#rome tell me to delete this if you want me to (i call you rome now) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itisannak · 3 years ago

Text

Rose-Colored Glasses Vol.2, Part 3: Harry’s Apartment, Upper East Side, New York City (Sugar Daddy!Harry Styles)

Summary: Harry and (Y/N) have their first date. This is an NSFW story. If you feel uncomfortable reading content like this one, please scroll through the chapters to find something you might like. (Smut / Penetrative Sex / Cowgirl / Unprotected Sex) (Words: 6.1k)

Vol. 1, Part 1: New York City / Vol. 1, Part 2: New York City & Aspen / Vol. 1, Part 3: New York City & Amalfi Coast & Rome / Vol. 1, Epilogue / Vol. 2, Part 1: New York / Vol.2, Part 2: New York, Upper East Side / Vol. 2, Part 4: Upper East Side, New York City & Low Manhattan, New York City / Part 5: Harry’s Apartment, Upper East Side, New York City, Winter Wonderland / Part 6: New York, Zurich, London / Epilogue; Hawaii / My Masterlist / My Ko-Fi

The bed seems to have swallowed me whole, my body feeling suffocated by the softness of the mattress and the duvet. I open my eyes, stretching my body until my back cracks. I sit up, looking around me confused by the plethora of light coming from the windows. I hop off the bed, walking on the tip of my toes around the house as I am still trying to wake my body up. The open space build of the house helps me remember a little better where the kitchen is. Harry is sitting on the island, sipping on his Americano while reading something on his iPad. "What time is it?" I ask, knitting my eyebrows together. "It is 8:30, good morning." Harry is surprised to see me, leaving the device on the marble top. "I have been asleep all that time?" I ask, blinking fast in shock. "Mmm... I assume you rest well?" He asks me and I nod. "Why didn't you wake me up when dinner was ready?" I ask, climbing on top of a stool by Harry. "I tried to. I really did. But you were so adorably asleep, I couldn't bring myself to pull you out of your sleep." He replies, stroking his thumb over my knuckles. "What happened to the food you cooked?" I ask, making him chuckle. "In the freezer, for a night I won't have time to whip up even something quick." "I didn't have you for the guy who would freeze leftovers." "Hey, I am a normal person." He protests. "No, you are not." "Why so?" "You are rich. Rich people don't eat leftovers..." I shrug and he chuckles. "Well, it would be a waste to throw it away." "How did you sleep? I hope I didn't hog all the covers..." I bite my lip. Harry smiles, leaning in to plant his lips on my forehead. "I was waking up throughout the night. But other than that, it was great." He replies, finishing the last bit of his coffee. "Why were you waking up?" I ask him, leaning my head on my palm. "I wanted to make sure I was not dreaming of you sleeping by my side." He admits and I feel my heart skipping a bit. "Oh, you are so corny..." I try to hide my fluster but Harry's smirk tells me he already knows. "I have to leave for the office. My housekeeper will be here at 10. If you'd like, she can make you breakfast. You get the house all to yourself until then. She leaves at 3, and I will get home at around 8, so you get to be unbothered for a while." "I will work a bit in your study if it is ok with you..." I ask and he nods at me, leaning in for a peck on my forehead. "Use it for as long as you want. And if you need anything, just call me... Do you still have my number?" He asks me, making me clear my throat and wiggle in my seat uncomfortably. "What?" He asks, looking at me in confusion. "I deleted it." I admit. "Ow..." "I mean... In the beginning, I was way too tempted to call you or text you. I had to." I explain and he sighs. "Ok. I will leave you my personal card. And you... You should put your new phone number in my phone." He passes me his device, unlocking it for me. "What makes you assume I changed my number?" I ask him, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Oh, come on... I tried calling your old number a million times." He replies, bopping my nose. "Fair enough." I mutter, punching in my contact on his phone. "I have to go get dressed for work. Will you be ok by yourself?" He asks again. "I will be absolutely fine by myself. Don't worry." I assure him, standing up and placing my hands on top of his chest. I lean in, pressing a kiss on his lips. He hums in satisfaction, bringing his arms to wrap around me, gluing my body on his by pulling me in by my waist. He deepens the kiss, making me giggle against his lips. His hand travels up from my waist to my face, his thumb stroking my cheek.

"I thought you were going to get dressed..." I moan as I pull away to take a breath and his lips land on my neck. "I can take the day off... Please, let me stay..." He pleads, moving his lips to my sweetspot. The way he still remembers my body, even though intimacy was the shortest part of our relationship and even though it has been so long since... "It will be the third day in the row you are not going to work normally. You have to go..." It is hard for me to turn him away, especially now that he is holding me like that. "Oh, screw work. They can't fire me... Come on, I need to be here..." He whines, making me bite my bottom lip. "You have to go to work. And I have to arrange for my stuff to travel from Arlington, all the way here, without me traveling all the way there." I say softly, letting my hand linger on his chest. "We can send someone to Arlington if you want. I am sure Vinny will be happy to take care of it himself." Harry suggests and I scoff. "Work... Leave. And I will call a moving company for my stuff. And I also think I am going to call Chrissy. I should tell her about the changes." I reply and he hums in surprise. "You should. Chrissy will be happy to hear about the... changes." He kisses the side of my face, his lips tickling my earlobe softly. "I was such a bitch on her wedding day..." "Chrissy loves you and she knows you were in a shock. You will be fine. You can even call her over tonight for dinner with Adrian if you'd like. Oh, shit, you can't..." "Why I cannot?" I ask, squinting at him. "My gift to them was a week-long vacation to Punta Minta. They left yesterday." "You know, normal people gift coffee machines, or irons, or bedsheets... Not vacations." I point out. "Do you know me to be normal? Besides, I wanted to get them something nice." He replies, and I shake my head at him. "You have to leave for work. You are going to be late." I give up, pulling away from him. "Fine. You win. I will go get dressed." He groans, picking up his phone. I bite my top lip and move further into the kitchen, finding the state-of-the-art coffee machine to make myself some coffee.

Despite being in Harry's house for the very first time, the place is oddly familiar, like I have been here my whole life. His home office is a classical one, fitting his status. The leather seat is comfortable enough to sit for hours, and the light coming from the window makes everything appear in perfect clarity.

Having arranged for my stuff to travel all the way to New York, and having finished informing my landlord about vacating the apartment, the only thing left for me on my to-do list is to call Chrissy. I would hate to interrupt her morning on a tropical beach, or lazily lying in bed with her lawfully wedded husband, but she is the only person I want to talk about my last couple of days with Harry. She is the one I trust to tell me if I am blindly in love walking into a situation that will hurt me again.

So, ignoring the rules of decency, I call her number, hoping international calls will go through.

I lean back against the leather armchair, the furniture reclining back to accommodate my posture. The line goes live in just a few seconds. "Hello?" Chrissy asks, hesitantly. The number must be strange to her. "Hi, Chrissy. It's (Y/N)." "(Y/N), oh my God. I tried calling you on your phone and at your place in Arlington but no answer. Are you ok? I thought you were mad at me." Chrissy says. I can hear the faint sound of waves in the background of the call. "I think my phone is dead since last night. A lot has happened in the past couple of days, honestly, my mind is all over the place. I am not mad at you, Chrissy. I am so sorry I was such a bitch on your wedding day. I feel horrible for causing a scene on such a big day." I feel a tug at my heart, replaying the memory in my head. I was a horrible friend. "You were taken aback. It is all forgiven. You said a lot has happened in the last few days. What's going on? What's this number?" She asks, understandably curious. "It is Harry's home. I went and saw him the other day. We had a talk. And I was about to leave town yesterday, but I couldn't. I went to meet him again. And I don't know, I guess we are together now. I decided to move back to New York, and start new. And I am staying at Harry's until I find a job and a new place." I explain and she gasps. "(Y/N), baby. That is wonderful. How did that happen?" She asks. "I think he has truly changed. He is working a lot on himself. And honestly, I am not as happy as I thought I was without him. I don't know how and if this is going to work. But I want to be with him, I want to try." I reply, waiting to hear her response. "I know that I said it before, but I will say it again. People change, and Harry loves you. I have seen it with my own two eyes. He loves you enough to change." "I don't know, Chrissy. But I want to try. Anyway, I would hate to pull you away from your honeymoon and from your husband... I am sure Adrian will hate me for taking you away from him." I chuckle and she sighs. "You know about Punta Minta?" "Harry told me this morning... I hesitated to call you because of that." "You were so right to call me. I wanted a moment away from Adrian. He has been all over me..." She sighs. "You are complaining? Since when you don't want Adrian all over you?" I ask and she laughs. "I am sore, all over. A small break is much needed." She replies with a giggle. "Save all the gory details for when you get back. I owe you a brunch." "I am going to hold you up to that. I can't believe you are back in New York. And I can't believe that you are going to be there when I get back..." She says with such love in her voice. "You better believe this. I am going to be here. And we are going to be seeing each other almost every day again." I assure her and she laughs. "I should thank Harry for that. Anyway, I have to head back. I will call you tomorrow. I gotta learn how the sleepovers at Harry's are going." "I will make sure to keep a journal of all the details." "You better. K, bye. Have fun." "You too. And make sure you make gorgeous babies while at it." I tease her and she scoffs. I rax my back, ending the call to Chrissy. She sounded very excited, more so than I thought she would be about the news. In all honesty, I am excited too about this. Harry has given me not a smidge of the impression we are going to get back to how we were. But then again, it has only been less than 24 hours since we chose to give this another try.

"Ms. (Y/L/N)?" There is a soft knock on the door of the home office, making me raise my gaze from my laptop. There is a woman in her 40s, waiting by the door, holding a tray in her hands. "Hello?" I ask, confused by the stranger before me, who I assume is Harry's housekeeper. "I am Lita, Mr. Styles's housekeeper." She introduces herself, walking further in. "Oh, hello. I am (Y/N)... Mr. Styles is hosting me for a few days." I get up from my chair to help her with the tray. "I know, Mr. Styles informed me about you. He also requested I fix you some tea." She presents the teapot and the light little sandwiches and pastries on the fine plates. I chuckle, remembering how big a deal his tea taking is. "Thank you, you are so kind." I say. "Vinny is here for you as well. He is waiting outside. Are you available?" She asks and I have to muffle myself not to laugh. As if I had anything else to do. "Of course. You don't have to ask me..." I reply, picking up the little cup. "I will send Vinny in. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call me." She smiles politely before leaving. It is all too formal for me, the housekeeper treats me as if I am the lady of the house, which makes me feel flustered.

"Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)... How are you today?" Vinny walks into the study, yielding in hand what I assume is a bouquet of all the pink roses in New York City. "Hello, Vinny. I am very fine. How are you?" I ask the man, offering him a seat on one of the study's armchairs. "I am very glad you are well, Ms. (Y/N). If you need anything, do not hesitate to give me a call. I can take care of anything you need for a comfortable stay." "Everyone is so accomodating, I feel like royalty. Would you like some tea? Lita has made plenty for one person." I offer but he shakes his head no. "I am here to bring you these. Mr. Styles wanted me to personally make sure they are here as soon as possible." He replies, passing me the huge synthesis of roses. "Those are lovely. Thank you for bringing them." I take a whiff, trying not to fall over by the weight of the flowers. "You are welcome. Mr. Styles also sends this." He adds, taking a small envelope out of his breast pocket. "Thank you, Vinny. Can I open it now?" I ask and he nods, getting up. "I will give you some privacy. And inform Lita about needing some vases for the flowers. It is great seeing you here, (Y/N)." He greets me off. "It is great seeing you as well, Vinny. Thank you for these. And for all the help." I smile, opening the little envelope.

There is a little card, with Harry's personal stationery logo on the bottom of it. 'Hope the dream will continue. Dinner tonight?'

I chuckle and shake my head, picking up the phone and dialing his personal number. "Harry Styles's office. How can I help you?" I assume his assistant or secretary picked it up. I am sweating, not knowing how to appropriately ask for him. "Good morning. Could I speak to Mr. Styles, please? I am (Y/N)... (Y/N) (Y/L/N), a friend of his." I explain, fidgeting with the card in my hand. "Hold for a second." Waiting line music fills the void of sound and before I could even drag a breath, I am connected to Harry. "Hi, sunshine. How is your day going?" He asks me, sounding cheerful. "I already arranged for the moving company and called Chrissy. How is yours?" I ask back. "Look at you getting shit done. I might have to hire you as my personal assistant." "How many assistants do you actually need, Mr. Styles?" I ask with a giggle. "My last name sounds so hot when you say it like that..." He lowers his voice, making me sigh in accomplishment. "I got the flowers. Is there a rose shortage in New York now?" I ask playfully. "No... But that central flower place I got them from really is out of pink roses now." He replies. "They are lovely." "Did you get it? Rosé roses? Because you like rosé wine?" He asks. He sounds so cute, it makes me pout. "Very thoughtful, Harry. But I don't know if you have enough vases for all those flowers." I state and he hums. "If Lita sees we are short, she will call Vinny to pick some up." "You have everyone waiting for my every need, huh?" "And ever more so than anyone else, I am ready to serve your every need." "Every need?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow even though he cannot see it. "Name it and I'll do it. Every single need." He puts emphasis on the last words, making shivers run down my spine. "I'd like to see you hold up to that." "Did you see the note?" He asks. "Yes. Dinner tonight. Where?" I ask. "Home. I thought I'd cook for you." "Hm, cause that went so well last night..." I tease. "I have my hopes up for tonight. So, nap if you need at noon, 'cause I need you awake when I am done with cooking." "You are not pulling yesterday's food out of the freezer?" I ask and he chuckles. "I think you deserve a freshly cooked meal for our first date." "Is it our first date?" "It is. I am actually nervous about it." "I better dress up, then. I don't want to make a bad impression on our first date." "Even in sweats, you would look amazing." "Sweats it is, then." I tease and he scoffs. "You are going to be the death of me." "That's the plan. But only after you put me on your will." He laughs loudly, making me bite my tongue. "I have to go back to work. But save your funny jokes for dinner." "I will make sure to prepare a full set of them. Bye. Have fun at work." I hang up before he could reply. I am sure this could go on for an hour.

I pick up the flowers, struggling to balance myself with a hug full of roses. "Hi, Lita... Could you please take care of all these flowers?" I ask the housekeeper, peeking behind the bouquet. "Of course, Ms. (Y/N)... Hand them to me, I already have prepared some vases." She replies, picking up the flowers off my hands. "Would you like me to bring some in the study and put some in the bedroom?" She asks. "Um, I am not sure. I wouldn't want to mess with Mr. Styles's space." I reply, biting my bottom lip. "Oh, Mr. Styles will not mind." She brushes it off, walking to the kitchen. "Let me at least help you with these." I say, following her to the kitchen. "It is ok, Ms. (Y/N). I can do this." She assures me, undoing the bow of the bouquet and letting the flowers lay on the island before sorting them in the vases.

Harry stayed true to his word and came home at 8, practically shoving me away from the kitchen no matter my pleas to help him cook. And at 9:30, he announced that dinner is served and I made my way out of the bedroom. "It smells amazing, whatever it is." I comment as I make my way to the kitchen. "Just some chicken curry with pita bread and jasmine rice, nothing too fancy... Wow, you look great." He compliments me, popping the cork from a bottle of white wine. "I know, I am way overdressed. But I packed enough clothes for 4 days, and the dress I was wearing at the wedding was the only one fitting for our first date." I reply, taking a seat on the island. "I am not even complaining. I didn't have a chance to admire the dress as I should have at the wedding." He scans me up and down, smirking at me. "Well, feast your eyes upon it now... I am wearing it just for you." I smile, picking up my fork. Harry pours me some wine and then some for himself, before sitting before his plate. "It looks delicious. I didn't know you could cook." "I started after I went to therapy. It is a little grounding, it helps me reflect on my day, on my feelings. That's why I've gained a bit of weight." He comments. "You look exactly the same to me. Not a pound heavier than you were in Italy." I reply, taking a forkful of my food. "You, on the other hand, look like you haven't been eating all that well. So, eat up. There is more food in the pots and the pans." He pushes some chicken from his plate into mine, making me roll my eyes at him. "I have been eating." I point out and he hums in irony. "Don't make me feed you like a baby now, sunshine." He says sternly, digging into his plate. "I called Chrissy today. She sounded a bit exhausted from her honeymoon." I chuckle and he hums. "Good for her. How did she take the news of you moving back to New York?" He asks me. "She was very excited. She is team Harry all the way." "Was there any other team for her to root on?" He asks and I shrug. "After you, no. I did not think I would ever go on the dating market again." I explain. "You technically didn't." He points out. "Anyway... I promised her brunch and details once she is back." I reply and he hums in eagerness. "We got to make some details then... We cannot disappoint the fans." He cocks an eyebrow. "You are such a..." "Such a what, sunshine?" He asks, his tongue peeking from between his lips. "Why are you calling me sunshine?" I ask, feeling my cheeks heating up. It is such a beautiful pet name. "It suits you. You brought light back to my life with your presence." He reaches for my hand, bringing the back of it to his lips and pressing a kiss there. "You are so cheesy." I sigh, leaning my head on my palm. "We still haven't toasted..." He picks up his glass, swirling the liquid around as he waits for me to mimic him. "What are we toasting to?" I ask, holding my glass up. "To your stuff getting here soon. I can't wait to meet Harry, finally." He states. "To that. And to new beginnings." I add. "And to new beginnings. May we never have to start over again." He clings his glass to mine. "We better not have to." I take a sip from the wine. "I know you prefer Rosé, but this white is the perfect pairing for chicken curry." "I don't only drink Rosé. You don't have to worry about wine being of my taste." I giggle. "When are your things going to be here?" Harry asks as I calm from my laughter. "They are packing tomorrow, my neighbor is helping along with my landlord. Hopefully the day after tomorrow they will start the journey and they will be here within a day." I explain. "Do you need anything from me? Perhaps some money for the moving company." He offers. "I will pretend to not have heard that." "Come on, (Y/N). I know this is costly. Let me handle it." "You already had to move out twice because of me. Let me repay you, let me take care of it." "Harry, you are already doing too much." "Please, I am barely doing enough after what I've put you through." "What did you put me through? This is our first date." "(Y/N)..." He cannot help but giggle. "Look, I can go behind your back and take care of it. Or you can accept my offer. It is what couples do." He states and I choke. "We are a couple?" I ask, regaining breath after a sip of wine. "Aren't we?" "I don't know. I thought we were dating, taking things slow." "If you want to take things slow, I am in. We can take things slow. I don't care about the speed of things. I care about being with you." He explains. I feel my belly churn, my stomach tightening at his admittance.

I get up from my chair, walking the little step closer to him. I reach for his face, pressing my lips on his. He responds to the kiss softly, letting me be the one to guide us. "I don't care about labels. I am yours." It feels right to say it out loud, letting go of all calculated and careful moves and going with what my heart is telling me. "I love you." He says, with a soft peck on my lips. "I love you..." I repeat, tracing my hand on his cheek. We did not admit to each other something that we were not both aware of. I know he loves me, he has shown it in the past months. And I love him, all of him, with his own little quirks and peculiarities. "Oh, fuck..." He groans, shaking his head at me. "What?" My heart skips a beat, the memory of what happened in Italy being brought up again. "One more meal that will have to go to the freezer..." He sighs, pulling me closer to his body. I smile and press my lips together before Harry leans in and kisses me. Without a single hesitation, his hands lower to my ass, groping me over my dress. I feel heat in my core, my body letting me know that I need to rush things a little and get the relief that I so crave. "I've heard chicken curry tastes even better after sex..." I whisper against his lips, my forehead touching his as I speak. "Where did you hear that?" He asks me with a soft chuckle. "Somewhere..." I peck his bottom lip, pressing my chest on his. "We have to test if it is true, then..." He says suggestively, letting his hand wander down my dress, reaching the hem of it before he slips his hand between my thighs. I gasp and grip his shoulders, holding myself stable as his fingers rub onto my slit. "You are wet, sunshine?" He asks cockily as if he doesn't already know. "Harry..." I moan, shutting my eyes as he lowers his hand to brush the tips of his fingers over my entrance. "It's alright, sunshine. I know how needy your little cunt gets..." He whispers, slowing down his strokes. "My cunt..." The word mesmerizes me, almost making me melt in his hands.

Before I pass out from the teasing, Harry picks me up over his shoulder, carrying me to his bedroom. With my back resting comfortably on the bed, Harry hovers over me, cradling my chin in his hand softly. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen..." He whispers, making me smile at his comment. "Sure am..." I mumble and he leans in to peck my lips softly. "You are. You are my favorite person to look at. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He assures me, stroking my face tenderly. His eyes wander down my lips, his thumb passing over them slowly. It is so intimate, so soft, that it makes my eyes flutter and my skin erupt in goosebumps. "I am going to take this dress off your body now." He looks me in the eye, waiting silently for my response. I nod my head and bite my bottom lip, closing my eyes and allowing myself to get lost in his touch. Masterly, his fingers unzip my dress and bare a bit of skin to him, which his fingers eagerly find and stroke. I shiver, my body arching in response to the stimulus. "Harry..." I mutter under my breath, tingling down to my core just from a simple touch. "I want to be inside you... I want to be inside you so badly." He whispers, attaching his lips to the nape of my neck. The pit of my stomach tightens just at the thought of having him inside me, thrusting his hips on mine and hitting that spot inside me until I come undone around him.

With careful movements, he takes off my dress, letting it rest aside us before he focuses his all on my panties. "Touch yourself for me... Just for a second." He instructs, picking up my hand and pressing a kiss on it before he brings it between my thighs, resting it on my heat. I have never been asked to do something like that before. But Harry's eager eyes are asking me to move forward with it. Shyly, my fingers begin toying with my sex, circling around my clit which is already throbbing, demanding attention from Harry. Harry, however, while he keeps his eyes on me, undresses messily, trying to get rid of his clothes as fast as he can. "Shit... Shit..." He almost falls as he tries to take off his pants, but he brushes it off with a soft laugh. "You are going to be the death of me..." He comments as he hovers above me for a second, before he captures me in for a kiss. My hand still stays between my thighs, touching my cunt indolently and causing me to moan as he kisses me. "Shit, you are touching yourself still?" He asks, stroking the corner of my mouth. I hum, making him lower his eyes between our bodies. "Princess..." He sighs, bringing a hand to stroke my thigh. "Harry... I need you. Please." I whimper, feeling warmth spreading on my body. Harry pulls my hand away from my sex, grabbing his cock into his hand before stroking it a couple of times. "Fuck me, I am so hard... Look what you do to me." He groans, lining his cock up to my entrance. "Such a beautiful, wet cunt..." He comments as he thrusts inside me. I whimper, pulsing around him as he bottoms out.

"Holy fuck... My pretty wet cunt. You take my cock so well. Look, look how easily I thrust inside you... Fuck." He groans, burying his face in the nape of my neck. I move my leg, hoisting it on his waist to grant him even more access to my body. "I've been thinking about you all day..." I moan, tilting my head back and allowing him to nibble on my skin as he fucks me. "It explains why you are so wet for me... I have been thinking about you too. All day, throughout all my meetings... I have been thinking of your taste and your sounds... Moan my name for me one more time, sunshine." He begs, flicking his tongue over a mark he left on my skin. "Harry..." I let out, smiling from ear to ear as I feel him harden inside me. "I will fucking lose it." He pounds inside me. My hand travels on the back of his head, fingers tangling in his locks of hair. "Do you even know how good you feel inside me?" I ask him, bucking my hips in the air to get more of him inside me. "Tell me, sunshine." He nearly demands, his voice almost coming out as a growl. I grab his hand, guiding it between our bodies and placing it where I feel the impact of his thrusts. "I feel you there. And that sends electricity all over my body. It is so good." I moan, looking deep into his eyes. Harry groans, bringing his hands to cradle my face, pulling me in for a fiery kiss. A hand moves to my hair, grabbing a fistful to pull on it slightly. I hiss, doing the same for him, pulling at the locks that are tangled in my fingers. "Let me ride you... Please, let me get on top of you. Let me please you." I plead, raking my nails down his back.

