#and i want to shoot more polaroids!!!! all the old ones are from at least a year ago..............

[gremlingottoosilly]

Just one shot [Military photographer!Reader x CoD characters]

You successfully escaped the hell of the art school — in debt, with nothing but your(shitty) camera, a diploma and disappointed parents who never understood your life choices. Being a part if the military wasn’t your first option, but what else can you do? And at least, people here are fun to work with…

Content: female!Reader, lots of bad jokes, young!Reader, nationality is not stated but has a strong accent, a little bit of angst, I have really vague understanding of the army, Reader is short&not really strong, slow burn, Reader is shy and not very social

Focus in this chapter: Soap x Reader

📸🤨

You never wanted to be part of the military — Jesus, even the mere thought of confrontation with someone made you shiver. Maybe, that’s why you always hid behind the camera lenses. Your very first phone with shitty pixelated pho quality, slightly less grainy old polaroid from your father — you were always clinging to the feelings of calm and safety that came with waiting for the right moment.

Hiding was always easier — from your peers, from annoying adults that would keep bothering you about slightest things. Why you were so quiet, why you haven’t made any friends throughout all of your school years. Why you decided to study in art college, knowing full well that your parents would never support your decision. Perhaps, it was just another way to escape. You made a few friends, people who you barely knew but who were just as quiet and meek as you are, so you could hang out without bothering each other too much.

You weren’t rich enough for unpaid internships and high quality equipment, so your options after the graduation were…few, to say the least. No matter how many weddings you filmed and how much you were paid for kids albums, it was never enough to cover both your student loans and basic necessities. You tried working more, eating less, basically running from one side of the town to and just for a few photoshoots that would allow you to barely scrape for rent with two roommates and food on sale. You knew that this can’t go on — and you felt the pressure on your shoulders with each part time job that you had to take.

There is a saying — military for a male is the same as being a stripper for a woman — so you decided that joining would be…well, better than nothing. It’s not like you had many other options, to be honest. Either this, or enjoying the sweet embrace of even more loans piling up right until you would be forced to sell your camera and beg for someone to kill you quickly. At least, army hired photographers. And promised huge money, weekly leaves and, of course, free housing. Lots of adventures also — aren’t this great?

📸📸📸

It wasn’t…half as bad as you anticipated. Worse, actually. Two months of training almost made you question everything that you previously experienced in your life, considering the fact you were never athletic or interested in combat trainings. Almost every of your sparring sessions failed so miserably, that you were the only recruit who got forced in only doing the shooting trainings. Perhaps, instructors were afraid that some of your teammates would just kill you one day in close combat imitation, and this would leave the whole base without only person who would finish the yearbook and could hold camera straight.

Close combat was humiliating, considering that the only thing you have to show for yourself is your tiny size and your speed — that never actually helped you without a weapon to help. You, however, quickly found out that sniper trainings are not as different from some of your field trips to make photos of local fauna. You liked sitting in one place for minutes or even hours, gently pressing the trigger whenever a right training target would show up — and was it different from sitting in the wild of your hometown, trying to catch a rabbit on your old camera? The results of shooting trainings almost made you a sniper — but you still convinced the instructor to just let you do your thing and filming the content for a military paper that no one would read.

Maybe, that’s why you ended up here — standing in front of a tall(well, pretty much everyone is taller than you) person with a mohawk. Fashion choice that made you squint and blink a couple times just to see that he really is having this haircut. And smiling at you with expression that didn’t make you feel safe and comfortable, at all. If anything, his smile made you feel shiver running down your spine, and heat coming to your cheeks. You was never good in talking to attractive people. Or talking in general.

— What ya doing here, lassie? Sure ya ain’t lost?

You, with all kind regards and politeness that were forced into you by the trainers, had no idea what this man was talking about. Everything that you knew about him was his callsign — Soap, guy with weird ass haircut — and that he is a sergeant. So, your first victim to making a good photos for Task Force yearbook — even if this particular group only had like 4 people. 5, if someone stupid enough would dare to include you.

— I, um… — ah, you were never good at small talks, and just wanted to make a quick portfolio photo and get this over your to-do list.

— A photo for the yearbook. It’s, um, it’s kind off mandatory, but we can do it wherever you would be comfortable. We still have time, so yeah, no pressure.

— Wait. Ye tellin me that a bonnie like ye going to make a photo if me? Shite, should have dressed nicer.

You really, really tried to understand him. But between blushing at his mannerisms and trying to maintain confident eye contact, basic hearing comprehension fall as a casualty of war. You licked your lips, steadying the caners in your hands. At least you are professional enough to not have them shaking.

— We don’t have to do this now, but a sight of you in almost in full uniform would make a good natural photo, so…just a quick one, sir, I promise.

— Aye, let’s get this over with. Can’t make a lassie wait ‘til am get out of shower. Going all natural, eh?

For one scary, deadly second, you imagined making a nude calendar with him. This would certainly find its audience, and would be a great way for you to make money, but…wait, what are you even thinking? You are in army, goddamit, not in college!

You smiled awkwardly, positioning your camera in more comfortable way. Just a few photos in front of a plain wall — just like you did with school photoshoots. The only difference is that the army actually gave you a better and more expensive equipment, so now you can even have a tripod that is not some garbage from Aliexpress. Truly, your country cares about you.

— Just…do your thing, sir. Pose however you like, I will make a couple options for us to choose from later.

He smiled more wide, as he changed his pose a little bit — broad shoulders, eyebrows raised. A riffle in his hands to not let anyone forget that you in the middle of military base, and you are nothing but a silly girl who decided that going into wolf’s den would be a good idea. At least this wolf seems harmless enough.

Then he decides to wink and only your professionalism saved you from dropping the tripod in the ground.

📸📸📸

— I will find you when I will be done with editing the photos, okay?

— What’s there to edit, eh? Though my natural braw was enough?

— It sure is, sir, it’s just a couple light tweaks, some color adjustments…nothing really, you are a pleasant…model to work with.

You wanted to die from being embarrassed so much — judging by the bright redness of your face, you were supposed to pass out from the amount of blood coming to your head, an hour’s ago.

— Alright, lassie. See yer around. Never knew we would have such bonnie in our ranks. You sure yer ain’t civie?

— I passed combat trainings just like you, so, um, I quite sure that I’m not a civilian anymore. Being a photographer is a valid job, you know…

— Sure is, hen. Just don’t get in the way, alright?

You are not entirely sure whether he liked you or not — the way he was winking and smiling at you during the photoshoot made you flutter, but then he started talking again and…you are feeling out of place. Like a fish being dragged out of the water and forced to climb the tress among a crowd of wild cats. Yes, that is exactly how you are feeling right now.

— I would try my best.

You hated how weak you sounded — but you can clearly understand why he look at you this way. For him, you are most certainly just a dumb little doll who is trying to fit in while not even having enough muscles to lift a riffle without struggling. And with such arbitrary job as yours are…

How exactly are you going to fit in?

🧼🧼🧼

Lassie was…he can’t exactly explain why there is something wrong with her and he can clearly see it, but she was weird. Not fitting up certainly — not with this meek look on her face, a shaky camera and small posture that almost made him want to grab her by the collar, like a cat, and throw her right in his bed outside of the base.

Johny liked how the new recruit would blush almost each time he would say something, and how soft her voice sounded — the first time he saw a girl in the military who is openly showing her weaknesses. It almost made him scared for her. It almost made him angry, because while he is a good man who will bot take advantage of her shy personality, he knows about people who certainly will.

Photos were great, however. Perhaps, he would have to keep an eye for anyone who will try to harm this little lassie. At least, until he would decide, what he should feel about her.

[leeahqueen]

Lee (Spending your Birthday)

The Gray Raven lounge returned to its former tranquility. I walked back to my room along the deserted corridor, and saw Lee waiting at the door.

Read: Noan | Lamia

Lee: Happy birthday, commandant. 

It’s amazing. I can’t count how many times I said this blessing, but every time I celebrate your birthday, I still have a different feeling. 

Unknowingly, I began to look forward to spending every birthday with you. 

So, this year I prepared this gift. 

He handed over a thick photo album, which seemed to contain at least dozens of photos. 

Skk: Thank you. What is this? 

Lee: Instead of me explaining this in words, it may be better for you to see it yourself. 

Skk: (Open photo album) 

Opening the photo album, the first page showed the photos of the Gray Raven, and everyone celebrating Christmas for the first time. 

Nanami ran over from behind and hugged Liv, Lucia smiled beside her, and Lee stood behind and watched them quietly. 

One the second page, it was New Year’s Eve, and everyone gathered together in the lounge of Gray Raven to make Spring Festival couplets. 

As I scroll further down, there are more and more people, and the picture becomes more and more lively. But at every party, everyone will be photographed completely, and flipping through the photo album is like returning to those warm nights. 

Skk: It turned out to be a photo collection. You took photos of every party. 

Lee: Because I thought it might come in handy one day like it does now. 

It is precisely because we don’t know what will happen tomorrow that we want to use various ways to preserve the memories we spend together. 

Skk: I feel the same way as you. When you look through the photo album, memories from the past will gradually come back to you. 

Lee: It seems like everything happened yesterday, right? 

A faint smile that was difficult for outsiders to detect appeared on the blond construct's face. 

Skk: Although I really like this photo and the memories in it... This photo album still has some insufficient for me. 

Hearing this sentence, a rare hint of surprise appeared on Lee’s usually calm expression. 

Lee: Insufficient? That’s... 

Skk: There are no commemorative photo of me and you on this year’s birthday. 

Lee: (Blush) Ah... 

As if he had made a stupid mistake, Lee opened his mouth slightly and was so annoyed that he did not say the next sentence for a long time. 

His expression was like a domino that had been carefully built for several days. When he was about to knock down the last card, he realized that he had forgotten to set the Easter egg at the end if the row. 

However, his annoyance quickly dissipated, and he quickly took out an instant camera called a ‘Polaroid’ from the old days. 

Lee: This is a camera I borrowed from the Art Association. I originally planned to wait the birthday party started before taking commemorative photos as usual. 

But I discovered that there is no need to wait that long at all. 

Skk: Indeed. Then let’s shoot now. 

Lee: Um... the two of us.... 

Hmm... The two of us need to stand closer. 

If you hold the camera like this, you should be able to get both of us in the viewfinder. 

Lee walked up to the me, raised the camera slightly stiffly above his head, and focused the lens on the two of us. 

Lee: Are you ready? Then... 

Skk: Three? 

Lee: Two, one-- 

Click. 

The flash exploded instantly with bright electric sparks, freezing the moment forever. 

The film outlet under the camera slowly split out a piece of film, and two figures slowly appeared on the pure white color layer. 

After a while, the film was finally developed. 

The smile of the two people was shrunk on the small piece of paper, looking warm and lively. 

Lee: It seems like you are quite satisfied with this photo. 

Skk: You took the photo very well. 

Just as I was about to go and put the photo away, my arm was pulled by another force. 

When I turned around, I saw that it was Lee holding me back. 

Lee: Wait, since the commandant now has a photo, to be fair... 

He shook the camera with a lot of film in his hand. 

Lee: The commandant also needs to leave a photo for me. 

Read: Noan | Lamia

[booburt]

Hi, I've been wondering for the photography AU what general time period it's set in, what type of camera(s) does Koby use (it looks like a canon to me but seems to make polaroids, at least that's the surface level observation I can make from my extremely limited knowledge on cameras), what type of photography he personally enjoys and the type he usually does for work (if he does it as his profession too). What does Koby aim to capture with his images, the casual mundane life of an average person, an unreal, etheral sight in a place the average person can't go, Luffy's luffiness, etc? Also what's the general budget Koby has towards camera equipment (doesn't need to be that exact, just a general "he's broke" or "He spends all his money on lenses" would suffice)? My questions are kinda vague here because I'm going to research more about photography later. Thanks in advance :D Oh yeah and also does Koby travel, if not what's the general landscape of his nearby area. You don't need to answer this since I'll probably make it up but it'd be good to know.

okok i wrote this all in the few free periods i got earlier take what you will ^_^

also a doodle i did ages aaaaago with a bit of slightly illegible info in my awful handwriting (sorry)

actual answer vvv

- its a modern au!! so set like. now!

- koby uses sony cameras primarily but yes he does have a few canons (nikon confuses him)

- he has a seperate polaroid camera!!! he usually prints digitally from sd though

- for type of photography, he started with a passion for ocean and landscape photography, mostly beaches and any scene with water in focus. he also has an interest in portraiture but his love for portraiture only comes to play when he meets luffy. cheese cheese cheeeesyyyy because luffy smiles and hes IMMEDIATELY enamoured. anyway, he starts to study and practice portraiture in depth because of the pretty boy he met in maths class and eventually works up the courage to ask him to model for him. they get super close and eventually start dating; luffy likes how dedicated koby is to his work and how cute he is when he blushes.

-SORDY got carried away with the sappy lovey stuff. koby sells his landscape/wildlife photography at local stores as a side hustle thing haha. but he doesnt really do it professionally, he much prefers to keep it as a hobby / simple income.

- koby aims to capture the beauty of colour! he loves vibrancy when shooting with a softbox or some other source of light he will usually use something to change the hue rather than plain old bw on a simple white bg

- following on he HATES shooting black and white photos unless theyre negatives because idk i think he would think it looks cool. what a guy

- with luffy photography he just likes catching luffys smile or just luffy in general; whipped dud!!! he thinks he is gorgeous

- ahahhhh budget budgettt. lenses are fucking EXPENSIVE!!! he uses a 50mm that helmeppo got him for his birthday one year (rich kid stuff. he knew koby likes photography and searched Best Lense For People Pictures and bought the first one he saw) the 50 is canon as consequence so koby uses canon for loofy pics. he has an 18-55mm he uses as well.

- he is broke yes. koby does have a minimum wage weekend job to pay for living expenses but all in all that boys pockets are empty. luffy is the breadwinner (miss rabbit with the one zillion jobs) he works about 4 different jobs and is happy to pay for anything koby wants despite kobys adamant NOs. like i said he gets helmeppo to pay for a bunch of stuff and helmeppo pays on his dads card LOL.

- koby does travel! mainly by train or boat, not often does he go to an entirely different country but he has previously a few times. when he does go abroad he takes luffy with him!!!! (he looks pretty in the snow. he likes taking pictures of him in snow)

IM SO GLAD SOMEONE LIKES MY AU ENOUGH TO ASK ME THIS MANY QUESTIONS LMAO i had fun answering all of this !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[kozuwhore]

[ ♡ ] LIVCHU ⨾ also known as chuliv, nakatome and saohara.

000 ─ FIRST MEETING the port mafia is a dangerous organisation in japan. the strongest survived and the weakest were left for dead, so why the hell did someone like olivia join people like that? it's not like she couldn't go back now; she's already rented a small apartment and vowed to her mother that she'll come back to the uk with a fresh personality that was guaranteed to make the elder woman happy about having a better, strong willed older sister. even if that meant patching up japan's most wanted criminals.

as a nurse-in-training, olivia was lucky enough to not get sent out to help those who are injured and only waited for her co-workers to return. one co-worker in particular was osamu dazai, her suicidal and eccentric best friend. sure, they both have different reasons as to why they're in the mafia and they might not be the most ideal people to befriend, but at least they made it work and could only look forward to a better future. but in dazai's case, he felt as though he wanted to die more and more after meeting a certain ginger named chuuya nakahara.

per usual, olivia was waiting at the port mafia base, reading one of the few mangas she brought with her upon moving only to be disrupted by the sounds of loud bickering entering the room. naturally, she grew annoyed at dazai as she recognised his voice, but soon shut her mouth when taking notice of chuuya next to him. he wasn't that much taller than her, but she was sure the rest of his height went straight to his quick to anger attitude as he asked her "what the hell she was looking at".

not only does she have to suffer from the mental distress of having a suicidal friend, but now she has a cocky smartass on her case too. 'hopefully the boys aren't as bad as back home' she said and now she wants to shoot herself for thinking different.

