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honeypirate · 4 years ago

Text

Best Friends

Sugawara x Fem!Reader

unedited

“Hello” you say softly and the light haired boy in front of you turns around with a smile “oh hello! Can I help you?” You smile at his friendly face “yeah I’m looking for the volleyball gym?” He chuckles “that’s perfect! I’m going there too, I’ll show you the way! Are you looking to be the manager?” You fell in step beside him as you talk and walk, from that day you and Sugawara were practically inseparable. He joined the team and you became a manager with Kiyoko.

꧁꧂

“I can’t believe we’re third years” you say as you sit down next to Suga in the cafeteria, Asahi, Daichi, and Kiyoko there as well. “I feel so old” Asahi says as he takes a bite of his lunch. “We’ve been third years for a few months now,” Kiyoko says, like it’s supposed to not feel bad anymore. “Yeah well, I still feel old” Asahi says and you laugh, you’re all teens still but it feels like you’re reaching the top of the mountain now, where the other side is waiting to show you all your different paths. You didn’t feel ready yet.

Your hands start to mess with the frayed hem of your skirt, your thoughts elsewhere as you stare down at your unopened soda. Suga reaches over, placing his right hand over your hands gently. When you look over at him he just smiles softly, like he knew the train your thoughts were taking and wanted to let you know he was there for you. You smile up at him, he nods once as you reach up to begin eating your lunch. Suga’s hand stayed against your knee, the warmth from his palm sending tingles down your spine.

꧁꧂

Your friendship with Suga was always comfortable, always easy to be with him. The last two years were some of the funnest you’ve ever had because of him and the volleyball team. Even if volleyball hasn’t been easy, it was always fun for you because of Suga and your third year group. you couldnt help but crush hard on him, he was sweet and thoughtful. He truly cared about everyone genuinely and you couldnnt stop the way your heart lights up for him brighter than you’ve ever felt before. He made you feel special even if he was just handing you an extra pencil, it was in his eyes.

꧁꧂

Suga didn’t start acting more friendly with you until the beginning of third year, or at least that’s when you noticed it. You ran into him in the hallway and he was the one to pull you into a hug, holding you tight against him as he laughed, telling you how much he missed you during the break. He started placing his hand on your lower thigh or right on top of your knee if you sat next to him. it wasnt sexual, wasnt naything really, just a warm soft touch to ground himself and you didn’t mind it. You thought it was sweet but you convinced yourself that it was just friendly, even if you hadn’t had friends treat you like that before. but you couldn’t deny that it was another thing that made you feel special to him.

꧁꧂

“You know he likes you...” Kiyoko said as you studied on the floor of the gym before practice and you laughed “who?” she smirks and you laugh again “you must be mistaken... No one likes me, Ki” Kiyoko gives you a look and you stop laughing “who are you talking about?” You say and swallow hard and she smirks “tell me. Please” you say and clear your throat. She closes her notebook “Who do you think?” She looks right at you and you feel your cheeks flush as one person flashes in your head. No. It couldn’t be him. “Well I’d guess Tanaka or Noya but they seem to be very dedicated to you” she sighs and flicks her hair behind her neck “who has been even more friendly to you this year? Touching your knee, hugging you more,..” your eyes widen and she nods with a smile “Sugawara?” You whisper and she nods again, a smile on her lips.

꧁꧂

“Speak of the devil” Suga says as he walks in the gym, coming and crouching next to you with a smile. “Talking shit about me again, Y/n?” he asks with a chuckle, reaching out and tucking your hair behind your ear. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you look at him, wide eyed and confused. “Uhh.. well” you chuckle and try to get your bearings “you know me Suga. always talking” you laugh awkwardly and he laughs while looking at you funny, it isn’t what you do, you’re not a shit talker, and that was a terrible said joke, so flat. He gave a look to Kiyoko that said ‘what’s going on with her?’ Kiyoko smiles as she starts to pack up her things “I just got done tutoring her, she came to some revelations,.. But i suggested she ask you to tutor her since I don’t seem to be helping much”

Suga looks back to you with a wide grin “of course! You’re my best friend, obviously ill help you!” Daichi calls for warm ups and Suga is up and gone, leaving you to clean your things up with Kiyoko “not him. no . you’re wrong. He calls me his best friend. I'm obviously just a friend to him” Kiyoko laughs, sending you a look that says ‘he told me himself’ but she doesn’t say, and you don’t press her, you’d rather just convince yourself you’re right. He’s Suga for crying out loud! you’ve seen his fan girls at school, there’s no way he would choose you out of all those pretty girls.

Kiyoko rolls her eyes, she can tell you dont believe her but she did her job, she told you, it’s not her fault Suga wouldn’t drop the best friends thing, Kiyoko had told him that you were dumb and that you’d think it was a friendzone. But he said no, it’s way to show her i think we’re close. It’s a good thing to be best friends before a relationship. Not Kiyoko’s fault you were a bit clueless and ditzy. But maybe Suga will confess now that he’ll be tutoring you, and if you say you don't need tutoring you’ll be honest with him and he’ll tell you the truth. Either way, not her problem anymore.

꧁꧂

After you finish cleaning up after practice you throw your back pack on your shoulder before heading outside to wait in the cool air for the team to go get some buns. Kiyoko is on the phone a little ways off, facing the other side of the school as you wait near the bottom of the steps for the team. You tapping your toes as you sand just what was going through your head “i’m so hungry i wish these boys would hurry my stomach in a flurry needs some meat buns meat buns meat buns” turning into you doing jump lunges towards Kiyoko while you were chanting meat buns. Before you know it, Noya, Tanaka, Hinata and Suga are standing around you, copying you perfectly as you jump alternating legs forward as you alternate arms up in the air, all chanting “meat buns” as Kiyoko shakes her head with a soft chuckle.

꧁꧂

At the table eating a bun, your talk with Kiyoko was gone from your head, all that resided in your brain was steamed pork buns; nothing else mattered. You look up at Suga when he chuckles next to you and you raise your eyebrows “what’s so funny pretty boy?” you ask and he laughs again “so cute” he whispers and then reaches out, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb before popping his thumb in his mouth, licking it off as he turns his attention back to what Daichi was saying.

Your eyes glance in Kiyoko’s direction and she’s just smirking, she saw it all. Her eyes say ‘what did i tell you?’

“When do you want have a study session?” he asks and you swallow hard “i..i..um” you struggle through words, not knowing how to act after that action. You felt so flustered until his hand rested against your knee gently, it was like that cleared your whole head. You take a breath and look back up to his eyes “how about tomorrow after practice, we can stop and get some buns and then go to..”you think of your crazy family “would it be okay if we went to your house?” you cock your head and he chuckles “yeah that’s no problem. Tomorrow after practice, buns and biology” you chuckle and your hand reaches out, attempting to take a hold of his but before you can his hand has moved to pick up a bun, your knee cold from the lack of his warmth now. “It’s a date” you say quietly and your cheeks flush, turning to Asahi on your other side and asking about his hair care, not noticing the way Suga’s ears turned red and the way he looked at you after you called it a date.

꧁꧂(skip the whole next day) ꧁꧂

His room was clean, and even had a candle lit in the window. It smelled nice and was super organized which impressed you, but the smell of lavender bergamot did nothing for your nerves. You felt so anxious! Probably because you didn’t need it but oh well, you didn’t know how to tell him that so you would play along. You stopped by to get some buns, then headed straight for Suga’s, it was easy and comfortable. But now that you are in his room, sitting beside him against his headboard, you feel nervous and your hands are shaking as you scribble new flashcards

“Do you know why I like this marker?” he asks suddenly, his notes forgotten in front of him. “Why?” you asked as you looked at the black marker he had. He reaches over and takes your hand softly, bringing it over to him and bringing the tip down to your skin “It’s clear for the most part so i can see what i'm doing through it. So i can underline perfectly. Or draw” you pull your left hand back and see a cute heart on the fleshy part beneath your thumb.

“Oh my god” you say and and he looks up at you, worry flashing in is eyes “what?” he asks and you chuckle once before raising your eyebrows “you ARE flirting with me”

he chuckles softly “thanks for noticing” you stare at him with wide eyes for a few moments, in shock that Kiyoko was right and you didn’t believe her. He smiles and bops your nose softly, your eyes flinching before you laughed and held out your hand for his marker which he places against your palm gently.

“How long?” You ask as you reach for his hand, “how long what?” He asks as you thread your fingers through his, your heart racing and fireworks dancing across your skin “how long have you been flirting with me without me noticing?” You bring the marker down to his skin, just across from the heart he drew on you, drawing a matching one. “Since the Date Tech game last year” your head snaps up “that long?!” You groan “I thought you were just being friendly. You kept calling me your best friend” you hold up your hand with the marker and do air quotes with your fingers “I thought that meant you knew about my feelings for you and you were being obvious about friendzoning me” your fingers touch the ink on his skin, checking to see if it was wet still but finding it dry so you squeeze his hand tighter “wait. . .” he whispers and you look up to his eyes again “wait what” he laughs once and raised his eyebrows “your feelings for me?” He asks and you nod “I’ve had a crush on you since that first day when you showed me to the gym. We’ve just always clicked. I thought you knew and just wanted to stay best friends” he squeezes your hand and then pulls you into his chest with his other arm “I’m sorry. If I had known of your feelings I would have done something sooner. And I like truly knowing someone before I get in a relationship so yes you’re my best friend but I want so much more with you” he kisses the top of your head and you pull back, reaching up to bury your hands in his soft hair.

“I should probably tell you I don’t need a tutor” you whisper and he chuckles, eyes never straying from yours “That was Kiyoko covering for telling me you liked me. I can’t believe I didn’t believe her.” His nose brushes against yours as he raises his hands to rest against your neck “oh! Well, I’m glad we don’t have to study right now then” he says with a chuckle and then his lips brush yours and you gasp softly before smiling and pressing your lips to his, his thumbs brushing across your skin sending electricity down your spine.

꧁꧂

Going to bed that night you noticed the black smudge of a heart on the side of your neck, having rubbed off from his palm, along with several other budding purple marks he left across your skin. you reach up and brush the marks, memories of the night flashing through your mind as you squeal, filled with happiness and excitement as you run back to your bed and bury yourself under the covers, knowing you wont be able to sleep with how active your mind is, too busy reliving the experience to sleep, too busy being excited about seeing your boyfriend the next day.

#sugawara koushi #hq sugawara #sugawara fluff #haikyuu suga x reader #sugawara x you #sugawara x reader #sugawara x y/n #haikyuu x reader #suga x you #suga x reader #haikyuu x y/n #suga x y/n #sugawara fanfiction #haikyuu fanfiction

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years ago

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Flower | 27

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, slight fluff

; Word Count: 4k

; Warnings: Not really an argument but close to it, depictions of anxiety and stress

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This is one of the more angsty ones, not as bad as before, I swear! I hope you don’t think too harshly of the MC, she’s trying :( the next one is super fluffy...as it’s their anniversary! :D so fear not. As usual, please reblog if you enjoyed it so others can read it and leave me comments, feedback and asks! Thank you!

; Flower Masterpost

Straightening up from the bent-over position you’d been in for the last five minutes, you wince at the pain in your back and rub at it with a slight pout to your lips. You don’t remember if moving into your apartment had been this stressful or tiring, but then your place had been much smaller and you’d had less stuff.

Even with the help of Jimin and Jungkook, it had taken Hoseok and you three days to get everything out of both your old apartments and into your new place. The two of you had started looking for somewhere soon after agreeing to the idea and it had been pure luck to find your new home.

The two-bedroom house that you were both renting was only half an hour away from your parents. It was bigger than you’d originally anticipated but small enough to make it perfect for a couple. There was a backyard that was currently a little overgrown but offered a surprising amount of space while the driveway had space for both your cars.

The interiors needed a little rework initially but the landlord had promised to have everything repainted and fixed for you both, which they had thankfully. You also had permission to put up decorations on the walls and treat this place like your own home, as long as it all went back to looking neutral at the end.

There had been no reason for either of you to turn it down, especially as the rent was low and the utilities more than affordable. Okay, so you both would need to drive a little further to get to work every day. But both of you were making up for it with the reduction in what you would be paying now compared to before, so you’d eagerly signed the lease agreement as soon as possible.

Which was how you were now here, kneeling on the floor of your new living room as you let out a deep sigh of resignation. Even though you’d been the one to ask Hoseok to move in together, which had surprised pretty much everyone you both knew, it had unsurprisingly been you who’d ended up having issues about the whole thing.

The issues were nothing to do with him or even the idea of living with him. Instead, they were everything to do with the fact that you hated, and struggled to cope with, change of any kind. There probably wasn’t a bigger change out there than uprooting your entire life to a new house and then sharing that house with someone else, a person whom you were romantically involved with.

Suddenly, any decisions you made regarding your home would need to include Hoseok in them. You wouldn’t be able to change things on the fly like you were used to, nor would you be able to be by yourself at home when you were feeling overwhelmed. It sounded silly when you thought about it logically, or said it out loud, but you’d found yourself struggling over it all.

You’d thought you were ready for it all. After all, you’d been the one to ask him the big question. Only you’d had more than a few meltdowns in the process of packing up your apartment. It made you cringe to think back on them, embarrassment and shame flooding you as you recall the way you’d handled it all.

If there was one thing you’d learnt over the years, it was that you didn’t handle things well in all honesty. Which was why you bottled it all up until it got too much. The results of those explosions got you even more upset, producing a never-ending cycle. Which was why you would often get set off by the smallest, most unimportant thing.

Only last week you’d slipped into, what could only politely be termed, a temper tantrum. A big, fat, adult tantrum. You’d been in the process of breaking down one of the bookcases in your old living room, unscrewing everything carefully after you’d packed away the contents.

The combination of tiredness from all the packing, the stress of moving and changing over debits, the strain of all the lifting, the fact you were doing all this after a full day of work and how your body ached from all the lifting and dismantling had accumulated after you’d accidentally dropped one of the wood sections onto your foot. Almost immediately you’d yelped out in pain before cursing loudly, frustrated tears seeping as you’d visibly trembled in rage at the stupid bookcase.

It had taken half an hour locked inside your bedroom until you’d finally calmed down enough to go back out and carry on. Thankfully, Hoseok hadn’t been there to witness that moment.

Your boyfriend was far more than you deserved as he hadn’t complained about your slowly souring mood. If you were being honest with yourself, he’d probably seen it coming. He had been the one to make completely sure that you were okay with the idea and had tried to make things go as slowly as possible so you didn’t freak out too much. But you were still struggling with it all.

Your antidepressants were working fine and you were thankful that you hadn’t fallen into a slump, but you just felt like you couldn’t think properly. Nothing was in its right place and everything was just...wrong at the moment. Then there was the fact that you were going to have Hoseok’s stuff here too and you’d both bickered about whether or not to set up the second bedroom as a spare bedroom or an office.

He was truly a saint, you were positive, because despite how grumpy you had slowly become he had taken it all on the chin with a patient smile. You, however, just wanted to go to sleep and for everything to be ready to use in the morning.

It frustrated you to look around the house and see everything that still needed to be built and put away. If you stared too long then you often ended up feeling the heat build in your eyes, tears threatening as exhaustion buffeted you. But that wasn’t how it went, and so you had been unpacking box after box only to find it was more stuff that needed to go in the storage unit that Hoseok was going to build.

Or rather, should have built. He’d promised a few hours ago that he’d get it all set up for you so that you could at least get these boxes out of the way. This unit was going to store all the books, board games and Hoseok’s vinyl records. Instead, they were all still in the boxes and you were glaring at the box that held the storage unit. Still not made.

“Hoseok!” You yell, the tone of your voice a little harsher than you’d intended it. He wasn’t used to hearing you get angry or annoyed but he’d certainly gotten used to it in the last two weeks. Being the good person he was though, he hadn’t snapped back at you. Yet.

“Yeah?” Comes his muffled response and you hear the quiet, low voices of the other two men from the main bedroom. They’d been putting together the bedroom furniture all day while you’d unpacked the kitchen, carefully storing the fragile dishes and glasses before finding homes for the food that you’d run to the store for.

“I thought you said you were going to build this unit?” Even as the words come out of your mouth, you can tell that you’re being unreasonable. He’d spent all day sweating and swearing as he’d set up bedside cabinets, drawers and even the bed. The two of you had decided to invest in all new furniture given you both had rather dated furniture that didn’t match at all.

Unnecessary? Yes, but you’d just wanted to have a nice home that looked right. Yet again, more unreasonable demands from you and more expense. But he hadn’t complained about any of it, instead just going shopping with you and getting it all. Maybe he thought there was no point in complaining or something, but you had the furniture you’d wanted in the end.

And you weren’t being a mean person. You had offered to help them build it all but they’d waved it off with the eagerness of men wanting to be manly and build things. Plus, you were pretty convinced that Hoseok knew how frustrated you’d become just dismantling furniture and didn’t want to risk you getting even angrier if something went wrong while building.

After repeated offers to help them being rebuffed, you’d finally just shrugged and settled yourself for putting away everything that you could. You liked doing that much better really as it gave you a sense of peace and satisfaction to see things in the places you wanted them and looking tidy.

Maybe that was why Hoseok had suggested you do that. He’d been amused the first time he’d seen your food pantry all in neat lines for ease of storage and access but had slowly learnt that you liked everything to have a place and always be in it.

As it was, the kitchen was pretty much completed and so was the ensuite bathroom and the guest bathroom. The living room had Hoseok’s couch and your coffee table while there were a dining table and chairs towards the back. Perfect for both eating and gaming, of course.

But there was no storage in here because...well because Hoseok hadn’t built it!

“Sorry, I’ve been busy here. We’ve just got to finish up with these drawers-” Huffing, you scowl at the unopened box before looking over all the other boxes that haven’t even been touched as his excuses wash over you. The rational part of you knows that they’re valid excuses and you even want to tell him it’s fine, the living room can wait until tomorrow.

The dark cloud of annoyance, stress, anxiety and tiredness has settled fully over your mind though and you grit your teeth as tears form in your eyes. Why did you always have to cry when you were angry? It was pathetic.

“It’s fine. Whatever.” There’s a terse silence that follows your short words and you can practically hear Jimin and Jungkook cringing at the tension that’s suddenly ratcheted up. Pursing your lips, you wipe at your eyes furiously before closing the box back up and pushing at it harshly.

“I’ll build it now for you.” Hoseok’s voice is much closer and you look up, noting his carefully neutral expression on his tired face. Almost immediately you feel remorse for being short with him but the words get stuck in your throat. His hands are a little dirty from the dust of the furniture he’s been building and you note they’re also a little red, probably sore from using the screwdrivers and stuff.

You go to look for some of your hand cream to rub into them for him before realising that you have no idea where it is and the negativity comes rushing back. The box that he’s carrying clinks quietly and you know it’s got all the tools he needs in it to build the unit.

“I said it’s fine. We can do it tomorrow.” Looking away from him, you rub at your forehead from the headache you’ve got while rolling your shoulders, trying to stretch the aches and pains away. There’s a deep sigh from Hoseok that sounds incredibly controlled and you wince slightly, realising that he’s holding his temper back.

“It’s okay, it’s a quick build. It’ll take half an hour or something and then it’ll be done. Better to get it done now and then we get some of these boxes gone, right?” Closing your eyes, you bite your lip hard as you try to settle yourself. When you’re in one of these moods, you normally just take yourself off somewhere to be alone so you can’t be rude or mean.

But there is nowhere to take yourself to here. Nowhere that’s ready, anyway.

Pressing your hands to your eyes, you feel the hysterical urge to just cry and scream. The knowledge that all your safe spaces have vanished for the moment and you have nowhere to go to be calm tipping you further. Even Kasumi is stuck just sleeping on the floor as her stuff is also packed away, waiting to be rebuilt.

You just want it all done so that you can settle back down and allow yourself time to get used to the new environment you live in. Let it all become familiar and warm once more, a home that you can retreat to and feel comfortable in. Right now, it resembles more of an IKEA and you hate it.

“Baby-” Hoseok starts and you shake your head furiously, wiping hard at your eyes before pushing the box of books as hard as you can in front of you. It’s a futile way to get out some of your anger and stress, but it feels good. Better than saying something that might hurt the one person who’s understood you more than anyone in years.

“Leave me alone. Please. Go build the bed or whatever. It’s fine. Tomorrow. I just, I need you to-” You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore and you feel the anxiety of it all building up. Leaving your old apartment was so much harder than you’d expected and you’d struggled with the idea of knowing you no longer had anywhere to truly be alone. If you got mad at Hoseok in the future, he’d still be in the house somewhere.

You’d spent so many years making your place somewhere that was comfortable and familiar to you, a home that you enjoyed being in and now it was all gone. Now you have to relearn how to make this space comfortable and learn entirely new ways of how to cope with your moods and behaviour with another person.

The quiet sound of the door shutting clues you into the fact that Jimin and Jungkook have left. Unsurprising really, because you sure wouldn’t want to hang around to hear a domestic argument. Particularly given one of those involved is perhaps the quietest person they’ve ever known.

Standing, you pick up one of the boxes that are filled with your board games and move it to the other side of the living room, providing plenty of space to build furniture tomorrow. Going back, you don’t look at Hoseok and you’re not entirely sure why. Maybe you’ll explode on him or maybe you’ll burst into tears. Who knows?

You don’t, which is why you clench your jaw.

There’s an awkward silence between you both as Hoseok doesn’t move, simply watches as you rearrange the boxes in the living room. It makes absolutely no difference now that they’re on the other side of the room but you feel a small sense of relief and peace when they’re all lined up neatly in one area, stacked on top of each other carefully.

The floor is visible once more and you frown at the sight of all the dust covering it. You should vacuum that, only you don’t think you have a vacuum anymore. That may have been one of the things Hoseok said to throw out as yours was ancient and he didn’t even have one.

Scowling at it, you go to the kitchen to grab some cleaning spray and a cloth to at least get the coffee table looking nice. There was no reason for it as it was just going to get dirty again immediately from all the furniture dust but you just needed to make it look clean for now.

“I’m not gonna fight you, Y/N. Please tell me what’s wrong?” Hoseok says quietly, his voice carefully neutral and you pause at the kitchen cabinet, fingers on the door handle. “Please. I don’t want to argue with you when I know you’re not mad at me.”

