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allaboutthebooz · 4 years ago

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Still Learning Pt. Three

Summary: After having everything stolen from her, the reader meets Bucky and they form a relationship, that works for the both of them. She needs money and he needs the company. There are rules that need to be followed. What will happen when the rules are broken?

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, drinking

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. Just when I find a groove, it gets knocked off course. But it's finally here and I hope you all enjoy.

After getting your drinks, Bucky decides to get a little invasive. “So, how come you are here by yourself?”

Y/N lets out a small laugh. “I’m not. My friends decided they would rather dance than sit with me while I wallow.” She juts a thumb behind her, point to the small dance floor. Bucky looks past her to see a few people dancing. Most were couples dancing a little too inappropriately, but there were two women dancing together, and he assumes they’re Y/N’s friends.

Turning his gaze back to his company, he gives her a quick look over. Her jean jacket covering her upper body, but he notices her dress. The soft silk material, covered in a combination of blue, red, and orange, clinging to what curves her can see. Her hair down, but half was pulled back into a braid of some sort.

He looks at her face. Not noticing the look behind her eyes, until now. He should have been able to tell that she wasn’t happy. He’d seen the same look on his face, often when he’d look in the mirror. The mask she wore, similar to his.

“Wallow?” He asks.

She nods. “Yeah, I haven’t had the best luck lately.”

“Want to tell me about it? Maybe talking to a stranger will help.”

She shakes her head and huffs. “I doubt it. I’m in deep shit and have no clue what will happen.”

“Maybe I can help?”

She looks at Bucky, silent. He can see her debating what to say.

You’re not sure how long you spent staring at the man next to you. The man who wanted to know what kind of trouble you were in, after only knowing his name for thirty minutes. Looking down at the glass in your hand, you bring it to your lips and take a long sip from it.

“Fuck it. Why not tell it to you. Not like you’ll be able to find me again.” Looking back at Bucky, you see his jaw clench just slightly.

“You never know.” Is all he says. His voice gruff.

You open your mouth to start your story, when you feel two bodies press close to you. Looking to your right, you see Lexie and Deanna standing there. Both focused on Bucky.

“You okay?” Dee asks, her mama bear side starting to show.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” You feel Lexie grab a strand of your hair at its end. “Sorry we’ve been ignoring you.”

“No, it’s alright. I was actually thinking of heading home. I’m pretty tired.”

Both girls groan. “You’re supposed to be having fun.” Dee pushes.

You look over at Bucky, giving him a quick smile before turning back to your friends. “You know that’s impossible right now. I can’t focus on having fun when I’m about to lose my apartment. I’m gonna get home so I can get some sleep. I have to edit some photos and have them turned in tomorrow.”

Deanna opens her mouth to respond, but Lex puts a hand on her shoulder. “If that’s what you want to do, that’s fine. We know you have a lot going on right now. We just thought getting you out of the house would help.”

“And I appreciate it, but once everything if normal again, then I can start having fun.”

“Well, we can go. Let’s settle our tab.” Lexie says.

“No, you two stay. You’re actually enjoying yourselves. Don’t let me ruin your fun.”

“Are you sure?” Deanna asks. “We don’t mind.”

“Yeah, stay. I’ll get a cab.” You start to stand. Hugging the girls, they head back to the dance floor. You turn back to Bucky. “It was nice to meet you.”

You notice the panic slightly raise in his face. “Wait. I’ll go with you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Back to my place? I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

“No, not there. Why don’t we just walk around for a bit. Maybe see if there are any diners open or something.” He suggests.

You find yourself staring at him again. Your eyes rake over him. His dark hair, his blue eyes. His leather jacket and Henley shirt clinging to his chest. His thick thighs clad in dark blue jeans. Were you going to let this man keep you company? Were you going to open up to him? You probably won’t see him again after tonight and he seems like a nice guy. There was something familiar about him and you weren’t sure that you were ready to say goodbye.

“Okay. But just for a little while I really should get home and edit those photos.”

Bucky smiles wide and follows you out of the bar.

“I know a place that’s open all night. They have great food.” You suggest.

“Lead the way.”

You move down the sidewalk, Bucky beside you with his hands shoved in his jean pockets.

“So, you’re a photographer?” He asks.

“I am. Mostly fashion right now.”

“That’s cool. Anything I might have seen?”

You laugh. “Not unless you read Vogue.”

“No, I can’t say that I have. I really haven’t had time to do a ton of reading. My work keeps me busy.”

“Oh yeah? What do you do?” You ask, looking him over.

He stares at you like you should know who he is and what he does. “Uh I guess you could say that I work with the military.”

“Doing what?”

“Linguistics.”

You make an impressed face. “Sounds interesting.

It’s Bucky’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, I guess it can be.”

You both walk in silence for a while. You can feel Bucky’s urge to finish your conversation that was interrupted.

“You’re still wondering why I wasn’t wanting to stay and have fun, aren’t you? I can feel your curiosity growing.” You smirk at him.

He gives you a shy smile. “Yeah, I am. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to think I’m overstepping.”

You look up at the night sky. The stars barely visible beyond the city lights. Sighing you say, “A month ago, my ex-boyfriend stole every single penny I had to my name. He destroyed my credit. He opened a couple of credit cards in my name and a loan from a bank in my name and never paid them. He disappeared and I haven’t heard from him. The cops haven’t bothered to find him. So I have no money, except what little cash I managed to withdraw before it all happened.”

Bucky stops walking, making you stop too. “Are you shitting me?”

You laugh. “I wish I was.”

“Son of a bitch.” He says, before continuing his stride.”

“Yeah.” You both walk a bit further before you stop in front of a wall full of windows. “This is it.”

He opens the door, allowing you to step inside first as he follows.

After settling into a booth by the windows, you both spend the rest of the night talking. He asked a few more questions and you explained to him that you were pretty much out of a job and would soon lose your home if you didn’t make enough money to pay your rent.

Eventually, you convinced him to move onto a different subject. Before you knew it, the sun was starting to peak from behind the other buildings. When a ray of light blinds you, you squint and look out the window.

“Oh shit. We literally talked all night.”

“I guess we did. I’m sorry. I know you needed to get home.” Bucky apologizes.

“You know what? I’m not even upset. This was way more fun than sitting at my desk in an empty apartment that won’t be mine for long.”

You start to gather your things as Bucky lays a few bills on the table. You both step outside, pulling jackets on. You look at Bucky and wonder what to do next.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye.” You say.

“It doesn’t have to be. I’d like to see you again.”

You bite your bottom lip. “I don’t know. I’d like to see you again, but my life is such a mess right now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. I’d like to help you.”

“How can you do that? You got a ton of money laying around or something?”

“Or something. Why don’t we do this again tonight? I can explain everything then.”

“I don’t know, Bucky.”

“How about this? I’m going to come back here to have more of those delicious pancakes. You can join me and let me help you. I’ll let you decide. I’ll be here at 7. If you show, we’ll talk. If you don’t, I’ll leave you alone.”

He gently leans in and kisses your cheek.

“I hope I see you later.” He hails a cab and opens the door for you, closing it once you’re settled in the backseat and walking the opposite way down the sidewalk.

‘What the hell was that?’ You think.

The taxi dropped you off in front of your building. You hand the driver some cash, telling him to keep the change. The whole drive home, you kept thinking about what he meant by wanting to help you. Did he have a job for you? Did he want you to take some headshots for him? You didn’t know much about him, except that he worked with the military, and he didn’t seem like he was the model or actor type, so headshots were out of the question.

You walked up the stairs to your apartment still pondering why Bucky wanted to help you and how he planned to do it. You get to your floor and move down the hallway, your apartment at the very end with your door facing towards you. You’re almost in front of it when you notice an envelope taped to your door. You peel it off, curious, and stick your key in the door to unlock it.

Stepping through the entrance, you lay your purse on the counter in the kitchen, peel your jean jacket off, and then your shoes. Once you’re somewhat settled, you peel open the letter and pull the piece of paper out of its snug exterior.

��Y/N,

I hoped you would be home when I came by. I didn't want to do this how it's been done, but I don't have a choice.

I know how tough things have been for you the last month and I've done everything to try and help. You've been a perfect resident. Always paid your rent on time. You've always been nice to everyone here. However, unless you pay your rent by the end of the week, I'm afraid that you will be forced to move out.

I've tried talking to Tom to get him to understand your situation and though he is sympathetic, he can't pay the mortgage for the building without your portion of the rent.

I'm sorry there's nothing more that I can do for you.

I would hate to see you go, but I do not have a choice.

Let me know as soon as you can, if you are able to pay your rent and we can work something out.

Again, I'm sorry.

David’

Sign you crumble the paper into a ball and let it drop onto the counter.

‘Perfect.’ You think. After having a great night, you should have known the bliss wouldn't last for long.

You wanted to cry, but suddenly felt too exhausted. You decide to get a few hours of sleep, before trying to work or do anything else.

Peeling your silky dress from your body as you move towards your bed, you unhook your bra, tossing it aside, and finally collapse onto your mattress. You barely pull the covers over your mostly naked torso before you fall asleep. Dreaming of the blue-eyed man you had just spend your evening with.

TAGS:

Still Learning- @chipilerendi @vicmc624

Marvel- @shreddedparchment

Forevers- @jamielea81 @dnnwnchstr22 @also-fangirlinsweden

*If you would like to added to the tag list, please send me an ask. I am able to keep up with them better that way!

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky reader insert #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #marvel series #marvel reader insert

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ephemerlskies · 4 years ago

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in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to.

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty.

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time."

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him.

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression.

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased.

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else.

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent.

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts angst #bts x reader #bts series #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin enemiestolovers!au #actor!jimin #jimin x reader #jimin series #bts enemies to lovers #in the stars tonight #rubycoast

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doing-all-write · 5 years ago

Text

flustered

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joe are getting ready to go to the store when he decides now is a good time to re-enact his casting video for BoRhap.

Word Count: 1K (she’s bby)

Warnings: This thing may be the most fluffy, self-indulgent piece of romance I’ve ever written. So, be prepared for lots of fluff, soft Joe and saying I love you for the first time

A/N: Hello! I’m working on part 3 of don’t be a baby (i haven’t forgotten, don’t worry!) BUT that video of Joe’s audition tape was too soft and adorable for me NOT to write this little blurb with the help of @mrhoemazzello who is the greatest muse known to human kind 💖💖💖

💖💖As always likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💖💖

"BABE"

"You don't need to yell, I'm literally right next to you." she turned with a squeak as the tips of her braids hit Joe, causing him to clutch his face in faux agony.

"SHE'S BLINDED ME!" He screamed at the same time that she cried, "I'm sorry!"

"(Y/N)? Is that you?" She scrunched her nose as Joe smashed his palms against her face, "I can only tell who's who anymore by touch alone." She giggled as she gently pushed her palms against his chest, feeling the softness of his well-worn sweatshirt pushing back.

"Wow, you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, are we really dating?"

"Yes," she laughed, "Much to my dismay."

"The woman WOUNDS me with her hair then with her words?" Joe flung his hand against his forehead, slumping against the wall as (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

"This is what I get for dating an actor."

Peeking at her through his eye, Joe grinned, "And you wouldn't change it for anything, would you?"

"Not for anything in the world." She smiled as she got on tip-toe to plant a kiss on his lips. Pulling away, Joe placed a hand on her hip, bringing her closer so he could kiss her again. Feeling her smile against his lips was his favorite thing in the world.

"You know, we said we were going to the store twenty minutes ago..."

"You're really ruining a romantic moment here." Joe sighed against her lips.

"Will you ever forgive me?" She mumbled as she gave Joe a long, lingering kiss.

Pulling away, she giggled at the stunned look on Joe's face. "If you keep kissing me like that, I'll forgive you for everything forever."

Laughing she grabbed his keys from the side table, "Are we going our what? We have exactly zero food in the house."

Shaking himself from his stupor Joe snatched the keys from her hands, brushing past her to the front door where he stepped into his shoes, "And who's fault is that?"

"It was a stressful week! You know I bake a lot when I'm stressed!"

"Don't forget the eating aspect."

"That's the most important part!" She flung her arms out wide to illustrate her point.

Laughing, he tugged on the end of her braid, "You ready to go, darling?"

"Yeah," her eyes widened, "SHOT GUN!" she screamed as she bolted for the car.

Caaaaaan?

"ANYYYBODYYY! FIND ME! SOMEBODY TOOOOO!" She shoved a fake microphone into Joe's face, "Looooooove." Joe sang passionately into the mic in his best baritone voice. Flinging her head back, she let loose a loud laugh.

Glancing over at her, Joe's heart expanded. The sun was streaming through the windows, bits of hair falling out of her braids, blowing all over. Her smile was wide and he was sure he had never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life.

Reaching forward, he turned down the song, "Did I ever show you my audition tape I sent in for Bohemian Rhapsody?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, he had shown it to her on one of their first dates and she had watched it every day since.

Joe knew that and (Y/N) knew that, but quirking an eyebrow, she decided to play dumb, "You know, I don't think you ever have Mazzello."

Nodding sagely, Joe gripped the wheel, "Well, luckily, we're in the same car that I happened to film it in and I think I can remember the accent.."

"Babe, you literally did the accent last night when we were making out."

"Yeah and it turned you on." Smacking his arm, Joe laughed, "Alright, alright. You ready?"

Straightening up in her seat, she smacked her hands on her thighs, "Okay, Mazzello. Annnnnd...ACTION."

Launching into his monologue he gave during his audition tape she felt her heart straining in her chest. The love she felt for Joe in this moment stole her breath away. Turning her head, she let her gaze drink in Joe, at the sun streaming in, highlighting his profile. Being with him felt like holding a birthday candle close to her chest, it was a fire but it was full of promises, of wishes, of good things to come and years and years to look forward to together.

Taking his eyes off the road to meet her (Y/E/C) ones, he smiled. "Are you even listening to me?"

Nodding, she laughed as Joe's hand came to rest on her thigh, "Because it seems like you're not even paying attention to anything I'm saying to." He continued in John's accent.

"I am! I am, I swear." She patted his hand as Joe nodded, mollified, "Okay, because it would be a shame if you weren't listening as I told you about the time that I went to set super hungover and Ben and Gwil tricked me into eating mayonnaise..." hearing her laugh fill the car was better than any song that could be play over the stereo.

"Babe! That's not true! I was there on set that day with you just as hungover, I was the one who MADE you take that fourth shot!"

"Yes, and we both paid for it dearly." He said with a straight face as she fell into giggles again. Glancing over at her, another smile lit up his face. "Babe, oh my god, stop, my sides hurt." She whined as she swept a finger at the moisture that had collected in her eyes.

"Would you like to hear me rate my favorite kind of cheeses in this accent as well?" He bit back his own smile as her laughter shook her frame. Leaning over the console she buried her face into Joe's shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne, the laundry detergent they used and sunshine.

Feeling her shake against him, Joe leaned over to plant a kiss on her head. Lifting his head up, he continued his monologue on cheeses, completely oblivious to her pleas, begging him to stop.

"So that's why Gouda is probably my favorite cheese but Pepperjack is a close second." He shrugged as (Y/N) collapsed back into her own seat, clutching her stomach.

"Oh my god, Joey, I'm dying, please. Holy shit..." she trailed off as she caught her breath. Joe laughed, keeping one hand firmly planted on her thigh, the other one deftly steering the car into the parking lot of the grocery store.

As her laughter died down, Joe parked the car and twisted in his seat to face her fully. Wearing one of his sweatshirts, no makeup, eyes crinkly as she recovered from her laughing fit. Her smile, wide and unguarded. The Queen playlist she had made him playing softly in the background. The sun lighting her form up, making her look angelic. All of a sudden he couldn't fight the words that were leaping from his throat.

"I love you."

Her laughter died as she stared back at Joe, eyes wide.

"Wh-what did you just say?"

Taking a deep breath in, Joe figured it wouldn't make much sense to deny what he'd just confessed.

"I said, I love you, (Y/N)." He lifted his eyes from his hands to meet hers and her breath hitched. She wanted to spend forever drowning in them. The next words left her body in a sigh.

"I love you too, Joey."

Realizing what they had just admitted to each other, the smiles they were beaming at each other were huge.

"We probably look like idiots. Just sitting here. Staring at each other." (Y/N) mumbled.

"Smiling like two fucking weirdos." Joe added as she nodded then lunged across the car's console, planting a kiss on Joe like she had right before they'd left for the store.

Pulling back, they each had equally dazed looks on their faces.

"Should we, um, even try to go grocery shopping? Or-"

"Can we please go home and have sex?" she asked as she kissed Joe's bicep, buckling her seatbelt back into place.

It took Joe three tries to get the car started. When he finally did, (Y/N) was laughing just as hard, if not harder than she had before.

"I'm sorry but the woman who I love just said she would have sex with me! Excuse me for getting a little flustered." Joe huffed.

"It's adorable, how do you think I feel knowing the man I'm in love with is that excited to have sex with me?" she mumbled as she scrolled through Joe's phone, trying to find the next song.

Joe glanced over at her, "What are you so focused on over there, (Y/L/N)? You've got your tongue sticking out when you're concentrating super hard."

Quickly pulling the tip of her tongue back in to her mouth, she chuckled as she hit play on the next song. "I was trying to find our new 'I love you' song."