001 ─ STATUS OF RELATIONSHIP ↳ married (current) ↳ friends / exs (former)

002 ─ TROUPES ↳ one head taller ↳ like an old married couple ↳ childhood friends romance ↳ unresolved sexual tension ↳ break her heart to save her ↳ everyone can see it ↳ red oni, blue oni ↳ achilles heel ↳ heroes want redheads ↳ the damn big kiss ↳ held gaze ↳ enemies to lovers ↳ love is a weakness ↳ all girls want bad boys ↳ brooding boy, gentle girl

003 ─ PLAYLIST ↳ bad romance by lady gaga ↳ hard boy by frawley ↳ the archer by taylor swift ↳ dress by taylor swift ↳ animals by maroon five ↳ criminal by britney spears ↳ i don't wanna live forever by zayn ft taylor swift ↳ eyes don't lie by isabela larosa ↳ friends by chase atlantic ↳ hate me by ellie goulding ft juice wrld

004 ─ COUPLE THINGS ↳ secret meet ups ↳ code names when talking to friends (nicknames) ↳ reading each other to sleep ↳ try new restaurants ↳ slow dancing ↳ playing piano ↳ gift giving ↳ skincare / facemasks ↳ adjusting a piece of clothing ↳ making out behind places with their coworkers are nearby ↳ matching promise rings on necklaces ↳ polaroid pictures in pockets ↳ doing each other's hair

005 ─ GRAPHICS

[slaasherslut]

Items Ava has saved in a shoe box that Lester has given her and other items that remind her of him

Avana Walker x Lester Sinclair

Lester is the literal embodiment of a raccoon. Hes always scampering around and shoving things he finds cool in his pockets. Some he keeps for himself for his truck or to scatter them around his home. Other times though he picks them up with the intention on giving it to Ava. Hes always on the lookout for things that remind him of her or things he thinks she would like. Ava started collecting all of his little gifts in a shoe box she keeps under their bed on her side. Some of these things include:

Various small skulls.

Lester is always coming home with little skulls for her to clean up. He always tells her exactly where he found them and what animal it was. The first time he brought Ava to his cabin she gushed about the giant deer skull hanging on a wall. He showed her some more of his smaller ones. Like a few cats, birds, mice, even a fox or two. The way her eyes lit up at the macabre collection made him feel all fuzzy inside. He wanted her to get that look again and again, so he kept bringing her skulls he finds on the forest floor and in ditches.

Rocks.

This man always has at least one rock is his pocket at all times, you cant change my mind about that. He always collects them for both Ava and Ellie. Some nights when Les has to work late and Ava goes to bed before he gets home, she'll wake up to him sleeping peacefully next to her and a new rock on her night stand. He will hand them to her and say things like, "Baby, I found this real pretty rock! Reminds me of yer eyes, doncha think?"

The first bullet she ever fired.

Not long after deciding to stay in Ambrose, Ava found Lester's rifle in the back of the closet. She figured it was mostly used for hunting but at this point Lester had yet to tell her that he used it more often on people than animals. She asked Les a few times to teach her how to shoot but he was very hesitant. Partly at the fact that his overwhelming need to protect her wanted to keep her away from such a deadly weapon. The other part was that he would be handing her one of his murder weapons. When he finally caved he took her out behind his cabin and had her aim for a tree Ellie had previously hung a bird feeder on. Lester stood behind her, hands ghosting her body as he taught her the proper posture and hand placements. He made sure she was paying attention and was very serious when he explained how the rifle worked. Her first shot landed in the trunk of the tree. Lester whistled. "Yeah baby! Look atcha! Right on target!" He made a mental note of where the bullet hit and Ava fired off a few more rounds. Before they packed up and went inside, he used his hunting knife to dig the ruined bullet out from the bark and shoved it in the breast pocket of his shirt before heading back inside.

Photographs

Some were taken with Bo's DSLR and some were taken with Ava's Polaroid camera. A few of Ava's favourites include: - The photo Ava took with Percy and Ellie on their lake trip with the boys. The photo is of soaking wet Ava mid shoving the other two girls behind her into the lake. - Her favourite photos of her and Lester are at a bonfire that the group got together to do. Vincent had taken them, there was three. In the first photo, Lester is leaning his back against a stump they used as a makeshift seat and Ava is all cuddled up with a blanket in between his legs. Shes laughing at one of Bo's old stories and hes just looking down at her with a love struck smile. The second photo is much of the same but shes looking up at him. The third has the two of them sharing a sweet kiss. - A photo Bo took of Ava and Percy cuddling together in Bo's guest room. Lester was working late that night and Ava's anxiety got the best of her. The house just kept making strange sounds and it was so dark outside. On top of that the house felt so lonely without Les being around. She walked over the the Sinclair home and Percy pulled her inside, leading her up to their guest room that used to be Lester's old bedroom and snuggled with her until they both fell asleep. - Another one is of Lester and Ellie. The two best friends were in the pond behind the cabin looking for frogs. Ava was making them lunch as they goofed off and laughed together. Once she finished up making lunch she looked out the window to see if she could spot them and she could. Ellie and Les were both crouched next to each other at the ponds edge. Ava grabbed her camera and snuck outside to let them know that food was ready, but not before snapping a photo of the two.

☾ tag list: @rottent33th @cries-in-latino @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @the-pinstriped-hood @allthingsblood @25bohemianmoons

message me if you want to be added to my tag list!

[rnoonsetter]

need to talk myself out of buying polaroids

[sluttywonwoo]

Omg maknae line for the polaroid reaction pls i love it AND YOUR WRITING

hyung line

seokmin: seokmin is mortified when seungcheol tells him that he'd accidentally posted something inappropriate on his close friends story, and he's even more mortified when he realizes it's a nude of you. luckily, his leader had caught it early, and not many people had viewed the story (not that he had many people on his close friends list to begin with), but seokmin is still burning with embarrassment as he texts you to explain. it was a genuine mistake, something he'd missed in the background when he took a picture of his desk setup, but he still feels awful. thankfully, you're not upset with him over it.

mingyu: he has the photo in one hand, his cock in the other, and he's right about to cum all over his stomach when joshua barges into his room, causing him to throw the polaroid in his direction. joshua only catches a glimpse, but he's judging hardcore. "seriously, man? you know they made facetime for this exact reason., right? i mean, at the very least you could sext her."

minghao: jihoon looks entirely too happy for six am, and minghao is suspicious before he even gets in the car. "this is for you," jihoon says and holds out a polaroid picture for him to take. it's a picture of you in nothing but a bra and panties and minghao has no idea how his member got a hold of it. "your girlfriend asked me to deliver it," he explained before minghao had the chance to strangle him. he curses under his breath and tucks the photo into his pocket, muttering a quick "thanks" to the man in the passenger seat. what the fuck were you trying to pull? you couldn't have at least put the picture in an envelope? clearly, you wanted jihoon to see the picture. and you wanted to minghao to know jihoon had seen it. whatever it was, you'd pay for it later.

seungkwan: late as always, seungkwan is the last to slip into the conference room with his iced americano for their group meeting. in a rush to be seated, he drops all of his things on the table at once, not noticing something fly out of his notebook. mingyu slides it back across the table a moment later, lips pursed. seungkwan's quick to shove it back into the journal, but not before shooting a death glare at poor mingyu who had just been trying to help.

vernon: he'd told jun that he could borrow a pen from his backpack, but a pen is not what jun finds. instead, he comes across one of those film pictures taken on a really old polaroid... it's a picture of you, of course, jun had seen several like these before... except you were naked in this one. which was different. and something he was not supposed to see. he tries shoving the polaroid back into the backpack before vernon catches him, but he's too late. vernon snatches the entire bag from his hands and tosses him a pen himself. it was an accident. vernon can't even be mad, though he wants to be. "next time, remind me to grab whatever it is you need for you."

chan: who the fuck leaves nude pictures hanging on their fridge?? lee chan, that's who... apparently. to be fair, minghao hadn't told him he was coming over to your apartment beforehand, but really? your ass on display for anyone in the kitchen to see? there was a little note that chan had scrawled on the bottom too that minghao wishes he could erase from his memory. clearly, chan had stayed the night and left you (and unfortunately minghao) a surprise for when you woke up to remind you of your antics from the night before. all minghao had wanted was an egg or two for the cake he was trying to bake and now he had to navigate this awkward situation. chan doesn't even panic when he sees hao standing in the middle of your apartment. he knows you two are friends, he knows you gave hao the code to the front door. but then he sees minghao glancing at the refrigerator as if he's trying to tell him something and it dawns on him. "fuck." minghao just nods. "please pretend you didn't see that." "i wish i hadn't. you're an idiot." "tell me something i don't know."

[rek1s-headband]

hi! figured i’d drop a request for you :))! Maybe some general bf hcs for reki and langa? Just in general how they would be as a boyfriend or how they would act in a relationship?

Hi!! Thank you so much for your request, I’ve been excited to do one of these. I hope you enjoy it!

➯ random boyfriend headcannons

➯ characters: Reki Kyan and Langa Hasegawa x gn reader

➯ warnings: none! Just some fluff for these two boys:)

Reki:

-Literally the most enthusiastic person you’ve ever seen. He’d be happy to just sit in silence with you because come on, it’s YOU. There’s no one he’d rather be wasting the hours away with.

-Your biggest hype man, EVER. You post something on Instagram? Get ready for a flood of comments, all from him. You could put your phone down for two minutes after posting, and you’ll come back to 99+ notifications of just reki commenting along the lines of “woah suddenly I’m on one knee” “DAMNNNN” and many, many more.

-Never leave your phone unattended around him. He won’t snoop, but be prepared to come back to your camera roll flooded with just zoomed in pictures of his face, his mouth, his eye, ANYWHERE. Mf is spamming your whole phone with pictures of him for you to come back to.

-He has to always be touching you in some way. Whether it’s holding your hand, your waist, a casual arm around your shoulder, there has to be something. He’ll put his hand on your ass sometimes while you walk in public.

-Honestly doesn’t even think PDA is anything out of the ordinary. Like, you’re his s/o??? Yes you’re in his lap, yes you’re in the middle of the skatepark, so what? You’re his, and he’s happy he can make everyone aware of that.

-I saw a post on here that said he would peel stickers off fruit and stick them to peoples’ foreheads, and I fully stand by this. However, it doesn’t just stop at fruit stickers. Anything remotely sticky, whether it’s tags from clothes, tape from a food box, even random sequins and bits of glitter he finds around, it’s immediately being stuck to some part of your face.

-Loves casual dates. Stopping by food stalls, browsing in clothes and game stores for a few hours, and skating around with you until it’s time to go home is a dream for him. Be prepared for day-long dates, because he will clear his entire schedule just to spend the day with you.

-His family adores you. His mother is always goading him to bring you over more, complaining that she misses her "honorary son/daughter/child". His sisters love you too. Any time you come over there’s immediately three tiny bodies shooting at you, grabbing you by the waist and dragging you over to wherever they’re playing. Reki tries to drag you away, wanting to have you for himself, but you always try and stay for at least five or ten minutes. Secretly, he loves that you get along so well with his siblings, going soft at the thought of how you would act with children of your own.

-He loves playing video games with you. Sitting in his lap, the two of you could spend hours switching from game to game. One minute you could be burning down a village in Minecraft, the next complaining while Reki whoops your ass in Mario Kart. His mom brings you food for your breaks between games, and she’ll even stay for a few minutes to talk to you while Reki shifts underneath you, glowing red from embarassment.

-If you can’t skate, he would beg to teach you. If you accept, he goes all out. He’ll make you your own customised board just for practicing, making sure it’s absolutely perfert for you to learn on. But if you can skate, get ready for endless races and competitions to see who can nail a new trick the quickest.

-Adores when you come to S to support him. He loves looking into the crowd and seeing you there cheering him on before he goes into a beef. If he wins, he’ll race over to where you are in the crowd, picking you up and spinning you around, kissing you without a care in the world. However, if he loses he’s thankful you’re always there to pick him back up and make him feel better afterwards.

-Loves cleaning you up after a big fall, kissing your bruises and cuts better. He’ll carefully wrap each injury with care, telling you how brave you are, no matter how small the cut. Secretly, he loves when you baby him after he falls himself. Seeing you wipe away the blood from a new cut and place a small plaster on it with such tenderness melts his heart in a way only you could.

-Speaking of plasters, this man has one for every occasion. Princesses, pirates, aliens, cats, dogs, sparkles, stripes, you name it, he’s got it.

-The type to sneak you out at two in the morning to get a slushee with him. Honestly, he’s up so late making boards for people he just has no perception of time.

-Spams your phone with TikToks or other funny things that reminds him of you. It could be a very specific thing, or a flower or cloud. If he thinks of you when he sees it(which is fairly often), it gets sent to you.

-Talks with his hands a lot. He’s a very expressive talker, so when he’s telling you a story it feels like you’re right there in the story with him.

-Please just kiss him. His cheeks, his forehead, his hand, his shoulder, his temples, his lips. Anywhere, he’ll melt under you. Mf is touch starved to the max.

-Always knows how to make you laugh. His laugh is infectious, it could get you out of your darkest moods.

-Sleeps with his head on your chest, and one hand in your shirt little perv.

-His social media is like a SHRINE for you. His highlights, his posts, his stories, EVERYWHERE. He’s just so proud to be able to call you his that he wants the whole world to know.

-Kisses in the rain while you run home, skateboards in your hands after the weather forecast failed you once again. He’s just so happy in the moment that he can’t contain himself, so he’s pulling you into him in the pouring rain, kissing you hard while your hair gets drenched.

-You don’t need to steal his clothes, he will literally give them to you because “you just look so cute wearing them”. Occasionally, he’ll take one of your hoodies, and even if it doesn’t exactly fit him, he’ll still keep it near him while he sleeps so he can keep your scent close to him.

Langa:

-This man is so oblivious to obvious hints, but still manages to pick up on the smallest of details? It’s incredible, honestly. He could describe the exact colour of your eyes with the most insane detail, but he still won’t notice when you try and hint that you like him in the first place!

-You two have a bit more of a low-key relationship, but you’ll make your usual appearance in his Instagram posts, or on his Snapchat story with a casual caption like a simple heart, or “my love<3”

-Not very big on PDA, not because he doesn’t like it, but because he doesn’t think of it. However, when he does feel like he’s being too physically distant, he’ll link pinkies with you as you walk along, or rest his head on your shoulder while you watch a video on your phone.

-His mom adores you, which is why Langa despises bringing you to his house. You always seem to leave with seven of his baby photos from his time snowboarding in Canada, a new recipe from his mother that you complimented, another one of his hoodies, and more miscellaneous stuff that you don’t even know how it ended up in your bag. He has a little shelf in your room specifically for this random stuff, and he always adds to the collection when he comes to your house. He’ll leave a keyring, a small toy, a Polaroid, anything honestly.

-Loves dates that you can experience. The movies, aquariums, museums and the zoo are common dates for the two of you to go on, but other than that, he adores going skateboarding with you. He’s been improving, and he loves when you notice little things he’s been picking up on, whether it be a new trick or simply how he balances himself on the board.

-Adores old Disney movies. Yall will binge a ton of them in one day, having full-blown musicals in Langa’s living room. When any of the romantic songs come on, like “So this is Love” from Cinderella, Langa will stand up and offer his hand to you, as the two of you waltz around his sitting room, humming the tune of the song.

