#seriously debating turning this in with a note saying ‘sorry been dealing with really bad burnout and this is all I could manage to write’

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

See the problem is that I don’t want to write this

[mc-lukanette]

Have you considered writing a "Truth" fix-it with Marinette admitting her secret to Luka? Maybe he could be a confidant like Marianne was for Fu.

Truth was having a terrible, awful, rotten, very bad day. If he could use his powers on the universe, he would've asked what he did to deserve this kind of treatment.

It started with his girlfriend keeping a secret from him concerning her ditching their dates, then escalated to Jagged Stone - who'd been his idol for years - turning out to be the father who abandoned him, and now he was fighting Ladybug and Chat Noir in Marinette's room after he’d been told by multiple people that Marinette’s supposed “secret” was that she was in love with Adrien, as if he hadn’t already known that and they just wanted to mock him.

His civilian self had never been never someone to presume, but now it's all he could do. Marinette must've ditched him because she didn't really love him, Jagged probably never even felt bad about abandoning him, and despite Adrien never even trying to win Marinette's heart, he was just better than Luka in every way, because the rich model with all the connections Marinette could ever want would always outmatch the "guitar boy" who worked a part-time job, lived on a houseboat, and had parents who either kept secrets from him or flat-out didn't want him.

Had it not been for his akumatization working to drive him towards a goal without interference, he would've cried. He wanted nothing more than to wake up and think the whole thing was just a bad nightmare, with dating Marinette just being brief highlights of it that kept getting shot down with a reminder that he wasn't good enough.

He wanted it all to be over.

Chat Noir was still trying to banter with him, but Truth wasn't having it. While going after Ladybug first wasn't ideal, as she was the smarter out of the two, it was easier to get rid of Chat Noir and deal with the heroes one at a time.

Thus, when Ladybug had run across the room to use her Lucky Charm, Truth acted. He managed to grab Chat Noir and throw him into the chest that Ladybug had been hiding in before, then locked it tight to prevent Chat from escaping. That done, he went after Ladybug, who was stunned but nevertheless prepared to fight. Chat Noir being out of the picture didn't impact her ability to fight, but Truth had Pharo on his side to knock Ladybug around when it was too hard to get a spotlight on her.

Finally, he managed to tackle her, her lying on her back and him pinning her arms down. The chest nearby rattled in protest, but Pharo shined its spotlight on it, preventing it from moving anymore.

Truth watched as Ladybug looked around for a method of escape, but she came up empty. Her eyes widened in the realization that... this was it. This was the end.

"Now," Truth said, clamping down harder on her arms as he leaned down, "tell me the truth!"

Ladybug tried to shut her lips tight, but he could see her struggling, her body shaking as she tried to free her arms to stop herself. It was only a matter of time.

Then, her mouth opened, and out came the words, "I love you, Luka!"

He froze, his fingers twitching in his confusion while he could only stare down at her in shock.

"And I'm so sorry! I'm sorry for everything! I wanted to tell you - I always wanted you to know - but I couldn't, and you deserve so much better than a hero who can't give you the time you deserve!"

A cold realization washed over him in form of a shudder. Those words could've been interpreted in so many ways, but he was the only one who registered their real meaning: that Marinette was Ladybug, her "ditching" had been her needing to fight akuma, her keeping secrets had been out of a desire to protect him, and he—

...He had only caused her more problems by getting akumatized, being no better than all those that had interrupted their dates. She loved him, and he gave into Shadow Moth to go against her.

Ladybug continued rambling, oblivious to his internal crisis, "You're incredible, and I just love you so much. I knew you were special from the day we met, when you called me—"

Truth clamped his hand over her mouth, preventing her from spilling any more secrets. He could feel Shadow Moth's influence in his mind, demanding that he remove his hand, but Truth ignored it, just as he'd been ignoring so many of his commands. The energy from akumatization that once made him feel powerful now made him feel disgusted with himself, guilt swirling in his gut and making him regret everything.

He reached up with his other hand, grabbing at his necklace and tearing it off. Ladybug's brows rose at the crunching of his akumatized object, and the last things he saw were the akuma flying free and Ladybug's expression turning to something...

thoughtful.

—————

Marinette de-transformed in a nearby alleyway and headed down towards the Seine, having not yet processed all of her feelings from that day. She had a little time left, given that Luka had quietly asked to walk back home himself, but she’d gotten no closer to clearing her mind since leaving her house. She was still a jumbled mess of "what if"s and "but maybe"s, and ultimately knew that it was going to be a matter of essentially winging it and just saying everything that she had on her mind.

As she approached the Liberty to wait for Luka, she paused as she noticed another figure already standing there. After all, Jagged Stone wasn't exactly someone you could not notice.

Before she could debate on whether to approach him, Jagged seemed to sense her and glanced over to make eye contact. She stiffened, only able to wave awkwardly and pretend like she didn't know why he'd be there.

"Hey, frockstar," Jagged greeted tiredly, his smile not quite reaching its usual lengths. "What are you doing here?"

"Um..." She walked over, standing next to him and staring in the direction where Luka was going to come from. "I need to talk to my boyfriend."

"Ah." It took a few seconds for the words to actually register with him, at which point Jagged turned to her, mouth agape as he grabbed her shoulders. "My son's your boyfriend?!"

She didn't quite have the energy to feign total surprise at the “son” comment, but she didn't have to. Jagged immediately pulled back without really looking at her, regaining his composure just as quickly as he'd lost it.

"You... wouldn't happen to be able to put in a good word for me, hm?" He grinned sheepishly, jabbing at Marinette with a hopeful elbow. "Haven't exactly figured out what I'm gonna say yet."

She was torn between being upset with him on Luka’s behalf and feigning sympathy because it was not only none of her business, but she was in a similar boat and felt like she had no right to judge.

She went with the latter, smiling weakly and jabbing him back. "That makes two of us." Then, she frowned as her nerves came back. "And... anyway, I don't know if he'll want to keep being my boyfriend after tonight."

For once, Jagged didn't pry or ask questions, the atmosphere probably felt even by him. They just stood there, waiting.

After a few minutes, Luka finally walked into view, staring at the ground and seeming defeated. Marinette felt ill at the sight, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her capris to find a sense of stability.

Should she approach him? Let Jagged go first? Or, maybe that would seem evasive, so—

She felt a pat on her shoulder, looking up at see Jagged urging her forward with his eyes. She wasn't sure if she should be grateful or consider him to be the evasive one, but Luka's akumatization was also mostly because of her and thus it only made sense for her to go first.

She ran the distance to get to him, Luka glancing up at the sound of her footsteps and stopping as she got to him. The usual light in his eyes wasn't there, and she had to force herself to even say a simple, "Um... hi."

"Hey." He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his head. "I'm really sorry, Marinette."

"Huh?"

"I got akumatized, and I was in your room when I woke up." His brows furrowed with uncharacteristic anxiety. "I didn't have to hear the song to know what the notes were. I must've gone after you."

Marinette blinked, having not even thought about him feeling guilty over the whole thing. She shook her head, reassuring, "No no! I mean—you told me to run! You didn't go after me, not really!"

She wasn't technically lying; he never sought her out to her knowledge, and even as Ladybug, she'd always had to chase him.

Luka sighed in relief, though his expression didn't change much. "I'm glad."

He met her gaze again. She yearned for the way he used to look at her like he wanted to get lost in her forever, but his eyes soon darted elsewhere as he noticed Jagged Stone standing not too far away.

Marinette tried not to get discouraged, stepping back into his vision and waving her hands to try and divert his attention. "Ah—don't worry about that! Look—" She paused, needing a moment to breathe, then lowered her hands and shifted to seriousness. "Can we talk? And walk? It's... really important."

She couldn't imagine the conclusions he must've been coming to in his head, partly because he didn't voice any of them. His eyes merely searched hers, seeking nothing in particular.

"Sure, Marinette," he agreed.

She managed a smile, happy that she made it this far at least. She reached out to take his hand, but stopped herself at the last second and simply walked past him, Luka taking one look back at Jagged before following after her.

The walk was tense and quiet, the only sounds coming from the evening ambiance and their footsteps. The uncertainty of it all gave her anxiety, but she'd been sure of that uncertainty since she first decided to talk to him about this.

Because, whatever the future of their relationship was, it would be in his hands.

—————

As they arrived at her intended destination, Marinette heard Luka briefly stop behind her, perhaps processing where she just took them. It was the Canal Saint-Martin, also known as the place where they'd first agreed to date, and now it was potentially the place where they'd break up as well. Marinette vaguely pondered if that would be for the best, like the memories would just cancel each other out and Luka could forget about it altogether if he wanted to.

Nevertheless, she walked over, glancing at the bridge for reference and sitting in roughly the same place she’d been all that time ago. She then tossed Luka a hopeful look, and he walked over to sit next to her.

Steeling herself up, Marinette took a breath, inhaling until she couldn't take in any more oxygen and then exhaling for just as long. At least a little more emotionally prepared than she was before, she finally spoke up.

"I...I'm sorry, Luka. I'm sorry that I got you akumatized—" She saw that he was about to interject and cut him off. "—and I know you don't blame me, but it doesn't matter—I mean—it does matter, but I'm still sorry anyway, okay? You had a right to be hurt and maybe if I'd explained myself better, then things would’ve been different."

He still seemed to want to argue, but was holding himself back so she could continue, which she appreciated.

"It's not that I didn't trust you. If anything, I—I trust you more than anyone else. You've never betrayed me and I know you'd never tell anyone if I told you my secret. You understand me even when I'm being the disaster that everyone laughs at - everyone but you - and..."

She sighed, pulling out her phone and navigating to her text conversation with him. Mentally wincing, she tapped on the photo of her Adrien wall that Ziggy had sent, then presented it to him. He leaned in to make sure of what it was, then looked back at her, clearly not understanding where she was going but knowing it wasn't her being spiteful or rubbing it in.

She said as much, "You don't assume anything, like when you got sent this dumb picture. I know it was obvious that it was an accident, but you didn’t have to go with it and you did. I wouldn't have blamed you if you got mad, but you didn't. Whenever I'm stammering and being an idiot because I'm scared or nervous, you don't judge me for it or think that whatever comes out is what I actually mean. That's so important to me, Luka, you have no idea."

She settled the phone between them and kept the picture on-screen. Her gaze flickered down to it, silently encouraging him to look at it too, then glanced back up at him.

"How much do you know about fashion?"

He tilted his head, thrown off by the sudden question, but answered anyway, "Only what my sister's ever talked about."

"Do you know why fashion trends die so quickly?" When he shook his head, she explained, "Part of it is the over-exposure. When people hear about what's in at the time, suddenly everyone starts wearing whatever it is, so everywhere you look, you see it, and then people get tired of it."

There was a flicker of understanding in his eyes, Luka looking back-and-forth between her and the phone like he was piecing a puzzle together.

She confirmed it for him, "That's why I have so many. I don't feel that way about him anymore - I don't think I ever did - but I just don't know how to act around him. I hate how the whole idolizing thing took over my life and I already tried everything else, so I figured this might work." She groaned. "And of course it blew up on me and you got sent that without any context. Of course."

He gave a look of concern at the exasperation in her tone, but she tried to ignore it, not wanting his sympathy.

"My point is..." She gestured vaguely at the phone. "I stammer about him, but it's not because I'm in love with him, it's because I've never really been his friend and I don't know how to do it. I'm not dedicated to him and I'm getting better at not doing the stuff I used to."

His eyes flickered again and she wondered if he was thinking about that day on the Liberty where she was late to Kitty Section playing, where she ignored Adrien entirely. Just for emphasis, she tapped her phone and deleted the picture, adding on, "I'm only dedicated to you, Luka. I—"

She shifted in place, hitting the wall behind her feet a few times with her heels to ease off the anxiousness. It was so much easier when she’d been Ladybug, though granted that she was under the influence of Truth's spell at the time. She and Luka were dating, yet she was sure he'd ask her to end it, making putting herself out there all the scarier.

"I..." She met his gaze. "I love you." He gaped at the confession and she continued on, "I love you like I haven't loved anyone else before; definitely not Adrien. It's the kind of love that actually makes me happy, and comfortable, and my life is better with you in it."

She bit her bottom lip, hands curling into fists at the tight feeling in her chest. She turned, placing one hand on the ground as she began to push herself up, her other hand landing on Luka's shoulder to wordlessly insist that he didn't have to stand with her, so his gaze merely followed her as she moved.

"But that's the thing." She took a few steps away, back turned to him as she stared up at the sky. Her stomach twisted itself in knots at the words in her throat, but she nonetheless admitted, "I don't think it's mutual."

Luka's voice took on a sharp, offended tone. "Marinette—"

She spun to face him, cutting him off, "—and I know that you're going to say something sweet and heartfelt about how everyone has a place in your life and then something about how bad notes can still make good songs, but... Luka, you don't understand."

She turned away from him again, this time pacing as she counted off events. "Bullies and liars target me, and sometimes that means going after people I care about. I'm clumsy and a stuttering mess and you wouldn't believe the mistakes I made that I couldn't have even seen coming. It seems like I draw bad luck wherever I go; I mean, your mother is one of the most chaotic people I can think of, so you'd think she'd get akumatized a bunch, but it was only the day I showed up that she did. Even the other boys who only loved me for a little bit either got akumatized over it or became an anxious mess until they found out who they actually liked, and that last one would've at least been really useful to think about if I'd just made the connection back then, but I didn't!" She paused, then met his eyes with a pained expression. "And then there's you."

"What do you mean?"

She stopped in place, not knowing whether to be touched or not by the fact that he either hadn't noticed or was pretending not to. Throwing her arms out, she explained, "Things go bad whenever we hang out! I already mentioned your mom, but then there was the ice rink; even without me getting distracted when all you were trying to do was make me feel better, there was an akuma and you probably got frozen solid by him. When we were hanging out on the Liberty, Adrien just happened to show up on that day with Kagami to turn me into a mess, and then Desperada came to make everything worse."

Marinette couldn't remember when she'd started thinking about such things or feeling guilty for everything that ever happened. There was just a point where it felt like she was always apologizing for something, no matter how small it was, and stuff being her fault became par for the course by then.

"Then, both times you got akumatized, it was because of me—and I know you don't blame me, but I'm always involved! You were ready to leave the TV station, but because I tried to put up a fight, Bob Roth threatened me and that was your last straw. Today was the same thing; you were already upset about what happened with your dad and then it was me who sent you over the edge!" She shut her eyes tight, the memories painful to relive. "You're always putting up with me, Luka. You put up with me crying all over you and even dropped your guitar for it, and then you had to protect me from Miracle Queen's mind control! I'm supposed to protect you!"

He recoiled at the volume of her voice, then furrowed his brows, his eyes darting back and forth as he seemed to process something particular about what she said.

"I'm supposed to make you happy, and I can't. Out of all the people in Paris who should be able to keep you from getting akumatized, it should be me, and all I've done is hurt you. You're the calmest person I've ever known and then I came along and gave you feelings you didn't ask for. Sometimes—" She shook, choking briefly on the words. "Sometimes I wonder if it would've been better for you if you never met me."

Luka's gaze sharpened. He didn't reply, but turned fully to her, pushing himself up as if to approach.

However, she stepped back, his look then flashing to hurt. She took a breath, expression determined as she said with her whole chest, "I'm Ladybug, Luka."

He froze, his body going stiff and his eyes blinking rapidly at either the reveal itself or the way she’d so firmly said it.

"I'm Ladybug," she repeated quietly, this time with an ache in her voice, "and I'm telling you not because I trust you—I mean, I do trust you—but I also believe in you; that you wouldn't sell me out to Shadow Moth even with all the mind control in the world. You've always had my back and supported me even when I didn't deserve it, and I want you to know. It's dangerous and I don't know what'll happen and I'm scared but I want you to know it." She put a hand to her chest. "I'm the one who has to save Paris whenever something happens, and that's why I always had to ditch you. I'm the one who messed up and lost you your identity as Viperion. I'm the new guardian of the miraculouses, and the kwami don't even listen to me; they invaded my privacy and it was one of them that took and sent you that picture."

She realized that her vision was staring to blur and looked skywards, trying to fight back tears.

"I-I'm not a normal girl. I can't be a normal girlfriend, or give you everything you'd want out of a normal relationship. It's my fault that you got akumatized because I just—I wanted you. I wanted to be in a relationship and go on dates with you, but Ladybug isn't supposed to want things. She's supposed to be selfless and only worry about everyone else, but... you made me happy, and I wanted more of that. You were the first person I really felt like I could be myself around without being scolded or lied to and I thought it would be okay..."

She noticed him moving and quickly turned her back to him, at least able to let the tears fall now without him seeing them.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I always think I can handle things but then it goes wrong and I end up hurting people. If I'd just gone home the day of the music festival instead of complaining about Adrien not being around, then none of this would've happened." She sighed in frustration, wiping her eyes clean of tears, and she was so focused on forcing her words out that she didn't hear the footsteps coming from behind her. "I-it's okay if you want to break up, Luka. It wasn't fair that I kept you in the dark, and I understand if you're mad, or you want to date other people, o-or if you don't love me anymore—"

Her voice cut off with a gasp as a pair of arms wrapped around her midsection, pulling her against a familiar, warm chest that had an unfamiliarly pounding heartbeat. She tried to look up at him, but his hair was shadowing out his eyes and left only his trembling lips visible. In fact, his whole body was shaking, as if it were winter and no amount of layers could keep him warm.

"L-luka?" she called, confused.

"Stop," he begged quietly, the hug tightening briefly to give her a squeeze. "Please."

"But..." She trailed off, acknowledging the request. She'd never heard his voice just break like that.

"You've already sung your part of our duet, Marinette. Now it's my turn." He paused, taking an unsteady breath before continuing, "I'm glad you told me your secret. I know you're worried about me being in danger, but it makes me happy that you can rely on me now. Music boxes aren't meant to stay shut, and you deserve someone who you can open up to, even if I hate that you have to mute yourself in the first place to keep everyone safe."

She opened her mouth, wanting to say that it was okay and it was just her job, but kept quiet to respect his earlier request.

"My life isn't worse because I met you," he murmured, an unspoken plea in his tone that told her to never think that way again. "I felt things with you that I never have before. My song started out as a flatline, then we met and you made it move. Music isn't exciting if it doesn't change but you did that for me. What you might see as bad notes is my passion for you, and I won't apologize for it or make you apologize for messing up just like every person does. I'd never wanted someone before you, and even if you never wanted to date me, I'm grateful that I got to know you; to fall for you."

Marinette blinked in an attempt to stop oncoming tears, Luka pulling her closer for comfort when she whimpered.

"All that mattered to me is when we were together, just the two of us. That's when your melody plays the clearest and when I get to see you. Those two weeks when we were preparing our music video were some of the best two weeks of my life because I got to see you in your element. I've accepted every break in the tempo because I've heard you, I've heard the Marinette you've wanted to be, and I want to be there for every beat of it." Then, he exhaled, adding with a somber tone, "I can't imagine how much pressure you must be under, or how awful things are and how impossible it must be to sing when you can't even take a breath without something going wrong. I just... I want to help you be happy. I don't care what you, your kwami, or anyone else says; you're allowed to be happy, Marinette, and I'd drop a thousand of my guitars if it meant that you get to play happy notes one more time."

She let out a sob, blushing pink as her hands unconsciously raised to rest on the ones around her waist, Luka sighing in content and nestling further against her.

"So I don't want to break up with you, Marinette. Not at all. I just want to find ways to make it easier on you - on both of us - and if that means finding ways of planning our dates around akuma attacks, or not planning at all and going wherever the rhythm leads, then that's what we'll do."

She tried to keep quiet, but couldn't help voicing, "W-what if... what if it doesn't work? What if I have to bail on you every now and then? People will think—"

"I was never worried about that," he retorted immediately. "I'm a Couffaine. My clothes are ripped, I carry my guitar in the basket on my bike, and I live on a boat. I stopped caring about what people thought a long time ago."

He was unbelievable. Marinette didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both. He just held her there, his heart still beating against her back but now serving as something to calm her.

"The only opinions that matter in our duet are yours and mine," he said. His hold loosened, though hesitating like it was physically painful to release her. He let her go nonetheless and held his hands out in front of her, palms facing the sky. "So what about you, Marinette?"

She stared at his hands, then slowly raised her own to hover over them. She breathed up, then slid her fingers across his palms until their calloused fingertips met, neither making any move to pull away.

"I...I want to make it work," she whispered, leaning back against him. "I want to be with you, Luka. I'm at my best when I'm with you. I just..."

She stopped, knowing that he would have an argument for anything she said. If she apologized for the failed dates that she can never fix, he'd argue that it'd be worse to leave things off a sour note, and that not every good song starts out good. If she tried to suggest other people for him to date or imply that it'd be easier with someone else, he'd say that his guitar plays only for her and he wouldn't change that even if he could.

"...I'm sorry," she said, smiling her first genuine smile of the night. "I won't doubt myself anymore."

Even though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was smiling too. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah. Do—do you?"

"Yeah," he replied, voice thick with emotion.

Wanting to see his face, she slowly dropped their hands and turned to face him, silently hoping that she didn't look awful from her earlier tears. However, to her surprise, she noticed that Luka's eyes were watery despite his smile, just like her. Realizing something, she raised a hand to her shoulder, where his face had been hovering over ever since he'd hugged her from behind.

It was wet.

"Oh, Luka..."

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him against her. He returned the gesture, squeezing her lovingly and giving her back a few rubs that she responded to with a happy hum. They held the position, the warmth of the hug completely negating the slight chill of the night air.

Even when they pulled away, it wasn't far nor for long. Marinette wasn't sure which of them initiated it, but one moment they were staring at each other and the next they were kissing. It had been long overdue and she idly thought that it was better than she would've imagined their kiss at the cinema to be.

She breathed in his scent, her fingers blindly reaching up to slide into his hair. She almost felt like crying again, though this time in relief that everything had actually worked out for once and they were kissing without interruption. Even though Luka was more subtle in showing his emotions, she could tell that he felt the same from the way his hand on her back shook, practically vibrating with happiness.

The kiss eventually broke with a soft click, though she kept her hands on him for the sake of stability. They were both breathing a little hard from the emotional toll of the conversation yet not necessarily in a bad way.

And the love in his eyes - the life that she missed so much - was back. She honestly thought she wouldn’t have seen it again and she was tempted to just keep kissing him in relief, part of her aware that he definitely wouldn’t have minded it.

It took her a few tries to get the words out, hesitant to break up their wordless exchanges of love. She knew what revelation was waiting for Luka back at his houseboat - maybe he'd already guessed it - and she wanted to be there for him, so she asked carefully, "Do you... want me to come back to the Liberty with you?"

Eyes half-lidded, he gave her a soft smile and gently squeezed her hand. "Yeah. Do you want to sleep over?"

She nodded. "Mm, I'd like that."

Holding hands, they began making their way back to the Liberty, the ambiance of the night finally coming through to soothe them. Marinette glanced down at their joined hands, then at the wide smile on Luka's face, the latter clearly caused by the former.

She looked ahead at where they were walking, pretending that she hadn't just been admiring him. "We could always go out for breakfast together. That might work out."

"That sounds amazing." Luka feigned a look of thoughtfulness. "Maybe Shadow Moth doesn't like mornings?"

Marinette squeaked mid-giggle. "You'd think that'd be the case from the name, huh?"

He chuckled, covering his mouth with his free hand, and the conversation remained light from there. Any bad feelings from the day had evaporated, leaving only smiles and hope for the future in its place.

Everything was going to be okay. For once, Marinette could truly believe that.

[uswntxfootball]

i get a little bit stressed out (when i think about you) (jill roord x arsenal!reader)

how were you supposed to ask her out when just thinking about her made you nervous?

word count: 3342 ish

rated: F for flirtation sugar daddy

title- nervous by shawn mendes

——

your eyes followed her even when you didn’t mean for them to.

there was just something about the way she carried herself… you really just couldn’t get enough of it and-

“hello? y/n?”

you really really really had it bad. it really didn’t help that she was talking adamantly about something to viv, the other dutch forward having a relatively hard time keeping up with the taller girl.

its only when daan claps in your face that you turn and look at her.

