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unseededtoast · 6 months

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Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Eight

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

Though he is a man of few words, his actions speak for his character.

Heading west, I keep walking through the night, though it's less than ideal. I take my time, wanting to stay quiet and undetected by both infected and people. The silence of the night allows my mind to mull over what I found today and how everything is supposed to fit together.

My mind can't seem to figure anything out that makes sense. The map is the only thing that makes the most sense to me. The notes, the game tallies, they all seem so odd but there has to be some connection. There has to be some reason these people were tasked with killing a specific age range of children in QZ's across the country. There has to be some reason they're connected to the Fireflies. I'm seeing bits and pieces of the picture, but not the full painting.

But what if this is all a bit bigger than I can take on? Am I walking myself right towards a death sentence? Maybe. Could I be making the wrong decision to go to Nebraska? Possibly.

The other alternatives are either to retreat back to the QZ and be stuck wondering for the rest of my life, or try to track down which QZ the others went to, and I could miss them and have wasted time. But if I guess which QZ they're going to next, I could possibly save more lives. I've never been good at gambling, and yet I find myself playing at the highest stakes.

Each step seems to take ten times the effort as normal as I consider my options, trying to see which is the most logical, which would give me the best odds of finding these people. As soon as I think I've made a decision, I second guess myself. It feels like there's no right decision to be made.

I stop walking in the middle of a street and stare straight up at the dark sky, the stars shining brightly down. If only they could give me the answer. The sound of a clicker in a nearby skyscraper gets me moving again, towards the interstate. It seems I've made up my mind, and only time will tell if this was the right decision.

Readjusting my backpack and yawning, I take in my surroundings so that I'm not ambushed by infected. Sometimes it seems like they come out of nowhere. My thoughts seem to run in circles until it starts to drive me mad. I have to think of something else or I'm going to go insane. And after searching for something, the green sign above the road distracts my mind and reminds me of the stranger I met only yesterday.

I wonder how Joel is doing, how his journey is going so far. He seemed seasoned to life outside a QZ, his time away from Boston likely forced him to adapt. Whatever job it was that he took to get out of Boston must have caused him to not want to return. But no matter the reason, I hope that he has a safe journey, I'm sure whoever is waiting for him is worried sick.

My path leads me to a roadblock where an old FEDRA checkpoint used to be, just before the entrance ramp of the highway. Cars are parked bumper to bumper and there's sandbags stacked on top of each other supporting a thick line of barbed wire. Knowing I can't climb overtop of it, I take a right and decide to go around. Sure, this is going to delay my trip slightly, but it's better than trying to go overtop of barbed wire. I don't really feel like nursing open wounds on my way to Nebraska.

As I go to turn left to get back on track I immediately stop moving. Standing in the street are three runners, all hunched over with quiet sobs. A clicker cries out somewhere close, its screeches ricochet off the buildings and echoes into the open air. My heart hammers in my chest and I take careful steps backwards so that I can keep my eyes on them. Thankfully, they don't see me and I'm able to get back to the front of the barricade.

I take a left instead, and hope for a better outcome. Bracing myself, I turn the corner and am in disbelief with what I see. There are four runners standing in the road. My eyes trail down the street and I see that they're all trapped here. The FEDRA barricade extends down the streets so that the infected in the Boston area can't use this ramp to get onto the highway. On one of the barricade sections I see the telltale sign of a door, there's a giant FEDRA sign hanging above it. That door would be a direct path to the road if it weren't for the infected. It seems that there's no unobstructed way for me to get to the highway. I'm up against seven runners and a clicker, at least. Even during the day I don't know if I could take this on.

Ducking back behind the building I try to formulate some sort of plan. How can I get through this barricade without the infected noticing me? I know the door is to the left, but there's no way I can get past all of those infected and open it. Even if I do sneak to the door, I know it's going to make sound when I open it, and that's like ringing the dinner bell for them.

Sound would be like ringing a dinner bell. An idea comes to my mind and I spot an abundance of bricks laying beside one of the cars. If I can get those bricks to all fall at the same time across the street, it should draw them away long enough for me to get to the door. It's still risky, but I think it's my best shot. But how do I get them to fall at the same time?

I don't see a way that I can pull that plan off without considerable time, and I don't have time to be stopped up here, not with all the infected. I stare at the pile of bricks and another idea crosses my mind. What if I use them to get over the barricade? I could lay the bricks in a way that I could get over the barbed wire. It might not be the most sophisticated plan, but it's going to have to work.

Quietly, I walk over to the pile and begin picking them up slowly. The barricade is at least six feet high, so I'm going to have to bring bricks up to the top of the sandbags and lay them there before I can construct something over the wire. I slide my backpack off my shoulders so that it's easier to get the bricks to the top of the barricade. Clutching three bricks under one arm, I climb the sandbags and drop them on top. Thankfully, the sand masks the sound of the bricks landing.

I take another trip up with three more bricks without incident, and feel more confident in my plan. On my last trip up with bricks, I drop them on the sandbags, but one of them hits the corner and falls down to the road with a loud crash. The infected hear it and I can tell they're rushing to investigate. I drop down to the road to pick up my backpack and see them coming towards me on both sides. Shit.

With the speed of lighting, I put my backpack on and start climbing the sandbags. I hear them getting closer as I reach the top, their carnal breaths loud in the night. I'm about two inches away from pulling myself to the top when I feel one of them grab my foot and it yanks me down.

My fingers slip on the sandbags and I fall a few inches before I'm able to grab ahold of something. Wildly, I kick my feet in an attempt to get them off of me, but there are too many. In a last ditch effort, I grab my gun from my thigh holster and shoot the ones who drag me down. The shots ring out in the night and I know it's only going to attract more.

The few runners I've shot collapse to the ground, which gives the clicker more space to reach for me. Clickers are infinitely more terrifying than runners, and they're about ten times stronger too. Runners take one bullet to kill, clickers can take at least two or three. I aim my gun towards the clicker and pull the trigger, but it just clicks. It's empty. Quickly, I shove the gun back in the holster and use both hands to grab onto the sandbags.

Adrenaline pumps in my veins and I fight harder to pull myself away from the feral infected. My pant leg rips at the bottom from their clawing and I feel my fingers beginning to slip. Clenching my eyes shut, I grit my teeth and pull with all my might to get away.

Just as I'm about to accept my fate, a shot rings out and one of the infected crumples to the ground. Four more shots hit the clicker, and it falls as well, body twitching on top of the others. Without thinking I pull myself on top of the barricade and whip my head from side to side to see who shot them. I grab my curved knife from my belt and hold it in front of me.

My chest heaves with each breath I take as the adrenaline begins wearing off and the panic sets in. Whoever shot them could be coming for me next. What if it's the T group?

From the shadows I see a figure approaching, slinging a gun behind them as they quickly jog towards me. Once they get close enough, I recognize who it is immediately. It's Joel.

He runs to the barricade and holds out a hand. I put my knife away and offer him my help up the sandbags. We both start using the bricks to construct a makeshift bridge across the barbed wire, the screeches of a dozen approaching infected rushing our movements. Joel takes bricks from my shaking hands and practically stands me up on his own and pushes me across the bridge, my other pant leg ripping from the barbs.

My feet hit the ground with a hard thud, quickly followed by Joel. His hands push on the back of my backpack and one word is clear over the coming stampede.

"Run." We take off sprinting down the highway's entrance ramp. He's slightly faster than me but I keep up well. Joel points to an abandoned car that crashed into a guard rail and I nod, showing him I understand the plan.

We yank open the doors and climb in. If the infected make it over the barricade, they shouldn't see us here and eventually will disperse. The two of us are out of breath and we sit in silence, trying to regain our bearings.

After a few minutes of steadying my breath, I take my backpack off and sit it in my lap. I rest my head on it and lean forward, closing my eyes in an attempt to calm myself down.

"Thank you." I say, slightly breathless. Raising my head from my backpack, I look over to Joel, who's glancing in the mirrors to see what's behind us. His eyes flicker to mine and he gives me a stern nod, opting to stay quiet.

If it weren't for him I'd be some infected's dinner. That fact sinks in and I feel an immense amount of gratitude. He didn't have to save me. He could've left me for dead. Most people wouldn't stick their neck out for someone they barely know, but he did. Though he is a man of few words, his actions speak for his character.

My gaze turns to the mirrors as well, the two of us anxiously wait to see if the infected are going to make it over. The runners would have no issue scaling the wall given the proper motivation to do so, but they're less likely to if they can't immediately see something that grabs their attention.

After hours of us hunkering down silently in the car, Joel opens his door and gets out. He slings his bag and rifle on his back, looking behind him one more time. I get out and gear up as well. And just like the first time I met him, the silence is almost overwhelming. The morning sunlight begins rising, and I realize we spent almost the entire night in the car.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I debate whether or not I should say anything. Seeing as how he just saved my life, I decide it's the least I can do. I clear my throat and scratch the back of my neck, looking down at the ground to avoid awkward eye contact.

"I just want to thank you again for saving me back there. You really didn't have to put yourself at risk, but I appreciate it." I find the courage to look up, only to see him staring at me already with a fierce intensity.

"I thought you were headed towards that camp?" He asks, totally disregarding my appreciation.

"I was. I mean, I did. One guy was left but he was infected. I found clues though, about where they might be going." I tell him, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. He nods,

"So where're you headed?" He asks again, and it throws me off. This is the most talkative he's ever been.

"Omaha, Nebraska." I say, recalling the city where the large 'T' was located. Joel's eyebrows raise.

"That's quite a ways from here." He points out and I sigh, knowing I'm severely underprepared for the long road ahead.

"Yeah, I know. But I have to do this. I won't be able to live with myself if I don't." I confess to him. I'm well aware my choices defy logic, but, the alternative of letting the guilt eat me alive is worse.

Joel rests his hand on the top of the car and looks down the highway. He shifts his weight around like he's deep in thought for a few minutes. He's probably trying to think of a way to ditch me. Feeling like I'm intruding on his venture home, I speak up again.

"Listen, I appreciate what you did for me back there, all of it. But I know you're trying to get home so I'll get out of your hair, for real this time." I say and extend a hand out to him again, probably for the last time. Like before, he stares at my hand.

"I'm headed west and go right by Omaha." He says, squinting in the sunlight. I drop my hand once I realize he isn't going to take it, meaning we aren't splitting quite yet. My eyebrows draw tightly together in confusion as I try to understand what he's trying to get at. I think I understand, but I need to hear him clarify.

"Meaning what? We tag along 'til Omaha?" I hear the insecurity in my own voice and I hate it. Joel takes his hand back from the top of the car and nods.

"Safer that way, for the both of us." He confirms my thoughts and starts walking down the highway. I follow him, accepting his offer.

We walk side by side down the road, the only sounds being the birds in the sky and our gear rattling around. My mind is buzzing with questions I want to ask him, but I respect that he's a quiet, reserved man.

Every few minutes I check behind us, feeling paranoid that we're being followed. There's never anything there, but I'd rather check and see nothing than not check and be surprised. Joel is less paranoid I think, he walks with a silent confidence that tells me he's no stranger to the outside world. He understands it far better than I do.

The two of us walk for miles without saying a word until we come to an exit ramp. I recognize it as a suburb outside of Boston, but I've never been there before. Joel veers off the highway to the exit and I follow without question.

Off the ramp, there's a small town to the left and a bunch of housing complexes to the right. Seems like the perfect place for infected to be lurking about. But for some reason, I put my blind faith in the man leading me and trail him into the town.

He looks over his shoulder at me and points at a small brick building. I nod and approach it with him, preparing my knife for use. He stands on the opposite side of the entrance doors with his knife in hand, looking to me for confirmation that I'm ready. Silently, I nod and watch as he swings the door open. I wait for the sound of infected, but am pleasantly surprised with silence.

Joel seems to know where he's going though, he heads straight for the back room. I take my time to look around at the front room, seeing if there's anything of use. Most likely there isn't, but every once in a while I get lucky. The sound of whatever Joel is moving is enough to catch my attention, and I stand in the doorway. He's moving a large piece of plywood that's on the floor. There's a hole in the ground, and he drops down into it.

Curiosity gets the best of me and I go over to peek in the hole, seeing a small stash of supplies. Joel rummages around and picks up ammunition, a few cans, and another knife. He turns around and sees me staring above him, and he hands me items he can't carry himself; some cans of food and ammunition, before he pulls himself back out of the hole.

"You stashed that?" I ask quietly. He huffs as he puts away the extra supplies.

"A while ago." He answers and the two of us quickly shove the items in our bags. My bag feels like it gained fifteen extra pounds, but I can't complain. The extra weight means we have better survival odds.

Wordlessly, Joel moves out of the store and heads towards the suburban side of town, only a few miles walk away. The cookie-cutter houses remind me of the neighborhood I used to live in. A small, idyllic place at one point in time, turned to nothing but a ghost town now. Joel approaches the porch of one and opens the door. Luckily, it's empty and I follow him inside.

He blocks the main entrances to the home without a word, and I move to help him. I shove a strong chair underneath the handle of the back door and try to turn the handle to test its durability. After that, I make my rounds on the curtains and close them all. It seems like we're making this our base for the night. Once we've taken all the safety measures that we possibly can, Joel finds his way to the living room and unloads his stuff on the old, worn-down couch.

I place my backpack on the floor next to the couch and lean against the doorframe that connects the living room and kitchen, watching as Joel straightens his back out on the floor. His arms reach above his head to elongate his spine, and I hear the bones pop and crack. Wincing slightly, I turn my attention elsewhere in the house.

My eyes catch the fading family portrait on the wall and I go to look at it. The black frame houses an old photo. There's a man, woman, two kids, and a dog. They're all smiling, even the dog looks happy. My heart tugs at the sight of the happy family, and I can only assume what happened to them, just like so many other families. Sighing, I look at the other photos on the wall, seeing the slow growth of the children through still images. They look like they were probably high school age. My fingers find their way to the necklace that adorns my neck and I squeeze it tight.

A sound from behind me snaps me out of my thoughts and I turn back to see Joel staring at me. I offer him a polite smile and go to take a seat across from him on the floor, resting my back against the old couch. I fiddle with the torn edges of my pants, and can no longer restrain myself from asking questions. There are too many things I want answers to.

"How did you find me at that barricade?" My voice is soft. Joel clears his throat and shrugs.

"I took the long way 'round so I wouldn't interfere with whatever you were doin'. I was plannin' on taking this highway back home anyways. Guess it was just a coincidence." He plainly answers and I nod, accepting his answer.

"What a lucky coincidence." I smile, trying to break through the tension that always seems to hang over us. It's going to be a long trip west if he keeps things this short. He just shrugs in response,

"So what did you find 'bout those people?" He asks. I'm surprised he even cares, but I reach for my bag to show him what I've found. I spread the documents out in front of me and let him look. I explain to him what I know and what my theories are.

"Whoever they are, they need to be eradicated. Those kids, they were-" The tightness in my throat constricts my ability to talk and I take a shaky breath, remembering what it felt like to cradle the dying girl's head. Joel just nods, not needing further elaboration. He holds up the scraps of paper I found in the fire and reads the simple words.

"I'm not sure what those have to do with anything, and I'm not sure there's any sort of connection." I speak up, truthfully not knowing if they're of any value.

He puts the scraps down and picks up another piece of paper, the one with the Firefly insignia on it. As he reads the paper it's like the blood is drained from his face. My eyebrows knit together,

"What is it?" I ask and his startled eyes look deep into mine with fear that he tries to mask. An uneasy feeling settles in me. He looks back down to the paper and re-reads the note before he says anything.

"These bastards aren't going to live much longer." Is all he says before handing everything back over to me. The look on his face is unsettling, so I don't push anything further.

There has to be something he knows about this.

Part Nine

#joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us joel #joel miller fanfic #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic

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maria-rayro · 2 years

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His curse. Part 1/?

I'm gonna tag you cause you are the reason why I fell for this man @lacteaway

A concept: what if the Curator starts coming to you in your dreams? And you have no idea who he is, but the fact is that he, as a storyteller, has been watching you for a long time, and at some point he was imbued with your sad and difficult fate, and decided to save you from nightmares, replacing them with dreams with his participation.

And one day you fall asleep and find yourself in a strange dark castle, and you think that soon your brain will again make you plunge into the already familiar horrors, when suddenly you see the Curator at the end of the corridor, and he politely invites you to come up. You think that this is a deception and will end the same as usual, but you still obediently go, realizing that you cannot run away from anyone in any case.

However, instead of violence or other horrors, he just hugs you. You are in shock and do not understand anything, but you press yourself against his chest, suddenly sobbing. His hugs feel so real.

He continues to visit you in your dreams every night, and after a long time, you finally begin to fall asleep without fear that a nightmare awaits you again. A man gives you warm hugs every night, sometimes gently stroking your hair, sometimes cradeling in his arms, letting you cry. He no longer needs to call you to come to him, you do it yourself, willingly running up with a barely noticeable smile on your lips.

One day, you suddenly timidly pull away from his arms to look him in the face. The man looks barely perceptibly alarmed as he looks back into your eyes. You are trying to formulate what you want to say to him, but all thoughts leave your head when he suddenly touches your face, gently brushing the strands from your forehead. "Maybe you want some tea?" he asks, and it's not the first time you've heard his voice (he's whispered soothing words in your ear before), but you're still flinch. "I'm so ignoramus. Where are my manners? You've been coming here for a month and I still haven't offered you a cup of tea" his calm tone makes you smile. "Let's go," he says softly, stepping back and holding out his hand to you, inviting you to follow him. You take the outstretched hand, when suddenly the other is near your face. The man jokingly shakes his finger at you. "But don't tell anyone about it, okay? Everything that happens here is a secret, and no one should know about our meetings. Okay?" he asks, looking into your eyes, and you immediately nod. "Good. C'mon".

You follow him, looking around curiously. When you first came here, this place seemed intimidating to you, and the cawing of crows, periodically heard somewhere nearby, weren't helpful. However, now you don't see anything terrible in this castle, and you even find it quite cozy, actually. Especially when this strange man is around.

You enter a room where cups of hot tea and a small porcelain sugar bowl are already on the table. A man sits in a chair and you follow his example. He takes his cup and you carefully take the other one too. He takes a sip and you keep looking at him. "Who are you?" you ask, holding your cup.

"I suppose I should be called the Curator. It's not my name, of course, but the names - they're like jackets; they're fit if you wear them right," the man skillfully avoids answering.

"So, are you like my... guardian angel?" you ask uncertainly, and the man suddenly laughs very softly, restrainedly.

"Well, in a way, I think," he admits. "But only metaphorically. I can only protect you from your nightmares," he smiles a little.

"Are you real?" you ask.

"You're going to give me an existential crisis with questions like that, my dear," he laughs. "Anyway, I don't think that such a category has anything to do with who I am."

You remain silent, giving yourself time to consider your next question. "Are you a figment of my imagination?"

The curator looks pleasantly surprised. "That's a good question, very smart one, actually. Yes, I'm not a figment of your imagination. I'm something else. I'm afraid I can only appear to you in dreams. At least in a form in which I can hug you," he explains. You smile shyly. "In the physical world, all I can do is be a silhouette that people see out of the corner of their vision and that disappears when they look at it. Or a crow," he says, sipping his tea.

"A crow?" you ask with interest. You suddenly remember how, having woken up a long time ago from a nightmare, you saw a black bird sitting on the windowsill. You then were very much frightened; You must confess that since childhood you were really afraid of crows...

"Yes, a crow. I'm sorry I scared you then," he says, still holding the cup.

"Um... so... should I call you the Curator? But... um... isn't that weird?" you ask uncertainly, and the man smiles softly. "I mean, this jacket suits you, of course, but when I see it on you, I get the feeling that you are some kind of a boss or head of a sect."

"You are free to put any other jacket on me, if you feel more comfortable that way, my dear. Or not to put on anything at all," the man says calmly. "We used to get by without names, after all."

You look at him thoughtfully. "And what do you do? Besides hugging me in my dreams," you chuckle awkwardly.

"I guess my main occupation is being a story keeper," he gestures elegantly at the overflowing bookcases. "One of these books contains yours, by the way. Already written, already lived. Survived. I was there when you went through the horrors of that night... I watched as a disembodied ghost, standing behind your back," he puts the cup on the saucer.

You inadvertently recall that terrible night, after which you suffered for a long time because of nightmares. "Do you enjoy scary stories?" you ask.

The curator sighs, looking away. "It's not like I have a choice about anything here," he says honestly. "I'm afraid I'm forced to drag out my existence within the walls of this castle, being able only watching other people's fates, having no power to influence them. This is my burden. My curse."

Outside the windows you can hear the cawing of crows. You carefully look at the Curator. "And how is this curse removed? With a kiss, like in fairy tales?" you smile as the man looks back at you, looking a little confused by your words.

You smile innocently at him.

"I... don't think that's how it works," he says, still a little confused. Uh-oh, did you make him embarrassed? If he could blush, he totally would do that. But so far he just avoid looking at you and instead suddenly decides to get up from his chair. “Do you like fairy tales? I think I have something here that I could read to you,” he skillfully changes the topic. You are smiling.

"Do you want to tell me a bedtime story even though I'm already asleep?" you ask. It's cute, actually.

"Why not?" the man asks, pulling one of the books off the shelf and quickly flipping through it. Then he puts it back and looks around the row of identical spines again before finally pulling out the right book and turning back to face you. "You don't mind?" he politely clarifies.

You smile and take a sip of your tea before answering. "I'd love to hear your voice," you say honestly.

The curator smiles softly, too, calmly walking over to a sofa nearby. He taps a couple of times on the blue upholstery without looking at you. You immediately put the cup on the table and get up from the chair, after a couple of moments sitting next to the man on the couch. He opens the book, about to start reading, and you, after thinking, decide to make yourself comfortable, and lay your head on his knees. The curator blinks several times in confusion, freezing, but then exhales, relaxing, and runs his free hand into your hair, starting to read and stroke your head.

You wake up a few hours later completely satisfied and with a smile on your face.

#the curator #the dark pictures anthology #the curator x the reader #part one i guess heh #no beta we just die

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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

The one where it takes Thomas a year

Description | There's something between you and Thomas, but as time goes on, it becomes more and more difficult to figure out if you're on the same page.

Content | Angst, fluff, little bit of smut (but no detailed descriptions)

Pairing | Thomas x gn!Reader

Word Count | 5972

Tag list | @ginny-lily @ethaneskin @tabi-toast @mywritingonlyfans @manesimp @ohtorchio @daddydamiano @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut

***

January

The bar is dark and dirty, shoes sticking to the floor wherever you walk, unidentifiable music playing lowly in the background. You don't mind. You're sitting around a table with people you barely know and there's a skinny white boy animatedly talking about something or other and you decide that as long as you can keep looking at him, you'll stay here forever. He has got that kind of beauty about him that belongs in Gucci campaigns and on music magazine covers. He doesn't know that you barely understand a word of what he is saying. Not only is his speech far beyond your comprehension skills in Italian, but he is also apparently speaking in a Romanesco dialect. You don't mind.

His hands are moving around so much they almost shove the bottles and glasses off the table and your drunken mind doesn't let you focus on anything but his long, slim fingers. His nails are painted black and you never found nail polish on men all that appealing but somehow, everything about him is. One of his hands wraps around a bottle of beer, one of his rings causing a clacking sound that no one but you hears and you cannot help fall into fantasies of that same hand touching you.