It takes him a moment, during which he stops thrusting and just looks at me with wondering eyes, before he flips us, laying on his back and having me straddle him. "Do your worst, sunshine." He provokes, resting his hands on my hips. I look down at him for a moment, admiring his body and deciding where I want to place my hands on. Every part is perfect, chiseled, and toned to a Greek God level. I settle for his chest, just a bit above his butterfly tattoo, supporting myself as I begin riding him. I take every inch of his cock, sinking my hips slowly down on his to make sure I feel him whole. I am trembling, shaking as I move on top of him with a slow rhythm. I want to grind on him, feel his skin rub on my clit, overstimulate myself to the point of crying happy tears. I lean forward, making sure my clit gets the attention it craves as I bounce on him. "Oh fuck me..." I cry out, throwing my head back as my hips wiggle on his. "Fucking look at those tits... Look how they bounce... Jesus." He whimpers, moving his hands to cup my tits. He squeezes them softly, running his thumbs over my nipples. "Fuck... Fuck... Harry, I love this so much..." I cry out, bringing one hand to dig my nails into his forearm. "I wanna cum inside you... I wanna fill you up..." He shrieks, pulling at my left nipple. "Wait, wait... Let me get there... I am so close, Harry. Please, let me cum, please." I beg, grinding down on him and shivering as my clit grazes over his skin. "Shit, sunshine. You are going to cum around my cock? You are going to squeeze around my dick?" He asks me, still pulling at my teat. "Harry, please... Please." I am not sure what I am begging for, but Harry smirks at me, satisfied by my pleading. "Princess wants to cum... Of course, sunshine, you should cum around my cock... I need you to cum around my cock." He assures me, his chest heaving as he moves his hips to move his cock deeper inside me. "Harry, this is so good. Oh God, it is so good." I wiggle my hips back and forth, focusing on getting myself to my high. It is selfish, I know that I should care about his pleasure almost as much as I care about mine, but there is fire in my loin and an itch deep inside me that I need to scratch.

My hands move to his thighs, supporting my body as I ride him, with my back arched and my head thrown back, chasing after my absolute bliss. He gives me that, he gives me my absolute bliss, a sense of love and security. And I know it is so soon after everything to blindly trust him, to blindly feel all those things, but I do, I blindly trust him, I am blindly loving him. "Oh shit... There... There..." I whimper, digging my nails into his skin. "Shit, you are cumming. You are cumming around me... Shit." Harry groans, gripping onto my waist tightly. "Harry... Harry... Cum inside me... Cum, please." I cry out, fixing my body down on his. I can feel myself pulse around him, shivering as my orgasm hits me. Even the slightest touch sends electricity down my spine, that's how sensitive I am now that I am on top of him. Harry thrusts upwards, fucking me towards his high as I try to ride my own orgasm. "Shit, princess. Look at how messy you are." He groans, holding my hips down to cum inside me, bursting into moans as he hits his high. "Don't move..." He says breathlessly, his face still contorted from the orgasm. "Wasn't planning to..." I reply, laughing as I try to soothe my breathing. Still, with our breaths coming out rushed and his cock still inside me, I bring my face in the nook of his neck. "I'll quit my job and we will do this all day, every day." He mumbles, stroking my back. I laugh, kissing the side of his neck before I answer. "Yeah, for sure... You look like a guy with no ambition in life." I chuckle. "My only ambition in life right this moment is to have sex with you all day, every day." He replies and I bring my lips to his, kissing him softly. "I can promise you that I will be right here tomorrow after you are done with work. We can have all the sex we want then." I assure him. "What day is tomorrow?" He asks and I knit my eyebrows together, trying to remember. "Friday. Tomorrow is Friday." I reply and he groans. "What?" "I have therapy tomorrow after work." "You are still going to be going to therapy?" I ask him and he nods. "We have talked about the possibility of you coming back with my therapist, and we have agreed that I would still need to go in because I still have issues I need to work on. You coming back doesn't magically fix me." He replies, stroking my hair and twisting a lock behind my ear. "Look at you, so adult, so mature... Practically a grandpa." I tease him, making him roll his eyes at me. "You know you are a very mean person, right?" He asks me and I hum. "The meanest of them all. But I am very proud of you for working on yourself. It is brave to admit you are a work in progress." I say in all honesty, running my thumb over his cheek. "I want to do this right this time. I am going to do better this time." He promises, holding me even closer to his body. "I know we will do better this time, my love." I sigh, placing a hand on his chest. "I am starving... Shall we go have some of what I cooked?" He asks me and I hum. "I honestly don't even remember what you cooked..."I state and he laughs at me. "That will go straight to my head, just so you know." He replies and I shrug. "Great, as if we needed more of your cockiness." I tease.

Vol. 1, Part 1: New York City / Vol. 1, Part 2: New York City & Aspen / Vol. 1, Part 3: New York City & Amalfi Coast & Rome / Vol. 1, Epilogue / Vol. 2, Part 1: New York / Vol.2, Part 2: New York, Upper East Side / Vol. 2, Part 4: Upper East Side, New York City & Low Manhattan, New York City / Vol.2, Part 5: Harry’s Apartment, Upper East Side, New York City, Winter Wonderland / Part 6: New York, Zurich, London / Epilogue; Hawaii /My Masterlist / My Ko-Fi

42 notes · View notes

sofoulandfairaday · 4 years ago

Text

The ultimate How I Met Your Mother Finale rant

I know this has been done before, and I know I'm several years late to the party, but I don't care, so IN THIS ESSAY I WILL tell you about why this finale takes the spot as the second-worst finale in TV show history (because Game of Thrones is still, to this day, unbeatable, and it will probably stay like that forever).

But first, a little context: I've just finished binge-watching HIMYM. This binge has been going on for three days straight (my final exam of the semester is in a week and I should be studying, so the fact that the last few days were a partial waste of time makes me so mad). Second thing: I already knew how it would end, and yes, kids, it does ruin the show for you. It ruins the show so much it makes your blood boil when you rewatch certain scenes, but I will get to that.

You might want to make yourself a drink because this is a complete list of all the reasons why HIMYM's finale sucks - I'm warning you, it's gonna be looong.

It completely invalidates the entirety of season 9

This is one of the complaints people most often have with this series, and I have to agree. It would have been so much better if the last two episodes never existed, and they just showed Barney and Robin dancing at the reception after walking out of the chapel, Ted noticing Tracy and then the platform scene. "And that, kids, is the story of how I met your mother". Cut scene. Honestly, I don't get the hate people give to season 9, barring the last 2/3 episodes, especially since season 8 was so much worse (except for a few honourable mentions, like The Robin). S8 was slower, less funny, and less deep, and while the authors took a risk by making s9 happen in the span of a weekend it paid off: they took their time introducing the character of the Mother to the gang and fleshing her out. They make sure to highlight all the little ways in which Ted and Tracy are perfect for each other, and even tie up loose ends, like with the Slapsgiving episode, that was a filler but it wasn't boring to watch (although it may be problematic for different reasons, I'm not Chinese, so I can't say for sure if it's cultural appropriation or just the authors making fun of a particular movie genre).

Some episodes were arguably great: "Daisy" was amazing, and that whole fight between Marshall and Lily was so realistic and well thought out, "Sunrise" was extremely important for Ted's character development, same goes for Tracy and "How Your Mother Met Me", "Bedtime stories" was impressive, "Rally" was incredibly funny and proved once again what a beautiful character Barney Stinson is, so much so that even Robin never has doubts that he (the guy with the biggest commitment issues on the planet) will bail on her before the wedding, and says to Ted that "he always comes back". Daphne's character is super funny and the right amount of annoying, the shenanigans of the gang are well thought out and all of the characters (not just Barney) complete their arc in this season. The last two/three episodes butcher that.

Marshall and Lily

Marshall and Lily, arguably the world's most solid couple, are the only thing this God-awful finale gets right, especially Marshall, who is my second-favourite character, that finally gets everything he deserves. But what about Lily? They never mention her career after Italy, and I refuse to believe she goes back to being a kindergarten teacher as if her year in Rome meant nothing. I also refuse to think she becomes nothing but a political wife, the equivalent of Zoey, but without saving the world. We know she has three kids, but her postpartum depression is never really talked about much and they definitely had the screentime to delve into it.

Barney

Where do I even begin? Barney Stinson is, without a doubt, the best character in this series, the glue of the whole gang. I think the message they were trying to give is that, since his trauma stemmed from the absence of a father figure in his life, he could only truly heal by becoming a father as well. People also say that n°31 had to stay just a number, because who could match up with Barney Stinson? First of all, I call BULSHIT on that last point, because Robin wasn't the only girl Barney could have ended up marrying. I used to think that too, but it's just not true: that is the equivalent of saying that Barney was incapable to truly love a woman and commit to her, even after all the development he got, and that he only got one shot at love in life, and that's it. This goes against the point the showrunners try to make by having Ted and Robin end up together AND by having Tracy get with Ted in the first place: "it's never too late, you always have another chance at love, etc." And, let's face it, Barney and Robin are legendary, but Barney and Nora (hell, even Barney and Quinn!) were pretty good together too.

Second of all, if they wanted to give Barney a kid, they could have easily done that, before Barney married Robin. Barney's "redemption" starts when he gets with Robin the first time, hell maybe even when we meet James for the first time: Nora, Quinn, finding out who his father is, the episode dedicated to the lies his mum told him/finding James' father, him getting to know his own dad, etc... those are all steps along the way. The s9 episode where Barney accepts the relationship between Loretta and the reverend proves how far he's come. So why not give him a daughter BEFORE he proposes to Robin? Have him cheat on Nora/Quinn with n°31, giving him a relapse, and having him get closer to Robin while struggling to be a dad to Ellie. That would have been great.

Or, you know, don't give him children. What's the point of burning the Playbook if you're going to have him write the second edition? What's the point of having him do a complete 180 in the last few scenes and acting like having a kid is the only thing that makes him change? What's the point of doing that when the show spends entire episodes berating Marshall and Lily for "changing too much" when they have a kid?

Also, Barney is the "challenge accepted" guy. He loves his wife so much, he spent years wanting her, and then he gives up because there is no WiFi in his hotel. How does that make any sense at all? This is Barney Stinson, the "I will fly out to San Francisco and buy Lily a plane ticket", the "I will steal every girl from my best friend just to save him for Lily", the guy that wrote the Playbook (it takes effort to pull those plays off), the guy that planned for weeks his proposal, the guy that waited years to get back at the man who stole his first girlfriend, the guy that makes every night legendary... are you telling me that that guy becomes the equivalent of a bored housewife instead of living his best life while travelling the world? Come on. They don't even try to make it believable.

Ted

While watching seasons 7 and 8, I felt that Ted was becoming the worst character on the show: he was boring, depressed, basically had no good storylines, the whole thing with Victoria was pointless and inconclusive (and the whole "stop being in love with Robin" was completely out of character for her), but whatever, we could have accepted that because it passed the message that two people could be good together, without being soulmates - which, by the way, renders the TedxRobin ship pointless, because they were right for each other, but Ted and Tracy were soulmates. Him being hung up on Robin in the latter seasons is almost pathetic, and the thing he does with the locket is insane, not romantic - BUT I will say this: it can be seen in two ways, depending on who's watching. I personally like the two as friends, so I see the whole thing as a "Dahmer" situation, but I get the people who see it as a "Dobler" one and see what he did as a grand romantic gesture.

The problem, though, is that the whole TedxRobin ship gets pretty old, pretty fast: it's an annoying on-and-off thing, that should have ended with the locket. Because, yes, Ted was in a dark moment, yes, he was probably depressed, yes, he thought Robin was his only shot at happiness, but he changes during season nine! He spends entire episodes letting go of Robin, including the one where she transforms into a balloon and flies away. Ted is the good guy, ultimately. He is the guy that is genuinely happy for his best friends. In one of the deleted scenes from the finale, he meets Robin years later and says that he's so happy with Tracy he never thought about Robin in that way anymore. All of that gets thrown in the trash. Why do that? To use a Harry Potter metaphor, Ted is Severus Snape, while Barney is James Potter: the former loved the girl of his dreams with all his heart, even to the point of creepiness, but they weren't meant to be together.

Robin

This, along with the next point, is the worst of all: Robin is the worst character of the entire finale. Her relationship with Ted in season 2 is wonderful, and I say that as a full-on Barney/Robin shipper. There was never a problem in their relationship, apparently, but they then break up because they have an "expiration date" and ultimately want different things in life. Except that Ted is not her soulmate. The only times when Robin wants Ted are the times where (1) she can't have him because he's either trying to move on or (2) the times where it's convenient, for example when they become roommates again and they solve their disputes again. Around that time, we see perfectly that Ted had moved on and that the person getting hurt was Barney. It's one thing to see Ted and Robin in the finale as two people picking up where they had left off after they dated. But this is not the case.

In season 7, we have the exchange that should have put an end to any and all TedxRobin drama, and that completely invalidates whatever the writers wrote after that about the two of them: Ted declares his love - "I think you know how you feel about me now. I don't think time's gonna change that. Just tell me: do you love me?" To which she answers "No". And Ted also says later to Marshall, that he's "happy because he can finally move on".

What a load of crap.

Getting over someone is hard, believe me, I would know. And, oftentimes, it doesn't happen until we find someone else to love (and from the moment he meets Tracy, there is no one else for Ted). But by giving Ted feelings for Robin after this moment, it takes away from the beauty of it- because it's one of the most heartbreaking feelings in the world when you declare your love to someone and they don't love you back. Ted and Robin were both honest at that moment, and it was the last genuinely good exchange between them. After that, during season 8 they try to show us Ted trying to get over her (and failing) and in season 9 Ted getting over her completely. This is also weirdly paced because at the beginning of s8 both are in happy relationships with other people and there's no jealousy (which is good, because at least they weren't toxic) and they seem just friends (when Robin leaves Nick to go see him in the middle of the night, she implies that she would do it for any of her friends), but after Ted breaks up with Veronica because of Robin everything is weirdly coated in this sort of tension between the two: first Ted loves her, but she doesn't, so when he helps her by taking her to Barney's proposal ("which means my best bro in the world has given me his blessing").

And, by the way, every time they try to paint Ted as the guy that comes through for Robin after this moment, they dumb down Barney's character. And still fail to make Ted a better guy than him (see: the carousel in Central Park).

Yes, Robin and Ted have some chemistry, but it is nothing compared to what Robin and Barney have. Every time Robin is jealous of Barney, it doesn't seem like a stupid whim, just because some other child is playing with her toys (except, perhaps, during The Robin). Robin and Barney's relationship would need a whole other post, and the next time I rewatch the series I will write down all the things that make them perfect for each other, but, to me, the biggest difference between the two relationships is this: in season 6, when she's not dating either one of them, Ted accuses Robin of never making him feel needed while they were together, whereas Barney praises her for it. Those are elective affinities: that's what Barney and Robin have, and what Tracy and Ted have.

Barney and Robin have more or less the same arc: they both get over their fear of commitment and they do that with each other. Time and time again, we are told that if they're ever going to settle down, it would only be with the other. The first time they break up is honestly so stupid, and even when they are broken up, they are the best of friends, which also makes Robin's behaviour in the finale look so stupid. The way the two of them fit together is unparalleled, both in a romantic and a platonic way.

Think about it: Robin makes Barney a better man, while she makes Ted a worse one.

Also, the whole point that there are different seasons in life for everything gets thrown out the window: apparently, Ted and Robin (that were a couple that ultimately worked in their young twenties) are the same people in their forties.

But that's not even the worst part. The worst part is that the two final episodes butcher Robin's arc as well: episode 23 starts with Lily saying "I want this girl to be in our lives" and we know Robin never made other friends outside of the gang, because she didn't need to, and now she walks away from everything because of fucking Ted?? This is saying "hey, Robin was only in the group for Ted, who brought her in, and now she leaves because he's not her puppy anymore". Robin was the one that was eternally indecisive between Ted and Barney and you're telling me that three years and many many life experiences later, she's still not sure?

The point of her story is learning how to get over her fear of commitment, learning how to be there for her friends (there's an entire episode dedicated to that, and it's the one where Lily's pregnant and we meet Robin's ex-best friend in Canada), and how to balance her job and her life. Also, the way her character is treated is un-feminist and un-progressive: she becomes Ted's consolation prize. She is passive throughout s9. She cannot, ultimately, win the modern-day struggle most women have and balance out career and love life, so her true life, her "happy chapter" begins after she has already accomplished everything she wanted to and she's free for Ted. She doesn't even go back to him, she just the prize the main character wanted for all his life and only got in the end because his wife died (ONE SCENE, people, ONE SCENE!). Also, this makes Tracy the "broodmare" that gives him the kids he wanted, and his "happy family" experience before he goes to be with his one true love.

The mother

This. This makes me so mad. One whole season spent on building up Tracy's character, just for it to go to waste. It would have been so easy to screw her up, but she is hands down the best thing about s9. She's the perfect woman for Ted and the episode shot through her perspective is the sweetest. By the end, I liked her more than Robin and Lily. She was the perfect addition to their group, she fit together with them in a perfect way, and they show us the biggest moment of her and Ted's life... for what? To have her die in a few sentences? And I don't care if they shot a funeral scene, I don't care if the finale was supposed to be 40 minutes long, because, in the end, it wasn't. The scene where Ted meets her is the second most beautiful one (after Barney's proposal to Robin) and the climax of the whole show, but they ruin her... and for what? The chemistry Ted has with her, he has with no one. The joy she brings him, the way she understands him, is unlike any other. I am sure that one of the reasons they killed her off was the shock value and I hate it.

I cannot stress this enough: Tracy makes Ted a better person. When he's with Robin, Ted is "the nice guy" in the most selfish and narcissistic version of the trope. When he's with Tracy, love comes easy to Ted. Also, the scenes between the two of them are arguably the best Ted scenes of the show.

The kids' reactions (ugh)

It's not really what they say- it's the way they say it. The end of HIMYM was not supposed to be funny, even though the show is a sitcom. It was supposed to be bittersweet and beautiful, because it's the end of an era, and the writers must have known that. So, Ted finishes telling his story, reveals to the audience that their now-beloved Tracy is dead, and the reaction is: "No, ahah, you totally have the hots for Aunt Robin" (their words, not mine). Like, what the actual fuck? I cringed when Penny said that. It's tasteless and not fun at all. Even if it has been six years... It's still your fucking mum, show a little bit of sadness at the thought of her.

The reason the show ended this way

What makes me especially mad is that I know for a fact that the reason they went with this ending is that it was the original one, always intended for the show, from season 2 onwards. And, if you watch it right after s2, it makes sense. But if you consider the eight years that passed and the massive character development, then no, it's not the best possible one. So many things hadn't been decided yet back in s2, especially about Barney, Ted, and Robin, and I hate that they didn't dare to scrap their work. This ending probably had sentimental meaning to the writers, but authors have to do what's best for their characters, not themselves. It's like with GoT, in a way: I think that the authors were all too aware of the impact of HIMYM and didn't believe that their finale would live up to the expectations... which compelled them to make the worst decision possible?? Every single character is OOC during the episode. Oh, and Marshall and Lily moving in the last episode is a ripoff from Friends (or maybe a tribute? Idk). Anyway, I believe that the authors were too attached to their sentimental version of "what should have been" and didn't give the characters the endings they truly deserved.

"Life works this way" // "Life only moves forward"

Some people say that the show is realistic because that's how life works. But I call super-BS on that. That might be true, and yes, people do get sick and die (Max, Marshall's dad...) and life does go on. But then, you don't frame it the way they did. It's just bad storytelling if you do it like that. And the problem is not the structure of season 9, because the characters develop in that season. The problem isn't even the mother's death. The problem is Ted ending up with Robin because that's not life moving forward for him, that's him, doing the same thing he did in 2005, 25 (twenty-fucking-five) years before!

In conclusion, this finale is incoherent and inconclusive, and not satisfying at all. The only character that gets a good ending is Marshall: why is that? What makes his ending great? It's the fact that his character arc is respected and he finally gets what he's been working towards for more than ten years.

#himym #how i met your mother #how i met your mother spoilers #how i met your mother finale #09x23 #09x24 #robin sherbatsky #ted mosby #tracy mcconnell #barney stinson #marshall eriksen #lily aldrin #swarkles #ted x robin #ted x tracy #barney x robin #a rant #the blue french hor #the yellow umbrella

639 notes · View notes

herroyalbubbliness · 3 years ago

Text

Killing Eve

Is There Really A Side To Pick?

Photo Credit: IG @killingeve

Let's dive into the shockingly devastating finale of season 2 titled- You're Mine.

Villanelle: This is what you wanted. No Eve. Eve, wait. Why are you being like this? You love me. {whispered in a confused tone}

Eve: No

Villanelle: I love you

Eve: No

Villanelle: I do

Eve: You don't understand what that is.

Villanelle: I do. You're mine

Eve: No {uttered assertively in a harsher tone}

Villanelle: You are! You are mine! Eve! {with conviction}

I thought you were special. {devoid of any emotion}

Eve: I'm sorry to disappoint {regretfully}

I understood where Eve was coming from and I understood where Villanelle was coming from.

Now let's go back to the conversation between Eve and the psychologist where he had warned her against going to Rome. In a deleted scene, we see the psychologist telling her, "If you really want to do this, then give her anything she wants. Psychopaths don't understand the concept of delayed gratification, flattery, flattery, pander, stroke and appeal to her ego."

Eve was never someone that would easily give in. I mean it was part of the things that attracted Villanelle to her and why she hadn't gotten 'bored' with her. So, it was no surprise that after Eve saw the gun, she felt betrayed and rightfully so. She had just been manipulated by Carolyn, only to find out, she was manipulated by Villanelle into killing someone for the first time. I think Eve did trust Villanelle to a certain extent so this betrayal hurt more than that of Carolyn. After killing Raymond, it was almost as if she was in a daze and seeing the gun was the wake up call to reality.

Was Eve in denial that Villanelle would never hurt her?

I think Eve genuinely believed Villanelle could hurt her. There was a foreshadowing at breakfast, when Villanelle asked her, if she thought she will hurt her and Eve said yes, which I think was a genuine answer and what she truly believed. If she had heeded the psychologist's advice, would that have averted the ghastly outcome? Maybe, but we will never know. In that moment, I understood her rejection especially with the phrase "you're mine", like she was a thing tqo be owned or belong to someone.

You want to choose your words carefully around a person like Villanelle because she will take your words literally which could wind up with a good or bad outcome (ask Gabriel). She is not someone you want to say one thing to, while meaning another thing entirely. Eve had told her she wanted to know what she felt when she killed someone in season 1. And in season 2, she had promised Villanelle to give her everything she wanted coupled with the fact that they had been working closely together as 'partners'. Of course she gave her, her wish by offering someone on a platter for her to kill. But, Villanelle knew Eve wouldn't just kill without reason. And she knew if Eve thought she was in danger, that may compel Eve to save her even if it meant taking a life. You really need to applaud Villanelle's tenacity, as she was already cyanotic under the grip of Raymond but she held on to see her plan go through and it did. Villanelle had told Konstantin, "We are the same." I believe Villanelle hoped that, with Eve taking a life, they will be true equals and partners in every sense and she could finally break away from the shackles of her marriage, her job and be with her. I feel Villanelle truly believed in her heart that she loved and was in love with Eve.

I think Villanelle's actions were a spontaneous reaction in the spur of the moment rather than revenge.

In the end, they both had solid points from their points of view in my opinion.

Was there ever a side to pick?

#bbc killing eve #dressed to kill #killing eve #killing eve season 2 #villanelle x eve #villanelle #villaneve #badass female characters #badass female lead #badassery #sandra oh #jodie comer #eve polastri #oksana astankova #eve x villanelle #ke s2

59 notes · View notes

rainbowbutterfrosting · 3 years ago

Text

Okay, but ‘Erase Me’ hits different after the newest episode (lyrics in bold, discussion/analysis in normal text)

What was our home

“Home” it’s an odd word for the sides. Especially with the recent episodes. With tension flowing between all of them with ease, it’s hard to question if they can truly find comfort in on another. Easily represented by none of the sides (other than Logan and Remus) being there throughout Thomas’ day. This isn’t like the other episodes where they’re all having a discussion together about Thomas getting overwhelmed.

Instead, Thomas feels isolated for most of it, fighting a battle with his mind (mind referring to his intrusive thoughts, his sides, and Logan’s agenda for the day)

Paper not stone

Everything seemed to... change so quickly. They went from Embarrassing Phases with cute Halloween costumes and friendly jokes about cringe and vine directly into SvS and DWIT where Thomas questions if he’s a good person while his mental health quickly declines.

In a similar way, paper is fragile and flimsy, easily ripped apart.

‘Paper not stone’ could also be a way to reference Logan’s agenda for the day. All of it can be discarded and saved for Future Thomas™ since none of it is really set in stone.

A lean-to at most

Logan is nothing to Thomas- or at least he feels that way. He’s only someone who can calm Thomas down. Thomas can ‘lean’ on him, but that’s the most he is.