He sounds so reasonable and calm that you don’t snap at him immediately, instead frowning down at the countertop and rubbing at a mark on it. For a few minutes, you don’t respond and he doesn’t push either. You’re not entirely sure what nation you saved in a previous life to get him, but it must have been a big one.

There’s plenty of other men who would have had a full-scale argument with you by now. The kind of argument that would have let you in tears while you struggled to breath from the anxiety of it all. But t Hoseok knew you. After almost a year together, he knew what upset you and made you angry. Most of all, he knew that you didn’t respond well to conflict. Which was he was just waiting for you to talk to him instead of shouting at you.

Maybe the knowledge that he wasn’t going to snipe at you or be mean was the final straw. All you know though, is that his soft and reassuring words seem to cause something inside of you to crack and all the stress that’s been building up inside your mind finally bursts free.

Lips quivering, you frown hard as you wonder how you’re meant to get across what you’re feeling and thinking. You don’t even really know yourself, so trying to describe it to the one person who you want to understand the most is even harder. Made more so by the fear he might find your excuses pitiful.

“I don’t...it’s just,” Your throat closes tightly as thick tears slowly start to fall. “It’s a lot. Everything’s a lot right now and I just...I can’t handle it. I don’t know how to. I mean...I don’t feel comfortable here yet and it’s making me so anxious and unhappy. And then everything is in these fucking boxes and nothings built properly, we don’t even have the television set up and it’s just...I’m just struggling. I’m trying Hobi, I’m trying.”

You whisper the last words, wiping at your eyes and nose as you try your hardest not to completely break down. If there’s one thing you hate the most in the world, it’s probably crying. It makes you feel pathetic, and when you’re struggling with something as simple as moving places it makes you even more so.

“I just...nothing’s where I like it and I don’t know where everything is. It all feels foreign to me and even Kasumi doesn’t have her stuff! I don’t even know what I’m saying, it’s not even that bad but...but...I just want it all finished so I can start getting used to it! Start thinking of it all as a home and getting used to a routine here! And I’ve had to change all my routines around now because it takes longer to get to work so I have to get up earlier which means I have to go to bed earlier and find out the traffic and-” You’re interrupted by Hoseok wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you tightly.

For a few seconds, you do nothing until the warmth of his embrace causes you to turn around and link your arms around his waist too. Inhaling deeply, you take in his scent and start to cry once more as everything all comes to a head in your mind, all the ramblings thoughts and stressors and worries you’ve had flooding out as you ramble on to him.

Finally, though, you run out of things to tell him about why you’re so upset about seemingly nothing and instead just hold onto him silently. Your tears are soaking his shirt and you feel a little embarrassed at your minor meltdown but most of all, you just feel safe in his arms. Like no matter what you say or how silly it sounds, he won’t judge you.

In the chaos of your mind and surroundings right now, he was stable and familiar. Comforting.

“Why didn’t you argue with me? I could practically hear you restraining yourself. I was being so stupid and mean for no reason.” You whisper after a while, lips brushing against his shirt with every word. His chest shakes as he chuckles, a hand stroking along your back reassuringly.

“Oh, I almost did. Today was the closest I’ve ever come to snapping back at you. There’s every chance I might’ve done if you’d been someone else. But I know you. And even though you haven’t confided it to me...I know you’ve been putting a brave face on with this whole moving thing. We’ve been together for almost a year, sweetheart. I know what makes you upset and I’ve learnt that change is one of them. And this? Is a big change. I’m stressed over it all so I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling.” The tears return to sting at your eyes, pricking at them hotly and you sniff almost pathetically at his sweet, soothing words.

“I’m sorry. I just…” He cuts you off once more with a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“It’s okay, honestly. I’m just happy you’ve finally told me. I’d pretty much figured all of this out and I knew you weren’t coping too well. But you weren’t talking to me and I didn’t want to push it if you didn’t feel comfortable. But baby, please, in the future just talk to me. I don’t want us to get into another situation like today where we’re on the verge of an unnecessary argument over something as stupid as a storage unit.” He’s rubbing his hands along your arms in a warming gesture, giving you a soft smile that has the tears banking once more.

“I’m sorry. I just...I always feel so stupid. It’s not even anything that bad and I’m here acting like a baby over it all.” Your words are a little thick from how tight your throat is and Hoseok sighs once more, only this time a little more affectionately. The small smile he gives you cuts through your wallowing self-pity.

“You’re not being a baby. If you’re upset over it, then you’re upset over it. I don’t want you getting stressed or anxious over anything but I’ll take having your routine changed and the places where you feel safe and comfortable changing over you getting pissed at me just because I hadn’t built something on time. Those are real reasons to get upset, emotions that are a part of you and I’ll try my hardest to never be angry at you for feeling them. I can’t guarantee it’ll always work because Lord knows I’d almost reached my point today but I will try. Because I know you don’t mean it. You’re the least angry and mean person I’ve ever met, to be honest.” A kiss to your forehead once more seals his words and you sniff, wiping at your face again.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or upset you. I’m sorry. This is just, really big. And I’m scared too. Because if something goes wrong between us then this,” You gesture round to the house in general. “Makes it harder for us to go our separate ways. That frightens me.”

“Hey, it frightens me too. But you know what’s good about that? I have zero plans of leaving you anytime and I’m pretty sure you have zero plans too. Right?” A head tilt from him adds to his questioning tone and you can’t help the soft smile as you nod. Enveloping you in a tight hug once more, Hoseok does his best to reassure you before pulling away slowly.

“Okay, we finished all the bedroom off so...how about we just get the bedding sorted, order takeout and then just watch something on my laptop? No more negativity and no more work today, okay? Let’s just cuddle up and relax.” Looking out over the living room that you can see over the island in the kitchen, you twist your lips at the sight of everything still packed away before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

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hobidreams · 4 years ago

Text

A Bit of Magic

pairing: platonic best friends hoseok x yoongi genre: fluffy fluff words: 1.1k contains: magic au, there is a cat, meow a/n: this drabble is sponsored by a generous anonymous donor to the Black Lives Matter movement!!! get your own fic here.

“I’ve decided.” Yoongi’s drawl comes floating down the stairs with the man himself. He’s holding the same (unopened) white envelope he disappeared with about an hour and a half ago.

“Aaaand?” Sitting at the worn kitchen table, Hoseok’s eyes shine with a sunny hope as he nurses a glass of something clear and bubbly. A few feet away, Jiminie the calico dozes on his favorite pillow.

Yoongi stops short when he reaches the end of the stairs. Promptly lets the envelope thunk into the trash can. “Nope.” Then he plops his butt down on the chair opposite Hoseok’s with just as much decorum.

“First of all, it’s 2020. Recycle.” Hoseok jokes as he twirls his hand and the envelope promptly floats out of the bin, doing somersaults in the air before landing right on the table. Face up, with Yoongi’s name emblazoned across it in jet black script.

Yoongi snaps his fingers. Right back into the trash it goes, though not nearly with the same elegance.

“Hyung.” Hoseok fetches it again, this time placing a spread hand firmly over the mail with now slightly dented corners. “What are you scared of?”

“Fireworks. Heights. Namjoon’s cooking. All rational things.”

“Yet opening a measly little envelope?” Hoseok taps the paper with the tip of his nails and little stars fly out, dissolving on contact with the wood.

Yoongi very pointedly stands up and steps to the kitchen counter. Jiminie opens a lazy eye and gives a small yawn at the movement. “’m not scared,” Yoongi mutters. He looks at the pot that’s simmering away above an artificial fire, then gives it a slow stir with a rotation of his skinny wrist. “Potion almost done?”

“Yeah!” Hoseok’s face brightens, then falls when he joins Yoongi and looks in the mini cauldron. “I think. Maybe. Is it supposed to be that color?” Owl droppings is the polite way of putting it. He ladles a few spoonfuls into a glass and observes the rather chunky texture.

Thing is, Hoseok hasn’t been making concoctions for very long, preferring intuitive or physical magic usually, so the last few experiments have been... very iffy. Yoongi’s far better at the craft, able to whip up brews that even taste good, in addition to being super effective against illnesses. But... Hoseok figures Yoongi won’t always be around to make his potions for him, so he should at least know the basics, right?

“Uhh, depends on what you’re making.”

Hoseok’s mouth opens. He’s about to answer when he thinks better of it. Just grins instead, opening his hand to summon the envelope. With his other hand, he picks up the warm glass. “Hyung. Open this or drink the mystery potion.”

Here comes Yoongi’s familiar scowl as his eyes flick between the two options. In Hoseok’s mind, this is a simple decision. Any rational person would just—

Yoongi grabs the glass and drains the entire damn thing.

“O-Oh s-shit, that’s really hot,” Yoongi sputters out, swallowing hard as he refills the glass with cold water and throws that back too. That leaves him with water dripping down his lips, a slight burn reaching down his throat as he leans against the counter for support.

Well, the good news is that other than adding to a lifetime of potion-related trauma at Hoseok’s hands, Yoongi doesn’t feel very different. He still has two eyes and all his fingers and toes. Nothing is spontaneously growing out of his ass (“it was one time!” Hoseok cries as he watches Yoongi check his backside with suspicion), nor has his hair changed into any outrageous colors.

Hoseok beams, showing all his pearly teeth. “Hey! You’re okay!”

Yoongi does not like the genuine surprise in Hoseok’s tone one bit.

“Was I not supposed to b—meow.”

They both freeze.

Slowly turn their heads to look at Jiminie, who’s gleefully licking himself on the table, blissfully lost in his own world of hairballs.

Hoseok goes first. “D-Did you say...”

“No, I didn—meow.”

Hoseok’s lips quirk up in the way it always does before bellyaching laughter and he quickly slaps a hand over his mouth when Yoongi’s scowl gets even deeper.

“What the fu—meow.” Yoongi’s fists tighten with annoyance. “How do I sto—meow?!”

Hoseok flies to the stove, peering into the murky potion depths. “Oops... Guess some of Jiminie’s hair must have gotten into the pot somehow!” At the sound of his name, the cat perks up, gives a tiny consolation mew of his own.

Yoongi clutches his forehead as if an awful headache is coming on. “See, with shit like this, meow, how am I supposed to leave you all alone?”

“But you’re not? Leaving me?”

Yoongi supresses a meow by swallowing at the same time. “What do you think... is gonna happen if I open that envelope?”

“But hyung, it’s your dream!” Hoseok grabs the letter. “You can’t just keep avoiding it. It’s not going to go away. Besides, I’m sure you got in!”

“But what if that’s not the answer I’m hoping for meow?!”

(Hoseok bites back the fact that it’s starting to sound like part of Yoongi’s regular speech.)

“You’ve been studying for this for so many years. You didn’t even sleep the night before you sent the application in because you were so excited. Trust me, you want this.”

“Fine. Fine!” Yoongi snatches the envelope away. “You want me to leave so badly? I’ll go.” He tears it open, not caring if the paper scrapes harshly against his finger and he could have just used magic. Not like it’d be stable right now anyway. He doesn’t stop until they’re both staring at the words that read ACCEPTED and WELCOME TO BANGTAN WIZARDRY and in that moment, everything becomes real.

“Holy—meow—fuck.”

“You did it!” Hoseok’s a little teary eyed as he crushes Yoongi into a hug. The letter flutters to the ground, any argument forgotten. “I knew you would! Ahhh, hyung, you’re going to university!”

Yoongi swallows, hard.

He forces his arms to move, to return Hoseok’s affection even as disbelief and excitement and fear and too many mixed emotions come surging up just to get stuck in his throat. “H-Hoseok-ah,” he eventually says in a voice so tiny. “I did it.”

“Don’t you worry about me. It’s just a year. Then I’ll be joining you right before you know it.” Hoseok grins as he lets Yoongi go, Jiminie winding his way through both of their legs as he wants to share in the festivities.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi frowns. “Absolutely sure?”

“Hell yes! And if you don’t believe me, I’ll drink the potion too. As proof.”

Turns out, Hoseok made a pretty damn powerful draft. Their meows don’t fade until three days later, but they spend all that time packing and poking fun at each other about the purrs. In between throwing out old broken timekeepers and spent candles, they reminisce about their childhood, then dream about the good days yet to come.

#ficswithluv #bts fluff #hoseok fluff #yoongi fluff #bts imagines #min yoongi #jung hoseok #sope #rain writes #drabble #thank you soooo much for commissioning me & contributing to the cause!

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bibliocratic · 5 years ago

Note

Jonmartin prompt: Jon wants to cuddle Martin very badly and is also super awkward about it, like "how do I touch you without my elbows crushing something"

(post 160, jonmartin)(this is… well, it’s sort of what you were after? hope it’s ok!)

It’s not easy, the slapdash and imprecise art of communication. Martin’s never been particularly adept. His words trip over footholds of his own making on their way out of his mouth. He has a stammer he’s never quite rid himself of, his words too earnest or too anxious to showcase any finesse at the skill.

And Jon…

Well. Jon.

It wasn’t simple before, twisting the tape back to the start of all this, Jon talking like a car trying to jump start when things felt too personal, his indelicate sincerity that struck with all the tenderness of an anvil. And Martin likes to think they were both getting better, before. They had three weeks of stumbling, artless practise, their amateur declarations witnessed by no-one but the wind and evening-dappled fields that stretched like lazy days for miles around.

And now.

Martin wouldn’t say Jon’s up to managing much talking now.

Oh, he’s not silent. Chatty in his own way, and the conversations they have are tug-of-wars, teasing, testing to find the edges their pieces slot into.

Easy isn’t the word for it though. Martin supposes, it was never going to be.

They’ve stopped for a few days to gather themselves. They’ve made it as far south as Melrose on the borders, and it would have been a pretty market town, antique fairs and village fetes and a eye-catching ruin of a fourteenth century monastery, if the Hunt hadn’t passed this way, maybe the Spiral too. There isn’t much left here in the way of civilisation, and little to nothing in the way of humanity. There are shadows like the imprints on wall after the outpouring shock of a bomb, but their limbs do not concede to the shape of limbs. They sway as leaves on a branch, like they’re hanging from where their feet are stuck to the ground, and Martin tugs them clear of their gathering places.

They’ve managed to let themselves into the half-unhinged door of a little high street shop that used to sell fancy card and stationary. They had tried an art gallery further up the road, but the Dark had started to take root there like black mould, and it’d eaten away the ground floor to yawning inky nothing.

Martin asks Jon if they’ll be safe here, and Jon rallies himself wearily, Looks. He replies that nothing will come for them, and that’s as much as they can ask for these days.

Above the shop, accessed via a back-room still plugged up and packed with unopened boxes, up carpeted stairs on which bundles of unopened notebooks and special occasion cards balance committedly against the will of gravity, there’s a small flat. The decoration in the flat is… interesting. It’s more something one of Tim’s friends would have had, the few times Tim got Martin to go out with him for one of his ‘de-stress Friday’ sessions. Martin would laugh at the wall-hangings like indoor curtains, the posters of the zodiac and some tie-dye hippy representation of chakras, the bong even still on the coffee table in the poky living room, except his attention is slightly more taken up by Jon at the moment. Leant against him like a downed tree, his eyes drooping closed and his legs fast failing him, shuddering from the effort of taking the stairs.

The way here was treacherous. There’s a town further north about forty miles swallowed by the Vast. Jon tries to avoid Seeing as much as possible, of course he does, and Martin will never ask that of him outright, never, but they’ve had to check if the way is safe a number of times. And each time he opens the door or whatever metaphor Jon uses to understand it, it drains something from him it takes a long time to claw back.

Martin drops his backpack by the entrance. Divests Jon of his. Jon sways and blinks with lidded eyes, and his gestures are sloppy, poorly formed. Martin ends up carrying him to single bed off to the right of the staircase, the room still wreathed in the old stale smell of tobacco and weed.

Once Jon’s out for the count, Martin checks the doors, the windows, their rations and supplies with the religious militancy of a man who knows what happens when they don’t. He counts out rations, makes careful notations in his notebook with a stubby pencil sharpened by his pen-knife. The cupboards of the flat are mostly a bust, but there’s a few cans of baked beans, tinned peaches, and the delight of finding a single can of tinned custard, which Martin stashes to surprise Jon with later.

There’s a billy bookcase next to the non-functioning TV, crowded full of precarious piles of console game boxes and disordered books and back issues of the Fortean Times. Martin peruses through a number of books on mysticism, the paranormal and how one can access their inner self before he finds a glossy hardback on origami to entertain himself.

The sky outside is dark and scratched with an ugly bruising colour, but it’s likely to be only mid afternoon. Martin ventures back down the staircase and grabs some coloured card before he settles back into the spring-less corner of a battered settee draped with a brightly adorned throw blanket. There’s another, equally obnoxiously shaded blanket of clashing colours, and he places it over himself and gets comfortable.

It’s a few hours later when he hears the bed squeak. A clearing of a throat, the unsteady padded steps of someone who hasn’t found their equilibrium just yet.

Jon pushes the door open with a sighing squeak and peers blearily around.

The nap hasn’t helped at all by the look of it. Martin turns mid-fold and gets to see a crime scene of disturbed sleep evidenced on Jon’s body. One of Martin’s long-sleeve t-shirts rucked up, the under arms and ring around his neck patched damp. His skin rippled with a thick sweat, hair coming wildly and carelessly from the band he’d tied it back in. He’s rocking on the balls of his feet like he’s still following the motion of running, and his eyes as he stares at Martin are unnaturally dilated, unnervingly steady even as he scrubs his face with his hand.

“Hey,” Martin says carefully. Knowing to keep his voice pitched low, calmer than Jon feels right now. “Are you… everything ok?”

Jon pauses, blinks just too slowly to seem natural, and shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?” Martin asks. “If you can… if you want to say, that it.”

Jon pauses. It’s habit now. A nervous tic. Mulling over what he wants to say and how he’ll say it.

He has to be so careful with how he says things.

Martin’s expecting a truncated gesture or two. A stumbling sign that Martin will have to parse, backed up by a thousand other signifiers of meaning in their home-spun language. But unusually, Jon clears his throat, bites his top lip anxiously before he opens his mouth.

Like tuning in a radio station mid-programme, someone else’s words ring out.

“I allowed myself some brief hope,” Jon’s voice sloshes out of his mouth with a South American cadence. “that maybe he’d just left me, maybe he’d escaped with just a divorce. But no. One call to the housing association confirmed that, as far as they were concerned, I’d always lived alone.”

Most of the statements Martin doesn’t recognise. He’s not been cursed with an encyclopaedic knowledge of them after all, a forced and unwilling archive now capable of speaking in every voice but his own. They’re all the same anyway. The recycling of other people’s tragedies and miseries, their worst days committed for posterity and recited dutifully by the archive Jonah Magnus created to house them.

Jon usually doesn’t share the content of his dreams.

“Nightmare?” Martin says, deliberately lightly. He puts down his truly butchered attempt to make a swan and watches as Jon swallows, brings a hand to his mouth to gnaw at a nail.

He wonders if that’s the right word, knows in his heart it isn’t, not really. Because nightmares are a twisting of things that both are and aren’t, a plaited deceitful recollection of an unkind brain. Jon’s dreams are a hideous witnessing, with no hope of challenge of change.

Jon jerkily nods, before he says in that awful ventriloquism:

“… regarding a series of misplaced objects lost over the course of three months.”

Jon’s started to rub his arms. His lips firmly closed again, as though embarrassed he’s shared the history he’s been watching in his dreams. But he did share it. And that’s notable.

Martin holds up a corner of the blanket on the settee, and chides “Get in here, or you’ll catch your death”, and Jon’s crossing the distance as though he was waiting for the signal.

They don’t say anything for the while. Jon folds himself up against Martin’s side like a gangly greetings card, like one of his obviously failed origami projects. Martin puts an arm around his shoulder and consigns himself to the rather shocking robbery of body heat that’s rapidly occurring. Jon accepts the arm, but the tension is still wound through his marrow, and he doesn’t calm like he usually does.

“This one really bothered you, didn’t it?” Martin says.

A twitchy up-down motion.

“How come?” Martin asks, before: “If you want to talk about it. If not, well, I can tell you all about my grand adventures in paper folding. A wild ride, I can promise.”

Jon raises an eyebrow at the truly dazzling menagerie of wobbly animals, and huffs a stale laugh.

He brings out his hands from where he’d buried them in the furnace of Martin’s space, and makes a sign, a twisting hooked hand motion - Spiral. And then, shakier, flatter, his fingers closed like shutters – Lonely.

“As far as they were concerned,” he repeats with a mournful and stolen tongue, “I’d always lived alone.”

He makes a sign again, and meets Martin’s eye like he’s been trying not to – Lonely.

Jon reaches out, and like setting fingers to the board of a violin, delicately fits his hand against Martin’s. Like he’s memorised exactly the places where they go, the coves and shorelines where their islands can align.

Martin’s grip has never been as careful. His fingers engulf Jon’s smaller size, cushioning them in a sturdy grip.

“You’ve not lost me,” Martin says, reading in between the lines of Jon’s gestures. “I’m here, yeah? Alright. And we’re together. I’m not lost.”

Jon makes a grunt of acknowledgement, inclining his head in agreement, impatiently, as though he knows all this, like he begrudges being reminded. But clearly this knowledge hasn’t stained every part of his waking yet, because there are tears slipping unwanted from his eyes and his hand grips Martin harder.

His gaze flickers like a camera shutter from the floor and its foot-scuffed rug to Martin, back and forth. Martin wishes, not for the first time, that Jon could just ask for what he wants. Could stop feeling like he needs to justify every out-reaching motion to himself, approaching physical affection like he’s trying to do the cryptic bloody crossword.

He’s learning. They both are.

“What do you want me to do?” Martin asks instead.

Jon’s eyes finally linger on him. Cheeks damp, eyes red. He removes his hand from Martin’s grip like he’s unmooring a ship from port. His next movements being planned behind his eyes. A methodical consideration of angle, of intent, of reciprocation that’s as much caution as it is overthinking. Martin wonders sometimes whether this is the Jon he always was, or the Jon that’s been made by this world and all that’s been laid against him. Maybe it’s one or the other or both, or maybe it doesn’t matter much any more. This is Martin’s Jon, the Jon that is, the one that is thinking about how he’s going to place his limbs as though there’s a wrong way to it, who will steady himself before he’ll reach out. But who always does, eventually, in his own time.