A couple of people are getting up now. You are not sure what the plan is, but you're assuming they're heading to the bar for another round of drinks. You don't immediately realise that he is talking to you now, which seems ridiculous with how closely you have been watching him all night, but when you do, you awkwardly admit that you don't actually understand a word of what he is saying. He laughs a wonderfully melodic laugh and repeats himself in English. You decide you love his laugh.

He is talking about music, playing live, some records you have never heard of and you cannot keep up. You don't know nearly enough about the technical sides of the subject that he keeps raving about and you've had too many drinks to pretend. He doesn't mind.

Neither of you notices the others coming back, already in deep discussion. You don't know if anything you say makes any sense at all, but he is nodding along and looking at you with wide, open eyes and hanging onto every word so you keep talking. He is drunk, laughing at things that aren't all that funny, but so are you, so you laugh along.

The bartender ringing the bell for last call is the only thing that is able to pull you out of your conversation. Both of you slowly shuffle to leave the bar, losing your friends along the way. The cold outside air hits you like a ton of bricks, yet you don't feel any more sober. For a moment, as you both look at each other with expressions not quite identifiable, you consider taking him home. Dragging him into your bedroom just to see what he is hiding under those clothes. To see what his fingers feel like on your skin.

But then one of your friends pulls you into a taxi they have called, someone shuts the door and the driver starts the car before you have a chance to protest. You can see him standing on the sidewalk still, lighting a cigarette and watching as the car takes you away.

February

It takes you a moment to remember where you have seen him before when you bump into his body backstage. He surprises you by pulling you into a quick hug but you don't want to be weird so you hug him back. He asks you what you are doing here and you reply that you could be asking him the same thing. He laughs shamelessly and you wonder what is so funny until he reveals that you are actually backstage at his gig. You feel foolish but he tells you it's refreshing to talk to someone who is not impressed with who he is. You don't tell him that you are, in fact, very impressed, just not because he is in a band.

Without any further questions, he throws his arm around your shoulders and leads you to his dressing room, where various other people are gathering. You give a quick nod to a friend of yours who is playing in the support band and the only reason why you're backstage at all but all he does is wriggle his eyebrows at you and... You realise you still don't know the blond boy's name.

Thomas, he tells you. Thomas Raggi. It fits him perfectly and you cannot explain why. You tell him yours in return and he repeats it, rolling the letters off his tongue and you think your name has never sounded this lovely.

When the support band goes on stage you watch from the side, cheering on your friend and singing along and Thomas never lets go of you. It's painfully obvious that he has never listened to them before but his dance moves make up for it, twirling you around and making you repeat his steps and you never stop laughing once.

An hour later, it is Thomas' turn to take the stage and it is the first time you connect the dots as to who is in the band with him. The drummer looks ethereal, dark hair flying around as he gives it his all, the bassist is a gorgeous little blonde that screams confidence, the singer might be one of the most charismatic beings you have ever seen, but no one draws you in quite like the guitarist does.

You love watching live music but Thomas is something else. He gets into it like no one else. His heart is in it in a way that makes you wish for him to love you with a matching passion. You almost forget to dance along, too distracted and too deep into your own thoughts. You barely notice the support band gathering next to you to watch, or your friend squeezing your side, thanking you for coming.

As the gig ends, the singer presses an open-mouthed kiss to Thomas' lips and you wonder what it feels like. You think you would quite like to find out tonight.

You don't get the chance, though, at least not really. The band has to load in, pack their things, chat to a few people and then they're being told to get a move on, get in the van so they can travel to the next city on their tour, get to the hotel, and sleep.

Thomas pulls you aside, shouting to the rest of his band that he's going to smoke one more cigarette, and then he'll be ready to leave. He offers you one as well but you refuse. He looks hot when he's smoking and you hate it. Neither of you speaks for a minute.

Then he asks to see you again. His hand is on your waist. You tell him yes, what else are you supposed to say. When he is looking at you with his doe eyes. When you still cannot stop thinking about his mouth. He tells you he'll be home all day next month and then lets go of you to type your number in his phone. You cannot tell if he will actually call.

His band shouts for him to hurry up, so he throws the cigarette to the ground and stomps it out with the heel of his boot. He hesitates for a second, then presses a soft kiss to your forehead that feels much tamer than what you had been hoping for.

This time you're the one standing on the sidewalk watching him drive away.

March

He does call. In fact, he calls repeatedly, asking you out, asking you to tag along somewhere, asking you to visit him. You are busy with your job and your family and your friends and you are dying to see him but it's hard to make free time. So you talk on the phone. You're scared you're getting in too deep, scared that you're starting to build up a version of him that only exists in your head, scared that you will be disappointed when reality cannot live up to the fantasies you have lying awake in bed at night.

It's mid-March by the time you pack a weekender and turn up at his place. Not unannounced, of course, but somehow it still feels unexpected to see him. It is the first time the two of you are alone, during the day, in a private place. You don't spend a lot of time talking that first day.

He kisses you, passionately and impatiently, the second you drop your bag. You do not complain, you wouldn't dream of it. His mouth feels even better on yours than you had pictured in your imagination and you already know you are not going to get enough of him any time soon. There are hands clumsily pulling at clothes and tongues tracing along skin and a lot of time to explore each other's bodies. He causes you to see stars, multiple times, and you do the same for him. It is hot and heavy and full of moans and you cannot remember the last time you had sex like this.

When you wake up again, dawn is just on the brink of coming around and you're alone in his bed. You can spy him sitting on his balcony, cigarette in hand and you quickly put on his shirt before joining him outside. You mean to take a seat next to him, but he pulls you onto his lap immediately. You lean into him, taking in the quiet and the dark and the way he still smells like sweaty sex.

It feels too good, being here with him. He presses soft kisses to the nape of your neck you feel yourself slipping back into a state of utter bliss. He turns you around so you face him, straddling his lap, and it doesn't take long for him to start fumbling with the shirt you are wearing. You do it again right then and there, out on the dark balcony with the world around you asleep.

You spend the rest of the weekend like this. You're insatiable and he's not much better, constantly clinging on to you. Even when you decide to cook a quick meal, his arms are wrapped around you from behind and his chin is resting on your shoulder.

You don't change into any of the clothes you brought. Whenever you aren't naked, you usually slip one of his shirts over your head. You haven't seen him wear more than his boxers ever since you arrived. Both of you use the time to get to know each other inside out. You start to learn what the other one enjoys, where they like to be kissed the most, how to get the highest moans and most desperate whimpers out of each other. But you also learn about each other's fears. Of your pasts and your families and your plans for the future. What you expected your life to look like when you were ten and how wrong you were. You learn that he doesn't love anyone more than his three band members and how he likes his breakfast. He learns all about your favourite movies and how you ended up in Italy.

Sunday evening hits both of you hard. He tells you he will never forget the way you look right in that moment, bag already in hand, and it feels like goodbye. You cannot stomach the thought. But he says he will call you and he might be at the studio a lot but maybe you can come and visit. You're not sure if he is being serious or if he just doesn't want to see you cry. He tangles his hand in your hair to pull your head to his once more and gives you a mind-blowing kiss you will dream about until you get to see him next.

April

The studio is more like a house. Four bedrooms and a pool almost make you forget they are here for rehearsal. You finally get formally acquainted with Damiano, Victoria, and Ethan but Thomas still monopolises your time. The others get annoyed at you sneaking off to be alone and after Damiano accidentally bursts into Thomas' room while the guitarist's head is in between your legs you decide you should make more of an effort.

You break the ice by cooking a massive dinner, starters and desserts included, and find out that everyone was right about getting into people's hearts via good food. Dinner is served out on the terrace, Damiano helps set up, Victoria brings the wine and you end up talking for hours. Damiano tells you he is glad that there's more to you than the moans you make at night and you almost get offended but Thomas slaps the back of his head and you know their banter means no harm. Ethan helps you clean up afterward, then disappears into his room as you head back out. You cannot help overhear the other three talking outside as you're approaching and you cannot help stopping in your tracks to continue listening.

Damiano's voice is easily distinguishable and probably louder than he intends it to be. It is the wine's fault, really. How come you brought her here, you hear him ask and you're glad you made the effort to improve your Italian over the last few months. You've never brought anyone anywhere. Victoria chimes in, agreeing with Damiano, almost poking fun at Thomas. Yeah, what's up with that. Are you in love?

You hate that he scoffs at the suggestion. So, you haven't talked about what you are doing. You haven't talked about what you are, exactly. But there is no need to refuse this option straight away. You don't catch exactly what Thomas is saying as he is mumbling along, but you are certain you hear him refute. They all giggle in a way that almost makes you feel like they are making fun of you. So you take a deep breath, holding your head up high, and step out onto the terrace.

They don't look embarrassed. They don't even look caught. You think maybe it's because they don't think you heard. Or understood. Damiano suggests a late-night swim in the pool and you agree before he finishes his sentence. Both you and Thomas dash to his room, quickly changing into swimwear and you have to swat his hand away when he briefly plays with the string that holds up your top.

Thomas doesn't actually need to be dared to jump into the water but Victoria does so anyway. You watch from the edge of the pool, amused, as you suddenly feel hands on your back attempting to push you in. You react quicker than you ever have in your life, turning to grab the offending person - who turns out to be Damiano - and pulling him into the water with you. Both of you emerge spluttering and laughing. Victoria takes the stairs, loudly proclaiming herself a lady among peasants, and is quickly dunked by Thomas. She complains about her ruined hair but cannot keep the giggle hidden.

You enjoy the heated water around you, while the cool April air hits your face. Damiano joins into the game of dunking for a while but you stay on the sidelines until Victoria joins you. She looks gorgeous in the light, wet hair plastered to her forehead, and you wish you had an ounce of the poise she possesses. She tells you she has been friends with Thomas the longest, meeting in school, long before any of them knew that one day their lives would be irreversibly intertwined. She says she has nothing against you - much the opposite - but Thomas is like a brother to her and she cares for him deeply. It is incessantly clear that she is protective of him and it endears you. Apart from constantly distracting him, you're doing him good, she says. She hopes to see you around more.

You hope so too.

May

Life feels domestic with Thomas by your side. You don't see each other as often but when you do he tends to stay at your place. His touch still lights you on fire but there's another aspect to it. The waking up next to each other, your head on his chest or his on yours. The cooking and the clean-up after. The standing in front of the mirror and brushing your teeth, doing your skincare routine, and leaving dots of your moisturiser on his face to annoy him.

You're not sure if he enjoys it quite as much as you do. He laughs along with you but he is also the first one to initiate sex. And, oh, the sex. Now you're alone with each other again, and not in the constant danger of one of his bandmates catching you, you explore more. You find out just how much he enjoys being submissive and you enjoy creating a new, more dominant role for yourself. There's leather and latex, chokers and harnesses, spanking and bondage, and both of you discover new sides to yourselves and each other.

As May draws on, his visits become shorter. You don't notice at first but the first time he tells you he is not staying the night you suddenly see a clear pattern emerging. He is willing to help you cook if he gets sex afterward. He is happy to wake up next to you in a peaceful tangle if he got sex beforehand. You're torn. You don't know whether you should mention it, whether he is aware of it, or if you're simply reading too much into it. You decide to test him.

It's almost midnight when he stumbles into your apartment that day. He is all over you immediately, exploring hands and hot kisses, but you tell him you have some leftover tiramisu. He seems happy enough. But then you drag him into the bathroom for your evening routine and you put on your comfy pajamas and snuggle into bed and he seems a bit lost. He doesn't say it, though. Instead, he crawls into bed with you, gets under the covers, and spoons you. You fall asleep.

You don't stay asleep for long. Thomas is tossing and turning and when he wraps his arms around you again you know why. He is hard. You whisper his name in the dark and are answered through a groan. He is gripping you tightly now, one of his hands wanders up to grasp your breast through the fabric of your shirt. It doesn't take much. It is impossible to deny him.

When you wake back up again the next morning, the bed is empty. You call out for him, hoping he might just be in the bathroom or the kitchen, but there is no answer and when you sit up and look around the room you realise all of his clothes are gone. You feel used and annoyed. You also feel like your hypothesis has been confirmed. The thought is tiring you out enough to wrap yourself back into your blanket and allow sleep to take over once more.

June

It's weird seeing Victoria without Thomas. The only time you have ever met her was when you were attached to his hip, so when you run into her on the patio of a restaurant late one evening, it almost takes you a split second to remember where you know her from. She, however, knows you immediately. The hug takes you by surprise. She asks you if you're here with Thomas and you wonder why she doesn't know. You tell her no. You don't tell her you have not spoken to him at all this week. She is blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside of you. That much becomes obvious when she invites you round for a party at hers the next night - but surely, Thomas has already told you about that. You neither confirm nor deny, but accept the invitation simply because there is no saying no to a face like Victoria's.

No one seems to notice that you and Thomas arrive separately. In fact, by the time you get to Victoria's, he's a couple of drinks in and the life of the party. He is in the middle of demonstrating his best dance moves on the kitchen table when he sees you. He jumps down, almost crashing to the ground, before stumbling over to you and smothering you in kisses. Whispering sweet nothings of amore mio and cucciolo and cara mia. You revel in the attention. You love that he is doing this in front of everyone, showing them you're his and he's yours. You ignore that it might be drunken talk.

You pull him into the kitchen, where the music is slightly more muffled and there aren't quite as many people, and make yourself a drink. He's hanging onto you like you are his lifeline. You want to pretend it is always like this, like he always adores you this much, like he calls, like he wants to hang out with you because of who you are, not what you do to his body. Yet, it's his body you cannot refuse.

Two strongly mixed drinks later Thomas has you pressed against a wall, hands desperately grasping for each other and his mouth on your neck. You barely notice Victoria shouting at you to get a room and no, not mine! It's the first time in weeks he takes you home to his and you want to be elated but it's impossible. His fingers feel as good as ever as they trace your skin but in your mind, you know his heart is not in it.

In the morning, it's you who is awake first and it's you who gets up, gathers belongings, and leaves. You only hesitate once, right before opening the door leading you away from him, but it's not worth the heartbreak, so you go. It doesn't feel good and there's no relief in it.

July

If you ever thought you could simply banish Thomas from your life, you were sorely mistaken. You don't think he understands why you keep trying to walk away. He does understand that something is wrong, though, and he tries to make things better. He tells you about a little summer house he has been thinking about renting and asks you to come along. You ask why you cannot just spend time together right here, right now and he says he wants to be alone with you. In a way you cannot help but interpret this as I don't want more people to see us together, I don't want any more questions about whether you are mine, I don't want to explain myself. It should have been romantic but there is another sentiment seeping through.

You agree anyway. It is hard to say no to the gorgeous boy when he is begging you with those doe-shaped eyes. So you pack your things, heart still heavy, and he plants a wet kiss on your lips when he picks you up. You decide to push your doubts away and enjoy yourself.

The place is adorable, a little house just on the beach, tiny and homely, and barely anyone around. You look at Thomas standing in front of the window, sunlight hitting his face, and think he is beautiful. It barely seems fair that someone like him would exist because everyone else just pales in comparison. You think you might never get over him. You surely will never get over looking at him.

You walk over to the man that isn't yours, wrapping your arms around him from behind and you cannot help your hands wandering lower, grasping his hardening flesh. He might never be fully yours but until your heart can take letting him go for good, you will take his body if that is all you're getting. He takes you on the kitchen counter, making you scream in a way that has you thanking your lucky stars, before dragging you into the shower and taking you once more.

The days are a daze of being entangled with each other. You barely leave the house, but when you do he takes you out to a lovely restaurant not too far away but you know it's only because no one here knows you. He holds your hand and he opens doors for you and tells you that you look beautiful. Then you get back home, or what you wish you could call home for the rest of your days, and makes you come undone time and time again.

You feel yourself falling for the gorgeous boy more and more and it is one morning, curtains forgotten to be drawn closed the night before, where the early sun hits his sleeping form just right that you realise you love him. You're so far beyond infatuation. You are getting deeper and deeper into this fantasy you are building for yourself, one where it is always the way it is right now, one where he proudly holds you in his arms in public, one where he is screaming from the rooftops that you are his and he is yours. The more time you spent with him, the harder it becomes to face reality. You're slipping.

August

It is festival season and Thomas is away a lot, sometimes coming home for a couple of days at a time and then vanishing again for longer. You miss him terribly, you almost feel lost without him. He calls, but it's not the same. Victoria calls too, and you don't know what you did to deserve her attention. She tells you Thomas is miserable whenever he is off stage and a plan is quickly hatched. Two days later you are on your way to Denmark.

Victoria meets you at the hotel, making sure you get a room on the same floor the band will be staying on for the next two nights, and then takes you to the festival grounds. It's loud and crowded and crazy and if you weren't dying to see Thomas, you would ask her to just leave you alone in front of one of the stages and let you lose your mind, but you don't.

You follow Victoria into the backstage area, quickly flashing the pass she supplied you with, and walk past a labyrinth of vans and busses and busy areas where musicians and everyone who works with them is hanging out. Victoria says she's not entirely sure where Thomas is but he's bound to be where alcohol is being served and you soon reach a little outdoor bar area. You see a glimpse of what looks like him vanish behind the bar stand and quickly follow. You don't notice if Victoria is still behind you.

It turns out you were right, as you round the corner and see the man you had been craving, but you wish you weren't. Your heart doesn't break all at once, but the beat becomes a deafening pounding and you think you might throw up. He is pinning a girl against the wall of the bar. That is when the first piece of your heart breaks off. He is touching her the way he touches you, uses all the moves you have gotten to know, and another piece of your heart crumbles and dies. Her hand is between his legs and the way he whimpers causes your heart to collapse into itself.

You barely hear Victoria shouting, you cannot understand the angry Italian words she is throwing around, and you want to turn and run but your feet are rooted to the ground. You simply watch as Victoria pulls Thomas off the girl who is quietly slipping into the background and disappearing and even with your lack of comprehension, you know the two friends are exchanging heated words. At some point Thomas turns to you, asking you why you are even here, but Victoria interjects, shouting at him because she misses you and you've been miserable, bastardo!

It is when he tells both of you that he doesn't owe you anything, that you're not together, that you're certainly not exclusive, when your body regains its sense of movement. The sound of the harsh slap your hand delivers to his cheek seems to echo and you don't wait for his reaction. You leave. There is nothing left here for you but more heartbreak.

September

You do not hear from Thomas. Victoria is trying to reach you numerous times but you do not answer. You spend the days in a dull state of being. You go to work. You do your chores. You cry yourself to sleep. And repeat.

October

Thomas is trying to reach you. You do not answer. Victoria is trying to reach you sometimes but you do not answer. Life has not become any easier. You go to work. You do your chores. Sometimes you meet friends. You cry yourself to sleep. And repeat.

November

You don't want to go out but your friends have had enough. They do your hair and your make-up, they set out a sexy but comfortable outfit and they make sure you get a first shot or two in before leaving. You don't admit it out loud but it does make you feel better.

The place they drag you to is loud and crowded and crazy and it makes you feel like you can forget for a while. It would have worked better if you hadn't spotted Damiano and Victoria on the dance floor. A twisting feeling settles in your stomach. You decide to get yourself another drink only to see Ethan there. He spots you and gives you a little wave. You wave back but the panic rises and your face doesn't match the action. They are all here. Probably.

You cannot help yourself. Drink in hand, you pretend to go looking for your friend but as you are circling the club you are looking for someone else entirely. You spot him easily. He is sitting on a table in a corner, on his own, beer bottles in front of him. He looks miserable. As if he knows, he lifts his head and your eyes meet. You feel like you're about to hyperventilate, so you turn on your heels and all but sprint to the smokers' area behind the club. There are barely any people out here, cool November air nipping at the bare skin on your arms and legs. You don't expect him to follow you but he does.

He looks worse up close. His hair looks like it hasn't seen a brush in weeks but not in the stylish way he usually wears it. His eyes are bloodshot and there are dark circles underneath. You know he's drunk, you know from his appearance and his demeanor, but he is not the usual life of the party. You wait for him to say something. Then he walks up to you, carefully throwing his arms around you and pulling you close. You almost push him away but your heart tells you differently.

He mumbles chants of I'm sorry and I'm an idiot and I don't deserve you and you have to slowly push him off you because this is not going to be over with a few apologies. You sit him down on a picnic bench standing in a corner, leaving a bit of space between you. You are aware he could win you back over with just the right looks and just the right touches but you need more.

You talk until you're frozen to the bone and only then do you accept his embrace again. You re-live your whole relationship and it becomes crystal clear where your shortcomings were. Where you went in different directions without telling the other. Where you expected what the other couldn't or wouldn't provide. You are brutally honest and the tears that soon begin rolling down both of your faces prove it. Discussing the Copenhagen disaster hurts most but you get through it. He is quick to admit fault. Yes, he was miserable. Yes, it was because he missed you. Yes, it was also because it scared him and he wasn't ready and he tried to deflect by hooking up with a girl he had literally just met. Yes, you are allowed to hold that against him forever.

That night you go back to his place with him and for the first time, nothing happens. You undress each other down to your underwear but there is nothing sexy about it. It is just two people who care deeply. You both get under the covers of his bed, holding each other close and studying each other's faces. His hand strokes your cheek. Both of you still have puffy eyes. You feel safe. No one says a word. You are simply looking into each other's eyes, content, until you drift to sleep.

December

Thomas is holding your hand. He just finished playing a gig and you're gathered backstage and you look at everyone around you who can see him holding your hand. It's a silly little thing to obsess over but your heart feels like it's going to burst with happiness. No more hiding, no more are-we-or-aren't-we, no more proclamations that only happen when he's drunk. Just two adults in love with each other.

It's not all sunshine and rainbows but you both know what you want. Communicating has gotten easier and is not reduced to what you do in the bedroom. Instead of locking each other out, you talk now. He looks happier and people have told you so do you. And you are. You never thought you were going to find the man of your dreams and for the past year it hadn't looked like Thomas was the one. But you are happy to have been proven wrong.

Victoria grins at you. She has long forgiven you for ignoring her calls back in September and October. She gets it. Sometimes you think she was angrier with Thomas than you were. She tells you it's because she saw that you are the best thing in his life from the get-go and she hated how he was throwing it away. Now you're back and you've gained a sister in her, too. You are glad for Ethan and Damiano as well. Thomas' little family has opened its arms to you and you didn't hesitate. You love being with them. All lingering awkwardness from April has vanished. They are still not fond of accidentally walking in on you and Thomas, though.

The band goes out to meet some fans and you tag along but hang back. The way certain girls touch Thomas still doesn't sit right with you, but you see the way he reacts and it's a relief. Taking a step back, removing hands from his body, smiling politely but with determination. He does it when you're not watching, too. Victoria has told you as much.

He catches your eye for a second, realises you are watching him, and throws you an air kiss. The people he was talking to turn around to see who he is aiming for, but quickly lose interest. You keep watching. His animated hands as he talks. The smile lighting up his face when someone pays him a compliment. You think he is drop-dead gorgeous. And you think that as long as he allows you to look at him like this, and as long as he does the same to you, you'll stay here forever.