Joe's eyes grew soft as he reached over to take her hand in his own, "Yeah? And what song would that be?"

The machine of a dream!

The look on Joe's face was better than she thought it would be.

As the song's final notes played, Joe parked the car next to their building and reached over to take both of her hands in his, "(Y/N), I need to tell you something important."

"Yes, Joey?" She said as she batted her eyelashes at him.

"I'm in love with my car...and also you." She gasped as she swooned into her seat.

"Babe, you know just want to say to make a girl weak in the knees."

"I also know what to do to make her weak in the knees." he whispered in her ear as he nipped at her earlobe. Squeaking, she frantically pulled at the handle of the car door, "Well then what are we doing just sitting here? We gotta get inside!"

Chuckling Joe unfolded himself from the car, "Who's the flustered one now?"

#joe mazzello #joe mazzelo x reader #joe mazello fic #joe mazzello one shot #joe mazzello fluff #joe mazzello fanfic #bohrap cast #bohemian rhapsody #john deacon

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stone-man-warrior · 4 years ago

Text

November 21, 2020: 2:47 pm:

I have some foul speculation I want to say, something I have mentioned before, but not in detail, just in passing with other terror comm.

Recent space station news sparks a recollection to say more.

I suspect strongly that the Capitula window design was intentional made to fail, causing an air leak, one that was not found, and the astronauts aboard the ISS all perished, are still up there, inside of a space sarcophagus floating around up there.

I’ll keep this short, it’s very dangerous to say this.

The design elements of the Capitula window includes that there are manually operated Venetian blinds that are on the outside of the space craft. The astronauts need to close the blinds for reasons that I don’t know, maybe direct sun light is too warm inside the window there, so, a means to keep direct sun out was provided. The manual blind handles actually pass through the wall of the space craft. There is only one O ring there to seal the craft at each of the many manual handles. Those O rings are also designed as a bearing surface on which those control arms turn to close and open the Venetian blinds.

I anticipate some problems with that design.

The repeated turning of the handles will make wear & tear on the O rings, it’s not rocket science to know that it’s a bad idea to put holes in a space craft. A leak is eventual, it will leak at some point, even if the handles are not turned. A stationary gasket between surfaces does not have the same forces as an O-ring bearing does, placed on it, so other gaskets on the space craft that are not part of moving objects that pass through the walls, will last much longer.

There is numerous indications of foul play contained in the space concert performed by the Canadian astronaut that I linked the other day.

Some things to consider while watching the space concert are:

He is wearing bright red. Passion Play statement there.

He has a Guitar, an Ax, and plays it.

The song is about a window on the space station.

The Canadian has a way of habitually touching the floating guitar as he is talking to the students on Music Monday, in Canada. (”habit touch”; “sabotage”. It’s subtle, but it needs to be subtle for a astronaut to say the arrangements were made at the handles for the Venetian Blinds.)

There is a place at the end of the video when Mission Control says that they want the astronaut to “play out” as the concert is ended. Then, when he does “play out”, there is no sound, only the sound from Mission Control is heard as we see the astronaut is playing the guitar. Speculation is, that Mission Control wanted a little more detail about the progress at the sabotage at the Capitula. The told him “Play Out”. That means “Act it Out”, so he turns off the microphone, plays guitar, but there is no sound coming from the space craft. Silence on the ISS is what he acted out, with an ax, while wearing bright red and singing about a space window.

There are other clues. Something that looks like a scan code is on the guitar, a sticker on the backside of the guitar.

The guitar floats around, spinning slowly, is controlled with habitual touch to stay put, continuously spinning under control.

There is a part when a Canadian student asks about playing guitar in space, and the Space Canadian Axtronaut explains the hard part is holding on to it, the strap won‘t work in space, he says. He tells that it’s like playing a guitar that is floating by as he tries to play. An Air-Guitar Axeman Extraordinaire, is the Canadian Axtronaut.

There are some rubbery looking wires there dangling around near the Velcro table where the microphone gets stuck to so he can perform.

I don’t see any reference to the Venetian Blinds, but I’ll wager that there is reference to them that I did not find yet.

One more thing is from other space information on a different interview by the same Space Canadian who is very friendly, knowledgeable, likeable fellow is that he explained some other time, that water is not transported in large quantities to the ISS, it’s too heavy, he said. So, everything they use is recycled as much as possible. The astronauts recycle their own urine back into fresh water, he explained, so they have water to drink.

Space Urinaid?

Tang?

Urine is what a Golden Shower is made from. It’s a Guilded statement.

Urine = Pee = P

Urinaid = P-aid = Paid for a golden opportunity ... Opera-Tune-ity. Italian Opera by a Vanetian Operative at the Capitula Theater aboard the International Space Station.

The result, is a enormous space program profit center that is perpetuated as a real space program, to bring scientists into space for learning about Earth, while the truth is that the last mission that was successful was more than twelve years ago. Since that time, the scientists aboard the ISS from that time are all dead, the space craft is a Space Crypt now, is not operational, has holes in the side, is like a 1958 Buick that way, and the money that is allahted for space programs is diverted to terror operations while SAG uses movie magic to fake everyone out.

The Eastwood Guitars Rockerbox model, is a further clue to the planning of the Capitula window sabotage that started with intentionally designing a bogus design for the window that is like a 1958 Buick, has holes in the side.

I designed the Eastwood Rockerbox in around 1998-2002-ish while held captive, forced to design things. I designed it based on a 1958 Buick.

Someone else needs to take over with the Canadian Space Concert Air-Guitar Concert Inspection from there.

Additional 5:47 pm:

For a more globally, generalized look at this Capitula Air-Guitar event, there is something about the way the guitar the Canadian Axtronaut makes the guitar spin around slowly that immediately made me recall that early forms of terror communication from years ago, were sometimes based on the idea that you can capture an insect, and keep it in a jar for observation. I think most children have captured a bug and kept in a jar for awhile. Ant Farm’s and other special containers are sold at stores exactly for that. Terror comm is like a bug jar sometimes.

The reason I say this, is because the guitar spins the same kind of way that is present in an old video game I used to play with my kids called “Bugs Life”, is based on a cartoon of the same name. In the game, there are some coins you need to collect as you control your Ant character around the Bug’s Life playing field, which you could say, is a jar with a Ant inside on the video screen going around collecting coins. The guitar spins in the same way as the coins do in the Bug’s Life Game.

The symbolism presented with that if it could be shown to actually have a connection to the Air-Guitar at the Space Station Capitula Venetian Blinds Control Arm O-Ring Sagotage is like Bugs in a jar in space without any air to breath. I am imagining a lot of Rock Stars, Actors, Public Officials who gather at Mission Control whenever a new group of scientist astronauts is sent up to the ISS, and they watch on the video feed as the astronaut scientist arrivals enter the ISS to find that there is no oxygen, the previous crew is all floating around dead, and there is no way to get out of the space bug jar.

SAG terrorists get off on that kind of thing, especially the ones from Europe.

I have already explained much about killing contraptions made for entertainment of entertainers who gather and watch as victims are horribly murdered with a variety of contraptions that are specially made for the act of killing people for entertainment, so, I suggest that the SAG space station is still used to send astronauts to on occasion, but it’s a Space Bug Jar now, the entertainment happens while they watch from Mission Control, for profit, maybe video feeds are sold to SAG members to watch from their homes, and the corner bar in Hollywood, The Whisky-a-Go-Go, The Troubadour and The Brown Derby.

If you look for insect in a jar terror comm, you will find insect in a jar terror comm. Don‘t be too surprised when the terror is about a Jar Head in a jar. I already told you enough times about that kind of thing, you should have stopped that by now... I am talking to you, US national Security here. Do your job.

3:46 pm.

This is the Eastwood Bucklund Rockerbox I designed based on a 1958 Buick.

https://eastwoodguitars.com/collections/guitars

I designed a number of the guitars at the Eastwood webpage while held captive, forced to design things at gunpoint.

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phanfictioncatalogue · 5 years ago

Text

In Progress Chaptered (6) Masterlist

Links Last Checked: January 23rd, 2024

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part seven, part eight

In Progress as of 01/29/20

Baby, I’m a Star (ao3) - cactusgal

Status: completed

Summary: Phil is a lighting designer. Bored with the community concert gigs he has had for a few years, he applies at a touring company. He gets assigned to a popular band, the dreamx, to cover a world tour. Getting paid to work on nearly every continent; how rad is that? Phil's really excited until he the first day of rehearsal when he learns something vital: the lead singer is a complete twat. Will Phil quit his job? Will Daniel, the lead singer, realize how much of a dick he's being? Will they eventually forget their differences and become friends? Who knows. Only time will tell.Loosely based on the song "Baby, I'm a Star" by Prince and has aspects of the film "Lost In Translation".

Candle in the Window - starboydjh

Summary: Veritas (noun): Verity or truth. Harvard University’s motto since 1836.

Taking a job across the ocean away from his family, Phil Lester, a quirky literature professor, never really felt at home in the storied halls of Harvard University or the historic streets of Cambridge, Massachusetts. He meets another out of place professor of Philosophy at Harvard named Daniel Howell on a blind date set up by their coworker, and takes a newfound interest in Doctor Howell’s courses after their date.

Class of 1953 (ao3) - shutup_turd

Status: completed

Summary: It's the year 1950, and Phil is making a fresh start during his first term at Oxford University. He's found genuine friends, he's doing well in his studies, and he can finally be his authentic self. However, there's still one last thing missing.One night he stumbles upon a group of actors rehearsing Shakespeare in a candlelit chapel, but it's not the scenary catching Phil's eye. Instead, it's a charming man with curly hair whose eyes seem to burn even brighter than the candles.Expect pretentious flirting, homoerotic yearning, twilight hallways and cuddling in dorm rooms. Oh, and also plenty of references to The Smiths!

Dancing on the blades (you set my heart on fire) (ao3) - kishere

Status: completed

Summary: Dan Howell is an ice skater in England, a non power player in the world of competitive ice skating. Phil Lester is the greatest ice skater to come out of England in the past decade, part of a family legacy. When Dan is offered a spot at Phil's family gym, he learns what he was missing the most to be the best ice skater he could be.

Or: the yuri on ice inspired au

fire on fire (ao3) - flymetomanchester

Summary: Phil never thought he would have to marry someone he didn't want to. But his parents have other plans for his life.

Heavy is the Head (That Wears the Crown) (ao3) - thrivinghowell

Status: completed

Summary: The Dan and Phil, drag queen, enemies to lovers fic that no one asked for.

Dan (also known as Lady Helena) is an up and coming drag performer and Phil (also known as Fi-Fi Aqwa) is a famous drag queen who's not happy about Dan's presence in his club.

Ignorance is (definitely not) bliss (ao3) - RachelxAnnex

Status: completed

Summary: After Dan surprises Phil by agreeing to his stupid fake relationship plan to impress the bosses at his company we spend the week with them in New York. Where Phil tries desperately to think of everything but Dan, and Dan tries everything he can to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Impractical Magic (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: When restlessness and a rainstorm bring Dan to Witch’s Brew, a hidden gem amongst the corporate coffee chains of London, everything is not what it seems. Or maybe they are, exactly how they seem.

Moon under water (ao3) - sunflowerwitches (orphan_account)

Status: completed

Summary: that “i'm pretending to be your boyfriend because you look very uncomfortable with that person hitting on you” AU no one asked for but i want to write

Rose-Colored Boy (ao3) - coffeeandcatwhiskers

Summary: "but hearts are breaking. the wars are raging on, and i have taken my glasses off."

in which phil thinks dan could use a dash of sunshine and dan thinks phil could shove it, but frankly, dan appreciates phil’s adorable reckless optimism.

also, they work together in a bookstore.

also, dan has the largest crush in the world on phil, but his deteriorating pessimism gets the best of him on the daily and he acts super rude to try and put the idea of ever loving phil out of the question.

based on the song rose-colored boy by paramore.

Sail Away With Me - paradisobound

Status: completed

Summary: It was a fluke. Dan shouldn’t have ever gone with Sam to a party on a yacht. He shouldn’t have trusted her to go. But in a chance encounter, he ends up in bed with Phil Lester, a billionaire CEO of a luxury clothing company. When he thinks he’s screwed up enough, he realizes he’s in way too deep. Because Phil Lester has fallen in love with him. The catch: Dan gave Phil a fake name and all Phil has to remember Dan by is the tattoo on his hip and the necklace he left behind.

Some Killer Queen You Are (ao3) - possumdnp

Status: completed

Summary: Dan’s enjoyed taking a break from YouTube, but for some reason, he still feels like something is missing. Determined to fill the creative void in his life, he decides to try out something new: drag.

Through Glass (ao3) - spacemanlevi

Summary: In a technologically advanced future, Dan Howell finds himself desperate for attention of any kind. So, with the new Dating Simulator 4000, and meets the boy of his dreams. The one problem? He's not real.

World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Daniel Howell - paradisobound

Status: completed

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #chaptered #inprogresschaptered #inprogresschaptered masterlist

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 years ago

Text

Happy Together : 2

Small World

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Chapter Summary: The reader sees a familiar face.

Notes: For reference to setting, see the previous chapter. As for this one, I hope you have patience. Now, Witness kinda took a few chapters to get to the crux, but this one might take a little longer. ;) But I promise, it’s going to be some very fucked up Steve eventually. In advance, I thank everyone for following along and soon I will start adding to other WIPs one Witness is finished (maybe finally start that Medieval AU lol) <3

Thanks to everyone who reads and as always, I looked forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

You were annoyed that you had wasted time at that restaurant waiting on yet another unreliable and selfish man. You could’ve used the hour finishing your latest commission but instead you spent your Saturday morning on the project. You usually tried to save that day for yourself. Self-employed, you made it a priority to work at least six days a week. You were paid well enough, quite successful as it was, but you liked the security of having a little extra under your belt. Besides, it always made you anxious to think that you could be actually doing something instead of lazing around on your couch watching Netflix.

Plus, you needed the distraction from your self-pity. The humiliation lingered for a few days after and even your work couldn’t erase it entirely. Why hadn’t he come? Was it an innocent case of forgetfulness? Or maybe he had changed his mind after seeing you. Tandi had exchanged your information via Facebook and he had seen your photo the same as you had his. Perhaps he hadn’t been as pleased at the prospect. Ugh, you didn’t even know him. Just forget it!

It was Wednesday and the disappointment was still a speck at the edge of your mind. It was sunny for once, a light jacket over your blouse and jeans as you basked in the warming spring air. You walked merrily to the park, happy to be outside, refreshed almost. You found a place on one of the bench, the melody of birds and interspersed voices of people filling the flowery air. You pulled your tablet and pen from your leather tote and opened up your program, working on the outline of the geometric logo you had started the night before.

Every now and then you looked up from your work and admired the serenity nestled amidst the chaotic city. You crossed your legs, resting your tablet against your knee and continued to draw, the sunlight hugging you. A blur moved across the top of your vision and paused, looming closer and you slowly looked up. The tablet nearly slid off your knee as you spotted the man approaching you. It couldn’t be.

“Hey, it’s you,” Steve greeted, his perfect smile shining brighter than the sky. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name the other night.”

“Um, Y/N,” You answer, shading your eyes from the sun beaming over his shoulder, “You remember me?”

“A face like yours is easy to remember,” He replied coyly, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Yeah, I uh...know,” You admitted shyly, “Thanks again…”

“Oh, it was nothing,” He waved away the gratuity, “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead,” You shrugged, steadying your tablet across your knee.

“Are you drawing something?” He asked, your tablet half-dimmed as it threatened to lock.

“Yeah. Working actually,” You explained, clicking the sleep button and shifting the screen against your thigh. “I’m a graphic artist.”

“Ah,” He nodded, “Makes sense. It must be fun. Doing something creative like that.”

“It can be,” You answered, “I…” You paused, his eyes never leaving yours. He was so intent on you, as if no one else was in the park. How had he picked you out among the crowd? Half of New York had probably been in his restaurant. You shook away the overly paranoid questions and continued. “Depends on the job, really. I mostly just do corporate logos and designs. Can’t really get paid for what I want to draw.”

“Well, what do you like to draw?” He stretched his arm over the back of the bench, you almost didn’t notice as it slid behind you. You were sure it was just a casual gesture, a habit he didn’t give much thought to, but it felt entirely too intimate.

“Life, I guess. People, animals, trees. I just like to create scenes, not just...symbols,” You said, nervously twirling the pen between your fingers. “I prefer to paint, really.”

“Oh, yeah? Do have any of them on that thing?” He pointed to the tablet, “Anything you’re willing to show me?” You blinked as his tone caught you off-guard. He was talking about your art and yet it seemed like he meant something more. You could’ve sworn his eyes had strayed from your face for just a second. God, you were crazy. After being stood up and nearly two years by yourself, you were growing delusional.

“I might, I, um...one second,” You unlocked your tablet and saved your work. You opened your gallery and flipped through your files, settling on a quick sketch you had done of a sparrow that had built a nest outside your building. “It’s just a drawing, but, um, here.”

You handed over the tablet and he tilted it so he could see the screen, his brows lifting as his eyes ran over the lines and shadows done in monochrome, splashes of auburn here and there to give a hint of life to the sketch. “Wow, that’s really good.” He looked up, holding the tablet out to you, “You’re very talented.”