“sorry what?”

daan face palms before saying:

“you know if you stare any harder you’re going to strain your eyes.”

you blush a little.

“i’m not staring….i’m-”

daan’s pointed look shuts you up.

you blush harder and look down at your cleats, adamantly avoiding the midfielder’s gaze.

her tone softens a little when she sees you.

“you really should just ask her out y/n. its been like two years.”

you scoff a little.

“it has not been two years what are you-“

daan cuts you off with a matter-of-fact tone:

“she joined the team in 2019 buddy.”

“yeah but that doesn’t mea-“

“and exactly how many words have you exchanged with her?”

you think before saying with an air of false confidence:

“like a lo-“

“not counting on the field.”

you sigh and hang your head in defeat before whispering:

“like two.”

the dutch midfielder hums and asks again:

“mhmm now what was that?”

you roll your eyes and say it a little louder, still with that air of defeat:

“like two words.”

daan patted your shoulder encouragingly before the whistle blew, indicating the end of break, and training picked up once again.

~~

jill was talking about you during the break, actually.

to viv across the field from you.

the dutch forward had slowly realized that you were different around her, that you didn’t speak as much, and actually that you avoided her at all costs.

this she found out because there were instances, such as during team dinners, where if there was an open seat next to her, you didn’t take it, opting to stand or sit on the floor as far away from her as possible.

or that whenever she sat down next to you you shot up out of your seat almost instantly.

or that when you saw her coming down the hall you immediately turned and walked the way you came from.

or- you get the point.

she couldn’t tell if you hated her, because frankly that’s what it looked like.

so that’s what she was speaking to viv about.

and to lisa about.

and really anyone who would really listen.

of course, everyone knew your predicament, as you weren’t exactly subtle in your staring and stuttering.

they all assured jill that you didn’t hate her, that maybe you were just shy, something jill had a hard time believing since she watched you hold confident eye contact and conversations with literally everyone else but her.

if you were someone else maybe she would care less.

but you weren’t.

see, this is only how you acted off the field.

but on the field, you were a completely different person.

you had a confident, almost authoritative tone when you spoke, one that made everyone stop and listen, and was something that ultimately landed you the role of captain for every team you’ve ever played for, with arsenal being no exception.

you spoke to her that way too, and it was really the only time you made eye contact with her and spoke to her.

granted it was more like you giving orders and directions, but same difference really.

it was also something jill found really really hot.

so safe to say she cared about what you thought of her.

jill eventually decided that if you weren’t going to talk to her first, she’d do it instead.

and so began her quest, getting y/n y/ln to talk to her and hopefully become her friend.

~~

you noticed the change in jill immediately.

it seemed as though the dutch forward was tailing you every chance she got.

every corner you took she seemed to appear right in front of you, every time you glanced at her it seemed as if her eyes were already on you.

it got so bad that you tried even harder to avoid her.

for instance,

one day before training you were out on the pitch shooting from midfield and muttering game analysis under your breath when you heard a familiar, heavy dutch accent making its way through the halls.

you panicked and-

daan found you ten minutes later inside a trashcan.

needless to say you had a pretty hard time trying to explain the smell and stains on your jersey to joe later that day.

in your defense because the field was so empty, that was the only plausible option in your mind.

as time went on, it really didn’t get any better.

there was another day during training where you turned to catch a glimpse of jill only to see her eyes already on you, and you turned back so abruptly that you knocked down the entire weight rack in front of you.

jill giggled, and the rest of your teammates were rolling their eyes and collectively face palming at your stupidity.

it all came to a climax when you were on the bus to your first match of the year, and jill plopped down in the seat right by you.

your eyes widened and cheeks flushed immediately, and you trained your eyes on the seat in front of you, not daring to turn and look at the girl beside you.

“hey how are you?”

you gulped and slowly looked up at her, and you cursed internally.

she was just so unfairly attractive.

the slightly shy smile and arched eyebrow was a combination you swear only she could pull off and-

“i’m doing okay, how are you?” you managed to force out.

at least you didn’t stutter.

jill gave you a lopsided smile that made your heart skip a beat, and went on talking.

she knew you weren’t much of a talker around her, and subsequently filled up all the gaps with her rambling, something that you both appreciated and hated, as it really didn’t help the queasy feeling in your stomach.

when the bus pulled to a halt you felt like you were going to puke, and shot up out of your seat wanting to run off before you freak out, only to remember that you were in the inside seat.

jill moved slightly without hesitation, something you were more than thankful for.

she whispers a little dejectedly when you get off:

“are you sure she doesn’t hate me?”

lisa gives her a sympathetic look and smile.

“she doesn’t jill.”

“but she just-“

“trust us, she doesn’t.”

jill nods a little apprehensively, and gets up and grabs her stuff, making her way off the bus along with everyone else.

~~

during the game, jill was so distracted that she almost ran in the wrong direction.

“jill! press! now go!”

you were yelling at her from midfield, glancing all over the place as you watched every player’s movement and stance.

jill almost stumbled upon hearing your voice.

you note that she’s acting weirdly, and bring it up during a quick break while the ref is assessing a potential foul.

you catch her arm when she walks by you, an action that catches her entirely by surprise.

“hey you alright? your head is all over the place.”

jill swallows a little bit before smiling weakly and replying:

“yeah yeah i’ll be okay.”

“alright well get your head in it, you’re really talented and we really need you right now.”

you give her arm a reassuring squeeze and move to take the free kick which had just been given.

jill still stood there a little dumbfounded, its only when you snap loudly and point in the direction of the box that she remembers there’s a game going on and moves into position.

all in all, arsenal wins with an emphatic victory of 5-1.

after your duties as captain were fulfilled and you gave your post game talk, you quickly fell back into your off field self.

~~

now why was the previous bus interaction the climax?

simply put, it had been the last straw for a lot of your teammates, who were now fed up with your idiotic gay panic, and decided to do something about it.

you should’ve known something was weird when you get a text from viv reading:

“URGENT- team meeting in 15 min at me & lisa’s apartment”

you furrowed your brows in confusion.

you were the team captain and the one who called team meetings, so what was up?

also it was saturday night, couldn’t it wait?

you texted kim, the vice captain, and pretty much the only responsible adult on the team, to double check.

she replied with:

“yes- joe told us about it.”

you furrow your eyebrows again because you took your job of captain seriously and you honestly didn’t remember joe mentioning an impromptu meeting on saturday night at viv’s house.

but you made your way there just in case anyways.

when you make your way inside you glance suspiciously around the apartment and only get more confused when you see less than half the team there.

the only people there besides viv and lisa were daan and beth, caitlin and lia, leah and jordan, and katie.

by this point you should’ve known.

you open your mouth to speak but you’re cut off when daan shoves you down into a chair.

“sit.”

you shoot back up and fight her back a little bit before asking:

“guys guys guys what is going on?”

leah calmly looked at you and said:

“sit down and we’ll tell you.”

and so you begrudgingly take a seat.

lisa starts.

“alright so collectively as a group, we decided that watching you deal with jill is making us all lose brain cells.”

the group in front of you nods adamantly in agreement.

“and so we’re here to help you. to teach you how to flirt.”

you cross your arms and snort a little.

“and how are you going to do that exactly?”

“well-“

beth piped in here.

“we’re going to employ katie and have her flirt with you and teach you for the next week or so.”

you shake your head.

“katie? no i would rather go on my own thank you very-“

katie cuts in here with an offended look.

“what do you mean no?! i’m obviously the best here and-“

the room quickly broke into a loud cacophony of sound, as they began debating about katie’s comment.

its only when lisa yells for silence that everyone quiets again.

“wait how many people are in on this?” you ask suddenly.

“the whole team with the exception of jill,” leah replies offhandedly.

your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when you heard this.

“is it really that bad?”

lia snorts.

“can birds fly?”

you let out a sigh.

“fine.”

you turn to katie and very adamantly say:

“but don’t you dare make it weird.”

katie holds her hands up in surrender.

~~

and so it began, your “training” as they called it.

katie, surprisingly was pretty good at what she did.

she did unfortunately call herself your flirtation sugar daddy, but that really made you uncomfortable so you avoided those terms at all costs.

so day after day, katie stuck by you and flirted with you 24/7, with occasional performance evaluations from lisa and caitlin, all who approved thus far.

on the downside, jill, who had been kept out of the loop from everything, saw this as you being interested in katie.

she wanted to tell you that katie had a girlfriend, but didn’t really know how to start that conversation without making it weird.

she couldn’t just go up to you and say, “hey i’ve been watching you flirt with katie for the last few days and just so you know she’s taken.”

so she just stood by and watched.

she did ask viv about it one day though.

“does y/n know katie has a girlfriend?”

to which viv replied:

“yup.”

“so why is she flirting with her?”

“its just for fun.”

“it doesn’t look like its for fun to me.”

viv turns and looks at her dutch teammate.

“are you jealous?”

jill almost sputters out her answer.

“wh-what no of course not! why would i be jealous?!”

viv turns to hide her smile.

“sure jill. whatever you say.”

two weeks went by, and katie was delighted by your performance.

next saturday, the ten of you met up at viv and lisa’s apartment again.

“alright so you might be asking why we’ve gathered you here today!” lisa proclaimed with a very poor attempt at victorian english.

“we’re gathered here today to-“

“oh just get on with it,” viv butts in.

lisa turns to her with a glare.

“all right all right,” viv relents.

“we’re going to assess y/n’s flirtation capabilities.”

you quirk an eyebrow.

“how are you going to do that exactly?”

“ooh we didn’t actually think that far. we’re going to ask you questions?”

“what like ask me to finish the line? like ooh girl are you from tennesse cuz you’re the only ten i see?”

lia cringes a little at that line.

“what ever you do, don’t say that.”

“mhm yeah wasn’t going t-.”

leah cuts in.

“alright the point is. just be yourself y/n. you exude confidence on the field so just bring it out when you talk to her. that’s all”

the others all nod in agreement.

“that’s it really. you can do it y/n, we all believe in you.”

“thanks guys i really appreciate it.”

“wait but i can still be your flirtation sugar da-ow! you didn’t have to all hit me!”

~~

the next day at training you were shoved and funneled in jill’s direction by almost half the team.

a particularly hard shove from daan had you slamming directly into jill.

the dutch forward turned and grabbed your waist in lightning fast speed to steady you.

your arms immediately fell to rest on hers, and you took a shallow breath in when you saw her concerned look.

“are you alright?”

“yeah i am thanks to you…”

well here goes nothing.

“…though i have to say if this is what it takes to get you to hold me i’ll gladly fall for you again.”

jill’s face was worth the burning on your cheeks.

“w-what?”

you had to admit, jill’s stutter only made her cuter.

you just gave her a wink and reluctantly pulled her arms off you.

“come on jill, we have a training session to get to.”

you gave her a final wave before you made your way out of the locker room.

jill still stood there, shocked and a little confused.

viv rolled her eyes.

“come on jill.”

and when jill didn’t move, viv just grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room.

later during training almost the exact same thing happens.

except this time it was more jill’s fault than yours.

she wasn’t watching where she was going and ran right into you.

your hands found their way immediately on her waist.

“is this how we’re going to meet and talk from now on?”

jill blushed and mumbled a “sorry.”

you grinned.

“don’t be, i’m kind of enjoying it, though…”

you stopped to fake pondering something.

“…i don’t know what we should do now that we’ve both fallen for each other.”

you finished your sentence with another wink, essentially rendering jill speechless.

and so, this became a trend.

you would flirt with jill, and the dutch girl would essentially just freeze up and stare at you in shock.

you thought it was cute.

jill thought it was mortifying.

she complained to viv later on.

“i can’t even flirt back what is happening to me?”

viv just gave her a reassuring pat on the back.

“that’s what we call gay panic my friend.”

jill groaned and buried her face further into her hands.

~~

“what’s a pretty lady like you doing all by yourself?”

you ask, plopping down in the empty bus seat beside her.

jill blushes and looks down at the seat in front of her.

she could barely see your playful grin out of the corner of her eye and it was enough to kick the butterflies in her stomach to a higher gear.

you had a little deja vu during the bus ride, except that in the previous predicament the roles were switched.

jill somehow managed to hold it together for the remainder of the bus ride.

it was on the pitch when jill really couldn’t take it anymore.

you didn’t even do anything, except fulfill your captain duties.

you were standing on the sideline, watching a scrimmage between lia’s team and kim’s team.

joe had asked you to sit out and assess every player’s strengths and basically coach them.

and coach them you did.

“caitlin! daan’s open on your left! and malin! cover daan better so she’s not wide open!”

you looked down to scribble notes in your note pad, and when you looked up you saw jill staring at you on the field.

“jill! focus!”

her gaze snapped back onto the game.

before the second round, you gave a bunch of pointers to both teams.

“okay so you guys are doing pretty well, just make sure to keep up your back line, don’t make it sloppy.”

and to the other:

“alright so pass accuracy is something you need to work on, because half of your passes are being intercepted at the moment which probably isn’t something you want.”

after a few minutes the teams took their places back onto the pitch and you began scribbling down a few more notes.

a pair of cleats makes their way before you, and you look up.

“what’s wr-“

jill leans down and kisses you.

you drop your notepad in surprise.

she pulls back quickly and searches your face for any sign of disgust or repulsion, and finding none, she leans in again.

this time, you met her halfway.

it was electric and a little needy, really everything you wanted a first kiss to be.

you briefly heard the cheers and clapping of your teammates, too caught up in the moment to care about anything else.

jill’s hands fell to your waist and yours rested on her cheeks.

you pulled back after what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only a couple of seconds.

“so i guess i don’t have to fall for you to hold me like that again,” you whisper.

jill giggles.

“definitely not.”

you’re silent for a few seconds, but jill beats you and breaks it first.

“you know, i thought you liked katie.”

your eyes widen in surprise, and your face quickly contorts into disgust.

“oh god no way.”

“oh that’s good.”

you ask her a little teasingly:

“why, were you jealous?”

jill scoffs a little.

“shut up.”

you arch your brow a little in challenge.

“make me then.”

jill’s eyes flash back onto your face dangerously but before she can do anything you give her a little shove back.

“now go back to your scrimmage, we’ve had them wait long enough.”

she rolls her eyes and turns back towards the pitch, and towards a hoard of your giddy teammates.

“flirtation sugar daddy for the wi-ow!”

your perfectly struck ball hits katie square in the chest and your glare cuts eliminates any objections.

still you hear her mutter:

“still if anyone needs any help with flirting i’ll be free to-“

“katie!”

“sorry sorry i’ll stop.”

[fakescenarios-tohelpyousleep]

selfless| ryan atwood

summary| ryan seems to keep getting into trouble revolving around you so you decide to leave orange county, however, ryan has the same mind set.

note| I’m still in season 1 of the O.C. and even though I know Luke leaves and he isn’t really a villain, I need a bad guy for the story so I’m using Luke.

    “Oh my God Y/N!” As the officer help you from the back of the police car, wrapped in blankets, wet and shaking uncontrollably you fall into the first pair of arms to grab you. your boyfriend, ryan atwood. 

When you had decided to attend a private prep school across the country for your junior year, you hadn’t intended to fall for your host families foster son however here you were. apart of the cohen family. 

From the adjacent driveway marissa and summer stood in shock watching as there somewhat friend froze in his arms. And the question raining over everyone mind... what had happened. 

“Y/N, you’re freezing.” Ryan states the obvious as his hold tighten in an attempt to warm her up. As the scene unfolds the lifted truck of marissa’s boyfriend luke pulls up and he moves to marissa’s side, watching in guilt as you practically can’t stand on your own. 

“She needs to get warm as soon as possible, a hot bath and then warm blankets, you need to get her body heat back.” The officer explains to Sandy and Kristen who are at Ryan’s and your side along with Seth, who for a second went to try and help Ryan hold you up however decided against it when he saw the look on his ‘brothers’ face. ‘Will do officer, thank you.” “We’ll be in contact in the morning to learn more about what happened but get her inside first, if her body heat doesn’t go up in the morning, she’ll need to go to the hospital.” 

“Where were you?” Your voice was small and Ryan almost missed it as Sandy removed you from his hold, picking you up to get you into the house quicker. “Y/N what are you talking about?” Ryan questions rushing after Sandy. “The pier, you didn’t come.. Luke he dropped me off-” Ryan had texted you before to cancel as something with Seth had come up and he knew you would understand, however, he now realized that your phone wasn’t on you... You had forgotten it at the house and hadn’t gotten the text. At the mention of Luke his head snaps in the direction of the Cooper house and as he made eye contact, Luke turns away in guilt. Marissa put the piecing together... No, when they arrived to drop you at the pier and Luke offered to walk you to where you were meant to meet Ryan, he didn’t hand you off to Ryan, he had pushed you into the water as a joke... no knowing you couldn’t swim nor that the water was freezing temperatures. 

Even with your consciousness was fading in and out, you were so sensitive to the heat around you that you could feel Ryan’s body moving from besides you. With your remaining strength you reach out to grab a hold of Ryan’s sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. “Ryan don’t.” “Y/N, he could’ve killed you.” He gritted threw his teeth, attempting to keep his anger from boiling over. “Ryan that isn’t important right now, we need to get her inside... Do not go over there.” Sandy voice came out as a threat. He was putting his foot down. They would deal with Luke when you were taken care of, which you weren’t at the moment still shivering in Sandy’s arms. Ryan stops, staring at you and Sandy for a moment, before shaking his head in ‘sorry’ and rushing off down the driveway in the direction of Marissa’s house. “Ryan!” Sandy yells after him, Kristen stepping in quickly. “Sandy we need to get her inside, Seth go with Ryan.” She meditates the situation. She knows well that Seth isn’t going to be able to stop Ryan, however, you needed to get taken inside. Ryan fighting Luke again or you possibly getting hypothermia... hypothermia wins. 

_

“Dropping the charges? Are you being serious Y/N? He could’ve killed you.” Seth was going ballistic that morning at you sat at the kitchen island drinking hot chocolate against your will... you needed something warm and hot chocolate was better than coffee, but still wasn’t your drink of choice. “He didn’t know the water was that cold or that I couldn’t swim plus if I drop the charges against him, he won’t go after Ryan.” You mumble back as you pull the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands, still colder than usual. Seth scoffs looking to his dad for help, who was standing off to the side reading the morning news paper. “Dad, a little help here.” Sandy looks up, “I’ve already tired, Seth.” He replies in defeat and then at the sound of the sliding doors opening, the kitchen falls silent as Ryan enters the kitchen. Ryan’s eyes quickly fall to you, but yours just as quickly fall away suddenly becoming very interested in your mug of hot coco. It was visible that he got into a fight, you often question if he’s truly from Chino because every time he fights with Luke, Luke somehow ends up winning and Ryan comes out with more damage. “I’ll drive today.” Ryan pipes up, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that was waying on the kitchen. “Yes, and we should get going before the pressures of awkwardness crush us all.” Seth jumps at the opportunity. “It’s just gonna be you two today, I have to take Y/N to the doctors.” Sandy explains as Ryan lags waiting for you to join him and Seth. “Doctors? Are you okay?” Ryan’s concern is obvious from his tone. “I’m fine.” You mumble before Sandy speaks again. “It’s just to make sure her body heat is stable and back to normal, nothing serious.” “I’m coming with.” Ryan demands, dropping his backpack from his shoulder. “No you’re not. You’re going to school. After last night you’re lucky you’re even still here.” Sandy snapped, he was right. If Luke pressed charges Ryan would be taken from the Cohen’s and put back in juvie.. and it would’ve been all your fault. 

“Sandy?” The tone of your voice made his head snap in your direction. You sat in the passengers seat as Sandy drove back to the house after the doctors. You were okay, you’ve just caught a small cold and were now on antibiotics. Not to serious. “I wanna go back home. I’ll finish the year back home.” Shock over took Sandy’s face. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Y/N finals are coming up, you’ll have to repeat the whole year if you transfer back now. What about summer, I thought you were staying to go on vacation with us this year? You felt tears form in your eyes and it didn’t go unnoticed to the man sitting besides you. “Ryan could’ve gone to jail last night because of me. Everything bad he’s done since I’ve gotten here as been because of me. I’m not good for him, I’m going to ruin his life. I have to leave.” Sandy signs as he pulls into the driveway of the house you’ve called home for the past year. “You two are insufferable.” He mumbles and you look at him confused, what does he mean by that? Sandy sighs again, debating on weather to tell you or not. “Last night I went to talk to Ryan and he was packing a bag. He was planning on running away last night because he’s ‘causing trouble in your life’, the two of you are selfless with each other. You want to leave because you feel like you cause trouble for him, Ryan thinks the same thing about you Y/N.” Your jaw hung as Sandy spilled the secret from the night before. Ryan was going to give his life up for you. So that you could live a drama free life with the Cohen’s minus him of course. “Why is he such a dumbass?” You seriously ask, which makes Sandy chuckle. “I’m sure he’s say the same thing about you. Y/N, Ryan needs someone like you in his life. I promise I’m not bullshiting you when I say he’s the happiest I’ve seen him since you’ve come here.” “I can’t ruin his life Sandy. Even if someone is happy if someone is ruining everything else in that persons life, the happiest isn’t worth it, is it?” “Y/N, I can’t stop you from leaving, but think on it. At least talk to him.” 

_

“Ryan, can we talk?” Your voice and the knock on his open door spooked him as he laid staring at his ceiling. It wasn’t abnormal for you to come to the pool house at night to see him. It wasn’t abnormal for you to sleep in the pool house with him just like it wasn’t abnormal for him to sleep in your bedroom inside of the main house. In the beginning Kristen and Sandy tried to stop it from happening, however as time progressed and a pregnancy hasn’t occurred it’s just become normal for one of your beds to be empty at night. The sound of your voice had spooked him as you haven’t spoken more than a few sentences to him since his brawl with Luke. “Yeah, totally.” Ryan shot up, sitting on the side of his bed as you closed the door behind you and joined him on the bed with a large space between you. Strange. The two of you are normally attached at the hip while around each other. It wasn’t something you two did on purpose, most of the time you don’t realize you’re as close until it’s pointed out by a third party. Ryan clears his throat, not liking the silence hanging in the air between your two. “Are you alright?” He questioned noticing you still swearing a sweatshirt even in orange county’s early May weather. Then it hits him, jealously at the notice of the sweatshirt being Seth’s. he ignores it, looking away from the sweatshirt and moving to your face. You’re not looking at him and he feels it in his chest. Pain. You finally nod, “Just a cold, I’m on antibiotics for like 2 weeks.” You explain not going into more detail than needed before letting the silence fall again. 

“I might be going back home.” Ryan’s head snaps so face that you’re surprised his neck didn’t break. “What?” “You don’t have to runaway, I’m most likely going back home after final exams.” Ryan was dumbfounded, A by your confession and B by the fact that Sandy told you about his antics. Ryan goes to speak, however he stops himself, shakes his head and changes what he was going to say. Realization hitting him as his conversation with Sandy from the night before spilling into his mind. “We’re being ridiculous.” Confusion covers your face as he continues, “Just the other night you were here saying you were planning on staying in orange county for the next year and now you want to leave just because I fought Luke, who could’ve killed you might I add!” He was now on his feet. Anger and desperation slipping into his tone. “Ryan you could’ve gone to jail because of fighting Luke and that would’ve been my fault! How did you expect me to live with that if that happened?” “You would’ve gone on and been more concentrated on school and go on to continue to live with the Cohen’s-” “If I go back home I’ll be concentrated on school and you wouldn’t have to leave the life you built-” “Y/N you hate your mom!” Silence falls again and regret covers Ryan’s face but he continues with his point, only now talking instead of screaming. “If you go back home you’re not going to go to art school cause your mom won’t let you. You’ve said it before Y/N you’re mother is suffocating, I can’t put you back in that position.” “Ryan all you have is the Cohen’s.-” “They’re all you have too, Y/N.” You both stop speaking and you feel the tears in your eyes again as the realization washes over you. “I have you Ryan, and I need you with me, but I can’t live with the weight that you’re going to put yourself in harms way for me.” Ryan’s face falls as the first tear rolls down your face. “I couldn’t just let him get away with hurting you.” He defends himself again for the millionth time. “I know, but promise me you’ll stop fighting people and stop getting in trouble.” You plead with him and the next moment you’re knocked back as his body collides with your and his arms wrap around you so tightly you almost can’t breath. “I will, just, stay.” 