#maneskin fiction #maneskin imagine #thomas raggi x you #thomas raggi x reader #thomas raggi imagine #thomas raggi fiction #fluff #angst #my writings

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poppinisperfection · 4 years

Text

Peter Maximoff x Reader // Hello, Monica // WandaVision // Part 2

Part 1

Post Dark Phoenix X-Men & WandaVision fanfiction. FemReader and Peter Maximoff dating when he suddenly disappears.

Xavier returns and a plan is formed.

Word Count: 1892

Warnings: Emotional distress, mentions of violence, blood, gun wounds etc.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

(Y/n) sat by the screen, her vision blurring and bags forming under her eyes. The analog clock ticked with each second as Hank fiddled around with some tech, and the others sat on the floor half asleep. They had eventually contacted Xavier, and he promised to travel back to New York as fast as possible. That was hours ago, and now it was the middle of the night.

There was nothing they could do, even discussion led to nowhere; nothing about the situation made sense. Metal crashed on the floor, causing Scott to Jolt awake and Kurt to bamf in surprise as Professor McCoy gave a frustrated grunt at his clumsiness. The disturbance didn't phase (Y/n) though, as she read the line for the thousandth time,

"Please stand by."

She was somewhere between breaking into tears and punching every wall she saw. In short, (Y/n) was desperate. After hours of thinking, she finally allowed her eyes to close for longer than a short blink. Her mind was crashing around like a restless ocean, and she found herself drowning inside endless possibilities. But at the centre of it all was his face, his smile, his voice... him.

Suddenly the doors opened with a whoosh, and (Y/n) turned her attention towards whoever was entering the labs. A determined looking man wheeled in, locking with (Y/n)'s blood-shot eyes. An alabaster-haired, umber-skinned, and confident woman followed him; shooting a look of concern towards the group.

"Xavier-" Hank exclaimed with some relief at the Professor's appearance. The bald man gave a small hum in response, but he continued to near (Y/n) instead of making conversation. He placed a hand out and gave her a kind look.

"May I?" he crooned in his English accent, as the (h/c) lady nodded and placed her head forward. Closing his eyes and placing two fingers on her temple, and another on his own - Xavier began to see the whole story, without anyone saying a single word. After a few seconds, his pulled back and gave a sharp sigh.

"(Y/n), I am so sorry." the wise man's voice faltered after feeling the gut-wrenching fear that swept through her mind. The worried girl said nothing, but just tried to keep the strength on her face instead of breaking down into tears. "You've got a location?" Xavier turned to the beastly professor, trying to solve the mystery.

"Sort of- I mean, it's unbelievable Charles." he grabbed some pages and handed them to his colleague, "It's like he's traveled to another universe; I've only heard about theories of multiverses, but this- this is more evidence than anything I've ever read..." Hank rambled on, as even Charles Xavier- telepathic mastermind- look on in shock.

Before anyone could say anything, the old computer screen buzzed and the image shifted. (Y/n)'s tired eyes widened as she sat on the edge of her seat. Even Kurt teleported closer in an effort to not miss a second of the developing situation. A lead guitar began to play, and the opening credits rolled...

The group we're unsure if it was the same show, as it looked completely different in style. But their doubts were cleared when that same woman showed up, slamming the door using some sort of powers.

"She's a mutant..." (Y/n) mumbled, as the others looked on in confusion. The opening continued to play on as more characters were shown - most of which they had never seen before. Then finally, a speedy friend appeared.

"As himself?" Scott added, reading the credits. (Y/n) stared at the title and mentally recorded it.

"It's like they're a family." Kurt noticed as Peter integrated himself so naturally with them. The pair of young boys started to monologue about halloween.

"Halloween? This just gets more and more confusing." Scott rubbed his forehead in bewilderment. Ororo stood beside them, barely comprehending what she was watching. She had previously offered to look after the students while the situation was being investigated, and that lost time had undoubtedly caused her to miss a lot of information.

"So Pete's on TV?" Storm questioned in a baffled tone. The silver haired fellow lay on a couch as the twin boys discussed him, and they referred to him as their uncle. "Okay, somebody needs to expla-" she began, but was cut off as Xavier placed a finger to his temple and transferred the information she had missed. Ororo gave a soft gasp, but ultimately was relieved to be filled in. Since the professor had learned about the situation from (Y/n), some of the grief in her mind was passed to Storm; so the loyal mutant placed a caring hand on her friend's shoulder in comfort.

Xavier chatted behind the group of young mutants who watched the show play out.

"She suggested that maybe Kurt could go in, I told her-" Hank whispered to his friend.

"That would be dangerous..." Charles finished his thought, "But dangerous doesn't mean impossible." the telepath looked towards the blue teleporter who stared at the computer screen.

"You can't be serious, Charles." Hank furrowed his thick brows and stared in disbelief.

"Kurt, (Y/n)," the professor called out, catching the pair's attention,

"Come with me."

-------

The small group trailed down the metallic hallway and approached the familiar doors to Cerebro. (Y/n) looked back at the room they had left, still hearing the distant sounds from the broadcast. Her mind travelled to what she was missing; was Peter still okay?

The circular door released and slid open, and the group followed Xavier's lead towards the machine at the end of the walkway. Kurt's tail wrapped around his leg in fear, as he fiddled nervously with his hands. Placing the silver helmet over his head, Charles nodded for the intellectual beast to flip the switch. Immediately, the room lit up and images of people flashed around. A million conversations ran through the professor's mind, but he was only searching for one person.

"Turn it up." Xavier requested as his eyebrows knit together in concentration. Reluctantly, Hank did as he said. Soon the voices faded and a only a muffled conversation echoed through the large room. "The whole way, Hank." the british man added.

"Charles that's too mu-"

"Do it!" Xavier demanded his face contorting with the amplification. (Y/n) gave a soft gasp as the voice grew clearer.

"I think mom and dad would've loved it."

Peter's words reverberated, as tears formed in (Y/n)'s eyes. Despite Cerebro being on full power, the only thing that Xavier could access was the detached audio of the mind he was connected to.

"Where were you hiding these kids up til now? I assume they were sleeping peacefully in their beds."

"Can you speak to him Charles?" Hank asked.

"Something's... Something's not right... It's too powerful to see..." Xavier stuttered out, trying not to loose his connection. Peter's voice continued, as the group wondered to who and what he was talking about.

"I'm not some stranger and I'm not your husband, you can talk to me."

"There's something... dark... clouding his mind." the powerful telepath explained, "but he's still in there, somewhere." he added. The group began to notice a purple hue clouding the entire room. The clearer Peter's disembodied voice became, the more the mysterious smoke descended. Kurt and (Y/n) stood back slightly, scared of what it could mean.

"Don't sweat it sis, it's not like your dead husband can die twice."

The sentence rang through their ears, before the whole room erupted in a blast of ruby red energy. It was exactly like the force that 'Wanda' had used earlier. Energy passed through the mutants, as images of terror entered their minds. Fragments of memories flashed; glowing stones, broken families, and piles of ashes.

Xavier groaned with pain, but he kept the connection despite the immense power that surged through his mind. (Y/n) grasped her head and panted heavily. The image of a young man lying cold, bleeding through bullet wounds, on a pile of rubble haunted her. She didn't know who it was, but he seemed familiar for some reason - and her heart broke at the sight of his lifeless form.

"He's slipping... I- I can't hold on..." Xavier cried out through gritted teeth, "I can't latch onto anyone!" the room filled with a booming static noise as the bald man searched though all the available minds in that reality. Hank writhed on the floor, clutching his ears with the horrible sound. Soon he gained the strength to pull a hand up towards the switch and slowly tune down the settings. The din faded, and the only noise that could be heard was the heavy breathing from the group that tried to recover from the experience.

"I didn't tell you to turn it off." Xavier pulled off Cerebro's helmet and placed it harshly on its holder.

"It would've killed you." Hank rebutted, standing on his feet.

"There was something forming, a gap in the reality, I could feel it!" Charles placed a hand on his forehead in frustration, "It's like all the minds were under some sort of deep control - but I could sense other ones... ones that were free."

"But what can we do about it!?" the beastly Professor retaliated, annoyed at his colleague.

"If I can find the free minds, I can see where they are; exactly where they are." Xavier began to ramble, "Then I can show Kurt, and you can get there." (Y/n)'s eyes grew wide at his suggestion. Even though she had considered it earlier, she now began to doubt her logic. If it were just her, then she wouldn't hesitate to risk her life for Peter - but she couldn't ask Kurt to do it too.

"Professor, what if... What if it doesn't work?" (Y/n) piped up, looking to the powerful telepath with concern plastered all over her face.

"We can't risk more of our lives, Kurt you don't have to do this." Hank tried to assure the German mutant.

"Nein." he responded, "Peter is my friend, I vill not leave him in danger. I vill do it." Kurt nodded his head as he stood confident in his decision. Despite the hatred that Kurt Wagner had received his whole life; he was always the most selfless person in the room. (Y/n) shot him a weak smile, thankful for his kindness.

"This isn't just about Peter. Somebody brought him there. Somebody, or something, has a power that could change everything we think we know." McCoy warned, trying to convince the group of the dangerous situation.

"Which is why we need to know more." (Y/n) interjected.

"I will be able to communicate with you, as long as you don't go under this person's control." Xavier explained, deep in thought. Hank looked at the trio, and finally gave a deep sigh.

"There's no talking to you people." he shook his head, "I'm sure travelling across the multiverse will be a cinch." his tone dripped with sarcasm as Charles placed Cerebro back on his head.

"Have a little faith, Hank." Xavier joked stiffly as he flipped the switch to the machine. McCoy reluctantly turned the power knob and soon the static noise returned, causing a grimace to appear on everyone's faces. The noise flickered as Xavier passed through more empty minds, searching for one that would work. The sensory overload build up in a crescendo, until everything stopped to a halt.

"Hello, Monica."

278 notes · View notes

rafesgfs · 4 years

Text

side to side

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: In which you're performing your hit single in front of your fellow Avengers cast-mates and Chris can't seem to take his eyes off of you, catching the attention of a few cameras.

"I'm here with the biggest pop-star of this generation, and she plays the very talented daughter of Tony Stark," the interviewer announced your name, smiling brightly at you as the camera panned your way. The hundreds of thousands of fans at home screaming when your face appeared. "How do you feel with all your nominations tonight?"

You smiled at the camera, giving a small wave at the people watching at home. "Honestly, I'm just glad I was even considered for these nominations. I mean, my girls Taylor, and Billie...they're amazing and I'm so happy to be put in the same category as them."

The lady grinned at you, her eyes twinkling. Or maybe it was her sparkly dress, the fabric nearly blinding you with how it shined under the lights. "If you ask me, you've got a pretty good chance at winning. I mean, your hit single—Side to Side—surpassed, like, a billion views in just a month? That's impressive."

"Well, I couldn't have done it without my fans." you replied, winking at the camera.

It was that time of the year again, where every artist, actor, and YouTuber hit the stage for the People's Choice Awards. With your crazy schedule, and the lack of sleep, you had planned to skip the award show until your friend, and co-star, Chris Evans—Captain America himself—convinced you otherwise. Even with the categories you've been nominated for had been more than a handful, but it was the begging and constant complaining from Chris that made you get off your tired ass and put it into a tight dress.

Your hit single, Side to Side, had everyone anticipated for your performance, unsure if you would be performing until the producers had put your name into the advertisement, making fans blow up Twitter. You were sure they had advertised your own song, along with your movie nominations, more than you ever had.

With nominations of Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Action Movie of the Year (Avengers: Infinity War), Female Movie Star of the Year (Amara Stark), Female Artist of the Year, Song of the Year (Side to Side), Music Video of the Year (Into You), Beauty Influencer of the Year, and Social Celebrity of the Year, you had your hands full, which had only made your manager glow with happiness.

"Of course!" the interviewer agreed, glancing at the teleprompter filled with tiny words. "It was rumored that you wouldn't be coming, and a lot of us were upset, including me. Was that just a rumor or..."

"Actually, it's not that far off. I'm fucking—oh, shit—oh no!" you gasped, covering your mouth before anymore foul words could come out on live television. Instead of correcting you, the lady laughed, patting your arm softly. "Can't say that on tv. My bad. I, uh, with everything going on, I've been really tired, and I haven't slept in a week. I just wanted to chill, and accept my nominations at home but someone convinced me to come. So, if I say or do anything ridiculous tonight, I'm blaming him and my lack of sleep."

She nodded, clapping slowly. "I think that's fair. Is that someone, your onscreen father, RDJ?"

"He was one of the many people who unsuccessfully changed my mind, but no, it was Chris Evans. He promised me a day with his adorable dog, Dodger, and I couldn't refuse." you said, grinning at how his face had changed from hopeless to cocky as soon as he brought up Dodger.

"If I'm remembering this correctly, Chris Evans is that very handsome man you had kissed in your music video earlier this year. Into You, right? How do you feel kissing one of your co-stars outside of the movies your working on?"

"Technically, it was still acting, and I have kissed him before, so it wasn't awkward at all." you answered, glad Chris had accepted the role. Not only had it sky-rocketed the views and streams, but it made you feel better that it was his lips you were kissing and not a random model's. Yet, it didn't feel as professional as it had before when you pulled away after a take.

In scenes where you had to kiss the Boston actor, it was as professional as kicking Anthony Mackie's ass in Civil War but the kisses you shared on the set of the music video was definitely more personal. At the time, you had brushed it off as Chris being recently single, but now that you had broken up with Henry, you started questioning it again.

The interviewer nodded, squinting once more to read the words off the teleprompter before asking you another question that would certainly make the headlines. "I've been reading up on all those juicy tabloids and I've got one question that would satisfy my curiosity. Was Into You written about Henry Cavill or Tom Ellis?"

Usually, that type of question made you change the subject or altogether avoid the matter but this time, you wanted to joke about your failed engagement. "Henry, but Side to Side was written about Tom since I wanted more Grammy's considering the last album I put out won me a few. But this time, I'm gonna do it without an engagement."

The woman faked a laugh, surprised by the blunt honesty of your answer. "Um, you certainly do have a thing for British men, eh? I don't want to keep you up, but one more thing, for the fans. They've been dying to know if there's anything going on between you and Chris Evans. Any tea you wanna spill?"

"There's none to spill. We're just friends but it's always amusing scrolling through Twitter to find these edits of us." you replied, fidgeting slightly with the hem of your dress. Like usual, you had wondered if you should've worn something less extra but you had let your stylist play dress up with you for the past few months.

"Of course. Well, good luck to you, and I can't wait to see your performance." she said, giving you a little pat on the shoulders before announcing your name once again.

You got off the little platform, immediately taking Chris' awaiting hand, holding onto it as you climbed down the steps in your dangerous stilettos. Sighing, you leaned on him, trying to avoid the blinding camera flashes. "That was more exhausting than I thought it would be. You need to get me some caffeine after this is over because there's no way I'm making it to the after show without at least a few cans of Red Bull."

"So dramatic." Chris grinned, childishly sticking his tongue out as he guided you down the red carpet, stopping when told to take a picture. He let go of your hand, only to wrap it around your waist as you posed for the pictures. "Are you going to the after party?"

Posing seriously for a few seconds, you let your smile back on your face, facing the man beside you. "I was thinking about it, take a few photos, and head back home. Aren't you?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could ditch it and just hang out. You know, I did promise you some time with Dodger and you could waste a couple hours sleeping." he replied, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Flashing you a shit-eating smirk, he nudged you a little, pulling you away from the blinding flashes. "What do you say?"

You opened your mouth to answer only to be cut off by your manager, Alexandre coming out of nowhere to rip you away from Chris' arms. The latin man sighed in annoyance, glancing at his watch while giving you the look you've seen too many times before. "You're supposed to be in wardrobe right now. Get your ass backstage, and change before you miss your own performance. As for you, Mr. Evans, Megan wants your ass in a chair."

"I'll see you after." you say, getting dragged by your manager, winking at the actor before walking towards the changing area, the cameras following you until they couldn't enter the area.

Getting ready before a huge performance always calmed you down, maybe it was the smell of makeup or the feel of designer clothing made especially for you, but something about it made you feel comfortable and cozy. It was like a routine, especially with all the music videos and movies you had to film, the makeup, the hair.

They made you sit back, giving you your phone like a child while they made you even more sparkly than before, making sure you'd stand out against the flashing lights during the performance. A performance you made sure no one would ever forget. Smiling, you let your thoughts drift back to a certain super soldier as you were pampered.

—

"Welcome to the People's Choice Awards!"

The room darkened, the blue and pinks lights focusing on the stage as cameras all turned towards your shadow. Making sure your mic was set properly, tried to see past the darkness, to see a familiar face or two but with the headache coming on from the tight half-ponytail didn't help your case. The music started, the beat vibrating, you flipped your hair, and started.

"I've been there all night

I've been there all day (Nicki Minaj)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Let then hoes know)"

You rode the bike, belting out in your microphone, the attached headset limiting your movements a little. Gripping the handles, you made eye contact at the camera to your left, winking at it as you pedaled.

"I'm talkin' to ya

See you standing over there with your body

Feeling like I wanna rock with your body

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'

I'm comin' at ya

'Cause I know you got a bad reputation

Doesn't matter, 'cause you give me temptation

And we don't gotta think 'bout nothin'"

As you had sung, your eyes had adjusted to the bright spotlight focused on you, seeing a shadow of the one person you wanted to make you walk side to side. While you had answered the reporter's question, you hadn't been completely honest. Some of the lyrics had been written for the Bostonian; or to be more exact, your sex fantasies. With the chorus coming up, you let go of the handles, trying not to fall on your ass as you clapped your hands above your head, the claps matching the beat.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I..."

Trying to be bold, you stared at him, his face in particular. The spotlight had blinded you so much that you couldn't see what his reaction was—or anyone's for that matter—but maybe it was a good thing. After all, his gaze always made you blush no matter how hard you tried not to. Pedaling faster, you threw your head back, hoping the motion would draw everyone's—Chris'—eyes on your chest.

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

With the help of a shirtless dancer, you got off your bike, taking the sheer jacket from him, and putting it on as you walked towards the front of the stage, moving your hips in to the beat of the song. Resting a hand on a shirtless dancer, you positioned yourself so you were grinding your ass against his crotch, throwing back an arm around his neck.

"Been tryna hide it

Baby, what's it gonna hurt if they don't know?

Makin' everybody think that we solo

Just as long as you know you got me

And boy, I got ya

'Cause tonight I'm making deal with the devil

And I know it's gonna get me in trouble

Just as long as you know you got me"

Sashaying to the little balance beam at the front of the stage, you made sure your hips swayed more than usual.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give you up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side

I've been here all night

I've been here all day

And boy, got me walkin' side to side"

A few seconds after your note ended, you strike a pose on the balance beam, posing for a few more seconds while the cameras turned their attention away from you and onto the queen of rap herself: Nicki Minaj. The leather, pink bodysuit was identical to yours except for the color, her attitude fitting the badass outfit. She began to walk towards the stage, never breaking eye contact with the camera in front of her while the men pretending to work out to the choreo.

"Uh, yeah

This the new style with the fresh type of flow

Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle

Come through yo, get you this type of blow

If you want a ménage, I got a tricycle

All these bitches' flows is my mini-me

Body smoking, so they call me Young Nicki Chimney

Rappers in they feelings 'cause they feelin' me

Uh, I-I give zero fucks and I got zero chill in me

Kissing me, copped the blue box that say Tiffany

Curry with the shot, just tell 'em to call me Stephanie

Gun pop, then I make my gum pop

I'm the queen of rap"

By the time she had finished her verse, you had caught up with the multitasking of both working out and singing, able to use your full singing capabilities for your high note. Nicki joined you on stage, hyping up the crowd while you built up for the high note, almost every camera pointed at you except for the one focused on capturing the headline-worthy expression slapped on Chris' face.

"These friends keep talkin' way too much

Say I should give em up

Can't hear them, no, 'cause I...

"I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all night, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)

I've been here all night (Been here all night, baby)

I've been here all day (Been here all day, baby) (Ooh, baby)

And boy, got me walkin' side to side (Side to side)"

Both you and Nicki motioned for the dancers to come towards you, curling your index finger at the sexy men. Singing the refrain, you both made them drop to their knees in front of you, as if they were kneeling at your command.

Just as the last note was sung, everyone clapped, the majority standing up, and more cheered. You noticed Chris hadn't done either, still sitting in his motionless while two camera men pointed their cameras at him. Your eyebrows furrowed, thankfully after the spotlight had shifted over to the miniature stage where the two hosts were babbling about nominations.

You were ushered off the stage along with the queen of rap herself, taking a few backstage photos before quickly returning back to your dressing room to change into your tailored dress. Your mind had wandered to why Chris hadn't applauded—not that he was obliged too, but a little something would've nice, especially with all the days put into the performance.

Taking a deep breath, you entered the big room, filled with your co-stars and other A-list celebrities. Little did you know you'd find out the reason to your question in the morning.

—

The loud ringtone woke you up, the sound obnoxious and borderline abuse to your ears. Beside you, Chris groaned, rolling onto his stomach, trying to muffle the sound of the call with his arm draped over his head. Putting him out his misery, you lazily reached for your phone, pressing the green button with dread, seeing the name across the screen.

"Hello—"

"You're trending on Twitter." Alexandre announced, happy with the results of the previous awards show. While it wasn't something as big as a Grammy or Oscar, judging by the amount of awards you had taken home, you became the people's favorite. "Hold on, lemme rephrase that. You and Chris are trending. Number one, world wide."

Glancing at the man sleeping beside you, you sat up, confused by the information given to you. You blamed Chris for making you stay up so late for your confusion. "Um, why? Did I accidentally have another nip slip?"

"What the hell?" Chris mumbled, rolling onto his back, his arm grazing your bare stomach. He immediately took it back, sitting up to look over your puzzled face. "What's going on?"

You shrugged, putting your phone on speaker so Alexandre could explain. Your manager chuckled, knowing you had stayed the night with Chris. He was just waiting for the day you'd finally have the guts to speak about the growing sexual tension. "Okay, Alex, explain."

"As much as I would love to go into full detail, I have other stuff to do so, I'm going to give you the basics. Chris' reaction to your performance went viral, people are shipping the both of you, and there's been thousands of memes made." Alexandre replied, a smile evident in his voice. "Anyways, I have to go. Got some interviews to schedule. Have fun getting your way out of this, Chris."

Your phone screen went back to the home screen, a picture of your family dog, Buster, smiling widely. Looking at Chris, you saw his eyes widened, his hands coming to rest of his face in embarrassment as he fell back onto the bed with a bounce, his head nearly hitting the headboard. "Oh, fuck."

"Are you going to show me what your face looked like or do I have to scroll through Twitter until I find it? Oh! Maybe they edited it in my performance." you thought out load, tapping on the YouTube app. You hadn't trusted yourself enough to log into your official account, knowing you'd probably make a mistake so you opted for having a secondary account where you could watch cat videos without the anxiety of posting something stupid.

Chris' hand snatched your phone away, tucking it in his pocket, the sweats he had slept in was somehow wrinkled, and his shirt damp from the warmth. "You wanna get some food? I'll cook some bacon but you'll have to make the pancakes 'cause the last time—"

"I wanna see your reaction." you whined, reaching across his stomach for your phone. Chris turned his body away from you, shielding the phone from your reach. "Chris!"