“Thanks,” You looked away shyly, “Really, it’s just a sketch. I’ve seen way better.”

“No, no, what you do is amazing. You shouldn’t compare yourself to others,” He smiled as you took the tablet, your fingers brushing his by accident. “You’re you and that makes it more than a sketch. It’s art.”

You allowed yourself a small smile. “Thank you,” You locked your tablet again and set it on your lap, resting your pen beside it.

“Well,” He slowly pulled his arm out from behind you, his warmth releasing you as he stood. “I’ll leave you to it. I’d hate to keep you from you work.” He checked his watch as he spoke, “And I’ve got to get to the restaurant for dinner service.” He looked back to you, his blue eyes searching you, considering you closely as he measured his next words, “You should definitely come back some time. You know, no date required.”

“Yeah, uh, sure,” You nodded evasively. You didn’t really want to admit that you couldn’t go back not because you were dateless but because you had bills. “It was, uh, surprising to run into you.”

“You, too,” He grinned, his golden brows twitching, “The special tonight is salmon. You should give it a try….have a good one.”

He turned away, strolling across the park and onto the street. You drew your brows together as you saw a silver car pull up and he got inside. Why would he be walking through the park if he had a town car? You shook your head and readjusted your tablet across your knee. Maybe he had just gotten out to stretch. You doubted he had gone out of his way to bug you.

-------------

You balanced the mugs, careful not to spill any of the foam as you walked between tables and found your seat by the window. Tandi was sat with her phone out, grinning at the screen like an idiot. You set her latte in front of her and cupped your own warm mug as you sat down. She finished typing and relinquished her phone on the table. She looked up at you, starry-eyed over her latest fling. Well, they’d been seeing each other for a couple months so maybe it was getting serious.

“I’m real sorry about Danny,” She said. She had arrived as you were waiting in line, grabbing a seat as you bided your time in the queue. Your mouth twitched and you looked away. The heat still rose in your cheeks whenever you thought of the painful hour spent in the restaurant. It had been more than a week.

“It’s not your fault,” You grumbled, “It was just embarrassing...I can’t believe I sat there that long. It was like everyone was staring at me.”

“I’m sure they weren’t, but it was a dick thing to do. I’ve blocked him on Snap, Facebook, and Twitter.” She smirked, “So yeah, fuck him.”

“Ha, thanks,” You scoffed, raising your mug to sip from it, the foam cooling the espresso. Your eyes wandered out the window as you leaned back in your chair.

“You know, not all guys are like that, Y/N,” She trilled, “Carson’s a nice guy and he has lots of friends.”

“I don’t want to date any of your boyfriend’s bros,” You protested, watching the passerbys through the glass. “Carson’s nice but not my type and I can’t imagine his friends are of a different cut.”

“Well, you should at least consider someone. Anyone!” She said dramatically, but before you could chuckle it caught in your throat. You swore you recognized that blonde head across the street. You couldn’t say for sure as it quickly ducked into the suit shop and you blinked as the mug in your hand wobbled. You steadied your grip and turned back to Tandi. Right, you were going crazy.

“I will. One day. But I’m fine right now. Work’s good and steady and I feel pretty good. I can do what I want when I want...Living with Mike was difficult and I didn’t even realize how much I hated it til he was gone.” You stopped yourself before you could get too emotional. “I know it’s been a long time, but I’m working on it, a little at a time.”

“I know…” She reached over and touched the back of your hand, “I just want you to be happy; healthy.”

You smiled. A genuine smile. Not the one you put on for strangers or when you were anxious. A real one and it felt good. You took another gulp and waited for Tandi to begin her usual train of gossip. She always had the messiest stories about her workplace; she was an actor and had garnered many a theatre job, enough at least to keep her studio apartment. Once she began, it was hard to stop her and your latte was drained by the time she finished.

Her phone shook the table. She flipped it over and checked the notification, her face shone. “Carson’s back from his trip,” She almost sang. You stared at her and sighed as her eyes rounded brightly.

“Go on,” You relented, “You’re free to go. I won’t keep you. Just call me when you get a chance...if you get a chance.”

“Thank you,” She stood so quickly she hit the table with her hip. She pulled on her thin trench, pulling taught the belt around her thin waist. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. That’s why I’m letting you go,” You crossed your arm, “Just let me know you’ve arrived safely. You know I’m paranoid.”

“Sure, sure,” She leaned down to give you half-hug, “I’ll see you.”

“See you,” You patted her lower back in return, “Bye.”

You watched her go, content at least with the hour shared with her. You couldn’t expect her to put her life on hold because you had. You weren’t bitter but you mulled her words. Just because one jerk had stood you up didn’t mean they all would. Maybe not today or tomorrow or the next day, but you’d be ready to start again one day. For now, you wanted to pop into the used bookstore just across the street. You always found something interesting there.

You stepped out into the cool spring afternoon, the evening looming as a hint of rain floated in the air. You ran across the street and hopped up onto the curb, your focus solely on the book shop. You entered with a ring, the small bell above the door announcing your entrance. The storekeeper was sat at a desk stacked with book, the daily newspaper held aloft like a shield. You headed for the back shelves where vintage magazines were kept in old filing crates. You liked to use them for inspiration.

As you picked out decades-old issues, the bell jingled again but you didn’t pay much heed to the arrival of another. You continued to thumb through the magazines until you had half a dozen, content that they would last you a while. You stood and looked along the shelf, walking parallel to it slowly as you read the titles of ancient odes and medieval limericks. You stopped to pull out a collection of Wordsworth, the spine thin and worn, easily falling open in your hand.

“Excuse me,” The voice interrupted you before you could finish reading the title of the first poem. It was oddly familiar. Your lashes fluttered in disbelief, “You dropped…” Steve’s voice died and he chuckled as you turned to him slowly, “You again.”

“Uh-huh,” You mumbled warily. It had been him on the street retreating into the suit shop. That would prove he had been in the area for more than an hour but why? He held no wares from his visit to the tailor’s. Another coincidence? Surely, you weren’t that special.

“As I was saying, you dropped this,” He held up the white pen you used with your tablet. It had likely slipped out as you knelt at the crates.

“Thanks,” You accepted it and tucked it snuggly in the side pocket.

“What’s that you got there?” He asked, nodding at the book in your hand.

“Nothing,” You closed it and placed it back on the shelf. “I was just wasting time.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiled, resting his hand on the shelf as he leaned on it casually. “I just kinda stumbled in. Saw this copy of Dante’s Inferno,” He held up the painted cover which depicted an eerie cave spiralling ever downward, “My mother used to keep a copy but I never read it. Thought maybe I could give it a try.”

“Cool,” You hugged the magazines to you chest. Something about him being there at that exact moment was off. The unease was stronger than it had been at the park; his spontaneous visit had been more believable then. You tried to smile. You were being dumb. And what were you even afraid of? He used to be an Avenger. He was good guy. “I was actually just about to head--”

A clap of thunder shrouded your next words. You looked past the bookshelves as the light rain you had failed to notice through the window began to pour down in sheets. Your distress must have been plain as your lips parted slightly.

“Do you need a ride?” He asked, shaking you from your despair. You looked back to him and tried to think of something. Anything.

“I’ll catch a cab,” You shrugged him off, trying to seem unperturbed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t waste your money. You can share my town car. He’s just outside. I’m sure you don’t live too far out of the way.” He smirked, his hand shifting along the shelf as he edged closer. You almost didn’t notice the subtle movement.

“Really, I can’t. You’ve already done enough. I really should, um, go.” You back away only to find the corner at your back.

“I won’t let you say no,” He asserted, “Come on. Just a car ride. That’s it. I mean, do you really wanna stand out in this and hail a cab?”

You stared up at him as you considered the invitation. Why were you so reluctant? He had done nothing to earn your distrust. If anything, he had only done you favours. But why? Oh, shut up brain, he wasn’t Mike. Or Danny. He actually seemed like a decent human being so why were you being so dumb?

“Okay,” You relented, “Sure. Why not.”

****

tags: @ruff-m3rc @alexakeyloveloki @lanabanana-86 @sathlens @jessieray98 @kellyn1604 @ahideousthinginside @ironlady1993 @kloe-iel @grayxswan @iheartsebastianstan @myboyfriendgiriboy @tanelle83 @patzammit @phoenix21love @they-call-me-le @iheartsebastianstan

#happy together #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers #fic #steve rogers fic #au #series #mcu #marvel #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve #dark steve #dark steve rogers

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joshslater · 5 years ago

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Sam Matthews

How many stars would Sam rate his experience? Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

He felt like his whole body had been through a full length tumbler program, his mouth was dry and he could see the room was brightly lit even before he opened his eyes. What the hell was going on? He was on his way home, was he not? Had there been an accident? Was he at the hospital?

As he adjusted to the blinding light, he quickly realized this was no hospital. Not a patient bed room at least. This looked like a gym. Better than a home gym, but smaller than a normal, commercial one. Only one of every machine. He was sitting in an abductor machine, the only machine here that could keep someone unconscious from falling out. He recognized the machine, and many of the others, from his X-fit place, though he barely ever used any of them. He’d tried them out a few times, but it was the climbing wall he kept going there for.

The room had black rubbery floor and all the walls he could see from where he was sitting had mirrors on them. Oddly he couldn’t see himself in the mirror. Instead he could only see some bare chested massive muscle freak oh my gods what has happened?!

In disbelief he looked down on his alien body. He didn’t recognize hardly anything he saw. Huge pecs above rippling abs and Adonis belt, pointing towards his huge bulge in his grey sweatpants. His? He had never seen them before. Never even heard about the gym on the logo. “One More Rep Academy”

He sat up properly and gazed into the mirror in front of him. His hair was different too. His face was different. What the hell was going on? There was a dorky necklace around his neck that created a reference point to show how enormous the rest of his upper body was. He moved his right arm around. A wave of pleasure flooded as the stiff and sore muscles got some movements in them. The massive muscles turned into footballs as he flexed his arm. He was weirdly disgusted and aroused at the same time. And confused. And sad. There would not be any more wall ascents from now on. How much heavier was he now? 50% more?

He stood up and walked around the big room. Except for the wall with the door, there were mirrors all around him. No windows. Damn, he was sore. But moving around felt really good. Absentmindedly he sat down again, now at the biceps curl machine, or whatever it might be called, and started doing a few reps. The ache was instantly drown out in waves of pleasure as he worked the muscles. He stopped and moved the peg down a bit. Never before would he even be close to that weight setting. He didn’t count, but it must have been at least 20 reps. As if he had completely forgotten that he was in an unfamiliar room, in unfamiliar clothes, in an unfamiliar body, he went through several more machines, working through the major muscle groups.

It was almost like he reached post wank clarity, though he really needed that as well. Panting lightly, he regained the realization of his situation as he caught himself staring at the door. He didn’t know why his first thought hadn’t been to rush out through it. Why had he spent so much time basically doing a work out routine? He walked to the door, opened it and stepped through.

Stepped right in front of a business casual young guy with a clipboard. - Good afternoon, I’m Matthew Harrison, legal aide at Viral Moments Inc. - What the fuck is going on? He didn’t intend to come off so strong, by his booming voice took him by surprise. Looking to his side he could see cameras pointing in through the one way mirrors. - You are the participant in a segment being recorded by Viral Moments Inc. I’m here to inform you of your rights as stated in the Paul Logan act of 2036. - The Prank Act? - Some call it that. The hidden camera part of the segment is now over. As stated by law you are guaranteed fair reimbursement for any damages and in addition SAG minimum wage. We go one step... - SAG? - Screen Actors Guild. We go one step further and award you a 15% revenue share of any residuals stemming from your participation. Given the channel size is almost 4 million subscribers, that can quickly be a lot. Just sign this release and indemnification form for me. - I.... I don’t understand. - Sign this paper and we’ll send you money.

He vaguely remember the Paul Logan act from his social media class in high school. “Always take the offer” was the only thing he remember his teacher had said. Mr Andrews was it? Hesitantly he signed the paper.

- Great. Here is your receipt. Next up is lunch. You must be hungry, with that body. After that we have styling and fitting, followed by photo shoot for the web site article and thumbnails. Finally a post prank interview by Brad and Tommy. Don’t worry, you’ll get the exclusive One More Rep guest duffel bag, filled with merch.

Sam barely paid any attention, and was just staring at the receipt. Most of what he could see under procedures were incomprehensible to him. “Rhinoplasty”, “DermaLox” and so on. But at the end were a few procedures he could understand. “Cognitive pattern shaping: Muscle workout 1-5″ and “Cognitive pattern shaping: Physique model 1 & 2″. What had he really agreed to?

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women-are-visual · 5 years ago

Text

Feisty’s Breakdown

My friend Feisty Lee has been in a breakdown for over a year now, and I’m not sure how to help her. I still live in Oakland, California, while she’s moved to Los Angeles to be near her family, and when she asks me to visit her, I do.

It’s a warm and calm January night when she flails to the front gate of her white stucco apartment building. She’s super skinny, dressed in leggings and rose gold sneakers, a big sweater, long brown hair, thick eyeliner.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” she shouts, flinging her arms and legs as she runs, like a child, although she’s in her early forties. “I’m Michael Jackson!” she says, kicking her big shiny sneakers.

We walk through a tiny courtyard, past a sad patch of grass and a lonely palm tree. Apartment balconies circle overhead and it feels fake and strange, like the set of a sitcom.

“I like your hair, you look the best with a curly bob,” she says, “Have you lost weight, you’re so skinny, I’m fat.” She’s always so attentive and complimentary. That’s why I like her. It feels good just to be noticed. I’m not skinny though, I’m chubby, and I don’t care.

Inside, her place is plain and modern, white walls and white rugs, a combo living room/kitchen with no furniture. On the back windows, vertical blinds cast gray shadows. Her paintings of cartoonish heads are propped against the walls and her bedroom is like a mini version of her favorite clothing store, Anthropologie, with an old wooden dresser, black and white photos hung on clothes lines above it, a metal rack of colorful, patterned clothes, and a paper lamp in the corner.

“Todd wanted me to be a dental hygienist, but I couldn’t stand the thought of it, what if I’d hurt someone’s tooth when I went crazy? I’d rather try to be an artist than embarrass myself.”

I drive us to the restaurant, along the dark and warm highway, through the black silhouetted mountains. I love the calm and friendly feeling of LA, being from Buffalo, I wouldn’t think I’d feel so at home, but I do. We listen to “L.A. Woman” by The Doors and talk about our favorite L.A. bands, but when we're almost there, she grabs my arm and stares into my eyes.

“I’m an heiress, don’t lie to me and say you don’t know!”

“Okay, Feisty, I know, I know.”

I just want her to let go so that I can drive safely. Really, I just want her to be sane, I need my friend back, the one who’s funny and fun. But when she reveals her craziness again, I feel so betrayed and ashamed for trying to make a connection with someone who’s mental.

I picked the wrong restaurant, Enterprise Fish Co., it got good reviews on Yelp, but it’s too big, cold, and corporate.

We’re seated at a booth and served too sweet margaritas made with cheap mixers.

Just in case I still think Feisty’s sane, she laughs and says, “I’m in a knife fight with big oil.”

She drops her fork and crawls beneath the booth to get it. “I used to think it was about talent,” she shouts from beneath the table, “but now I know that everyone just wants to see your ass in the air.”

Oh god, she thinks that everyone’s watching her and wants to have sex with her. Those are typical breakdown thoughts, I know because I’ve had them myself, but I don’t try to argue with her. My friend Rachel cares for seniors with dementia, and she taught me to go along with whatever they say, otherwise, you’ll just upset them.

Our food arrives. For me, oysters on a platter of rock salt and a shrimp Louie salad, and for Feisty, roasted corn and squash enchiladas.

I drink the cold, salty brine from the shells and pick out the oysters with a little fork, but while I’m enjoying myself, I notice that Feisty is staring at her plate.

“Your food smells great,” I say.

She takes a few bites, then stops.

“You need to eat and sleep every day,” I say, “You’re never going to get better if you don’t.”

“I’ll eat later.”

She asks the server for a to go box.

“This place is a rip,” she says when he walks away.

She grabs the glass carafe off the table, pours out the water, and stuffs it into her purse. I protest, but I let it go, I just want to leave without an incident.

On the Santa Monica Pier, the colorful spokes of the ferris wheel light up the night. We drive to my Airbnb in Venice Beach and it’s perfect, a small yellow cottage with white trim and a red door, one big room inside with a vaulted ceiling, a kitchenette, a bed, and a little living room area with a boxy gray couch.

“That’s a Gretel couch,” Feisty says.

We sit on the floor in front of the space heater and drink beer. She opens her box of enchiladas and starts eating them, and I act like I don’t notice, but I’m relieved.

“It’s just nice to have a little money and to not have those fun squelchers around,” I say, referring to our exes.

“They were paid actors,” Feisty says. “Todd was never happy with how much money we had, but he’ll miss me, I did a lot for him.”

It’s not long before she turns on me again.

“Every woman is jealous of me because I’m skinny and every guy wants to fuck me. I’m so sick of it!”

“Stop it! I’m not jealous of you! I spent a lot of money to get here, so don’t turn on me, you always turn on me!”

