make him stop crying, and return to the stream with him, the game ended. And apparently it has ended for a while now.

When you rejoined you heard familiar voices as you slipped on your headset.

"-and I find it quite offensive that you just insulted her while she wasn't present." Corpse had said. What was this going on about?

"Hello guys! Sorry for leaving, my brother was crying again." You laughed, and Corpse smiled like a sick puppy. Your laughter to him was sweet sounding and it held a sense of longing. He concluded that your laugh was normal awhile ago, so a normal laugh shouldn't be affecting him the way it was now, right? "Um, Corpse," you began, quite awkwardly as it was dead silent on the stream, "what was that about? The offensive thing? I joined halfway-"

"It's nothing to be hypervigilant about, Y/n. I took care of the situation." Corpse couldn't feel the flutter in your stomach, but everyone on the stream did as your face was red.

"Ahem, sorry to ruin your spotlight, but could we start?" Sykunno asked, softly lulling his head back.

"Just give me a second, Sy." You left them. Again. Groans and moans of protest is what they did. But you couldn't hear them.

"Which one, bubba? Hm? Carrots or peas?" You reached for the carrots, then heard him scream, "peas!" You were sure the stream heard it, and possibly your friends too. "Fine, fine," you rushed out, opening the can and getting a spoon. "Spill any and I will disown you, ya' hear?" Of course you were joking, but the look on his face was priceless. "Lets get you going." So you picked him up and set him in your lap as you sat back down, letting him eat.

"I'm back this time, for real."

"Good, because I'm not waiting any longer." Sykunno sassed back and pressed hard on the mouse to click start.

And just your luck, you're the imposter with Rae.

You took in a breath and left dropship, running to the node near office. It was probably the most frequently used node anyways. Standing there and awaiting your victim, you saw Rae run past. You immediately followed her into office and down to specimen. She just stood there and you went up to the decontamination in lab, waiting your victem. Toast talked in, and you got out and he went to download. You killed him then went back up to wait.

On Rae's end, she'd go on to kill Sykunno and James before they could even report Toasts body. And so when Corpse has arrived, on your end too, oh boy.

You stood over the growing pile of bodies, and when he saw you, he froze up. On one end, how was someone so sweet sounding, so, so very innocent, do this?

But you did not hesitate. He was vulnerable.

You killed him, laughing into your mic as you did so.

The game ended, and you assumed Rae killed along the strip of decontamination and not just lead them to the pile.

You looked down at your younger brother, smiling at him as he spilled some peas. Immediately his face went white, his lip curling and fists balling as you grabbed his can to place on the desk.

"Hey, hey, don't cry now."

But he would not stop.

"Do any of you know how to make a baby stop crying?" A chorus of 'no's' were heard and you groaned.

"Corpse? The least you can do is think of-"

"Tell him that-"

And with very little words from Corpse, he's stopped crying. However, his head turned away from your shoulder and looked around the room.

"Bubs, he's not in here. Would you like to say hi?" Carefully, you placed the headset on your brothers head, carefully watching his face for any discomfort.

You could faintly hear the others voices, Rae breaking into straight baby talk. When Corpse spoke again, your brother had a mixed face that looked like he was about to cry but laugh at the same time.

"Corpse, you began, taking the headset back, "thank you for making him stop crying." You tightened your grip on his waist, pulling him closer.

You all played a few rounds more, but you decided to them leave to put your brother to bed. Once he was in bed, you got a message. Opening the message app and seeing who it was made you smile some more.

'Hello Y/n! You remember when you said, '"he's not in here?"' Could we arrange that? I'd love to meet you both!'

What? Corpse wanted to meet you?

'I- you- what about your identity? Or-'

'It'll be fine, I trust you.'

'I can be there in a few days?'

'Perfect! See you then!'

Shutting of your phone you ran into your bedroom and screamed into a pillow. You were going to meet Corpse! But what if he didn't like you? Or what- no! You were getting ahead of yourself.

'Goodnight Corpse,' you sent.

'Goodnight Y/n.'

And little did you know, he fell asleep that night.

#fanfic #x reader #writing #shit writing #corpse x reader #corpse husband #corpse #corpse imagines #corpse among us #corpse fic #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband imagine #onlyhands #idk what to do #like tag wise #among us #honiebee

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cjsinkythoughts · 4 years ago

Text

FATWS One Shot #7 - Revels

Word Count: 2921

Warnings: Cursing, That’s All, it’s a Really Tame One Shot

Setting/Characters: Party Scene in Avengers: Age of Ultron; Lots of Characters so I’m Not Gonna Name Them All

A/N: I know…it’s very late. I wanted to have it out on Friday, but I dunno, guys. My motivation as of late has been very low. I finally decided to just sit down and write tonight. So here it finally is!

This one is pretty mild compared to others. There’s a few feeling things in here, but it’s mainly just the reader hanging out with the team. The ending’s written a bit weird, but I didn’t know what to cut it off because the writers did a nice job of making the Mjolnir scene flow into the scene with Ultron’s appearance, but I didn’t want to write the whole fight with Ultron, I just wanted the lifting scene.

Listen here, though! Prepare yourselves to be conflicted even more with Steve! I made it a lot more…touchy than I was planning on. Don’t come at me! It needs to be done! This’ll be one of the last ones focused on Steve like that though. The next one is reader and Wanda bonding and then after that I don’t have any more planned for AoU, so we’ll be going to Civil War, which is where reader meets Bucky officially. So Bucky’s coming soon!

I’m gonna update my WIP List and - maybe - my One Shot list and post those later, along with a poll because I dunno which series I wanna start on next.

Thank you all so much for your patience, understanding, and support! As always, not beta’d, so please excuse the mistakes, all are mine! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy and stay tuned!

FATWS Series Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

*******

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You set your bag down and looked at your phone, vibrating from where you just left it on the counter. You looked at the time and squinted. Seven. You supposed it wasn’t too late, but you weren’t expecting any calls.

Tired, your feet dragged as you moved across the room to get your phone. You were helping Fury set up the Helicarrier again while still remaining “dead” to everyone. It was the last thing you were doing before joining the Avengers full time. You were a bit hesitant to be in the spotlight after all these years, but after much pressuring from your team, especially a certain blonde, you finally caved. It was time for a change anyways. It might even be good for you.

Speaking of blondes, Bubba flashed across your screen, a picture of him with some scruff that you took one day in spite of his protests because you’d never seen him with a beard before lighting up behind the contact name.

You answered it, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hands as you did so. “Hi, bubs. What’s-”

“Where are you? I miss you. Are you coming soon?”

You chuckled at his whines, an eyebrow raising as you processed his words. “Whaddya mean? I’m at my place. Where am I supposed to be?”

“Honey!” You giggled at his groan, finding it amusing how childish he could be at times. “The party? Tonight? Remember? You promised you’d come. I don’t wanna be here without you.”

“Oh shit,” you hiss out. “That’s tonight?” Moving across the kitchen to check your calendar, you scrunch up your face when you see ‘Avenger’s Tower 6 pm’ written in the square. “It’s Saturday. Aw, Stevie. I totally forgot.”

“Oh. So…are you - are you not coming, then?”

Frowning at his fallen tone, you shake your head. “I’ll be there. Just…give me a bit.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You sound tired. You don’t have to-”

“I’m on my way, Steve. I did promise after all. I’m an hour out.”

You could hear his surprise in his voice. “An hour? You’re not in D.C.?”

“I’m a little bit upstate. Just in a safehouse while I help Fury work on something.”

He let out a contemplative hum from the other side of the line. “That secret project you still won’t tell me anything about?”

A smile appeared across your lips as you walked to the bedroom to change into something a little more appropriate, settling for a comfortable romper instead of dealing with a dress. “You know I can’t, bubs. You haven’t told anyone, right?”

“No ma’am.”

You giggle softly. “Alright. Thank you. You’ll find out soon, probably. It’s almost done. Promise.”

“Then you’ll come live here? With me - the team, I mean? I miss you. The team missed you. On the raid.”

“Oh yeah. How was it?”

“Get here and I’ll tell you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m coming, I’m coming. See you then, bubba.”

“Okay, honey. See ya then.”

*****************

It was nearly nine when you got to the Tower, but any party thrown by Stark didn’t end until at least ten, so you knew you were fine. Just…fashionably late. A concept you knew Tony understood and you wouldn’t hesitate to remind him if he brought it up.

You were pleasantly surprised by how tame the party was. Sure there were a hundred people you doubted even Tony knew, but no flashing lights, the music wasn’t blaring, and no one was grinding on anyone. Everyone was just talking, drinking, and having a good time.

“Hey! There you are! Capsicle said he called you, but that was hours ago!”

Speak of the devil. You grinned and let Tony pull you into a hug before taking the drink he offered. “Yeah, well, I had a few things to do today.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “A few things, huh? Anything I should know about?”

“Nope!” You popped your lips and gave him a smirk. “Not everything’s about you, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, well, we missed you this week. Fun raid.” He looked you up and down and nodded, gesturing to your outfit. “Alright, you know what? I accept this. This is okay. Not what I had in mind, but you pull it off.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. “It’s comfortable, okay? Where’s Steve?”

The billionaire rolled his eyes and gave you a look. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. He’s over playing pool with Wilson. C’mon! I wanna get you drunk and complain about my perfect, heroic, billionaire life to my favorite teammate!”

“I just need to tell him I’m here.” You snicker. “And don’t let anyone here you say that. I don’t want my rep to become Tony’s favorite.”

He chuckled with you and gave you another squeeze. “Alright, alright. Come find me later, though. I do have something I need to show you.”

You shook your head, already knowing where the conversation was heading. “Tony! No! I don’t need a suit! Thank you, I appreciate it, but I’m really okay. I like fighting in sweatpants.”

“Fine!” He huffed out. “But at least let me show you some designs I came up with. I put a lot of hard work into them, you know.”

Tapping his chest, you nodded. “I’m sure you did. I’ll come find you and you can show me, but that’s it.”

He smirked, drawing an ‘x’ over his heart with his finger. “Cross my heart.”

“I’m serious, Tony!” You point at him as he started walking away. He just blew a kiss towards you, making you laugh and roll your eyes again.

Turning, you scanned the room for the pool table where, supposedly, Steve was playing with Sam, who you had no idea was gonna be here. You’d been helping him out with the whole James - Bucky, you reminded yourself - Barnes thing during your free time. No such luck yet. The man was literally a ghost, even for you.

You couldn’t stop the smile on your lips when you finally caught sight of him, his brown leather jacket hugging his shoulders a grin on his face as Sam talked to him about something. Quickly making your way over, your arms wrapped around that ridiculously tiny waist, crossing over his stomach. You felt him tense at the sudden contact, before he relaxed at a kiss to the nape of his neck and spun around.

The beam he gave you made your heart flip, his muscled arms winding around your neck. “Y/N! You made it!”

His boyish excitement made you laugh. “I told you I’d come. Hi, Sam.”

Sam nodded and waved. “What’s good, Y/N?”

“Who’s winning?” Slipping out of Steve’s hold, you leaned over the table to study the games process.

“We just started a new one.” Steve informed you. “Wanna join?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure you wanna be embarrassed in front of all these nice people?”

“Oooh!” Sam winced. “Smack! Alright. Put your money where your mouth is, Y/L/N. Ten bucks says I win.”

“You’re on, Wilson.”

A few more drinks, a couple games, and thirty extra bucks later, Tony called you over impatiently. Steve gave you a questioning look as you heated up, Tony waving his arms dramatically and shouting your name. God, he’s so embarrassing.

“He wants me to look at suit designs.”

Steve frowned at your explanation. “I thought you told him no?”

You chuckled. “I did. I’ll be right back, bubs.” After kissing his cheek, you head over to Tony. From there, you end up bouncing around from teammate to teammate, laughing and joking around with them.

Until Steve dragged you back with him again. “Excuse me.” He interrupted you, Clint, and Natasha’s chatter, grabbing your elbow and taking the drink you had in your hand. “I’m stealing you.”

“C’mon, man! It’s called sharing!”

Natasha laughed and nodded in agreement with Clint’s statement. “Everyone’s gotta have a turn, Rogers.”

Steve hummed, walking backwards and pulling you as you giggled in amusement. “You just had your turn, Romanoff.”

“Sorry guys.” You shrugged when the two looked at you incredulously. “Captain’s orders.”

“Damn right.” Steve nodded firmly.

“Watch your language!” Clint shouted with a pointed finger.

You raised an amused eyebrow at Steve’s groan. “Your language? They do know that you have, quite possibly, the worst mouth on the planet, right?”

He sighed, pulling you to the side of the room and wrapping his arms around your waist. “It’s something that happened on the mission. Which you would know if you were there.”

“Steven.”

He blinked innocently at you. “What?” At your pointed look, he let out a sigh, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Did I do something wrong? Is that why you’re avoiding me?”

“Who said I’m avoiding you?”

“C’mon, honey.” He lifted his head, his eyebrows furrowed together. “Don’t hurt me even more. I know you have.”

You shook your head, lips turning down and hand raising to cup his cheek. “Stevie, I’m not. I promise. I’ve just…I’ve just been busy.”

He pouted. “With Fury?”

Giving him a weird look you shook your head. “No. I mean, yes, but I’ve also been helping Sam out with your friend while you help the team with the rest of the HYDRA bases. You know that. What’s going on with you?”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, ducking his head to your shoulder again. “I’ve just missed you.”

“I know, bubba. I’ve missed you too.”

The real truth was you had been avoiding him. Not on purpose. Kinda. You just felt something different around him. Something you’d never dealt with before. And you didn’t want to deal with it now, so you haven’t been. It was why you were so hesitant about becoming a full time Avenger. Well, that and the fact that you’d been in the shadows for a decade and you weren’t sure how well you’d do in the light.

“Where’s Sam?”

“He had to head home. Long drive. His excuse, not mine.”

You gasped in offense. “And he didn’t even say bye?! Rude!”

Steve chuckled, his nose brushing against the skin of your throat, breath tickling your collarbone. “I’m sure he’ll call you in the morning or something. Apologize for leaving so abruptly.”

You hummed, swallowing the lump that suddenly appeared in your throat. “Tell me about the language thing. What happened?”

He groaned, but straightened and told you about him accidentally scolding Tony, before he proceeded to tell you about the rest of the mission, including the Maximoff twins.

“Why is it that war always seems to breed more war?” You asked with a sigh.

“They’re just kids trying to do what’s right.”

“We all start out that way, don’t we?” You shook your head. Kids. they shouldn’t be fighting in a war. They shouldn’t have to deal with that. “It’s just a shame.” Your voice is muffled by his shirt after you pressed against his chest.

“Yeah.” He sighed out. “Wanna go get a drink?”

Pulling back from him and looking around, you noted that most guests had already gone and it was dwindling down to just the Avengers and a couple allies. “Yeah. Wanna sit down too. I’m kinda tired.”

“Alright, honey. Let’s go sit down.”

It wasn’t even half an hour later when you were all sitting around the middle of the room, everyone else having gone, but Dr. Helen Cho, Rhodey, Maria, and the team. You were in the same boat as Helen, who was basically passed out on an armchair. You’re legs thrown over Steve’s lap, stretched out to let your feet rest on Thor’s thigh, who was on the chair on the other side of the captain. You were hugging Steve’s arm, your head resting against his shoulder, a small smile of content across your features as you listened to the team banter and tease.

You started laughing at Clint’s comments towards Thor’s hammer while spinning the drumstick he had for whatever reason. “Ah, whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power! Whatever, man! It’s a trick!”

You and Steve exchanged amused grins as Thor challenged Clint, who stood up with no hesitation and headed to the hammer.

“This is gonna be good.” You chirped, taking the bottle Steve handed you as the archer stopped in front of where it was placed on the table.

Clint stuck his tongue out at you, before turning back to Thor and gripping the handle. He tugged for a moment, grunting, before laughing in slight embarrassment. Chuckling, you snuggled closer to Steve’s side, your eyes feeling heavy. He turned his head to nose your temple and kiss your cheek.

“Oh brother.” You giggled, sitting up with interest as Tony stood up and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

“Alright, so if I lift it, I-I then rule Asgard?” Tony asked in clarification, slipping his hand through the strap.

“Yes, of course.” Thor confirmed with an amused smirk, shooting you a wink when you nudged his knee with your foot.

Tony braced himself, setting his foot on the table. “I will be reinstituting prima nocta.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Oh God, Tony.” Steve squeezed your knee with a slight chuckle as the billionaire tried lifting it to no avail. You gave him a weird look, watching him leave the room, before turning to Steve. “What’s he-?”

“Alright! Let’s try this again!”

Another fit of laughter left you and the team when Tony strutted back in with his Iron Man glove on. And when that didn’t work, Rhodey joined him with his War Machine glove.

Your eyes were watering and you tried holding in your laughter, but you couldn’t help it, pressing your face into Steve’s arm to muffle the sounds. You felt his shoulders shake with silent chuckles, which didn’t help your own.

When Bruce went up, an awkward silence filled the air after he tried Hulking out, but then you started laughing again.

“Your turn, bubba.” You nudged the blonde, who gave you a look, before shrugging and patting your thigh.

“You gotta get off then, honey.”

You rolled your eyes but swung your legs off him, letting him stand up. He rolled his sleeves up, stepping up to Mjolnir, a few encouragements from the team, before pulling on the hammer. You thought you saw it shake a little, but Steve yanked some more and it didn’t move, so you figured you were imagining it.

Steve sighed and let go, putting his hands up in surrender with a grin like the good sport he was. Thor laughed. “Nothing.”

You shrugged at the super soldier who plopped back down besides you as the others tried getting Natasha to go up. “You tried.”

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning back. “Well if Romanoff isn’t going…your turn.”

“Wh-what?” Your eyes went wide.

“I did it.” He gestured to the hammer. “Now you gotta.”

“Hold on, hold on. We didn’t agree on th-”

“Honey.” He gave you a little pout, cocking his head to the hammer. “C’mon. Just a tug.”

You narrowed your eyes, but your lips turned up and you straightened off the couch. “This is peer pressure. Captain America, everyone.” He chuckled as you stepped over to Mjolnir. “It’s not gonna work.”

Tony snorted. “Not with that attitude.”

“C’mon, Tones. If none of you could.”

The billionaire shrugged with a grin. “Never know if you don’t try.”

You deadpanned at him, gripping the handle and trying, in vain, to pull it. You didn’t put nearly as much effort as everyone else. “Wow. Look at that. What a surprise.”

“What was that?! You barely touched it!”

Giving a shrug, you started back to your seat. “I’m guessing if you’re worthy or whatever, it wouldn’t take that much to lift it.” You fell onto the couch, your head landing in Steve’s lap as you looked upside down at Thor and pointed at him. “But I do have a question for you.” The god looked at you in interest, gesturing for you to continue. “What does worthy mean? Like, what makes a person worthy to lift it? You couldn’t lift it a while back - I know, I read the files. SHIELD agent, remember?” You added when you saw him open his mouth to question you.

You blinked at him curiously, tilting your head, watching as his brow furrowed. Tony cackled and clapped at the silence in answer. “Oooh! She got you! All difference to the Man Who Wouldn’t Be King, but it’s rigged. And the lack of response to Y/N’s question just makes it more obvious.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“You bet your ass.”

You rolled your eyes, letting it go as Maria teased Steve about Clint’s foul language. “Did you tell everyone about that?” Tony ignored Steve’s question and continued to ride on Thor and his hammer.

“Why are they trying to make sense of it?” You questioned, highly entertained, but also very tired, turning to press against Steve’s stomach.

“It’s Tony. I couldn’t tell you. C’mere.” Steve shifted you so that you were sitting up, but he was holding you more comfortably. “Try getting some sleep.”

You hummed and nodded against him, but a high pitched whine made you wince and stand up, Steve unconsciously standing a bit in front of you. A suit of Tony’s, damaged with wires hanging down and oil leaking out or places that didn’t have metal keeping them in, came in and you inwardly sighed at the bad feeling tugging at your gut.

So much for sleep.

***********

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#cjswriting #fatws series oneshots #fatws series oneshot 7 #fatws series #falcon and the winter soldier series oneshots #revels oneshot #steve rogers x reader #kinda #💛🧭#❤🐦💙🦾⏪

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years ago

Text

Light Shall Smite Her

Pairing: Mildred Ratched x Reader

A/N: hello @serawalkerwrites, this is my humble gift to you as your SP secret gifter 😌😘 I’m so nervous to post this, I hope you’ll like it. If you don’t, in the words of Puck, “This weak and idle theme, / no more yielding but a dream, / gentles do not reprehend. / If you pardon, we will mend.” x

(please bear in mind English isn’t my first language, so my apologies for weird sentences)

Word count: ≃ 5 600

“I heard the new head nurse is very beautiful.”

Rosie waited expectantly for an answer. You hummed.

“I said,” Rosie repeated, in a louder, slightly annoyed voice, for she was excited and couldn’t bear your ignoring her right now, “I heard she’s very beautiful.”

You gave her a sideways glance by way of an acknowledgment, not bothering to stop your quick scribbling.

Rosie rested her elbows on the table and leaned towards you. “Don’t you care?”

“I’m writing,” you mumbled.

“Aren’t you interested, though?”

“Listen, Rose,” you started, setting your pen down and finally meeting your co-worker’s eyes, ”my break is over in five minutes, and I want – no, I need – to finish this, so would you be so kind as to postpone this conversation until later?”