He waved your attempt away, rolling off the bed, his feet hitting the floor before you could fall back on the mattress.You poured, getting on all fours, crawling towards the edge. Chris took a step back, brows furrowing. "It's not important. Let's get you some food."

"Fine." you mumbled, an idea making you light up. Rolling off the bed, you glanced at his phone on the nightstand, exposed and easy to take. With quick reflexes, you grabbed his phone, rolling back on the bed until you reached the other side, making it impossible for him to reach for his phone back.

"Hey!" the Bostonian shouted, launching himself on the bed in attempt to get his phone back. He made a noise as you rushed out of your room, locking yourself in the nearby bathroom, laughing evilly when he threw himself at the door. He yelled out your name, his fist banging on the door. "I'm serious! Don't!"

Ignoring his begging, you opened his phone with your thumbprint. How ironic how much he didn't want you to look at his phone when he was the one who insisted you have the password to it. His arguments became louder as you opened up his Twitter, immediately heading to the trending section, seeing both your names at the number one spot.

"Damn, I look hot." you joked out loud, making Chris silent for a second before pleading for you not to continue. You smirked, scrolling through the tweets, trying to find his reaction. "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you? Did you fall on your face or something?"

Chris groaned, banging his head on the door in defeat as he heard your almost inaudible gasp, that quickly turned into little giggles. If he wasn't so embarrassed, he would've broken the door down to hold you in his arms. "Oh, no."

Bursting out into hard laughter, you fell into the large bathtub, hitting your head on the wall but you couldn't care less. The expression on his face during your performance had been borderline comical, the wide eyes, the jaw hanging open, the open hand resting on his chin while his eyes stayed strained on you the whole time, never wavering from your body, the sexy choreography making his jeans tight.

Cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West, tears ran down your cheeks, your stomach cramping from the maniacal laughter. Lifting yourself up from the tub, you stumbled to the door, your loud laugh ringing out towards the whole house. You let Chris in the bathroom, his phone quickly taken from your hand but it was too late. The blush on his cheeks wasn't going away anytime soon. You leaned against him, your head resting on his chest, while you panted out a question. "Why did you look like you were trying to attract flies in your mouth?"

Chris groaned again, covering his eyes with a hand while the other rested on your back. "You're not going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Oh, God, no." you giggled, wiping the tears away, beginning to calm down. Glancing up at him, you noticed everything above the shoulders was gleaming red, the embarrassment too unbearable for him. "Chris, you looked exactly like the first time we were forced to share a bed together."

"Yeah, you have that affect on me."

"You gonna tell me why you looked so ... shocked? Or do I have to search through Twitter and go with whatever fan theory makes the most sense?" you asked, unable to keep the smug grin off your face. Chris closed his eyes, wishing he hadn't made you come to the awards show in the first place. You raised an eyebrow, fingers itching towards his phone. "You know I'll do it, Evans."

The man raised his hands, taking them off of you as he paced around the bathroom, deciding if this embarrassing moment was the right time to finally confess. "It's just, you know, the dance was so ... sexual and hot that I probably wasn't the only one looking at you like that. You can't exactly blame me for being shocked, watching the girl I'm in love with—"

Chris stopped as you be watched the colors drain out of your face, immediately freezing when he realized what he had said. Both of you stared at each other, eyes wide, not moving a muscle, barely blinking; the atmosphere so tense neither of you were breathing, waiting for the other to talk. But neither of you wanted to go first, terrified.

It wasn't until you started to feel dizzy that you realized you hadn't been breathing, letting out a huge breath, trying to relax while Chris did the same, his hands shaking, a nervous tick he got whenever he was anxious. You got the courage to speak first.

"What?"

It was better than nothing.

Chris was so nervous he nearly ran out of the room. There wasn't some kind of handbook or script he could read, helping him tell one of his best friends how head over heels he was for her. So, he said what his brain was stewing. "What?"

"What—what?" you replied, unsure if he even said the L word, so lightheaded by the sudden confession.

The actor stilled, eyes widening even further, while his eyebrows shot up his forehead. "What?"

"What?"

"Say what one more time, Evans, and I will make nothing but mac and cheese for the rest of your stay." you threatened softly, getting tired of not having an answer to your one-worded question.

Chris took a deep breath, hands trembling as he clasped them together, hoping to find the right words, hoping his inner thoughts would come out clear, giving you the answer you asked for. "I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?"

"What you were saying before. You know, before you looked like you saw a ghost and almost stopped breathing. I think that would be a good start." you replied, backing up to take a seat on the plush chair. Chris mirrored your actions, putting down the lid to the toilet before sitting down.

"This isn't the way I wanted you to find out." Chris whispered, his blue eyes trained on the emotions that flashed on your face. Your uncertainty of the situation didn't help his anxiety.

"Okay, um, were you going to tell me in the first place?" you asked, playing with the hem of your shirt—it had been a borrowed Patriots shirt from him. Looking back, you realized all the little things he'd done hadn't been because his platonic love for you. "Or were you just going to keep letting it be this way?"

Fidgeting with his hands, Chris peered through his eyelashes, seeing the hurt flash across your face before you quickly composed it. "Scott was hyping me up, trying to convince me to tell you before you got into another relationship. Do you know the real reason I broke up with Jenny? It hurt like hell when you announced you were engaged. Fuck, I couldn't even pretend to be happy because you were going to have the life I wanted with you, with someone who wasn't me. It was selfish and I got really mad at myself for being a dick."

"But—"

"And then the horrible, horrible relief I felt when you called off the engagement." Chris continued, his heart clenching. "Truth to be told, that was the day I found out I was in love with you, breaking things off with Jenny. Of course, I wanted to wait until you moved on, hoping to be the friend you went to but with my schedule, that was impossible. So, you seemed out comfort in Henry fucking Cavill."

"You're in love with me?" you whispered, hoping this wasn't some kind of cruel dream. If it was, you wouldn't mind staying.

The actor nodded, waiting for you to call him names and rush out. "Yes. You can leave or slap me or whatever you want to do but I love you."

You got up, running a hand through your hair. "Okay."

Chris' heart sank, wishing for any other kind of reaction, wishing you'd do something. Taking a deep breath, he got up. "Is this a goodbye?"

Frowning, you walked up to him, taking his face between with your hands, pressing your lips softly to his. You could feel his heart beat, the little organ beating so hard. You pulled away before he could recover from his shock, before he could kiss you back.

"Hello."

#chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #reader insert #marvel #chris evans x singer!reader #nicki minaj #ariana grande #fluff #side to side #song fic

581 notes · View notes

dreamiesdotcom · 4 years

Text

butterfly effect│nct dream

Summary: You think of it as something caused by the butterfly effect — the great loves you had to leave, and the one that made you stay.

Pairing/s: 7dream x Reader

Word Count: 12k

Moon's note: since it's my birthday and I promised... it's not the best but I'd like to thank you guys for staying with me and wishing me a happy birthday! I hope you all have an awesome 2021!

You weren't really thinking straight when you met him — instead, your mind was a mess of one thought and sidelines; the little things. Butterfly effect. The knowledge that ten minutes from now the train will board — you'll miss your ride to school, you'll miss school — so you run faster, faster, and there it goes. The butterfly effect — knowing that what little thing you did could've changed someone's life entirely.

If you have made it ten minutes earlier, maybe you'd be sitting in the spot where a child buzzes with excitement, knowing that she'll see her father sometime soon, and in exchange, she will be in another place — maybe she won't meet the girl sitting across who offers her one of her candies. Maybe she won't be riding the train at all — maybe she would have to wait six months again before she can go see her dad.

You sulkily take the path to one of the exits, thinking about catching the bus or something. The skies are dark and you're aware of its plan, also aware that you left your umbrella. Frustrated and too annoyed to even think about school, you crash to the empty bench, bags left to drop to the floor. Tough luck.

The boy chuckles, "Missed the train too?"

"Yeah," you grumble, not even bothering that he's a total stranger. "Was caught in a daydream and got lost on the way. You?"

"Eh, my idiot of a best friend made me wait," he shrugs. He brings his book down and offers you a handshake, "I'm Huang Renjun — I see we study at the same place. May I know your name?"

You don't speak after a minute or two, but you shake his hand, to which he laughs at. You think it was you being overwhelmed. Maybe your soul just knew how much impact he was meant to throw at your life.

Huang Renjun doesn't become a one-time encounter, but instead, he becomes someone you take train rides with; be it you're late or not, to school or to the library. He stays constant occurrence, so much that Huang Renjun turns into Renjun, then Renjunnie — until you're free to call each other names like 'dumbass' and 'stupid' and everything crumbles down; formalities, facades, walls. You don't feel it then, but if you were to look back, you think it's that one dark-skied Monday with you two terribly late and finding yourselves back in the same bench, when everything the world laid down for you has shifted.

Renjun pout his lips, bored. He tears his bag from himself and lets it stay under the shed, but he stretches his hands out to the sky where his eyes are set, watching water fall in tiny drizzles before a full-blown rain, "Perhaps, dance under the rain with me?"

"When we should be at school?" you huff, more amused than questioning but it comes out as a scolding. He only nods his head, and you furrow your brows, "Renjun, you're crazy."

He doesn't reply, only answers with a deadpan gaze that asks Are you going or not? and it makes you tighten your expression further.

"Hold me."

The boy grins in triumph — he cheekily smiles, immediately pulling you under the rain and laughs like a tiny kid. It's contagious, you figure out, his laughter; if not for his hand on your waist and the other entwined with yours, you would've fallen over laughing with him. It was less of a dance and more of a cuddle, swaying to the sound of the rain and his sweet hums. Renjun whispers to you the melody of a love song, and you couldn't help but ponder.

"I always wanted to do this, you know?" you feel silly even confessing, "To dance under the rain with someone, look into each other's eyes, exist as if the world doesn't and maybe give them a kiss. I wonder how that'd feel."

Renjun's serenity read ideas — those that never failed to get you two in trouble. He tilts his head, "Kiss me, then."

You feel like the world stops, and your heartbeat slows, as if the raindrops are little speckles of star-like lights littering the surroundings. Your eyes widen at his suggestion, shock ripping through your body, a confused sound escaping your throat, "What?"

"I guess you don't always need to have feelings for the person you're kissing," Renjun purses his lips. Of all people, you laugh in your head, those words you expected to come out of this one's mouth the least. He huffs, "And I don't have feelings for you."

There's just enough hesitation — uncertainty, unpredictability, skepticism — in his eyes that you find he can't be trusted as much as he normally would be. Renjun drops a half-smile, eyes unreadable, "But I sure do know I want to kiss you. A lot. Right now."

Renjun smiles in victory the second time that day.

═ ∘❁∘ ═

You come across Donghyuck in the most inconvenient way possible; a few months after you started dating Renjun and there's a little too many mishaps with making schedules meet. He strides to your chair one sunny Friday, clothes too colorful for the shades of beige decorating the place. Donghyuck didn't know how to approach you; he just kind of winged it by showing you Renjun's texts that he asked him to pick you up because something came up and he can't make it anymore. You didn't really like that — the fact that he didn't even speak, the fact that Renjun stood you up. You thought Donghyuck was arrogant. The car ride home was silent.

He was far from that, you learn the one too many times the same scenario occurred. Renjun was too busy to even show up, more often in the library than in his own place. Donghyuck, being his best friend, never failed to be there for you, keep your relationship intact, make excuses for the other. He'll pick you up from where you were supposed to meet your boyfriend, grab food and spend the whole day playing video games that only he understands, and then half of the time he'll compliment you with little playful remarks. That day was supposed to be nothing so different from the others — it's just that it didn't take much longer for Donghyuck to fall.

How could he not? You smiled so lovingly and spoke so gently, always so understanding and patient and kind. How can he not, when he's already known what song makes your day the most? When he saw how ethereal you looked under the moonlight, as he danced with you by the shore? Sure, maybe most of these moments wouldn't have been if it wasn't for Renjun's absence, and truly most of the things he loves about you aren't for him; he fell in love anyway. Still, that day was supposed to be nothing so different from any others — you're stuck in the odd place quite between grateful and guilty.

"Something came up, he won't be here." The boy says firmly through gritted teeth, hands-on your wrist trying to make you get up, "Please. He doesn't have his phone. He's not coming anymore, let's go home."

"Let me wait for him, please," you say, eyes teary, "Please, Donghyuck."

"No." He simply mutters, and whether it was the sinking feeling of defeat or the determination in his voice, it doesn't matter. You let yourself get tugged away from that place, feeling weak and oddly empty. The car ride home was silent.

"Thanks a lot, you know?" You shyly say later, once Donghyuck's lost enough in video games and he's run out of knock-knock jokes and witty statements. He couldn't stand the sight of you with your head hung low and eyes teary, "You're always there for me when Renjun is not and... just thank you."

"You're welcome," he sincerely replies. You try to look for it, the lilt in his voice or the smirk stretching his lips, but all you see is worry, and it concerns you. The bad butterflies in your stomach, the bad thoughts in your head; you feel like right now, with you so vulnerable, there should be someone by your side — someone that is totally not Donghyuck. He clears his throat, "You know he didn't mean to, right? He wants time with you too, a lot, you know?"

"I know what I have, Hyuck," you reply, a chuckle at the end of your tone. You lean your back to the couch, head tilted up and voice hoarse, "and I'm fucking scared I'll take him for granted."

Donghyuck's heartbeat slows down, but you don't need to know that. If you're thinking of a similar situation, a place in time back then as cruel winters and as harsh as summer sunlight in the afternoon, you figure he doesn't need to know that, too.

You let out a huff and a smile, "I don't want to know how painful it is to lose Huang Renjun."

Donghyuck thinks he knows why you said it; things normally go down the drain when you start realizing why someone fell for a certain person — at least, he thinks. If his experience is a reliable source, this is the point where you start falling for that person too. When you see how gentle they are, how caring, how understanding. Maybe Donghyuck is lonely — maybe he just wants to be someone who holds another person, singing them lullabies until they fall asleep, much like Renjun does for you. Maybe you're really just lovely — maybe there's an undiscovered force in the universe that places you in the center of his everything. He makes note of the rejection in your confession, and he accepts it, gracefully.

This is the point where he suppresses all the what-ifs in his head — what if you gave me a chance? What if I met you first? What if I didn't skip class that day, and I was with Renjun, and I met you at the same time as him? Do you think you would've ended up with me? — but these thoughts, despite being concealed, they leave a constant reminder that they're still there. It's a truth you both already know, the words that drip like honey from his lips, "I could love you better, so much better."

It'd be a lie to say you didn't think of it, considering his feelings. It would be an even bigger lie if you said that you don't think anyone can love you better than Renjun — you know someone can, and with how you two are handling this, it wouldn't be so hard to. Donghyuck is just so easy to fall for — the way he always knows the right thing to say, the compliments he throws at people, how confident he is, how clingy he gets. You would lie if you're asked, but you can't deny having feelings for Donghyuck, you can't deny how many times you've fallen in a reverie thinking of how good it must feel to be adored by him. Maybe you were lonely, maybe Donghyuck was just like that. Either way, no matter how great this love could be, you know it's wrong.

"I know you could. I couldn't be any happier when I'm with you. Those instants, they're one of the most beautiful moments in my life, but —" you halt, eyes still staring up at the ceiling. The twist in your gut tightens as you proceed, "But in those moments, I was secretly hoping for things. I was hoping that he was the one doing all of that for me. I was hoping that the happiness I had with you, he was giving me instead."

Donghyuck remains silent for a while. He smiles wistfully, "I know."

It's a rather odd answer, but you figure it shouldn't shock you as much anymore. You sit up straight, confused. Donghyuck motions for you to stand as he does the same. Stars shine in his eyes still, but it's a different light — there's hope in them, but it's a difficult kind of hope. He's beautiful even under dull lighting, it's something hard to pronounce; unrestrained and raw, as if one look at him and you'll crumble.

"Please, for just a while, even just a little bit," He steps closer, eyes downcast, "hold me like you love me."

You figure you were right about thinking that there was always something wrongfully more with Donghyuck — also discover that no matter how much more this feeling is, whatever it is, it can never be love; at least not a healthy one. What love could possibly ruin relationships? Donghyuck and Renjun are practically soulmates — they were made to be best friends, and while they had their other friends, nobody is just like Renjun and nobody is like Donghyuck. You don't want them to fall apart; you of all people know how hard it is to lose someone special.

Donghyuck's hug felt like fire, uninhibited and uncontrolled, given to someone so undeserving. You hold him like you love him the same way.

"I don't need you to love me back," but maybe he was hoping a bit. Yeah. Maybe. "There was never a chance for us, you know? Against my own best friend, I know I won't stand a chance. I just wanted to hear it from you."

A pause.

"Because I can dance with you under the moon, and I can walk on streets holding your hands, I can give you all the time in the world — I could spend a lifetime telling everyone I'm yours," Donghyuck locks gazes with you, and you wonder how he manages to be both heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. He shakes his head a bit, "But that won't make you love me."

"Because I can only ever catch you," he says wistfully "whenever he fails to. I always do, don't I? Catch you, save you, love you. But you're not falling for me. You're not in need of my saving. You're not mine to adore."

He loosens his hug, looks at you like the sun bidding farewell to the moon. He's just as beautiful, if not more, he really is — gold dusting his eyelids and strawberry balm on his lips — he's ethereal. Donghyuck is beautiful in all ways manageable and not, but it's also a different kind of beauty — quite like love, adventurous but uncertain, poetic but tragic. There's a lot of pain in this beauty. He closes his eyes.

"There's not much of us, but I'm setting you free."

═ ∘❁∘ ═

You find yourself knocking at Renjun's door that night, for no particular reason — certain events made you forget that he stood you up. Renjun apologizes and repeats his reasons like a mantra, but words seemed to leave his mouth once he sees your eyes; tired and sore. You don't really need his apologies. You just need him.

Apologies, you see, they almost always never come when they're asked for. When they do, they're mostly unwanted and unnecessary from that point forward. You just feel odd, more restless than you actually are, the world is too loud — you just want to close your eyes and escape for a bit. Renjun holds you silently the whole night, his heartbeat calm, his arms holding you tight and secure.

Renjun knows, but he decides it's better for him not to. He shifts a bit, "If not because of me, why are you sad?"

A part of you knows that this is his way of telling you he understands, that he's aware of what somethings happened behind his back. Renjun always knows. The bigger part of you hoped he didn't — selfishly. You know it's the safest choice to keep your mouth shut.

You're sad, for a million reasons or for just one, you don't bother keeping up with the numbers. Renjun looks at you like you're a treasure, though, like he means it — you think the only favor you could do him and for yourself as well is to lie. You grin, effectively hiding away the tears threatening to brim your eyes, "I forgot."

He doesn't really know what answer he expected, but his heart sinks at the reply nonetheless. Renjun decides, tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes quickly in a way Renjun wishes it wasn't. He wakes up tired — he was up all night singing lullabies to himself, whispering confessions that wouldn't change a thing and promises he'll never be able to fulfill, stuff that would never make you stay. Renjun didn't cry all night — there was a tear or two, there was three — he didn't just cry all night. He did so much more — relive the past, think that he's sorry, accept defeat and the fact that he's never gonna be enough for you; then he closes his eyes. The rain pours heavily outside and Renjun reaches a hand out to the sky.

"Perhaps, dance under the rain with me?" he says with tired eyes. "One time once more, baby."

You ignore the telltale signs of a heartache — maybe you were too numb, maybe you wanted to pretend it's all normal. Renjun tugs you outside and pulls you into a hug so tight, as if he didn't want to let go but he's losing you. Is he?

Dancing with Renjun under the rain is oddly similar to the one you shared with Donghyuck under the moonlight, and you find yourself full of guilt as you sway together with him, humming love songs just right next to your ear.

Renjun knows of that dance, of course he does. He was in front of the place you two were supposed to meet at, hoping that he could still make it. Because of this, he doesn't ask why you're entwining fingers with his while recalling memories of another. He doesn't mind — he thinks, as long as your eyes look at him so softly like that, he doesn't mind anything.

You think Renjun is beautiful like this — his everything an aesthetic you can endlessly write about. His eyes, though, his eyes look distant, wishful and longing. Renjun looks at you like he's letting you go and your heart drops, as gentle and as sweet as the poems he's written of you and the kiss he gifts your lips with.

"Just leave, darling," he whispers, "Stay a lovely memory to me."

It's just like any lovely excerpts you wrote, the last line with Renjun quite familiar and bittersweet. As if in any other circumstances, had he said only the second sentence and the second sentence only, it would have made your heart skip and your cheeks rise in temperature.

Real love is a little not like literature, though, at least the one you had with Renjun isn't. It wasn't almost being the same person. It wasn't sweet chaos. For both of you, it was doing what was the best for each other at the moment — whether it will make you cry, whether it will be painful before it becomes easy, knowing that it won't always be picture perfect but still wanting to give each other what you deserve. It was so much simpler than how he said it in his poetry, just as complicated but not any less romantic than that. Huang Renjun knew that you were aware of what was the best for the both of you — with neither of you ever wanting to force something to work and end up hating each other the more it fails, successfully trading the happy memories with more regrets, you walk away. Renjun doesn't follow just because love isn't always like the idea of it, but he does remember to never forget. You walk away, holding his love dear to your heart.

═ ∘❁∘ ═

Some people are just not meant to be alone, you think. Mark Lee comes just as quickly as Renjun was gone.

You don't even know why your paths crossed — Mark is literally the town's golden boy. He plays sports and aces exams and has a good set of friends; surely, he has more important matters to deal with, and definitely getting coffee at a dingy coffee shop isn't one of them. Not when it's three a.m in the morning, at least.

The shy barista at the counter sends you a gleeful smile as he hands out your order, one which you return with a curt nod and a quiet wish goodnight. He watches intently, subtle but focused — he really isn't one to gawk at people, but he couldn't help it. You held with you a smile that doesn't match the exhaustion in your eyes. You looked like hope. You looked like someone to look up and search for the stars even on a cloudy day. You seemed like a full-bloomed spring to trapped minds and sour hearts. You think Mark is a little too curious like Alice. Mark thinks you're even better than the Wonderland he'd always fall for.

He knows you saw him, he feels the hesitation in your stare. He knows you know him, he's shared a couple of classes with you and has done a couple of assignments as a team, so naturally, Mark couldn't help himself but ask, "Wanna sit down with me?"

You walk up to him with a nod, grateful. Mark tries to remain calm for the rest of the night — caffeine not helping — and he tries to look at his book instead of you, but he simply fails to. He tries his best to conceal himself, but he can't seem to tear away. He can't look at anywhere else when you're sitting there right in front of him — you know pain, you're familiar with sadness, have always been friends with enduring what you couldn't take; Mark sees in you a landscape that makes his heart hurt, a leafless tree he loves by itself but couldn't resist the urge to nurse back into life. Every now and then you'd look up from your cup and he would look away from this book that he's "reading" and your eyes would meet, and the both of you would shyly giggle and open up a small talk.

