#did actually post these shots to twitter like over a month ago but held off on reposting here

[bala-xiv]

Date: XX - X - XXXX. Met prospective new patron today. First impressions: Direct. Well-spoken. Vain, but not overly narcissistic. Confident in his power, if insecure in his mortality. As equally well-versed in the intricacies of court politics and noble society as he is in matters of war and conquest. Intelligent enough to avoid the traps laid out before him by Amon and his ilk, but not quite so much that he can see the noose already tightening about his neck. Quite attractive in profile, if only from his right side; such a terrible shame about his left. Most importantly, the man is possessed of a favorable temperament and more than enough material wealth to suit my needs. Construction of Arachnion proceeds apace, and he is more than willing to divert funds toward its completion so long as he receives of the fruit of my labor; a simple promise, all too easily fulfilled. Yes, he will serve me rather nicely.

[ . . . ] As an aetherochemical researcher of the late Allagan era, Damophon is best known today for his research into preserving one’s continuity of consciousness during transference of the soul into various media, both organic and inorganic. To this end he made numerous innovations in the field of cloning technology, some of which have been mistakenly attributed to his more infamous colleague and counterpart Amon. In fact, the entirety of his body of work might have been thusly misattributed had it not been for the man’s habit of meticulously chronicling his day-to-day activities, no matter how mundane. Among these meticulously-kept notes can be found detailed records of Damophon’s many patrons: Allagan nobles of varying renown, each one bearing deep investment in the idea of immortalizing their names through contributions to science, or quite literally immortalizing themselves through Damophon’s discoveries. Only one such patron is never referred to by name, nor does Damophon attribute to him any other identifying information, as he indicates this particular patron’s funding is to be directed strictly toward a project ‘of utmost secrecy and import.’ Nevertheless, Damophon seems to have taken great interest in this chosen venture, as his writings on the matter — those which have been discovered thus far, to wit — indicate a level of vigor and interest rarely seen in his other reports. This interest is likewise shared with his mysterious patron, with whom he associates only a coded name: the Hanged Man.

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Bratty

Summary: Chris didn’t like being ignored.

Pairings: Jealous!Daddy!Chris x Black!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Daddy kink, arguing, reader slaps Chris, slight sugar daddy vibes, swearing, jealous Chris, PR stunt, wall sex, oral (female and male receiving), reverse cowgirl, riding, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, creampie, name calling

Tagged: @titty-teetee , @harrysthiccthighss , @iam-laiya , @mariahthelioness29 , @night-of-the-living-shred , @liquorlaughslove , @blackmissfrizzle , @stargazingfangirl18, @whiskey-cokenfanfic, @olyvoyl , @zaddychris

(A/N: Knocking out these WIPs by combining some WIPs. Like, reblog, enjoy and all that jazz.)

No one knew about your relationship with Chris. He was the hot guy that every girl around you wanted. Girls were always trying to shoot their shots. You hadn’t done much, but ignore him a few times when you started being friends with his brother’s boyfriend and somehow that ended up with him asking you out. From then on, you’d been a part of a very intense sexual relationship.

Your friends didn’t have an idea. Sure, they knew you were at the very least fucking around with someone. Somehow you managed to get away with not disclosing who anytime they bugged you about it. Your friends were great, but you couldn’t exactly trust them to not tell everyone and their mothers. It wasn’t even like they’d be doing it maliciously, but the scandal it’d be if people had found out that you and Chris had ended up together would be astronomical. 

This is why you were able to save face when you saw another one of those publicity stunts with him and some actress. They were Hollywood’s hottest couple. Gag. You couldn’t even go to the grocery store without seeing pictures of them all over at checkout.

Whatever.

You were Y/N L/N. You didn’t need him anyway. You didn’t have time for fuckboys. No matter how good looking or rich. No matter how good he dicked you down in bed.

So, why did it hurt so bad. 