She leaves and I make tea in the little kitchenette and lie in bed, planning the next day. I’m not upset because I already knew Feisty would turn on me and I planned this vacation as if I’d be alone. That’s part of being a stoic, planning for the things that are going to go wrong, so you can handle them calmly.

Tomorrow I’ll go to the fancy grocery store and walk through the canals to the beach. I’m excited to see the ocean and to feel the sun on my skin.

I don’t know what’s going to become of us. We have a little bit of money from our exes, but it’s not enough, and Feisty’s blowing through hers, still in a breakdown.

All I can do is try to help her in little ways and enjoy myself while I can.

#breakdown #bipolar #los angeles

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kusunogatari · 5 years ago

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[ @redlineoffate ] 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩

“Remember everyone: this assignment will be due at the beginning of class Monday. I know it’s only been the first week, but there will be a quiz to follow.”

A quiet groan seems to come from most of the class, and the teacher perks a brow.

“It can always be worse - just get the sheet done, brush up a bit, and I’m sure you’ll all do just fine. Other than that, have a good weekend.”

“Yeah, good weekend with that hanging over our heads,” a boy behind Itachi mutters as the bell rings, releasing them from their final class of the day. “Like every other teacher hasn’t done the same thing ‘til we’re overloaded…”

Not having any comment, Itachi simply gathers up his supplies and heads out with the rest of the students. In truth, he’s been waiting for Friday just like the rest of them, but for another reason.

The club he’s been in for all of high school only meets on Friday, and he can finally get back to it: the chess club. Putting away his books into his locker, he makes his way down the hall to the classroom they’ve always used.

But, when he gets there...it’s locked. That’s odd. Carefully testing the knob and looking through the narrow window, he sees the lights off, blinds drawn.

“Ah, Itachi…”

Looking aside, he spies the teacher typically in charge of the club, Asuma Sarutobi, coming down the hall toward him, hands in his pockets. “Mr. Sarutobi...is there no club meeting today?”

“I’m afraid not.” A hint of a scowl colors his features. “I was hoping I’d get here before to explain, but...the club’s been shut down.”

“What?!” Though normally quiet and reserved, Itachi can’t help the outburst. “But...why?”

“There’s a few reasons. The way clubs are set up has changed with some new school rules, and there’s been a...redistribution of funds for after school activities. Sadly, the chess club was at the bottom of the list.”

“But...we don’t need any funding.” What could they be spending money on?

“Well, there’s the driver’s time and gas for any competitions we go to. And the supervisor has to be paid. I told them I’d go without, but it’s a requirement legally, apparently. Add in the ‘used power’ to keep the lights on -” Asuma practically growls at that “- and I guess we’re just not worth the cost.”

Itachi’s heart sinks. He’s been in this club all through high school, and was even in his junior high branch. “...can we raise the funds ourselves?”

“I asked, they didn’t really give me a straight answer. I talked to most of the students in the club previously at lunch, but...most didn’t seem that dedicated. They seemed fine just letting the club go.” Asuma claps a hand on Itachi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Itachi. That’s just how it goes. It’s honestly a shame...given that most of the funding was rerouted into more legit clubs...in other words, all the sports teams for this season. They bring in more revenue for the school than a chess club.”

The Uchiha bows his head, expression somber. “...thank you for your dedication to the club, Mr. Sarutobi. I’m...sad to see it go, but some things we can’t change.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something else to do and enjoy after class, Itachi. Most should still be accepting members for another week or so, so you’ve got time to find something new.” Smiling grimly, Asuma then offers, “I’d best get going...see you around.”

“Goodbye.” Left standing in the hall, Itachi mulls the situation over for a time before sighing in resignation. About-facing, he instead heads to the large bulletin board near the main school entrance.

There, posters and sign up sheets abound for all of the other clubs still in operation. Most are sports, which Itachi has little interest in. While part of him thinks to simply go without a club activity this year, he knows it looks good on his college applications - the more activities, the better.

“...oh!”

Glancing over at a familiar voice, Itachi can’t help a slight perk in his expression. “Ryū,” he greets, seeing her approach, a poster in her hands. “...here to put something up?”

“Yes, actually.” She gives him a smile, and he can’t help a small flutter of butterflies in his stomach. Excusing herself past him, she fetches a few tacks and puts up her flyer.

It’s for...the theater club?

“Looking for more members?”

“Mhm. Ms. Yūhi was absent for the beginning of the week, so a poster didn’t get done until now. I worked on it during my art class, and thought I might as well put it up! No one will see it until Monday, but…” Her shoulders shrug. “I thought it couldn’t hurt.” It’s then she thinks to look to him curiously. “...doesn’t the chess club meet on Friday?”

Expression falling, Itachi hesitates a moment before explaining.

Looking surprised, Ryū then gives him a sympathetic look. “Oh...I’m sorry. I know you really liked that club.”

“I did, but...well, I can still play chess on my own time. It’s a shame, but -” he gestures to the board “- I’m glad there are still so many clubs up and going.”

“Were you...thinking of joining something else?”

“I was.”

“Well...you could always join the theater club!” Ryū brightens a bit, and her smile begets one of his own. “Even if you don’t want to perform, we could always use help in other ways! People help build sets, manage the lights and sound...it takes a lot more than just the actors to make a show!”

He...hadn’t really considered it that way before. “...I...suppose I could…?”

“Well, I don’t want to pressure you.” Her smile turns sheepish. “I mean...I’ve been in the club all through high school, so...I’m a little biased. But if you do decide to join, we’d love to have you!”

Itachi gives her a smile in turn. “I will think about it. There’s a number of options, after all.”

“That’s fine! We haven’t begun any rehearsals yet, so there’s plenty of time to mull it over.”

“How often do you meet?”

“Well, now that Ms. Yūhi is back, every Monday and Friday! Usually for an hour or two, it depends on everyone’s schedules. Most of the members are underclassmen, so they’re not as busy as us seniors.”

Two nights a week...surely he could handle that. Chess club took less time, and Itachi does typically have a mountain of homework from his upper level classes, but… “I believe I could handle that.”

“Okay! Well, you think it over, and I’ll check back with you on Monday. I guess, either way, I’ll see you then!”

Itachi nods, watching her go before directing his attention back to the bulletin board. The poster she made is quite nice. He doesn’t recognize any of the plays listed that they’ll be doing, but...then again, he’s not overly familiar with plays, anyway.

Already he’s fairly certain he’ll join. Working backstage doesn’t sound so bad, and it’s not too often, or for too long. He should be able to handle his class workload alongside it just fine.

And...there’s another reason.

Itachi has known Ryū since they were fairly young. Her father Jiraiya teaches the literature class in their high school, and Itachi’s father Fugaku - chief of their city’s police - has known him for quite some time. And it helps that their little brothers - Sasuke and Naruto (whom Jiraiya raises as his godson) - are so close.

And, well...over the years, Itachi’s become rather...fond of her. Maybe...more than fond. So, getting to spend a little extra time with her - especially given that so few of their classes overlap - would be...nice.

...that’s all.

With that settled, he retreats to his locker to retrieve his things, mind already buzzing with his weekend schedule...and looking forward to Monday.

Arriving home, he calls out a greeting into the house, prompting his mother to stick her head out of the living room curiously. “Shouldn’t you be in chess club?”

“No...it was cancelled.”

“...the meeting today? Or…?”

Itachi sighs. “The entire club.”

“Oh no...I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s fine...I think I’ll join something else come Monday.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The theater group.”

Mikoto blinks, clearly a bit surprised. “...oh! I...wasn’t expecting that,” she admits with a laugh. “What made you decide on that?”

“...there’s backstage work to be done. It would be a change of pace.”

As though sensing her son is leaving something out, Mikoto eyes him curiously. “...I see. Any friends in that club?”

“Just one. At least, that I know of.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” A pause, but he can tell she’s awaiting a name. Sighing a bit (and going ever so slightly pink around the ears), Itachi admits, “Ryū Suigin has been part of it all through high school.”

At the girl’s name, Mikoto perks up, clearly elated. “Oh, I see!” She gives him a wry smile. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have fun! We’ll have to come watch the plays!”

“I won’t be in them…”

“But you’ll still be part of them! If we can go to your chess competitions, we can go to your plays,” she insists.

Amused, Itachi just gives her a smile before heading upstairs to his room, dodging Sasuke as he runs down the stairs. “Careful!”

“Sorry!” the younger brother calls.

“Be back before dinner!” Mikoto instructs, earning a ‘yes Mom’ in return as Sasuke flies out the front door.

“Heading to Naruto’s?” Itachi asks from the stairwell.

“Of course,” his mother replies. “Something about a new game? I’m not sure.”

Nodding, Itachi heads to his room, shutting his door and preparing for an evening of homework.

For once, the weekend seems to go slowly. Itachi decides to blame it on his eagerness for Monday to arrive. Not something most students do, admittedly. But when the day finally comes, the first thing he does this morning is seek out Ryū.

She’s easy enough to find, chatting with another student before looking over and spotting him. Excusing herself, she walks over to meet him, smiling. “So, going to join us?”

“I am,” he replies, unable to stop a smile in return.

“Oh, perfect!” Hands clap together excitedly. “I really hope you enjoy it! We always end up like a big family, working together so much on each play!”

“Even us in the background?”

“Of course! Every role in the production is important, not just the people who act.”

Before Ryū can explain more, the warning bell sounds before first class. “Well...I guess we can talk about it more after school - see you then!”

“Where do I go?”

“Oh, just up on the stage! We practice there with the curtain closed. We haven’t really started yet given our first meeting was Friday, so you haven’t missed much, don’t worry.”

Nodding, Itachi heads in one direction as Ryū takes another for their first classes of the day.

It’s rare that someone as eager to learn as Itachi looks forward to the school day ending, but...well, this is an exception. Once the final hour block is done, he navigates the hall to the door that leads to the stage. He’s never been up here before. Never had a reason to be. He’s never even gone to see any of the school plays. Something he feels a little bad about, given that Ryū has been in pretty much all of them. It’s just...never really occurred to him before.

The lights are on, which he takes as a good sign. The far wing is filled with old props and backdrops, but the actual stage is clear save for a gathering of folding chairs, and a piano. On this side, out of sight of the open curtain, looks to be all of the sound and lighting equipment. These he looks at curiously, as they’ll probably be what he works with the most.

Itachi’s also not the first to arrive.

Around a dozen other students - mostly underclassmen, from what he can tell - mingle around, talking quietly. His entrance draws a few glances, but they otherwise ignore him.

“Itachi!” Looking up from a stack of boxes, Ryū approaches.

“Hello.”

“Not everyone’s here yet, so we’ll wait a bit. You’ve probably never had Ms. Yūhi as a teacher, right…?”

“I have not.” As the art teacher, she’s not one Itachi’s ever had a class with.

“I’ll introduce you!”

Leafing through a play’s score, Kurenai looks up as the pair approach. “So, this is the young man you wrangled into joining us?” she asks, smiling wryly.

“I didn’t force him! I just...suggested it,” Ryū insists.

“Of course…” Holding out a hand, she lets him shake it. “Kurenai Yūhi.”

“Itachi Uchiha.”

“Miss Suigin’s been telling me all about you.”

Itachi gives her a curious glance, and Ryū’s cheeks go pink. “...has she, now?”

“She’s been very excited to have you join. Ryū is actually the only senior who’s returned this year...which makes you senior number two. I’m willing to bet she’ll end up being voted club president and make sure everything runs smoothly - she’s been very dedicated to the club since she joined. Maybe she’ll even get a lead role, hm?”

“Ms. Yūhi!” Ryū cuts in, looking embarrassed.

“I’m just glad we have someone who’s still passionate about the club,” the teacher replies with a smile. “We were in danger of being one of the after school activities shut down this year, but she fought against it with me.”

“...really?” Itachi asks. “She didn’t mention that.”

Ryū glances aside. “I...didn’t want to make you feel bad about the chess club…”

“Ah, yes...Asu-” Kurenai cuts off, coughs, and then amends, “...Mr. Sarutobi told me about that. A shame...but I guess that’s why you’re here instead, Itachi?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, it’s not chess, but I’m sure you’ll have fun. Ryū suggested you’d likely prefer a more behind-the-scenes role than one on the stage, correct?”

“Er, yes.” Itachi itches at his neck sheepishly. “...I’m not sure I’m acting material.”

“That’s just fine - we can always use more hands behind the curtain to make things run smoothly. Today we’re going to do introductions, and see who wants to do what. And there will be time to move people around as they try things out, and maybe change their minds.”

Nodding, Itachi follows Ryū to a few of the chairs, arranged in a ring. “We’ll all sit here and talk about roles! Friday was more of an introduction and explaining about the club, so...we’ll get into actual work today.”

“...should I introduce myself?”

“Sure! Once everyone’s here, we’ll let them know you joined!”

Ten more minutes pass before Kurenai calls the students together. “Welcome back, everyone. First, you may notice we’ve gained one more troupemate since Friday.”

Realizing that’s his cue, Itachi stands, offering, “I’m Itachi Uchiha, a senior. I...hope we’ll get along.”

Kurenai smiles at him, and a few people wave in greeting. “Now, today we’re going to start going over roles for the troupe. We, of course, have our acting cast...but also those who play more supportive roles. The people who handle the lights, the sound, build props and sets...and even handle the camera during the days we film for copies of the play to sell. Usually we figure out those roles first, and then move into who can play who in the play itself. First off, a show of hands of who would like to be part of the support cast?”

A few hands raise, including Itachi’s. Kurenai counts and jots them down. “All right...now, the most important roles there are the lights and sound, since those will be more permanent roles. We’ll need people fully dedicated to those positions. Our actors can also help with prop and sets when we’re not practicing scenes!”

The other students state their preferences, and Kurenai labels them all. “Itachi, any preference?”

A moment to think “...sound, I guess?” He’s worked with equipment like that briefly for presentations and the like. Lights...not so much. “I could also do the camera, if you’d like.”

“Perfect. Once we get all the other parts settled, I’ll walk you and the others through how to use all the equipment, which we’ll need to move back into the overhead room! We store some of it during the summer elsewhere, since it can get pretty hot up there.”

Then begins the casting. Explaining the necessary cast numbers, the group all read through the script before she offers, “Everyone ready for their auditions?”

Itachi blinks in surprise. They have to audition? Aren’t they already in the club? He and the other backstage members move to sit in some of the theater hall seats, watching as the students all give little recitals. Some sing, some dance, some give monologues.

And toward the end is Ryū.

Sitting up a bit as she goes on stage, Itachi listens as Ryū first gives an opening scene, clearly from another play. Then she sings a short song, moving along the stage as she does. It’s clear she’s done this before, a happy, excited expression on her face.

In the back of his mind, he feels a little worse for never having come watched one of her plays before.

A few more students then audition, and Kurenai declares the day almost over. “I’ll work on assigning the cast for this production over the week, and announce it Friday! For now, those of you going to work behind the scenes, follow me - we’ll move and go over the tech you’ll be using.”

They carry up some of the more sensitive equipment, and Kurenai is right - it is hot in the room that overlooks the theater. Heat rises, after all. Once everything is set back up, she walks them through what each device does, letting them test everything. A few students down on the stage try out the microphones, letting Itachi fiddle with sound levels, effects, and managing all of the channels. Lights are shone down on the floor, sliders at their front letting them change color, and both narrow and expand.

“So, think you guys can handle it?”

Everyone nods, and she excuses them for the day. Heading back down to the floor of the auditorium, Itachi finds Ryū still there, waiting for him. “I thought you would have gone home?”

“I wanted to make sure you got through everything okay! Think you’ll enjoy it?”

“I believe so. It will be...interesting to see how this all fits together.”

“It’ll be great!” Hands folding behind her back, Ryū muses, “I hope I get a decent part...especially since this is my last year.”

“Your audition was wonderful.”

“You think so?”

Itachi nods. “I’ve...never heard you sing before.”

At that, Ryū goes a light shade of pink, glancing aside. “...I love to do it. Though I wasn’t brave enough at first. The first two years, I only played little roles with hardly any talking. Then last year, I had a part where I sang with a group. This time, I want to have a solo!”

“I could never do that.”

“But you already do! When you do stuff like a presentation for a class, that’s something in front of a group, by yourself!”

“Yes, but I don’t have to sing it,” Itachi chuckles.

“Maybe they’d be more fun that way!”

They leave the theater hall behind, picking up their things from their lockers. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Oh, I took my bike!”

“Isn’t it a bit far?”

“Well, to be fair, I could use the exercise,” Ryū laughs. “Besides, I need to stop and pick up a few things before I head home.”

“I could take you - I drove.”

“But...my bike -?”

“I’m sure it would fit in the back.” Knowing he’d need to get himself home after the busses had left, Itachi brought his mother’s SUV, which is plenty big.

“...are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

Loading up her bike, Itachi then drives them both to the store she was planning to stop at. A glance shows her looking a bit sheepish in her seat. “...are you all right?”

“Y-yes! I just...feel bad -”

“Ryū, I offered,” Itachi cuts in gently with a smile. “It’s fine.” After a pause, he asks, “Why don’t I just take you home after practice every day?”

“But -?”

“I’ll have to take the car anyway. And I’d feel better knowing you don’t have to go home alone at this hour.”

Having no retort for that, Ryū seems to relax a bit, only moving when she hops out to fetch her few groceries. “I’ll be right back!”