He walks you home that night, this one and the other and the many next times after that; it's just your thing by now, getting coffee at the most unreasonable hours of the day and staying up until it's too late for either of you to sleep because by this hour you should be blinking awake, walking down lifeless streets and past neon signs and holding hands. Mark would look at you with such awe and when he does, you have some things you forget, and your heart races. He's became a regular part of your day, a constant stranger. And then he becomes your friend. Then kind of more. You think, maybe, just maybe, he can become something more than more.

"I have many regrets in this life, you know? But I don't wanna be imprisoned by them," you shrug, too scared to look up at him and see that he wonders just what failures you've done. You continue your slow pace, both in walking and letting go of things much like words, "I don't want you to be one of them."

Mark stops walking, but he doesn't make you feel like you've said something wrong, so you finally glace up and meets his eyes; those that hold as much tiredness as yours, pressure, those that are glassy and brimming with tears. You smile, "And I like you, a lot, even if I'm in broken pieces. "

Mark looks at you and doesn't see majestic brokenness. Mark falls deeper in love that day, the next and all the others; you were deep like that. He fell and couldn't stop falling and he can't wait to fall even deeper into you, diving into unknown waters with blind fates and silent confessions of love.

Your relationship was practical — literal and convenient, full of compromise but in a good way. You both were almost always on the same page of what should be done and how to do it, and if not, you two know that it's the best to give it a rest and understand. The balance, that kind of synchrony — it was something you both need, was something you liked about your dynamic; the fact that the partnership was there and you're certain of no taking more than you could give and no giving of less than you deserve. For once, you feel like you aren't pouring liquid into a leaking jar, and you feel content at the warmth he gives you with.

Renjun never made you feel this way; he didn't make enough accommodations for your relationship and you didn't voice out your expectations of him, you just wished he magically knew. Because he always knew that you would understand and other people wouldn't, he ended up giving you most of the weight of the relationship you both should've carried together. Mark was everything you hoped Renjun was; this is where the conflict begins.

When love is fueled by what the past wasn't able to give and what the present is willing to offer, you end up falling for the ideas and not the person. He makes up to what Renjun didn't, he filled to the brim what Renjun wasn't able to, he satiates what Renjun couldn't satisfy. You always saw the things Mark did as what you expected from someone else, so you weren't able to appreciate them as they are. You never truly saw him as Mark Lee who loves you, always as the boy who did everything the last didn't.

Just as any relationship that revolves around somebody who's not involved, the conclusion was something you saw coming. It comes with tired eyes and worn out sighs, burned out hearts and linked fingers, sour hearts turning bitter. Mark doesn't look at you at all, and you keep your eyes set to the stars.

"The thing with me is I always long for consistency — for someone to understand me and stay understanding of me forever." He breathes out, voice raw. Did he scream? Was he screaming in those empty spaces you two gave each other? In any of those yells, did he call your name? You think you need to yell at the top of your lungs just to hear a sound louder than your heartbreak. He chuckles before continuing, "And I know that it doesn't exist and it never will. I knew that since childhood, but even if I continue disappointing myself, I never stopped hoping."

His shoulders drop — he feels that weak that time, even his knees buckle down and his eyes sting from holding back tears. "So baby, don't play with me," he whispers, more begging than warning and he falls apart, "I don't need a chase — I need someone to wait for the end with."

There's a whine at the back of your throat, but you settle with looking at his direction with an apologetic call of his name. He doesn't reply.

Mark never knew that he could fall in love with the same person all over again even during a break-up. You're just lovely like that — always dancing in your daydreams while you carry the world on your back. Mark feels his breath catch at his throat, he feels his palms go numb, he feels his heart going haywire and begging him so desperately because no, no, don't let go, please, don't let go!

"There's a huge difference between how much I love you, and how much I can take." He finally spares you a glance, his everything so spent and lonely and blue in a way that isn't the calm of an ocean. "If you can't love me, then please let me go."

Mark knew your answer when you smiled.

────── ❁ ──────

The trip to the coffee shop was slow and empty and chilly, your hands trembling in need to get a hold of warm coffee and your feet taking little steps to such a familiar place. Honestly, you don't even know why you're letting yourself go there — why do you keep on doing this, torturing yourself? You don't even know — maybe you came here to reminisce the past, hold it close one last time before letting it go. Maybe you're here to remember how Mark was, how he was before he met you — oh, how you wish he didn't meet you. How badly you wish he never did, how you wish he never offered you a seat, his comfort, his love, a place in his heart. How you wish you didn't steal the sparkles in his eyes, and at that very moment, you feel the sudden urge to turn around.

But you're already pushing the glass door wide open, causing the chimes to make that delightful sound.

"Good...!" the cheery voice fades, a concerned look adorning exhausted eyes, "...evening. The usual?"

You hum, nodding soullessly. The boy — Jeno, quietly works your order until he decides he's had enough of you rubbing your cheeks raw wiping down tears. He sighs and finishes your drink, hands it to you with a sympathizing smile, "Uh, you don't look fine, but are you okay?"

You suppress a giggle and a glare — why does he care? But you're lonely, too lonely, so lonely that you only manage a nod, "Rough time. I wish today didn't happen."

"Oh, but other people had the best day of their lives today. They wouldn't experience that day if today didn't happen," he smiles, flashes of child-like optimism and hopes hinting behind the sleepy glaze in his eyes. "You're on your way to yours."

And while on any other day, his reply would have made you annoyed, you find that he's right, and wish that he indeed is. You feel like it's the only right that didn't go wrong today.

Something warns you that you shouldn't be getting yourself caught in his strings and his ways, but you find yourself straying around his orbit. You were lonely. It was that bad — so bad that you found comfort in everything and everyone and Lee Jeno just happened to be convenient; It's just safe to be around each other, and that's what great friends are supposed to be, right? Jeno doesn't judge and he doesn't pry when you tell him not to push it, and he tries to understand without forcing you to make him if you're not ready. Lee Jeno had a soul like comfort and a smile like a piece of home. You insist that you had no interest in either, but with you so down and him the only thing pulling you up, you couldn't help but let him in.

You think some people are just like that — timeless souls stuck in mortal bodies, liquid gold; glowing and burning and bright and hopeful, stars. They're like stars — human stars.

He's always beside you, you see, Lee Jeno. He answers the dumbest questions and the deeper ones, he stays up listening to your heartaches and struggles. He knows a lot about you — never everything, but they're more than enough — and you know about him, too. It's a dangerous edge you two are leaning far too close to tipping over, and still, your gaze screams life and hope and energy, Jeno thinks he doesn't mind. He remembers earlier memories with him crumbling under your fingertips, tears in his eyes.

"Mark Lee... he's not replaceable and I'm not a replacement..." he shifts his eyes down, can't bring it to him to just look at you without breaking himself. He manages a heartwrenching smile, "but I think I'd rather be a replacement rather than a distraction, darling."

But you looked at him and cup his cheeks and kiss his forehead so mellowly, assuring him that he's neither. The storm in his heart stops and all his insecurities don't matter, and Jeno doesn't think he ever felt this good — so light, so dreamy. Your touch brings comfort, much like lullabies, and after years on insufferable insomnia, Jeno falls asleep.

Your gaze, too. If you continue looking at him that way, he doesn't think he'll mind anything.

"Thanks, Jen. For the coffee," you say with a smile, another night spent with him at the coffee shop. These days, you spend most of your free time waiting for his shift to end, watching him stutter and flush every time he realizes you've been watching him. There's a giddy feeling spreading inside your gut as you continue, "and for staying with me. That was so thoughtful of you — how much lovelier can you be?"

He laughs, shaking his head. He sighs, "Stop it. You're giving me hope."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Oh, but I want to," you quickly roll your eyes, an attempt to faux cool control, your expression immediately shifting to something welcoming and soft just enough that his chest tightens. Jeno feels kind of odd — a good kind of odd, a welcomed sensation. You beam up at him with glassy eyes. Jeno shifts his to his shoelaces.

"Don't do that."

"Jen..."

"I love you," he confesses, shallow breaths coming in quick intervals. The floor seems to sway under his feet and the skies feel like they're swirls of dripping liquid, and it's hard to even breathe, let alone swallow the bitterness of his words, "But I would rather have you not say it back than hear you not mean it."

"I'm... I— Jen," you gasp out, fast to hold his hands to try to keep him down. For a reason or two, you feel like crying. Jeno feels lost. "I'm falling."

But you're not, and you don't know why you said it, but there's a galaxy in his eyes and the universe so beautifully laid down in his mind and he's pulling you close, tears in his eyes, this boy. Lee Jeno who's so in love with you, Lee Jeno who's hopelessly whipped, Lee Jeno — your sweet, sweet boy. You look up to him and shakily whispers, "Please catch me."

Jeno looks at the luminaries and wonders what it would feel like if one day he looks into the very same orbs only to find that the stars have fallen.

The wind blows gently, the coldness of the place prickling his skin, but Jeno doesn't think it's what caused the flush to rise on his cheeks. He stutters, curses a little, says again those little words and dives for a kiss — you feel like it's the best night ever; no nightmare, just pure bliss.

You blindly walk the path inside your house, dropping your belongings on either of your sides. You try to keep your knees from buckling as you bring yourself to your bathroom, stripping off your clothes. You lean your back to the cold tile walls of your shower, feeling the rush of water that is supposed to drown your thoughts not doing anything to keep them at bay. What have I done?

Loving Jeno is easy, though, far too easy if you may. He's so full of love and in need of affection but never asks for them, and you're more than glad to give all of that to him without words needed. The days with him have been light-hearted, felt deeply nonetheless. In this little world, it's you and him, him and you, no one else. Right? Is that right? Do you promise?

Jeno knocks at your home one day, sullen and lethargic. He spreads his arms out for a hug, one you throw yourself into without hesitation. He leans into the touch, leaning down to burry his head on the crook of your neck, "Thank you, baby."

Your brows draw closer, "For what?"

"You were never mine, but you were always lonely." He suddenly says, He suddenly says, voice fading weak and unstable. There's warm tears dampening your shoulder, and he shakes ever so slightly that you panic and try to pull away, but he doesn't let you. Instead, he continues, "In my twisted logic, I made myself believe that it's the same."

"What are you saying, Jen?" You laugh, a bit confused and a lot afraid. "I love you."

"No, please, don't say that," his reply baffles you. When he lets you go, Jeno has a certain saddened look in his eyes, and it feels so familiar that you should be numb to it by now. You're not, though, and so you pretend to not know where this all would lead. He pulls you in again and hugs you tighter, "Let me tell you that I love you without you answering back, please."

The boy breathes out shakily, "I want us to have at least one memory that isn't a lie."

And then Lee Jeno says goodbye.

────── ❁ ──────

Park Jisung is the clumsy florist who keeps breaking vases in the flower shop his cousin owns, just several blocks away from the kindergarten both your nephews attended. You meet him one too many times you had to pick the little boy up, and talked to him finally one fine Tuesday when you decided flowers would be nice, out of random. You become friends from then on.

This thing you have with Jisung is something lovely, child-like, and carefree. It doesn't put any pressure on you — there are expectations, but they're all voiced out and kept healthy. You're friends — great friends, not best friends — whose dynamic is not necessarily convenient. It's safe to say that some people think you have a complicated relationship.

You think, not really. Not to the two of you, at least — Jisung just knows when you're down and in need to be left alone or cuddled, while you know when he needs to cry or if he's pushing himself to his limits. He knows what flower you hold most dear, your treasured scent, your favorite shade of yellow. You know his most loved tracks, the beat he looks the happiest humming to, the color of his dreams. It's much more simple than that — it's just that you two have fun, even with your differences, and when you're together, everything else just fades away.

You just... don't like being alone. Jisung doesn't like not having company — well, there are indeed people he doesn't want to be accompanied by, but he doesn't like being the only one walking alone in crowds of many. He doesn't make your heart skip, not really, instead it's just a warm feeling in your chest, much like home. He doesn't make you nervous — not at all, but he does make you feel safe. Comforted, even. It's the type of love you've always yearned for, the only kind of love he's comfortable with.

"You dance?" Your eyes widen in surprise, dropping your book on the table. Then you smile, "Oh? Aren't you full of surprises?"

"Mhm, you'll see." He says with embarrassment hinting his voice, but then he stops arranging the flowers and looks at where you're sitting. "You? Aren't you full of surprises, too?"

You pick up your book, a sudden low, shrugging. "It won't be a surprise if I say now, wouldn't it?"

He just shakes his head, tries to lift the vase to the other side and accidentally knocks another one down. You laugh at him, curious at how much control he has over his body that he must be able to dance so fluidly, hit the beat like it's what he's born for, and yet he can't seem to hold a vase and not break it. Jisung giggles, taking it lightly. You wish he didn't.

The days with Jisung are filled with your favorite bouquets and post-it notes. Each and every day, the words written inside changes from 'You did well', until it develops to 'I hope you smiled today,' 'I wish something good happened today,' and 'You're really, really pretty.' He'd take you to little uphills, asks you to teach him how to make floral crowns from wildflowers, dance with you barefoot under bright daylight. A little summer, a certain person, your most dreaded feeling of having someone mean so much that you let flowers bloom in your chest until it's so hard to breathe and you cough them up.

"My parents asked me to study dance in another country," he mumbles one day, a shaky breath leaving his lips, "Please give me a reason not to go."

"Chase your drive, Sungie," you whisper back. You lean your head further to his chest, safe and warm and fading, "I love you, so choose your dreams over me."

There's the slightest hint of betrayal in his voice, a tinge of rejection in his eyes, "If you love me, why would you make me choose?"

If you love me, why can't you choose me? You selfishly ask, the kid in you whining at the thought of being left alone. The greedy part of you begs to ask him to stay, the needy part of you wants to hug him until he's so full of you that he forgets even the bare thought of wanting anything else. The silent voice inside you, the one that learned and keeps learning, the one that could've saved you so many times if you listened to it, sighs sadly. Don't risk anyone's future for your present, it seems to say.

"Because I love myself too," you look directly to his eyes, cupping his cheeks in between your palms, "and we need to put ourselves before anybody else."

And yet again, you're starstruck by the almost golden swirls in his irises, a peek of his soul. You think his eyes are beautiful — astounding, art worthy, a sight to never get tired of. He thinks they're only beautiful because he's looking at you.

This thing with Jisung isn't something you should've let go. You shouldn't have let him go but you weren't ready and the last thing you wanted was to hurt someone who held you so close beautifully. He didn't mean to, though — it was just too hard not to go overboard, and the next thing he knew, he was in love. He didn't mean to, so he walks you home the last night, hand in hand with a certain something hidden underneath his mellow smile. Jisung stands in front of you, waiting for you to open your gates, but you don't move. You stay basking in the tenderness of his gaze.

You think the little problem is that he's even more breathtaking up close and in silence, when the night feels so dead that it thrives — you feel like if you weren't so broken, if you don't keep on seeing another person when you look at him in the eyes, if you let go of the past, Jisung would be everything your heart desired. It just so happened that you two are both too infinite for forever, too broken to fix anything for the latter. Jisung was too charming — his smile was one that doesn't ask for attention but still steals it, never content with just taking your breath away so he takes with him your mind and soul.

You can't handle losing any more of yourself, though, so you smile, "Thank you for waiting."

"I have always been waiting for you," he grins shyly. You make a mental note to remember him like this — dyed locks a mess on top of his head and glasses messily perched on his nose bridge, tall and too pretty to be real, eyes so loving and expressive. There's an obvious sorrow in his voice, "Without fail, consistently, inevitably, forevermore."

You smile, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheeks, "Good night, Jisung."

The last note comes in between the pages of your notebook, a pretty pastel purple accompanied by pressed wildflowers. There, in his messy letters and colorful ink, reads a confession:

Maybe I couldn't stop myself from falling because it felt like flying with you.

You shake your head, sigh reading 'I told you not to do that'. Still, you feel a tug at your chest, a link between the two of you in the sense that you seem to be moving in synchrony with these words — Park Jisung is your last love, you swear. You shift your eyes, tired of the same chain all over again, flipping the note to read the words behind them.

When you find the right love at the wrong time, what will you do to make it work?

You sigh to yourself as you read the question, tracing the pristine paper with your pen, and finally, finally you smile;

Let it go. Set it free, because the greatest love of all is the one that lets you grow.

You tilt your head up, holding back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes.

────── ❁ ──────

Zhong Chenle invades your life like a hurricane of mixed emotions, a little like three months just in time when you finally decided you've had enough heartbreaks. You meet him from one of your friends, Qian Kun, and literally had to stop and wonder how in the world he managed to find this thing — you can't help it, alright? Chenle just stood silent and proud, clad in leather and rumors and reputations and reeking of expensive. He comes in the scene like thoughts as turbulent as unwanted flashbacks and as easily as finding trouble looking for the right answer when you're in a rush.

Quickly as he entered your life, he became a friend; you're too familiar with this scene, but you've had enough. You can't take any more. You've spent most of your life haunted by sugar smiles and breathy laughs and in exchange, had yourself break everything you wanted to keep intact. It doesn't matter that he's not at all what he's perceived to be, it doesn't matter that he makes your breath hitch. You don't even care what you're going against with, if it's fate or heavenly beings or the world — no more. You can't anymore.

The world is the ocean and the ocean is a God — people are mere sailors who think they're stronger than the tides, but they're not; once the waters have made their decision to kill you, there's no reason you should fear the phenomenons trying to do you harm. It seems like it's made that plan, that thing you hoped so much you wouldn't do. Chenle knows so he smiles at you brightly, "Don't you dare run away from what you're feeling."

"Else what, you gonna run after me?" You bite back just for the sake of it, laughter bubbling from your throat, "Gonna go chase me down?"

He shrugs, taking a challenge and a risk, "You better not regret."

"Absolutely fucking not." Kun hisses after you've told him what happened, months after you've started dating and you're tired of hiding it already. Your friends already tease you about getting together, anyway, so why should you even hide? Apparently, this. The profanities leaving his mouth should worry you, really, but it doesn't; not as much as his disagreement. Still, you couldn't even bother to ask him why because you see it in his eyes — you know him that much, you're familiar with that look — "You're not in love with Chenle, please, we both know this."

"I am in love with him!" You say, hurt. The look in his eyes softens, but the pain of his word doesn't, neither does his determination, "Kun, please. I didn't tell you just so you could lecture me, I told you because you're my friend! I do love him!"

"Are you, really? In love with him, you say? Completely?" Your eyes shift to the side after his statement, the lack of sarcasm and warmth in his tone both bothering you. You want to cry. When you look at Kun, you find he feels just as much. "You're not in love with him in the way he deserves."

There's a dry chuckle leaving your lips as you grab your bag, standing up with a tear slowly rolling down in your cheek. More than devastation, there's a certain withering look in your eyes. Kun tries to apologize, but you're already moving away from him. The betrayal in your voice is impossible to ignore and forget, "How dare you make accusations about how I'm feeling?"

Falling in love with Chenle wasn't in the plan; in fact, you hardly even had any plans to begin with. As another fact, the only plan was to not fall in love with anyone anymore. Plans are ever-changing things, you'd always counter, they depend on the situation. When Chenle came in your life, you figure there happened to be another shift — something significant had changed, a good change.

Maybe it is why you didn't even take Kun seriously. You've always hoped that all those lows would lead to this point, the part where there's content spreading on your chest, a feeling just as bright as the luminescent blanket of embedded diamonds and rubies, a sky full of stars. By your side, the boy looks at you with eyes shining just as much; Zhong Chenle, badly misunderstood, so truly loved. You couldn't help but pull him in a kiss — giggly and messy, chaste and ever so delicate.

You think you could spend lifetimes just staring at him. You swore on it, really, to not be in love with him. More than anybody else, you hoped to fate that you'll never fall in love again. It's just that this person — Zhong Chenle, he has a tendency to be very addicting, and oh, how easily addicted you are. His kiss a lovely burn against your lips, his words a heavenly whisper to your ear, his existence a delightful surprise. You find it inevitable to fall because of the many similar nights before this, just weeks after you two met. Those days where you two were laughing way too hard for midnight and your heart blossomed with happiness it hasn't felt for long. It's the sweetest kind of doom.

It's doom, nonetheless.

"With whom was your first relationship with?" Chenle suddenly asks, no hint of jealousy in his eyes, but there is, aside from pure curiosity, something else — lost, baffled, seeking an explanation for something he doesn't even think he should know. "I mean, you're mine. You're my first love, but I know I'm not yours, and I'm curious. "

"You don't even know him, Lele." You laugh, trying to hide your hesitation. The boy insists, says that he just needs a name. You roll your eyes affectionately, "Huang Renjun. He's a great guy, but timing kinda messed up."

Chenle hums appreciatively, but he stops trying to find constellations and making up shapes of his own; instead, he dives in a pool thoughts deeper than the dark. He thinks of what he doesn't know if he believes in, but he keeps his eyes up at the stars and hopes to God that his life wasn't such a movie; he stays quiet.

"Who's Jaemin, then?" The question comes, harmless but shocking nonetheless. Chenle breaks his stare from the dull-starred sky and looks at you with a smile brighter than daylight. His question makes your gut twist. "Jaemin who danced with you under the rain... Jaemin who made your day with corny jokes, with late-night talks, with coffee, with notes."

You don't reply, so he ponders some more. He thinks about walking the streets holding hands, he thinks of cheek kisses. He thinks of waking up tomorrow and doing all of that with you. He looks forward to a couple of years — maybe you'll move in together, maybe you'll share a place and clothes and everything. He thinks of counting down the memories, having lived most of his life satisfied. Chenle thinks of doing it all with you; someone who takes tragedies and turns them into masterpieces. Someone who sings sad songs with a saccharine smile.

"Jaemin with a reputation, known for all the wrong reasons..." his eyes cast down, dull and slowly piecing everything together, "Just like me."

He thinks of a vow, a promise — to the stars, till dawn do us part. He thinks of how near the sun is from rising, and he thinks of silhouette, of being hidden behind one. You don't answer until then, so he just takes it as your reply.

"You don't have to. I already know," he smiles, fingers entwining with yours. "Maybe I just hoped that I didn't have to find out from Kun."

Chenle is innocent, kind of naive. He wears his heart on his sleeves and gifts its pieces to anyone who dares to get to know him. He loves a lot — his friends, his family, stars. A person who grieves the loss of midnight too, when the stars start to fade; you. Because of that, he could forgive anything you did and would do.

It's one of his many ways of love, you see, this thing you have going on. Chenle's just like that — you never know just how much more he can give before he runs out; there's just so much of him and it's difficult to put it into words. He's shown you how he treasures relationships, how he adores everything around him in each and every time a different way and kind. He's shown you so much, all the ways he displays his affection with, this little magic trick. That's not all of it, though, and a little part of you sinks because of the fact that a lifetime will not be sufficient enough for you to know just what this love is, completely, because every passing moment, the boy falls for something; each fondness different from the lasts.

Chenle just loves like that; so much that he doesn't mind being loved for carrying pieces of another person — being adored simply because he made you remember what you didn't want to forget. He thinks, if he doesn't think it matters, it wouldn't; he prays that if he doesn't bring it up, you'd forget. He's loved you for so long but you know so little of his kind of love; ever so pure and limitless, impossible to define and dictate.

When he holds your hands, though, you feel like it's enough — it's enough to have known slightly more than what you think you should.