And when you pulled your half away

I’d like to think half has a few different meanings here. The one I like the most is where “half” represents Thomas’ attention. He’s pulled to Nico, he’s pulled to Remus, he’s pulled to anxiety.

Logan recognizes this and calms him down. He lets him have breaks and gently guides Thomas back to their schedule once he’s a bit better.

Half could also represent for when he pulls away from Logan and listens to the other sides more. In this episode, he practically listens to everyone but Logan, despite him being the most physically there. He’s listening to his spiraling intrusive thoughts (Virgil’s fear and Remus’ role). He’s listening to his worry about Nico’s feelings for him (Virgil’s fear and Roman’s passion). He’s taking breaks and indulging in what he loves (Janus’ role and Patton’s enjoyment in child-like activities such as disney princess puzzles and dancing to up-beat music)

He might be the side the camera follows around, but he certainly isn’t the main character by far.

Gravity won Like it always does

Logan isn’t winning this battle. Of course he isn’t. He never does. Thomas is pulled down by the figurative gravity of all the other sides, while Logan is left there alone.

In theory, he grounds Thomas the most, but Thomas also naturally drifts away from him. Using his role as logic for quick comfort before listening to someone else for an actual discussion.

Did I weigh a ton?

Is he weighing Thomas down? Is he making him unhappy? He thought he was good at one point, helping Thomas earn a degree in college and organizing a schedule for him so he could live life comfortably.

Yet the degree is tilted on the wall. The schedule would have been torn up if Thomas was given a paper.

Would it be easier to just delete Our pages and the plans we made?

Would it be easier for Logan to give up? He certainly isn’t needed, Thomas didn’t listen to Logan the whole day and he was still fine. He made pages of things Thomas needed to do along with the plans that Thomas agreed to. Only for them to be pushed to the side since something grabbed his attention.

And perhaps Logan saves these plans. He keeps them to help Thomas. Maybe to even create more realistic ones. But perhaps Thomas just won’t listen to him. He should just delete the plans he has. Thomas has always been great at improv. Maybe someone like Roman should take control- he’s been listening to him more than Logan anyway. (Represented through the whole Nico situation)

Erase me So you don't have to face me

Thomas turns away from Logan at the end, leaving him alone in the living room. He’s erasing Logan from his mind, finding an opportunity he wants because he doesn’t need Logan.

Put me in the ground and mow the daisies

Was mowing the lawn on the list of things Thomas needed to do? Nope. Is Thomas mowing over his ideas for something more exciting anyway? Yep.

Ah, the memory, see how it goes When you

Erase me Erase me

“The memory” is Logan. It represents how he was aware of his own outburst at Remus, he knows he lost control. But maybe he’ll also ‘see how it goes’ when Thomas starts ignoring him even more. Perhaps his eyes will stay orange. Perhaps Orange will just take his place entirely.

So what will you do With no me for you?

Thomas needs him- right? I mean, there’s no one else to create the schedules and plans... that Thomas doesn’t use. He helped earn Thomas’ degree! The... the degree he doesn’t use.

Maybe Logan is useless. Maybe Thomas can’t function without him. Logan doesn’t even want to know at this point.

I know what we said

Logan knows he technically agreed to Thomas leaving and going to Nico, but he can’t help but feel bitter about it.

This bitterness rises when he’s with the other sides. Roman disregards him, “You’ll be fine, Rome didn’t fall in a day.” Logan hasn’t been ignored for more than one day. He isn’t fine. He’s more than what he’s acknowledged as, he quickly responds with emotion filling his mind, “Well, that’s a misquote so-”

Only to get fucking cut off. Again. He isn’t fine. He’s getting ignored and cut off whenever he tries to input something. Then Patton takes control of the conversation. Directing it at Thomas instead of Logan. Taking Roman’s side. Not listening to logic.

But what if I left a thing or two

Logan just needs to stop. He needs to stop talking, leave a plan or two in Thomas’ mind while a side or two keeps him busy for the day.

We know that you don't seem To think about what you need 'Til you reach to find that you've

Erased me

Imagine telling someone that you really want to do something with them. You both clear out the whole day at an agreed time. Then they want to do something else. You- you suppose it’s fine? You both go there and then you get side-tracked again, and again, and- the day is over.

They don’t care about what they were supposed to do. Thomas didn’t care about what he was supposed to do. Most of the things he was supposed to do didn’t even directly benefit Logan. They were things he needed to function, things to keep his place nice, not reading a non-fiction book or watching a documentary. They were things Thomas needed. But apparently that wasn’t a good enough reason to listen to logic.

What the fuck is this? You're crazy, turned around

Logan is fed up with how Thomas keeps ignoring him. Keeps getting distracted. “Turned around” turned around from the task at hand.

“What the fuck is this?” could be to Remus. Constantly bothering Thomas, getting him distracted over and over. Going the complete opposite direction of where they should be going. And not listening to him when talked to about it.

In two weeks time replaced me

Thomas doesn’t need Logan. It’s clear from his daily routine. All he needs is someone to offer the idea of dancing or a puzzle to him and he’s fine again.

Ah, the memory everybody knows How it goes you just

Erase me

Logan is well-known throughout the mindscape. He’s known as a nerd, a geek, a nobody. Most of the names he could wear with pride, but he’s nobody. Nobody to Thomas and nobody in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps the other sides would be fine with Logan getting “erased.” They seem to regard his name with distaste anyway.

Did me like a bro and tazed me

Logan makes little flashcards for slang and tries to use them. Almost like a child proudly showing a high test score to their parent. He wants so badly to be acknowledged, to be heard, to be cool.

Fireworks - poof - it's gone, amazing

Thomas is gone. The fireworks went off in his heart and he’s gone. Logan- Logan should be happy for him. It’s amazing as some would call it. He holds the to-do list to his chest as he sinks out.

New bio, you've gone solo Drawing mustaches on our wedding photo

Nothing is important, not really. It can all be quickly discarded. “New bio” could be talking to Nico and changing a social media bio to dating or something like that.

“You’ve gone solo.” Haha that’s funny. Thomas is practically anything but solo with Logan. The line is said with such anger and bitterness that it’s no wonder why he thinks he means nothing to Thomas.

“Drawing mustaches on our wedding photo” What else is Remus going to ruin for Logan? Drawing on Thomas’ degree with mustaches?

Erase me Erase me Erase me...

Erase me This is us shouting, baby Erase me

Logan is begging, screaming, shouting for someone to acknowledge that he’s being ignored. But he’s being ignored, so they don’t hear him. Of course they don’t hear him.

Do we call the cops now, baby?

Cops is Orange. Take this as you will.

Ah, the memory everybody knows About the brand new home

There’s no distress in this line. Everyone is fine about the idea of Logan leaving to go into a new ‘home.’ He wasn’t important, so why would they worry? Thomas clearly didn’t seem to worry as he ran out of the house, searching for Nico. Thomas didn’t need him in the slightest.

Erase me And you'll never have to face me

Erase something off the to-do list. Erase the signature on the degree. Erase him.

Erase me Option-Command-Escape me And if you feel nothing Guess what I'll wanna be

Huh, I wonder what he wants to be :)

#ts spoilers #sanders sides #logan angst #logan sanders #ts logan #logan playlist #logan sanders playlist #sanders sides playlist #sanders sides analysis #logan analysis #logan sanders analysis #wtit #ts wtit #wtit spoilers #working through intrusive thoughts

92 notes · View notes

gizkasparadise · 3 years ago

Note

18 and 22 for the writing meme.

thanks for the ask! sorry for the delay in answering!!

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

it really depends on the project, tbh. with fic writing, it's very very basic outlining where i do something like this:

chapter title -thing 1 -thing 2 -thing 3

chapter title 2 -thing 1

repeat. and then i just delete the chapter section in the outline after i post it.

for work projects, it's a lot more intense. i usually spend a few days outlining, then i organize research/background stuff into physical piles if it's hardcopy or gDrive folders if it's digital. then i make liberal use of post-its to lay out points and general brainstorming. i outline sometimes in a word doc/gdoc, but most of the outlining takes place in notepads

for outlining tools, i mainly use google drive (i have folders and subfolders for each project) and the free version of trello (project management tool). ive thought about scrivener but i dont want to pay for anything :'D

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

i had such a hard time thinking of a passage :'| but let's do malak's death scene from i loved rome more (kotor, revan/malak). excerpt/thoughts under the cut:

general thoughts: i think this is the most i've gone over line edits in a fic, especially with the final lines in the scene. i wanted to phrase everything really carefully. the "this is drowning, this is breathing/This is loving, this is leaving" pair of lines went through a thousand variations in particular. but the main thing i wanted to do was 1) write this scene in a way that was still somewhat interesting despite being a canon scene all the readers have presumably played through already, 2) integrate/come full circle with some of the arc words and themes (in particular revan's inability to apologize with malak's avoidance tendencies/leaving a situation without resolving it, and 3) be sad LOL and kind of romantic? in a weird way (maybe more Romantic). a lot of it's call backs to previous chapters in the story

excerpt w/ commentary in bold

Revan meets his eyes. They both know that there is no coming back from what she’s done to him. this line works on two levels-- revan's killing him fully aware that she's responsible for the monster he's become

He sinks to his knees, then collapses backward. Without thinking, she kneels beside him, much like she did when she was eighteen and he was near death for the first time at the Enclave following a failed mission with Vrook.

No one will hurt you again, she lies. callback to chapter....2? i think?? anyway, it's revisiting the scene where revan kind of is threatened with alek/malak's mortality and basically says Not Today, Satan to it. sort of a bitter irony, here

For the first time in a long time, it’s just them, the quiet, and the emptiness of space. And it’s not peace, but it’s not hatred. It’s just empty.

He coughs. One of his hands is pressed over his chest. She watches it rise and fall with increasing shallowness, his breath coming and leaving in awful hitches.

Malak coughs again and she’s numb. “Revan.”

She swallows. “Yes?”

“I... I cannot help but wonder. What would have happened had our positions been reversed?” canon question lifted verbatim from the game, and part of why this ship is my favorite because of their inherent tragedy and the unfairness of everything

Her hair is sweat-soaked and stuck to her neck. Her body will be screaming in pain later. But now, it’s as though every nerve she has is dead, that every breath she’s taken is for someone else.

“You would have used it better,” she admits quietly. she knows, fundamentally, that alek was a better person than she ever was.

Unable to move, he reaches for her hand blindly.

She grabs it, holds his fingers even after they fall slack. this is a callback to a previous chapter (idr which one, but one of the mandalorian wars flashback chapters) where alek reaches for her hand when he's injured and she doesnt grab it because she doesnt want to look like she's showing favoritism in front of the other soldiers

“As the darkness takes me...I am nothing.”

This is drowning, this is breathing. This is loving, this is leaving. lol the way i STRUGGLED with these lines and debated including them. but w/e im happy with them/the flow of this scene and im glad they're here

For the first time, she’s able to say it.

"I'm sorry," she chokes.

But he still goes away.

this is a final callback to the continued arc words "She can never say she's sorry/As always, Malak/Alek walks away" that's present several times in the fic

Thanks for reading!!!

#asks!#revalek #meme #fanfic #writing

6 notes · View notes

fragileizywriting · 3 years ago

Text

okay. hi. good morning! here's the plan for us. stick with me.

i've got a lot of stuff to post starting january, like [redacted], and a birthday gift fic that i've been writing behind the scenes, and i'm also going back to school, so this is going to be fun. this is going to be very fun. my weeks are going to be filled, so, in order to relieve some of the load i'm going to use january/february to let me rewrite DL.

do not worry!

i will not be deleting the original! and i will not be rewriting the fic in the original fic! i will be posting an entirely new fic, and i will link it in the original's summary/description/at the end of the fic.

i'm not completely sold on the idea just yet, but i might also be taking the original DL out of the series list. i'm not sure. i feel bad taking it out, but also, it might be annoying to first-time readers to accidentally read the same fic (with lots of changes) back to back. let me know if you have a solution, because i'd love to keep them in the same series. should i put it in the front, as #1? or should i put it in the back? i'm unclear :(

here's a preview of what the rewrite will have changed (non-exhausting list):

* better chapter distribution! i'll be using the actual chapter count (meaning, how i wrote it in my document), instead of lumping three chapters in at a time. the real chapter count for DL is 16. i think it's only the last chapter that has a stupid weird imbalance of words? maybe? i'll fix that too.

* luka will have his proper age mentioned (no more saying he's 3,000 years older than adrien)! luka will mention his bad back (caused by his aching wings!) his wings will be mentioned!

* adrien will bring up how he is suspicious of luka's bad back! adrien will bring up part of the over-arcing plot via a letter he got from back home but decided to trash (that's why he's late and why he's in a grumpy mood!) "you're here late. what happened?" "got a letter from my dad." "ah. what did gabriel want?" "i hate how you call him gabriel. i'm not defending him, i'm just genuinely curious, what's your beef with him?" "he's always hated me first." "we're going to talk about it." "maybe. one day." "no, we're definitely going to talk about it. i'm getting impatient, you know." "yeah, don't worry. i've lost my own patience about a couple hundred thousand years ago, too."

* chloe, the random human, will change species!

* marinette will be more bold with her affection towards adrien, including be much more physical-- the "bet"/contract will change, too!

* alya will know about The Secret that marinette is hiding!

* nino will actually make an appearance in this fic instead of being a referenced character!! he's too much of an angel for me to just leave out ;_;

* marinette and nathaniel will have a genuine conversation! adrien will hate him anyway! nathaniel will mention that he's been looking for her since she left, and mention the confusion because lila said "you've apologized, you can go home now!" to which marinette goes "what do you mean i apologized? what the hell did i apologize for?" nathaniel will also bring up genuine, valid points about how "making her wait until adrien can tell her the truth" isn't what love is! marinette will actually mention and do something about the synthetics that nathaniel is taking, and bring that plot back to DL like i'd wanted to but forgot about!

* marinette and adrien will also have a genuine conversation! adrien will apologize for making her wait so long while she continued to waste away, all because he couldn't get his act together! "is this why you were leaving for rome?" "it's also why i couldn't tell you, because you'd make a decision based on a time-crunch, not because you wanted to."

* nathaniel will actually be able to say goodbye to her when she asks adrien and luka to come over, instead of just kinda disappearing like in the original!

* more (so much more!) and better (so much better!) smut! including marinette pulling the side of luka's shirt to see his tattoo in the car (like i had wanted to but didn't because that felt too weird at the time), including some [fingers crossed] specific smut that i didn't write because i was too shy to write it at the time. i still am, but i'm hoping the February Me will be a little bit better at the nerves than Last Year Me was-- like, honestly, the amount of places i've tried to psyche myself up into putting this specific idea in has been astronomically high. i tried in DL... i tried in Succubus Giftin'... i tried in Color Coordinatin'... lord. maybe i'll take the chance this time.

alright, that's all i've got. let me know your thoughts-- if you have any suggestions for changes, or anything of the sort. this isn't the full list, but it's like, the big changes? the ones that i'm positive that i'm going to make? these are all the ones that have been super duper bothering me, at least, and are the ones i could immediately think of at the top of my head.

#speakizys #demon lovin

9 notes · View notes

writerwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Could I Need You This Much

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After Bucky is left at the alter he asks you, his childhood best friend, to go with him to Rome so the non-refundable honeymoon doesn’t go to waste. Wanting to support him through his breakup you decide to telework and tag along. There’s a little problem: You’ve always been oblivious about your own feelings until you’re head over heels.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Modern!au, wedding day break-up, language, past injury mention, fluffy... chronically fluffy

A/N: *THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE SHOT* This is my submission to the [belated] birthday challenge for @burninmatches and I chose to combine two prompts from the challenge for this fic. First, the soulmates trope. Second, the song “Head Over Heels” by Tears For Fears ; The beautiful dividers were made by @whimsicalrogers

Bucky was always a quiet person, but you’d never seen him this quiet. You had just stepped out of the bathroom in your cute little tux and mini-bowtie, arms splayed out wide making jazz hands. The proclaimed ‘tada’ fell silent on your ruby-painted lips the moment you saw his downcast gaze at his phone. “Buck? Hey, talk to me, what’s going on?”

Steve was checking to make sure things were good to go; the irony of that, he thought. You would be the one to find him like this. “She broke it off. No wedding.” Those were the only words the Army veteran could muster as his lungs felt like ice and his mind filled with water.

You fell to your knees in front of him, kicking off your shiny black heels and pulling his phone from his hand to throw it to the side. “So let’s go. Let’s get out of here. Steve will take care of the crowd. We’ll get Nat to handle the vendors, she’s intimidating enough to stop them from asking questions. You don’t need to be here. You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. You tell me what to do and consider it done.”

This was what you did with the boys. Steve and Bucky were practically brothers and the three of you were the Musketeers of Brooklyn. You had weaseled into their lives because you had been the talker, the sidekick, the advice giver. Advice...you tried your best with this relationship and though you wouldn’t dare say you told him so, there had been so many bumps along the way. Even sweet Steve had drunkenly said Bucky could do better, about as harsh a judgement as Steve could ever muster. She had drunkenly complained that she hated how close the three of you were, you’d brushed it off. Bucky had been played, taken her back more times than you and Steve could count, and he’d put up with so much to make her happy. ‘At what cost’ was all you could manage to think.

There was a guilt in the pit of your stomach, a little voice in the back of your head, this was your fault. Maybe if you’d spoken up, but there wasn’t time to stay stuck in your own head as Bucky started to pull at his slicked back hair. Grabbing his hands in yours, detangling the mess he made, you pulled him up. “We’re getting out of here, simple as that. If you can’t tell me what to do, I’ll take care of this.”

When his rough hands pulled from yours it felt like he was about to protest, but his hands just went back to his face, blocking you from the sight of fresh tears. It was the first time you’d seen him cry from anything other than infectious laughter. Steve was the emotional one, Bucky was the glue, and you were... trading your heels in for the Chelsea boots you’d worn on your bike ride to the chapel. Grabbing your bag, you shoved in his wallet, phone, anything else that was small and his and put the bag on him. Pulling him to the exit you Gave him your helmet and grabbed Steve’s with little hesitation, a fleeting glance at Bucky’s car covered in hideous ‘just married’ decor. “Just hold on to me. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone bigger than me on the back.”

He didn’t acknowledge you with words, just little tilts of his head, eyes downcast. Even when you started the motorcycle and patted the seat to get on, Bucky marched like a tin soldier to orders. You were grateful for the noise of your bike and the city, and the built in Bluetooth speakers and mic in your helmet so you could call Steve. With a promise to somehow get his helmet back to him and to make up for the shitstorm that he and Nat would have to handle, you hung up and crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and escaped to the one place you knew no one would look for you except possibly Steve, Plumb Beach.

Hand in hand you two walked onto the small beach and you only let go to dig in the bag he still wore for the clothes you’d worn to the chapel to throw them on the sand for the pair of you to have a seat. His eyes searched far and wide, still staying off of you, so to give him some space, you emailed your boss that the three days off next week, your personal time to recover from the partying and subsequent clean up, should just be changed to a full week of telework. With no complaints outside of a joke that you really needed a real vacation, you tucked your phone into your pocket and really looked at Bucky. The sun on his tanned skin, face clean shaven - a rare occurrence, and the lines on his face from years of stress and pain or chronic infectious laughter. As your lips parted to try and weasel the latter out of him, his gentle voice came out in a raspy whisper, “I was looking forward to the trip to Italy. I thought it was going to be a fresh start for us, a new chapter.”

You draped your arm over his shoulder, pulling him close and his chin rested on your shoulder. “Bucky, I know that you know those two things aren’t the same.” Running your fingers through his hair to comfort him like he’d comforted you through your own fair share of breakups, you let out a sigh, “But today it’s okay to let her burn in your lungs and your heart and your head... It’s okay to scream it out or cry. Whatever it takes to not let this moment consume you because you’re going to come out on top. You’re not alone, not for a second.”

When he pulled away you thought he was pulling away for space or going to give some grandiose speech about how you didn’t understand and how he was alone. Instead he was reaching for your hand, pulling you up and, with three squeezes and the corner of his lips you knew what was coming. The quiet countdown, the setting sun, a throwback to junior prom and your ex making out with your nemesis under the bleachers. “One.” You started, eyes on him.

“Two.” His bright blue bloodshot eyes on you.

“Three.” Two pairs of lungs in unison soon empty of air as they let out billowing calls to nowhere.

Two tuxedoed buffoons getting odd looks, Bucky pulling you into his side, and no sound but the waves whispering as you let him process. “Let’s get out of here.”

While you were relieved he was finally stringing along more than a word or two you weren’t sure what he meant. It was the way his eyes seemed to light up like he was having a ‘eureka’ moment. “The last time you looked at me like that you decided we had to take a cross-country road trip before you and Steve left for bootcamp.”

Bucky tugged you back to the bike, “And wasn’t that exactly what we needed?”

Despite your laughter, the knowing that the trip was what you all needed to cope with the gang breaking up, you still recalled how the boys barely made it to the bus on time. Passing him Steve’s helmet with a nod, Bucky pulled it on without shaking hands or hesitation. “Where are we going?”

“My suitcase is in my car. Can you get off work?” You didn’t need to see his expression to know there was a puppy dog look of optimism on his face.

“I actually already did.” As you mounted your bike and Bucky flipped up the visor and you were surprised to see him looking so surprised. “What?” Clearing your throat and flipping your own visor down he got on and you hollered over the engine. “Steve has your keys, too. I’ll tell him to drive it over to you, you can have your suitcase, he can have his helmet. Now where are we going while we wait on him?”

“Yours, knucklehead. You’ve got a bag to pack.”

It wasn’t all that surprising that Steve couldn’t leave on a whim. His job as an art therapist for veterans wasn’t exactly something he put before a social life. As Bucky pulled luggage from the trunk Steve pulled you to the side, “I’m only letting him go on this trip because you’re going. If anything happens I’ll find a way to get there. I’m sorry I...”

Pressing your fingers to his lips you hushed him. “I may not be a therapist, but you two are my best friends. I’m not going to let him lock himself in a bathroom, throw himself off a gondola, or...”

Steve interrupted you with side-holding laughter, “Oh dear, you might need this more than him you uncultured swine. There are no gondolas in Rome.”

“No gondolas in Rome? Well fuck, we better pick a new place to run off to.” Bucky half-smiled as he leaned his head into the door. “We are still putting my non-refundable honeymoon to good use, aren’t we?”

Punching Steve in the arm, you called back at the blonde, “See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya!”

Bucky stayed, talking to Steve for more than a couple of minutes while you flipped through work emails and kept your boss in the loop on the telework situation. All the while, only catching the tone of concern in Steve’s voice, not the words. Before you knew it you were on your way, body scans and bag checks, and with Bucky’s eyes averted you flipped through social media to see if it was safe to let him near his own phone. It wasn’t, at least not yet. It wasn’t just that she had changed her Facebook relationship status or that she deleted the countless pictures chronicling their relationship, it was that she had unfriended every person around Bucky that had put up with her for his own happiness. It made you wonder what happened, but more than that, it made you glad to put an ocean between her and your fists.

The non-stop flight was just shy of nine hours, the ride to the hotel in the heart of the city was another thirty, and as you walked up to the counter to check in Bucky, who managed to restlessly nod off on your shoulder, looked like he was about to collapse. “We’re here to check in, the reservation is under James Barnes.”

It was obvious that they were processing the English, disrupted from their lunch, “Ah, che bravissimo, the American newlyweds! Evviva gli sposi!”

What felt like nine in the morning on no sleep for you was clearly better than Bucky’s experience. So you nodded, thanked them, and passed over the passport and other items clutched in his hand. Once it was all back in your hands with room keys you pulled him along to the elevator and, once again, he surprised you. “Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you took his hand. “Despite what some people think, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a Mrs. Barnes.” Sticking out your tongue to lighten the mood, you left him in the elevator as you pulled your luggage along, “C’mon Athos!” The childhood nickname seemed to draw him from his thoughts and his long legs quickly caught up to you. “Want me to go in first and chuck any romantic decor?”

“Fuck, I didn’t even think about that.” He swallowed at the cotton in his mouth. “No, it’s fine. Hell, maybe there’s chocolate on the pillows.”

Wiggling your eyebrows you slipped the keycard in and pushed the door open, but just as you were about to say ‘dibs’ you saw the room. Rose petals trailed along the floor and the room had the soft scent of clean cotton and gardenias. Faux candles of an array of heights and sizes flickered on every surface. The bathroom door sat open and the motion sensor light kicked on to brighten up a jacuzzi tub and oversized shower with a bench. The small area to sit in had a door out to the balcony with a postcard worthy view and just as you were about to rush out there you saw the bed- the one massive bed and the welcome basket and flowers in the center of a massive heart of petals. “Cliché, but I think we have the chocolate covered.”