The next morning you followed Ryan hand-in-hand into the kitchen where the Cohen’s all resided, and all stopped dead in their tracks upon you both entering. “Well good morning you too.” Seth says as he notices his parents shocked expressions. The glares sent by you both make Seth uncomfortably turn away to face his parents. “How do they do that? One glare and you perfectly understand. Witchcraft I tell you.” He whispers to them making both parents chuckle before he excuses himself from the kitchen, attention turning back to you and Ryan. “So y/n,” Sandy begins already knowing the reply to his next statement. “We have a meeting today with the dean about transferring your credits back home-” “No need.” Was all you said, stealing a glance at Ryan which he return, a smile on his face in gratefulness and happiness as you both turn back to your breakfast in silence. Sandy grinning from ear to ear... his house was back to normal. 

[dreamsfreckles]

[7:21p.m.] A Couple of Whipped Besties, One Could Say...

~

Sapnap x reader

Fluff

A couple of sus betsies - enjoy!

~

Sapnap smiled proudly at the beautiful view in front of him: you sitting in his gaming chair, beating the shit out of George on a minecraft PVP server.

Naturally, as Sapnap’s best friend, today marked your third night sleeping over at his house, the usual.

You two simply couldn’t get sick of each other.

Sure, he was annoying and relentless sometimes, and maybe you were a bit stubborn and moody; but regardless, both of your personalities clashed and complimented each other perfectly - creating a close friendship. 

Even though your friendship was his most precious treasure, Sapnap couldn’t help but be dissatisfied with it. 

Not because he wasn’t happy with you... but because he wasn’t happy with you. 

incase you need further elaboration:

Sapnap done went and caught feelings for you. (no earnings)

Leaning over your left shoulder as you gamed, Sapnap side-eyed your facial expressions as you passionately played on the computer monitor in front of you, flexing your weirdly amazing skill at PVP.

He admired you; you looked cute while concentrated. Critting George’s player with your diamond axe was Sapnap’s favorite sight to see. Your eyebrows furrowed the slightest bit and your eyes shined as you attempted to predict George’s next move. 

Not to mention you were also hot as fuck. Sapnap didn’t need to admit that though...

Not only were you his cute best friend, but you were also a super skilled player. He seemed to get the best of both worlds when it came to you.

You can be risky, fun, daring and stupid, but at the same time smart, soft, sweet, and safe. It’s rare to have someone as unique and different as you. You were irreplaceable. 

It also just makes things 1000x better when you’re the reason George regrets his entire PVP career.

Sapnap leaned back into his spare chair, laughing in disbelief at you mercilessly owning George in the game. He could hear George’s screams of absolute terror leaking from the headset on your head; his headset. (dollar tree)

Goddamn he’s whipped. (what a shrimp)

The headphones were a little big on you, which added to the cuteness. Sapnap secretly peered at you love-sickly, sighing in content. It was rare for him to be completely in a haze by you simply doing nothing; for some reason you had him completely under your control today.

Your sudden yell broke Sapnap from his trance and brought his attention to the monitor showing the signature “victory” screen. You squealed hopping up from your chair and doing a small victory dance, laughing at George as he wallowed in defeat. You turn to Sapnap, a wide smile on your face. “Were you watching that? George is SHIT!” You laughed. Sapnap shook his head in disbelief. “Have you been practicing? I have to get you to duel Dream... I doubt you could beat him though. Gogy is just trash.” You giggled with Sapnap at his open criticism towards George, while the trash PVP player on the call scoffed and mumbled incoherent curse words. (ignoring the fact Sapnap lowkey called you trash)

“Well,” you start, relaxing back into his gaming chair. “I’m kind of hungry now. Do you want to go get Chick-fil-a or something?” Just before Sapnap could respond, he was rudely interrupted by George screaming on his headset. “YOU’RE GOING TO GET CHICK-FIL-A?!” The headphones rung. “Are you trying to get cancelled Sapnap?” George joked, making literally no one laugh. You glanced at Sapnap in amusement. His face is twisted in playful annoyance as he ends the call with George. “I guess George is right... Don’t want our precious Sappy getting cancelled.” Sapnap scoffs and rolls his eyes at you playing along with George, a smile on his face. You smirk evilly, standing up to walk across his room to grab your purse. “Whelp, looks like you gotta get your own fast food.” You sling your purse over your shoulder and start heading towards his bedroom door.

Sapnap’s eyes widen at your statement. There’s no way he’s letting you go along with George’s stupid-ass joke.

Before you could leave, Sapnap scrambled to wedge himself between you and his door, stopping you from exiting the room. “Um? You’re dog water if you think you’re pulling that bullshit on me?” He sasses, backing you away from his door.

You hold in your laugh and shrug, putting up a serious face. “We should probably have a break from each other anyway... Why don’t you go out and get McDonald’s instead? I’ll be back in like,” you check your phone for affect. “Like 45 minutes.” You state, looking back up to his pretty eyes filled with betrayal.

Sapnap is frozen. He didn’t think that this Chick-fil-a joke would actually be taken some-what seriously. You wanted time away from him? What the fuck? You two have always been clingy to each other! You can barely go to his fucking kitchen by yourself! 

He took a second longer looking into your shining eyes. Then it all clicked.

You little rat. How cruel are you to be playing with his little heart like that?

Sapnap could turn this situation around in a few different ways.

1.) He could call out your cap right now and you two would go out and get your chick-fil-a, or whatever you want to eat.

2.) He could football tackle you to the fucking ground and make you apologize for saying such buffoonery.

3.) He could go along with your cruel joke, and make you think that he 100% agrees that you two “need to take a break.” He can even go as far as calling it a night and telling you that he’s too tired for another sleepover night.

Sapnap was never the merciful type. As much as he is unconditionally in love with you, he don’t play. 

Option 3 was game.

Sapnap looked up and to the side, pretending to think about your suggestion of “taking a break” like it was a valid choice. Stepping away from his place in between you and the door, Sapnap motions for you to go. “You know what, you’re kinda right. You can go ahead, I think I’m going to call someone.” Sapnap whips out his phone from his back jean pocket and turns away from you, pretending to scroll through his contacts.

This makes you stumble for a second. Did he just... agree with you..? Your heart stops beating for a split second and you debate if you should tell him that you were joking or not. You can barely go to the kitchen by yourself, why isn’t he catching on that it was a joke? You stand still there, looking at his turned back. “Okay... I’m just going to go then.” You say, still not making a move to leave. After a moment of him not acknowledging a word you just said, you start again. “Do you like...” you pause. “want me to bring you back something...” Sapnap turns back to you at that, suddenly deciding to pay attention to you. “Uh no thanks, I’ll just eat something here. You should probably call your mom, she probably wants you home. You’ve been here for what-” he checks his phone for the date. “Like 4 days?” He states, looking back up to you.

Your mouth drops. Hurt fills you heart. Did he really just say that?

Yeah... you have been at his house for a while... but you didn’t think that he was getting sick of you. You usually stayed over there for 4 nights on average before you went home.

You’ve stayed there for 6 days before! And you both STILL mourned the loss of each other’s presence when you left!

(Isn’t this simp culture?)

What does this mean? You stand there is silence just looking at him. It’s not like you could argue; you were the one who said you needed a break first.

You felt like crying. Yes... Sapnap is your best friend and this literally isn’t that big of a deal, but... you love Sapnap. You’d spend forever with him if you could. And you thought he would too. You stiffen for a moment. You know he isn’t your boyfriend; as much as you wish he was, you need to stop acting like he is. 

Him saying he wants to be alone shouldn’t be that big of a deal to you! You guys are friends! He’s standing there, looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to go on, do anything.

While you stand there debating your life choices with hurt written all over your face, Sapnap’s mind is racing a million miles an hour. He literally can’t decide if he should burst out laughing from how well his plan worked or hug you and say sorry for being so mean.

He literally can’t decide - so he does both.

Just as you feel your eyes getting the tinniest bit glassy, Sapnap roars with laughter and pulls you into a bear hug, squeezing your waist with one arm and using the other to pet your hair fondly. “I’m so sorry, I had to, it was too good, that literally couldn’t have gone better-” he rambles. You immediately sulk and smack his shoulder, aggressively hugging him back. “YOU ASSHOLE I GOT SO SCARED!” You groan in embarrassment. You literally almost cried.

Sapnap giggles and hugs you tighter, his smile couldn’t possibly get wider. You sigh in relief, snuggling into his arms. “You actually scared me so bad. That was so weird.” Sapnap laughs again, leaning back from you slightly to get a look at your pretty face. You were pouting. Cute. Sapnap smirked and squeezed your cheek with the hand that was previously petting your semi-tangled hair. “You did it to me first you dimwit, what the hell did you think I felt like?!” He exclaimed. “You literally told me to go home you asshole!” You exasperated. Sapnap threw his head back laughing, pulling you back towards him again. He nuzzled into the side of your neck, sighing happily.

As hilarious as it was watching you go through the 5 stages of grief over this situation, it was also heart breaking all at the same time. He hopes he never has to see that again on a serious note, if he’s being honest. If you ever looked like that when you guys were being legit - it would quite literally kill him.

After what felt like 20 minutes of hugging, you pulled back from the hug and looked up at Sapnap, his arms still attached to the ends of your sweatshirt, keeping you in place. 

As he stared down at your pink cheeks and flustered expression, he felt like he could stand with you here for hours. He wishes he could kiss you.

You rolled your eyes at him as he giggled. “Whatever.” You state, walking out of his hold and over to his bed side table. Sapnap watches your movements in confusion. Once at the table, you open the top drawer and snatch his wallet from inside, your back facing him. “I’m getting fucking Chick-fil-a and if you don’t come, I’m literally going to buy the entire menu with this.” You turn facing him and hold up his wallet. Sapnap’s eyes widen in realization at what’s in your possession. He makes a move to run over to you and snatch it back. Unluckily for him, you were already bolting out the door and to his car.

Hello 🥺

I hope u enjoyed sorry it took so long hehee

I’ve had lack of motivation, as we all in this tough pandemic - I hope you guys are all doing well and stay happy and safe 💕

Thankfully we have our fav mcyt gang to help us through tough times :)

Ik sapnap says fuck you, but think of it in an endearing way LOL LOVE U GUYS

[cblgblog]

Sorry I’m advance but one of my other favorite accounts just reblogged a Tony scene and people are talking about Civil War and how it made them Stan Tony, and how when they watch that movie they hate team cap👀 Then someone was all about how he was sleep deprived and how much pressure he was under and couldn’t understand how people didn’t like Tony because. Someone literally said that when someone says they don’t like Tony in Civil War they say “did you watch the same movie as me.” I’m baffled. Oddly enough someone else said, “he just wants to help everyone.” Sorry for the rant but I think people forget about what the accords are and what it would mean for people. Side note, I hope you’re having a great day/night 😀

No sorry needed!

I feel you man, I do. Honestly, I’ve unfollowed people based on similar posts when I was in especially Done moods, so.

Look on the one hand, the movie would’ve been a narrative failure if everyone was in favor of one side or the other, right? The whole point of the damn thing—besides giving the Mouse overlords more money—was to spark discussion, debate. Which, yeah, we’ll call that the tame description for what actually happened. But just, the thing was meant to split the fanbase so in that regard…winning? Thanks, I guess?

Film is also very obviously subjective, different strokes for different folks, so yeah, ten people can watch a movie and none of them are gonna see the exact same film. Let’s try to remember that this is, in theory anyway, a good thing. I just read a professional film review yesterday where I had the same reaction. What film were you watching, dude? Incidentally his reviewing partner said the same thing.

So honestly, no, they weren’t watching the same film as you or I or anyone else, because everyone brings their own biases and experiences and knowledge and interests into a thing, and that’s always going to flavor how it’s viewed. Again, let’s try to remember that this is good. In theory. Heavy on the theory.

That out of the way? Let’s get into Tony specifically so his uber stans can find this and scream at me on anon as though I just shot RDJ with a nuke.

Oh yeah, he was stressed. Oh, he was sleep deprived. Yeah, I’ve heard that. And that it’s Pepper’s fault, if she hadn’t left the poor baby, if she was there to rein him in, he’d be fine dammit, leave the baby alone!

Here’s the thing. You know who gets a pass on their shit behavior when they’re upset or tired? Actual babies. Actual babies and toddlers, and children, up to a point. Because they actually cannot always help themselves. Their bodies and brains are different, they have not learned better.

When you’re a 50-year-old man who’s supposedly the world’s bestest superhero, who wants, wants to be in charge of protecting the whole world? You need a little more self-control than that. The sleep deprived excuse works if you snap at someone before you’ve had your coffee, not for this. Roseanne Barr didn’t get to blame Ambien for her racism, Tony doesn’t get to handwave CW away because oops, I was tired.

Really? You’re a superhero, dude. Most of your teammates are tired too, that’s part of the gig. If you crash and burn this badly without your afternoon nap, fucking hang up the armor and go back to your billionaire playboy lifestyle.

Speaking of that, sure, right. It’s Pepper’s fault because she left him. Put aside the argument on whether that was justified or not (cough, it was and she should’ve stayed away even though they are adorable together). It’s not Pepper’s job to keep Tony sane. It’s not any partner’s job to do that for anyone. If she wants out, she has a right to that, without Tony going off the rails and blaming it on her. Seriously, he says part of the reason he backed the Accords was to “split the difference” with Pepper.

Dude. You were an asshole and you lost your girl. You destroyed all your suits, turned an emotional and mental corner in IM 3…and then relapsed 4 minutes later I guess because Whedon. Either way, Tony admits himself that he does not want to stop. So instead of doing that, or finding another partner who can accept that, you back an unjust international law that pits you against your team, your supposed friends? Go to therapy, have a pint of ice cream, cry into your pillow, send her more of those strawberries you sent her in IM 2 that she’s allergic to. You don’t go trying to change international law in ways that could ultimately affect millions of people because your girl left you.

Honestly—and thank God they didn’t do this but—the only way the Pepper excuse works in excusing his behavior in any way is if she’d died. Or been severely injured like Happy in IM 3. Still wouldn’t be okay, but, like Quill messing up their chance to stop Thanos because Gamora died, it would’ve been more understandable. Understandable, not excusable, and the way the MCU treats their women as manpain fodder, we’re probably legit lucky we didn’t get this.

As for him wanting to help everyone. He does in fact want that, I think. The problem is that his need to feel like he’s doing that is stronger than his rational mind, or his want to actually help in a constructive way.

Tony is too smart. He’s dumb as hell in many instances, mostly involving people and relationships, but he’s also too smart, and he’s been told for too long that he’s smart, and he’s bought into it. Ultron. Suit of armor around the world, protects the world, no more alien threats. It’s a simple concept on paper that fails in execution. So there are people with dangerous powers. Okay, we’ll make a set of laws to keep them from being dangerous, problem solved. But again, it isn’t.

Tony is not used to problems he cannot solve. He’s a genius, right? He can fix anything. He should be able to fix anything. That’s how he feels. But not everything is zeros and ones and circuits, things that can be fixed mechanically like his armors can. The people he wants to protect are not built that way. But he needs to feel like he’s doing something, because he’s terrified of what happens to the world if he doesn’t. So he creates these simple solutions to complex problems. The suit of armor, the Accords. They sound good in theory, but the problems they’re trying to solve are bigger than they are. And Tony, way back in IM 1, he sat back for years, clueless that his weapons were being used for bad things. He says it to Cap in CW. When he found out what his weapons were being used for, he went in and stopped it. Whether or not he should’ve known that already is a separate issue here. The point here is that when he found out, too late or not, he went in and did something about it.

Tony needs to do something about it. Again, go back to Cap in AoU, Tony’s nightmare sequence. Steve asks Tony why he didn’t save them. Tony’s ultimate nightmare is that he sits back and does nothing, and his inaction causes everyone to die. Which is where you get Ultron. Something he came up with because of what he saw in space in Avengers 1, then doubled down on in AoU. It’s where you get the Accords. Oops, he caused someone to die, he killed Charles Spencer. Must do something about that right now so it doesn’t happen again, and he won’t have to feel this guilt. He should be collaborating with others to come up with solutions (no Bruce in AoU doesn’t count because Bruce was dumb there), or at the very least, taking more time to think through the repercussions of the things he puts out there. But he doesn’t, because he’s got his savior complex that tells him that he alone can and must fix this, and because he’s too dumb to realize how not-smart he is in certain areas.

“We need to be put in check. Whatever form that takes, I’m game.”

Isn’t that what he says in CW, or something very close to it? Whatever form that takes. That’s the issue, right there, whatever form that takes. Realistically, yes, there should be laws regarding people with powers, the same way there are special laws pertaining to people who carry guns, or people who are licensed to fly planes. You have a thing/can do a thing that not everyone else does, so there are regulations pertaining to that thing. Laws change with the times, they always have. Some new technology comes up, eventually there will be laws that regulate it. As there should be, honestly. The issue with the Accords, Steve’s issue with the Accords, was not the basic idea. He says as much. He says that it could work, but there would have to be safeguards. Safeguards that are not in the Accords that Tony wants him to sign.

It's not a matter of oh, fuck the law, there should be no law governing these people, they’re above it. The problem is that the law as it’s presented here is unjust. There’s what, a month between Lagos and Ross coming by to tell them about the Accords? A month is not enough time to properly analyze such a big issue, Especially when you’re reacting out of fear, which is what happened with Lagos. People died because of an Enhanced person, an Avenger, in this case. Lawmakers don’t want that to happen again, they especially don’t want the political shit storm that comes with it. Damn, we look like we were asleep at the switch here, not having anything to throw at this problem earlier. Quick, let’s throw together this thing so no one can say we’re not addressing the problem.

Patriot Act of 2001, anyone? 9/11 happened, the public were rightfully terrified, the US said oh man, these are unprecedented circumstances, we’ve never had this before. Don’t worry though, we’re on this, we’re protecting you. The reality being that that bill simply gave the government too much power, most of it being used against people who were not actually threats, and it’s debatable, to say the very least, whether or not that law helped more than it hurt.

No law is perfect. No law ever will be. It’s not possible. We still have to strive for perfection though, have to aim there so that the laws we get are as close to fair as possible. Tony’s a big deal. If not for his “whatever form that takes” attitude, he might’ve been able to use his influence to pressure lawmakers into coming up with a fairer bill. Hey, I’m me, the public loves me, I will endorse this bill publicly and work on getting the rest of the team to sign, but you need to change this and this and this first, or no deal. Instead, he took the easy way out, the quickest, easiest way for him to feel like he’s atoned for his sins without actually doing anything. Whatever form that takes.

Tony’s not wrong because he backs the creation of a law that addresses these things. He’s wrong because he says himself that he does not care what that law does, specifically, so long as it exists. He’s wrong because he violates said law upteen times during the movie, while preaching to team Cap about what assholes they are for not backing it. He’s wrong because he cares more about feeling as though he’s tackled a problem than he does about taking the time to make sure that the thing he’s proposing is actually a good idea. He’s wrong because of what he does with Bucky, though that’s honestly a separate issue, for the purposes of this discussion.

Anyway, that was longer than I ever wanted it to be. Damn. Next time you see a comment about CW being the reason people stan Tony, just remember there are other people out there who stopped stanning Tony because of that movie. Everyone’s entitled to see a piece of media however they see it, and although the Tony stans are often the loudest, there are plenty of like-minded people out there who share your take on events. Block who you need to, unfollow who you need to, blacklist what you need to, and don’t let them get you down.

Hang in there, and have an awesome day :)

[mirrorforevers]

heavenly nobodies (or “the fog”) • graham/reader

this is a bit heavier than usual, ladies. proceed w caution. tw for mentions of abusive relationships, drug abuse and reader has no self-esteem at all. nothing too descriptive in that sense though

on a lighter note, reader n graham are basically two lost adults acting like petty children

a quick disclaimer: its not my intention in *any way* to glorify or romanticize drug abuse or basically anything any of these characters do - its messed up shit. this is fiction, don't take it seriously, please

if this fic was a song, even though its titled after a lush song, it would be lark by angel olsen i guess. might have a sequel someday i dunno

+18, as always. contains smut. this is sososososo long and has went through so many rewrites im sorry. but i do think its my best fic yet!

set in the mid 90s

word count: 3.780

You still remember the day it began.

A nasty fight took place between Graham and Alex. You only got involved because your relationship became one of the topics of the heated debate. Long story short, Graham basically screamed at you two that you, Y/N, were wasting your life away by dating someone like James.

At first you were blind with rage and defended your decadent relationship while insulting Coxon until your throat burned from the screaming match, but afterwards, after you caught yourself thinking a little too long about how James' eyes sometimes seemed to hover over you with an indifference Coxon's never, ever showed, and how it hurt to see Alex in the arms of an entire sea of more attractive women than you - and how shallow you've become for even trying to excuse his behavior with something as empty as the fact you weren't as stereotypically beautiful as the other girls he screwed, you noticed something wasn't quite right about the entire situation, but you still felt shivers at the prospect of telling him you were sorry. He also had a lot to apologize for.

The fog. That's what's been messing with your mind lately. And Graham's. And everyone else's.

It's hard to think about things clearly as they happen in your life when all you feel during most of it is hedonistic, empty bliss. Everything moves in slow motion. The regret, the harsh words, always come afterwards, like a sudden car crash, after people realize the very real consequences of what they said and done while they were immersed in their own very temporary, elusive, pleasures. The fog also made you bitter - not only you, but Graham, Alex and the other boys as well; your relationship with them as a group of friends and individually, each in a different way, consequently turned into a toxic, resentful mess of chaotic feelings and unresolved conflicts. Your relationship with Graham was by far the most affected.

You grew up together. You went to the same college. You very briefly had a thing. He drew you lots and lots of times, you haven't lost a drawing. You realized you didn't love him like *that* and he was okay with it. You were still as close as ever.

Then you met his other friends. In the beginning, he was so excited about this whole "band" thing. The boys were funny, compelling, undoubtedly hard to deal with sometimes, but you got them quickly. Their music very gradually became successful - they deserved it. They sounded so good together. You noticed Graham was a bit jealous of how you interacted with the other boys sometimes. Damon and Dave were the first ones who tried (hard) to bed you, but Alex, effortlessly, was the one who got to.

One night turned into two, three, fifteen. Then into a fucked up prototype of a relationship around the time their stages got bigger, more packed with screaming teenagers and all of you met her – heroin. Graham got proportionally and gradually more distressed and anxious each day. You didn't know which one of these things disturbed him the most, after all, he didn't speak to you (or anyone, for fuck's sake) like he used to. Thousands of little things began to intercalate and swallow everything you've built together.

You've started to hate him - he refused to speak to you about what was bothering him, and you barely talked outside of the inevitable circumstances. Meanwhile, Alex dragged you even deeper into his questionable lifestyle and you shrinked into it until you could pretend it fit you like a glove. You felt so small. Invisible to everything and everyone who truly mattered, even to yourself. You tried to reach out to the one who mattered most plenty of times, but every time you tried to reach out to him it would end up in screams and even more resentment. It seemed like there was no way back - he hated you as well because he thought you were just like Alex. It felt like a knife was twisted in your stomach when he said it the first time. You pretended it didn't hurt the other ones - those were the nights your binges were the worst and you'd vomit yourself to sleep, though.

Everything was leading you to one of those nights again, until you heard a knock on your door. At this time of night, it was definitely Alex.

You tried to tidy yourself up as much as you could in a matter of a few minutes. You thought you weren't as effortlessly beautiful as the other women in his life - as if cheating had something to do with appearance and not with his character, but oh well - and you felt like you had to at least try to keep up with their pace. You washed your face, smeared some foundation on some old stretch (and track) marks and tried to pretend his presence was the brightest spot on your day. He disguised so much criticism under the pretense of worry, leaving you feeling so bad about yourself, but you needed his approval like you needed air on your lungs (or opioids on your veins) for some reason you couldn't quite explain.

