#to be clear: of course i’ve had occasional angst about the fact that i apparently wasn’t able to be ‘normal’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

appplepii · 4 years

Text

tears over beers (jean kirschtein x fem!reader)

genre: angst w a happy ending, fluff, modern au

warnings: unprotected sex, mouth spitting, praise kink kinda?? choking, etc VERY NSFW hehe, fuckboy eren (slight eren x reader), mentions of alcohol and drug use

word count: 4.1k

summary:

You don’t know your own worth, and Jean is getting sick of it.

Jean remembers the first time he ever laid eyes on you. He remembers the way his stomach flipped when you sat in the empty seat next to him and introduced yourself, a kind smile on your face. He also remembers the moment Eren walked in and caught your eye, and the dread that laid heavy in his chest when your cheeks grew pink. Despite the fact you had just met, he couldn’t help but have distain for the boy the moment he smiled back at you, causing you to become shy and flustered. Why weren’t you nervous to talk to him?

That’s a question the boy came to ask himself more times than he would ever admit, despite the fact that it’s been years. You and Jean had become a constant for each other, someone that was always there no matter what happened, or how much time passed. It was no question that you had become his best friend (except Marco, of course). There were certain things keeping you together that had Jean convinced it was fate keeping you in his life, from the moment you had graduated high school and decided to go to the same college that was hours away, to you working at his favorite coffee shop near the campus. That philosophy was not a strong willed one, being shot down every time you would tell him about a certain boy you were still hung up on. It was times like that that Jean thought maybe you in his life was a sort of punishment. What did he do to deserve the feeling of having what you want most in life in arms reach and never getting it?

Years had passed at this point though, and Jean got used to the feeling of pretending he didn’t care. It got easier over time, the boy had become accepting of his fate. He was, and always will be the best friend. It was a little hard on his pride, but it definitely beats not having you in his life at all. That’s why Jean thought he would be fine when he accepted the invite to Marco’s party in which the entire friend group had been invited. A part of him was excited, knowing it had been awhile since the last reunion. Another part of him thought about the fact that he would be there, and he felt frustration slowly build inside him.

“Ah, I’m so excited! It’s been a minute since we’ve seen everyone, huh?” The smile on your face made up his mind, knowing he could never say no to you. Jean chuckled and shook his head “Yeah yeah, it should be better than staying in that cramped dorm room doing homework” You furrowed your eyebrows, halfheartedly pushing his arm. “Oh shut up, not everyone has a mommy who can pay for a nice big apartment on this side of town.” You snickered, and Jean froze up, redness rising to his cheeks. “S-shut up! She has nothing to do with this, plus you know I’ve invited you to move in how many times now? I have an extra room that just sits empty, you know.” You shook your head and smiled “You know that my part-time job is not enough to cover rent and bills, Jean”. It was at this point Jean dropped the conversation, knowing he was fighting a lost cause. He tried explaining to you many times before he would let you stay for free, and Jean realized just how much you dislike charity work, even if it was never that to him.

“Anyway, are you ready yet? We’re gonna be late now.” Jean ranted, looking up at the ceiling and scratching the back of his head. “Yes, you can stop complaining you loudmouth.” You bent over and put on your heel, standing back up and flattening out the wrinkles in your clothes. It was then Jean had taken a proper look at you, taking in the nicest outfit he had seen you wear in a long time, albeit quite revealing. His eyes trailed up your bare legs, and he could feel himself go slightly weak in the knees. You really were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He cleared his throat, bringing his gaze back up to your face (though unable to look you in the eyes). “Okay, we can take my car.” He grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter, opening the front door and waiting for you to walk out first. Jean’s attention was brought back to you when he noticed your hesitation. His face grew a curious expression as he looked at you expectedly. “y/n? Are you-” “Are you sure I look okay? I mean.. Eren is gonna be there, do you think he’ll like my outfit?” Your eyes were glued to the ground, and your blush had become apparent as you played with your fingers.

Jean swallowed, pushing the dreadful and nauseous feeling from the fact you had been thinking about him down. He knew you had kept Eren in mind, but he wished he could ignore it just a little longer. “You look amazing, anyone who would pass up the chance to have you is a fucking idiot, y/n.” It was at this moment you made eye contact with the boy, the gentle smile he saw when he first met you making itself visible. “Thank you, Jean. I really couldn’t ask for a better friend.” Although you had meant it as a compliment to him, all it seemed to do was twist the knife he had in his stomach for so many years that much deeper. All he could bring himself to do was smile and nod, gesturing for you to go out the door to the car.

He unlocked the doors to his blacked out Camaro, the top coming down to reveal black leather seats (his favorite birthday present, that car was his baby.). After opening the door for you, something he had made a habit of these past years, he got into the drivers seat. Putting the car in drive, you connected your phone to Bluetooth. He always let you play the music whenever you drove together. “Ooo, I have to turn this up!” You said enthusiastically, pushing the system in his car to its limit as you screamed the lyrics and danced. Jean let his eyes leave the road for a moment to glance at you, his heart swelling at the way your hair flew around you face from the wind. He really did have it bad when it came to you.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure this is Marco’s new place. Should we head in now?” He asked, taking the keys out of the ignition and turning to stare at you. You heaved in a deep breath before fixing your hair in the mirror, and nodding to the boy. “Yeah, let’s go.” He said nothing as he got out of the car, immediately going to your door and opening it. That was something you had to get used to, you didn’t like to feel like you were of some importance. You let it go though, once you saw how insistent he was on doing it, ranting about how he had to be a gentleman or something like that. You grabbed the hand he offered out to you, standing up and walking to the front door of the home.

Jean didn’t bother knocking, instead opening up the front door and walking in like he owned the place. This didn’t surprise you though, besides yourself Marco was Jean’s closest friend. The two were like brothers and you knew Jean was excited to see him after so long. “Jean! I missed that stupid face, how are you, loser?” Ymir hooked an arm around the boy’s neck, clearly already slightly intoxicated. Jean let out a string of cuss words, wrestling out of the tall girl’s strong grip as you turned your attention to her much smaller girlfriend, Historia. “Hey Historia! It’s been awhile, huh?” You smiled at the girl. She had always been so sweet, and you thought her and Ymir balanced each other out perfectly. “It has! Although it doesn’t look like those two have changed much.” You laughed at the pair and how ridiculous they looked before turning your attention to the kitchen.

“Jean,” you tugged on this sleeve “will you come with me to get some drinks?” You didn’t let him answer, knowing it would be a yes. He silently followed you to the kitchen, smirking at himself when he realized how assertive you had become, especially when you used to be so shy. You began pouring yourself a shot of vodka, “Damn, this early?” Jean laughed as you shrugged your shoulders before downing the drink, wiping your lips on the back of your hand. “Look, we gotta get the night started somehow, right?” You raised your eyebrow as you held out the next shot you poured to his face. He gave you a smug expression, knowing you were challenging him although he has proven on more than once occasion that he can out-drink you. He kept quiet though, and threw the shot back with ease. You smiled at him, each of you taking one more just to get started.

“Oh shit, when did you get here dude?” Marco stepped into his kitchen, going straight to Jean and did a simple handshake. “Not too long ago. Anyway, look at you! Got this big ass place all to yourself, huh?” Marco shook his head and laughed, not good at taking praise. The two friends talked for awhile, Jean feeling himself relax with the slight buzz from the alcohol. It had been only a couple minutes the conversation lasted, you talking a little when you had been mentioned. Jean’s attention was pulled from Marco when he saw you tense up from the corner of your eye, noticeably becoming more shy than you previously were. His gaze followed yours, when he was met with the one thing he really hoped not to see.

Eren sat on the couch, leaning back into with his arms spread out against the back of it, a beer in his hand as he occasionally took drinks from it. Your stomach turned when you saw him because fuck, he looked really good. His black long-sleeve and jeans were simple, but maybe it was the bun he had in his hair that made you almost start drooling. It took everything in Jean’s power not to let out a scoff at how obvious you were being, and how stupid the entire situation was. “Just stop, Jean. It’s not worth it. She doesn’t want you.” His own thoughts definitely brought down his happy mindset, trying his best to ignore the sympathetic look Marco was giving him.

He watched as Eren’s eyes met yours, his smile growing as he gestured you over to sit next to him. You got impossibly redder as you nodded and smiled, looking up at Jean and silently asking if he was okay on his own. He didn’t hold back his scoff at that, waving you off. “These are my friends too, remember? I’ll be fine, go ahead.” Your smile widened as you immediately turned and bee-lined to where Eren was sitting. The pain Jean felt had a sort of sick nostalgia to it, reminding him of the day he witnessed the blush on your face when Eren had walked through the door. Taking a deep breath and clapping his hands together, he feigned the most convincing smile he had and turned towards Marco.

“I need another shot!”

“So what was that about?” Eren laughed lowly, tilting his head toward Jean after you took the seat he offered. “Huh? What do you mean?” You questioned, completely oblivious to what he was hinting at. “You looked like you were asking him for permission to sit with me or something, he isn’t your boyfriend or anything right?” You didn’t know why, but this comment slightly annoyed you. Maybe it was the condescending tone he put on, or the subtle diss to your best friend. You didn’t know, but it didn’t sit right. Shrugging it off you decided he probably didn’t mean in that way and you put on a smile. “Nah, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t ditching him. He’s my best friend.” Eren gave an exaggerated sigh of relief as a smug expression took over his features. “Well, that sure is a relief.” He says smoothly, putting a hand on your knee.

You felt nothing but confusion when you didn’t get butterflies, but another hint of annoyance. What is wrong with you? You’ve liked Eren for years, this should be a dream come true! But it wasn’t, and things were moving too fast for you at the moment. It’s not like you were a “prude” or anything, you just couldn’t push down the bad feeling you had in your gut. “Uh haha, yeah! Can you give me a sec? I really have to use the bathroom!” Eren assured it was no problem, and you quickly stood up causing his hand to slip off of your knee. You walked a little faster than you normally would to the bathroom, turning and locking the door behind you. You felt nothing but frustration toward yourself, why are you being this way? Before this moment, if Eren would have asked you to hook up, you thought you would have gladly said yes. You enjoyed texting him and you found him very attractive, so what is this dread?

You fixed your hair and outfit as much as you could, trying to freshen up before you go back into the crowded living room. On your way back to the couch where you were sitting, you decided to stop at the kitchen and take two more shots. Maybe it was your nerves and the anticipation that caused your hesitation, the alcohol should help with that. Taking a deep breath, you readied yourself and headed back to your spot. Turning your gaze to where Eren had been, you froze. There he was, with a random girl sitting on his lap as he whispered in her ear.

Jean sighed, stepping into the guest bedroom and sitting on the bed. He ran his hands through his hair and silently cursed himself. He wanted to have fun, he really did. But the moment he saw that flustered expression of yours from Eren’s presence, all he wanted to do was go home and feel bad for himself. His thoughts were racing, and it was probably the alcohol but he found himself becoming more angry than sad. Why didn’t you want him? He deserved you, he had always been there and he knows he could treat you so much better than that douchebag ever could. You deserve better, and fuck, so does he.

The sound of the door being pushed open broke him out of his thoughts, and he was more than surprised to see you entering. He could already tell you were upset, he just couldn’t put his finger on the reason why. “Weren’t you with-” “I go to the bathroom for two minutes and he immediately starts trying to get into another girl’s pants? Can you believe that? I mean honestly” You continued your rant to Jean, but it was falling on deaf ears. He was getting more and more frustrated, the feeling settling in his bones as he tried to calm himself down. “I mean we aren’t dating, but all of our friends saw me sitting with him, you know how stupid he made me look? I just-” Jean whipped his head at you, a sharp glare meeting your gaze. “You want me to be real with you, y/n? He didn’t make you look stupid. You do that yourself pretty well.” The room went dead silent. You considered for a moment he was messing with you, and you let out a laugh of disbelief. “Jean what the fuck-” He stood up from his spot, his glare only hardening.

“No! Just stop for a second. I’m so sick and tired of you fucking complaining to me when it’s you who chooses to settle for assholes who obviously don’t care about you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re just a fucking idiot. But I know you’re not, and thats what frustrates me so much, you know that? You treat yourself like shit and then want me to be there to be the person who makes you feel better. I can’t do it anymore, I really can’t.” His voice had risen a little, but that wasn’t what got to you. It was the seriousness in his tone, you knew he was being genuine. Your eyes welled up with tears, feeling like you just got punched. “Jean, I-”

“Let me finish y/n. I have always been there for you. Always. Despite the fact that you never got over Eren. Every time he ghosted you, who was there? You know what that’s like? To watch the person you’ve been in love with for years settle for the first asshole who comes her way? Do you have any idea what that does to me? You do realize you’ve been fucking torturing me for the last four years, right?” Your mouth went completely dry, and for the first time since this conversation began, you looked him in the eyes and felt even worse when you saw the glassiness of them. Your breath got shallow as your emotions intensified, your mind racing of all the times you had literally cried on his shoulder, and you thought of how bad he must have been hurting. He kept it to himself for your sake, not wanting you feel upset or worry about him, and you never noticed a thing. Fuck, how could you have been so selfish?

You didn’t even think about it, your body moving on what felt like autopilot when you grabbed the boy by his collar and pulled him into a kiss. He stiffened, obviously very surprised at your action, before putting his hands on your shoulders and pulling back. His face was a cherry red when he searched your features, shaking his head with a sad expression. “y/n, I don’t want you to do this out of pity. Plus, you’re probably shit-faced right now.” You shook your head and put your hands on his wrists, keeping eye contact with him. “I’m only buzzed Jean, and this isn’t out of pity. A part of me has always loved you. I just have a habit of ruining things in my life and I really didn’t want you to be one of them.” Your eyes got impossibly wetter and a part of you was surprised they hadn’t fallen down your cheeks yet.

Jean remained silent for what seemed like hours as he examined you expression. His eyes softened and you heart stopped when his hand went to the back of your neck to pull you into another heated kiss. It was a natural reflex the way you gripped onto the front of his shirt, your heart beating at a race you didn’t even know was possible. “Damn, he's a good kisser.” you thought to yourself. You gasped slightly at the feeling of his tongue brushing against your bottom lip. You deepened the kiss and fell back on the bed, pulling him down with you. He pulled away, breathing heavily when a smile grew on his face. “Where are you?” He got up from his position on top and walked to the door, turning the lock with a click. He stalked back to where you were sitting, standing between your legs as he towered over you. “I’ve waited for this for years, I’m not going to wait any longer.”

Excitement bubbled in your stomach as you looked up at him, a slight pout to your lips. Jean reached his hand down to your face, squeezing both of your cheeks to even further tilt your gaze towards him. “How about it then, pretty girl? Wanna have some fun?” You didn’t hesitate to respond, trying your best to nod in his tight grip. “Yes, please Jean, please.” Although your voice was a little muffled, Jean got the message loud and clear. He gave a soft smile, furthering his hand down to lightly squeeze your throat instead. “Okay then, open wide angel.” You felt a little confused but listened anyway, opening your mouth wide for the boy above you. “What is he gonna-” your thoughts were cut off when you watched, almost in slow motion as Jean leaned over and spit into your open mouth. You froze for a fraction of a second, your mind racing as the excitement grew within you. That’s not what you were expecting but you were not complaining. Jean’s long index finger tilted your chin up, closing your mouth as he kept eye contact with you. “Swallow.” He said in a gentle yet demanding tone, and you knew you couldn’t make yourself say no to him. You swallowed the spit slowly, choosing to keep quiet and wait for his next move.

“Look at you, such a good girl.” he pushed your body further up the bed so you were laying rather than sitting and once again hovered over you. “Gonna have to thank you for that, huh?” You squeezed your thighs together at his words, anticipation growing impossibly higher. He sat back on his calves, sitting between your legs as he spread them apart around him. His fingers ghosted up your legs, stopping at the hem of your shorts. He didn’t move an inch after that, looking at you expectedly. “Well, I’m waiting? You know all good girls ask nicely, right?” He couldn’t stop the smug expression from taking over even if he tried. You squirmed in his hold, desperate for some sort of contact. “Please Jean, I can’t wait anymore. I need you.” You closed your eyes as you felt him unbutton your shorts, sliding them off with ease along with your panties. “Gotta make sure you’re comfortable baby, tell me if it hurts, kay?” He slowly entered a finger inside you, his thumb circling around your clit slowly. Your lip was pulled in between your teeth as you bit down hard enough to almost draw blood. “Oh, fuck.” He softly laughed at that, going slightly faster to elicit more reactions from you. “That’s right baby, lemme hear you, yeah?” You didn’t hold back, letting out a moan knowing the music blasting outside would drown it out. Jean added another finger and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you had never felt bliss like this before.

“E-enough Jean.” You let out through strained breaths, and Jean felt himself grow cold for second with fear. Fuck, were you regretting this? “I don’t want to wait anymore, I want you inside me. Please.” Jean’s chest filled with relief as he shook his head at you. “You needy baby, alright, I’ll give you what you want.” Jean pulled his fingers out of you, and stuck them in your mouth with no hesitation. “You sure you ready for me, sweet girl?” He pulled his pants and boxers off, lining himself up with you. You nodded frantically, putting your hands on his shoulders and pulling him down for a kiss. Jean pushed himself into you, pulling away from the kiss to let out a deep groan as his head fell onto your shoulder. “Fuck, you feel so good around me baby. You’re so good for me, you know that? I’ve wanted this for so long and it’s more than I could have ever imagined.” He ranted on almost senselessly as he was overwhelmed with emotion. “I love you so much, sweet girl. So so much.” You felt tears prick your eyes, from both the pleasure and his sentiment. “I love you Jean, I love you.” those words had more of an affect on him than anything else you said that night, and he felt himself coming close to the edge. “I think I’m gonna-” “Me too baby” he interrupted, placing his hand back on your throat and squeezing. “Cum with me, angel.” His words and the pressure on your neck was enough to send you over, raking your nails down his back leaving marks. He collapsed on top of you, his head resting in your neck as a tired smile rested on his face. You brought your hand up to scratch his scalp, completely fuck-drunk and forgetting of anything else that happened prior to this moment.

“So that’s why you always open my car door for me, huh?”

✧༺☆༻∞

omg omg im so nervous to post this, not only is it my longest fic but this is the first time i have ever written anything remotely smutty before😳 if its not good pls be patient w me i am very new to this hehe

#attack on titan #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein smut #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan smut #jean x you #jean x y/n #eren x you #eren x reader #eren jeager #jean angst #jean fluff #shingeki no kyoujin #shingeki no kyoujin x reader

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dc41896 · 3 years

Text

The Whole Time?!

Pairing: Jake JensenxBlack Reader

⚠️: Maybe a tiny bit of technical angst (🤷🏽‍♀️ lol), fluff💕

“P-Pooch?,” you stammer unable to fathom that your supposedly dead brother was standing in front of you and his wife who was about to give birth to their son in any minute.

“Hey peanut,” he smiles stepping further in the hospital room. “I’d hug you, but I’m w-,”

You didn’t even let him finish before immediately wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. Good thing he was already wet from the rain, your tears would just be a welcomed addition.

“Wait. D-Does that mean-”

“Hey babe,” the all too familiar voice speaks making more silent tears fall as you lift your head. Just as soaked as Pooch, he nervously smiles removing his hat to reveal his spiked frosted tips. He pretty much looked the same as you last saw him. Toned arms and chest shielded by his dripping jacket along with your personal favorite, his black circular frames bringing even more attention to those crystal baby blues.

There were plenty of times you thought about what you’d do if granted this moment. Cry, scream, maybe jump into his arms clinging onto him like a koala on a tree. Possibly all three even. Now, finally being granted your wish after all these months, there was one main thing on your mind.

“Wow,” he smiles as you slowly move closer to each other. “I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow you’ve gotten more beautiful.” Just as the words left his mouth, the back of your hand connecting with his abdomen in the hardest hit you could muster nearly knocks the wind out of him as he keeled forward.

“And apparently stronger too..,” he coughs.

“How could you?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose! We had to so we could go after the guy who set us up. And why didn’t you hit Pooch?! He was in it too.”

“He’s got one coming after my nephew safely enters the world, right now though it’s your turn,” you glare before smacking him again.

“Told you she had a strong backhand,” Pooch states quickly closing the room door before his sister decided to direct her rage at him.

The rest of the team merely watch in entertainment as your hits move to his shoulders and biceps until Jensen can grab your wrists pinning them by your sides.

“I’m sorry for putting you through all that, but it’s not like I completely left! I could still see you.”

You tilt your head in confusion ready to ask what he was talking about, until seeing Clay nervously scratch the back of his neck as he and Cougar shift their gaze clues you in on what he meant.

“SERIOUSLY JAKE?!”

“Wha-? I-,”

“Did you really think that would make me feel better?!”

“...Honestly at this point I’m afraid to answer.”

Annoyed groan falling from your lips, you tried to escape his grasp, but his larger hands slightly tightening their grip on yours, along with him following your every movement, keep you in place. “When we go home I can explain everything.”

“Will you? Or are you just gonna lie some more?”

“I promise I’ll tell everything,” he whispers, leaving a chaste kiss on your temple before flashing one of his ‘please don’t stay mad at me forever because I love you’ smiles. So far, it’d gotten him out of any argument you had. Including this one.

Darn those good looks of his.

“Fine,” you reply as you cross your arms, leaving him to find a seat in the nearby waiting room.

“Any tips here Colonel?,” Jake sighs.

“I’m probably not the one you’d want relationship advice from.”

Another heavy sigh leaves his lips as he follows your path down the hall to sit next to you. That is if you’d let him.

“Okay, is anybody else stuck on the fact that Jensen actually has a girlfriend?,” Aisha states breaking the momentary silence and making both men chuckle.

———

It’s the happiest he’s ever been to walk into his small, outdated apartment. Things weren’t exactly the same as he left it with your few new decorations and pieces of furniture trying to make the place a bit of your own, but of course he didn’t mind. It actually warmed his heart that although he was “gone” you still chose to stay, sticking by his side when you easily could’ve moved on with your life.

“Jeez, the faucet always drip that loud?,” he lightly chuckles shedding his coat and placing it on the small hanger by the door.

“It started a bit after you left,” you sigh kicking off your shoes. “Think it’s loud now, it’s even louder when you’re just sitting here alone.”

Following you to the bedroom feeling like a dog with its tail between his legs, he sits at the foot of the bed looking down at his hands as you move about the bathroom getting yourself ready for bed. Your words were like the sharpest sting as his mind vividly showed an image of you just sitting in this apartment with nothing but thoughts of loosing your brother and boyfriend along with the hum of the AC. He knew for the sake of their mission, and the team, he couldn’t say anything, but it still didn’t take away his guilt of what you went through mentally and emotionally.

“I tried to write you.”

“What, your computer go down and you couldn’t watch me anymore?,” you counter over your shoulder before rinsing the soap from your face.

“That was only once okay? I was watching my niece’s soccer game and then I thought about what you were doing and kinda sorta hacked your office’s cameras, which yes I know was wrong. Speaking of, they really should update their software, a fifth grader could easily hack into it just guessing the password,” he answers making you roll your eyes with a chuckle.

“And who’s Tom?”

“Tom?”

“Yea. Curly brown haired guy, cubicle across from yours. Big head you can see a mile away.”

“I’m sorry are you somehow trying to turn things on me when you’re the one that’s supposed to be explaining why I’ve thought you were dead this whole time?,” you ask wiping the remaining moisturizer from your hands before crossing them in front of your chest as you step closer to the now nervous looking man.

“N-no, of course not! But I mean since he’s been mentioned...”

“He’s just this guy at work that apparently likes me and asked me out but I said no, because a small part of me kept hoping that you’d miraculously come back. Happy?”

“I-uh...y-yes?”

Sighing, you sit beside him tucking your bare legs under you and taking his hand in yours to trace the lines on his palm. You never knew how or why you started, but it was something you occasionally did while you two were talking or just lying next to him enjoying each other’s company. It brought a smile and giddy feeling to Jensen, just as it did to you.

“Listen, I’m sorry I’m giving you a hard time, I know you didn’t have a choice, and understand. Selfishly though, I just missed you so much and wish I could’ve known. It definitely would’ve saved some sleepless nights and tears.”

With his other hand, his thumb and index finger gently grab your chin guiding you to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through having you think I was dead. The second we threw our tags in that fire you and my family were all I could think about. Like I said I wanted to write and give you some sign that I wasn’t gone, but I could never figure out how to start. Plus Clay threatened to cut off little Jensen if I did send anything back home once he found out, which only made it tougher.”

“Yea we wouldn’t want that,” you softly laugh following a short sniffle you were trying to hold back. You really were done with crying, having done so since you got that devastating call so long ago, and just wished your tear ducts would shrivel up already. “Sorry, I thought I was done with the tears.”

“Shh, don’t be.” Leaning forward, his soft as clouds lips meet the single salty droplet in the middle of you cheek erasing its presence before moving to yours in quite possibly the most delicate, tender kiss you’ve ever experienced. Any other time, you’d probably call it painfully slow, trying to take the lead to move things along. But as you both sat there taking everything in from each other’s scents to the feel of how one’s lips and mouth felt on the other, you couldn’t feel more connected.

Just barely pulling away, his swollen lips rest centimeters above yours ready to take them again as soon as he caught his breath.

“I don’t know if I should be embarrassed at myself or amazed at whatever powers you have,” he starts, a light chuckle escaping him. “But I think you just made me-,”

“Jensen!,” you laugh, playfully smacking his shoulder. “Way to ruin a romantic mood.”

“If it’s romance you want, say no more,” he smiles taking your hand in his and placing it on his chest as he clears his throat. To the best of his ability, he begins singing the opening lines to your couple’s song, as Jake proclaimed it, instantly making you fall back on the bed in laughter.

“You actin' kinda shady, ain't callin' me baby, why the sudden change. Say my name, say my name!”

“This is definitely not a couple’s song,” you laugh feeling his forearms rest on either side of your head and chest vibrate from his laughing.

“I’ll admit lyrically wise..yes, you’re right. But it’s still ours which makes it special.”

You’d never forget that day in the grocery store trying to find a pint of your favorite ice cream as the song played overhead. Without really looking, you thought you were on the freezing aisle by yourself and began singing along as you gently bobbed your head. Suddenly hearing a voice singing the background vocals made you slightly jump turning to see the taller man in a grey sweatshirt, blue and white basketball shorts, and sneakers holding up his hands.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I-It’s Destiny’s Child, I couldn’t resist.”

“It’s okay, and I mean who can?,” you respond, both softly laughing before shyly looking back at your respective sections to get your frozen desserts.

“Soo...you like ice cream?,” he asks interrupting the momentary silence.

“Yea, um my favorite’s moose tracks,” you answer briefly holding up your pint with a smile.

“You know who has a good moose tracks? Bennie & Bailey’s downtown. They make it from scratch and I don’t know what all they put in it, but it’s amazing.”

“Oh, okay thanks. I don’t think I’ve ever been there.”

“Well you should definitely go one day. I mean if you want,” he nervously chuckles.

“Will do,” you smile. “Only if you’ll take me though?”

At first, being met with his shocked, speechless expression made your newfound confidence falter thinking you might’ve been too bold with the cute stranger, whom you hadn’t even asked if he was single or not. However seeing his eyes shine bright and adorable smile grace his pink lips, your excitement returned as he moved closer handing you his phone.

Years later, the rest is history as you lie in bed with the man you were sure was the love of your life.

“Hey what’s going on in there?,” he asks brushing his fingertips across your forehead noticing you become quiet. Lightly scratching his goatee, you feel your eyes start to water again causing you to blink a few times trying to keep them at bay.

“I just don’t want you to leave again,” you whisper, moving your fingers to card through his chestnut and blonde mixed strands.

“I’m not going anywhere unless you ask me too.”

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urgonnaneedabiggership · 4 years

Text

Never Too Far

David Bowie x Fem! Reader

Category: Fluff, angst

Warnings: Just slight angst

Word Count: 5.9K

A/N: Hope you enjoy this little piece fueled by excitement and love for Bowie, I swear I proof read a couple of times but if anything went over my head, I apologize in advance for it. Enjoy! xox

Originally Posted by @fleeting-queen-of-pepperland

__________________

Music blared through the speakers, invading every inch of the house, making Y/n's chest rumble. Her hand tightly gripping her brother's as they made their way across the large living room towards the kitchen.

"Are you sure they're in there?" Y/n asked, stretching her neck and brushing a couple strands of hair behind her ears to take a better look at the sea of faces surrounding them. John answered with a meek nod followed by an unsure shrug.

"Roger said he'd be here, Brian already left with someone and god knows where Freddie is," he answered, slightly annoyed at his band mates for ditching him and his sister. They had been the ones to talk him into letting Y/n go with them to the party.

"But it's at Mick's" John had protested "I don't want my sister on her own at one of his parties."

"Come on, Deacy!" Roger had insisted. "She's what, five minutes younger than you?"

"Three." Y/n corrected, palms sweating as she tapped her fingers against her knees anxiously. "Please, John. You might've gotten used to being around these people by now, but this would mean so much to me!"