Rosie straightened up with an irritated click of her tongue. “Fine,” she hissed. “I was just trying to be nice. Knowing you’re single, and all.” She turned, made to leave, but suddenly stopped to mock over her shoulder, “And by ‘and all’, I’m referring to the pathetic rant I had to suffer through last night about how ‘lonely’ you feel and how ‘unfair’ the universe is. I’m just trying to help.”

“Thank you, Emma Woodhouse,” you called after her as she angrily stomped out of the room.

With a sigh you resumed your writing. You hadn’t meant to be so harsh with Rosie, but you really needed to get rid of your thoughts and ideas by writing them down before your break was over. If you didn’t, the words would howl reproachfully in your head for the rest of the day, make a racket and fog your brain till you were finally able to spit them out on paper.

Just a few minutes more, you begged the clock on the wall. Your wrist was aching. Two more lines, and then you finally sat back in your chair with a huff like a warrior who has won their hardest battle.

You glanced up at the clock. Break over.

The clinic was unusually quiet today. A few patients looked up at you as you passed them on your way down the corridor. You offered them smiles, blinked at the sun when you glanced outside.

The lobby was deserted. You worked at the front desk, and were in charge of most administrative tasks – a rather boring job, but it paid well and left you enough time to write.

You were sorting out schedules when Rosie crossed the lobby, pushing an old man in a wheelchair. She shot you a moody look and mouthed something you didn’t understand. Five minutes later she was back; and, planting her elbows on the front desk, mouth tight and eyes studying your face, she started, “So, as I was saying, the new –” but before she had time to finish there was the sound of a door opening, heels, a voice speaking quickly, and then two people walked briskly into the lobby.

And one of them was a male nurse you knew called James, a boring, conceited person you couldn’t care about; and the other – but someone had drugged your coffee. There was no other explanation.

James came to a halt before your desk. With a contemptuous look to Rosie, he pushed her to the side, and ignoring her angry hiss announced proudly, “Y/N, this is Mildred Ratched, our new head nurse.”

You stared at her. The world around you vanished. It was as if someone had shone a spotlight on her, the rest of the room going dark as the audience held their breath. You were suddenly too hot, the air in your lungs was burning gas and it hurt – but Mildred’s face stayed perfectly composed.

She gave you a polite smile and extended one hand to you as if nothing terrible was happening, as if you and her were meeting for the very first time and the only thought crossing your mind, as it had two years ago, simply was, What a beautiful woman.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Mildred said, red lips curling up into a smile.

You knew that smile. It was the smile that reached her eyes but was fake and cold and meant to signify, I know what I’m doing. I’ve got this. There’s nothing you can do but submit.

You shook her hand. Mildred saw the way your arm trembled when you drew it back and pressed it against your chest.

“I’m giving Miss Ratched a tour of the clinic,” James was saying, with a note of pride in his voice. “She’s been very impressed by our equipments.”

“Yes,” Mildred answered, gaze boring into you. “The place where I used to work certainly didn’t enjoy such modern facilities.”

Your brain took over. It really was the only way you could survive this moment. You swallowed and locked up your heart and let coolness and calm seep through you.

“The place where you used to work?” you asked. You congratulated yourself on how neutral your voice sounded.

Mildred’s brow pushed up slightly, for she knew exactly what you were doing. She knew you. And despite your best efforts, you felt heat creep up your cheeks, heat creep up your ears, heat everywhere it was too damn hot.

But you would be damned, you told yourself, you would be damned before you averted your gaze from hers.

“Oh, it was a small place,” Mildred answered – and was her smile turning a little cruel? “You wouldn’t know it,” she added, and just like that, with her smile lingering on her lips, she turned from you and gestured for James to lead the way.

You stared at her back as she walked off, gait as decisive as you remembered it to be, but with that nervousness to it, as if she were constantly running from something. Do you only know where you’re headed?, you had asked her once – and she had gazed at you thoughtfully as she’d blown out cigarette smoke, and hadn’t answered.

“What was that all about?”

A door slammed shut, making you jump. Only know did you realize that your fists were tightly clenched, and your lungs were burning from lack of oxygen. You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

“What was that all about?” Rosie asked.

You glanced at her. “Don’t you have something to do?” you snapped.

Mildred and you. The story was a simple one.

She had been a nurse at the local state hospital, you had been a professional writer; you had met at a coffee shop, where you would both spend your Saturday afternoons. You had talked. You had laughed.

The sparkles in her eyes when she would talk about things she loved, things that made her happy, had caught your attention. So had her smiles, and her laughs, and every little thing she had said and pointed out.

You had ached. And then one day you had been bold enough, and leaned in to kiss her. And she, with a half-disgusted, half-shocked laugh, had pressed one hand to your chest to push you away – and in a voice that was only slightly shaking, had demanded what the hell you thought you were doing.

Turned out she had been hunting. For a young, happy woman, who would “fill the needs” of her brother, just recently got out of prison. You had gawped at her as she had explained the whole scheme to you, talking for all the world as if she were having a perfectly casual, perfectly normal conversation –

And then –

The anger and the disgust and the pain and the betrayal. You had stormed out of the coffee shop with the need to scream and to destroy something. To make someone bleed. To make someone pay for what you were feeling.

And the hatred – how you hated her. And yet, there had been signs, you had seen them – how she would bite her lower lip sometimes when she listened to you talk, how she would glance up at you, eyes a little darker and a little stormier and a little shy, how when she would reach out to cup your face in her hands, to comfort, to reassure, her touch would linger and her fingers would hold as if you were made of the most precious star matter in the universe – you couldn’t have been wrong. She had wanted you. You knew it. But she had been on a mission, and nothing could distract that kind of a woman from her goal.

To know you had been used, to know you had been seen as nothing more than a piece of meat to be fed to a hungry animal, made you feel dirty and disgusted with yourself. You couldn’t get rid of the feeling. So, with a desperate need to get rid of yourself, of the way you had been seen, you moved and got a new, different job – tried not to think of the reasons why you applied to a clinic of all places. You made yourself new, in a way.

And now – now your old self slammed back into you with a vengeance. It wouldn’t have been a problem, not really, had it come alone; but it was accompanied. It stood hand in hand with hope. And hope – hope was the worst.

The rest of the day passed quickly. You focused on your work, let your brain hold the wheel and did your best to ignore the thing, the thing that was warm and insistent and that you could feel growing in your chest, from making too much noise. It was adamant it would make itself known, though, and you were well aware it would only take a spark to set the fire roaring – and sure enough, at 5:30pm, as you were gathering your things and about to leave, the warmth started to burn – for Mildred, in her nurse uniform, walked up decidedly to your desk and, lips curled up, said, “Doesn’t your shift end at six?”

You clenched your teeth as you slowly looked up at her. “You’re not the boss of me,” you retorted, low and mean.

Mildred’s mouth twitched. “I would not be so sure of that.”

“I arrive earlier in the morning so I can leave earlier in the afternoon,” you snapped, louder this time.

She hadn’t changed a bit. She still looked exactly the same. You stared at her impeccable hairdo, at her collar, trying not to pay too much attention to the pale column of her neck; up, past her lips – a shudder, at the reminder of how they had felt against yours – to meet her eyes again, and catch a glint of amusement in them.

You cleared your throat, pretended the heat that flooded your face was fueled by anger, not embarrassment.

“So how’s your brother?” you taunted.

Mildred blinked. Her smile faded. She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned towards you and said, “Can we talk somewhere private?”

“Why?”

“I have things to say to you.”

“Things to say to me?” You snorted. Crossed your arms against your chest. “I don’t care what you have to say. I’m going home. Move.”

She didn’t move. She stood resolutely planted in front of your desk, eyes boring into yours, so you picked up your bag and walked around her, bumping her shoulder to make a point.

She flinched, as she always did when you would touch her without warning. You felt her gaze burning the nape of your neck as you hurried off. It was all you could do not to run when you reached the door.

“This woman isn’t trustworthy,” you told your boss the next morning.

He barely looked up from his paperwork. “Which woman?”

“Miss Ratched.” You pretended you felt nothing, pretended it was not like music, when you uttered her name. “You made a mistake hiring her.”

“Did I?”

“She doesn’t have the credentials for the post of head nurse.”

A glance at you, annoyed and distracted.

“Her credentials are excellent.”

“They’re fake,” you insisted, shaking your head. “Everything about this woman is fake. Believe me, you cannot trust –“

“Miss Y/L/N,” he interrupted with a sigh, “if you do not have proof for these allegations then you’re only making me lose my time.”

You sat at the front desk in a bad mood. Patients glared at you when you answered their questions too shortly, and you glared right back at them until they lowered their gaze. Every time you heard footsteps, every time you heard a voice, your heart would speed up and your head buzz and you would look up, half in fear, half in (but that was hard to admit and, at first, you denied it) hope, expecting to see Mildred. You didn’t, though. The hours passed by and the nervousness in you increased, but Mildred never once crossed the lobby. She wasn’t in the break room at lunch; a nurse told you she had gone out to a restaurant with a friend.

At 5:30pm you left in an even worse mood. You told yourself it was because you hadn’t had the opportunity to be mean to Mildred, to take out on her some of your resentment and anger. There was no other possible reason, and if there was, it certainly was not that you were disappointed you hadn’t had the opportunity to at least steal a glance at her.

At home that evening you tried to write, but the words had disappeared from your brain. You sat at your desk, eyes glazed, fingers unmoving. There was something in your chest that was made of emptiness and yet weighted heavy near your heart.

As you lay in bed you tried to summon bright images in the dark, the brightest you could create, red sunsets and turquoise oceans, anything to outshine the image of Mildred. You tossed and groaned and got too hot. In the corner of your room it seemed to you something was crouching, and looking up at you, and hoping.

In the morning you opened your window and stuck your head outside. The air still carried the chill of winter and made you shiver. But your blood was boiling. It was boiling still when you got into your car, boiling when you settled at the front desk and turned on your computer.

You decided it was boiling out of anger.

And yet – did anger make one’s heart beat so very fast at the mere sound of heels on tiles?

You told yourself it did.

It wasn’t until your lunch break that you saw Mildred. As usual, you gulped down your lunch to have time to write; and you were just starting when the door opened, and without so much as an introduction Mildred walked in and stopped right in front of you.

You looked up from your work.

“What do you want?” you growled.

Mildred gave you a pacifying smile.

“Good afternoon,” she started, lacing her fingers together in front of her. “As I said the other day, I merely want to talk.”

You snorted, and pretended to focus on your writing. But just as last night, words fled from your brain. Mildred’s presence was taking all the room inside your head, filling it with her scent and her colours, her voice, the shapes of her body. Your heart was beating too fast, your pen was frozen on the piece of paper, and out of the corner of your eye the blue from Mildred’s uniform was too bright, it was too flashy, it drew all of your attention.

After a few, long seconds of tense silence, you dropped your pen on the table and almost barked, “Fine, go ahead, talk.” You met Mildred’s eyes and tried to scowl, tried to convey to her the vehemence of your anger. “Say what you have to say and then get out and don’t talk to me ever again.”

“You’re quite overreacting, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’ve got some nerves, wouldn’t you say?”

More silence, as you both stared at each other. Mildred’s gaze wasn’t cruel or angry, you noticed; if anything, she looked nervous.

“Since you want us so badly to speak,” you said before she had time to, “answer this question: what would have happened, if I hadn’t tried to kiss you?” You waited, but since she didn’t answer, merely kept on looking at you with one hand sliding up her other arm to hug herself, you went on, “What would have happened, uh? You would’ve dropped a sleeping pill in my drink, kidnapped me, locked me up somewhere for your brother to do to me whatever he wanted?”

Mildred let out a short, offended laugh. “Don’t be so crude.”

There was yet another pause, during which she looked at you, nervously, and you looked at her, angrily; and then, entirely of its own, your gaze flicked to her mouth, and she noticed it, and her eyes widened a little.

You looked away and cleared your throat, praying – praying! – that the heat you could feel everywhere didn’t show in your face.

“I would merely have introduced you to Edmund,” Mildred answered eventually.

You met her eyes again. “I don’t believe you,” you growled. A pause. “Why did you wait so long?”

“I needed to make sure you were the right one for him.”

“And how many women,” you went on, slowly standing up and slamming your fist on the table,” did you try out before me?”

Mildred’s eyes darted to your hand as it hit the table. She jumped slightly, fear widening her eyes, and for a moment regret washed part of your anger away. You took a step towards her with the intention to reassure, no longer to fight.

You caught yourself, though. You stopped, and folded your arms on your chest.

“Answer me,” you growled.

“You were the first,” Mildred said, voice a bit tight. She hesitated, stroked her arm with her thumb. “I had no idea you were the kind of woman who doesn’t like the company of men.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “And you think that excuses everything?”

“It must have made it more unpleasant.”

“Any woman would know how fucked up it was,” you growled. “Except you, clearly.”

Silence settled between you two. Mildred’s thumb was still stroking her arm nervously, and you found yourself staring at it, as if drawn by the repetitive movement.

“I apologize for what I did,” Mildred said after a few moments.

Your eyes flicked back to her face. “Do you really? Do you really mean it? Or is it another lie, meant to coax me?”

“I do mean it,” Mildred replied.

“Then prove it.”

Something like annoyance flicked across Mildred’s features; but then, as quickly as it had come, it faded, and the nervousness settled back.

“How?” she asked.

You took another step towards her, meaning to invade her space, just a little, just to show her you had the upper hand. An idea flashed in your brain, but you couldn’t quite see its contours through the mist of boiling anger, so when you voiced it, it was without fully knowing what the words would be.

“Let me make sure you’re the right one for me.”

You paused. You decided you rather liked these words.

Mildred’s mouth opened, closed again. She titled her head, eyes narrowing.

You took another step forward.

“Let me,” you breathed, extending one hand to brush invisible dust from her sleeve, “try you out and decide whether I want you for myself.”

Mildred held your gaze with a stubborn, challenging – amused? – kind of fierceness, and you noticed how she had started breathing through her mouth, how her cheeks were coloring, not with embarrassment, but with excitement it seemed; like a champion in the starting blocks, adrenaline racing through her veins.

Something was drumming in your ears. Certainly it was your heart, but maybe it was something else - and this time you couldn’t fool yourself into thinking it was anger. Anger never drummed, anger thundered. Desire – longing – had its own particular kind of music.

You wondered, vaguely, if Mildred could hear it too.

She blinked. The fierceness in her gaze faded. She looked away, the black in her eyes turning sad and shy, then looked up again, hopeful this time, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the mirror that was her gaze, always reflecting, always revealing.

“Alright,” she said.

Your lips twitched into a smirk.

And then, just when you thought you had won, she smiled that victorious smile of hers that reached her eyes but was always cold, except this time it was warm, and there was mischief shining under it like a child up to no good.

“You have 24 hours, not a minute more,” she said, playful, almost singing. “Make the best of them.”

And then, and then - she lifted one hand, brushed the back of her fingers down your cheek, to mock your previous touch and remind you who was in control. Her cold skin made you shiver and instantly ache for more; and you would have leaned in and crashed your mouth against hers had you not regained control of yourself at the last second.

She left you with a glance over her shoulder as if to dare you to follow her. She left you standing burning and aching, trying to process what had happened.

You collapsed on your chair, because this all meant, dear you this all meant – that you had been right? That she was interested in you?

You raised a hand to your chest as if that could help slow down your heart. You did not know what you should be feeling. There were too many emotions, and which one was supposed to be right? You needed someone, a guide, to point out and say, This. This is the proper emotion to feel.

You spent the rest of the day in a state of overwhelming nervousness. Every minute you expected Mildred to appear with a cup of coffee or a bouquet of flowers for you. Nothing happened. The afternoon went by as usual. Rosie stopped at your desk for a chat. An old man threw up in the lobby and the cleaning lady cursed.

When the clock reached 4pm, you almost got up and stormed into Mildred’s office to demand what she was doing. Why the hell wasn’t she trying to win your heart? Why wasn’t she being excessively nice, voice dripping with honey, wide eyes begging?

You couldn’t believe the nerves of this woman, and you were fuming, until you saw her crossing the lobby with a young nurse in tow, and she glanced your way, and smiled. And her eyes weren’t wide, they weren’t begging, but they were nice, and they reflected the genuine good intention of her smile.

This is when you realized. There would be no excessive attentions or sweet little lies to flatter. She was aiming for the exact opposite of what you had run away from. Honesty. Being herself.

A little while later she walked up to your desk with a bunch of reproaches because you had messed up with a few patients’ schedules. Her tone was firm, her gaze hard. Brief apologies dropped from your mouth before you had time to think them. You eyed her curiously as she walked away, and kept on gazing at her long after she had disappeared. Then you cleared your throat, and willed yourself to focus on your work again.

When you saw her again, you were making ready to leave. She had changed into a long, forest green pleated skirt and a creamy white blouse with cuffed sleeves. You eyed her up and down as she came close to you, which made a small smug smile tug at the corner of her lips. You prayed all the gods the heat in your cheeks didn’t paint itself pink, and pretended you were busy with your handbag.

“Dinner?” Mildred asked simply. “I know a place.”

The place in question was a small, cozy and fashionable restaurant with a menu of fancy dishes that made your eyes widen. Mildred asked for a table on the terrace, in the setting sun; the waiter pulled out a chair for her with a respectful bow of his head, and for you with merely a nod.

You said something about the sunset, about how glad you were the weather was getting warmer, how dearly you loved the spring; you pointed out flowers. Mildred lit up a cigarette and listened to you speak, her gaze kind and attentive, and it struck you how easily you two were falling back into your old routine. How peaceful it was, how natural it felt to just sit there with her as the sun yawned and stretched, as cigarette smoke and laughter curled lazily up towards the sky.

Mildred folded her napkin and set it neatly on her lap. You glanced at her as you pretended to muse over the menu; and when Mildred’s gaze met yours, an awkward laugh burst out of your mouth and danced in Mildred’s eyes.

“I honestly do not know…” you started.

“Try this,” she smiled, tapping a finger on the menu.

“I do not trust anything with asparaguses in it.”

“Trust me, then,” Mildred retorted with a laugh.

The laugh died prematurely as your face hardened. Mildred swallowed, glanced down at the menu, looked up again to meet your eyes.

“I’ll have it myself,” she said in a slightly subdued voice. “So you’ll know what you’re missing out.”

You hummed, and took a sip of your drink to swallow the lump in your throat.

Dinner passed in easy, casual conversation. Sometimes, after you had said some random thing, Mildred would smile a shy, fond smile at an object on the table or at something around her, like sharing a secret with herself. You didn’t notice the waiter when he came back. Mildred let you steal a forkful of her meal, and laughed victoriously when your eyes widened at the rich taste that filled your mouth.

For dessert you both ordered rose and lemon Turkish delights, and fell in a comfortable silence. You watched Mildred and she watched you. At one point she ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip to lick off powdered sugar. You felt yourself blush. Mildred noticed, smiled a little smugly; when your eyes met again, hers flicked down to her glass, and her smile turned shy.

“You never answered my question,” you said.

“Which question?” Mildred smiled at her glass.

“How is your brother doing?”

There was cruelty in your words, but you thought you were entitled to some of it. The sun had set by now, the moon and the stars were not out yet: there was no witness.

Mildred’s smile faded. She looked up at you, a little reproachfully.

“He’s doing fine,” she said after a short while, in the voice she used at work with the other nurses. “Better than I thought he would. He found a job taking care of animals at the local shelter. It makes him happy.” A pause. A soft, dreamy smile to the tree on your left. “The animals help ease his mind. They give him purpose. He says he likes caring for innocent souls, that they would never hurt anybody, not because they can help themselves, but because the very idea would never even cross their minds.”

“That’s nice, but I was referring to his love life.”

She searched your eyes. “Nothing much to say about that.”

“So you didn’t find him the perfect spouse?” you asked with a mirthless laugh. “What happened? Set the bar too high?”

A gust of wind tangled in your hair, like a reproach from the universe, but you chose to ignore it. You brushed the strands of hair from your face and scowled at Mildred, awaiting – demanding – an answer.

Someone turned on the overhead lights, which threw a sudden bright, yellow glare on Mildred’s face and chased all the shadows.

“I stopped searching after you,” Mildred replied.

You snorted. There was a need to be cruel that was growing inside you and that was too loud, too outraged to be ignored. It was a military leader, and it had at its command an army led by Resentment, Pain, Anger and Revenge.

“What happened?” you mocked. “Got tired so quickly? Got so disappointed in me you thought it wouldn’t be worth your time?”

Mildred refused to take the bait. She stayed completely calm, face impassible and gaze bold, but soft. Her behavior made Anger give a low war cry and charge.

“The truth is,” Mildred said, and she leaned over the table towards you, and smiled and with her smile was swept away the impassiveness on her face to let a loving intensity shine, “just before you left I had made up my mind to keep you for myself.”

You clenched your fist. “Then why the fuck,” you hissed, “did you push me away?”

“I didn’t! All I did was inform you what my plans had been, for the sake of honesty –”

“For the sake of honesty?” you repeated. “Are you kidding me?”

“But then you ran away,” Mildred finished. Had there been the slightest note of reproach in her voice, you would’ve jumped to your feet and broken something.

“As if you cared,” you growled.

“I tried looking for you,” Mildred said.