You open the door, holding your breath while you tried to ignore the pit that grew on your stomach just to find out that...

"Graham?" You were simultaneously relieved and revolted to see him on your door. Adrenaline ran through your veins. You didn't realize how afraid you were of him - you've only hurt one another with words, but still, you were afraid to cross eyes with him just because you felt like it would start another fight and you would simply never speak to each other ever again, not even to fight. You were afraid of how deep your friendship has corroded.

He was visibly hurting, just like you. It comforted and hurt you to see it.

"You were waiting for him, weren't you?" He noted, vaguely motioning towards the lipstick on your lips. You felt pathetic.

"What are you doing here?" You quickly wiped the lipstick off your lips while he looks around, not really knowing what to answer. His eyes, puffy, somehow indicated he wasn't there to say he was sorry. At that point, you didn't even cared who was in the wrong. You just wanted to know why he was there.

"Just came here to tell you that... I'm leaving Blur, and... I'll be moving to Germany with a friend. Tomorrow."

"What kind of joke is this?"

"I wanted to tell you because... I felt like we got so used to each other's presence t-that... even if you're relieved by the news, uh, I think you should know in advance."

There was no mischief in his eyes. There was no point in joking with something like that. It's not like you were comfortable enough with each other to joke with each other nowadays anyway. That realization crushed you and anchored you to the very confusing and tragic reality just laid out in front of you.

It was so uncharacteristic. You knew of his tendency to run away from these types of situations and this time he simply didn't. Your mouth refused to close. "I-I don't understand. You... You can't... You can't just do that. You have a fucking gig tomorrow!"

"I won't justify myself to you. Just... take care of yourself and... don't let that leech suck the life out of you more than he already did."

"You don't understand. You don't understand anything. Is this about him? Again?" In yet another wave of adrenaline, you pulled him inside your flat and he just lets you. "Are you moving to bloody Germany because of what went on between us today?!"

"I don't care that you don't love me. I care that I can't go for a fucking day without seeing you waste away your life with him. If he was someone that made you happy... but he's just killing you. I can't deal with that."

Still in shock, you pulled him in a desperate kiss. It was not an attempt of making him stay, but something else entirely new. He had to say he was leaving so you could really know, in a matter of a few seconds, how much you needed him there.

His reciprocity simultaneously broke your heart and filled it with hope - you knew how far your relationship with Alex went and how tough it would be to break free from the chains he's got your heart tangled in, but at the same time, Coxon kissed you in a way no one else ever did. He loved you like no one else could. And that's how you noticed how easily you clinged to any sign of true affection given how much Alex's been neglecting your emotional and physical needs lately. Everything was about him all the time, it was a monologue. Graham and you had a conversation.

(A conversation that lasted all night. Thankfully, Alex didn't show up. He must've been talking to someone else.)

Instead of sweet nothings and love confessions, funnily enough, you and Graham exchanged soft "I hate you"s after the deed was done. You both hated the situation you were in. Hated that even though the passion burned hot as fire between you, you were stuck in a mess bigger than everything that just went through both of you. But never each other. You just couldn't name the feeling right.

Perhaps needless to mention, he stayed in the United Kingdom. Instead of sitting and talking like adults about what you felt about each other though, the bickering somehow became even worse.

Of course you started to take his side on fights more often. Mock Alex's behavior together more often. Something definitely changed between the two of you, but it still wasn't enough. Graham was still furious that you wouldn't give up on James. You were still furious that he wouldn't take your relationship with Alex seriously. It had its many faults, yes, but it was special in a way no one else grasped and you were raised to think that people shouldn't give up on others that easily, a convention that no modern deconstruction of social norms could take out of you out of a sudden. Not even Graham. But instead of raising your voices and breaking things around you, you've found other means to release the tension between you. Usually in dark corners of untidy pubs, his flat or yours. It became so frequent it didn't need any planning anymore.

Following the opposite path of the earlier days of your animosity, the more intense the fights got now, the lower your voices got. Instead of distancing yourselves from each other in the middle of screams, your bodies got closer like magnets. He could be so tender somehow even when his words stung like venom.

You were living and breathing contradictions. Him in the way he conveys his hopeless submissiveness to you in the way every touch of yours breaks him and the way he just isn't able to cum if he sees you're not having enough pleasure, yet he fucks you like he wants it to hurt and pretends nothing happened after you're done; and you in the way you cling to him like he's your lifeline when he's deep inside of you but isn't hesitant to not look him in the eye on some other nights.

The night of one of the parties thrown by Blur's record company following the release of The Great Escape wasn't one of the latter.

While the lower floor of the venue is frenetic with people immersed in different levels of ecstasy caused by all sorts of different substances, the upper floor is reserved to the lovers, or people who were looking for a calmer place to talk or to relatively safely de-escalate from their highs. You, on the other hand, just wanted to run away from the view of Alex kissing another woman in the event he brought you to. You were almost falling asleep in one of the tiny, dimly lit and cramped rooms when a small, familiar voice woke you up. "Why aren't you downstairs with your future husband?"

You feel aloof. The slightest mention of the one you think you love disgruntles you. "Ugh. I should have known it was you," you grumble, giving him room to share the sofa with you. "You know why."

"I don't. Someone once told me I don't understand anything." He accepts the offer almost unconsciously. It's so interesting to see how his actions contradict his words and posture, just like your actions contradict yours.

"I'm still right about that. Why did you come here? To mock me?"

"You're lost."

"And so are you. Don’t talk. I don’t want to hear it."

"Do you want me to leave?" he asks, calmly, knowing what the answer will be.

It's always a no.

You instinctively move closer to him, as if he's about to disappear in a cloud of dust in any moment. You don't ever want him to leave.

He notices your eyes are glistening when your lips touch, so smoothly and in such a tender way. His hands enter your hair, just below your ears, and you melt at his touch all over again.

The kiss starts out slow, then becomes more and more intense. His tongue slides against yours and you whine, clutching at him like he’s the only thing tethering you to this earth. It becomes so easy to let him settle between your thighs. He runs one of his large hands through your hair, fists it, and pulls your head so he can have easier access to your neck, filling it with open-mouthed kisses. “Why the fuck,” you manage to murmur in between heavy breaths, “do you care so much about me?”

He doesn't answer. His fingers trace the hem of your dress instead, skimming up the side of your leg. You whimper as he moves them over the sensitive skin to the apex of your thighs, his lips finding the side of your throat again. He sucks a mark into your skin just as his thumb caress your core so lightly above your underwear and you whisper, voice trembling with desire: "You're so much better than him."

He's not sure if you're just leading him on, and neither are you. He doesn't even know if he has heard it right. The fog really blurs every line. Reason, feelings, motives. "You never cried over me", he answers, seeking to turn that reality around, it seemed. Your hips buck into his touch, and a moan escapes you when his hand coyly seeks direct contact with your clit, stimulating it with precision from the start. "You truly... don't know shit," you gasp, grinding harder against his touch and losing yourself to his ministrations, the fog of an earlier hit helping in enveloping you in a state of so much bliss.

"Do you want me to lock the door?" His raspy voice takes you out of this world. You nod, a little disappointed by having such a great feeling interrupted for the sake of privacy. Your lips were spit-slick and pinkened, your eyes half lidded. The sight made Graham breathe hard through his nose, but he somehow kept his composure. When he goes to lock the door, you couldn't help noticing the tent you helped build in his jeans. You feel proud of yourself.

He returns with the hungry kisses and eager touches, slowly driving you crazy all over again. His kisses lower down, down... and you pat his shoulders, motioning for him to stop. "I want to make you feel good tonight." He accepts the offer.

You scooch downwards, just above his hips, and you pull his pants and the waistband to his briefs down in one swift motion. He's painfully hard, but that was hardly a surprise. Graham straightens his back just in time to watch you take the reddened head of his cock into your mouth. He claps a hand over his mouth, hips bucking upwards into the wet heat instinctively, your warm breath enveloping his dick and clouding his mind.

Wrapping your fingers around it, you gently jerk him off, slowly sliding your hand from the tip back to the base. He groans, watching you as you fill his senses with a dull warmth. You stare back at him, smiling as he groans at your warm breath.

You run the tip of your index finger tentatively along the underside of his cock, watching with fascination as his cock twitches and reacts to your presence. You lean forward, breathing on the head before planting a soft kiss on the tip. Coxon whimpers, his dick aching from your attention. Tired of the teasing, you begin stroking it, your soft fingers loosely bouncing along his shaft. He leans his head back to the ceiling when you kiss the tip again.

You eye his cock excitedly, before you lean forward and lick his head, swirling your tongue around the crown and flicking it across the tip. His hips thrust forward before you can even react, his mind reeling as your tongue slowly traces along a vein you followed from the head all the way to the base. He groans, and was about to say something when his mind went blank. He sees pure white, his brain shutting down almost completely as you wrap your mouth around the end of his cock and set a steady rhythm to the oral stimulation. His chest rumbles as a deep growl of satisfaction leaves him, shaking through the air, the vibrations in your mouth punctuating his growl with a hiss.

He cracks his eyes open, his glazed eyes staring down to find you staring directly at him. The sight of his rigid cock vanishing between your soft lips made his skin crawl. He groans heavily, grasping your head on instinct and thrusting forward.

You gasp lightly as he shoves himself deeper inside your mouth, pushing against your throat. He moans your name desperately, panting heavily as his hips automatically thrust against you. You stand firm, keeping only the front half of his cock in your mouth, slithering your tongue against the crown and watching intently for his reactions. He was close, his mind firmly on fire as his body reacted on autopilot, trying to extract as much pleasure as possible. He could feel his climax approaching, your soft lips and gentle eyes coaxing him on. You look into his eyes and give an experimental bob of your head, taking him further into your mouth. Feeling the characteristic salty taste of precum on your tongue, you take your mouth off his cock, and before his mind is able to form a cohesive sentence of protest, you take off your underwear and sit on his lap. His hands now squeeze your hip, pulling you closer. Your wetness leaves a bit of a trail on his legs before you sink on his hard, already lubricated cock.

"You're addicted to my cock, aren't you," It's fascinating how Graham's behavior changes when he's drunk. In the best and worst ways. He would never say something like that while sober. You nod in agreement, face flush with arousal and need. "He can't even fuck you," he punctuactes with an especially hard thrust, "like I can." he envelops you in a sort of hug as his broad shoulders and arms now dictate the rhythm you both follow.

"He--c-an't, fuck--"

"Do you think," he takes his entire cock out of you just so he can go even deeper when he says, "he'll hear us... if you say my name out loud?" he smiles when a loud moan escapes your lips, feeling completely in control of your body. You can't even talk anymore, just nod, like a marionette.

"So say it." Another thrust. And another. And another. You follow his pace with your hips religiously, not even slightly ashamed of making the name of the one who's giving you so much pleasure public, as he commanded. You take the last atom of control on your body and direct it to your pussy, clenching your walls tighter around him, an action that successfully tears his thoughts apart, making his eyebrows furrow and his mouth, agape. One of his hands move to the middle of your bodies and, as he looks down at where your bodies meet, begins to stimulate your clit to the rhythm of his thrusts. His groans turn louder when your body moves towards his again, and the sound of your moans, along with the sound of skin against skin and your ragged breaths were the only thing you were able to hear, along with the distant sound of It Could Be You playing in the background.

In a daze, he says your name in that unique way that only he knew how to - like it was part of a prayer and your body was his God(dess). You dig your nails into his back while he fucks you without a trace of mercy. You close your eyes, losing yourself in all those sensations as Graham continued his movements. When he punctuates his now even faster thrusts with a string of "fuck, fuck, fuck" - that's when you know he's close, a suspicion confirmed true as he comes hard inside of you, closing his eyes tightly as he reached his climax. You follow him seconds later.

When he recovers enough to be able to breathe calmly and control his heartbeat, Graham rests his chin on your shoulder. Neither of you say anything for a long time.

And when the spasms of pleasure are gone, Graham's brain decides to go back to work and he realizes what had just happened - again. Suddenly, the sensation of bliss is accompanied by that weird sensation of "What do I do now?". He carefully removes his dick from you and pulls his jeans up, zipping up his pants while you straighten your dress and search for your panties in the middle of the dark. Both without saying a single word.

Graham clears his throat, glancing at the mirror behind the door and seeing his state was deplorable. His face reddened by the heat and his hair a perfect mess. You were in no better situation than him.

“Uh,” Graham said a long time later, breaking the silence. “How long is that arrangement supposed to last?”

"I won't count the time." You responded calmly. 

He nods, mystified by you. 

[football-rambles]

Delicate - John Stones

I written this a couple of years ago, I just deleted and altered it. I just listened to the song yesterday and felt I needed to re-write it. I may re-write my attempt at my reputation series. But for now here we go!

Warnings: A pathetic attempt at smut

Special mention to @wheelergrealish​ for reading this before I posted this, you’re a star 

You laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was in complete darkness and your thoughts were with a certain footballer. Who had you met just over a couple of weeks when you attended your best friend boyfriend football match. It was what you ‘needed’ after you broke up with your now ex. That was when you met him.

You had started dating, but it was very casual. You couldn’t even call it dating. You had been on one date, had sex, well you lost count on that. Both of you reeling from each other’s break ups. Both afraid to properly commit, or even label what you are.

It wasn’t something you both had really talked about, but you knew he would avoid that conversation on purpose. You knew it was because he hadn’t directly told you. He was a little careful because of how his last relationship had been so full on.

Elle, Ella? you couldn't remember.

Your phone that laid on your nightstand suddenly lit up, casting a dim light in the dark bedroom. Reaching for the phone, you squinted at the brightness as it hit your eyes to read the text.

Dive bar on the east side. Where you at?

You looked at the time and jumped up, jumping out of bed, realising that you had lost track of time in your thoughts yet again. He was at his best friend’s party and had asked you to meet him there for the night.

You hurried to your closet and put on the plain black dress you knew he liked. He didn’t tell you that of course, you we’re both shy when it came to complimenting each other. As you grabbed your purse and hurried out of the apartment, telling yourself you would do your make up in the Uber as you thought to yourself.

He's taking up too much of my headspace.

You stood outside the bar, it was old and around the corner from the river. It was so peaceful except for the music that was booming inside the bar. The wooden sign hanging over it, slightly rusty. But from the outside, you could see through the glass that it was a small, cosy place. You wondered what a footballer like Kyle chose somewhere like this. But you hesitated because though it looked like a place you would love to be, it was very crowded.

You avoided crowded places and had gotten use to the quiet. After your breakup with your ex, you couldn’t stand being around the crowds, judging. You hesitated outside the door for a moment before inhaling deeply as you walked into the bar.

You couldn’t see him anywhere, so you made your way straight to the bar, you wanted to avoid conversations with people. As you made your way over to the bar and sat on the stool and started to tap the bar waiting to be served. You looked around to see if you could see him, but nothing.

Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you Oh damn, never seen that colour blue

You were served, which annoyed the bloke that had joined next to you, moaning about the service. You turned around to see that he was making his way over to you. You noted his outfit, black jeans, Nikes that fitted well. He had a light colour blue shirt that you couldn’t quite place it with the outfit, but you liked it on him.

“Let me buy this lady a drink.” The man slurred at the bartender that handed you a glass of wine.

“No thank you,” you muttered before the man laughed at you.

“Oh, come on.” The man slurred again, this time he started to lean over to you.

“No thank you.” You pulled back. You hated strangers, they made you even more nervous that before. Ever since your reputation was ruined by your breakup with your ex, you we’re constantly being judged by everyone. Your reputation was damaged over something you couldn’t control. Yet you had the shit to deal with.

“Back off buddy.” A voice says to the stranger as he slipped his arms around your waist.

“I’m just trying to buy her a drink,” The man spoke.

“Her drink is on me,” John said in a calm tone. “Now back off,” He repeated.

With that, the man left, and he sat next to you on the barstool that just became vacant. “I’m sorry about that, I should go come over.”

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I’m used to it now, my reputation never been so worse, so” you trailed off, letting out a sigh.

“Well, I don’t care about that,” He says quietly as he took your hand from the bar.

“You must like me for me, huh?” You say with a small smile.

“I do,” said, planting a kiss on your hand. "And I promise that-"

"We can't make any promises now, can we?" you say, cutting him off with a peck on the lips as you leaned across.

He smiled warmly and after hesitating for a few seconds, leaned across to kiss your forehead. With that, he turned away to get the barman’s attention. you stared at his back, swallowing thickly, resisting the urge to touch his shoulder.

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? Cause I know that it's delicate

As you pulled up outside his house, you were worried for a moment if it would be alright with you just showing up without warning. You had been going out nearly a month. Things were just the same. Nothing had changed.

You were starting to feel a little anxious as you realised that you were the one taking the relationship seriously, worried that he didn’t. It frustrated you that things were going so slow, yet so fast.

When you were together neither of you could keep your hands off each other, and they had sex anywhere but each other houses. Cars, even in the changing room once when you visited on a training session. But you hadn’t been to his house and neither had he yours.

When you’re with him, the question was always on the tip of the tongue, but almost as if he knew what you were thinking, he'd kiss you and then, everything was history. Temporarily at least, till the thoughts came crawling back.

Stop right there.

You simply could not afford to be the one who invested more in this relationship. Did he want it slow? That was fine, perfectly fine. He did not want to talk about it. That was cool too.

It was just fine.

Frowning from your thoughts, you were still debating whether to go and knock on his door. Thoughts interrupted when you heard a tap on the window making you jump. You turn to find him stood there, in a hoodie and shorts, standing there with a half-amused smile. Grinning sheepishly at him, you rolled her windows down. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He replies, crouching to give you a kiss on the lips. “What are you doing?” He asks.

You looked at him, hesitantly before answering. "Honestly? I thought you were training, so I just sat here." you lied.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Well, I’m off today...that’s why my car is in the drive."

"Yeah...that explains that" you say, looking down at your steering wheel embarrassment. “Do you fancy coming for a drive?” you blurted out.

John looked at you and straightened up “I-Sure, but you’re a good driver, right?” He teased.

“Um, I don’t have my license...so” you joked, which John looked at you are laughing. “Let me lock up.”

The drive was silent, a comfortable silence. As you gripped the steering wheel for dear life as you drive down up the street you lived; you were going to turn off towards the lakes one of your favourite spots.

“This is the street you live on, right?” John asked.

“Uh...yeah I share an apartment with my best friend” you explain, quietly. Looking across at him, “Do you want to see my place?”

JOHN looked over at you and nodded, “Sure. I’d love too,” He says.

The third floor on the West Side, me and you. Handsome, your mansion with a view. Do the girls back home touch you like I do?

A few minutes later, you were both standing outside your apartment door as you fumbled with the keys nervously, grateful that your best friend wasn't home. The door clicked open, and you gestured for John to enter first, flicking on the lights as you followed.

You kicked off your shoes and taken off your coat as watched John looking around the apartment quietly, and you could see him processing everything he was seeing. Suddenly, you felt quite nervous because you knew the décor were not really his thing and it was small, his house was about 5 times the size of the apartment.

"I know it isn't your style or big but-" you started, but he you off.

"I love it," he said with a half-smile, turning to you.

You smiled at him and felt yourself relax a little and walked over to him slowly, satisfied when you saw his eyes darken a little. As soon as you were within touching distance, John pulled you towards him and kissed you. His arms wrapped around your back, engulfing you completely, as his fingers splayed across the length of her waist. He started to tug at the hem of your shirt,

You instinctively guided him towards the couch, leading him there while the two of you were still kissing. Both fell on to the couch, His lips kissing yours all down your jawline before meeting her lips.

Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

For two weeks after they'd gone to her place, you had started to drop by the training ground unannounced. Almost all your visits always ended with a night spent in your apartment. Other than that, JOHN dropped by during the days when he wasn't at training or a game.

Despite all the time you both were spending together; you hadn't spoken about where you were going or what you were to each other. The only thing you knew was you both wanted each other, and that he was in your head almost all the time. You tried to tell him that you didn't like when he left the apartment, and you'd be wide awake listening to the fading echoes of his footsteps, desperately wanting to tell him to stay.

Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs, stay here, honey, I don't want to share

But the last time you were around your apartment, you were woken by an annoyed best friend, she had thrown a fit; she was tired of either going to her boyfriend’s place or being kept awake by the two of you. She would like to spend at least one silent night at her own house.

Now you were stood outside John house, waiting for him to open the door. Seconds later, the door opened, and he stood in the doorway grinning at her. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey, John,” you say shyly.

You could feel your cheeks burning, you were still shy around him after all this time. He stepped aside so you could walk through the door. Placing his hand on your back as he guided you in. He took your coat and purse and laid it on the table neatly by the door. He looked at you and around. “This is home.” He says quietly.

Your face turned red, once again stricken by how he didn’t hesitate. In the first week, he was always careful, and though you both hadn’t talked about anything, all these subtle things that he had started doing; small kisses, playing with your hair, hand-holding every time you were out and people staring. These things have her stupid amounts of happiness, and you knew you had fallen for him hard.

Cause I like you

“So, I know you love the notebook,” he started. “So, I thought we could, maybe watch it tonight?” He suggested.

You looked at the table that had a bowl of popcorn, and the DVD, tears filled your eyes. He listened to you babbling on about random things.

You looked at him, “it’s perfect!” you say kissing his cheek.

John half was watching the film but was watching you as you were indulged in the movie. He smiled as he went back to watching the film.

You had turned to see that John was watching you wipe away the tears “I just love this film, so much,” you say defending says, smiling.

John smiled and kissed your forehead, “I know.”

You had let out a small laugh, and her hand travelled upwards from his chest to bottom of his t-shirt. You leaned up to him kissing him. His hand left the armrest of the couch and rested on the side of your face, tracing along your jawline with his thumb; John knew you loved it when he did that.

"Bedroom," he whispered rapidly, pulling back for a second.

He stood up and offering his hand you and lead you up to his bedroom. After he closed the door behind him, he turned around and crashed his lips to yours again. You impatiently began to pull at the hem of his shirt, and chuckling softly, he left your lips for a second to pull his t-shirt over his head before going back to kissing you. Flipping you around, your back now to the door and continued to kiss.

You let out a satisfying and let your hands travel down towards his pants, teasing him slightly over his boxers, growling, he started to back away, pulling you with him towards the bed. When the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, he turned around to you and pulled away from your lips. Both of you we’re breathing heavily, and he gave you a gentle nudge, so you fell back on to the bed.

Sliding his hands under your skirt, his fingers teased your hipbone before starting to remove your pants. You were already slipping out of your top, arching your back slightly as you pulled it over your head and threw it away recklessly before lying back down entirely. He bent down to kiss you, supporting himself with one hand while the other travelled back down to tug at your skirt.

Once that was off, his mouth moved from your lips to your chin, and then to your collarbone, one of your weak spots. He was moving slowly, from the top of your breasts to gentle kisses on your stomach, teasing you into frustration. Finally, his mouth travelled to between your legs, and your eyes fluttered closed as he teased you endlessly with his tongue, alternating between soft caresses and firm kisses. You began to whisper his name, request clear in your voice until he complied with your requests. Your hands clutched the sheets as you arched your back, each thrust eliciting a louder groan.

Your hips bucked, meeting thrust for thrust, as both of your moans fuelled each other's fires further. Finally, you felt yourself climaxing under him, and he followed soon after. He collapsed on top of you, both of your bodies shuddering with the release of desire you had just experienced. After laying on top of you for a few quiet minutes, John kissed your collarbone and rolled off you, lying next to you both catching your breath.

Sometimes I wonder when you sleep. Are you ever dreaming of me?

He slid one arm under your neck and pulled you into his side as you marvelled for the umpteenth time on how well you both fit together. You turned towards him and watched him quietly as he fell asleep. your eyes traced his jawline, and you were unsure whether to stroke the hint of stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. You saw his eyes flicker towards you at his touch, but you didn’t back away. You knew you wanted more. This man-made you feel things no one ever had in a short space of knowing him, and you loved it. As you looked at him thoughtfully, he turned on his side to face you.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked

You looked at him hesitantly, swallowing nervously, this was it. You could either lie and worm your way out of it or just talk to him. You knew how that would end, he would either reject you and say you’re on different pages all this... or this could go somewhere, somewhere much better than where it was now.