"You give too much," are the only words that you were able to form. He looks at you as if to ask if you think so, and you feel the time stop for a bit when he leans his head on your shoulders, his dark locks tickling your skin. You laugh, humorless and sentimental, "Isn't it about time you'd learn to love within limits?"

"You're brilliant, you know?" He mumbles, albeit sleepily. "Kind of infinite. There are no restrictions in the love you deserve."

Something about brilliant just hits so different from beautiful — something so damning and sweet and you feel it again; just how much love you have in you, how much of it you are willing to give. Maybe boundaries really aren't your thing, maybe its the reason why you let Chenle adore you beyond what you know you can take, why you allowed him to give more than he should've given. Maybe it's why you poured affection after affection without conditions — maybe that's why you were selfish enough to love shadows. Maybe it's as most people say — you tend to burn too bright, to share too much of yourself, and not everybody can handle that. You're a bit too much for others. Maybe it's why you find yourself sitting down, pen roughly scribbling on paper.

Somewhere, there's a soul aching for your love... but no matter how much we try, we know it's not here, with me.

────── ❁ ──────

Kun doesn't knock at your door until a few weeks later, and whether it was him giving you space or him not being able to leave Chenle alone, you think of it as a blessing in disguise. It wasn't even after a week or two that you found it in you to get your life together — fake it till you make it, clean up your home, clean up your mess. You greet him with a smile on your face, tears prickling your eyes, "Come in."

Kun doesn't even say anything, he just puts the snacks he bought somewhere and crashes the sofa. He turns off the television, eyes the clearly was-messy place, and huffs at you, "It's just me. You don't have to play cool with me when you're feeling so broken."

"You're acting so much like Kim Dongyoung." You whisper just enough that he could hear before making your way to him and sobbing in his arms. Kun lets you stay like that, his hands threading your hair and affectionately patting your back, a soft 'I told you you're not ready yet' that's less scolding than it is loving. You stop crying then, just miserable sobs and sniffles, and he stands up to get you a cup of water. You look at him.

"Thank you, Kun."

Suddenly, his not amused expression is back. He moves away a little, placing a strict space in between the two of you, and then directly looks into your eyes, "Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Were you ever gonna tell me, or was I just supposed to learn about it after you've left?"'

"Kun," you breathe deeply, "I need to."

"For who?" He asks, hoping that amongst the reasons read your name. Are you finally choosing yourself? Is it still because of other people? He wants to ask, but his voice keeps failing him and all he can whisper is words about how he's proud of you, how much you've endured, how badly he wishes to ease the pain. Kun doesn't look at you with disappointment, with hurt; he looks at you with pure utter understanding, and you find it in you, a reason to smile.

────── ❁ ──────

You can't help but reminisce things as you walk from your home to the train station, neither can you when you asked the person in charge for which train will get you out of the place the quickest. You didn't really have plans, you never did, and perhaps that's where everything starts to go wrong; you just forget things, or at least, you try to suppress them. You never tried to solve anything.

This town knew too much — there are memories of Renjun on the trail from here to the benches, flashes of Donghyuck's sly grin meeting your gaze in the reflection of the glass whenever you look at the vending machines. You feel like you've walked every street in here, hand in hand with Mark, like you've danced under all these blinking lights with Jisung, like you've been to everywhere with Chenle. There is so much to remember, and this place can't hold them all and it breaks your heart so much, knowing that many things are meant to be memories, but not all memories should be remembered. You close your eyes in silent hopes that no matter how painful, you never forget one second.

It was impossible, surely, but you think that the thought of being able to recall them completely will be enough to keep you company. Even until now, you don't really want to be alone — some people are just not meant to be by themselves, and sometimes those people aren't really good at settling down either — being one of them, you leap from one crumbling bridge to another, hoping to never feel the pain of a great fall. There was never an end where you didn't.

Waiting for the train to board, you look back to a certain place in time. The one where you think everything began.

Your first love is something you remember vividly. It came in the form of childhood crushes, wildflowers, and ruined playgrounds. It's a coincidental meeting; you were running away from your house, tired of the yelling and the crashing and the constant fear in your little heart, while he was sneaking away from his house to play more because he's a 'rebel'. Your first heartbreak takes some years forward, years just a little far from now even if it feels like it's been forever standing here, waiting for an uncertain return.

Until now, you think that it was that night under a rusty slide and above dry leaves when your life started to change.

You meet again with Na Jaemin just minutes before your train arrives, a brief eye-contact and a skip of heart and it doesn't take so much for you to know; those eyes, that smile, the red string sitting too tightly on his wrist. You remember what promise that meant — you know that, right? The thing they say about red strings, how they connect people? — and what childish hope that strand held — if we wear this, we would always find our way to each other, because we have a red string connecting us now! You remember, you do, really — of course, you do; how you could you ever forget him? Surely, maybe he's grown a lot, and everything about him has changed, he even dyed his soft hair blue. You're certain, though, you knew that it's him — maybe the red string worked. Maybe it's the butterfly effect and the heartbreaks your heart and several others nursed. Maybe it's the look in his eyes that remained soft and sweet and honest.

You miss your train, but you can't help but feel like you're just in time.

"Jae—" you choke, eyes wide and shocked, "Jaemin!"

────── ❁ ──────

Na Jaemin meets you again on a busy train station, three years ago after he just came back in town for a visit. He remembers the punch in his gut at the sight of your face, the red string delicately wrapped on your wrist, far too small but still so beautiful. He remembers the sullen look on your face, the realization dawning on him that you're late for your class and he chuckles; you never really made it in time for school, even as a child. The rain pours and he has to fiddle his bag for his umbrella, opens it so that he could let you in. When he takes a step closer though, you were talking to another boy, and Jaemin thinks he's the one a little late.

He comes across you a lot of times next to that, too, but never when you're alone. He thinks, his timing is a mildly off as well. Every time he tries to come and talk to you — when you were sitting alone in the middle of a busy restaurant, inside the coffee shop, in front of his niece's kindergarten — there was always somebody else. It reminds him of back then, one of your conflicts as you started to grow up and apart; the many times you needed each other and the other person is too caught up needing someone else. Jaemin thinks that the beat you both are dancing to is a little too delayed.

Jaemin remembers meeting a boy just as blue as him, a face a little familiar, smiling longingly at the two dancing under the moon. He remembers eyes as regretful as his, he remembers a smile, "They look so happy, don't they?"

None of that matters, though, not when he's pulling you into a hug and dragging you to a rooftop, not when you're several floors off the ground and beside you is Na Jaemin, sitting side by side, with eyes that take you back to the past and makes you hope for an unbroken present.

When you two stand under the bright sky and you stare at him instead of gushing about flying, Jaemin realizes just how drastically different this present is. If the look in your eyes says anything, he's certain that you feel the same.

You have just always been waiting for this moment, you know? And you missed your train, but you were just in time to meet Jaemin, and the rush of affection cleared all the lines you had to cross and everything was light and filled with teary laughter before right now. You've had it planned, the both of you, multiple scenarios where you two could meet again — none of them are this way. It's awkward and tense and the other feels so far away; this wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Jaemin could leave. He should leave, he figures, thinking that it's always been what he's best at. It's not working, anyway; maybe it was him being gone and you going through so much, maybe it's life knocking some sense in the both of you, but none of that matters — it's not working. It's just like this, relationships — two people could start at the same point and still go separate ways. It's not meant to be. He could leave, forget, maybe he'd find enough courage that he marks this chapter closed and finally, finally stop thinking of childhood feelings and even the grown-up ones. He could find a new beginning in this chapter closed.

That's the way it goes, anyway, right? Some ends feel like new starting points. Jaemin could drop it here. He could make it easier for himself, he'd be able to say this isn't working and he'd be back to his normal self; the one that looks at you and looks for you in a way that he did before falling in love. He could be young and free, away from untold reasons and unsaid apologies and undelivered feelings. He could make it easier for himself.

But to hell with ease, he didn’t want to.

"Remember, back then, we would always sneak out to play in the rain?" Jaemin is the first to break the silence, "And we look at flowers... you used to cry at everything back then!"

You flick his arm at that, and he sits on the floor next to the railing because he couldn't hold himself up anymore, laughing. Even until now, this still feels like a very vivid dream. You spend the night trying to believe that this is reality — Jaemin does the same.

Fate has a tendency to bring people apart and put them back together again, so you can't really help it that Jaemin was months and weeks away from leaving the town again. There was a point where you cursed time — you just found him, and now, why is he being taken away from you? There was a time where Jaemin thought you weren't meant to be — if you are, then why do you keep on being forced apart?

He thinks he really should stop thinking this way. It's just something really odd, this love stuff, because it's never really just one thing but rather a couple of many nothings to make up an entirely different, supposedly magical occurrence. Love is never just love — it's oftentimes euphoria with even the slightest glimpse of devastation. Jaemin doesn't think he understands why the both of you try so hard to make it easy — no matter how difficult, he knows it's worth it, knows that he'll fight for it.

Jaemin spends his last day in this place smiling, cupping your cheeks as he stands in the middle of a busy train station yet again, this time, with you in his reach. The skies are dark but his smile is bright, and it burns brighter when you flush after asking him why he's staring at you so hard. The boy cooes, "Perfect should try to be you."

"If perfect was me, perfect would be a mess," you quickly counter even through you being too flustered. In your absolute anxiety, you think that everyone is looking and judging you. With the way Jaemin is staring at you, you don't think you'd mind even if they whisper things so mean.

"A lovable mess," he raspily whispers, sincerity in his gaze and honesty in his words. Jaemin smiles, "I can't make this up. I fall for you several times a day, repeatedly."

Jaemin lets go of your face and dips in to kiss your forehead, and then he giddily messes your hair. You can't even bring it in you to get mad — you have several minutes and you have so much to say and the time is too little, your words are so limited. Jaemin asks for your hands and leaves a red string, identical to the ones you gave each other as children but bigger and adorned with the tiniest butterfly charm. You look at him, confused, "What's this?"

"A farewell gift, and something I'll definitely come back for," he flicks your forehead as if to say it's so obvious, and you can't help but feel like time is running out all over again. You breathe, unsteady and ragged, a desperate call of his name, "Na Jaemin?"

He doesn't answer, but he wipes the tears streaming down your face and he hums.

"I'm so happy that the ending is me and you." You finally confess, taking him aback. You smile, sweet and cruelly beautiful, brutally emotional, and if there were no children around and Jaemin was a tad bit more shameless, he would pull you into a deep kiss. He couldn't, though, so he just gapes and stares and listens.

"I'm so happy that it's back to you."

As the train boards, you find yourself realizing how tough the world gets — the lovely, sinking feeling lingering in your chest as you recall the highs and the lows of life and fate.

You've had far too many great loves in your life, so much that using the term would probably not sound special anymore to other people — but they're different, each one of them, the way they loved distinct at least — and this one, just this one, Na Jaemin, by far, is the greatest.

The end is sweet and lovely, if a bit sour and bitter. The end is where you hopefully find yourself.

────── ❁ ──────

"Mom and dad keeps on fighting. " your nephew murmurs under his breath, one sunny Friday spent walking on streets that are cooling down, on the way to what must be the happiest place on Earth for a kid. "Do you think they don't love each other anymore?"

You nervously scratch your nape, thinking of easy ways to reply to the question. You think of your childhood, how you spent most of it dreaming of love. How until today, the thought of it still haunts you. You just shrug, "People just have some bad days, but look, they're still together, right?" he nods, and you feel a blossom of proudness in your chest, "They love each other, and that's why they had you."

The kid suddenly frowns, "Why do people get together, then?"

You halt your steps before continuing, on the verge of asking why he asked that question before you realize that it's your nephew, anyway. He loves holding mature conversations even if he doesn't understand anything, he likes asking away and being taken seriously, like an adult. You chuckle, "Uhm, because people make each other happy!"

"Why don't you have someone, then?" You don't know how to answer his question, and neither did you expect it. He looks too interested to be brushed off. "You said people make other people happy!"

"Hm, well, I do have someone," you think of sugar smiles and giggly kisses as you say those words. There's a comforted exhale leaving your lips as you look down on the kid, "But, he's not the only reason I'm happy... I'm happy with myself, without him."

"Do you not love him, then? Because you're happy without him?"

"I love him, I do, a lot! We went through a lot to find each other again," you smile kindly, patient. "But it's a different kind of love, just like how it is a different kind of happy with him."

His lips jut out, wondering about things not so completely disconnected from his first questions. He then sighs as if he's carrying the weight of the world, "If you had to find each other again, it means one of you left. Why did one of you leave if you love each other, then?"

Why?

"Well, you see, maybe..." there's no answer pouring from your lips, but emotions threaten to spill from your eyes and then down your cheeks. The child won't understand your tears, though, so you think of familiar faces and the one you entwined your fingers with, like home. You keep your head held high. "Maybe it's so that we could find each other again in a time where we would be better versions of ourselves."

It's not enough to sate his curious mind. "But if he's almost always never here, how are you supposed to know if he's the love you're supposed to have, then?"

"The love I'm meant to find has always been here, within me," you say genuinely, and the child, ever so confused but curious, remains silent to understand. You shake your head a bit, "but with him, this love grows bigger and bigger, and it helps us cross any kind of distance between us."

Finally satisfied, he stops asking questions at the sight of his most favorite place, muttering incomprehensible gibberish as he tugs you closer to the entrance. Then you think of how happy you are to be standing under this sky, above this ground — you think of the butterfly effect, all the little moments and major events, and everything that passed and will forever remain remembered. You think of all that lead you to this.

You look at the reflection of yourself from the glass walls of the candy shop, and you couldn't help a smile. The look in your eyes screams dreamy as you push open the door. This is it — you're on the way to loving yourself.

Welcome home.

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oceanivoxjoquainx · 3 years

Note

i also love samquin thanks to you 🥺 i gasped when i saw danny ramirez fine self with facial hair. it was just *chef's kiss*, you know? 🤤 elevated the whole look. i want to know your headcanons about sam seeing joaquin with facial hair for the first time. maybe they're meeting up after a long time. what's his reaction? does the hair tickle him when they embrace? 😄

I am soooooo so glad you asked about this anon! I have many an idea 🤭 Also glad you love samquín now because of me! I love when other folks fall in love with them like i have!

With that everyone get ready forrrrr

Samquín Headcanons ☀️🌈: The Beard

Sam had decided that it was best for his mental health and his and his families safety if he left the military, quit the Avengers, and left the name of The Falcon behind three years ago. He did it once before when he lost Riley, and he figured it was time to do it again. He and Joaquín argued about it the last time they spoke and it ended in Sam flying away before trashing the wings. Little did he know Joaquín was following him and salvaged them.

Sam did his best to stay far away from anything avengers or super solider or world threatening and focused on supporting and helping his family down in Lousiana. He finally had the peace he always wanted and the safety he had wanted to give to his sister and nephews.

He was able to reestablish himself in the community and continue the work his father started all thos years ago. He went back to his job as a social worker and made sure everyone in his neighborhood was fed every week, slowly expanding his outreach every month until everyone knew that if you were hungry you could just go to the Wilson house and you were taken care of. It was the life he was used to and at that moment what he wanted.

Until some old enemies showed up right on his door step.

He fought until the end but there was only so much a man three years out of practice could do. He could only buy his family enough time to get far away and he determinedly got up every time he was knocked down.

He was down on the ground, about to succumb to his injuries, vision blurry through sweat, blood, and tears, until he saw a figure fly down and begin incapacitating the hostiles one by one. The person had a familiar build with a long mullet but was wearing a green and yellow suit, outfitted with a pair of what looked like bronze wings.....

Sam was in disbelief as he studied the persons fighting patterns and the wings attached to his back. The wingspan, the missiles, and even the stabilizers were all known to Sam. Those were HIS wings!

Soon enough all the fighting stopped and the only person left was the person who had Sam's wings. Sam was barely conscious as the person ran over to him and checked out his body, pressing down and studying for wounds and bruises, before picking him up bridal style and tucking his head into his own neck. The man's beard tickling his jawline was the last thing he remembered before slipping away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam woke up to sounds of rhythmic beeping over his head. His eyes opened very slowly to focus on the white, sterile ceiling above him. His body ached in a soreness he hadn't felt in years but he still felt high enough to not feel it too much.

He looked to his left and saw a heart monitor and a IV drip hanging near his head and into his arm, confirming that he was indeed inside a hospital. Rolling his head over to his right he saw a chair next to the bed with but unexpectedly it wasn't empty.

The man reclining with his eyes closed had a massive mullet paired with the most sexiest anchor beard Sam had ever seen. His first reaction was to immediately reach out and touch it.

His feeble attempts at moving his arms seemed to stir the other man from his rest and his eyes opened, locking onto Sam's where they immediately identified themselves to him.

"Joa...Joaquin?" Sam's voice was cracked and croaky and didn't sound like him. Sam tried to cover his mouth only to find his arm still felt like putty.

Joaquín leaned forward and took Sams hand into his own and rubbed his face against it. "Yeah, it's me. Be quiet though, you're still on the mend." Joaquíns voice was breaking itself as he rubbed his face and beard in Sam's hand. At points Sam's fingers would close around a certain section and they'd stay like that for a while before Joaquín began moving again.

"Where the hell did all this come from huh?" Sam asked. He was amazed at how different Joaquín looked with some extra hair on his face. It was a good different. A sexy different. He wasn't sure if it was the drugs or the fact that the man he left behind three years ago was now sitting on at his bedside but he was definitely feeling a 'flip me over and ravage my hole' different.

"Heh thanks, I'll definitely be keeping that in mind." Joaquín answered, his face heating up and a red blush creeping up his neck and onto his face. "It's just something that happened and I liked it so I kept it."

Sam didn't mean for him to hear the last part but it didn't matter in the long run. It was like falling back into old habits.

Sam attempted to sit up in order to properly look at Joaquín before coughing and giving up. The room began spinning and he felt his eyes closing again. With a groan he closed them. He felt Joaquín return his hand to his waist and then rest his own head in his lap, his beard tickling his stomach as he fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three weeks had passed since Sam was allowed to be taken home and Joaquín stayed with him the entire time taking care of him and everything he needed.

Sam couldn't remember the last time someone had taken care of him. He was always taking care of other people. Joaquín would get water, cook meals, help him to the tub, even wash his back. It was... nice.

He still had his family in hiding while he stayed at the house to make sure no one else came for him but he made sure Joaquín let Sarah know he was alive and okay when he able to fully sit up in the hospital.

Sam usually kept the same routine each day and as it was sunset he hobbled his way onto the back patio and sat down in the porch swing. The rocking movements always soothed his troubled mind as a child and they did so again now. He and Joaquín still didn't really discuss anything about their last and first day in three years together and he wasn't sure how to bring it up.

He knew he was wrong for leaving as he did with no contact for three years, he just didn't know if he should bring it up since everything seemed okay for now. There was always a hint of tension in the air when the house was dark and quiet and Joaquín had put Sam in his bed, lingering in the door frame as if to say something before just saying Goodnight and leaving. But other than that everything seemed... okay.

As if summoned by Sam himself, the back door opened and Joaquín stepped out onto the back patio and scanned the area before noticing Sam and coming to sit next to him. He had brought a blanket out with him and threw it over the two of them before resting his head on Sam's chest. The hair from his beard piercing Sam's shirt and tickling his chest. It was a routine the two fell into some days ago, none of them moving to break it any time soon.

"Knew I'd find you out here. The sunsets down here are always so beautiful."

"Yeah that's why pops built the house facing east. Best view in all of America he'd say."

The two sat together in silence watching the sun fall ever so slowly past the horizon. Tension was slowly building up again and Sam had no clue what it was from.

He had to say something.

Anything really.

He couldn't go on without saying something.

So he did.

"Jo... Joaquín... I was an ass back then. I shouldn't had left you behind to fend for yourself and I should've called, texted, sent a dam email, something. But I was worried about myself, my sister, my nephew's, I didn't think for a second that I was leaving my other family member behind and alone. And for that I'm so sorry."

"It's... well no it's not okay. It hurt me that you didn't consider me family. We were all but married back then. You were my life. I thought I was at least an important part of yours.... but you left and then trashed your wings and dissapeared. Figured I'd never see you again." Joaquín sighed. He sat up and brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly.

Sam didn't know what to do. He had caused this. He did what was best for him and his family but completely left Joaquín behind and in the cold. He did miss him. He just thought he'd be safer without him around but turns out Joaquín was the one saving his ass anyways.

"The wings?" Sam asked.

"Oh i found em right where you left em. Picked em up, took em home, studied em, reverse engineered my own pair. Yours are still sitting in my workshop. I kept it just in case you... ya know... ever came back..." At this point his head was turned away from Sam.

Sam couldn't see the tears but he could hear Joaquín sniffling and wiping his face.

"Hey...." Sam whispered as he wrapped his arm around Joaquín's back, "From what I saw.... you were awesome, perfect even. I shouldn't have left you. You're my family too..." He began poking Joaquín's side.

"Come onnnn Jojo. Look at me. Please?"

Joaquín replied with a grunt and shuffled his head further into his arms.

"Jojooooo," Sam reached under his face and tilted his head up to face him. His eyes where shining with tears and his face was streaked with tear lines. His lips were visibly trembling and his beard had grown noticeably longer. Sam held his chin in his hands and ran them over his beard repetitively in a soothing motion that lead to Joaquín leaning back into Sam.

"I promise I'll never leave you behind again. The past three years were great but these three weeks with you were the best of my life. I hate that it took getting my ass handed to me for me to realize that but my life with you in it is infinitely better." Sam lamented.

Joaquín finally spoke again, "I've loved spending this time with you too, but it still hurt. It's gonna take time for me but I want you in life too." He rested his forehead against Sams and sighed, "I can't stay here with you for much longer. I have unfinished business to take care of but after that's done I'll come back."

"I'm coming with you." Sam replied determinedly, "Wherever you go I'm going too."

"No... no. You still need to heal and you're still needed here. I'll be okay! I took in the mantle of The Falcon and I'm doing what I have to. Can we just enjoy what we have for now until it's time?"

Sam scanned his face and saw he was serious and decided to let it go. He had no place to make demands of Joaquín and he wanted to give him as much length as he needed.

"Yeah... yeah okay..."

"Cool." Joaquín perked up and kissed Sam in his forehead, his beard ticking his face before resting his head back on Sam's face, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist, and continuing to watch the sunset.

Sam broke the silence again, "I just have to ask though..."

"Hm?"

"Where did this beard come from?" Sam asked stifling a laugh.

"Aw shut up!" Joaquín pushed at Sam's stomach and laughed which in turn caused Sam to laugh. "It just grew out while I was going through it and I liked it so I've been working with it okay!"

Sam chuckled at Joaquín's exasperation and slight embarrassment before saying, "I love it. It looks good on you. In fact its kind of sexy."

Sam felt Joaquín's body stiffen on top of him amd heard his breath hitch. There was obviously some attraction to each other and an innate closeness the two had, but they never discussed what exactly they were to each other. Not everything needed a label of course but they just never talked about it. They always glided into these situations.

"Heh. Thanks."

Sam looked down at Joaquín's head and stroked his hair and carried his hands over the other man's shoulder and down his side repetitively. He heard Joaquín sigh before hearing the rhythmic sounds of his sleep. He didn't know what was running through the other man's mind but he knew that this moment was perfect and if he could, he'd stay like this forever.