She paused. There was a nervous twitch to her mouth that, in the absence of shadows, you saw.

“I don’t believe you,” you growled.

“But you disappeared. You moved, didn’t you? You changed your job, you disappeared so completely and I –”

“Bullshit.”

“– and I tried to find you, but there was my job, and there was Edmund, and I couldn’t give up on him when he –“

“So you gave up on me instead.”

Mildred cut herself short. Silence hung heavy as she struggled, weighed up ugly truth against beautiful lies, until she said in a breath, “Yes.”

A sense of victory washed over you, but it felt sick, unsatisfying, and you wondered whether defeat wouldn’t have been better.

For a long moment none of you spoke. Then you realized in your anger you had leaned towards her, too, and your faces were only a few inches apart.

Mildred’s eyes flicked to your lips. You stopped breathing. You were so mad, you swore if she tried to kiss you right now you would flip the table, rip off the lights, break your chair. She had no right to ask to come back in your life, not after what she had done, and you were so mad, and definitely not leaning in and your lips were not parting as if to taste the air she exhaled –

Mildred raised her hands to cup your face. Her touch was like thunder, except you were not a tree but the sky; you had not been hit and burnt, but sublimated and illuminated.

You flinched, and sat back in your chair.

“So?” you asked, folding your arms on your chest. You couldn’t quite meet Mildred’s eyes. Your face was burning.

Mildred raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“So what happens now? What’s your plan now that you’ve found me?”

Mildred smiled. “That,” she answered, “is entirely up to you.”

Was this a blatant lie? You stared at her, forcing yourself to silence the fresh burst of anger her words triggered in you. For if there was one thing you were quite sure of, it was that Mildred Ratched never relented. When she sank her fangs into a prey, she never let go. She would forever be just a few inches behind you, the shadow gliding on your walls day and night, the fingers brushing your shoulders and making you jump.

“So tell me,” Mildred asked after a short while, “do you like what you see?”

You almost said no. Just to tempt her, just because you could and being cruel was so easy and felt so good. You almost said you would disappear again and change your name so she could never find you. Because deep down you knew that if you really, really tried, you would forget her. Only be reminded of her face once in a while in the middle of a crowd or in a poem.

But did you want that?

You pursed your lips to hold back the word “no”. Mildred would have looked confident enough had it not been for the flicker of nervousness in her eyes. They were so dark, her eyes, they sometimes reminded you of a big cat, crouching in tall grass, silent, body taut, ready to jump on its prey.

She had jumped. And you had run away. But now she was jumping again, and this time, you had seen her coming. And you let her claws sink into your flesh.

You shifted on your seat with a low noise of anger at yourself, glanced up at her and blurted out moodily, “Yes.”

Victory shone in Mildred’s eyes. A smile danced across her lips. She leaned towards you, hands coming up to rest on the table with her nails digging into the wood, her gaze so intense, so wild, and when her lips parted to say something you slipped one hand around her right wrist, pushed back your chair so you could lean across the table, and kissed her.

It was a quick, angry kiss, pulling away before it really had time to start. Mildred blinked in surprise. You scowled at her, your mouth a tight, angry line. Your hand clutched her wrist to prevent her from moving.

“Yes,” you repeated.

A smile. Soft, nervous, hopeful.

“Am I forgiven?” she asked.

“No,” you growled, eyes riveted to her lips. “You’ll have to make it up to me, times and times again.”

Mildred’s lips curled up.

“Oh,” she breathed, “I can live with that.”

#spgiftexchange #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #mildred ratched x reader #mildred ratched #fics

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5thmarauderwrites · 4 years ago

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Blurted Confession — Remus Lupin x Slytherin Reader Request.

Requests are: OPEN.

Requested by Anonymous: “could you do a remus x slytherin reader where the marauders are all in class and see her with a hufflepuff friend and he's like... wait she's so NICE actually? just a lot of fluff in general 👉🏻👈🏻“.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Slytherin!Reader.

Word Count: 1,7K

Warnings: None, it’s fluff all the way.

A/N: This was my first time ever writing for Remus and I loved every second of it because: Remus is baby. [insert here a cute emoji]. Hope you like it, Anon! <3

Remus had the vague notion that Professor McGonagall’s voice was tolling in the background as she explained the fundamentals of the Inanimatus Conjurus Spell to her very attentive students, but he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to a word she was saying. Instead of being focused on the extremely difficult subject being taught by one of the most strict Professors Hogwarts has ever had, his chocolate eyes were glued to a very interesting and unexpected scene: a y/h/c Slytherin girl he had seen – and not so discreetly stared at – quite some times, mostly in the library, chatting happily with a Hufflepuff girl. And they seemed really close?

The girl had intrigued the boy ever since he first saw her; she was reading one of his favourite muggle stories in the Wooden Bridge, which happened to be one of his favourite places in the castle to get lost inside his books. However, he never really got the chance to talk to her. If he was being honest, talking to her was something he was never entirely sure he wanted to do, since she seemed extremely intimidating; mostly, he knew, because of the house she was sorted into.

Remus was never one to judge a book by its cover; he definitely did not hold any sort of prejudice against all Slytherins. Sure, the house had a few individuals of doubtful character, like Severus Snape, Mulciber and that Avery boy, but then again, they could’ve ended up in any other house. So why was he so intimidated by the fact that Y/N was a Slytherin? Remus knew many of the Slytherins held a profound dislike for the Gryffindors, and maybe, just maybe, that’s what had really refrained him from ever talking to her. Deep down, he was afraid of being rejected by one of the few girls that were actually able to catch his eyes over these five years he had been attending Hogwarts.

“Mr Lupin?” Professor McGonagall called, snapping Remus out of his thoughts. Once he focused on her, he felt a lump starting to form inside his throat as he noticed the clearly displeased glare she was sending him.

“Yes, Professor?” He answered weakly, feeling all the eyes of the room on him.

“Am I boring you with my class?” She asked blatantly, winging her brows.

“No- no,” he muttered, desperately wanting to crawl into a hole, as he hated to be on the spotlight.

“Perhaps you’d rather having Miss L/N explaining today’s lesson to you?” The Professor pursed her lips in annoyance, bending her head to her right. “Since you clearly seem more interested in her than in whatever I have to say.”

Remus felt his cheeks burning as a crimson tone painted his face. “I told you he was looking at her!” He heard James whispering, probably to Sirius.

“Sorry,” Remus was able to mutter after a few seconds.

Minerva McGonagall sent him a last death glare before turning to the blackboard and, waving her wand at it, writing down what she had been explaining since the beginning of the class. Remus quickly grabbed his pieces of parchment and the quill he had packed in his bag this morning and started to furiously take notes, avoiding to glance in Y/N’s direction at all costs.

“Smitten with the little snake, are we Moony?” James Potter wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at his brown-haired friend.

“Oi! Don’t talk about her like that!” Sirius Black scolded him.

Remus and James both snapped his heads towards Sirius and said in unison, “excuse me?”

“Since when do you advocate on behalf of a Slytherin? James asked with an utterly shocked frown.

“She’s friends with Regulus,” the raven-haired boy shrugged. “She always looks out for him, besides she’s the reason why we’re on speaking terms again.”

“Did she help you mend your relationship with your brother?” Remus asked, gobsmacked.

“That and she also helped me when I ran away from home after Walburga had burned my face out of the family tree,” he smiled weakly, his mind clearly traveling back to the dreadful day.

“How so?” James seemed even more shocked than before, if this was even possible.

“Y/N and Regulus were hanging out in his room when my charming mother started to scream at me and command me to leave the house and never come back,” Sirius answered with a grimace. “Y/N came to my room to help me pack my stuff and gave me all the money she had with her, in case I had nowhere to go and needed it.”

“Wow, she’s…” James started, looking for the right words.

“Actually nice,” Remus completed his sentence, completely awestruck.

“She is, Moony,” Sirius smiled at his friend, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “You and she have a lot in common, actually.”

Remus stared at the table with a lopsided grin after Sirius’ words. Y/N was an honourable young woman who had an incredible amount of kindness inside of her. Stealing a glance in her direction, his chocolate eyes locked with her y/e/c ones and Remus could feel his stomach churning inside of his belly as she sent him a sweet smile.

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A week had passed since the Transfiguration class and Remus hadn’t still talked to Y/N, despite Sirius offering again and again to be his wingman and introduce the both of them formally. Even James and Peter tried to boost his confidence by saying she would be crazy not to be interested in him, but the boy still couldn’t help but being afraid of a possible rejection.

Remus kept on studying Y/N and her behaviour for the days to come, noticing how sweet she was to her Hufflepuff friend and how she would stick up for her when some nasty seventh year boys tried to bully the girl. He noticed how she always smiled at herself when reading a book, which he found extremely adorable. He noticed how her eyes would light up when talking about something she was passionate about. He noticed every single little thing about her. What he also noticed is how his heart started to flutter inside his chest at the mere sight of the girl.

“Merlin’s beard! Go talk to her already,” Remus heard the annoyed whisper of Sirius Black in his ear. He had been lost inside his own head for quite a while whilst his eyes involuntarily stared at Y/N from behind a bookshelf.

“What are you doing?” The brown-haired boy hissed with a frown as he turned back to face his friend.

“Helping you with your love life, of course,” Sirius shrugged as if it was obvious.

“I meant here. In the library. You never once stepped a foot in here,” Remus narrowed his eyes.

“Like I said, helping you. You’re looking like a creep hiding in here and staring at her in despair, just go up there and say hi!” Sirius whispered with a poignant urgency, bouncing his arms to reiterate his point.

“I’m not hiding to look at her!” Remus answered exasperatedly. “I was searching for a book!”

“Mate, you weren’t eyeing those books, that’s for sure,” Sirius chuckled as he crossed his arms and leaned against the old bookshelf, his brows defiantly winged.

Remus heaved a sigh as he steadied himself in the bookshelf opposite to Sirius, facing the books disposed ahead of himself and avoiding the gaze of the raven-haired boy, “she seems like a bloody magnet, mate. I… I don’t know, my mind is completely focused on whatever I am doing and next thing I know, my eyes land on her and I just… sort of lose track of time?” He huffed disheartened.

“You really are whipped, aren’t ya?” Sirius shook his head with a smile.

“I guess I am,” Remus nodded, turning his body in Sirius’ direction.

A mischievous smile flickered quickly through Sirius’ lips as he looked behind Remus’ shoulder for a second before turning his attention back to his friend, “tell her that.”

“Tell her what? That I find her extremely kind and sweet? That she is one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen? That I can’t stop thinking about her? That she makes my heart flutter inside my chest? That I’d like to take her out not only in one but in as many dates as she pleased? We don’t even talk to each other. How can I possibly tell her that? Where do I begin from?” Remus blurted out.

“How about by saying hi?” A female voice said from behind him.

Remus widened his eyes in shock as he turned on his heels abruptly and was met by Y/N’s piercing y/e/c eyes. The Slytherin girl had a smile on her face and her lower lip was pressed between her teeth.

“Y/N!” Remus exclaimed, clearly nervous, as his cheeks turned crimson. “Hi!”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Sirius winked before wiggling his brows and walking away.

“So… Does Remus John Lupin fancy me?” Y/N asked as her own cheeks acquired a pink tone.

“Well, I guess there’s no point in denying when you’ve heard my entire confession…” he started nervously, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“Why would you want to deny it?” Y/N asked and Remus could notice her face falling a little, his heart twinging with hope.

“Because I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in case you don’t feel the same way,” he shrugged, a sweet smile on his lips.

Y/N’s grin widened as she stared into Remus’ chocolate eyes, “well, I could never feel uncomfortable for being fancied by you, not when I’ve been fancying you myself for the past two years.”

“You fancy me?” Remus asked incredulously. “Me? For the past two years?”

“I thought it was obvious, since I can’t seem to stop staring at you,” she shrugged with a giggle.

“Actually, I’ve had my eyes on you for about the same amount of time,” he chuckled, biting his lower lip as he gazed at the ceiling.

“And instead of talking to each other we just stood there hoping the other would notice our crush…” Y/N stated slowly. “Merlin, we’re such idiots!”

“We really are,” Remus agreed, both staring at each other with lopsided grins. “So… would you, maybe… like to go to Hogsmeade with me next month?” He asked after a moment of a comfortable silence.

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” Y/N answered with a wide smile.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #sirius black #james potter #the marauders #the marauders imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader

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scottymcgeesterwrites · 3 years ago

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A Guide to the Best Editions and Translations of Some Classic Literature

TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA BY JULES VERNE

IMPORTANT: Whatever you do, DO NOT BUY the edition translated by Lewis Mercier. In fact, NEVER buy any translation of ANYTHING by Lewis Mercier. Mercier’s translation is unfortunately the most “standard” and popular translation. This translation is said to have removed about 20-25% of the original novel, and also removes a lot of Verne’s original meaning. In short, it was a botched translation that somehow became very popular and accessible up until the 1970′s, but always still check for before buying. Barnes and Noble still has his translation lying around for sale.

If the name of the translator isn’t on the cover or back cover of the book, you can check the first few pages where they write the publication history. It might be in fine print. Frankly, any translation that is NOT by Lewis Mercier is good. The pictures I have attached here are of the edition I bought published by The Franklin Library. It was translated by Mendor T. Brunetti. It also includes the original illustrations, which is cool.

THE HOLY BIBLE

Oof. This one can get really dicey. But I’ll explain it the best I can. There have been dozens of translations of the Bible, if not hundreds. Not everyone uses the same one, especially evangelical groups like Pentecostals and Jehovah’s Witnesses. These more radical groups have willingly altered the Bible to further their views. So, a Bible that a Jehovah’s Witness holds is not the same Bible that a Roman Catholic priest holds. The King James Bible (KJV, or King James Version) has often been considered the most popular version of The Bible throughout modern history. Many of the Bible’s most memorable quotes are directly taken from the King James Bible. It’s considered dignified, poetic, and beautiful. It’s also wrong. So very, very wrong. It’s quite possibly the worst translation of the Bible ever made. I grew up in Catholic school and even there we never once touched the King James Bible. The problems with the King James Bible include certain “theological biases” (i.e. implying Jesus appeared somewhere when he didn’t) and all-around bad translations (i.e. it says there were unicorns but the real meaning is supposed to say “horned beasts”) (see ReligionForBreakfast). The other annoying thing about the King James Bible is that quotation marks are not used. This can be very confusing for readers as it becomes unclear who is speaking. If you’re curious to see how an exact literal translation of the Bible into English goes, check out the Interlinear Bible. It has the original Hebrew and Greek text with the English words underneath (or besides). You will quickly realize just how complicated translating the Bible is, as Hebrew does not have many words. The English prose in the Interlinear Bible therefore can read like gibberish.

If you want to read the Bible with as close to the original intent and meaning as possible while also being readable, then go for the New American Standard Bible. It can still be a bit difficult to read though. The current popular edition is the New Revised Standard Version. This newer edition from 1989 is considered the most neutral of all translations, as it does not hold any denominational bias. The translators even placed gender-neutral words, such as “people” instead of “mankind”.

FRANKENSTEIN BY MARY SHELLEY

The original 1818 text by Mary Shelley has been given more spotlight as of late. The text that we are most commonly familiar with from 1831 had the story toned down because of course it would be scandalous for a woman to write about such things at the time. Mary Shelley had suffered critical outrage and pressure for editorial changes from her husband Percy for her original vision. For the 1831 edition, she was forced to edit the novel so that Dr. Frankenstein would be a more moral character, whereas the original Dr. Frankenstein in the 1818 text did not go through much moralizing.

Penguin Books recently released an affordable edition of the 1818 text.

THE THREE MUSKETEERS BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS

There are numerous translations but I want to highlight the one I read by Richard Pevear. This made the story very readable while also remaining faithful to the story. Pevear didn’t censor Dumas’s original meanings at all like previous translations did for their time. I thoroughly enjoyed his translation and was lucky enough to get the hardcover of his first edition back in the day. My mom completely surprised me by buying that book for me, and it ended up happening to be the best translation. The best thing about Pevear’s edition is that it includes footnotes for archaic terms. The original hardcover of Pevear’s edition is difficult to find by now, but his translation has been re-released by other publishers. As of a few years ago, a new translation by Lawrence Ellsworth has been released. I have not read that one but have heard good things. The publishers of the Ellsworth translation have also been republishing ALL of the Musketeer stories to provide a series of consistent editions, which has always been rare for the Musketeer saga.

HOMER’S ODYSSEY, ILIAD, and VIRGIL’S AENEID

First off, read these epics in verse form. I cannot believe there are editions out that written in prose form. I’m sorry but that should be illegal. I grew up reading Robert Fagles’ translation, which is pretty damn good and is the standard in schools. However, also look for Richmond Lattimore’s translation. Lattimore translated The Odyssey and The Iliad in the original rhythm that Homer intended. Fagles wrote in freeform for the sake of being easier to read. Both translations retain the original meaning, so it’s up to you really what you prefer. As for The Aeneid (Lattimore only translated Greek classics), go with Fagles.

DON QUIXOTE BY MIGUEL DE CERVANTES

Read the translation by Edith Grossman. That’s all I can say. I devoured that book in days. Grossman did to Don Quixote what Pevear did to The Three Musketeers. It’s just that good and readable. Ormsby is the second-best, being the most scholarly of all translations. The translation is the most accurate but the humor can be dry and doesn’t pack the same punch as Cervantes probably intended. The translations to avoid like the plague are by Motteux, Smollett, and John Phillips. SHERLOCK HOLMES BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

Surely, most people reading this have a copy of the Sherlock Holmes tales in one form or another. But which is the best? Every text out there is the same no matter the publication, but I prefer to read the way it was originally formatted with all the illustrations. The automatic assumption people might have is that all the original Sherlock Holmes stories were published in The Strand Magazine. This wasn’t the case. There were several stories published in other magazines at the time, such as A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four, to name a few. Therefore, if you find an edition boasting to have “all The Strand illustrations” it probably only has the stories that were published in The Strand Magazine. More confusing yet, some editions do say “All the Strand illustrations” but also include A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four. Keep in mind this magical number: 60 Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote a total of 56 short stories and 4 novels with Sherlock Holmes. If the copy you are holding does not add up to 60 stories, don’t bother. You might get a copy that comes in two or three volumes.

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dailyniallnews · 4 years ago

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Niall Horan: Live at The Royal Albert Hall

While some may argue that too few artists have done their bit to raise awareness for the people of the music industry who since March 2020 have been forced to stop practicing their profession, one artist who has stepped up to the plate is singer-songwriter and former One Direction star, Niall Horan. Joining forces with the crew-led organisation, We Need Crew, on 7 November 2020, the singer welcomed fans from around the globe to bear witness to a one-off performance from the eerily empty Royal Albert Hall, with all profits going to his touring family and technical entertainment charity, Backup.

In the lead up to the livestream, Horan could be found on almost every television network, promoting the show and explaining why the performance required the attention of all music lovers. In his own words: “I’m putting on this gig to raise awareness of the immense value they bring to an industry enjoyed by so many and do something to help them and their families. I ask all my fans to support them with me and buy a ticket if you can, and I encourage all artists to do the same.”

With several weeks passing since both artist and crew took over the RAH, TPi caught up with the crew behind the project and to get their thoughts on this very special event.

PRODUCTION ORIGINS…

“I remember it was a Monday morning when I got the call from Karen [Ringland] and Alice [Martin], who explained the concept of We Need Crew,” reminisced Ant Carr, Head of Production for Modest! Management. Both founders of We Need Crew explained to Carr that the goal of We Need Crew is, in association with #WeMakeEvents, to raise money for touring professionals who have fallen on hard times due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

“What really appealed about their organisation was that it was created by crew, for crew,” Carr said. “Around the same time, I was having conversations with Niall, who had already seen a few peers doing livestream performances, and we discussed the idea of performing in an iconic venue to raise awareness for the plight of the industry.”

With these two conversions in mind, Carr began to pull the pieces of would become Horan’s streamed performance together, as well as a big launch for the We Need Crew campaign. Carr and the rest of the Modest! team got to work reforming his touring family, whose album cycle had been stopped prematurely in March 2020.

“We were in LA when everything began shutting down,” stated Carr, who explained how he and the rest of the crew were in their last few weeks of promo before heading into rehearsals for Horan’s world tour. “We were finishing up a week on James Corden when the announcement came that the borders were due to be shut, so we all had to head back to the UK pretty quickly.”

After several months with no work, both Carr and the rest of the crew were all enthusiastic about getting back together to put on a very special performance. “In many ways, it was like we had never been away,” explained Production Manager, Andy Colby. “There was a part of me that thought it might have been a bit strange with it being so long since we worked together, but 30 minutes into the first rehearsal at SW19, it was like we had just got off the plane from LA.”

Colby was one of many familiar faces from Horan’s touring family who got the call to help with the livestream, alongside several technical suppliers including Wigwam and midnight:lights. KB Event provided a Megacube Artic for rehearsals in SW19 along with a Tech Kit for the show, oversaw by Lead Driver, Steve Crawley. Pulse Films and promoter, Driift were brought into the fold to make the event a reality.

In total, some 127,000 tickets for the performance were sold to 151 countries. “The response we had from fans was fantastic,” enthused Carr. “The funds raised are going to be able to help a good number of touring crew and their families and we kept this in the forefront of our mind in all aspects of the show.”