His arms encircle Martin’s neck now. A pause, a release of air, before he’s pulling back, fretting like something hasn’t worked. But he clearly wants something, enough to push through his dissatisfaction, face folded in on itself unhappily before it sets in determination and then he goes for around Martin’s chest, fingers steadying, finding their own bony handholds in the material of Martin’s jumper. The right angles of his elbows, the washboard of his ribs felt under his shirt, they don’t have any give and Martin shifts a little to ease the hard sensation of it, try and reorient them better. Jon picks up on this, already trying to shift again or perhaps even move away, and if his tongue could still form apologies, he’d be making them.

Martin’s arms come round decisively, closing the circuit of them.

“Stop fussing,” he murmurs, and Jon quietens. Face against the round of Martin’s chest, the hand that’s not still gripped vice-like carefully combining through his damp hair.

“This ok?” Martin says finally, wanting to know, wanting Jon to feel like he can tell him.

Jon lifts his head. Nods, brings their lips together for a skimming kiss, like he’s sealing the sentiment.

He shuffles his body so he’s wedged next to Martin, taking up any crevice he finds. After a moment, pulling and positioning Martin’s arm back over his shoulder, so it drapes heavy and solid and present. A lightness on his face that sleep couldn’t achieve but a victory Martin likes to claim as his own every time.

It is no hardship for Martin to understand every one of these expressions just fine.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #no cws or tws #fluff #post 160

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is0gild · 4 years ago

Text

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 28

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 7,573

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

Turns out getting disowned is exhausting.

Oh sure, there'd been the initial rush of "I did it! I finally stood for myself to my family!" Then came the panic of "...oh dear god, what did I just do?!" Followed swiftly by the euphoria of "I'm finally free! Really and truly free!" Plus several other feelings that were all colors of the emotion rainbow, so many in fact that it became difficult to keep track of them all. They'd coursed through my body like electricity, keeping me going long enough to return to my old bedroom, hastily pack up what little I'd brought with me, march out the front door of my parent's mansion and straight into Lea's car before he'd sped off with us.

It didn't take long however. Just a few minutes on the road and poof! All that surging energy had scattered and abandoned me, like fleeing rats off a sinking ship. I slumped into the seat, suddenly feeling empty and so very, very tired. I didn't talk and Lea didn't try to make me. Instead, he just left me alone to listen to the low music coming out the radio as I stared vacantly out the car window. I suspected he was giving me a chance to process everything that'd just happened, figuring I'd speak up when I was ready. If I was ever ready.

I tried to process it all. I really did try. But it was like a thick, silent fog had descended over my mind, making thinking difficult. The lack of sleep from the night before seemed to finally be catching up with me. It was easier to just give in to the white noise of my thoughts as I watched the landscape outside blur by, my eyelids growing heavier with each passing mile. Eventually, I dozed off.

When I slowly stirred awake later, it was to the faint smell of leather mixed with a familiar cinnamony boy scent. Peeking one groggy eyelid open, I found myself still in the car seat but with Lea's jacket folded and tucked behind my head now as some sort of makeshift pillow. The car was no longer moving and the engine was off - perhaps that was what had woken me up.

"Rise n' shine, sleepyhead!" came Lea's chipper voice as I felt his hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me.

Rubbing my eyes, I glanced at where he stood next to the vehicle, one elbow propped on the top edge of my open car door as he grinned down at me. "How long was I out?" I mumbled, giving a little stretch to work out some of the kinks in my neck and back.

"Few hours," he shrugged as I noticed he was still wearing those silly heart sunglasses, only now they were perched atop his head. "You looked like you could use the Z's and I didn't wanna disturb ya, so I've just been driving in circles round Twilight Town for a while now. C'mon," he tossed his chin to one side, gesturing for me to climb out of the car.

I yawned and unbuckled my seatbelt, then felt his hand on mine as he helped me out. The sun was hanging low, making me wince and shield my eyes against it. Blinking a couple times to let my vision adjust, I then looked around and my brow furrowed as I recognized the parking lot we were in. "...the mall? Why are we here?"

"What d'ya say?" he tapped a finger lightly to my nose, his grin twitching wider. "Up for a lil adventure?"

I stared blankly at him for a few seconds. But his smile was infectious and I could feel a matching one slowly tugging at my lips. "Sure."

He retrieved his jacket, shrugging into it before slamming my door shut and locking it. Then his fingers laced through mine once more and he led me inside. I knew where he was taking me even before he turned us down the deserted wing of the mall that was under construction. It didn't take him long to pick the locked door and soon I was carefully following him up those winding, rickety old steps. As we reached the top of the clocktower and stepped onto the outer walkway, a warm breeze greeted us. I let him guide me around towards the clock face side and as we turned the corner, a tiny gasp escaped me.

By now the sun has dipped halfway below the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with orange and crimson. Soft, billowing clouds painted the heavens above while a warm, golden hue had settled like a blanket over the cityscape below. It made the buildings almost seem to glow and sparkle in the twilight as if by some sort of ancient yet whimsical magic. The sight of it all was beautiful. Overwhelming. Breathtaking.

"You're right," I murmured at last, unable to take my eyes off the view. "Sunset really does make this place sing."

"Told ya," he beamed, plonking his rear down onto the ledge and letting his feet dangle off the side. "I like to come here whenever I've had a rough day that's kicked the shit outta me. It usually helps me sort out my thoughts and feelings. Centers me. Gets me in a better headspace." He patted the spot behind him in invitation and I obliged, taking a seat next to him. Then he was reaching inside his jacket and pulling out two little red lollipops. He ripped the wrapper off of one, popping it into his mouth before offering me the other one.

I quirked an eyebrow down at it. "Not Sea Salt ice cream? Isn't that sacrilege? Won't Xion and Roxas kick you out of the club?"

He smirked around the sucker and shrugged. "I won't tell if you won't. 'Sides, I know you're not the biggest fan of Sea Salt, so figured this could just as easily do in a pinch."

"...thanks," I smiled softly, taking it from him.

"Course! Now just sit back, relax, and drink in all that majesty," he stretched a hand out wide before him to indicate said majesty before leaning back, bracing himself on his palms. "I'll be here whenever you wanna talk about it. Or not. I can also be here to just chill until you're ready for me to drive you home. Point is, I'm here for you, whatever ya need."

I didn't say anything to that at first, just gazed out once more at the amazing sight below. I inhaled slowly, as if trying to breathe it all in as I watched the thin, distant smoke plume coming off the tram while it wove its journey throughout the city. My hands were in my lap, fingers idly twisting the lollipop one way then the other then back again, leaving its plastic wrap unopened.

Since waking up in the car, I hadn't really given much thought to all that had happened today. I think part of me preferred to remain blissfully content pretending none of it had occurred. That it'd all just been a dream. I knew the second that I gave it so much as even an ounce of real thought, that it'd all suddenly become so very real. I was dreading it. But it also seemed I couldn't put it off anymore.

The memories of just a few short hours earlier were beginning to creep back into my mind unbidden, refusing to be ignored any longer. They welled up in my chest painfully until finally bursting out of me in the form of a shaky but derisive huff of a laugh. "So… guess I'm no longer a Fryse, huh?"

Lea snerked, drawing one knee up to his chest while swinging the other leg. "Somehow I doubt it's that simple."

"Grandfather seemed to think it was," I sighed heavily, setting my hand down beside me on the ledge. Apparently next to Lea's, for I could feel his thumb brushing against my pinky.

"Forget him," he razzed his tongue. An impressive feat around the lollipop. "He's just a big, whiny man-baby in a grumpy old blowhard suit throwing a fit and struggling to stay relevant. We didn't exactly hear your folks singing the same tune as him, did we?"

"...they weren't exactly disagreeing with him or leaping to my defense either," I hung my head as my eyes started to prickle. I blinked the sensation away.

"Hey now," he said gently, covering my hand with his. The warmth from his palm was soothing. "If anyone knows how hard it can be to stand up to family, it's you. Betcha it ain't easy for your pops to go against his old man's wishes. 'Sides, today was a lot, not just for you but for your folks too. Give them some time to let it all sink in. Who knows, before long they could be telling Gramps to take a hike and reaching out to you to try and patch things up."

I shook my head with a wry snort. "You don't know them like I do. Even if by some miracle they realize they had no right to be so controlling and overbearing, they're too stubborn and proud to ever admit it. No, rocks will break out into song and dance before they ever speak to me again, much less admit they were wrong."

"Wanna put munny on that?" he challenged with a grin and I just rolled my eyes. "You'll see. Just you wait. But for now, the important thing is ya did it. The hard part's over and your life is your own now to do whatever you want with it."

"Suppose that's true. It feels like a weight has been lifted," I smiled as I looked out onto the sunset once more.

My heart really was feeling lighter than it had in a long time. I was free to do whatever I wanted… now if only I knew what exactly that was. But ah well, one step at a time. For now, I'd just be happy with the fact that I had a job, some friends, and was tentatively exploring the world of theater. That was enough for me at the moment. I could figure out the rest later. I had the time now and nothing holding me back. Not anymore.

I glanced at Lea out of the corner of my eye, nose wrinkling slightly in amusement. "Can I just say though that you deserve an Oscar?"

He turned his head towards me, eyes crinkling. "Do I? What for?"

"When you got all in a huff over Grandfather trying to pay you to dump me and get lost," I hummed a low laugh, shaking my head. "I have to hand it to you, even I thought you were really mad when you came barging into the room to get me."

"Oh, I was hella pissed actually."

"...you were?" Both eyebrows shot up my forehead at his nod. "But why? It's not as if we were ever really dating. Heck, we were planning on breaking up," my fingers bounced in air quotes around the two words, "in a few weeks anyway. You could have just agreed to it, taken Grandfather's munny then did as he asked, at least as far as he ever knew. He would have been none the wiser."

Lea scratched at a spot behind his ear, lollipop stick shifting as his lips pursed to one side. "Well I… I guess it just ticked me off that the asshole woulda tried to pull something like that with his own granddaughter. That if I was someone you'd really been in love with, how he woulda just gone and broken your heart like that and expected me to help him do it." His eyes narrowed on the reddening sky, "Old coot's just lucky his brittle osteoporosis bones kept me from punching the crap outta him."

I blinked at him. Then one corner of my lips tugged up. "You're sweet, you big old softie," I told him, leaning into his side and resting my head on his shoulder.

"I, uh… shucks, El, you're gonna make me blush," he chuckled. I felt his arm come up slowly to wrap around my shoulders, squeezing them in a reassuring hug. Then he cleared his throat," So… your sister and your ex, huh?"

A grimace pinched my face. Somehow, I'd almost forgotten that part. I think I'd been trying to block it out. "...yeah."

"Ouch," he summed up eloquently.

"Tell me about it." I hesitated, staring down at the sucker as it still twirled to and fro between my finger and thumb. "They got together the day after the wedding fell through. Imagine… the centerpieces had barely been carted off by the caterers before Hans was jumping my little sister. And this whole thing?" I pointed back and forth between the two of us, "You and me? All just Anna's ploy to get Mother and Father so angry with me that they'd have nothing left when they found out about her and Hans."

"What? No, that can't be right. Anna cares about ya too much to ever do something like that to you."

I frowned. "Well… she did say she honestly thought it would help me deal with Mother and Father… that that was the main reason she pushed me into it. But she also admitted that a small part of it was for her own selfish reasons." There it was again. A tiny, aching twinge in my chest. I shook my head against his shoulder, feeling the material of his shirt rub against my cheek. "I just can't believe that she'd use me like that. That she'd go through with such a ridiculous, half-baked, harebrained scheme just to try and avoid getting into a fight with our parents."

His whole body shook with a snort. "Says the girl who just went through with a ridiculous, half-baked harebrained scheme just to try and avoid getting into a fight with her parents."

...doh.

Elsa, Queen of Putting Her Foot In Her Mouth.

"Touché," I grumbled, scowling straight ahead. "To be fair, it was still Anna's harebrained scheme. I was just the fool that went along with it."

Lea laughed, "Still, my point is ya both know how difficult your folks can be, so you can probably understand a lil where she was coming from."

A sigh. "Maybe a bit. Even so, at least I never threw her under the bus like she did me. I... don't know if I can ever forgive her for this."

"Give it time," his hand gently smoothed up and down my arm. "A day or two. Let yourself cool off. When Anna comes to talk to you - and trust me, she will - just try and listen with an open mind, 'kay? I have zero doubt you two crazy kids'll work this whole mess out. Plus ya gotta keep in mind, it's all thanks to her and Hans that you got that last kick in the rear you needed to finally stand up to your snooty family and tell 'em what's what and just straight up lay down the law. That oughta score her a point or two at least, right?"

My eyebrows knit together. "I guess… by that bit of twisted logic, yes, Anna showing up with Hans was the tipping point that made me decide enough was enough. If it weren't for her, I might have never told my parents the truth or-" my eyes widened with a sharp intake of breath. "Oh gosh, the truth! The whole mall- Everyone still thinks we're- That you and I are still- What are we supposed to tell them now?!"

I felt him shrug, heard his fingers scratching at his cheek. "...the truth?"

I groaned, "Ugh, wouldn't it be simpler just to say we broke up?"

"...yeah… maybe…" His voice grew quieter, more distant, with a note of… something else, but I wasn't quite sure what.

My lower lip tucked in in thought. Then, "You're probably relieved... what with this insanity finally being all over and done with. Now you can get your life back."

"I dunno," he hummed, resting his cheek atop my head as he gave my shoulders another small squeeze, thumb tracing a small circle against my arm. "Was just sorta getting used to it all. Gonna miss being your fake boyfriend."

A grin pulled at one side of my mouth. "...it was kind of fun, wasn't it? I think I'll miss being your fake girlfriend too. Almost makes me a little sad."

"Well buck up! Got just the thing to chase away those post-make-believe-relationship blues," he released me now, lightly rubbing my back as I pulled away. I watched as he was once more reaching inside his leather jacket, this time pulling out a-

"You've got to be kidding me," I deadpanned as he slipped the cartoon-lip sunglasses onto my face. I didn't even fight it. I knew it would have been a losing battle. "Just how many of these things did you steal?"

"Just the two," he smirked, flipping his heart-shades down to sit on the bridge of his nose. Lollipop finished, he flicked away the little white stick only to whip out yet another sucker to replace it. "Smoke 'em if you got 'em," he chirped, tearing the plastic off before stabbing the candy between his lips.

...well, when in Rome, I guess.

I opened mine as well and closed my mouth around it. Huh. Cinnamon. Who'da thunk?

"Atta girl," he chuckled, nudging my shoulder with his. "Rocking those sweet ass shades to boot."

I wanted to roll my eyes at him. But it would have been halfhearted at best and let's face it, the effect would've been totally lost behind the lip-glasses anyhow. Instead, a tiny laugh bubbled out of me whether I wanted it to or not.

So there we were. Sitting atop a mall clocktower, eating candy and watching the sunset through cheap, novelty sunglasses. And even though Operation Boyfriend But Shh Not Really had royally crashed and burned and now laid shattered in a million pieces that I still had to clean up and sort out… in that exact moment, somehow…

...somehow things didn't seem all that bad.

"Ya sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I said for what felt like the thousandth time. At Lea's dubious squint, I laughed softly, "Really."

I mean, I thought I was.

At least, I seemed to be as we made our way back down the clocktower's decrepit wooden steps. I wasn't sure exactly how long we'd stayed up there. Long enough for early night to fall and for the first stars to begin lightly dotting the sky, however much time that had taken. It'd been nice, just sitting there watching the reds fade to purples and blues. Comforting, in fact. An almost zen-like calm had fallen over me. I didn't blame Lea for being skeptical however. This was me we were talking about here. And after the day I'd had, even I was still kind of anticipating the inevitable meltdown that would totally be on brand for me and had still yet to come. Maybe it was just lurking in the shadows, lying in wait and ready to pounce when I least expected it. Or maybe it wouldn't come at all. Maybe watching the gorgeous sunset had been just the thing I needed to disperse it before it even began.

I could hope so, at least. Here's crossing my fingers!

We got to the bottom of the stairs and rejoined the mall proper. The stores were still open but it looked like closing time would soon be upon us, so while the crowd had thinned considerably by now, there were still some shoppers milling about making their last minute purchases. Just as those double doors leading outside to the parking lot came into view, Lea suddenly stopped, tapping the side of his fist into his palm.

"Almost forgot, gotta pick something up. I'll be super quick and meet ya at the car." He was about to take off but hesitated mid-turn, looking back at me with a small frown. "...you sure you're-"

"I'm okay," I insisted, huffing out a chuckle. My hand gave his shoulder a small shove, "Hurry up and go already."

However instead of going, he grinned down at me and stepped closer, his hand lifting towards my cheek. But then it froze midway, hanging there for one very long second before he hastily snatched it back to ruffle his hair instead with a weak laugh. "Heh… be back in a flash!" Then he bolted, vanishing into the throng.

I just stood there for a few seconds, staring after him as I bit my bottom lip. Pretty sure he'd been about to kiss my forehead out of habit, but had thought better of it at the last minute. We were in a weird grey area at the moment. Officially, our little dating act had come to a close. But no one at the mall knew that yet, so… were things like that still okay? At least for a little while longer? Probably not. We wouldn't want to complicate or confuse matters. He'd probably made the right call stopping himself. The smart and sensible call. We just needed to quit cold turkey.

It would be for the best.

Still, knowing that did nothing to ease the dull ache I now felt in my chest. I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. I kind of wished he had given me that forehead kiss. Just one last time. Gosh, it was only now hitting me how accustomed I'd grown to all his little touches. I really was going to miss being his girlfriend, even if it had all just been for show.

Curse that boy and his stupid dating embargo!

Hugging myself with a sigh, I walked slowly out the mall exit. The night air felt good on my skin as I took my time crossing the parking lot towards Lea's car. True to his word, I wasn't waiting there long at all before I spotted him emerging from the shopping center to jog towards me with a white plastic bag in hand. He opened my door first before sliding across his hood to let himself in on the driver side.

"No peeking now," he winked at me as he plopped down into his seat, handing the bag to me.

I blinked down at it as I held it between my hands. It was knotted tightly at the top, making sneaking a peek not really an option anyway. There was no logo on the bag, nothing to identify where it'd come from, nor was it see-through. The only thing I could determine was it felt box-shaped inside. Arching an eyebrow, I held it up to my ear with a little shake.

Snerking, Lea's grip closed around my wrist, forcing my hands still. "None of that either."

My eyelids drooped at him but I relented, settling the bag into my lap and buckling myself in. Lea did the same before turning the key in the ignition, backing us out of the parking spot and hitting the road.

A few minutes later found me unlocking the door to my apartment and stepping inside with a, "Hello? Anyone home?" My call was greeted with silence from the totally dark room inside. Frowning, I flicked on the switch and as everything lit up, I noticed the door to my roomies' bedroom open and black inside. Nope, not in there either.

"Huh. Wonder where they got to," Lea mused from where he stood in the doorway behind me, toting my luggage he'd so gallantly volunteered to carry up for me.

"Their car wasn't in its parking space," I pointed out as I made room for him, moving towards the dining table to set the mystery bag down on it. "Figured Riku might just be making an emergency baby cravings run for Rayne and that we'd at least find her up here still… maybe they went to a movie?" I guessed, pulling out my phone to see if I'd missed any texts from either of them. Unfortunately, that's when I discovered the battery had died. Which made sense now that I thought about it. It had been running unplugged since the crack of dawn when I'd used it to pull up every variation of the scotcheroo recipe known to humankind.

Setting my bags down next to a kitchen chair, one of his hands went to his hip while the other rubbed the back of his head. "Well damn. Was hoping they'd be around to feed ya."

"Feed me?" I echoed, a crease forming between my eyebrows as I turned to face him, leaning back against the backrest of the couch.

He snorted at me from across the dining table. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you haven't had a bite to eat all day, missy."

"Not true," I folded my arms under my chest and looked away with a tiny scoff. "I'll have you know I filled up on scotcheroo batter all morning."

"Sure, cuz that's healthy," his eyes narrowed over his grin. "You didn't have anything at the party last night either. Maybe I should order you some takeout," he muttered as he pulled out his phone and swiped to unlock his screen.

I looked up towards the ceiling with a sigh and a shake of my head. "You don't have to take care of me, you know. I said I was okay."

"You also said you don't know how to cook. I can't leave ya to fend for yourself and starve," he said distractedly, frowning down at his phone while his thumb flicked across his screen a few times. Probably scrolling through whatever food options were still open at this hour.

"I wouldn't starve, I do know how to use a microwave," I countered, hand idly reaching for my braid. Except… no braid. That's right, it was still up in that haphazard bun. A rather uncomfortable, haphazard bun, I might add. I pulled it free, letting my hair fall down around my shoulders as my fingers shook it out. Ah, so much better. "Rayne's always leaving leftovers in the fridge for me to heat up."

"Ya sure? Really, I don't mind making a quick food run for y-" he glanced up from the screen to me just as his fingers seemed to have a malfunction and dropped his phone. He gave a tiny yelp and fumbled with it for a second before catching it firmly in hand once again, breathing a soft whew!

I arched an eyebrow with a snerk. "You doing alright there?"

"Yeah, uh… yeah! These things are slippery lil bastards, huh?" he waggled the phone in the air with a feeble chuckle, his face reddening from what I guessed would be embarrassment over his little bout of clumsiness. Pocketing it again, he took a step back towards the front door as he crossed his arms, wedging his hands into his armpits. "Well if ya think you've got the food situation covered, I'll probably just be headin' out then."

I frowned, pushing myself up off the sofa backrest. "You're leaving?" I'd been under the impression that he was going to stick around at least for a little while longer. The company would have been welcome, especially with Rayne and Riku not home.

He ambled another step back, looking down as he scratched the tip of his nose. "Yup, got a lotta… homework. Yeah! Tons of it. Mountains of it back at my place just... calling my name, heh! So, ya know… better get to it!"

"Oh… yes, of course," I mumbled, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Obviously he had schoolwork to get back to. He'd had no time to do it all weekend thanks to me, so he was probably looking at a heavy backlog. I'd taken up too much of his time already burdening him with my problems. It was time to let him go. Taking a deep breath, I put on a brave front and forced a smile. "Have a good night. And thank you for… well, for everything. It… All of it has meant the world to me."