John pursed his lips thoughtfully and stared at Y/n, who looked at him pleadingly, mouthing another "please", holding her hands together in front of her lips.

"Alright," he receded, throwing his arms up in defeat "But don't wander off and if you even look at anything other than a joint, we're out. Understood?"

Y/n nodded and hugged her brother gleefully, planting a kiss on his cheek, thanking him profusely.

"Oh, don't worry, darling" Freddie said, patting John's shoulder reassuringly. "We'll look out of her from time to time, she'll be fine,"

Of course, they didn't, ergo John's annoyed expression.

Once they walked into the kitchen, Roger was indeed in there, rummaging one of the cupboards while drunkenly whispering to himself.

"For fuck's sake Jagger, you have all but the Queen's knickers in here but not some damn licorice?"

"Rog?" John called from behind the drummer, who tripped on the chair he was standing on and barely managed to hold himself up by gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. He stared at the twins and smiled widely, a half-eaten chocolate bar hanging from his free hand.

"Deacy! Y/n!" he exclaimed and carefully stepped down, "How's the party? Are you having a good time, love?"

Roger didn't wait for a reply before taking another bite out of his chocolate bar, shaking his head while looking at Y/n.

"Of course you aren't, how can you be remotely having fun with your dear chaperone breathing down your neck, you poor, poor thing. "

Roger threw an arm around Y/n's shoulders and pulled her head down to his chest, running his hand down her hair in a comforting manner.

Despite wanting to protest, Y/n knew he was right. She loved her brother to pieces, but he did have a hard time assimilating that fact that she was not a little girl anymore, and she wanted to live a lot more than he probably would be comfortable with.

Unfortunately, she had never been confrontational enough to openly tell John to back off. If anything, she would sneak away or find any other passive way to get rid of her occasionally overbearing twin.

Mostly, it was a lucky twist of fate that saved her from this kind of situation, and this wasn't the exception.

That night it came in the shape of Freddie barging in through the kitchen door.

"Brian just got in a fight!" he announced.

"What? I thought he was leaving with that brunette!" John exclaimed, looking puzzled. Freddie laughed almost maniacally and nodded.

"Oh, he tried to leave with her alright. But turns out she came here with Townshend and he's having none of it, and apparently dear Bri isn't either."

"I've got to see that, where are they?" Roger asked, bolting through the door.

"Upstairs, in the hallway!" the singer replied as he quickly followed, still laughing gleefully.

"Damn," John muttered, seeing them go before turning to his sister. "Stay here, I'll go and see if I'm sober enough to save their drunk asses"

Y/n nodded eagerly, obviously not intending to obey his order and already wondering what part of the house she'd venture to first once John was out of the equation. Probably not the hallway upstairs. Just as a precaution, Y/n waited for a couple of minutes after her twin disappeared behind the kitchen door. As she scanned her surroundings, her eyes landed on the fridge before her.

"Oh, what the hell." she whispered to herself as she swung the door open and grabbed a bottle of beer. Y/n hummed while she carefully pressed the lid against the edge of the counter and, with a sudden upwards movement, opened the bottle. A handy trick she had learned from Roger.

Since everything seemed clear, she reached her hand out to grab the door knob before it suddenly twisted and someone flung the door open, covertly sliding inside the kitchen and closing the door after him.

Instinctively thinking it was her brother, Y/n retreated to her original position, as if she never intended to leave the room.

But the figure before her wasn't John.

He was barely shorter, and slimmer. His skin was porcelain smooth, strands of his scruffy yellow hair fell over his forehead. With a quick head movement the man flipped them out of his face, uncovering his eyes.

It wasn't until he turned around that she could see them properly, but he almost jumped backwards, startled by the figure quietly standing on the other side of the room that had gone unnoticed by him.

"Bloody hell," he blurted out before taking a deep breath and leaning against the wall besides the door. "Sorry, I could've sworn I was alone,"

"No, no, it's okay." Y/n assured him with a soft chuckle. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I shouldn't have just stood here, in a dark corner, looking so creepy,"

"Well," he replied with a smirk "Can't be worse than a pale, scrawny weird-eyed lad, can it?"

She nodded with an amused smile and shrugged.

"Touche. I honestly thought for a moment I had too much to drink and was seeing a ghost, but then I realized…" Y/n lifted the untouched bottle of beer she was holding. "... I'm completely sober."

"Love, you don't want that." the man made his way towards her with a couple of strides and snatched the bottle from her hands.

"I have already been here several times," he whispered, leaning closer to her as if he was revealing a big secret, even if they were alone in the kitchen. "I know where to find something more… suitable for such a pretty lady, follow me."

He took her hand, practically engulfing it in his slender and delicate fingers. He led her out of the kitchen, not letting go as he made his way across the crowd that had gathered in the living room, going as far as the top of the stairs. However, Y/n realized he was being careful as to not drag her too roughly through the innumerable bodies.

Finally, he turned around a corner and slid through a small door, behind which a small staircase descended into a pitch black corridor.

"I'm David," he said as he continued to walk down the stairs. Even in the darkness, Y/n could see his wide, mischievous smile when he looked back at her.

"Y/n," she replied smiling back, although she doubted he had noticed since her eyes were anxiously fixed on the steps.

"Here," he said gently, almost reading her mind, as he took her hand and placed it on his arm. "This stair is a little bit steep, you might want to hold onto me."

Y/n nodded with a soft "thank you" before they continued their descent.

Finally, they reached an underground room. David reached out his hand and began feeling the wall next to the entrance until he found the light switch.

When he turned on the lights, Y/n could see three rows of large barrels and another of wooden racks, full of wine bottles of different kinds. Finally, a small metallic table stood in the center of the room, a silver tray with four glasses resting atop.

"See?" David said, rubbing his hands together as he made his way towards the racks. He knelt before one and moved his fingers tentatively around the bottles while he chose one. Finally, he gripped the neck of a bottle with a beautifully painted label depicting an abstract bouquet of posies on a white background.

"Are you sure Mick will be okay with this?"

Y/n asked, snickering nervously as she approached the table. David nodded without a single trace of worry and carefully pulled the cork off.

"Come on, he won’t miss one sad little bottle, he’s got plenty,” he assured and carefully poured the two glasses, handing one to Y/n.

“Well, cheers to that,” Y/n said, lifting her glass with a soft laugh. He reciprocated the toast and took a small sip of his glass, staring at Y/n thoughtfully with pursed lips as she took another sip.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he said with an amused grin. Y/n felt her face burn as she bit the inside of her cheek, pondering on whether the words in her brain should leave her mouth. However, thanks to that odd instant connection established between the two of them, David seemed to peek into her mind once again.

“You do know who I am, don’t you?” he asked.

“I do!” Y/n gave in, clamping her hand over her forehead and shaking her head, “Of course I do, I’ve been actively trying to get a hold of myself for the last ten minutes, I figured it would be awful to come up to someone wanting a normal conversation and instead end up with another starstruck fan babbling about how much they love your music and how you’re amazing, blah, blah, blah.”

Y/n looked up at David, who was just staring back with a surprised expression and obviously trying to refrain himself from bursting out laughing. However, before she could panic any further, he grabbed the bottle and leaned forward.

“I believe the most responsible thing to do would be to cut you off,” However, he did exactly the opposite and tilted the bottle to refill Y/n’s glass. “But if this is what it takes to keep you talking, I’d let you wipe out Mick’s entire cellar, dear.”

Y/n let out a relieved laughter, feeling more tranquil now that she had gotten that off her chest and didn’t scare poor David away. Said calmness increased when he began laughing as well. It was an honest and hearty laugh that made both of them forget the entire party above them, even after the laughter stopped and they sat in a comfortable silence, sipping on their glasses contentedly.

“Coltrane,” David said after a short while. Y/n hummed questioningly and furrowed her eyebrows.

“John Coltrane,” the musician repeated, “do you know him?”

“I absolutely love John Coltrane,” Y/n replied, emphasizing every word, “I have spent years collecting every album of his, and now I’m only missing A Love Supreme,”

“That I can help with,” David replied with a flirty smile. Y/n now positively blushed, which he noticed despite her attempt to hide it behind the glass as she raised it to her lips.

“Smooth,” She quipped. “Alright, Chet Baker?”

“Love him. I’d hate to boast, but I own a gigantic collection of jazz records. Coltrane, Davis, Baker, you name it. Perhaps you’d like to visit me sometime and I could show them to you?”

Y/n nearly choked on her wine. However, she realized that the longer she kept talking to the world-famous rockstar, the less she perceived him as such, now rather seeing him as a fellow jazz connoisseur who happened to be undeniably charming.

Suddenly, their pleasant chatter was interrupted by an odd sound. It was so out of place that it took Y/n a couple minutes to put her finger on what it was, until she realized it was a doorbell. More specifically, the one they had at her building. How the hell could the doorbell of her flat be ringing in Mick Jagger’s cellar, and too loudly to be at the main door?

As Y/n turned to face David, she blinked confused when her eyes met nothing but an empty space next to the table. Before she could think or say anything else, the doorbell began ringing once again in an annoyingly persistent fashion.

Y/n opened her eyes and found herself staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. She felt a dull ache in her chest and sighed deeply, hoisting herself up and rubbing her eyes groggily. Y/n swung her legs over the edge of her bed and looked down when her toes collided with something cold and smooth. She picked up a small, square object that laid beside her bed, recognizing it as an object she should’ve never taken out of the box in the attic to which it had been confined for months.

It was a framed picture of David and her together. He was hugging her by the neck and planting a kiss on her temple. The Y/n of the picture smiled gleefully, her hands placed atop the musician’s.

Y/n huffed and placed the picture inside a drawer next to her bed as the phone downstairs began ringing. She hurried down the stairs and plucked the annoying artifact from its base.

“Yes?” she answered. The familiar voice of her brother sounded on the other side, especially cheerful.

“Happy birthday!” he greeted, “Where are you? Are you at home? I’ve been ringing on your doorbell for ages!”

“Birthday?” she answered, furrowing her eyebrows. “Oh, right. Our birthday. I’m sorry, John. I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

She rushed to the mirror in her bathroom and stared at her face, didn’t liking at all what she saw. Her eyes and cheeks were noticeably red and puffy, and the last thing she needed was a concerned twin that tended to ask too many questions regarding her well-being.

Y/n hastily threw some cold water on her face and patted her hair to make it look somewhat neat before hurrying downstairs and opening the door to find John standing before her. By the way the edges of his lips sunk when he laid eyes on her, she knew her efforts to look perfectly fine had been futile. Stupid twin intuition, she thought, stepping aside to let him in. They walked upstairs in silence and, right after she closed the door after him, John spoke.

“Do you want to t–?”

“I had a dream about him again,” Y/n snapped, folding her arms and sitting on the sofa. John thought that in that position she accurately resembled a pouting child.

“Y/n…” John cooed sitting next to her, his arm placed comfortingly over her shoulders “Listen, I came to invite you to the studio. Me and the boys are recording a new song today, and I know how much you love to hear us play, and since it’s our birthday we could get lunch after...but if you don’t feel like going, I could ring them, tell them something came up, then we could go to Brixton and get some of those Cuban sweets you like so much…”

“Jamaican,” Y/n interjected with a soft smile, which her brother returned.

“Jamaican sweets, then. How does that sound?”

Y/n looked around the flat. That day it felt particularly small and stuffy, and no matter how much she wanted to stay in and spend the day in bed, she knew there was nothing that could lift her spirits more than sunlight, good music and the three boys she loved most in the whole world.

Suddenly, the sound of a car honk blared through the window, followed by the unmistakable voice of Roger.

“Come on, Deacons! Are you coming, or what?”

Y/n giggled and shook her head before staring up at her twin.

“I thought you said you could ring them to reschedule,”

“I might have decided to forget they were downstairs waiting in the car in favor of your well-being,”

“Then I guess it would be extremely rude to keep them waiting, wouldn’t it?”

Y/n said, keeping an exaggeratedly serious attitude.

“Oh, absolutely. How shalt thou proceed?”

He replied, making a funny nasal voice to accompany his parodic posh accent. Y/n laughed and threw her arms in the air as she walked back into her bedroom.

“Alright, alright, you win. I’ll be ready in a bit.”

Y/n hummed as she wandered around the recording studio, carrying the notebook with the notes of the new song John was writing for the album. She flipped through the pages, admiring her brother’s messy handwriting, so typical of him when he was in a hurry.

She loved the recording studio, and deeply appreciated the band’s willingness to let her tag along whenever she wanted. If it was up to her, Y/n would spend every single day with them at the studio, but she knew they needed space as a band and a Masters took up much more of her time than she expected.

Thus, she was more than happy to sporadically join them and perform small tasks such as fetching things they had forgotten in the car, like the notebook she was holding in her hands.

Reaching the door of the room in which they were recording, she grabbed the handle and walked in, her eyes still fixed on the pages.

“John, here’s your notebook,” she announced, lifting her glance, “I’m serious, if your head wasn’t attached to your neck…”

Y/n froze in place, a cold shiver slowly sliding down her spine as her eyes fell upon the figure that sat on a chair, staring at the boys who were already inside the booth, discussing something among them. She slowly placed the notebook atop one of the speakers and silently walked backwards to avoid drawing attention to her, but it was too late.

David’s blue eyes wandered to the side until they collided with Y/n’s, freezing him in place as well. Feeling her throat dry up, she couldn’t think of anything better to do other than making her escape through the doors and going back to the hallway, where she stared blankly at the wall before her as she tried to collect her thoughts.

What the bloody hell is he doing here? she thought, fighting the urge to peek back inside to make sure he hadn’t followed her.

It wasn’t necessary. Shortly after, Y/n heard steps headed towards the door. Without making sure it was even David, she quickly began walking down the hallway, trying to remember whether it led to the exit at all.

She felt cornered when she reached a dead end, seeing nothing but doors leading to empty studios around her, and the steps kept getting closer. For a short instant she considered the possibility of hiding inside one of the studios, but they were probably locked and it sounded much too childish anyway.

She couldn’t keep running anymore.

“Y/n?” The voice behind her spoke, making her stomach feel as if it was riding a roller coaster. She faked a composed smile and turned to face David as he approached her with slow, hesitant steps. “I didn’t expect to see you here,”

“Hi,” she coolly greeted, “Yeah, I...I didn’t expect you to be here either. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you for months,” he interjected, ignoring her question with a pang of annoyance in his voice. She lifted her eyebrows with faux surprise.

“Really? Oh, I’ve been quite busy. That’s just how things are sometimes, right?”

However, the recognition she expected to find in his eyes wasn’t there, as if the words she had intentionally chosen meant nothing to him. Unbeknownst to her, the same moment she had been replaying in her mind over and over for the past months was exactly what he had in mind right then, trying to make any sense of what she was trying to say.

It hadn’t been a nice day from the very beginning. Rainy, windy and cold. Both of them actually enjoyed that kind of day, but this one felt different.

It probably was the fact that David’s reply to Y/n’s “I love you” before she left their shared flat was “See you,” or that the night before he had insisted on her going to bed so he could stay up working on the songs for his album, promising he would join her when he was done only for Y/n to find him sleeping on the couch in the morning.

When her classes were over for the day, she went straight to the phone booth outside her college and dialed his number cheerfully. When he picked up, he sounded tired and even slightly irritated.

“Who is it?” he dryly spoke. Y/n frowned, a little confused and decidedly hurt.

“Hi love, it’s me,” she replied, hoping his tone would change when he realized it was his girlfriend calling. However, that wasn’t the case.

“Oh, hi. What is it?” David answered.

“Nothing, it’s just...I wanted to let you know that my last class was canceled, so I’ll be coming home earlier, alright?”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll see you here,” he replied. However, Y/n didn’t hang up.

“Wait, I was thinking, maybe we could go out and have dinner together? They opened a new place downtown and it seems lovely.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want,”

Y/n blinked, still confused. Had she done or said anything wrong? Why did he sound so bitter?

“Is it not what you want?” She tentatively asked, still maintaining a happy disposition towards him despite his attitude.

“No, it's fine. Listen Y/n, I’m a little busy at the moment, we’ll talk about it when you come home, okay? See you later,”

“Yes, fine. I’ll see you later, I lo–”

But he had already hung up. She sighed and exited the booth, gloomily realizing that had been the second unanswered “I love you,” of the day, something that was becoming more and more frequent.

When she arrived at their flat, Y/n slid the keys inside the lock and turned them as quietly as she could, slowly swinging the door open.

As she made her way through the flat, Y/n could hear David’s voice in the kitchen, somewhat muffled by the whistle of the kettle.

“...I know, I know,” he spoke, sounding tired. A pause followed before he spoke again.

“I just want one hour, Lou,” he snapped, “One bloody hour to work properly with no distractions and not having to worry about being an arse to her,”

He must be at the phone, Y/n thought as she moved closer.

Y/n stopped on her tracks and covertly stood next to the kitchen door. When David said “her” was he referring to his girlfriend? Was he considering her a distraction to his work? Of course she had noticed he was feeling a lot of stress from the new album, but didn’t think her efforts to relieve him of some of that pressure were unwanted. Perhaps she had unknowingly crossed some boundary?

“I know she does, and I didn't mind it at first, but...I just can’t stand her sometimes, and I feel like shit about it. Maybe...I don’t know, lately I’ve been wondering whether it’s time to call things off. She’s doing her best, I know she is, but I refuse to put up with it anymore.”

By that point, Y/n had to clamp her hand over her mouth to muffle the strangled sob that began to build up down her throat. She wished more than ever that her last class hadn’t been canceled, that she was far away from there, sitting before her desk without even suspecting that the love of her life was planning on getting rid of such a “distraction”. She was completely taken aback. The hurtful way in which he was referring to her, even cold-heartedly, didn’t sound like the David she had met and fallen in love with. She would have bet on her life he would never talk about her like that.

“Yeah, it’s a pity, I did like her, you know? But now I hear her come in and I honestly want to jump out of the window,” Then David laughed. He dismissively talked about breaking things off with her and laughed about it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and Y/n’s heart as well. “Anyway, that’s the way things are sometimes. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

Y/n didn’t intend to stay and listen for not even one more lousy minute. It took her two seconds to realize she didn’t have the strength to face him. Just standing in the flat, staring at the walls that had witnessed so many hours of their relationship made her sick.

As silently as she had arrived, but with tears in her eyes and a sharp pain bolting relentlessly through her chest, Y/n slipped out the door and rushed down the street, unsure of where she would go next or what she would do. She only knew that she wanted to be as far away from David as she could.

But apparently, the universe had other plans. The man she had spent months avoiding was now standing before her, looking hurt and confused as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I need to talk to you,”

“I think it’s too late for that,” Y/n cut him off, “because I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Exactly,” David replied, “What happened? One day you went to college as always and never came back, you changed your phone number, nobody will tell me where you have been living, where did you go, and most importantly, you didn’t even tell me why you left in the first place.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows and blinked, feeling extremely confused.

“Are you serious?” she asked, “I heard your phone call with Lou, David. I heard everything you said about me being a distraction, and how you couldn’t stand me anymore, and how you wanted to jump through the fucking window every time you heard me come home. And I tried to spare us the whole breakup speech by just leaving, but if you want to talk about it fine, let’s talk about it.”

David just stood and stared at her, not even a trace of guilt dashed over his face, just utter confusion until his eyes went wide and his mouth broke into a relieved grin, his hand pressed against his forehead.

“Oh my god,” he said and began chuckling nervously, “I can’t...oh god.”

“What’s so funny?” Y/n exclaimed, not deciding on whether she should feel hurt, insulted or just as perplexed as he did seconds before.

“Y/n...that call was not about you at all.”

“What?”

“How could you have even conceived I’d say such things about you? I was talking about Miranda, the assistant I had been working with for two months,”

Y/n just moved her mouth a couple of times as if she wanted to say something, but her mind was a complete blank, her brain struggling to order her thoughts and give them some logic, replaying the conversation in her mind. Since she did not speak, David took this as a sign to continue his explanation.

“She was a fan of mine but I didn’t mind it at first, because it did not interfere with her job. But eventually she began flirting with me until it became unbelievably annoying and I decided to fire her, although I did feel pretty bad about it because she was a nice girl, I just couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

“But…” Y/n murmured, still unsure. “They way you acted towards me before, like...like you didn’t want me around at all.”

David’s eyes saddened at that statement, and the guilt that had been missing from his face suddenly appeared as he nodded.

“That I did and it is completely my fault. The deadline for the album was around the corner, I was struggling with my writing, and I made the terrible mistake of taking all that frustration out on you, and you can’t imagine how sorry I am, darling. It didn’t dawn on me how unfair I was and how horrible you must have felt until I found myself alone in that flat and realized you weren’t coming back.”

David pressed his lips together and sighed deeply before slowly making his way towards her, lingeringly wrapping his hands around hers.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, Y/n, is that I’ve terribly missed you. I was angry at you for leaving without an explanation, and so I didn’t even try to find you. By the time I realized I loved you too much to let my pride get the best of me, you were already gone. And if you let me, I promise I will fix that.”

“David,” Y/n replied with a sigh, “I don’t know. I would love to believe all of that is true just like that...but somehow…”

“You find it hard to trust me,” David finished for her. After all, he was still capable of reading her mind so easily. She bit her lip and nodded, tears threatening to fall from her eyes as she blinked.

“I’ll need some time to think about it, okay?” she said, putting her hand against this cheek with a gentle smile before clearing her throat and making her way around him to head back to the studio.

However, before she could take two steps, his voice stopped her.

“A Love Supreme.” he stated, turning to face her, his face full of a new resolution. “The day we met you told me the only Coltrane album you were missing was A Love Supreme, and I didn’t forget, do you want to know why I never mentioned it again?”

“David,” Y/n began to say, only to be immediately silenced by him.

“No, no, let me finish. I didn’t forget, and the only reason why I never gave it to you was because I didn’t want to give you just another album. I spent months looking for something way better than that, something that lived up to what you deserve. And one month before you left, I found it. It was an unopened record signed by Coltrane himself, and I was saving it for your birthday, for today, as fate would have it. And I never got rid of it, I still have it after all these months just in case…” his voice faltered, and Y/n could see how his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes she was still infatuated with no matter how strongly she tried to deny it, turned glassy, prompting David to clear his throat. “Just in case you ever came back. And I’m still waiting and if I don’t walk out of here with you today, I will keep waiting.”

Y/n stared at him, scanning every inch of his face, until her eyes stopped when they met his. Slowly, she made her way back towards him and, in a contrastingly sudden movement, cupped his cheeks in her hands and pulled his face towards her to press a soft kiss to his lips. Yet, it did not remain that way for long as David slid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer almost desperately, his lips leaving hers to meet her cheeks, forehead, nose and finally her mouth once again.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he said, his voice hoarse as a relieved but unsure smile tugged at the edge of his lips.

Y/n could only nod as she smiled back at him, her thumb softly caressing his cheek.

“I swear to god Bowie, if you ever treat me that way again, I will shove my foot so far up your–”

“I won’t, I promise,” he quickly assured, pecking her lips hastily, “Do you have any idea of how insufferable it was to live without somebody to bring me coffee while I worked?”

Y/n punched his arm jokingly, but couldn’t hold back a gleeful snicker as they made their way back to the studio, their fingers almost instinctively intertwined, and the world significantly brighter than it was when they woke up.

Epilogue

“So…” Y/n heard a voice behind her as she helped put the instruments back in their cases. “...is everything sorted out?”

She turned around to find her twin fondly smiling at her.

“It is. Isn’t it great that he happened to be around the studio?” she said, noticing a sheet of paper lying on the floor besides one of the speakers. Y/n picked it up and began reading it when she noticed it was a draft of a song.

“Under Pressure, with…” she lifted her head and stared at her brother, her eyes wide in realization. “You knew he’d be here. John Richard Deacon, did you deliberately ask me to come because you knew he’d be here?”

John’s face was pale. He obviously didn’t intend Y/n to find out like that. He probably had in mind something more subtle, like casually mentioning it to her at lunch later that day, or back at her flat.

“Look, I can explain,” he stuttered. “The first time you told me how everything happened, I couldn’t help but wonder why you didn’t even give the lad a chance to explain himself. Because you were right, I had to put up with your babbling about all the wonderful things he said to you for ages, and it did not sound like him. But you’re a very proud and stubborn person, Y/n. I love you, but you know it’s true. And I knew you wouldn’t do it without...well, some help. What can I say? I saw the chance and I took it.”

“Then why didn't you just give him my new address?” she inquired.

“Because if despite everything you still wanted him to stay away, your address would remain a secret.”

“Johnny, you absolute genius!” Y/n exclaimed, throwing her arms around her twin brother's neck and hugging him tightly, “Thank you. For everything.”

“Come on, what are twins for? Now, you go and have fun with him. It’s your birthday.”

“But I don’t want you or the boys to feel as if I ditched you,” Y/n said, a worried look on her face. John chuckled and shook his head with a shrug.

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” Freddie’s voice said from behind them as the singer walked by. “you have many, many birthdays left to spend with this bunch of old ladies, we can get lunch tomorrow. Now go.”

Y/n stared at him baffled, but before she could question anything, Brian looked at her, one of his eyebrows lifted.

“Of course we all knew of Deacy’s plan. Roger just lost money on this.”

“I didn’t lose shit!” Roger exclaimed, sulking out of the recording booth, “I said she would tell him to give her time to think about it, I never said she would reject him.”

Y/n looked fondly at the boys and shook her head. They truly were incorrigible. After gifting them with one last excited smile, she ran outside to meet the man she did not wish to be parted from ever again.

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barbershop-fourtet · 4 years

Text

So the weekly prompt on the discord was “Shake It Up” and this fic fits that in a few ways. I’ve had it sitting unfinished for a few months, so I finally decided to finish it as a LW, which was something that I didn’t have much experience in (it would have been my first, but a conversation in the creators’ lounge led to me getting super excited over another idea and LWing that one the day before I finished this one). Also, I mostly write angst, so I wanted to focus on one of my fluff pieces this week. I didn’t edit it as much as I would have liked, but I’m still pretty satisfied with the results.

Anyway, enjoy a Four sickfic with a side of dad!Time.

~~~

“Hey Four, are you feeling okay?”

Hyrule’s concerned statement caught Time’s attention. Turning toward the back of the group, he caught a glimpse of Four’s slightly startled expression. “I’m… fine, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been lagging behind a bit, are you tired? I’m sure we can rest if you need.”

Four waved him off. “I’ve just got a slight headache and I’m a bit dizzy, there’s not much you can do about that and it’ll probably be fine soon enough anyway.”

Hyrule didn’t look convinced, but relented, opting instead to walk alongside the smithy. “Alright, but if you need anything, I’m sure we’d all be willing to stop.”

“He’s right,” Time called back from the front of the group. “We’d rather you be feeling alright than have you burn yourself out.”

“I know, but it’s not worth stopping for. Really, I’m fine, we can keep going.”

Time didn’t miss the slight hesitation in his voice, but let it slide, and the group continued on. Every so often, he could hear Hyrule checking up on Four, but his exact response was lost over the din of the group. He trusted that the traveler could keep a close eye on Four and gauge whether he was able to continue or not.

Sure enough, after only a couple hours Hyrule called up to Time at the front of the group. “We need to stop for the night, Four needs to rest.”

“What, I’m fine, what are you talking about…”

“Four…” Sky whispered, gentle concern in his voice, “I know you want to keep going, but... you’re really not.”

Time only had to take one look at Four to see what they were referencing. He was incredibly pale, and even from this distance Time could tell he was shivering, despite how warm it was outside. Despite his insisting words, he was leaning almost entirely onto Hyrule, unable to stand on his own.

Despite this, he persisted. “No, it’s fine, we’re not too far, I can make it.” But even as he said this, he pressed himself further into Hyrule, the other boy wrapping his arm around the shivering smithy.

The group had stopped walking at this point, all of them looking at him with concern. Time made his way toward Four, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know you don’t want to slow us down, but we’d rather stop and let you rest before trying to continue. Are you willing to stop for now?”

The teen was silent for a few moments, and Time thought he would continue to fight, but he eventually muttered a small “alright, if… if you insist.”

Time nodded, then turned to address the rest of the group. “We’ll stop here for now. Let’s make camp and settle in for the night. I know it’s early, but the sooner we let Four rest, the sooner he’ll be better.”

They all nodded, grabbing their gear from Epona and setting up for the evening. As Hyrule walked by, Time grabbed his sleeve. “Would you mind staying with Four and looking after him tonight? I’d feel best if he wasn’t left to do his own thing.”

He nodded. “I can’t stay up all night with him, but I’ll keep an eye on him until night falls.”

“That’s fine, whoever is on watch can check on him occasionally, but I want someone making sure he doesn’t try anything stupid until he falls asleep. He’s smart, but he’s also just as stubborn as the rest of us, and probably doesn’t like the fact that we had to stop for him. He needs to rest, otherwise he won’t be ready to keep moving.”

Hyrule nodded, then made his way over to Wild, who was digging through his bag beside Epona. A few whispered words were exchanged, then Wild pressed a piece of flint and some firewood into Hyrule’s arms. He took a few steps away toward a clear piece of earth, and within moments a small blaze was crackling gently.

Returning to Four, he gently grasped the smaller boy’s arm and led him over to the fire, sitting him down closeby. Despite his earlier words, Four didn’t protest, only curling in on himself and leaning closer to the warmth.

Sky walked past, shrugging off his sailcloth and wrapping it around the smithy, earning him a grateful look. Twilight did similarly with his pelt, then Warriors with his scarf and Wild with his cloak, until Four was buried under a pile of warmth.

The evening proceeded mostly as normal, the notable exception being Hyrule’s insistence that he help Four eat. Four probably would have rolled his eyes and turned down the help, except for that fact that he was both too weak to lift his bowl, and that his hands were still trapped under all the fabric.

As the sun started to set, his head began to bob as he started nodding off by the fire.

Hyrule was quick to notice this. “Come on, it’s late and you need rest. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Wait.” They both turned at Legend’s voice, watching him dig through his bag. “I’ve got just the thing in here that should help- aha!” Pulling out a small bottle, he tossed it to Hyrule. “This won’t get rid of whatever he’s dealing with, but it should help it pass quicker.”

Hyrule nodded, letting Four down the potion before helping him take off his tunic and settle into the pile of blankets the others had set up for him.

The others, taking this as the cue that the day was over, began settling into their own bedrolls, Hyrule placing himself by the fire to keep the first watch.