-Study dates are frequent with the two of you. If you happen to stay up late studying and fall asleep on each other, his mother will cover the two of you with a blanket, tidying some of your books and leaving with a smile, happy with the knowledge you were making her son the happiest he’s been in quite a while.

-Slow dancing in the kitchen while you cook is a regular. When a particularly sappy love song comes on while he stirs the pot, he’ll turn around and hold you close to him, twirling you around the kitchen.

-Reki constantly jokes that he is a third wheel, poking fun at the two of you, Cherry and Joe, and Shadow and “his little girlfriend back at the flower shop”. He’ll hang out of Miya, whining about them having to stick together since they’re the only two “lone wolves”. He’ll usually get a well-earned thump into the back of the head from Miya, but it’s still funny to watch the whole thing go down.

-Tends to be shy when giving you clothes, so instead of asking you to wear them he’ll leave them out in places he knows you’ll find them, or he’ll come up behind you and plop it in your lap, murmuring about how cute it would look on you.

-Please do this man’s makeup. He will sit so still for you, waiting patiently while you dab eyeshadow at his eyes, trying not to blink so you don’t mess up his mascara. He’ll sit there mesmerised for a few minutes, taking in how he looks, and simply whisper “you do this every day?”

-Evem though he’s not a very openly affectionate person, he is stuck to your hip behind closed doors. He’ll lie in your lap for hours, staring up at you while you mess with his hair, pulling it into little plaits and pigtails.

-I can’t even describe how the two of you sleep. It’s simply a mass of limbs, and no one knows exactly what belongs to who. Somehow one of yall will end up upside down, and-why is Langa on the floor??

-He could talk about his time in Canada for hours, and you’d just lie on his chest and listen to him. Every once in a while he’ll look down at you to see if you’re still listening, and his heart will melt a little every time he sees you staring back up at him, eyes wide with interest.

-This man NEVER gets jealous. You’d literally have to cling to another man for it to click in his brain that Oh. He doesn’t like that.

-He’s not big on texting, but if you call him he will stay on that call with you for hours, even after the two of you fall asleep.

-Whenever he falls(which is quite often), you’ll always have plasters on hand to help fix him up. He always flushes bright red when you kiss his cuts better, and never knows just what to do with himself afterwards.

-When he skates against tough opponents, you’ll always give him a kiss for good luck. Of course, this doesn’t stop you worrying, but you know Langa wouldn’t go out of his way to get injured. And if he does, well, at least he’ll have you there to kiss his bruises better.

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hi! Could I get HC from the guys? 👀 How they would always react to catching the reader seeing them "badly", in addition to the fact that he usually avoids them, but with his brothers it is incredible and they feel bad because they think they do not like him.  But she actually likes them and she looks at them like that because she "studies" them to draw them and she is too clumsy and shy to talk to them, that's why she ends up avoiding them. Until finally he catches her drawing them with lots of hearts or maybe they'll find her notebook with lots of portraits of them.

It's kind of funny because when I study people to draw them, they think that I look at them with hatred xd maybe I should increase my glasses prescription

God, glasses are such a pain in the ass but I have to wear them. If I don't anyone within my near vicinity doesn't have a face. But why they gotta get dirty so easily???? Makes me wanna explode or something

TMNT Headcanons

The boys w/ a quiet reader who is fine with his brothers but acts cold around him and stares a lot

Michaelangelo

mikey couldn't describe his disappointment upon realizing that you didn't want to be friends with him

well, you never actually said that to him

but he was pretty sure it was the case

you'd never made an effort to be friends with him

stared at him an awful lot though, but there was always something off about your gaze when you looked at him

like you were sizing him up, scrutinizing him, like he was an opponent

it kinda worried him

to add to that, you didn't even attempt to look embarrassed when he caught you staring

you'd just stare harder

on your end it was quite the opposite

you always found the brothers fascinating and you LOVED studying their anatomy, you'd confessed this to Donnie early on and he happily indulged in your questions

and you loved how easily you got along with the boys

well, except for Mikey

but it wasn't for a lack of trying

whenever the orange sporting turtle came around your normally flamboyant personality crept back into its little corner and hid

any words of excitement that had previously been with you died in your throat

for the longest time you didn't understand it

and you hated not understanding things, so you turned to your only outlet

that's how you ended up with an entire sketchbook full of the youngest brother in vastly different styles and poses

you had a separate book for the others, none of them as detailed as this

and when you stared to analyze you'd fallen into a habit of not looking away when caught

by your logic, if you stared back hard enough he'd look away first or just assume you'd zoned out

he didn't

and on one hectic day you'd left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table in your rush to get to work

you hadn't even noticed the slip up until Leo texted you to let you know during your shift

instant panic

in truth, Mikey was the one who discovered the book upon waking up from his nap and he'd spent the next three hours analyzing every drawing

when you finally dropped in after work to grab your book the turtle was waiting for you with it in hand

he'd asked you if you hated him

you told him no and accepted your sketchbook from him

he was relieved and screaming excitedly, just in his head

"Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?"

You sighed in relief and nodded

"If you're cool with it- you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"I mean- you are talking to a turtle..."

you lightly shoved his chest and smiled, although it faded within a second

"Oh hush, 10 o'clock tomorrow? I'll bring snacks."

he was so stunned he could only shoot you finger guns in approval

Donatello

Donnie genuinely couldn't understand your unease around him

he'd followed all the proper expectations of holding a conversation

he was polite and engaging

so why wouldn't you talk to him?

this boy has read so many social blogs to try and figure out what he was doing wrong and he just couldn't put his finger on it

you were fine with the rest of his brothers, you'd stay up for hours laughing and gaming with them

you'd even sat still long enough to listen to Leo explain some old Japanese myth that he'd read about in a book

but with him it was always a quick, cordial greetings and farewells with bland small talk in between

Donnie had picked up pretty quickly that you weren't interested in any sort of interaction with him

and he convinced himself that that was okay

but that didn't explain the staring

he'd caught you in the act several times, eyes narrowed and locked on him

especially when you were alone with him in a room or just in the lair

the poor turtle just couldn't put his finger on it

then he caught you drawing, he noticed early on that you always carried a small sketchbook on your person but he didn't think much of it

and it wasn't so much that he caught you drawing, in fact, he wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't snapped at him while he was trying to do a sudoku puzzle

"Damn it Donnie! Stop moving! If I fuck this arm up one more time I'm gonna decompose!"

he'd quickly moved back into the position he was in prior

"sorry?"

but you'd gone silent again, occasionally glancing up from your work and running your eyes along his frame before looking down again

nearly twenty minutes later Donnie had finished the puzzle and it seemed as though you had finished your drawing

"Uh- can I ask what are you-"

"I'm drawing you but you kept moving your arm and making me mess up. You always do that when I draw you so every damn picture I have of you stays a sketch because you always come out looking like a fucking octopus."

He just stared

"Sorry, I uh- I didn't mean to explode on you like that. I'm just- I'm really bad at talking to you okay? It's so easy with everyone else but you've just gotta be so damn smart all the time and I worry that you'll think I'm boring so I just... don't talk to you?"

Donnie is stunned™

You refuse to show him the drawing until you can complete the line art and color it

But at least he knows that you don't hate him

Leonardo

To be completely honest Leo didn't mind that you were distant from him

You created an aura of calm when you were around and you always managed to distract his brothers while you were present

And he enjoyed the alone time

But after a few months that calm acceptance turned into jealousy

Not that he would ever admit it

He would just push it off and ignore it, that usually seemed to work

So why wasn't it?

And your obvious staring problem didn't help at all

Leo didn't spend much time considering his appearance but something about your gaze made him self conscious

And he hated that with a passion

Why was it that you could hold entire debates with his siblings? Even his dad for gods sake. You'd have hour long conversations on almost everything but whenever he tried to say hello you'd make up some lame ass excuse and scamper away

He just wanted an explanation

It appeared that the answer resided in your sketchbook

You'd left it open on the couch when Raph had called you away to spar with him

Leo very delicately flipped through the pages, careful not to disturb some of the polaroid pictures of his brothers

He was admittedly surprised to find pictures of himself among the pages

One of him in a handstand, another of him meditating, there was even one of him mid sneeze that you'd recreated with pencil and paper

The image of his eyes was the most startling, but the book held no polaroid of his eyes

You drew them from memory

And he was shocked when you returned to the room and didn't immediately panic

But that might have been because he didn't try to withhold your book from you

"It took me three months to color them, your eyes. I could never get the shade of blue just right."

"I'm gonna be honest with you y/n, I really thought you didn't like me."

You had the nerve to roll your eyes and follow it with a laugh

"I don't. I mean- I do but no, you just remind me a lot of myself and I haven't exactly figured out why yet. I thought that maybe if I drew you it'd be easier to figure you out..."

"Well did it help?"

You grinned

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Raphael

If there was one thing Raph hated it was not understanding something that was right in front of him

which is ironic, as a much younger version of himself probably couldn't care less

and a part of him wishes he didn't care about it so much

he wishes that your blatant avoidance of him didn't upset him

but shit, it got under his skin better than any needle ever could

was it too much to ask for you to just tell him what he said or did wrong?

was he asking too much of you?

but on the same scale you'd never shown obvious dislike towards him, you were never rude and you sure as hell didn't talk shit about him to his brothers

you got along great with them

in fact it was getting more difficult to remember a time before you became a part of his family

he'd become so used to your presence that it no longer put him off when he found you hanging around the lair

but in another sense he was certain that you hadn't spoken more than three sentences to him in your time knowing him or his family

so what was the reason

several months in he finally caught onto the staring, your narrow, glassy gaze locked onto his body and refusing to look away

he stared right back at you

this annoyed you for several reasons

because within five seconds your very peaceful drawing session had turned into a staring contest and your eyes were getting VERY dry

then you exhaled in a half-sigh and looked back down at your paper

"Huh, I guess your head is more of an oblong shape..."

he took offense to this

"What tha' hell is that supposed t'mean?"

now your eyes held more of an amused silent judgement, you begrudgingly held up your sketchbook

"I'm drawing you, you fucking walnut."

"Oh..."

now you rolled you eyes and tossed the book to him, he nearly dropped it and fumbled with the pages

your annoyance was quickly growing

"Careful with that."

He flipped through the pages at a snails pace, assumingly because he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing

you had some real talent

when he looked back up at you he was wearing that crooked smile

"and here I was thinkin' that my eyes were just green."

Hope I was able to get this down pretty well! I really enjoyed writing this one! Thanks for the patience!

-Mars 🌠

[namjoonchronicles]

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’ 

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

.

.

.

.

.

copyright © 2020 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading

[mckennamayfairgoode]

Don’t Leave Me Now, You Might Love Me Back

Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: In which feelings get involved in a friends with benefits situation and you are tired of watching Billie Dean Howard walk away.

Warnings: Just a little angst and some pining. Also implied smut, but nothing too graphic. As a treat.

Song: One Day by Sharon Van Etten

A/N: I’m not saying all of my fics will be angsty with a side of yearning, but I’m not saying they won’t be either. 🤷‍♀️ This one kind of ran away with me. Hopefully it’s comprehensible, at least.

The faint sound of a soft indie song plays through the speakers in your apartment, a gentle melody that makes you think of morning walks in the springtime. A time you tend to keep to yourself, selfishly maybe, but one you treasure. You cherish those moments when you can see the world beginning to wake up around you. When spouses send their significant others off with a kiss at the front door, children tote their backpacks to the bus stop, dogs are walked, mail is delivered, life blooms. You cherish it, and when you can, you capture those moments like lightning bugs in a jar.

You lay on your stomach spread across the bed sideways with your feet hanging off the edge and the sheets twisted around your hips like an octopus. You’re opening the hatch of your old Polaroid camera when lips begin to trail kisses up your spine. Shivers follow in their wake, leaving goosebumps along your skin. “I don’t understand your fascination with that old thing,” her voice husks from behind you. Long, acrylic nails travel up your bare sides as she crawls on top of you. 

A smile plays at the corners of your mouth. “Careful, Billie Dean,” you tease without malice. “There’s a lot I could say regarding my ‘fascination’ with things older than me.”

Billie laughs, low and husky, from the back of her throat. The tingle it shoots down your body makes your toes curl. “Oh, darling, we both know the consequences of you saying anything like that.” She nips at each of your shoulder blades, one after the other. Her actions are slow and purposeful, just enough to tease you, to torment, to torture but never enough to hurt. Her nose follows a path up the back of your neck before you feel her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” she asks, coming to rest completely on top of you in a pile of skin and limbs and warmth. 

Your eyes flutter closed, your hands pausing in their motions as you get distracted. The smirk you feel against your skin causes your belly to jolt pleasantly. “Do we?” you ask playfully, once you feel you can speak without your voice wavering, just to see how she’ll react. As you always do. A part of you is aware that playing with fire is a mistake, but deep down, you know it’s a mistake you will make again and again. You would withstand the heat a thousand times if it meant you could sit in her fire, let her flames consume you whole, and remember how it felt for her to burn you right up. 

Billie captures your earlobe between her teeth. She bites down gently, just once in reprimand, before letting go. You swallow the moan in your throat and go back to your Polaroid. Billie Dean loves to play games and she is infinitely better at them than you are. From the moment you met her, you were destined to lose. 

Her arms come up around your neck, cheek brushing against yours as she settles her chin on your shoulder. You can feel her eyes following the movements of your fingers. “Tell me,” she demands quietly.

You hum. “Tell you what?” 

She pinches your hip playfully and smirks to herself when your body jerks beneath her. “What’s so special about this camera? You know phones do it better, right?” 

You huff, throwing her a look out of the corner of your eye. “Yes, but phones are so impersonal.” You pull out the old film cartridge and throw it on your bedside table, sliding a new one in place and securing the hatch. “If you take a picture with this, you’re in the moment. You’re a part of it.” You raise the camera above your head, just enough to get the right angle. “You get one shot and you have to make it count.” You look at the camera and click the shutter release button. There’s a whirr as the picture drops free and slides through the slot. You grab it and give it a few shakes, before turning and showing it to Billie. “One shot, one memory. Right here.”

She hums, a peach colored nail tracing the edge of the photograph. “It is a nice picture,” she admits. Your triumphant smile lasts only a few moments before she speaks again. “Until it gets destroyed or lost or tossed in the garbage.”

You roll your eyes and snatch the picture back, holding it protectively against your chest. “That’s why you take care of the things you love, Ms. Howard.” You miss the adoring smile she gives you as you look fondly down at the picture in your hand. Your heart blooms in your chest. You’re smiling at the camera, the light in your eyes bright like the happiness inside you is bursting at the seams and nothing could quite possibly put out your fire. Your gaze slides past your own face, drawn to Billie always, no matter where or who you're with. She is your sun and you will keep looking no matter how much it hurts.

While Billie always takes your breath away, you think she looks her best like this: make-up free, disheveled hair, and bare shoulders. She’s smiling, that real smile she reserves for those moments when she’s away from the cameras and her nose crinkles ever-so-slightly at the corners. It makes her eyes shine, beautiful and bold and adoring, where they look into the camera’s lens. But she’s not looking at the camera.

She’s looking at you.

--

The bed jostling underneath you is what rouses you from your deep sleep. It takes you a moment to orient yourself before you breathe in through your nose and stifle a yawn against your pillow. Cracking open your eyes, you sleepily lift your head and take a peek around the room. There’s a sliver of light filtering through the crack beneath your bathroom door. You lay your head back down and listen to the sink run in the background. The sound of Billie in your apartment, existing in the same space as you, fills you with a warmth that causes you to doze off.

You manage to open your eyes again when the sounds of rustling and movement perviate the room. “Billie?” you call sleepily. 