He hesitated for a few seconds, frowning but expression otherwise unreadable. Then he dragged his hand across his face with a tired-sounding laugh. "Don't mention it. Just… do me a favor? Get something substantial in your stomach before breaking into these," he approached the table once more, retrieving the little white bag and holding it up. "Til then, we'll just tuck them away in here so they don't melt," he said, moving towards the fridge.

Melt? Huh. Come to think of it, it had slightly been cold to the touch, but I'd hardly noticed it at the time. My head tipped to one side, "...do I get to know what they are now?"

"Guess it can't hurt to let the cat outta the bag at this point," he opened the freezer door, placing it inside before shooting me a grin. "Do the words Frozen Heart mean anything to you?"

I stiffened. "...as in the ice cream?"

"Yup!" Lea beamed now, closing the door again and propping his shoulder against it. "Whole pack of 'em! That's your fave, right?"

Blinking a couple times, I nodded slowly. I could feel it. This… weird, funny feeling in my chest. "How… When did you figure it out?"

He gave a half-shrug. "Told ya, El. Gotta gift. Knew it since day one, actually. Just kept the lil guessing game up cuz it gave me an excuse to talk to ya all the time and hopefully bring you a laugh. But figured you could use it after the day you've had. Just what the doc ordered, chocked fulla all the stuff you like - mint chocolate chip with a full strawberry in the middle, or the 'heart' at the frozen center, all coated in crunchy, crystallize sugar shell, aka the ic-"

I don't know how it happened. One second, I was just standing there with the space of the whole kitchen between him and me. The next, I'd closed the distance somehow and was colliding into his chest, forcing a small surprised oof out of him as my arms wrapped around his waist, hanging on for dear life. I felt his whole body tense with a confused, "El?"

"I'm not," I muffled into his shirt.

"...you're not…?"

"I'm not okay!" I looked up at him now, not letting go. My calm had cracked and feeling Lea's arms closing around me only served to shatter it completely. Every inch of me felt like an exposed nerve as all those emotions came crashing painfully in now. "I'm not! Nothing is right! Nothing… nothing except for you! You, with your warmth and your smiles and your ice cream and… and your silly nicknames and ridiculous sunglasses and your lizard and your sappy movies and your college course catalogues and… and…"

I didn't even know what I was trying to say anymore, so I seriously doubted Lea did either. He didn't seem to mind however, his hand with a slight tremor to it coming up to brush along my cheek, sweep a few pale strands behind my ear, slowly stroke down the full length of my hair. He just nodded and let me go on, his gaze softening as he rested his forehead against mine.

"...and everyone else is just so… so… I mean, Grandfather with his birthday party of judgement! And Mother! Mother and her sneaky lullaby, using the nose trick against me! The nose trick! That thing is sacred! But no, it was all just so she could find goth contraband for Aunt Yelena to throw in my face! And Hans! Hans, with his stupid sideburns! His stupid, sister-groping sideburns! And Anna! I still can't believe she… that she'd… I mean, I made her scotcheroos! Scotcheroos! Well, at least I tried to make them, but still, that should count for something, right?! And-" I felt his thumb wiping away something wet at the corner of my eye. Tears. I hadn't even known they were there. With a tiny jolt, I gave a weak laugh, "And I'm a total babbling mess! Sorry, I… I just need to not be thinking about this right now. Distract me, please. Anything to get my mind off of-"

And then he was kissing me.

I lost all sense of my surroundings as it all just seemed to fade away, no longer important. Every last thought in my head was obliterated. I could no longer tell left from right, heads from tails… nothing. I knew nothing except the warm caress of his lips against mine. Nothing except his scent, so familiar and yet in this moment, suddenly somehow new and intoxicating. My knees buckled but his arm wrapped around my waist, catching me and trapping me against him. His other hand had tangled itself in my hair as my fingers slid up his chest, clutching his shirt for support. I was dizzy and lightheaded and giddy all at once, my world completely turned upside down and-

Oh.

Oh wow…

...so that's what this is supposed to feel like.

All too soon Lea broke it off, drawing his head back slightly with a soft, shaky breath that I didn't so much hear as felt against my lips. He dragged his gaze from where it lingered on my mouth up to look into my eyes, his own now hooded and dark as they searched mine. Still trying to piece my scrambled brain back together, I struggled to find words and the only ones I could come up with were a breathy, "...not… quite the distraction I had in mind. I was thinking something... more along the lines of a movie?"

His eyes widened and his muscles went rigid. Then in the blink of an eye, he'd released me and backed away several steps, shaking his head as his hands raked through his crimson spikes. "Shit. Fuck! I shouldn't have done that. I had no right to- Crap, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, El! God fucking damn it, what the hell is the matter with me? I'm so stupid! I never shoulda-"

I abruptly threw myself at him again, arms hugging his neck and pulling his head down as my lips found his once more. He staggered with a sharp intake through his nose, his whole body going stock still. My heart raced as I molded against him, sinking into his pleasant body heat.

Slowly, his mouth responded as his trembling hands reached for me, trailing down my sides, exploring the curve of my waist before coming to rest on my hips, gripping them tightly as he tugged me more firmly against him. My fingers toyed with the hairs at the nape of his neck, eliciting a soft groan from him as his kiss became more fervid, filled with such… such… raw, unbridled need. Abruptly, he was pushing me up against the fridge, pinning my body between it and him.

Something fell with a clatter. A magnet? I didn't really know. Nor did I really care. But the sound was enough to snap Lea back to his senses as he pulled away with a gasp and suddenly held me at arms length. "No! This isn't right! You're vulnerable right now, I shouldn't be- Shit, I don't want you to think I-" He released a frustrated snarl, pressing a fist to his mouth as he backed further away, angrily pacing now. Then, "I should go."

He turned, hastily making his way towards the front door. Halfway there however, he hesitated, steps faltering as he glanced back towards me. He swallowed hard, something in his eyes telling me his flimsy resolve was this close to breaking. "...I need to go," he repeated, voice hoarse yet determined now as he pushed forward, reaching the door and letting himself out, slamming it shut behind him.

I was still propped up against the fridge, barely standing. The room was quiet except for my soft pants to catch my breath and the booming of my rapid pulse in my ears. My face was hot and I could still feel the sweet ghost of his lips on mine. Feel my whole body buzzing from his touch.

...he was right. Goddamn him, he was right. Now wasn't the time for this… whatever this was. I should go to bed. I should rest up and approach this with a clearer, more rational head on my shoulders tomorrow. He'd made the right choice. The responsible choice. If we'd kept carrying on like that, it would have been a mistake and…

...and so what?

So what if it was a mistake? It was my mistake to make! That I wanted to make. Besides, I didn't think it actually was a mistake, not really. It's not like this was just some spur of the moment attempt to hide from my pain within his physical comfort. This… this was something I'd be wanting for some time. And so now, what… I was just supposed to put it on pause and wait? Just because of something so insignificant as… bad timing?

To hell with that.

I'd been pretending. This whole time, I'd been pretending. And no, I didn't just mean the fake relationship to fool my parents. I'd been fooling myself. Tricking myself into believing this was just a crush when it was really… I don't even know, but it was so much more than just some simple crush! I'd been pretending my feelings were trivial, pretending that… that I couldn't see those same feelings in Lea when really I'd known. I'd known all this time, but I'd been too afraid to face them. To face him.

I was scared of everything. Always stressing and second guessing myself and overthinking things. But not this. I wasn't scared of this. Not anymore. In that moment, I'd never been more sure of anything in my life and I-

I had to stop him from leaving.

I pulled out my phone, almost dropped it but caught in time, then pressed the power button.

...nope, still dead.

Right. I tossed it onto the table as I ran past, rushing for the door. Maybe he hadn't made it to his car yet. If I hurried, I could hopefully still catch him. My hand closed around the doorknob, yanking it open and-

-jumping backwards with a tiny yelp to avoid getting crushed as Lea suddenly came falling through it, his back crashing flat against the floor at my feet. He hissed in pain, wincing up at me.

"Are you okay? What..." my brow furrowed as I looked down at him, then to my door, then back. "...were you just… leaning back against the door?"

He hopped up to his feet, laughing self-consciously as he dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "Yeah! Sorry! Just… needed a sec to, er… to get my head on straight." He inched back a step towards the hallway outside. "Right, so uh…" Another step back. "I'm gonna..." he jerked his thumb over his shoulder with a click of his tongue, "...gonna get going now."

As he began to turn away however, I grabbed his hand in both of mine. He froze, looking down at where my fingers wrapped around his. Then up at me, confusion in his eyes.

This whole time, I'd been pretending. But now…

"...I don't want to pretend anymore," I told him quietly, stepping closer and gazing up the few inches that separated us. Recalling something he'd once told me, I added, "I… wish we were real too."

Lea sucked in a low, shuddering breath, hesitating for only a heartbeat more. Then a soft, "Oh thank god," came tumbling from his lips as he grabbed my face with both hands to kiss me again, pouring his entire being into it. Kicking the door shut behind him and still locked in our embrace, he backed me further and further into the room until my legs hit the backrest of the couch and we both went toppling over it, my back hitting the cushions with him on top of me.

Abruptly, he pulled his lips off of mine, but only long enough for him to sit up on his knees so he could jerk off his jacket and throw it somewhere. Then he came back down, his hands finding mine, weaving our fingers together to either side of my head as his nose brushed against mine. His mouth stopped just short of my own however and I could taste the hint of his breath as his eyes crinkled and he smiled tenderly at me. Oh gosh, there was that dimple of his again. That dimple was straight up murder. My heart spasmed and I bit back a grin myself. Then he was kissing me.

It was soft as slow at first, as if to savor it. Then his tongue was lightly grazing along my lips and the kiss deepened. It came as no surprise that he tasted like cinnamon - I probably did too at the moment. However, the flavor was way more enticing on his tongue than it could ever hope to be just coming from some candy. His lips were growing more urgent, more demanding. Fire. It felt like I was on fire. It felt like my insides were melting to mush.

He was gently pressing his weight down into me, his hand moving to hook under my knee and tug it up, wrapping my leg around his waist. Now free, my own hand wound itself into his hair again before trailing down his neck and further, feeling the hard planes of his back through the material of his shirt, digging my nails in.

Breaking our lips apart, Lea now traced hungry kisses along my jawline and down my neck until he found my pulse point. He swirled his tongue against it, causing my body to react on its own and arch my back up into him. His body eagerly pushed back as his teeth began to nibble at the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. A hum of a sigh escaped me and he answered with a low growl deep in his throat, suddenly biting down hard.

My neck burned deliciously and I made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan. I'd never, ever made a noise like that before in my life. I might have been embarrassed if I had had half a mind to. Instead, I was too lost in the pleasure as he sucked on the now tender skin before chuckling, slowly trailing his lips just a bit further up my neck and lightly nipping at a fresh spot.

Oh dear lord, he was going to do it again.

I barely scraped together enough sense to breathe, "Lea, wait."

His whole body tensed as he went very still, his breath heavy and hot against my throat. Then all of a sudden he was pulling away, sitting up and quickly shifting to the opposite end of the couch from me. "You're right," his voice was husky, his face flushed as he hunched forward, elbow propping on his knee as he brought his hand up in an attempt to hide his tiny, guilty scowl. "You're right. Fuck, I was moving too fast. Sorry, I… I didn't mean to-"

"No," I said quickly, scooting closer to him. "That's… not what I meant. I just… I'm not sure when they," I glanced towards my roomies' empty bedroom, "will be home. We wouldn't want them to find us out here, er..." I cleared my throat, my cheeks doing the impossible and blushing even harder than they already were. I paused, trying to compose myself and gather my scrambled thoughts, absently licking my lips as I did so. He went very still, half-lidded eyes now very intently focused on my mouth. My chest fluttered under the intensity of his gaze and I cleared my throat again, "What I'm trying to say is that… maybe we should…"

Ugh, I was too flustered to say it.

Flustered, but not nervous. Or anxious or scared or awkward or… This wasn't making me feel any of the things I normally would've expected myself to feel in this situation. No, this…

This felt right.

This is something I wanted. Really, really wanted. I could feel it, deep down in my heart. And for once, I wanted to listen to what my heart was telling me.

And right now it was telling me to kiss him.

So I did. I slowly reached a hand up, softly tracing my fingers over his jawline before clasping at the nape of his neck and gently tugging his head down so I could press my lips to his again. He inhaled, long and slow, his warm hand cupping my cheek.

He seemed reluctant to end the kiss, his mouth following mine when I finally pulled away. But then I stood up and faced him, taking his hands in mine and drawing him to his feet as well. Smiling shyly up at him, I began pulling him towards the door to my room and as if in a trance, he followed. I led him inside, the door quietly shutting behind us.

Author's Note: Sooooo... pretty sure they know they like each other now, what do ya'll think? :P Oh gosh, writing and sharing this chapter all but made me burst into flames *blushing intensifies* lol! I tell ya, for someone who starts so many fics where romance is one of the major themes, it is VERY rare that I actually get to The Big Kiss (TM) scene, so this just had me squirming the whole time xD Lea, that dear boy, he tried so hard to be the responsible one, he really did, but a guy only has so much willpower! And I know, things weren't really talked out this chapter, but don't worry, a lil discussion is on the horizon xD Also, does everyone remember something Elsa said to Lea way, waaaay back in chapter 15 during their car ride up to her old condo? Something small but SUPER relevant here... xD On a different note, we finally know it! Elsa's fave ice cream: Frozen Heart, oooOOOooOOoo fancy! THIS one is not named after a keyblade - I really wanted to of course name it after Arendelle world's keyblade in KH3, but let's face it… Crystal Snow was kinda a bland name! Frozen Heart would have been WAY better, not to mention a SUPER obvious choice for a keyblade name so I dunno why the design team didn't go with that! Anyway, its Ice Palace menu listing might look a lil something like: "Blue mint chocolate chip with silver sprinkles, coated in an icy, crystallized sugar shell on the outside and a strawberry slice that can be found buried deep within its chilly center. Will you be the one to melt this frozen heart?" …or something equally cheesy xD Anyhoo, heads up guys, if you hadn't guessed, we're now entering the homestretch of this story! Figured that'd be okay to tell ya, since if this were a paperback that you could physically hold in your hands, you'd be able to tell when there were only a few more chapters left in that case too xD But I have some good news waiting for ya'll at the end of this story's final chapter, so hopefully that gives ya something to look forward to!

Next time… oh gosh, just what does the future hold for these two crazy lovebirds? Once the sea of raging hormones has ebbed, what will be left? Are these two finally gonna get together for realsies? Or will this decision they made in the heat of the moment be seen as a mistake? And what about all of Elsa's fam drama? Did she really manage to leave it all behind or will it rear its ugly head again? Do we REALLY believe Lea when he says he only stole two of the novelty glasses? Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far, seeing those lil notifications always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

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justacouplebandfics · 4 years ago

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We’ve got scars on our future hearts (Jalex) - Chapter 3

Description: Alex dealt with self harm when he was younger, that’s over now though- he’s better, until he’s not. Struggling with the idea of self harming as an adult Alex keeps the issue to himself, but living on a tour bus with your band there’s only so long you can keep something a secret.

Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of self harm

It’s also available here on Wattpad, and you can find the masterlist here.

Alex's POV

The show went great, well, in my mind it went great. The alcohol slightly numbing my system might be skewing my perception. Jack seemed a bit on edge, understandably- but it looked like he hadn't told any of the guys. We all joked around, Jack joining in occasionally but mostly staying on the side lines, the crowd all seemed super into it- if there was any visible animosity between me and Jack they definitely didn't pick up on it.

"Damn Alex, what'd you get up to this afternoon?" Rian asks as we all walk back towards the tour bus "I've not seen you that pumped in while."

I think about it for a moment- telling them I was solo drinking in the middle of the day is probably a bit of a red flag, especially after this morning with Jack. But I don't have to completely lie "I found this Mexican restaurant in town, they serve you a beer with each taco- I guess I just kinda lost count a bit" I laugh.

Rian joins in "Does this mean you're coming out with us tonight then?" I look over at him, and Zack behind him looking on expectantly.

"Yeah I guess so!" I say without really thinking. I'm not sure more drinking is the best thing for me right now, I should probably take the evening to process what's happened today, but before I can revaluate Rian and Zack are already running towards the bus to take the first shower, leaving me with Jack.

I hear his footsteps stop falling in line with mine and turn around to see him standing still staring at me, we make eye contact and the tension is unbearable- neither of us want to speak first but we both know something needs to be said. With the remaining liquid courage in my system I decide I'll break the silence "What?" It comes out a lot harsher than I intended, and I cringe internally as his face drops a bit.

"What do you mean 'What?', I understand that you don't like talking to people about your problems Alex but I'm not okay with that- I'm not comfortable just pretending this morning didn't happen"

I can feel the same uncontrollable wave of emotions building inside me as earlier, but I try to push it down and diffuse the situation "Jack, I know I flew off the handle a bit earlier, and I'm sorry- I shouldn't have done that. But what you saw isn't anything to worry about. They're old blades, I honestly forgot they were in there- I'm fine" I tell him, putting on a smile. Nice, nailed that.

But Jack doesn't think so "That doesn't add up and you know it, don't lie to me."

So much for controlling the emotions- words start coming out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about them "Can you just stop Jack? I don't need this pity, and I don't want it- I didn't ask for you to go rooting around in my stuff this morning." Jack looks taken aback, and before I can stop it "Just leave me the fuck alone."

I turn and start walking to the tour bus, the moment the words left my mouth I regretted them, but I'm still so consumed with emotion that I don't know how to process that, let alone rectify it. Fuck it, maybe getting wasted is exactly what I need.

Jack's POV

Alex is drunk- not regular Alex-letting-off-steam drunk, not even first-record-deal-party drunk, Alex is beyond wasted. Sure- it's a laugh, and I'm sure if this morning hadn't happened I'd be right there alongside him, but it wouldn't be happening at all if this morning hadn't happened.

Me and a few of the crew are standing a bit off to the side, nearer the bar so the music is just quiet enough that you can have a conversation if you really try. They're talking about some show that's just come out, I smile and nod in what I think are the right places, not really trying to hear what they're saying- I think they're mostly involving me in the conversation to be polite anyway, I'm much too focussed on Alex.

He's out in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by the guys, he looks like he's having the time of his life- but every now and then he stops just for a moment and he gets this blank look on his face, but as soon as it comes he's right back into it. Maybe I'm reading too deep into it- maybe it's just because he's drunk, but there's something about it that just doesn't sit right with me.

I decide I'm not doing myself any good by watching him and go out to the smoking area, I don't even really want a cigarette, I just want some fresh air and a clear head. I light one up anyway and lean against the barrier, taking some deep breaths- I think about how to talk to Alex without him blowing up on me again. I was a little hurt by what he said earlier but the rational part of me knows he didn't mean it, he's just overwhelmed, he doesn't know how to handle what he's going through. I'm disrupted from my thoughts when a group of girls come out into the smoking area, all loud giggles and screams- I give them a smile and quickly finish my smoke, stubbing it out and heading inside. I'll take pounding music over drunken screams any day.

It takes a minute but I find the group again, they've moved off the dance floor and are now over by the bar- I notice there's no Alex.

"Where's Alex?" I ask Matt, not caring how desperate it sounds.

"Oh dude you just missed it!" He laughs "The kid was wasted, threw up all over Rian's shoes and started babbling on about how sorry he was for everything"

"I tried to tell him it's just a pair of trainers, I can get them cleaned but he didn't seem to get it" Rian adds, I look down to see him in just his socks, shoes kicked off to one side and looking definitely worse for wear.

"So where is he?" I ask again.

"On his way back to the bus, I guess he must've got all the booze out of his system when he threw up on Rian 'cus he was with it enough to call an Uber"

"You let him go on his own?" I shouted.

"Dude chill, Zack offered to go but he was adamant he was fine- seriously once he quit the crying he seemed pretty sober."

None of this was sitting right with me at all, something about Alex's behaviour was just so wrong. "I'm gonna go back too, I'll see you guys later" I told them, not waiting for a response before I started jogging towards the exit.

Alex's POV

I stumble onto the bus, throwing my jacket down on the sofa- I'm not even that drunk, yeah I threw up but whatever that happens all the time when people drink. That's not the reason I needed to come back, I needed to come back because I realised I am the problem, the way I spoke to Jack, the way I treated him when he was being nothing but kind to me- it's disgusting. I'm disgusting. I'm this huge, pathetic burden on everyone I'm around.

I make my way to my bunk and grab my sunglasses case, bringing it to the bathroom with me and slumping down on the cold tile floor. I open it up and tip it upside down, but all that falls out are the sunglasses- frowning, I tilt it back up and pry open the back pocket, there's nothing in there. "Fuck sake Jack!" I shout, realising he must've got rid of them after this morning- I don't know why I expected them to still be there, it makes sense. I bang my head back against the cabinet and think for a moment.

It's not that I'm planning on killing myself, I never cut deep enough for that anyway, I just feel like I deserve the pain tonight. Opening up the cabinet behind me I have a look around to see if there's anything I can use- I see an unopened pack of razor heads, taking one out and smashing it open with the corner of my phone case I pick up one of the blades. Its so much thinner than anything I use, I lightly run it along my finger and it cuts right through the top layer of skin- okay so it's a lot sharper than anything I use too.

I take off my jeans and throw them against the door, hiking my boxers up on the right side. Taking a deep breath I position the razor on a clean patch of thigh, dragging it across my skin- its light, barely even breaks through the first layer of skin, so the next one I push harder, then harder. The alcohol's thinning my blood so I'm bleeding way more than normal, the floors a mess- I'm not sure how I'm going to clean this up before one of the guys get home.

With far too much alcohol-induced confidence I push down deep and do one final slice on my thigh- it looks different and I immediately know I've fucked up. Bubbles of fat are popping up through the skin and it's bleeding bad, this is so much deeper than anything I've done before.

"Oh fuck" I say to myself, I keep repeating it again and again just staring at it- I'm hyperventilating and I have no clue what to do, I start to cry, salty tears streaming down my face, snot bubbling out my nose. I press tissues to it and it starts to stop the bleeding but that only means I can see the fat better now- it's terrifying. I used to think when I hit fat I'd finally feel content with my self harm, that it would feel like some kind of achievement, but the reality couldn't be further from that.