He thought his life for the past 3 years was what he wanted but turns out this was exactly what he was missing.

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deliverydefresas · 3 years

Text

moving step by step (together)

second and last thing i posted on wp that i haven't posted here ((i think)) feel free to ignore if you've read this on wattpad already, as i'm just posting it in case i need to refer to it later.

(not proofread. it never is)

prompt(?): domestic!simbar deciding to move in together (toanothercountry)

When her day began, she didn't imagine it'd end up the way it did. In fact, to Ámbar the day felt like an endless nightmare.

Between her washing machine breaking, one of her kitchen cloths accidentally catching on fire when she was making her breakfast, her car not starting and thus being late to her first class, forgetting an important paper at home and losing 1/5 of her grade for one of the toughest classes in her semester; Ámbar just wanted to call it a day and forget she even had to endure it.

"The professor told me he'd let me turn it the paper, as long as I added 10,000 words more; and hear this: he won't give me the 20% of the grade, but a 15%, tops." She still needed to get her laundry done, so she'd opted to come by Simón's loft (and Nico and Pedro's too) when her classes had ended. While she waited for it to be done, she'd grabbed a glass of wine while venting her boyfriend's ears off. "So now I need to find something to write about that's worth 1000 words of coherency, otherwise I'll be lucky to even have a 10%. And God knows I need it."

Simón kissed her head sympathetically, adjusting her head - previously leaning on his shoulder- a little bit closer to his neck. "You will, little gem. You're the smartest one in your class, I'm sure you'll find something and, it's penultimate semester, you can do it."

She groaned, "I wish it were as easy as that." He kissed her cheek this time, and she snuggled into him a bit more, needing his support to make her feel less stressed. "Enough of me, how was your day?"

He chuckled, "not as interesting as yours, I'm afraid. Did a little songwriting, had a video-call with a magazine, changed my sheets..." he winked at her, making her laugh.

"Aw, do you want me to give you a gold start? Maybe I should call your mom, tell her her little boy is a nice young man who makes his own bed." Simón leaned in to bite her cheek, causing her to and almost spill her wine all over the couch, and to prevent this, the red liquid ended up on her shirt. Technically, it was one of his, since today's clothes had been thrown in the washer with the rest of the laundry, but still, spilling wine on her clothes wasn't nice. "Simón!" she scoffed him, which only made him laugh at her. He told her to grab another of his old shirts, while he refilled her glass.

She stood up then, cursing him all the way to his room to grab one of the 'pajama' shirts he kept in his top drawer. Ámbar heard him call to her once she had put it on; "hey, is tacos okay with you for dinner? Or do you want me to order you something else?"

"What are the guys having?" she questioned, to prepare herself in case the others ordered less than what their stomachs wanted to eat, and later lead them to steal her food.

"Pedro's staying at Delfi's and Nico is out with his fling, so nothing." Simón answered her, entering his room with his cellphone at hand.

"Then the usual." She told him simply, her boyfriend nodded. "Hey, can I use your laptop to check my e-mail? My phone died."

Simón nodded again. "Sure. Hello? I would like to order two pastor gringas..." he left the room again, not before pointing at his desk, where his laptop was sitting on. She quickly turned it on, taking it to the living room to wait for Simón to finish the call.

Her boyfriend was one of those people who didn't put a password on the device itself, but on the archives in it (which were mostly lyrics, tracks, and unreleased songs), so it didn't take long until she had the browser opened.

Ámbar tried to ignore whatever Simón had open in his last tab, but the images displayed caught her attention.

No, it wasn't porn, nor was it anything compromising. At least not in that way.

Her boyfriend had a Real Estate website open, showing apartments in sale. However, that wasn't what surprised her – he'd talked about finding his own place before-, but that all the options listed Mexico City as their location.

He'd never mentioned moving back to Mexico. They'd planned vacations to his hometown Cancún, sure, but somehow in all their talks about the future she'd had assumed their plans took place in Buenos Aires, close to her family instead of his. She could deal with him going on tour for weeks – she didn't bear months as well as she did weeks, and for this he always flew her in- but to live in two different countries? How was their relationship supposed to work in that scenario? Would it even work out? Sure, she was almost over with her degree, but-

"Little gem," her eyes snapped from the screen to where Simón was standing, by the kitchen's door, "I ordered you an almond horchata, is that okay?" she kept staring at him. "What? Is my laptop giving you problems? Your mail?"

She sighed. "No, I actually haven't opened my mail yet." He gave her a confused look.

"Then what's it? You've been staring at the screen for at least two minutes."

"When were you planning on telling me you're moving to Mexico?"

His mouth shut, his eyes showed surprise and an underlying regret. "Uh... soon?"

"So it's true, then? You're moving there?" Ámbar didn't want her voice to sound as hurt as it did, but she couldn't conceal it, either. After all, this was her boyfriend, the guy she was in love with, and who she'd loved for years now... to imagine him living so far away from her, it hurt her deeply.

To find out like this, instead of from his own mouth, was like salt to the wound. Her already shitty day was turning for the worse.

Simón sighed, his demeanor showing he was ashamed of it. "It's an option." He pursed his lips slightly, walking over to the couch, taking the device off her lap to turn her body towards him. "I was planning on talking to you about this sooner than later, I promise."

"When? When you had already bought it? Or when I had to say goodbye at the airport?" she couldn't help but dab at him, her temper was talking for her right then, "and what do you mean with 'it's an option'? You're looking for a place already, surely it's more than simple 'option'."

Simón let out a sigh, a sign he wasn't sure how to explain it to her, "I- have you noticed how most of our label meetings have been taking place in México?" She nodded, it was hard not to. The boys and him didn't really leave the city unless they absolutely had to, which could be summed up in three reasons: touring, vacations, and meetings. She'd always frown a little when those meetings took place, because she couldn't really understand why they had to leave when their label had offices in BsAs, but never really dared to ask Simón, afraid she'd come out as clingy for not wanting him to leave her for a couple days.

"I just assumed all the 'important' people chose to meet there instead of flying down here."

He scratched his nape. "It's a little bigger than that. Their HQ has always been up there, and their offices here have worked on a smaller scale for years; however, they've wanted all their more... 'recognizable' artists to be closer for a while now."

"So, they're making you move there?"

"Yes and no. They've been nagging us since the beginning to move to Mexico City, but it's only now we've – well, I've- considered it as an option."

"Why? Don't Pedro and Nico want, too?"

Simón grimaced. "They've already been considering it for a couple of years." Oh. Now that she thought about it, Delfina had hinted multiple times over the months 'the possibility' of working in another country. She'd always assumed she meant taking international jobs for a short period while Pedro was out on tour too, but now she guessed she'd meant for her to imagine that possibility, too.

It seemed like she'd assumed lots of things, and it stung to know she'd been in the dark far longer than everyone else. Even Delfi – who'd been dating Pedro a considerably less time than she'd been with Simón- knew of this before her.

Which made her ask him once again. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because you're still in uni, little gem, and I didn't want to move somewhere else while you were here; I still don't. I had a plan, honestly; I was going to wait until you neared graduation to slowly get you used to the idea, and, well, I also wanted to wait in case we didn't work out." She pursed her lips as she was still mad, but knew he had a point. He always did.

"You could've talked to me sooner, though. We could've planned this way sooner, make it easier for both." Ámbar sighed out, trying to get her anger out with it.

"I know, I get it now, and I'm very sorry." He apologized sincerely, grabbing one of her hands to kiss it. "This in no way is me telling you I'm moving tomorrow and leaving you here, little gem, I'd never do that. Hell, I don't even think I could. It's just..."

"An option." She finished for him, sighing again. "I guess I- I don't know, maybe I could start looking at internships in CDMX? When- when would this take place anyway? And I have to talk to my mo-" her eyes widened, "God, my mom! What do I tell her if we go? She'll be all alone here!" Her voice sounded panicky even to her.

"Hey, it's okay, there's no hurry. We've already postponed this for years with the boys, another year or so won't change anything, in fact, we'll need all we can get to get papers and stuff in check. And your mom can always come with us if you're worried about her, no biggie." He told her, as if the three of them moving countries wasn't a big deal, or, y'know, extremely expensive.

"Do you seriously want my mom living with us, Simón?" she snapped at him, and immediately felt bad to do so. He was just trying to help her and then here she was, bitching on his offers. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just... overwhelmed, sorry." He shrugged it off.

"I was actually thinking of you two getting your own apartment but since you're oh so kindly offering to live together..." Her eyes widened once more, shocked. She hadn't realized she'd implied that. "... I guess we can either buy or rent one for ourselves and rent another for your mom."

"That's not what- I mean it's not necessary. An apartment for my mom and I would be okay if she even agrees to move."

Her boyfriend started pouting. "Are you saying you don't want to move in with me?"

"No, no, that's not what I mean-" she stopped talking once she saw a teasing grin on his face. "You're messing with me."

He shook his head, silently laughing as he reached out to sit her on his lap, hugging her waist tightly. "I'm not. I'm actually happy you asked me to move with you, so I don't have to when the time comes."

"I didn't ask you." She felt the need to point it out. "You just assumed I did."

"Because you assumed we'd live together. It's okay; if it were up to me I'd be living with you in a heartbeat, I've thought about it for a while."

She gulped. "You have?"

"Yeah, but since I'm living with two dudes and you're living with your mom... it just isn't viable." That got her thinking.

"Why haven't you gotten your own apartment yet? Any of you?"

Simón shrugged, leaning into their coffee table to grab their glasses. "Rent is cheaper when you divide into three, and all of us have been saving up to get our own pads for when we moved to CDMX."

"It was never a matter of 'if', was it? It was always a 'when' you moved." She already knew the answer, of course, so she didn't wait for him to answer. "What took you so long to do so? I'm sure you could've done so years ago, and now you're waiting for Delfi and I, I guess, but before? What held you back?"

He pondered it for a minute, didn't speak immediately. "Something always came up. At first, we didn't have enough money saved, then Nico's mom had an accident, Pedro wanting to stay until his little sister finished high school... then you. My guess is the universe was waiting for us to meet to let me leave the city." She couldn't help but laugh at this.

"You're such a corny guy."

"Only for you, little gem, only for you." Ámbar took a sip of her wine before snuggling closer to his chest, earning her a kiss on her hair. "So, are we doing this?"

She pushed the anxiety of the unknown to the back of her mind, she knew that if she overthought about it she'd find reasons not to. Instead, she took a deep breath, intoxicating herself with the smell of soap and lotion that lingered on her boyfriend all the time.

"Yeah," she sighed, "but we're doing this together."

"Together," he repeated, giving her hand another kiss. "I like the sound of that."

#soy luna #simbar #simón álvarez #ámbar smith #my simbar ff #my sl ff #mine

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kikoqueenofrats · 4 years

Text

Righto next chapter is up hope you guys enjoy!

@toastraccoon

Simulated wind shot past the two sticks as they traveled through the tube supposedly making up the system of internet travel. Cel had his hand tightly clamped in Maris, after being told what could happen if he let go he was desperately hoping he wouldn't lose his grip. He probably should've been used to this feeling by now considering how many times the duo had been through this tube.

However the feeling never failed to make Cel sick to his stomach.

as soon as the feeling was there it was gone as the duo phased through the internet icon and into their newest desktop.

Mari quickly looked around, keeping their arm outstretched in front of Cel in a protective fashion. First they checked the monitor, relived to find the user wasn't there they began slowly making their way forward and looking around their new environment.

After a quick scan around for any sort of immediate danger Mari suddenly ran off to open the web browser. Cel hung back, still cautiously looking around the desktop and monitor. As his vision was temporarily blocked by the sudden tab Cel began looking closely at the monitor, trying to look for any sign that the user was returning or that they were still in the room. Noticing a pair of legs ontop of the bed of the cluttered room Cel froze, keeping his eyes on them until Mari came over and grabbed his shoulder.

"AH-" Cel gasped turning towards their potential attacker only to see Mari. Cel sighed in relief before throwing a glare at them "Mari, don't sneak up on me like that-" he pouted gently pushing away their hand before going back to staring at the users legs.

"Sorry" Mari shrugged before following Cel's gaze "Oh! Yeah, Don't worry about them Cel, they're probably just asleep or on their phone" Mari reassured, giving Cel a comforting pat on the back before going back to the tab they had just opened.

That...didn't reassure Cel much, however they were forced to trust Mari since this was the only empty computer they had found after scouring the internet all day. And they still hadn't found the answers they were looking for.

Cel, was looking for.

If Cel was being honest he didn't know what Mari was looking for. They seemed more interested in exploring than achieving a certain goal. which was okay in of itself but the concept confused Cel quite a bit.

As Cel thought about it more he absentmindedly made his way into the tab. Not hearing what Mari had suddenly called out Cel yelped in surprise as the floor suddenly moved out from under his feet. Cel continued to yell until the floor quite literally came back up and hit him in the face. His body quickly following in the rough landing Cel groaned as the sound of someone landing beside him sounded out.

"You okay buddy?" Mari chuckled, they had also been in free fall but as they had been expecting the sudden movement their landing had been more graceful. "Sorry about that, I should've given you more warning" they smiled sticking out their hand for Cel to take.

"What happened?" Cel groaned still laying face first on the floor as they recovered from the wind practically getting knocked out of him.

Mari rubbed the back of their neck nervously "I uh...kinda wanted to show you the new trick I learnt whilst you were talking to those two older sticks-" Mari muttered.

"What new trick?" Cel deadpanned now staring Mari in the face, he looked down at Mari's hand and, after a moment of hesitation, he grabbed onto it.

"Oh it's when you type a certain phrase into the google search bar and it does something!" Mari explained as they pulled Cel to his feet. Cel huffed, smiling slightly in exasperation, oh of course they'd do something like that- "What kind of phrase?" He asked mostly so he wouldn't accidentally type it in himself.

Mari opened their mouth to answer Cels question when the sound of something moving caught their attention. They turned, Looking out of the monitor, desperately hoping that the movement was just a pet of some sort.

They were wrong....they were very very wrong.

Somehow the user had managed to get off the bed and sat down at the monitor without Mari noticing. If they were being honest with themselves it was probably because of the spinning. Without a second thought Mari grabbed Cels hand and booked it towards the WiFi icon.

They didn't make it far before Cel was ripped from Maris grasp.

"AH! MARI!!"

Mari had stopped running as soon as Cels hand was no longer in theirs, turning on the balls of their feet, they quickly whipped out their lasso.

Mari knew they user wouldn't be able to hold onto Cel for long, because they'd have to open something in order to properly contain him. So they waited, also knowing that starting a tug o war with a cursor was not the best idea.

As soon as Cel was dropped in order for the user to open what looked like a one of the painting apps Mari threw the rope at him. Managing to get it tied around Cels waist they pulled. The sudden momentum flung Cel into the air, resulting in Cel letting out a startled yelp, but before he could make it to Mari his flight was cut short by the cursor grabbing one of his legs.

"NO!!" Mari grunted, refusing to let go of the rope still tightly wrapped around Cels waist. They knew this was a losing fight, the cursor was just too strong. However they also knew that Cel now had enough room to actually land a hit on the thing.

Cel looked up at Mari, a pleading look in his eyes, before turning back to the cursor gripping tightly onto one of his legs. Realizing what he had to do he began kicking at it. Desperately attempting to pry the thing off of his leg with his heel.

The mini tug of war continued for a few moments more before the user seemingly gave up and let Cel go.

However the cursor quickly made its way over to Mari, hoping to catch them off guard as they were currently trying to pull Cel towards them. After the rope slackened Mari pulled, flinging Cel towards them faster than they could properly catch them at. That wasn't what they were planning however. As soon as the cursor got close Mari back flipped over it, magically freeing Cel from the lassos hold just before he hit the floor as they did so.

Cel rolled across the space under Mari and the cursor and continued rolling for a few moments before stopping just in front of the WiFi icon.

Mari landed and turned around, throwing the lasso at the cursor. Only just managing to catch it in their rope just before it could reach Cel, they began throwing the cursor into every wall they could find.

The loud bangs and crashes caused by this reminded Cel of what had happened to his game so instead of opening the WiFi portal like Mari was expecting him to, he curled up into a shivering ball.

The user desperately tried to shake their cursor out of the ropes grip but with the force of both Maris strength and momentum it's struggles were all in vain.

Checking up on Cels progress Mari Noticed that he wasn't making a move. Worry edged its way into Maris mind as they remembered the loud thump they had heard when Cel had hit the floor.

Mari quickly threw the cursor into the wall to their duos far left. Rushing over to the icon and ripping in open before the cursor could make its move Mari dragged Cels still shaking body into the portal with them just before the cursor reached them.

A few seconds later both of them were phasing into another computer.

Mari let out a sigh as they laid there for a few moments before bolting up and frantically looking around.

The computer was dark....the room was dark...

Mari let out another sigh of relief, the user had probably fallen asleep before properly shutting the computer off.

Movement caught the corner of their eye and they turned to see Cel slowly pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Cel are you alright?" Mari asked as they quickly shuffled over to Cels side.

"I...I'm not sure...." Cel muttered not looking Mari in the eye still laying down on the floor, ether way Mari could still clearly see Cel's tears. "Mari...Mari that was terrifying" Cel sobbed before burying his head into his arms and continuing to quietly sob.

Mari watched on, unsure of what to do, when an idea appeared in their brain. Smiling slightly they shuffled over more and tightly wrapped their arms around Cel. As much as they could whilst Cel was still laying on the floor that is. Cel flinched slightly at the sudden contact and looked up at Mari in bewilderment.

A few moments passed before Mari spoke again "Is this helping?"

Cel let out a watery laugh at that “Hold on...” Cel muttered as he pushed himself into a sitting position before wrapping his arms around Maris mid section and burring his face into Mari’s shoulder. “That’s better” Cel muttered relaxing a little bit as Mari readjusted their arms to securely hold Cel close to them.

The duo stayed like that for a while before Cel slowly began to fall asleep.

Mari looked down and watched on as Cels eyes closed and he relaxed even more into the hug. Sleep was...a weird concept to Mari, it defiantly looked like users needed it. With sticks however it seemed to variate, Cel seemed to need it too with the amount of times he had collapsed during a particularly extraneous adventure, like the one they had just had. Where as Mari didn't seem to need it as much, they just, never felt tired. They had first thought it was because they were a stick but after meeting Cel they weren't so sure that was right. Now they guessed it was just how they were coded.

Shrugging the thought off Mari began gently pulling Cel into a more comfortable position inside their arms. After a few moments Mari had managed to pull Cel onto their lap, arms still gently but firmly wrapped around Cels side as his head laid gently on Maris shoulder. Smiling down at their work Mari began looking up out of the monitor. Making sure to keep a close eye out for any sort of movement.

They would search this laptop for information after Cel woke up. Right now however Cel needed to feel safe and Mari was going to do that.

Even if that meant sitting here for the next five hours.

#Cel and Mari #stickocs #animation vs animator #long post

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hoetaro-kujo · 5 years

Text

MY FIRST OC PT. 2

Part 1 here

Stand here

Hellooo this second part will be about Bey's background and personality and also a few of picrews i made hehe.

Please send in you thoughts about her and who do u guys ship her with 😁

Bey Ventura

Personality:

Bey is an emo punk kid on the outside but softie af inside

Is insecure and wanted (that's why she wears a mask)

Likes to wear hoodies (she has a collection of every color)

loves to thrift shopping

Bey likes to be one with the nature, she likes plants and animals, she loves landscapes and ocean the most

She loves to read mystery novels and wanted to be a detective someday (that's why she and abba r in good terms)

Her fave book is sherlock holmes and her fave manga is detective conan

IS FREAKING LAZY

Is bffs with everyone bc she doesn't want to hurt other peoples feelings so she is always kind to them

shes super chill, patient and doesnt talk about her feelings and opinions much bc she doesn't want to regret the words she will say. now thats 50% of bey

the other 50% is pure mischievousness. Lets just say that she and mista are partners in crime.

she so LOUD when shes talking about anything that doesn't make sense or just jokes.

laughs a lot

even on shitass corny jokes (made by the gunboi)

thats the best side of her that only the gang knows and cherished

selfless. Doesn't care if she get hurt as long as her comrades are safe.

really sad but acts like a ball of sunshine

giornos bff

LIKES

Adventure, Hiking, Swimming, Surfing

loves Car Drives (she falls asleep immediately. Doesn't care how long the drive is she'll just pass out, no ine lets her drive bc of that)

she likes to wear turtle necks under a hoodie

a sweet tooth

loves nature

loves to sleep. being lazy

likes to be on missions bc the thrill of it. Causes trouble during missions (don giovanna doesn't approve)

DISLIKES

Fake friends, Disrespectful towards elders

shes a bit of a nature lover so she never use plastic/disposable stuffs

will kill u if saw littering on the ocean

amusement park rides (she doesn't trust the machines)(is really afraid)

FAVOURITES

Band/Musician: She has a wide taste in music so it ranges from kpop like BTS jpop like Radwimps and One Ok Rock to Metal, Punk and Hardcore bands like Slipknot, Sleeping with Sirens, Pierce the Veil and Green Day

Song: none. its the hardest question

Food: Donburi, Onigiri, Ramen, Sinigang, Curry, Tapsilog (basically every japanese and filipino cuisine) Lasagna, Carbonara

Dessert: everthing that is matcha flavored

Colour: blue, black, white, dark green

Flower: baby's breath (so minimalist)

Movie: Suicide Squad

Animal: turtles

Hobby: listening to music, reading, sleeping and pranking (when bored)

Ships: idk u decide (i like mista but i think they're not compatible)

HISTORY

Bey is a product of a broken family. Her idiot father who's on drugs always beats her mother to pulp until one day her mother had enough and left. She left Bey with her abusive father. At aged 16, she ran away from home and lived on the streets. Luckily she found a job on a local coffee shop in Naples. She's a smart kid. At her first salary, she bought a book about how to use staff and started learning it. She loves to read mystery novels and also books about animals. One day she witnessed a murder happened in a coffee shop she's working at. A group of people sitting on the corner of the shop near the glass window. They were group of friends chatting until one of them started to choke and their mouth begins to overflow with frothe until he passed out. Dead. Being a mystery novel fan, Bey started to tell everyone to stay still and not touch the body. She called the local police and thats when officer Abbachio came. She helped the police solve the case. And she miraculously knew who the culprit is and how he did it. She told the police that the victim is poisoned by potassium cyanide because of the faint smell of almonds in the victim's mouth. She found out that the poison is present on the straw but not on the drink. And she started to suspect the victim's friends. After the police investigation she found out how one of the victim's friends manage to put the poison on the straw. By the use of a tissue with cyanide, the culprit pretends to take a sip in the victim's drink just for the taste and wiped it with the tissue with cyanide. The evidence was found on the trash bin with his fingerprints on it. The culprit, without nothing else to say to defend himself, snatched one of the officers gun and shot Bey then himself. Bey was just shot on her arm but she loss a ton of blood so she was rushed to the a hospital. Abbachio was shocked about this kid. Who is she? How is she so knowledgeable about this field? So many questions that was etching on his mind after that murder incident and he decided to pay Bey a visit for an interview after she was all settled down. He never had the chance to visit her because she was discharged the day before he visit.