“Shh,” she soothes you softly, brushing your hair back with a slender hand. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Where‘re you goin’?” you slur after opening your eyes and catching a glimpse of her fully dressed in last night’s clothes, purse in hand.

Her nails trace the outline of your neck before she dips her head and presses a kiss against your forehead. “I have to go, baby. I have a show to film in the morning.”

You hum sleepily, leaning into her touch where her nails scratch gently at your scalp. “Stay,” you whisper, your tongue not obeying your mind to be quiet and let her go.

“I can’t, sweetheart. I’ll call you later, okay?” 

You withhold a sigh. “Okay,” you say even though you’re not sure you believe her.

With one more kiss pressed to your head, she turns to go. You watch through bleary eyes as Billie Dean Howard once again walks out of your life. You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest, but the weight is an anchor and you feel it so deeply.

--

You shuffle through the junk mail you pulled from your postbox, hovering in front of your own apartment door like you’re waiting for someone else to invite you inside. You’re lost in your own head, stuck in an endless cycle of trying not to think about Billie Dean Howard while simultaneously doing nothing but thinking about her. 

You knew getting involved with her would only end in heartache on your part, that you were nothing more than a passing fancy, a distraction she entertained only when she was in town. But the moment you met and she looked at you with those eyes and that smile, you knew you were done for. You knew from the beginning that you would give and give and give until there was nothing left for her to take. 

That’s okay, you decide internally for it’s easy to have resolve when she’s not in front of you. When you’re not inhaling her perfume or touching her skin or hearing her voice purr sweet nothings into your ear. I don’t need her.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

You freeze in place, heart thumping a steadily growing rhythm beneath your rib cage. Turning your head, you find Billie standing behind you, one hand holding her purse and the other a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than you earn in a month. An acrylic nail traces the edge of one lens, a rouge pink color that matches her sweater and the floral pattern of her dress. You raise your gaze to hers and feel your breath hitch when your eyes meet.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” she purrs, her lips twitching into that familiar smile, part seductive, part amused because Billie knows she holds the entire world in her hands and uses that power to her advantage. 

“Hi, Billie,” you manage to say, inwardly cursing yourself as the resolve you previously had drains from your body and all that’s left is the desire to curl into her warmth and call her home.

Billie steps closer to you, backing you up until you feel the cool surface of the apartment door against your back. “I missed you, darling,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your lips as she stares into your eyes with an expression that makes your knees particularly weak. You want to believe her. You want to believe that the shine in her eyes is honesty and not proof of a lie well said. You want to believe, but you don’t and you can’t. So you kiss her.

She kisses you back feverishly, pressing against you in a way that allows you to feel every part of her and you want nothing more than to peel her out of her clothes and feel her skin beneath your hands. You push your tongue into her mouth, wanting to taste, to consume, to worship. To get on your knees and beg her to love you. But you can’t and she won’t. So you keep kissing her.

She smells of expensive perfume and cigarettes. You breathe it in like one would a bouquet of flowers and wonder if it will ever be enough. There’s a soft thump as something is dropped to the floor before you feel both of her hands cup your cheeks and pull you impossibly closer. You cling to her, tightening your grip on her hair. A hum passes from her mouth to yours and you have never felt so high in your life. She is a drug and you are addicted.

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when Billie pulls away, her chest rising with each heavy breath she takes and you watch it with half lidded eyes, consumed by lust and love and want and need.

She throws a glance over your shoulder at the door behind you. She doesn’t linger there, returning to you like you might disappear if she stops looking into your eyes for more than a moment. Her thumb trails along your jaw causing you to arch your neck and lean into her touch. You bite back a whimper, trying and failing to quell the heat inside. Her words come and when they do, they are a slow, gentle rasp that causes your stomach to ache pleasantly. “Can I come in?” she asks.

You barely manage to nod, vaguely aware of her stooping to pick up her purse from the floor as you struggle to find the right key with your shaking hands. She pulls you into another kiss, open mouthed and heady, while you put the key in the lock and give it a twist. As you open the door and Billie guides you backwards into the apartment, as your hold tightens on her hair, as your breath mingles with hers and it feels like you are not two souls anymore, but one, you realize, with a pained lurch of your heart, that you do need her. And how you hate to be wrong.

--

“So how are things?” Rina gives you a curious glance over the rim of her coffee cup, one dark brow arched.

“Fine,” you answer, shrugging and absentmindedly leaning your chair back on two legs. To avoid her knowing gaze, you observe through the window as people meander down the sidewalk, passing by the coffee shop where you and your friend sit. It’s only mid-morning, but the weekend has coaxed most people outside and into the city. They rush around in groups and pairs, tugging on scarves and talking on cellphones. You watch as a little boy darts down to the toy store a few shops away much to the chagrin of his parents. A small smile pulls at your lips as he gestures excitedly to the display he can see behind the glass.

Rina’s voice comes abruptly from the other side of the table, breaking the easy silence that had settled like a warm blanket between you. “Where’s your camera?”

You shrug again. “What do you mean?” you ask even though you know. 

She gives you a chastising look. “You know what I mean. Any other day, you’d have that old polaroid glued to your hands.”

“I don’t know,” you say, the tips of your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup. A couple walks by your window, holding hands and cuddling close in the cold autumn weather. Two men, one shorter with blonde hair and a kind face, the other older and distinguished with grey at his temples. You find them lovely. The younger man’s scarf suddenly comes loose, blowing behind him in the chill breeze. His partner gives him a fond look, reaching over and tucking the garment more securely around his neck. The younger man grins, dimples appearing in his cheeks, before he leans up and kisses his lover on the tip of his nose. The older man smiles and you can see the years disappear from his face as he looks at his lover with stars in his eyes. Click, you think. “I just haven’t been taking pictures lately,” you respond finally. You try to ignore the jealousy rearing its ugly head inside of you, the envy you feel for something you never had. Something you couldn’t call yours in the first place.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Rina sits up and ducks her head to meet your eyes. “What ever happened to Miss Hollywood?”

You snort. “Nothing happened to Miss Hollywood,” you answer casually, as though you haven’t been thinking about Billie Dean Howard since the day you met her.

“You sure? Because you don’t talk about her, and when you don’t talk about something, that means there’s more going on and you’re just not telling me.” Rina’s big brown eyes plead with you from across the table. You know she has good intentions, but you’re just not ready yet. How can you explain something you can barely understand yourself?

At what point in your fling with a medium did you even fall in love with her? You don’t know. All you know is that every time she walks away, you feel a little less whole. All you know is that whenever you see her smile, you can feel the cracks within you sealing like fresh cement in a fissured pavement. You know you miss her when she’s gone and she smokes in front of a window so you don’t have to breathe it in and she likes to cuddle after making love. And you realize, with a start, that you don’t remember when having sex became ‘making love’ either.

You feign a sigh. “Where did you get your Psychology degree? Because I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with someone who’s not a trained professional.”

“Y/N!” Rina gives you a gentle kick beneath the table, sounding so exasperated that you laugh, genuinely for the first time in weeks and it feels so good, you can’t believe you forgot how. The coffee shop’s bell rings and you turn to look, more out of reflex than anything, as two women stroll into the cafe. The laughter dies in your throat. Oh.

Billie Dean stands in front of the counter, another woman at her side. She’s beautiful with high cheekbones and long, golden hair piled atop her head. They stand close, exchanging laughter and smiles, their shoulders brushing with a familiarity that makes you burn from the inside out. You clench your mug in your hands and deliberately turn away. 

--

That night, you find yourself pliant beneath Billie’s expert hands, her lips hot against the skin of your collarbone. You’re a mess underneath her, but that burning jealousy is not far from your mind. “Who was that?” You manage to gasp between rakes of her teeth against the tendons of your neck. Maybe if your head was a bit more clear, you wouldn’t have asked. Maybe if you weren’t foggy and clouded and full of so much emotion, you would be able to think straight. But you haven’t been able to think straight since you met Billie.

“Who was who, darling?” She asks, sliding her hands under your shirt and raking her nails down your sides.

“At the coffee shop-” Your breathing stutters to a stop as her thigh shifts between your legs. “Downtown,” you emphasize, tugging at her curls to get her attention, but mainly because you just need something to do with your hands.

“You saw me?” She asks curiously, but she doesn’t sound worried. The words are muffled against your skin as she trails kisses up your jaw.

“I was there-” you whimper as she bites a particularly sensitive spot “-with Rina.”

Billie hums against your neck. “That was just a friend, sweetheart. I’ve known her for years,” she explains offhandedly like you had just asked her for tomorrow’s forecast. Frustration builds inside you, but just for a moment. It’s hard to focus with the woman you love making it difficult to remember even your own name.  

“Okay,” you say even though you’re not sure you believe her. But it doesn’t matter. You tremble and shake and fall apart in her hands only for all your pieces to scatter on the ground at her feet. You know you’re going to have to pick them up yourself, but until then, you will savor this moment. The moment you made love to the sun and did not burn.

--

Your phone vibrates with an incoming call and you barely give it a glance before you answer. “Hello?”

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” a warm voice purrs in your ear. You almost drop your phone, but manage to keep a tight hold on it as you press it closer to your ear. Like if you do, you will feel Billie’s warmth.

“Billie?”

“Who else would be calling you at two in the morning?” The teasing tone in her words is familiar and your heart races at the sound of it.

“Just you as far as I know,” you say, smiling into the phone.

You can hear her hum, just barely, followed by the flick of a lighter and the sound of her inhaling. “I just got into town. My flight got delayed four hours due to some storm in the middle -of-nowhere Kansas." The exasperation in her voice makes your lip curl fondly. "I know it's late, but I was wondering if you would like some company?”

“Are you saying you want to see me?” you ask, feeling bold when she’s not there for you to crumble beneath her knowing eyes.

There’s a pause, just long enough for your heart to clench uncomfortably, before you hear her exhale. “I want to see you, Y/N,” she says, all sincerity and tenderness. You feel like flying.

“Then come over,” you retort, warmth lacing your voice and you wonder if she can hear the love threaded inside. A sudden knock at your door has you turning from your spot at the counter. “Hold on, Billie, someone’s here,” you say into the phone before making your way over and tugging it open.

Billie smiles at you, one shoulder leaning against the door frame. She still has her phone to her ear as she meets your eyes. “Hello, darling,” she says and you realize you are soaring.

--

You always seem to know the moment she leaves the bed. The instant she moves, you’re wide awake like your body is attuned to every movement of hers. She, the goddess of beauty and elegance. You, her faithful and loyal disciple. Always.

You blink steadily at your apartment ceiling. You should just roll over and go back to sleep, but something keeps you awake. The need to hear her, maybe. The need to just feel her presence, possibly.

You listen as she moves around your bathroom. There’s the steady sound of the sink followed by cabinet drawers being opened and closed then the sink again. A car honks outside. You suddenly remember that a world exists outside of your bubble and any moment now, Billie Dean will be out there without you.

Eventually, you hear the bathroom door open and you suddenly can't bear the thought of her leaving. You know that one of these days, you will lose all control. You will get on your knees, heart in your hands, and beg her to love you, but you don't want that day to be today so you roll over, feigning sleep. A few short moments later, heels click on your hardwood floor. Your body buzzes at her presence as she stops at your bedside. You feel her fingers brushing the hair from your eyes then trailing down your cheek. 

Lips press against your forehead, one long moment that makes your insides clench. “Sweet dreams, darling,” she whispers against your skin. It is sweet and intimate and you wonder if she’s doing it to further convince you of the lie or if it actually means something. You tell yourself it has to be the former. 

She moves away, taking the sound of her expensive heels with her.

You listen, but you can’t watch her walk away. Not anymore.

--

“I can’t do this,” you murmur.

“What’s that, darling?” Billie asks, her back to you as she sits in front of the hotel vanity. Her hand pauses, hovering in the air with a mascara brush firmly in her grip. You can feel her eyes on you, and it takes everything inside of you not to meet them. 

Your hands grip the sheets beneath you. “I said, I can’t do this,” you repeat, stare firmly fixed on the ceiling. 

“Can’t do what?” Billie sets down her makeup and turns to face you.

“This,” you gesture at the room aimlessly. Frustration balls up in your stomach like a spool of yarn, tangled and twisted and infinite. You sit up and start reaching for your clothes, tugging them on haphazardly as Billie watches.

“Now, Y/N-” Billie begins. 

You cut her off, “No, Billie. Please.”

She pauses, eyebrows drawing together. You tug on your shoes, almost stumbling over your own feet in your haste to get out of the room. You won’t let her leave this time. This time, it will be you. Billie’s voice comes out in a croak when she speaks: “Please what?”

“Please just let me go,” you plead, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. You brush impatiently at your wet eyelids.

Billie stands, clutching the sheer robe in her hands as she pulls it tighter around her shoulders. Your eyes linger. On the hands that held you, on the throat she had bared just moments ago as she lay beneath you, on the mouth that said things it knew you wanted to hear. “I don’t understand where this is coming from, Y/N.”

You laugh bitterly, a fire suddenly roaring to life inside of you. “Exactly, because you can’t see. You’re a medium and you can see things that others wouldn’t believe, but you can’t see what’s right in front of you.” You sniff, the fire burning down to embers as quickly as it had appeared. You just feel tired. You shuffle closer to the door, refusing to meet her eyes. If you meet her eyes, it will all be over and you will cave as you always do. 

“Y/N-” Billie steps forward, hands reaching out for you as if the distance between you isn’t so unbearably large. As if there isn’t a vast canyon between you, as if you aren't more than just a speck on the other side. 

You shake your head and dart back another step. “I’ve tried,” you say, voice broken, the words stabbing you in the throat each time you speak. “I’ve tried for months, but I can’t- I just can’t, Billie.”

“Sweetheart, please,” Billie murmurs, her voice seeming to catch in the back of her throat. “Just tell me what’s going on. What don’t I see?” She sounds desperate almost, but you chalk that up to your ears only hearing what they want to hear. She’s proven time and time again that you are nothing to her but a way to pass the time. The reminder is a bucket of ice water poured over your head. It chills you to the bone.

You resist the urge to turn, to look, to comfort. “I just- I can’t keep watching you walk away. Because every time you do, you take a piece of me with you and eventually, I won’t have any pieces left.” You grab the doorknob and jerk open the door, staring into the empty hallway of the hotel. “I hoped for months that I was wrong, that maybe you could feel something for me, but it’s time that I realize it didn’t mean anything to you. I won’t let you take pieces of me anymore. I can’t,” you say, your voice cracking and hope wilting in your chest like a lone flower in the middle of the sidewalk.

You ignore the warnings in your head to run, to not look back. You chance a glance over your shoulder anyway, instantly meeting Billie’s gaze. It’s a blurry painting, but you can see the sadness in her eyes, the pain in her expression. It’s not real, a part of you whispers. Choking back a sob, you gather your broken pieces, and walk out of the door and out of Billie’s life.

--

Your phone lights up with another call, buzzing persistently in your hand. 

Billie Dean 

47 times in two days. You wonder if she’s sleeping. You remind yourself that it’s not your problem. 

Your fingers itch to pick it up. You know you should just turn it off. You know that the pain that lances through you every time her name appears on the screen isn’t worth the small victory you might feel when you see her leave another voicemail. Maybe a part of you reveled in watching her chase after you. Maybe a part of you wanted her to yearn, to feel, to need. Just like you. 

The other part of you, the part that loved Billie Dean with every fiber of your being, the part that bloomed like a flower in spring every time you thought of her smile, just wanted her to come home. 

You envision a world where you didn’t walk out of that hotel. Maybe you got to the elevator and maybe you turned around at the sound of your name and maybe Billie had chased you down the hallway in her sheer robe and maybe she kissed you. Maybe you made love once again with the sun rising to meet you, a new day, a new start. Maybe she asked you to stay. Maybe you said yes.