~~~

When Warriors had woken him up, he'd said that his watch was uneventful, and a few hours later, Time was finding his own to be similar. Good. It would be best to have an easy night, Four definitely needed rest.

And speaking of Four…

Time leaned over and shook Sky gently, waiting a few moments for him to wake up.

“My turn?”

“Yup.”

He nodded, reaching for his gear and beginning to slip it on. “Alright. How’s Four doing?”

“I was about to check on him. Keep an eye on things, would ya?”

“Of course.”

With that, Time stood, walking over to his blankets and stripping off his armor. Dropping it beside the rest of his gear, he carefully picked his way through the tangle of bodies until he could kneel down at the smithy’s side.

The boy was restless, tossing and turning every few seconds. His shivering had stopped hours prior, but where his skin was once pale, it was now flushed a deep red. His breathing was slightly strained, and when Time put his palm against his forehead, he almost flinched at how hot it burned.

Legend’s potion seemed to be working though. Already a thin sheen of sweat beaded his skin, indicating that his fever had broken. If it continued at this pace, he’d probably be well by morning.

Time was almost too caught up in his thoughts to see Four’s eyes flutter open, glazed over as he glanced at the older man. He started slightly as Four shifted under his hand, moaning slightly as he turned his neck to face Time.

“Hey kid, how are you feeling?”

He mumbled something incoherent, but before Time could ask for clarification, he began to sit up, whining softly as his body protested the movement.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, it’s been a rough day for you.”

“...”

“Pardon?”

“I have to get up.”

“No you don’t, you need to keep resting, besides it’s late.”

“I can’t, you always complain when I sleep in late and you have to start up the forge without me.”

...now Time was confused. Was Four delirious? Did he think he was talking to someone else?

As quick as he could, Time racked his brain. Four had mentioned the forge, which meant there was someone he worked with as a blacksmith. The only other blacksmith Four had ever mentioned had been-

Oh Hylia, Four had mistaken Time for his grandfather.

“Wait, Four, I’m not-”

Time paused. Four always spoke of his grandfather so affectionately, but also with a tinge of sadness. Despite his experience being away from home, it was clear that the long separation from his only family member was difficult for him.

He certainly wasn’t any less capable or mature than the others but… he was still a kid, far from home and missing his family. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to fib a little this one time. Besides, he wasn’t likely to remember it anyway.

Lowering himself fully to the ground, Time grasped Four’s hand in his own. “Don’t worry about it, Link. I can manage on my own, you go back to sleep so you get better.”

Four looked conflicted. “Are you sure? I may not be at my best, but I can still help out a bit. I’m probably gonna have trouble falling asleep again anyway.”

“It’s fine. Lay back down, and I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep again.”

“No, it’s fine! You can go get things started for t-”

“Link. It’s fine, I want to help you.”

Four hesitated, and Time thought he would keep fighting, but after a few moments, he relented. “O-okay then, I guess if you don’t mind.”

Time nodded, expecting him to lay back down as he had been before.

But Four apparently had other plans, and decided to turn and curl up right next to the older man, slinging one arm around his waist as he settled beside him.

Time stiffened, but Four’s tension quickly began to disappear as he relaxed into Time’s side. He was about to say something, or subtly move Four off of him, but then-

“Thanks grandpa.”

-and Time’s heart melted a little, and there was no chance that he could move away now. Wrapping an arm around Four, he gently lowered them both onto the ground, him laying flat and Four’s body resting on his own, blankets strewn around them. Four hummed softly, pressing his ear to Time’s chest, letting his echoing heartbeat soothe him, and Time couldn’t help but imagine that this was what it was like to have a child, to be a father. To have a child. He and Malon hadn’t had that opportunity yet, but since he’d met them, these boys were his sons.

He couldn’t deny it- that was what they were to him. As mature and capable as they all were, they would always have that place in his heart.

Time was silent, trying to comprehend the wave of emotion that was crashing over him, when Four hoarsely spoke up.

“...I don’t feel great.”

He chuckled softly, conscious of how Four bounced with the movement of his chest and not wanting to disturb him. “You had a pretty bad fever, you need to rest and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“...I can’t wait to get better so I can introduce you to my friends, they’re really nice people.”

Oh, this will be interesting. “I can’t wait to meet them, they sound wonderful.”

Four nodded, curling further into Time’s side. “They are. We’re always looking out for each other, and despite everything they’ve been through, they’re some of the sweetest, softest people you'll ever meet.” He paused. “Being with the other guys… it’s kinda like when I was four… being in a group is nice, ‘cause I don’t have to be alone.”

Time wasn’t sure what had happened when the boy was four years old, but it was probably good, given how fondly he was speaking of it.

“They’re really crazy and wild, and some of ‘em are pretty hotheaded, but they all care about each other… and me.” Time couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the smile in Four’s voice. “Especially Time, he’s really great. He acts all stoic and serious but…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t remember dad much, but… I imagine that he was something like Time, always so loving and caring, always looking out for us. We’re not blood related, but he’s… he’s like our dad, you know?” His head drooped as he began to nod off again, not noticing the emotion he was causing in Time. “He’s a really good dad, too…”

Time was not crying. He was not.

“Anyway, I can’t wait for you to see them. I think you’ll love them too.” He yawned, the last of the tension leaving his body. “...g’night grandpa. I love you.”