“Want me to come with you?”

“Nope! I’ll just be a minute!”

True to her word, Ryū is in and out, back into the car in hardly any time. From there, Itachi takes her the rest of the way to her house. Once her bike and backpack are out, they stand awkwardly in the driveway for a moment.

“...thank you for taking me home,” Ryū eventually manages to offer, flashing a shy smile.

“Of course. I’ll take you again on Friday.” Another pause, and then, “...I hope you get the part you want.”

“Me too! And...I hope you enjoy being part of the crew. It’ll be...nice to see you a bit more often.”

“Yes...you too.”

The front door then opens, and both teens turn to see Jiraiya in the doorway. Spotting them, he gives a wry grin, leaning against the frame with folded arms.

Flushing even darker pink, Ryū stutters, “I-I better get in and, um...fix dinner! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Er, right - goodnight.”

“Night!” Scampering up the steps, she ducks sheepishly past her father with her things and heads into the house.

Glancing to Jiraiya, Itachi can’t help but feel a bit...awkward. He has an advanced literature class with him, after all…and he doesn’t want him to get the wrong impression. “I...didn’t want her riding home alone.”

The man just nods in thanks, watching Itachi get back into his mother’s car and head toward home. Once he gets there, he parks in the garage, heading in and leaning against the door with a sigh.

“So? How was your first practice?” Mikoto calls from the kitchen.

“We didn’t really do much yet. Things are still being...arranged.”

“Ohhh, I see...well, it’s time for dinner now! Call your brother down, will you? He never listens to me anymore.”

Laughing softly, Itachi puts away this things before fetching his brother.

Come Friday, Itachi finds himself nervous. Not for himself, but for his friend. Given Kurenai’s hinting, and how well Ryū did (at least, he thinks she did well), he has high hopes she’ll get a good part...but still can’t help but worry.

The troupe all sit in their chairs like last time, and Kurenai passes out copies of the playbooks. This time, however, they have names and roles written on the front, their lines highlighted. Sitting beside Itachi, he can see as Ryū’s hands curl and uncurl atop her lap in anxiousness.

Pausing as she reaches the seniors, Kurenai waits a moment before handing Ryū her book. “Congrats,” is all she offers.

Glancing over eagerly, Itachi sees her name, and under it, the character she’ll be playing.

The lead!

In spite of herself, Ryū lets out a squeal, and several of the underclassmen from the previous year whoop in celebration.

“Now, for today, we’re going to do another read through of the play, all with our proper lines. You can all work on things like voices and gestures as we go to get a feel for your new character! To those in the backstage crew...I guess you get seats to an early rendition.”

Itachi doesn’t mind at all he has nothing to read, simply watching the other students as they go through their lines. Already, Ryū starts setting up her character, working on a voice to suit her. Even if she’s just sitting and reading, he finds himself rather enraptured.

From there...practice really begins.

Night by night, they work on scenes, everyone memorizing their lines in their spare time. Itachi lends hands with making props and building the sets for the stage, as well as working on the soundtracks and sound effects he’ll be playing at the proper time for each scene. The actors speak, sing, dance, and pantomime as the weeks pass, the show date looming ever closer.

Then, before they know it, it’s the Friday before the shows: twice a day, on both Saturday and Sunday. Itachi and another student will be trading turns to work the sound, and on his turn off, Itachi will be managing the camera to film the last show for all of the parents and students to buy. That and the ticket sales should help cover all they spent on costumes and supplies.

“All right, everyone...tomorrow’s the big day,” Kurenai announces, a sparkle in her eye. “You’ve all been doing fantastic - I’m sure this show is going to be a huge success!”

Everyone claps, and with their two hours of practice over, begin to disperse. Going to his locker to grab his things, Itachi then realizes he forgot to grab his thumb drive with his copy of the music and sounds!

Taking the stairs back up to the overhead room, he pauses as the piano on the stage starts to play. Odd...he thought everyone left? Looking out the front, he spots Kurenai at the keys.

And in the middle of the stage is Ryū. Seems she wants to practice one more thing before they go.

Hands clasped, she waits for the proper bar before looking up, a forlorn expression on her face. It’s one of the pivotal songs of the show: where the main character tries to make a big decision before the climax.

Funny...he’s heard her sing this many times before now, but...this time, it seems...different. Maybe because she doesn’t know anyone is watching...or because, with him being the only one, it’s like she’s singing just for him.

Either way, it brings a strange calm over him, unable to look away.

On and on she croons, gesturing as she interacts with the set. And all the while, Itachi watches closely, feeling the echo of his heart in his chest slowly get louder.

It’s so beautiful…

Then, the last note lingers out over the auditorium...before silence rings. Down below, Ryū relaxes as she drops out of character, talking with Kurenai. From here, without mics, he can’t hear what they’re saying. But then he remembers, he has to drive her home! She’ll be looking for him once she finishes.

Racing back down the stairs, he jogs up to the door where she emerges, coming up short at his hurried pace. “Oh!”

“Sorry, I had to run and grab some things. Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I think so. Just...wanted to get one last round of practice in. I’ll probably be up all night singing...”

“Do be careful not to wear out your voice.”

“I won’t!”

To Ryū’s house they go first, Itachi dropping her off with a wish of good luck.

“No no! In acting, you say, ‘break a leg’!”

That takes him aback. “...why?”

“Because of an old superstition that saying ‘good luck’ for a performer is actually bad luck,” she explains with a smile. “So instead, you wish them the opposite, which...I guess is usually break a leg!”

“...this is why I’m not an actor,” Itachi replies, earning a loud laugh and having to fight a smile.

“Well...see you tomorrow,” Ryū manages once her mirth calms.

Itachi nods. “Get some rest.”

“You too.”

When he arrives home, Itachi has to stave off questions about the last practice from his mother. “It was just...practice.”

“Think you’re ready?”

“As best I can be.”

“What about everyone else?”

“Well, the final run-through went very well.”

“Anyone stand out…?”

Itachi gives his mother a pleading, deadpanned look.

“What? It’s an honest question!”

Rolling his eyes and fighting back a smile, he counters, “I guess you’ll just have to see tomorrow. Is Sasuke coming?”

“I believe so. Naruto said he was going to go to support his sister, so I’d be willing to bet he’ll tag along to do the same!”

Itachi almost retorts - he’s not in the play, after all - but by now he just lets their enthusiasm go unfettered. At least they’ll be there to watch the show.

Saturday morning, he heads into the school early for one last check of his equipment for the sound. All over backstage are the acting students. Most are already in their costumes for the opening scene, going over lines and singing vocal warm-ups. It takes him a few minutes, but eventually he finds Ryū. She’s oddly still and quiet, looking a bit zoned out as she slowly curls a paper playbill in her hands.

“...Ryū?”

“...oh!” Smiling sheepishly, she gives a hello. “I’m...a little nervous.”

“It’s going to be great. And you’ll be great.”

Her head ducks shyly, smiling with a hint of a blush. “...I’ll try my best.”

As the time draws near, Itachi has to retreat to the overhead room, doing his final adjustments as people begin to find their seats. Playing soft music in the meantime, he watches, spotting both his family and Ryū’s as they sit.

Then Kurenai steps on stage, Itachi fading the music as she introduces the play...and they begin.

With his lamp, Itachi carefully watches both the play and his copy of the script, playing all the right songs and effects at the correct times. And every time Ryū comes on stage, he pays extra close attention.

Then, it’s time for her solo.

Alone on the stage, the spotlight is put on her, taking the same pose as the day before in her practice with Kurenai. Itachi starts the music, watching.

Come on…

Then...she sings.

Just like yesterday, he can’t tear his eyes away. And neither can the audience, watching in hushed anticipation as she goes. By the time the song ends, the silence rings out for several seconds before people start to clap.

Pride fills Itachi’s chest. She did so well!

The rest of the play seems to coast downhill with the big song over, and soon enough...it’s done. The theater hall fills with applause, Itachi setting the last music to play before heading down as Kurenai told him to. He and the other backstage help are meant to join in the last bow. Waiting in one of the stage wings, he and the others behind the scenes take their bow before the whole cast steps up to give the last.

Everyone waves, the curtain slowly lowering until the audience is out of sight. Most people quickly scatter to begin getting ready to mingle afterward. Taking a steadying breath, Itachi glances over to look for Ryū...only for her to find him first.

Clearly still excited, she latches onto him in a tight hug, laughing. “We did it!” Once she lets go, she looks at him with a look so full of pride and happiness, he just...can’t help himself.

Before he stops to think, Itachi just...kisses her.

For a moment she goes stock still, stiff with surprise. But once that fades, she softens, shyly kissing him in return. Slowly they part, looking to each other cautiously.

“...I...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“I-it’s fine,” Ryū cuts in, flushing pink. “I...I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

After a pause, they both give nervous smiles and sheepish laughs.

“...so, should we...go out and see everyone?”

“Yeah...I guess we should.” Beaming again, Ryū takes his hand, and they leave the stage behind.

�� .oOo.

Woo, day four! Today we’ve got @redlineoffate‘s Itachi, and of course Ryū, in a modern high school setting! I’m not the best at writing modern universes - I tend to prefer fantasy or mythological ones. But I gave it my best try xD Hopefully it’s still fun to read! Mitsuki, I love our ship so much! I hope you enjoyed reading this, and just know that I love writing with you n_n Thank you for putting up with my shenanigans and building such awesome bonds between our muses~ <3 Anyway, that’s the entry for today! Time to go work on tomorrow’s, lol

#narutoocxcanonshipweek #noxcsw #redlineoffate #uchiha itachi #suigin ryū #best years of your life [ au ]

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falseroar · 6 years ago

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Homo Necrosis

((Hi! So this is the thing I was talking about doing the other day with the one year anniversary of Who Killed Markiplier + Halloween coming up. Lot of firsts for me with this one, including the first time I’ve written anything pre-WKM outside of the occasional flashback. I had planned for it to be, well, scary, but then the Colonel started talking and it became...whatever this is instead. No note at the end this time, so I want to go ahead and say thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @cherrybomb-jaguar @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident

Warning, this story contains: zombies, suggested violence (but no gore), death, mentions of animals attacking humans, unreliable narrator(s). ))

If my time as a detective taught me one thing, it was to spot a bad case coming from a mile away. Too bad it didn’t teach me how to say no to one before it was too late, especially when work was as hard to come by as it was that year.

My partner and I were willing to take whatever work we could get, and Markiplier was ready to give it out. Maybe you’ve heard of him, he was a bigshot actor in his day with all the cash to throw around. Over the last couple of months, he had us doing background checks on practically everyone he came into contact with, from employees to bare acquaintances to childhood friends. Might have called it paranoia, if the money wasn’t so good.

Then again, maybe he had good reason to be suspicious, with friends like William J. Barnum, aka “the Colonel.”

I’d seen his face before he came into the office that day, on the front page of the newspaper under a caption screaming “SAFARI HUNT GONE WRONG.” In any other town, that would have been all anyone talked about for weeks, but around here it was just one scandal among others, soon buried under headlines of celebrity deaths, shady politics, pictures of cute animals, and all the other detritus that my partner and I have to dig through every day.

But a picture could never capture the presence of the man who stalked into our offices like a hunter on the prowl, his dark eyes piercing even behind those massive glasses, his uniform and medals another testament to his time in the service to go with the title. Good thing my partner wasn’t here for this, because God was he gorgeous. Then again, maybe things would have gone differently if I hadn’t faced him alone that day.

“I do have an appointment I need to get to, so if you could tell me why you called me out here, that would be fantastic,” he said, his tone polite but not up to hiding the accusation in his voice. Best to cut to the chase, then.

“I just have a few questions for you, Mr. Barnum—”

“My friends call me the Colonel, you can do the same.”

“Right, Colonel. As you know, I’m a detective, and I’m paid to look into things that just don’t make sense. Like this story about the safari you went on a few months ago.”

“Oh, of course.” Any pretense to politeness dropped, and his voice dipped lower into a rumble as he said, “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but you haven’t heard the real story.”

“And that’s exactly why I called you, Colonel.”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“I’ve read the papers, I’ve talked to everyone who claims to have been involved, and not one of them has a clue what really happened on that trip. You’re the only one who can say for sure and you haven’t said a word, not even when your own neck was on the line.” I leaned forward on the desk between us, staring him down. “Why is that?”

“It’s not a story I like to tell.” He met my stare dead on, eyes unblinking as he asked, “Why do you care? Who’s paying you?”

“This is more to satisfy my own curiosity,” I answered, which was technically true. Mark had never asked my partner and I to specifically look into what happened on that trip. Just to find whatever we could about yet another one of his estranged friends, which he seemed to shed like old costumes on his way to yet another new role to play. “You don’t look like a man who has anything to hide.”

“Well of course I don’t! I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done.”

“Then prove it,” I said, knowing this was the kind of guy who would respond to a personal challenge to his honor more than anything. “Tell me what happened, and I won’t bother you anymore. No more calls, no more questions. Deal?”

“And you’ll stop digging around in my affairs?” the Colonel asked.

I’ll admit I paused at that. My partner and I, we weren’t always the most…discreet people around, but I hadn’t realized he had noticed we were asking around about him. Considering my partner was ready to close the folder on the guy, I felt it was safe enough to say, “Depends on what you tell me, but yeah, you got a deal.”

The Colonel sighed, stroking his mustache as he thought about it. He took so long to answer I was sure he was going to tell me off, but instead he said, “I’ve only told this story, the real story, to one person before now. It’s not easy, you know.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound every inch the understanding friend for a man I just met. “Take your time.”

“Could we open the window?”

It was sweltering in the office with the oppressive late summer heat beating down outside, not helped by the sunlight coming in through the blinds behind me and burning the back of my neck. The bright light highlighted the Colonel’s profile so that I could see even the tiniest twitch of his bushy black mustache while leaving my face in shadow, just the way I like it. The fan overhead turned like a dog on a Sunday afternoon, lazy as can be and with the occasional grunt of effort, just pushing the warm air around without making the effort to cool it down any.

“Construction across the street makes too much noise,” I said. Which was true, but it was good to see the Colonel already starting to sweat as he pulled his jacket off and hung it on the back of his chair, revealing a yellow shirt and bright red suspenders underneath. “This safari hunt, you went with three other men, correct?”

“Hunt? No, no, this was more of a sightseeing sort of thing, you know how it is. Foreign country, a chance to rough it out in the wilderness, and sometimes a man just wants to ride an ostrich.”

“You sure took a lot of guns for someone going on a sightseeing trip,” I pointed out. Not only did the newspaper have a photo of him posing with a rifle, I’d seen a list of the supplies the Colonel and the others had taken with them. They would have needed an elephant to tote the weapons and ammunition they had brought for just the four of them, not including their guide.

“Merely for protection. Believe me, I learned my lesson about trophy hunting after my time in Jumanji.”

“Jumanji?”

“Gesundheit. Yes, there were three others, good men all of them, uh…” He paused, his eyes going a little vacant as he tilted his head with the effort of recalling. “…Jim, right?”

“Robert, John, and Charles,” I said without even having to look at my notes.

“Huh. I wonder where I got the name Jim from?” The Colonel paused again until I cleared my throat and he said, “Right, right, good men, met them in my time in the service, no one else I’d rather have by my side. Well, up until the platypus incident.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“Platypus, in the watering hole. Took us all by surprise, especially John.”

“But…you were in Africa,” I said, and he nodded encouragingly. “Platypuses…Platypi? Those things are native to Australia.”

“That’s why it was such a surprise! Poor John never stood a chance,” the Colonel said, shaking his head sadly. “Poisonous barbs, you know.”

I felt my jaw going a little slack as I tried and failed to find an answer to that. “But they’re not that…What?!”

The Colonel sighed, the whiskers on the edge of his mustache shaking. “Exactly what our guide said. Of course, we couldn’t leave his body there with that monster, so we took him as far as we could before we had to stop and set up camp for the night.”

I frowned at that, but I had pretty much given up on questions if only to see where he was going with this.

“We set up the tents while our guide got the fire going, like usual. Even John was just sitting there where we left him without lifting a hand to help, just like he always did. I’ll admit we drank a little more than we normally did, but after what we had seen, well, who could blame us?

“I don’t remember turning in for the night, just the waking up in the dark, the fire nearly dead, and Jim saying—”

“Jim wasn’t there.”

“Right, Charles calling out, ‘John, is that you?’ And then he was yelling at us all, that we’d made a mistake, that John was okay because apparently platypus venom isn’t enough to actually kill a person?”

“So, John didn’t die,” I said, writing another question mark in my notes to go with all of the others.

“It was a dead man standing next to Charles when Jim and I got out of our tents,” the Colonel said.

“You mean Robert.”

“No, I mean John, he was dead as dead can be, and believe me, I’ve seen my share of dead people.” The Colonel leaned forward, deadly serious as he said, “Our guide took one look at him and rode out of there. I don’t even know how he found the zebra, much less got it to let him on, but that boy could ride. Robert and I were so busy watching, we didn’t even see John take the first bite until Charles started screaming.”

“Did you say bite?”

“Homo necrosis,” the Colonel said, his voice barely above a whisper. “All it took was one bite, and Charles was gone too.”

Yeah, I took that about as well as you’d expect, staring at the man who was tearing up in front of me as I said, “Zombies. You’re trying to tell me your companions became zombies.”