Carr was also quick to complement the attitude of the man in front of the camera. “Niall was very involved in every step of the process. He really gained a full grasp of the situation and during the promotion of the show, he really wanted to educate the public, and his fanbase, about what was going on in the sector.”

SETTING THE STAGE…

A few weeks from the broadcast date, a small group visited the Royal Albert Hall to make a start on planning how the show would come together. Lighting and Show Designer, Emma Bull and Director, Paul Dugdale led the creative vision. The livestream began with Horan performing a song on the piano on the venue’s stage, before walking down to the centre of the room to play the rest of the show in 360° in the centre of the hall. A top priority for the visual team was putting both Niall and the venue in the spotlight.

Bull elaborated: “Although several dance shows utilise the centre of the room, Paul’s Dugdale’s suggestion to do this for a music act felt fresh and was a strong starting point for the design,” she noted. “Having Niall and the band in the centre gave us a few options to really show off the building and take advantage of the fact the whole space was empty.”

One of her design ideas to make use of the space was to fill the empty boxes of the hall with lights. “It really ‘shined a light’ on the fact that there was nobody in the space,” she commented.

Aiding her in both the programming and running the show was Richard White of midnight:lights. “In total, we built 114 bespoke plinths for the audience boxes,” he stated. “On these sat a combination of Robe LED Beam 150s and Robe Spiiders.” The arrangement of these fixtures and boxes created a 360° backdrop of the central stage, with fixtures focussed into the room as well as back on themselves to flood the boxes.

The other key lighting elements included three Robe BMFL Robospots for keylight, which were placed in the venue’s gallery level. “We kept most of the control of these at the console with it being a 360° shoot,” stated White. “We were then able to shift the keylight/backlight across the fixtures as the camera tracked.” Around the central stage, the lighting team deployed SGM Q2s to provide some glowing footlights, along with Litepanel Gemini Softlights for Niall’s microphone position. “From the beginning, I knew I didn’t want there to be any rigging or trussing in the shot,” explained Bull. “We didn’t want anything to distract from the key elements of the shot – Niall and venue – to produce a clean look.” This is also why the visual department moved away from the idea of a backdrop and instead showed off the immensity of the famed venue.

Aiding both Bull and White in their endeavours was Lighting Programmer, Dan Young. In the lead up to the show, both Young and White spent several days in the previs suite at midnight:lights using Syncronorm Depence² to plan the show. “I have worked with both Dan and Richard several times and they have a great understanding of my aesthetic,” praised Bull. “I like things to be quite static in terms of colour palette with refined looks.” During the show, White oversaw the key lighting with Young programming all the moves. This gave Bull the freedom to act as a go-between between both the lighting and the stage to ensure the integrity of the design for the broadcast.

“The main challenge for this show was to provide consistent lighting over the different shooting styles,” mused White. “On one hand, we needed to have soft beauty lighting for close-up shots and steadycam work, but we also needed to make sure that the stage was physically as clear as possible for all the wide room shots and overhead wire-cam.” To add a level of accuracy, most of the live show was programmed to timecode because the visual team were situated outside of the room during the shoot.

LIGHTS, CAMERA, LIVESTREAM…

Jim Parsons was brought in by Pulse Films to assume the role of Producer. “By the time I got involved, the concept had already been fairly well developed by Emma Bull and Paul Dugdale,” Parsons began. “From my side, it was a case of getting all the video and visual elements and working out some of logistics of how we’d get the event to the finish line.”

Parsons has collaborated with Horan several times over the years. “The fact he came from the TV world means he has much more of a grasp than many of his peers of what goes into this style of performance and how to connect with fans through a camera,” he enthused.

Speaking a few weeks after the event took place, Parsons reflected on what he and the team achieved with the livestream. “We always knew we had an opportunity to do something different with this show,” he commented. “The end resulted was big and beautiful, but it was still ‘live’. It had the feel of a real show and didn’t come across prescriptive or dull.”

Parsons went on to describe the collaboration between himself and Driift, having worked together several times during 2020 on shows for Kylie Minogue and Sleaford Mods. “Ric Salmon and the rest of the Driift team are the kind of broadcasters I really like collaborating with in that they just let you get on with your work,” stated Parsons plainly. “They were obviously interested in the initial conversations and in the creative, but once it was all in place, they left us to it.”

Driift CEO, Ric Salmon offered his two cents on the project. “The fact that Niall ended up selling 127,000 tickets for the event is such a huge achievement, made all the better as it was all for such an amazing cause,” he stated. Unsurprisingly, 2020 was a busy year for Driift as the company offered livestreaming solutions for several artists. “There are almost too many benefits with this format of show,” stated Salmons while discussing the progression of livestreaming solutions that have only expanded in the past few years. “As we move forward, I think you’ll find more people opting for this style of event over, say, music videos,”

Parsons described what it was like working in the RAH. “It’s a beautiful venue, but we have all seen it thousands of times and there’s no denying that making it look different is quite a challenge. So, hats have to go off to the visual team for making this livestream look so unique.”

A Luna Remote System Junior 5 Telescopic remote compact dolly on a circular track along with a Dactylcam Pro point-to-point wire camera system captured the magic of the livestream. The spanned the periphery of central stage to present virtual audiences with a 360° view.

Camera Supervisor and joint Owner of Luna Remote Systems, Dean Clish discussed what it meant to be involved in such a prestigious show. “It was an honour to be involved in Niall’s show,” he commented. “It was for such a great cause and it’s always good to be in the Royal Albert Hall – you can’t go wrong with such a beautiful location.”

He continued to discuss why the camera selection was ideal for this type of performance. “The Junior 5 and the Dactylcam Pro are perfect for this kind of shoot because of the need to socially distance and, of course, with this sort of intimate production, they are both really unobtrusive and discreet systems,” he explained. “We’ve rigged the Dactylcam in the Royal Albert Hall before. It’s a brilliant system to use in there as you can really capture the essence of the hall from a height, in flight, in a way that you can’t with static systems.”

SOUNDING OUT…

The production brought back the audio double act of FOH Engineer, Matthew Kettle and Monitor Engineer, Joe Campbell to oversee the mix for the livestream and the band on stage. Having started working with Horan on his first solo album cycle, Kettle gave an overview of his time with the artist. “I didn’t really know what to expect before I’d heard the debut record and, as I was more known for working with rock music, I wasn’t sure I’d be the right fit,” he commented. However, with Horan’s solo music citing influences including Fleetwood Mac and Bruce Springsteen, the Engineer explained how it had been a fruitful partnership over the past three years. “Niall is really quite involved with the audio production and often during rehearsals will listen to the mixes to get a feel of what is being produced.”

Having been put on a hiatus since the tour’s cancellation in March, Kettle described what it was like to pull the pieces back together for the tour. “It’s really quite a different process producing a mix for a livestream compared to a live show,” he mused. “I have always had massive respect for broadcast engineers as it is such a different craft. When you’re mixing live in a venue, if anything goes wrong, you can fix it for the next performance. However, with a broadcast, everything is under much more of a microscope and under a great deal of scrutiny. Not only that, but you only have one shot at a show.”

Kettle explained that once he and the team entered rehearsals, they soon found their rhythm. “The approach to mixing was not too dissimilar to what we had already been working on for the tour. Just like the visual department, we didn’t want the production to be too flashy, aiming to simply reflect the intimacy of the performance without too much embellishment,” he commented.

For this reason, both Kettle and Campbell virtually replicated their audio setups they had planned to use for the world tour, featuring two DiGiCo SD5 consoles for monitors and FOH, along with Shure Axient Handhelds with Sennheiser 2000 Series IEMs, d&b audiotechnik wedges and a V-Series for side fills.

The console setup was not significantly different from the touring configuration, with multiple inputs from various SD-Racks in different parts of the stage and performance areas going to the broadcast SD5, all connected by an Opticore loop and shared with Campbell’s SD5 in monitor world. “The SD5 is my favourite console in the world,” said Campbell. “I love it and, because DiGiCo products are well proven and rock solid reliable, we rarely have to include them directly in what we do.” Cambpell was initially concerned in the lead up to the show, having not touched a desk since March. “Thankfully, Wigwam had kept the desks in pristine condition – so much so that our show files were even still loaded on the desk from the tour. This saved a great deal of time in rehearsals and certainly made it easier to get back into the saddle.”

Campbell was keen to replicate the same stage setup for Niall and the band. “During the tour, although he uses IEMs, I still have a wedge and side fills just in case he wants to take out his ears to hear the crowd,” he explained. “Even though it was a livestream with no audience, I wanted the show to feel as familiar as possible for him and the band.”

Despite a relatively “meat and potatoes” band setup, Campbell had just under 100 inputs on his desk – the result of several reverb returns and an elaborate talkback system. “Each one of the band members have a talkback mic so throughout the performance they can talk to one another and me,” he noted.

Meanwhile, Kettle’s ‘FOH’ position was slightly further away, setting up in a corridor off from the main hall. “Wigwam prepared an acoustic treatment kit so I sat at the desk with several studio monitors to mix the show and then sent my audio feed to the Pulse team,” stated Kettle. “Before going into the RAH, I was concerned with how the room would react with no audience in there to dampen the sound, but from the first sound check it sounded fantastic.”

Discussing Wigwam’s involvement with the project, Tom Bush commented: “We were all extremely proud to be supplying Niall’s livestream, especially as it was addressing the We Need Crew and #WeMakeEvents funds and highlighting what goes into putting on a production with the unseen and behind-the-scenes rolls.”

Bush went on to explain the approach to this type of performance: “A slightly different thought process can be needed – the standard positions for mixing, for example. The package wasn’t too dissimilar to the one we had ready for the world tour, so we had a good starting point. A few additions and tweaks were needed to adhere to the show setup, but Matt and Joe’s attention to detail made sure the process was smooth. The need for trucks full of PA hasn’t been required yet, but soon hopefully. We currently have a few livestreams pencilled in that we’re all looking forward to.”

#WENEEDCREW…

Looking back at the slew of 2020 livestreamed performances, Niall Horan stands out among the crowd, not only for its aesthetic, but because of everything it represented – not to mention the sizeable pot of funds it raised for the live events industry.

As we enter a new year with the live events sector entrenched in the clutches of the COVID-19 pandemic, the hope is that more musicians will follow in Horan’s footsteps to shine the spotlight on hardworking crew members that are so often out of sight and mind to the average live music lover. In the meantime, more information regarding the We Need Crew initiative can be found on www.weneedcrew.co.uk

#niall horan #article #rah live stream promo #13jan21

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rodeoxqueen · 4 years ago

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DEVIL MAY GRIND

(I)- Can You Touch This?

Dante/ AMAB! Reader

Series Summary: From a surprise rendezvous to a male strip club on your birthday to a private dance, you end up seeing eye-to-eye rather than eye-to-groin with a cowboy stripper named Dante Sparda.

Work Summary: A shy and short homebody celebrating your birthday with friends, you end up somewhere you’d never expect: a male strip club. And what you’d also never expect is a certain red-devil/cowboy stripper to lay his special treatment on you.

Tags/Warnings:18+, AMAB! Reader, Stripper!AU, Minors Do Not Try It, Wholesome Filth

Rodeo’s Two-Pieces: And after months, Rodeo presents the male version of this soon-to-be filth. *tilts cowboy hat over eyes and leans in seat*

You were never one for large crowds, alcohol, loud music, and nudity. So what a mess you were in, your friends dragging you into a strip club.

It wasn’t your fault, they promised you were all going for a quiet dinner at your favorite restaurant. No loud noises, no crowds, and especially, you didn’t even know why you had to specify, no naked guys! That’s what happened at first. You went and blew out your candles on your cake at a nice place, but then things got weird. Your friends had got you thoughtful gifts, except one of them who promised to give it to you after another “surprise.”

They practically herded you to their car, blindfolding and ear-muffing you while giggling. After driving in some unfamiliar directions, you were pulled into a strange building.

So when you couldn’t hear your thoughts due to the overbearing bass in the room you were in, you realized you should’ve known better. The blindfold and earmuffs were taken off and you opened your eyes to a neon-lit room with the most hard-cut abs right in your face.

“A strip club?! W-why would you think I’d want to go to a strip club?”

“Okay, first of all (Y/N). It’s a male strip club. Second, come on! I know you want to touch some diamond abs!” One of your friends exclaimed as they threw bills at one very tan and very oiled-up man named Diego. The box from before landed on your lap, and you unwrapped it to find a giant stack of dollar bills.

“Now stuff them bills down some hottie’s pants!”

The orange thong-wearing male with the most defined quads you had ever glanced at winked at your friend and opted to dance on someone else. Clutching your drink, you swallowed thickly as other males who went to the gym every other hour thrust their hips proactively at you.

Your friends had called ahead and bought the lot of you a table to the stage, much to your chagrin.

Luckily, your ability to disappear in a room, with your meek personality and small stature, came in handy in these situations. The tall and buff guys your friends screamed over seemed to prefer the company of the more extroverted and thirsty. While other tables farther from the stage had easy contact with the not-themed strippers, you were all confronted with the stage floor dancers.

“My god, how many themes do these guys dress in?” You squeaked as an entertainer dressed like James Bond (minus the clothes except for the bowtie and gun holster) ground on the stage floor.

“Not enough! Now make it rain, (Y/N).” Another friend demanded as she took another shot.

You made a noise as your hand was forcibly placed onto an eight-pack. You quickly threw a wad of bills at the man and ran off to the bar.

“I gotta go!” You panicked, speed-walking to the bar in your favorite pair of dressy sneakers. Stomach quivering, you put a few bills down and asked for a stronger drink. Maybe you could pass out on the table and your friends would feel bad and take you home.

You sighed as you watched your friends have the time of their lives, although they noted your absence.

“First time?” The bartender asked, sliding your fruity drink to you. You fiddled with the napkin. A woman posed in the corner with the logo “Devil May Cry” to the side of her, all lined in neon pink.

“Oh!... Yeah, it is.” You mumbled shyly. You blushed at his blue-eyed stare. Luckily, he wore a collared white shirt so you could look at him without bleeding out of your nose. He was very handsome, with rugged features and slight facial hair. His stark white hair shined even in the dim lighting.

“Ah, could tell. Watched you get dragged in here.” He chuckled.

“I-I was tricked, first of all!” You exclaimed, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“It’s alright. Your next rounds on me if you stay a lil longer.” He winked, wiping a glass. A few other people came and went, requesting all sorts of raunchy-titled drinks. Despite that, he leaned on the table where you sat, making idle conversation.

“I’m Dante.”

“Nice to meet you, Dante. I’m (Y/N).” You impulsively stuck your hand out to shake and stilled at his strong and warm grip.

He whistled.

“Nice name for a nice man. It’s your birthday right?” You nodded.

“What did you wish for?”

“Peace and quiet.” He laughed at that, gesturing to your friends who screamed and clapped at a dark-skinned stripper who ripped off his pants.

“With those friends?” He chuckled.

“They’re a lot more restrained. This is an exception.” You whined.

The conversation grew longer. You learned that Dante worked here with his twin brother Vergil. He loved pizza and strawberry ice cream, along with nice motorcycles. A total manly man, if you asked yourself.

You found a safe space talking to him since you didn’t have to look at nude guys with your back turned.

You were hoping to talk the night away until a similarly white-haired male with a serious glare rounded the corner.

Swiping back a few stray hairs, the esteemed brother Vergil knocked the smile off his twin’s face.

“You fool! Your shift has been over for some time now.” He snapped. Dante rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, this is old douchebag.” You giggled at his comment, quickly stopping when meeting eyes with the frigid twin.

“Have you been speaking ill of me? I will-” Dante threw a towel at his brother’s face before leaving the bartending station. By leaving, he jumped over the counter.

“Hey, (Y/N), nice talking to you. I’ll see you later.” The white-haired man left to the employee’s room.

“Alright-” You muttered. You’d sit, but Vergil’s cold glare prompted you to leave and rejoin your friends.

“Where were you? Chatting up the bartender?”

“Look at you. Being social in a strip club.” They teased.

After a few more dancers, you couldn’t help but miss the blue-eyed bartender with his quips and casual flirtiness.

Suddenly, the music and lights went off. The crowd stirred. Your friend grabbed your arm.

“Oh boy, they’re gonna need a mop after this.”

“Ew!” You cried out. Your friends sang that one horribly sexual song from the radio. Something about parking a truck in a garage and about wet-

A shirtless DJ grabbed the mic.

“And now, for our next entertainer, we have the Legendary Lady Killer. Hold onto your panties and your wedding rings, you’re all in for the ride of your life.”

The lights were turned back on from back to front. On stage, stood a muscular man with a cowboy hat and shawl. His legs were perfectly framed by black leather chaps and boots. You turned as red as his shawl as you could see his formidable bulge from yards across.

His spurs clinked on the floor as people began to cheer at his physique. Your jaw dropped in shock.

White hair.

“Ladies and gents, I got some questions for y’all.” He drawled, lowering his hat.

“Yes! I’m single!” Someone yelled from the back. He chuckled as others screamed with agreement.

“That’s nice ma’am. But really, I got three questions.” He made his way down the stage, his shadow covering your table.

He palmed his chest and abs, showing white chest hairs and slicked-down muscles.

“Can you touch this?” Everyone screamed for yes. He tutted.

“No, no, no.” He waggled his finger. He spun and exposed his lush tush. He was packing it front and back and you blushed while putting your face in your hands.

His hands groped his butt. Even with his giant hands, he still had more ass to spare.

“Can you touch this?” The screams grew louder. He waggled his finger again, wiggling his butt.

“No, no, no.” The crowd awed. He turned back around, a cocky grin on his face.

“Now,” He pointed to the crowd.

His palms groped the leather that concealed his huge package.

“Can you touch this?” Your friend threw a wad of cash at him, hitting him in the nipple. He stood unflinching.

“No, no, no.” He drew out each word.

“These are my laws.” Putting his hands on his hips, he rocked left to right, clicking his spurs.

“But I see a hell of a lot of lawbreakers here tonight.”

He shifted to walk around the chair placed behind him. He sat on it backward, legs spread to place his groin in the spotlight.

“And I don’t see a cop in sight.” He pointed at the DJ.

“Hit it!” Music blaring, he did his number. And boy, was the DJ right to warn you. Dante practically made sweet love to the chair, flipping his head back.

Hips circling and then pistoning the air, sweat trailed down his pecs.

You ended up throwing a few bills, hoping to avoid eye contact. It failed as he slid to his knees to the edge of the stage and crawled off the ledge onto your table. Like a preying tiger, he made his way over to you.

Thank god you had health insurance, your blood pressure was going off the charts.

Your friends lost their heads, throwing bills and screaming like banshees. But he wasn’t interested in them. His eyes preyed after your own, baby blues on an absolute beast.

“Wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy, handsome?” He purred as he traced your jaw. Your skin jumped as you internally imploded. This was was too sensual and people were watching, for goodness sake!

“(Y/N), if you don’t agree I will cancel your Barnes and Noble membership.” Your friend threatened.

“Come on, spare this outlaw some sugar?” You didn’t have a moment to think. Dante threw his hat on your head and carried you onto the table and to the stage.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” You shrieked.

He ran hot. So hot. Your skin burned at contact with him, pressed up against his chest as he stood you in front of the chair he practically humped.

“Take a seat, sir.” You blushed at his sensual persona, not sure where the kind bartender and the suave cowboy started and ended.

Obediently, you turned the chair around and sat with your ankles crossed. Dante tutted in disapproval.

His hands lingered by your legs.

“May I?” He asked. You shook your head slowly, feeling his callused hands on your thighs. He firmly spread your legs and stood over you on the chair.

As if that wasn’t enough, his arm muscles bulged and twitched as he ripped off his leather chaps. He ripped the chaps. There were no zippers or velcro straps. That was all him!

Your face a hair’s width from his abs, he gently took your hands and traced his pecs with them. He growled and winked at you.

Despite the one-in-a-million situation you were in, you shrank at the many peering eyes of the other women and bar patrons. Your anxiety was seen by Dante, who tilted your head up.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just focus on me. If you’re nervous, just give me a purple nurple or something, alright?” You laughed at his idea of a safe word and nodded.

“Okay, Dante.”

And like that, it was like you pulled a trigger. Dante grinded on your form and explored his peak-conditioned skin with your own hands.

You gasped as he led your hands down his front to his leather shorts. You couldn’t stop looking with widened eyes at his crotch. You had read erotica before, describing the male member in the throes of passion, yet this was the first time you had been this close to anything like those erotic novels.

It was obscene! Why did it seem to get larger? How was he allowed to carry that thing around without a license?!

“Hey, eyes up here.” He teased as you snapped your head up.

“O-oh! Sorry.” You whispered. Your blood had rushed to your head and you had grown deaf to your friends’ yells of validation.

“Grab him by the buns!” One of your friends yelled. Dante turned around to make eye contact with her.

With a grin, he slid your hands to the back. What he didn’t expect was you to squeeze.

“Whoa now, kitty.” He purred. You gave a watery smile.

Suddenly, a water bottle was thrown at his head. With lightning reflexes, he caught it after it bounced off of him.

“Hey! Stage times’ over, you fucking show pony.” A short-haired woman with mismatching eyes called out. Dante scoffed.

“Just givin’ a nice gentleman some lovin’.” He argued.

“No, get off the stage, Dante.”

“Five more minutes?”