...okay maybe he was crying. “...goodnight Link. I love you too.”

~~~

Time woke to the feeling of Four stirring beside him. Lifting his head, he cracked his eye open to see the smithy blinking at him, eyes still bleary with sleep. “T-Time?” he croaked out. He coughed a bit, voice hoarse from sickness and disuse. “What- where…?”

“You were sick, remember? We stopped to let you rest.” Leaning over, he rested his hand on Four’s temple, noting with pleasure how much it had cooled overnight, with only a bit of sweat still covering his skin.

He blinked, squinting as he tried to recall the previous night. “...oh.” He glanced at Time, a tense look on his face as he reached for his gear. “Uh, I didn’t say or do anything weird, did I? I have a tendency to get pretty delirious when I have a fever.”

“...you were a bit… affectionate, but that’s it about it.”

“Oh.” He relaxed a little, fingering the stitching of his tunic before pulling it over his head. “That’s good, because I tend to ramble about weird things when I’m sick, so I didn’t want to confuse any of you or something.”

Time nodded, glancing to where Wild was dishing up food from a cooking pot over the fire. “It looks like breakfast is ready, do you want me to grab you some?”

“No, I can get it, I’m-” Four stood, only to wobble and fall back onto his knees. “...okay maybe that would help.”

Time chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Four’s hair. “Stay here and get yourself a bit more awake, I’ll bring you something.”

He stood, but was distracted by a small noise from Four. He turned, noting the contemplative look on the smith’s face, and kneeled down beside him.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh?” He glanced up, realizing that Time was still watching. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine, just thinking about something.” He paused, hands clenched in his blanket. “Last night, I- did you… I had this dream that…” His gaze dropped to his lap, watching his fingers twist his blanket into knots. “...nevermind, it’s probably nothing.” He smiled gently as he glanced back up. “Thanks for all your help.”

Time nodded, rising off the ground to check what Wild was cooking.

As he was walking away, he heard Four mumble something behind him.

He glanced back over his shoulder, noting the way Four’s cheeks were red and he was refusing to meet Time’s eye. “Pardon?”

His blush deepened before he met Time’s gaze with a soft look in his eyes. His response was a soft whisper, but Time heard it clear as day.

“Thanks, dad.”

~Bonus~

They emerged from the portal, looking around to see if any of them recognized the area.

All of them except Four, who immediately let out a surprised cheer.

“This is the Minish Woods! We’re not too far from my house, we can head there to rest up.”

Time nodded. “Lead on then, the sooner we’re there, the sooner we can plan our next move.”

Four grinned, grabbing the closest hand- Wild’s- and dragging it down the path between the trees.

“We landed right by the entrance of the woods, and it’s only a short walk from there, hurry up!”

They hurried after him, amused by his excitement, until they reached the door of a lone house.

Four didn’t hesitate, opting to throw it open and yell “Grandpa, I’m home!”

...no response came.

Four frowned, eyes searching the room, before walking into a side room, calling out for his grandfather again.

He returned to the main room, a concerned look on his face. “I don’t understand, he’s normally here, working in the forge, I don’t know why-”

“Of course it’s when I decide to leave for just a few minutes that my grandson comes home.”

Four’s face split into the biggest grin imaginable as he raced forward and tackled the man in the doorway.

“Good to see you again kid, but where have you been, young man?”

Four giggled, pulling back slightly and wiping a few tears off his cheeks. “The same old hero-ing, you know how it is.”

“Of course I do, it took you away from home for long enough when you were young. Well-” he glanced at the others, who were watching the reunion from a respectful distance. “Younger, at least. Younger than these boys, by any means. I’m assuming these are the ones you’ve been writing me so many letters about?”

Four nodded eagerly, stepping back and gesturing for the others to come closer. “Yeah! These are my friends that I’ve wanted you to meet.”

The introductions went smoothly, with a few rolled eyes (Legend when Four called him a hoarder) and shy looks (Wild when Four referred to him as a pyro).

And then Four got around to introducing Time.

“This is…” Four blushed, his gaze dropping to his shuffling feet. “This is… well, he’s the responsible one of the group, kinda like… the dad. He’s the one doing his best to keep us from doing something stupid.”

Smith- as he’d asked them to call him- laughed, extending a hand toward Time. “Well, it’s nice to see that there’s someone keeping an eye out for my boy.”

Time smiled, clasping his outstretched arm and shaking firmly. “He does that well enough on his own, actually. If anything, he helps me keep the other wild ones in line.”

“Well, you’ve only seen what’s happened when he’s alone. If there were four just like him, well, that’d be-”

“Aaaaaand that’s enough of that story! I’m sure we can have time for stuff like that later,” Four cut in, cheeks red. “They, uh, don’t need to know that kind of stuff, grandpa.”

“Oh, you’ve been pretty mature around them, haven’t you? They haven’t seen your… colorful side, have they?”

Four pouted. “No, they haven’t seen it yet, and I don’t feel like changing that right now.”

Smith chuckled, wrapping his arm around Four’s shoulder. “Well, that’s too bad. All the same, I missed you, kid.”

Four sighed, leaning into his grandfather’s embrace, a content smile on his face. “I missed you too, grandpa.”

#linkeduniverse #linked universe

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laketaj24 · 5 years

Text

The Rules IV: Triggered

Author’s Note: Thank you all soo much for your input!!! It helped me out more than you know! This was fun as hell to write and I hope you’re down for a ride! It’s about to go down. There are two songs that really hit the nail on the head for this part, they are linked below! Happy Reading my people!

Pairing: CEO!Henry Cavill X Reader

Warning: Angst. SMUT. DRAMA.

Want to catch up! Click HERE

Song Inspirations: Jhene Aiko: Triggered (First Part) Jhene Aiko: P*SSY Fairy

If your heart slowed anymore, you’d collapse. But it wasn’t just the lethargic beat of your heart that slowed down. The kiss. The fucking kiss was being replayed in your head over and over, the way she cupped him, the way his lips touched hers and he deepened it. You feel the bile rise at the helm of your throat and you step back.

“Excuse me.” You whispered to a bewildered Alex, “I need to leave.”

He noticed. You could tell by the way he looked back to Henry and then you. His tall frame went from relaxed to apathetic. “Is it him?” He gave a wave in Henry’s direction and then stepped closer to you. “Y/N?”

“I can’t talk about this right now.” You attempted to push your way through the crowd and caught an opening into the gala hall. Alex was on your feet, his long strides made it easy for him to catch you. “Hey, I can’t talk about it right now.”

Your mind raced, he took a month away from you, was it because the entire time he had her? Were you some fucking mistress, side-chick, side bitch… Homewrecker? Inwardly you taunted yourself with the unceasing line of insults to yourself. Fuck! Fuck.

“Look.” Alex cleared his throat and stepped closer to you. His presence kept you from bolting into the nearest room and destroying everything in it. You were grateful for that, maybe. “He is not worth you not enjoying this night. Do you know how beautiful you are right now? Every eye in the building was with you when we arrived. Make him mad, but don’t let him win. He did nothing to deserve a win apparently.”

The pep talk worked and more and more you were starting to understand why Alex was a friend you didn't want to lose regardless of what happened. The first dance is casual, you fight tears watching the woman touch his hand, laid her hand on his chest and laugh like he was a comedian. He wasn't that damn funny. You stay for an hour, it was required to stay an hour, you have done only what was expected of you and nothing more. Alex took you home, the car ride is silent besides the occasional murmur of a curse word under your breath.

Home is what you craved more than anything, once the door was closed and Alex's driver left you released a scream that scared you, followed by a sob as you felt your heart literally break. What a fucking feeling? Grief for someone who didn't deserve it. You didn't drink to solve your problems, so alcohol was a no. Sleep was the obvious answer. The dress felt like it burned your skin, you were certain it didn't, but the fact that it came from him made it poison. He was poison, that you willingly chugged down like a vintage wine and now the repercussions had finally made their grand entrance. And fuck them.

Why were you looking them up, they were a known couple, known to everyone but you? You typed in his name and nothing but her appeared Billionaire Henry Cavill and Olivia Tate grace the Emmy's with their presence. Will this playboy finally settle down? Olivia Tate has HC's heart around her finger. You were sick again. You throw the phone on the couch and screenshot the picture of him kissing her. Is this the future Mrs. Cavill?

You changed clothes, slipping the crop top and leggings on. You knew it wasn't the end of the night. And you were right, sleep does not come. He sends you seven messages, each of which you stared at trying to formulate a response, but they didn't merit one, until the last one.

Henry: I've been looking for you for an hour. Where are you?

Henry: You left without a word? Are you mad or something?

Henry: A response would be nice.

Henry: Y/N

Henry: Y/N. I'll find you later.

Henry: Be there in ten.

Y/N: Drive safe. Are you bringing the wife with you?

You hit send of the picture you'd saved.

Henry: Wow.

The wait for him to arrive only infuriates you more, your mother had always said your temper was like a wildfire, once it sparked it would consume everything to the ground. You knew she was right; Henry even knew your temper needed to be managed, but no one fucking managed you. This included Henry. He didn't knock. He never did really, he entered with his perfectly tailored suit and an eye roll. And the lamp crashed behind him. He ducks, but his face is shocked.

"What the fuck was that?" he hissed.

"My fucking two-hundred-dollar lamp." You picked up the shoes and hurled them across the room next and he ducked as if he knew they were coming and charged towards you. You moved from his grasp. "You have been with her for a year!" It roared out of you and then the tears followed. "Why did you even come over here? Did you think I would be okay with it? Do you think I want to be your whore? Come when you say, fuck when you say and then you go home to her. Don't touch me!!"

"You're not going to let me explain, are you?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Explain Henry, tell me what lie did you conjure up, while headed here. She's just a friend. I wasn't with her." you shake your head and Henry folds his arms across his chest. "Is she the reason you wouldn't let me kiss you?"

"Are you finishing acting like-."

"Say it!" You cut him off and step closer to him. You wanted to hit something, but his face was too pretty for that shit, and despite your anger, your mother raised you better than that, "Like what Henry? Get out."

"Y/N."

"I said get the fuck out!"

His jaw clenched and he pushed his hands through his thick mane of brown curls, ending the polished look he had earlier. "I'll call you later."

"Oh, no the fuck you won't." You opened the door to Alex standing there with his eyes on Henry. Why was he back? "He was just leaving." You explained to Alex. "Bye."

Alex stepped aside and held up the brown bag, you could smell the Chinese and noticed the wine bottle. "We didn't get to eat." He explained. The smug grin on his face sealed the night, he was a good guy.

You smiled and watched Henry stare at him before looking back at you. He shook his head, "Goodnight."

"Fuck you." You whispered.

In the past hearing, people say they were numb sounded foolish, of course, they felt. A human cannot simply shut it all off, but you were wrong. So wrong, it was easier to go numb than to feel. It started with work, your time invested in the company allotted you vacation three fucking weeks, paid and free.

The first week you spent with Alex, not fucking his brains out like a part of you wanted to but being a friend. He allowed you to talk, you told him everything and he listened with no judgment and that made it easier. Tia was around too, she spent the night with you when she could, in between hair appointments and makeup slots. Her career was changing fast, you were happy for her even if you barely showed it at times.

The second week you shut them both out. You told them you were out of town, but you were in your apartment with food and tear-soaked pillows. His phone calls had stopped, but you feared it was only because you changed the number. Work could contact you via email if they needed to, but no one even called you during the first two weeks. The marketing strategy you left would do well, you knew it. And besides your certainty in your program, you didn’t care what Cavill Industries did at the moment.

The third week, everything went numb, there were no more tears to cry. Every inkling of him that existed was gone, including the $6000 dollar dress. You burned it and at that final act, the night was gone from your mind. He’d broken the rules. You’d both set them and when he kissed her, he disqualified himself.

The first day back to work your anxiety had you in its grip. Every phone call and opening of your door you dreaded. But he didn’t come. He wasn’t even in the building, according to your boss and that eased everything. You could work with him not being anywhere near you, and that made you apply to the other firms that had once been interested in you. You got two calls immediately. Matheus Corporate wanted to hire you without an interview and after the offer they sent, you were taking it. You typed out your resignation letter and turned it into HR. It was the right choice.

It was a month before you saw him again, and the Cavill you saw briefly in the lobby looked nothing like the one you had grown accustomed to. His hair was wild, and he had a beard, an actual beard. His slate-blue eyes were tired as were his movements. Just seeing him triggered you, the horrid memories of that night flooded your head and the pain resurfaced. Being numb would not be possible around him. You knew it. You hid in the stairwell like an idiot and avoided him. Nine more days of work here and you would be clear.

“Look, the way I see it, we are friends now.” Alex kicked his feet up on your desk and looked to you for affirmation.

You gave it to him nodding your head and chugging down your third bottle of water. “Yes, we’re friends. So, when I call you up at midnight and you’re with your little girlfriend cuddling and things you still have to make an appearance.”

“Girlfriend?” He scoffed.

“You heard me.” You pointed at him.

“I’m hoping one day the little girlfriend, I am cuddling will be you.” He smiled. “There is no rush and no expectation for it. But I didn’t want you to leave this place, oblivious to the fact that I really like you.”

Your heart warmed and you smiled. “Nine days to go and your boldness is out the bag.”

He shrugged. “Did I get brownie points?”

“A whole cake.” You said. You were back to work an hour later, singing under your breath when the door opened.

“I told him to wait outside.” Your assistant said, trying to beat Henry in the office. She turned to you. “Ms. YLN, Mr. Cavill is here to see you.” But he was already in front of your desk.

“Get out.” He said to her.

“Whatever you have to say to me, she can hear.” For some reason, you knew if the door closed you would succumb to him, “Speak.”

“You are not leaving.” His voice was not composed, just wavering and near weak. “Y/N.”

“Gianna, you can go.” You exhaled. What the hell had happened to him? She left the room and the space that once seemed huge started to shrink. Henry walked towards you and you held your hand up when he reached your desk. “What?”

“You changed your number.”

“What did you expect?”

“For you to give me a chance to explain,” His eyes plead with yours for the opportunity. “Can I have that please?”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, I was never yours, right?”

“You’re still mine.” The slight possessiveness came back to his voice.

It made you weak for a moment, your hitched breath took over the silence. “Hurry up, Henry.”

“She is my girlfriend.” He said.

The words punch at a wound you were certain was nearly healed. You hoped he was going to say that he left her, the pathetically infatuated part of you wanted him to say, she dumped him. But he just reaffirmed what you already knew. Olivia Tate was the official girlfriend of Henry Cavill. “Thanks?” You swallowed. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t want her to be, I want you.”

“You are making no sense and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to throw things at you here. I just wanted to leave all this in the past. Go be with her.”

“Y/N.” He said your name as if he was fighting for breath. “There are some things you do not understand about me. Things I would rather not talk about, but I don’t want her.”

“Then leave her! Damn it.” You bit out. “You are a grown man. You can make decisions on your own. If you didn’t want her then end it. End it now.”

“I can’t talk here.”

“Where else are you gonna talk?” You laughed. “My place? Hell no.”

“Mine.” He shook his head. “I’ll send a car for you after work. Don’t make them work Y/N. Just come.” He looked at you. “Please.”

“Fine.”

You didn’t fight his orders on meeting him, curiosity reared its ugly head and you were gone. His home was at the edge of town, the driveway curved up a hill and lead to the glass estate. It was incredible. Had you been here on better circumstances, you would have enjoyed the view. You stepped out and the door opened. Henry had shed the suit for a black shirt and black sweats that hung at his waist somehow accenting his frame. Fuck. Were you even going to be strong enough to say no to this god? One last fuck? Just to say goodbye fuck, it wouldn’t be frowned upon.

You argued with yourself and walked into the home, the décor was much like his office dark brown woods with a modern sense. You stood in the foyer and looked at him. The closer to the door you were, the more likely you were to say no to him without hesitation.

“I can’t shut you out of my mind.” He confessed. He had shaved, but his hair was still tucked behind his ears, longer than normal.

“Just tell me.”

“I met Olivia in college.” He sighed. “We used to date off and on, but it was never more than sex. Never.”

“That’s all it is with us.” You interrupted. “Hence the reason I don’t need this talk.”

“Then why’d you come?” Henry stared. “I have been infatuated with you for months and when I finally got the opportunity to be with you, I jumped at it.”

“Don’t feed me bullshit.” You held your hand up.

“Who do you think hired you?”

“Why can’t you just leave her?” You asked.

“She knows things about me that can ruin me.” he stopped talking. “Liv is talented at getting the things she wants. If I leave her, she’ll spill it.”

“Oh, get the fuck out of here!” You laugh. “You expect me to believe this Lifetime movie shit? You got a girlfriend and you want me too. Admit it.”

“I don’t want her.” He shook his head. “I want you.”

“You can say it until you’re blue in the face. If you don’t show me, how in the fuck am I supposed to believe that this… isn’t just a way for you to get what you want.”

Henry sunk to his knees. “I’ll beg you.”

“Dogs beg.” You spat.

“Anything.” He rasped.

“Do you know how bad I hurt? I didn’t work for weeks. I didn’t care for weeks. We’ve been together a month. Do you think my behavior was normal? Do you think yours is normal? No. We are bad for one another and I just…”

How did he get up so fast? You moved back and he was on you, his steps heavy and determined. He caged you against the wall and then you realized, his face was wet with tears.

“You have to believe me.” He whispered and the fear clawed through him. “Please.”

There was an urge pushing you to leave this place, nothing good can come from him. But his face was pained, you’d never seen this part of him. You cupped his face affectionately and your lips graze his cheek. It feels as if he shutters and then you just do it. You hesitantly kiss him. Your lips touch his and the energy that passes through you ignites a groan.

“Please.” The plea is accompanied by him responding to the kiss, tenderly. He leaned into you, his body blanketing to you and taking whatever breath you thought you had left. But you were sure that he took your breath away without a kiss. His brow furrowed as he deepened it pushing your head against the door. He wrapped his arms around you, swaddling you in his muscles while somehow it wasn’t the muscles that you felt. For the first time, he was being himself with you. He allowed you to feel what you didn’t even know was there.

He pulled back from you and he moved as if he was dizzy. The breath he had stolen from you had made it's way back to you and you inhaled. There was more than a desire that flickered between the two of you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

His eyes flashed with a little hope. “Same.” Henry didn’t wait for permission he just scooped you up from the floor and kissed you again, this time it hurt. The hurt is so fucking good.

“I want,” the words were caught in your throat. Was this right or were you spiraling? “I want you, here. Right here.” He lowered you both down on the steps so that you were straddling him, you didn’t care for his comfort. You wanted him to feel you. “You remember the rules?” You whispered. Your tongue licks his lips and then dives in and he’s taken back, gripping your ass that is winding on his dick. You can feel him through the sweats. “Hmm…”

“I could never forget.”

“Don’t cum unless I say.” You smiled before kissing him again. You bucked your hips on and his eyes widened the lust pushing through. “You hear me, sir?” Your voice was low and filled with lust. “I want to fuck you right here.” He grew harder, flinching against you. “I want you to moan my name when you cum…”

Henry’s hands were in your hair, pulling you back so he could see your eyes. “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want me to, just fuck me.” He begged.

“Did you miss me?”

“Always.” He groaned lowering his head to your breast. He sprung the from the blouse and ripped it in two. “Always.”

You wanted to believe him, but the lingering hurt from the past month. “If you lie to me again,” You unsheathed him from his sweats and stroked your hand down the length of his cock. You swiped the precum that oozed from the tip down and pumped again. “Missing me is all you’ll know how to do, sir.”

“Fuck,” He jumped in your hand and sucked air in through his teeth.

“Understand?”

“I-,” He moaned when you increased your speed. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” You were so turned on by the way you were making him feel. You now understood why he wanted to be in control of everything in the bed. It was sexy as fuck to watch what you could do to someone. You could watch them unravel, put them back together and do it again.

Henry pushed the pen skirt up and easily ripped the panties. He tossed them behind you and his fingers were in you. Prodding and working, you fucking missed him, even though you shouldn’t have. “Y/N.” He moaned. “I’m almost there.” He panted.

You stopped stroking him and began to ride his fingers, lifting yourself from them and then back on until the next time Henry pushed his cock in. He was fighting every urge he had to allow you some control in this thing. He threw his head back when he was fully inside of you and stilled.

But you wanted to fuck him. You wanted to ride him slow and draw out every fucking moment you could with him. So, if you regretted being here in the morning, the walk of shame wouldn’t have too much shame. Your walls sealed around him and he gripped your hips trying to stop you from fucking him, but you continued. Your rhythm was wild, you used his shoulders like an anchor and smiled down at him. His face was red and misted with sweat. His curls were soaked, and he was mesmerized. Your tits bounced in front of him and your eyes were rolling. “Y/N.” He warned and you felt his cock grow harder and then he growled, shuddering in your breast as if he had waited forever to cum inside of you.

“Seems you broke a rule.” You laughed and continued to fuck him. He made sounds that only made you wetter for him and the man was part machine. He had to be as his cock grew back rigid and he was still shuttering from coming the time before.

Henry licked his fingers and slapped them onto your clit before he pulled you towards him. His fingers knew how to work your pussy. Moving in circles and then another slap before he started back again, and you were about to cum. You didn’t want to. You shook your head and Henry looked up at you, “I won’t last another time. I ca-,” Your pussy shook around his and your thighs locked down as the pleasure surged through your body. “Shit!” He yelled before slamming into you and spilling his cum again. “Y/N.” He rasped.

The floor wasn’t a bad place to lay for the time being. Henry was wrapped around your naked body and there was no need for cover. He kept you warm enough.

“Was she the reason you didn’t kiss me?”

He exhaled. “She,” he paused. “I never know when she will decide to come back into my life.” He admits. “And up until you, it was easier not kissing, that way when it ended… there were no emotions in it. It was just fucking. I can’t do that with you, okay? A single glance from you could make my heart stop, a kiss would have shattered me.” Henry admitted.

It was quiet for a while. Just deep breaths and kisses all down your body. “Let’s go to bed.” You said finally. “My boss would be mad as hell if I missed tomorrow.”

“I’m throwing you resignation away, and if you’re having problems out of Mike… I’ll fire his ass.” He stood up and reached his hand out to you. “Come on, the bed is the proper place to make sure you’re so tired work isn’t an option.”

His bed was comfortable, the sheets were so soft you were tempted to ask where he got them. You slept peacefully entangled in the muscled mass that is Henry. But it was not a complaint to make, being without him for so long made you grateful you could listen to him breathe and feel his heart against your back.

“Thank God.” The unfamiliar voice came from the bottom of the bed.

Your eyes narrowed as the bright sun made its way through the windows. The blonde hair was the first take away, it was Olivia. You scrambled from under Henry’s body. “Henry!” If she wanted a fight, you were ready to fight her, you’d just prefer to not be naked while doing it.

Henry groaned and once he caught sight of her he jolted up from the bed. “Olivia. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Don’t be rude. I was just saying thank God.” Olivia leaned over his legs and looked at you. “I hated watching him mope around here. He looked like a puppy, sad because his bitch went away.”

“Bitch? I beg your pardon, Henry if you don’t get this woman.” Henry gave an admonished look to Olivia and gripped your hand. It didn’t comfort you. It just pissed you off. You snatched your hand away from him. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” One more foul word from her and you’d fight naked.

“Excuse my manners, darling. I’m Olivia and I am so glad you are here. It seems we have some rules to introduce.” She pushed up from the bed and left the room. “Chop, chop Henry, dear. Bring your bitch, I have a plane to catch.”

#henry cavill #Henry Cavill fandom #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #laketa j writes

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tessisawriter · 4 years

Text

Break My Heart (Andrei Svechnikov)

Request: Hi there! May I request an imagine with Andrei Svech where you guys maybe are like borderline dating and then you go for milkshakes after the game and he asks you to be his girl? Change it if you want! xoxo

A/N: I love this prompt, no need to change it! Thanks @sticknpuckwtheboys for telling me about Steak n’ Shake—I was so obsessed with being accurate about milkshake places in NC that I went into a writer’s block, but you got me out of it! Inspired by Dua Lipa’s “Break My Heart” (link here), which was inevitable since I was listening to her new album while writing this.

Warnings: One swear word, light angst, insecurities, mentions of cheating

Word Count: 1.7k

After 15 minutes of standing in front of the Carolina Hurricanes locker room, you began to regret coming down. You felt so awkward and intimidated standing next to some of the players’ SO’s. Even though you had been dating superstar Andrei Svechnikov for almost two months, it wasn’t official yet, so you didn’t feel like you belonged.

“Earth to Y/N.” Your best friend and roommate, Katie, elbowed you lightly in the side, and you turned your head to meet her expectant gaze. “What’s going on in that maze of a mind of yours?”

“Nothing,” you brushed off her comment, “I just can’t wait for the reporters to get out of there.”

“I don’t know how to thank you for tonight. This is probably the best birthday present I’ve ever received!” Katie gushed.

You smiled for a moment before the frown returned. “I didn’t technically get it for you, you know. It was Andrei.”

“Gee, I had no idea.” Katie’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Of course it was Andrei who got you the seats. But you’re the reason I got here in the first place. If you weren’t dating him, we’d be back in the nosebleeds and my epic chirps would get lost in the vacuum.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of her spouting her mouth off earlier tonight in the rink-side seats. Katie was an avid Hurricanes fan, and instead of tuning you out, Andrei had apparently listened to you rant about not knowing what to get her for her birthday last week because he called you earlier today to let you know that the tickets would be waiting at will-call. It was incredibly thoughtful of him, but it also served as yet another reminder of the uncertainty surrounding your relationship. The two of you acted like boyfriend-girlfriend, but you technically weren’t.

Generally, you couldn’t give a shit about labels. You thrived on doing things people didn’t expect of you, like getting a purple clip-in streak for your hair when you were only 14. But this was different; Andrei was different. You were falling in love with him and needed to know if he felt the same way.

You occasionally wished you’d gone straight home after class because the minute you met Andrei at the coffee shop near campus, he had you hooked, and you feared he’d break your heart. There was no way a gorgeous superstar athlete like him could possibly be interested in someone like you. Not that you thought you were ugly, but you were introverted and often preferred books to people. None of those things seemed to matter to Andrei, which would normally be a good thing but seemed to defy logic in this case. Your insecurities were eating you alive to the point that you needed to either define your relationship or end it.

Katie snapped her fingers in front of your face, startling you. “That’s it. What’s wrong?”

You sighed. “I just wish Andrei would tell me if he sees this thing going anywhere.”

“Are you kidding me? Everyone who’s got eyes knows that the boy is head over heels for you, Y/N!”

“But he hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend.”

Katie scrunched her face up in concentration, which you knew meant she was thinking of a solution to your conundrum. Her eyes flashed like a light bulb and she said, “Who says he has to ask you? Ask him.” You started to protest, but she cut you off. “It’s clearly bothering you, so you should be honest with him.”

You were about to protest again when Andrei finally emerged from the locker room with Jordan Staal, Brock McGinn, and Justin Williams. “Hey, babe.” He kissed you on the lips before turning toward Katie. “As an early birthday present, I thought you’d like to meet some of my teammates.”

Katie looked like she was going to faint. She idolized Justin Williams, was currently wearing a Jordan Staal jersey, and had a major crush on Brock McGinn that she had been trying (and failing) to suppress ever since you informed her that he already had a girlfriend. “I…” she stammered.

Jordan stepped forward and tugged on Katie’s sleeve. “Nice jersey you’ve got there. Want me to sign it?”

A grin made its way onto her face. “Yes, please! I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“It’d be my pleasure. Andrei told me your birthday’s tomorrow, and you’re his girl’s best friend, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around a lot.”

You paled at his words. The fact was, you weren’t Andrei’s girl, at least not really.

If Andrei noticed your reaction, he didn’t address it. “I was thinking maybe you and I could go for milkshakes at Steak n’ Shake?” he asked you.

“I’d love to, but Katie—”

“Will be fine,” Katie cut you off again. “I have the car, and Andrei will drive you home. Right?” She looked at the boy next to you, and you realized that he was holding your hand.

“What kind of person do you think I am?” he asked, mock offended. “Of course I’ll drive her home. Have fun!”

“Thank you, Andrei—you have no idea how much this means to me. And you,” she crushed you in a hug and Andrei let go of your hand so that you could hug her back. “You gave me the best birthday present I could ask for.” Then she whispered in your ear, “As a sign of my gratitude, I’m telling you: talk to him.”

You pulled away and nodded at her before taking Andrei’s hand again and walking to the parking garage.

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

You smiled when you caught sight of Andrei returning to your table with your milkshakes (chocolate for him, strawberry for you).

“One strawberry milkshake for one beautiful girl,” he said while putting his arm around you, and you blushed.

“Thanks.” You took one sip of your milkshake and sighed in delight. “This is so good!”

“I’m glad you’re happy about something. You’ve been acting weird ever since we met up in the locker room. Did I…” he hesitated before continuing. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, not at all,” you rushed to assure him. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“I can see that,” he laughed nervously. “Listen, I have something I want to talk to you about, but that can wait. What’s wrong? You can talk to me.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then you remembered what Katie said to you. “You know how I haven’t dated in a while, right?”

“Yeah?” You could tell that Andrei had no idea where this was going.

“Well, the reason why was because I’d been unlucky in love. It started in high school with my first ex, who I dated during junior and senior year. We were high school sweethearts, I guess. But I went on Instagram and saw pictures of him and his ex together, and let’s just say it was clear he was cheating on me. It didn’t end well, of course.”

“I’m so sorry,” Andrei stroked your arm with his thumb.

“After that, I went to college and met my other ex,” you continued. “We dated for a year before he, too, cheated on me. That one hurt more because I thought he loved me. Instead, he broke—no, shattered—my heart. I wasn’t interested in dating when I came back for sophomore year, so I spent time with my friends and was finally happy on my own. But then I met you.” You took a deep breath. “In less than two months, you’ve managed to break down my walls and the truth is, I’m falling for you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and the realization has been a bit scary, especially when I was waiting for you outside the locker room with all of the other SO’s. It was painfully clear that they knew where they stood, and I didn’t. I’ve never been one for labels, but I have to ask: do you feel the same way about me?”

You were out of breath by the time you finished your speech. You couldn’t believe you had said all that, but the weight lifting off your shoulders made it worth it.

After a few moments of silence, Andrei said, “That’s actually what I was going to talk to you about.”

Oh God, that didn’t sound good.

“It’s far past time that I tell you how I feel. Y/N L/N, I’m falling for you, too. Will you be my girl? Officially, I mean,” he added. “I’ve thought of you as my girl for a while now, but—”

“Yes, Andrei, I’ll be your girl.” You couldn’t help it; your giddiness made its way into your voice.

“Really?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Of course I will, silly!” You leaned in and kissed your boyfriend.

After you pulled away for air, a comfortable silence settled over you before Andrei broke it: “So now that that’s settled, I want to make a toast.” You giggled as Andrei raised his milkshake. “I knew right away that we could have something special, but these past two months have shown me just how right we are for each other. To us.”

“To us,” you echoed and clinked your milkshake glass with his before taking another sip of your milkshake. You noticed Andrei eyeing you. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, I just want to do this.” He leaned in and connected your lips in a passionate kiss. “Sorry, go back to enjoying your milkshake.”

You laughed and shook your head. “You are truly one of a kind.”

“So are you, babe,” he winked. It took all you had to not melt on the spot and finish your milkshake, and Andrei kept his arm around you the whole time. Nothing could ruin your good mood: you had a feeling this relationship could go the distance.

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sneakyboymerlin · 4 years

Note

For the character thingy- Morgana

First Impression: Loved her. Wasn’t too in love with her, given the misogyny of the writers—in season 1, she doesn’t really do anything, ya know? Has the occasional prophetic vision, gets sick for everyone else to worry about, her apparent sexiness is emphasized… pretty much the definition of objectification there. But then season 2 comes around and you realize she’s textually gaining agency, so maybe that’s intentional? Hmm. Anyways, she’s making some morally grey choices in s2, but you can’t help sympathizing with her. Then season 3 comes around, and I’m left devastated by the fact that she’s just lost all the love that she had for her friends (Merlin, Gwen, and Arthur particularly). Understandable, with a full year of separation under Morgause’s tutelage, but very difficult to watch her become the enemy of my other faves. She has a point, though, as she’s fighting for her freedom under Uther. Then she becomes more and more unhinged and I’m enamored with that particular villain aesthetic she has going on. Tragic but fitting end—love how it’s played out so personally instead of a ginormous mid-battle scene.

Impression now: It’s pretty clear she was always intended to be the main villain of Uther’s creation, as the character of Morgana often is in adaptations of the Arthurian legend. I understand the point of her starting out very one-dimensionally good was 1) an effect of her lack of autonomy, before Merlin and Morgause teach her about her magic, and 2) to emphasize her downfall and the differences between the “old” her and the “new” her. I think the writers should have given her character a more nuanced exploration from the start; however, it’s easy to spot some instances in the first two seasons where her flaws probably spawned from. I’m also not a fan of narratives that tell you what to believe, so while it’s undeniable that Morgana became a villain, I wish it weren’t so “tell don’t show.” They could have conveyed a more compelling slide into villainy if the writing for it wasn’t so heavy-handed. Her actions are a little more nuanced than “fights for her freedom but in evil ways” imo, though I know this is an unpopular opinion amongst the fandom. It’s pretty obvious that she’s not fighting for the freedom of her people so much as trying to regain the privileges she had before finding out she has magic— she doesn’t necessarily fight for change unless it affects her in some way, or at least doesn’t take away her privileges. It’s always going to be easier to say “feed the poor” than to starve on the streets, and she shows her true colors when uses her higher status to threaten Merlin and Gwen. She’s the most protected person in Camelot, possibly all of Albion (barring Princess Vivian perhaps) but for the first time in her life, those privileges are conditional—she no longer has them just because she’s Uther’s ward. There’s real fear there, as she realizes she’ll likely be executed as a traitor, but she is also aware of her class privilege and Uther’s nepotism, which she’s not afraid to take advantage of. This wouldn’t be a problem if she extended her aim beyond restoring her own privileges, rather than leading armies against Camelot knowing that the poor and defenseless are the most vulnerable to her attacks, or trying to kill Gwen simply because she’s going to become queen. Morgana views the people as something disposable that she’s entitled to/can be used to accomplish her own goals. Basically she’s the face of white feminism and classism in a palatable package, whether the writers intended it or not.