“I’ll take the couch.” He was so quick, so matter of fact about it that it almost threw you for a loop and you nearly agreed.

“We could sleep on this bed with all of this on it and still never brush elbows. Besides, we’ve shared a bed before.”

While all of that was true and you didn’t think much of it as you kicked off your shoes and left your bags by the door, something was twisting in the pit of Bucky’s stomach. The fact was that it had always been you, him, and Steve; even on the impromptu road trip Steve was always there. The boundaries had always been crystal clear and now you both were single, had careers, grown up, and now, after everything, there were secrets. “Are you sure?”

“Yup. Go and shower first, Army boy. If I do there won’t be any hot water left for you.” As soon as he was in the bathroom you pulled out your laptop, checking in with Natasha about the vendors and letting Steve know you had made it safe. With it being so early in the morning you weren’t surprised by the lack of a response and set out to clean up the room, all the while keeping an ear open for Bucky needing you. Just as you were about to check on him, your toiletry bag and a change of clothes tucked under your arm, you shrieked at the door opening in front of you. Your fist instinctively punched straight ahead into his stomach and set him coughing. “Shit! Sorry.” As soon as you put your hand on his damp shoulder you saw the familiar intense scarring that he usually kept hidden under a henley or leather jacket. Your thumb brushed over the remnants of the wound that had discharged him from the military before you took a step back, “Okay Barnes, I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“It’s my ego. You hit me in my ego.” He mocked as he straightened up. “Steve can never know this happened.”

Sticking your tongue out you walked into the bathroom and shut the door, a long slow exhale passing your lips. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath and that might have surprised you if it wasn’t for the flushed look on your face in the mirror. It wasn’t blush- or so you swore.

On the other side of the door, Bucky quickly changed and moved around the room setting a few dozen of the candles back on to turn off the harsher light of the bedroom lamps. His eyes stayed on the bathroom door the entire time while his mouth moved from chewing the inside of his cheek to chewing on his bottom lip. Once he’d finally stopped pacing around the room and decided to take a seat the bathroom door opened and you stepped out in leggings and a long t-shirt. Your eyes were on the floor, hair wrapped in a towel so that it didn’t drip onto your clothes. Bucky’s blue eyes stayed glued on the shirt clinging to the damp skin beneath. “I remember when you stole that shirt.”

“Huh?” Looking down you couldn’t help but snort, “Don’t call me out!”

“You always do that,” The corner of his mouth turned up, in a near smile and it was a relief for both of them to feel the tiniest lightening of the mood, a baby-step to normalcy.

“Do what?” Feigning innocence and flopping onto the bed, you reached for a pillow, causing the old shirt to slink up your curves.

“Buy a present that is actually meant for you and, under dubious circumstances at best, you somehow reclaim that gift.” Once the pillow was under your head, Bucky delicately pulled the shirt down and laid down next to you, rolling onto his side.

“I’m pretty sure I had this shirt first and it’s mine, but I knew you liked it so much that I got you the same one for your birthday.” You looked down at his hand, lingering on your stomach, certain it was just that he needed physical comfort, so you placed yours on top.

“Then at Steve’s twenty-first birthday co-Independence Day party you got so trashed you ruined yours. This is my shirt.”

“James Buchanan Barnes! Are you calling me a liar? Are you trying to steal the shirt off of my back?” You laughed so hard the bed shook and just as you settled down, sides aching, his rough fingertips tickled at the bottom of your soft tummy, right at the hem of your leggings and the shirt. “Even if it was yours, and I’m most certainly not saying it is, it’s molded to my thicc-ness now and it’ll never fit you again, Army Boy!”

“My whole government name, is it?” He smiled, really smiled, that glowing dopey ear to ear smile that was contagious. It had nearly been twenty-four hours since you’d seen him smile and somehow you were all to aware of an ache in your bones of missing his naturally contagious light. But that wasn’t what caught you off guard, it was the fact that this smile hadn’t been seen in years and the realization was something akin to going through withdrawals.

The choked laugh and the smile that found your own lips was hesitant, reserved, and held between your teeth. Against your better judgement you reached over and brushed your thumb through the lines on his face. “Does it hurt smiling like that after you haven’t in years.”

The words were whispered, Bucky’s sad blue eyes looked up from the threads of the comforter he was picking at and locked dead on you. When your lips parted to apologize, he leaned in close and pressed his lips to your forehead. “New chapter, remember?” Though your breath hitched in your throat, he pulled away from you, “I guess we’ll have to get used to it.”

“I could get used to it.” You half-yawned. “If we take a nap we might be able to reset ourself and waste less time jet lagged.”

“Background noise of tv, music, or--”

“City!” You finished with an excited smile, already sliding off the bed to open the balcony’s door and let in the sounds of Rome. You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you and thought little more of it than his own curiosity about what the pair of you were going to miss during your quick snooze. By the time you turned around his eyes were closed and he’d jumbled up all of the blankets and pillows to get comfortable. “Too fluffy?”

“Spend years in the desert and try and sleep with all of that.”

Walking up the massive bed on your hands and knees, your tired body couldn’t be bothered to shove it all over the edge. He watched you attempt at climbing under the blankets, curious about why you weren’t looking up to see where you were going. It left you brushing against Bucky and he pulled you to his chest in one of his classic bear hugs. “Careful or you’ll wish you were back in the desert or did you forget that I’m a human space heater?”

“Nah, you missed my big hugs.” The steady cadence of his pulse was already lulling you to sleep. If that wasn’t enough, he pulled the towel off of your head and ran his fingers through your hair. It was an intoxicating sort of magic, a little trick he’d learned comforting his sisters and maybe when you woke up you’d feel played because you should have been comforting him, but the stars behind your lids drew you to a comfortable sleep.

As the two of you zipped around the city on your matching pistachio colored Vespas, Bucky knew he’d really started a new chapter. He could still perfectly picture the confusion on your face when you shocked him by agreeing to set work aside for a sunset zip to hunt down the best gelato. He couldn’t remember the last time you’d looked at him and not known what he was thinking. It was impossible for him to recall the last time anyone had set work aside to live a little, even with Steve. Though Bucky had chalked it up to ‘growing up’ a larger part of him wondered if you wold have always said yes or if there was a bigger reason you would’ve said no- like his ex. The fact was that the ex never even let you ask. That chapter felt a lot like the words ‘missing you’. This one felt a lot like three.

Somehow in the last two days in Italy, tossing coins in fountains, eating copious amounts of bread at every meal, sipping on proper espresso to counteract jet lag; he hadn’t cried or settled into some desperate need to get over his ex by getting under someone else. Bucky found himself delighting in the little things and he realized it was just because you were.

Wine tasted better after watching you bring it to you lips with a hum. Its color was the perfect balance of red and purple as it stained your lips. Then, when you slid it across for him to try it was the melodic sound of your laughter and pleading that convinced him to try something new from his staunchly beer and bourbon alcohol repertoire.

The mere mention of ice cream was no longer summoning the memory of that time Steve started a scrap that he had to end and resulted in you buying the three of them ice creams to cool off in the humid New York summer heat. You’d scolded the both of them so lovingly hard that yours melted entirely over fingers before your first lick. No, it was those fingers now covered in strawberry, sticky-sweet, and the almost inaudible gasp on you lips when Bucky leaned in and licked it off. He swore it was just for a stolen taste, but in the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t.

The laugh that came with the silly gesture, the familiar warmth of it like a hug to him, was more to you. While you swore it because he was being uncharacteristically childish. “I want to say I could get used to this ‘new chapter’ version of you because I love seeing you back to the Bucky that would protect Steve from his own stubbornness and me from my bad... taste, but if you’re going to make me laugh this much all the time... Can a person die of laughter? Is it going to be an oxygen deprivation type of death?” Laughing nervously, glad Steve wasn’t around to read you like a book. The embarrassment truly stemmed from how you loved the feeling of his stubble scratching your skin. Steve would’ve called you on it, that some how, something had just flipped like a switch and you were seeing the history of your friendship in a completely different way. The anxiety was starting to bubble as you question if he did too.

It felt so obvious to you, that the universe was laying the cards out on the table. You both shared silence and sound, space and somehow time- not just time in the sense of being in a new time zone or having shared a lifetime of memories, it was more and as you parked the rental Vespas at the shop and picked up your little bicycles, Bucky pulled you into the biggest hug. You didn’t ask him what it was for or hesitate to hug him back.

The sun was low, the street lamps turned on, and the only barrier between you two were the bikes. Hiding your smile in the curve of Bucky’s neck you could have sworn you heard him groan when you lips brushed the base of his neck at the collar of his t-shirt. “You know where we are?” He asked as he led you around the bike just a little, still holding you until he pulled on your hip to make you look out at the view. A hefty amount of stairs led down deeper into the plaza, flanked by older peach and dusty rose buildings. The architecture was beautiful, but you honestly had been enjoying the company on this trip more than the food and your love of history was always always something you didn’t flaunt. “It’s late and we’ve been dragging each other all over this city since we got here, so I’ll forgive you for not realizing just yet.”

Buzzing with excitement and curiosity he took your hand, lacing his hand in yours and taking you down the stairs a few at a time. “I’ve got little legs!” You laughed, true or not it was always hard to keep up with the soldier’s longer legs. The joke of protest was met with Bucky’s arms scooping you up. You were so tempted to protest, so tempted to tell him that the last thing he needed was to hurt his arm lugging you down some stairs in Rome. Then you saw his smile, the one that reached his eyes and the only thing you could say was, “The stairs! Stop looking at me and look at the stairs, Bucky!”

“I’d never drop you.” He said it so matter of factly and you believed it. “I really want to enjoy this so close your eyes.”

“Demanding.” You chuckled, no longer hiding that you loved it. “Fine... but only since you completely unnecessarily but oh so gallantly walked me down oh so many Roman stairs.”

With a crinkle of your nose you shut your eyes and he set you down shortly thereafter. You swallowed at the dryness in you mouth when his hands found yours again almost immediately. Bucky’s breath shook in your ear, surely from the effort of lugging you around, you swore, biting into your bottom lip waiting for the cue to open your eyes. But he waited, his hands still holding yours and then enveloping you in a tight hug, his chest pressed to your back, his chin over your shoulder. “Okay, now you can open them.”

You didn’t have to read the placard to know Keat’s home. When Bucky and Steve were away for boot camp you’d written them every day, jokingly telling the boys to not become blockheads and to keep each other safe. While the letters were fairly similar, you knew Steve was already hiding doodles on the envelopes, he had ‘his thing’. So you sent Bucky poetry, Keats being one of your favorites. How you’d forgotten the stairs was beyond you, but you weren’t breathing, your eyes stung with happy tears. This was a bucket list visit and your chin quivered as you recalled the emotions of reading you first poem and the worry about losing the boys forever. You’d made yourself sick worrying Bucky would do something stupid to save Steve.

“Hey, pretty girl, this was supposed to make you smile!” Bucky squeezed you in that hug a little tighter and finally you took a breathe and the few tears dripped down your cheeks. “I thought you loved John Keats.” You could only managed a mildly frantic nod as you tried to collect yourself, a soft smile- one too similar to an apology found your lips. “This is you in celebrity shock?” A nudge to Bucky’s side made him laugh and you let go of his hands so you could spin around and hug him tightly back. “Ahhh there’s the reaction I was hoping for.”

“You never talked about the poems I sent you. I just assumed you didn’t want to tell me I was being lame.” Chewing the inside of your cheek you looked back at the building and then up at his bright blue eyes, which were only on you.

“I loved them. They got me through...” The arm, he didn’t have to say it and you squeezed his side to let him know that. What you hadn’t expected was the quiet man that kept his longer chatting to odd things he’d dug up on science threads on Reddit or political rants to make a confession in the middle of the Piazza di Spagna in words that you both shared years ago:

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

Was that what did it? Was that the moment you fell head over heals for Bucky Barnes? It felt irrelevant to label the ‘something happened’ moment when, under the stars and in the summer heat you pulled his mouth to yours and kissed him fearlessly. His hands pulled the two of you somehow ever closer and the only compromise to the separation of your soft lips to his was the gasp for air. The dopey smile on his face as he cupped your face gave you the opportunity to use your words. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Bucky’s fingers pressed gently into your soft skin and he pulled your mouth back to his. He didn’t ask when you knew, you didn’t ask him either, and it didn’t matter. His tongue caressed yours and you moaned into his mouth, your fingers tugging on his cloths, his hair, every inch of you pressing into him until you both were breathless messes again. “I’ll bring you back.”

“Promise?” You didn’t know if he meant to Italy or the Keats-Shelley Museum, but you were too distracted by his blown out pupils and how beautiful his lips looked wet and swollen from kissing you. The thought of that action alone was still dizzying.

“Yeah, I promise, but I have one more surprise.” As your eyebrows drew together in confusion his hands pulled away from your face, where they had been resting gently on your neck, brushing your jaw, leaving a sting of heat in their wake. He took your hands in his and he got down on one knee. Your mouth fell open and you picked it up quickly, but your head lulled to the side like a confused puppy as your heart raced so loudly in your chest that you were certain Bucky would feel the vibrations in your fingertips. “Will you marry me? Steve always knew I wanted this. He swore up and down that if I just took five minutes to think about what you meant to me romantically that I would realize every single person I’d been with never compared to the girl who climbed in my sandbox. I wouldn’t have been left at the alter if I would have realized the only person I wanted at my side was the person I wanted at my side in sickness and in health, good times and bad, was always already there. Yes, you and Steve are my best friends, but I should have realized sooner why there were differences between my friendships with the two of you.”

“Everyone saw it but the two of us.” You looked down at Bucky, his hands may not have held a ring, but it was perfect and it was very much the two of you in your own world. “I guess I need to call Steve to come to Rome after all.”

As if he was reading your mind, he knew what you meant, you weren’t leaving this city without marrying him. Pulling out your phone, you tapped the little phone icon and in one swoop Bucky was picking you up and spinning you around, his lips kissing every inch of skin they could find and you laughed breathlessly. Steve answered on the second ring but the pair of you laughing muffled his greeting. You pulled the phone from your face and saw the minutes counting and you hushed Bucky with a smile and gentle little thwack to his peck. “So he told you?” Steve asked, tone anxious.

“Told me what?” Your eyebrows drew together and Bucky set you down, leaning in to listen to the call.

“He told you she called it off because he wanted to marry you.” Bucky swallowed, knowing that Steve was leaving out the key detail that after somehow getting his confiscated phone back he had drunk texted the Bride-not-to-be and told her as much the night before the wedding. “Is it finally happening?”

“Yeah,” You both said in unison, smiling despite the circumstances.

“Well, only if you can get out here. Someone has to give me away and seeing as how he won’t stand there without you and I won’t marry him without your blessing, it’s a bit of a co-dependent situation.” Bucky muffled his laugh, squeezing your hand before kissing your temple. “What do you say, Aramis?”

Steve let out a long sigh, but you could hear his keys jingling like he was already headed for his car. “Far be it from me to delay the inevitable. I’m surprised you two didn’t take care of this before we enlisted. Y’now, speaking of the three musketeers, does the impulsivity of this make him a D’Artagnan?”

Bucky let out a whistle and jokingly pumped his arm in victorious celebration. “You’ve done it now, Steve. Straight to his head.”

“I have to torture you a little for making me live through a couple of decades of angst and oblivion.”

You could practically hear the approving smile, “See you soon, stupid.”

Unceremoniously ending the call, you leapt into Bucky’s arms and picked up kissing him, drizzling in a lifetime’s worth of unsaid I love yous. Through laughing and smiling, fingers tangled in hair and soft curves pressed to the cold stone wall of the museum, you drank in Rome and Bucky. Each kiss was a vow to no longer letting a moment pass you two by.

All Tags: @tom-hlover

Bucky Tags: @caplanbuckybarnes

#fic: bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #writingmatches #writer: writerwrites #bucky x reader #//listen I really love them and so I may do head canons or something for these two

330 notes · View notes

peeterparkr · 4 years ago

Text

perennial;tom holland|one.

chapter one: yellow chrysanthemums

↳ flower meaning: neglected love or sorrow.

story summary: After the war, Tom let the flowers die of thirst, Harry decided to water dry flowers and Timmy never stopped taking care of his. But flowers speak for us, flowers have meanings. And like flowers, maybe you’ll keep on blooming, it’ll be up to you if you decide to wither. And it’ll be up to you what flower you end up choosing.

chapter summary: the explanation, the flower shop

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: angst

word count: 7.9k

prologue next chapter perennial masterlist.

perfidy ( series masterlist)

wanna be tagged?

hi, first chapter is here, cry with me :) thank you to @peachybloomss for beta reading and being the real MVP

There are flowers that are popular among people. Most of them we don’t know the meaning to. There are the obvious ones, like roses. Romance, love, passion. But roses have been used too many times, it’s a shame, they’ve lost so much meaning. How can something so beautiful and incredible wear out? People who give out flowers without meaning anything barely can see the beauty behind them. That’s the problem with red roses. People now give them out without meaning it.

They usually let them dry out. Yes, that’s the problem. They let the flower die by itself in one empty vase.

Sometimes we give them our meaning. Most times we don’t. We choose them because they’re pretty, because of the colour. After all, they match our personalities. It seems to be a shame when you let something so beautiful die.

Some people like flowers now and then, they use them for seasonal colour. It doesn’t matter then what type of flowers you give them. There are people who give out flowers to ask for forgiveness, some others because they were minded by someone else, some others because they like the pretty smell.

How can someone let something so beautiful die?

That’s the only question Tom had when he heard it: ‘She’s gone.’ Had she given up so easily?

She hadn’t waited. She hadn’t tried to reach out for him. And it didn’t make sense.

Except she had. And Tom was cursing when he hadn’t answered. He still had a voicemail.

“Where did she go?” Tom asked the girl standing in front of him.

“I—I am not supposed to tell anyone,” she said. “However, she asked me to buy daffodils every day to give you, I guess she didn’t think I could only buy some and keep them in a pot, but she told me you give you some daffodils, yeah, if you ever came and look, here they go, good thing I did buy them today.” Cherry—that was her name, handed him some yellow flowers.

“What—?” Tom was confused. He didn’t want to believe it.

“New beginnings,” Cherry grinned. “Take what you want from that—“She was about to close the door.

Tom stopped her. “Why did she go?”

Cherry rolled her eyes. “Daffodils.”

“What—?” Tom blinked.

Cherry sighed. “Daffodils. New beginnings, now—They’re perennial, to take care of them—“

That’s all Tom needed to know, he guessed. New beginnings. But it barely made any sense.

He didn’t want to be rude to Cherry, but he barely paid any attention to her. He really didn’t care about flowers. Just the ones he had bought. What had Cherry said they were?

Chamomiles. Primroses. Heleniums. Yellow flowers.

“Did you hurt her?” Cherry had asked. “Or why did you bring her these flowers?”

“Yellow flowers have meaning to us,” he had explained.

Yellow flowers.

Just like the flower pot in his car. Daffodils. Stupid flowers that gave him no explanation.

New beginnings.

He had left Cherry because he really didn’t want to explain it to her. Cherry was clueless about it. How this was horrible.

Y/N was gone.

Why had she left?

Tom looked back at it. It could’ve been easier. As if he had just walked out of a war zone.

He had noticed how y/n’s apartment had felt cold. And it probably didn’t have anything to do with Cherry or that y/n had left. That apartment felt like it had been freezing for a while.

And even if Tom had known that they had been crushed from the start, he hadn’t expected her to run away. Y/N didn’t do that. Sure, she reserved herself. He knew that she stopped going out, and he knew that she would be alone all the time. But she never left. She never did that.

Y/N was gone.

It didn’t make any sense. She had thrown it all away and they were back in the start. Back where y/n had been. Roles switched. Now there was Tom, hurt.

Tom now knew how it felt to be hurt by yellow flowers. He felt like he was drowning. And she wasn’t there. He felt stupid. Very stupid. Of course, y/n would leave. Y/N was selfish and y/n was stupid.

And he loved her. He was the idiot. He still loved him.

And Tom didn’t understand why this was all so complicated, because he was angry, but he felt guilty. Because he should’ve gone and searched for her earlier. He should’ve read her letter earlier, but pride was stupid.

And it was clear, even if New York had been only for a short time, it was not a hoax. He needed a reason, another reason to love her. Because he didn’t have many reasons to love her, but love per se. He was losing control.

There was Tom, trying to call her but it sent him straight to voicemail. What would Tom do with some perennial daffodils? Let them die of thirst? He didn’t want to take care of those stupid flowers.

Flowers? That was her way of saying goodbye? New beginnings. His life was pathetic now.

He needed answers. He had a pain in his chest, intermittent pressing. This was the first time one of them ever forgave each other. But had they? Because he was angry at her again.

He still had her voicemail. Did he have the courage to hear it?

Maybe there were answers.

“Tom, I know—I know you won’t talk to me,” she started, her voice was cracking. “I—I’m sorry. Maybe you have read the letter I gave to you. You probably haven’t. Or if you did then I guess—It’s lost, isn’t it? I’m just—You’re the only one I care about right now. You were right, I may deserve to be lonely.”

Tom felt a headache growing. She really didn’t deserve it.

“But I don’t want to be,” she continued. “I can’t—I really. A chance was presented okay? And if you—Please call me back. I don’t know if I should take it or not, and I know you don’t care, I know but… I guess I don’t even know I really, really wanted us to work out and I hope you can forgive me someday. I’m just so confused because there’s a chance to start a new life and I’m not sure if I want to. It’s not in London, I’d be leaving and—Maybe it’s for the best, you probably don’t want to see me anymore. I just feel like I’m drowning Tom and maybe this is the only way out. I know there are a million things I should say to you but right now I just—I’m sorry, Tom.”

Did he blame her? It had taken him a while to listen to her. He was hurt, though. She shouldn’t have left. Now he had everything to remember her. Because why had she given him everything?

Maybe it was her way of saying goodbye. She said she wanted to erase herself of the narrative. But it felt… incomplete.

And he thought about it, had anyone talked to her those days? Even if he had been angry. Maybe she really was alone. Because who did she have? Her brother?

New beginnings. Did he need to have one, too? But he didn’t feel like having one. Not right now. Where had she gone to?

He needed answers.

Rome? New York? She wouldn’t.

She said she didn’t want to go back to another war. And in her mind they would be infinite.

He did blame her. She threw everything away, she gave up on him.

But then he thought about it. How this had turned out. He had to look back. Was y/n hurt, too? How hurt had she been?

This time, the last time. How many times had she not felt the way Tom was feeling?

Nothing good starts when someone enters war. Someone will get hurt. And maybe y/n had been right.

Tom should’ve known better, she would be the first one to leave, no matter what. Because it would’ve led nowhere. They had started declaring war and they had walked out of a battlefield.

Had she left with Tim? Had she left because of Harry?

The second question was really the answer he needed to. Tom was, even if it was arrogant to admit, sure y/n loved him. Maybe that’s why all of this didn’t click. She had left.

Though Tom was hurt he wanted her to know this time it was different, this time he really didn’t care about their past. Not the bad one at least. He cared about the one he could build up. Whatever had happened to them, he wished it hadn’t. He needed to look out for her. He didn’t care anymore about this.

Nothing could save him but her. Did he have to move on? Finally move on.

But he couldn’t because they were meant to be and they made sense. And it made no sense.

Maybe y/n had run out of hope. But god, why hadn’t she fought more? She could’ve tried a bit more.

Unless… she hadn’t wanted to. After all she had written the letter before Harry had kissed her. Had it awakened anything in her?

But Harry said it hadn’t.

He waited a few hours to call her again. There he was, on his bed, staring at the ceiling waiting for answers, updating every five seconds every single social media of hers. She hadn’t deleted anything. That was good, right?

But she gave no sign of her new location. So he called her.

It finally rang, a few times. But then—

“Tom,” her voice was low.

He couldn’t speak. He lost his breath.

“Tom? Are you—are you there?”

He hung up, quickly. He couldn’t talk to her. He couldn’t say anything. Why had he called?

She called him.

He answered.

“Tom?” She said again.

“You left,” that’s the only thing he could word out.

“I’m sorry,” she said. He could tell she was already crying.

“What for?” He asked.

“Everything.”

Tom gulped as he sat up. He was nervous, he cracked his fingers anxiously. “Why did you leave?”

She didn’t answer right away, he heard her sigh. “Because knowing us,” she sighed. “This is the best that I could do.”

“Why?” Tom questioned.