I'm so caught up in my own mess I don't notice Jack entering the bus until he's swinging open the bathroom door, he looks down at the blood and the tissue I'm pressing to my thigh and then up to my face. "J-Jack" I sob, no idea how to deal with this situation, "Please help" is all I can think to say.

"It's okay" he keeps repeating "It's gonna be alright," normally I hate when people say that but now it's okay, it's what I need. I need someone to tell me it's going to be okay. He kneels down beside me and takes the razor from my hand, I didn't realise I was still holding it, and leans over to grab the rest of the broken razor head from the floor and throw it in the bin.

He takes a deep breath and moves my hand holding the tissue, by this point mostly soaked with blood, pulling it away from my thigh. I watch his face as he looks down, his eyes go wide for a moment "Oh god 'Lex, I think this might need stitches" he looks up at me and back down to the cut.

"No please Jack I don't want to go to the hospital, I don't want people to know" I plead with him, he looks at me with so much emotion in his eyes, and after a sharp sigh bends over to kiss me on the forehead.

"Alex I don't think that's the right decision but it's your decision- I know we have some butterfly stitches in the first aid kit out front just give me a moment I'll go get them." I nod, tears still falling from my eyes, but at least I'm breathing somewhat normal again. He returns with the butterfly stitches and some bandages- looking back down at the cut I've noticed it's stopped bleeding, they all have. "You're gonna need to get cleaned up before we can bandage this up, do you think you're able to get in the shower?" he asks, turning it on so the water heats up.

I stand up slowly, putting my weight mostly on the clean leg and hobble towards the shower "Yeah, I think I'll be able to manage it"

"I'll be right outside the door, just shout if anything goes wrong." He makes a move towards the door.

"No wait, please stay" I beg, catching his arm. "Please, I don't want to be alone." He looks at me before pulling me into a hug, I wrap my arms around his waist as he wraps his gently around my shoulders.

"It's gonna be okay 'Lex." He buries his nose in my hair for a moment and pulls away "If I'm gonna be in here while you get showered I'm going to grab some cleaning stuff and start clearing this up- I'll be back in a second okay?"

I nod and take off my boxers and shirt when he leaves the room, stepping into the shower- grateful that the steam fogged up the glass so Jack couldn't see me. I start to wash off the blood, some of it dried, some of it still fresh- I can vaguely see Jack's figure on the floor, scrubbing at the blood. I feel bad, I should be the one doing that.

"I'm all done out here when you're good" he calls out after a while "there's a towel and some boxers on the toilet, just let me know when to turn around" he calls out over the shower door.

"Okay, I think I'm done- turn around." I step out the shower to see him standing in the doorway facing away from me, I quickly pat myself dry, taking extra care on my thigh so as not to make the cuts start bleeding again, and slowly pull on my boxers; Stretching the right leg to the absolute limit of its elasticity so it doesn't touch any of the cuts- unsure what to do I sit down on the toilet lid. "All dressed" I say kind of awkwardly, and Jack turns around.

He immediately kneels down in front of me and starts working on my leg "Okay so I did a little bit of googling and I think we need to close up this big one with some butterfly stitches, and then the rest we can just cover up with bandages" he looks up at me as if asking me to confirm, I nod weakly, it all sounding right to me, and watch as he takes out a couple butterfly stitches.

"I think this might hurt a little, I'm sorry" he says, pushing either side of the cut together so it closes up, I wince a little in pain but keep my leg still- there's no point jumping around and making this take longer. Sticking one side of the stitch to one side of the cut, he moves his hand and tapes the other piece to the other side, closing up half of it- he repeats the same process again and the cut looks a lot less scary. Still not great, but it could definitely be worse. He cuts off a piece of bandage and tapes it down, covering all the fresh cuts.

Once he's done he simply holds my thigh in his hands for a while, looking into my eyes "Jack I'm scared" I finally break down again, hunching over into a sobbing mess.

"I know 'Lex" he tells me, standing up and scooping his hands under my knees, picking me up to carry me to his bunk. He sets me down on the edge and climbs into the bunk, scooting backwards against the wall; pulling up the covers he gestures for me to come in and be the little spoon. With my injured leg facing upwards I get under the covers next to him, he wraps his arms around my chest and pulls me back, holding me tightly. "I'm always here for you." I break down into another fit of sobs, but Jack calmly runs his hand through my hair and shushes me until I fall asleep in his arms.

disclaimer: If you hit fat ALWAYS go to the hospital guys, it's not an option- it leaves the risk of infection insanely high if you don't get it professionally stitched. Remember, this is just a story.

#fanfic #jalex #jalex fic #jalex fanfic #fanfiction #jalex fanfiction #bandfic #band fic #jalexfic #jalexfanfic #jalexfanfiction #all time low #alex gaskarth #jack barakat #rian dawson #zack merrick #all time low fanfic #wattpad #We've got scars on our future hearts

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pbjpuppy · 5 years ago

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Walks

I’ve been going on a lot of walks recently.

‘Cause, y’know being in the house all the time isn’t really good for you. Like, y’know, cabin fever and stuff? Plus, we just did this unit in science- through the computer, they’re calling it distance learning- about indoor air pollution, and how the air inside a home can be multiple times more polluted than outside air, and how most people spend most of their time indoors (90%!), which really makes sitting in my bedroom for long periods of time kind of unappealing.

I don’t always like staying in my room anyway. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I spend most of my time in there like any other teenager does, and it’s great! I love my room. I’m even lucky enough to have my own instead of having to share it with a sibling like some people do. But still, even if you live in paradise it’s a prison if you can’t leave, so I don’t stay in there all the time. Sometimes I just wander around my house in circles instead. Or sit in my dad’s room.

Anyway- walks. Lots of them. One every day is the new routine, unless I get lazy, which has happened once or twice and I always regret it. To the end of the block, which intersects the road in a “T” shape, then I turn to the right and walk all the way until the sidewalk ends (Through the old elementary school’s parking lot- I’m always worried security will yell at me, but so far I’ve been peacefully ignored), then I turn back and walk all the way past my block again to the other end of the sidewalk, then home. It’s not the most scenic route; I live in the suburbs of Long Island and all the trees are dead because it’s only just turned April, and all there is to see is houses and road.

I keep myself entertained, though. There’s actually a lot to see if you really look. Nothing extraordinary, but that’s kind of what I like about it. I keep my eyes to the ground a lot, and you see a lot of litter on the ground: Cups, cans, cigarette boxes, packs of tissues, chicken wire, caution tape, strange boxy wooden contraptions that look busted and have been abandoned. Once I even saw an unopened condom. It’s an environmental nightmare, of course, but for the arrogant human on her walk it provides plenty of brain food. For every piece of trash there was a living, breathing human who held it, who used it, who discarded it. I wonder what they’re like and if I’ll ever meet them, what they’re up to. If they’re alive right now.

There’s not much that’s all too impressive in terms of nature, like I said, but it’s still outside, and I’ve seen a bunch of interesting nature-y things, too. On my first walk, I found a chunk of a wasp’s nest, half-rotted. Recently I found a bird’s nest too, and I wanted to go pick it up, but it was in somebody’s yard and I didn’t want to get yelled at for trespassing. Just today I passed right through a murder of crows, kind of. They were perched in a group on the trees and telephone wires, and their croaking startled me out of my daydreaming to admire them. I’ve seen a lot of things that look like bones that aren’t bones, and one time I saw something that looked like a bone that actually was a bone.

The one natural thing I don’t see on my walks is humans. Not one in a week. I would have expected to see at least one person walking their dog or something, or just doing work in the yard. I mean, everybody else has to be as restless as I am inside, right? But no, no people to be seen. That’s okay, though. The sidewalk is narrow, I like not having to share it. It also means I can text while I walk and not worry about bumping into someone. Plus, I guess it’s been kind of yucky out weather-wise. By the time I get home from my walks my nose is usually pink and runny from the cold.

I live with two other people, my dog, my cat, and my two pet rats. That makes seven living things and three living humans. The house is quiet a lot of the time. My brother and I are both teenagers- I’m seventeen, he’s nineteen- and we spend a lot of time in our rooms. My dad is usually working, or out of the house. He likes to go over to his girlfriend’s house a lot, or out to the city for the weekend before… Everything happened, and I’ll take care of myself for the evening and the following day or so. Sometimes it’s longer than that. I don’t hear from my brother those days, he makes his own food. Sometimes I’ll be home alone and won’t even realize until I walk past his bedroom and see it’s been empty this whole time.

My dad’s been away a lot this week, I think. And my brother’s been quiet. I think he’s told me he doesn’t feel well. That’s okay. I can take care of myself well enough and I think I have people online to talk to. My dog barks a lot, that’s kind of like conversation. Plus, I have Animal Crossing, that game where you live on an island with a bunch of little animal people? It’s really cute, I love it. I talk to the animals on Animal Crossing. I don’t mind being alone.

I’m on a walk, and my fingers and nose are cold and pink. I have an umbrella, but I don’t actually need it. It’s not raining anymore, the wind is just moist and cold. It’s dangling from my wrist. I liked playing tug-of-war with my umbrella against the wind, but the wind won, and my umbrella turned inside out, so I stopped. I’m coming back from the right side of the T.

There’s lots of evidence of humans. There’s so much litter, pieces of trash that somebody was holding and let go of and now it’s on the ground. I thought I smelled weed before, which is gross, but that means that somebody somewhere was smoking it, somewhere nearby. There’s graffiti on the street signs.

There’s lots of cars on the road, too. I don’t know where they’re going. Nobody’s really supposed to be going anywhere right now, I think. We’re supposed to be staying home, that’s what I was told. Maybe they’re going to get groceries. You’re allowed to go get groceries. All of them are getting groceries.

Going to school online is a weird and kind of stressful experience, by the way, did I mention that? I’ve never done anything like homeschooling, I’ve always gone to public school my whole life, ever since I went to the old elementary school that I have to pass through on my walks. I’m used to structure. There’s this bell that drones at the end of every class, and when you hear the bell you get up and shuffle to your next class, forty-two minutes every class period. I’m used to that. Now they’re so far away. The classes, I mean, like, the concept of them. It’s just kind of a vague idea that there’s work I should be doing, now. I’ve been doing okay. I set alarms every forty-two minutes and pretend I’m going to class.

I still haven’t seen a single human. I’ve been looking into the windshields of the cars as I walk and I still haven’t seen a single one. I don’t know who these cars are trying to fool, you can’t drive a car if there’s nobody in the driver’s seat. That’s impossible. But I haven’t seen a single human. Super-smart cars, maybe. I think I’ve heard about those on the news, right? Sometime before everything happened. They’re sending their cars to get groceries.

I walk past the cemetery if I want to walk farther than usual. Usually my walk stops me right by the cemetery. I like ghosts and spooky things so I like living so close to a cemetery. It’s a nice cemetery, too. I don’t go in it very much, the only dead person I know wasn’t buried in the cemetery and I don’t want to intrude on anybody who’s grieving their loved one. Walks aren’t that important and I have a different route. I don’t think I would find anybody in the cemetery, but I’m going to go home anyway. I’ve been walking for a long time.

I think a lot on my walks. My mind wanders. I do it on purpose, actually, I put on my music and let my mind wander while I walk. I like to draw and write stories, and letting my mind wander while I walk is good for inspiration. I’ve been thinking about humans and cars and crows. The crows fly away when I walk near them. I wonder if the humans are like crows and that’s why I can’t see them. Maybe I did something wrong and everybody’s avoiding me. Maybe everyone’s too busy getting groceries to be in their cars. It must be a lot of groceries.

My dad has been away a lot this week. I want to tell him about the bugs I caught in Animal Crossing. I don’t know if I’ve seen him in a while. I thought I said goodbye to him yesterday. Yesterday it was snowing, when I said goodbye. It wasn’t snowing yesterday. I wish he’d get back from whatever he’s doing. I hope he brings me back something from the grocery store.

My brother hasn’t been feeling well. He wants me to leave him alone, I think. I think he said that, and that’s why he’s not in his room. He doesn’t want me to bother him, I think. He hasn’t been feeling well for a long time. He’s such a complainer. There’s mold in the food he left in his room.

Online school is so frustrating. I’m really not good at math, and I tried to message my teacher about an exponents question, but he hasn’t been replying to me. I skipped the math problems, I think, and I can’t find the right website we’re supposed to be doing them on. I can’t find the app on my phone I used to text my teacher. I’m so forgetful. I forgot to text him, I think.

This wouldn’t be happening if everything hadn’t happened. If we were in school, I’d be able to raise my hand and ask the teacher in person about my math question. And there would be other students, too. But we have to stay home. Everyone has to stay home.

I don’t know why we have to stay home. I thought somebody told me. I can’t remember. I know everybody has to stay home. The government said so or something. That’s why I can’t find anybody. Everybody’s at home.

My dad isn’t answering his phone. I want to know when he’ll be home. He’s not supposed to be out. I forgot my dad’s number, I think. I’m going to walk to the grocery store. It’s getting dark out now, but I think I need to go. I’m going to see what all the fuss is about. Everyone’s at the grocery store, that’s why I can’t find them.

There’s not much to see in the suburbs of Long Island. The shapes the buildings make are kind of pretty, though. They’re all warped and blackened, like a giant hand smushed them like play-doh. There’s lots of litter. There’s evidence of humans everywhere. The sun is setting behind the ruined buildings and it looks red and burning. It reminds me of something awful. Maybe a movie I watched, I think, about some awful explosion. The sun is too red and it’s scaring me. I’m going to keep walking to the grocery store.

This parking lot is empty and dirty. There’s lots of litter: plastic water bottle casings, old lighters, trampled wet paper bags, turned over shopping cars, shells of cars, the grocery store sign smashed on the ground. I step on the broken glass because it makes a nice sound. It smells like food, I think. The smell of the food is making my throat hurt, I think. There’s smoke rising from the building. They’re cooking, I think. The sun is so red behind the smoke. It looks like fire.

It looks like fire. There’s so much fire. It’s reminding me of something really bad. I’m really scared, something in my brain is really scared. Something happened and I can’t remember. I don’t want to be at the grocery store anymore. I’m walking home now but my legs aren’t feeling very normal. I wish the sun wouldn’t look so red. Everything is red and warm and smoky. It’s only just April and my nose and fingers are supposed to be pink from the cold.

I’m getting lost, I think. Once I find my way home I can get my dad to hug me so I feel better. I don’t know why I’m crying. Something is making me sad and scared but I can’t remember what it is. Reminds me of a movie, I think. A big scary explosion in a movie. The air smells like smoke. I think I might be upset because of cabin fever. That’s it, I think.

I think I need to go on more walks.

#reuploading with the drawing!! im REALLY PROUD OF IT...#monstrous art #monstrous writing #writing #horror story #short story

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spider-bih · 5 years ago

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Prank Letters [Peter Parker]

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Lost Love Letters P.1

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Mentions of potentially triggering topics (i.e death, self-destructive habits),

Masterlist,

Eerily familiar handwriting on random envelopes had been haunting you the past few weeks. At first it seemed like harmless fun- like one of your old friends messing with you before you had to move away. Maybe it was their weird way of saying goodbye and wishing you well. You didn’t want to leave, but you had to, your parents had no other choice. The world revolved around money and they had to follow it to live comfortably. You were just glad that you weren’t overly attached to much in this town. Or perhaps a certain falling out with some people made you yearn for escape, who could tell.

The notes were nice at first, despite how you swore the handwriting was familiar. They were sweet, some reminders, some nice thoughts. “Treat yourself to something today.” “It’s going to be sunny and warm!” “A rainy day ahead, remember your umbrella!” “Yellow is your color today.”

You didn’t expect them to follow you to your new home, an apartment in New York. They became aggressive and were scattered in places no one should be able to leave notes. “CAN YOU READ THESE?”, was found in your brand new notebook for your upcoming school year. “ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?”, in your fresh laundry. “PLEASE. I NEED A RESPONSE.”, in your locker. Today, inside your new box of Pop-Tarts, “PLEASE, YOU HAVE TO SAV_ ___”, the writing was so aggressive, the rest was illegible. It also looked smeared by something, you couldn’t pinpoint what. It was terrifying you, but anytime you tried to show someone, like your parents, it would disappear. You would lose it and even when you tried to explain, they didn’t believe you. How could they? How would someone get a note into an unopened box of Pop-Tarts? In your fresh laundry without getting wet? In a brand new notebook? It made no sense whatsoever. Yet it was chilling you to the bone.

Who was this person? What did they want from you? Was this funny to them? Terrifying some poor girl- making her look over her shoulder at every corner and question everyone she saw? You just wanted a smooth move, a new start at a new school. It was Junior Year, just one more year of hell after that and you were free! You could get started on learning what pertained to your future career and nothing else! That’s all you wanted, but here you were, scared out of your mind on the very first day of school. Lovely.

Your appetite was lost, no pop-tarts this morning- your body didn’t agree with you though. Especially when you decided lunch wasn’t an option either. You were scared to find another note in your mashed potatoes or some other odd place. You couldn’t even tell if the pain in your stomach was nerves, or hunger- or even both. You just let it be, hoping that ignoring it would make your first day smoother.

It didn’t.

You were stuck feeling nervous and just aching to be home. You were relieved once you were on that train- relieved and a little sad. You hoped you’d maybe make some friends or be interested in your new subjects, but you could barely make it through basics. You were too nervous and too tired to care about anything. It sucked- but maybe a good nap would help. A nap and maybe a snack. Your stomach really hurt- had you really gone all day without a bite to eat? Damn- these notes were really taking a toll, so much so you even felt queasy. It was not a good feeling, especially on the moving train. It was packed and you were stuck standing, holding onto one of the poles to stay balanced. Suddenly your bookbag weighed a ton and your legs felt like jelly, before you could register anything else, you were falling, and then you were out.

“Hey... can- -ou -ear -e? -ey! You- -otta -up! Oh- -ease, -ey! Up!”

Someones voice was going in and out of your head, calling out to you and begging you to come to. Your stomach still really hurt (and for some reason your head throbbed too?) and you felt faint. It felt like you were propped up against something- something hard and uncomfortable. Someone was grasping your shoulders and when you opened your eyes, dark brown ones were staring back at you. They belonged to some boy. He had a mess of short curls, they looked like he ran his hands through them like crazy. His face was panicked and a little flushed. You noticed little freckles littered across his nose and cheeks, very faint, but still a little noticeable. He was kinda- wait, why was he so close? What-

“You’re awake! Oh thank god, I thought I’d have to call an ambulance! Are you okay?”, he asked you, words coming out in a jumbled rush.

“What happened? Where am I?”, you asked, seeing that you were no longer in the train, but at a stop.

“You fainted- your head kinda hit mine but that’s not important. I had to take you off the train- this is my stop, but I don’t know if it’s yours, I’ll pay for you to get back on if this isn’t-”

“What? I fainted? Oh god- I hit you? I’m so so so-”

He cut you off with a firm shake of his head, “No, don’t stress it! It’s fine, I’m fine, are you though? You look a little sick.”

“Uh- I think I’m good now. I should be- what stop are we at?”

“We’re on the one at 9th Street. Are you sure? You look flushed- kinda like you haven’t eaten a bite all day?”

That made you raise an eyebrow, “How could you get that just from my face?”

The boy shrugs, “I’ve forgotten to eat once or twice, I know the look. I have half a bag of gummy worms in my bag- unless that sounds super weird since I’m a stranger. I swear I just bought them this morning. I can show you the receipt unless that’s still weird- I just really don’t want you passing out-”

You cut him off with a casual wave of your hand, “Nah, I think I have a granola bar in my bag somewhere, probably crushed but still edible. I’ll take you up on that offer another day. So you said 9th Street right? Lucky me, that’s my stop.”

He looked surprised, “Really? It’s mine too! You sure you don’t want some gummy worms? A granola bar isn’t too filling..”

“Yeah but gummy worms won’t give me energy will they?”

He shrugs, “Maybe, maybe not. Still filling. Uh.. I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker.”

You smile a little, “I’m [Y/n]. [Y/n] [L/n].”

So began a nice conversation as he guided you to the nearest café for actual food. The two of you talked over some warm coffee and a doughnut or two. Perfect for the slow-dropping temperature. You got to know he went to Midtown, that one school you heard was for the academically gifted (in science mostly). He lived with his Aunt and seemed to love Star Wars. You told him of how you just moved here and started your first day, how you were getting used to taking the subways and finding your way around.

When today began, you had no idea you’d meet a friend so fast- that you’d click so easy. It was nice and it was comforting to know the entire day wasn’t wasted. Your mind was free from worry, the anxiety over finding another letter was long gone as you walked home-

Only to return once you saw a white envelope lying on your bed. It was blank, no return address like always, but oddly no writing at all. With a hard swallow, you crept towards it and opened it up. The writing was still uncomfortably familiar, but it was neater. Calmer.

“I’m sure by now you’ve met him already. I remember that day like it just happened hours ago. It was wonderful. He’s so nice isn’t he? Easy going too? I miss it.

Listen, you’re not going to believe me at first. I know it, but you need to try.

My name is [Y/n] [L/n]. I’m you at twenty-seven and counting. I know those other letters must have rattled you and I know it seems crazy, but I need you to listen. I need you to save him. I need you to save Peter Parker, or at the least, I need you to be able to let him go without a single regret.

You’re going to love him. You’re going to be scared of it, nervous to ruin what’s been established. You shouldn’t be. I regret never telling him. I regret losing him how I did. I never stopped loving him, I want him back. I want to change this future of mine please.

You have until the summer before Freshman year of college starts. Please, tell him. Don’t let him go.

He dies before you get the words out.

You’ll regret it. Every waking moment of your life, you will regret it.

I’m begging you.”

Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, if I still can’t next time, I’ll have to remove it :c

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Part 2

#peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker reader insert #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter x you #peter x reader #peter reader insert #peter fic #peter fanfic

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headlesssamurai · 5 years ago

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My Lazy, Poor, Stupid Person’s Attempt to Paint Tabletop Miniatures

by headless

This has nothing to do with covid-19 really, it’s just something I reckoned I’d share. For several years I’ve played Dungeons & Dragons, and occasionally others like Call of Cthulhu and Delta Green, or Shadowrun. Though, I say ‘play’, when I mostly run games as a Dungeon Master. It’s one of those “hobbies” that is a lot of fun for someone like me, but requires a ton of dedication, so it isn’t always easy to get a dedicated group together.