Favorite moment: 2x03, where she’s returned to Camelot. There’s so much going on in this moment. For one, she has to pretend that she’s been rescued, and that Uther is her savior from her magical assailants, when it’s the exact opposite: the Druids rescued her, and she’s been essentially kidnapped back to Camelot to live under Uther again. She now has the knowledge to be well and truly terrified, but also to understand herself and deflect the internalized hatred of magic she’s learned her whole life. It’s a small moment, but it conveys so much about how her life is going to be from here on out.

Idea for a story: I’ve been meaning to write a fic about the year she was with Morgause between seasons 2 & 3, and how she became the person we saw in 3x01. Imo, Morgause gave her ultimatums and convinced Morgana it was the only way, and given her solitude and feelings of loss/betrayal, she was more susceptible to this form of manipulation. She may as well have joined a cult. I’d love to look into this period of her life, which the writers apparently thought wasn’t worth looking into.

Unpopular opinion: As stated above, Morgana’s goals were self-oriented. I don’t think she was ever inclined to do things for the greater good because it was mostly hypothetical from her place as Uther’s ward—nepotism is strong among the Pendragons. Any trait can, of course, be a good thing at times, but she takes it to the extreme in the wrong direction.

Favorite relationship: Merlin and Morgana. I love the angst of the friends to enemies, especially considering the secrets between them (the ones they do and don’t know about each other). It all makes for a very unique, compelling relationship, especially when one’s goals could easily benefit their enemy as well, but neither condones the other’s approach.

Favorite headcanon: The reason that she only tells Merlin (besides her physician) that she has magic is because she knows he rescued Mordred from certain death. This heightened the betrayal she felt in 2x12. Turning on Merlin had nothing to do with his feelings about magic, because she knew these were positive (in addition to Mordred, there was Will and the fact that he kept her magic a secret for about a year). It had everything to do with the fact that he was willing to sacrifice her life for the greater good. Morgause gave up on her plan for the Knights of Medhir and the fever-sleep spell to save Morgana because she never really cared about what happened to anyone besides herself and Morgana. Their mutual prioritization of each other is part of what drew them so close together.

#bbc merlin #morgana pendragon #ask game #mine

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dreaming-about-fanfictions · 4 years

Text

Years Ago - Jaskier x Reader

Summary: Jaskier is your childhood best friend and first love. When he leaves, you stay behind heartbroken. Years later, he comes back to you and you have to ask yourself if you still love him the way you used to.

Request by: a lovely anon. “Can you please write an angst/romantic Jaskier x Fem!Reader fic, where the reader grew up with Julian/Jaskier, as childhood friends. Their paths divide when you both come of age, your fates seemingly never to meet again, until they meet again years later, and it turns out their feelings for each other remain the same, as they did all those years ago.“

A/N: This turned out a lot more angsty than I wanted it to be :D I hope you like it anyways! <3 Thank you for the request!

Pairing: Jaskier x fem!Reader Words: 1766 Warnings: angst, hinting towards sex

It is fully dark in the small chamber. The curtains are drawn shut and the candles stopped burning hours ago. The silence is only sometimes disturbed by soft breathing and occasional snores coming from the bed.

You sit on the other side of the room at a wooden table, only wearing a light robe. Thoughts and worries keep you awake and you are too restless to lie down. At least this is what you tell yourself. Perhaps it just suffocates you being so close to him, feeling his warmth, smelling his familiar scent. The faint memory of how it was to be around him and not feel this way lingers somewhere in your mind, you know it.

You’re unable to see him and you are grateful for it. It hurts too much. Shifting uncomfortably on your seat, you grab the end of your robe, fiddling with it.

When Julian – or rather Jaskier, the name he goes by now – walked into the tavern this evening, you dropped the glass of wine in your hand. It shattered into a thousand pieces, the red liquid spilling everywhere. The sound made him turn around and you heard your boss cursing at you. Frozen in your spot, you stared at him. He recognized you at once, a big smile appearing on his face. A smile that was so well-known to you, it physically pained you.

You grew up with Jaskier. He was your childhood best friend and for years it had been him and you against the world. As you became older, your feelings turned into something else. Something deeper. The boy with the bad jokes and beautiful voice turned into your first love – and then he left.

“Y/N?”

You flinch when you hear his voice, whispering your name.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asks when you don’t answer him. “Why are you not in bed?”

“I can’t sleep,” you reply truthfully.

“Nightmares?” He wonders.

You shake your head before remembering that it’s too dark for him to see. “No, just … thoughts.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

“Thoughts about us.”

You hear a blanket being pushed away and then Jaskier gets out of bed. The wooden floor creaks when his feet touch the ground. “It’s too damn dark in here,” he mumbles and opens the curtains. Moonlight illuminates the room. You lift your head and your eyes meet his. He looks worried, a troubled expression on his beautiful face. Deep down, he knows what you mean by your words.

So Jaskier kneels down in front of you, taking your head into his and squeezing it softly. “I had to go. You know that,” his voice is soft with affection.

You give a half shrug. “Do I?”

He lets out a sigh. “Y/N.”

You wonder if he understands what this is truly about. He can’t possibly think you’re upset simply because he left when the truth was so much more complicated. Waiting for him to say something, you get disappointed and slightly frustrated. “You left without so much of a word.” It’s a simple statement but it floats heavily throughout the dark room.

Jaskier lowers his head. “I’m sorry.” The words sound honest to you yet they make you want to punch him.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” you retort.

“It seemed to have one hour ago,” Jaskier attempts to lighten the mood and smiles.

Not knowing what to say, you pull back your hand.

He clears his throat, realizing that the joke was misplaced. “That was insensitive, I apologize.”

“You’re still an idiot.”

Jaskier sighs again. “I know,” he pauses shortly before adding: “Y/N, don’t believe for a second that leaving you wasn’t the hardest thing I ever had to in my whole entire life. It hurt me so much and I thought not saying goodbye would make everything easier.”

None of this makes any sense. It hurt him? Well, how does he think you felt and in what alternate reality does leaving people behind like that make anything better?!

“It didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I figured that out pretty quickly which left me with terribly terribly ashamed. Y/N,” he tries to reach for your hands again but you clench your fists around the hem of your robe. “No words can ever describe how sorry I am.”

For a while, you just stare at him. “I still love you, y’know,” you finally say with simple directness.

There it is again. The smirk that had always managed to wrap you right around his finger. Jaskier places a hand on your knee and it takes every ounce of strength inside of you not to flinch.

„No, you don’t understand,” you continue. “It’s an awful thing. I should have gotten married long ago. I could have had kids by now, a loving husband, a life.”

A flicker of sadness appears is seen in his eyes for a split second. Your words feel like a punch in the gut to him (and they were meant to do just that). “Then why didn’t you?” He asks somewhat brittle.

“Because I love you!” It blurts out of you. “I love you! In fact, I never stopped loving you. A small part of me always hoped that you’d come back one day.”

“That small part was right, apparently.” The sadness in his eyes is now replaced by affection. “Not one day has gone by since I left where I didn’t think about you. I love you too, Y/N.”

For years, you had dreamed about him coming back to and saying those words. In your fantasies, they swept you from your feet and the two of you would go on to have a long and happy life together. Now he is here, saying exactly what you thought you wanted to hear and they cause nothing more than pain. Why can’t you forgive him? You love him, it’s true, so why not try this again?

When he had walked into the tavern, you were overcome by emotions. It confused you. There was happiness, excitement, anger, and resentment – a tangling mess inside your mind. So you did what every self-respecting woman would do: you went to bed with the man who hurt you most. The initial shock passed after he fell asleep next to you and all you were left with were more troubles.

“How long until you leave again?” You are scared of the answer.

“Two days.”

You give a bitter laugh. Of fucking course. Did you really think his answer would be something else?

Jaskier sees how your expression changes and in a sad attempt of trying to make you feel better, he announces: “I’ve actually come back to ask you to accompany me. Come with me.”

The laughter gets stuck in your throat and you look at him with widened eyes.

“Y/N,” he continues, now that he has your attention. “At the risk of sounding like a jerk – I will never be able to stay in just one place. A life here with two kids and a tiny house will never be enough for me.”

Ouch. “You do sound like a jerk.”

He ignores your comment. “Yet being without you hurts. You’re the one that got away. The one that should’ve stayed with me,” his voice grows soft again. “That’s why I want you to come with me. I remember a girl who was eager to leave this town behind and see the world with me.”

That girl died when you left me, the thought rushes through your mind.

“You say you love me,” you pause shortly. “Yet your love is not enough for you to stay. To build a life together with me.”

“I want to build a life with you!” Jaskier exclaims. He becomes more and more frustrated with you and this discussion as well. “Just not here!”

You shake your head. “You ask me to give everything up, my life and –“

“You just said you had no real life!”

“No married life,” you correct him sharply. “I have family here and friends, people who love me.”

“I love you.”

“Not enough it seems.”

“It’s not fair. You’re not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is that you left years ago without even saying goodbye!” You spit out and stand up so abruptly that your chair tips over backwards. Surprised, Jaskier gets up from his knees as well and takes a few steps back. “No explanation, no nothing. Is this how you treat the person you love?!”

He doesn’t reply.

“It was so painful,” a tear rolls down your face and you wipe it off angrily. “Being left behind like that. Not even a damn letter.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is barely a whisper.

“You said that,” you croak.

“Y/N …” He takes a step towards you but you back up against the window, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“We changed, Jaskier. It’s been too long.”

You don’t want to say these words. Yet you feel like there is no other way. This relationship has caused you nothing but pain and you can’t go on like this. It will break you and leave you a shattered mess.

“It’s not,” Jaskier says sternly. “We still love each other. The feelings we shared are still there and I know that you didn’t deserve the way I treated you.”

“Continue to treat me.”

He blows out his cheeks and closes his eyes. When he opens them again and starts speaking, every syllable is filled with desperation. “I will do everything it takes so you can forgive me one day. Everything.”

“Good luck trying that in two days.”

“Y/N …”

You look at him and see how much he’s hurting. The regret, the hatred for himself for how he screwed everything up is so clearly written on his face. You take a deep breath. “Go, please.”

“What?” He swallows hardly.

“I want you to go,” you repeat firmly. It’s the best for both of us, you try to justify it in your mind.

Jaskier doesn’t move at first, begging you silently to take it back. He wants to stay, needs to stay – but you remain quiet. So he bends down to collect his clothes and slowly puts them on again. The silence is almost unbearable. When he is done, he walks to the door and his hand trembles slightly when he reaches for the door handle.

You watch him, tears running down your face. Yet no whimper, no cry leaves your mouth.

“I meant what I said,” Jaskier turns around one last time. “I love you and I will fight for you.”

“Goodbye, Jaskier.”

The door closes behind him.

***

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harryimaginestuff · 5 years

Text

Never Love Again

Anon: Can you do one with harry being a dick/asshole and is really mean to y/n hurts her feelings(they arent dating) and harry tries to win? her back major angst please :)))

The song lyric used in this is from ‘Never Love Again’ from ‘A Star is Born’.

The one where Harry’s never been meaner (acquaintances!harry&y/n)

Genre: Angst

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: Mentions of death

You’re thankful for the radiators on blast, their artificial heat hugging you allowing you to release the strong grip you had on your coat as the clear door slams shut behind you thanks to one of many strong gusts of wind.

Wiping your feet on the carpet you wave animatedly at Jess, the receptionist, hurriedly taking off your scarf and coat hanging it on the pegs provided. Coming here had become a regular for you over the Summer, the prime time of music writing for musicians, so now in the freezing month of December getting ready for a writing session in one of London’s most famous recording studios had become second-nature to you.

Jeff Azoff had contacted you years ago after hearing about your impeccable talent for song writing and admirable professionalism, something that he himself revered because he knew first-hand how frenzied operating within in this industry could get. So, when one of his father’s clients – John Mayor if we really feel like name dropping – had rambled on profusely about your undeniable talent he had no choice but to check you out. And that was almost 4 years ago. From then on the two of you had formed a close bond, tagging along on family holidays, being invited to the fanciest of parties and being the resident ghost writer for Full Stop Management.

And today just like most days you were called into the studio to aid with the writing of yet another global superstar and according to the vague text that Jeff had sent you that morning, said artist was Harry Styles.

Now, you weren’t completely unfamiliar with the man, after all having a friendship with Jeff automatically meant that you would constantly be in Harry’s presence, however you wouldn’t go as far as to call yourself friends. Your relationship with him had always been low-key and mediocre, chatting occasionally, and for lack of a better word, the two of you were merely friendly. Nothing more, nothing less. You had absolutely no issue with this of course, it wasn’t as if you both would never talk, you would exchange formalities, have light-hearted conversations, and his gentlemanly behaviour was evident from when the two of you had first met. You had always admired him, even in his boyband days, loving how he was never afraid to just be, respecting how he had the kindest and most gentle soul. You had no issue with admiring him from a distance.

As you entered the recording booth you were greeted with warm smiles weirdly from everyone sans Harry it seemed. You shrugged off his odd behaviour, excusing his cold greeting with the fact that he has been stuck in here for hours, the stress from making a song stealing all of his attention as the deadline for his next album fast approached.

“M’so sorry I’m late guys, got caught up at home.” You sheepishly mumbled an apology plopping yourself on the coach beside Mitch as you pulled your notebook out of your bag. You almostmissed the look Harry gave you, his face screwing up in distaste as he rolled his eyes. Almost.

“No worries Y/N.” Jeff’s American accent ran thick, “You’re the one doing us a favour.” You ignored the sound of Harry huffing across the room, instead choosing to focus on finding the piece you thought would be best for Harry. “We’ve been stuck here for hours,” Mitch groaned beside you, his head leaning back as he closed his eyes, “please tell me you have something for us.”

You chuckled lightly, “As a matter of fact I do, it’s not much but it should be enough to kickstart a few gears,” reaching over you gently patted Mitch’s head to which he smiled brightly up at you.

“Think I’ll be the judge of that thanks.” Harry finally spoke up; however, he was still huffing and puffing, “S’my album.”

You ignored Harry’s harsh tone, instead choosing to smile brightly at him handing over your open notebook to which he took without even a whisper of a thank you.

You watched on with nerves, your fingers fiddling on your lap as you Harry’s eyes skimmed over the pages covered with your hard work.

However, rather than receiving the praise you thought you would get you were met with another scoff as his judgemental eyes turned to you.

“S’supposed be prepared aren’t you? That’s why Jeff pays you.”

“Harry!” Jeff shouts, yet the volume of his voice falls flat once it reaches Harry’s ears.

“First your fucking late, s’not very professional is it? And then you hand me your supposed ‘chosen’ piece and it cannot be any further from what I am.” “Don’t doubt my ability to write when I’ve been successfully for other artists for years.” You huffed, crossing your arms and leaning back into the leather sofa. “M’ not doubting your abilities to write s’just even a basic amount of research would’ve been evidence that what you’ve just shown me is not like me.”

Your heart beats erratically and your hands clench in an attempt to keep the rapidly growing irritation at bay. Reminding yourself repeatedly that it would not be okay if you were to kick him in the shins.

“Like you said Harry, it’s your album you do have the final say,” you said through gritted teeth. “A ‘no thanks’ would’ve sufficed too though.” Reaching out your arm you grab your abandoned notebook carefully turning to the page that had the other page with a post-it note hanging out. “I’ve got another one that I thought we could use.”

Before coming you were sceptical of whether you would want anyone to look at these specific lyrics you had written, along with a couple others, you held these lyrics closest to your heart. However, it was this particular one that stood out to you as you had browsed through your book as soon as you received Jeff’s message. Maybe these lyrics could mean something to someone as much as it did to you.

Please be gentle. You thought, once again handing the notebook back to Harry praying that he wouldn’t be as harsh with this one.

Once again you were watching on, your body full of nerves more so than the previous time. But rather than receiving a death glare you were met with a breathy laugh as Harry read over the lyrics you had given.

“Fucks sake,” you heard him mumble causing your heart to drop. “Have you ever even been in love?”

“Wha-” you asked surprise ringing clear in your voice.

“S’literally the most two-dimensional thing ever. S’not captured anything at all. And apparently you’re of the best writers today.” He complained. “Fucking lie s’what that is.”

“Harry what’s wrong with you!” Mitch jumped to your defence, completely in shock at his mate’s behaviour.

“M’just telling the truth, nothing wrong with that.” Harry pauses taking the time to read your work only to dissect it right in front of you. “Like seriously ‘Don’t wanna feel another touch’, pretty basic Y/N at least write something you have experience with.”

Harry’s words were snarky and had no issue with cutting deep right to your bones.

You sat there staring at the man across from you, completely dumbfounded with how your day had turned out. You never expected to be sitting across from Harry Styles, someone who had been nothing but nice to you since you first met and yet here you were, being ripped to shreds by the exact same man. Your throat was tight as if being strangled with thorns, the words coming of your mouth strained as you fought the tears that were already threatening to spill. “You don’t even know me Harry.”

“Yeah and I don’t need to to know what you’re like.”

“I don’t know what’s warranted you to act the way you’ve been. M’just trying to help you get out of the funk that you’ve been in all day. No need to drag me through the mud.” You stood up, clutching your bag in your hands, shooting Harry one last look. “I’m going home I don’t feel too good, but feel free to browse through my book to find at least one thing that’s worth your time.” You ignored the calls of your name from both Mitch and Jeff only sending them a small wave and a tight smile as you exited the room. You didn’t care if your actions seemed ‘unprofessional’ or ‘childish’ there was just no way you would allow yourself to break down in front of anyone.

You weren’t ready to go back into the cold, not when you felt as if there was no more warmth left inside you. Who did he think was to say any of that to you? He had no clue what you’ve been through, what you’ve felt.

You may have only been 18 at the time but heartbreak was still heartbreak and death was still death.

You always struggled to think back to a time where he was there, when the dull ache in your chest hadn’t been torturing you for months on end. When you had felt free and loved.

But one night he had been ripped from you, pried from your loving grip and taken away without so much as a last goodbye from either of you.

It was a drunk driver. A tragic accident. One that you would never allow yourself to forget. He had been on his way to you that night, after you begged him to come over to keep you company.

He was there until he wasn’t. And you hated yourself for a while because of it.

Over the time your self-hatred had evolved to sadness, anger until finally peace. The first time you had ever felt such content was when you were sat at your desk, an untouched notebook resting in front of you, your hands moving before your mind could even process. Until hours later you finally stopped and what was once untouched was now full of words, lyrics and songs about what you felt, ups and downs and all.

And now the same notebook rested on the small coffee table, ready to be dissected even further by a man who knew nothing.

There was only one thing that could get you out of the hole you had sunk into. That night you found yourself sitting at the same desk, paper in-hand, where you wrote yourself to sleep, dreaming of a green-eyed man and a fatal collision.

It was a loud and startling knock that jerked you out of your slumber. Glancing at the clock you huffed in both confusion and annoyance, who would be here at 7am in the morning? The incessant knocking forced you to hurriedly walk to the door, calling out only to receive no answer, the sound of their knuckles overpowering your voice.

And of course, the culprit behind the door would be none other than Harry Styles. After all who else would be up before 7am dressed in running gear, hair sweaty, a tell-tale sign that your place was a stop off after his morning jog. “Harry?” you asked, confusion lacing your voice. “What are you doing here?” Harry gestured to the door smiling shyly to which you nodded with a roll of the eye, swinging the door open he stepped in. “Nice.” He hummed, his eyes scanning the room.

“Hello? It’s 7 in the morning Harry. Never mind how you even knew where I live but what are you doing here?”

“Jeff.” He remarked still preoccupied with taking in your clustered flat. “I mean Jeff told me where you lived and I came back to give you your notebook.” “Pretty sure Jeff’s not allowed to give out a client’s personal information.” “He’s not.” Harry agreed, finally turning to look at you. “But I begged and s’more so to mend a friendship.”

You shrugged your shoulders perplexed at the supposed friendship Harry claimed the two of you had. “Never aware we were friends to begin with.” You were quick to cut off Harry’s reply, his mouth opening and his eyes shining with guilt. “I can see this conversation is going somewhere. Just give me a few to freshen up yeah? Just woke up.”

Once you were in the safety of your bathroom, you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding and took your time to freshen up.

“The fuck.” You mumbled looking at your scruffy complexion. “This man gives me a headache.”

Hyping yourself up in the mirror, you finally deemed yourself ready to come face-to-face with the man who had hurt you the night before.

“I didn’t know.” He said as soon as you walked in, almost as if he had sensed your presence. At first you were left confused by his words, but that was until you saw the frame he was gripping in his hands.

“Of course you didn’t, why would you?” You spoke after a moments silence, gently prying his fingers off of the photo and placing it back where it belonged. “Mitch knew.” you raise your eyebrows in question and what this had to do with anything. “You met Mitch years after me, but Mitch knew.”

“Can you blame me? We were never that close Harry, but I got to a point in my friendship with Mitch to feel comfortable enough to open up and for him to recognise when there was something wrong with me.”

Harry huffed; his eyes downcast so to not meet yours. “S’my point! I’ve known you for almost four years now and I could never see beyond the front you put on. I couldn’t see that you were in pain.”

You were shocked at his broken confession, but it only did so little to cure the damage he had done yesterday when he had verbally ripped into you and your hard work. “You really hurt me yesterday.”

At your words Harry looked up at you, taking your hand in his he gently pulled you to your sofa, his hand still on yours even when you sat down. “I can’t even express to you how sorry I am.”

“You can start with why maybe. I may not know you well, but I know you enough to know that outbursts like that always have a meaning behind.”

“I was just so frustrated.” Harry paused with a slight shake of his head as if to get rid of the memories he had made the day before. “Not at you, at myself. The deadline is so close, and I’ve not even got half of the songs ready. And then Jeff called you in to do my work.”

He let out a breathy laugh, his hand only leaving yours to be raised over his head in exasperation. “I mean I’m supposed to be one of the top artists of my generation and I don’t even have the brain capacity to write enough decent songs to make an album. I was so embarrassed that my manager thought I needed a ghost writer, someone who’s work I would take credit for, to write my songs for me. And then to make matters worse you had this book full of these amazing songs and it just made me question where I stood in the music world. God I was so jealous. And I know none of this excuses my hateful words, but I just needed you to know where they came from.”

“Not any concealed hate I have for you and not because I genuinely thought your writing was shit. It was just ‘cause in that moment I was an insecure little boy who couldn’t handle someone being better than him.”

“You absolute idiot!” you all but shouted causing his eyes to widen in shock, “First of all, you’re a jealous prick. I can’t believe you ripped into me so bad and embarrassed me in front of everyone because you couldn’t admit to yourself the fact that you needed help. Second of all you I don’t know if you’re aware, but you have an album full of amazingly written songs, something that you took a huge risk and then succeeded regardless. Third you know I don’t want to be known for anything until I’m ready, so enough with that taking credit bullshit and fourth thanks a lot for ruining my first writing experience with you I can’t even begin to tell you how long I was waiting for someone to ask me.”

“Oh and fifth! I forgive you. But you better not pull that shit with me again. I can take criticism but only if its constructive and not used to attack me.”

You mumbled in surprise as Harry’s arms wrapped around you pulling you in for a tight hug shivers running over your body from his whispers of what an amazing person you are against your neck.

“Well are you ready now?” Harry smiled slyly pulling away from the hug, the almost-creepy look on his face starting to freak you out.

“Ready for what?” You asked with caution, unsure of where Harry was taking the conversation.

“Want you to help me write tha’ lovely song you showed me ‘nd I want you to be put down as the co-writer.” Harry beamed at you. “If you’re ready of course, just thought if you wanted maybe it’s time for the world to see how talented you are.”

Your mind was reeling as you contemplated your answer, you knew that somewhere down the line you wanted to be recognised for the work that you did. You just had never decided when, but as you looked at the man sitting beside you, you finally reached your answer.

“I’d love to.”

#Harry Styles #harry #styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst

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everythingoesnk · 5 years

Text

I love you, John

summary; in the fandom we say brian’s the 5th beatle. well now he’s the 6th bc in this you’re a member of the band. basically you’re in love with john but he’s dating yoko and............. it’s all a disaster

word count; 2 966

warnings; angst at its finest. i’m sorry if u find it trashy but i tried and that’s what counts

********

There was no way you could face this feeling. It damaged your mental health to the point of insufferable anxiety.

Nobody knew about those episodes.

Was it something that you enjoyed, seeing front row how your friendship shattered to useless fragments? Did you look like you didn’t care about how he distanced himself more each time without looking back? Like nothing or no one else mattered? Of course not.

He was alien to the fact he wasn’t the only one suffering.

At least this was the reason you found that made the most sense to his coldness and passively behaviour towards everyone. Or the justification you wanted to believe, refusing to accept that reality was that he didn’t mind everything falling apart.

The tortuous thought that John wanted to see it all reduced to ashes crossed your mind every once in a while.

Paul sighed loudly when he didn’t get any answer from you after calling multiple times. He randomly pounded several piano keys at once, creating a frightening awful sound, then dragged himself to his feet and anxiously left the room.

None of that made you tore your eyes away from John, though.

He was talking to Yoko, who was sitting on the floor beside him, nodding her head as she followed with her gaze what he was pointing at in the music sheet. Occasionally she’d interrupt him to opine. When that happened he would shut up and listen.

John was very polite when asking for thoughts, always open to new ideas and constantly seeking people's opinions on his work.

Ringo’s eyes were glued on you, George noticed, and he knew the drummer was thinking the same exact thing he was. Ringo nodded in his direction and left to find something to eat: you’d been rehearsing for three hours and he hadn't had breakfast in the morning.

"We're all getting used to it"

Outwardly speaking, George's nonchalant-wannabe words had no apparent reaction in you. On the inside, they crushed your soul deeper into misery.

You hummed an ‘approving’ sound to dodge the pressure of having to form a proper sentence.

Concentration back again on tuning the knobs of the guitar, George put his aside on the floor and watched you closely. Then sighed and pressed his lips together.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?”

"The ticking"

Pokerfaced, you stopped your actions to sneak a look at him.

"What ticking?” you asked grimly.

"Yours," he replied, pointing a finger at you. “You’re about to explode”

“We have a comedian in the building, how appropriate” you proclaimed nodding your head at him mockingly.

He grinned and dropped his gaze to the floor before speaking to you again.

“Come with me,” he said, getting up, “I’m craving a smoke”

“I’ll join in a moment. I want to finish writing down a couple of things first”

"Oh yeah?" George wasn’t convinced at all.

He removed a strand of hair from his face. In vain ‘cause it returned shortly to the same place where he’d shoved it away from.

“Yes"

George stared at you, hands on the hips.

Sunk in your seat, you glanced at him too without blinking.

"I’m inspired," you added, one last attempt to make him believe you.

You could try. You could try giving that song you’d been working on a new chance.

"Okay," he nodded, lowering the guard, and kissed your forehead, "you know where to find me"

"Sure, Geo"

You smiled and rapidly shot him a big grin, thumbs held up as well, when he turned around to take a good last look at you before closing the door behind his back.

As soon as he was nowhere around, your smile was found gone.

It was only you, John and Yoko now.

It must have been the tenth time that, desperately, you ran your hands through your hair.

Perhaps the problem was you. And you were just exaggerating everything.

But did she have to stick her nose in something that had nothing to do with her?

You didn’t mind her discussing the songs. But never in a million years could you believe she had the ovaries to criticize them. To criticize your work. Paul’s work, George’s and Richie’s work.

Never John’s, though. It must be said to add a little more context to you losing it.

You weren't nosy, but she didn't try to be inconspicuous either.

That bitch’d been talking shit about what she referred to as ‘Ringo’s lame thing’, claiming that Octopus’s Garden was kind of embarrassing and that it didn’t deserve to be on a Beatles record. She didn’t even bother asking about the meaning behind it, the ignorant cretin.

You bit your tongue until you just couldn't anymore.

"God," you exhaled.

Yoko heard your sigh but said nothing about it, bowing her head. She wished John’d do the same, but deep down she knew he’d have something to say.

And of course, he did.

"What's up?" he asked lifting an eyebrow, eyes jumping from you to Yoko and back.

"One gets tired of listening to bullshit" you warranted in a singsong voice, not looking up from the paper and without interrupting your writing.

It took a few seconds for you to get a response.

"Nothing she said was bullshit," John defended, hinting that her opinion was as valid as anyones.

You understood his words differently.

"Rich’s mad excited about it and it’s a great song,” you hurried to argue, this time meeting his stare, “the number of hours and dedication he's putting into it is inhuman. You should know that”

A little –huge— bit of your protective side towards Ringo was showing, but you didn’t care. Octopus’s Garden was beautiful and you’d die defending so if necessary.

"I didn't mean—"

“Are you sure?” you interrupted, turning your body in his direction, leaning in before spitting the poison out, “because lately she seems to speak for you. Whatever Yoko says, there you are giving your approval”

John stood still for at least a minute, momentarily speechless.

Yoko approached him to tell him to forget it and leave before things got uglier.

When you called the conversation off after he hadn’t spoken a word, trying to handle what you just so hostilely reprimanded, you went back to your thing, conscious that you were too unstable and broken to even pick the pencil up again.

Sure you didn’t want him to know you weren’t as strong as you wanted to appear to be, but you had to close your eyes for a moment and exhale after he moved to stand next to you.

He didn’t know the power he had on you. It’d take a snap of his fingers to ruin you for eternity.

“You’ve to fix your shit and get over it,” John grunted, fed up with the constant attacks that Yoko directly and indirectly received. It all got too much to handle.

You laughed in his face.

“Fix my shit? How, John, when the shit’s in the same room?”

John paused again, shocked.

His eyes languidly turned cold and hard.

Could you maybe have gone a step too far? There was no denying. Were you regretful? Not at all. Did your heart, constricted in your breast painfully hindering your catch of air, speed up its pace at the look John was giving you, scared about what he was going to say next? Absolutely.

"What the fuck’s wrong with you? I've had enough of the continuous offences to my wife! Now this?!” he snapped, yelling.

You avoided by all means raising your voice since it’s pretty much known that doing so does not make you any more right. The tone was something you could take control over, unfortunately, it was way more difficult to hide how it trembled.

“If I started to say what I was fed up with we’d never finish the album. And we have to, right, John? The sooner the better,” you challenged in a cold-blooded boost of courage, knowing you were entering a difficult and muddy territory.

The bomb timer George talked about earlier was at its limit.

That John asked Yoko afterwards to leave you two alone was just the appetizer of what was coming.

“(Y/N), you have attitude problems. The way you treat Yoko is horrible and unfair. She just wants to help” he tried to let you know where he was coming from, going back to a more suitable tone to appeal you.

“When we ask her for help, her presence will be welcomed”

“Enough now. Enough, (Y/N)” he shook his head and glanced at you fiercely. You swallowed. "Shit, what the hell’s going on with you and your twisted mind? You’re unbearable"

“Am I unbearable?” you gasped, blood heating your face, and immediately stood up. “You’re insufferable!! Twenty-four hours together like… like… like two fucking creeps!” you screamed, quickly forgetting about the ‘not raising your voice’ thing, gesturing an awful lot to express your irritation.

His expression of disbelief morphed onto one of monumental anger.

"And don't come at me with that ‘attitude problems’ crap. I’m not the only one who wants her out” you lectured in a bitter fit of temper, voice unwillingly shaky.

“If you have a problem with Yoko being around, the door is right there” he answered, pronounced tightness clear in his words.

Your heart sank to the very bottom of the Earth’s core, and the floor beneath your feet started trembling, just like you hallucinated once after dropping acid with Paul: the whole body in an uninterrupted burning perception that you could just blow up and die.

John was unpredictable, but you never expected him to show you the way out. He flushed your feelings down the toilet just like that.

“Damn right the door’s right there. I’m getting the fuck out” you stressed, turning around to leave so he wouldn’t see the sea of tears that started to overflow down your face.

From the very beginning of your friendship, you knew you had a massive soft spot reserved for him in your heart, but as years passed you were assured you were deeply and profoundly in love with every part of him. You adored and cared about John more than you did to yourself, which sounds and is scary, but you couldn’t do anything to stop it. It was the way that it was.

At this point you didn’t even care anymore that he didn’t return the same feelings, you just wanted him in your life one way or the other. His happiness was everything that mattered to you. It’d always remain that way no matter what happened.

John rubbed his eyes and sighed loudly.

“Don’t leave,” he said hopelessly, looking defeated, arms hanging on his sides, “I don’t want you to be mad at me”

“I’M NOT MAD AT YOU, IDIOT!” you exploded, whirling around to face him. “And I hate that! I hate it!”