“Because Tom—Look where we were standing okay, and—Though I—really wanted this to work, I love you so much but after— I don’t know if it can ever—“

“You gave up.”

She stayed quiet.

“You gave up,” he stated again.

“I’d never give up on you,” she admitted quietly.

“Then what are you doing?” Tom ran a hand through his hair, before standing up.

“Tom maybe this time we were through,” she said. “I—And I know it’s stupid.”

“You think?” He frowned as he paced around the room. “If we love each other—“

“Yes, Tom but we cant pretend that all of this didn’t happen, and look at the way it started okay? We need to heal, completely. And maybe we will see.”

“But right now—“

“Is there really anything we can do?” She asked, she was stressed.

“You could’ve stayed, for starters.”

“I didn’t leave for the sake of leaving, I was going to stay,” she admitted. “Because I thought you would show up.”

“And I did, and you were gone,” he gulped as he plopped back on his bed.

“I had to go,” she sighed. “And I’m going to miss you, god, I’ve missed you all this time.”

“Then—come back, or… I can’t be okay with knowing I let you go again, okay? I can’t.”

“But you didn’t, you did show up,” she gulped. “This one is on me, Tom.”

“Where are you?” He asked.

“Los Angeles.”

“Okay, I’m going, I’ll take the first flight—“

“I—But, Tom I need time. You need time,” she cried.

“Time for what?”

“Healing.”

“Fuck that,” he sat up again. “I love you, I need you. We will heal together.”

“Tommy. Please.”

“No, you're throwing us away,” Tom snapped.

“No, I am not, I love you,” she sighed. “That’s why—“

“What the hell then?”

“Tom we can't start out again with wounds, or else we will end up in the same place,” she explained.

“Is this about Harry?”

Quiet. She went bloody quiet. This had to be about Harry. And that didn’t make sense.

“Y/N?”

“It’s complicated,” she admitted. “It’s not in the way you think okay? you need to fix everything with your brother. He matters more than I do.”

“What the fuck—?” He frowned. “What about the letter? And the DVD?”

“Take it as my collateral,” she said. “I love you, that’s not changing.”

“Do you love Harry?”

“Tom, I had to go because he still… You saw it, didn’t you? He fucking kissed me, and I can’t--I don’t want to hurt him.”

“But you have no trouble hurting me,” Tom pointed out. “I’m right here y/n.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Tom,” she said. “But Tom, we can’t, we can’t pretend it didn’t happen, okay? And I’m gonna go back, okay? I need time to think about everything.”

“Y/N this is fucking stupid we both said it how we hated that we loved each other and never did anything.”

“I am doing something because I love you, I am letting you heal.”

“If you love me then you wouldn’t have left,” Tom snapped.

“If I had stayed, do you think we would’ve worked out?” She questioned him.

“Yes,” he lied.

“You don’t believe that,” she stated.

“So you’re asking me to move on, then?” He frowned.

“I—“ she didn’t say anything.

“Are you?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“So you’re asking me to stay here waiting for you like a complete idiot?”

“No,” she sighed.

“What do you want then?”

“I don’t know Tom.” She was so stressed.

“You want me to see other people, then?” He asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Y/N?”

“I don’t--but” She sighed. “I guess you can do whatever you want.”

“Well, why not be together? if that’s what I want. ”

“I don’t know Tom, we are fighting already, see? This is my point-”

“I’m fucking asking why you left,” Tom said. “I’m… And daffodils?”

She was crying now, he could hear it in her voice and he could hear the deep breath she’d taken.

“I’ll go to L.A.,” he said.

“No, Tom, you’re missing the point,” she sighed. “Just a little time, that’s all I need.”

“No, y/n, you gave up,” he sighed.

She sighed. “Maybe I did! ” she snapped. “But because I thought I had lost everything, and I kind of did, alright? I did one bad thing and I lost everything, and I know, I know, it was bad, but what do I have left, Tom? You do understand that--Maybe I was thinking, hey look at us, we kept hurting each other, and-”

“Y/N you’re making no sense, I’m going to go to L.A,” he stated.

“If you love me you’ll understand why I need time,” she sighed.

He clenched his jaw. “Why L.A.?” He questioned.

“It’s not a hey, I’m escaping to find myself, okay? I actually did have a reason to come here, I’m...Look, originally Cherry told me to switch places with her, then Timmy and Emma--”

“Tim?” Tom frowned.

“They’re coming to LA, too,” she said.

And it made sense, she was crawling back to Tim, that’s what it all was. This was her going to the happy place, just like she had done after Rome.

“Tim, huh.”

“But I didn’t accept their offer,” she continued.

“But Tim?” He scoffed. “You’re throwing us away y/n, literally all the good things, you said fuck them, right?”

“Tom I’m telling you I’m not doing that, are you even listening to me? I- We need to heal.”

He sighed. “And are you listening to me? If you’re gone, how the hell am I supposed to heal? We should work it out, okay? I’m trying to go back to what we were in New York!”

“But that’s not us, okay, not right now, this is us, I know, Tom, I want to… Fuck I know, and I won’t be able to move on, okay? This is not me running away from you, this is me trying to make some sense of myself.”

“And you go with Timmy!” He yelled.

“I’m not going with him!” She snapped. “And even if--He was the only one who acted as a friend, I have no one Tom, I really have nobody maybe I need a friend-”

“You have me!” He pointed out.

“Do I? Am I supposed to go to you when you’re the one I’m crying for?” She said. “I need to--”

“You’re not the only one who’s sad, you know?”

She sighed. “But think about it, will we work?” She questioned.

Now it was Tom’s turn not to answer. He maybe didn’t believe they could work but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to fight for it.

“Honestly, Tom, how many things have we--Have we let go because of each other?” She questioned. “I’m…”

“You don’t want us to work.”

“I do, that’s why we need to wait, okay? Then we can try again,” she sighed.

“This is me trying, y/n,” he pleaded.

“I can’t let myself try something right now knowing I hurt you,” she said. “I can’t forgive myself.”

“And I can’t forgive myself, either,” he admitted. “Why LA?”

“They’re making my script,” she said.

He sighed. “The same script that made this whole mess?”

“Yes, Tom but--”

“That’s just fucking great, y/n.”

“I-”

“No, you’re right, I should move on.” He hung up.

Tom laid down, staring at the window. The moon wasn’t there, neither the stars, only dark clouds. He really wished she hadn’t left. Because he was not going to search for her.

And y/n on the other side of the line wished he really hadn’t hung up, but she knew that it would make no sense on calling him. He had called her just as she had arrived at her aunt’s place, she hadn’t walked into her place yet and had sat on her suitcase as she talked to him. And she couldn’t believe it, she was crying outside a flower shop, with a suitcase and her backpack. The sun was about to set. How pathetic did she look?

So good for her new beginnings.

But she walked in, with barely any emotion left. She wished too she hadn’t left, but there was nothing she could do now, or was there?

Maybe she did want Tom to go and look for her, and she really wished he was as stubborn as usual, and she wished that he wouldn’t listen to her. It’s funny how they never said what they truly meant. Because y/n still felt guilty and that’s probably why she didn’t want to see him, because she feared she’d hurt him again. And y/n was angry, too. She’d done one thing wrong and all had blown up.

How many times had Tom hurt her? He had built it around that. Y/N still needed to heal that. Because even after everything, she was still aching. You know, you can never truly heal from a broken heart. Once your heart is broken, it can’t be mended again. The pieces never really set.

But when will she see him again? Maybe after this Tom didn’t want to see her. And this was her fault, she had left with no goodbye. And she wished she’d given him one last kiss, had she known the one she’d given him would be the last, she would’ve made it last longer. She would’ve treasured it.

And why had he said that? Didn’t he remember? Why and how everything happened? Because she had been hurt, too. But she still wanted him. And she had apologized but he hadn’t, and maybe he didn’t have to, but she wanted to hear an apology, and he hadn’t given it to her.

Why did they always put each other through hell? Why couldn’t she just forget her pride and forget everything and run back into his arms when that’s all she wanted. But she needed to protect her heart, let it heal. And let him heal, otherwise they’d end up in the same place. But they didn’t work, or did they?

That’s the only question y/n had, because they had New York, but it seemed like only part of their imagination, and sure, it had been perfect. But it was like they had ignored it. This was them, the yelling over the phone, the stupidity.

No, she wouldn’t pull any more perfidies and she knew Tom wouldn’t either, but she didn’t know if they could go through it again, she didn’t know if their love would foresee their pain, one can only ignore it for a while. And she knew they’d probably bring it back. Unless they healed, she knew that once Tom healed, he’d rather sleep alone. Because he would see it. Would she, though?

But she hadn’t left because she wanted to run away from him. She had left because there was a chance, and at least she could try to make the script something beautiful. Like they had, their love story. Turn the ugly things into good ones, turn the tears from sorrow into tears from laughter. It definitely wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. And it probably had ended now all because she had left.

But then again, she really needed to make something beautiful out of that mess, and maybe this time, make sure Tom reads it until the end.

She feared Tom would move on, carry on. He had said it: ‘see other people’. She hadn’t even thought about that. She wouldn’t.

But she had to get him out of her head, she needed to see her aunt. She had decided to stay with her until Emma and Tim arrived, they’d look for an apartment for the three of them.

Was that wrong? Living with her ex? But nothing would happen, she knew that. Her heart only belonged to Tom.

How stupid it was, the sky had never looked so pretty. A perfect sunset that was the warm hug she needed. She needed a new beginning.

She wiped off the tears, and walked into the coffee and flower shop, y/n guessed that since it was in LA, it probably had to be more than flowers. A bell rang as soon as y/n had walked in, the smell of coffee and flowers filled up her nose, and the woman working on the counter looked up.

Auntie Eliza, she hadn't seen her in a while. The woman was what you’d expect from someone who owns a flower shop in Los Angeles. She wore long skirts, and her hair up in a messy bun, it seemed like the woman flowed, in a way, she seemed calm, and had bracelets and many earrings, and rings, many rings. So different from y/n’s mother who was a business woman and always very neat looking, but one could see the resemblance. The woman was gorgeous, no wonder Cherry looked like an actual model.

“Y/N, dear,” the woman grinned. “I’m glad you’re finally here!”

She approached her to give her a hug, and y/n only smiled.

“Have you been crying my dear?” She asked right away.

Sometimes it’s easier to let it out on a stranger than on people you’re closest with. They don’t judge. And though she was family, she was merely a stranger. She’d seen her just a few times, her mother and her were not that close and living in different countries.

But y/n never really liked to open to strangers. Or to anyone in general.

“I… No, not really,” she gulped. “I’m probably allergic to the… weather here in LA,” she lied. She looked around the shop, it looked like the perfect place to cry in, to find a new beginning in. It was… just the calm she needed after crying over the phone.

Her aunt laughed. “Oh, let’s hope not! I’ll show you your room in a bit, it’s upstairs if you want to go by yourself, second room to the right,” she said. “I’m glad you’re staying here for a few days, you could help me out with the shop,” she said. “It’s been a mess, really, since Cherry left.” her aunt said. “Let me…” She took out her phone. “I’m texting your mother to let her know you’re here already. How is she by the way?”

“Good, good,” y/n said. “Fine.”

“She told me you really needed a break,” She smiled, looking up. “So I’m going to assume your allergies come from said break you really need.”

Y/N gulped. “I-” She sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You haven’t changed,” Eliza laughed. “Still that same y/n that dresses up like you’re Marty McFly’s girlfriend.”

Y/N grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I guess,” she chuckled.

“I was about to close the shop,” Eliza said as she pranced around the room. “I was going to water the flowers and clean up,” she explained. “Are you too tired or would you mind helping me? It’s okay if you want to rest.”

“No, I’ll… help you.”

She gave her some

That had helped her. Get a little bit distracted at least. Somehow the flowers had her full attention. It was so nice. Except whenever she saw yellow flowers of course. That’s when it stung.

“These ones are pretty,” y/n pointed out as she was delicately touching the petals of some yellow flowers.

“Hm?” Eliza looked up. “Oh, the yellow chrysanthemum,” Eliza nodded. She then stared at her. “Why do you like them?”

“They’re yellow,” y/n said.

Eliza nodded. “Most yellow flowers mean joy,” she explained. “Not those ones, though. Those mean neglected love”

Y/N scoffed. “Leave it to me to find the only ones that mean something sad”

Aunt Eliza watched her. “Flowers speak for us,” she said. “This break will suit you, y/n,” she said. “Your mother told me what happened.”

“She did?” Y/N sighed. Her mother had told her yet nobody had really seen if she was okay. Maybe that was why y/n had run away, if nobody would care then she’d go to somewhere where she could be happy, at least. Or pretend to be, at least. “Funny, thought she didn’t know.”

“Yes, she did” Eliza nodded. “Don’t be hard on your mother, it’s her best friend’s sons we’re talking about, and Elaine was never good with comforting.”

Y/N nodded.

“And as far as I know, you’re not exactly the one to speak the most about your feelings,” Eliza commented.

“No, I don’t speak about them, I write them,” she said. “But that’s what led me to a mess. To do the worst thing I could’ve done, hurt the love of my life and push away my best friend.”

“But it also opened a door to Hollywood,” her aunt pointed out. She walked over. “The chrysanthemum, you know, no matter how sad its meaning is… they still make the sorrow pretty, don’t you think?”

Maybe it was pretty. Time to make her sorrow pretty. Yellow. Yellow meant joy and happiness and cheerfulness. Maybe it was time to change the meaning of yellow flowers.

But she wanted to go back to Tom. She wouldn’t carry on, though.

Tom who probably would move on, who would try to move on. Yes, he would try to. Because Tom couldn’t understand anything.

Tom thought maybe she was right, maybe y/n had robbed him of being happy, he thought about it, how he was always angry because of her. Because he couldn’t have her and when he had they fucked it all up. Except in New York, or Rome.

But that… hadn’t been them. And he wondered if something had gone different, where would it have led?

He looked at the daffodils and then at his phone, waiting for her to call again. She didn’t.

But he made the decision, he had to move on. She had made the decision for both of them, hadn’t she? Maybe she was right, maybe they needed to finally carry on. But he didn’t want to.

The next days were awful. And he kept waiting for another call. She never called him. But he wasn’t feeling alright.

Of course, he didn’t tell Harry, did Harry know? Was Harry aware that y/n was gone?

He didn’t tell Harrison. He talked to nobody. He didn’t want to explain it. Because this was pathetic.

He did go to the doctor, though, he didn’t understand what was going on. With his body, his mind, his heart.

“Your body's going through withdrawal from love. You got used to having this exchange of happy chemicals between you and the person you were with. And now it’s gone and it’s normal to have a physical reaction. You’re experiencing high levels of stress which releases cortisol in the body. You’re grieving, Tom.”

That’s what they had said. He felt stupid after going to the doctor. He hadn’t really believed it, when he had read it. Heartbreaks making him… sick?

How did he not see it? Y/N had said it, how she had gone to the doctor, too. Was this her plan? To make him feel like she had before?

The doctor had said: Let yourself feel, go out with friends. Keep yourself busy.

But he didn’t want to.

With his airpods plugged in the whole time, sad songs to make him even sadder. His heart was aching, because the girl he loved was gone. Because she had given up. He couldn’t stomach it. He did water the flower pot, though. Cherry had warned him they would dry out but that they’d end up blooming again, eventually.

Tom had been spending time with Cherry, the girl was nice. She searched for him, asking him to show her around the city. And for those few days, it kept him busy .It was nice to have someone out of the whole damn circle of hell. It was easier, in a way. Because Cherry didn’t judge him, and she didn’t ask awkward questions about y/n. A new friend, Cherry, she made him smile again, nothing else, she was so different, maybe because she was from outside his usual type of friends.

She was one of the few people that barely knew about Tom and y/n. She knew the whole: “Enemies” thing. But she was making him forget his sorrow. Because Cherry didn’t know about anything else but their childhood, before the yellow flowers.

“What happened with y/n?” She did ask, at one point.

“Nothing.”

“I’m no idiot, Tom, your flowers spoke, and hers did, too,” Cherry said.

Tom really couldn’t tell her. “We both hurt each other.”

“I can tell,” Cherry said. “Her yellow roses and tulips? She was asking for forgiveness.”

“Yellow flowers mean a lot to us, that’s it,” he admitted.

“And what flowers will mean something to us, then?” She had asked.

Tom didn’t even know what she meant by that. And honestly, didn’t know if he could care. His mind went back to y/n.

When things were simpler.

He missed y/n. That was something that he couldn’t help.

Had she stayed, what would’ve happened? Would they have just ignored it and ended up in between the sheets one Saturday evening with rain pouring down? Passionate kissing, with crescent moon shaped scars on his back. Sweat dripping down, and gentle moans, and sighs, and eye rolling toe curling movements. Exploring and memorizing each other’s bodies. Again, and again.

Ignoring everything that could happen and everything that had happened. Them from New York.

But maybe that’s what had saved them back then, not talking about who they really were, because they had ignored everything else in New York. Maybe y/n was right, New York wasn’t them. New York was a fantasy. A fantasy that Tom couldn’t keep out of his mind. But that was not them, not entirely.

This, their yelling, and the ignoring and the pride speaking was them, with problems and fights and ignoring each other. That’s who they were. He couldn’t deny it.

Maybe they were both. And he knew that one didn’t erase the other. But he knew that one was stronger.

But he loved y/n. And maybe her hope was gone, but she was still the love of his life, no matter how horrible this had gone , he could never love someone as much. And he could try. To move on; he had to go on. But how could he? If she was the only thing in his mind.

They hadn’t really tried, if he really thought about it, it’s like they had only had a trial. But now the years didn’t make sense, because even if they’d built up this, he couldn’t deny that they had built it upon insults, and hatred and broken hearts. Maybe she was right.

Did he have to move on? He didn’t want to. However, he knew… that maybe it was for the best.

He really didn’t want to move on, so he had called his agent, because maybe something could work out. And maybe it made no sense, but he could pretend he was okay. Maybe it was because he was greedy, or very stupid, but he wanted her to believe that fine, she had decided to leave, but that he’ll be fine.

He was fine, a nice song would be playing in the background. Believing he was the only one crying.

Was he, really?

Did she miss his lips as much as he missed hers? The dexterity that they’d both shown they could be able of. It was stupid, yelling at the wind for answers. And who else would she go kiss now? That’s what Tom feared, that she’d find somebody else. Or Timmy? Tom wasn’t prepared to see her move on. Because that’s what she’d asked him, to carry on. And though he would forget his sorrow for a few minutes when he was around Cherry, his mind would go back to y/n, and his heart would keep on aching.

But Tom knew he had to talk to Harry, and he went and searched for his brother. Harry hadn’t been talking to him. And Tom knew that if anybody understood y/n was Harry. Though Tom wasn’t as sure.

Tom felt different. All his life he had been told that he didn’t know y/n, but did he really not know her?

Not like Harry. Harry probably was the only person in the world that had learned to understand y/n. Except Tom knew, the only thing Harry had never understood about y/n was why she kept choosing Tom.

Harry had initially not wanted to talk to Tom. He truly didn’t want to. But he had agreed to see him. Their parents had been very careful around them, they were angry at Tom, understandable.

“She’s gone,” Tom said, after a while. They had been sitting outside their parents house, the treehouse only standing there as a reminder for Tom to ache even more. He felt it again, that pressing on his chest. “Left weeks ago.”

“I know,” Harry said, crossing his arms. “Found out the day she left,” Harry told him. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Tom frowned. So Harry had gone to look out for her.

“I didn’t, either” Tom said. “It was too late.”

Harry shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said. The apology seemed simple but it carried too much weight. Tom had never been good at apologies, no matter how many times he had apologized to y/n throughout his whole life he’d never found a way to make them mean what he really meant.

Harry clenched his jaw. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, too.”

“For what?”

“I’m pretty sure she left because of me,” Harry said.

And there it was, the way Harry understood y/n. The way Harry knew y/n head to toe, from the meaning behind her words and thoughts she could get. Spoken words and silences.

“Where did she go?” Harry asked. “I saw her before she left.”

Tom felt… different. Even Harry had come earlier. “What happened?” Tom asked, curiously.

“She initially didn’t want to see me, as if she was hiding from me. She felt guilty. And she-- She,” sighed. “I don’t know.”

Tom didn’t talk.

“I guess I wanted an answer,” Harry admitted. “I didn’t--I don’t know.”

“You still love her, right?”

Harry grimaced as he shifted in his seat. He gulped as he played with his phone. “I asked her what I could’ve done better. If in another lifetime it could’ve been me,” Harry said. “She didn’t have an answer.”

There was that fear Tom had always had, how selfish it was of Tom, he was so arrogant.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again. “I know you are in love with her, and she is in love with you, but I couldn’t help but wonder, you know, the late nights, the laughing, the stories we made, the photographs hanging here and there. The way she knows me and the way I know her, and because the story was built up that way, you know? And now I’m here knowing I fucked it up, because now the weekends will come and she won’t be there, and I know that I’ll find something funny and I won’t be able to send it to her. I will have to watch those movies alone, and I don’t know… I don’t understand my heart,” Harry admitted. “Because I lost her forever, and I know that. And I… I read the script. And I know it, I need her, you know? It’s hard because what I feared the most was losing her friendship and now I don’t have anyone to talk with, she’s the only person I could trust on this, and I can’t believe I fucked it up so much by not thinking about her, about you. I shouldn’t have kissed her. Because maybe, seeing the story now it probably only meant that we were supposed to be friends.”

Tom felt guilty again.

“But you know, even.... Even if I wonder if she misses me, I know… I know that it’ll never be the way she feels about you, you know? And I don’t… want her, too.”

Tom looked away. “I can’t hide it anymore, Harry,” he said. “I know you love her and I spent my whole life trying to make her love you and I guess I never stopped to see how I felt, you know?”

Harry finally looked at his brother.

“And I know it, I’m stupid for doing that, but I still… now I saw it, I accepted it and I wanted it to work this time, and I know that this last time… I just wanted to erase everything I’ve done, but maybe y/n’s right we can’t really ignore who we are, and we can build it up from there and we can’t pretend it didn’t happen, but then she wrote me something and I saw it and… And Harry I...I know you loved her, but I am so in love with her, too and I… I couldn’t even tell her I was sorry, too.”

Harry kept quiet.

“I am so in love with her, and I can’t get why she left is she loves me, too.”

“She did one bad thing and it all blew up in her face, meanwhile you spent your entire life hurting her and no one really gave you shit for it,” Harry pointed out. “I understand why she left. I would’ve too.”

Tom frowned.

“I thought about it, how we didn’t… We were too busy with ourselves blaming it on her and we didn’t stop to see what we did wrong,” Harry continued. “I got angry at her for never telling me about her feelings but I never really said anything either, I got angry at her for not kissing me back when I shouldn’t have done it. Yes, you got angry at her for writing a script where she was taking revenge but you never stopped to think how much you’ve hurt her among the years, and how she’s doubted herself for her entire life because of every single comment you’ve directed her way,” Harry said. “I know y/n, but I still can’t figure that one out, how even after everything she decided to open her heart to you,” Harry scoffed. “I’m not trying to blame it on you, but-”

“I… hadn’t thought about that,” Tom admitted. “But why did she give up just now after we knew we could-”

“Now we both know how it feels to be rejected by y/n,” Harry joked. “Maybe you should read her script,” Harry said. “You’d understand it,” Harry nodded. “You’ve always said she never noticed, but she did, she was the only one to notice that you could have feelings for her.”

“I’m just--I don’t understand how she threw away all our progress, you know?”

“Was she the one to throw it out?” Harry questioned.

Tom frowned.

“Before the… incident,” Harry said. “She told me about the script,” Harry admitted. “And how she had no idea how to tell you, but that she wanted to, she was trying to find a way to tell you but you had already pushed her away.”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then I exploded and did what I did best, hurt her.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you even know all of this?” TOm frowned.

Harry chuckled. “I’ve spent my whole life listening to her rant about you, she never understood you and… I read the script, Tom.”

“I just want to get her back,” Tom sighed.

“And I want Emma back,” Harry said. “But here we are both.”

“Emma, then?”

“Yes,” Harry sighed. “She’s the love of my life and I was stupid enough to get my heart be confused.”

Tom understood, though. He would’ve been confused. Tom himself had been confused about it.

“I guess when Emma threw the ring at my face, I thought--You can’t lose more, you know?” Harry sighed. “But it was stupid to think, I don’t know, I was broken hearted, I dunno, I think I searched for y/n because I was too broken hearted. It’s easy to look for some familiarity you know?”

Tom shrugged. “Dunno.”