Anyhow, I generally homebrew settings and adventures, never really been too big on running pre-written games, even if some of them are fantastically written. And one of the most frustrating things is I some times want to have a miniature on the battle grid that looks a certain way. This is hardly a big deal, since miniatures are just markers meant for reference in combat encounters, the real image of the characters is in all of our heads.

Still, I sometimes want to have something especially specific, a lot of the players in my current group appreciate cool looking miniatures, and seeing as I’m usually hard-up for cash, I can’t always buy pre-painted mini-figures, unless I get a good bulk deal on ebay or something.

One of my recent attempts to acquire bulk miniatures came a few years back when I realized during the 4E days, Wizards of the Coast had released boxed board games themed with the D&D style, which all came with a great deal of unpainted miniatures; these came in sets like Wrath of Ashardalon, or The Legend of Drizzt, with lots of themed minis for the board game’s scenario.

Anyhow, I’ve had a ton of these unpainted miniatures forever and use them often for nobody-NPCs and other characters the players run across. Lately, however, the group I’ve been running in a campaign for about eleven months (usually weekly), ran across a problem where their dragonborn ranger Grixxis was captured by and then negotiated his away out of the clutches of this ancient entity who calls herself Gorgoth (who appears to be a pale, beautiful young woman, but probably isn’t; even the not so arcane-y Grixxis intuited that much). She was actually impressed that he resisted her Sleep spell, and offered him a deal, she’d let him go but he needs to complete a task for her in the next seven days, and if it isn’t completed in that time frame his soul will be bound to her forever.

The task was to go to a mountaintop and retrieve something that resides there, though Gorgoth did not explain what the object was, so the party set off to find this mysterious mountain. The journey led them to an area of bad wilderness where no one lives, and where roving bands of orcs constantly hunt and war with one another, so only a few people know anything about that region. The party ended up hiring a guide, who was a wood elf exile named Skaya. They seemed to be intrigued by her because she’s living in a city which is currently at war with wood elves, so there’s a lot of prejudice and racism against her kind. Skaya does have facial tattoos that indicate she’s been exiled from her tribe and therefore no longer truly considered by her people to be a wood elf (their worst form of punishment in this universe), but still, the party seemed immediately fascinated by this single NPC among the potential seven or so they might’ve hired for this expedition.

Anyhow, my players have only gotten truly invested in one other NPC they’ve met before this; a small little orc toddler named Gruuba who they saved from a bunch of slave trading bandits early on in the campaign. I’ve had difficulty finding a good miniature for Gruuba too (because she’s really small and scrawny), but since she’s at the same developmental level as a human six year-old they try to keep her out of combat scenarios (despite Gruuba’s excited insistence that she enjoys using clubs “for smashings”). Since the party have begun to really enjoy Skaya as character, the longer they’ve slowly, slowly gotten to know more about her stand-offish personal history, I really wanted to get a miniature for her that reflected my image of her better than the one I’d been using.

So, even though I got basically no experience doing so, I bought a miniature from Reaper Miniatures, and after looking up a few tutorial vids for beginners like me, I set about trying to paint my first mini-figs.

Two things, if you’re looking into this yourself; First, I’m not totally unartistic, I write creatively and I sketch with pencils and ink. Painting’s fairly new to me, but it’s not like I have absolutely no artistic talent. I also solder a lot of really small wires and components in my normal daily job, so I may have better muscle control for this sort of thing than some people. I only mention this because I may have had a few advantages in this undertaking. I just don’t want to make people overly confident, keep things in perspective. So whatever your level of expertise at this, if you want to start just try to patiently measure your expectations, and don’t get discouraged if your first results aren’t so great. All things improve with time.

And B. if you’re poor, lazy, and stupid like me, there’re ways to get around that. This video I watched gave me a good rundown of the basic steps which are; - scrub the plastic down with some dish soap, luke-warm water, and a toothbrush; allow at least 1 hour to dry (I let them sit for a day because I’m paranoid), and be sure there’s no lingering moisture before you start painting - get a good primer or base coat on the model before you start adding other colors; lighter base coats allow more colors to show up easier, while darker base coats tend to make the colors you paint over them darker - stay calm and take your time - try to paint the colors that’ll go under other colors first, like, if a barbarian dude is shirtless but’s wearing a few pieces of armor, paint his shirtless skin first, then paint the armor he’s wearing second because it layers over better that way - use thinner paints and multiple coats of a color to get an even final color instead of one thick coat - allow each coat of paint to dry for 10 - 20 minutes before applying the next coat - learn about washes, pigments, and inks, because they’re awesome - get a decent varnish for a final protective coat, matte varnishes make the model look dryer and flat, gloss varnishes make the model look shiny and wet, if you do a coat of gloss and a coat of matte varnish it equalizes it pretty good

And this video here sort of laid to rest my fears that I’ll need to spend $600 on paints and washes and stuff. The very helpful lady in that video explains how she uses generic acrylic paints from the craft store (I got mine at Wal-Mart) to paint her Warhammer miniatures, and she even offers a method of making your own washes from a combination of paint and flavorless mouth wash. It’s genius. So try not to stress too much about buying the really nice brand name paints, because it’s not necessary, those paints just have an optimal mix I think, otherwise they’re the same damn thing as generic acrylic paints. Also, you’re just trying to learn, so unless you really, really feel like emptying your bank account, just use the generic stuff.

I started out painting something I didn’t care about. I wanted my miniature for Skaya to look badass and awesome, so I wanted to start with some practice miniatures. Grabbed a few from those 4E board game sets and gave it a shot. But I had also recently gotten hold of a Goliath Barbarian miniature from the Player’s Handbook Heroes sets (also from the 4E days) a rare find, since it usually goes for like $60.00 by itself. Randomly found some dude on ebay selling an unopened box set for $20.00, so I got a wild elf druid and a human berserker along with it. So I started out touching up the goliath’s armor to make it look more like armor and less like weird blue stuff.

Here’s a before-and-after for him (I didn’t take photos of them before because I wasn’t anticipating this, so I just found examples from around the web):

Next I tried a re-paint. A friend of mine had recently guest-played in my campaign and created a half-drow monk (his backstory was fantastic), so since nothing like that exists, I took a Soulknife Infiltrator miniature seen here:

And repainted it to sort of look like his half-drow Monk of the Open Palm:

I finally had the courage to do a full paint, so I grabbed the Dragonborn Elementalist from the Wrath of Ashardalon box, and painted her up with reddish scales (I’m one of those who thinks dragonborn should have physical attributes of their heritage).

In the box her name’s Heskan. I definitely used way too much wash on this one so she looks super shiny.

I then took the orc archers in that same box, and not really paying too much attention this time, quickly painted them, because I lack many orc archers:

At this point, I felt it was time to finally paint Skaya, the wood elf exile. I used the Reaper Bones model Deladrin, Female Assassin ($1.99) for Skaya’s mini.

And taking way more hours than I did on the others, which were only about 1-3 hours each, when you count waiting for the coats to dry, I managed to sort of make her look like Skaya, I guess:

After this, the fact that it wasn’t complete and utter shit, which is what I expected, I was encouraged. So I tried to do out party’s tortle cleric, named Daruuk of Chult (who oddly speaks with a Slavic accent, so that’s how people from Chult sound in our campaign), for whom we’ve lacked an accurate mini-figure for some time. I bought a pack of Spikeshell Warriors ($2.99) from the Reaper Bones line.

But Daruuk characteristically wields a large shield and a warhammer, so for some reason I got super detailed and bought a pack of loose shields from the Reaper Bones line ($0.99), then bought Halbarad ($1.49) a human cleric.

I clipped off Halbarad’s hammer at the hilt, then I trimmed the spikes off of the spikeshell warrior’s club, and used a dremel to carfully mill a hole inside the shaft of the spikeshell’s club, then pinned the hammer inside and secured it with gorilla gel. I used an actual cork board pin to push the shield onto the spikshell’s offhand after cutting off his turtle shell shield in order to pin it before gluing, then clipped off the rest of the cork board pin. Somehow, this ended up making the shield look meaner because it now has a like pyramidal spike sticking out the center. After allowing the glue to dry I painted him up, and my attempt at Daruuk the Death Cleric turned out thus:

I guess his hammer looks sort of Acme-level cartoony, but he’s a giant 350 lb. turtle-man who talks like Omega Red from X-Men The Animated Series, so I’m okay with that. The spikeshell also fits well with the razorback sub-race feature I allowed Daruuk’s player to homebrew for himself. I was really proud of this one.

Finally, because I’m an insane asshole who is getting obsessed with my new hobby, I decided it was dragons or bust. So I bought a pre-primed unpainted Young Blue Dragon from WizKids ($13.99).

And spent, like, three days meticulously testing different paint layers to see how they come out. I tried to paint her in the tradition of blue dragons as they appear in the art of Forgotten Realms material, but gave her a somewhat darker cast, and added metallic blue layers to her claws and spinal ridges. I still need to paint her base, put some highlights on her eyes to accentuate the glowing effect and add my washes to give her a final layer of dimension, but here’s how she came out so far:

Behold, Stormfang! Mistress of Thunder...

Anyhow.

This is super long and I wonder if anyone will bother to read any of it. But just wanted to put this out there. From a dude who, if you asked me a year ago if I thought I could do this, I’d have said I’m too stupid, poor, and lazy. I still think of myself as all of those things. The real pros use crazy detailed techniques with like seven layered highlights on their models, and airbrushes and all kinds of other madness. I use maybe three coats total and I don’t get too worked up if I make a mistake here and there, and I haven’t spent more than maybe fifty bucks total across six weeks, and most of that was wasting paints because I was still learning how to mix different shades.

So if you got something you feel like you’ve always wanted to do but are too stupid, poor, and lazy to figure out, just go for it yo. I managed to crack out these bastards and I still think I suck, but it’s way better looking than I expected. For real though, you should see some of those Warhammer players, they got mad crazy god skills at this stuff compared to me. But your level of skill isn’t the point. The point is to have that moment with that thing you did, and look at it, and just go “Yeh, I did that” when at one time you never believed you ever could.

There’s always going to be somebody better than you, but even they, like all of us, are still learning.

侍 headless

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stereksecretsanta · 5 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @hazelestelle!

Read on AO3

*****

yes

Derek wakes with a start as the loft door slides open so forcefully the walls shake. Although, now that he’s looking at the would-be intruder, he thinks they’re shaking because of another reason.

“Stiles!” he yells, causing Stiles to jump. At least the walls stop quivering. “What’s going on?” he asks, eyebrows scrunched. Anything that makes Stiles lose control of his powers is bound to be no good.

“Derek!” Stiles frantically scans the room. There are red lines on Stiles’s neck where he’s been scratching, a nervous tic he’s never broken, and he’s sporting a severe case of bedhead. Stiles has a bad habit of running his hands through his hair while he’s thinking. Derek sees the line of tension in his shoulders melt away when he finally spots Derek sitting up on the couch. “I need you to date me.”

“Date you?” Derek echoes.

Clearly, Derek’s brain hasn’t woken yet because there’s no way he heard correctly. Though dating Stiles isn’t exactly a new thought, so it could just be wishful thinking.

From the minute Derek met Stiles, he had been fascinated by the way Stiles’s long fingers rubbed along his buzzcut.

He’s got a thing for hands. Sue him.

But Stiles had been young, too young. The parallels between them were too similar to himself and Kate, and he wouldn’t allow himself to go there.

The years passed, and Stiles only grew more attractive and not just physically. Derek also admired his fierce loyalty to the pack, the way he took to his spark, the way he dug under Derek’s skin and carved out a place in the very fiber of Derek’s being.

Needless to say, dating Stiles isn’t exactly a new thought. He just didn’t expect Stiles to ask him, and especially not like this.

Stiles blows out a heavy breath, and the couch dips where he flops down. “Yes. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Oh . Not real dating, fake dating. Lucky for Derek, he seems to have mastered the art of resting bitch face, so he won’t give away his disappointment.

Instead, Derek turns, listening raptly as Stiles talks about a pack approaching him. They’d heard of Stiles, of the boy who runs with wolves. The one who helped stop a kanima and a darach, who overcame a nogitsune, and escaped the wild hunt. They heard of his spark and wanted him.

So, of course, Derek says yes.

Stiles hadn’t expected Derek to say yes so easily. He figured there’d be whining. Okay, maybe not whining because Derek’s not a whiner. No, Derek glares with that steely gaze and those caterpillar eyebrows that threaten certain death. Admittedly, asking Derek to host a dinner for the pack that wants to take Stiles is probably not a smart idea; however, they need to see that not only is Stiles a packmate, but he’s involved with a werewolf. No one would try to separate a werewolf from their mate, or fake mate in his case.

All day Derek’s been grouchy, even more growly than usual. “They’re not gonna believe we’re together if you look like you wanna kill me, Derek.”

“Maybe it’s foreplay for us.” And Stiles double-takes because did he just—

“Oh! Wolf’s got jokes. That’s nice. Asshole .”

That earns him a feral smile, which really shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. But then again, Stiles is pretty sure that everything about Derek turns him on. He once watched the way Derek’s muscles rippled as he folded a shirt and had to excuse himself because of an awkward boner. That was also a couple of years ago and he’s since gotten better at controlling himself. He quickly distracts himself by tossing more of his things around the loft.

“Okay. I think that’s it,” Stiles tells Derek, falling back on Derek’s bed, curling around the pillow he brought from home. “Pull out the super sniffer. Does it smell enough like me in here to believe we live together?”

It’s only been a few days since Derek agreed to fake dating, and Stiles insisted on staying over every night. “ My scent, Derek. They’re gonna be able to tell if my scent isn’t strong enough! ” was the argument he’d used. Somehow that led to his laptop taking up residence on Derek’s coffee table, his jacket slung on the back of his favorite chair at the dining table (yes, he has a favorite!), and a well-worn spot on the couch that he’s declared his own.

Derek’s face is pulled tight, almost like it hurts, and Stiles feels guilty because this is Derek’s home that he’s forcing his way into. Sure, Derek agreed, but still…

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks him, voice laced with concern.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t really think about— This is your safe space, and I’m over here tossing my shit everywhere.”

“It’s fine, Stiles. Really. If it bothered me, I wouldn’t have agreed.”

Stiles opens his mouth to point out that Derek’s face says otherwise, but he’s interrupted by a knocking at the loft door. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Derek wasn’t ready.

Not for how well Stiles fit against him as they stood together to welcome the alpha, or how intuitive it was to place a hand on the small of Stiles’s back or on his knee when it bounced with nerves.

Still, the dinner went exceptionally well. Not once did the alpha ask about Stiles joining his pack. It didn’t even appear that he was scrutinizing their relationship. Derek wasn’t ready for how easily the alpha believed them, remarking on how in love and in tune with each other they were.

“You’re lucky to have found each other,” the alpha said as they walked him out of the loft. “It’s one thing to find a compatible mate, but another to find your other half. I wish you both a long and happy life together.”

Yeah , Derek thinks. I wish that, too .

It’s a knife to the gut because as soon as the pack leaves, there’s a distinct lack of warmth where Stiles’s body is no longer pressed against his own. He follows Stiles to the kitchen and leans against the sink.

“Whew!” Stiles pulls himself up on the counter and tears off a piece of garlic bread, popping it in his mouth like Derek’s entire world hasn’t changed.

The past few days have been entirely too domestic for Derek. Waking up next to Stiles and watching his face light up at the first sip of coffee, having his scent everywhere , even yelling at him for leaving his towel in the middle of the bathroom. How’s he supposed to live without Stiles singing off-key in the shower or the sound of his socked feet as they pad across the loft?

“Yeah,” he says, voice thick with emotion because now that it’s over, Stiles will leave. Derek will go back to making breakfast for one. He won’t have that moment in the morning where Stiles has one leg and arm thrown over him like Derek is his own personal pillow.

“You alright, big guy?” Derek’s caught off guard by the worry emanating from Stiles.

“I’m good,” he says, needing to play it off. No, he’s not emotionally constipated, like some people think. Stiles’s friendship is too important to him, and he’d hate for things to change because he has feelings . He’s survived this long. “Just wondering how long it’s gonna take to get your stench outta here.”

That earns him a piece of bread to the face, which he should have been able to catch. He suspects Stiles used his magic.

“Seriously. You’re making a face now and you made one earlier. It wasn’t your regular disgruntled face either. What’s going on, Derek? We’re friends. You can talk to me.”

Stiles jumps off the counter, and Derek feels the warmth of his body as Stiles presses against his back, Stiles’s hands are an anchor on his waist. Sighing, he closes his eyes and leans into the embrace.

“Talk to me, Derek. These past few days might not have been real but—“

“What if—“ He swallows the lump in his throat, working up the courage to continue.

There’s a puff of air on the back of his neck as Stiles says, “What if, what?” He’s scared of how hopeful Stiles sounds, scared he’s transferring his own feelings onto Stiles.

Opening his eyes, Derek looks around the loft. There’s a Mets cap sitting on the counter, along with keys to Roscoe. Stiles hung a Star Wars poster on the wall above a bookshelf that now houses a small army of funko pops that don’t look out of place with his books.

Turning in Stiles’s arms, he looks into those wide amber eyes and sees that it’s not transference, Stiles actually looks hopeful. “What if I want it to be real? This? Us?”

“You laughed at my Batman toothbrush.”

“You’re 20, Stiles. Pretty sure the packaging for that said 5 to 7 years old. I didn’t say anything about the Superman boxers, did I?”

“Touché.” Stiles’s tongue darts out from between his full pink lips, and Derek can’t help but be mesmerized.

The air is heavy as they stare at each other. And Derek thinks, just maybe, Stiles’s world has changed too.

Epilogue - One Week Later

Standing in the middle of the loft, Stiles cocks his head to the side as he glares at all the unopened boxes filling every open space.

“They’re not gonna unpack themselves, Stiles.”

He startles at the close proximity of Derek’s voice. Last he saw, Derek was in the bathroom, organizing the medicine cabinet to fit in all of Stiles’s bathroom essentials.

“I swear to God ! I am getting you a bell!” He clutches his chest in over-exaggeration.

“Stop being so dramatic.”

A shudder runs through him at the feel of Derek’s lips on the back of his neck, giving him goosebumps across his skin.

He gets to have this now. Tender touches and gentle kisses.

“You should date me,” he says, looking over his shoulder into the brilliant hazel of Derek’s eyes.

Derek raises a brow, and it’s a small puff of breath on his hairline when Derek chuckles. “I thought I was already?” Stiles follows as Derek surveys the piles of boxes littered throughout the room.

“I never actually asked though.”

Derek’s arms circle his waist, holding him tightly from behind. Like déjà vu, Derek gives a serious and solemn vow of, “Yes.”

#hazelestelle #stereksanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

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marvxlousqueen · 5 years ago

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Warren Worthington- Juliet

requested by anon: hi! I'm the girl from the human story and I read yours, and it's just, amazing! I've been thinking in something to ask and I was watching Romeo+Juliet (that one w DiCaprio) and the idea came: one story where the reader is playing Juliet in the school play and Warren can't forget her and try to find her

word count: 1.5k

warnings: written at midnight and not proofread lmaoooo

someone pls send me rare warren gifs and i will love you forever

A/N: sorry i didn’t write for a few days :( been super busy! also pls dont roast me i haven't read romeo and juliet since freshman year so it’s been a MINUTE, also i didnt know how to end this lmao

Warren felt as though his arm was about to be ripped out of his socket as Jubilee pulled him down the hallway.

“Jubilee- no, stop! I don’t want to sit in the stupid theater for two hours watching some stupid play.”

She continued to drag him along, “Too bad. I got two tickets and no one else can go, so suck it up bird boy.”

The pair finally reached the auditorium, handing over the tickets to the girl guarding the door.

“Why do we have to pay to see our school play? It’s so stupid.”

Jubilee rolled her eyes, leading the way to their seats.

“You think everything is stupid. Besides, I don’t care, I just want to see my friend on stage!”

Warren followed her into one of the rows near the front, a perfect view of the stage.

“Your friend is in this? Who?”

Jubilee sat down, pulling on leg over the other. “(Y/n). She’s new, just enrolled a few months ago.”

“How do I not know her?”

“She’s a grade below us and she’s been pretty busy with this.”

Jubilee gestured to the stage, taking in all the pretty props and backdrops.

“She’s got a big role or something?”

Warren craned his neck, trying to see behind the curtains on the sides, looking for this mystery girl.

“She plays Juliet! She’s so good! God, I love her- you’ll love her too, she’s amazing.”

Warren laughed a little at that. He wasn’t the kind of guy to fall for a theater nerd. He put his feet up on the chair in front of him, leaning back until the show started.

After a few minutes, the lights began to dim. Warren was staring off into a daze until he felt Jubilee hit him.

“Pay attention!”

He groaned, sitting up straight, feet planted on the floor.

The light on the stage shone, as a narrator introduced the two families of the production: The Capulets and the Montagues. On each side of the stage stood a different family.

Warren noticed how bright the light shone on a certain girl standing with the Capulets, making her hair almost glow and her eyes shine bright. He wanted to know more, hoping that was Juliet, but she was ushered off stage as the scene changed, leaving Warren frustrated.

He stays focused on the play, ears actually listening to each line and trying to make sense of the old timey talk as best he could. Eventually Warren saw her again, her long dress looking beautiful as it hung off her body.

Juliet.

Lady Capulet launched into her monologue, “What say you? Can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast. Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face.”

Warren had tuned out the Lady speaking, focusing on (Y/n). She was captivating, even while only brushing her hair, listening to her co-star recite lines.

Suddenly (Y/n) stood from her chair, “I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye. Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.”

Warren couldn’t understand her words. He poked Jubilee in the ribs.

“What did she say?”

“She basically said she’ll give Paris, her suitor, a chance, but if she doesn’t like him than she won’t look into him more.”

He nodded, turning back to the stage, watching as the scene shifted to the feast of the Capulets.

Romeo and his boys entered the party, dressed in costumes to hide themselves.

Warren hated how close Romeo got to (Y/n), hands touching, speaking lines of love.

This is stupid. No one falls in love that fast, he thought, his inner voice laced with jealousy.