But this isn’t that world.

You turn your phone off.

--

You stand in front of your kitchen window absentmindedly blowing into your mug as you watch the sun begin its slow descent to the horizon. It’s springtime, your favorite part of the year. It doesn’t feel much like it, but the evidence is all around you. In the shade of the trees, in the flowers and the leaves, in the birds and the clear expanse of the sky. Even in the sound of children playing on the sidewalk. You wonder when you became so numb to the things you love. To the things that used to fill you with joy and warmth. And then you wonder why you’re wondering. Because you know why, but even after all this time, you find it hard to pin blame on the woman who promised you nothing. She was never yours, and she never said she would be. But dammit, you were hers.

You try to watch the sun set and not the street down below. You try not to notice how a woman walks by with hair a similar shade of honey blonde (too much blonde, not enough honey). You try not to remember how she once told you sparrows were her favorite, or how you can see them now as they sing and flutter from powerline to tree and back again. You try to ignore that feeling of longing you get when you hear a child’s excited squeal followed by the sound of someone laughing loudly, joyfully. You try to quell that sense of resentment burning in your chest as the world moves on while you feel stuck in a prison of your own making. You take a sip of your coffee and promptly make a face when you realize it’s gone cold without you noticing.

A sudden knock at your door has you turning on the spot. You give it a weary look, before sighing and placing your mug in the sink. You approach your door just in time to see an envelope being slipped beneath the crack. It glides across the hardwood floor and slows to a stop at your sock-covered feet. You stare down at it, too shocked to move.

It’s the loopy, elegant handwriting that catches your attention. Your heart plummets into your stomach. You bend down and scoop it up with shaking fingers. It’s a normal white envelope, a little plain for Billie’s taste, but you’d know that handwriting anywhere. It’s the words on the front that make tears well in your eyes.

It meant everything to me.

The lump in your throat feels like it’s made of glass with the way it tears you up from the inside. You try to swallow it down. You want to feel nothing. You want to want for nothing. 

With shaking hands, you open the envelope and watch as something small and square falls out and lands in your open palm. It’s a photograph.

It’s you. 

It’s- Billie Dean’s smile is soft as she looks at you, the both of you bare, you twisted beneath the sheets and her on top of you. Your heart aches and burns and cries. You don’t know what to feel when realization hits you, hard and all at once. I still need her. And this time, you don’t give a damn that you were wrong.

You drop the Polaroid, letting it float to the ground like a forgotten feather from a bird long gone, and speed towards the door, the hinges squeaking in protest when you throw it open.

“Billie!” You yell out, speeding down the hallway in your socks and your pajamas like a crazy person. You don’t care if the neighbors hear. You don’t care if they call the cops. You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care. “BILLIE!”

You dart around the corner of your hallway, down the stairs and out the front door of your apartment building, still screaming her name at the top of your lungs and ignoring the bewildered looks of your neighbors as you let the door swing shut noisily behind you. You’ve just made it on the sidewalk when you almost run directly into a figure dashing back towards the front door steps. You manage to stop yourself from colliding, swaying dangerously as you try to regain your balance. The person catches you by your shoulders, steadying you on your feet. 

You look up and instantaneously feel yourself freeze. You’re breathing heavily from the mad dash or adrenaline or fear or maybe it’s just love; love for Billie Dean Howard and want for her too. 

Dark brown eyes the color of molasses look down at you fondly. “Hi, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice husky and warm and if home is a person, you know it’s her. It has to be. Because your heart has never felt at peace as it does in this very moment, with you in her arms, your face in her hands, and your fingers threaded in her hair.

“You’re here,” you whisper. You savor the moment, watching as her nose crinkles when she smiles, her eyes warm and tender in a way you have never seen before. The tips of her acrylic nails graze the skin of your cheek, gently as if she’s afraid you’ll break. I won’t, you want to say. I am whole.

“Of course I am,” she says back, just as soft. “Where else would I be?”

And there, in the springtime, with children and parents shuffling around you as they return home for the day, with dogs getting their last walks before bed, with street lamps buzzing, with life in bloom all around you, you finally feel complete. And there, in the middle of the sidewalk with sparrows singing a song from the trees above you, in the protective circle of her arms, you are home. 

And there, you kiss her.

[heliads]

Goodbye in C Minor

Luke Patterson was dating this incredible girl, Y/N, until he died along with Alex and Reggie. Now that he’s been stuck in the present day, he doesn’t know how to move on from the girl he left behind in the 90s.

masterlist

A girl leans against an open doorway. She takes in the band playing around her, the black and white Sunset Curve banners streaked with color. Her eyes flash over all members of the band in turn, but they tend to linger on the lead singer, a boy with a shock of brown hair and enough passion for an entire band of his own.

In fact, he doesn’t even notice that the girl has arrived until the song ends and he looks up, finally snapped out of his reverie. Instantly, a smile shoots across his face and he jogs over to her, unslinging his guitar strap from around his shoulders and setting the instrument down on a nearby stand. He picks her up and twirls her around in the air. The girl laughs, and her eyes meet his again once her feet touch back down on the ground.

One of the boys from the band shouts something to her from across the studio, his voice hopeful. “Did you bring us lunch?” The girl turns to face them, attention finally diverted from her boyfriend. She holds up a plastic bag full of boxed containers. “I did! Takeout, hope you don’t mind. And yes, Bobby, some are vegetarian.” A light-haired boy, Alex, does a silent fist pump. “You’re the best, Y/N. Honestly.” 

Y/N hands the bag of food over to the hungry bandmates, and all except one hurriedly dig in. Luke stays, interlacing his fingers with Y/N’s. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Y/N waves his concern away. “I absolutely did. You’ve gotten me into the Orpheum for your upcoming show, the least I can do is make sure you’re all properly fed. If I can’t help with music, I can at least help with this.”

Luke grins. “Trust me, I think the food is the best thing ever. By the way, Reggie wants me to tell you that we’ll invite you to every show on the planet if it means he keeps getting free lunch. Although technically you don’t have to worry about that- I want you by my side every step of the way, lunch or no lunch.” Y/N laughs. “That’s one of the most romantic things I’ve heard all week. Maybe you should put that into a new song. ‘I’ll love you even if you don’t bring me takeout.’”

Luke pouts, and Y/N giggles at his mock sadness. “I’m kidding. Mostly.” Luke leans forward to kiss Y/N. “You had better be.” From across the room, Alex yells something at them. “If you guys keep making out in the middle of practice we’re going to ban you from the studio.” Y/N waves her hand at him. “I brought you food, you can’t ban me! I’m too important to the future of the band.” Reggie shrugs. “She’s right, you know. We might starve.” Alex swats him on the shoulder, and Y/N turns back to Luke with a slight smile.

“I can’t believe you’re playing at the Orpheum in a week. That’s so exciting!” Luke nods fervently. “Sometimes it doesn’t even feel real. Like I’ll wake up and find out we were actually booked to some other place, not the actual Orpheum.” Y/N smiles at him. “You’re going to do great, and that’s final. I can’t wait to see you guys perform.” Luke absentmindedly runs his fingers over Y/N’s knuckles, tapping out the beats of half-written songs. “I know we’ll do great. I’ve got my muse. All of my songs are about you, you know that.” Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Even ‘My Name is Luke?’” Luke groans. “Okay, maybe not that one. Almost all of my songs are about you. How about that?” Y/N beams at her boyfriend. “That sounds perfect.”

Luke jolts back to reality. He’s still standing in that same studio, but he’s back to the present day. He’s not in the 90s anymore, and it’s been decades since he was writing songs with Sunset Curve, preparing to take on the Orpheum for the first time. He’s standing in the exact same place as that one memory, when he’d been talking to her. They’d both been so happy, so exhilarated at the prospect of Sunset Curve’s Orpheum performance. Neither of them had known that Luke, Alex, and Reggie would die that night, permanently taking Luke away from everything he knew best. Away from her.

There’s a slight motion next to him, and Luke freezes before remembering that he’s not alone in the studio. Alex has just walked up beside him, although his friend’s gaze softens when he sees the troubled look on Luke’s face. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you? You’re thinking about Y/N.” Luke sighs. “Yeah. I just- I can’t believe that all this time had passed. She isn’t here with us, and she didn’t eat those street dogs, so she must not have died. That means she grew up and she’s probably older now. I don’t know what to think about that.”

Alex nods slowly, placing his hand on Luke’s shoulder in a show of comfort. “We left so much behind that it’s hard to think about. If you ever want anyone to talk to, you know we’re all here. Julie too, although that might be more of a difficult conversation.” Luke blows out a slow breath. “That’s the problem. Things are going so well with Julie and the new band and everything that I feel like I should be happier, and I am, and then-” His voice trails off. Alex finishes the sentence for him. “And then you remember what life used to be like.”

Luke walks over to a photo tacked onto the wall. Julie had found some old snapshots of Sunset Curve and set them out in the studio. They were nice to see, but sometimes they tended to hurt instead of inspiring fond memories. One in particular catches his eye- the band and a couple of friends, mere hours before the Sunset Curve show at the Orpheum. It’s a faded Polaroid, showing a group of beaming teenagers pointing up at the Orpheum’s sign glowing in neon lights above them. Look what we’re about to do, they seem to say, look what we never got to finish.

Luke’s eye strays on the far right corner. He’s standing there, arm wrapped around a girl. Y/N. They’re both smiling, although in this shot neither of them are looking at the camera. Instead, they’re both turned towards each other, as if delighted by the simple fact that both of them are together. Luke remembers the details of that night in perfect clarity. They’d all arrived at the Orpheum and taken the photo, and then the boys had headed back to begin their sound checks. Y/N had watched them perform, making friends with a girl who worked at the venue. Rose, who Luke now knows is Julie’s mother.

Y/N always had this easy way of making friends. One smile, a few words, and it was like she’d known a stranger all their life. She and Rose had both cheered when Sunset Curve had finished their warmups, and then looked down at her watch in surprise. She’d said something about how she had to run and do some final checks with the venue staff, and she’d be right back. Y/N had kissed Luke quickly before dashing out the door with a promise that she’d be back in a second. Luke, Alex, and Reggie had disappeared down the block to get some street dogs. By the time Y/N had gotten back, papers and signatures held triumphantly in her hand, it was too late.

Luke doesn’t know what happened after that. He’s not positive that Y/N was there when he died, maybe arriving a few minutes after the fact. He’s not sure if that makes it better or not- although she’d be furious with herself for not being there to save him, Luke knows there was nothing she could have done. Would it have hurt more to be next to him, unable to do anything but watch as he breathed his last, or to have missed the entire thing? He supposes Y/N has had years to think the issue over.

Luke turns away from the photograph. His legs are itching to take him away, his heart racing to find something to do. The band doesn’t have practice today, so there’s nothing to distract him from the awful loneliness beating against his chest. He has to do something to get away from all of this, from the memories and the photographs and the knowledge that he had left the girl he loved behind and there was nothing to do to get her back. Luke mumbles something to Alex about how he’s going to take a walk, then poofs out of the studio, no clear destination in mind.

Luke reappears in the middle of a path. At first, he’s not quite sure where he is. There’s a line of pavement under his feet, leading away in front of him. Spring green boughs wave overhead, framing the way before him. The trees eventually clear out to form a clearing, and only then does Luke realize where he is. It’s the local cemetery, the place where all of Luke’s family have been buried. The place where surely he, too, lies at rest. His head must have some twisted sense of humor to bring him here.

Luke wavers one last moment, then decides to take off down the path. He’s never actually visited his own grave, as it seemed too morbid an activity to actually set out and do, but if he’s already here he might as well see it. There’s some sort of curiosity affixed to seeing your own headstone, weird as that may be, and at least now he can glance at it once and forget about it.

Luke passes between the long lines of gravestones, reading through the names. It’s late afternoon, and there’s almost nobody here at all. At least, there isn’t anybody here except one woman, who’s crouching before a headstone in the middle of the cemetery. On second thought, she appears to be around the place where Luke’s family is buried. As he walks over, he realizes that this woman is actually next to his grave. 

She’s speaking quietly. “Nothing much happened today, but it’s a Saturday, so I had to drop by anyway.” Her head drops. “You’ve been gone for 25 years. Can you believe that? 25. I miss you still.” A bittersweet smile cracks her lips, and Luke’s heart twists at the pain in her voice. “I have children now. They’re just beginning to enter double digits. At some point, they’ll be older than you. I wish you could have met them, Luke. I think you’d like them a lot.”

Luke’s head flies up when she says his name. The way she said it sounded so familiar, like he’s heard this woman before. Like he knows her, and knows her very well. The woman freezes slightly- she must have seen his small motion out of the corner of her eye. But that doesn’t make sense, because lifers aren’t supposed to see ghosts like Luke. Yet the woman still stands, lightly brushing dirt off of her legs. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your way. Didn’t see you there.”

The woman turns to face Luke, and her eyes widen. She stands for a moment, staring, and then her voice comes again, faltering and weak. “Luke?” She looks away from him, studying her own hands as if expecting them to be ghostly and translucent. “But you’re dead. How can you be here- Am I dead?” Luke shakes his head. “No, you’re not dead. I mean, I am, but I’m a, uh, ghost. You’re not a ghost. At least I don’t think so.” Luke’s voice trails off when the woman looks at him again. When she’s finally turned towards him, her face seems so familiar. It takes him a moment, and then he realizes who she is. “Y/N.”

It has to be her. There’s no way around it. Indeed, the second her name passes through his lips he knows it’s true. The Y/N standing before him is far older now, maybe in her late thirties or early forties. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? They were teenagers when he died, and if it’s been 25 years since then, she would have to be older. A slight lump forms in Luke’s throat. What would it have been like if he hadn’t died? Would he have been like this too? Would they have grown old together?

Y/N rubs a hand over her face as if in shock. “This makes no sense. I mean, you sound just like yourself and everything but-” Luke laughs quietly. “But ghosts aren’t real.” Y/N gestures loosely with her hand. “Exactly.” Her eyes flicker over him again, taking in every detail of his face as if committing it to memory. This small action itself is so strange to see- Luke remembers Y/N doing this at shows and practices, and it doesn’t feel right to see this similarity in a version of Y/N that is so much older, especially when Luke himself is still a teenager.

Luke’s voice is quiet. “Do you always visit my grave?” Y/N nods. “Every other Saturday. I think your mom and dad come all the time too. I try to give them some space.” She looks back at him, as if she can understand what he’s thinking. “We haven’t moved on so easily. There was a time right after you died when I thought we never would. I didn’t see how the earth could keep turning without my boys. And then the years kept passing by, and although the pain never got any easier we learned how to be happy too, how to keep the grief but remember you with brighter memories instead.”

She smiles, although her eyes are tinged with pain. “I’m married now.” She holds up her hand, and Luke’s gaze is drawn to the ring on her finger. “I think you’d like him a lot. We have two children, a boy and a girl. They know your parents well, we get together all the time. They supported me when I was in over my head, they pulled me out of a well when I was drowning in grief. I check in on them, and they check in on me. We were trying to do right by you.”

Luke feels like his legs are about to collapse underneath him. To see Y/N like this, so much older and calmer, feels like an earthquake tearing him apart. He doesn’t know why, but some part of him had almost assumed that she wouldn’t grow old either, that if he looked hard enough he could find her and they could be the same again. He knows now that he was wrong, although the sight of Y/N is still so reflexively exhilarating that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Luke forces himself to speak. “Are you- are you happy? Now, with your family?” Y/N nods, a radiant smile breaking out across her face. “I’m incredibly happy. Things are good now, and they’re going to keep being good for a very long time.” She looks at him, seeing the questions he’s too afraid to ask. “I’m sorry that things happened the way they did. I would have liked nothing more than to see you shine on that stage and have your star career the way that we always planned. I have a feeling that you’ve got a new chance now, a way to move on. I’d take it. You’ve always been able to stay on your feet and keep running forward. Don’t let that go.”