“And now I’m… I miss Emma too much, and I can’t seem to deal with the heartbreak, I lost the love of my life and my best friend all in the matter of days,” Harry coughed. “I dunno.”

“So you don’t have feelings for y/n anymore?” Tom questioned.

“I don’t know, but even if I did that shouldn’t fucking stop you, Tom.”

“I-- You don’t mean that.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, because she was supposed to love you, and you love her.”

“I don’t miss her that much,” Tom lied. He didn’t know why he didn’t want to admit it. “How am I--- fuck, I do, and I’ve never felt this bad, I went to the doctor, and I… I still can’t,” Tom knew his voice was cracking and his fingers were shaking. “I just… For the first time, I know Harry, I know you loved her but--”

“No, no,” Harry shook his head. “I… I’d rather let her be happy with you.”

“But it doesn’t matter now, she left and fuck, it’s all shit right now,” Tom said. “And she didn’t accept my… I don’t know.”

“Well, go after her,” Harry frowned.

“She told me not to,” Tom gulped.

“You don’t know her at all, do you?” Harry shook his head. “You know, there’s a part of me that really wants to help you out with this. So my advice is go after her.”

Tom gulped. “I know her enough to know she really doesn’t want me to be there.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “How stupid would it be of me if I helped you get the girl?” He asked to the air, mostly to himself. “I could easily sabotage you, I won’t but… Do I want to help yet another guy get the girl I was in love with my whole life?”

Tom gulped. “I’m not asking for help,” Tom said.

“I know,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t do it for you,” he shrugged. “But maybe that would be my way of telling her I fucked up and that I’m sorry,” Harry groaned. “And if I make sure she knows I was the one to help you and then… If she’s with you, then I’ll be with Emma, and I know that’s the most selfish reason I could come up with but I--I don’t know.

Tom chuckled. “That’s the most selfless selfish thing one could do,” Tom shrugged.

“Where did she go?” Asked Harry. “If I know her enough she probably finally went to Greece, to start her Mamma Mia fantasy,” he laughed. “But guess I don’t know her anymore. And Emma’s gone, too.”

“Los Angeles,” Tom said. “They’re making her script,” Tom explained. “Emma is in LA, too, with Timmy.”

Harry looked up, hopeful. A ray of sunshine hit Harry.

“Tom you do realize that this is even easier than you thought?”

And it probably was, especially with Harry’s new plan or idea or whatever he was coming up with, but Tom really, wasn’t brilliant. Because maybe it was easy seeing it all from outside the problem. But Tom hadn’t been careful. Tom never stopped to see his actions.

And y/n, she really didn’t want to move on. She had continued to work at the shop in her free time, she liked to be surrounded by flowers. Learning its meaning and drinking coffee, making corrections to the script, helping her aunt.

Maybe it really was fine making her sorrow prettier, and she really was trying to keep herself busy, going out, having fun or pretending to have fun, with her new roommates, Tim and Emma.

Pretending to be fine. Not wanting to move on just yet. And she wouldn’t have made the decision to move on until she had seen it, and y/n thought about it, how she wasn’t the kind of flower that was popular among people, she wasn’t the type of flower that people knew the meaning to. And maybe she finally understood how it felt to finally die out of thirst.

Maybe y/n shouldn’t have gone back on social media, and maybe it had been a mistake to follow her cousin’s Instagram. She probably should’ve gone out with Tim and Emma instead. She wouldn’t have seen it, and realized that maybe Tom had let the flowers she’d given him dry out.

A picture of Cherry’s lips on Tom’s cheek had taken away the little hope y/n barely had. As if someone had drowned her in her room and there was no escape. Funnily enough, drowning and everything, y/n thought about it, maybe she was the kind of flower that people let die of thirst in an empty vase.

prologue next chapter perennial masterlist.

perfidy ( series masterlist)

wanna be tagged?

tag list @spidxrparkxr @mukesnugget @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover @happywolves81 @sentimentalquackson @applenter @silver-winter-wolf @dark-infernal-instruments @claredolphinbear24 @bookgirlunicorn @tomshufflepuff @avengersgirllorianna @nevertoofarfromivar @saintlavrents @herofiennestiffinashardinscott. @tomzfrog @tomzfrog @tohollandback @awkwardfangirl2014 @spideysimpossiblegirl @everythingbooknerd @xapham @xapham @xapham @tomhollandisagod @danicarosaline @laurfangirl424 @vintageroses1014516 @cinnamon-roll-peter @the-lost-fairy-tale @lala-florez @lala-florez @healthyassdonut @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo @socorroann @muffinmari25 @cassindeansass @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious @southsidespideyy @nathaliabakes @nathaliabakes @marvelstuck @embrace-themagic @bradfordbantams @sanniegirl1214 @softholand @softholand @fairytaleparker @underooling @griff1ndor @griff1ndor @thatweirdomimic @avengersgirllorianna @reginalaufeyson-holmes @better-daisy @yeahimcrying @allmonstersxarehuman @spider-manholland @itstaskeen @itstaskeen @georiaang @sebxstianbarnes @kissingtrutharchives @snoopy3000 @prettymessygurl @spideyparkerstark @fanfic-4-you @lexshead @officiallyunofficialperson @mannien @whitewolfandthefox @melodiclovesong @bizzlepotter @localfangirlx @localfangirlx @acceptance07 @witchythingscore @witchythingscore @swaggyspiderman @localfangirlx @queengemsworld @liberty0123 @stiles-banshees @itsjusttor @stretchkingblog97 @annathesillyfriend @dangerousluv1 @tomshufflepuff @thewayilookatbacon @petersdiaries @emjaywrites @swaggyspiderman @infamousmany @jungeunave @forevermore-euphoria @ispiderdudei @ispiderdudei @literalfsngirltrash @quacksonhq @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @desir-ae @desir-ae @unbelievableholland @peterporkpie @justanotherusername80 @smolpeachees @thenoddingbunny-blog @quackeroos @spideyyeet @astoldbydanid @astoldbydanid @hollandcreep @hollandcreep @milly7110 @milly7110 @rubberducky-jrr @rebekkah4766 @farfromtom @farfromtom @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @coveredinthemessimade @shameless-self-promo-of-a-shrub @sweetiesangster @thatdamjoke @annathesillyfriend @l0ove-sick-blues @witchythingscore @witchythingscore @bookworm06 @sandtopearl @lala-florez @ohfudgeiamgorgeous @chaoticpete @shezzalocked @ @lowkey-love-loki @harrysleftchelseaboot @cosmicholland @frenchfrostpudding @badbitchydecisions @w4ybefor3nir4na @americaswritings @ilovepeterparker13 @lukesbabylon @iamaunicorn4704 @iamaunicorn4704 @simple-things @oh-annaa @sip-portteam @herondale-snow-carstairs @t-holland2080 @tony-starks-ego @quaksonhehe0 @stargazerholland @marvelslut-musicalnerd @hotrubycrab @sovereignparker @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash @belleknows @mysticalinsomniac @nycparkers @nycparkers @anythingthaticareabout @spn-assemble-seven @tanyalooovesyou @somethingchaotic @heartofholland @peachybloomss @youcompletemesk @emyla3305 @emyla3305–butt @hollandstanevans @farfromtom @farfromtom @southbeachfeeling @eridanuswave @tonguetiedholland @wolvesofthewinter @quacksonobrien @dcnerd98 @ifntelyinspirit @electraheart-3174 @julialucena5 @itsmilamawson @harryssuckz @unabashedlyhardkitty @xstarbae @xstarbae @tiredfeels @peterbparkerrwrites @averyfosterthoughts @darethedragonknights @hannahholland1811 @justanamesstuff @emyla3305 @abbiefangirls247 @onewithnomightypowers @itscaminow @youllbemineandillbeyours @hotrubycrab @spidey-holland-96 @awkwardnesshabitat @chloecreatesfictions @primadonnasdream @slytherinambitious @maybecharming @where-art-thau-romeo @viagracex @viagracex @sspidermanss @pcterparxer @whatevshollandarchive@aleyabee @applenter @lovewolfspirit @viagracex @xallyouneedislovexx @panicattheeverywherekid @pcterparxer @getthatfireexitdoor @redhoodparker @scarlet-mind @cakepopcriss @allthisfortommy @aleyabee @perspectiveparker @let-me-luve-you @xxpeachyxo @m-a-r-i-n-t-p @superstarchick @notjustpenandpaper @morbiddanvers @runaway3 @runaway3 @peterbxrnes @the-crazy-fanfictionist @lu-morningstar @th0ttie4tommy @riasaurusrex @riasaurusrex @frustratingpaperclip @readheadwriter @geesquariid @noxceleste @a-mnd @peterparker-rickybowen-mybabies @witchything @peterporkpie @bookworm06 @panicattheeverywherekid @imthefloor @ohmyquackson @seaveyheartful

258 notes · View notes

getting-used-to-different · 3 years ago

Text

My problem with #SimonsNotWrong

Note: This is being written before the finale of season 2 has been released. Hopefully, the final episode will resolve these issues and I can delete this post in peace. Please read my entire post before responding and stay respectful ;)

With that said...

I have a few issues with #SimonsNotWrong (and I'm mostly responding to this video). If you have no idea what I'm talking about, here's the rundown: in Season 2, Episode 3 of The Chosen, Simon P confronts Matthew about his life as a tax collector prior to meeting Jesus. Several people thought that Simon P was overly harsh, which prompted the director Dallas Jenkins to respond in the video I linked above and start the campaign #SimonsNotWrong in defense of what Simon said in that scene.

I don't disagree with the scenes in S2E3 on their own, only the way that Dallas insists that Simon was right up until the point that he refused to forgive. Now I know I'm a bit biased; one scroll through my page and you can tell that Matthew's character is a favorite of mine. But I really do understand that Matthew's job is a major problem, I get that he went above and beyond to help a horrible empire, I get that he lived in luxury while his people starved, and I do believe he needs to repent to God and possibly to the people that he hurt as well. In fact, like Dallas, I do think that most of what Simon said is factually correct.

Yet, Simon is wrong to condemn Matthew for a plethora of reasons. There's the fact that Matthew LEFT his life as a tax collector. There's the fact that Simon himself broke Jewish law, betrayed his people, and hurt his family in Season 1, episodes 1-4. There's the fact that Matthew was thirteen when he was recruited by Rome (I don't care if the culture thought he was old enough to choose a trade, he was still an immature child who was taken advantage of by one of the most powerful empires in human history). But the biggest reason is this:

Of course, Simon was only thinking about his own perspective, which is human. I'm glad the scene exists because it represents how humans see each other and why we need Jesus. But Simon was wrong. Jesus is the only one who can handle this correctly, in my opinion, but I don't think it's fair to justify Simon and vilify Matthew instead of holding them both in the wrong. Simon IS wrong, and Matthew is wrong, because everyone is wrong because all have sinned.

For some of the same reasons, I don't really like when Matthew says "I'm a bad person" in S2E6. Well, I'm ok with him saying that, but the way that Dallas talks about it in this "Come and See" show interview makes it seems like it's supposed to be a good thing. There's a difference between saying "I've done bad things", "I've done horrible things", or even "I was a bad person" and "I am a bad person". "I've done terrible things" is an admission of guilt, and it shows that you take responsibility for what you've done. Guilt is natural and you learn to work through it. But "I am bad person" is a statement about your worth as a human being. The point of the line is that Matthew is lifting Mary up by showing her that he's not perfect either, and that's beautiful. But instead, I saw a level of shame that is not healthy. Especially after he's turned to Jesus.

I know that some people are upset that Matthew hasn't apologized, and I agree that he should regret his past actions. But as someone who struggles with depression and self-loathing myself, I see it as a problem that this level of negative self-talk is promoted as a good thing. I can't accept that after you've stopped the problematic behavior, and after you've left everything behind to follow Jesus, you should still think of yourself as a bad person.

Shame is not productive or beneficial. Healthy guilt tells you that you need redemption, and it leads you to God. Shame tells you that you're incapable of redemption, and it drives you away from God. Shame is what Mary M is feeling at that moment. Why did they let Matthew disparage himself when they're trying to say that Mary shouldn't disparage herself? Why is it a good thing for Matthew to think badly of himself for what he did, and yet it's a bad thing for Mary to think badly of herself for what she did? There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1). No condemnation for anyone, back then or today. None whatsoever. Shame is not spread in the Kingdom of God.

The thing that irks me is that the show knows this, the writers know that shame is unhealthy because in the show, Jesus is always telling people to "look up" instead of hanging their heads in shame. They did Mary right when she went astray (Jesus told her she didn't have to be perfect and to look up, S2E6) and they did Simon P right (Jesus tells him to look up when he calls himself a sinful man, S1E4) and they did James and John right (Jesus jokes with them after their mistake, S2E1). I just need them to do Matthew right.

But wait a minute...they already had "Matthew done right". The writers already wrote the perfect mindset for Matthew, way back in Season 2 Episode 2:

That is exactly how he should think now that he's turned away from his old life. Even Simon P is speechless for a moment because he knows that Matthew is right. So why would you have him revert? Why should he go backwards from acceptance into shame and guilt? And if you are going to have him do that, why would you promote it as a good thing?

I was originally going to hold this back until episode 8 came out because I want to see how Jesus will handle this. Hopefully, Matthew will get his "look up" moment and everything I said will be null and void. Fingers crossed.

I hope no one thinks that I'm angry at the writers or that I don't like the show, because I absolutely love it. If I didn't like the show, I wouldn't have spent this much time on a blog post. But what I believe about the God's redemption is more important than a TV show, so I just had to say this :)

#kisses not disses #unpopular opinion #feel free to disagree #the chosen discussion

18 notes · View notes

everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years ago

Text

PROMPT

20. “Why are you crying?”

Johnny “Coco” Cruz x Reader

Anon asked: again my love ❤️ the first one 20.why are you crying, Angst with coco 💚☺️

Word Count: 3.5k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Warnings: this shit was painful fo' me. Feeling angst.

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits to: @angels-reyes

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento 💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

“Yea', she's really a nice gurl'”. Coco shrugs his shoulders, sitting in his chair in front of the bonfire, with his brothers surrounding it too. “I just met her at the market and we just were talkin'... And, man... she's da' one, I felt it, I feel it”.

It sounds like a knife ripping off your chest, opening you up, while you have to show him your fakest smile. Yes, you're happy that he finally found someone who can love him unconditionally. As you do. But without being you. Creeper and Angel have his gaze on you, sitting by Tranq' side. Your father has an arm over your shoulder, narrowing you without drawing too much attention. They know what's in your mind. They know what's inside your heart.

Coco and you have been friends for the last six years, when he joined the Mayans. You two had a special connection since the first time you crossed your gazes. He's wonderful. He has an amazing mind, full of paranoids and good advices. He's kind, funny, a born listener, empathetic and sincere. He has taught you a lot of things to face life and he always has taken care of you. As you did, with every wound, every shout, every cold, every mental break down. Together in the good times, but especially in the bad ones, when his life looks like hell, when he doesn't want anyone around, when he hate himself so much that he just wants to end with everything. You're there, holding him, loving him.

And you can't blame him for meeting the love of his life at the market. You can't blame him for not loving you back. You can't blame him for just seeing you as his best friend, as if you were one of his little sisters. And you can't even blame him because he canceled your day off together, just because he wanted to spend the sunday with her. In life, sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose.

Without a word in your lips, you get up of your chair. He doesn't even stop talking about his girlfriend, he doesn't even look at you very concentrated in telling his brothers how good was their first date. Keeping your hands inside your pockets, biting your inner lip, walking towards the clubhouse to have some minutes alone to alleviate pain. Closing the door after your steps in, you grab the Jose Cuervo and a small shot glass sitting at the table. You serve and drink, serve and drink. Six time. Six shots ripping bittersweet your throat with the tears falling down through your cheeks.

“I'm sorre'”. Angel is behind you, but you can't even turn at him.

“For what?” You shrug, unable to feel anything other than sadness.

“You know why”. Palming your head to make you get up, he adopts your position pulling you to his lap.

You can't help crying, when he wraps your waist and your arms between his, resting your body against his chest. You feel unconsolable, and you want to hate him, to stop feeling what you're feeling. But you can't. Angel caresses your arm, trying to make you feel better even if he knows he can't. Leaving a kiss on your temple, he holds you tightly with a heavy snort going out of his throat. He also doesn't know how Coco never noticed it before, it was too fucking clear.

“Hey, what's'ap? Why are you crying, mami?” The king of Rome leans towards you, bending by your side with a hand touching yours.

“No—Nothing, don' worr—worry”. You say, as the bad liar you are but used to hiding what happens. Getting up of Angel's lap and cleaning your tears, you try to smile. “Just an... exam. I thought I would get mo—more grade”.

“That's why you cry? C'mon, baby, you're the most intelligent kid on earth”. He says putting an arm on your shoulders, hugging you slightly. “Take a break, it's okay if you don' get it, you study a lot”.

“Yea', I know... I know”.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

It's been almost five months since that night. You continued acting like it didn't affect you, coming back from San Diego every weekend with the hope to share a Sunday off with him. But he started to cancel it. Coco stopped calling you everyday, as he used to, turning your talks into some random texts every two or three days, one week, two weeks, until hopefully you talked a few times a month. It was painful seeing how he was pushing you away and by one hand you understood him. But not by the other. You have been with him in his good and in his worst. Even so, you still can't blame him.

Because of that, you never came back to Santo Padre, being visited by the crew one time per week. And you, stupid, always hoping he would come. But he never did. And you know that you lost the battle his morning' birthday, when you call him to congratulate him and tell him that you had a present, and it was his girlfriend who answered the phone, telling you that he didn't want to talk to you. Your heart broke into thousand pieces, nodding in silence before hanging up. Of course, you didn't go to his party, spending the day drinking in your flat in San Diego. Maybe he finally noticed it and that's why he didn't want to have anything with you, because he didn't want to have any problems with his girlfriend. So, you just tried to understand it and giving him whatever he wanted, as you always did. Even if that was killing you slowly.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Another college year is finished, so you're coming back to Santo Padre for the summer. You have to take a deep breath, before crossing with your car the entrance of Romero and Bros. straight to the clubhouse. All the bikes are there and you feel like your heart turns when you see his. Parking next to them, you get out of your car putting well your clothes on, walking nervous towards the front door.

The crew receive you between cheers, kisses and hugs. It's been five months and you still feeling the same pain consuming you, getting worse when you see him sitting in a corner with his girlfriend hugging him over his lap. Coco's face turns to some serious gesture, not even saying ‘hi’, ‘how are you’, nothing. Angel brings you a beer, holding your shoulders with a tattooed arm, to guide you outside towards the porch, sitting on the stairs.

“You ok?”

“Of course 'am not, but... what else I can do? I tried, Angel. I wrote him everyday, I called him, but he chose that girl. And it's okay. You don't always win”.

“I'm sorre'bout what's happening. He also changed with me, because I told him I used to go 'see you every weekend to San Diego”.

“And why he cares?” You ask frowning, having a sip of your beer. “You're my friend. And he decided he didn't want to talk with me anymore”.

Angel turns his face towards you confused, not knowing about what you're talking about.

“He stopped calling and texting me”.

“Did he...?” Something seems not to fit.

“Yes, he did. I also called him for his birthday. I was ready to take my car and drive back here, to give him his present”.

“Did you...?”

“The fuck is wrong with you questioning all I say?” You take off of your pocket your phone, showing him all the unanswered messages and the times you called him and he didn't answer. “See? I get it, Angel. He has a girlfriend now and he doesn't want to make her feel jealous, or... whatever. I just want him to be happy. And I'll keep myself away”.

There's something on Angel's face that you can't decipher, but he doesn't say anything. He just nod drinking of his beer.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Maybe a Mayan party is not where you want to be, but your father asked you, so did the crew. It’s been a long time since you spent some time with them, so you thought that you could make somekind of presence for one or two hours, at least. You’re sitting between your father and Angel, while the guys are talking about something that happened in the last travel they drove to Arizona. Some chairs away, in front of the bonfire Coco holds Sara above his lap with both arms wrapping his body, sharing hugs and kisses as if no one of you were there. You don’t even know why they are here, if they don’t want it. The oldest Reyes feels the tension running through your body, holding your hand and tangling his fingers with yours to raise them and kiss the back of your hand. You leave a heavy sigh flies off of your lips, supporting your head on his left shoulder, drinking the beer his offering you.

“So, wha’bout you, guys?” Hearing the feminine voice with humorous tone, straight to you two, you can’t help but roll your eyes.

She trying pushing you into Angel, at the minimal dearly gesture between both, is something that you know would happen. And by the look he gives Sara, you know he’s about to explode. But you stop him, placing your free hand on his chest calling for his attention. You shake your head, begging in silence. But he lose his brother too. And it’s not fair.

“Yo’, my girl made a question”. Coco says then, being the flame that was missing to light the wick.

Angel leans on his chair, supporting his forearms above his lap with a petty smile on his lips.

“Hey, Sara, let me answer you with another question”. Angel’s voice is turning to somewhat funny, enjoying the moment, even if you don’t understand what is happening. “How many (Y/N)’ texts you delete of Coco’s phone?”

Silence. All the gazes turning to her, you dying inside because of the shame and the confusion.

“The hell are you talkin’bout, man?” He asks turning at his girlfriend frowning.

“All those nights you were fuckin’ crying as a fuckin’ child. All those nights you got drunk telling me that you gave (Y/N) the best of you fo' nothen'. All those nights blaming me for no reason. It wasn’t she. It was your girlfriend”. You can’t believe what he’s saying, leaving the beer on the floor. “(Y/N) showed me all the text she wrote you. The hanged up calls. Do you know she called you for yo' birthday? Do you remember what happened that day?”

“Wh—What?”

“He fuckin’ broke ma’ nose ‘cause he thought that I poisoned you ‘bout him. But what nobody knew is that you had called him. You answered the call, rai’, Sara? You told her that Coco didn’t want to talk her anymor’”.

“Are you fucking kiddin’ me, bitch?” Tranq is getting up of his chair, as she does. “Did you made my daughter believe that her best friend broke his heart, all this time, just because you wanted to set them apart?”

“She did ‘cause (Y/N) is in love with him since ever”.

The crew is staring at you with your gaze on your feet, biting your lower lip.

“You’ve to be kidding, papi”.

“Ask your girlfriend, man”.

Coco gets up of his chair, full of rage and wrath. Sara is sobbing trying to explain herself, but she doesn’t have any defense.

“Give me your phone”. The man walks towards you with a raised arm, and a hand waiting for it.

“I do—”.

“Give me your phone!” He shouts at you, so you give him with trembling fingers.

He unlock it having a quickly look of all the text you sent him, all the calls you made. Everything. He doesn’t know how to feel, even if he’s falling down into pieces right now, looking at you with incredulous eyes. Nobody says anything. No matter who is your father, nor if Coco is a Mayan. It’s a trouble between three people, nobody else.

“Get the fuck outta’ my club. Go to my house. Pack your things. And leave Santo Padre before I regret letting you alive”. His voice is rough, loud and clear. A firm tone of voice that does not hesitate.

“Coco, listen…” She begs, trying to walk closer, being blocked by Angel.

“Leave”.

You can't move a single inch seeing how Coco walks inside the clubhouse, coming back some minutes after when his, you hope, ex-girlfriend left the Mayans yard between tears, curses and yells. Your father is trying to make you feel better by leaving some caresses on your back, while the crew sighs alleviated 'cause seems like they saw her as a trouble too. The mexican offers you a hand with the other holding your phone. Tranq pushes you softly to go with him, following towards your car.

Coco drives in silence, leaving behind Santo Padre till you're close to the border. He stops on a side of the road in the middle of the desert, then he gets out of it, sitting on the hood and lighting a cigar in his lips. You can see him through the glass reading all your messages, where you told him that you were sorry for anything that could bothered him. Where you told him how much you care about him and his happiness. Where you told him that you missed him. All those messages that started talking about your days in San Diego or remembering old times, continued with you asking him to forgive you, and finished telling him that you never wanted to end like that, that you never wanted to end your friendship, believing that you were the one who fucked up the love between both. The last text was something like ‘I'll set myself apart, 'cause everything I want in life is see you being happy, no matter if you're with me or not, I have always loved you and I'll always going to do it”.

Getting out of the car, taking some time and doubting about what to do, you leave the door opened. Your feet move slowly towards him, looking how he's watching all the calls that he didn't hang up. All the calls Angel was talking about. Till the last one made in his birthday. But noticing his tears, you stop your steps. He throws away the cigar, letting go the smoke as a painful and silent howl, supporting his hands on his thighs and leaning forward.