Sometimes when I look into your eyes, I pretend you're mine, all the damn time

Leap of faith. Do it, Y/N.

"I like spending time with you, John" you say softly into his shoulder. "An-And I don't like it when you leave. When you go, I keep wondering if there're other girls who touch you like I do, you know?”

"Y/N I don't-" John started.

"I know, I know, you don't, John. It's just my mind messing with me because of... you know... I just worry, that's all. I feel like I'm sharing you with everyone else, and I don't like it. That's weird, right?" you sighed but continued. "I guess it's just because... Because... I don't know what we are to each other, you know? We never really talked about it. Am I your girlfriend? I just need to know. It drives me crazy and I just..." you trailed away, eyes still on his shoulder, too scared to look at his face.

"I don't know. I just really, really like you, John," You finished with a whisper, a heavy weightlifting off your shoulders.

You laid still, your hand starting to drum a nervous rhythm on his chest. You could feel him tense, and the panic began to build as you struggled to find words that could erase what you'd just said; to make light of what you just said. "Um, sorry, is it uh... cool that I said all that?"

Cool!? Really, Y/N?!

"I mean, I know that things are kind of... I-I know that it's delicate."

When he still hadn't said anything, you finally looked at him apologetically, asking defeated. "Isn't it?"

Closing his eyes at your tone for a second, he finally turned to look at you. "It is," he said softly, but continued. "But someone had to ask, and I'm sorry that I was too much of a coward to say that."

"And... you are my girlfriend. I thought you knew that" John said, and when your eyes widened off guard and you opened your mouth to say something, but he cut your off. "Yeah, I'm sorry for not getting around to tell you I thought that."

Then, removing his arm from under your neck, he now turned on his side to face you fully. "I like you too, Y/N. I like you a lot," he said thoughtfully. "I'm glad you're around."

He turned kissed your forehead, firm but soft and pulled back with a grin. "And nope, it isn't too soon. I'd say it was about damn time."

Cause I know that it's delicate

[sunsoothed]

partnership

sorry for not working on the prompts. here's a uhhh. [checks notes] 2.7k words canon-divergence fic for you. fixing episodes 19 and 20! dedicated to the corn salad support group. thank you all! hope you like it. and sorry for any errors!

word count: 2719

read on ao3

enjoy!

-

When Vincenzo watches her go, ready to pull his hair out for the is it for women only question, he senses it. Something behind them, a lurking presence. He taps his foot for a moment, considering, still watching her go.

“Byeonhosa-nim!” He calls. The presence moves, as well.

Chayoung turns.

“Call me when you reach?” It’s meant to be a command, but Vincenzo never really lives up to his tiring image around her. “If- if you’re fine with that, of course.”

Chayoung laughs. “Seriously, byeonhosa-nim, I didn’t expect you to be so worrisome.” She shakes her head. “I’ll call you. Don’t forget to eat!”

Vincenzo nods. Chayoung finally disappears out of sight, to her car, and Vincenzo turns to try and discern whether his worries were unfounded. But there is no lurking presence anywhere, nobody watching them. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and debates lunch.

-

Chayoung had called him when she reached, all teasing and light, easing his worry and mounting his mortification. She hangs up with a cheery don’t wait up! And Vincenzo keeps his smile to himself as he hums at the dead line.

Don’t wait up, she had said.

Vincenzo still thinks about it as the evening progresses. When it grows dark out, he finds himself in need of a distraction, so the TV’s turned to one of the variety shows Hanseo had introduced him to, and he’s plucking his wine glass out of the cabinet, when —

Vincenzo knows bad omens when he sees them. He’s not surprised by the sounds outside his unit. Even less so at the letter.

It’s what inside that sets his insides frozen, still. Chayoung’s earring, covered in blood. Vincenzo bites his lip, caught between disbelief and a consuming fear. Turns back, contemplating, and eventually washes hs hands in a rush, picks up his phone, and runs down.

-

When Chayoung picks up her phone, he’s beyond relieved. “You’re okay?”

Chayoung’s greeting is cut off. “Of course I am. Are you?”

“I got… a gift.”

“Is gratitude something so foreign to you that you need to come running to me?” Chayoung asks drily. “Byeonhosa-nim, you really —”

“I think,” Vincenzo cuts in, probably breaking a speeding law, “I think Jang Hanseok is out.”

“What did you get?” Chayoung asks, and she moves, Vincenzo can hear. She sounds like she’s standing up.

“You earring,” Vincenzo admits. “It was covered in blood.”

“Now that you mention it,” Chayoung murmurs, “There are some suspicious people here.”

“I’m on my way,” He replies. “Just be careful.”

“You’re really making me feel like I can’t fend for myself, byeonhosa-nim.”

Vincenzo blinks. He can’t exactly discern her tone, is she… angry?

“I’m sorry —”

“Don’t,” Chayoung sighs. “Don’t start. I’ll wait for you, okay?”

Through some uneasiness, Vincenzo answers, “Okay.”

-

Yeonhwa will admit, she hadn’t expected Chayoung to show up. Her classmate’s always been rather flaky about these events, she doesn't usually come unless she has bad blood or business (or both) with someone.

So it was definitely a surprise when Hong Chayoung walked through the doors of the banquet hall, suit impressive and gait confident. Yeonhwa wasn’t sure what her intention was, but she had that tenacity in her that she’s always had, so it musn’t be anything out of the ordinary.

“Hwang byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung greets her with a mock-bow. “It’s been a while.”

“Hong byeonhosa-nim,” Yeonhwa mimics, “I haven’t seen you around these parts lately.”

It takes a moment for the screen to shatter, and they both laugh before they take their seats.

“Remember Professor Eun?” Yeonhwa asks, leaning close, already slipping into their old familiarity. “He’s the dean now.”

“Really?” Chayoung asks, genuinely surprised. “Why’d they pick such a bore?”

Yeonhwa shrugs, and they return their attention to the speeches being presented. Her leg begins bouncing under the table, and she’s unsure if Chayoung can sense it or not.

“By the way,” Yeonhwa says, unable to keep to herself even for a moment into the next speaker’s presentation, “Have things been okay with you? I haven’t been keeping up much with the news, but I heard about your father.”

Chayoung smiles at her gratefully. “Thanks for asking. I’ve been… dealing with it.” Dealing with it, Yeonhwa thinks to herself. It doesn’t really seem like it.

She sees something in Chayoung’s eyes, something raw beyond comprehension, some hurt. She places a hand on Chayoung’s arm, aiming to reassure. “I know we don’t keep in touch much, but if you need anything…”

“Thanks, Yeonhwa-yah,” Chayoung says. Odd. She actually feels the sincerity this time. “You’ve always been so kind.”

Has it been so long since she’s just had… a friend?

Chayoung swallows. Yeonhwa notes this, from the corner of her eye, and she realises that this must be why Chayoung’s been so distant.

It’ll be a long night, she supposes. Hopefully she can take Chayoung out for drinks after this.

-

Turns out, Yeonhwa cannot take Chayoung out for drinks after this, because she first gets a phone call that makes her sigh in a fond way, then makes her jittery in a terrible way, and second — Yeonhwa thinks this is the most confusing thing — there’s a man here to see Chayoung.

They were really just minding their own business after the speeches had ended, piling their plates with food and actually having a pleasant conversation when this trenchcoat clad man had burst in, fast on his feet, and Chayoung had stood up.

Yeonhwa blinks, uncomprehending, as she watches the interaction in front of her. The man — Mr Black Trenchcoat — is walking rather swiftly towards Chayoung. There’s some decided determination in his steps and when he reaches her —

Yeonhwa blinks even more. He cups Chayoung’s face. His thumbs brush her cheeks, and it’s so… unlike Chayoung to just stand there and take it.

Or, well, it doesn't exactly look like she’s taking it, she’s… enjoying this. Oh, Yeonhwa registers. Obviously Chayoung knows his man, but she hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend, or a partner or a husband or an anyone. Yeonhwa watches, puzzled, as they look into each other’s eyes and Chayoung finds some reassurance there.

Chayoung puts her hands against the man’s, and she says something to him, and he nods and backs down.

“Yeonhwa-yah.” Chayoung turns to her abruptly. Yeonhwa is shocked out of her confused stupor. She’s picking up her stuff, her phone goes into her pocket and her handbag to Mr Black Trenchcoat. “I need to go. I’ll keep in touch.”

“Chayoung!” Yeonhwa calls, a little louder than intended, “Promise.”

Chayoung blinks at her, halfway out of her chair. “Promise?”

“Promise me you’ll keep in touch,” Yeonhwa elaborates. “You always say you will but you never do. Promise me.”

Chayoung swallows, and Yeonhwa’s sure they’re feeling the same thing now. She bites her lip, then she holds out her hand, fisted, save for her pinky finger. “I promise.”

Yeonhwa smiles. She reciporcates, twining her pinky with Chayoung’s, and sealing the promise.

“I’m here for you, remember?” Yeonhwa implores, before Chayoung can take off.

Chayoung nods, and then Chayoung hugs her, squeezing tight. “Thank you, Yeonhwa. Thank you so much.”

Yeonhwa smiles wider, tightening her arms around Chayoung for a moment before letting her go. “Take care, hm?”

Chayoung nods. “You too.”

And she runs off with Mr Black Trenchcoat who holds her handbag for her and seems to treasure her, because he holds her hand tight. She can tell, by the look on his face, what Chayoung means to him. He’s also well-versed in loving Hong Chayoung, Yeonhwa thinks, and Yeonhwa smiles, for if her first love is happy, then she’s happy.

-

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung says, as she meets Vincenzo outside Geumga Plaza, after parking her car. They had maintained their speed well within the permission of the law.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Vincenzo replies.

Chayoung sighs, walking to him, and then pushing him along as they enter the plaza. “I need to talk to you about something,” She says, “But let’s get to the bottom of whatever you were gifted first.”

Vincenzo gulps. He’s in for a scolding, isn’t he?

Reckless, he prepares himself. Reckless, thoughtless, inconsiderate.

Jipuragi is cold when they enter, no sign Mr Nam around. Vincenzo retrieves the earrings, the envelope, and presents it to Chayoung.

“It can’t be anyone else,” He says. He stands at the table, leaning over Chayoung, who’s sitting at the head. “It has to be him.”

Chayoung hums, finding the earrings she’s wearing now extremely unnerving. She reaches up to undo them. “Do we have any way to confirm it?”

Vincenzo tilts his head. “Jang Hanseo?”

Chayoung sets the earrings down on the table, drums her fingers over it. She doesn’t like this idea — she still hasn’t warmed up to him. “I suppose he’s our best bet.”

Vincenzo nods, retrieves his phone from his pocket, ready to call but he’s not sure what stops him.

“Something’s wrong,” Chayoung says, to a pin-drop silence.

Vincenzo stares at the door, something sinking in his gut.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung says, now desperate. She stands. “Did you see anyone when we came in?”

Vincenzo wants to shake his head, but he can’t take his eyes off the door. “Byeonhosa-nim,” He says, a warning. “Get down.”

That’s when the first bullet comes.

-

It’s cramped in the space between Vincenzo’s sofa and the bay window, but it’s their best bet. Chayoung tucks her knees to her chest, scooting closer to the corner to accommodate Vincenzo.

“No one’s picking up,” Vincenzo whispers. “We can’t go out.”

Chayoung swallows. Her throat is extremely dry. “So we wait it out, then.”

Vincenzo exhales, nodding. “Do you need anything?”

She shakes her head. “Come closer, they’ll see you from side of the sofa.”

So Vincenzo comes closer, and in this narrow space, the tension is undeniable.

“I’m sorry,” He says abruptly. “About earlier today.”

“What about earlier today?”

“For coming to… rescue you.”

“Rescue me,” Chayoung scoffs. “I should’ve seen something like this coming, you know.”

“What…” Vincenzo bites his lip. “What exactly are you referring to, byeonhosa-nim?”

“A showdown. Maybe one of us getting shot or something,” Chayoung lets her head fall back against the wall. “Losing.”

Vincenzo doesn’t want to snatch hope from his partner. Not after all he’s already taken from her. We haven’t lost yet — “We —”

“Also your… overprotection.”

That certainly makes the gears in his head still. “My…”

“I mean, I know it’s practical. I’m not a member of the Mafia, I can’t fight people like you. I’m just a regular lawyer, only fucked up slightly more than the system usually makes us.”

Vincenzo pulls his knees up to his chest as well, then settles his forehead against them and just… looks.

“I hate that I can’t fend for myself.”

“Who said you can’t?” Vincenzo tries, but it sounds empty to his own ears as well.

“Stop it, byeonhosa-nim. You of all people know I that I can’t. You saw me that day, when they came to kill me in my house.”

Vincenzo blinks up at her. “You can still learn.”

Chayoung glances at him, sideways, through her lashes. “You think so?”

He hums. “You can learn some martial arts. Or do it the organic way.”

“The organic way?”

“Let yourself loose out on the street. Offend some people. I’m sure you’ll find a sparring partner eventually.”

Chayoung snorts. “A sparring parter? Is that how you learnt?”

“I’m sure it added to my experience,” Vincenzo considers.

“But seriously,” Chayoung says. “Martial arts?”

He nods. “They don’t only help with strength; balance of mind, self-control, expelling worldly desires…”

“Expelling worldly desires,” Chayoung mocks. “Sounds like your exact opposite.”

Vincenzo has nothing to add. The unbearable silence roots itself more firmly, solidifies itself in their dark surroundings.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung says, a timid moment later. “Once you get your gold out… what will you do?”

Vincenzo finds his eyes looking away from Chayoung for the first time since they’ve settled here. He swallows. “Genuinely?”

“Genuinely.”

“I want to stay here.”

“In Korea?”

“With you.”

Chayoung goes still. “With me?”

Vincenzo finds it in himself to look at her again. “Do you still not know?”

“Of course I know,” She says. “I just… didn’t expect a confession in a situation like this.”

“I’ll be more predictable in the future,” Vincenzo promises. “Can I have another chance?”

Chayoung laughs, now, high, hysterical. “You don’t get another chance at a confession.”

“So that’s how it works,” Vincenzo says, to his knees. “Then I suppose your expectations can’t get worse.”

Chayoung glares at him.

“I love you.”

Chayoung stops glaring at him. “You love me?”

Vincenzo nods. “I do.”

“You…”

“I just want you to know,” He says. “You don’t have to reply.”

So Chayoung doesn’t. She stares ahead, at the arm of the sofa, and says nothing.

Well, Vincenzo thinks. This wasn’t how he had expected this to go.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung says. “You can’t practice law here.”

“I’ll study for the bar exam.”

“You won’t have to, though,” She continues. “You don’t have to work another day in your life.”

“What do you suggest I do, then?”

“You can stay home. Maybe you can learn how to cook. Or clean the place.”

“You’re trying to domesticate me.”

“Is it working?”

Vincenzo tilts his head. “... A little.”

Chayoung laughs. “That won’t be too bad, though, would it? You could be my house-husband.”

“Getting a little ahead of yourself, byeonhosa-nim?”

“We’re engaged,” Chayoung argues. “I’m just discussing our marriage.”

Vincenzo smiles, huffs out a laugh. “I adore you.”

Chayoung glances at him, shy. She looks at her knees for a moment, then speaks softly. “Me too.”

There’s a lull in conversation. The air is solid. Chayoung gulps, and she shifts closer.

“Tell me if you’re not okay with this, hm?”

Vincenzo looks at her leaning in and closes his eyes. She’s steeled herself, coming closer with purpose. Vincenzo waits for the softness to come, for something to go off within him, because if being with Chayoung sets him alight, kissing Chayoung —

Doesn’t happen.

Vincenzo’s apartment’s door is kicked down in a flourish, and there are footsteps everywhere, and Chayoung is holding her hands above her head now.

Vincenzo turns to face the music. It’s about time, he supposes. He isn’t supposed to have good things in life, anyway. He’s a murderer.

He exhales, cracks his neck, and turns, ready to stand and fight at any moment. But it’s Mr Nam, who holds a torchlight to his face, blinking owlishly.

“So you’re here,” He says, then looks at Chayoung. “Did I interrupt something?”

-

“You… took them down by yourselves?” Chayoung asks for the third time, in disbelief.

Around the large, make-shift table at Toto’s, the tenants nods and chorus a we did for the third time.

Chayoung looks at Vincenzo. “They took them down by themselves.”

Vincenzo nods, and for the third time, says, “They did, tesoro.”

Chayoung processes it. “So… there’s nothing left to do now?”

“We need to clean up,” Heesoo-unnie says. “Those bastards are all still laying dead on the floor.”

“Right,” Chayoung says, nodding. “I’m sorry, you said you took down Jang Hanseok’s men all by yourselves?”

-

In the end, it’s not too hard to find Jang Hanseok, even less hard to confine him to his suffering. Choi Myunghee is served as she deserves, and Vincenzo and Chayoung lay low for three months for the discoveries to blow over.

It won’t be enough to cover their trail, they know, but the gold and the Guillotine file are in their hands, and the world could use some order in chaos.

Vincenzo does, eventually, end up as Chayoung’s house-husband. He has her dinner ready every evening she returns from work or her taekwondo class, and his world’s a happier place for it.

In deep evening, when the city picks up life and the city scents sleep, they sometimes go out for dinner and drinks, or game night with their Geumga family, or Chayoung catches a movie with Yeonhwa.

And at late night, when it’s just them against the dying cityscape, Chayoung will cup her husband’s face in her hands and remind him of his place in the world. Vincenzo will be grateful for it until he can handle it, and then some more, for what is love, if not growth?

[tooruluv]

Tobio Kageyama x F!Reader ( part 4 )

❝ goodbyes hurt when the story is not finished, but the book is closed. tell me, have we started a new one? ❞

description: it had been years since you and kageyama broke up. it had been years since the two of you left each other, hatred brewing. fate works in funny ways, you thought, as you caught his eye across the café. love works in funny ways, you thought, as you woke up in his bed the next morning, his fiance calling his phone.

genre: forbidden love, cheating, ex lovers, (all characters are aged up)

word count: 1,632

warnings/notes: this one is just a little filler for what’s to come !! expect some drama next part ;)

tag list: @kara-grayson04​​​ @sadhwstudent​​​ @unlikelytigerqueen​​ @kageyamavibes​​ @monviemoo​ @tazzi-baby​ @1800xibal​ @osterfield-hollandwriter​ @amirahroronoa​ @lozzybowe​

prev | next

You woke up in Tooru Oikawa’s bed. His white sheets were a huge contrast with Kageyama’s navy blue. It brought out the light specks of caramel in Oikawa’s eyes.

“Staring is a bit creepy, doll.” Oikawa spoke. He was still sleepy, eyes droopy and hair a mess.

You stayed the night. Of course you did. It wasn’t a common occurrence, per se, but it definitely had happened before. If you were to be completely honest, it felt natural. Best friends who sleep together sometimes when they’re frustrated. Yeah, that’s normal.

“I thought you liked attention?” You quipped. He smiled.

“You’re not wrong.”

You were facing each other. You weren’t cuddling, just laying together. You could feel the soft breaths leave his chest, he could still feel your warmth. He stood up, naked, and placed a kiss to your forehead.

“Pancakes?” he asked.

Smacking his arm, you replied, “Waffles.”

The first time you and Oikawa had ended up entangled together was a year after you left. He came to visit on a little vacation with Iwaizumi. He had lost a game, you were still heartbroken. Somehow both of you ended up that way.

It became a reoccurring thing since. Every time you would visit each other and stressed or upset, you would end up together. A frustration deal. Nothing serious.

“I’m guessing it’s the King of the Court.” Oikawa said. He handed you a plate of waffles when you emerged from the bedroom.

You poured syrup. “Isn’t it always?”

He didn’t ask you anything else. Because quite frankly, he didn’t need to. He knew how heartbroken you were. He knew how even after five years, you wanted nothing more than to take it all back. He knew.

Tobio Kageyama was not a cheater. In fact, he was so incredibly loyal that it stressed everyone around him out. Loyal to volleyball, loyal to eating the same food every day. Literally the definition of loyal.

Yet, somehow, all of that went out the window the second he caught sight of you.

Hinata knew that there was something up. He didn’t necessarily say, “Hey, Kageyama, you look like shit.” But when they met for brunch (seriously, Hinata, he’s not even married yet and he’s going to brunch), Hinata asked, “What’s up?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nevermind.”

“Say it.”

“It’s just.. uh..” Hinata tapped his fingers on the table, refusing to make eye contact. Kageyama waited. “It’s just. You look like you did when…” A pause. “Oh my god. She’s back, isn’t she?”

He didn’t answer. He could’ve just replied with a “Yeah. She’s back. In fact, I slept with her because I have a lot of unresolved feelings and she’s back and I missed her more than I should’ve.”

Instead, “I don’t know.”

“You’re lying, Kageyama. I’m not dumb.”

“Debatable.”

“With an attitude like that, I’m going to text Oikawa. I’m sure he knows all about her return and what happened.”

“You’re annoying.” Kageyama sighed. He swirled the fork on his plate, staring entirely too hard at the food. “Yes. She’s back. I ran into her yesterday.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard!” Hinata’s mouth was full of food. “Next question: why do you look like shit?”

When you first met Kageyama, he didn’t talk much. It wasn’t that he was shy. It was just that he didn’t like to talk to people he didn’t know. And you happened to be a pretty girl.

He watched you approach the team after a game in junior high. He watched you talk to Oikawa, and then turn to him.

“Good job!” you smiled at Kageyama. “Seriously, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Uhm. Thanks.”

You sent him another smile. His immediate reaction was to smile back.

You left Oikawa’s feeling a little bit better. Another tease, another kiss to your temple and you were off. You couldn’t believe that you let yourself fall back into any form of rhythm with Tobio Kageyama. You just had so many questions. One of which: what the fuck happened to make him want to marry Hana?

You were mumbling to yourself, grumbling with hate and anger, when you ran straight into a brick wall. No. It was someone’s back.

“Shit, sorry.” You muttered as a habit.

“Watch where you’re going.” The voice replied, and you knew. How could your luck be this bad?

You stumbled back on impact, and arms grabbed you before you could fall. Kageyama stood in front of you, holding onto your elbows, staring down. He seemed to freeze for a second, recognizing you.

“Sorry.” You said again.

He stayed with his arms on yours for a little bit too long. He kept them there. “Hey, uh. I wanted to apologize.”

You blinked. Shaking your head, you said, “Don’t.”

“No, really.” His arms stayed on yours, blue eyes looking at you. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. And I definitely should have told you, or had Hana tell you, about… about us getting married soon. So I…”

“Please don’t apologize.” You grabbed his hands. “I seriously don’t think I can handle you ever apologizing to me.”

Kageyama nodded as if he understood. You don’t think he would ever understand.

The two of you stood like that, your hands wrapped around his wrists and his eyes never leaving yours, for what felt like forever. The city streets moved with people and cars but you stood still. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted him to hear, but you couldn’t.

“Can I ask you something?” he finally spoke.

“Yeah.”

Kageyama took a breath. Like he was trying to find the right words but couldn’t seem to place them together correctly. Until, “Why did you come back?”

“Why did I come back?” you tilted your head. “I got a job here. And, if I’m being honest, I missed it here.” Missed you. You would never admit that, though.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes focused primarily on your lips when you spoke. You didn’t miss the way he swallowed. And you definitely didn’t miss the look in his eyes. You were standing entirely too close. The air was darker, electric. Like it was taking everything in your power, and his, not to fall into each other.

Your name dripped off of his tongue. You hadn’t realized that your eyes were on his lips until you had to flash them back to his eyes. He stepped closer. You let him.

“Kags…” you started, but he stopped you.

Lips to ears, he whispered, “I missed you, too.”

He let his hand lay in yours until the very last second, finger tips the last to pass until you were no longer touching. And he left.