“NOW.” He sighed. Getting off of your lap, he kissed your hand that was resting on his thigh. Lord, if you died right now, that’d be fine.

“Glad to have this dance.” He flirted.

“Y-you too.” Taking your hand, he took you for another surprise and swept you off your feet. You squeaked as he handed you to another dancer on the ground. The club-goers cheered as dancers arrived, dressed like businessmen with briefcases.

You were promptly seated, head dizzy from everything that just happened. You watched as he took his leave as if he didn’t just cause you to get feverish from how hot he was. Your friend hugged you.

“Nice work! You were so lucky!” Another friend plucked the hat off your head.

“Ah! He left his hat!” You exclaimed as you took it from her hands.

“A souvenir.”

For the rest of the night, you held onto the hat and traced the red stitching. You never saw Dante for the rest of the night, his brother in charge of the bar service.

Finally, before the last round of dancers, you were tapped on the shoulder. You found yourself staring into much harsher blue eyes.

One of your friends threw money at him, which he growled at.

“I am not an entertainer. Well, not right now.” He explained. He handed you a drink with a napkin on the bottom.

“My buffoon of a brother said to keep the hat. Although, I’m not sure why you would.”

“I-”

“The drink is on the house. Good evening with you all.”

He walked off, and you took your drink. You realized it was the same one you ordered when you got to the bar.

“Hey dude, take a look.” A well-manicured nail pointed to the napkin. You saw in red pen an arrow pointed to the folded corner.

You shakily opened it to reveal a series of numbers and words, along with a card that flitted onto the table.

Tonight was fun, wanna do it again? The card’s for a private dance, just call and ask for Dante Sparda. No crowds, only you and me. No Lady barking up my tree for appreciating beauty either - DS

A little heart with an arrow through its center was scrawled in a corner. You picked up the laminated card and saw it was for a free private dance. Your heart beat out of your chest.

Your friends laughed as you immediately stuck it in your pocket, along with the note. The club closed and you were all ushered out. The night was pitch black when you emerged from the debauchery that was the Devil May Cry strip club.

As your other wasted companions were stuffed into the car, you sat shotgun to the sober and designated driver.

You were silent the car ride home, laying your head against the window. You thought about that white-haired flirt’s remarks and how gentle he was to you.

Waving and embracing your wonderful friends, you left for your apartment with all your gifts. However, the little slips of paper in your pocket weighed the heaviest on your mind.

With your keys in your hand, you climbed up the stairs home.

After closing the door, you slid down the wall and let out a pleased sigh.

“Best birthday ever!” You said to no one in particular.

#amab reader #dante x reader #dante x male reader #devil may grind #devil may cry

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13uswntimagines · 4 years ago

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Put a Little Love on Me (Emily Sonnett x Reader)

Request: Emily x Reader Based on Put a Little Love on Me by Nial Horan

Author’s Note: So Im gonna be honest here, I actually had an entirely different, much angstier plan for this, but i just couldn’t seem to get this image out of my head. I hope you enjoy and that I hit the request enough! Hit me up with questions or comments, it gives me life to know what y’all think.

The word you would use for you and Emily was inevitable. Like two magnets always being drawn to each other for better or for worse. Your careers weren’t really conducive. You were always on the road with your music and she was always on the road with her soccer, and where those roads crossed was few and far between.

Distance was hard, and the main cause of issues in your relationship. That and the media was hell-bent on having you date every human being you interacted with. The fight had been stupid, she knew that. It was a bad mixture of Jealousy, exhaustion, and longing that had led to the two of you being at the same award show and not speaking to each other.

Emily sighed wiggling in her uncomfortable seat, waiting impatiently for the stupid commercial break to be over. The quicker they got through this, the quicker she could talk this out with you. You were only sitting 3 rows ahead of the team, but so far you hadn’t spared a glance in their directions, not even when you had left to go get ready for your performance. She fucked up, she knew that, but it still hurt to have you blatantly ignore them.

“What happened between you and hot stuff?” Lindsey asked, bumping Emily’s shoulder. You were avoiding her as much as you were avoiding Sonnett, and she needed to know why. She was your best friend too.

Emily looked down, picking at a loose thread on her red dress.

****

“It’s not like I have a choice Emily,” You growled back, your hand ripping frustratedly through your hair as you paced the living room.

You were only in town for the next 36 hours and you wanted to celebrate with your girlfriend, but she was too hung up on a stupid music video. A stupid music video that was currently number 1 in the world.

“But you do. You didn’t have to do a sexy dance with your duet partner,” She growled back from her place on the couch. You were the big name in the diet with Camila. You were the one with all the control. Maybe Camila wasn’t your type, but that hadn’t made watching her dance all over you any easier.

“Emily…” You huffed, slumming back onto the couch and scrubbing your eyes. It was complicated. Yes, you had some control, but the pressure had been insane. Camila was in a committed relationship with her bandmate, and you were in love. You had given in because you didn’t want another fight with your managers. And you didn’t want them to take away the already limited time you had with your girl.

“Don’t Emily me! The entire world thinks you’re fucking her and you decided to let her grope you in your fucking music video,” She growled back dangerously, allowing her frustration with the media and her jealousy take complete control. Hiding how much it hurt to watch you do some of those moves with Camila. To watch her whisper senorita in your ear. Emily knew she didn’t call you that, so who was?

“I’m not cheating on you Emily, I fucking love you, and I just wanna enjoy the time I have with you,” You sighed, just so tired of all of this fighting. Was one quiet night with your girl too much to ask for?

“What, just so you can go running back to her?” Emily spat, and you winced.

“We’re on tour babe, she’s my opening act, nothing more, and you okayed it, so I don’t know what your problem is. I love you,” You explained slowly, emphasizing the word you. You only wanted her, why wouldn’t she believe you?

There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Your face stayed buried in your hands, and Emily’s chest heaved. If you couldn’t understand why she was upset that another woman was all over you, then maybe you didn’t care about her as much as she cared about you.

“Well, if you can’t grasp it, then why don’t you just go?” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, and your wide eyes snapped to her. It felt like your whole world was caving in on you, if you lost Emily, you didn’t know what you’d do.

You opened and closed your mouth several times, finally only a feeble “What, Em-,” squeaked past your lips. Her face remained impassive, as though shattering you was easy.

“Get. Out.” She gritted out, pointing towards the door.

You stood, pausing only to stare at her for a few more seconds. The silence between you was heavy, like mud seeping into your bones.

“I love you, Emily, only you,” You sighed, hanging your head in defeat, and walking out the door. You spared her a glance, wondering how this night had turned out like this. You had been high on the excitement of finally getting to see her, and now you were crashing back to reality. You waited for her to respond, shaking your head when she wouldn’t even look in your direction.

****

“We had a fight,” Emily huffed, pulling around the loose strand. The fight was stupid, but she never thought you’d actually leave. That you’d walk away instead of staying and fighting for her. She had sulked all through the first days of camp until the first letter appeared.

“Hmm, is that why you’ve been getting so many letters?” Lindsey smirked, and Emily rolled her eyes.

“No, that was because I wouldn’t pick up my phone,” She snorted, remembering the words that had accompanied the first page. You had said that maybe you could be like Noah from the notebook. That if she wouldn’t answer your calls, then you’d write her a letter every day. And then maybe she’d be like Allie and come back to you.

You had kept your word. Every day between then and now you had written her a letter, and sometimes she wrote you back. You made up and “talked” out your issues, and now it was time for the reunion. At least she hoped that's what you were thinking.

“Gotta admit, she’s got game,” Kelley snorted from beside Lindsey. You were a true romantic at heart and that never ceased to amaze them. You were essentially apologizing with Emily’s favorite movie.

“And she’s totally in love with you Emily,” Alex added over her girlfriend's shoulder. No one sent almost 100 letters unless they were super in love.

Emily nodded, she knew you loved her and only her. It also helped that Camila was cuddled up with her own girlfriend 2 rows in front of them. It was hard to be jealous when you saw the person of your ire being utterly lovestruck with someone else (and she was pretty sure that the only person Camila wanted to call her Senorita was Lauren).

****

“You ready kid?” Your manager asked, straightening the collar of your suit.

You nodded hesitantly “I just hope she dances with me,” you mumbled. If she stayed in her seat, you didn’t know what you were going to do. You had planned this, and the only person who didn’t know was the main component.

You sighed. You wondered about her every day, where she was, how she was doing. You knew you loved her, and you were about to show her.

“She’d be an idiot not to,” You manager smiled, patting your back, and you gulped. You hoped so. You were pretty sure she would, she had forgiven you. She had even replied with I love yours, so hopefully, this all worked out. You had so much love for her that you could only pray it would be enough.

*****

You looked breathtaking on stage, standing in that navel blue suite. The performance was simple, just you and a mic in the spotlight, a piano playing in the background. It was odd for you not playing your accompaniment, but you did everything for a reason. Emily bit her lip, unable to take her eyes off of you. The spotlight mixed with that color made you look… so suave. Almost like the female James Bond.

“She looks sad,” Lindsey mumbled, patting Emily’s leg lightly. And Emily leaned forward, looking closer. She took in the furrow of your eyebrows, how you bright Y/E/C orbs were slightly dulled.

“The song is sad,” She huffed. She knew how much this song meant to you. She had asked about it frequently in your letters, and you had been honest about how much pain you were in.

“Not the ending,” Lindsey smirked, and Emily nodded. The two of you had made up and the end of that song reflected that.

“I wonder what her plan is, she never does anything this simple,” Emily murmured, smoothing out a crinkle in her red dress. If you weren’t playing the piano, then you had to have something big up your sleeve.

You Unhooked the mic and began wandering down the steps.

“She’s coming this way,” Lindsey said shocked, and suddenly, Emily’s hand was balling the material of her dress in her fist, and your eyes met for the first time that night. All of your attention was on her.

You walk slowly down the aisle, the bridge ringing through the room. The audience stared at you in awe, but you only had eyes for one woman. A woman who you had pulled several strings to have sitting on the end of the row.

You stopped in front of her, just as you got to the acoustic section right before the final chorus. Reaching out a hand and sending her a pleading look when she didn’t immediately take it, praying to God that this wouldn’t backfire on you. She stared at you wide-eyed, frozen at the suggestion.

You bit your lip as the tension in the room seemed to grow. The eyes on you waiting with bated breath to see what Emily would do. Lindsey nudged her, snapping Emily out of her daze.

You smiled encouraging down at her, and just as the final chorus began, she delicately placed her hand in yours. You pulled her up into you, her arms wrapping around your neck as yours landed on her waists, and the two of you began to sway in a slow dance.

“When the lights come up we’re the only ones dancing, I look around and you’re standing there asking, you’re the only one I need,” You sing quietly conscious of your proximity, staring into Emily’s bright blue with so much love as the lights flash on, and you’re the only two dancing.

She leans in close to you, just as you get the final line, her breath fanning across your lips, your foreheads touching.

Her lips press against your own, stealing the final note. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause and wolf whistles, but you don’t hear any of it. All of your attention focused solely on the woman in your arms. The woman that you loved so dearly and were so terrified of losing.

“I love you, only you Emily,” You breathed out, squeezing her side lightly.

“I know. I love you too,” She smiled, pecking your lips again. It felt so nice to hold her close, to have her right here in front of you. You reluctantly pulled away as the announcers called your name. You shot over your shoulder, before reconnecting your forehead with Emily’s. You just wanted to live in this moment forever.

“go, I’ll see you later,” Emily whispered, nudging your nose with her own and pushing you lightly in the direction of your impatiently waiting team.

You laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her with you. “You’re coming with me babe, you’re the only one I need,” You shoot her a goofy thing, kissing her knuckles.

“Put a little love on me,” She hummed back, wrapping her arms around you and kissing just behind your ear.

You loved her and she loved you and that was all that mattered. You were magnets, always trying to find each other, always pushing and pulling, always connected. You would talk about the details later, for now, you would just bask in being together again.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #emily sonnett x reader #emily sonnett imagine

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richincolor · 4 years ago

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New Releases for the Week of May 3, 2021

It's great to see so many new books hitting the shelves this week. I know I've been waiting for several of these and am happy to be able to finally read them.

The Ones We’re Meant to Find by Joan He Roaring Brook

Cee has been trapped on an abandoned island for three years without any recollection of how she arrived, or memories from her life prior. All she knows is that somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, she has a sister named Kay. Determined to find her, Cee devotes her days to building a boat from junk parts scavenged inland, doing everything in her power to survive until the day she gets off the island and reunites with her sister.

In a world apart, 16-year-old STEM prodigy Kasey Mizuhara is also living a life of isolation. The eco-city she calls home is one of eight levitating around the world, built for people who protected the planet―and now need protecting from it. With natural disasters on the rise due to climate change, eco-cities provide clean air, water, and shelter. Their residents, in exchange, must spend at least a third of their time in stasis pods, conducting business virtually whenever possible to reduce their environmental footprint. While Kasey, an introvert and loner, doesn’t mind the lifestyle, her sister Celia hated it. Popular and lovable, Celia much preferred the outside world. But no one could have predicted that Celia would take a boat out to sea, never to return.

Now it’s been three months since Celia’s disappearance, and Kasey has given up hope. Logic says that her sister must be dead. But as the public decries her stance, she starts to second guess herself and decides to retrace Celia’s last steps. Where they’ll lead her, she does not know. Her sister was full of secrets. But Kasey has a secret of her own. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee Quill Tree Books

Noah Ramirez thinks he’s an expert on romance. He has to be for his popular blog, the Meet Cute Diary, a collection of trans happily ever afters. There’s just one problem—all the stories are fake. What started as the fantasies of a trans boy afraid to step out of the closet has grown into a beacon of hope for trans readers across the globe.

When a troll exposes the blog as fiction, Noah’s world unravels. The only way to save the Diary is to convince everyone that the stories are true, but he doesn’t have any proof. Then Drew walks into Noah’s life, and the pieces fall into place: Drew is willing to fake-date Noah to save the Diary. But when Noah’s feelings grow beyond their staged romance, he realizes that dating in real life isn’t quite the same as finding love on the page.

In this charming novel by Emery Lee, Noah will have to choose between following his own rules for love or discovering that the most romantic endings are the ones that go off script. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

They Better Call Me Sugar: My Journey from the Hood to the Hardwood by Sugar Rodgers Black Sheep

Growing up in dire poverty in Suffolk, Virginia, Sugar (born Ta’Shauna) Rodgers never imagined that she would become an all-star player in the WNBA (Women’s National Basketball Association). Both of her siblings were in and out of prison throughout much of her childhood and shootings in her neighborhood were commonplace. For Sugar this was just a fact of life.

While academics wasn’t a high priority for Sugar and many of her friends, athletics always played a prominent role. She mastered her three-point shot on a net her brother put up just outside their home, eventually becoming so good that she could hustle local drug dealers out of money in one-on-one contests.

With the love and support of her family and friends, Sugar’s performance on her high school basketball team led to her recruitment by the Georgetown Hoyas, and her eventual draft into the WNBA in 2013 by the Minnesota Lynx (who won the WNBA Finals in Sugar’s first year). The first of her family to attend college, Sugar speaks of her struggles both academically and as an athlete with raw honesty.

Sugar’s road to a successful career as a professional basketball player is fraught with sadness and death–including her mother’s death when she’s fourteen, which leaves Sugar essentially homeless. Throughout it all, Sugar clings to basketball as a way to keep herself focused and sane.

And now Sugar shares her story as a message of hope and inspiration for young girls and boys everywhere, but especially those growing up in economically challenging conditions. Never sugarcoating her life experiences, she delivers a powerful message of discipline, perseverance, and always believing in oneself. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Excuse Me While I Ugly Cry by Joya Goffney HarperTeen

Quinn keeps lists of everything—from the days she’s ugly cried, to “Things That I Would Never Admit Out Loud,” to all the boys she’d like to kiss. Her lists keep her sane. By writing her fears on paper, she never has to face them in real life. That is, until her journal goes missing…

An anonymous account posts one of her lists on Instagram for the whole school to see and blackmails her into facing seven of her greatest fears, or else her entire journal will go public. Quinn doesn’t know who to trust. Desperate, she teams up with Carter Bennett—the last known person to have her journal—in a race against time to track down the blackmailer.

Together, they journey through everything Quinn’s been too afraid to face, and along the way, Quinn finds the courage to be honest, to live in the moment, and to fall in love. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Hurricane Summer by Asha Bromfield Wednesday Books

Tilla has spent her entire life trying to make her father love her. But every six months, he leaves their family and returns to his true home: the island of Jamaica.

When Tilla’s mother tells her she’ll be spending the summer on the island, Tilla dreads the idea of seeing him again, but longs to discover what life in Jamaica has always held for him.

In an unexpected turn of events, Tilla is forced to face the storm that unravels in her own life as she learns about the dark secrets that lie beyond the veil of paradise—all in the midst of an impending hurricane.

Hurricane Summer is a powerful coming of age story that deals with colorism, classism, young love, the father-daughter dynamic—and what it means to discover your own voice in the center of complete destruction. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Indivisible by Daniel Aleman Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

There is a word Mateo Garcia and his younger sister Sophie have been taught to fear for as long as they can remember: deportation. Over the past few years, however, the fear that their undocumented immigrant parents could be sent back to Mexico has started to fade to the back of their minds. And why wouldn’t it, when their Ma and Pa have been in the United States for so long, they have American-born children, and they’re hard workers and good neighbors?

When two ICE agents come asking for Pa, the Garcia family realizes that the lives they’ve built are about to come crumbling down. And when Mateo returns from school one day to find that his parents have been taken, he’ll have to come to terms with the fact that his family’s worst nightmare has become a reality.

With his Ma and Pa being held in separate detention centers, Mateo must learn how to look after his sister and himself. The choices Mateo makes, and the people he turns to for help, might reunite his family… or tear them apart for good. With his parents’ fate and his own future hanging in the balance, Mateo must figure out who he is and what he is capable of, even as he’s forced to question what it means to be an American teenager in a country that rejects his own mom and dad. — Cover art and summary via Goodreads

Counting Down with You by Tashie Bhuiyan Inkyard Press

Karina Ahmed has a plan. Keep her head down, get through high school without a fuss, and follow her parents’ rules—even if it means sacrificing her dreams. When her parents go abroad to Bangladesh for four weeks, Karina expects some peace and quiet. Instead, one simple lie unravels everything.

Karina is my girlfriend.

Tutoring the school’s resident bad boy was already crossing a line. Pretending to date him? Out of the question. But Ace Clyde does everything right—he brings her coffee in the mornings, impresses her friends without trying, and even promises to buy her a dozen books (a week) if she goes along with his fake-dating facade. Though Karina agrees, she can’t help but start counting down the days until her parents come back.

T-minus twenty-eight days until everything returns to normal—but what if Karina no longer wants it to? — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

All Kinds of Other by James Sie Quill Tree Books

In this tender, nuanced coming-of-age love story, two boys—one who is cis and one who is trans—have been guarding their hearts to protect themselves, until their feelings for each other give them a reason to stand up to their fears.

Two boys are starting at a new school.

Jules is just figuring out what it means to be gay and hasn’t totally decided whether he wants to be out at his new school. His parents and friends have all kinds of opinions, but for his part, Jules just wants to make the basketball team and keep his head down.

Jack is trying to start over after a best friend break-up. He followed his actor father clear across the country to LA, but he’s also totally ready to leave his past behind. Maybe this new school where no one knows him is exactly what he needs.

When the two boys meet, the sparks are undeniable. But then a video surfaces linking Jack to a pair of popular transgender vloggers, and the revelations about Jack’s past thrust both Jack and Jules into the spotlight they’ve been trying to avoid. Suddenly both boys have a choice to make—between lying low where it’s easier or following their hearts. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Luck of the Titanic by Stacey Lee G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers

Southampton, 1912: Seventeen-year-old British-Chinese Valora Luck has quit her job and smuggled herself aboard the Titanic with two goals in mind: to reunite with her twin brother Jamie--her only family now that both their parents are dead--and to convince a part-owner of the Ringling Brothers Circus to take the twins on as acrobats. Quick-thinking Val talks her way into opulent firstclass accommodations and finds Jamie with a group of fellow Chinese laborers in third class. But in the rigidly stratified world of the luxury liner, Val's ruse can only last so long, and after two long years apart, it's unclear if Jamie even wants the life Val proposes. Then, one moonless night in the North Atlantic, the unthinkable happens--the supposedly unsinkable ship is dealt a fatal blow--and Val and her companions suddenly find themselves in a race to survive.

Stacey Lee, master of historical fiction, brings a fresh perspective to an infamous tragedy, loosely inspired by the recently uncovered account of six Titanic survivors of Chinese descent.

#new releases #YALit

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peeterparkr · 4 years ago

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perfidy;tom holland|13

chapter 13: the love interest

enemies to lovers au/enemies with benefits

chapter summary: to fall down an abyss.

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: swearing, fluff, didn’t proof read, smut: (mile high club), unprotected, public sex (skip the * if you don’t want to read it.

word count: 7.6k

here’s a playlist

and here’s another one

and here’s another one inspired by 1D

social media before you read (IMPORTANT FOR THE CHAPTER) :

part one:Harry is suspicious, James regrets telling something to Tom, Y/N is smitten

part two:Haz and Sam get updated, Tom and Y/N are still figuring out how to flirt,

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist wanna be tagged?