“I'm so fuckin' sorre'”. He sobs with a broken voice, turning his gaze to you. “I'm so fuckin' sorre'”.

You can't say anything, biting your lips about to cry too.

“I left you alone. I left you alone with all this shit in yo' heart. It's feels like… I fuckin' betrayed you fo' a fuckin' pussy”. He says with a taut voice, getting up of the car to face you. “I thought you were mad at me 'cause 'her, 'cause all this time you only… wanted me for some quicklies or shit like tha', and when you lost the chance, you just left me”.

You shake your head with trembling pursed lips.

“All this time… you were in lov' with me. But why? Why you left me? Why you didn't tell me, ah?”

“You looked happy with her. And that's all I wanted, Coco. Your life has always been a tragedy, till you met her. Who was I to spoil something like that? I thought we could still being friends. I thought I could be strong enough to be her friend too, so I could stay by your side. But then… you started to pushing me away, and I'm not blaming you. She was your girlfriend and you wanted to be more time with her. So… I just kept myself in the background”.

“You didn't keep yourself in da' background. You left Santo Padre”.

“'Cause it was painful seeing how I was losing my best friend, and my fuckin' love! What the hell was I supposed to do, ah? Stay here? Trying to rebuild my fuckin' heart shattered? For what? For… maybe a gaze? Maybe a smile? It wasn't fair, Coco”.

“I was waiting ya' in my birthday. I passed all day holdin' my phone, waitin' for your call thinking you forget it 'cause your final exams”.

“I called you when I woke up. I was getting dressed to take your present and drive towards here. Then, Sara told me you didn' want to talk. So, I ju—just got drunk looking our photos, and watching our videos together, trying to figure out the point I fucked up everything”.

“You did?”

“Yea'” You nod taking your phone off of his hand to keep it in your pocket, before crossing your arms on your chest. “I never wanted to hurt you, Coco. Only made you happy”.

“You did it like shit”.

“You fuckin' broke my heart. And you also thought I just wanted your fuckin' cock, as if it is the golden one”.

“And I'm sorre'bout that. I don't wanna lose you again, (Y/N)”. He grabs your forearms, opening them to push you into his body.

Finally, after five long months, he's hugging you again. You close your arms surrounding his neck, sinking your head on it and closing your eyes to focus on his smell and his heartbeat. You're feeling how the pain is fading as he holds you tighter, leaving some kisses on your head.

“I missed you so fuckin' much, mami. So fuckin' much”. He whispers, making you cry softly. “I love you. I need you. Living without you has been an agony. I'm so sorre'bout the shit I made you, I never meant to do'et”.

“It's okay, Coco…” You mutter pulling him away, putting your hands inside the pockets of your jeans.

“No, it's not. Don'... Don' do that again. Shout at me, mami, tell me tha' I'm an asshole, a shithead… Whateva'. Why aren' you angry?”

“'Cause sadness won that battle. I just kept the good feelings about you, even if I was fuckin' sad trying to type your number by heart, to call you again even if you weren't gonna answer”.

“I love you, (Y/N). I've always don'it. And I just… feel fuckin' stupid. But this is not gonna happen again, you hear me? No secrets, no hiding feelings. Tell me you're gonna stay, please”.

You nod in silence, confused about how you should feel right now. He takes the step placing both hands on your neck, pulling you closer so he can kiss you. You've been waiting for this almost seven years and you can't believe it's already happening. Tangling your fingers on his black flannel shirt, you take some air by your nose, moving your lips has he does in a lovely and softly way. He tastes like tequila, you taste like beer and it's the perfect combination, drowning a low gasp on his mouth when his tongue sneaks into your finding your saliva and your own tongue. Bristling your skin, he lifts you up after his hands travels to your thighs to sit you on the Mustang' hood.

“My fuckin' mami, all mine”. He sighs resting his forehead on yours with closed eyes, and your legs wrapping his waist. “Shit, I'm fuckin' in love with ya' since ever. 'Amma fuckin' idiot”.

You don't want him to continue apologizing for something that it was out of your hands, pressing your lips against his again. The tip of your tongue caresses them, kissing every single inch wanting to make him feel better. You know the nightmare is over, feeling how life comes back to you, feeling the butterflies and the tickles in your stomach being under his tattooed arms.

“We were on a party, you rememba'?” He asks pulling you away to regain his air.

“You wanna com'back?”

“Just to have some tequila and go home with you”.

#mayans mc #mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #johnny coco cruz x reader #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz

192 notes · View notes

calumcest · 4 years ago

Text

couldn’t make it more obvious could you (be any more obvious)?

this is my birthday present for the wonderful brilliant @clumsyclifford i don’t wanna get too emo in the a/ns especially because i just wrote an incredibly long a/n out and then accidentally deleted it still slyly fuming about that but anyway enough about my technological incompetence i love you so much you deserve the entire world and i’m sorry this is all i can give you of it i’m so grateful i know you and so honoured to have you in my life loving you truly is a privilege i adore you and i hope you have the best birthday you can possibly have also can you BELIEVE i found vegas lyrics that i haven’t used for a fic title yet this is the EIGHTH fic i’ve ever written named after lyrics from vegas THE EIGHTH

(also i have to give a cheeky thank you to @kaleidoscopeminds for listening to me scream about this tonight and watching me slowly spiral while listening to right here right now by fatboy slim on repeat for like an hour straight ily meg you do gods work you truly do)

It all starts by accident.

They’re in Paris, or maybe Rome, or maybe Budapest, when Luke decides the bad mood Michael’s been in all day will be greatly improved by him tossing an opinion about Red Rock chips into the mix. Calum and Ashton both groan loudly as soon as he’s said it, knowing what’s coming, and Michael’s head snaps up from where he’s been scowling at his phone in the corner, eyes already narrowed, finally getting the fight he’s been spoiling for all day.

“Are you fucking serious?” he demands. “Sea salt is better than sweet chilli?”

“Well, yeah,” Luke says, with a shrug, like he hasn’t noticed the way Michael’s brow has furrowed, or the glower he’s sending Luke’s way. “It’s the simplicity, y’know?”

“The simplicity?” Michael echoes incredulously. “The simplicity?” He stares at Luke for a moment, righteous anger etched on his face, and then turns back to his phone, and starts typing something furiously.

“What’re you doing?” Calum asks, a little warily. Michael, a bad mood, Luke riling him up and the internet are usually a bad combination.

“Adding to my list of reasons I hate Luke,” Michael says, and Calum’s face clears, and he nods. Luke frowns.

“What d’you mean, your list of reasons you hate me?” he says, like he’s not sure whether he should feel offended or upset. “You have a list?”

“You don’t?” Ashton asks, sounding a little surprised. Luke stares at him.

“Why the fuck would I have a list of reasons I hate myself?” he asks. Ashton shrugs.

“It’s good to be self-aware,” he tells Luke, who stares at him for a moment, looking torn between indignation and disbelief, before rounding on Michael

“What’s on your list?” he demands.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my list. Keep your own.” Luke opens his mouth, brow furrowed, ready to make some kind of furious retort, but Ashton gets in before he can succeed in his mission to piss Michael off further.

“D’you want to hear mine?” he offers mildly. “Yours is the shortest of my lists.”

“You have lists on all of us?” Calum says, and Ashton nods. Calum just hums, mulling it over. It’s fair enough, really. He’s only got one on Luke, because the things that annoy him about Ashton are so few and far between that they don’t warrant a list and the things that annoy him about Michael are so well-worn that they’re imprinted in the very fabric of his soul. Michael, though, whips around to face Ashton at that, with a deep scowl.

“What the fuck?” he demands hotly, and puts his phone down. Calum eyes it in trepidation, knowing that if Michael’s freeing both hands up to gesticulate, he’s going to fucking mean what he says next. Sure enough, both hands come flying up in indignation as he says: “You have a list of reasons you hate me?”

“You have a list of reasons you hate Luke,” Ashton points out.

“Yeah, but who doesn’t?” Michel says, waving a hand dismissively.

“Me?” Luke says, a little stroppily, but Michael’s not listening.

“What’s on your list?” he wants to know.

“I’m not telling you.”

“You offered to tell Luke his,” Michael points out.

“You’re not Luke.”

“How many lists do you have?” Calum asks curiously.

“One on you, one on Luke, two on Michael-” Ashton starts reciting, cut off by a noise of indignance from Michael.

“Two?” he says. “Why the fuck would you need two?”

“You’re really fucking annoying,” Ashton tells him, and Calum groans when Michael’s eyebrows knit together further and his mouth twists in an angry grimace.

“Why’d you say that?” Calum says to Ashton, gesturing at Michael. “He was pissed off enough already.”

“Luke started it,” Ashton says, and both of them turn to Luke, who crosses his arms sullenly.

“You’re the ones who keep lists of reasons you hate me,” he says sulkily, like that’s at all relevant to the fact he’s just made certain that the next two days of their life stuck in a cramped tour bus with Michael will be hell.

“I can’t believe you don’t have a list,” Ashton says, shaking his head.

“Why the fuck would I have a list?” Luke says, a little upset. “I love you guys.” There’s a pause, and they all look at him. “Well-” he starts to amend, and Michael lets out a triumphant noise and sits back against the sofa again.

“See?” he says, a victorious edge to his voice.

“Maybe we should go to relationship counselling,” Ashton suggests.

“We don’t need relationship counselling,” Luke says. “You guys just need to stop being dicks.”

“You just need to stop being fucking annoying,” Michael says, pointing at Luke with one hand as he picks up his phone again with the other. “Then there wouldn’t be any need for the lists.”

“What about Ashton’s other lists?” Calum points out, and then immediately regrets it when Michael’s eyes flash with irritation again.

“It’s healthy,” Ashton objects.

“Healthy?” Michael echoes in disbelief. “It’s healthy to keep a list of reasons you hate me?”

“What about me?” Luke protests, but nobody’s listening.

“Two lists,” Ashton corrects, and Calum pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s going to have a word with him about tact. “I bet everyone in a band does it.”

“I don’t,” Luke says pointedly.

“Well, maybe that’s why you’re not a well-adjusted individual,” Ashton says, with a shrug, and Luke stares at him.

“Are you trying to tell me Michael’s well-adjusted?” he says.

“What the fuck?” Michael starts indignantly, but then there’s a loud cough from someone that’s none of them, and they all start in surprise, whipping around to try and find the source.

“Mike?” the voice says into the silence, sounding a little far away and tinny. “Did you mean to call me?” Michael looks down at the phone in his hand in bewilderment, frowning at it for a split second before lifting it to his ear.

“Alex?” he says, a little perplexed. The rest of them all look at him, waiting as his eyebrows furrow further for a moment before his face clears. “Oh.”

“What?” Luke wants to know. Michael shoots him a glare, and points at the phone in his hand, mouthing I’m on the phone dramatically. Calum rolls his eyes.

“It’s only Alex,” he says. Michael raises his eyebrows. Only Alex? he’s saying, and Calum sighs, exasperated, because Michael knows full well what he means, he’s just being difficult. Maybe Ashton has the right idea, keeping a list about Michael.

“Put him on speaker,” Ashton says, and Michael flaps a hand at him and shakes his head, listening to whatever Alex is saying. “Put him on speaker, Mike,” Ashton says again, a little more insistently. Michael throws him a glare too.

“No,” he hisses. “He called me, not any of you.”

“He only has one phone,” Calum points out.

“He could have started a group call,” Ashton says fairly. “And anyway, he said Michael called him.”

“Whose fucking side are you on?” Luke says, and Ashton holds his hands up in defence, leaning back a little in his seat. Calum makes a mental note to add learn when the appropriate moment to be diplomatic is to the conversation he’s going to have with Ashton later.

“What?” Michael says suddenly, eyes darting to the wall opposite him. He listens for a second as Alex speaks, and then makes a noise of triumph, a smile spreading across his face. “Hang on, hang on, let me put you on speaker.”

“Are you serious?” Luke says in disbelief, as Michael tears the phone from his ear and presses the speaker button.

“Say that again,” Michael says to Alex.

“Michael’s right,” Alex says, a little tinny and edged with static. “It’s bad practice to keep lists of things you hate about all your band members. You’ve each got to pick one.”

“How’s that make any sense?” Luke demands, at the same time that Calum says: “Who’s yours about, then?” and Ashton hums thoughtfully.

“Mine’s on Rian,” Alex says.

“Why?” Calum can’t help but ask. He’s not sure why anyone would keep a list on Rian, least of all when Jack’s right there.

“He needed an ego check,” Alex says.

“An ego check?” Calum echoes. “What does Rian-”

“That’s not important,” Michael interrupts, before Calum has a chance to ask what’s on the list, waving his hand dismissively, because the fucker can’t stand going more than thirty seconds without everyone’s attention on him. “The point is I’m right.”

“This time,” Alex says, and the triumphant smile on Michael’s face turns into an indignant scowl.

“What the fuck do you mean, this time?” he demands hotly, and Calum snorts. Serves him right, really.

“See?” Luke says, sounding incredibly satisfied. Michael glowers at him.

“He still said I was right, though,” he says.

“Conditionally,” Ashton says, and Michael whips around to glower at him too.

“You guys should try relationship counselling,” Alex remarks, and it’s Ashton’s turn to sit back and raise his eyebrows pointedly, looking pleased. Calum feels a bit left out, now; he’s the only one that hasn’t had his moment of triumph. “Anyway, I’ve got to go and stop Jack.”

“Why, what’s he doing?” Calum asks curiously.

“No idea, but I bet he needs stopping. Hey, text me when you’re in the States, yeah?” And with that, he’s gone.

The four of them stare at Michael’s phone for a moment, before Michael sits back and stretches.

“I’m right,” he tells them, just in case they hadn’t heard. Luke scoffs.

“So, what, Alex’s word is law, now?” he says. There’s a moment of silence. “Alright, yeah,” Luke relents, and Calum snorts.

“At least we know how to sort any arguments, now,” he says. “Ring Alex.”

“Y’know, in a way, that’s sort of like relationship counselling,” Ashton says thoughtfully, and Luke sighs, loud and exasperated, and Calum and Michael both chorus: “Shut the fuck up, Ashton.”

-------

It becomes a thing after that.

When Luke and Michel can’t agree on which of MarioKart Wii or MarioKart 8 is the better game, they call Alex.

(“Obviously MarioKart Wii,” Alex says, sounding almost offended that the question’s even been asked.

“What d’you mean, obviously?” Michael says, outraged.

“When was the last time you played MarioKart 8?” Alex asks pointedly, and Michael opens his mouth furiously, and then stops, and closes it again.

“It’s still a better fucking game,” he mutters, and Luke grins.)

When the four of them can’t decide whether they should get takeaway McDonald’s or go out to eat at a proper restaurant, they call Alex.

(“Well, this is easy,” Alex says. The four of them frown. How the fuck is this easy? They’ve been arguing about it for twenty minutes.

“How?” Luke says.

“Who’s paying for Luke if you go out?” The four of them look at each other. They’ll split the bill, surely?

“Well, I thought one person would-” Luke starts, a little defensively, which is all they need to hear.

“McDonald’s,” Michael, Calum and Ashton say decisively.)

When Ashton and Calum argue about whether or not Ashton functions well on four hours’ sleep, they call Alex.

(“How long did you sleep last night?” Alex asks, after humming, like he’s having to think this one through.

“Four fucking hours, Jesus Christ,” Ashton snaps. Calum throws him a pointed look.

“Y’know what, you don’t even need me for this one,” Alex says delicately, and hangs up.)

Alex always has an answer for them.

“Why the fuck aren’t you in this band?” Ashton laments one night, when Alex has successfully convinced Calum to go on his third night out in a row, and on an empty stomach, no less. Alex laughs, bright and easy.

“I can’t leave Jack on his own for more than fifteen minutes,” he says. “Contractual obligation.”

“What d’you do when he’s asleep?” Ashton wonders.

“What d’you think?” Alex says, words curled around a coy smile. Calum frowns, and opens his mouth to say something - what, he’s not entirely sure; are you implying sleep with, or sleep with? maybe - but then there’s a crash, and Alex swears loudly. “Shit. See, it’s been seventeen minutes. I’ll send the bill for whatever that was over to your management.”

“Send it to Luke instead,” Calum says. “We shouted him at least six rounds last night.” Alex laughs again.

“Got it,” he says, and then he’s gone. Calum’s frown doesn’t go with him, though.

“D’you think he was being serious?” he asks Ashton, who’s already engrossed in his phone again.

“Hm?” Ashton says, without looking up. “‘Bout what?”

“Jack.” That makes Ashton look up, brow furrowed.

“What about him?” Calum hesitates.

“Y’know,” he says, a little uncomfortably. Ashton cocks his head, raising his eyebrows in an I don’t know sort of way. “About them. Sleeping together.”

“Oh,” Ashton says, shrugs, and turns back to his phone. “Yeah, obviously.” That’s all he seems to have to say on the matter, and Calum decides not to push it. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to, because right then Luke wanders into the lounge area, frowning at his phone.

“Hey,” he says. “Why the fuck has Alex just sent me a bill for a new drum kit?”

-------

Alex doesn’t mention it again, but Calum can’t stop thinking about it.

He’d said it so casually, so easily, a lick of wicked humour to it. What do you do when Jack’s asleep? Calum had asked. What do you think? Alex had said, like it was nothing. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a joke. Ashton hadn’t seemed to think anything of it, had he? Maybe Calum was just reading into it. Yeah, that was it, surely; Calum was probably just protecting. It’s not like everyone’s in love with their childhood best friend that they happen to be in a band with, is it? God knows Calum’s shared a bed with Luke and Ashton enough times without wanting to fuck them.

(He’d never get that coy edge to his voice, though, if he were talking about Luke or Ashton.)

He manages to push the matter to one side for a few weeks, until one day when he and Luke are arguing about whether the lyrics to Some Kind of Disaster are ‘I let the sun rise up’ or ‘I let the song rise up’, and they ring Alex, but Jack picks up.

“What’s up?” Jack says casually, like it’s perfectly normal for him to answer Alex’s phone.

“Where’s Alex?” Calum says.

“Hello to you too,” Jack says.

“It’s important,” Luke adds, leaning over the phone like it’s not on speaker. Jesus Christ. Calum wonders whether the boy was born in ‘96 or ‘56, sometimes.

“You don’t need to lean over it, Luke,” Calum tells him, wrenching the phone away. “He can hear you.”

“I’m just making sure,” Luke says, scowling.

“What d’you want Alex for?” Jack asks.

“To decide something for us,” Calum says.

“Oh,” Jack says, brightening. “I can do that. I make great decisions.” There’s a pause.

“Yeah, no,” Calum says, and Luke says: “Just give us Alex.”

“Fuck you two,” Jack mutters, but there’s a rustling sound and then the sound of footsteps. Calum and Luke both wait, listening to a door open and close quietly, and then they hear a soft: “Hey, baby, wake up.”

Baby?

Calum’s head jerks up to look at Luke, who’s still staring patiently down at Calum’s phone, like he hasn’t just heard Jack call Alex baby. Maybe he hasn’t. Is Calum hallucinating? Shit, he doesn’t have time for a mental breakdown; they’re playing a show in three hours, and they’re supposed to start recording their next album soon.

“Mm,” Calum hears Alex groan. “Wh’s’it?”

“Cal and Luke,” Jack says.

“Tell ‘m to fuck off,” Alex mumbles, and there’s more rustling. “Come t’ bed.” Come to bed? Calum shoots Luke another glance, but he’s still just waiting for Alex to say something. Maybe Calum is going insane. Maybe he should’ve listened to Ashton about that whole seven-to-nine-hours-sleep thing.

“I’m cooking,” Jack says, and his voice is gentler than Calum’s ever heard it, edged with a smile. Alex makes a noise of discontent, then a deep sigh, and then there’s some very loud static as he raises the phone to his ear.

“What?” he says, sounding simultaneously sleepy and annoyed.

“Some Kind of Disaster,” Luke says, getting straight to the point. “Is it ‘I let the sun rise up’ or ‘song’?” There’s a pause.

“I don’t know,” Alex says, through a yawn.

“What d’you mean, you don’t know?” Luke demands. “It’s your fucking song.”

“It’s both,” Alex says. “It was sun, and then I changed it to song.”

“So it’s song?” Calum says, because that’s what he’s been arguing.

“Well, it’s sun too,” Alex says.

“Well, it’s not,” Calum says, “because you can only sing one of them at a time.”

“Exactly,” Luke agrees. “So which one is it?” Alex sighs, all long-suffering, and there’s a shuffling sound, like he’s sitting up in bed.

“You’re both right,” he says. Calum and Luke exchange a look. They’re not really sure what to do in this situation.

“But on the album version-” Luke starts, and Alex makes a noise of exasperation.

“Fucking hell, I sang ‘song’ on the album,” he says, and Calum sits back triumphantly and throws his hands up in a see, I told you gesture, forgetting that he’s got his phone in his hand and sending it flying. Luckily, it doesn’t go far, lands somewhere on the sofa to their right, and Luke reaches over, inspects it quickly and dusts it off before handing it back to Calum, who inspects it again, because Luke’s managed to get through three phones in the past year alone, so he’s clearly not a trustworthy source when it comes to phone maintenance. It doesn't look scratched, though, but when he lifts it back up to his face to apologise to Alex for the disturbance, it’s on the home screen, and Alex is gone.

“If ‘sun’ was the original, though, I think that’s the right answer,” Luke says, and Calum shakes his head as he pockets his phone again.

“You heard him,” he says, letting the vindication leak into his voice, because Luke had been making fun of him for at least fifteen minutes before they’d called Alex. “The final version’s ‘song’.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Did you hear him and Jack?” Calum cuts in, not wanting to get caught in another argument when they’ve just settled it.

“What about them?”

“Well, did you hear them?” Luke stares at him.

“Yeah?” he says, like he doesn’t quite understand the question. Calum stares back. Surely he hadn’t misheard what they’d said, not twice. Baby, Jack had said, and Alex had asked him in a sleepy, needy voice to come to bed.

“Well?” he asks. Luke blinks at him.

“Look, I know I said I thought I had tinnitus, but that was on a bad day after Michael had been yelling in my ear all day-” he starts, but Calum shakes his head, a little impatiently.

“Jack called Alex ‘baby’,” he says. Luke frowns.

“Yeah?” Yeah? Yeah? What the fuck? Is Calum abnormal for not going around calling his bandmates ‘baby’?

“So, is that, like, a Baltimore thing?” Calum asks, as casually as possible. There’s a pause.

“Is...having a boyfriend a Baltimore thing...?” Luke says slowly, and Calum frowns right back at him.

“A boyfriend?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Cal?” Luke says, brows now so closely knit that he sort of looks like he has a unibrow.

“What are you talking about?” Calum asks, because Luke’s the one that suddenly brought up boyfriends and is now acting like Calum’s the idiot in this conversation. “What have boyfriends got to do with this?” Luke looks at him for a moment, like he can’t tell whether Calum’s being serious or not, and Calum raises his eyebrows in a what? sort of way.

“Cal,” Luke says slowly, like he’s still not entirely sure whether Calum’s taking the piss or not. “You...you know Jack and Alex are together, right?” Calum stares at him.

“They’re what?” he says.

“Are you being serious?” Luke asks, frowning.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They’ve been together for years, Cal.” Calum blinks.

“How the fuck didn’t I-” he starts, somewhere between shocked and affronted that everyone seems to have known except him.

“I have no idea,” Luke says, sounding completely bewildered. “Jesus Christ, Cal.”

That pretty much sums it up.

-------

That night, Calum can’t stop thinking about it.

He stares up at the ceiling of his bunk, hands clasped over his chest, and replays memories of interactions with Jack and Alex, memories of them grinning fondly at each other when someone told a joke, of them stood off to the side at a party, Alex’s hand resting gently on Jack’s elbow as he stood far too close for comfort and told him something with an earnest expression on his face, of them declining nights out because they ‘want to rest, guys, we’re getting old - or at least Alex is’ and Rian and Zack exchanging a look and wordlessly going to secure their bunks. Calum had just thought it was because they didn’t trust Alex and Jack not to fuck around if left unsupervised, but maybe there was another reason, the reason everyone else snorted or smirked when Rian and Zack stood up and raced to their bunks.

It feels like something slotting into place when he thinks about it. Of course Alex and Jack are together; how could he have ever thought any different? How could he have thought those fond looks and gentle touches, those private smiles and shared frowns, those lazily tangled fingers and open-mouthed kisses ever meant anything else?

He knows why. Because he and Michael do all those things too.