Tobio Kageyama hated pet names. He thought that they were stupid and held no actual meaning. Why have a name only to be called something else?

You, however, thought that they were cute. They were a term of endearment. And you would never pass up the chance to call Kageyama one. Your favorite was “babe”. You loved the way his ears would go pink, or how his teammates would give a smirk when they heard it.

Eventually, he ended up using them for you. Not because he wanted too, but because they seemed to be natural when he spoke to you. His favorite was “honey” or “love”.

You think that’s why you got as mad as you did when you heard Kageyama on the phone with Hana. He had called her “babe”. He always detested pet names that had to do with “babe”, “baby”, “baby girl”. He thought that they were weird and he was not weird.. He didn’t think that way anymore, you guessed.

You wanted nothing more than to understand what happened while you were gone.

kawa’s flat ass: you should date him!!!!! date him date him date him

You sat in your bedroom, gushing over a certain volleyball player on your best friend’s team. There was something about him. Hana and Oikawa heard you go on and on for days.

you: i really dont know. i dont wanna date someone & not know if im even going to go to the same high school.

kawa’s flat ass: thats boring.

Luckily for you, however, you seen him the very first day of high school. Karasuno wasn’t top for volleyball, so you wondered for a second if he managed to come to the wrong school. But there he stood: still as beautiful, yet taller, than the last time.

“Kageyama!” you waved, sending him a smile.

He didn’t see you at first, scanning the crowded hallway as an attempt to find the voice that called him. You waved again and he caught sight of you. He gave a small wave back.

“I didn’t know you were going here.” He said once you’ve reached him.

“I didn’t know you were going here, either.” You giggled as you walked next to him. “Guess we’re friends?”

“I guess.”

You knocked on the door, knuckle against hard wood. Your insides were screaming, “you shouldn’t be here”, “it isn’t too late to turn around”.

You waited a couple of minutes. As your back turned, ready to give up and retreat, the door swung open.

“Oh my god, hi! You’re back!”

“Hi, Hana.”

[lyssismagical]

evermore

Just a Solid Vent Fic 

I wanna do 30 days of Taylor Swift-inspired fics (folklore and evermore) lmao but idk yet we’ll see lemme know tho 

 *

As a compromise for Tony not being able to pay Peter’s tuition to MIT thanks to his full ride, Tony bought an apartment right beside campus for Peter to live in, to ensure no awkward adventures trying to be Spider-Man with a roommate.

Peter’s still adamant about getting a job and paying for his food, phone bill, and any other things like clothing or entertainment.

And balancing classes, patrolling, and a job, isn’t easy, of course. But it’s always been better for him to work hard than to give himself time to think. It’s not like his mental health is on hold, but it’s easier to put it aside when he’s got so much to do all the time.

It doesn’t help that he’s also on the debate team thanks to MJ, and in the robotics club thanks to Ned.

When November rolls around and it brings the final projects, Peter pushes himself to the limit to keep up with everything.

He starts dropping his sleep to only a nap whenever he can squeeze it in, working all afternoon, classes all morning, and Spider-Man all night, and he starts making up excuses for anything that isn’t a number one priority.

He stops seeing his friends, stops calling May back, stops replying to Tony’s worried texts, stops helping out with his professors or the librarian or his classmates. He stops cleaning his apartment, letting dishes pile up on the counters and laundry go unwashed.

It’s bad, and he knows that, rationally and logically, he knows.

But that doesn’t stop him from doing it anyway.

Three weeks, he tells himself.

And he keeps pushing.

MJ shows up at his apartment out of the blue when he’s studying away, and he barely manages to clear the fog in his head to stumble for the door.

“I can’t talk right now,” he says before she can even say hello. “I’ve gotta study for my physics exam.”

“No, you’ve gotta chill the fuck out.”

He shakes his head, leaving the door open as he turns his back and heads into his kitchen for a quick snack so he can get back to his work. “No, I have to study.”

“Oh my god, you live in a garbage dump,” she says, eyes going wide as she takes in the state of his apartment. “When was the last time you washed a dish? Or, gross, your hair?”

He doesn’t bother responding, rolling his eyes and downing a protein bar. “Two weeks, now, and then I’m done for a month.”

“At this rate, I don’t know if you’ll make it through the next two weeks.”

Peter can’t help but roll his eyes again, part of him hating how much he’s lashing out despite wanting help, needing help, but unable to find the strength to stop it from happening as he brushes past her again.

“I know you’re stressed, I know you’re anxious about exams and papers and labs, but, seriously, Peter?” she says, following him to where he’s working in the living room, papers and binders and textbooks strewn across every surface. “You’re a genius, okay? You’ve been getting excellent grades all year. The only reason you might not do well on these projects is because you’re working yourself to death.”

He shakes his head, feeling very suddenly like he might cry. “It’s not that easy. Just… I don’t want to deal with this right now, okay?”

MJ doesn’t take that as a good answer, though, sitting beside him on the old couch. “I know you, okay? I know you better than most people do. I’ve seen you in some of the worst states you’ve been in. I know this. You can’t pretend that this is okay or normal or that this is you doing fine. I don’t believe it for a second.”

He opens his mouth to fight back, to argue, to try to convince her otherwise, or maybe just to kick her out. But he hesitates.

After the Snap’s reversal, she was the one who devoted all her time to taking care of him. He was such a mess of PTSD and depression and emptiness, but she was there. She kept the lights on for him, she brought him food and water, held him after nightmares, talked him down from panic attacks every other day. She was there, despite everything, she was always there.

Tony was too far and he never wanted to bother May, so he regularly would drop by her fire escape where she would patch him up after patrols, and occasionally, let him sleep next to her and make sure to get him to school on time.

She’s always been there.

She’s held him together, kept him sane, helped him through it all.

It wouldn’t be fair to get pissed.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, shoving a hand through his mess of greasy, tangled curls. “I’m such a mess, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I just… I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like I’m drowning.”

And she nods because she’s always understood, always known what he means. She puts her hand over his. “You deserve a nap. C’mon.”

He goes to shake his head, looking to where his lab is only half-done, he’s only a few chapters into the textbook to get prepared for his exam, rough notes scribbled out for a paper.

“No, c’mon. You’re taking a nice nap. You deserve it,” she repeats, tugging more insistently at his wrist.

But he shakes his head this time, pulling his hand away. “If I stop, I won’t be able to start again.”

“Peter-”

“I’m serious, if I take a nap or a break or take a second to breathe, I will crumble and I won’t be able to put myself back together in time for these due dates. I won’t get back up. I just-” He stops, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his wet eyes. “I need to keep pushing for the next two weeks and then I can fall apart.”

MJ shakes her head, fingers wrapping around his thin wrist. “That’s not healthy. And it certainly wouldn’t be right for me to let you do that.”

“I’ll fail my classes if I don’t do well on these assignments and exams. I need to keep going. I know it’s bad, but if I get into bed, I will fall into a slump and I won’t get anything done.”

Surprising both him and what seems like herself, she nods, holding onto him a little tighter like he’ll disappear before her very eyes. “Fine. But I’m going to stay here with you and make sure you don’t die over the next two weeks, alright? And you have to listen when I tell you to eat or watch stupid reality TV shows with me.”

He hums out an agreement, letting himself slump into her side, eyes focusing in on his mess of homework laid out before him.

“Come on. Step one, is getting you showered and in clean clothes because you smell like you spent the night in a dumpster.”

*

MJ does exactly as she promised she would. She calls it a ‘mental health sleepover’ and they set up camp in the living room.

She calls in sick for him at work for most of the week, telling them that he caught the flu and wouldn’t be back until after his exams, and even then, he’d already booked most of Winter Break off to go home to New York.

There wasn’t much she could do, in all honesty, it wasn’t like she could force him to sleep or take a break without a fight, but she could make him healthy meals and stop him from going out patrolling, which was enough to take a big load off his shoulders.

And she occasionally can convince him to watch those dumb reality TV shows, which occasionally makes him fall asleep on the couch for at least an hour or two.

It helps, of course, but it doesn’t solve any of the problems.

As soon as he’s finished exams, he’s going to drop, he’s going to fall, he’s going to drown, let the waves take him.

And nobody will be able to help him then.

“I booked your flight home,” MJ says over dinner and while he’s finishing up his lab report. “My flight’s a few hours after yours, so I’ll be with you until you board and then the Starks will pick you up.”

“Thanks. I really owe you one,” he says, only half-listening as he starts on his paper.

She grabs him by his shoulder and makes him turn to her laptop screen. “Say yes to the dress time. Your paper can wait a bit.”

“There’s only so much I can procrastinate,” he says but he’s already closing his laptop and tucking himself into her side, and shoulders finally relaxing.

She starts the episode, on a low volume, and presses a quick kiss to his temple.

By the time they’re onto the second episode, Peter’s slurring out his insults to the dresses some of the women pick, making fun of the different styles, and blinking getting longer and longer.

“That neckline?” Peter goes, giggling into MJ’s shoulder. “Especially with those shoes?”

“You’re a bitch.”

“I know, but seriously?” he laughs again, a little window into the person he once was. “I mean the first option wasn’t bad, but the choice of a grey dress in the first place…”

MJ’s voice goes all soft and gentle when she next speaks up, “Come on, go to sleep, you can afford to take a little break.”

And he nods sleepily against her shoulder, tucking himself just a little closer, making himself small against her side. It’s simple, for now.

*

As soon as he’s done his last exam, he can feel the adrenaline wearing off, disappearing from within him, all energy draining from his very veins.

He goes straight home afterwards, ignoring everybody who tries to stop him for a chat. And as soon as he makes it to his apartment, he goes straight to bed, tugging the sheets right over his head.

He shouldn’t do this, he knows. He should call MJ, ask that she drop everything for him again because he can feel himself slipping, but he won’t. He can’t. He doesn’t even know when the last time he saw his phone was, let alone have the effort to leave his blankets and try to find it. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have it in him to care.

He feels empty and exhausted and strung out. Carved hollow. Putting everything he has into the past few months, he feels like he has nothing left to give.

There’s a knock on his front door, but he doesn’t move.

A few minutes later, his phone rings, somewhere in another part of the apartment. It rings again and again, a symphony for him to pass out to.

*

Time passes strangely when he’s this deep in a depressive episode. He doesn’t know how long he’s been huddled under his blankets, hiding from the world. It could’ve been anywhere between a couple hours and a few days, he doesn’t know.

His phone continues ringing, far away and echoing through his dreams, tears sliding down his cheeks at random intervals, hands trembling where they’re tucked under his chest.

He feels like he’s drifting away, collapsing into himself, fading away into nothingness.

He feels empty, hollow, gone.

He gave everything he had into school and work over the course of four months, and he has nothing left to give anymore. He’s nothing more than an empty well.

And he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to pull himself together, pack, get a flight home, and pretend to be one hundred percent for Morgan.

He’d rather just die here, in this cave he’s built, ghost-like and fading away already, than have to face another soul.

*

When he hears his front door unlocking, he knows he should be worried. Nobody has a spare copy of his key except for Ned, who already went home to New York a few weeks back.

He knows it should be at least a little concerning that somebody is breaking into his apartment, but he can’t find it in him to care. He doesn’t have the energy to move or hide or try to protect himself.

He just curls up a little tighter and hopes that this won’t be his last day.

“Peter?”

He lifts his head, just enough to see over his cave of his blankets.

And standing in his bedroom doorway is Tony.

“Hi,” he breathes, curling up a little tighter, knowing he’s safe.

Tony slips into his room and sits at the end of his bed, one hand on Peter’s ankle. “MJ called when you wouldn’t answer your phone or let her in. She knew something was up.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I saw something like this coming after you finished your senior year and spent two weeks sick and depressed. I thought you’d be home in time before you started feeling so run down, but I guess I was wrong.”

Peter doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to that, so instead he lets his head fall into the pillows again.

“I’m not going to make you do anything yet, I think you could use a bit more time here. Though, Morgan thought two days sleeping was plenty, I think another one might do you well. But tomorrow, we’re going to get you fed and showered and your apartment clean, and then this weekend, we’ll get a flight home. Sound good?”

He nods, though he’s pretty sure he would agree to pretty much anything so long as the decisions are taken out of his hands.

“Come here,” Tony murmurs, sliding into the space beside Peter, arms open. Peter finally feels at home when he crawls into the awaiting hug. “MJ mentioned Say Yes to the Dress bingeing, you feel up for making fun of more dress choices?”

Peter laughs half-heartedly against Tony’s chest, tucking himself into him like a child would, and nods, breathing in the soothing scent of motor oil and expensive cologne.

He knows he’ll fall apart again, he knows that it’s not going to be a permanent solution, but the time being, he has Tony’s arms around him, a reality TV show quietly keeping them company, and the relief of having time to feel miserable before he has to pick himself up, it’s enough for now. It’ll be enough.

He’ll be okay with people like Tony and MJ at his side.

He’ll be okay.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @fancyxparker  @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[stardancerluv]

Stormy Weather

Part One

Summary: Stormy weather came to Gotham. Roman and reader have their hands full.

Warning: Roman deals with issue..mention of knife use, blood

Note: Collage with peach suit? Photos and putting together with new phone...woo! Also if you were awesome and read the teaser, its been edited a bit...thank you...enjoy!

This takes plac after Steps Forward

You balanced your phone on shoulder. “Come on pick up. Comon’ Roman.” You absently, said. You were annoyed to your bones. Not at him but at how your day was already shaping up.

“Baby,” His raspy voice purred into your ear. “Are you alright?”

You smiled. “I am.” You said through practically gritted teeth. You walked away from the distributor, as he laid out the bolts. “The fabric distributor was late, he just showed up. I am only now looking them over.” You sighed and blew some hair that had fallen into your eyes. “And I still have to get back and work on Edward’s new piece.”

“Fuck, Edward and come home to me.”

Your heart leapt, you were still wrapping your head around that. The idea of coming home to Roman.

“I want to, but I should get some work on it. He just increased what he was willing to pay for it. so I should get some work done on it.”

“Ah, well yeah let’s not rankle him. Want me to have the chef bring some left overs up for later?”

“That would be nice.”

Shuffling sounds filled your ear. “Zsaz, tell the chef he needs to bring Y/N’s portion upstairs tonight.”

A huge smile spread across face as you heard a however muffled Roman, telling Zsasz to make sure your dinner would be taken care of.

“Now?” You heard him in the distant say.

“Yeah. He’ll keep.”

You realized then that Roman had possibly answered your call in the middle of. You pressed your lips together.

Despite what him possibly entirely good reason for what he was doing you felt bad.

“Baby, come to club when you’re done mmmokay?”

“I will try.” Honesty and your time was always the best way to approach it.

You heard a flicker of a sigh. “If not then I’ll see you in the penthouse.”

“Yes, perfect.”

“Till then.” You knew then, he was defintely in the middle of things when you had called.

“Till then.”

*****

So many colorful bolts of fabric were laid before you. You ran your fingertips over them. You smiled at all the different feelS and textures.

These bolts would give you the opportunity to expand on feelings and even seasons of pieces. You were pleased. You just wished he had been on time.

******

Roman, hung up with you and tucked his phone away. Straightening his gloves once again. Turning, the wind was knocked out of him as Tony Rosa rammed him and he body bounced on the cold concrete. Blinking, he was looking up at the rafters, seeing stars twinkling in front of his eyes.

He barely, gathered himself when Tony’s beefy hand connected, which he mostly dodged. At the last minute some of his cheek took some of it. Tony groaned as his fist hit the concrete beside him.

Without thinking he rolled and reaching for he grasped one of his knives which he easily flicked open and jammed it into Tony’s upper arm by his shoulder. The man howled and crumbled on pain.

Getting up, Roman kicked him in the side. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The man grumbled.

“Someone hold this fuck up, I want him to see me when I talk to him.” Zsasz came back then and a few came over to help.

He took his knife out of Tony’s arm and blood poured from the wound. “Look you had fucked up. I was going to talk to you maybe land a few punches, then let you get back to work. But we had to talk. But look at you now!” He snarled.

The man whimpered a please.

Roman continued. “We would not have fucking killed you.” Roman rocked his head from side to side.

The man sputtered, Roman could see fear blossoming in his eyes.

“Now fuck you!” He snarled. He slammed down his knife into his shoulder. Looking at Zsasz, he smirled. “Make him fuckiny suffer and then disappear.”

He turned on a heal, winded and still feeling out sorts he was relieved to have weak link gone from the men who worked for him.

“I fucked up.” Tony croaked behind him.

He stopped and barely turned. “I don’t care.” He cleared the cold warehouse and as he began to scream.

“Take me home.” He said as he slid into the back of the rolls.

******

Before heading back to your studio, you seriously debated just going home. Something itched, some pulled at you to do so. That mostly like was just because now calling the penthouse home was wonderful.

A whole new dynamic and even level of intimacy grew between you. But you really should get some work done, if you focused, you could get a lot done and head over. That is exactly what you would do.

You ordered your tea, which you seriously needed, after how early you had awoken and it had been all for not since the distributor had arrived so late. Your saving grace that morning, was Roman had to be up early for his first meeting too.

As you looked up at the sky, the heat of the morning was lessening yet there was the feel of a storm brewing. Maybe the first thunderstorm of the season. The clouds certainly were churning between being gray and big puffy white ones. Hopefully, you’d be back at your studio before any of it decided to happen.

You would grab on of those yummy croissants to nibble on while enjoying the tea, you mused as you walked into the coffee shop.

“Mrs. Sionis? Mrs. Sionis?”

You stood off to the side waiting. When you heard, Mrs. Sionis your ears pricked up. You looked over at the barista confused.

“Tea and croissant?”

You went over. “But I’m not Mrs. Sionis,” you looked around. “We’re only dating.”

“Oh! Well umm, sorry here anyway.” Said, the otherwise very bored looking barista.

“Alright.” You smiled, shaking your head.

Once outside, you actually giggled on the way back to the penthouse. Mrs. Roman Sionis, Y/N Sionis, you imagined and giggled again then bit into your croissant.

“Doesn’t sound bad.” You said aloud but once again you giggled. It reminded you of the days when you were little imagining fairy tale weddings and your prince charming.

Before sliding in the door to your studio, you leaned happily against.

Your fairytale prince you mused, you thought back to how Roman looked this morning, despite the incredibly early hour and after such a late night. He looked sharp in that peach suit. So sharp, so handsome as the two of you talked over breakfast and his little teasing kiss before you had left. It still gave you butterflies.

******

He shed, the peach jacket as he remembered what you said. You had been right. It was dirty now, his lips wrinkled in disgust.

Grabbing a wash cloth, he examined his cheek over the sink. Turning on the faucet, he began to wash it. His cheek was swollen.

After several curses, it was clean and shouldn’t scar but he was angry. No one had better try and mess with him tonight.

******

“Where the fuck is she?” He snarled when Zsasz came back to the table with a few of the guys and you were not with them.

Something irked him. You were not answering your phone.

“She wasn’t there or at least not answering the doorbell.” Zsasz, scratched the back of his head. “Or the pounding on the door.”

Roman shook his head. “Something is up.” He pressed his lips together. “You stay here in case there are any new developments. And I need you to leave fast.”

Getting up, he unbuttoned his suit jacket. The club was closed for the night and the customers were gone.

“You tell her, no damn small talk. She doesn’t need to chat with you or steal some cake from the kitchen. Tell her to come right upstairs, when she finally comes home.”

“Sure thing boss.”

*****

When you awoke, your croissant was squished under your cheek, instinctively you threw it away. Startled you realized your tea had spilt. What the hell happened, your head pounded. You barely remembered coming over to your easel to finish your snack.

Your eyes finally focused on a note.

We know where you work, you bitch of Sionis. Others may love you. We don’t. Watch yourself.

You were barely halfway through reading it when you began to shake and cry. You looked around. Nothing else looked disturbed. Snatching away note, you stuffed it into your pocket. Getting up, you sat back down holding your head.

Blinking, you looked over at the clock near you, it was after four in the morning. They had drugged you good. Reaching into your pocket, you found your phone gone. You couldn’t call Roman. Swallowing and breathing deeply you got up. It was better this time, turning to leave you stepped on something. You looked down and saw it was your phone. Oh, this was horrible.

Getting in a cab, you told them where to take you. When you went to pay, you found the note again but luckily in your other pocket you still had your wallet. You paid, and looking around you went over to the side entrance.

You winced as the thunder clapped loudly above. Glancing skyward, you watched the lightning, streak across sky.

The club had been closed for an hour. As you made your way to the elevator, you saw Zsasz asleep in a chair. Was Roman worried. Making your way over, you soon stepped into the elevator. Soon, walking in you stopped first to gather yourself, you were feeling woozy again but also to pull off your boots. Every sound would echo in the other wise silent penthouse. Looking down the hall toward the bedroom you two shared was eerily cold and appeared even more silent then the rest of the penthouse.

He had not gone to bed. Of course he wouldn’t. You had failed to show up to the club and you had not certainly not just gone up here straight away and fall asleep. You were surprised, you didn’t find him pacing.

As you walked by the one column, ghosts of you and him being cute and flirty popped in your head. The day had started so differently. Now, you knew people hated you and you had been drugged. Fear continued uncoil in your stomach.

Lightning brightened the entire sitting area, long with the rest of Gotham. Moments later as the thunder rumbled in, you shivered as it felt like the storm was directly above the building.

A small smile tugged on your lips, when you spotted him sitting near the huge picture window. Relief filled you. The lightning that came again illuminated but then brought him back into the darkness of the night.

“There you are you.” You kept your tone light, airy and damn as even as you could manage.

The rumble of thunder, made you wince in once again. It sounded like some giant trying to break in and steal you away from your prince.

He looked away from the window and his eyes moved till they met yours. The lightning, stretched its slender fingers across the sky once more. It allowed you to see the sharp features of your Roman, though now you saw the smudge a bruise on one cheek, the sight of it made your stomach lurch.

“Oh Roman.” You cried, had they gone after him too.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The tears came again, you didn’t care. “Roman please,” His name, your voice was a cry it was barely coherent. You did what your entire being needed, begged you to do. Despite some resistance at first, which then turned into his arms wrapping around you, making you feel safe since you woke up against your easel. You met his eyes. “Someone drugged me.” Your voice shook, and you nestled into the crook of his shoulder. You sighed as you did, breathing him in deeply.

You felt though as his entire body went rigid, you could feel as he looked at the crumbled note.

“Those fucking animals.” He barked, and after a few breaths. His voice still angry though it had managed to take a softer edge in a way only he could pull off. “My poor baby, daddy is here and will take of you.” You felt a brief kiss on your head before he settled back. You knew you’d have to move soon. He would want to get moving, to see if he could follow any leads, talk to his allies, that were actually loyal.

You also knew that he actually, enjoyed taking care of you and right now you needed that more then a solution at that moment.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @blondekel77 @saphic-susperia @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @lemairepstuff @generallj

[tellmeoflegends]

Glory Hammered

Alright, so as some of you in the Gloryhammer fandom know, the band has issued a statement today that the 2017 racist, bigoted, and sexist private chat between Chris Bowes, Jim Cartwright, and Mike Barber is, indeed, real.

Bowes has also issued his own statement, apologizing for what he said in the chat. And he actually sounds pretty sincere that he is sorry for what he’s done and that he needs to do and be better. So far, Barber and Cartwright have remained silent, as have the rest of the band, which is probably on the advice of legal counsel, I’m guessing.

I’m still reeling about this. I stand by my earlier statement that that kind of talk is consistent from what I’ve seen and heard about with both Bowes’ and Cartwright’s behavior, but I’m really shocked that Barber is in the same gutter as them. I’ve gotten to message him on several occasions on Instagram in the last year or so and always got the impression that he was a very nice, gracious guy.

I still haven’t decided if I’m going to continue to support Gloryhammer in any upcoming projects, if, indeed, the band actually survives this. I’m honestly shocked Napalm Records hasn’t dropped them like a hot potato after that chat leak. But, let’s be honest, pretty much all of Bowes’ bands have been pretty darn lucrative, and I’m sure the record execs do enjoy seeing their profits rise, regardless of how their musicians have behaved.