The play progressed into Act 2, showing more scenes of Romeo and Juliet. Warren started to feels antsy, realizing that the way Romeo fell so quickly for Juliet, wasn’t very far off from how he was dreaming about (Y/n).

He felt his face heat up as he discovered he actually had very strong feelings for a girl he had never spoken to. Somehow, just in the way she acted and presented herself on stage, Warren had managed to fall for her. Fall hard.

His blush only burned harder as Romeo and Juliet shared a passionate kiss after being wed by Friar Lawrence.

“This is a school play! They shouldn’t be doing that,” he whisper-yelled to Jubilee.

“Shh!”

She seemed to be enjoying the show as well, no doubt proud of her friend for being so talented.

Before Act 3 started, the narrator returned, summing up the past events quickly, giving the actors a break. The new act flew by, the only memorable part to Warren, being the emotional spat (Y/n) Juliet had with her parents over not wanting to marry Paris.

Following Act 3 was a brief intermission. Jubilee stood up, wanting to buy snacks from the concession stand outside the theater.

“You coming with? Snacks are on me, since I’m the one who dragged you here.”

Warren nodded, hopping out of his seat, following Jubilee to the stand. They stood in line, giving Warren the perfect time to ask about (Y/n).

“So.. (Y/n)’s a mutant.”

Jubilee looked at him, nodding slowly, “Yeah, why else would she be at this school?”

He shrugged, moving onto a different question. “What’s her mutation?”

“Something with ice, I think.”

“That’s cool. Is she dating the guy who plays Romeo?”

“No, she’s not dating anyone.”

Jubilee was too focused on choosing a snack to realize how strange it was for Warren to be so interested in (Y/n).

“B-but she’s into guys, right?”

“Yeah, she likes guys- wait, why-”

“No reason!”

Jubilee looked him up and down before paying for two bags of m&m’s and a large coke.

“Whatever, Worthington.”

Warren laughed nervously, taking his bag of m&m’s from her.

They take their seats in the theater again, waiting for Act 4 to open.

A few minutes later, the lights dim again. The scene opens to Friar Lawrence helping Juliet fake her death, hoping it would give her a way to avoid marriage to Paris and allow her to be with Romeo.

Warren watched as (Y/n) laid still, having drank the “sleep draught” to fake her death. Now that she wasn’t moving, he could really take in her seemingly effortless beauty.

Warren was in awe of her. Everything about her seemed perfect.

Act 4 finished, leading into the final act. Warren was seated on the edge of his seat, waiting to get to see more of (Y/n). He could hear Jubilee slurping on her soda next to him.

“Shut it!” He whisper-yelled to her.

“What? You actually care about the play now because you want to bang the lead?”

“What?” Warren’s head whipped to face her, “I don’t want to bang her! I mean- I- I do, but that’s not all I want to do.”

Jubilee covered her mouth, trying to hold in a laugh. “Wow, I take you to one romance play and now you’re some softie? Damn, Worthington.”

“Just shut it!”

He turned back around, ignoring her teasing. He watched (Y/n)’s movements as the last scene began. He was so enamored with her. The way she spoke and moved so confidently. She was amazing.

Suddenly the lights were going back up. Warren felt as though the play had zoomed by, feeling slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to stare at (Y/n) any longer.

Jubilee jumped up from her seat, stepping past Warren and into the aisle.

“Where’re you going?”

“I drank a whole large soda, I am about to PISS my pants!” She rushed out the doors and towards the bathrooms.

Warren stood up, figuring he could wait for Jubilee outside and thank her for the ticket and the snacks. Right before he headed towards the door to exit, he heard her voice. (Y/n)’s voice coming from the stage.

“Thank you so much!”

She had been given some flowers by another student. Her hands still covered in fake blood from her “stabbing”. Even covered in fake blood, she was breathtaking.

Warren turned on his heel, making his way to the stage, unsure of what he would even say. His mind was spinning as he made it, waiting until (Y/n) was done thanking a teacher who was saying how amazing she was.

The teacher walked away, giving Warren a chance to speak with her.

“H-hey!”

She turned towards him, “hey?”

“I-I’m Warren. Uhh- friends with Jubilee, she brought me here actually.”

“Oh! Where is she?”

“Peeing. I mean- using the lady’s room.”

(Y/n) nodded, smile breaking out across her face.

“Uhm, h-here. For you.”

Warren handed her his unopened pack of m&m’s.

“Oh, thank you! I love these.”

“You did great. I never thought I’d like a school play, but you really lit up the stage. You were amazing.”

She smiled at him, “Thank you, Warren. You’re too kind.”

“C-could I take you out? On a date, I mean?”

“Oh.” (Y/n) looked taken back. “Sure. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He nodded, his face burning.

Jesus Christ, this play did turn me into a softie.

“A-awesome.”

“Awesome.”

taglist: @chocolatealmondmilkshake @thoughtlesspace @billyhargovesgurl @babebenhardy @rexorangecouny @cyndagoaway @killcomet @mcrmarvelloki @queen-turtle-boiii @hardlylo @ziggymay @jacqueline1916 @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ixchel-9275

hmu to be added!

#Warren Worthington III #warren worthington imagine #warren worthington x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #x men apocalypse #warren worthington iii x reader #x men

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leonkennedystuff · 6 years ago

Text

breathe p.2 (leon kennedy x reader)

[REmake!Leon]

Summary: Hours into the Raccoon City outbreak and trying to survive it, Leon tries to get reader to recover from the chaos

Warnings: talks about death, cursing

Part 2/2

hey guys! here’s part 2 of breathe :-) i was really so shocked when i logged back into this account yesterday and saw how much love my works were receiving :-( thank you all so, so much! It means a lot to me. With that, please do feel free to send me requests! I’d love to write for you guys. Anyway, just a lil side note for this chapter ! There was this work I read on here although I forgot what it was called and the user who wrote it (sorry huhu) but I took some inspiration from it to write this! So shoutout to that tumblr user and their work, it was super great!

You were way too invested with the amount of supplies hiding around the room. Your spirit, little-by-little, was rising again as you pick things up and put them in your filthy black backpack.

So far, you’ve found a baseball bat, a first-aid kit, water bottles, and an unopened pack of protein bars. To think you weren’t even done searching the place! The feeling of astonishment lingers - you were still incredulous with this stroke of luck and it was all thanks to Leon.

You pause from scanning a book talking about healing herbs and focus your attention on the cop; you could hear his feet shuffling about as he moved around the bathroom, searching for items as well.

You hear a faint creak, drips and splatters, and then Leon in awe. “Whoa,” you hear him verbalize, peaking your interest almost immediately. “(Y/N), come take a look at this,” He calls to you, excitement palpable in his tone.

You rise up rather quick from your crouched position before dropping the book and a map of Raccoon City in your bag. You walk into the dim-lit blue bathroom with stride, curious eyes searching. Leon’s back faces you but you see clearly what he was looking at.

A shower, an actual shower.

Albeit the water running was a bit weak, it’d get the job done. Your excitement matches his; it’s been just a few hours, maybe around 6 or 7, but it felt like years since you’ve last bathe and your whole body ached to be under the stream falling in front of you.

You were covered in grime, mud, blood, guts, and sewer content among many other things - you were caked in it and it was only now that you let yourself pay attention to how filthy you are. You grimaced inwardly, not wanting to dwell on the stench; this was the dirtiest you’ve ever been in your life.

You look over at Leon; his once dry-cleaned navy uniform appeared brown and red from all that you’ve gone through tonight and his soft, gentle face was also streaked with sweat, blood and grime.

He was as filthy, if not more, than you are.

“Wash up, I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.” He says without a moment’s hesitation. He cocks his head towards the small stall with a kind smile, already turning to give you some privacy.

With that, you felt your guilt prod you in the back - it felt wrong to clean and refresh yourself while he doesn’t just for the sake of being decent. The way he was towards you since he found you running in an alleyway was nothing short of selfless; he was so generous and caring and it didn’t sit quite right with you that he kept choosing to be in the losing end of situations just for your benefit.

Biting your lip more from anxiousness than hesitation, you halt him by meekly placing a hand on his arm. Your cheeks blush at the suggestion forming in your mouth. “Leon... I- uh,” you stutter right off the bat.

You remove your touch from his skin and rub the corner of your right eye despite the absence of an itch, discontinuing your sentence.

Leon is caught off-guard seeing you like this - all flustered and at a loss for words. It was so unlike your usually composed character; it was kind of refreshing to see, he thought to himself - it humanized you more. The sight makes him smile in a confused but genuine way. “Yeah?”

You purse your lips tightly, frustrated with yourself that you couldn’t get your words out. It didn’t help that your nerves were helter-skelter and your body felt like it was under an electric current.

You were old enough to be mature about situations like this, especially with the one you currently are in. Besides, the last thing that should be boggling your mind are taboos.

“The water’s not going to be around for long,” You start, wishing he could take a hint at where you were trying to get at. With his response, he obviously didn’t.

“Yeah, go ahead,” He reconfirms, chuckling a bit at the redundancy of the conversation. You wanted to huff in annoyance but you don’t, it wasn’t his fault anyway.

“No, I mean-“ You scratch your head, “You can clean up - also. We can... both... shower.” You manage to finally say amidst your pauses. Your face - at this point- felt like it was on fire.

As you expected, Leon looks at you with great bewilderment before his cheeks dust with a rosy color, your words registering in his brain and rendering him slightly embarrassed. He didn’t know how to reply to that and he definitely did not know if he was supposed to accept your offer – as tempting as it is.

“I just-“ a sigh, “-who knows when the next opportunity will come? I really don’t mind,” You try to explain yourself with nonchalance, although quite poorly. You don’t honestly know, though, if you really wouldn’t mind him with you, all bare and vulnerable for him to see.

He hesitates too, weighing your words.

You were right still, he thought- your lives from now on will probably be so unpredictable that mundane things can be rare; you should both count your blessings and grasp opportunities whenever they come up.

As if you read his mind, you shoot him a compromised look, “Count your blessings, right?” You shrug, like you were presenting to him a consolation prize.

His slightly coarse, plump bottom lip trap unconsciously between his white teeth in final consideration before he nods his head diffidently. He turns around, “I’ll – uh, let you get undressed,�� He clears his throat, his voice growing softer as his heartbeat jumps.

You nod even though he can’t see you; you absolutely hate how jittery you felt, like you weren’t in control of yourself. You concentrate on breathing and thought for a naïve second that it was helping but you started untying your shoes and your whole body went into chaos again.

You curse under your breath, sheepishly peeling off your clothing until you were left in just your undergarments.

The cool air of the late evening breezes in through a small window you didn’t notice and raises goosebumps along your arms and legs. You bite the insides of your cheeks, attempting to cover your half-naked, dirty, and bruise-littered body.

You steal a quick glance at Leon to see his shirtless back still working on stripping his outfit before averting your gaze away.

“You can go ahead if you’re –“ He pauses and you can imagine the bashful expression on him, “-if you’re ready.” He finishes. You make an acknowledging sound, your stomach somersaulting as you quickly remove the last of your apparel, leaving you completely bare.

Wanting to hopefully save yourself from being seen where you were most conscious, you hop onto the shower and face the wall; regret floods you immediately though when ice-cold droplets attack your skin.

You may have yelped a little bit because Leon, as if on instinct, twists to check on you. His worry is replaced by his face burning up at the sight of your body. He quickly turns away, face and ears beet-red.

“Are you okay?” He tries to keep his voice unchanged.

You chuckle, shy, sorry for startling him. You feel silly as you look down at the grey tiles. “Yeah, sorry – I just didn’t expect the water to be so cold.” You explain. You hear his warm laughter and it makes the corners of your lips grow some more.

With the unconventionality of the situation slowly fading, the tightness in the air between you and Leon begins to disappear as well. Focusing your attention back on your bath, you shut your eyes and steal one long breath before taking one step south and fully submerging yourself under the cold water.

You gasp quietly at the feeling of it again but worked your way into getting used to it. Despite the temperature, you felt a whole lot better to feel the filth covering you slowly make its way to the drainage.

You watch with a mixture of disgust and fascination the discolored water coming off your body; you wipe down your skin to quicken the process. You were so caught-up with cleaning yourself that you don’t notice Leon had finally joined you.

“Do you want some soap?”

You nearly scream bloody murder; after all the events this night had unfolded, the last thing your poor heart could handle was anything sudden. You whip around, your heart hammering painfully in your chest, fear invading your every sense.

When your (E/C) eyes meet with Leon’s concerned blues, your panic rises even more. You raise your arms quickly to cross them over your chest.

The perturbed look etched on his gentle face deepens, his hands – even with one holding a small, white bottle of body soap - slightly outstretched with caution to hold you if ever need be. His gaze unintentionally wanders to where your arms were as he was just following where you were moving.

Your soft but wounded body in his sight, he found it hard to look away suddenly.

Scratches of varying lengths scattered on your arms, bruises of different purple hues decorating your stomach and your sides, a small gash on the cavity of your neck where your throat rested, and a red mark on your collarbone that almost took you away.

Leon goes rigid at the memory, remembering the horror coursing through his veins when he saw a corpse tackling you over. Although he killed the creature right away, he never felt so helpless as he watched it almost sink its teeth in you.

Lieutenant Marvin, Sheriff Daniels, Officer Edward and all those undead bastards wearing the faces of the people he could have worked with suddenly haunts him. He could feel himself grow physically nauseated remembering that he couldn’t save any of them; what was keeping him from actually breaking was the sight of you – eyebrows knit with trouble and right in front of his eyes, breathing and human.

You shift uneasily under his scrutiny. He looked so distraught, you thought, and you wondered idly what he was thinking about.

“What’s in your head?” You find your voice, your question almost a whisper. His sapphire eyes untangle themselves from the stains on your body and up at you, blinking.

Maybe it was the nature of the situation or the way he looked at you so tenderly that made your heart flutter.

“Hm?” He hums, clearly not paying attention. With a small simper, you repeat yourself. “What’s got you looking all sentimental?”

“Just this crazy night,” He answers, trying to crack a halfhearted smile. The corners of his pink lips fall once more though when his gaze stops again at your collarbone.

You lift one hand to touch the sore area and you feel you understood now what was going through his mind.

“Leon-“ You start, (E/C) eyes softening when his troubled expression still didn’t ease up. “You saved my life. I’m here right now under this snowstorm of a shower because of you,” You try to joke, gesturing at the spurting shower head in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. You smile when you see him grin a bit.

Exhaling through your nose, you gently lower your arms, baring yourself completely. It was the feeling of being vulnerable to him – physically and, little-by-little, emotionally- that scared you.

Although you were never the type, Leon was the opposite. He wore his heart on his sleeve and you admired what you saw - a heart made of pure gold. It made you want to confide in him. Even if the world was falling to pieces, it was his valor and morality that made you feel hopeful.

Leon’s breath quietly hitches.

He tears his gaze away from your skin, of course not wanting to invade, but you assure him by gently reaching out and touching his strong chest. “It’s okay,” You affirm, this time sure of it.

You gingerly take the bottle of soap from his hold and twist the cap off. The sterile smell of it made you frown – you really don’t know how much something’s worth until the world’s ending.

Leon hasn’t gone under the water yet so he was a step or two away from you. You beckon him forward with your hand and he obliges, closing his eyes and going under the stream. He huffs, probably due to the cold, and you chuckle tenderly. He smiles.

Grabbing your chance, you study the man. He was very attractive – hands down, you noticed that from the get-go – but it was only now that you’re not being chased or hunted that you let yourself see why.

He was tall and well-built; as far as you’d let yourself wander, even though his body was a canvas of bruises and wounds too, he was defined, probably from all that training back in police academy.

Trailing your gaze north, you rest at his relaxed expression. Despite having a baby face, he had very strong features – high cheekbones, strong jawline and all. He had long, dark eyelashes that fluttered whenever he blinked or hid his striking blue eyes.

Indolently, you wonder if you’ve ever seen blue that intense and deep before. It reminds you of the ocean, your favorite place, and just like the ocean, you feel that you could drown in Leon’s gaze when he looks at you.

Watching as the dirt and grime continues to melt from his skin, you notice with great sentiment the light dots of freckles littering the center of his nose and cheeks. You purse your lips to keep from beaming.

When his ocean eyes finally open, he brushes his damp blonde hair out of his face. He catches you with a small grin before you try to play it cool. He smiles with amusement.

You turn your head from him and fidget with the bottle in your hands, ignoring the warmth creeping its way into your skin in a form of a blush.

Lathering up the soap, you spread it all over yourself, trying to push down the urge to hide from his sight and face the wall again. You hand him the bottle and he takes it from you, doing the same.

“Thanks,” He acknowledges with a kind nod and you return the appreciation. A comfortable kind of silence clouds you both, nothing but the sound of the running water filling the space.

You were just about done and ready to leave the shower when Leon’s voice pulls you back. “(Y/N), wait,” He stops you. Pausing mid-step, you crane your body. A weird expression is on your face to see him looking so nervous all of a sudden. The smile tugging at your lips was unmistakable though.

“Yeah?” You respond, curious and slightly amused.

He takes a breath before gesturing for you to come back. You oblige without second thought, your heart starting to pick up pace for some odd reason.

“Leon-?” You stop short of your sentence when you feel him move towards you, enveloping you in his broad arms as his lips lightly connect with yours.

You gasp, your heart spiking in your chest, caught-off guard with his sudden affection. He kisses you ardently, gentle yet urgent, like he’s been craved. He pulls away after a moment – flushed and his eyes bubbling with a mixture of both pride and apology.

You just blink at him, dazed and unable to muster anything to say. Leon’s small confidence is overshadowed fully by his growing feeling of guilt.

He shouldn’t have done that – he shouldn’t have kissed you. He just met you for God’s sake, no one does that, but he was drawn to you - that much was clear and true to him.

He wished he met you sooner – he wished he could have met you at a bookstore or a café, at the fucking groceries or at a rock concert, not at this hellhole where the dead came back to life and ate people, where a grey giant with a hauntingly stoic face lurked at every corner to kill, and blind, skinned creatures with tongues that can cut you in half exists.

Leon would’ve really liked you, he thought, if your lives intertwined before the pandemonium. You were strong, beautiful, and intelligent.

It’s stupid now that he thinks about it, but he kissed you because at least if he wasn’t going to make it out of here alive, he’d have done what he’s wanted to do for a while now.

Seeing you almost taken away, it was scorned in his heart. He cared about you a lot.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorr-“ He begins, to ramble about how he should have thought better, but he was silenced by you closing the distance of your bare and wet bodies together.

You wrap your arms around his neck and stand on your toes, sealing your mouths with a fervent kiss. It was Leon’s turn to be pleasantly surprised – he quickly eases into it though, melting into your warm embrace.

You tug softly at the hair on the lower part of his head and he groans at the sensation. He places his hands on your naked waist, the heat of his palms a welcome change from the temperature of the water.

Tucking your (H/C) hair over your damp shoulder, Leon buries his head in your neck, his fringes tickling your skin as he peppers it with small nips and kisses, trailing downward.

You bite your lip, closing your eyes at the pleasure rippling in your body. You cup his cheeks, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his light freckles before bringing your lips together once more, moving in perfect sync like you’ve both been doing this for years.

Breaking away slightly, you lean your head on the bottom of his chin. You take a breath to process all that’s just happened; you were thankful for his hands steadying you because you felt drunk. Your heart was thumping so loud you wonder if he could hear it.

Leon tilts your face up and places a tender kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes, resting your mouth on his collarbone. “Let’s get through this – both of us,” You murmur against his wet skin, your heart renewed with purpose.

He nods sincerely, wanting nothing more than what you just said. He tightens his arms around you. “I’ll make sure.”

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randomfandomginger · 5 years ago

Text

SoulService

Hiya! So recently, due to me taking 500-1000 word requests for sanders sides prompts, @ask-villegas-sides asked me to do a small fic for their sides. I wouldn’t usually do something like this, but it seemed like fun, and I had an awesome time writing it! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

I did end up going a little over a thousand words, cause I just couldn’t stop! :) It was super fun to write, and while I did take a few creative liberties, I don’t think I strayed too far from the original creative vision. Anywho, ask-villegas-sides is a super cool blog, and I hope that y’all check them out if you haven’t already! (I will be posting an edited version of this fic using the sanders sides names on my AO3 as well)

Prompt: Soulmate AU where everyone on their 20th birthday gets a text from SoulService, a trip planner specifically designed for finding soulmates, California man Lev certainly wasn’t expecting to be texted pre-paid plane tickets to meet his soulmate across the country in Florida!

-----

“Oh, Lev, this is wonderful!” his mother exclaimed, practically dancing around his childhood pastel painted bedroom. “My little boy, all grown up and ready to meet his soulmate!”

Lev’s heart was pounding, hands clammy as he stared down at his phone. The text tone had been like any other, and the notification from SoulService lay right under an unopened text from his friend Beckett, asking if he had left his hoodie at Lev’s. Would Lev be less nervous if his mother hadn’t insisted he come home for his birthday? Probably not.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Look at what they wrote you!” His mother’s grin was wide, and Lev could feel his stomach twist.

Hands shaking, he unlocked the phone, the message popping up on the screen:

Welcome, Lev Foster! SoulService wishes you a happy birthday, and a good life. Your message is as follows:

Greetings, soulmate. I’ve been waiting to meet you for three months now, and am excited at the prospect of getting to know you better. SoulService was kind enough to notify me that we live in two separate states, so I have taken the liberty of booking you a plane ticket to visit me out here in Florida. I prefer to speak in person, so I will disclose any of my more personal information after you land. I hope to see you soon.

Your message ends here. Thank you for using SoulService!

“Rather forward, aren’t they?” His mother was reading over his shoulder. “Asking you to fly all the way out to Florida.”

But Lev was grinning, already clicking on the attached file. “Florida, huh?”

The week flew by, filled with packing and repacking, and packing again. Lev wanted to make cookies for the trip, but Beckett assured him that there would be cookies in Florida. Beckett also gave him lots of facts and tips about Florida, many of which Lev suspected were made up.

“I hear that it’s overrun by alligators, and the people just avoid them where they can.”

“It’s so humid that it feels like you’re swimming through the air.”

“Apparently, the old to young people ratio is three to one.”

And finally, the day arrived. And Beckett had nothing more to say to him than a slightly teary (though he would never admit it) “Good luck.” Lev waved to his family as he left to look for his terminal. One slightly jittery plane ride to Florida later, Lev stood with his baby blue backpack, gazing all around at the hustle and bustle of this new place.