Luke nods. “Thank you, Y/N.” They exchange their goodbyes and then Luke disappears back into the trees. After a moment or two of walking, he poofs back into the studio. Luke walks on leaden limbs towards his songwriting notebook, flinging it open and reaching for a pencil. He turns to one page in particular, a song he’d begun writing for Y/N a few days before their performance at the Orpheum. He changes some lines, adds new chords, transposes the song from a major to a minor key. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but when he looks up at last, the song is finished.

The title sits at the top, a blurry gray after recent erasings. ‘Goodbye in C Minor.’ The beautiful start to a love he never got to see through.

[mandoalorian]

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 2 (SMUT)

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (protected p in v), allusions to sex, reader works in a brothel, PTSD, anxiety, panic attack, mention of drugs, guns, character death, typical Narcos themes.

Word count: 4000>

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

*reblogs appreciated! Ko-Fi in bio if you want to support me!

The office was dead, like it had been for the last three weeks. No new leads. Nothing. The days dragged and honestly, it felt like the case was growing colder and colder. Escobar had gone completely off the grid, hiding out in La Catedral, his very own self-built prison in the depths of Medellín. But the DEA didn’t know that yet. So, they made an attempt to shift focus, at least just for now. After all, any narco they captured would be a win. They’d been tracing Juan Diego Diaz, otherwise known as La Quica, believing that the sicario would eventually lead them to Escobar himself. But La Quica was just as cunning as any other narco and following him was not an easy challenge. If it wasn’t for Steve Murphy, the DEA would’ve most likely shifted focus again - but Murphy and La Qucia went way back. In 1981, just a few years ago, La Quica shot dead Kevin Brady, Steve’s old partner back from Miami, and so to say that Steve had a personal feud against La Quica was an understatement.

Javier Peña didn’t realise he was about to gain a whole vendetta against him too.

Within a second, every phone in the damn embassy began to ring. Javier and his partner, Steve Murphy exchanged a glance, and their eyes trailed up to Horacio Carrillo who answered the call. “Colonel Carrillo,” he introduced himself. Javier and Steve watched as their colleague took in the information on the other end of the line. Carillo erratically gestured for a notepad and pen, and Steve quickly threw him one his way. “Wait, wait… are you sure? Are you sure you saw him? How many eyes? With another man? Who? Who?” Carillo pressed pencil to paper and began to scribble the details down. “How many dead?... Shit, okay. We’re on our way now.”

Carrillo slammed the phone down on the hook and took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face in dismay. “We got eyes on La Quica,” he announced, and Steve immediately grabbed the handgun from his desk drawer and shoved it into his jeans. The whole office cheered, apart from Javier and Steve. This was good news considering the DEA had no lead whatsoever for the past three weeks, but if Carrillo’s demeanor over the phone was anything to go by, Javier and Steve knew they shouldn’t be celebrating just yet. “No. No,” Carrillo chanted, raising his voice in order to silence the rest of the department. “Three hookers. Dead. Shot.”

Javier froze up completely as he processed the words.

“By La Quica?” Steve beckoned, his voice dripping with venom.

“We don’t know. But we have eyes on him. He was seen.”

“Where?” Javier asked finally, his face expression stone cold.

Carrillo eyed Javier up and down, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat. He knew it was the brothel that Javier frequented...and Javier Peña was quite unpredictable. So, after taking a brief moment to prepare for Javier’s reaction, Carrillo finally gave the name of the location. “Desiderio.”

Desiderio. It was the brothel where you worked. His eyes flicked over to the wallclock before his gaze met back with Carrillo’s dark eyes. He had literally been there, with you, two hours ago. If he had just gone two hours later… he could’ve put a stop to the attack. Hell, he could’ve been the one to find an arrest La Quica. But Javier’s hero complex was short lived when all he could think about was you.

“Do we have names?” Javier asked. “Who was killed?”

What if it had been you? What would Javier do then? You were younger than the other girls, polite and bright eyed. You were brand new to Colombia, and Javier swore you were too good for the dangerous life you had managed to get yourself caught up in. Being a sex worker in 1980’s Bogotá? It was only a matter of time something happened to you. 

“No names,” Carrillo confirmed. “Peña, with all due respect, I ask that you go in and investigate the scene. You know the girls better than anyone else in the department. Maybe you could identify some of the bodies.”

It was like time was frozen, and Javier felt sick to his core. Javier was used to death and bloodshed; this was a war on drugs - however, it hit different when it was close to home. When it was a place he had been, or it was people who he knew.

Javier Peña was a complicated man. He didn’t talk about himself or his feelings. Truth be told, he didn’t even let himself feel. But right now, as anger swirled in his stomach, he decided he wasn’t going to waste anytime at all. He paced back over his desk and grabbed his handgun before bolting to the car that was already waiting outside for him. All eyes followed Javier’s movements but no one dared to make a comment. Apart from Bill Stechner, of course.

“Not everyday you see the department of drug enforcement’s noted womanizer get worked up over a whorehouse shooting,” Bill commented, a smug grin playing on his lips. “Didn’t think agent Peña had it in him.”

“Shut the fuck up Bill.” Steve rolled his eyes, not even bothering to humour the CIA agent’s out-of-pocket remark. Everyone in the district knew about Javier Peña’s reputation with the ladies. But of course, you were new.

“The Search Bloc and I will go after La Quica. Steve, you stay on the down low with agent Peña and investigate the crime scene. We’ll have guards protecting you from outside the brothel.”

“I want to go after La Quica.” Steve argued but Carrillo pointed a finger.

“No. You stay with Javi. Partners,” Carrillo reminded the blonde haired man. “Besides, you’re the DEA’s best photographer.” Carrillo smirked, thrusting a Polaroid camera into Steve’s chest. Steve let out a low grumble in response, before shaking his head and following Javier out of the office. Partners. And right now, Steve saw the primal glint in Javier’s eye. Agent Peña was seeing red.

As both Javier and Steve were being transported to Desiderio, Javier made an attempt to dial a number on the carphone multiple times. Your number. Of course it was a dead line. And that only worked up Javier more. The never ending ringing sound signified that you weren’t there, and Javier’s heart was pounding against his chest. It was the same kind of adrenaline as when he found Helena tortured by Gacha’s men in Medellín. Steve knew better than to ask his friend who he was so desperately trying to call, but it was the last of his instincts to assume it was one of the sex workers from the brothel. Because renowned womanizer Javier Peña didn’t form attachments, especially not to women, right?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

At some point or another, you had passed out. Maybe you’d cried yourself to the point of exhaustion. Maybe the reality of what you had seen had hit you like a ton of bricks and you had fainted. How could you possibly know? But when Javier and Steve stormed the lobby of your workplace, you were laying on top of Rosa’s body, as still as could be. And that’s when Javier’s heart sank.

You weren’t moving, and his mind shot to the worst possible outcome. He raced over to you and fell on his knees, dragging your body off Rosa and cradling you in his arms. You were absolutely saturated in your best friends blood, and by holding you, now Javier was too. He briefly glanced down at Rosa and placed a hand on her forehead, trying to feel for any sign of warmth -  any sign of life. Javi sighed and ran his hand through his dark locks of hair before bringing it back down to you. He cooed your name a few times, desperate to earn some sort of reaction. Thankfully, on the third calling, you stirred a little, indicating that you were in fact alive.

Your perfect eyes fluttered open and in that moment, Javi swore his heart stopped. Thank God you were breathing. “You’re safe now,” Javier whispered. “I’ve got you.”

“Javi?” you asked in disbelief. Surely not. The way he was holding you was the most affectionate he’d ever been with you, and it felt like a dream. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe you were dead and this was your journey to the afterlife. God was finally giving you a chance with the one you loved so much. You said his name again, raising a shaky hand to cup his cheek. You brushed your thumb over his jaw and along his mustache, and when you smelt his familiar musky cologne, you knew you were somehow going to be okay.

Javier picked you up and carried you back to the car. “We have a survivor!”

Steve replied but to you it was just a haze. You could hardly keep your eyes open and when you did, everything was a blur. Your clothes were stuck to your skin, due to the mixture of blood, sweat and tears. You knew the second you were outside because the orange setting son burned against your skin. You stirred and mumbled, but Javier smoothed out your hair and hushed you. He opened the back seat of the DEA car and lay you down.

“Hey, hey listen, I’m DEA,” Javier whispered. “I don’t talk about it, but I’m here to help you. I need to head back inside now and help my partner out, but I won’t be long. I promise.” As Javier turned to leave, you grabbed his hand and he looked back at you.

“Please don’t go.” you sniffed, tears free falling down your cheeks.

And normally, Javier would’ve shrugged it off. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t just stick around you because you felt unsafe. They had counsellor’s back at the embassy for that. All he had to do was use the carphone and call them out. It wouldn’t take him two minutes. The only problem was, Javier didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want anyone else to hold you and comfort you. He wanted it to be him.

So, he swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and slid into the back seat next to you. He maneuvered your body so your head was resting against his jean clad lap, and he continued to smooth out your hair. Despite your red puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, you were still so beautiful.

“Hermosa, what happened back there?” he asked quietly after a moment. Between you and Javier, there was never an uncomfortable silence. It was his job to find out, but asking you straight up when you were so clearly traumatized, felt insensitive. Nevertheless, what else was there to say? He had to do it sooner rather than later.

“I’m sorry.” Javier mused, closing his dark brown eyes as he mourned.

“They killed Rosa,” you whispered shakily, doing your absolute best to remain composed and not fall back into an abundance of tears. Javier looked out the car window and held back a sigh. Well, he knew they killed Rosa already. “And Juliet and Martzia.”

Javier didn’t know who Juliet and Martzia were, but his heart sank at the revelation. Three deaths that could’ve been stopped.

“La Quica,” you croaked, and Javier’s head snapped to face you. “Was his name. But there were two, I think.”

La Quica… that was the name Carrillo had come up with. It was who the DEA had spent so much time looking for. But two? That was the first he’d heard of it. Carrillo and the cop department only had eyes on La Quica.

“Do you know the name of the other man? Or what he looked like?”

You did. At one point, his name rang like bells in your ears. He was friends with Rosa, or so you had thought. You knew his name… you knew his face until suddenly you didn’t. You couldn’t make sense of it or understand it, but it was like everything that happened back there had just become a fuzzy blur. It still hurt so much but… you couldn’t match actions to faces, or names to bodies. All you could see was Rosa and her sacrifice. All you could see was the way her body fell to the ground, crumpled up in a pool of her own blood. And then the screams and cries.

“Are you okay?” Javier asked due to the delay in communication. Your mouth felt dry and your fingers felt numb. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I can take you home, but the embassy is gonna want to interview you at some point in the near future. La Quica is dangerous, and I don’t know who this other guy is but I wouldn’t feel good about bringing you back to your apartment and leaving you there. I can send over additional security measures but, listen. I know you. And,” Javier took a deep breath not sure if he was about to regret the proposal. “If you’d prefer, you can come back to my place. Stay there for a few days. High security and you’ll be with me. Someone you know. I know that, if I was you, I wouldn’t wanna be alone right now.”

And for the very first time, your pretty plush lips curled into a smile. “You’d really do that for me?” You whimpered, nuzzling your face into his shirt.

“Of course.” Javier hummed, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead.

Was it unprofessional, inviting you over to live with him for the foreseeable future, the moment you had become an essential asset to the case? Yes. Fuck yes. But Javier Peña was not someone who played by the rules. He’d done this plenty of times before, when he shouldn’t have… but it was truly the right thing to do. Besides, you weren’t like any other informants. He knew you. He cared about you, more so than he’d like to admit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were very sleepy, and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk all that much. Javier understood better than anyone. He helped you out the car, carried you through the embassy apartment complex, unlocked his door (albeit with great difficulty), threw his keys haphazardly on the kitchen counter and gently plopped you down on the brown leather couch. Pulled out a crocheted blanket, he wrapped it over you, ensuring your warmth. He padded into the kitchen and filled you a glass of tepid water before looking in the refrigerator. Empty. Javier didn’t cook. In fact, he rarely even ate. When he did eat, it was take-out or fast food. Something quick and easy that he didn’t have to bother with. But now he had company. He sighed, and closed the fridge, glancing back at your sleeping body. He figured he’d have to go grocery shopping.

He picked up the phone and dialled Steve’s number, but his wife, Connie was the one who picked up. “Hey Con, Steve there?”

“Yeah. But he’s pissed with you Javi.” Connie sighed on the other end of the line. Javier scowled. He understood. It seemed like he pissed off people quite easily.

“Could you put him on?”

Connie didn’t reply but judging from the scuffling, Javier assumed she was handing the phone to her husband.

“Javi,” (“Steve,”)

“What’s up?” (“I need to ask you a favour,”)

“After today’s stunt? Not a chance.” (“Y/N was a mess, Steve. One of her best friends died in the shoot-out. I wasn’t just going to leave her,”)

“Javier Peña. Ever the hero. What do you need?” (Groceries. She’s gonna be staying with me for a few days. I can use the time I spend with her to gain her trust. Try and work out what exactly went on,”)

“Javi, she’s vulnerable. She’ll need therapy. You really want to use her as an informant?” (We’ll get her therapy from the embassy. Steve, I don’t think we have any other choice.”)

“I just think it’s a bad idea, but, it’s your call Peña.” (“I’m going to head to the market before it closes. Can you or Connie come over to watch her? She’s asleep so she won’t be much trouble.”)

“We have Olivia.” (“So bring her. Or don’t. I don’t care. Steve, please.”)

Javier waited patiently through a silence followed by a long sigh. “Okay Jav, but you owe us. We’ll be over in five minutes.”

“Thanks Steve, I’ll see you soon.”

Javier put the phone down on the hook quietly and padded back over to the sofa where you slept, crouching down and taking your hand. You didn’t deserve this. You were so soft and full of life, and everytime Javier saw you at the brothel you were always beaming. You were too good for this life. He knew you’d get hurt, one of these days, but that didn’t mean it was right. And suddenly, Javier was filled with vengeance. He couldn’t bear to think how the shoot-out would come to affect you, but he knew, in that moment, he would seek justice. Too many deaths, too close to home. Javier whispered your name, his breath fanning over your ear. You were somewhere in between consciousness. You could feel his presence but everything felt so dream-like. “If you can hear me, I’m going to head to the store. Buy us some food, okay? I won’t be long, and I have friends who will be watching over you. You’ll be safe, I promise.” Javier said before pressing another kiss to your forehead. He just couldn’t resist it. You stirred upon feeling the bristle of his mustache graze your skin and he drew his face away, not wanting to wake you completely.

“Hi Liv,” Javi cooed, leaning down to Steve and Connie’s little girl and pulling a face.

“So that’s her?” Connie asked, putting Olivia down.

“Yeah,” Javier sighed, and began to introduce you.

“Why do I get the feeling that you know her?” Steve quirked an eyebrow and Javier felt his cheeks flush with heat. “Are you one of her regulars?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah, I suppose I am,” Javier retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Con, if I’m gonna cook her dinner, what would you recommend?”

Connie stifled a laugh before turning to Steve. “Steve, you hungry? Javier’s offering to cook.”

“Hey that’s not what I meant--”

“He does owe us…” Steve smirked. “Paella sounds good.”

Fucking paella. 

“I could just bring her Taco Bell,” Javier considered out loud.

“I like paella.” Steve reiterated.

“Me too,” Connie agreed. “Paella is delicious.”

“Everyone likes paella.” Steve commented.