Tears and tears kept streaming down your face. You knew you were being embarrassingly cringey and you’d punch yourself later for that.

There was no coming back now: the timer detonated and the pieces of your broken heart were all over the place, imaginarily staining the carpet as small volcanoes attached to them kept erupting and painting all red.

An anguish heaving pain in the pit of your stomach and throat was bit by bit killing you.

Nine years. Nine years in love with this man and he didn’t have the slimmest clue about how you felt.

He was about to find out.

John was surprised to meet your bloodshot eyes and quivering lips. He panicked when he saw that tears were also coming out of your nose down to your lips.

“I hate that you could hurt me over and over and that I’d always find ways to forgive you” you cried, and you wished you had a tissue to blow out your nose in it.

John was at a loss of words.

“Because I love you” you wailed, and rolled your eyes afterwards at that because it was so inconvenient and wrong to say it out loud.

In his consciousness, a voice snapped at him to take action and comfort you, but his feet seemed to be rooted to where he was standing. You were so vulnerable and fragile, full body shaking and shoulders tight, air constantly bursting in and out of your mouth, impossible to control your sobs. All because of him.

“I don’t… I don’t…” John struggled, heartbeat racing a million miles per second.

“I know you don’t!” you sputtered, an excruciating feeling that he’d never want to be with you choking you extremely. "Up until now I thought I could live with it, but you keep bringing her here! Why do you have to bring her?” you sobbed, covering your face.

John couldn’t quite tell whether it was your statement and confession what made his heart heavier with misery or the nicotine in the amount of tobacco smoke still hovering in the room, demanding it to work harder.

By the time he felt sorrowness suffocating him, he couldn’t deny it was the first option.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry…”

As he watched you gulp for air, he couldn’t feel more incompetent and clueless.

You compressed your lips so he wouldn’t get to hear you sobbing; turning your back at him to hide your blotchy face, you heard footsteps approaching you.

John went to put a hand on your shoulder and hold you, but you winced and complained, stepping away from him, as if the contact burned your skin.

Staring at him in the eye, you shook your head.

“Do not touch me”

“(Y/N), we have to sit down and talk this through. I cannot—“

“I don’t want to keep talking about it. I said my part and I know what’s crossing your mind. ‘Poor (Y/N), I feel so bad for her, I hope she gets over it soon’. Nine years, John”

He swallowed.

“I’m sure there’s a way—“

“There isn’t! I love you and you don’t love me! What is there to discuss?”

Glancing across at him, you could perfectly see how he cared and how frightened and terrified he was about the situation. You were one of the most important people in his life, and to think that he thought he knew you, but missed what you were genuinely feeling towards him for almost a decade… He felt horrible.

Yoko was the love of his life, but he also loved you with all his heart.

He was sorry that it wasn’t enough.

“John”

George stepped into the room and walked further in to pull you towards him. He'd been watching for just a few seconds, because as soon as he saw what was going on, he intended to leave, at the end of the day it was none of his business, but he knew you needed him and therefore took the decision to end the scene.

Rubbing your back, he whispered in your hair if you wanted to leave. You just nodded.

“Wait, George. I need to talk to her”

“You heard her. She doesn’t want to”

John got mad at him.

“All I’m asking is a few minutes. Don’t expect me to drop it when she’s like that”

Maybe by ‘that’ he meant that you looked like a train just ran you over. Casually, that’s how you felt. If not worse.

You rested your head on George’s shoulder and murmured something about needing to go now because you couldn’t be in John’s presence no more.

“(Y/N), please” you heard John beg.

George and you walked to the door and he told you to wait outside, touching your cheek with a small smile on his lips, encouraging you to take it as an opportunity to calm down.

You obliged, but heard everything they were saying anyway.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” John cursed. “Why won’t you let me speak to her? This is serious, please”

John tried to get to the door but George barred the way.

“Are you gonna tell her you love her?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

John stared at his bandmate blankly, the expression of confusion on his face speaking for itself.

“Are you gonna tell her you’re leaving Yoko to spend your life with her?” George continued, making a point that he knew John would understand.

You bit your lip at that and wept silently.

John’s eyes were slowly piling up hot tears.

“That’s what I thought” George spoke in an undertone.

After that, George left him and found you sitting on the ground in the corridor. He took a seat next to you.

Spontaneous sobs and shiverings that you couldn’t hold back happened every now and then. You were grateful that George wouldn’t address them.

“I’m pathetic”

“No you’re not”

“Yes I am” you shook your head and sniffed, feeling lamentable. “I didn’t know I’d end up confessing one day. I assumed I’d carry it to the crave”

Two staff members from the cleaning crew walked by, and you stopped talking. When they were gone, George turned to look at you.

“I believe things happen for a reason and that fate is written. You and John not being a thing may be for the best. It’s gonna be hard, but you have to move on”

“Move on…”

He nodded.

You moved to face him and stared strongly into his eyes. That was it.

“Move on” you repeated out loud as a mantra, staring off into nowhere.

George furrowed an eyebrow.

“Yes…?”

You inhaled and exhaled at the same time that you closed and opened your eyes. Moving on would be the first step to a better stage within yourself.

“I’m leaving”

Puzzlement clouded George’s features.

“Leave… where?”

“The band, Geo. I’m quitting the band”

#john lennon #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #the beatles #brian epstein #yoko ono #let it be #john lennon imagine #john lennon fanfic #john lennon fanfiction #let it be sessions #john lennon angst #tayloredstarr

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years

Text

fox rain | one

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. seokjin) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid seokjin is (i’m sorry for always making him so dumb) → words: 10.4K → a/n: i know i say this a lot, but this literally the STUPIDEST thing i’ve ever written in my life. i’ve lost maybe ten braincells per word in this fic, and i’m proud of it gdi!! some of my best jokes are in this mess, and that’s saying a lot considering my whole life is a joke. also: check bio for the chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | one | next • —

When you feel yourself awakening, for a moment, you think you might have been hungover. The usual disembodiment you feel after a night out of drinking is what greets you when the last dredges of sleep start to fade out of your periphery, added with the insatiable urge to piss the equivalent of the volume of the Atlantic Ocean. There are weights over your eyes, you surmise, because there is no way you will be able to open them long enough to see whether you were actually dead.

But of course, you are still subjected to the curse of human curiosity, which allows you to gather enough strength to squint blearily and access your current surroundings.

You are greeted by the sight of unfamiliar overhead lights and sterile white walls. The window just to your left shows the darkened sky, the moon creeping just behind the evergreen trees. Groaning slightly, you push yourself into a sitting position, a sudden wave of vertigo slamming into you like a supernova. As you survey the room some more, you notice the sound of muffled conversation going on behind the nearby sheer curtain, and the smell of antiseptic wafts its way into your nostrils. You’re in the nurse’s office, you realize belatedly, grasping the threadbare sheets of your university’s barebones version of a hospital bed.

You put your head into your hands, breathing deeply as you try to remember the last thing that happened to you.

Yoongi’s dick. The stupid e-mail. The poem. The conspiracy group. Seokjin on a pedestal giving a TedTalk about himself. Yoongi’s dick. Namboob. Fainting in the utility closet. Yoongi’s dick.

The mental gymnastics that your brain is currently undergoing elicits a sound akin to a dying squirrel from your open mouth, and it must have sounded terribly loud and unnerving because the nurse bursts into the room just a few seconds after. The nurse, who must have been an underpaid med student by the looks of the designer purple handbags decorating her sullen cheeks, looks at you with less genuine concern and more acute abhorrence.

In your drowsiness, you don’t realize that your throat had somehow converted into the Sahara desert when you had fainted, so you are just as surprised as the nurse when you start doing a wonderful impersonation of Sadako instead.

“Hoo bwat meh hey?” you articulate, your tongue feeling like an oversized fist trying to work its way from out of your larynx. At the very least, no one can blame you for not trying your best to sound coherent. Seeing your struggle, the apathetic nurse has the decency to reach behind one of the shelves and hand you a cup of water. You grab it from her, gulping the entire thing in one go all while you proceed to not care about the rivulets of water and drool trailing down your chin and onto your crotch.

“Sorry,” you say, not really knowing why you were apologizing in the first place. Perhaps for existing? “I was trying to ask who brought me here.”

The nurse, unsurprisingly, only gives you an indifferent shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t know. Some gray-haired twink came in with you on his back. Apparently, you fainted in front of him for no reason, and when we checked your vitals, everything seemed to be fine.” She gestures at your ragged form, almost as if she didn’t believe that they hadn’t found anything wrong with you. You are obliged to share her sentiments.

“You’re free to leave whenever you want. Just make sure to sleep more and eat. University is tough on kids like you,” she says, turning to leave without another look in your direction. Somehow, you feel insulted even though the nurse hadn’t really done anything to you. Perhaps her lack of concern for your mental wellness and the fact that your newly acquired PTSD after today’s events only warranted “a good night’s sleep” as a form of treatment. Ah, the woes of having zero healthcare. Regardless, you decide to take her up on her advice and head home in hopes of acquiring some semblance of sleep after today’s traumatic episode.

Exiting the clinic, you find that almost no one is left on campus, save for the occasional student on their way to their evening classes. Being at your university during the evening had always been an odd sensation for you, as it reminds you of all the nighttime finals you have had to take in the past. Whenever the sun set and darkness enveloped the campus, it is always a given that you would be able to hear someone shouting obscenities from somewhere in the distance, especially since your university is well-known for the bars and clubs that litter its outskirts. Nonetheless, you hopelessly pray that you won’t pass by any drunk college kids, especially on this Friday night.

Just as you are about to cross the street to get to your bus stop, you notice a familiar face waiting by the entrance of the clinic. You backtrack, staring at the back of her head as she inconspicuously tries to peer into the curtained windows like some sort of pervert. Knowing her, your assumption probably isn’t that far off.

You approach her quietly, carrying your footsteps so that she doesn’t hear you until you place your mouth just beside her ear. Even at this proximity, she is none the wiser to your presence. You blow gently against her neck, whispering, “Sera. What the hell are you doing?”

As expected, she shrieks at you in surprise, almost landing a karate-chop on your face but you are saved by the fact that she had as much hand-eye coordination as a dead man in a coffin. You step back as you watch her slice through the air for another few seconds, her gaze wild before they finally land on your smirking face. Realizing that she had overreacted, she straightens up in a huff, glaring at you with as much annoyance as she can muster (but really, who can stay angry at your cute face for long?)

“Trying to look for that hot doctor again?” You joke, peering inquisitively at her hunched form. You wouldn’t be surprised to find a pair of binoculars behind her back at this point, given by how many times you’ve caught her “observing” potential boyfriends.

“How dare––!” She splutters, ears turning red from your accusation. When she shifts slightly, you notice a black object passing through her hands and trying to covertly slip into her bag. Ah. The binoculars.

“How dare I what? Accuse you of stalking a poor med student who is probably overdosing on Adderall as we speak? Oh, sorry for overstepping my boundaries,” you drawl, grinning at her affronted expression. “Unless, of course, you happened to hear about me fainting this afternoon and you wanted to offer me a ride home? Since you’re such a good friend, after all?

She looks at you, alarmed. “You fainted? When? How?”

“Oh, so now you’re concerned. I could’ve died with the image of Min Yoongi’s penis tattooed under the backs of my eyelids, and my best friend never would’ve known… Who, then, would avenge me and clear my name? Who, then, would take care of my growing collection of scantily clad women figurines––?”

“Did you just say you saw Min Yoongi’s penis? Holy shit!” Sera shrieks, eyes bugging out of their sockets. You are sure everyone within a 5 mile radius must’ve heard her, but you didn’t even have the energy to be mortified. Death always did sound like a great vacation idea, anyway.

“Sure, just scream it out for everyone to hear. Maybe we can get him to come back and do it again so you won’t think I’m crazy,” you mutter, grabbing Sera by the sleeve and tugging her towards the parking lot. “You brought your car, right? Bring me home.”

“Jeez, you drop this major bomb on me as if you were just talking about your cat taking a shit on your bed or something, and now you’re ordering me to bring you home? Cheeky,” Sera huffs, but she lets you drag her regardless.

Luckily, her car is parked relatively close because you honestly don’t know how much longer you can take before your knees give out from under you. It seems that despite the little nap you had at the nurse’s clinic, you hardly feel refreshed at all. All you want is to pass out on your comfortable bed for an indefinite period of time and pray for the demon under your bed to drag you to its depths and skin you alive. Knowing your luck, even the demon wouldn’t be that merciful towards a gremlin like yourself.

Sera begins backing up the car, stealing looks at you as you slowly became one with the car seat. You clench your eyelids shut, hoping that Sera would have the decency to respect your space for now and save the questioning for later. That pipe dream is immediately dashed, however, when she starts speeding down the empty streets and opens her big fucking mouth, her shrill voice reverberating in the small sedan.

“Don’t you dare sleep on me now, young miss! You have an entire weekend to hibernate so crank up that brain of yours for two more minutes and tell me what the fuck happened,” she says, nearly crashing over a trash bin in her haste to interrogate you.

“My brain? What’s that? Pretty sure that old thing disintegrated months ago. I think I shat it out when we had Taco Tuesday that one time in November,” you say, missing the way she snorts back in response. When Sera pinches your side to force you to face forward, your fatigue addled consciousness doesn’t even register the pain until a few seconds later.

“Ow,” you whine lamely.

“That literally took you five seconds to react,” Sera whistles, running over a child’s bike in the process. Neither of you look back to check the damage. “Damn, Min Yoongi’s penis must’ve been hella impressive if you’re this mindfucked. Are the rumors true? He must be packing down there, am I right?”

“Please stop saying the word penis. I’m getting triggered again,” you groan, slapping her lightly. She guffaws loudly, shoulders shaking at your misery.

“Sorry, can’t help being a horny bastard. But seriously, what’s the context? I wasn’t even aware you still talked to him after first year. He was your RA at your freshman dorm, right?”

“I don’t talk to him,” you say. You fidget in your seat, hands twisting and turning on your lap. “I mean. We were never close or anything.”

“Then care to explain how you managed to stand in the presence of Min Yoongi junior and behold his glory? Were you guys about to fuck before you realized his penis probably isn’t going to fit? Or, holy shit… Is he actually fun-sized like the rest of his body is?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sera.”

“Oh my god, he’s totally fun-sized!” She gasps, snatching up her phone while you two waited at a stoplight. “Wait ‘til Cassandra hears about this––”

Despite your diminished motor skills, you manage to grab her phone away from her before she can spread any misinformation to the rest of the student body. Min Yoongi’s penis is his business, and consequently, it seems to have become your business as well. Cue existential dread.

“Will you shut up for two seconds and let me explain? No, he is not fun-sized. I will not divulge any more information regarding that subject,” you say. Sera deflates noticeably beside you. “And no, we were not about to fuck. I just happened upon him while he was… in the midst of some recreational activities.”

“Oh, he’s into that type of shit. Understandable,” Sera nods, sagely. You have no idea what her tone might be implying, but honestly at that point you were too scared to ask. “How’d you find him like that, then? Did you hear him tugging his meat and decide to join in? Because honestly, big mood.”

“No!” you exclaim hotly, slapping her once again. “I’m not like your perverted ass! I was just––” You halt in the middle of your sentence, recollections of the past hours swimming through your mind and the fear and anxiety that had taken over you this afternoon starts to consume you once more.

“Hey, you alright? You got pale all of a sudden,” Sera notes, slowing down in her driving as she makes her way to park in front of your apartment. The two of you can see the lights of your crotchety landlord’s living room are still on, and you hope to God that he isn’t peering outside his windows and preparing to call the police on your friend (again).

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just,” you sigh, staring ahead of you and into the empty street. You don’t know why you’re hesitant to tell her what had happened earlier today. Normally, you would be exploding at the seams right now, weeping in despair at the sorry state of your existence. Then again, you’re not sure if you’re ready to go through the agony of reexperiencing the worst 12 hours of your life. Also, you just wanted to go pass out in your bed and never wake up.

In the end, you decide to tell her. Maybe she could offer a comforting shoulder to cry on. “Okay, so don’t laugh but… You remember the poem that got posted on the CCU Love Letters Facebook page this morning?”

Sera nods, confused. “Yeah? What about it?”

You take a deep breath, feeling your palms begin to sweat as hot licks of shame run down your back. You whisper, “Well. Yeah. I’m the author.”

There is a tangible silence inside the car. You’re afraid to look at Sera, dreading what sort of expression might appear on her face. Disdain? Pity? Mirth? Whatever it is, her quietness makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in alarm. You’re about to book it out of her car and make some shitty excuse about needing to feed your goldfish when you hear the locks of the cardoors click shut. You whip your head towards her, eyes widening when you saw the smug look on her face.

Not a good sign. At all.

“Do my ears deceive me? Is Miss ‘i’m-never-going-to-date-because-romance-is-dead’ Y/N really the author of the sweetest and most romantic poem of the century?” she singsongs, her smirk growing with each word that leaves her lips.

“Who ever said I was against romance?” You retort, cheeks flushing so hotly that you’re sure there is steam coming out of your ears. Sera cackles loudly, slamming her hand so hard into the car horn that it causes one of the wandering cats to jump up high into the air. You are half concerned when you don’t see the poor cat come back down.

“Oh please! When was the last time you dated anyone? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you date anyone the entire time we’ve known each other!”

“We met in freshman year. You didn’t know how I was in high school,” you pout, huffing crossly. “And besides. I write romantic poems sometimes. You’ve read my blog posts.”

“Yeah, I know but,” Sera giggles once more, switching her phone on to search for something. When she finds what she is looking for, her eyes light up as she shows you the damned poem that got you into this mess in the first place. “You literally wrote ‘how wonderful is it to find that the dips in your hands look awfully lonely without mine in them?’ and you’re telling me that you wrote that?”

You push the phone away, groaning into your hands when you happen to glance at the number of likes on the post. “Fucking 2000 likes? Really? I’m gonna commit seppuku with your 13-inch dildo, I swear.”

As you let yourself descend into madness once more, you feel Sera’s hand pat your back comfortingly, though you can still hear her stifled giggles. “Okay. To be honest, I kind of knew it was you. No one else can write sappy lovesick bullshit like that and be sincere about it. Who the fuck compares skin to moonlight anymore? Are we in the 16th century?”

“You just said you didn’t believe that I’d write it,” you say. “I need people to not think it’s me. It’s so embarrassing as it is!”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think people are gonna think it’s you. There are a bunch of people in our Creative Writing class. It could be anyone,” Sera says, pinching your cheek lightly.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, probably.” Sera hums, her thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. She pauses, chuckling lightly at something. “Though, I must say. You’re incredibly lucky. If you had used your actual e-mail address instead of your… burner one, you would have been found out immediately.”

“Little victories,” you say, wondering if the prepubescent version of yourself would have known that creating [email protected] would eventually save your life 10 years later in the future. Probably not, but you’ll take it all the same. “Will you unlock the doors now, please? I’m gonna sleep the trauma away and hopefully not be alive by Monday, but if I am… then I guess I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“Hold on sister,” she says, restraining you back into your seat with her arm. You cough in surprise, shooting a glare back her way as she keeps you away from your bed longer than you would already like. “If you’re the author of the poem… Then can you tell me who the muse of the poem is? And more importantly, is it someone I know?”

Judging by the salacious look on her face, you know it would be a bad idea telling her. Not that you wouldn’t trust Sera with your life, but––actually, you really would not trust her with anything. Now that you think about it, telling Sera would be the equivalent of giving Kim Seokjin full access to your internet search history, and you have enough brain cells in your inventory to know that some things are worse than death.

“Ugh, can we just drop the subject, please? I really don’t want to have an aneurysm inside your car right now. I can see Mr. Park staring at us through his living room window and we both know you can’t afford bail for the third time this year.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” she sighs, relinquishing her hold on you and allowing you to unlock the door. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting this go! You’re telling me everything when we see each other on Tuesday, understand?”

“I’d rather die, thanks!” You call out, slamming the door shut. “And besides, I’m gonna try to kill the rumors as quickly as possible before someone figures it out.”

“How are you gonna do that? Don’t tell me you’re going to go to each of the guys and explain? Maybe tell them it’s a misunderstanding?” Sera asks, watching you curiously. The very thought of doing that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. You gaze downwards at the wet pavement, the feeling of impending doom rapidly becoming familiar.

"That would mean outing myself as the author, so that's definitely a hard pass."

"Suit yourself." Sera shrugs, already beginning to pull away from the driveway. She waves lazily at you, before driving away into the night. You stand outside for a moment longer, sighing deeply as you resign yourself to your new life filled with tomfoolery and bullshittery.

At the very least, there is no where to go but up, right?

[Life Lesson #1: It's important never to test fate with foolish declarations of optimism such as this. It only tempts whatever sadistic force that controls your pathetic human life to do their worst. So of course, it gets worse.]

To your credit, you don't spend your entire weekend wallowing in self-pity and despairing at your current situation. You only spend maybe 90% of it doing just that. The other 10% is used to plan your next plan of action.

Like an idiot, you fill yourself with too much misplaced confidence and Flamin' Hot Cheetos. You think to yourself, "Man! I have the whole weekend to think of something to do! Surely my brain will be able to make some sort of plan by the time Monday comes!"

It is a wonder that you are still somehow standing, in a state that some might say resembles being "alive," with how bad your forward thinking is. As it turns out, the weekend slips past you before you know it, with no more than a seedling of a plan than you did during the peak of your mental breakdown.

Suffice to say, you're in deep shit.

Monday comes just as surely as the sun rises from the east, which is to say that time continues to pass despite how much you'd be willing to pay for it to stop. You could live with one kidney, right? (Fate is probably more of a vegan, you surmise.)

Even when the world is ending all around you, it seems that your 8AM music composition class will wait for no one. And so, there you are: dragging your feet to what is usually one of your favorite classes, but with the added bonus of death clinging to your elbows. Perhaps your cosplay of a corpse is a bit too convincing, because most passersby are quick to step around you. Honestly, this is probably for the best, as you aren't sure what type of state your human compassion is at the moment, should someone dare disturb your "peace."

But of course, there is always that one idiot who manages to ruin your day––for the sole reason that he exists, much to your disappointment and chagrin. Hell, even his voice is enough to make your hairs bristle from just how he lilts his words ever so slightly. It is an absolute shame that the shortest route to your class is past his hair salon, so you can only imagine the speed at which your blood pressure rises when you hear him say––

“Miss Park, your split ends! Oh my word, Miss Park! Whatever shall we do but snip, snip, snip all those wretches out of your life, just like how I snip up all my haters! Aha, this is your cue to laugh by the way!” Kim Seokjin guffaws, his stupid voice unable to be muted by ten inches of concrete. Through the hair salon’s windowpane, you can see Seokjin’s hands make quick work of an elderly woman’s hair, his eyes in crescent moons with how loud he laughs. You mentally make a sign of the cross for the disaster that will soon befall that poor woman’s head.

Now, normally you would make haste to your class, with head bowed and shoulders hunched in hopes of that fool-mouthed ninny from seeing you and engaging in some of his usual buffoonery. For whatever brain cells he lacked, Seokjin always seems to have the ability to rope you into his many harebrained discussions, with topics ranging from “how often do you think people think of sleeping with me?” to “do you think if plants could dream, would they dream of sleeping with me?”

You know. The works.

As it is, today is not an ordinary day, and encountering Seokjin has only made you recall the distressing events from Friday. From your panic induced haze, you can only remember murky images of him holding court amongst a crowd of people, telling them how he must be the muse of your damned poem. The faint memory fills you with abject horror as you are reminded, not for the first time, how big his terribly well-sculpted mouth can be and how he will stop at nothing to make sure that everyone believes what he wants. (Despite how horrendous he is as an organism of this earth, you would be a fool to call his looks anything but mediocre. But that’s as far as anything worth praising concerns the likes of him.)

Something takes over you in that moment, something animalistic. As if your dumb monkey brain is going “hoo hoo eek eek… must… eliminate… AWOOGA… BIG THREAT…” and your sensible and empathetic sides are consequently forced to lie dormant in the meantime.

Hence how you find yourself bursting through Spick and Spock Hair Salon, with no plan whatsoever. All you can think of is Seokjin hanging from his balls on the school’s flagpole, and honestly you weren’t all that concerned with how Point A was going to reach Point B(alls). But we’ll deal with that later.

“What was that?” Miss Park hums, her hearing aid somewhat short-circuited with the sensory abuse it has already had to undergo. To Seokjin’s credit, his hands do not falter despite your loud entrance; however, that could mostly be explained by how much louder his own voice is in comparison, but that’s just your humble onion.

“––and basically, Miss Park, there is this poor soul out there who must be dying with embarrassment because their love poem has been exposed to the world without their consent! Now, I may be Aphrodite incarnate, but I am also a gentleman, and so I do not condone force of any kind,” Seokjin drawls, incognizant of the world around him. He continues to apply the perm solution on Miss Park’s curls, the precision at how he works almost impressive if not for the fact that he was entirely abhorrent.

“That’s nice, Jinnie, but will you please shut up? I’m two steps away from turning off my hearing aid, you know,” Miss Park says cheerily.

“STOP WHERE YOU ARE, KIM SEOKJIN! STOP FEEDING LIES TO THE ELDERLY!” You cry, filled with the same type of distress that a young peasant might feel from their first licks of capitalism. Seokjin, the wicked businessman in this terrible analogy, is the one selling his counterfeit goods to the unsuspecting innocent.

Miss Park gasps, turning to Seokjin with betrayal in her eyes. “Oh, I knew it! My perm does make me look older! Just give me the pink highlights like I told you, Jinnie. I saw the youngsters doing it on Facebook,” she says.

Seokjin turns his head towards you in slow-motion, like an ass, and even takes the care to flick his beautifully styled bangs away from his forehead so he can gaze upon you with faux interest. “Oh? Miss Y/N? In my salon? I knew you’d be back here soon enough, especially with those roots… Come, take a seat. Let me bump your sorry 2/10 looking ass to a 2.5/10 at least.”

“If it were not for the laws of this land,” you seethe, cursing him through gritted teeth. You stalk towards him, rolling up your sleeves to show that you mean Business. (Funnily enough, you were wearing a tank top that day.) “I can’t believe you’re even being considered a suspect of the poem’s muse in the first place!”

Seokjin fakes a contemplative look. “Isn’t it because of my moon-like radiance? People have told me that I glow like a newborn babe.”

“You sure have the brains of one,” you retort.

“I heard from my niece that it was because he was an extra in a play as a moon or something,” Miss Park quips helpfully. Seokjin makes an affronted noise, but does not reject her claim.

“You were, like, a prop?” You snicker, forgetting for a moment what you were doing. You watch with wicked fascination as his ears turn red.

“Everyone has to start from somewhere! And so what? I had to hang ten feet in the air with a wedgie the entire time! My battle scars are what make me stronger.” He sniffs, upturned nose and all. You and Miss Park snort, not at all inconspicuously.

He pours the remainder of the solution all over Miss Park’s head and slaps her not-too gently on the back, clasping his hands together gleefully. “Well! That should do the trick. Relax, Miss Park, and let the chemicals do all the talking or whatever.” You take mental note to never come back to his establishment ever again so long as you live.

“Ma’am, if you’d like to save yourself from listening to the avalanche of anger that I’m about to unleash, I would suggest turning off your hearing aid for a moment,” you say.

She shrugs her shoulders, reclining further into her seat and resting her legs on a nearby bench. “Sure. YOLO, as the kids say.”

At her consent, you promptly slap the hearing aid out of her ear so you can scream at Seokjin in relative privacy. Miss Park doesn’t even seem to notice, and this should’ve been an indicator of how fucked up Seokjin’s salon is if she didn’t even seem slightly shocked by your actions. (How could she, when Seokjin literally just dumped fucking chemicals all over her scalp? Isn’t that illegal?)

“I’m going to sensibly reason with you first,” you scream and jab at his chest, being unreasonable.

“Okay, sounds believable,” Seokjin replies, raising a brow. He gestures for you to follow him to where the cashier is supposed to be, except that it is so early in the morning that the other employee that works with him isn’t even in at the moment. You still have yet to know why Seokjin opens the shop at 8AM in the first place.

“Why the hell are you spreading misinformation to random people like that? You know damn well that the poem isn’t about you,” you huff, crossing your arms. Seokjin, the ever-loving twat that he is, matches your pose to mock you. He even juts out his hip the way that you do.

“Of course it’s about me! How could it not be about me? Did you not read the part about how the author looks at the moon and thinks about my skin? Everyone knows that Etude House is dying to have me as their face mask model!”

The prickling urge to strangle him strengthens. “Listen,” you say, teeth gnashing from the effort of keeping yourself from leaping and ending it all. “For once in your life, is it really that hard to believe that the world doesn’t revolve around you?”

“Oh, you’re one of those heliocentric believers? Jincentric is where it’s at, Miss Y/N!” He laughs, slapping his knee at the pure hilarity of his joke. He does not pause once at your disdainful visage.

“Fine! Believe what you want! But I need you to stop telling everyone that you’re the muse of that poem. The rumor won’t die if you keep stoking the flame with your inflamed ego.”

Seokjin ponders your words for a second, looking at you with a contemplative stare. He does not speak for so long that you’re almost willing to let yourself hope that he has acquiesced, until––”When have you ever done anything for me?”

You gape at his sudden accusation. “Excuse me? I’ve done a lot for you!”

“Like?”

You pause, racking your brain. “Uh. I haven’t killed you?”

“Fair,” he nods, stroking his chin. “But that won’t be enough to stop me. I love being admired, so fuck you for even assuming that I would stop talking about myself. However, I’ll do it for a price.”

“Price?” You groan, fixing him with a glare. “You know damn well that I’m poor, but name it and I’ll try to pay it as soon as you can.”

Seokjin grins, his pearly whites much too incandescent with how dark his soul is. “Invest in my JiHope t-shirt business. I need, like, $500 left to reach the first goal of my kickstarter.”

You stare at him, completely baffled. Is this dude for real, or is he just a caricature turned to life? “You’re a heathen, do you know that?” you say, disgust oozing from every orifice of your body.

“I am feeling quite heathen-ish today, thanks for noticing,” he replies, somber. “Does that mean you accept my proposal?”

You hate how his voice sounds even the slightest bit optimistic, because that means he really does think you’re as stupid as he is. “Can you be serious for once? And before you say it, don’t fucking pull a dad joke on me and say some shit like ‘how can I be serious if I’m Jin?’ because I will not hesitate to bite two inches off your dick.”

“That would still leave 13-inches, so to be honest I should be thanking you.” He shrugs his shoulders, unashamed of existing in this day and age. “And no, I can’t be serious. It goes against my brand.”

“Your brand of being a fucking menace to society?” you grouse.

“Exactly.”

You are seriously ready to explode, and it isn’t going to be pretty. Lord knows that Seokjin would hate having your guts splattered on his overpriced Gucci slides. “Please, can you just stop talking about the poem? It’s bad enough that the original post is getting hundreds of likes by the hour, and if I know one thing, it’s probably mostly from your own influence.”

With a hundred thousand followers under his belt, it probably isn’t that much of a stretch. As much as he is the spawn of Satan, he is rather popular among your peers. Not that popularity has ever been a good measure of compassion. Case in point:

Seokjin grins, misleadingly angelic. “Aw, are you calling me an influencer? That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’re insufferable!” you yell, glowering at the overly-smug theatre student. You stomp your foot on the ground, pointing a finger in his direction as your nostrils flare in annoyance. Like hell that you’re going to let this shithead make you his bitch! “If you’re not going to do as I say, then I’m going to pester you throughout your entire shift and follow you to class if I have to!”

Big words from such a weak-willed person such as yourself. It does not take you long to realize how fatal of a mistake it is to make such a promise, because you never really stopped to think about the actual logistics of such a stunt (i.e. having to be around Seokjin for longer than your recommended daily dose). You can only imagine what such an experience would entail.

After a 3-hours of watching a buffoon salvaging humanity’s hair-do’s and don’ts (his words not yours), you feel as if his very demonic energy was sucking your life force with a curly straw. You fear that when you close your eyes tonight, you will be haunted by images of his Pacific-wide shoulders and his head tilted back in maniacal laughter as he snips away with less care than a toddler. Well, at least that’s what he appears to be doing, because occasionally you will zone out but then return to the sight of a fairly satisfied customer with glossy looking locks, so perhaps he isn’t as inept as you had imagined.

Your amazement is short-lived, however, when he opens his mouth and the cycle begins anew.

After finishing his last client for the morning, he makes his way to his first class of the day. You are reminded of the fact that you are missing your own morning classes as a result, but you know that you cannot afford to let him off your sight, lest he make a bigger fool of himself (and consequently, make your life a bigger hell than it already is).

You trudge behind him, ensuring that he never strays further than three feet away from you. It’s pretty easy to keep up with him, due to the fact that he always makes a point to pause whenever he sees his own reflection (in windows, shiny surfaces, some poor boy’s bicycle helmet––his narcissism knows no bounds.)

When he finally makes a full stop outside one of the lecture halls, he intentionally sidesteps in front of you. The suddenness of it causes you to bump against his steely back, bruising your nose enough to make you yelp in pain. You’re just about to cuss him out when he turns to face you, uncharacteristically serious.

“Now Y/N, I need you to stay out here in the corridor like a good girl, okay? There’s a strict rule of having no pets allowed,” he coos, making the fatal mistake of trying to stroke your head. He shrieks when your teeth meets his palm, but you are unrepentant.