But it’s not the same, right? Or, well, it might be from Calum, but it can’t be from Michael. Michael probably just thinks they’re friendly gestures, too. The two of them have been so intertwined with one another for so long that they’ve forgotten how to live apart, how to exist without the other’s touch, and that’s all it can be to Michael. Maybe Michael doesn’t even know about Jack and Alex. He probably wouldn’t act like he does with Calum if he knew it could be misinterpreted like that.

Yeah, Calum thinks, rolling on his side and folding his arms, staring at the wall instead of the ceiling, and trying to let the white noise of the bus calm his churning stomach and slow his racing heart. That’s what it is. Michael doesn’t know. He can’t.

-------

A few weeks later, Calum and Michael are sat on a pier in England while the bus gets serviced, legs dangling off the edge as they smoke in silence. It’s quiet here, nothing but the sound of the waves and the wind (and the odd screeching seagull), and Calum lets it wash over him with every drag of his cigarette, letting it go with every exhale.

“We shouldn’t be smoking so close to a show,” Michael murmurs, and then immediately proceeds to take another drag of his cigarette. Calum raises an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “What? It’s already lit. Shouldn’t waste it.” Calum huffs out a laugh, rolls his eyes, and exhales his own cloud of smoke, watching as it curls upwards and disperses to join the clouds above them.

“You shouldn’t be smoking at all,” he tells Michael, because Calum’s a lost cause, but there’s still hope for Michael.

“You shouldn’t be giving me cigarettes, then,” Michael retorts, which is fair enough.

“I won’t next time,” Calum says, which is a flat-out lie. They both know Calum would give Michael the world, and the stars and moon and sun too, if he wanted them.

They smoke in silence for a while, and Calum watches as his clouds of smoke mingle with Michael’s as they tip their heads back and breathe up at the sky, and thinks there’s maybe some kind of symbolism in it that he can’t quite make out through the grey haze. Ashton would know, would say something like it means your mothers are twin flames with a dead straight face and mean it, and Calum would catch Michael’s eye over the top of Ashton’s head and share a quick look with him, something so brief that Ashton wouldn’t even notice it, something only Michael and Calum would know about. He’s seen Jack and Alex do the same thing hundreds of times when Luke’s made a stupid comment, or when Rian’s giving them a lecture about not pulling pranks on the tour bus that everybody has to share, or when they’ve passed a stranger on the street that had been wearing something crazy.

“Did you know Jack and Alex are together?” he blurts, before he’s had the time to process the thought and stop it in its tracks on its way to his tongue. Michael throws him an odd look.

“Yeah,” he says, as though Calum’s just asked did you know my name’s Calum?

“Oh,” Calum says.

“Why?”

“I didn’t.” Michael stares at him.

“How the fuck-”

“I don’t know,” Calum says quickly - too quickly, because Michael stops, looks, narrows his eyes, gaze flicking from Calum’s eyes to his lips and back again, and then opens his mouth.

“You thought they were just friends?” he says slowly. Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably, and stubs his cigarette out on the pier just for something to look at that isn’t Michael. “You think friends just- just, what, look at each other like that?”

“Well, to be fair-” Calum starts, a touch defensively, but Michael interrupts.

“Or, or, what, hold hands and make out?” he says.

“We hold hands and make out,” Calum points out.

“Exactly,” Michael says. There’s a pause.

“What?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Michael says. “Friends don’t do that.” Calum frowns.

“...but best friends do?” Michael throws him a strange look.

“What?” he says. “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. My only other best friends are Ashton and Luke, and I’d rather make out with a pig than either of them.” Calum pulls a face.

“That’s illegal,” he says.

“Well, I didn’t say I was going to,” Michael says, exasperated, like Calum’s derailing the conversation. “The point is, friends don’t do that.” Calum looks at him for a moment, looks at the certainty in Michael’s eyes, and then looks out at the sea, stomach matching the tidal current.

He doesn’t get it. Michael and Calum are friends, he knows they are, knows it from the way Michael snuggles into Calum’s chest as soon as he spots him lying or sitting anywhere with a space next to him, from the way Michael stays up all night rubbing soothing circles on Calum’s back while he throws up everything he’d drunk on the empty stomach Ashton had convinced him to go out on, from the way they laugh and joke and cry and hold each other, foreheads pressed together, or sometimes cheek-to-cheek, or sometimes Michael’s face pressed into Calum’s throat. Michael loves Calum, and Calum loves Michael, and Calum’s entire system of faith is built around that. It all starts with Michael, and Calum and Michael, and builds out from there.

So why is Michael saying friends don’t act like they do?

Sure, Calum only holds Luke’s hand as a joke, or when he’s in his darkest moments, and only kisses Ashton chastely on the lips, and usually only when he’s drunk, nothing like the casual and easy hand-holding and the kisses with tender hands cupping each other’s jaws or with fingers curled lightly in each other’s hair he has with Michael, but it’s still friendly, isn’t it? It’s what he and Michael have always done, finding respite in each other, building a home in each other’s hearts and hands and mouths. That’s just how they are, Calum’s always thought, when Michael’s slotted his fingers between Calum’s confidently, like they were made to be there. That’s just how things are with them. But they’re still just friends, aren’t they? It’s not like Calum fucks Michael, or anything. They both go out and get laid, come back to their shared hotel room smelling like girls and boys neither of them will ever see again. But, Calum thinks, when he stumbles into their hotel room at God knows what time in the morning and falls into bed next to Michael, he’s the one that’ll press soft kisses to the bruises already blossoming on Calum’s throat. And maybe that’s what it’s about.

“But we do that,” he says again, trying to understand what Michael’s saying.

“Yeah, I know,” Michael says, sounding a little annoyed now, like Calum’s being wilfully ignorant. “What’s your point?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” There’s a pause.

“Oh,” Michael says, and it sounds small, and hurt, and raw. “Is- oh.”

“Is what?” Calum tears his eyes away from the sea, looks over at Michael, who’s hunched into himself a little, shoulders sagging and knees drawn close to his chest. He shakes his head, but doesn’t look at Calum, and Calum’s heart lurches. He’s fucked up. He said something wrong.

“Hey,” he says gently, and reaches over to put a hand on Michael’s arm, but Michael flinches away. Calum frowns. “What’s up?”

“I just-” Michael cuts himself off, shakes his head again, and stands up abruptly.

“I’m going back,” he says shortly.

“Okay,” Calum says, and makes to get to his feet too, but Michael stops him.

“No,” he says. “I- you stay here.”

Oh.

Okay.

“Okay,” Calum says, and he can’t help the bit of upset that leaks into his voice at that. Michael looks like he’s torn for a minute, like maybe he wants to stay, but then he balls his hands into fists at his side and walks off, fast and stiff. Calum watches him go until he’s all the way off the pier, until he’s turned past the shop at the corner and is heading back up the hill to where they’d left the tour bus, and then, when he’s blocked by a row of houses, turns back to the sea. It looks greyer than before, but Calum doesn’t mind. It means he won’t have to see the smoke curling up into the sky without another cloud to join it as he smokes the rest of his pack.

-------

Michael’s not on the bus when Calum gets back, and, surprisingly, neither are Luke or Ashton.

There’s a note on the table that says gone w/mike, wtf did u do, burn this before we get back in Luke’s hasty scribble, and Calum’s stomach drops as he picks it up and reads and re-reads it. What the fuck did he do?

He heads back out of the bus with the note clenched in his fist, both to burn it without setting the fire alarm off and because the bus feels oddly claustrophobic on his own, too many floors and ceilings and walls and reminders of Michael plastered all over them. The fresh air feels a little calming, even though he’s just come in from outside, and he lets the breeze steal over his face as he gets his lighter to the paper and watches it burn itself out in his hand.

All he’d said was we’re friends, aren’t we? He doesn’t understand why Michael’s taken such offence to that, like he doesn’t crawl into Calum’s bunk three times a day and demand to be told he’s Calum’s best friend. Maybe it was because Calum had only said friend that time, not best friend. Michael can be oddly sensitive about these things; Calum remembers a time that he’d told Ashton he was in love with him with a completely sincere expression on his face because Ashton had made him a coffee in the morning, and Michael had stormed out of the room and spent the next three days steadfastly keeping his hands to himself around Calum, no heads on shoulders or in laps.

But he’d said it all of two minutes earlier, hadn’t he, and even Michael’s not stroppy enough to get that fussed about wording, so that doesn’t make any sense. And he can’t be upset about the hand-holding and kissing itself, can he, or he’d’ve stopped doing it by now. So it’s got to be something to do with the fact that Calum had been confused about the fact that they did what Jack and Alex do, but that they’re friends, and not boyf-

Oh.

But surely not. Surely-

Calum racks his brains, heart racing, palms sweating, trying to come up with some other explanation for the hurt etched on Michael’s features, the anguish in his eyes, the way he’d stood up so abruptly and stiffly with his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands, but there’s nothing.

All he can think, echoing loudly in his mind, is that maybe Michael thought they were- well, not quite boyfriends, but not quite friends, either.

The thought bounces around Calum’s head like it’s trying to find a way out but is trapped in a panicked bubble of Michael and shit and no no no that won’t let it escape. Calum’s breath is coming in short, sharp bursts, and he leans back against the bus, staring unblinkingly at the sky as he tries to wrap his head around what’s just crossed his mind. Fuck. Fuck. Maybe it had meant something to Michael, too. Shit, of course it meant something to Michael, what the fuck was Calum thinking? Of course it did, because it meant something to Calum. Calum never kissed Luke like that, or let Ashton hold his hand until it was slick with sweat on a hot summer night, and neither did Michael, so of course it meant something to him too. God, Calum’s an idiot, so fucking stupid; of course it meant something to Michael. And Calum’s just thrown it in his face.

He’s fumbling for his phone before he’s even really processed the desire to do so, stabbing at the last number he’d dialled and muttering c’mon, c’mon while he waits for Alex to pick up. He does, on the third ring, making the dial tone cut out with a click when he raises the phone to his ear and says tiredly: “Who’re you fighting with this time?”

“Alex,” Calum says, and he hears the desperation and confusion in his own voice.

“Shit, Cal, what’s up?” Alex says, suddenly alert and serious. “You okay?” Calum almost laughs. No, he’s not fucking okay, because he’s just fucked something up that he’s always wanted and didn’t even know he already had.

“No,” he says, feeling a little hysterical. “I- it’s- I was with Michael, and-”

“Oh, shit,” Alex says. “You haven’t- like, did you break up, or-”

“What?” Calum says. “No, we- what? We’re not together, Alex, but we-”

“What?” Alex says, in disbelief. “What d’you mean, you’re not together?”

“I mean we’re not together, but-”

“Yeah, but that’s what I’m not getting,” Alex interrupts. “How are you not together? Physically? Like, right now?”

“What?” This phone call was a mistake. Calum’s even more confused than he had been at the start. “No, we’re just- we’re not together, we’re single, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“What?” Alex sounds absolutely dumbfounded. “I- what? Wait, okay, no, sorry, you were saying?”

“I think that’s the problem,” Calum says. “I- we were talking, about you and Jack, because I didn’t realise you were together, and-”

“You-” Alex stops himself. “Never mind, never mind, carry on.”

“-and I just said I didn’t realise you were together because me and him do all the same things that you two do, and we’re friends, and he got upset and left.” He’s expecting another interruption, or at the very least an immediate rushed sentence, but instead all he gets is a long, long silence.

“Oh, Cal,” Alex says eventually, exhaling heavily. It makes Calum wince, far too loud in his ear. “You fucked up.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Calum says. “I just- I don’t know what to do now.”

“Just tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“That you didn’t realise. That you mean it. All of it.”

“I can’t,” Calum says. “He’s gone. Ashton and Luke, too.”

“Gone?” Alex sounds horrified. “Where? Aren’t you on tour? How are you going to finish-”

“No, like, just gone out,” Calum says hurriedly, although his stomach drops at the prospect. Surely he hasn’t gone. Luke and Ashton wouldn’t have left with him, would they, wouldn’t have left Calum to try and perform some kind of one-man She Looks So Perfect with his bass slung over one knee, guitar over the other, sat at the drums with a mic in front of him. Or would they? Calum feels like he can’t be certain of anything anymore, not when the one constant in his life has been tipped on its head, his world tilted sharply around on its axis.

“Oh,” Alex says, sounding distinctly relieved. “Well, just call him, then.” Oh. Yeah. That would probably have been the best first port of call, rather than ringing Alex.

“I don’t know what to say,” Calum says, a little desperately, and hopes Alex will hear what he’s really asking. Tell me what to say.

“I can’t help you with that, Cal,” Alex says gently. “It’s gotta come from you, man.” Calum knows he’s right, knows it has to be what Calum thinks and what Calum feels, but it doesn’t stop his stomach flipping unpleasantly as he thinks about it.

“Fuck,” he mutters, inhales deeply, and closes his eyes.

“Hey,” Alex says, kind and warm. “It’ll be alright.” Calum huffs out a humourless laugh at that.

“Will it?” he says. It’s not like him; he’s usually the calm one, the rational one, the one who says yeah, man, it sucks and then shrugs and takes another swig of his beer because what good’s worrying about it going to do? This is different, though, the core tenet of his world shifted off-kilter, panic blooming in his lungs as scenes of a life without Michael flash through his mind. He’d challenge anyone to remain calm in the face of a life without Michael.

“‘Course it will,” Alex says, sounding far more confident than Calum feels. “It’s you and Michael, isn’t it? It’ll always be okay.” That soothes Calum a bit, that Alex has so much blind faith in the two of them. He wouldn’t say that unless he meant it, and he wouldn’t mean it if he didn’t believe it, so there’s still someone out there who has trust in them.

“Okay,” Calum says, more trying to convince himself than anything else. “I’ll call him.”

“Okay,” Alex says, still in that gentle, kind voice that Calum’s sure he reserves for small children, animals and Calum in a crisis. “I’ll stay by my phone in case you need me, yeah?” Calum loves him.

“Thanks,” he says, and Alex murmurs a no problem back at him. Calum hesitates for one more second, savouring the last moment of the safety of knowing he’s not on his own out here in the chilly English town that he can’t remember the name of, and then hangs up and scrolls down his recently contacted list to find Michael. His heart’s in his mouth as his sweaty fingers press on the contact, and he brings the phone back up to his ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and then-

“Cal?” It’s not Michael. It’s Ashton.

“Where’s Mike?” He can hear the urgency in his own voice, but doesn’t even have the time to care. All that’s going through his mind is I’ve hurt him and I might lose him.

“He’s here,” Ashton says slowly, delicately, like he knows the next words are going to hurt, “but he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

(They do.)

“Please,” Calum says, a little desperately. “I- I honestly didn’t realise, okay, and I need to tell him, and-”

“Woah, woah, hey,” Ashton sys, and Calum can picture him frowning, concern etched into the lines in his forehead. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t mean to, like, friendzone him, or whatever, I just didn’t think it meant to him what it means to me, and-”

“Hey,” Ashton says again, and Calum falters. “Breathe, Cal.”

“‘M breathing.”

“Breathe slower.”

“Just let me fucking talk to Mi-”

“Breathe.” There’s a pause.

“Shut the fuck up, Ashton,” Calum says fiercely, “and fucking let me speak to Michael.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Ashton says, a little apologetically.

“Can I- shit, okay. Can you just tell him something from me, then?”

“What?” That’s a good question. He’s not entirely sure what sums all of it up. I’m sorry doesn’t quite cut it, doesn’t make it clear enough that Calum’s sorry for misinterpreting, not that he’s sorry that he doesn’t feel the same way. I love you is the same; it’s not clear enough, not without the stricken expression on Calum’s face and the distraught look that he’s sure is in his eyes. He needs something that works only through words, that won’t get lost in translation somewhere along the phone line or in Ashton.

There is something, something that nudges at the tip of his tongue, a gentle reminder that it’s there, always has been and always will be, but Calum pushes it aside, doesn’t want this to be the first time he says it. There’s got to be something else, something like I need you - no, too selfish - or come back, please - no, too ambiguous, or- shit, no, that’s it, Calum’s all out of ideas.

So, he takes a deep breath, tries to use the cool sea breeze to quell the panic still rising steadily in his lungs, and says it.

“Tell him I’m in love with him.”

He’s expecting it to feel monumental after he’s said it, like a seismic shift will have occurred on Planet Calum, expects a gasp and a dramatic response from Ashton, but all he gets is a feeling of slight fear and an “Alright, sure.”

Is that it? Is that what Calu’s been afraid of all these years? A nonchalant remark from Ashton and a bit of stale fear? Jesus, Calum’s a fucking idiot. If he weren’t so blind, if he weren’t so stubbornly set on forcing things to fit the way he thinks the world is rather than simply letting the world be what it actually is, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have overlooked Jack and Alex, and he wouldn’t have overlooked him and Michael, and he wouldn’t have waited nearly ten years to say hey, Michael, I’m in love with you.

“Okay,” Calum says, testing the word out on his tongue to see how it feels. Surprisingly good, actually. His stomach’s still churning, and his heart is still clenching with something between panic and despair, but the weight pressing down on his chest is a little less heavy, his lungs a little less constricted. He’s said it, now. It’s up to Michael what to do with the words.

“I’m going to come back,” Ashton says. “I- sorry, Michael was panicking and we didn’t think you’d be-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Calum says hurriedly, because it is. He gets it. Luke and Ashton would spring straight into best-friend mode upon seeing Michael upset and panicking, would take him out and away and calm him down, too preoccupied with the there and then to think about whether Calum might be in a similar state. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Ashton says, but it’s not unkind, and he’s not entirely wrong.

“Just- just...tell him, please?” Calum says, and Ashton exhales, and Calum can imagine him nodding.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, ‘course, Cal. I’ll call you back.” He knows Calum doesn’t want to stick around, doesn’t want to hear what Michael has to say just in case, and Calum’s grateful, loves him for it.

“Love you,” he says, because he does.

“Love you too,” Ashton says, and then there’s a click, and he’s gone.

Calum sinks to a crouch, staring at the houses lining the steep hill opposite him, and then sits down properly, exhaling a little shakily as he does. It’s getting colder, he notices, pulling his coat around him and shivering a little. He thinks the sky might be getting darker, too, or it might just be getting greyer; it’s always hard to tell in England.

His thoughts are racing so fast that he’s barely thinking at all, doesn’t have time to process one before the next one pushes it out of the way, so all he can focus on is the guilt and the panic and the worry blooming in every inch of him and try to quell it, try to think about the cool breeze and the hard metal of the bus pressed against his back and the scratchy gravel under his legs. It’s sort of better this way, though, he thinks, as he lets his eyes flutter shut and tries to think about the sound of the seagulls squawking above him. It’s better that he doesn’t know what’s going through his own mind.

He’s startled out of trying to count his breaths - seven in, eleven out, Ashton always says - by the shrill ringing of his phone, and he jumps, phone slipping out of his fingers and onto the gravel between his legs. It’s cracked when he picks it back up again, but he doesn’t even care as soon as he sees the Michael UK New on his screen, can’t care about anything other than the way his heart’s suddenly jumped to his throat and is beating faster than Calum had thought humanly possible.

“Ashton?” he says, expecting a yeah, listen, mate- but there’s nothing. He just gets silence. “Ash?” he tries again. “Can you hear me? What’d he say?”

“D’you mean that?” It’s not Ashton. It’s Michael, and he sounds completely blank.

“Mike,” Calum says, both relief and fear spiking in his veins. “Mike, I’m sorry, I-”

“D’you mean it?”

“Mean wh- oh,” Calum says. “I- yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Say it.”

“Michael, I just-”

“Say it.” It’s softer this time, less insistent, a little more pleading. Calum swallows. Who is he to say no to Michael?

“I’m in love with you.”

There’s no cosmic shift this time, either. The clouds stay grey and the air stays cool, and Calum can still hear nothing but his own breathing, ragged and echoed down the phone line.

“Okay,” Michael says, carefully even.

“Okay?” Calum echoes, a little incredulously. “I just told you I’m in love with you.” The words don’t get any harder to say as he repeats them, nor any easier; they’re just there, as though they always have been.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“So?” Calum prompts.

“So what?”

“So, are you gonna say anything about it?”

“Yeah.” Calum waits. “Not here,” Michael adds, like he knows what Calum’s thinking, and then it clicks.

Michael’s coming back.

Well, of course Michael was going to come back - they have a tour to finish, don’t they - but he’s coming back for Calum.

“Okay,” Calum says. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll be five minutes.” Michael doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t hang up either, and Calum just stays on the other end of the line, listens as Michael’s breathing speeds up and as shoes hit pavement, letting his heart slow to the beat of Michael’s footsteps. It feels like two seconds and ten years have passed by the time he sees Michael rounding the corner, phone still in his hand, eyes automatically searching for Calum, and then Calum watches his step falter as he sees Calum slumped against the tour bus, sat on the floor.

“Hey,” he says, when he gets close enough, and hangs up.

“Hi,” Calum says, eyes following Michael as he hovers above Calum for a minute, and then sits down next to him. Their arms are pressed together, which is a good sign, but Michael doesn’t hold his hand out for Calum to take, which isn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Calum says, when Michael sits down. “I didn’t- like, I didn’t realise. I didn’t think. I should’ve known you wouldn’t do this with just anyone.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Michael says. “But I should’ve known you wouldn’t know. I should’ve told you.”

“I should’ve told you too,” Calum says. “I should’ve told you years ago.” Michael turns to look at him, a little bewildered, and Calum clarifies: “That I’m in love with you.”

“Oh,” Michael says, and turns away again. “Yeah. I should’ve told you that too.”

“You’re in love with me?” Michael turns to look at him again, a little incredulously.

“What the fuck do you think we’re talking about here?” he says. “‘Course I am.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Calum had sort of known it, as soon as he’d realised. He’d sort of known that it meant there was something soft and warm and cosy thrumming under the surface for Michael too, something that had only taken Calum until the age of seventeen to place as love. It’s different hearing it, though, different when Michael looks at him like he’s an idiot for not realising Michael’s in love with him, like it’s easy and simple and just something that is, no question of whether it should or shouldn’t be.

“I’m sorry I ran off,” Michael says quietly, and now he holds out his hand, and Calum almost wants to sigh in relief, but settles for threading his fingers through Michael’s and squeezing as hard as he can instead.

“Don’t be,” Calum says. He probably would have done the same in Michael’s place.

They sit in silence for a moment, staring out at the grey sky and the sliver of shimmering grey sea in the distance, and Calum counts Michael’s heartbeats as they pass against his fingers, one-two, one-two. The seagulls are still squawking, and the breeze is still cold, and Calum’s still in love with Michael. Nothing’s changed.

“Maybe we should kiss,” Michael suggests suddenly, and Calum turns to look at him, a little confused. “What?” Michael says, a little defensively. “Feels like the natural next step after admitting you’re in love, right?”

“Well, we kissed before we did that,” Calum points out.

“Okay, but we should still kiss now,” Michael says agreeably, and Calum hums.

“Yeah, probably,” he says, and Michael’s lips quirk up in a tiny grin, and Calum’s stomach bottoms out, all the panic and fear and anguish flooding out of him. It’s okay, he thinks, as he grins back and leans in, their heads tilting just the right amount at just the right angle as their lips touch, a well-worn move done by muscle memory, not by thought. Calum’s still smiling as they kiss, and it’s a little awkward, a little uncomfortable, but it’s okay, because it’s Michael. It’s always okay if it’s Michael.

He brings his hand up to cup Michael’s jaw, thumb stroking across the soft skin there, and Michael sighs, a content, happy little noise that goes straight to Calum’s heart, makes him smile back and kiss Michael a little slower, a little sweeter. Of course Michael’s in love with him, he thinks a little giddily, as Michael winds his fingers into the hair at the nape of Calum’s neck and pulls him closer. How could this ever be anything else?

The kiss isn’t new, and neither are the grey sky and the grey sea beyond them, nor the seagulls that circle them, squawking loudly and incessantly. It’s all familiar, known and comfortable, and Calum can’t help but breathe in the scent of the sea as he pulls away and rests his forehead against Michael’s, grinning at the softness - no, the love - in Michael’s eyes.

Nothing has changed.

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfuckimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @clumthood

if you’d like to be added to my taglist pls fill in this form!

#malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos slash #ok if you saw this before it got formatted you didnt see it close your eyes #i put right here right now back on while manually backspacing all the line breaks #and meg goes for the love of god stop listening to right here right now its not good for you #looks like its back to oasis for me then its on megs orders #ALSO can you eblieve there is not ONE SINGLE mention of britpop in this fic <3 #it was hard but i did it for bella

64 notes · View notes