Here’s my conundrum with how to proceed as their fan:

On one hand, their words and actions are disgusting and inexcusable. (I’m not saying unforgivable, please take note.) As a woman, I’m appalled to hear how they speak of women as nothing more than a notch on their bedposts, ignoring the fact that these are actual people they’re referencing.  And then there’s the racism... Folks, I’m white. I cannot and will not even try to say that I can understand or relate to the atrocities of racism against people of color. However, I can say that to hear grown men commenting on how people in North Africa “have teeth coming out the front of their face and eyes on the side of their heads.” (That would be Mike Barber’s comment) is shocking and nauseating. Or Chris Bowes’ dropping the n-word. Or Jim chiming in how people with big lips are good at giving blowjobs.

Seriously, guys?

Here’s the other hand:

I’ve made quite a few friends in the fandom. I’ve spent money, devoted time and creativity writing fic, and I do enjoy their music. They’re good. They’re really great, actually. It makes me sad to listen to them now knowing that the original lineup will never play together again, I’ll never get to see that group play together, and adding in the confirmation of that chat, it definitely sours my enjoyment knowing what these people are really like. I’ve enjoyed getting to talk to several of the bandmembers and appreciate that some of them will interact with fans, especially after the disparaging things Jim and Chris have said about fans. And I’m not a perfect person either. I’ve said some pretty awful things in my past, too, and I’ve had to ask forgiveness also. Granted, I’ve never said anything even near that level of horrible, but still, my past isn’t squeaky clean. And yes, I can separate the artist from the art (JK Rowling is a homophobe, but I'm a proud Hufflepuff), but it's not always easy to do.

And I feel petty and hypocritical to even be having this debate with myself! I feel like a horrible person because it should just be cut-and-dry, shouldn’t it? People do and say bad, gross things, I should distance myself posthaste and not look back.

But the music means something to me, almost like an old friend. And it’s hard to turn your back on a friend.

I’ve seen comments on the band’s posts on both sides. “They were just joking around” “it’s not that big a deal” “Lads will be lads” “They were just trying to shock each other by talking big”...etc, etc... And then “Gloryhammer is dead” “I refuse to support you because of this” “You guys are losers” and so on.

And I see both sides of this. It’s not a clean cut, it’s not black and white. And I’m angry, and hurt, and saddened, and disgusted, and confused. 

I wish I knew what I was going to do. I wish I felt better about either step I plan to take, because either way, it’s going to hurt. And I’m sure I’ll tick people off no matter what I do because the fandom is very very much a divided battlefield right now.

I guess Zargothrax finally got his way and set the universe on fire.

[egcdeath]

a blip in the reader-verse

chapter 6: extra! extra! read all about it

series summary: a minor mistake causes a shift in the multiverse that only you have the capacity to fix.

chapter summary: you kept your friends close, and your enemy even closer.

pairing: politician!andy barber x journalist!reader, steve rogers x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: american politics, fake dating/marriage, angst at the end, heavy codependent behavior at the end

author’s note: i saw @jtargaryen18 post about politician!steve a while ago and must’ve internalized it because this chapter pretty much wrote itself. just a heads up: all of my political knowledge comes from political sitcoms, so sorry in advance if i get some things wrong. another warning is that there are still some very unhealthy relationship dynamics at play here, so promise me you won’t be like reader okay?

previous chapter / series masterlist

Is Andy Barber Really the Best for Our Nation’s Future?

Opinion

by Y/N L/N

Feb 7, 2021, 4:36 PM ET

After tonight’s debate, the question that’s begged is if Andrew Barber is truly fit to run our country. Although he’s clearly a front runner for his party’s nomination, he’s shown time and time again that he may actually be our weakest candidate.

His weaknesses were highlighted during the debate, with his dodged questions and vague answers. At this point in time, it’s hard to tell if Barber has a platform at all.

With Super Tuesday just around the corner, I ask you to reevaluate your support for Barber. Though a charming candidate, it seems that that’s all he has, his charm. His policies are weak, and borderline impossible, and he certainly isn’t the right person to become the most powerful man in the world.

—-

When you became conscious, you were no better than unconscious. Your eyes opened and were immediately met with a harshness from the sun peeking through a window. You shifted away from the brightness, body sinking into a memory foam mattress while your nude form rubbed against similarly soft sheets. You sleepily rubbed your eyes before they flitted throughout the room you were in. Observing an oddly clean, generic looking area, you’d quickly connected the dots that you were in a hotel room. A rather fancy one at that. 

Soft breathing came from next to you, and as you turned your head a bit more, you were met with the back of a fluffy and dark haired man. You weren’t completely sure, but judging by your history of finding your way to Steve, you’d assumed that it was some alternate form of your partner.

The man in bed next to you yawned, and haphazardly threw an arm in your direction, before rolling over to greet you, “morning sunshine,” he slurred sleepily.

The beard was a bit of a surprise to you. Though you’d begged and begged your Steve to keep it, he often refused for one reason or another. Seeing the man next to you who (what was now much clearer to you) a version of your boyfriend, was a rather pleasant surprise. 

“Morning,” you responded in an equally sleepy manner, ignoring the rhythmic vibration coming from your night stand.

“Mm, you should get that,” he mumbled, pressing a disoriented peck to the side of your head while you reached over to grab your phone, which you could now see was the perpetrator of the vibrations.

“Hello?” you asked into the phone.

“Are you dumb? Or are you fucking stupid?” Aaliyah’s voice scolded through the phone. “Do you know what kind of position you’ve put me in? This is a fucking mess, Y/N. All for some dick? How could you be so careless?! Jesus!”

“What are you talking about?” You glanced over at Andy, and sat up a bit, pulling the crisp blankets over your body in an attempt to retain some form of modesty.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re fucking Andy Barber, but you’re writing articles about him like you just watched him kill your dog. You realize that this puts all of us at risk, right? You’re gonna lose your job, I’m gonna lose my job since I decided to edit and publish your shit, and you and I will lose any sort of journalistic integrity we’ve ever had, or will have, for the rest of goddamn time! Seriously, you could’ve had anyone, but Andy Barber? Andrew fucking Barber?” she groaned over the line.

“Uh, I’ll uh, call you back,” you whispered.

“You’re joking right? Are you with him right now?”

“Aaliyah!”

“Oh my god, you’re with him right now. You’re a fucking mess,” she huffed before hanging up.

Why did the universe have to send you off to such a shitshow?

You rolled out of bed, and sulked into the bathroom, desperate to find out what was going on. While sitting on the toilet, you scrolled through the wall of notifications; tweets directed at you, messages from confused friends begging you to call them when you had a chance, and even the occasional concerned email. 

You grimaced as you read through each one of them, eventually clicking on the article that many seemed to be referencing, which included a paparazzi photo of you and this Andy Barber character entering a hotel together sometime in the late night to early morning, partnered with an article or two of your own criticizing him. At first, you wondered if he was some sort of celebrity, but what you ultimately found out was much worse. 

He was a politician. A senator who was running to be president.

You screamed into your hands, before tossing your phone aside, and starting a warm shower for yourself. Perhaps the shower could help jog your memory a bit. 

Stepping into the steamy chamber, and letting the water pelt down onto you did do wonders for you, and it gave you a moment of focus. With both your memories from this universe, along with the information you’d been given through your phone, you were able to piece a few aspects of the universe together.

You were a journalist, a popular one at that, Andy was Steve, but not Steve, and also a presidential candidate. Aaliyah was your editor, and a higher-up at the Times, and you were about to have your ass handed to you over an affair. At least Andy wasn’t married.

Your shower must’ve taken longer than you’d expected, as there was a soft knock on the door after some time. 

“Everything okay in there?” a slightly muffled voice asked.

“Yeah. Just peachy. Why aren’t you more worried about this?” you called back.

“I have a good publicist. And campaign manager. I just have a good team,” Andy paused briefly. “When you’re ready, room service is ready.”

----

Over aggressive mouthfuls of fresh fruit and bitter coffee, you conversed with Andy.

“How are we gonna fix this?” You questioned while setting down your fork.

“Well, it’s simple. We just have to find some kind of spin to this whole story. Maybe you were just interviewing me, or getting a soundbite from me.” “Why would you agree to get a soundbite from someone who clearly has it out for you?” You set your fork down, and crossed your arms over your white robe clad chest. 

“That’s a good question,” Andy nodded a bit, “a good question for someone else to answer.”

“Why don’t we let your publicist figure out how to play this?”

“I’d say I’m a bit of an expert at this at this point, but I’ll call my team.”

“You do that, I need to assess the damage to my career,” you huffed, moving to sit on the bed so that you could aggressively scroll on your phone in peace.

Andy called someone, and you patiently waited while he chatted with them. 

“Okay, Y/N. We can’t leave through the front, so my guy’s gonna pick us up in the garage. We have like, half an hour,” he tossed his phone aside, then maneuvered himself to get in bed with you, setting both hands down on either side of you, and placing a soft kiss on your lips. He slowly began to inch down your body, untying the belt of your robe as he did so, when you interrupted him.

“What do you think you’re doing, Andrew?”

“We have time.” He looked up at you.

“We are not doing this. What do you think got us into this mess in the first place?” you frowned, moving one of his hands so you could slide away from him. 

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! Why aren’t you taking this seriously! Do you realize that both of our careers are at stake here? I don’t want to lose my job because I’m having an affair with you. You shouldn’t want to lose a shot at office for a woman you’re not even with.”

“Come on, we’ve been doing this for almost a year, and you only have a problem with it now?”

“Yes! The public had no idea before! They’re going batshit now! And the worst part is that I’m the one taking the most heat,” you sighed, and Andy gave you a frown. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You know I didn’t want this to happen.”

“It’s kinda too late for sorries now.” 

——

You stepped out of your suite about five minutes after Andy left, suitcase in tow, blocky sunglasses on your face, and a heathered grey peacoat draped over your shoulders. Although you were stressed from the controversy you’d found yourself in, you couldn’t help but feel the buzz of excitement from having to hide from the paparazzi. At the same time, you felt quite bad for this version of yourself.

When you finally got out to the designated Cadillac, you asked for his driver to roll up the partition, like you’d done a million times before, then looked out of the tinted windows. The ride was pretty awkward, considering you were in no mood to talk to Andy, and Andy felt bad about the issues he’d imposed on you from his own carelessness. He set a cautious hand on top of yours, and though you were agitated, it did brighten your mood the slightest bit. 

After what felt like forever, you arrived at his campaign building, and you were ushered into a small, soundproof space, with a large and round pine table in the center of it. Surrounding the table was a very tired looking Aaliyah, and… Tony Stark? 

“How’s everyone’s weekend been?” Tony asked, breaking the ice as you and Andy settled into your seats.

“Are we really doing small talk right now?” Aaliyah deadpanned, “sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“Alright, straight to the elephant in the room then. You two were out spotted, big deal, happens all the time to politicians and their mistresses-“

“I’m not his mistress! You know this, Tony,” you huffed.

“Tony knew and not me?” Aaliyah gasped.

“Well-“ you began. 

“Save it.”

“It was on a very need-to-know basis,” you muttered.

“Back to what I was saying. I suggest that we don’t address it, unless addressed.”

“I don’t know if you’re dense, or what, but that’s the exact opposite of what we need to do. We have to get on top of this story before the story is that you,” Aaliyah gestured at you, “are packing your shit at the Times.”

The door shot open, and quickly closed. A slightly flustered blonde man stumbled through. “Sorry to interrupt,” he began.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes at this notion, muttering a ‘sure you are’ to herself. 

“We just finished polling numbers, and Andy, you’re up?” He projected the screen of his iPad onto a TV in the room, then passed the device over to Andy on his way to sit down.

“Thanks, Vis,” he gave him a curt nod.

“Why would our candidate allegedly hooking up with someone who hates him boost him in the polls?” Tony asked.

“Middle America loves a family man, you know that,” Vision said in a matter of faculty manner. “Andy has had a hard time connecting with that demographic because when they see him, they see an Elitist East-coaster.”

“Hooking up with a hot reporter does not make you a family man,” Aaliyah retorted.

“That brings me to my next point. If you don’t mind, I’d like to add a proposal of my own,” Vision stated, and received a shrug from the rest of the room. “Well, if we need to put a spin on this, the obvious choice is to explain that they’ve been seeing each other the whole time. Under wraps, of course. The photos the paparazzi received are not damning by any means, and look more romantic than sexual, to be quite frank. Y/N wrote those articles to throw the public off her scent, and she didn’t really believe anything she said, and Andy? He’s just a good, all American man who was tired of keeping his relationship under wraps. Everything’s to gain from this plan.”

“Well, I lose my journalistic integrity. That’s a pretty big loss to me. I may never work again,” you rubbed your forehead in a distraught manner.

“You won’t have to worry about working when you’re the First Lady. Think about it, if we can get votes from the swing states, we’ve secured enough electoral votes to have a Barber win. All over a little character rebrand.”

“Excuse me, the First Lady?” You nervously glanced between Vision and Aaliyah while you attempted to pick your jaw up from the floor.

“Well, yes. We can’t exactly get the full ‘family man’ look without Mr. Barber being a real husband.“

“Are we talking, real wedding?” Aaliyah questioned.

“Yes. You just have to be legally bound together for around four years, eight years tops. About twelve would be preferable, but I understand that not everything works out.”

“I don’t object to that,” Andy winked and nudged you a bit.

What a mess.

“Back to what I was saying, we’ll probably need about a two week PR period before we do a press briefing announcing the engagement. Give or take. During that time, we could have your publicist arrange all sorts of good photo ops for you two.”

“Either way, my career is ruined,” you sighed, and Andy set his hand on your back.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’re not currently standing in front of 30 cameras.”

“Well, we should prepare for when we are in front of 30 cameras.”

“Is it though?” Vision interjected, bringing you and Andy back from your aside. “We can just deflect, maybe have a few of your friends make articles about how what you did wasn’t all that bad.”

“Is it not a valid criticism of me that I was sleeping around with the person who I was also slandering?”

“Is it not possible to criticize someone you care about? In fact, helping someone learn how to improve can be very romantic,” Vision shrugged. 

There was a brief silence throughout the bunch while everyone pondered a counter argument. 

“That right there, that kind of insight is why we call you the Vision,” Tony shook his head and proudly clapped the man on his back.

“So it’s settled then? We’re really doing this?” You glanced around at your peers while Aaliyah spoke. “Any objections, love birds?”

Andy shrugged, “I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life with her.”

You, on the other hand, weren’t so sure. 

——

Barber and his Greatest Critic Break Bread Together on Friday

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Y/N L/N Announces She’s Not Resigning from Senior Position, and That She’s Been Seeing Barber!

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BREAKING! Barber Announces Relationship with Critic Y/N L/N

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Is L/Nber the Ship that Shows us How Relationships Are More Powerful than Politics?

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Our New Favorite Political Power Couple Showed Up Together at a Rally, and We Couldn’t Be More Excited.

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Barber 7 Points Ahead in the Polls, Leaving Loguidice and Kline Trailing Far Behind

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Was Y/N Really in the Wrong?

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“L/Nber” Celebrate Valentine’s Day Together 

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These L/Nber House Hunting Photos Are Giving Us Life!

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This was your reality for the next two weeks. The news cycle was filled with a plethora of articles about you, some criticizing you, some criticizing Andy, but most, supporting the two of you in your romantic endeavors. Unsurprisingly, the world loved a good story about two attractive people getting together. 

During this period, you didn’t particularly feel like leaving, though the thought had certainly crossed your mind. You just weren’t sure that you wanted to be dealing with those terrible symptoms again in the midst of an already stressful stage of your life. At the same time, it seemed like the universe was not going to be fair with your time in this reality. You were convinced that you were here for the long haul, or at least, until Andy proposed to you. 

Although it was a bit annoying, cameras around every corner, a watchful eye on everything that you or Andy even considered doing, you found yourself growing on Andy. In some ways, he was a bit more intense than Steve, whose personality had mellowed out a bit since the Snap.

This had been the first time in all of your travels where you felt like ‘Steve’ was the one pursuing you, and in all honesty, it made you feel good. Even if everything the two of you did had an aftertaste of artificiality.

You spent more and more time with him every day, staying together with him in hotels across the country, visiting local businesses with him to get the perfect photo op, and attending galas with donors. It seemed like in every candid photo of Andy, you weren’t too far behind. By the time the day of your proposal arrived, you weren’t even all that opposed to the marriage. 

When the proposal finally arrived, the two of you were sat inside a rather fancy restaurant, finishing up your meal when Andy settled on one knee in front of you, “Y/N,” he began, and you felt the all too familiar tremble of your watch on your wrist. 

You almost had to restrain yourself from exclaiming out loud. It’s not that you didn’t like Andy or anything, he’d genuinely grown on you. In the least cheesy way, it wasn’t him, but you. Being somewhere so unfamiliar for so long had begun to create a cumulative exhaustion that wore a bit more on you every day. Feeling homesick was an understatement.

You brought your hands up to your face, and gasped dramatically, squeezing your eyes shut to see if you could possibly produce a few tears, while mobile cameras and a few professional flashes were directed towards you. A few warm droplets slipped down your face, and for a moment you weren’t even sure how fake they were. It seemed like once they started, they couldn’t stop.

You missed Steve, your Steve, the man you’d fallen in love with. You missed your friends, teammates, and family. You missed the stability of knowing what the world held for you next. 

In the midst of Andy’s proposal, in what should’ve been the happiest moment of your life, all you could focus on was your overwhelming desire to have a sense of normalcy in your life once again. 

——

You woke up in a cold sweat, heart racing in your chest, and shaking your ribcage. You looked up to the ceiling of what you had grown to know was your room in the Compound, your real room, and felt your eyes well up in tears that stung you. 

You sat up, and took as deep of a breath as you could manage, when you noticed Wanda sitting by your bedside.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said softly, coming closer to you, offering you a glass of water before sitting at the foot of your bed. 

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, trying to gauge where you were. 

“Honey,” she sighed softly. “I’m so sorry. He’s still missing.”

Your lip trembled as you took a sip. You really were back home. 

“I know you’re hurting, but when you feel a little better, we’re going to Medbay. Banner decided that we should probably keep an eye on your vitals, but you were gone before we even had the chance to get you there.”

You gulped down the water, then set it on your bedside table, “so was that all just a dream or something? Why isn’t Steve back?” you huffed frustratedly.

“I don’t know why he isn’t back, but I don’t think you were dreaming. I was trying to watch your dreams, but I couldn’t read you, or your thoughts at all.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled, throwing your legs over the side of the bed, “let’s go.”

As you settled into the cold, and sterile medical facility you were hooked up to a plethora of monitors, and a cacophony of devices beeped as they read your physical state. 

You tuned out the words being spoken around you, zoning out and looking forward to your vital signs monitor. Your mind wandered to your last few thoughts in your previous reality, the desperation to come back, to see your estranged lover again. You couldn’t help but to feel disappointed, lamenting the fact that you’d found your way home, yet felt the ever present void in your heart where your Steve used to be.

“Y/N?” a voice asked you, and you glanced in its general direction. “What happened while you were out? What did you see? Did it work?” Bruce pelted you with questions.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it yet,” you sighed softly, bringing a hand up to your neck and rubbing it. “The watch worked though, I was definitely in other universes. I just couldn’t reach him. Bring him home. I failed.”

“Do you think he’s really out there?” Bruce whispered to Wanda hoping that you might not pick up on it.

“I’m… I don’t know. I just don’t know how likely it is that we’ll manage to find him,” she responded in a hushed tone. You bit back tears as she spoke, resuming your empty gaze on the pixelated green text of your heart rate on the monitor.

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to go back,” you interrupted. “I can’t give up on Steve yet. I know he wouldn’t give up on me.”

“Y/N, you could be gone for centuries before you find him, then return back here with no time passed at all, and possibly no Steve. You don’t deserve to take on all of that pain,” Wanda set a hand on your shoulder. “Steve would’ve wanted you to move on from him. To find happiness without him.”

“I can’t do that, Wanda. Without him I don’t even know who I am,” your voice trembled as you spoke. “He’s literally been my only tether through all of this.”

“I just don’t know that this is the best thing we could be doing. Sure, you’re physically fine, but it almost seems like you’re doing worse emotionally than you were before you left,” Bruce added.

“I’m not!” you sniffled before continuing. “I’m just tired from going to all those new places.”

Bruce and Wanda didn’t seem too convinced. “Don’t you guys believe in me? When have I let you down on a mission before? I’m gonna find him, okay? I’ll find him if it’s the last fucking thing I do,” you blubbered.

Wanda’s hand slid down your shoulder, and to the watch that was currently on your wrist.

“Don’t,” you uttered, swinging your opposite hand to grab onto your own wrist. You were aware that there was absolutely no way you could overpower her in taking the watch from you, but even in your minor hysterics, you were able to think fast enough to press the round button before the watch was able to be taken off of you.

You, and your wrist shook. Wrist shaking from the watch, and promise of sending you elsewhere, and you from a mixture of sobs and adrenaline. Though not the most ideal exit, it was an exit nonetheless.

You weren’t even sure if you cared that you were on good terms with your teammates anymore. 

You just needed to be with Steve again.

[with-my-murder-flute]

The first coherent thought I had of the day came after midnight and it was Joe/Nicky in the "Nicky is an American fundie” AU.  This is the getting-together scene, because I needed someone to manage to actually say the words in spite of intense anxiety (and then deal with their panic attack with their brand-new love).

The scene is totally consensual, but contains references to consent/importance of consent/lack of consent being bad. Also, Nicky references a theory about homophobes all being secretly gay that I don’t believe is true, and the kind of homophobia he’s been guilty of around Yusuf is like, “arguing for the importance of traditional marriage in class debates”

He wishes he’d gotten drunk. He actually tried, at the beginning of the party, but the beer he’d opened had been disgusting, so he left it on a table full of drinks and moved away. There were definitely better-tasting things that other people were drinking, but his courage got so sapped by the first attempt he spent the whole party drinking Coke and nursing it back up to full strength.

Quỳnh and Andy look so natural. They lean into each other without thinking. Andy will sling an arm around Quỳnh’s neck, and Quỳnh will clean off the seat next to the one she’s about to sit down in. Nicky envies their easy affection with an ache that hurts. 

He gets strength from them. When Andy climbs from the back of the couch to Quỳnh’s shoulders and Quỳnh carries her with amazing strength down the hallway and into the bathroom to get a spider off the light fixture, Nicky stays where he is on the loveseat even while the rest of the party trails down the hall after him. He honestly thought Yusuf might stay in the kitchen at the ice cream bar, where he’s been all night, but when Sameen looks interested, he goes too. Nicky watches him. He cheers and applauds the battle against the spider and its release on the balcony. He glances at Nicky, a little kind of concern: You’re quiet. Are you all right? Nicky smiles back, uncurls his arms and makes space for Gabriela to sit back down next to him.

At eleven Yusuf’s roommate comes back and Yusuf herds the party out of his apartment--”You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” Michael waves to Nicky, who’s cleaning up, and goes to bed.

“Thanks for bringing this stuff,” Yusuf says when Nicky comes into the kitchen to empty his unfinished beer and a little bit of a can of Sprite into the sink. Yusuf is assembling the leftover chocolate syrup and ice cream cones into one of the plastic grocery bags they arrived in. “None of it’s going to fit in our fridge, so I assume I’m sending it back home with you.”

Nicky shrugs, hands in his pockets. “I can take it,” he says. His little dorm room can’t host a party, but maybe he’ll give them to the next one who hosts. It’s hard to think seriously about it compared to the small kernel of certainty he holds in his chest, like a flame he has to protect against going out.

“You okay?” Yusuf says, looking up at him as he screws a jar of maraschino cherries closed. 

Nicky shrugs, swallowing around the lump in his throat. There’s a silence in the kitchen where Joe wipes down the island and keeps a worried eye on Nicky. He knows how to wait; he knows when Nicky needs time.

Nicky tricks himself into it by letting himself think he’s chosen against saying the unsayable thing. He’s swallowed the words. Then he shrugs again, and on an exhale he mutters, “I just really like you.”