Love is irrational. Stupid. You were stupid. Or at least you were trying to convince yourself you were. Love is such a complicated feeling. Because it feels like a song, a good one. One you can’t stop playing. But what happens when someone breaks your heart? The song fades away. You don’t want to listen to it anymore. You can’t live in the past.

Because when they speak of love, they speak of illusion. You could think of a bright sun and a blue sky, or a pink… and foggy dawn. Illusion breaks.

Did you love him? Did you want to go again to that chaotic feeling? That constant sorrow of waiting for rain to come down while it’s a bright and sunny day. That feeling of everyone speaking and bustling through the crowd, but you’re silent. That feeling that when everything seems to explode… he finally shows up.

Because love is… what even is love, after all? Forgiveness?

Love is being stupid.

Love is being irrational.

Love is… butterflies.

Butterflies. You hadn’t felt those in a while. But there you were, smiling like an idiot to the bright screen. Your stomach jolted as soon as he texted back. Like a teenager.

Who were you kidding? You were a fool for him, but he… seemed to be in this, too.

There was something different about all of this. Tom seemed different. Of course you still had to build up your walls but you had to admit that you were really falling for him. There was no way of denying it. And he seemed to like you, too. But did he?

But of course, there was that particular thought in your head, reminding you of how it feels to get your heartbroken. Reminding you that Tom wouldn’t hesitate on breaking your heart. He hadn’t before.

He’d proven that to you, several times.

How come were you so stupid? Charlie was right, Tom would most likely commit perfidy. That’s all he was.

And honestly, what wrong were you doing by writing your story? Sure, it had begun like something to get revenge for, but right now it really was… just a portrayal of your feelings. And it wasn’t hurting anybody. You really weren’t hurting anybody, it was just taking inspiration from real life. A script of an 80’s rock n’ roll love. Of a guy who was supposed to hate someone but ended up falling in love with her.

But was he in love? He couldn’t be.

Because he’d said it again, and again. You were not his type and he’d rather eat a frog than kiss you.

Yet you’ve kissed, and his lips were so damn addictive, because they asked for more and more, and they were soft but steady. All you could think about were his eyes, the way he would gently stare at you.

The way he watched you, god, the way his eyes brightened up and made you feel like there was a single spotlight on you.The way that his smile told you that no matter the rain, he’d make you feel like the sun will come out anyway. The way that he’d turn to listen to you in the crowded room even if you were silent. The way that even with the chaos, he’d be there.

But he was most likely only charmed with lust. He wouldn’t be able to love you. He never had.

But…could he?

Love is being a fool, but not caring about being one. But you did care about it, you didn’t want to be a fool.

That damn thought had you thinking for a few nights. And you’d walk right in front of that bright screen waiting to understand where you wanted to go with this. Re-reading the first dialogues, so full of rage and pettiness. Anger.

You had your reasons. And though he seemed different…You still feared him. And right now, he had more weapons to hold up against you. He had your heart on his hand and he could crush it. But you wouldn’t let him, and he was well aware of it, you knew. Because even if you were giving in to his touch and his flirting, you never really… gave in. You were cold and you were frigid.

Could you ever open your heart again? Could you ever give in to him?

But you had. Who were you trying to fool? You’d given him everything you could think of. Why did he even want a relationship? And did he really want it?

It could be another prank, another complicated way to tumble you down to your knees. Another way to mess up with your heart until he squeezed out every single tear from you.

You thought of the yellow flowers you’d burned. You hadn’t kept them, but you should’ve as a reminder of it. And your mind, god your mind couldn’t shut up. But your heart was being louder. Your heart was yelling at you, asking you to let yourself love him. You were smarter.

Because Tom Holland had taught you one thing, to doubt yourself.

Although, the questions had changed. Now they were wondering why you out of everyone? Was it your hair? Was it your makeup? Your perfume?

Was it his way to once again fool you?

A day before the flight, you opened up two boxes. Timmy’s and Tom’s.

And when you opened Timmy’s… it felt like an old song. It smelled of lavender. You’d once sprayed it with perfume.

There are people who are tailor-made for each other. You know the ones. You see them act so perfectly, so coordinated. They finish each other's sentences and they, without noticing, end up with coordinated outfits. That’s the story that the box with Timmy told, someone who you should be in love with.

Someone who was practically crafted for you. Timmy was in all ways the person you were expected to fall in love with. The perfect guy.

You stared at the canister, a friendly reminder that Timmy probably should’ve been and would be your endgame.

You opened up the canister, and then slid down the bright ring that you’d kept for months now. How long had it been? 6 months now? You couldn’t remember.

“Keep it, wear it if you want to. But don’t give it back, it’s yours.” Those words had stayed long enough in the air for you to still be able to hear them.

You placed it on your finger. You hadn’t worn it. Not really. Because it didn’t feel like it belonged to you. Even now that you were staring at it, and though it adorned your hand beautifully… it didn’t feel right.

Was it your own fear? You’d talked about it once with Harry, how you didn’t believe in the one.

Only two people in this world knew about this ring. Well, four if you counted you and Tim.

Harry and James. Because the first person you’d reached was Harry.

“If you don’t think he’s the one,”Harry said.

“There’s no such thing as the one,” you’d said.

“Well, if you don’t want to marry him then it’s okay if you said no,” Harry said.

“There’s a part of me that thinks I should’ve said yes,” you admitted. “Everyone thinks so.”

“But you’re not ready.”

“I think he is perfect for me,” you explained.

Harry watched you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Love is not about someone being perfect for each other, love is wanting to be with someone despite them not being perfect.”

That’s love. Despite all, you are still the one who I want.

Was Tom that? Your… “despite”?

But you didn’t want to love him. Not yet. But then the box proved that to you. Even after everything, even after all the bad things, you were there. Because somehow you were stupid. Yes, that’s what love is. Being stupid.

And being in love or not, you were already stupid. So you might as well give in. Slowly. And carefully.

You’d packed the film canister, you had to give it back. And you knew that you couldn’t wait even more, you’d find time to give it back. You couldn’t sleep thinking there was a ring always waiting to be worn when it probably would never be.

Tom had opened the door the very next morning, you’d meet at his place and you’d then head to the airport. “Morning!” He welcomed you and then kissed your cheek. The stupid butterflies to make its way back in.

You only smiled at him, as he rushed you to the kitchen. He immediately let go of your hand as he saw Harrison with a bowl of cereal staring at you both with a smirk.

You walked further apart from Tom. “Harrison hello, nice to see you,” you said with formality.

Haz only smiled at you, too busy with his cereal. Tom pulled out a chair for you, and then approached you a cup.

“So, okay there’s your tea and—“

“My tea?” You questioned.

Tom grinned. “Yeah… And I made you breakfast, I’ll be right back I need to finish-“

“Are you not done packing?”

He stuck his tongue out. “Nope.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thomas oh my god.”

“Sorry,” he blushed. “but hey, Tess is here!” He then called the pup, as she rushed over to you.

You were certainly happy by the news. “Hi baby,” you grinned as Tessa had jumped to your lap, you had forgotten about everything as you hugged the dog, but then you looked up. “How come you’re not done packing?”

He was too busy pettingTess, too. “Huh?” He looked up. “Oh, we...I was busy thinking—“

You scoffed. “ah takes you too much time huh?”

He nudged you. “Shut up,” he laughed, “do you have a checklist I could use? I know you’re a checklist and color coding freak.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not.”

“Do you or do you not have a checklist?” He smirked.

You didn’t answer.

His smirk widened.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, okay I do but—“

He snickered. “But?”

You blushed, he was right. “Let me—okay,” you sighed as you took out your phone, “just ignore everything that doesn’t apply to you and… sent.”

“What wouldn’t—“his eyes scanned the list. “Oh!” His eyes widened. “Oh?” He stared at you. “Oh…” he smirked.

“What?” You lifted your eyebrows, as you then proceeded to scan your list. It was normal until you saw that particular checkbox. The lingerie one, where you had placed a very nice question mark after it.

“Tell me you checked that box,” he approached you.

“Shut up,” you pushed him away.

“Did you?” He grinned as he lifted your chin.

“No,” you rolled your eyes. “That's an old checklist,” you lied coldy. “Let me help you out with packing.”

“No, you’re going to stay here with Tess,” he winked.

“Tom—“ but then Tessa had gained your attention back. “Hi baby, you’re the only Holland who matters.”

Tom watched you with pride. “Rude...Stay here, it won’t take long and—,” he watched you. “okay, I’ll be quick, Sam is up there he’ll help me out and—“ you didn’t let him finish as you’d already planted a kiss on his cheek. “Okay, I can… okay, that… okay, yeah,” he kissed your forehead before heading up to his room.

You grinned watching him go. But you had forgotten something, Harrison was still there and he made you acknowledge his presence by clearing his throat.

Fuck, you thought. Or said? Maybe you’d said it out loud.

“That’s not… what it looks like, I Uh—“ you blushed and tried to come up with excuses. Any excuse could work.

Haz smirked and then let out a loud laugh. “It wasn’t you kissing his cheek and then him kissing your forehead?”

“No, no… it’s not that.” But it was.

He smirked. “what exactly was it y/n?”

You cleared your throat, and played dumb. “what was what? I’m … Tess?” You turned your attention back to the dog.

Haz cackled. “Tess?”

“What were you saying?” You looked up.

Haz grinned. “ y/n, I know.”

“what?” You looked up with fear.

“I know you guys have… something going on,” Harrison laughed. “You guys weren’t subtle, and I know he asked you out.”

You cleared your throat. “you see that’s where you’re kind of wrong because we don’t have something going on—he barely just asked me out and at this point I don’t think he meant it because there’s no date plan yet—“ you looked away. Another thing that bothered you, he’d asked you out and there was no date in sight.

Haz frowned. “wait, did he not tell you.”

“what?”

“What your date will be?”

You scowled. “No.”

Haz scoffed. “He’s very dumb.”

You grinned. “We can agree on that, but what is it?” You bit your lip.

“Nothing.” Haz watched you. “He really likes you, you know,” he commented..

You laughed. “He does?”

“Very much.”

“I…” you frowned, staring into Tessa's eyes. “No.”

Haz snorted. “No?”

You but your lip. “I’m sorry, I have a hard time believing it.”

The blonde guy watched you. “He’s been that big of an asshole to you, right?”

He had been, but despite all of that. There was your body butterflying over a stupid kiss on the forehead. “yeah, so… I have to be careful or… otherwise he’ll break my heart again and… we don’t want that, do we Tess?” You asked the puppy, who only licked your cheek.

“I don’t know what happened before but right now, he’s head over heels for you,” Harrison admitted.

You watched him skeptically. “we’ll see.”

“seriously,” Haz stated. “he won’t shut up.”

You chuckled. “But he never does, about anything,” you pointed out and Haz nodded in agreement. “who else… knows about this?”

Haz cleared his throat. “no, uh only me.”

Sam had walked into the kitchen. “Only you what? Oh, hi my lovely y/n,” he grinned at you with complicity.

“Sam, hi.”

Sam seemed suspicious too. “You know what I’ve been thinking y/n,” he watched you. “Have you lost your sanity, yet? Spending that much time with Tom?”

You laughed. “I lost it, yes,” you admitted.

Sam chuckled. “And will you be able to spend 8 hours on a plane with him?”

You hadn’t thought about it. You had been too busy thinking and deciding your feelings for that idiot that you forgot you were about to spend 7–almost 8 very risky hours with said idiot. Which could either go very wrong or… no, this could only go wrong. You’d either fight or you wouldn’t. And the second one was worse, because you already were on the edge of the abyss, one little push and you’d fall for him.

It would only take one more kiss to actually make you lose your sanity.

The heart wants what it wants.

“Okay so I was going to buy you flowers,” Tom said as you’d arrived at the airport. Both of you taking out your bags. Security had met you there.

“Flowers?” You questioned.

“Yes but I realized you wouldn’t be able to keep them because of airport rules or whatever,” he said

You frowned watching him. “Why would you buy me flowers?”

He paused and then smiled at you. “Because it’s our date, silly.”

“Our—what?”

Tom grinned. “Our date, dumbass.”

You didn’t say anything.

And you barely had said anything. Some fans had recognized Tom and he’d taken some pictures with him. The whole world was so in love with him, you knew that. You were nothing special for being one more.

There has always been something magical about airports for you. There were a lot of stories to be told and different personalities that could be seen at the airport. You’d always found it so interesting, a chance to leave or a chance to come back home. Airports were always a mystery to you, you never knew why people were traveling. Could be holidays, a breakup, business. People trying to find themselves, people who’ve lost themselves.

“I figured it out,” Tom said the moment you’d both sat at the lounge. Him with a beer, you with a glass of champagne.

“Figured what out?”

“That it should be here, our first date,” he grinned.

You chuckled. “Forcing me to spend 8 hours with you without a possibility of running away?” You mocked. “Clever.”

“Yeah, that mainly,” he admitted with a laugh. “But—also, because you’ve always been a fan of airports and planes.”

You took a sip. “I am.”

“The stories you said?” He asked.

You shrugged. “The possibility of going elsewhere, everyone here is for a different reason,” you explained. “Airports are full of stories waiting to be told.”

He grinned. “And What will ours be?”

“Time will tell,” you smirked.

“I know you y/n, this is… the perfect first date,” he grinned.

You chuckled. “Is it?” You watched him. “Haven’t been in one for a while, what are you supposed to do on a first date?”

His fingers hovered over your hand. “Supposed to be making good impressions.”

“Hm, but we already have impressions of each other,” you sassed, lifting your own fingers to brush his. “And not really the best ones.”

He raised his brows. “Well.”

“Besides, I don’t want anything that a first date is supposed to be ,” you chuckled. “We can't have a normal first date.”

“We can’t?”

“We know each other’s worst side,” you explained.

“But we don’t know the best.” He smirked.

You laughed. “This is stupid, Tom,” you blushed looking away.

“Why?” He frowned. “I think we’ve always wanted this.”

You looked into his eyes. “Well.”

“I’ve always wanted this,” he finally rested his hand on yours, intertwining his fingers.

“That’s so cliche, Tommy.”

“Well didn’t you?” He grinned.

You coughed. “I thought we hated each other.”

“And I think we were always keeping up an act,” he shrugged. “Ever since we were kids”

“Ew no I really thought you were a very annoying kid,” you admitted. “And dumb”

“But think about it, think about all the moments we’ve had,” he pushed.

You had been thinking about them lately. “What about them?”

“We’ve been alone, seems like every time that someone is around we transform but when we see nobody’s around we can be like this,” he brought your hand to his lips.

You cleared your throat nervously.

“Did you blush, idiot ?” He teased.

“It’s the champagne, dumbass,” you took your hand back.

He laughed, as he pulled the chair closer. “Is it?”

“You told Harrison,” you tried to change the subject.

He sipped of his beer. “He figured it out—The horn.”

You laughed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“But nobody else knows right?” You questioned.

“You told James!” He frowned.

“He told you?” You coughed. “I—didn’t tell him. He figured it out.”

“We’ve been bad at keeping this a secret, huh?” He grinned.

“But nobody else can know, can you imagine what their reactions would be?” You chuckled.

Tom reached back for your hand. “We don’t have to tell them.”

“I guess.”

“Not until we figure it out,” he said as he then shifted his chair to be closer.

You stared at both his eyes, with a grin. “You won’t freak out then?”

“Freak out?” He leaned over.

“Dunno, every time we’ve been close to catching feelings you pull a stunt,” you brushed his lips with your hand.

“Have I backed away this time?” He questioned, pressing his lips against your finger.

“Hm. guess not, and maybe that’s what scares me,” you pulled back your hand.

“You’re scared?” He took your Chin in his hand.

You bit your lip. “A bit, yeah, but I like you too much to care.”

A smirk appeared on his face. “You like me?”

You closed your eyes and then tried to stand up but he pulled you back to him, over to sit on his lap.

“You like me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. You tried getting out of his grip but he only pulled you closer.

“No,” you covered his face with your hand, he licked your hand. “Thomas!”

He laughed. “You can’t back up now.”

“I can,” you said smearing his own saliva on his face.

“Y/N!” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Disgusting.”

“Your tongue was on my hand,” you complained.

“It’s been on other parts of your body and you didn’t mind back then,” he sassed with a smug smirk on his face.

You blushed and nudged him. “Dickhead.”

“Am I wrong?” He teased again, laughing.

You smirked, pushing his face away.

“Am I?”

You stood up, walking away.

“Y/N, no! come back,” he sighed. “I was joking.”

“Getting snacks—“

“I’m the snack here,” he laughed, watching you.

You walked back to him and pecked his lips, now it was his time to blush. “Real airport snacks, idiot,” you claimed.

You didn’t know how you both ended up on the floor, your head on his lap as you were tossing m&m’s to his mouth, his hand caressing your hair. You both came up with a game, trying to figure out what everyone else was doing at that airport.

“Probably a businessman,” you said staring at the man. “He’ll go to Wall Street.”

“Really?” Tom watched him. “ah, yeah, gives the vibe,” Tom chuckled. “Y/N this game is boring.”

“You’re boring,” you sat up, barely an inch away from his face. “Well, what else could we do?”

He didn’t answer as he only looked down at your lips.

“Idiot.”

He grinned. “I didn’t say anything!” He laughed, as he pulled you close to him. “We could explore the airport but you are scared of losing the flight,” he laughed.

“I know you, and you tend to dick around long enough to forget everything,” you pointed out.

He laughed. “Well what do you suggest?”

You looked down at his lips.

“I thought that idea didn’t appeal to you,” he laughed.

“No it doesn’t,” you admitted, cupping his face and placing a kiss on the edge of his lips. “Or does it?”

He grinned, pulling you in to mound his lips with yours. You’d missed the taste of his lips, and the way he danced them with yours. Bittersweet.

“Harry was always the worst at pranks,”Tom had pointed out after a while. “Sam was okay.”

“No, but we were the ones who actually won every time,” you agreed. “But I was crowned the queen of pranks.”

“You were not.”

“Do you remember that one time with the cups of water?” You reminded him.

The first prank wars, early teenage years. You’d filled up his room with cups of water while he was sleeping, the entire room was filled up and he couldn’t get off his bed. Of course he had dropped a few, and his whole room had been flooded.

He laughed. “But mum got so angry at you.”

“I still won,” you chuckled.

“You had to help me clean my room up, and your mum grounded you,” he recalled. “you call that winning?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not winning!” He frowned. “If anything I won with the toilet paper one.”

“So original,” you rolled your eyes.

“You know when we teamed up against Sam and Harry? Those were the pranks,” Tom laughed.

“The Oreos one,” you laughed, remembering when Tom and you had taken hours of your day to fill Oreos with toothpaste.

“Dude when we changed the entire bed with that pool,” he laughed.

You shook your head. “No that was you and Sam against me and Harry, and that was my bed,” you scowled.

You hadn’t stopped laughing, remembering anecdotes. Mostly fun. Some not as fun.

“You realize I did everything I did because I wanted attention?”

You frowned. “You always had everyone’s attention. Correction, you always have everyone’s attention.”

“But I wanted yours,” he chuckled. “You were never impressed, no, you are never impressed by me.”

You smiled, knowing that was such a big lie. Did he really think that?

“You always seem to forget,” you looked at him. “I loved you before the whole world did.”

He hadn’t expected that. “No, you hated me.”

“Hate isn’t the absence of love, not in our case,” you reminded him.

And eventually, you were about to board the plane.

“Weren’t you scared of planes?” He recalled watching you.

“No,” you rolled your eyes. But you were shaking. You always were nervous around them, even if you loved them. You couldn’t help but get slightly scared. Maybe that’s all it had been for the past week, maybe it wasn’t the fact that you feared falling in love.

“Oh my god, you were!” Tom smirked. “Yes, you were.”

“Can you shut up?” You frowned.

“Nope,” he laughed. “Oh wait, I’m supposed to be nice now,” he cleared his throat.

“What?”

Tom took your hand. “Hey, hey, I’ll be here.”

“That makes it worse,” you said but squeezed his hand anyway.

Boarding the plane, he stopped you mid-tunnel. “Y/N, it’s okay.”

You chuckled. “Just like two minutes ago you were making fun of me, dickhead,” you answered pushing him away.

“But, hey, it’s okay,” he placed his hands on your waist, and then pulled you close to connect your lips against his, for a brief but sweet moment. “It’ll be fine, silly.”

You only smiled against his lips.

You noticed how both of you toned down any affection towards each other with the silly nicknames, dumbass, idiot, silly, dickhead. As if that cancelled out the strong feelings.

You were really on the abyss.

You found your seats, first class of course. and somehow it made you feel… weird. Spending 7 hours—almost 8 with him. Sam did have a point. And this was a date. How the hell were you going to have a date on this? 8 hours.

“Okay so I brought this thing again,” Tom mentioned as he pulled out the camera once you were settled.

“Oh god,” you rolled your eyes. “Why did you even buy it?”

“You inspired me,” he grinned as he brought it up to his face. You covered the lens. “Y/N,” he pouted.

“You’re taking away the magic of it.” You chuckled.

“What?”

“Ugh, take pictures of more interesting moments.”

“You Can do whatever you want with your camera,” he frowned. “But I want pictures of you.”

“Why?” You laughed as you covered your face.

“Because you’re pretty, idiot.”

“I thought I wasn’t your type,” you pointed out.

He snickered. “You’re not.”