“That moan,” he said quietly. “That rattle and gasp, you’ve never heard anything like it. Our fire was gone, the only lit lantern riding away on the back of a zebra, all we had to go by was the moonlight and the sounds, all around us. Robert, or Jim, or whoever it was, he said they were barely able to walk, we could outrun them. Turns out, it’s hard to run when your foot gets caught in a hole not even outside of camp and you go down right on your face. Told the man those heels might have looked fabulous, but they just weren’t cut out for running from monsters. And just like that, he was one of them too.”

“He wore heels. On a safari.”

“Most fashionable zombie I’d ever seen,” the Colonel confirmed. He fiddled with one of his bright red suspenders as he continued, “That made what I had to do all the harder. I had my gun of course, always sleep with one under my pillow just in case. I’ve always been a crack shot, you know.”

“You killed them?”

“I wouldn’t call it killing if they’re already dead. I just put them back where they belong.”

We sat in silence, staring at each other while I let this sink in.

“You’re telling me, that a platypus, in Africa, poisoned one of your companions and turned him into a zombie, that said zombie turned the others into more zombies, and so you had to kill them.”

The Colonel considered this for a moment and shrugged. “I was never really sure it was the platypus that did it. John did have a habit of insulting every practitioner of the dark arts he came across after what happened with that shaman in France, so there’s a chance one of those curses finally caught up with him at a bad time. But yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

The man was absolutely insane. He literally confessed to killing three men to me, like some story about “homo necrosis” would make it anything but outright murder.

And he just sat there, as if I was supposed to believe him.

“You…seem to be taking it well,” I said.

“Just because I’m not weeping like a child doesn’t mean I don’t care,” he snapped, his voice low and menacing again. He started to say something and his voice broke before he cleared his throat and started again. “Believe me or don’t, but I know I did what I had to do.”

I looked from him to the newspaper again.

Safari hunt gone wrong, it said. The story, as far as anyone else could piece it together from what little there was to go on, was that the men had been attacked on their trip by some animal. Lion was the best guess, probably provoked by a missed shot, or just wanting to take advantage of some unwary travelers. The only thing that could be gotten out of the guide when he returned was a bunch of babbling and the words “leave them, just leave them”, before he apparently moved to another continent.

Three bodies, all savaged by some animal, and all with bullets in their heads.

“I wouldn’t call it killing if they’re already dead.”

I looked back at the Colonel as his words ran through my head again and saw the honesty in his face. As crazy as his story was, on some level he actually believed it.

Or he had to believe it, for his own sake.

“…I think I’ve heard enough,” I said, probably the most honest thing I’d said all day. “Thanks for explaining things, Colonel.”

He seemed surprised but took my hand when I offered it as he stood up. “Right, well, glad that’s over with. Remember our deal?”

“I remember.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall and said, “Oh! I’ve got to go!”

He ran out the door so fast he had to double back for the jacket he left on his chair, and I could hear his footsteps pounding down the stairwell as I called up my partner on the phone.

“Find out anything?” he asked, once I explained who I just spoke to.

“That he’s definitely a man I’d want to keep my eye on,” I said as I stood and walked around the desk, the phone’s cord trailing behind me and growing taut as I neared the window. “I think there’s more going on with him than we’ve found so far.”

I could see him now from the window, as he ran down the sidewalk toward a woman waiting on the corner. They embraced and locked lips with the kind of vigor that made me give a low whistle.

“Looks like he’s found someone else who wants to keep more than an eye on him.”

“Guess we’ll have to get digging then,” my partner said, and I could hear the sigh in his voice as he added, “Mark wants to have this done before the party in a couple of weeks. If he’s that worried about the guy, I don’t even know why he would want to invite him to whatever this ‘celebration’ is supposed to be about.”

“You know the saying, right? Best to keep your enemies close. Wink, wink.”

“You know I can’t see you winking over the phone, right?”

I smiled and started to respond, but my voice choked and died in my throat when I saw the face of the woman the Colonel had rushed out to meet, as they finally broke apart for air.

Celine. Mark’s wife.

As if sensing my stare, her eyes locked with mine and even from such a distance I could feel the chill straight through my soul as I lurched toward the window, trying to find the words to tell Abe what I had just seen.

But all he must have heard was the choked gasp and the crash of glass before the line cut out.

The phone cord tangled around my legs and tripped me up, or at least that’s what the autopsy report said. Funny though, that wouldn’t explain the pressure I felt on my shoulders, pushing me toward the closed window and my one-way trip to the ground below.

I wasn’t the first partner he lost to a sudden fall, although I might have been the first to get back up again hours later. Turns out I wouldn’t be the last one, either, but that’s a different story.

Guess I have to admit now that the Colonel’s version of events doesn’t sound so crazy anymore. One fall and a change of existence can really open your eyes to things.

I know what you’re thinking and no, I’m not what he would have called homo necrosis.

There’s a different name for what I am, apparently: homeo sapio zombifus, or smart zombie if I do say so myself.

But I’ve taken up enough time with this tale and I can tell you’re starting to get antsy, so let me go ahead and tell you how much it means that you stuck around and listened to all of this.

Because another thing he forgot to mention?

How much telling a story can really work up the appetite.

#markiplier #fanfic #who killed markiplier #wkm colonel #wkm detective #wkm seer #zombies #homo necrosis

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starlessskies94 · 7 years ago

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The Nurse (Negan/BlakeAU) Part 15

MASTERLIST

The flashes of bright lights. The roaring sirens in the distance. Paramedics rushing passed as they rolled patients through the door. Blake ushered herself around them and the other rushing medics in the busy hallway. Her steps quick and precise as she risked being late…again.

Travel mug in hand filled with the coffee she hoped would help fuel her through her long shift. Checking the watch strapped to her wrist she was cutting it pretty fine. Racing to catch the closing elevator door, she hopped inside while taking the odd sip from her coffee. The bell dinged calling attention to her desired floor; her pace instantly picking up again to head to the reception desk.

“Evening Agnes…”

“You’re late dear…again.”

The blonde huffed at the old woman peering at her over the glasses perched on her bony nose. She took the pen from her hair signing in for her shift and grabbing her lanyard and slipping it over her head.

“I know, I’m sorry…Doctor Phillips in tonight?”

“He’s starting at nine but said for you to start the rounds on your own, I take it that won’t be a problem?”

Blake resisted the urge to roll her eyes, of course Greg was starting late again tonight, it seemed ever since the doctor had been granted tenure; he’d been picking and choosing the hours he wanted to work, focusing more on his paperwork and leaving all the footwork to her. Not that she minded all that much, she loved the interaction with the patients and she had a good rapport with them. She’d been a Nurse for coming up ten years now and the opinion to eventually qualifying to a Doctor was rapidly losing it’s appeal. Being a Nurse was enough for her and gave her that pride and confidence she needed to help the sick and injured.

The blonde pulled up her pony tail tightly before stepping onto the ward to start her shift. It always started slow, checking vitals and making sure her regulars were comfortable. Taking blood samples and checking blood pressures of the older residents of the ward.

Then moving on to her higher duties of administering medicine to those that needed it.

Which was what brought her to her usual stop at room 322. As visiting hours came to a close she gently pushed her way towards the room at the end of the corridor. The familiar stranger in the leather jacket quickly passing by, she’d pass him every night at precisely 7.30pm, after he’d finished with his visit no doubt heading home after normally spending the full day at the hospital. But after the eight months that the nameless man had been coming in and out of her ward, she’d never once seen his face. Always just catching him at the last minute, the last glance his leather clad back and heavy retreating work boots.

She pushed the wondering thoughts away as she straightened her blue scrubs before stepping into the private room. The loud steady beeps of the heart monitor filling the silence of the room, the view of the descending sun disappearing behind the city’s landscape through the blinded windows.

Setting a bag on the rear table, she turned back to the patient’s bed; grabbing her charts that hung by her feet. Flipping through the pages and flashing the woman a warm smile.

“How are you feeling today Lucille?”

The pale woman beamed a smile back at her as she sat up slightly in her bed.

“I’m alright…seems like today’s been a good day.”

Blake smiled again as she moved around the bed, her slender hands reaching out for the fresh bouquet of flowers on the bedside table. Her eyes skimming over the card that lay by the vase.

Keeping fighting baby, N x

“More lilies I see! That husband of yours sure is a keeper isn’t he?”

“I think he sends them out of guilt to be honest…He’s not able to be here as much as he’d like. And I feel terrible he has to work so much just to pay my medical bills.”

Blake’s heart bled for Lucille, after being diagnosed with cancer not too long ago, she’d been struggling with the various different treatments. Sometimes completely wiping her out and leaving her exhausted while other days, restless to the point she couldn’t get a wink of sleep. Over the last couple of months the Nurse taken to spending night her shifts with Lucille. Talking about everything and nothing, swapping stories and playing games. And although she’d never said it aloud, Lucille was grateful for the company.

The blonde watched her smile at the blossoming lilies, the woman’s face warming with a happiness so pure she seemed to glow.

“I do love those damn flowers though…you know they’re my favorite and he sends them every day. You’ll think I live in a florists by the time the man’s finished. In fact it wouldn't surprise me if he had brought the whole store.”

The two women laughed, Blake taking her usual seat by her patient’s bedside. Quickly composing herself as she reached for the pile of trashy magazines and gently placed them on Lucille’s lap.

“I got the magazines you asked for. Just don’t tell Doctor Phillips, he’s still on my ass for sneaking you that piece of chocolate cake.”

“Oh he’ll hear nothing from me honey…that cake was heaven on a plate. And before you say anything I know these magazines are total trash, but it sure beats the crap they give you to read in here.”

She hummed in amusement, taking a glance at the top page she was flipping through.

“Well I do know much you love drooling over that actor guy…what was his name? Jack? Or Dean Morgan something?”

“I can’t help it there’s just something about him…I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe he just reminds me of someone.”

Lucille shrugged as she dismissed her thought and continued reading. Watching her Blake couldn’t help but admire her strength, to be through all she had been through and still keep that optimism and grace all through her ordeal. She just hoped she would one day come out of the other side of it. If anyone deserved a second chance…it was Lucille.

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Blake sat numb as her memories replayed over and over like a broken record. Never giving her a moment’s peace. How could she be so stupid to not realize before. She felt so guilty, so ashamed. She felt like she was betraying her; stealing her husband. Lucille didn’t deserve that.

“Peaches…Peaches you still with me?”

She jumped at Negan as he shook her arm. Recoiling away from his touch, he sat staring at her with narrowed eyes. She’d been silent since they’d left the store, since she’d realized what she’d done. Her hands never ceasing their shaking; her eyes sore from the tears she’d forbidden to fall. If she was going to cry for anything, the tears would be for Lucille not herself. The hours had blurred by and the blonde had paid no attention to anything; only now to find herself sat by a campfire beside Negan. A prepared untouched meal sat in front of her. Her green pooling eyes turned to find the man looking at her intently.

“Peaches…you okay?”

Her parched dry lips parted, voice quiet and soft like a feathers touch.

“Negan…who was Lucille? You said her name before…who was she?”

His brown eyes widened at her question, completely taken off guard. They’d talked about everything in the time he’d been locked away. But not her. Never her, he couldn’t understand why she was bringing this up now. But the love he had for this woman was all he had now, all he wanted. And if he truly wanted to be with her, then he had to be himself…his whole self and nothing less.

“Lucille…was my wife, before all of this. And she got sick and... uh…”

“She died, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

Blake’s heart broke…she’d always wondered what happened to Lucille after the outbreak, a small part of her hoping that she’d somehow managed to find a way out. Though the logical side of her knowing the truth deep down that, that would’ve been unlikely given the severity of her condition. But it still hurt knowing that this unforgiving world had taken yet another innocent and sweet soul. It wasn’t fair.

“She loved those lilies you brought you know, looked forward to them every day. I always thought it was so sweet of you to do that for her.”

Negan froze, his whole body tensing as he inched closer towards her; taking her hands in his. His large paws engulfing her slender ones as he squeezed them tightly.

“Blake…how the hell do you know that?”

Blake...He called her Blake...Not Peaches...Not Doll...or Sweetheart...Blake.

She let her tears run free, her lips trembling as she spoke. This was it, it was time to tell the truth. Her heart aching at the pain, the guilt that weighted her down. Pulling her through the depths of despair her sinners had landed her in. She hung her head in shame, not having the courage to look Negan in the eye.

“Because…I was Lucille’s nurse.”

I hope people are still enjoying this story...because I still have a little bit more planned before we reach the end. Thank you a thousand times over to the lovely @neganandblake for your continued support.

#NeganandblakeAU #neganandblake #ThenurseAU #neganedit #walking dead negan #Writing

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everpeasant · 3 years ago

Text

Future Inclinations

His words rang through my head. “What is your biggest regret?” The words bounced around my skull, becoming distorted, contorted, and then he retorted. “Hey, you still there man? It’s been like a minute if you don’t want to tell me that’s fine.” He continued to stare at me as I struggle to spit out my words.

“No, I am out of the house anyway. I should probably open up a bit.” I slowly looked up, meeting his eyes, they are full of energy. I don’t know what it is, but Charles always is full of energy. Drugs? I don’t think so, his eyes aren’t bloodshot. They are crimson red, which is somewhat terrifying, but that isn’t the point. His words would continue to morph “What did you do?”, “Why did you do it?”, then finally into “You want to bring them back don’t you?” Why is a coworker asking questions like that, to me of all people? I was the loner, I didn’t cause trouble, I didn’t even talk to him really. Why was he interested in me, why did he invite me out? Is he just a nice guy trying to build me up, is he gay, does he want to rob me too?

“I had some trouble years ago with some bad men,” I say in a soft voice. “They were convinced that I owed them money, but I paid everything off! I shouldn’t have even taken it in the first place. I shouldn’t have taken the money…” I whisper to Charles, but really to myself.

Charles looks dumbfounded, he signals for the bartender to pour us a shot. “Hey man, I didn’t know I was talking to a walking logline for some b-movie”. We clink our shot glasses together and swig down the bitter gin. “What you need the money for anyway? You a gambler, like the ladies, maybe a senator’s son who lost his inheritance?”

As I finished cleaning out the peanut bowl set in front of me, I glance over for a moment. In the clouded mess that was my mind, I sludged through memories of pain and suffering, of mine, and of… I couldn’t get myself to say their names. “No, nothing like that.” I say weakly, “My wife and I needed to pay for medical bills, for the baby.”

“I didn’t know you had a wife and kid.”

I squint at the shell of a peanut that I was fidgeting with. “You wouldn’t. These bad men ran them off the road a couple of years back. To get to me, to send a message, the only message that I got was that my life was over. A worthless life. To have all of this hope for the future snuffed out in an instant is the most excruciating thing in the world.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a small purple plush octopus, its eyes are teared, and charred, some legs are missing, with a stained dark crimson on the mouth. “This was my daughters. She would bring this octopus everywhere with her, its name was Scylla, like the Kraken, I would always read my daughter Greek Mythology. I found this at the crash site. She was still holding it. My wife was only alive long enough to look me in the eyes, she held our daughter.”

Charles signaled for the bartender to leave the bottle for us. “You blame yourself then? I mean you think it's your fault.”

I turned to him, Charles reaches over the bar and takes two-pint glasses, fills one for him and one he pours and offers to me. I hesitate but take it. “I do. I killed the only two people that mattered to me in this world. I don’t even want to look at myself in the morning.” I take a swig.

“When was this?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“When did the accident happen?”

“May 3rd, 2018,” I say a little standoffish.

Charles gets up and finishes his glass. “Well, I gotta go piss, I’ll be right back.”

I nod to him as he walks away. That amount of alcohol should have killed him. Charles is a weird guy, although he can probably handle his drink, as for me I don’t want to pass out in an alleyway. I poured a little over half of my gin back into the bottle. I never really have had someone to talk to about this. Maybe it would be a good idea to talk to a therapist, I clearly am emotionally distraught about this.

Charles makes his way from the bathroom back to his seat. “Now don’t be mad.”

What would I be mad about? “What do you mean?”

He pulls Scylla out of his pocket, it is in pristine condition, just as my daughter had it. “I stole your daughters’ toy.”

I reach into my bag and the toy is gone. “What did you do? How did you fix it? Why did you-?”

“Nothing like that my friend. I did nothing except step through a wormhole I produced in the bathroom.”

“Is that some type of gross way to talk about you pooping?”

“No. I just…” Charles sighs “I am a time traveler. I literally took this from your daughter. The accident still happened; I just took this from your house the morning of.”

I sit still I feel like I have been violated. “No that’s not possible.”

“Felt that way for a little bit. I forgot to ask where you lived, took me several loops to find the right place. I remembered that you could look up who owns a property through a library database, thank god they have that.”

“But this can't be real, you must have bought a new toy. But why would you do that? Are you trying to fuck with me!” People start to stare at us.

Charles comes closer. “Listen, I am not monstrous enough to do something like that. Also, when would I have the ability to go get this exact toy, along with steal the one that you had?”

“You think that time travel makes more logical sense than getting a new toy and sleight of hand?”

“Well, I was never any good at sleight of hand. I am more used to time travel, so It's not too farfetched for me.”