The easy way he could have done this is the classic. Gone to a party, gotten drunk, kissed him unexpectedly. He wouldn’t have had to use words, then. But apparently that’s against the student code of conduct, unwanted sexual behaviour, so he doesn’t get to do it that way.

Being drunk would be a great excuse if he needed to laugh it off in the morning, though. The thought of pretending to have been drunk... makes his skin crawl.

After a small eternity, Yusuf says, “You really like me.” His face is carefully blank.

Nicky feels like he’s just heard a landmine go click beneath his shoe. He’s said something wrong, and Yusuf is on the defensive, so he hurt Yusuf’s feelings, and he doesn’t actually know what he said that was wrong, but Yusuf doesn’t talk about that kind of thing,  He always just says, “Don’t worry, let’s move on.” 

More than anything in his life, he wants to not be something Yusuf has to move on from. He probably already is. But he’s already damned now.

“Yeah,” he says, staring at the floor, feeling dizzy from how fast the blood is going through his veins, and it feels like the bravest thing he’s ever done.

He should go home. He should give up. This is bad enough already.

“Sorry,” Yusuf says. “Are we... are we talking about the same kind of ‘like’ here? Are... are you okay?”

No, not really. Nicky had to squeeze his eyes shut, because this is probably what being drawn and quartered feels like. He really wishes Yusuf would end this conversation and let him go. He doesn’t need the ice cream toppings. Yusuf could just throw them all out.

He needs to leave. He’s even failed at being gay.

“Hey, whoa, hey,” Yusuf says. He touches Nicky’s shoulder gently. “Don’t freak out. It’s okay.”

Nicky has to work on bringing in air. He can try to be calm. Probably smile, get through whatever Yusuf is about to say until he can get to the other side of the door. He doesn’t need to make his feelings Yusuf’s problem.

“I really like you too,” Yusuf says. “I didn’t think that you...”

Nicky does smile, twistedly. “Isn’t that how it goes? Whoever’s most homophobic is probably secretly gay?”

To be clear, he heard the first thing Yusuf said. It is definitely noted and logged. It just kind of... doesn’t... mesh with absolutely anything else in his brain right now.

“You like me,” Yusuf says again, like he needs to confirm it.

It’s a symptom of the stupid thing in his chest that in the middle of freaking out, he can smile. A little, involuntary, stupid little smile, and he can raise his eyes to Yusuf’s shoulder. “I think you’re amazing,” he says softly. For a minute, it doesn’t even hurt. It just is. Yusuf is just... incredible.

Yusuf takes his hand. They are holding hands. He reaches out with the other and claps Nicky on the shoulder. He’s... smiling.

“Hey,” Yusuf says, and kisses him. It’s like no kiss Nicky’s ever had before. Instead of lips, it seems to be made of light. He’s not consciously thinking about anything. It’s like a purely involuntary motion, the way he leans in, the way he keeps kissing Yusuf, until the moment he reels back, drunken and amazed.

The world has changed in a burst of light and he’s gay and he has kissed Yusuf Al-Kaysani and he doesn’t seem to be touching the ground right now.

“So,” Yusuf says, “should we...?”

“Yes,” Nicky says, instantly.

“Yes?” Yusuf asks, eyes crinkling. “To what?”

“To anything.”

Yusuf’s smile deepens. “So we... finish up the ice cream stuff? We date? You go home for the night? You stay here?”

Oh. That’s a little harder to completely say yes to. He hadn’t thought there’d be so many choices. “Do you want me to go?”

Yusuf squeezes his hands. “I don’t definitely want you to go, but if you want to go, then I want you to. Habibi, I want you to be comfortable.”

Nicky drowns in that endearment. In that concern. “I want to stay,” he says.

“Then I think we should sit down,” Yusuf says, so they end up sitting on the couch. He puts the back of his hand to Nicky’s forehead. “Are you okay?”

“I was waiting all night to say that,” Nicky confesses, and that makes it natural to kiss Yusuf again, so he can do that. He can kiss Yusuf’s mouth and touch Yusuf’s hair, which is amazing, and if not interrupted he would have climbed onto Yusuf’s lap.

Yusuf did hold him at bay a little, though. “Are you still freaking out?” he asks.

“A little,” Nicky admits, the embarrassment delightfully, uniquely, weighed under with joy and pleasure.

“How close are you to throwing up?”

Nicky laughs a little. It feels like he’s going to fly apart. “Probably too close,” he says shakily.

Yusuf leans forward and kisses him again. A sweet kiss, but firm, not deepening. It sends a message of comfort and reassurance, not invitation. Even though it’s the chastest kiss they’ve shared yet, there’s something in Yusuf’s eyes that breaks Nicky open, like a lightning bolt cleaving his soul in two: Yusuf lights up when he has proof that Nicky likes him. He wants to feel loved. And that... is something Nicky can give him.

Yusuf squeezes Nicky’s hands. “What do you need right now?”

That’s the hardest question anybody’s ever asked him. Nicky squeezes his eyes shut and digs deep for some sort of answer. It makes him uncomfortably aware of how full his stomach is with cola and melted ice cream. He feels like a little kid who’s been given free rein in his grandma’s refrigerator and is going to regret it after.

“To stay with you,” he answers. “I don’t want to go home now. It’s too quiet, and I think that if I’m on my own I’ll think I’ve made... a mistake.”

He feels horrible for saying it. He doesn’t want Yusuf to doubt him, to think he’s going to turn away from this because of a guilty conscience, but he’s also a little bit aware that he would. He doesn’t know how anybody does this without the tether of Yusuf’s hands holding him to the ground.

“How about... you sleep in my room,” Yusuf says slowly. “We don’t have to do anything. We can go slowly. We can just... sleep.”

It strikes him as an incredible relief, which is unexpected. He’d thought they would have sex. Having sex was what you did. But he’s done so much already he’s strung between joy and exhaustion, and Yusuf doesn’t seem to mind it, so Nicky says gratefully, “That sounds good.”

In some ways it just means he begins freaking out about sex, as Yusuf shifts things around in the refrigerator to hold the ice cream toppings until morning. What if he and Yusuf want totally different things? Is he even sure what he wants? And how on earth do you begin asking for--

Yusuf takes his hand, pulls him along.

“Honey,” Nicky says randomly, as he’s following down the hall. Yusuf turns.

“Cupcake,” he says agreeably, like he knows what Nicky meant, and kisses him. A light kiss, a quick kiss, but no less thoughtful. It’s... what you say to your boyfriend when he’s said something sweet.

“Sweetheart,” Nicky says, and watches the astonishing, minute transformation when he’s found something Yusuf likes.

The kiss is less light, less quick, this time. It feels so good it almost scares him.

He gets up in the middle of the night to throw up into the garbage bin next to Yusuf’s desk. Yusuf turns on the light, sits up to see him, and then squints sleepily and pads down the hall to the kitchen, returning with a large metal bowl and a glass of water.

“I love you,” Nicky says, way before he meant to. Yusuf rubs his back sympathetically and kisses his forehead.

When he feels better, he can climb back into bed, where Yusuf’s arms receive him. It feels like something from an alternate dimension.

He was so set on getting here that Nicky has absolutely no idea what to do now. What does dating look like? What will he do about Valentine’s day? Will Yusuf mind that Nicky isn’t texting him all the time? What if they break up?

Against his worries, an arm is pressing across his chest. Despite everything, he is here. Yusuf is holding him. It feels absolutely amazing.

I don’t think You’re probably happy with this, he thinks at God. But thank You anyway.

[when-he-writes-stuff]

Tell Me I’ll Be Okay

pairing: sterek

word count: 3535

notes: a ko-fi commission for the lovely @maia-nebula who requested a prompt for emotionally hurt!stiles and caring!dererk and i have such a soft spot for this one. i hope i did it justice, friend.

Stiles felt it like a coming storm.

He thought that was totally cliche and a little ridiculous, but it was also the only thing he could compare it to. ‘It’ being the weight that slowly gathered on his shoulders, that is. The laughter that started to fade from his lungs and the exhaustion that hit him one day and refused to leave.

Stiles felt it like a coming storm and he was pretty sure before it left, he’d be experiencing a hurricane.

He wasn’t so sure the rest of the pack noticed. Maybe. Maybe a little.

When Stiles found himself going over to the loft, it was more of a chore than anything. He still smirked at Isaac, still shot Jackson lizard comments, and still did everything he could to get under Peter’s skin. But he didn’t feel like putting in the effort he usually would.

Jackson called him Stiles ‘Spastic’ Stilinski and Stiles couldn’t come up with a good comeback. Isaac went through three different kinds of scarves in one day and Stiles just rolled his eyes and focused on the TV. Peter made some snide comment that Stiles couldn’t even recall and he just flipped the man the bird.

Stiles was… well, he was tired. But it was more than that. The monster of the week had failed to come for nearly two months now and he couldn’t help hating that. He needed to do something, needed to throw himself into something.

He needed to feel like his presence around the rest of the pack was worthwhile again.

Stiles didn’t know what it was, exactly. But he was tired. The pack was at peace. And everything should’ve been just fine.

On the fourth week of summer vacation, Stiles buried himself in his blankets and decided to sleep until the next school year came. But he didn’t get that chance when Derek suddenly shoved his window open and pulled himself into the room.

Stiles simply blinked at him. 

Derek blinked back.

Then, with a groan, Stiles turned away and buried himself back into his covers. He could feel Derek staring for a moment longer before the man slowly approached, stepping closer and all but towering over the bed. Stiles shoved his face into his pillow and wondered what the world had against him.

“What, Sourwolf?”

“Are you sick?”

Stiles slowly turned and glared at him. Derek raised a brow, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, and Stiles sighed. “No. Now go away.”

“Are you dying?”

“Seriously, dude, that’s your next go-to?”

“You smell wrong.”

Stiles blinked at him. His stomach plunged a little and he realized he felt sick, but not the normal kind. Swallowing hard, he tugged the covers further up to his neck and shrugged. “I haven’t showered in a few days. Don’t judge a guy for being a little stinky.”

“No, you don’t smell bad,” Derek said, eyes tinged a little red. “You smell wrong.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Is that all?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. He could’ve sworn the man’s face turned red and Derek burrowed deeper into his leather jacket, eyes flitting down to the floor.

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Should I be saying something else, Sourwolf?”

“You usually do.”

Stiles stared at him. Did he? Stiles supposed he usually would’ve come up with some sarcastic or witty comment that either made Derek really mad or really flustered. He usually took joy in watching Derek’s ears turn bright red. But right now, his mind was blank. “Sorry.”

Derek’s eyes snapped back up. “What?”

“... Sorry? I didn’t realize my silence would be so bothersome for you.”

“You are sick.”

Stiles stared at him for a moment longer before groaning and turning on his side, yanking the covers all the way up over his head. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He didn’t have the energy.

After a couple minutes, it was painfully obvious that Derek was not planning to move.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Stiles mumbled into his pillow. “Unless it’s a shower. And in that case, you can leave cause I don’t feel like it.”

“So you’re dying, then.”

Stiles didn’t know what the hell was going on in Derek’s head.

The longer he ignored the man, he more agitated he could feel Derek getting. The man finally growled and turned back away from Stiles’s bed, stalking toward the window. With one last red-eyed glare, he pulled himself out and was gone.

Stiles thought he should feel relieved about that. Or maybe guilty. But he just… felt. He just felt.

He didn’t sleep well that night.

- -

Derek started acting strange.

Stiles might be a little out of his head, but he realized that easy enough. Because the man started showing up more often. Even when Stiles flat out ignored him or offered non-impressive insults until he had completely tired himself and his imagination out. 

Derek would come by and just… sit. He’d just sit. Sometimes he brought a book, sometimes he brought his laptop, but he would just sit. In Stiles’s room. While Stiles was attempting to not acknowledge the rest of the world.

He’d thought Derek would stop eventually. But on week two, Stiles propped himself up and glared at the man. “What the hell are you doing?”

Derek looked up from his book, raising one eyebrow. He didn’t answer or offer and explanation which made Stiles feel more emotions than he had in days. The man just blinked. Innocently. Like he was doing nothing wrong.

Stiles knew better.

“What the hell,” he said again. “Are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Sourwolf. You’re here all the time. You’re here more than you are at the loft! My dad’s going to start thinking you’re married to me or something.”

Derek crooked up a brow. Stiles felt his face turn hot.

“Not that that’s a thing. Because that’s not a thing. Which means you shouldn’t be here! I’m trying to enjoy my summer, Sourwolf, and you’re impeding on that.”

“You’re sleeping your summer away,” Derek corrected. Stiles glared at him.

“I am not.”

“And you haven’t showered in a week.”

“Showering takes a lot of effort, asshole!”

Derek looked at him for a long moment. Then he closed his book, set it off to the side, and stood. Stiles didn’t expect the man to approach him, nor for the man to rip off his covers and pick Stiles up bridal style, turning toward the bathroom.

Stiles squawked and wiggled in his arms, slapping at Derek’s chest. The man acted like he was nothing more than a feather.

“Derek, Derek, dammit, put me down!”

“Take a shower,” Derek said, lowering him onto the bathroom floor. Stiles glared up at him and the man shifted a little, looking uncomfortable. “Or a bath, I don’t care. But you stink.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Once you take a shower, I will.”

“Showers are hard,” Stiles whined, shifting on the cold floor and wrapping his arms around his knees. “I don’t want to.”

Derek rolled his eyes and reached over Stiles’s head, turning on the water. He kept his fingers underneath it for a moment and then turned back toward Stiles, nodding toward the bath. “Go, Stiles.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, pulling himself to his feet. He glared at the man before pointedly tugging at his shirt. “Do you want to stay and watch the strip show too? Because I’m pretty sure I dropped a cheeto down my pants four days ago and I reserve no judgment for when it comes falling out.”

Derek only turned away, face a little red, and closed the door as he exited the bathroom. Stiles glared after him for a moment.

He half debated chilling on the toilet for half an hour and then coming back out unshowered just to spite the werewolf, but then he decided that was dumb. He was here and the water was already on, so Stiles supposed he might as well just get it over with.

He might’ve forgotten what it was like to be clean.

Stiles turned his face toward the water and closed his eyes, finding himself starting to enjoy the warm spray. He didn’t remember washing his hair but at some point, he didn’t smell like an old sock anymore, so he supposed that was something. But then Stiles blinked to the side and realized he was going to have to get out of the water eventually.

Suddenly that all seemed very daunting.

It was ridiculous, he thought. Stiles was pretty sure he shouldn’t be dreading average tasks like this. But instead of turning off the water and pulling himself out of the warmth to face the outside world, Stiles found himself sliding to the shower floor and just sitting there.

He was trembling a little, though he didn’t know why. Stiles just turned himself away from the closed door and let the water beat over his head.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

Only that it was a loud crack that woke him up and Stiles startled so hard, he forgot he was sleeping on the wet shower floor. Derek stood in the doorway, quickly averting his eyes, and Stiles yelped, curling into himself.

“Derek! What the hell?”

“You’ve been in here for an hour,” Derek said, reaching blindly for a towel and then moving cautiously forward. “Dammit, Stiles, what are you doing?”

Stiles blinked at him. Then he glanced down at himself and frowned. He was trembling violently now, he noticed. The water was coming down ice cold and goosebumps raced up his arms. Stiles clenched his jaw and shook his head, wondering what the hell he was doing.

Derek turned off the water and, face still turned away, handed Stiles the towel. Stiles took it silently, wrapping it around himself and huddling into the warmth. Only then did Derek glance over.

“Stiles,” he said softly. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Stiles wasn’t sure he had a good answer for that. So he just pushed himself up and trudged back out of the bathroom, noting the cracked doorframe. He hadn’t remembered locking the door but apparently he had.

Privacy from grumpy Alpha werewolves was impossible these days.

Stiles didn’t glance back as he changed behind his towel. By the time he was back in sweatpants and t-shirt, Derek was still there. Stiles sighed, turning back toward the man.

“Well, I took a shower. Now you may exit my house.”

“You need to eat.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, staring at him. “Why do you even care?”

“You’re pack.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, dropping onto his bed. “I’m also skinny, spastic Stiles Stilinski. Dude, you don’t have to be here. Go be all ‘you’re pack’ to the rest of the betas. They exist too, you know.”

Derek didn’t even look guilty at Stiles’s implications. He just picked a bowl off of Stiles’s desk and it took Stiles a moment to realize the werewolf had been poking around his kitchen. Derek moved over to set what looked like soup on Stiles’s bedside table and then stepped back, crossing his arms.

“Eat.”

“Go away.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles glowered at him. When he picked up the bowl, he jabbed the spoon into the soup as threateningly as he could, but he thought that was kind of rendered moot by the fact Derek didn’t seem to notice. Or care. The man’s eyes were just fixed on Stiles and the action of him actually following orders for once.

Stiles didn’t realize how hungry he actually was. He tried not to dwell on that fact.

By the time he was done, Derek had returned to his spot at Stiles’s desk and his book, and Stiles set the bowl down loudly on the bedside table. Derek startled, glancing back.

“Done,” Stiles said. “Goodbye.”

Derek looked a little sad and a little hurt. Stiles wrapped himself in blankets and tried to ignore that fact.

But, true to his earlier words, the man started toward the window. He glanced back one more time before pulling himself out and Stiles actually hoped he’d say something. Or maybe make up another excuse to stay.

But then Derek was gone. Stiles looked quietly at the window before his gaze flitted back to the desk. Derek had left his book, he realized.

Stiles blinked at it. Then he rolled over, away from the open window and away from Derek’s stupid book.

He slept a little better than usual that night.

- -

Stiles didn’t remember the last time he’d been grateful for a new Beacon Hills threat. But the town was being terrorized by a rogue wendigo and Stiles had never been so glad to throw himself back into something. He felt like he had more energy than ever as he helped the pack track down the wendigo, make a plan to detain it, and then actually go after the feral thing.

But then Derek took him by the shoulder and pull him away from the others. 

“I want you to stay back,” Derek said, and there was no way they were far enough from the rest of the pack to avoid them hearing anything. “When we trap the wendigo, I want you to stay back. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Anger bubbled up in Stiles’s throat. He glared. “Just me?”

“Just you.”

“Dammit, Derek!” Stiles said, yanking away. “You don’t have the right to order me around like that!”

“I’m your Alpha,” Derek said, eyes glowing red. “I have every right.”

“Yeah, well you can shove being my Alpha right up your ass!”

Someone laughed from a few feet away— Stiles was pretty sure it was Erica. Derek’s eyes flickered brighter and Stiles yanked away from the man’s hand on his shoulder, gripping his baseball bat tighter. “Stiles—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Derek.”

Stiles stalked back toward the others and ignored Jackson’s smug look. It had been a while since Derek tried to put him on the sidelines but that was the last thing Stiles wanted to deal with right now. 

Derek didn’t say anything else as he moved over too. Instead, he went over the plan one more time, gave Stiles a final look, and then moved away.

Things went downhill from there.

Stiles was pretty sure it was because none of them had actually realized that the wendigo might go feral instead of backing down. But one moment things were going to plan and the next, Stiles was watching Jackson getting thrown into the nearest tree and glowing yellow eyes were turning to where he stood.

He was pretty sure he heard Derek yelling at him to run. But Stiles took one look at the wendigo, another at his baseball bat, and made a decision.

He’d made better ones before.

He came back to consciousness when he was in a hospital gown, the top opened up and a long line of stitches crossing his chest. Stiles blinked at them a few times before glancing around, trying to remember what he could.

He knew he’d misjudged his swing. He remembered feeling a sudden pain, remembered Derek’s howl in the air, and then the sound of a feral roar being cut off.

Stiles groaned. Dammit.

The door to his room opened and Derek was there; just staring. For a moment, they looked at each other and then Derek moved forward, quietly closing the door behind him. Stiles wet his lips and fiddled with his hospital gown.

“Where’s my dad?”

“He was here when we brought you in,” Derek said. “And all through the stitches. They had to put you under a lot of anesthetics.”

Stiles blinked at him. Derek sunk into the chair at his side.

“You’ve been here for a little over a day. Your dad was called back to the station a couple of hours ago, but I told him I’d keep an eye on you.”

Stiles scoffed, turning away. “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Stiles?”

The question wasn’t angry or harsh. Derek sounded genuinely hurt and confused, a hand reaching out to lay across Stiles’s arm. But Stiles tugged away and glanced over at the opposite wall. “Nothing.”

“Stiles—”

“Nothing, Derek.”

The man was quiet for a moment. Then, “You could have died.”

“Any of us could have died.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek said, and his voice cracked a little. “You could have died. Going after that thing was one of the stupidest decisions you’ve ever made and I don’t think you would have made it a few months ago.”

Stiles turned back to glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you knew.”

“Knew what, Derek.”

“You knew it was a bad idea,” Derek said, searching his face. “Stiles, you knew that was a bad idea. There’s no way you couldn’t have.”

Once more, Stiles turned his face away. But this time, Derek didn’t back down.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Stiles’s stomach flipped. He clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth gnashed, and he didn’t answer. Because of course, he wasn’t. He’d just made a mistake. It had been a calculated risk, hadn’t it? Stiles could’ve been the one to take the wendigo out. He was just doing his part to help.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly. “Stiles, please talk to me.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Derek.”

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong!”

Stiles finally turned toward the man and glared. He struggled to sit up more, wrapping an arm around his stomach. Derek’s eyes widened and the man tensed, but when Stiles snarled at him, he went still. 

Derek looked at him like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and the man was begging him not to jump. Stiles hated it.

“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, Derek! I don’t know what you want me to say!”

Derek’s eyes flashed red but he didn’t say a word. Stiles looked sharply away, trying to swallow down the lump rising in his throat.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Derek,” he murmured. “There’s something wrong in my head. I’m just so tired.”

Derek was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached over and caught Stiles’s hand, fingers threading through his own. Stiles tried to swallow the knot in his throat but he still gasped lightly as he felt Derek pull some of the pain from his injury. 

Because right now, that was really all the man could do. Stiles’s eyes burned a little and he determinedly didn’t look in Derek’s direction. Until the man rubbed a thumb over the back of his hand and sighed.

“There’s nothing off in your head, Stiles,” he said. “I promise.”

“I’m not trying to get myself killed.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to die, Derek.”

The man’s hold tightened, even though there were no more black lines creeping up his arm. Derek never drew away. He’d never drawn away, Stiles noticed. Not once.

Not months ago. Not now.

“I know, Stiles.”

Stiles turned to face him, burying his face in the man’s shoulder as he held him tighter. Stiles didn’t know exactly what he needed, but right now maybe this was enough. This was… something. This was a step forward instead of standing still.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Derek said. “I promise.”

“And if something were?”

“I’d be here.”

“And if it’s not, but it doesn’t go away?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, pulling back and brushing a thumb over his cheek. “I’m here.”

Stiles swallowed hard. Because Derek was., he always had been. For months now.

“I know,” Stiles whispered. “I know.”

And he did.

- -

Stiles felt it like a coming storm.

He thought that was totally cliche and a little ridiculous, but it was also the only thing he could compare it to. ‘It’ being the weight that lowered itself further and further onto his shoulders, that is. Like grins he didn’t completely feel and exhaustion behind his eyes that he couldn’t just sleep away.

Stiles felt it like a coming storm and he was pretty sure that as things went on, he was experiencing a hurricane. 

But he never really faced it alone.

There was a man that always came through his window, even when Stiles had just been at the loft hours earlier. He’d bring a book, he’d sit in the corner, and he’d just be there. Even if Stiles flat out ignored him for hours at a time.

There was a man that made canned soup, lugged Stiles into hot showers, and made sure that he didn’t get himself killed when the monster of the week decided to show up.

There was a man that promised he’d come, promised he’d stay, and never once left Stiles’s side. Even when Stiles felt weary,

Weary, he decided, was it. He was weary, sometimes, and it took more than a few smiles or a few naps to make it go away. Through the normal, the supernatural, and everything in between, Stiles found it so easy to be weary. But Derek was somehow always there. 

He was always there through the storm.

There was always a book left on Stiles’s desk for when Derek came back.

- -

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