Suddenly you frowned and looked at him, he smirked as he then started to get comfortable in his seat, looking through the movies, ignoring your sight. With confusion, you kept watching him as he let out a loud laugh.

“What?” He grinned.

“Then why the hell are you trying to date me?” You complained.

“Oh,” he smirked. “Did you expect me to tell you… you’re my type?”

You frowned. “Well, no… because I’m not.”

He grinned. “ I’m not yours either and yet…” he grinned leaning over to kiss you, you stopped him before his lips could touch yours.

“How do you know you’re not my type?” You questioned, someone from the flight crew walked over to offer you both a glass of champagne, which Tom gladly accepted and then gave you one.

“Thomas?” You frowned as he gave you one, too. “Tom?”

“I know you enough, y/n, Timmy was your type,” he said with poison.

You cleared your throat.

He chuckled. “See? Timmy was your type,” he continued and you ignored him. “Please, every single guy you’ve dated is Timmy but in different fonts.”

You let out a chuckle. “-okay but .”

“He was, wasn’t he?” He poked your side. “Please I’ve seen all the guys you’ve paraded around with, all have the same aesthetic and do some artsy shit, the painter, the singer, the photographer.”

You smirked. “Well, you’re an actor.”

“But I’m not... aesthetically inclined like them,” he chuckled.

You watched him. “So you’re convinced you’re not my type.”

“I know I’m not,” he grinned.

“Well but you’re... you,” you said, expecting some nice response.

He smirked with pride. “Yeah, I know, I’m gorgeous.”

You punched his arm.

“Oi!” He laughed. “I am.”

“I was trying to be cute, you dumbass, and you ruined it,” you complained.

He rolled his eyes with a grin. “I called you pretty first,” he pointed out. “But okay, fine,” he cupped your face and then planted a long kiss to your lips. “Happy?” He asked, leaving you dumbfounded.

“No.”

He faked anger but then grinned as he lifted the armrest to pull you close to him. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And you’re so stupid,” you grinned as you nuzzled against him. Of course, a flight attendant asked you both to use the seatbelts and all that crap.

But you were too busy cuddling against him, forgetting you were terrified of planes as his hand was playing with your hair as you were trying to decide the movie you’d be watching. Tom had put up the privacy window and he was still stealing from the snacks you’d bought.

“We are not watching Far From Home, fartface, ” you complained just after you’d taken off.

“Why not?” He grinned.

“I already have your dumb face here I don’t need to see it twice, oh my god, Back to the Future,” you grinned. “Yes!”

Tom kissed the top of your head. “No,” he answered calmly.

You sat up. “Why not?”

“Because I know you have a crush on Marty McFly,” he pointed out, “and I want all of your attention on me, darling.”

You blushed, “you do realize why I had a crush on him, right?”

Tom scrunched his face. “No, and I don’t wanna know, attention on me, darling.”

“Prick.”

You pursed your lips and held back a giggle. You’d always had a crush on Marty McFly because he reminded you of Tom.

He frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” you looked away. “Oh, look backyardigans!”

“We are not watching that,” Tom rolled his eyes.

“Why not? You look like Pablo.”

Tom let out a nervous chuckle. “Is it going to be 7 hours of this?”

“Did you actually plan out this date?” You asked him.

He chuckled, “no, but that’s the magic of it, and see? You’ll get to see the sky and you love that kind of shit, and we get to cuddle and there’s fancy food… and who else has had their first date on a plane?”

You grinned. “You want to cuddle me?”

“I want to kiss all your stupid face,” he admitted, as his fingers lifted your chin to watch him.

“Hm, I brought my laptop,” you mentioned, looking away.

“What, you’ve got porn in there?” He asked.

You flicked his nose. “Dumbass, no, I’ve got… tapes, not that kind of tapes, from when we were kids.”

He grinned. “Like the actual vids?”

You pulled out your laptop and scrolled through the files. He only nuzzled against your head.

“Wait, is that your 18th birthday?” He asked.

“Maybe.”

“I recorded those,” he pointed out. “You were wasted!”

“We are not watching those,” you rolled your eyes.

He chuckled. “C’mon,” he clicked on one. “Was I Spider-?”

“Yeah, I think you were here for a few days in London, and then you’d gone to film again, Homecoming I think.”

“Hello everyone, we’re at y/n’s 18th birthday party, she’s… “

“Hi!” You had appeared on camera.

“How are you feeling y/n?”

You only giggled.

“Y/N?”

You only stared at him. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Okay, that’s it,” you closed the video.

He laughed. “You flirted with me that whole day.”

“I was drunk and stupid.”

“Are you drunk right now?” He smirked.

“No, but I’m still stupid,” you laughed. “Hey, no, I have this one.”

His wisdom teeth had just been taken out, and of course, you’d be one of the first ones to show up.

“Tom, how are you feeling?”

“Y/N, you look pretty,” he mumbled.

“And that, folks, is how we know he’s on drugs.”

Tom laughed watching himself saying nonsense gibberish. “I feel like you have enough videos to blackmail me.”

“Oh, I do,” you confessed. “And pictures.”

And you continued watching videos, some were nice, of memories that had you laughing and some others made you both debate on what exactly had happened. But you both were laughing, and genuinely enjoying it. His hands wouldn’t leave your body, he’d squeeze you every now and then and he’d leave small kisses all around your face. He’d apologize sometimes whenever a video show how big of a jerk he was.

This was going to be a long trip.

But it didn’t feel like it. At one point you were barely even talking, just staring out the small window. It was… romantic. Sharing your music.

“Okay, even if you didn’t plan anything this has been nice,” you admitted.

He chuckled. “I’m sorry if I didn’t plan anything.”

You grinned looking at him. “No, really I mean it, this has been… Perfect.” And it had been, and though you didn’t want to admit it. That’s all you really needed.

“So, what’s your impression of me, so far?”

You walked your fingers across his chest as he watched you carefully.

“Mmh,” you looked into his eyes. “Pure of heart, dumb of ass.”

He laughed. “Sounds good.”

“Yours?”

“Idiot with a pretty face,” he answered. “And I want to kiss that dumb face, honestly.”

And that was what he did, kiss your dumb face. And his lips were probably lying, but you didn’t care, because they tasted so good, and they asked for more, and more. Lips so tasty, so soft and silky, and you hummed against him. His thumbs tracing down your hips and sliding them under your t-shirt.

You pulled back, but his lips landed behind your ear. God, you were getting turned on only by the bristle of his lips, you hated this. How the hell were you so smitten with the guy who had been a nightmare to you his whole life?

But you shifted to sit on top of his lap, and you could only listen to him catching his breath in between kisses, as your hands were cupping his face and running through his hair.

But you couldn’t help thinking about how even if the privacy window was closed, anyone could see you.

“Tom,” you whispered.

“What?”

“We can’t do this.”

But his fingers were still toying with the hem of your shirt. He sighed, but then he smirked.

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom?” He questioned.

You frowned. “Hm? Not really.”

He laughed darkly. “Y/N.”

You watched him with confusion. “What?” You gave it a thought. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he nodded.

You cleared your throat.

“Only if you want to,” he said.

You bit your lip, and then placed a long kiss, giving him the response he needed.

“I’ll knock three times,” he whispered.

You carefully made your way to the restroom, it was bigger than whatever airplane bathroom you’d been in. Of course the first class bathroom had its perks but this was… still exciting. You were excited and scared. The bathroom was big.

You waited for him and then you heard the three knocks.

You opened the door, and let him in before making sure nobody had seen you.

“Are we really doing this?” You questioned as you locked the door, but his lips were already on yours as he pushed you against the wall. The place was reduced but it didn’t matter, he pushed his whole body against you as your hands dug into his hair.

In your mind, there was slight guilt of doing this but that’s what made it exciting, turning you on even more.

He squeezed your hips as his mouth travelled down to your neck, leaving small kisses on it. His hot breath fanning against you, you felt him snicker against it.

“It’s okay if you don’t—“he said suddenly looking up but you shut him up, kissing him, slowly. Your tongue slowly sliding in as he moaned slightly.

Your hands traced its way down his back, your cold fingers making him shiver as they landed down on his cheeks, pulling him even closer to you, as your pulsating body begged for more movement.

But you felt nervous, for the first time, you felt nervous. Was it the fact that you were miles up in the air? Or the fact that you were both acknowledging you had feelings? Either way, you couldn’t help but smile between each kiss, as you tasted the remaining sweet chocolate from them.

You didn’t know what your expectations from this particular experience were, a probably dirty even if it looked impeccable airplane bathroom wasn’t the most romantic thing that you could think of. But if you really squeezed your mind through it, you were about to do it in the sky… that could be romantic.

But you couldn’t stop giggling between kisses, not when his digits were pressing against your waist. And he couldn’t either.

“Y/N!” He complained holding back his laughs. “Stop—laughing.”

You burst into more laughter as your head landed on his shoulder. “Fine, sorry… I’ll be sexy.”

He scoffed with a cackle. “Don’t—say that,” he couldn’t help but laugh with you.

You covered his mouth. “Sh, they cant find out I literally think this is a crime!” He licked your hand. “Tom! Not again.”

“What is a crime? Laughing?” He questioned. “Because that’s all we’ve done here, y/n.”

You rolled your eyes and then pulled his head close so you were kissing him again. You bristled down your path with your own digits, sketching each and every muscle on his chest and stomach, he groaned against your lips.

His own hands explored your body, the pad of his fingers lifting up your t-shirt to coldly rub circles on your belly.

He cupped your breasts, and slowly massaged them. You moaned against him, but then he pulled them back to travel down your sides, gliding them softly. He then pulled back his wet lips from yours, making you open your eyes abruptly. He was staring at you, in a way that he’d never stared before. Making you forget you were in a first class bathroom. Undressing you with only his eyes as you could only see his eyelashes traveling up and down. And he smiled, in that way that was so him.

You’d jumped down the abyss now, not fallen, you had purposely jumped down. And you wanted him to touch you, right there and right now, your skin burned at his sight.

You smiled back, as your hands slid down his pants. You craned your neck back allowing him to suck slightly, ever since you’d first slept with him your neck had been covered with remaining tattoos of his lips. Your fingers brushed against his bulge as he pushed with desperation to grind himself against you. You felt him let out a soft giggle against you as his lips went back to yours, he bit on your bottom lip, as his hands went down to pull down your pants, his digits toying with your core.

You gasped as soon as he had slid his fingers along your folds, you gripped the back of his t-shirt to gain back your composure, as you spread your thighs open for him. His hands left your core as they travelled to the back cupping your ass, lifting you up, you felt his growing shaft right under your pussy and the only friction was doing its sole job.

With one hand on his shoulder and the other unbuckling him, you were only letting out deep breaths as his eyes wouldn’t leave yours, driven by lust… but it wasn’t lust, he was entranced by you. His movements were slow as he brought his hands back up to your face, delicate sparks as he pushed your hair back. You could feel your pussy pooling your pants but he wasn’t being rough, he only kept peppering kisses, as if he couldn’t get enough. And you couldn’t either, even when the kisses were getting sloppier and wetter, and at some point, it was only smiling against a smile. The only thing you were both saying between heavy breaths were each other’s names.

You finally pulled down his pants and underpants to reveal his shaft, dripping already.

“I didn’t—bring—“

“I’m on the pill,” you quickly snapped. “Need you in me, now,” you ordered as he gave in to your orders, he swiped his tip against your clit and then pushed you against the wall as he thrusted into you in one sole movement, you bit down a moan as you shifted against him, helping him find the spot where you needed him.

He bit down his lip, as your hands grasped to his back. Between sloppy and messy kisses he started to pump into you at a steady and slow pace, you were digging your nails down his skin as each thrust was getting harder, and deeper. Digging into your body as you tried not to be loud.

Gentle gasps were leaving your lips as his own lips ere glued to your neck, as he frantically tried to silence himself too. You only felt the cold wall pushing each time against your back.

One of his hands found your waist while the other rested against the cold wall to steady his rhythm, as you were tightening against him, tiptoeing with one leg as you tried to gain balance.

The electricity between each thrust and each kiss was summoning you into a deep state of pleasure, as you messily tried to grab onto his whole body, lifting your digits to every possible inch of his body that you could reach.

This was wrong, right? Then why the hell did it feel so good? At that precise moment you didn’t care if he was planning to break your heart. He could take it and crush it and cut it and you wouldn’t care.

You rolled back your eyes as you curled your toes as he hit the right spot with every thrust.

He lifted you and moved you against the sink, he changed his pace as you angled your hips, bucking against him. His lips leaving kisses on your shoulder as you arched your back, him rolling his own hips against yours.

“Fuck, Tom,” was all you could say.

You panted against him as your eyelids were shutting down. As you tried to shift his hand found your core, circling and toying with your clit, helping you build up the already coming orgasm.

He surged from your neck to go back to your lips as he knew you were close, you barely could kiss him back as his finger rubbed faster against you. You hang from a built moan that was begging to come out but you had to keep shut.

“Tom,” was the only thing you could barely chant as you rode down your high, his lips hitting down the bottom of your lip as he was staining his clothes with sweat, pushing against you, each time sloppier, stuttering thrusts.

“Y/N, fuck—“ was all he could said as he came undone. You felt him filling you, as you pursed your lips, shutting any noise that could come from.

Between heavy breaths he could only connect your lips with his, barely reciprocated lips as you tried to steady your breath out.

He pulled out as he kept staring at you, his face glimmering with sweat but a big smile was across his face..

You watched him and then couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Y/N!” He rolled his eyes, but chuckled.

You smirked. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“We just joined the mile high club,” he smirked back as he then pulled you back to him.

“We should probably go back, they might notice.”

You both cleaned yourselves up and then you walked back to your seat first of course, not forgetting before giving him one last kiss, feeling like everybody was watching you. They weren’t but of course, your brain was precisely thinking that.

When he walked back to you, he kissed you again.

“Easy, I am not doing that again,” you warned him.

He laughed. “I never thought I’d join that club,” he commented. “At least you’re not scared of planes anymore.”

You snickered nudging him. “Shut up”

He coughed. “You think anybody noticed?”

You had pulled up the privacy window yet, as q woman was staring at you. “Yes.”

He laughed. “Bummer.”

“I don’t do that on first dates,” you mentioned.

“I know, you do it before even dating,” he teased.

“Dickhead,” you playfully smacked his arm.

He took the pillow he had behind him and playfully hit you with it.

“What is wrong with you!” You laughed and then took your own pillow to use it as a weapon.

However, the flight attendant had come in, of course, she tried not to make a face at two grown adults having a pillow fight on first-class seats.

She announced your meals or whatever, you tried not to laugh as Tom was trying to keep a straight face.

You ate and then ended up cuddling again, you ended up watching Back to the Future, against Tom will, and as you were, both of you were trying to find excuses to kiss in between the scenes. He drifted away, holding you close, and you stared at him, his face being more interesting than the sky that was coming from the window. You thought about his box. Because you’d already jumped down the abyss. A box full of secrets and full of memories, a box that told the story of how despite everything, you loved him. And you probably didn’t mind.

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ceruleanmusings · 4 years ago

Text

First and Foremost

Fandom: Big Time Rush Pairing: James Diamond x Mickey Mason (OC) Word Count: 5.7k Summary: Mickey goes to cheer James up after a brutal verbal beating by Gustavo. Contents: mild flirting, teasing, show-standard humor, sadness Tag: @mystic-scripture @foxesandmagic @witchofinterest @perhapspearl @raging-violets @lareiism @ocfairygodmother @ocappreciationtag

The bright orange vinyl began sticking to his cheek, trapping his heavy sighs against his warm skin but James didn’t care. Why should he care? It wasn’t as if he had a modeling gig to run off to so the inevitable red line pressing into his cheek could stay. It wasn’t as if he had an acting gig to prepare for so he could continue to lay flopped on the couch, feet dangling off the edge, wrinkling his clothes. It wasn’t as if he had a solo moment in a song to rehearse for so he could let his throat roll an agonized vocalization around in his chest.

He'd left Rocque Records hours ago and yet he still heard Gustavo’s shouts echoing in his head: “Stop smiling like that, I hate it!”, “A garbage disposal has better timing than you!”, “I could replace you with a mop and it wouldn’t make any difference!”, and his favorite, “Okay, do it again, but this time, SING ACTUAL NOTES!”

Clearly, Gustavo was wrong. …He had way better hair than a mop so, actually, it would make a difference!

James uttered another body wrenching sigh.

It just wasn’t fair. He spent so much time rehearsing, getting his vocals warmed up, loosening his muscles to better execute dance moves. He put his all into being a pop star! Okay, sometimes he could get distracted by the lights and the glitz and glamor but who wouldn’t? Pretty people wanted to dress him, sculpt his hair, perfect his image (not that they had to do much on that front), have them joint their ranks, put him in the spotlight where he belonged. Why was it a bad thing? When it came down to it, he wanted this. He always wanted this!

Kendall, Carlos, and Logan didn’t get it. He loved his buds, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see their eye rolls, hear their scoffs, or feel their dismissive aside glances when he talked about a potential modelling job or how he was, in fact, the best person to lead a song (or sing the whole thing, why split hairs?), or when he shared his dream of buying a house to turn it into a personal salon/display museum for his bandanas. (It makes sense to keep it all in one place!)

All he was trying to do was make his dreams a reality. It wasn’t as if he was pushing his buds off a cliff to get there. It’d happen eventually. It was inevitable. (The recognition, not the cliff-pushing.) He had the face, he had the voice, he had the talent, he had the body, he had the face. He was born for this life. He was meant to be doing this!

But no one else seemed to notice.

Groaning, James turned onto his side, tucked his arm beneath his head and curled his knees up to his chest. If Katie were around, she’d point and laugh at him, maybe say he was being a big baby or some other phrase with big words he didn’t understand. Thankfully she, the guys, and Mama Knight were off at an LA Kings game. He’d been looking forward to the game for weeks but going didn’t appeal to him after the day he had. He’d taken enough hits to watch other people get tossed around like a ragdoll.

Sometime later he heard the distinct sound of someone climbing the stairs to get to the swirly slide entrance and yet he still didn’t move. Instead, he watched dust motes float and around the shafts of gold light seeping in through the blinds.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Ordinarily James would’ve jumped up at the sound of Mickey’s voice, double-checking his reflection in his lucky pocket mirror to ensure he was presentable and his muscles were at their peak. He couldn’t let her see him at anything other than his best. He was James Diamond! He didn’t do mediocre! This time, though, he stayed still, listening as she came down the swirly slide, the rubber on her docs tapping against the ground on her dismount. It was the only time she didn’t knock before entering. The door was always open, and people came and went as they pleased, but not Mickey. She made sure to knock every time. It was polite, she explained, looking at them all as if they’d been raised by wolves.

He mentally followed her footsteps—always with that cute little bounce to it—around the back of the couch heading to the island until she came into view. She dressed comfortably as always: dread locks pulled back into a half updo with gold rings and cuffs, her favorite cropped white *NSYNC hoodie depicting the image of their first album cover, dark skinny jeans, pale blue docs and a makeup-free face. She never wore makeup except for occasions where it called for it such as appearances, interviews, and photoshoots. James never thought she needed it.

“I’m just picking up my Tupp…er…ware…” He watched as Mickey’s eyebrows collided and she leaned to the side, peering at him as if she didn’t recognize him on the couch. He didn’t blame her; he was sure he wouldn’t recognize himself if he could see himself right now. “James? Are you okay?” she asked, taking a few steps closer, tucking a lock behind her ear.

James’ lips pushed out another sigh. “I’m sad,” he replied. No sense in hiding the obvious. His lower lip already dropped to a pout upon uttering the words and he couldn’t fight the wave washing over him, dragging his mood further (if that were possible).

Shoving her hands into the front of her pockets she approached. “’Cause of Gustavo?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

He blinked. “That’s it.”

Her eyebrow arched. “No it’s not. I can see it all over your pretty face.” Sliding a hand out her pocket, she wiggled a pointed finger at him, motioning in circles around his face.

“Hmph. At least you think it’s pretty,” he mumbled.

She sat on the floor in front of the couch, turning her knees to the side, propping her elbow on the cushion and her cheek on her fist while turning to him. He looked back at her, taking in her freckle dotted nose. Her dark eyes squinted for a moment, mimicking the small pull to her mouth until they both relaxed. “What’s up? Besides the Gustavo part. I was wearing soundproof headphones while recording my bass lines today—I still heard him through it. And while that sucked, I know that’s not the only issue.”

“Maybe I just wanted to be alone.”

“James, you can’t go an elevator ride without needing someone to talk to.” Her mouth quirked in the corner, bolstering the tease to her words. He managed a small smile. “Speaking of which. Where are the guys?”

“They went to a Kings game.”

“Are you meeting them there?”

“I didn’t want to go.”

Her eyes widened, dark brown lighting to reflect her surprise. “You didn’t want to go to a King’s game?”

James twisted his mouth to the side, shrugging. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. Of course he wanted to go. Everything about hockey appealed to him: the crisp air filling his lungs, the crackling excitement plucking his energized nerves, the sharp snap of wood smacking against rubber, the scuffing of sharp blades on the ice, the cold adding a natural blush to his cheeks, the hot girls dressed in jerseys, the warm nacho cheese sliding down his throat, the way the bright lights lit him on his good side (both of them). But, even with the Kings and Ducks matchup, it wasn’t enough to get him off the couch.