When you let go, he tries to appear unfazed, blowing you a kiss instead as he saunters off into the lecture hall. Not wanting to disturb the class anyway, you decide to heed his words and squat outside in the hallway, occasionally looking through the small window to glare menacingly at the pink-haired bastard. Despite the holes you wish you were burning into the back of his skull, he remains aloof to your imaginary death ray as he continues to take studious notes of whatever his professor is saying.

On the other hand, his classmates are a different story. They send each other wary looks, wondering why the hell this random person was doing a Jack Torrance impression. When the clock strikes, they all make a beeline for the exit, clearly avoiding looking you in the eye as they speedwalk to their next classes. Seokjin makes it out last, his gait the picture of perfect nonchalance. He has the audacity to look surprised to see you there, like you were an old friend he had not expected to meet until you both reached the pearly gates (or fiery pits, but that’s unimportant right now).

“You’re still here, Miss Golum? Have you been good? I’m honestly surprised that you are as stubborn as I am.” He whistles lowly, shouldering his backpack with a smirk. He walks down the hall towards the exit, not checking to see if you were keeping up or not.

You proceed to bite his penis in half to keep him in place. Okay, not really, but you know… one can dream.

What you actually do is follow him as he heads to the cafeteria, presumably to sustain the mortal body he has chosen to possess. It takes him an agonizing thirty minutes to decide what he wants to eat for lunch, and another thirty minutes to say his extensive list of food products that he will most likely be consuming within the next hour or so. You’ve never seen a fast food worker look so dead before, and you’re sure the poor college student behind the counter had zoned out after Seokjin ordered his tenth happy meal.

As the two of you stand to the side to wait for his order, he turns to you expectantly. “So,” he begins.

“Fa,” you retort, followed by a gasp of shock from the elder.

“Do my ears deceive me? Your first dad joke… And to think, all it took was for you to hang out with me for four hours to initiate you as an apprentice.” He weeps loudly, faking tears in an impressively short amount of time. That doesn’t stop you from kicking him in the shin, though.

“Don’t worry, I’m already dead inside. There’s no soul left for you to consume,” you reply dryly. He tuts, shaking his head.

“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was just about to ask… As much as I have enjoyed our quality bonding time together––”

“I’ll gladly piss on your grave, don’t forget,” you interject.

“––I was wondering why you’re so adamant to dispel the rumors about the poem? You don’t seem like the type to engage in campus gossip.”

Oh shit. Perhaps there is something more than hot air in that tiny head of his.

You flounder about like a fish for a bit, your mouth opening and closing as you think of an explanation that wouldn’t out yourself in the process. You feel your cheeks reddening, only two seconds away from steam whistling out of your eardrums. Broken stammers are all you can manage as he waits expectantly, but luckily, you don’t have to think of a response when a nearby commotion forces the two of you to back away from each other.

A gaggle of freshmen storm through from out of nowhere, forcing the both of you to be swept away as they all made their way towards a pop-up stand in the middle of the court. Accustomed to the borderline cringey overexcitement of the youngest students in the university, you are quick to dismiss their behavior and decide to search for Seokjin, until you hear one of the little freshmen say something that catches your attention.

"You think the t-shirts are still available? Chaeyeon said the hoodies sold out this morning, so I'm scared that we'll be too late," a young girl says, her hands clutched to her chest as she tries to tiptoe over the crowd to survey the state of the merchants just up ahead.

Her friend pats her back assuringly. "Don't worry. The announcement on the page said they're bringing in the reserve stocks from the backroom, which is probably why everyone's here. We just have to get there first." They proceed to elbow their way through the throng of people, and completely disappear from your view. Where they stood, more people soon took their place until a sizeable swarm has taken over half the area of the floor.

Now, this exchange isn't necessarily a red flag to most people, since many clubs and organizations at your university often sold different types of goods to raise funds for their projects. However, given the circumstances that you have become entrenched in the last few days, you can never be too cautious of innocent utterances such as this.

You take a few steps back, trying your best to see over the heads of the crowd that is steadily growing larger. After a few minutes of fruitless attempts to squeeze through sweaty pits and cacophonous teenagers, you are ready to just give up and let it go when the same pair of girls from earlier exit from the side, with numerous folded up shirts in their arms.

You hasten towards them, barely being able to latch onto their shoulders to stop them from escaping. The shorter of the girls squeals in surprise, dropping her prized possessions onto the floor. She turns to you, anger ready to burst forth from her tongue when she looks you in the face. She softens almost immediately, wrath evaporating in the wind. Confused, you're just about to ask her if she knows you from somewhere when her friend cuts you to the chase.

"Oh my God! It's her!" she squeals, reaching for your hand and shaking it so vigorously that you swear you hear your shoulder bones pop out of its socket. The girl who had dropped her shirts just continues to stare at you in awe, her mouth agape as she remains speechless, apparently from your presence alone.

You feel the dread begin to build in the pits of your stomach. "It's me?" you say, pointing to yourself with your free hand.

"Yes! Miss Y/N, you have no idea how happy I am to meet you! We are big fans of your work on the CCU Pen Blog! Your short story about the talking brick wall honestly brought me to tears," she gasps out, eyes twinkling with unrestrained reverence. Judging from the death grip she has on your hand, you can certainly say that this girl isn't lying.

While you are aware of the small following that you've accumulated over the past two years as one of the top contributors in your university's open writing forum, that isn't to say that you have ever met a fan as fervent as the two before you. Still on edge from everything that has been going on, you still can't let your guard down around them.

After a bit of effort on your part, you are finally able to pry yourself away from the girl's tight hold. Coughing lightly into your abused fist, you fix them with a wary glance. They return it with unnervingly excited stares of their own.

"Um. Thank you very much, ladies. I just wanted to ask you about the function going on over there?" you ask, pointing over at the still bustling shop booth. At your query, the girls actually look confused, as if you are the weird one in this interaction.

"You don't know? I thought you of all people should know about the merch sale happening right now," the quieter girl speaks up, bewildered. She bends down to pick up the shirts she had dropped, turning it over to show you the design that you had previously failed to notice. What a terrible mistake you have committed.

(Was the mistake looking at the t-shirt? Was it waking up today? Was it deciding to live after your mother conceived you in the womb? Truly, where does the blame game truly end in this foul existence that you call your own?)

The scream that is elicited from your throat cannot be described as anything from this world, because you are sure everyone in the vicinity might have stopped breathing for a few seconds after hearing it. The macabre quality of your voice even caused the two girls in front of you to flee in fright, leaving you with the wretched t-shirt in your trembling palms.

There, printed on the t-shirt, right in front of your mortal eyes, is an image you would rather that you had not seen even if it meant having to suckle from Kim Seokjin's teets for all eternity.

In all its poorly printed glory, your face is plain as day. Anyone would be able to recognize that it was you: in the middle of chewing what appears to be a whole turkey leg.

There you were, with ketchup dripping down your cheek, sitting just outside the Fine Arts building as you scarfed down the poor piece of poultry because you had been too lazy to cut up into smaller, more refined chunks. Like the fucking caveman that you are, you had held the leg like a police baton, mouth open so wide that you'd think you might have unhinged your jaw to get the entire thing to fit in there.

You think that's all? It gets worse.

Somehow, the perpetrator of this terrible t-shirt just has to make you look even less attractive than humanly possible. Superimposed beside your sauce-stained self is none other than a PNG image of Jeon Jungkook in his prime. With his sleek black hair pushed back to reveal his forehead, you are sure that this photo is the same one that everyone on campus had swooned over just a few weeks prior, when he had been chosen to model in an advertisement for some club's fundraising event. He is the picture of quiet confidence, which might make you laugh on any other day, since the boy is anything but that in his day to day life. You only ever interact with him when you see him manning the front desk of the library, and he always has his head bowed over a book, unaware of the stares of his many admirers.

Clearly, the injustice of having a literal god beside your hulk-ish photo is downright cruel, but this optical torment does not stop there.

Underneath the photos of the two of you, there is a short line of text that is honestly the worst part of the entire thing. In bold, sans serif font, it reads “Y/NKOOK SUPPORTERS INITIATIVE” with a copious amount of black heart emojis tacked on. In a smaller, but similarly visible manner, it also reads “The Moon Poem is about them and I will stand on this rock until I die!” There are also numerous 100 and fire emojis scattered around the entire shirt.

It’s terrible. It’s downright despicable. It’s the worst thing to ever grace your vision, and that’s saying something, considering that you’ve met your fair share of delusional graphic designers.

Another scream rips from your throat––more livid, this time.

It is at that moment when you realize that maybe Thanos was right––maybe some people really do deserve to die for the betterment of civilization.

Perhaps the crowd of eagerly waiting customers can sense the heat from your unfathomable anger, because they quickly part like the Red Sea as you stomp over to the front of the lines where you will likely find the perpetrator of this heinous crime.

There is a young boy with droopy eyes standing by the tables of merchandise, his hands quickly counting wads of bills as he jams them haphazardly into his pink Hello Kitty fanny pack. He doesn't even bother looking up when you approach him, still busy with his profits, when you clear your throat to catch his attention.

"Are you the one in charge of this fucking circus?" You snarl, fists itching to come into contact with his cheeks. He hums disinterestedly, zipping up his gaudy fanny pack with a tired sigh.

"No, ma'am. I'm just the hired help," he drawls, turning away from you as he gestures vaguely at the mountains of goods still left for purchase. "Are you interested in something or what? There are still 30 people waiting to buy, so I'd rather you not back up the line please."

At the end of your patience, you admit that perhaps grabbing the poor boy by the collar might have been a bit drastic. Still, you're itching to know who the source of all this madness is, so you don't feel all that guilty when he makes a choking sound from your act of brute force. Despite your strong grip on his windpipe, his dead fish-eyes do not disappear. In fact, he looks exasperated more than anything.

"Listen lady, are you going to buy something or what? Who even the fuck are you?"

You splutter, staring incredulously at the younger. Who the fuck are you? You aren't the type to expect people to know who you are but you can at least expect that the person selling goods with your face on it would know who you are! Like, how the hell does he not know that you were the same person on the damned picket fans and keychains?

"I don't––what the hell––" you stammer, speechless for the first time in a while.

"OWO what's this? Is this a new campus couple shipping booth that just opened? Do you guys sell JiHope versions too?" Just in time to witness your second mental breakdown of the day, Seokjin makes his convenient re-entrance as he sidles up beside you. He has two burgers in hand, one of which he is halfway done eating.

You gape at him. "Did you buy a burger for me?"

Seokjin snorts, stuffing the entire remainder of the sandwich into his unfathomably large mouth. "No, you idiot. They’re both for me," he replies, with surprising coherency despite the dribbles of meat and bread product spilling onto his chin. You swear you can see him unhinge his jaw just the slightest bit.

He bends down to pick up one of the fallen pins from the floor, groaning at the sound of his back cracking. "Oh shit, that hurt!"

Unable to help yourself despite still having a freshman in a chokehold, you quip automatically "Yikes, that sounds like a couple of dinosaur bones creaking. You alright?"

Not missing a beat, Seokjin replies "Nah. I just can’t help having a bad back with how big my dick is."

The young boy taps you on the shoulder, reminding you once more of the situation you are in. "Can you let go? My shift is over so you can interrogate the next dude instead," he drawls, having the audacity to yawn at you.

Taking pity on him, you do as he asks. He straightens up, pulling his rumpled collar down before unclasping the fanny pack from around his waist. Another similarly dead-eyed young boy (who was incredibly tall, much to your chagrin––obnoxiously tall young men ALWAYS had agendas, take Seokjin for example) takes the bag from him. He gives you a short once over, no signs of recognition present in his expression at all. When he sees Seokjin, however, his reaction is a lot more than you expected.

"Oh my God, Seokjin? Holy shit, I'm a big fan!" The new boy gasps, pushing aside a customer in favor of reaching over to shake Seokjin's hand. Ever the slut for praise and appreciation, Seokjin shakes his hands with the ease of a seasoned politician.

"Aren't we all?" he laughs, haughty. The other boy laughs too, his eyes sparkling with unrestrained admiration. You sneer in disgust at the hearts visibly emanating from his body.

"My name is Soobin, and I just love your performance in last week's production at the Campus Theatre! Would you mind signing my assh––"

"Hold on," you interrupt, glaring daggers at Seokjin. "Did you fucking do this? Did you make this fucking merch booth of me and Jungkook?"

Seokjin frowns, annoyed that you had been impetuous enough to stop this spontaneous meet and greet session between him and his loyal fan. "No, of course not. Who even the fuck is Dungcock, or whatever the hell that dude's name is."

"You fucking dumb piece of shit––" you say, about to bite off his balls for real when your phone begins to ring, saving Seokjin for the time being. You recognize the ringtone to be the one you set for your alarms, and you realize that after all the commotion from this morning, you have forgotten about the tutoring session you are supposed to have with Hoseok today. Since you had cancelled last Friday's session after your spectacular psychotic meltdown, you know that you couldn't possibly skip this one as well.

Shutting your phone off, you groan, fixing Seokjin with your most solemn gaze. "Listen, I don't have a lot of time. I have to go tutor Hoseok soon, and I've already skipped all my classes today by trying to convince your imbecilic ass to be empathetic for once in your miserable life so I'm begging you for the last time––please stop spreading the rumors about the poem," you finish, tears welling up as you finally register the fatigue weighing down your bones. It's only Monday, and you can't wait for the sweet release of death.

Seokjin is silent the entire while. The merchandise boy, Soobin, has already left the two of you alone, becoming disinterested the moment you uttered the word "listen." You're breathing heavily, bracing yourself for the inevitable sound of his windshield wiper-esque laughter. To your complete and utter surprise, his mocking does not come.

Instead, he puts down his second burger, stuffing it inside his back pocket (presumably for safekeeping). He wipes his hands on his shirt, smearing ketchup sauce on it before levelling you with his gaze. He appears like he is about to acquiesce to your demands.

Is this it? Will you allow yourself to hope? Has Kim Seokjin actually developed compassion during the last 20 seconds of your heartfelt plea? Are you finally going to lay to rest the rumor that he does not actually have a second stomach where his heart should be?

Then, "Okay Y/N. I'll do it."

Hope rises just beyond the horizon.

He raises a finger, "But––"

And just like that, hope takes a pounding to the ass (lubelessly) and dies before it even has the chance to break past the peaks of your mountain of crushed dreams.

"––you have to admit that you're the author of the poem and then I'll stop exacerbating the rumors."

You can feel the demon living inside you just itching to climb its way out of your ass and circle its hands around Seokjin's larynx. Hell, you can't say you wouldn't do it yourself. "WHAT? NO!! THAT'S LITERALLY––I'M NOT EVEN––" you scream, shocked and enraged at the same time.

Seokjin rolls his eyes, placing his perfectly manicured hand on his hip. "Save it, babe. I know you're the author. As annoying and stupid as you are––"

"Hey!"

"––you've always been a pretty good writer and I would recognize your writing style anywhere. Not to say that I read your works religiously or anything, but I mean... I see your writing on the newspapers that I use to pick up my dog's shits, so I guess I read them sometimes," he says, not looking you in the eyes. The tips of his ears are turning red, but you hardly notice his embarrassment when you're more amazed that he even acknowledged your talent in the first place. You guys aren't even friends!

"Wow. I don't even know what to say."

"Just admit you're the author and we're good." Seokjin smirks, patting you lightly on the shoulder.

You frown. "Isn't that counterproductive? I want the rumors to stop, not for them to be related to me."

"Which is a sentiment that I cannot fathom at all, since I crave the attention." He sniffs, glowering at you. "You can imagine the sacrifice I am bestowing upon you by having to relinquish this newfound fame just so your little crush stays hidden."

"How benevolent of you," you deadpan.

"And since you didn't deny it, I'm assuming that you are the author after all. Besides, I just wanted you to tell me the truth, mostly so I can bully you for writing sickly sweet love poems about yours truly."

"Okay, I'll admit. I am the author. You got me," you grunt, rubbing your temples. "But there is no way in HELL that I wrote Moonlight Sonata for you. I'd rather eat my own intestines than write anything remotely flattering about you."

"That's what they all say," Seokjin says, sighing dreamily. "To be honest, I knew you were the author from the beginning and I just wanted to annoy you until you caved. I didn't think you would be that stressed over the stupid poem enough to follow me around for an entire day. That crush must be embarrassing, huh?"

"It's not!" you exclaim hotly. You clear your throat, forcing the blush around your cheeks to die down. "It's just... It was supposed to be private." Your voice breaks off into a whisper, vulnerability lacing your words.

It's true––the only reason you wanted all of this to be over was because it was never even supposed to have happened in the first place. Your words and stories were always open to the public eye. You gave and you gave and you gave, although that has never been a problem. You loved sharing your thoughts and feelings; it was one of the greatest things about being writer. You enjoyed hearing how people related to your experiences because it made you feel seen, it made you feel known. You were not alone in this journey, and that had made all the difference.

This time, however, you had preferred to go through this alone. Mostly because even you were not sure what it was that you were going through. How were you supposed to share this part of yourself with others when you did not even know what it was that you were feeling? You had poured every inch of your soul onto those pages, and to have yourself completely barren to the world like it was nothing––

That had been catastrophic to you. But at the end of the day, there was nothing you can do except to try and silence it.

Seokjin considers your sad form, watching you until a small secretive smile inches its way on his lips. You scowl, not liking the way he looks like he knows something that you don't.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Oh, nothing," Seokjin whistles, winking provokingly. He laughs obnoxiously, not faltering even when you kick him in the sin. "Just that I know you have a crush on me and you're just embarrassed to admit it. Thank God that I'm a great actor, so I guess I'll pretend for your sake."

"You're not my––" you start, before giving up mid-sentence. Was there truly any use to arguing with Seokjin? You'd rather not waste any more saliva than you already have. "Whatever. Believe what you want. All that matters is that you do what I asked you to do."

"Sure thing, Shakespeare," Seokjin scoffs, flicking you lightly on the forehead. "Also, in payment for my services, you are required to watch my next play AND attend at least three of my rehearsals and cheer for me every time I appear in a scene. I require a bouquet of flowers at every appearance."

You're about to argue, (fruitlessly, you might add), when a barrage of buzzes coming from your back pocket stops you in your tracks. You slip out your phone, and you see dozens of texts from a worried Hoseok asking where you are. You reply a quick "otw" to him before focusing back on Seokjin.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll fucking kill you the next time I see you, but... thank you. I know it's hard for you to be kind to anything other than your reflection." You take a deep breath, furrowing your brows. Saying thank you to a troglodyte is harder than it seems. "And thanks for reading my works. We're still not friends or anything, by the way. Hope you remember that."

"Wouldn't dream of forgetting," Seokjin chuckles. "Me? Friends with you? A 10 walking around with a negative 1? Fat chance." He waves goodbye, blowing you an obnoxiously loud kiss before stalking off away from you. The bulge of his smooshed burger has left an unsightly grease stain all over the back of his jeans.

Before you turn to go to the exit, you pass by Soobin who was still busy with customers. You slip a few bills into his pocket, tiptoeing to whisper into his ear. "Here's twenty bucks. Go kick Seokjin in the balls for me."

When the double doors slam behind you, the beautiful sound of Seokjin's pained howl bids you the cheery farewell that you deserve.

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haledamage · 4 years

Note

Angst/Fluff Prompt: “No one is perfect.”

(inspired by this screenshot, as well as the song Avila by The Wailin’ Jennys)

The private council room was made to hold dozens of people. It felt like overkill to use it just for the two of them. Nonetheless, Aurienne and Tristian had been meeting there every morning and working through the day together for over a week. Lander and Kesten stuck their heads in occasionally to offer assistance where they could, but mostly left them to their own devices.

Who knew annexing land for a barony involved so much paperwork. The land was technically theirs already; their job now was to cross the t’s and dot the i’s and make sure their claim was legally binding. They’d learned more about the intricacies of land ownership and governance than either of them had ever expected to.

They’d learned a lot about each other in that time too, things you don’t learn in the wilds. Like the way Ari was apparently allergic to sitting in chairs. In a room of twenty chairs and an honest-to-gods throne, she was most likely to be found on the floor or on top of the large oak table in the center of the room. If she did sit in a chair, she did it wrong, upside down or with her legs draped over one arm or tucked underneath her.

Or the fact that Tristian paced when he read. It made it easier to concentrate on the words if he was moving, he said, which was fine except when it was something they both needed to read. After the second day, he just started reading aloud. He had a strong voice and good elocution, likely from all those years preaching; if there’d been more clerics like him at the temple in Ari’s hometown, her life might have taken a very different (and much more pious) path.

Today was day nine in the council room, and they were perhaps two-thirds of the way done if they were feeling optimistic. Ari sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against one of the chairs and a stack of papers that she was carefully sorting into three smaller stacks of papers. She hummed absent-mindedly to herself as she worked, her distracted and meandering music filling the room.

“What song is that?” Tristian asked suddenly.

“Hmm?” The music stopped immediately and so did the rustling of paper.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.” He leaned against the table near where she sat, smiling down at her. “I heard you humming and was trying to figure out what the song is. I do not recognize it.”

Her hair was too short to hide her face behind, but she tried anyway. “Oh. It’s nothing. Just a song I remember from when I was a kid.”

“Will you sing it for me?”

“No.” She stared up at him, something akin to panic in her eyes. “I–I mean–I don’t sing. I can’t sing.” She started gathering up the papers in front of her, ruining her painstaking sorting. “I didn’t mean to sound snappish. I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?” he asked in a very gentle tone, like he was trying to comfort a wounded animal.

“No.” She jumped to her feet, putting the papers on the table and spending much more time than necessary carefully arranging them. Tristian waited patiently for her to decide if she’d rather talk, run, or change the subject. “I used to sing. A long time ago. Made a living off of it until I… lost my voice.”

“Lost?” He managed to fit a lot of other questions into that one word.

“It was taken from me.” Ari put a hand to her throat, over the dark green scarf she always wore, but she didn’t elaborate. Tristian’s brow furrowed in clear sympathy, and she knew she didn’t need to explain any further.

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“You were just a child.” There was a hint of steel in his voice, like he wanted to reach into the distant past and protect her from her own mistakes.

“A child who should’ve known to hold her tongue.” She scoffed bitterly. “Some lessons are hard learned.”

“How did you make your living after that?” Tristian asked carefully, not wanting to push too much but wanting to know more about her. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, though, he knew the answer. He’d seen how effortlessly she could open even the most stubborn locks, the ease with which she snuck into and out of anywhere she wished to. “You were a thief.”

She spread her arms wide, encompassing the room they were in, the barony they were building. “Still am, if you ask some of the local lords. Stole the Stolen Lands, I did.” Ari dropped her hands back to the table, spreading them flat on the wood as she hung her head. “I hope that doesn’t make you think less of me.”

“Of course not.” He dropped his hand to the table next to hers, almost touching her but not quite. “No one is perfect, Aurienne. Not even you.”

She snorted inelegantly. “Not even me, indeed.” That finally drew a smile back to her face and she turned it on the man next to her. “If ‘petty thief’ is the first flaw you’ve found in me, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“I have.” The words were out before he could stop them. He immediately dropped his gaze to the table where their hands still rested next to each other. “Been paying attention to you, that is.”

“Have you?” She leaned a little closer, trying to catch his eye, but he refused to look up. “Just how close of attention?”

“Closer than I should.” Slowly, Tristian slid his hand toward hers until his fingers barely brushed hers, and then closer still, caressing the back of her hand, touch so light Ari could almost have thought she was imagining it. Very carefully, trying not to spook him, she turned her hand over, but as soon as her thumb brushed the inside of his wrist, he snapped his hand away like she’d burned him. He took a step back. “I’m sorry, that was–”

“No it wasn’t,” she said firmly. She wanted to move closer, to close that gap instead of letting him run away. She stayed where she was. “It wasn’t inappropriate or unwelcome or however you planned to finish that sentence. It was sweet, and you don’t need to apologize for it.” She bit back a sigh and turned back to the table, rearranging the stacks of papers again. The silence was much too loud. She scrambled to think of something to fill it with. “It’s called ‘Avila’. The song I was humming.”

He looked relieved for the change in subject. “I do not believe I’ve heard it before.”

Aurienne surprised them both by bursting into song.

I will not rest

Until this place is full of sunlight

Or at least until the darkness

Is quiet for a while

And we will not wait

For the murder to come calling

The night will simply fall

And the morning will rise

Her voice was breathy and quiet and the higher notes were practically inaudible, clearly only an echo of what it once had been, but lovely nonetheless. Lovelier still was the pure joy on her face after the first shaky notes. Her eyes filled with tears, and she made no effort to stop them from falling.

Oh sweet peace, never have you fallen

Never have you fallen upon this town

Oh sweet peace, when will you come calling

When will you come calling upon this town

“Beautiful,” Tristian whispered in awe, and it was obvious he didn’t mean the song or her broken voice.

Ari laughed, nearly as shaky as her singing, and scrubbed at the tear stains on her face with her sleeve. “Sorry. I’d forgotten what it feels like. What a stupid thing for me to get emotional about.”

“No.” He reached out and brushed away a new tear as it fell, his cool fingers lingering on her cheek. “I know what it must mean to you. Thank you for sharing it with me.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he hesitated.

She caught his hand as he started to pull away, but let it slip slowly from her grasp. “Thank you,” she said in a rush, “for… for listening, I guess.”

“I am happy to do so anytime.” His smile was warm and so were his eyes, and Ari found herself completely captivated by him. It wasn’t a new sensation, she’d accepted that it was just part of being around Tristian, but the pull was stronger than usual; she clenched her hand around the edge of the table to keep herself in place.

They stood there like that in awkward silence for a long time, hesitant to leave but not knowing what else to say. They both tried to revive the conversation, but stumbled over their own words as well as each others’.

“I was going to–”

“I–I guess I should–”

Ari scratched nervously at the back of her neck. “You go ahead.”

At the same time, Tristian bowed his head. “After you. I insist.”

“I was going to go to the Mug and see what Elina has for dinner,” she said quickly in an attempt to break their stalemate. “D’you want to come with me?”

“I would be honored,” he offered her his elbow and she slipped her arm into his, “Your Grace.”

She laughed again, much less shaky than before. “Lead the way, Councilor.”

Aurienne started humming again once they stepped outside, something upbeat and joyful. She didn’t notice the soft smile on Tristian’s face as he watched her, or the way he slowed their pace so he could make the moment last a little longer.

#aurienne the sparrow #ari/tristian #how could claiming the outskirts possibly take two weeks when they don't go anywhere?#the answer is: pining #so much pining #this is the first time ari's let herself try to sing in nearly a decade and her only audience is tristian #but it's fine it totally doesn't mean anything she's definitely not in love with him or anything #gods above and below these two are gonna be the death of me #greyias

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themaskedwriter · 5 years

Text

Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Saturdays are not for housing superheroes, and you don’t care if one of them is your army buddy and the other a cyborg who, okay, is kinda cute when he’s not clutching his twitching arm like it’s his goddamn teddybear. So of course, your tiny house becomes a tiny superhero central.

Author clues: An occasional angst queen with a sweet tooth who lives in a very fine country.

Generally, when the phone rings in the middle of the night, it’s never good news. It’s death and mayhem and all manners of misdeeds just waiting to ruin your night, your morning and possibly the entire week that follows. Your solution had been to move around a lot. If you never stay long enough in one place, then death and mayhem and all those misdeeds never get a chance to catch up with you. Unless-

“Someone better be dying,” you grunt when you answer, not bothering with greetings or pleasantries. Anyone calling at, fuck, 3.22 am can frankly go fornicate themselves.

“I need your coordinates.”

“No.”

“Come on, I promise, it’s just for the night.”

“Last time you said that, Wilson, you stayed for a week and Captain America bled all over my couch.”

At the other end of a very unstable line - is he fucking flying and calling? - Sam winces, because yeah, last time was a fucking rollercoaster of bad, and you ended up moving as soon as they were out the door and refusing to answer Sam’s texts for two weeks just to be sure you could get some actual peace and quiet.

“No one is bleeding. Much.”

“Sam…”

“I swear on my sainted nana’s grave no one will be bleeding when we get there.”

We? Jesus, did someone shoot Captain America again? You groan and roll over, pressing your face into the pillow.

“It’s just one night, I swear, we just need someplace to lay low before we can move on and haul ass back to base.”

You hate Sam Wilson. You do, you’ll put it in writing, you’ll write a goddamn op ed for the fucking New York Times listing all the reasons he is a terrible, terrible friend. All you wanted was a nice, quiet life, a little time to figure shit out after an honorable discharge from the Army, and then that idiot had to go and become a goddamn superhero with his goddamn wings and the goddamn Avengers as his goddamn squad. He owes you. He owes you so much and he’ll owe you even more- Aw, fuck.

“I’ll give you twelve hours before I kick you out on your asses.”

“You are the best, I’ve always said that, you know. The best. The goat-”

“Please, never call me that again.”

“Sourpuss.”

“I’ll bill you for anything you destroy,” you mutter, ending the call before Sam can say anything.

Rolling over on your back again, you breathe in deeply through your nose, staring at the light ceiling panelling. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You text Sam your coordinates, telling him where to find the spare key because you draw the line at getting up to act as a welcome committee at this unholy hour.

>>Thanks, I owe you one. S

>>U owe me several. Don’t expect mints on the pillows and dont. fuckin. wake me. >:(

>>You’re adorable when you’re cranky. We’ll be there in about an hour.

>>Fuk u

Sam Wilson is a terrible, terrible friend, but at least he doesn’t actually wake you. He’s even up and looking far too chirpy when you crawl down from your sleep loft four hours later. Seriously, fuck Sam Wilson. Fuck Sam Wilson, and-

“I like your digs.” He hands you a cup of coffee and thankfully does not attempt a hug.

“Yeah, well, makes running away from unbidden houseguests easy,” you grunt back, taking a sip of the glorious coffee.

Sam snorts, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “As if you could fit actual houseguests in here. You’re lucky I spent half my childhood playing Tetris, or we would’ve had a problem getting in here.”

You glance over his shoulder, at the blanket-covered lump on your couch. Granted, the damn thing is from IKEA and required at least five curse words for every step in the assembly instructions, but the covering is a nice, pale shade of beige. “So who’s bleeding all over my place this time?”

“No one’s bleeding, I patched ‘im up just to preemptively get you off my ass.”

“So he was bleeding. That why you needed to crash?”

The way Sam hesitates makes it clear that blood loss is not the culprit here. You glare at him, and Sam Awful Terrible Friend Wilson rolls his eyes at you and walks past you and up to the couch, pulling down the covers.

“That’s…” You stare. There’s no better way to put it. “Sam, he’s- Why is his arm detached? Why is it wriggling?”

“We had a minor snafu. Barnes got dosed with something and it made his arm go a little haywire. It’s wired into his nervous system, so we had to do an emergency detachment until the thing is out of his system so he won’t helicopter himself into the sky or, you know, hurt anyone.”

“So why is it still twitching like a zombie limb? Please, don’t tell me he’s turning into a zombie. I can’t deal with a zombie apocalypse. I use Zombies! Run, but that’s the closest I ever want to come to the undead because even with that I fucking jump out of my skin when I start hearing heavy breathing in my ears and-”

“He’s not turning into a zombie, jeez!” Sam tosses the covers back in place, covering up Barnes and the twitchy arm. “It’s still receiving faint signals, so it’s acting like a nervous grandma. It’s completely harmless. Ha! I gotta remember that one when he wakes up.”

Jesus H. Christ. Where is a brick wall when you need one? “Sam!”

“Stark’s coming to pick us up in two hours, we’ll be out of your hair. We’ll even take the arm with us.”

You give an indignant sniff, heading back to the little ladder that leads up to your loft. “Fuck you, Wilson, I’m going back to bed and won’t come down until you and Terminator over there are out of my house.”

“Aw, come on! We’re delightful! Look, Barnes is even more delightful because he is asleep so you won’t even have to deal with him being Mr. Personality!”

You could tell him that from your perspective, Barnes is the preferable option in this situation because he is asleep and thus not bothering you. Instead, you opt for a succinct reply in the form of your middle finger and start to ascend the ladder, coffee mug tightly gripped in one hand. Saturdays are holy, okay? Saturdays are for waking up late, having coffee and then crawling back to your bed where the covers are still warm and just wait for the sun to rise high enough in the sky that you’re tempted to go outside. Saturdays are not for housing superheroes, and you don’t care if one of them is your army buddy and the other a cyborg who, okay, is kinda cute when he’s not clutching his twitching arm like it’s his goddamn teddybear.

To be fair, Sam cuts out his little comedian act, and shuts up. There’s the odd shuffling from below, but nothing more, and you manage to doze off, wrapped like a burrito in your covers. It’s almost enough to make you forget that you have houseguests.

Until Sam pinches your toe.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers, shaking your foot and you’re surprised you don’t kick him in the face.

“Piss off.”

“Delightful. We’re rolling out in five. I told Stark to bring you some decent breakfast as thanks.”

Well. Breakfast is an acceptable offering. There better be waffles, or you might need to kick Stark. With a grunt, you start extricating yourself from your covers, rooting around until you find a cardigan to wrap yourself in. Sam’s by the couch when you get down, ripping the covers from Sleeping Barnes and shaking his shoulder.

“Hey, Princess Elsa, our ride’s almost here.”

Barnes, who seems to appreciate sleeping as much as you do, tries to turn over and away from the rude awakening, but apparently manages to tickle himself on the detached arm, because the man gives a very high-pitched yelp before he very ungracefully tumbles off the couch and lands on his ass.