On a one fine morning, Bruno Buccellati found the murder case in the newspaper he was reading while having his toast. His mind was wandering about the young girl who solved the case. After his breakfast, he headed to the hospital where Bey is currently in.

A knock on the door startled Bey from reading her favourite manga Detective Conan. She never had a visitor before. After saying come in, a man in white suit walks in. It's Bruno. Eyebrows furrowing, Bey is confused on why a guy, a good looking guy is in her room. Perhaps he had mistaken her room to someone else.

Bruno started clearing his throat as he proceed on introducing himself and stating his intention: convincing Bey to join the gang. Buccellati thought her talent in solving crimes is a great use for his team considering she's living alone, Buccdllati is pretty confident that she'll accept his offer and alas, Bey agreed. They left the hospital since her wounds are now healed and the doctor told her she's free to go. As they are about to leave, Bey decided to use the spare bandage and wrapped it on her nose all the way down to her chin. She told Bucciallati that since the incident, people might start talking about her and her parents might come and find her which is the last thing she wants so she decided to wear that mask from that day on.

Soon, Bey passed the initiation and acquired a stand, Radiohead. She is the first of Buccellati's team, and one of his closest friend.

Hope y'all like it. I also might post abouther stand but i cant make an illustration of it so i guess i wont be posting it soon. Lol

#jojo's bizarre adventure #Jojo oc #Jjba oc #Bey Ventura #Oc

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a-collection-of-villainous-aus · 5 years

Text

Coffee Shop Au

(THIS IS PART TWO BUT I ENDED UP MAKING IT LONGER THAN EXPECTED SO I AM GOING TO PROBABLY HAVE EITHER ANOTHER PART OR TWO OF PART TWO....suffers with fear of boring you)

Ah look so we're back here again, boy merman Flug is really secretly digging on Hat and just being stubborn but with good cause, Blind Au Flug argued with Hat and told him a few truths...ouch...

But now we are back at the coffee shop, a quiet Victorian styled place in modern day, the cafe has brought in a few more customers with the lunch time rush, but someone has been there since the early hours of the morning.

Oh ho we all know Hat is not the waiting in line type, Hat wait in line how bloody absurd...until Acylius stood in front of him, brow raised, arms folded across his chest.

Imagine a slow camera pan up considering this man is six ft seven without his hologuise on to make himself appear as cannon Flug does and Hot chocolate's I believe in miracles plays somewhere as Black Hat just thinks Mmmm damn.

"I will have the barista with a topping of cream...wait..."

Blinking as he came back to reality, the demon peeked around Acylius to see other customers giggling and some were awkwardly blushing.

"I said that aloud?"

"Yes you did."

Now imagine like in an anime where they're like stick people and there's this big blue and black cloud above them, Hat returns to his seat and Demencia slides in beside Flug

"¬w¬ so it is safe to say he thirsty for you."

"Demencia not now, I am still trying to figure out how to tell him I do not feel comfortable serving him a thirty fifth coffee in good conscience."

Acylius sighed before stifling a laugh with his friend who couldn't help but smile, ha yes in good conscience...there was literally a man tied up under the cafe.

A customer had been about to complain but as soon as Black Hat glared at them with a death threat silent motion of a claw across the neck they scurried back to their position in line.

Black hat being a man of business understood Acylius needed to work, didn't mean he couldn't bloody well pout about it, he looked over his paper every now and then, finding people looking away immediately but they didn't bother him, he was going to have to wait to find out if this truly was the man he lost...honestly there was no mistaking him but fate was not known to be kind.

Blocking out the sound of chatter the demon's focus was on him, Flug gracefully coughs more like tripping stumbling as he was nervous about Black Hat's presence every order, mask up such a shame, these shallow fools though of course would stare in horror or run at the sight of those beautiful scars.

Demencia was the one who next approached him, odd if he remembered rightly he had insisted Acylius be the only one to serve him, for Flug's sake he would allow this.

"Come to take my order finally?"

she paused looking off to the side awkwardly as her fingers drummed on the tray

"Actually nuuu he wants to cut you off, apparently something about too much caffeine."

"Excuse me but did I hear you correctly, he wants to cut me, thee great Black Hat off from coffee?"

Growling and standing up so suddenly his chair nearly fell back, remember this is like a high back solid oak chair , that we ourselves could not just make wobble like some cheap cafeteria stool made out of thin plastic and four metal legs.

The glare he sent him lasted 0.1 seconds as he saw the way his eyes crinkled above the mask in a smile as he wished the customer a good day, huffing Black Hat slumped back down into the chair , pulling the blanket back over himself and grumbled

"Fine...dark hot chocolate...after that just tell him to work his way through the menu."

"Ohhh you really like him don't you."

"Quiet you already know I do, you literally tried to arrange a courtship for us this morning."

He started playing with the sugar cubes in the small dish, trying to keep his gaze from the barista working through his orders.

"Did he say yes yet?

She returned, hand on hip grinning

"I bet you two got all kinds of plans lined up!"

"Actually he has only been formal; yes Jefecito, no Jefecito...disappointing really."

Hat pouted eating a sugar cube like it was a piece of candy and regretted his choices but swallowed anyway.

"What the hell man, he banters and makes dirty jokes with me all the time right now he's being a...wait a minute..."

Demencia whistled to get Flugs attention; the moment he looked in their direction and saw Black Hats little wave at him his ears went pink.

"I will be right with you!"

"Oh my god you've made him shy, you made Acylius Flug shy, the man who can charm his way out of a snake pit you've turned into a blushing virgin."

Demencia laughed, hand to her mouth, gods that was adorable.

That had our favorite villain’s attention, sitting to attention and leering, while devil horns were not visible they were easy to imagine.

This was starting to sound more and more like his beloved he'd lost...but so many people where flustered around him, babbling idiots trying to gain favor, though honestly it seemed like Acylius was just trying to make it through the day.

Hot coffee and other beverages were highly sought after in this cold weather, glancing out at the window, while it had stopped snowing it certainly wasn't shifting.

“Oh really, that is quite the revelation considering he was quick to tell me to wait in line.”

“Yeah, well no cutsies, not even for you big guy.”

She laughed waving off the minor complaint, writing down his order, relieved that Flug would not have to return to him and tell him himself that coffee was off the menu for the Lord of Darkness, though….heh …looking over her shoulder then back at Black Hat.

“You know how to make coffee?”

“Of course I do…what, am I to believe you would have me make my own-“

Demencia stopped him from his near full on rant with a harsh shhhh

“Stop getting your evil ass in a panic, you want to kiss him?”

The old demon had been ready to snap, this was either the worst or most peculiar service he’d ever had but his attention quickly snapped into focus at the mere mention of getting to kiss the barista, he was on his feet and in her face so quickly not even Barry Allen could have kept up with him.

“What do I have to do?”

She blinked, well if that demonic voice didn’t cry desperate she didn’t know what did.

“Offer to help, he did put out an ad but no one’s answered it yet and-“

Before Demencia even managed to finish there was a cartoon dust cloud of the old demon as he was in the kitchen finding an apron and pulling it on walking out soon afterwards, sleeves rolled up, he marched on over to a very surprised Acylius and pulled him away from the counter back into the kitchen.

Some of the customers looked confused while others just allowed this as if nothing was happening, one after all did not argue with the Great Lord Black Hat, nope, nuh uh, no way no how…but one or two did smile, was that spice in the air, the tyrant of Hatsville some had noticed was pretty demanding of this Barista’s attention.

“You need to stop doing that!”

Acylius told him in a flustered whisper as if anyone could just hear them, looking back to the door way, they were actually out of sight to everyone else.

“My customers will start rumors that you and I are together and you just-just gave me this place on a whim.”

Black Hat’s eyebrows rose half way up his hat which Acylius would have found unsettling if he’d been human, ohhh dear, he’d probably upset him with his wild imagination.

“Having little fantasies while you work doctorrr?”

Damn him, damn him and his accent and his teeth and, AND everything *insert frustrated noise*

He already knew his face had gone pink….AGAIN!

Acylius pinched the bridge of his nose

“No I-“

“You liked that hmm?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement he’d seen the reaction to the purr of his voice ( cause honestly who here doesn’t just die why he says doctorrr XD) his smile grew as the man before him started backing up, look at him, he was so tall.

pt1 of part TWO

#Coffee au #paperhat #villainous au

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brookutoh · 6 years

Note

Scenario where kuroo likes the reader but thinks shes out of his league and everyone is telling him that he should go for it but he doesnt and at a Christmas party, they're slightly drunk and end up making out?

This is fantastic because I’ve been craving Kuroo lately, AND I managed to fail at finishing this for long enough that it’s now Kuroo’s birthday, so what better way to celebrate than with 3k words of drunken party shenanigans?

Thanks for the prompt, and enjoy!!

“Kuro, you’re smiling at your phone again.”

The sudden voice of his best friend - despite its usual quietness - caused Kuroo to jump about a foot in the air. Embarrassment at being exposed so openly quickly turned to annoyance at Kenma’s words.

He huffed. “What, am I not allowed to smile at my phone now?”

Kenma granted him a look over the top of his PSP, one that Kuroo could swear he’d seen in a nightmare before. It was the phrase ‘don’t fuck with me’ in its rawest form.

“It’s what you’re smiling at that’s the problem,” Kenma muttered.

Kuroo frowned down at his phone. He was once again texting you, and you were once again causing him to grin like an idiot at your messages. He couldn’t help it; you were just so cute! Kuroo would be the first to admit that he loved talking to you, whether that be via text or face-to-face, he just loved hearing your thoughts and opinions, and when you told him a story - even if it was as simple as how your day went - he would listen with rapt attention as you spoke.

This was where the problem lay: sure, you were a fantastic friend, and Kuroo was thankful every single day that you’d been introduced all those months ago. It just sucked that he wished that you could be more than friends.

Apparently, this thought was written all over his face because he heard Kenma sigh from his spot on Kuroo’s bed. “Just ask her out.”

“Sure, if it were that simple I wo-”

“It is that simple.”

But it wasn’t. At least, not to Kuroo. It was a difficult situation, both because he knew he would be rejected straightaway and because the amazing friendship the two of you shared would be ruined as soon as you found out about his feelings. More than anything, he was terrified of your imminent disgust that someone like him felt that way about you. And that was something he just wouldn’t be able to handle.

Another sigh from Kenma. “She’s not going to reject you.”

Kuroo fixed him with a look. “Not even you’re that observant.”

Saying nothing more, Kenma simply rolled his eyes and went back to his game, ending the conversation then and there. Kuroo finished typing out a text to you, and then your next message caused him to pause.

[13:03] Her : oh yeah!!! are you going to the haiba xmas party??

Kuroo blinked at the screen twice, before looking up to his preoccupied best friend. “Lev’s having a Christmas party?”

“Yeah, this day next week. Thought I told you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Not paying any attention to Kenma’s disinterested tone, Kuroo asked, “Are you going?”

Stupid question, as shown by the sudden grimace on Kenma’s face. Still, he didn’t answer immediately, and Kuroo felt a snippet of pride when the blond answered, “Maybe.”

Probably Lev had pestered him enough about it that Kenma had given in somewhat. If he did end up going at all, it would either be for only a few minutes or he would spend the night in some unoccupied room playing video games.

But if you were inquiring about the party, then did that mean you were going? Kuroo hadn’t been to many of Lev’s parties, but ever since the boy had turned 18 a few years ago his parents had started going on vacation more often and leaving the family’s enormous house (Kuroo would call it a mansion, really) into the hands of Lev and his sister. With little-to-no persuasion from the older Haiba sibling to the younger, they’d started throwing massive parties wherever possible. They were somewhat notorious by now; the last one Kuroo had gone to - before he’d met you - was still a very large black hole in his memory, and the tiny fragments he could actually remember involved dancing on a table, seeing Bokuto naked, and walking in on at least twelve couples in compromising positions throughout the house.

Needless to say, he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about you being involved in all this. Typing out a quick question to ask if you were going - to which you responded with an enthusiastic ‘yes!!!!’ - the decision was made for him.

[13:17] Kuroo: Yeah, I’m definitely going :)

***

You stared at yourself in the mirror. “Isn’t this dress a little… revealing?”

Behind you, Alisa was also staring at your reflection, arms crossed and a smile on her face. “That’s the point! We have to give Kuroo-kun a treat, don’t we?”

Not for the first time tonight, you blushed at the mention of Kuroo. Since she’d discovered your embarrassing crush on one of your closest friends, the gorgeous half-Russian had taken it upon herself to help you ‘break out of your shell’ (her words) and snag him. While you hadn’t exactly taken much of her advice up until this point, the encroaching couple’s holiday of Christmas was making your desire to be more than platonic with Kuroo reach new levels.

Thus, why you were now looking at yourself in Alisa’s full-length mirror while dressed in a very short, very low-cut, and very sexy red dress. Festive though it may be, it was certainly not something you would’ve picked out for yourself to wear, but Alisa had bought it specifically with you in mind, having presented it to you as a Christmas present as soon as you’d stepped foot in the Haiba residence one hour ago.

You had to give her credit though, your self-proclaimed surrogate older sister had taste. And possibly had also taken your measurements without your knowledge, because this was the most well-fitting piece of clothing you’d ever worn in your life. And, okay, the thought of Kuroo seeing you like this almost definitely had you eager for tonight.

“Okay,” you nodded, turning around to face Alisa properly. “I’ll wear it.”

“Great!” She squealed. “Now just let me do your hair and makeup, and there’s no way you’ll leave the party single.”

You rolled your eyes as she got to work, but ultimately you were grateful for all her help. Now all you had to do was talk to Kuroo. That would be easy, right? He was your friend, you talked to him all the time. There wouldn’t be any problems.

***

Kenma walked into the room you were hiding in. He granted you a single glance before wandering over to sit beside you on the bed and pulling a Nintendo Switch from his apparently quite deep jacket pocket. “We could play MarioKart.”

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay. I just… need to talk myself into leaving.”

“No pressure.”

Kenma was a good friend, you’d always thought. Quiet, wickedly clever, and ridiculously observant. So observant, in fact, that he’d discovered your feelings for his best friend before you’d even realised them yourself.

Which is why your next question was, “Is he here?”

A nod. “We came together.” A pause. “He’s looking for you.”

“…Maybe if I hide up here, then-”

“Lev told him you were here. Also, he would come look for me if he couldn’t find you.”

Dangit. Looks like you’d have to face him after all. In this dress. Which, okay, did look fantastic on you and was building confidence where previously you’d had none, but this was Kuroo.

“He likes red,” Kenma hummed, almost inaudible.

The dress was red. The shoes were red. The jewellery you’d borrowed from Alisa all had inlaid rubies. The pins holding your hair in place were red. Your lipstick was blood red.

You shot an accusatory glance towards the boy beside you, who shrugged. “Alisa asked. I answered.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. Your friends were simultaneously wonderful and terrible. You caught a small smile on Kenma’s face at your amusement, and only then did you gesture to yourself and ask, “Do you think he’ll like it?”

Kenma gave you a look. “You could wear a trashbag and he’d still want to drag you upstairs.”

Oh. Well. Now your cheeks were red to match the rest of you. Still, you nodded. “I should probably go then, shouldn’t I?”

“Please.”

You stuck your tongue out at him for that but ultimately found yourself leaving the room and standing in one of the many long corridors throughout the house. The floor beneath you was practically pounding with the loud beat of the music pulsating through the building, and you could already hear drunken cheers and what sounded a lot like an owl hooting. Or maybe that was just Bokuto, you weren’t sure.

Not for the first time, you found yourself considering how lucky you were that you actually knew your way around this place, easily finding your way into the secret passage linking this hall to the floor below. Dusty and dark though it may be, it had you emerging into the very crowded kitchen a minute later. A quick glance over the partygoers showed no tall bedheads, but it did show a very exhausted-looking Akaashi.

“I don’t know where he is,” was his greeting to you. “Would you like a drink?”

Well, this was a party. You may as well indulge in some aspects of it in between searching for a certain middle blocker. You nodded and were immediately handed a cup of something bright pink and somewhat ominous.

“It tastes like strawberries,” Akaashi supplied, before knocking back his own cup.

You supposed it could taste like a lot worse, so you mirrored his actions. It did taste like strawberries, but once it had slipped down your throat you were left feeling like you had downed straight vodka. Which, considering you were in the home of two half-Russians, was probably the case. Deciding you needed all the help you could get tonight, you finished off the rest of the drink. Without a word, Akaashi took your now-empty cup and refilled it.

You stayed there for a little while longer, taking note of everybody who entered the room, but failing to find exactly who you were looking for. You kept drinking, and Akaashi kept refilling your cup, until the two of you were flushed and giggling about something Kuroo had said or Bokuto had done.

“Oookay,” you laughed as you calmed your breathing down. “I need to stop drinking.”

Akaashi nodded. “Me too, I think. This stuff is bad.”

“Very,” you agreed, before remembering what your goal for tonight was. “Ugh, I need to go find Kuroo now. How is it so easy to lose him? He’s so tall!”

Akaashi thought for a second. “Mmmaybe he’s with Bokuto?”

That made sense. “But where’s Bokuto?”

From elsewhere in the house, the unmistakable sound of hooting could be heard. Akaashi looked at you with pride. “Found him.”

Grasping onto each other for support since walking in a straight line was difficult, the two of you made your way to the other side of the house. The games room was about as full as the kitchen had been, but almost everyone in here was crowded around the large pool table in the centre, as it was currently being used as a makeshift table by both Bokuto and Iwaizumi to arm-wrestle, although they were currently locked in a stalemate.

Bokuto glanced towards you and Akaashi, face lighting up in a grin at seeing the latter. Before he could call out a greeting, however, his focus was drawn back to his hand as Iwaizumi made an attempt at pushing for the win.

You took this opportunity to glance around the room, feeling yourself deflate ever so slightly when zero bedheads could be found. You were positive he’d be with his best bro, this was just getting ridiculous now.

As you watched Akaashi leave you to go and cheer Bokuto on, you wondered if maybe every part of this was just a sign that things weren’t meant to be. Well, that thought certainly depressed you. Maybe it was best to retreat for now, your head was pretty fuzzy after all.

It took you far longer than usual to climb up the nearest staircase, but you felt an immense amount of pride at yourself for actually making it to the top. Now your next course of action was to find a new hiding place, this time one without any other occupants.

You did feel a semblance of guilt deep inside as you pressed an ear to each bedroom door, like you were ruining everyone’s privacy, but it was far better than actually walking in and seeing something that would give you the urge to gouge out your own eyes.

Finally, you found a quiet door, bursting in none-too-subtly to find that it was not as empty as you’d first assumed.

Kuroo looked over to the door with a jolt from his seat on the bed, before his eyes widened exponentially at seeing you. And then they looked down the length of your body, and then back up to your face. And then, despite the drunken flush on his cheeks and slight glassiness of his eyes, he smirked that ungodly smirk and winked.

“Red looks great on you.”

Well, fuck him. How dare he be that attractive despite being a little blurry around the edges? How dare he beckon you over with an unsteady hand, and how dare you stumble over in record time?

How dare he, you continued to think as you straddled his waist and eagerly planted your mouth onto his own. His hands came up to rest on your hips as he kissed back with the same amount of enthusiasm, and soon you were cursing him once again, this time for almost definitely having smudged your lipstick.

When his tongue made its way into your mouth you tasted strawberries. Your hands making their way up to nestle in his unruly hair, you pulled his head back just enough to disconnect your lips.

“I was looking for you for ages,” you whined breathlessly.

“So was I,” he replied with an overdramatic pout. “Where were you?”

“I was…” Oh yeah. “Hiding in a bedroom. Then Kenma came in.”

“Why were you hiding?”

You looked away. “You.”

“Me?”

“You,” you nodded.

His brow furrowed. “I was hiding from you too.”

Oh. “You were?”

“Yeah. I drank a lot of the pink stuff and then wanted to kiss you real bad.”

You gasped, eyes snapping back to his. “Me too! Maybe it was a love potion.”

“Maybe,” he grinned. “It worked.”

You blinked for a second, before the realisation of where you were and what you’d just done hit you as quickly as your blurry mind would allow. “Hey, it did!”

He laughed. “Maybe we should kiss some more, in case it wears off.”

“Okay!”

And then you dizzily met him again.

“WAKE UP SLEEPYHEADS!”

Oh no. That was way too loud. That was illegally loud. There would be noise complaints. The police would be called. You would all be arrested. What would prison do to you? Would you be the same person afterwards? Would you be able to find yourself a nice prison wife? Would-

“Please let us live,” came a hoarse voice from beside you.

Wait. Beside you? Who was beside you?

You slowly cracked one eye open, every part of your nervous system complaining about the sunlight filtering into the bedroom through the window. It took a few blinks to rid yourself of all residual blurriness, but once that task had been completed your focus zeroed in on the body next to you in bed.

In… bed.

You were in bed, and this person was next to you.

And then said person rolled over to face you and all blood drained from your face.

“Mornin’,” Kuroo whisper-greeted you, a very sleepy - and very attractive - smile on his face.

Suddenly you were very conscious that he was shirtless. And with the hand hidden beneath the duvet, you quickly had an exploratory roam across your body to find that you were wearing your underwear, and nothing else.

“M-Morning,” you replied with all the confidence you could muster. Which was none.

Alisa, still standing at the door after having woken you both up as if she were Satan’s daughter herself, watched your exchange with nothing short of glee.

“Glad to see you two had a good night,” she grinned, pointedly looking down at a heap of red fabric on the floor. With a blush, you realised it was your dress.

Next to you, Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Nothing happened, Alisa.”

She shrugged. “Don’t hate me for assuming. Come downstairs when you’re ready, there’s coffee and bacon in the kitchen.”

She closed the door behind her as she left, and your stomach growled at the mention of food. But before that, you turned to meet Kuroo’s gaze. “Did nothing really happen?”

“Well, we made out for a while and then fell asleep. But other than that, no.”

You nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”

When he spoke next, his voice was quiet. “Do you hate the idea of it that much?”

The sudden heartbroken look on his face had you flailing. “N-No! I don’t at all, I’d just prefer if something like that didn’t happen when I was very drunk.”

“So you’d be okay with it if you weren’t drunk?” He asked, a smirk now replacing any sadness that had been on his face.

“Or hungover,” you added, in case he had any ideas about how to spend the morning. “But yes, I’d be fine with it. I kissed you, remember?”

He grinned. “You did. You could do it again if you wanted.”

You really did want to, but a memory from the night before had surfaced. “Did you mean what you said last night?”

“About liking you?” You nodded. “Yeah. I thought you were way out of my league though.”

Your mouth dropped open. “How?! I thought you were out of my league.”

He laughed a little, stopping when it apparently hurt his head. “We’re not very smart.”

“No,” you agreed. “But now we know.”

He stared at you for a long moment, before smiling. “If you were gonna kiss me again, now would be a great time to do it.”

You rolled your eyes but conceded.

Breakfast could wait.

#happy birthday kuroo you sexy asshole #also i find it hilarious when i attempt to write drunk characters #because i've been drunk one time in my entire life and it was 2 years ago #but i know i'm a cuddly drunk at least #but i only cuddled girls #so i'm a cuddly drunk with Taste #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq!!#haikyuu scenarios #requests #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou #my writing

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