“Well, what about hanging by the pool? It’s Golden Hour.” She reached out and poked his cheek. “Your favorite time of day.”

That was true. Nothing made his selfies better than the effect of a filter without actually having to use one. He thought about it for a second, shook his head, and sighed again. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Wow.” Her lashes fluttered due to her rapid blinking. A hum sounded behind her turned down mouth and she reached out, squeezing his knee. He felt a tug somewhere in the pit of his stomach at her touch, like a cork easing its way out of a bottle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Silence. Then: “It just doesn’t make sense!” And it all came pouring out, the frustrations and grievances. Not just from that day but from the past year and a half, from the start of it all. How they didn’t want him, they wanted Kendall. How no matter how hard he tried it wasn’t good enough. How, even though he had the talent, and knew it in his bones, it didn’t match the “fire” they looked for. How he was dragged along to form a group in a business he’d always dreamed of being in. How he was constantly shuttled back and forth between his parents, passed along like a discarded accessory. How he was overlooked time and time again (which he still wasn’t even sure how that was possible with his height and face and style.) How he was dismissed and taken as being “dramatic” when he opted not to go to the Kings game.

It was that feeling, the want—or lack thereof—which kept him glued to the couch. It seemed everyone could direct it towards anyone and anything else but him. No one chose him. No one wanted him.

The entire time he spoke Mickey stayed quiet save for the occasional hums to accompany her head nods. By the end she offered up a clicking tsk and a welcomed, “Aww, dude, I’m sorry you had to deal with all that.” She looked at him and he looked right back, wondering for a minute if they were having some sort of staring contest until he got cross-eyed and had to blink. Her shoulders shook with a quiet laugh, lips curling upwards in the corners. Silence stretched between them. James’s eyes widened slightly, taking on a pointed look.

“Is that it?” James finally prompted.

“Is what it?”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“…Yeah.”

“You’re not going to tell me I’m being dramatic? You’re not going to give me some advice? You’re not going to give me some pep talk?”

Mickey snorted. “And what kind of advice could I give you? To just get over it?” James nodded rapidly. “You’re upset. Telling you to get over it won’t change that. Besides, I get it.”

“You do?”

“That feeling you have to work twice as hard just to get the recognition you feel you rightfully deserve only to be overlooked?” She let out a little bitter laugh, twisting the end of one of her dreads around her finger. “Yeah. I know that feeling a little too well; life made sure of it.” A second later her eyes widened and then squinted, as if seeing something in the distance. Her eyebrows furrowed and she clicked her tongue. In a flash, she got off the floor and James watched her make quick strides to the door, opening it with a flourish only to pull it shut behind her. He stared at the swinging jackets hanging off the key shaped holder, an incredulous expression popping onto his face.

“Well thanks for the talk, Mickey! I feel so much better!” James called out to the closed door. He rolled onto his back, unfurling his legs, staring up at the tall ceiling. Geeze, first Gustavo, then his buds, and now Mickey. He thought people cared about him but clearly he was wrong! Why did he even like her in the first place?

A knock sounded on the door. Uncurling himself, James sat up, head tilting in curiosity. A second later the door opened, and a sheepish Mickey stepped through it. “Forgot, I don’t need to knock for myself,” she muttered, rubbing her palms down the legs of her jeans.

Nevermind, she came back. He liked her again.

She drummed her fingers against her thighs and then headed for the kitchen. “I’m thirsty. Do you want a juice box?”

James’s head bobbed from side to side. Now that his chest didn’t feel as if it would cave in, it felt “Yeah, I could go for one.” She pulled one from the fridge and tossed it to him. He easily caught it with one hand as he swung his legs down from the couch, settling on the middle cushion facing the tv. He popped off the straw and stabbed it through the foil-covered hole on top. He didn’t pretend it was Gustavo’s face beneath the straw. Not at all. He took a long pull of the watermelon flavored drink and swallowed. It helped, but only a little.

He watched as Mickey closed the refrigerator and started opening and closing a few cabinets. She pulled a few bowls out of one and set them on the counter and then pulled open a few drawers, taking out measuring cups and spoons and knives.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Well, there’s really no point in bringing back Tupperware that’s empty is there?” She asked, eyebrows lifting. “It’s downright blasphemy.”

His stomach quivered at that. Food? She was making food? As much as a small part of him still wanted nachos from the Staples Center, he could trade it for whatever she made. If magic existed, she possessed it with how good her food turned out. Not that Mama Knight’s wasn’t a great cook herself, nothing beat her cheesy potato soup or Fishstick Fridays or her amazing snickerdoodles, Mickey just tended to make more on the dessert side. And while his body was a temple and he treated it right, sometimes the temple wanted a big fat slice of pie. To please the Gods. (Him, James was the God. No matter how much Logan disagreed, the peasant).

“What are you making? Can I have some?”

“It’s a surprise but sure. It’s gonna take me some time, though.”

James reeled in his pout and protest, as much as he hated having to wait history showed it tended to be worth it. Shifting off the couch, he opened the cabinet beneath the tv and looked at the array of DVDs staring back at him. He bypassed his usual go-tos—Die Hard, Bring it On, the Entourage series, Fast and Furious, Step Brothers, Zoolander, Marley & Me—stopping at the smaller cases on the end, holding white discs with Mama Knight’s handwriting scrawled over the surface depicting dates from a few years back. James shuffled through the cases as if they were a deck of cards, stopping on one he remembered from freshman year, near the end of the season.

The Meadowlark High Coyotes were 7-9; they needed to win at least four more games to make it to the playoffs before their season was cut short. They were down by three points at 4-6 against Willow Grove High’s Rams with ten minutes left. Kendall had been benched for fighting after getting his face smashed into the plexiglass on a breakaway (it was a cheap hit). Carlos was ejected for leaving goal to bum rush the player who executed the hit, trying to pants him. And Logan sat on the bench, his nose buried in his roster book, scribbling away, making notes for the coach to review after the game. That left him the lone wingman to turn the tide on a penalty shot and any scoring chance he obtained afterwards. Yes there was another wingman, but he may as well not have been on the ice with James taking the lead.

He popped it into the DVD player and fell back into the memory of the day, sank into the swell of cheers, the shrill whistles, the thudding beat of his heart in his ears, the rush as he glided over the ice, carrying the puck to the goal shot after shot after shot. And the chanting, oh the chanting, it may as well have been tattooed on his heart: Dia-mond, Dia-mond, Dia-mond! Only his stick slapping against the puck broke the cheering. Crack! Crack! Crack! James rushed the goal and sent the puck sailing through the air, nestling in the top right and left corners of the net, lighting the lamp. The crowd went wild. His team rushed the ice, lifting him up in the air as sirens and whistles went off.

James paused on the zoom on his face, the light in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. Someone had yanked off his helmet so they could ruffle his sweaty hair, which still looked good compared to the others, thank you very much. (Helmet hair was not something he ever had to combat, he made sure of it.)

They won. They chose him and he won. When he was picked, they all succeeded. That was the point.

He scanned backwards, watching the play in reverse, pressed play, and watched their victory unfold. Again. And again. And again. Forward, back, forward, back. Shoot, score, repeat. Every watch brought back another shot of exhilaration, another round of satisfaction pulsing through his veins. Gustavo had drained that feeling right out of him.

“What’re you watching?” Mickey’s head hung next to his as she leaned over the back of the couch. “Is that you? Oh, you were all so teeny!”

James pouted. He wasn’t teeny. Yeah, he was a couple years younger than now and had a bit of a rounder face but all the days playing hockey he’d shed his childhood weight. And he’d hit his growth spurt, so he was already taller than the guys in their class. Despite the slight sting of the comment, he answered, “Freshman year hockey game. Against our rivals, the Rams.”

“Did you win?”

James scoffed. “Of course we did!” Big Time Rush didn’t lose. Once they all joined the team, they were a force to be reckoned with. “All thanks to me, even. Kendall and the guys were benched for ‘unsportsmanlike behavior’.” His finger quotes stabbed the air as he rolled his eyes.

“Why? What’d they do?”

“Watch.” Within a few seconds the scene unfolded again: Kendall on a breakaway, for all intents and purposes prime for a good shot. Then someone from the other team bashed into him, clearly committing a foul. Kendall bounced off the plexiglass as sharp whistles and booing jeers filled the air. Cheeks red, either due to the cold or anger, Kendall threw down his stick and gloves, whipped off his helmet, and charged for a Ram. He managed a hit on one before two Rams came up, grabbed him, threw him into the plexiglass again, and squished his face against it, dragging it from side to side. Mickey sucked a hissing breath in between her teeth, face scrunching up to a look of pain.

“That looked like it hurt.”

“Hurt worse when the guy wasn’t even called for it—the refs were from their town,” James explained at the look of disbelief crossing her face. “But I get the penalty shot and score more goals to clinch the win for us.”

“Bet that felt good.”

He shrugged. Good wasn’t the right word. Amazing wasn’t the right word. He didn’t think a word existed to properly encompass how that day felt. He paused the video and scanned it backwards again, his thumb hovering over the play button as his eyes took in their reflections on the tv screen. Namely how close she leaned to his head. Turning to her, he eyed her close-up profile. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could just say so,” James said with a flirtatious smile. Motioning to her with the remote he added, “You don’t have to come up with an excuse to get close.”

Her head tilted to the side, her studying him this time. “Would it make you feel better?”

He blinked. Uh…what? That wasn’t what she was supposed to say. That wasn’t how things went with them. He’d flirt, she’d rebuff him, he’d try again later. That’s how their friendship worked, among both agreeing blue was, in fact, a flavor (suck it, Logan!), her helping him with English homework while he helped her with vocal work, taking trips to the farmer’s market for fresh ingredients (her for her cooking, him for his organic, clean, homemade facial mask), and splitting the s’mores skillet at Fun Burger on his cheat day. Not that he didn’t like this turn of events, he wasn’t stupid. Okay, so he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the spotlight, but he wasn’t that stupid.

Still, he shook his head and pinched his arm to be sure this wasn’t some sort of dream, that she had, in fact, asked if kissing him would make him feel better. His fingers pressed into his skin and a pinch of pain shot up his arm. His eyes widened. He was definitely awake!

“Uh…sure?” He mentally admonished himself, hearing how unsure he sounded. Who talked like that? Not him, that’s for sure. He was much cooler than that. He cleared his throat, deepened his voice, turned his eyes to smolder, and said, “I mean, yeah. We could give it a shot.”

“Okay, close your eyes.”

He did as he was told, eyes slamming shut. James’ chest swelled and relaxed as he took in and let out a long breath. Not that he was nervous. He’d kissed plenty of girls before. Hell, once he’d kissed three girls in a half hour (thank you spin the bottle!) So this was nothing to worry about. No big deal. It’s just Mickey. Just the girl he’d been into for the past year. His palms sweating had nothing to do with it, that happened sometimes. Not a lot. Okay, never. Not when it came to kissing girls. So it had to be some sort of new medical condition he’d need to get looked at. Along with the shaking. And his heart thudding against his chest. He made a mental note to get that looked at too.

He felt her hovering in front of him, close enough for that strange sensation to itch and curl beneath his skin, anticipation cracking like a livewire. A strong swoop lurched in his stomach when she asked “Ready?”, so close he smelled something sweet on her breath. Vanilla? A lock of her hair brushed against the side of his face, sending a shot of something pleasant down his spine.

He nodded, swiping his tongue against his bottom lip. (Not too wet, not too dry. Couldn’t have her thinking his lips were like sandpaper.) Breath? He thought back. Last thing he ate were a few ants-on-a-log back at the studio. Peanut Butter wasn’t what he’d go with, but it would do in a pinch.

Okay. You’re James Diamond! You’re in a world-famous band! You have great hair! You have great style! You have great lips! They’re perfectly pouty and pink and fantastic. It’s just a kiss. You can do this. Annnd….go!

James leaned forward, pursing his lips. Something touched his lips. His eyebrows lowered. Huh, her lips were a lot colder than he’d imagined. Just as smooth, though. And a little…pointy? What? Before he could react, something gave way and shot between his teeth, heading to the back of his throat. He coughed, the object shooting forward, bouncing on his tongue.

His eyes popped open, granting him the sight of Mickey and her shit-eating grin. His tongue rolled the object around in his mouth, smooth on all sides except for one point. A rush of chocolate swarmed his taste buds. A Hersehey’s kiss. He blinked, staring up at her.

“Did the Earth move for ya, honey?” she asked sweetly, her soft southern accent igniting the teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“Very funny,” James grumbled, chewing the cold bit of chocolate into small pieces. It melted fast on his tongue. Pushing a hand through his hair, he flopped back against the couch, doing his best to avoid her gaze. But that smile, so bright and satisfied, drew him back in and he found his frown lifting upwards.

Still grinning, she dropped down on the couch next to him. He noticed the plate in her hands, the surface covered with an array of purple swirls and designs resting atop white sponge dotted with color.

Funfetti cupcakes. His favorite.

She was forgiven.

------

“She moves left, she moves right, she goes left again-oh! Fake out! She’s on a breakaway! There’s no one standing between her and the net! Will she make it?” With a lunge, Mickey slapped a pretzel rod against the Oreo in the middle of the table. James dropped to his knees, opening his mouth in time for the cookie to slide against the smooth surface, coast past his teeth, and land on his tongue. Goal! “She does! She scores! And the Missles are the table hockey champions of the world!” Throwing her arms into the air, Mickey danced a little victory jig, chomping the pretzel rod in her hand as if putting an exclamation point at the end of a sentence.

Chuckling, James chewed the Oreo. Ordinarily he would already be mentally preparing his routine at the gym the next day to counteract all the sugar he’d eaten but he could skip it for one day. Tossing his own pretzel rod onto the table—he wasn’t going to make an exception for sodium, not when bloat could set in—he stood, brushing any miniscule bit of dirt off his knees. “Why didn’t you go to the hockey game again?” he asked.

Mickey’s eyebrow arched and she waved her hand around the room, motioning to the table, the leftover cupcakes sitting on the kitchen counter, and Bring it On playing on the tv in the background “And miss out on all this fun?” She winked and took another bite of the pretzel rod. “Not a chance.”

James smiled, a rush of warmth spreading through him.

The door burst open; Carlos, Kendall, and Logan rushed in, hooting, and hollering, waving towels and hats in a flurry. Katie and Jennifer entered behind them, wearing identical expressions, half of amusement and half of wariness.

“Hey guys,” Mickey greeted them, walking around the table. “How was the game?” Her answer came as a wall of sound when Kendall, Carlos, and Logan screamed in her face. Blinking rapidly, she wiggled a finger in her ear as she leaned away from them. “That good, huh?”

“It was awesome!” Carlos shouted. “First the Ducks were in the lead and then the Kings caught up to them but then the Ducks were in the lead again! And during the ice cleanings Bailey and Wild Wing came out and got into a shootout. And then they played musical chairs which is silly, you know, because why would animals need to sit on chairs—ooh! Cupcakes!” Breaking off, he made a dashing dive for the kitchen counter.

“Those are mine!” James shouted, making Carlos freeze with a cupcake halfway to his mouth. A whimpering sound fell out of his mouth as he looked back and forth between James and the cupcake.

“Be nice, there’s enough for them to have one,” Mickey said, rubbing James’s arm. “Go ahead, Carlos.” She barely finished her sentence when Carlos stuffed it into his mouth, paper still attached.

“Dude.” Kendall bumped James on the arm with the back of his hand. “We had to keep Carlos from tackling Bailey the lion for thumping Wild Wing’s bill in the stands. Could’ve used you to hold him back.”

“Is that the only reason?” James asked.

Kendall scoffed. “Of course not! I had no one else to cringe with when they messed up the National Anthem. You weren’t there to list off every stat for the Kings or the Ducks—down to what conditioner they most likely used.” James pushed a laugh out of his nose. “After the game ended, they let us skate around for a bit. T’somethin’ I always dreamed about, skating one of the biggest NHL rinks. Wasn’t the same without my wingman there to catch my passes without fail.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “We’re sorry we didn’t take your feelings seriously. Gustavo was rough on you today. We should’ve stayed with you, made sure you were okay.”

“You didn’t think I was being overdramatic?”

“Oh no, we totally did,” Kendall said, making James roll his eyes, “but halfway through the game I remembered that you get like that when it comes to things that are important to you. And it’s not fair for me, for us, to push that aside. So I’m sorry. We cool?” He extended his hand,

“We’re cool. You know I can’t stay mad at my bud,” James replied, clasping Kendall’s hand to pull him into a quick hug.

“And on that note, it’s time for me to go,” Mickey said, squeezing past them. Clutched in her hands were two Tupperware containers filled with cupcakes. “Are you feeling better?” Kendall’s eyes quickly ping-ponged between the two; he mumbled something about needing to polish his hockey puck and backed away.

James’ mind quickly scanned through a list of things he could say to keep her around a little longer. He came up with nothing. “I am, yeah,” James admitted. “Thanks for sticking around and keeping me company, Mickey.”

“Any time. If you ever want a rematch against the Missles, you know where to find me. We’ll be ready for you Diamondheads.” Leaning past James, she called out “see you, guys!” only to get distracted hand waves back from Kendall, Carlos, Logan, and Katie as they watched the game highlight on the news. She shrugged. “See ya, James,” she said, quickly tilting her fingers at him in a rippling wave.

He waved back, watching as she left the apartment. The door closed with a soft click. James turned on his heel only to stop in his tracks, noticing every pair of eyes in the room pointed on him. Eyebrows crinkling, his head tilted to the side. Usually he deserved attention, basked in it even, but he wasn’t sure what he did to get it this time. “What?” he finally asked.

“You were here with Mickey alone all afternoon,” Kendall said. “What happened?”

James shrugged, approaching the couch. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. We talked, watched some hockey, and messed around.”

“So you never hit on her?” Logan asked.

Kind of. “No, not really.” Hershey kiss substitutes didn’t count.

“Dude! This was your chance!” Carlos sprayed bits of uneaten cupcake out of his mouth as he shouted. Uttering a noise of disgust, Logan wiped the side of his face, shooting such a scathing look at Carlos it made him behind Katie. James laughed at the sight.

“Yeah, that’s not like you, James. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Kendall said.

“I’m feelin’ great, guys, really,” he assured them. “Gimmie another cupcake.” As he reached for the plate in Katie’s hand, he spotted something white under the pillow Kendall leaned against. He yanked it out with one strong pull. “Oh shoot,” he muttered. He got a series of asynchronous what?s answered him. “It’s Mickey’s sweatshirt. She forgot it.”

“Give it to her tomorrow. She’ll be at the studio,” Kendall pointed out.

James took in Kendall’s nonchalance with an incredulous shake of his head. He couldn’t do that. Well…he could but he couldn’t. Even if the built-in excuse for her to come back to the apartment was enticing, he wouldn’t feel right holding onto it. Not when he knew of her attachment to it, not just due to how soft and comfortable the sweatshirt was but to the band as well. When he thought about not having his Lucky Comb on him, even for a second, it sent shivers down his spine.

“No, I’ll just try and catch her at the elevator.” Clutching the sweatshirt tight in his hands, James dashed for the door. It barely opened far enough for him to fit through before he found himself out in the hall. He ran around a corner, nearly clipping it, slowing when he heard Mickeys’ voice.

“Thanks again for being so understanding. I know it was last minute…”

“Girl, it’s okay,” Jo said back. Hmm? James peered around the corner, spying Mickey and Jo standing in front of the elevator doors. She clutched a rolled-up script in her hand. “We can always go another day. It’s no big deal.”

“Thanks. James just looked so…defeated.” Mickey’s nose wrinkled. “It’s weird. I’ve never seen him like that before. I just…I didn’t want him to be alone.”

“I get it. I’m not going to be mad at you for being there for a friend,” Jo said, waving her hand in the air. “Buut…you’ll also be extra forgiven if I can have a cupcake.” Her eyebrows wiggled as she tapped a quick rhythm on the Tupperware lid.

Mickey laughed, popping the lid. “No problem.”

Jo eagerly dove for a cupcake, peeling the paper off halfway before taking a bite at the base of the treat. She brought a finger up to her mouth as she chewed, wiping away a stray smear of cream cheese frosting. “So…you must really like James to cancel going to that pie making class you’d been looking forward to for weeks.”

What!? James pressed his lips together, biting on them. The pulse of pain fell into sync with his rapid heartbeat. Jo’s lips curled in the corners and, beneath the hallway lighting, James swore he saw devil horns pop up on her head.

Mickey rolled her eyes. James squinted. Was that a blush on Mickey’s cheeks or a trick of the light? “Don’t even start with me, I gotta deal with all that at home.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Mickey stepped backwards into the elevator, jabbing at a button with her elbow. “…And I don’t not like him. But don’t tell anyone that!”

Jo mimed zipping her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Swallowing the yelp fighting to shoot up his throat, James turned and headed back to 2J. He slipped into the apartment under the noise of aliens and troopers getting blown up in Biohazard 5 and Carlos’ jeers as he held his hand in front of Logan’s face.

“Did you catch her?” Kendall yelled over the noise, eyes glued to the tv.

“No, I missed her.” James made a beeline for the bedrooms, a soft smile sitting upon his lips. “I’ll see her tomorrow.”

#let me tell you i have a ball writing james' internal dialogue #james diamond #mickey mason #big time rush #big time rush oc #not beta read #my writings #mickames #first and foremost

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