I stand up and grab his coattails and drag him to the bathroom. He struggles. I kicked open the door and threw him to the ground. “Hey what are you doing!” Charles says rubbing his head.

“What the hell are you talking about?! You're a time traveler? You can go back in time and change things huh? Why are you lying to me, what are you getting out of this!?”

“I can prove it to you. Umm um um um… I can bring any famous person here, to prove it. Would that do it?”

“Anyone huh? Bring me, Socrates.”

“Well… that'd be kind of hard since he doesn’t exist.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like you say that a lot. Socrates was made up by Plato, and Plato was made up by Aristotle. Kind of a crazy story that one. Aristotle was trying to hit on this lady, but he was a pretty lowly philosopher. No name for himself, so he made one. He made up this sort of lineage of great philosophers that he descended from. It really is quite interesting.”

“Sure, I believe you. That sounds totally true. Okay, Why don’t you bring me Lincoln?”

“Yeah, sure give me a minute.” He walks into the stall and goes to close the door, I eyeballed him. “What I can’t do it if you are watching.”

The door closed; I rolled my eyes. A large flash blinds me as my hair shoots straight up. Wind circles around the bathroom sending paper towels, and toilet paper careening any which way. Trying to recuperate myself I pat down my hair and call for Charles. I get no response. I peek through the slot in the stall to try to see if he is there, fully expecting to be ridiculed for doing so, yet nothing. No ironic 50s horror movie woman scream, no tirade about personal boundaries, nothing. Charles was gone. The door was still locked. I looked around and saw no window that he could sneak out of. Could this be real? I thought.

That’s when a flash of light emerges, wind resumes its hectic tirade. The chaos dies down leaving me startled again. The stall door opens and out steps Charles in a Sergeant’s uniform followed by a tall man with a tall black top hat. His face is friendly but confused. “Where are we Sergeant Geller? I don’t know how we got in this Lavoratory, but it is dandy!”

I stared dumbfounded at the Former/Current President. Still trying to deny my eyes I ask Charles, “How on earth did you do that? How did you get this actor in here without me noticing?”

“Actor?” replies Lincoln

“Don’t say such things! President Lincoln here hates actors.”

“No, I do not.” Says the president.

“Well maybe you should,” Charles says as he ushers the president back into the stall. “Say goodbye to the President.”

I wave bye to Lincoln, still not fully believing what has happened to me. The light, the wind, it all returns. Charles walks out of the stall rather confidently. “Eh? Eh?” Charles spreads his arms apart. “What’d I tell you? Time fuggin traveler!”

“Was that Lincoln?”

“Honestly, just assume that I’m telling the truth at this point, it is starting to get annoying. Of course, it was Lincoln.”

“I need a second to breathe, this is all too much.”

“Sure thing. Hey while you’re waiting how about you pick if you want to bring your wife, or your daughter back to life.”

“Huh?”

“Who lives who dies, oldest trick and the book, right next to the ol’ stab em and rob em, that one’s, my favorite.”

“I don’t care about any of that! You can bring them back?”

“Only one. I kind of have this project I am working on, and I needed a test group.”

Rage fills my eyes, the next thing I know I am flying through the air, tackling Charles to the ground. “What do you mean only one!? You sick bastard, are you going to make me choose?! This is just some fucking experiment to you!”

“Well yes-” My fist decks Charles in the face. He starts to bleed from his nose a little bit. He tries to move his jaw. “-ow. Listen man my hands are tied, and not because you’re pinning them. The people I work for are having me do this.”

“We work for the same people!”

“You know you can have 2 jobs, right? Clearly not, otherwise, you wouldn’t have needed the mon-”, my punch lands on the other cheek. “-Fine that one was called for. I can’t bring back more than 1 person at a time. Trust me it gets messy if you do more than 1. Just give it some thought. Who do you want back the most?”

I let go of Charles. He looked relieved. Tears began to pour from my eyes. I ran to the stall to have privacy. “Wait not that one!” I slam the stall door and start to bawl. “It was just a joke… relax.”

What the hell is going on? Time travel? That is something that only happens in hacky movies that don’t know how to get out of a situation. But in real life? Oh my god! Do I have to choose? The love of my life? Or my precious daughter? I love Clarisse so much, she was the best woman a man could have asked for. She stood up for herself through any bullshit, even my own. She would make me a better person every day. Her laugh brought light to every room. I could use some light in my life right now. But Iris… my sweet daughter, I needed to protect her, and I failed… She would always wake me up early on the weekends and ask me to play with her, read her the Iliad, or make her favorite Chocolate Blueberry Pancakes. Those moments may have been the happiest of my life, raising my daughter to be the person she would turn into. Would… I sighed. I miss them both so much. I want them both back, but I can’t have that. Dark thoughts entered my mind, it was as if I was a whale, speared, hooks in deep, pulling at the barbs only making it more painful. Clarisse… I want you back. But I know you would never forgive me if I saved you instead of our sweet Iris. She has such a bright future. I hope you will forgive me.

I sit on the toilet, my eyes red, rubbed to the point of blistering. I am unable to cry more. I must accept fate, or reverse fate in this case. Struggling to my feet I push my hands to the side of the stall for support. My hand is placed next to a drawing of Kilroy, along with the quote “‘Sometimes, you have to step outside of the person you've been and remember the person you were meant to be. The person you want to be. The person you are.’ ― H.G. Wells”. I open the door and slowly make my way to Charles. Standing above, I look him in the eyes and say, “Save my daughter, oh please dear god save Iris!” He looks at me, no quirky remark, he only nods. Blood still drips from his nose, covering his shirt. It looks like he used the wrist of his Sergeant’s uniform to clean blood from his face. He enters the stall and the bright flash and wind return. I stand nervously, not knowing how to feel. Was I mad? Was I glad? Panic set its sights upon me as the flash of light returned.

#My writing #My Story #creative writing #writing #short story #original story #time travel #fiction #abe lincoln

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the-chubbiest-dumpling · 7 years ago

Text

Bad Day

Summary: You asked Sebastian to go over some lines with you, but you don’t show up at the designated meeting place. When he finds you unable to get out of bed, he takes it upon himself to brighten up your day.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Word Count: 6650

Warnings: Swearing. Crying. Vulnerability.

You’ve known Sebastian for a while now.

You first worked with him in The Covenant, starring as one of the main protagonists, Sarah Wenham. Though you two didn’t interact much in the film, you got the chance to work closer with him on the show Kings as the role of his sister, Michelle Benjamin. From the beginning you could tell he was a very serious actor that loved what he did. You heard that he got the role of Chase Collins by videotaping himself in his kitchen, performing the scene where he goes to the Dean’s office to speak with him. You, on the other hand, auditioned in person like a bunch of other girls, and eventually got the role. Sebastian got the job on the spot. And when you worked with him on both projects, you were blown away by his acting, and his kindness.

You developed feelings for him in no time.

The third time you worked together was on the set of Gossip Girl. You managed to land the main role of Serena van der Woodsen, the lead protagonist, while he Carter Baizen. You were both happy to see each other, and caught up during set breaks and off-set as well. You were also super excited to find out that he’d be playing your boyfriend for some time, and to be able to kiss him. You really hoped that he couldn’t tell how happy you were about it, though you were bashful at times when you knew he couldn’t see you. He was overjoyed to be working with you again, and expressed it the very day he arrived on set, with a giant hug.

That smile will always punch you in the gut.

Over the years, you continued to send your congratulations of his achievements via text after exchanging numbers. From landing the role of Bucky Barnes in the MCU, to T.J. Hammond in Political Animals, to his iconic role of Lance Tucker in The Bronze (to which you couldn’t stop laughing), and to his most recent role of Jeff Gillooly in I, Tonya. You always complimented his acting abilities, especially when it came to expressing emotions in a subtle way. He paid the compliments back with some of his own, his favourite being how you go in and out of a role so fluently. And how your ridiculous shenanigans on set made him laugh.

Seeing him grow up and being able to even know him has been a privilege. You have no idea how he’s him. He’s so caring and generous and kind and funny and heart-warming and so incredibly talented. And handsome, of course. Can’t leave that bit out. You have different work schedules, so you don’t see him as often as you’d like, but you still text from time to time.

This is one of those times.

Two days prior, you had asked him to go over some lines with you. You had gotten your script a week ago, and reading them by yourself at home just wasn’t cutting it. It was lacklustre compared to doing it with your co-star and director present. And since neither of them were available to help you, you called up Sebastian and asked for his help. He readily agreed, and promised to meet you at a private coffee shop in the city to go over them with you. Today is the day you two confirmed to meet, at the designated time and place, but you’re not there.

In fact, you’re not even awake.

Your week began slow and steady, with an overall jaded mood. You didn’t know what was dragging you down. You felt fine for the most part, but as the week progressed, your mood decreased and you became agitated and stressed. You ate less, and became exasperated from doing simple tasks, like cleaning and doing laundry. You just didn’t have the energy for it.

It’s just one of those days, you had told yourself. But it felt like more than just having a crappy day.

Today just happens to be the worst of it.

You first woke up at nine o’clock in the morning after going to sleep at three the previous night. That was a regular thing for you: going to bed especially late and waking up in the afternoon. You got up to go to the bathroom, got something to drink, then went straight back to sleep. The next time you woke up was at two in the afternoon. The room was darkened as much as possible, but the sun still shone through your blinds annoyingly. You looked at the time, and sighed. You didn’t know what was wrong. You just didn’t want to do anything today. The only thing you were willing to do was sleep.

And sleep you did.

You manage to fall asleep for another two hours before waking up in a haze. You thought you had slept right into the next day, but it was only four in the afternoon. Even opening your eyes feels like a task you cannot complete. They burn from sleeping so much, and from rubbing them every so often. You stretch your arms and legs, but otherwise stay curled up in your nice, comfy, warm blankets.

However, you decide it’s finally time to wake up. But not get out of bed. You unplug your phone from the charger, and instantly groan from seeing all your notifications. Your phone was on silent the entire time, so you heard none of the phone calls, nor the worried texts that Sebastian made. You feel incredibly guilty for making him worry, but one look at his texts throws it out the window.

He’s on his way over.

Like, right now.

The most recent text was made thirty minutes ago, approximately the amount of time it takes to get from the coffee shop to your apartment. You grunt in frustration and drop your phone down beside you, and wipe your hands down your face.

“God damn it,” you hiss.

Sometimes you hate how worrisome he can be.

You live on the thirteenth floor of a twenty-story complex, giving you no time to clean up before Sebastian walks through the door. Your place is a mess, with dishes in the sink, clothes strewn on the floor, leftovers discarded on the counter, and abandoned laundry baskets left by the washing machine. You’re usually not such a slob, but these past few days have taken a toll on your mind. Since nobody really visits, there wasn’t much reason to do any of those chores. But now that Sebastian is on his way, you wish you could’ve just gotten off your ass and done it when it needed to be done.

Sighing angrily, you grip the sheets and pull them up to your chin, tuck your knees up, then close your eyes once more. You’re not going back to sleep, but a little eye rest will do you good before facing Sebastian. Seeing your messy apartment is one thing, but seeing you trapped in your bed and unwilling to get up is even more embarrassing. You have no idea what to say to him when he walks through the door.

Shit.

For reasons unknown, you left your door unlocked last night, which is completely out of character for you. You don’t live in a sketchy part of town, and you have nice neighbours, so there’s no real threat, but you’re nothing if not careful. Your carelessness scares you a little.

And no more than five minutes later, you hear a knock at the door, and the familiar, smooth voice you’ve come to love.

“_______?” Sebastian calls. “You in there?”

Even if you did raise your voice to confirm your presence, he probably wouldn’t even hear you. And let’s not forget the fact that you don’t even want him to be here. Well, be here and see you in this state. You’d rather him not see just how horrible of a week you’re having.

“_______?” he knocks again. When he doesn’t hear an answer, he grabs the doorknob. “I’m coming in.”

You hear the door click open, then pretend to be asleep in hopes that he’ll go away. But you know that won’t happen.

Sebastian haphazardly steps through your apartment, and takes note of how unkempt it is compared to his previous visits. He seemingly notices every little thing that’s wrong. It doesn’t feel right to him. He knows you like to keep your place neat and tidy for your own sake and that of visitors. He’s seen it a little bit messy, but not this much. There’s a certain smell to the air (that you’re the least bit proud of), and he finds the source in the kitchen. Dirty dishes and leftovers sitting on the counter. He puts his hands on his hips and pulls his lips to the side.

This doesn’t feel right.

“_______?” he calls out again, heading for your bedroom. The door is closed, so he quietly pries it open and peeks inside. It’s dark, but light enough for him to see you laying there, perfectly still, your shoulder moving the sheets up and down in time with your breathing. He says your name quieter this time, but you don’t give him a response. You bite your bottom lip and pray for him to go away, but he only comes closer.

“Hey,” he whispers, gently shoving your shoulder. He kneels down as you turn over on your side, with your eyes still closed. Knowing that you can’t keep up the charade anymore, you slowly open your eyes, and see his concerned eyes staring into you.

At first you act confused as to why he’s just waltzed into your apartment uninvited, but decide that that’s not the best route to go. You don’t want to yell at him; in fact, you don’t want to speak to him at all. It’s too taxing. So instead, you blink several times to get the sleep out of your eyes, and clutch the blankets.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks, tilting his head. “You didn’t meet me today. I called you and sent some texts, but you never answered. Are you sick?”

Mentally, yes.

You shift your eyes to the left, avoiding his gaze. You have no idea what to say. You’re not just about to start blubbering about every little thing that’s wrong. Letting Sebastian see into your mind and how fucked up it is is not how you want this visit to go. So, being a “physical speaker”, you speak to him with your body.

You shrug your shoulders, and dart your eyes all over the floorboards when you can see his worried expression from your peripherals.

“Did something happen?” he asks, wanting to get to the bottom of this. He’s not mad that you didn’t meet up with him; he just wants to know if you’re okay.

You shake your head no, so he thinks of another reason why you’re laying in bed at four in the afternoon.

He goes the logical route.

“Bad day?”

You nod once, then pull the covers up higher to shield your mouth and nose. But the eyes are one of the biggest dead giveaways when you’re trying to hide the pain behind them.

“Have you eaten today?”

You shake your head.

“You need to eat something, _______,” he says gently. “Come on. I’ll make you something.”

He stands up and begs you to come with him, but you stay huddled up in your blanket cocoon. On a much better day you’d gladly sit in the kitchen and watch him cook you something to eat. But your mind and body is just not having it. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he really wants to see you get out of that bed. But you can’t. You just can’t do it.

Sighing, Sebastian comes back and crouches down beside you.

“I know it’s hard,” he starts softly. You dare to look him in the eyes. And when you do, you can’t look away. “I know that it feels like a chore to get up and walk, to eat, and to even speak. And that’s okay. But you can’t neglect yourself, _______. Otherwise you’re just going to be even more miserable than you already are. It might be a shitty time, but it’ll pass. Sometimes not as quick as you want it to be, and not always in the way you want, but with the right amount of care and patience, it’ll be alright in the end. So please, for me, can you come with me?”

He’s being so sweet and sincere, and here you are, being an asshole by not meeting him and making him come all the way to your place for nothing. You feel like he’s wasting his time by trying to get you to stand up and eat and probably shower. He hasn’t said it, but you know he can smell it. You’re so embarrassed by everything that you have to stop yourself from crying. You blink rapidly, and from being this close to him, Sebastian definitely notices.

“Listen,” he says. “I’m gonna draw you a bath. Make sure to use it before it gets cold.” He chuckles, which in turn makes you smile the tiniest bit. “While you do that, I’ll make you some late lunch. Okay?”

You can’t refuse him, so you nod. He nods back, then stands up again and takes his leave, keeping the door open. You hear him turn on the water, and even plugging the drain. You hate, but love that he’s doing this. It really means something when you know that someone genuinely cares. And that fact is enough to make you emotional.

You stretch once more, but still don’t have the strength to toss the blankets away. It’s too warm, and you’re too comfortable. But having a bath is probably–definitely–what you need. You trust that the bath will be warm, so closing your eyes tightly, you kick your covers to the end of the bed, and shudder from being exposed to the chilly air. Step One done. Now comes the hard part.

Getting out of bed.

Slowly, but surely, you drag one of your legs closer to the edge of the bed before letting it fall to the floor. You do the same with the other, and soon enough, you’re halfway there. But then you stop.

That’s enough progress for one day.

You’re stuck in that position for a minute before Sebastian comes back to retrieve you. When he sees half your body hanging off the bed, he has to smile. You look so ridiculous, but he has to be somewhat serious about it. He’s here to make you feel better, not make fun.

“Come on,” he says, walking up to you. “You’re almost there. You can make it.”

He brings his hands forward and grasps yours. You squeeze loosely, but no matter the grip, Sebastian pulls you to your feet. You stand upright instead of just falling back on your bed, for his sake. He really is trying to help, so you might as well comply to his efforts.

He keeps hold of one of your hands as he brings you into the bathroom, your bath drawn and ready. He even dropped in one of your bath bombs to make it seem more inviting. There’s even a towel set aside, as well.

“You stay in here as long as you need,” he says. “And when you’re done, I’ll have something ready for you to eat when you come back out. Sound good?”

You still can’t find your voice, so you just nod again. Sebastian doesn’t mind. He does hope that he’ll hear your voice at least once during this time with you. But for now, he’ll leave you be.