Tourists were the first thing he noticed, heartbeat picking up a little as he looked left and right for the sign. They wore hats and Hawaiian t-shirts and were currently joining him in gaping at everyone and everything around them. Lev spotted a little boy, not more than two, give him a toothy grin and wave shyly at him. He beamed at the child, waving back.

There was a small group of people waiting around and holding signs, most of them seeming bored or uninterested. It’s as good a place as any to try and find my soulmate, Lev thought, beginning to make his way over to them. He could feel butterflies in his chest even as he thought of the word soulmate.

He was coloring a picture of a butterfly. His mother sat on the floor next to him, braiding her long auburn hair.

“Everyone has a second half, Lev.”

“Even me?” Lev’s eyes were wide, shining with childlike joy.

His mother smiled at him endearingly. “Even you. And when you find them, like your father found me, the two of you will click. You’ll know them when you see them, for sure. They’re as much your beginning as they are your end. Fate has written the two of you together.”

His father was sipping his coffee at the table. “Your generation has it easy, kiddo,” he said, a small smirk adorning his face. “With SoulService technology, more people than ever find their one true match. And believe me, it’s not something you want to miss out on.”

His father shot his mother another smile, as Lev felt his mind begin to whir, thinking about all the possibilities his future would hold. He doodled another, smaller butterfly next to the first. Would his soulmate be nice? If they were his other half, they had to be! Would they like coloring and puppies as much as he did? He sure hoped so!

Lev bit his lip nervously, still dragging his blue suitcase behind him, as he looked over the people and their handheld signs. His heartbeat skyrocketed. There. Him.

The young man in question was holding a plain white sign, the word ‘Foster’ written in black pen in the center of it. His handwriting was neat, methodical. He was wearing a black shirt, and a necktie. And almost as if in a dream, he looked up, and locked eyes with Lev.

A small shock seemed to go through Lev’s body, and he all but floated over to the man with his last name. Finally in front of him, his tongue seemed too big for his mouth.

“Greetings,” the man said, a pleasant smile adorning his face. “I presume that you are Lev. My name is Flint. I apologize for the somewhat sudden and forward action of inviting you to my home state, however I presumed that it would be optimal for us to meet as soon as-” his voice died in his throat, confusion and alarm making their way across his face. “You- you’re crying,” he stated. “Are you okay? Have I done something wrong?”

Lev stifled a small giggle, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed!” he made out. “I’m here, with you, and you’re standing right in front of me, and you’re so cute and proper, and-” Lev couldn’t take it anymore, he all but tackled Flint in a huge hug, sending the both of them stumbling. “I’m just so glad that you’re here,” he whispered, grinning wider than he ever had before.

He could feel Flint’s arms wrap around him as well, just as well as he could feel his smile, and the happiness radiating off of him. “Likewise,” Flint whispered back.

#ask villegas sides #My writing #writing #writing prompt #this was so fun to write!!#I hope you enjoy it!!#:)

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dearjacobwren · 6 years ago

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Dearest Dragha,

Thanks a lot for your last letter. I've just re-read it. You know that you are the last one that still sends me real letters? Jaap either stopped, or keeps sending them to the wrong address. Probably he lost count of numerous address changes in my recent nomadic past :)

It's a beautiful thing – seeing that there is a proper letter waiting for me in the mailbox. Usually I postpone the moment of opening the envelope until later in the day, until I feel like it's the right time. What that means is that I carry the unopened letter in my pocket (that I think about all day long), and I masochistically wait to be in an appropriate space and in the right state of mind so I could really dedicate myself to it and read it properly. As if the letter were a gift. Christmas or a birthday present.

Which reminds me

As a kid I was suuuper hyperactive, one of the most impatient kids ever. I'd often get these crazy outbursts of energy - I didn't know what to do with my body, so I'd usually do a crazy energetic dance or hang from the top of the wardrobe whilst singing my favorite pop song (my mother used to call these moments 'žuta minuta'). When I look back at it, it seems quite pathological to the extent at which I wasn't able to harness my excitement :)

On Christmas eve I usually couldn't get to sleep. I’d be shaking and sweating in my bed hoping that Christmas morning would happen IMMEDIATELY, and after a couple exhausting hours, I'd finally enter theizbrisi 'the' pliz dream land, but not for too long. I'd wake up in the middle of the night, get up, run to the living room, stand in front of the Christmas tree and marvel at the presents underneath it. I'd cover myself with a blanket and wait until my mother woke up and start her morning routine. She'd see me, tell me off because I didn't sleep at all, but then she'd allow me to open my present.

Christmas presents were always a downer, because my parents are those who think that they should be of use. Meaning, no toys ('you have enough Lego bricks to play with'), no candies ('bad for your teeth'), no new clothes ('your brother's pants fit you well'). Literally everything that I liked at the moment of growing up (music, books, films etc.) was off the list ('your taste changes rapidly from year to year, we don't plan to satisfy every capricious wish of yours').

Still, that never made my Christmas orgasm less intense – after the manic act of tearing the wrapping paper and excitedly admiring what I'd gotten (usually a pack of socks, a pair of underwear or a pack of empty video cassettes plus a chocolate), I'd pass out on the sofa in the living room cause the exhaustion of not having slept for more than an hour the night before was just too much for my tiny body.

And look how far I've got. I resisted my desire to open your letter immediately, kept it in my pocket for almost the whole day until I found the right moment. I even enjoyed procrastinating this crazy letter ceremony.

I know how to harness my excitement, I'm all grown up now. My mother would be so proud. If she only knew.

* * *

'What's on your big mind right now?', Charlie asks me sometimes. Actually, he poses this question every time he sees me fading away, when he notices I stopped perceiving the outside world. It's happened quite often lately.

He knows that there is something on my mind all the time – even whilst I'm brushing my teeth, peeling the potatoes, cleaning the toilet or having my daily tea ceremony. He also knows that these silent conversations are playing out very loud in my head. Sometimes I argue with people, sometimes I'm analyzing an argument I've just read in the newspaper, and sometimes I'm trying to unpack what's behind apparently benign comments creepy posh guests say all the time in the hotel where I work.

Charlie says that it looks fun my little performance. I make faces, I do small gestures with my hands, I nod and shake my head, I sigh and laugh. Usually this imaginary conversing is happening in complete silence, I don't say a word, but sometimes a part of the sentence unawarely slips out of my mouth. These are his favorite moments.

He can be funny too. Often I see his hands moving, his fingers flying over an imaginary piano, even when his mind is occupied with another activity. 'What's the tune?', I ask him in the same manner he asks me what's on my mind. He looks at me with his big eyes, as if he was caught stealing, then smiles, relaxes and sings out the tune that was stuck in his ear. Together we come across like two weirdos, him with his inaudible excercises, me with my invisible conversations. If our friends only knew.

I'd like to share one of the things that happened not so long ago, that I have been coming back to ever since it unfolded. It was one of those Dragha situations, I immediately thought of you the second it happened, instinctively I knew you'd be excited to hear about it.

You remember that amazing flea market next to our old house, right? Well, on the same square there's a swimming pool. Building from the sixties, public showers are on the ground floor, swimming pool is on the third floor. I go there once a week, usually sometime in the early afternoon, just before lunch. At that time of the day two out of six lanes of this 25meter long pool are reserved for swimming courses for preschoolers and kids not older than 10.

I hate kids in swimming pools, especially where the rules are not strict. And of course that in this one pool guards just don't give a fuck. So the kids are allowed to constantly switch between the lanes or jump on other people whilst they are swimming. I get super annoyed cause I have to stop, change the technique and my breathing routine, talk to them and ask them to go to the part of the pool designated to their class if they don't want to be attentive to the rest of the crowd.

So one day I was doing my swimming routine and realized it was getting impossible to swim because the waves were bigger than usual. I stopped and saw a group of at least 25 preschoolers jumping in the water in the most absurd way possible, I guess they had a competition who could do the funniest jump. They were screaming all in the same voice plus throwing all the swimming accessories at each other (boards, fins, paddles, caps, goggles and various other items). But what I found shocking was that the instigator of this infernal pool carnival was their own coach, a thirtysomething straight white guy who was acting as if he was 10 again and it seemed like he was enjoying himself big time.

It all lasted 15-20 minutes, and at first I was shocked. 'The rules have to exist, how on earth can I finish my routine if this is how you teach kids to behave in a pool?' a small nazi in me was already silently arguing with the guy responsible for this bacchanalia.

But then I went to the side, took a small break and remembered one eerie moment I experienced a couple of years before in a public swimming pool in Amsterdam. The situation was almost the same - it was the same part of the day, late morning or early afternoon, 25 meter pool, 2 lanes reserved for preschool swimming classes. It's just that this pool was taken care of - recently built on one of the canals close to centre, everything new, sleek Dutch design, lots of windows, natural light etc. The parents were even allowed to sit next to the pool (they had to were these special shoe covers that surgeons wear in operating rooms) so their kids would be more assured during their first swimming lessons.

Since kids were dressed up normally (meaning outside clothes, they weren't wearing swimsuits), I thought it was one of their first classes where teachers are just giving a preparatory 'theoretical' introduction. But what happened after the presentation was super strange. Kids had to jump in the pool with their clothes on. It was a really weird moment – a group of ten completely dressed six and seven year-olds (wearing pants, shirts, jackets, even sneakers!) struggling to repeat movements they'd just learned from their coach, but this time in the water. After a couple of minutes of struggling, the instructors had to help get them out of the pool because their clothes were wet and heavy, poor kids couldn't carry their weight all by themselves.

I approached one of the parents and asked them what type of course that was and why kids were obliged to swim with their clothes on. I got an answer that it is a non-swimmers course and that the point of the lesson is that kids need to learn what to do if they fall off a boat into the sea.

I kind of got it, but I wasn't convinced. I tried to put myself in their skin – you're six, you don't swim, you are probably afraid of water, it's your first time at the swimming pool, it's a completely new setting, semi-naked people wandering around doing silly exercises in and out of water, and then your teacher tells you to jump in the pool, move your limbs in the manner he showed just a minute ago even though you're wearing heavy wet clothes and you have no idea how to move your hands and legs to keep your head above the water. I was trying to imagine how it must have felt for those poor kids struggling to swim wearing jeans and sneakers.

I mean, it's not a drama, it's not like I'm describing a domestic violence situation. A group of ten six-year-old non-swimmers trying to cope in the water with their clothes on, ça va. Still, what bothered me is that I intuitively realized that none of those kids are ever going to return to the swimming pool after they've finished with their swimming course. They will learn how to swim properly, they will master the technique and what to do in an emergency situation, but they will hate swimming forever, or at least until they decide to fight off their childhood water trauma.

That was the Amsterdam memory that came back to my mind whilst I was on my short break in the pool and looking at the first group of kids, this time 25 six- to ten-year-old going completely wild whilst[izbrisi ovaj whilst pliz] doing whatever they wanted on one of their first swimming classes. Goggles, boards, fins and other swimming accessories were being thrown everywhere, in and out of water, 10 tiny girls were trying to submerge their coach, and a couple of them were trying to undress him. He was fighting them off, laughing super loud. The rest of the kids were running around, uttering screams I never thought human beings were able to produce, and jumping in the water in the most unimaginable ways. One preschooler even took his swimming trunks off, was parading around completely naked and proudly showing his butt to his friends.

(Btw I remembered one of my colleagues at work telling me that the problem with kids these days is the diet. You can't expect they'd act normal if you feed them with chocolate and Haribo candies all the time. She said of course all the kids are crazy these days, they're sweating sugar, and they have this manic sugar rushes all day long).

Looking at those kids I realized that I'm not going to swimming pool because I want to learn how to react if I fall off a boat into the water, nor because I think it's an useful activity that could help save other people's lives. There's nothing pragmatical pragmatic about it - I just like swimming because it makes me feel good. As simple as that.

If swimming teacher that was having fun whilst fighting off the oversugared over sweetened hyperactive girls that were trying to undress him was by any chance trying to do the same thing any of the existing swimming pools in Amsterdam, he would be fired in less than a week. His teaching skills just wouldn't be appreciated there. The number of concerned parents who were present on their kids' first swimming class in the swimming pool in Amsterdam was quite astonishing, and lets me think that the class of people who think overparenting is the only way of raising their kids is not growing, but it has become a new normal.

On the contrary, these kids here were just having fun, as simple as that. And I'm sure that at least half of them will come back to the swimming pool on weekends or on their school break. And if only half of those succeed in developing a healthy approach to their bodies, it's a lot already.

At the same time, what they managed to learn during this completely anarchic swimming class is a feeling, one might even say a skill, that their Amsterdam peers will probably never acquire in their whole life. They learned how to overcome their fear of water. The method used might have been completely un-methodical and unreflected, but it was successful. And i'm sure that in the situation of 'emergency' (in case a kid falls off a sailing boat or off a cruise ship, as one of the parents in Amsterdam told me), a child without fears stands better chance of surviving than the one who got the knowledge in the 'proper' way.

As I have already said, the swimming teacher that lets his THEIR pupils run around a swimming pool naked whilst throwing swimming accessories at random visitors would have been fired anywhere else but here. Here nobody cares.

2011 was Amsterdam, 2019 is Brussels. It's by no means heaven here. But on that day on my short break in the swimming pool on Place du Jeu de Balle whilst I was watching the most anarchic swimming lesson I've ever seen in my life, a strange, but pleasant feeling got over me. I felt like I know why I'm here and not there.

* * *

I don't enjoy art anymore. I really don't. And it's not like I don't try – I go to theatre and galleries as religiously as before, sometimes even a couple of times a week. But it really doesn't work for me as it used to.

It's not a new thing this art disdain, it has been growing in me for awhile now, and I have become aware of it ever since I moved to Brussels. I tried to unpack this aversion in conversations with Charlie. Once he told me that I have to become bourgeois in order to enjoy art again.

I have been coming back to this thought quite often recently. Three weeks ago I saw this piece performed by members of an art organization from Brussels, a safe space where refugees and recent immigrants to the city can work on their artistic ideas and develop them with the help of settled (legally speaking) Belgian citizens. The majority of 15 performers in the show were people of color that are active as artists and participants of various workshops that take place there.

I would love to be able to say that they were performing. It seemed more like they were puppeteering. The thing is, most of the credit for their work went to a white straight Western European guy that usually works as a scenographer (that's what Wikipedia says), but in this piece he was responsible for 'artistic direction'. The show got standing ovation, almost every night apparently. Audiences were praising how daring this piece was, both artistically and politically.

Unfortunately after the piece not a single person that I talked to and that was smitten by its profound political, ecological, and social commitment (this is an actual quote from a panegyric published in one daily newspaper) seemed to be concerned with the fact that performers were paid merely 10 euros for a show.

A couple of months before, I'm not so far from the place where I recently saw this piece, this time it's a smaller scale program,program; 4 young writers in a relatively unknown studio space are reading excepts excerpts of their work. It was an evening organized by writers themselves, big institutions weren't involved, so I didn't fear that I was going to be confronted with a work of a yet another young Western European maker that was going to change the world with His radical take on art and politics that involves unpaid immigrant labour.

The event went well. Writers seemed humble, well aware of their vulnerability, especially in a situation where they needed to perform in front of an audience, no matter the fact that there were no more than 20 people in the room and that they knew most of the faces that came to their reading.

There was this guy, in his late 20s, curtain haircut straight from the 90s, tiny round glasses, acute level of social awkwardness. I could barely hear him even though he was using a microphone. Before he started reading he gave out a couple of copies of his publication so we could follow his poem in written form. Thin books he shared with us looked a bit like anarchist zines I used to read when I was a teenager.

His poem was long and senseless, and in the book he was playing with different fonts and typefaces. It was fun hearing his timid voice and at the same time following it in written form, realizing how he graphically organized his text.

I didn't dislike the show, it didn't make me angry or sad. But during and after it, I had only one question on my mind. As much as I wanted, I just I couldn't get it out of my head all night long. 'How do you pay your bills?', I wanted to ask him. 'Do you poems cover your rent?', was on repeat on my mind after every sentence he uttered. I went home thinking about the connection between the amount of money on artist's bank accounts and the type of art they're putting out in the world.

Fuck, I'm becoming really bitter, my mind is corrupted with these sinister ideas, I thought the next day. Fuck, I thought the next day, that I'm becoming really bitter, that my mind is corrupted with these sinister ideas. But then, I gave it a second thought and I realized that there was something in his lecture that made me think of this guy's bank account. There was something present in his voice, a specific quality of his behaviour, the way he was holding himself, his pronunciation, that made me think that this guy has never spent one single day of his life having a job outside of claustrophobic art world. Not a single day spent serving people behind the bar, counting money at the till, sorting products on the shelves in a supermarket, or chopping onions in the restaurant. Not a single day of experience that marks the last 10 years of my life, ever since I left my uni.

Let me be clear, I am not cynical. I'm not retreating to irony. This is not where my mind's at now. Nor I would like to personally attack this guy for what he is or how much money he has. I'm more trying to understand how am I supposed to connect to his work having in mind all the differences that structure and organize our everyday life? How to empathize with his poetic abstraction, how to enjoy in his imagination knowing that the way he makes use of his own time bears no resemblance to how my daily schedule looks like?

Polyamorous Love Song, the book I'm sending with this letter, didn't drastically change my opinions on art. It didn't make me a believer again nor did it give me reasons to fight off my lapse from art grace. Why is it here in the same package as this letter (aside from the fact that it's a part of Jasna's project :)) is that there's this thought by the end of the book that might help me in formulating why I feel what I feel recently.

Pop songs that we know of are all monogamous, no matter how open-minded the artist is. Serge Gainsbourg and Britney Spears have one thing in common: the both wrote songs (yes, it might be hard for you to believe, but Britney was involved in the process of creation of her own music) whose addressee is one single person. 'Love songs are propaganda for monogamy', as Mr. Wren (better said, one of the narrators in the book) would say.

Imagine a world were where love songs are not monogamous, I read a couple of pages later. Envisage an universe where pop songs are dedicated to various individuals. How would that change our perception of reality? If we lived in a possible world where pop songs we hear on the radio, sing in our showers, stream and share are not dedicated to one single person, but to a lot of different people at the same time, would our feelings be shaped differently because we'd have a language for something that exists outside of daily perceptions of the contemporary reality we are living in at the moment?

I remember well, in 2012 I saw a movie Weekend by Andrew Haigh. Have you seen it? The main characters are two guys, late 20s, early 30s, one is artist, other pool lifeguard, they hook up one night in a gay bar, start hanging out. The plot is set in England (I can't remember where), and doesn't cover a long stretch of time, only a couple of days. It mostly consists of their conversations about love, life, sex, coming out, gay marriages etc and their unimportant everyday life rituals like drinking coffee or cycling around.

I didn't experience a massive catharsis during the film, but I can still recall that a deep feeling of sadness hit me after I came back home from the cinema. The morning after the feeling was still there. It wasn't suffocating, but for the whole week after seeing the film whatever I was up to I could sense a feeling of soft and profound fragility that permeated all my actions. A type of vulnerable sensitivity impregnated my whole being.

I knew what instigated this state, and I was aware that it started after I've seen the film. But I didn't feel like it was one of the top ten films I've ever seen. I tried to analyze why I'd been so moody and realized that that was probably the first time in my life that on big screen I've seen a queer film where one of the gay characters doesn't die, isn't beaten up, castrated or raped, isn't ostracised by their community and where gay relationship isn't portrayed like a fucking war zone. The story of Weekend is simple – two gay guys hook up and spend couple of days together, eating, fucking, cooking, drinking coffee, chatting. Of course that there are consequences to my emotional wellbeing if gay reality in every film I'd seen until 2012 is depicted as tragedy.

Imagination is a powerful tool. And I'm not talking just about the under- and mis-representation of sexual and gender minorities on big screens. It's also about the fact that in 2019 I find absolutely necessary that we start treating art spaces as safe(r) spaces. Violent imagination in art works i'm seeing lately reproduces and reinforces the same power logic that exists outside of art world. The more time I spend finding the examples of an influential nature of aesthetic experience, and its complicity in the formation of how we perceive the world, how impregnated our minds are with what we've seen on TV and heard on the radio, the more I find non-negotiable the idea that artists should be accountable for the artistic universe that they present, and that only in safe(r) spaces a different type of creative imagination has the potential to emerge.

I don't think my art disdain will merely disappear once I become bourgeois (though I am glad to announce that this might finally happen quite soon). Even with more money on my bank account I will think that there are theatre makers and choreographers whose works are producing serious damage to our collective imagination, who don't recognize that this sacred ideal of Western European romantic tradition called freedom of artistic expression has it's its clear borders.

This idea from the last chapter of the book that pop songs not only depict but they also create is one I find truly revolutionary. Yes, we do need polyamorous love songs to change our boring monogamous reality :) But it's not just about non-monogamous pop songs, it's about the all forms of possible lives and existences that we sometimes successfully, sometimes tragically, but definitely very intuitively, are trying to articulate in our charged 2019.

Read the book and pass it on please. I'm sure you'll find someone interesting to share your thoughts with.

What about the swimming pool lesson? I don't know. I had a thought about the alternative ways of fighting my own fears of becoming creative being again and another thought about my new bank card, and another one about the updating the definition of the working class and another one on the different shades of whiteness and Western European wannabe radicals, but then I totally lost the connection with the rest of the letter :) Next time, I promise.

How's your new cyborg life? I want to hear everything. Come for a visit please, it's about time.

I love you, hope to see you soon XX p

ps Jasna's explanation is here! More on http://dearjacobwren.tumblr.com/

'So, I am giving this book to you, as a present. I am giving it to you, but on one condition. Or actually two. The first one is that you read it. The second is that, upon reading it, you do the same as I did: you think of a friend who you think might like it, who you think will be a nice addition to our small community, you give it to him/her as a present and along with it, write a letter to explain why you think this person and this book might go so well along. Then you give them the letter and the book, and you forward the letter to me, so I could publish it here.

You decide on the length of the letter, I am just asking for the language to be English so that more people could understand it… and, of course, at the end of the letter you make a small note about this principle so that when your friend is done with reading, he or she can send it to the next person, including a personalized letter, so that this circle could go on expanding…'

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