“Morning, Barnes.”

“Fuck you, Wilson,” Barnes grumbles with a glare that is… impressive.

“There’s coffee if you can inhale it in the next five minutes,” Sam tells him, shrugging of his umpteenth cuss-out in the last six hours.

“Bring… coffee…”

You’re not a rude host. Unwilling, but not rude. Coffee is a glorious drink, and you would never deny anyone the elixir of Life and General Functionality. You pour a cup for the man, bringing it to him, and Barnes stares at you, then at Sam, then takes a second to look around, mouth slowly falling open.

“Wilson, I think I’m-”

“What? You still not sobered up from the funky gas?”

“Either that, or I fell through the looking glass. Am I gonna grow and have my legs sprout through the window? Because that is not good,” Barnes says, gulping down his coffee and then peering up at you. “I’m not sure if you’re real, but either way, I have very impressive thighs. Hi, I’m Bucky”

He fires off a smile that is probably meant to look charming, but only succeeds in looking loopy. Sam, finally getting a fraction of the embarrassed he should be for dragging himself and this crazy ass man into your home, groans and facepalms. It is hilarious.

“Sam, I hate to say this, but I like this guy.”

“Sam, the hallucination is talking to you.”

“I’m not a hallucination,” you tell him, leaning down to pinch his left shoulder. “It’s a tiny house, made even tinier because yikes, you are built.”

Barnes, Bucky, yelps and his coffee sloshes dangerously against the edges of his mug.

“Well, that just seems very unfair to me. And Steve. Oh, jeez, and Bruce. Do you have anything against swole?”

“First of all, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, and second of all, if you’re Bucky Barnes then I’d very much like to know who the fuck taught you the word ‘swole’.”

Bucky Barnes, the most handsome centenarian in the entire world, is a delight, all smiles and jokes, and Sam is terrible for dragging him away. A godawful wind kicks up outside, heralding the arrival of Tony Stark, and you decide this is way too many superheroes. One is acceptable. Two is pushing it. Bucky, having realized he has in fact not shrunk, takes his time looking around while they head out and ends up clipping his head and oh, how people would blush if they heard the downright filth that Sergeant James B. Barnes lets out as he stumbles down the stairs.

Stark makes a joke about custody exchanges, and you tune out more than half because he brought breakfast, and oh sweet Mary above, there are waffles. Sam and Bucky say their goodbyes, and you wave them off, too engrossed in the gorgeousness of waffles drenched in maple syrup and topped with fresh berries. For this, you could almost be okay with a superhero or two crashing for a night.

Not that you’ll ever be.

You have limits.

So of course, your tiny house becomes a tiny superhero central. First it’s Sam, again. Then it’s Stark. He almost gets his ass kicked out when he goes on and on about how you can live with the bare minimum of technology. You definitely kick him out when he wants to chip your house so people won’t have to call you at the asscrack of dawn to let you know, not ask, they are incoming. He does get back in your good graces by giving you a double serving of waffles.

Then, in quick succession, it’s Steve, Sam and Rhodey, Bucky, Barton and Bucky again. Most of them are okay house guests. Barton wins points by appearing genuinely interested in how you’ve set up your living space, quizzing you about layouts and building and the pros and cons of having your entire life confined to 240 square feet. He also loses those points when you wake up to find him sitting on the edge of the sleep loft, overlooking the house. Sam and Rhodey together is not as big of a disaster as one might think, mainly because Rhodey occasionally pulls rank on Sam and honestly? Thank god. Steve, bless him, tries to bend over backwards to not put you out, and his calls all include at least 75 permutations of an apology for calling.

Bucky.

He keeps his arm in place for the next couple of times. On the rare occasions when he’ll call in the middle of the day, he’ll always knock and wait until you open, he’ll insist on “earning his keep”, which is how you come to be the recipient of flowers, breakfast, and a very rare bathroom concerto that Bucky doesn’t know you overheard. The man has a very good singing voice, and it makes your heart skip a beat when he croons “It’s Been a Long, Long Time”. He’s the easiest to get along with, even one early morning when you wake up to his shuffling and cussing because your coffee maker refuses to cooperate. He doesn’t mind the quiet, doesn’t fret around like Stark (who insists that the laptop loaded with every streaming service imaginable and the usernames and passwords for each laid out on a sticky note that he left there is absolutely not a pity gift but a sound investment for both of your continued sanity).

“D’you like this?” Bucky asks one evening, his voice floating up from the living room area.

“I mean, it could be worse. I could be housing Stark for the night,” you quip, rolling over and making something that might be construed as a tumble to get to the edge of the bed.

“I feel like that might have been an insult wrapped in another insult. But that’s not what I meant.”

You can only see Bucky’s feet in the soft light of a lamp, peeking out from the covers. He always sleeps with his feet facing the door, always on his back. The only time he hasn’t was the first time when Sam brought him, and something in you feels bad that Bucky can’t relax even in his sleep.

“No?”

“I meant… this. Living in a small box. Moving around all the time. It’s… Doesn’t it ever get hard? After I got- When I got back, Steve almost had to fight me to move into the Tower. I wanted to go home, you know. To Brooklyn. I don’t know, it was a stupid thought, but I kept thinking if I go back, it’s all still there. The apartment we lived in, the same streets and the same shops and… my family. It felt weird to make another home, but now I don’t know if I could move again.”

His voice is soft, a far cry from the persona he’s portrayed as in the media. The Winter Soldier is hard edges and cold steel, but Bucky Barnes… Bucky Barnes is soft, a whisper in the darkness and a longing for something that’s no longer there.

“It wasn’t that hard for me, because I needed this. I was out there, in all of that big space with nothing but orders and trusting that someone else knew what we were supposed to do. I’d had a place back in Atlanta before, and I’d packed up all my stuff and rented the place to some college kids. They’d already moved out when I got back, and I thought I was gonna go nuts the first night back. That place had felt like a shoebox before I shipped out and now it was so… big. Had a friend who made these kinds of houses, so he helped me build one pretty much from scratch and my first night here I slept like a baby.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it.” God, he sounds almost a bit panicked, like he’s insulted you.

“No, I don’t mind. It’s not for everyone. I just feel I have myself better together on less than 300 square feet. I mean, I don’t go from house to house. This is still a home. It’s just a home I can move around with when I need to see new places.”

There’s a little huff. “Like the middle of nowhere, New Mexico?”

You glance back to the small window next to your bed, at the clouds tinted in burnt orange and vivid pink, the sun setting slowly into the vast horizon. “Yeah. I’ve never been here. I wanted to see it, and now I have.”

“You know, that sounds like I’m gonna wake up in the desert tomorrow morning because a bird is trying to steal my covers.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes,” you tease, crawling back to roll yourself into your own covers again. “I wouldn’t leave you with that blanket. It’s my favourite.”

“Yeah.” His voice is almost a whisper, but you can still make out his next words: ��Mine, too.”

When he leaves the next morning, something feels different. He’s tentative at breakfast, burns a few pancakes and once again clips his head on the doorway heading out when Nat touches down the quinjet to pick him up. Breakfast changes hands, Nat fills you in on some gossip. Bucky’s shoulders are slumped when he trudges up and into the cargo hold.

“Wait!”

You run inside, depositing the bag of breakfast on your counter, grabbing the blanket from the couch and folding it into a mess that would pass exactly zero inspections before heading back out. Nat’s joined Bucky on the quinjet landing, and she quirks and eyebrow when you all but thrust the bunched up fabric into Bucky’s arms.

“A bit of home,” you blurt out, immediately feeling heat creep up your cheeks. “Can’t hurt to have more of that.”

Bucky chuckles, “No… I guess it can’t.”

You move three days later. The New Mexico desert makes you restless, makes you itch for something else. For a couple of weeks, you drift further and further north, looking for a place that doesn’t put you on edge. You plough through the Midwest, but there’s always something. You text Sam just to become annoyed and feel something else. He calls a couple of times, facetimes you on your birthday so the whole gang can wish you happy birthday. you smile, taking a screenshot to save the memory for a rainy day. They’re all there, sitting around an obscenely big dinner table, glasses raised, mouths open mid-sentence. Stark looks magnanimous as always, sunglasses perched on top of his head, Steve’s got an expression that’s somewhere between his Captain America-smile and a genuine Steve Rogers-grin. Bucky… Bucky is not there. Or at least you can’t see him. Maybe he’s at the very end of the table, obscured by the others. Not that you care. You don’t. You absolutely don’t. You definitely don’t look for him in the picture every time you bring it up.

You move again. It’s too calm. You’ve had no superheroes visiting in two months, no late night calls inquiring about coordinates. Stark’s laptop is shoved into a drawer where you can’t see it, there’s a new blanket draped over your couch pretending it’s always been there.

>>Coordinates?

The text from the unknown number comes in late one evening when you’re gearing up to let bygones be bygones and forget the Midwest ever existed. You could cry with how happy it makes you, even though a text means one or more of them is in trouble and maybe you should be a little worried, too. The Avengers are good people, but they’re not unlike cats, dragging others with them. Like murder bots and weird aliens. You dutifully send your coordinates, biting your lip before adding:

>>Don’t wake me, and don’t make me wake up to bad guys on my porch

>>They scare the neighbours

>>I have a reputation to think of

Your only neighbours are trees, but still. No one likes bad guys.

Setting your phone down, you tuck yourself into bed. Whoever’s coming knows where to find the key to get in. Stark, again, wanted to set you up with some biometric doohickey that would make it impossible for anyone not in the system to get in, since “keys are so unreliable, look at Parker, he could probably pick it after five minutes on youtube”. He stopped talking when you pointed out your house is a glorified box on wheels, and that there are far easier ways to get in than to pick the lock or even rush the door. You’d had to tell him he was not allowed to turn your house into a tank.

When the sun rises, waking you up with a well-placed ray right in your eyes, you expect to hear… something. Sam, Nat and Steve are all early wakers, there would be the telltale sounds and scents of breakfast being prepared. Tony, much as he tries to vehemently deny it, snores. God, is it Barton? You raise your head, and let out a sigh of relief to see the loft empty save for yourself and the sparse furnishings. Could still be Barton, he’s just learned to stay out of your nest and accept that he’s not top of the pecking order here.

But when you get down from your loft, there’s no one there. Blinking, you look around, as if whoever texted you last night will jump out from some impossible corner. The couch is untouched, everything is where you left it. Was it Bruce and he couldn’t de-Hulk so he slept outside? You check your phone to see if there are any unread text or missed calls, but there’s nothing.

>>Did you leave already?

The reply comes within seconds.

>>No. Outside.

So… Bruce? Furrowing your brow, you go pull a pair of sweats from the hamper, yawning wide before you head for the door. You’re not exactly sure what to expect, but finding the clearing you’ve set up camp in empty is… anticlimactic, to say the least.

“Hello?” you call out, stepping down the stairs, a shiver running down your spine from the cool morning air.

Nothing. The wind sighs in the tops of the trees, a crack from a branch breaking the calm. Ahead of you, something catches your eye, far too colourful to be part of the wooded area.

“What the hell?”

Folded neatly on the ground is your blanket, your old blanket, the one you gave to-

“Sam told me you’d been moving around a lot. Figured maybe you could need a bit more home.”

You yelp and whirl around to find Bucky sitting on the stairs, filling up the doorway and smiling smugly at you.

“How-” You look at him, then around at the clearing and back to Bucky, pointing at him. “You- What?”

“Sorry, I… thought it would be fun. It was creepy, wasn’t it?” He scratches the back of his head, getting of the stairs, approaching you slowly. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Are you okay?” It’s second nature by now to give him a once-over, to expect bruises and scrapes and, let’s be honest, blood. Seeing nothing doesn’t necessarily mean he’s okay. These yahoos are notorious about playing off little things like internal bleedings, cracked ribs and concussions.

“What, no! I mean, yes, yes, I’m okay. I wasn’t in any scuffle. Haven’t been for a while. You can check me if you like.”

Pursing your lips, you look him up and down while you circle him, prodding at his ribs, his hands, his cheekbone. Satisfied that he’s not injured, you come to a stop in front of him.

“Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you again, but… why are you here?”

“Been travelling. Sort of like this, but without the… tiny house, was it? I thought about what you said, about home and all that, and I realized that maybe I need to reevaluate what home means. Going away to figure out what I miss and what I need.”

He raises his right hand to drag the fingertips along the soft blanket, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It sounds cheesy as all hell, but your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat, because he looks so content, so relaxed.

“Yeah? Did you find the answer then? What’s home?” you ask, cursing your voice for sounding breather than you ever intended it to.

“See, I packed light. Couple changes of clothes, toothbrush, the regular stuff… and this.” He takes a firm hold of the blanket with both hands, pulling it from you, shaking it out. “And I missed a lot of things in the beginning. People… things… comforts. But I learned to make do without all of those. Only thing I couldn’t get past missin’…”

You watch wide eyed as Bucky wraps the blanket over your shoulders, tugging at the ends to bring it in tightly over your chest, cocooning you in it.

“…is in this blanket,” he finishes, his gaze focused on where his hands holds it close. “I missed mornings with you. Even the first morning when I woke up feelin’ like a drunk sailor after pub crawl thinking Stark or someone had shrunk me down to the size of a bean. I missed your tiny house and your couch and your coffee and… and you.”

And you.

Maybe it’s another cliché, but you can’t help the smile, the sudden joy that bubbles up along with the sensation of right. All these days that have somehow bled into months of moving, of unease, they are drawn into this moment. They breathe a sigh of relief, settling. This is it, this is what all that drifting was about. Finding the spot where your roads would lead you to stand toe to toe, wrapped in a well-worn blanket and realize that home can grow from a warmth that accumulated over so many mornings. You push at Bucky’s hands, making the blanket part, tugging the ends from his grip to sling your arms around his neck, bringing him into it.

The kisses don’t happen until later. First, there’s the quiet, the seconds and minutes wrapped in the blanket. Then, there is breakfast and coffee strong enough to make a spoon stand up straight and slightly overscrambled eggs and Bucky’s voice drifting from the bathroom with hums breaking up the lyrics. You kiss him like you want to taste him, commit him to memory, pulling him down by his neck and drawing in a sharp breath when drops of water fall down the neckline of your t-shirt. He kisses like he’s finally at rest, safe even when his attention is diverted.

>>Coordinates? Bit banged up, wings took a hit, out of your hair before tomorrow

>>image.jpeg

>>Sorry, find another safehouse, this one’s occupied

>>TMI WAY TMI DO NOT SAY ANOTHER WORD

>>It was just a selfie!

>>IN BED

>>Get ur head out of the gutter /JBB

>>I hate you guys

You smile at the final message, setting down the phone and curling up against Bucky with a sigh. The sheets are a mess by your feet, Bucky’s body heat enough to keep you both warm.

“Occuped, huh?” he smiles, tracing your lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

You nod, pressing a kiss to the finger.

“Welcome home.”

#fic

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oldbluethings · 5 years

Text

The Cold Ones (Doctor Strange fanfic)

This is a story I've been working on for a while, but haven't really come close to finishing yet. This fic is my side piece, basically.

It's the sequel to Spark and Fade (and also Children of the Old Moon, but not as much) so it might help to read SnF first. I thought I would start posting bits to Tumblr as I finished, mostly because I hate having WIPs on AO3, but I have a lot of unfinished things and I get restless, so... I'll post this to AO3 when I finish it, which will be in approximately three years.

Anyway, most people following me are Dr. Strange fans, so why the F not? Here's the first bit. I'm not doing a summary.

Also, I apparently can't do 'read more' line breaks anymore on this hellsite, so y'all just gonna have to scroll past this shit if you don't want to read it.

The Cold Ones, ch 1

Fandom: Doctor Strange, MCU

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Stephen Strange/Karl Mordo

Genre: magical mystery, angst, smut, action/adventure

Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Karl Mordo, Everett Ross, Original Characters

Warnings: nah

***

He swore he’d rather spend an eternity in a tentacle-infested swamp dimension than ever come back here, but here he is.

Stephen looks around at the blank white walls, the sealed door. He scratches at an electrode that's pulling irritatingly on the hair on his chest. There's only one window. He can see Everett Ross and his assorted techs and minions sitting behind the glass, staring at him. He stares back. "Don't you know any other magic people you can torment?" he calls.

Ross's cheerful voice comes through the intercom. "None half as charming as you, Strange."

He snorts, he can't help it. Ross is a bastard, but at least he's an amusing bastard. Occasionally.

There’s not much to do in here except walk in circles. Stephen steps carefully around the only other thing in the room with him—a plexiglass box, about one foot square, sitting in the center of the room. The hinged lid is locked and there are small holes in the sides, almost as if it might contain something alive. It doesn't, though, he can tell. Still, he keeps a wary eye on the box, says, “You guys don't have the budget to give me a chair?”

“Any unnecessary objects in the room might interfere with the test.” Dr. Thompson’s voice this time. She strikes Stephen as one of those people who excelled in medical school only to discover she was just slightly too much of a sociopath to ever be a good doctor. Experimenting on people is probably a better career choice for her.

He finishes another circuit of the room, lets the silence stretch on until he can't take the growing restlessness anymore. And, still, nothing happens. “What exactly am I supposed to be doing in here?”

“Relax, Strange.” Ross again, and then Dr. Thompson, “We’re just finishing up some final calibrations.”

He sighs and nods. The fact that he’s trapped in here is entirely his fault; he asked for this.

Just two weeks ago, he was sitting at a booth in his favorite coffee shop, waiting for Ross, and trying hard not to fidget.

He'd always liked this place—the coffee was good and the servers were quick and efficient. The place was never crowded. He could sit and think without worrying about being bothered. And the alley out back was always empty and didn't stink too badly, so opening a portal there was never much of a risk.

He lifted his mug of coffee with both hands—too sore on that damp, cold day to fold his stiff fingers around the handle—and took a sip, watched the people hurrying past the window in the rainy street outside.

He didn't have to wait long. The bells over the door jingled and then Everett Ross was sliding into the booth across from him, dressed in his usual gray suit—always expensive, but understated—shaking out and then fastening his umbrella closed with quick efficient movements. His hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. Stephen wondered if the suit was meant to match the hair, or if it was just a coincidence that they were the exact same color.

Once settled, Ross folded his hands on the table and smiled his smug smile, all self-assured confidence. “Strange,” he said, and nodded. Stephen scowled back, but tipped his head fractionally.

The waitress materialized beside them and Ross ordered a coffee with cream. He watched her walk away, then turned back to Stephen. "So," he said. "You called me. And here I am."

“Yes.” Stephen cleared his throat and tried to resist the urge to tap his foot on the floor. "I called you,” he said slowly, still not quite sure if this was a good idea and stalling for just a little more time. “I... want to make a deal with you."

"Oh?" Ross feigned innocence, but that smug smile crept back onto his face. He knew exactly why Stephen had called him. Ross fiddled with the cream for a moment, before looking back up. "And what sort of deal do you think I'd be interested in?"

"Mary Jacobsen," Stephen said. "She wants to go to college. I need the police and your people to back off and leave her alone. You know she had nothing to do with the murder of her parents. She's just a kid. She has no interest in ever working for you or your agency.”

Ross made a scoffing sound. “I'm a great boss, actually. Everyone loves working for me.”

Stephen chose to ignore Ross’s joke. “And... she'll need a new identity, too, so she can't be found. There are still people out there who might be looking for her. Dangerous people."

Ross gave him a shrewd look. “People like your friend, Karl Mordo?”

Stephen didn't like the way Ross emphasized the word friend like that. He wished he could enjoy the distraction of a sip of coffee right now. But picking up the mug in front of Ross would just reveal more weakness. “Maybe.” He settled for a shrug, instead. “That's not your concern.”

Ross stared back at him for a long moment. "You're asking for a lot,” he mused, sliding his coffee mug against the napkin. They both knew he wasn't, not for someone with Ross’s connections, but in the end it didn't matter—Stephen needed what Ross had and there was no good way around it.

Ross abandoned his mug and started tapping his finger against the table. He still hadn’t taken a sip. “And what will you offer me in return?"

Stephen tightened his jaw before answering. "Name your price."

Ross's finger tapped a little faster against the table, the only sign of his interest. He narrowed his eyes at Stephen. "Okay. You already know we're interested in magic. How it works. How to… counter it, if it ever came to that. My team has some tests lined up that require subjects with abilities. They've been hard to find and recruit, for obvious reasons.”

Ross reached out and picked up the mug, finally took a sip. “So, I’d like you to come work for me. On a temporary basis. Help me out with our tests. I think that would be a fair trade to start with. And if, down the line, you need more of my help… then we can renegotiate.”

Stephen knew this was what Ross would ask for, of course. He'd already discussed the possibility with Wong and the other Masters. They'd agreed that it could be useful to see exactly what Ross’s group was interested in, what understanding of the Mystic Arts they already had, if any. Ross was a tricky bastard, but Stephen had dealt with him before. And the man did have integrity. Stephen knew he could be trusted to keep his word. The other Sorcerers had set some conditions, though, on what he could offer Ross. Stephen agreed with them.

"I'll agree to your tests as long as you can assure me they're safe. And I'm not doing more than one a week. If you want more than that you'll have to pay me for my time.”

Ross nodded, eyes eager. Money, apparently, was not an issue.

“But I'm not teaching anyone magic. And I'm not revealing the names of any other Sorcerers or the location of Kamar-Taj. If any of your people want to learn, they can seek us out and ask to be accepted just like everyone else."

Ross took another sip of coffee and pretended to think it over. "Deal,” he said.

They shook on it that day, over the table, Stephen extending his hand reluctantly to seal his fate. And now here he was, standing in a white room, staring at a plexiglass box on the ground, waiting for something to happen.

Ross had kept his word, at least, as Stephen knew he would. Mary’s got a new last name, some very convincing documents, and a spot at Molloy College for the upcoming fall semester. And the tests so far haven't been terrible, just tedious. Like performing magic in an MRI machine, which was awkward, but not difficult.

Stephen’s never been in this particular room before, though. He glances over his shoulder, but Ross and his lackeys are now engrossed in the monitors in front of them.

There's a sound, then—a faint, high-pitched hum, growing steadily louder. Stephen tilts his head curiously. It sounds almost organic, rising and falling like the call of some insect. And it seems to be coming from the box on the floor. He still can’t sense anything alive inside.

“Can you actually hear that?” Dr. Thompson asks through the intercom. She sounds surprised.

“Yeah, it’s—” He’s about to say incredibly irritating, when a blast of icy air hits him. “What the hell is that?” he mutters. There aren’t any vents it could be coming from. “Don’t tell me you’re going to give me hypothermia,” he calls.

“Are you feeling cold?” Dr. Thompson asks.

That’s odd. “Yes, I—” But the sound suddenly reaches a screech that’s almost unbearable, accompanied by a stabbing pain right above his eyes. His skull is literally vibrating. The fucking room is vibrating. Stephen grabs at his head. “Can you shut that noise off? I—”

And then the world suddenly drops away from under his feet.

#doctor strange #mcu fanfiction #strordo #stephen strange/karl mordo #my writing

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moonstruckholland · 6 years

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Dive (P.P)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,374

Warning: A few curse words, fluff, some angst

A/N: Hey, darlings! So I wrote this for @h-osterfield’s 5K writing challenge. Thank you for letting me participate, hun! Also, I want to say a huge thanks to @rachramblesstuff for helping me with me this (and for encouraging me to write). I’m so excited for y’all to read this. It’s probably the favorite thing I’ve ever written and I hope you love it as much as I do and any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated. (Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves 💕)

Peter stepped into the classroom, a blush rushing to his cheeks as he realized not only was he late to his first class this semester, catching the attention of over 80 students, but there was absolutely nowhere for him to sit. ‘I knew sleeping in those extra 30 minutes would be a mistake,’ he thought as he quickly started towards the rows upon rows of seats, his eyes searching for an empty space. He could feel the blood rushing to his face with every second he spent looking for a seat, thoughts of anxiety and embarrassment flooding his mind.

He was just about to give up when he a heard a soft, “Hey!” He looked to the left side of him, seeing the most beautiful girl waving him over. He pointed to himself as if to ask “are you talking to me?” You nodded, tapping the seat the next to you. Still shocked that you were talking to him of all people, he rushed over, softly saying “thank you” under his breath. “No problem. I saved a seat just in case someone like you stumbled in.” He gave you a confused look, “Someone like me?” You gave him a heart-stopping smile, “Someone late, lost, and extremely cute.” His eyes widened at your words, another blush reddening his cheeks. You giggled softly, making sure the professor wasn’t paying attention, before holding out your hand. “I’m y/n, by the way.” He shook your hand, thinking to himself, ‘This has to be a dream.’

Your brow raised when he didn’t introduce himself, “And you are?”

“Oh, um,” Peter racked his brain. Apparently, pretty girls didn’t just make him lose his train of thought, they also made him forget his name. It felt like forever before he finally remembered, stuttering out, “I-I’m Peter.”

You let out a small laugh and Peter had never wanted to disappear more than in that moment. ‘Forgetting my name? Great. She’s never going to want to talk to me again.’ He was so sure his thoughts were right, almost expecting you to reject him right then and there. But you caught him by surprise, leaning a bit closer to him to say, “I think we’re going to be great friends, Peter.”

You were more than right, immediately becoming the closest friends. Nothing more ever came out of it, but Peter was fully content having someone to hang out with basically all of the time. In fact, it hadn’t even crossed his mind. That didn’t stop people from thinking you were dating though. The two of you didn’t know it, but you were the talk of the class. People will either in love with the idea of you being together, or totally jealous of it. You were the only ones that couldn’t see you were obviously in love with with each other, completely oblivious to all of the signs from yourselves and your classmates.

On this particular day you were supposed to be studying, or at least that’s what you told Peter to convince him to go with you. Instead, you were goofing around, the pair of you trying to contain your laughter in hopes of not alerting the strict librarian not too far from you. “Pete!! Be quiet, you’re gonna get us in trouble!” You leaned into his shoulder, a mischievous smile on your face. “Oh, yeah,” he rolled his eyes jokingly. “I’m the one that’s being too loud.” You softly nudged his shoulder, pretending to be annoyed before getting up, mumbling something about taking your loud ass to the bathroom, leaving Peter alone and laughing to himself. He shook his head, the biggest smile of his face as he attempted to actually look at the textbook that had been sitting in front of him for the past hour.

He was interrupted almost immediately after starting, a guy from the class you took together, Jared, taking in a seat in front of him. He looked up, confused. They weren’t friends, and they’d never really spoken before, only occasionally when one needed a pencil or a piece a paper. He had no idea what he could possibly want.

Jared leaned forever on his elbows, looking around, before saying in a low tone, “You know, I’d be careful around her if I were you.”

Peter gave him a questioning look, more confused and a little annoyed, “Dude, what are you talking about?”

“Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but y/n isn’t looking for anything serious. She has a tendency to lead people on.”

Peter held back an eye roll, definitely annoyed now, “Are you speaking from experience?

Jared ignores his question and raises his hands in defense, “Hey, I’m just trying to help you out.” He leans down a little closer to Peter, their faces only a few inches away from each other, “Don’t fall for her, okay?”

Peter gives him his bed fake smile and a thumbs up, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to go away. Much to his relief, Jared does leave, just in time for you to come back.

You look back before sitting down, confused as you catch sight of Jared leaving the library hastily. “What was he doing here?”

Peter was so happy you were back, he had almost completely forget about the pesky encounter. “I’m not really sure. He was talking shit or something.”

You rolled your eyes, “Why am I not surprised?

Peter opened his mouth, wanting to ask about what happened between the two of you, only to up distracted by you, hanging off of your every word.

It wasn’t until a couple of years later, after having already fallen in love with you and never saying a word, that he started to wish he would’ve listened to the warning. Of course as time passed he tried moving on, but he always ended in the exact position he was in now, the only one he preferred to be in-right next to you.

The two of you were laying on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you as you watched reruns of Friends for the hundredth time. He looked down at you, admiring the way you got lost in the show, even after seeing it so many times. You were so beautiful and he was so in love.

‘She’s never going to go for me. I waited too long.’ The doubtful thoughts ran through his head, plaguing him with feelings of regret. There was no point in trying now. He was almost positive it was too late.

But then you turned and gave him this look, a look that seemed to be specifically for him, that pushed all of his negative feelings to the side. He didn’t know what it was, there was just something about it that gave him just a sliver of hope. ‘Do it. Do it now.’ He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat to get a better view of you. “Um, y/n. There’s something I want to tell you. You gave him your signature heart-melting smile, “What’s up, Pete?” This was it. He was finally taking a chance, ready to take the plunge and fully dive into you. “I-I, um,” he hesitated, the thought of never being able to turn back to normal running through his head. He knew if he didn’t do it now, he probably never would.

“I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do,” he said it quickly and without thinking, making it come out all wrong.

‘I think? Don’t know what to do? Good job, stupid. All I had to was, “I’m in love with you.” Of course I would fuck it up.’ Too caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the way your eyes widened, your smile instantly turning to a frown as you shakily asked, “What?”

He didn’t hesitate this time. “I’m in love with you.” Peter didn’t know what to expect, he never did when it came to you, but there was a part of him that thought maybe, just maybe you felt the same way. That same part of him hoped to see you jump into his arms, professing your love for him as well. Instead, you jumped up from the couch, shaking your head as you headed for the door. You only turned around to softly say, “I’m sorry,” before exiting the apartment and shattering Peter’s heart.

You ran out of the apartment and headed straight for the stairs, you mind going a mile a minute. You wanted to go back, to tell him you felt the same way, but all that came out of your mouth was a breathless mantra of “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

‘What am I doing? I love him. I should go back. I have to go back.’ You stopped for a moment, finally looking back now that you were out of the building. You considered going back just for a second, your worries creeping up on you almost immediately after, convincing you to walk away and go home before you did any more damage. That’s how you spent the next six days after that. Convincing yourself to see him, or at least talk to him, starting to make the first move, only to come marching back to your bed, or throwing your phone as far away from you as possible.

You laid in bed, engulfed in thick blankets, a piece of a kit-kat one hand and your phone in the other, your finger once again ghosting over the call sign next to his contact on your phone. Just one tap on the screen and things could be fixed, back to normal. ‘Or even better than normal.’ The thought popped into your head, filling your mind with cute scenarios. You and Peter dating, holding hands as you cuddled on the couch, both of you content in each other’s arms. It was so vivid, seeming so real you almost made the call right then and there. ‘Or he already changed his mind and doesn’t want you anymore.’ And just like that the lovely thoughts were gone and you immediately shut off your screen, tossing your phone to the other side of the bed. You couldn’t risk it, you wouldn’t. Peter meant everything to you. If you took a chance and it didn’t work out, then who would you have left? You didn’t even want to imagine not having Peter in your life. Less than a week without him, the longest you’d ever gone without speaking, and you felt so lost, like a piece of you was missing. It hadn’t occurred to you in the moment, only when you finally got home and all you wanted to do was call him, but when you walked out the door, you also ended up walking out of your friendship.

‘I need to see him. Maybe I can still fix this.’ You got up, feeling determined as you grabbed your phone and car keys. You were going to make things right.

You paused, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. You were fully dressed in your Perry the Platypus pajamas, your hair a total mess, and flip flops on your feet. “I can’t go like this,” you whispered to yourself. You shook your head, knowing Peter wouldn’t care and if you turned back you would chicken out and end up back in bed.

You took a deep breath, “Okay, I’m going.” You marched straight to the door, confidence bursting through you. You immediately stopped in your tracks once again, coming face to face with a wide eyed Peter. There were bags under his eyes, his lips all broken up from biting them too much, something you knew he did when he was nervous. You didn’t think it could, but your heart broke even more.

He looked down at your hands, noticing the car keys. “Where you heading somewhere?”

“I, um,” you could barely speak, not believing he was actually here, “No. I wasn’t.” You stepped back, telling him to come inside.

He hesitated, looking at you with sad eyes. “We’ve never done this long-“

“I know.”

He looked away, tears in eyes, “I miss you.”

You could feel yourself choking up, hating to see him in pain. “I miss you too, Pete.”

He walks in, still a little hesitant with his movements. It hurt you to see him acting as if he was out if place. He looked around, his eyes resting on you after a moment and gives you a sad smile. “Look, I’m sorry if I came on too strong and freaked you out. Just forget what I said, okay? I want things to go back to normal.”

You didn’t say anything, processing his words. You almost agreed with him, telling him you wanted normal again too, but you didn’t. You couldn’t, not after everything. “I don’t want to forget,” you didn’t meet his eyes, deciding to focus on fiddling with the string on your pants instead, fear coursing through your veins, “I love you, Peter.”

He frowned, taking a couple of steps away from you. “Y/n, please stop. Don’t pretend to feel something just because you feel bad for me.”

“I’m not pretending, I swear.” You sigh, wondering how you could possibly explain it to him. “Loving you is like,” you paused, trying to catch your thoughts. “It’s like skydiving, ya know? I’m standing on the edge of the airplane, ready to fall. But, Peter, when I look at you everything stops. Suddenly it’s just you and me and instead of falling, I’m flying.” He stares at you for a while, not saying a word and you’re sure doesn’t believe you. You’re seconds away from telling him to forget the whole thing when he comes up to you, grabbing your face gently and pulls you in for a kiss. Your eyes widen in shock as you kiss him back, wrapping your arms around him.

He pulls away, moving his hands to your waist to pull you closer, barely believing this was all real. “You really love me?”

You give him a gentle squeeze, nodding as you snuggle into his chest. “More than anything.”

In that moment, totally wrapped in Peter’s arms, you were soaring.

Tagslist: @rachramblesstuff @parkerpuffwrites

@ganseysblues @ganseeyjane (Feel free to ask to be added, my loves!) (also feel free to send a request! They’re always open)

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