“And promise that you won’t fall asleep again?”

You nod.

“Thank you.”

He gives a quick kiss to your head before closing the door behind him to tend to his other duties. You allow yourself a small smile, because his beard tickled your forehead. You look down, and stare longingly at the bluish-green bathtub. You might as well. It’ll be good for your body, and for your mind. And to settle some of Sebastian’s nerves.

You strip down and gingerly step into the tub, sighing loudly as soon as you submerge yourself in the warm water. The bath bomb is Lush’s The Big Sleep, which gives off a calming, woodsy lavender scent. Lavender is an herb that aids in sleeping, but you don’t plan on sleeping any time soon. Not while Sebastian is still here.

You soak yourself for about half an hour. During that time, you periodically heard Sebastian rummaging around in your kitchen. Cooking or cleaning, you don’t know. But just being able to hear him in your home is enough to keep you at ease. Better him than anyone else, in fact. He hasn’t judged you for anything. Not the state of your apartment, nor yourself. He’s completely understanding, and knows where you’re coming from. It saddens you to think that Sebastian might have had days where he didn’t want to do anything either, and that’s why he can relate.

You’re definitely going to pay back the favour if that moment ever presents itself.

After thirty more minutes, the water has gone cold, and you’ve had a thorough rinsing. You dip your head under once more before standing up and wrapping yourself in the towel Sebastian laid out for you. You sadly unplug the drain and watch the colourful water disappear until it’s all gone.

You honestly feel better after that, and even feel more awake.

You smell something mouth-watering from the kitchen. Whatever Sebastian’s making, even if you don’t like it, you’re going to shove it down your throat because he took the time and energy to do so. You squeeze the water from your hair and shake it, then firmly tuck in the end of the towel and quietly emerge from the bathroom.

You peek behind the wall, and see him making something in a pan. His jacket hangs on one of the bar stools, and he’s removed his shoes as well. He’s made himself at home, to which you don’t mind at all. It’s refreshing to see him do common, everyday things. Not wanting to disturb him or draw attention to yourself, to skip back to your room and kick the door shut. Sebastian manages to catch a glimpse of your back before you disappear behind your door, making him smile.

You take your time getting changed, even though you eventually settle on wearing sweats and a plain grey V-neck. You put your hair up to dry, squeezing out the last of the droplets and discarding the towel on the floor. You look at yourself in the mirror, pulling your lips to the side. You’re feeling better, but you don’t know if you’re in the mood to talk yet. Perhaps an affirmative grunt or a sigh or maybe even a laugh. Either way, you’ll know when you join Sebastian in the kitchen.

You decide to throw on a hoodie before leaving your bedroom again. You tiptoe into the kitchen, and muster a weak smile when Sebastian looks up and smiles at you. You sit down on a bar stool and cross your arms on the counter, setting your chin on top of them.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mmm,” you hum quietly. It seems he spent most of his time cleaning up, since the floors and counters have been cleared off, and all the dishes have been done. It’s extremely inconvenient to not have a dishwasher, but one of these days you’ll buy one. For now, you’re your own dishwasher.

You cast your eyes downward, avoiding any kind of visual contact with him. You love looking at him, but not when you’re feeling so awful. He takes notice of your crestfallen expression, and hopes to god that the tips he looked up about what to do when your friend is depressed alleviates some of your pain.

“I’m making chicken and shrimp stir fry,” he says after a moment of silence, showing you the pan. “I hope you like it.”

You glance up at the pan, then to his eyes, then back down at the counter. His expression falls a bit from your lack of reaction, but he’s not going to stop trying. Baby steps is better than trying to push everything on you all at once. Small chit-chat is fine with him; just as long as he can get the message across that he’s here for you.

He throws in some teriyaki sauce into the pan, mixes it around a little, then turns off the stove and begins plating. You hate it being so quiet, but you have nothing to say to him. You would if you could think of something intelligent or funny, but your feel as if your mood has gotten worse. Despite the bath waking you up, your mind is not at ease. It has its good days, but today is one of the foulest ones.

While you’re lost in thought, Sebastian places your plate in front of you, setting a fork down beside it. The clank of glass to marble makes you jolt upright in a fright. It really worries Sebastian when you seem jumpy; and he hopes it’s not for the reason he’s thinking of.

“C’mere,” he says, picking up his plate. “Let’s sit over there.”

He motions to your Lovesac–The Big One–by the window. You peer over your shoulder at it, then back to him. He’s smiling that soft, sweet smile. The one you can never resist. You know you’ll love sitting beside him on a big fluffy bean bag chair and eating food he made for you, so you gather your plate and fork and follow him to the chair. You sit down first, and balance your plate on your leg as Sebastian carefully sits down next to you. You can’t even look at him, not even when he’s this close to you. Then again, when the proximity is nearly face-to-face, it’s hard not to feel just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

You eat in silence, as both of you expected. Sebastian is incredibly patient, as he’s always been. And very observant. How slow you eat, how quiet you are, how you’re not willing to even glimpse at him; he doesn’t want to be hurt by the fact you don’t trust him enough to talk about whatever is bringing you down, but he knows it’s not that easy. It’s much more complex than that.

After finishing his lunch, he gets up to wash his plate and put it back in the cupboard. When he turns around, you’ve finished as well, so he takes it upon himself to do the same. He takes your plate, washes it, then stores it before flopping down next to you again. You tuck your knees up higher, and play with the end of your sleeves. Sebastian supports his cheek in his palm, and stares down at you sadly. He has no idea if one of his “accidental pep talks” would help you any, but he’s going to try anyhow. It pains him to see you not smiling; and if he can get you to smile genuinely before he leaves, then his job is done.

“I’m here for you, _______, I hope you know that,” he begins softly. He knows you’re listening when you stop playing with your sweater. “Good day, bad day, doesn’t matter. Whatever you want, or need to talk about. I’m here for ya, okay? You don’t have to say anything, and that’s perfectly okay. I just want you to know that you’re not alone in this. You can trust me.”

Your eyes well up with tears when he starts being sentimental. You’re not used to hearing these sort things in real life. In movies mostly, some you even acted out yourself. And even then it was difficult to hear. You don’t know why you can’t just accept help when it’s being offered to you. But you’ve managed to come up with a handful of reasons:

1. You don’t want help unless it’s too late 2. You don’t look/seem mentally ill enough to be offered help 3. You like the attention because you felt unimportant/left out by many people in your life in the past and present, but don’t take the advice 4. You think you don’t deserve it

The main reason is probably–

All of them.

You know how incredibly honest and kind Sebastian is, and you truly appreciate those aspects of his personality. But when the person you’re pining for says those things to you while you’re extremely vulnerable is a nightmare. You never wanted him to see this side of you. Others have, but you’d be damned if he ever saw it. And now, after years of knowing each other and working together, it has finally come to light.

The tears slide down your cheeks, and you hastily wipe them away. Your lip quivers, so you bite down hardly on it. Sebastian wraps his arm around you when you begin to become distraught. He feels bad for making you cry, but he had to let you know. Assuring someone that you’re there for them is one of the most important things someone can do for another. And Sebastian always makes sure that he’s there for the people he cares about.

He’s about to begin another tangent, but you cut him off.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you confess, your voice thick. You keep wiping your eyes as you speak, as the tears just keep on coming. “I felt fine at the beginning of the week. I was feeling great, even. And then I just… didn’t. I dunno if it was the people or my surroundings or what I had to do or I was anxious about everything and nothing or it was everything at once. All I know is that I just got so fucking tired and lost all my energy and motivation. I didn’t wanna get up, didn’t wanna do anything productive, and apparently, didn’t wanna go over my fucking lines with you. I’m so shitty that I couldn’t even text you back when I woke up the second time, or at all. And I was being rude to you earlier by not answering you.

Everything is just so overwhelming all of a sudden and I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself! My friend almost died the other day and I forgot to pay my rent and I don’t know if I did the right thing with agreeing to be on this new show and I’m going to fucking explode because it seems like life suddenly hates me! I try to put on a good front and wait until I’m by myself to just fucking cry about it, but it’s getting harder and harder to hide it and I’m scared that no one will shut up about this side of me!”

Your throat completely closes up so you can’t speak anymore. You’re a sobbing mess now, and shove your face in your hands so you can cry your heart out without him seeing. The sound of you squealing from crying so hard breaks his heart. He pulls you to his chest and rubs your arm as he attempts to comfort you.

“A lot of life is a struggle, _______,” he begins. “We just don’t see it all the time because our eyes are always trained to look for ‘happy things’, but life is always a struggle with beautiful moments in-between. We have to keep going. That’s all there is. And most of those beautiful moments, at the end of the day, are pretty simple. Good company with people that get you. Or being proud of a goal maybe you set for yourself. Anxiety is just part of our past. It’s always gonna be there as long as we are human because a long time ago it protected us. But now it’s like having an old alarm clock that still goes off even though you may not need it anymore. But everyone has it. Go forth, go forward. Take a few breaths and onwards we go. There’s nothing more heroic in the world than that.”

This time, his pep-talk isn’t accidental. He becomes the most heart-felt person when he sees a friend in some kind of peril. Despite that, he hasn’t had the chance to do it in person most of the time. A lot of the time has been on Instagram, and small snippets during interviews. He’s hugged a fan or two at a Con where they couldn't get through a question for him, but he never had enough time to hear a full-length explanation about why they’re having a bad day. Doing this with you right now it making him feel all sorts of things: pride, empathy, determination, love… he really wants to get through to you, and help you see the bright side on things.

But again, he knows–amongst other things–that not every person wants to feel happy during a time of great vulnerability. Preaching to you won’t help you any if you won’t take his advice. Do or don’t, Sebastian will still be there.

He physically feels you calm down, and hears that you’re full-blown sobbing has dwindled down to sniffling and light crying. You’re definitely not ready to talk yet, so Sebastian keeps ranting in what he hopes is the best way possible.

“And you know what? No matter what just be yourself. That’s it. Just be you. Whatever you feel walking into the room you feel. That’s your truth. Don’t deny it. Don’t fight it. If you’re nervous, you’re nervous. If you’re scared, you’re scared. Don’t try to change how you feel on the day. Embrace it. Mike Nichols said ‘bring your day to the stage’, meaning you bring what you’re going through that day to the work. Even if you’re nervous once you embrace it and go ‘this is me right now and that’s that; they don’t like it, well then, they don’t like honesty’ then you will relax into it. We spend too much time bullying ourselves trying to be other things. Be who you are. Own it. It’s okay to give yourself some love once in a while. Be kind to yourself as you would be to a friend in need.”

What you honestly can’t believe is all the sap that’s coming out of his mouth. You know he can be incredibly encouraging sometimes but this is just… wow. You didn’t know know that people could be capable of such perception and understanding. It blows you away, actually, that Sebastian took the time to say all of that to you in hopes that it would make you feel better. You appreciate his efforts. You manage to stop crying completely and just sniffle. Your throat is raw, and you’re sure you’ll need some Vics and pain killers, but you feel ten times better after having a big cry. Your head hurts a little, but other than that and your throat, you feel okay.

“You’re pretty fucking unpredictable, you know that?” you chuckle, wiping your eyes. You finally relax after being so tense, and avoid looking him in the eyes still. You’re not ready for that just yet. He smiles down at you, happy that he got something out of you.

“I try,” he laughs. He continues to rub your arm, and patiently waits for you to give him some sort of recognition to his words, but when he doesn’t get it, he decides to throw in another point.

“I have a therapist,” he says, which seems to grab your attention. You glance up at him once before staring back at his legs. “You can see him if you want. Or I could help you find one, if you’d like. I don't wanna shove this down your throat, but my offer will always stand.”

“I see,” you say. “…now I know where you get all your astounding advice from.”

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get a lot of good guidance from him, but I throw in my own thoughts and opinions as well. Whenever I see people going through a bad time, I can’t help but just reach out to them and see if I’ll be of any use. And it makes me feel great about myself when I find out that I am. Making a difference in people’s lives is something that I’ve always wanted to do. And it’s very fulfilling to know that I am.”

Finally, you have the strength to sit up and face him. You wipe your eyes once more before looking into his eyes.

Bad mistake.

He’s got a mix of puppy-dog eyes and smiling like you’re the most important thing in the world. You’ve lost your voice, and your thoughts are scattered, but after clearing your throat and looking away from him, you manage to think of a response.

“I, uh. Um. T-Thank you for um. A-All of that. I don’t know what to say other than that I’ll… think about it.”

“That’s quite okay with me,” he smiles. “But can you promise me something?”

“I guess…”

“When you’re having a bad day, like today, will you come talk to me about it? You can text me, call me, meet in person. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll always be around. And I promise you that you won’t be inconveniencing me. Above all else, taking care of yourself comes first. Say you have an illness and cannot come in. You matter, _______. And you hurt yourself by neglecting your health. So please, please, talk to me when you need to.”

You can’t push him away when he’s being this sincere. But you don’t want to push him away anyhow. How can you? You love him to death; closing him out of your life would benefit neither of you. Smiling, you nod your head.

“Okay,” you agree. “I will. Thanks, again. I–I can’t–“

You cut yourself off because you begin cry-laughing. You rub your eyes and laugh to shake off the new feeling inside you. Sebastian smiles widely when he finally hears the laugh he’s been waiting to hear. You look away from being embarrassed, but Sebastian just grabs hold of you and squeezes you into a giant hug. You squeal happily this time and hide your face again because he’s being so adorable.

“Sebastiaaan!” you whine.

His arms are so strong.

He loosens his grip, causing you to go lay across his lap. You nuzzle your face in the soft warmth of your Lovesac, then peek over your shoulder. He has his head back, and is giving you the biggest, toothiest grin. You can’t help but smile back just as widely.

God I love him.

You shift around so you’re sitting with your legs in his lap. You cross your arms and lay your head to the side. The way you look at him is like he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. And he is, he really is. Your eyes become heavy, but you blink rapidly to keep them open.

“I’m okay,” you say before he gets the chance to poke fun at you. “I’m awake. I’m alright.”

“Nah, I wasn’t gonna say anything like that,” he says.

“Then what?”

“You look cute when you’re cozy.”

You smush your face into the fur and pull your hood over your head to hide your flushed cheeks. He grins proudly to himself and pats your legs to get your attention. You don’t want to look, but you pull your hood to the side slightly.

“What if I stay here for the night, hmm?” he suggests. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m a lover of pizza and movies.”

You pull your hood away and cock your head to the side. He’s serious? He sounds serious. And he wouldn’t be smiling like that if he wasn’t. Biting your lip, you knit your brows together as you think. He’s just cleaned your apartment, made you some late lunch, and boosted some confidence in yourself. Plus, he made the trip all the way to the coffee shop, then to your apartment. It’d be rude to kick him to the curb. You smile softly at him.

“Alright,” you say. “You can stay.”

“Sounds good.”

For the entirety of the night, Sebastian is nothing but a bundle of laughs. When you can, you stare at him for as long as possible. You’ve fallen in love with every part of him; his face, his personality, his charm, his talents, his inspiration. From the first time you met, you already lost to him. Everything about him is so inviting and appealing; no one would be able to resist him. And as far as you know, no one has.

He’s still his useful, goofy self, and takes every opportunity to make you laugh. Making fun of the movie, telling a joke, eating his food weirdly, and even a funny story he has about his own personal life and things of the past. Anything to see you having a good time. Everyone has their bad days, and sometimes they need them, but Sebastian decided to cut that short. If he’s crossed a line and you actually wanted to be alone, then he’ll apologize profusely and leave right after. But so far, you’ve given no indication of that desire.

As the night comes to a close and you begin yawning and rubbing your eyes, Sebastian begins to turn everything off. He stores the leftover pizza in your microwave and helps you to your feet. But before you go to bed, you turn to face him.

“I really appreciate this, Sebastian,” you say. “I honestly didn’t mean to get that upset, but it just washed over me. So… thank you, once again, for making me feel better. I know it’s not exactly what you wanted to do today, and I’m sorry for that but… it means a lot to me. What you said. And I still can’t thank you enough for–“

Sebastian cuts you off by pulling you in for a hug. You’re a little dumbfounded at first, but you quickly relax into his embrace and wrap your arms around him. He strokes your hair and rubs your back while gently swaying back and forth.

“That’s enough of that, _______,” he says. “I’m always here for you, remember? For the good and the bad. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” you mumble into his chest. You close your eyes and breathe him in, smiling all the while. The hug lasts for a relatively long time, but it still feels too early when you pull away from each other. You both smile, and he ruffles your hair before sending you off to bed.

“Want me to be an alarm?” he asks as you walk away.

You stop as you grab the doorknob and look over your shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” you say. “Feel free to use the big ass bean bag chair as a bed. But I have a guest room if you’d prefer that.”

“I think I’ll take my chances with the chair,” he confesses. “But thanks anyway.”

“Alrighty, then. Goodnight, Sebastian.”

“Goodnight, _______.”

The moment you enter your room and close the door, Sebastian waltzes over to the Lovesac and grabs a blanket from the couch. He steps out of his pants and jumps down on the chair, pulling the blanket close.

He feels so euphoric from being able to get your mind off things, and he wants to feel that way more often. He stares longingly at your bedroom door, and whispers a personal goodnight of his own before falling asleep.

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