“Oh my god would you shut the fuck up about paella?” Javier groaned, causing Connie and Steve to laugh in unison. 

“Make her paella and bring us the leftovers,” Steve grinned, patting his friend on the shoulder. “And be quick about it.”

“Whatever, Murph.” Javier sighed, rolling his eyes before grabbing his wallet and car keys.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Seeing Nina working as the supermarket cashier was the last thing Javier expected.

“Javi?” she smiled that familiar gorgeous smile, her eyes sparkling as she scanned through the items of food. “It’s so good to see you. Been a while.” she commented, her gaze not leaving the agent’s once. 

And for the first time in a long while, Javier smiled. The stress of the stake-out and investigating the brothel, and taking you home had been a lot on him, but seeing his ex-girlfriend helped bring him back down to earth. If Nina could even be called ‘ex-girlfriend’. It wasn’t ever official, but he and Nina had been fucking on and off for around 6 months last summer and Javier was actually committed to Nina during that time. She came into his life unexpectedly, to say the least.

“How long have you worked here?” Javier charmed as he bagged the groceries.

“Two months, it’s been good to get out of the house,” Nina grinned. “You're still working for the DEA I assume?”

“Yeah.” Javier hummed, quickly reminding himself of you and the way you were sleeping on his sofa. He looked back up from the bag of rice and at Nina. Come to think of it, she resembled you quite a bit. Same hair colour, eye colour, skin tone… only she wasn’t as distinct. She didn’t have that flare about her, like you did. Maybe Javier had a type after all. 

“I get off work now,” Nina announced, flicking her wrist upright and checking the time on her watch. “Are you busy or? I was thinking… it would be nice to catch up, maybe, if you wanted.” Nina ducked her head down awkwardly.

Javier didn’t forget about you once. He didn’t forget about the fact he had a traumatized sex worker sleeping on his couch, or how he’d invited his partner and his partner’s family over to watch over you while he got ‘groceries’. But catching up with Nina would be nice. The right thing to do would be to reject Nina, and perhaps make plans to see her when Javier wasn’t so swamped with work commitments (if he could even call you that). But this was Javier Peña. He supposed Steve and Connie could wait just a little while longer, besides, they’d never find out. Javier was a good liar. He could make up some excuse about having to travel to a different grocery store or something. So, he agreed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nina’s apartment had barely changed since she and Javier had ended things. Still quaint, decorated with plants in every corner and full bookshelves. It was a clash of tongues and teeth as Nina navigated inside of her home, not pulling away from Javier once. She moaned against his lips and he grabbed onto her back, pinning her against the wall and knocking a few things off the coffee table.

“Missed this,” Javier confessed, nudging his nose against Nina. In the moment, he’d forgotten why he’d ended things in the first place. Nina wrapped her hands in Javi’s dark hair and tugged on the locks at the nape of his neck. Javier groaned wantonly and reattached his lips to hers as she let her hands maneuver down his body, unbuttoning his shirt and working at the zipper of his jeans. “Fuck Ni.”

She pulled off him and began to discard her clothes. “Bedroom Javi, I have condoms.” she hummed, taking Javier’s hand and guiding him through her apartment as if he didn’t already know the way. He’d never forgotten, really. 

This was wrong. On so many levels, this was wrong. He should be back home, with you. If anyone was to find out about this… well, Steve would be furious, for a start. But Javier genuinely couldn’t stop thinking about you. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, because if he wanted to be with you so bad he could easily just go back to his place and sit with you on the couch. The idea of that wasn’t the worst in the world. But also, he was about to get laid by Nina who looked so much like you… he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

He was whipped. Thinking about your lips on his… your hands caressing his muscles. She might have resembled you, but she tasted different, her voice was different, and her attitude. She just wasn’t you. 

Once Javi was all wrapped up, he pushed into Nina, and settled deep, his movements rough and fast. He grabbed onto her tits and gave them a squeeze, but they just didn’t feel like yours. They’d do though, for now. His grunts and her moans filled the room as she chanted his name, and he could feel himself nearing orgasm. He dipped his head in the crook of her neck, biting down on her skin that just wasn’t as soft as yours, and as his dick throbbed inside of Nina, and when he reached his climax, he made the biggest mistake of all.

He gasped your name like it was the sweetest prayer to leave his lips. He was fucking Nina but shit, he said your name.

Javier Peña said your name.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor​ @pedro-pastel​

PIFTL Taglist: @blo0dangel​ @daisychainsinknots​ @shitilovestarwars​ @midnightartemis​ @layniapetrovnaaa​ @pulplorrd​ @obsessivelysearching​ @mustbeaweasleyginger​ @jennebeanfics​​ let me know if you wish to be added!

[mxvladdy]

I can't stress enough 'wows' in tve way you write along with the fact that it's you first few posts (i think? Pls correct me) can you do luci mammon and satan with a reader who takes naps bc of overthinking? They just tug their sleeves and shot them a tired look, while looking down shying away. Also, have a nice day and take the time to be yourself!

Aw thanks fam! I am fairly new to posting my works, I tried twice before this with two different writing blogs but I deleted them both bc I felt discouraged. I’m older now and I feel a lot better about my writing, so third time the charm and all that lol! I’m so glad you like my writing! I know I need some work on grammar and expanding my vocabulary.  

This was a super cute prompt ;.; I hope I did it justice!

Lucifer

He is a mix of jealous and pissed. He wishes he could fall asleep so easily when he gets inundated with too many things at once. But also- just don’t do that? Where were your manners?

He starts noticing your little peculiarity in class. Specifically that you tend to nod off in advance alchemy and rune scripting. You were being so studious, jotting down notes, ask great questions. Next thing he knows you're out like a light.

He is shocked for a moment before he will wake you up. Your wide doe-eyed frown does nothing to him. JK his hearts clench at your wounded look.

He makes the other brothers report to him about your behavior and odd sleep habit. Were you ill? Was this just something humans did? Devils, was Belphie rubbing off on you?

They all say the same thing. One moment you are working hard or talking to them about a topic you are passionate about, and the next you are yawning hard enough to pop your jaw and shyly asking to lay down.

Well-he can’t have that.

If you are going to fall asleep around anyone it’s going to be him.

He sets up remedial lessons with you after dinner to make up for the work slept through. You sit by him at his long ornate desk while he tutors you on what you missed.

You weren't having any problems,  you even finished a few pages. He is proud and then-

“I can almost hear those gears slowing my dear.” Lucifer interrupts himself mid-explanation of Zosimos of Panopolis and Maria the Prophetess's theories of alchemy in human medicine.

You jerk awake and turn to him blinking owlishly. "Yeah, I just need to lay down." You admit.

Lucifer eyes you critically. This was sudden, were you ill? You had been fine moments ago, bright-eyed and enthusiastic. He cups your face, turning it from side to side. "So suddenly? We haven't even discussed the properties of mercury yet." You hum letting your eyes droop. He was always so warm.

"Hour nap break? Please?" His stern gaze softens at how your nose scrunches up cutely as you yawn.

“Very well.” He relents letting you slick over to his couch. You flop over face first with a grunt of satisfaction. You toss and turn for a while, moving his pillows around unsatisfied.

“Luci-” You call in defeat. He ignores you at first. If you wanted to nap fine, he would get some work done in the meantime. “Luci~” You say again. You could see his brow twitching. “Lu-”

“My dear,” He shoots you a withering look. “You are treading a thin line. If you have the energy to call for me you have the energy to study.” You say nothing at his brisk tone, instead of opening your arms to him to join you. “You tempt me.” He purrs hiding his smile behind his paperwork.

“Learned from the best.” Lucifer shakes his head laughing at your smug reply. He glances over you to his grandfather clock. Hmmm-perhaps he could spare a few minutes. He rises elegantly discarding his tie and waistcoat to his abandoned chair. Running a hand through his hair he snorts at your little whistle.

“Move.” He commands. You shake your head patting your belly. “I will crush you.” He laughs but lays over you regardless.

“Good-you’re warm.” You say muffled in his shirt. Wrapping your arms around his middle you drift off. Lucifer holds you close, running a still gloved hand up and down your side. Perhaps he should bring out some more complex topics next time. If this was the outcome-

Mammon

He noticed you get drowsy before in class. Your cute little head jerks as you nod off, hands rubbing at your face as you fight to stay awake before giving in to the need to sleep. It was adorable- not that he was watching you because of that! He was just doing his job of looking out for you

Ye-that was all.

Honestly, he thought you were just like him. He never cared for the books being forced on him in class. Boring useless crap in his opinion. He much rather sleep through a lecture on stats too.

Now books on photography? That's where it's at. He has a legitimate passion for it.

He likes being behind the camera just as much as he likes being in front of it. Though he doesn't snap photos often.

He doesn't need more beratement from his brothers than he already gets. Sides, he just feels like they would look down at this like everything else he does.

He'll share his hobby with you though. You at least seem interested in it. He'll show you his collection of vintage to high-tech cameras and talk your ear off about the makes, models, and features.

You nod along and ask questions from time to time, smiling along with Mammon while he prattles on about color theory next to you on the floor.

He was just getting to Auguste Lumiére when he feels a gentle bump on his shoulder.

"O-oi!" Mammon starts, shaking his shoulder to rouse you. You look up at him, blinking the sleep from your eyes. "Was...was I that boring?" He deflates a little, all previous excitement gone in a flash. You had seemed so interested...

"What? Oh, no. No Mammon I'm sorry. It's really all fascinating," You grab for his sleeve so he couldn't run away. "It was just a lot of information all at once. I just got a bit overwhelmed."

"So you fall asleep?" He raises a brow not believing you for a second. Who falls asleep when something is interesting? He'll admit he's fallen asleep while listening to Levi talk about a new anime or Asmo with a make-up release.  But that's because it had been boring. "Is that like a human thing?"

You shrug snuggling closer. "I don't know- but it's a me thing. Give me five? I'd love to hear you talk more about your collection, promise."

Mammon glows scarlet at your words. "Of course you do!" He puffs out his chest excitedly. “I got great taste.” You nod into his shirt before drifting off again. He tilts his head slightly to look at you chuckling internally when your breathing and heartbeat slow down. Damn, out in seconds. Well, better get comfortable.

Uncrossing his long legs he picks up the camera he had been showing you. The old Polaroid lens reflects his face back at him. He remembered the day Land had debuted this marvel of engineering. He just had had to get his hands on one. It was useless now, he had much better quality cameras than this old thing, but he remembered you reminiscing about your human friends and their portable camera. Would you take some pictures with him too? He would take one now, but the sound of the flash would definitely wake you up.

He fiddles with it for a few more minutes, opening and closing the film canister and checking for any parts that needed fixing as he waits. You stir at his side a few minutes later with a little mew of satisfaction. Mammon hears your joints creak and pop as you stretch. "Morning." He says sarcastically, earning himself a light punch to his shoulder. "Ready to continue?"

You nod eagerly, perky and aware. At least for the moment.

Satan

He didn't really notice at first the pattern of your behavior.

You would come over for book club. Which was really just him reading his current novel and you picking something at random to gain a little random knowledge.

You would find a comfortable position on his bed, curl up nice and small and read. Then after a bit yawn and start to snooze.

He first thought it was the atmosphere of his room. It was quiet, warm, and the sound of flickering candles and the rustle of paper sometimes caused him to doze too.

But when it starts happening outside of class he notices.

Hmmm….this is new.

He looks it up in his human anatomy books and finds nothing.

He's not particularly worried about you per se. You always bounce back quickly after a quick snooze.

Then you start dozing when he is talking… >:(

Like his brother/dad he is a little miffed at first but then your behavior reminds him a cat and he loves you 10x harder now

Satan stops in his pacing of the back gardens. His book of poetry hanging limply in his hand. He had been reciting some of the most fascinating lines of work from Lord Byron's later works and wanted a human's perspective. He had thought you were interested. You never complained before when he asked you out here. Perhaps you were just being polite all those times before. Anything to soothe wrath. He snaps his book shut sharply, take some perverse satisfaction in the way you start out of your light sleep at the noise.

"Why'd you stop?" You ask wiping at your face.

"No point talking to someone that doesn't wish to listen." He snaps tersely.

"Oh-Satan, no I was listening. It...it just got to be so much so fast." You flush. “You had some great points going, I just needed a minute.” He watches your eyes grow heavy again, and it dawns on him.

"Do you just sleep when overwhelmed?" He asks incredulously. In all his years with humans, this was new. You shrug making grabby hands for him to move closer. He scoffs but moves into your space. You grab at the hem of his shirt and pull him down to sit next to you. He goes willingly getting comfortable by your side. You eye his lap longingly, hands clutching around his coat sleeve. “Fine-” He rolls his eyes. “Come here you odd thing.” You smile in triumph and crawl into his lap. Once settled you nuzzle into his warm chest.

“Wake me up in ten? I want to hear more about your conversations with Byron.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” He kisses the top of your forehead, opening his book to read again with one hand. You hum at his soft kiss, returning it sleepily with one of your own before passing out again. Ten minutes go by in an instant and Satan looks down at your peaceful face. He smiles to himself, perhaps he’ll let you sleep for a little while longer. You’d need it for his next point.  

[inimoo]

Operation: Eradicate The Homoerotic Energy Between Our Dads

Chapter 1 - The Phone Call Chapter 2 - Sam, Henry, Clara, and William Chapter 3 - Aunt Jen's Letters Chapter 4 - Caught in the Act Chapter 5 - Graduation Chapter 6 - Planes and Cars Chapter 7 - Wrinkled Polaroids Chapter 8 - "I'll have your babies Charlie. Platonically." Chapter 9 - A Tree Room Chapter 10 - Blueprints from 1968 Chapter 11 - Samantha Adeline Rogers

Summary: Michael overhears his father calling Uncle Henry 'babygirl' and is mortified to a point where he enlists the help of his best friend Charlie to attempt to eradicate all forms of sexually charged tension between their dads.

In hindsight, they probably should've just let them makeout.

The two of them have never been on a plane before, they both decide that they’re never doing it again. At least not with their dads.

It wasn’t that they were scared of flying - it was just that Michael was sitting in the middle seat beside William and Henry pretending to sleep and Charlie was in the seat on the other side of the aisle and sat next to an obviously stressed blonde woman with her baby beside her. She looked young - not any more than three years older than Charlie and Michael and her son looked to be about 3 months old. In extension this meant the little boy seemed to never ever shut up. Because Aunt Jen had insisted on going on a plane instead of a car, the time to get there had been significantly shortened from 12 hours to just 1 but the baby’s cries seemed to convince the time gods to slow it down to a crawl. Charlie was trying to politely ignore the incessant noise but her patience was starting to wear out.

Michael on the other hand was having one of the most mortifying experience of his life.

Henry and William on either side of him have the most romantically charged conversation in years and Michael is subject to the horror. He didn’t have the faintest idea what they were talking about though since they were speaking in what seemed to be exclusively just a lot of metaphors about robots and college kids.

Fortunately, William says something that immediately shifts the mood. Or unfortunately.

“I don’t mean to pry Henry,” William lies - he does mean to pry, “But did you ever find out what happened to Samantha?”

Michael’s eyes shoot up for a split second and if he were capable of it his ear probably would’ve perked up in sudden intrigue. Samantha was Charlie’s mom’s - Sammy was named after her.

Supposedly she went missing three months after she gave birth to the twins and was never heard from again. The police told Henry that it was most likely she ran away from the responsibility of having to take care of two infants and completing her business degree at 21 but no one ever believed them. Then, around 2 months later her body was discovered in a creek almost unrecognizable because of the decomposition. Really the only definite reason they found out it was Sam was the locket around her neck with a picture of her, Henry, Clara, and William. Michael never knew her because he was 2 months old when she disappeared but Henry says that she had a never-ending love for their kids and Michael. Since he was the son of William and Clara.

Henry goes tense beside him and laughs awkwardly. “Um, no, I stopped trying a long time ago.”

“Really?” William asks, not a trace of empathy behind his voice, something that made Michael repress a shudder, “Interesting. I thought after so long we would’ve had something.”

Henry starts to say something like he was shocked William even said that but his voice falls flat. Instead, he simply gazes at him in bewilderment before turning away.

The mood is honestly a lot more uncomfortable and Michael feels a little bad. He doesn't want the two to flirt but he cares much more about Henry’s feelings than whatever was going on between the two of them. Michael stirs, his eyebrows scrunching like people do when they wake up. He’s good at this, at pretending to wake up and be asleep, a talent he had trained since a very young age whenever his father opened his door.

Both Henry and William glance at him as he fake stretches and blinks blearily. “Hi.” he says simply after a second.

“Good morning my boy,” Henry smiles kindly down at him, “Or afternoon.” He laughs and Michael chuckles along with him.

William doesn’t say anything - he’s a bit disappointed but he’s more than happy to talk to Henry than have a strained conversation with his father.

Charlie has been listening to the baby cry for about 45 minutes before she finally turns around and looks at the baby conjuring all her experience at the pizzeria and meeting his brown eyes. The mother looks at her with an apologetic expression. “I’m so sorry - he’s never been this far from his father and he’s just been a nightmare.”

“Oh no it’s fine, I work with kids all the time, they’re literal demons sometimes.” Charlie grins.

“Really?” she questions, “You don’t look a day over seventeen!”

“Oh,” she laughs, “I actually turned seventeen last month - um, would you mind if I suggested something?”

Charlie, despite being what one would call rambunctious in every other aspect of life, is an absolute angel with babies and parents. Her charm works every time, with a gentle smile and a soft voice she can work her magic no matter the situation.

“Can you really?” the woman jokes, “I’ve tried everything.”

“You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve had to do to get a kid to stop crying.” Charlie laughs, then reaches her hands out, “I can show you my favorite trick if you want.”

The woman hands her the red screaming baby and Charlie puts her hands under his chubby arms and smiles softly at him as he stares at her, drool escaping his mouth. “Alright buddy, what’s wrong?”

She turns him around and crosses his arms around his chest in a sort of self hug as his mother watches closely in fascination and curiosity, then she secures his arms with the palm of her hands and places her right hand on his bottom, tipping him at a 45-degree angle and begins to gently rock him back and forth.

The baby squirms a little in her hands but as she continued to move him up and down his cries slowly subsided to small whimpers and even those began to go away after a few seconds. Charlie holds him close to her chest and laughs at his wide brown eyes. “You’re so cute for someone making so much trouble for their mommy.”

“That was… surprisingly quick,” The woman giggles. “Thank you…?”

“Charlotte.” she supplies, “But everyone I know only ever calls me Charlie.”

“Well thank you Charlie,” she smiles, taking her baby back and placing him in her arms, “You’re a lifesaver.”

Charlie smiles, “The pleasure’s all mine Miss.”

-

Michael and Charlie share a car with their dads as they drive to Aunt Jen's house so they can’t talk about their plan besides discreet glances and small nods. Other than that modt of their attention is in how fucking fast the car is going. William drives the car at a speed so close to illegal territory that all three of them think that he’s doing it just to scare them. Henry repeatedly smacks his shoulder while yelling at him to slow down and even curses a few times when he turns corners. Henry was a soft-spoken man so really his reaction only added to the panic that set into the hearts of both teens.

Michael grips onto Charlie’s shoulder, both of their hair flying in every direction imaginable. The wind was whistling so fast that it drowned out almost every other sound besides the other’s voice.

“Oh my fuck, oh my fucking god we’re gonna die I'm literally gonna kill your dad Mike I don’t care we’re going to die in a car crash and I won’t graduate oh my fucking lord Mike I hate you this plan was stupid jesus fucking-“

“What did I do?” he asks through gasps, “Stop jinxing our deaths Charlie or I swear to god I won’t ever let you rest in the afterlife.”

“Oh my fuck this is it - this is how we die, we’re gonna die because of your fucking dad and this stupid ass car.” Charlie stresses, attempting to tie her hair back out of her face then frowning before realizing she cut her hair short a month ago and that it only reached right under her chin. There was no way to escape the wind now.

“Chill man before we actually do die,” he tells her, ignoring the panic in his own chest, “Shit shit shit I hate life my father is fucking crazy this is such an embarrassing way to die.”

It’s only until Henry forces William to pull over and switch places with him does their hearts return to a normal pace. Michael and Charlie look at each other. Not for the first time, the two wonder if they should just let their dads make out but then they both realize that William’s a walking, talking, embodiment of a red flag so they decide that this is more so for Henry’s sake than anyone else's.

It’s insanely hot, Michael feels like he’s melting on the spot. Utah was relatively hot which is the reason they both have tans but California is on a whole other level. Charlie’s sweating profusely, wiping her forehead with her sleeves every ten seconds and Michael’s just about panting like a dog.

“You’re being so dramatic,” William tells them, addressing them for the first time for the entire car ride, “We spent four years over here; how can you not even handle an hour?”

“Because they weren’t born here William,” Henry says, “You also weren’t but I was half convinced you didn’t show any emotions until I started hanging out with you.”

“God it really wasn’t that bad.”

“It’s 60 degrees out swee-” he stops, “William.”

Michael and Charlie exchange looks.

“Ew.” they both mouth at each other.

The car’s about twenty minutes away from Aunt Jen’s place when their brain starts to melt from the heat. Was this a symptom of early death? Death to the sun? Michael and Charlie have no idea but they’re sure that they’re at least half correct.

Their dads however seem to be having the time of their lives. Since Henry’s in the driver seat William has fallen victim to his own rule: the driver gets to pick the songs. In addition, this means they were going to be listening to Hey Baby by Bruce Channel on repeat until they got there which William despises.

It’s actually quite annoying that they’re being assaulted with wind constantly but the fates decided that it was going to actually be hot instead of chilling. Charlie and Michael don’t know whether to pile together for moral support or to stay at opposite ends of the cars to reduce the heat that would inevitably end up with their deaths so they decide on a middle ground. Backs pressed up against the sides of the cars, both of them lay out their legs in front of them, the soles of their shoes touching in a small comfort. The actual physical comfortability however was just not a lot.

“Why are you legs so fucking long Mikey,” Charlie groans, “I barely have any space!”

“I can’t just retract my legs dude,” Michael tells her, lifting his shoulders up, “It’s not my fault that my dad made me 6’2.”

“I have to bend my legs to be in the position!”

“You’re like, I don’t know, 5’6.” he says.

“I am not 5’6,” Charlie denies, crossing her arms like she had been personally offended by the comment, “I’m 5' 8.”

“You’re lying,” Michael gapes in disbelief, “There’s no way you’re 5’8.”

“Are you saying that you know my height better than me?” Charlie asks, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m just saying that I don’t believe you.”

“What, why not?!”

“Because you’re really short.” he says simply.

Charlie’s eye twitches. “You’re really tall! Everyone looks short to you! You’re like the tallest guy in our grade!”

“What am I supposed to do about that?” he asks.

“Nothing actually, just move your feet back.”

“Then I’m bending my legs.”

“So what?”

“You’re complaining about having to bend your legs but telling me that I should instead so really this is just bullying.”

“You’re calling me the bully?!” Charlie gasps in indignation, “You don’t get to say that.”

“I’ve had character development.”

“Michael for the love of god,” William groans from his seat in the shotgun, “Just move your legs for Charlotte.”

He moves them.

[onewithnomightypowers]

clandestine (chapter 2)

PAIRING: Tom Holland x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is an up and coming actress, married to a once hotshot actor, Harrison (Haz). What happens when her co-star, Tom, makes her realise that she is stuck in a loveless marriage. A marriage starts crumbling and a new romance stars brewing.

chapter 2: portrait of a dinner

A/N:  the characters in no way portray how these ppl are in real life. i do not encourage cheating. i hope you guys like this chapter!! i would love to know how you guys feel about the story. feedback is always appreciated.

warnings: drinking, smoking, cursing

word count: 1.6k

important: the whole chapter is a flashback, character thoughts are in bold italics

masterlist   series masterlist   chapter 1   chapter 3

“I rent a place on Cornelia street”, Tom said casually in the car. They were sitting in the backseat of a black town car, going for their shoot. Y/N had suggested that they travel together, in an attempt to get to know each other better. She said, “It would help with the on screen chemistry”, the whole production team agreed. But that did not become a norm for them, mostly because of their different call times.

Both of them had hectic filming schedules and only saw each other when they had scenes together. Sometimes they would bump into each other at the craft service, but otherwise, they were on their own.

During the last few weeks of filming, Tom had started getting her coffee. He had noticed how she took her coffee during the shooting. Black with one sugar.

“There you go”, Tom handed her the coffee. “Thanks Tom.” He gave her a smile. She was walking towards the door, and Tom started following her behind.

“I’m going to hair and makeup, do you wanna tag along?” she asked him.

“Sure, I have a 15 minute break anyway”

“Have you seen Hot Rod? I watched it last night” she didn’t know why she asked that silly question. She found it embarrassing.

“That Andy Samberg movie, right?” Tom nodded, “Yeah I watched it a long time ago, it’s a classic”

“I totally watched it for Bill Hader” She found herself easing up to him.

“Valid reason. Loved him on SNL. Do you know Stefon? from SNL?” She reached for the door handle, a gush of cold air was felt by both of them.

“Don’t even get me started on Stefon. I used to watch Stefon compilations on YouTube all the time. It became a problem” she chuckled, remembering how Haz used to get pissed off whenever she’d talk in a ‘Stefon’ tone.

Oh, I love it when she chuckles like that. I wish I could kiss her. NO. She is fucking married, Tom.

“Yes yes yes, New York’s hottest club is…” Tom tried to imitate Bill Hader as Stefon. He looked around a bit and pointed towards the paparazzi, who were trying to take pictures of anything worth money. “New York’s hottest club is paparazzi” he continued.

“If paparazzi is the hottest club, then I’m fine staying at home” Y/N was laughing so hard that she couldn’t breathe. She clutched Tom’s arm to avoid falling down while trying to contain her laughter. She hadn’t had a good laugh with Haz in a long time.

--

Tom found himself at Y/N’s doorsteps with cheap wine he bought from the convenience store last minute. Y/N had invited Tom and his partner for dinner during the last week of shooting.

“Oh, I’m not seeing anyone actually, but my lonely heart and I will be there”, Tom replied to Y/N’s invitation.

He rang the bell and waited for someone to open the door. Tom was met by Haz’ charming smile, as he opened the door. Tom could see right through his fake smile. Clueless to Y/N and Haz’ fight prior, he entered the two story building.

“Why did you invite him without asking me?” Haz screamed, slamming the plates on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be home tonight, you never are” Y/N replied in the same tone as Haz

“So you were going to have dinner with him, alone?”

“Yes” she said in a crude way.

“Are you fucking him?” Just as Haz asked her, the doorbell rang.

It would be better fucking him than fucking you. At least he’ll be home.

Y/N entered the kitchen leaving Haz to open the door. “You must be Tom” said Haz, in his most likeable voice.

“Yeah and you must be Haz. I got this for you guys”, Tom handed him the wine bottle.

He’s a bloody hotshot and brought us cheap wine.

“Hey Tom, I’m so glad you could make it”, Y/N said, taking Tom in for a hug. She could feel Haz burning a hole behind her head with his gaze.

She pulled out of the hug, “do you want red or white wine?”

“Red”, Harrison and Tom said in unison. Y/N let out a little chuckle and went into the kitchen. Tom started noticing the little things in their house, like how there were film and Polaroid cameras scattered everywhere. There was a vinyl shelf right above an old golden gramophone, adjacent to their brown leather couch.

He noticed a collage of pictures and recognised some of the photos from the time they were taken on set. There was one with him and Y/N. He felt a sense of pride knowing that their picture hung on Y/N’s wall and the possibility of her looking at it every day.

“So, what do you wanna hear?” Harrison was standing next to their vinyl collection. “Since Y/N lives here, we have everything Taylor Swift, I don’t suppose you’re into that pop shit, are you?”

“Actually I do like pop but more like alt-pop”

Harrison wasn’t surprised. He seemed like a ‘Beach House’ kinda guy anyway, to him.

“So you like alt-pop?” Y/N walked towards the boys with two glasses of red wine in her hands. “Have you heard of ‘peter cat recording co.’?” she asked Tom

“Yes I have! Oh, I thought nobody knew about them. I’m glad I found you”, Tom was filled with giddy excitement.

“PCRC it is, then”, Haz said in an annoyed tone. He grabbed the vinyl of ‘portrait of a time’, their first album, and placed it on the gramophone.

“Babe, where is your glass?” Haz asked Y/N.

“Oh I, shit I left it in the kitchen”

“No worries I’ll get it”, Haz kissed her cheek and left the living room.

Even though Y/N knew it was fake niceties, she still craved it. It felt nice, behaving like a normal couple instead of fighting over every damn thing, and him storming out of the house almost every night. Sometimes she felt that Harrison was a hypocrite. He would accuse her of cheating with every guy in her life, but wouldn’t be home nine out of ten times.

They were now seated on their wooden dining table, with dried flowers in the middle. Haz and Y/N were sitting opposite to Tom. There was Chinese takeout in their fancy china.

“Sorry about the take out, neither of us are good at cooking and we didn’t want you getting sick”, Y/N tried to justify the absence of a home cooked meal.

“It’s fine as long as I’m getting fed”, Tom chuckled.

“No actually all this food is only for Y/N and me”, Haz said, trying to sound serious.

That was a bad joke, all of them thought.

There was an awkward silence. Haz cleared his throat, “So Y/N, are you seeing someone?”

“Haz, you can’t just ask someone that!”

“It’s okay Y/N. No Haz, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” Tom said, blushing at the personal question.

“So you are single”, Haz said looking at Y/N, in an attempt to imply that she might be having an affair with him.

Trying to hide her annoyance, Y/N started serving the food. The rest of the dinner was normal. They talked about the movie and Haz did not spontaneously combust. In Y/N’s mind, it was near to a success. When Tom started to leave, Y/N offered to drop him to his apartment building, but he settled on walking him one block.

Y/N grabbed her jacket as they left the house. She pulled out a box of cigarettes from her pocket and offered Tom.

“Oh, I don’t smoke”

Y/N scuffed with a cigarette between her teeth.

“What kind of an English man are you?” she said, lighting her cigarette.

“Well you know it’s a common misconception, we don’t all smoke”

“That’s good to know”, she took a long drag.

“Also you might not like the wine I brought you. I realised pretty late that I should be getting you something because I was visiting your house for the first time, so I bought the best wine I could find in that convenience store”, he pointed towards the store a few metres away from them.

“Its fine, it’ll remind me of my youth”, they both laughed.

“I guess this is one block, you should go back home now”, Tom said while trying hail a cab by waving his right hand frantically, at the edge of the curb. He looked ridiculous.

“You clearly have never done this before” she laughed at him, turning Tom’s face red.

She stepped off the curb, to be seen clearly by the oncoming traffic, put out her arm and a cab was there in seconds.

“So I guess I’ll see you around” he said while pulling Y/N into a hug.

His touch made her hyper aware and same could be said for Tom. Y/N started to pull out but stopped half way. It felt like they were both looking inside each other’s soul through their eyes.

“Ay, lovebirds, you comin or not”, the cab driver screamed making them break away. He got in and Y/N closed the door for him. That’s when her phone pinged.

Haz: where are you, I’m going out.