Again, it’s not like Chris was your boyfriend. Did you even have the right to be upset? If anything, it hadn’t been more than a booty call. You wiped your tears quicker than they could fall because why the hell were you even crying. He wasn’t even worth it. Deep down you kind of knew this was always going to happen. The man was a commitment-phobe. If he really wanted to be with you, he would’ve made it official months ago.

So, you tried to not think about him. Even if you had to see him every time you went to the grocery store. Even tuning out your mutual friends. Then threw out those stupid forever flowers he’d bought you. You could pawn the jewelry, at least. Maybe give the clothes to charity. 

On second thought.

You’re keeping the clothes. Those Chanel bags were staying firmly in your closet. Someone could pry those Christian Louboutin heels out of your cold dead hands. Okay so maybe you were more like a sugar baby than anything else. You needed to stop trying to figure out what you even were because who cares fuck him.

Either way it still stung. 

Fuck it. You could go on a Chris Evans diet. You didn’t need him.

--

Hey baby I’m back home

Let’s get dinner tonight

He’d texted you as you were getting ready. It’d been almost a month since you’d heard from him. Maybe his girlfriend dumped him or his agent told him he didn’t have to play along with what you were sure was a stunt. It didn’t matter. You were no one’s second best and you had a date tonight. With someone that actually wanted to not play games.

Your palm itched because you wanted to text him back so bad. Wanted to tell him to leave you the fuck alone. Except you were trying to go cold turkey. Instead you muted his contact before finishing your hair. 

The dress you were wearing was one he’d bought you and so were the shoes you wore. Not that he cared, but it felt more fun to use the stuff he brought when going out with someone else. You knew that it would have at least gotten under his skin. Your date was some guy your bestie kept trying to push on you.

He was cute enough. Made good money. In the back of your head, though, not that you would ever say it out loud he was no Chris. You weren’t sure any other man would be able to do you like he did. To fuck you so hard that you forgot your own name. How he’d get you into all these crazy positions. How he spanked you and made you call him Daddy. 

You shook those thoughts away. You didn’t need him.

Anyway, you’d gone on like two dates with Devin. He was okay. You liked him so far. You weren’t really expecting much to come out of it, but you were having fun with him. At least he texted you back in a timely fashion. 

There was a knock on the door so you went to grab it seeing your date on the other side. 

You’d been trying this new thing. Where you didn’t kiss to quickly or have sex to soon. Which you’d told Devin your boundaries right off the bat. Dinner was nice. He was cute enough anyway.

Your mind kept wandering to thoughts of him which was annoying. You didn’t want to think about him. You wanted to feel like you were living in a post Chris Evans world.

When he took you home you could tell he was trying to kiss you on the lips. You turned your head at the right moment so he got your cheek. You weren’t surprised that he tried to.

As you were getting ready to take off your shoes and retreat to your room, happy that your roommate was spending the night at her boyfriend’s so you could spend the rest of the night walking around naked there was a knock on the door. You groaned as you looked through the peephole and then backed away seeing the man you were trying to avoid on the other side.

Your stomach turned and suddenly you wanted to throw up your dinner. Maybe if you didn’t make any noise he’d go away. “Y/N, I know you’re in there,” his Boston accent was so thick.

You took out your phone, going to his contact. Seeing all the messages. Then the final one.

I’m coming over

He’d of course been in your apartment before. Sometimes when your roommate had gone to visit her family or stayed with her boyfriend, he’d come over. You’d end up having sex all over just because you could.

“Open the door!” He said. You didn’t want your neighbors to think you are crazy. So, you did. Anything to get him to stop.

“Are you crazy?” You asked in a quiet voice. “My neighbors can probably hear you.”

He pushed passed you with his face all red. “Who the fuck was that guy?” He asked.

Your heart started to race. Stick up for yourself. Like you do in your head. Tell him you’re tired of his shit and tell him to leave.

You took a deep breath before finally opening your mouth to speak. You could do this. “I was on a date,” you finally said with your head held high.

Chris quirked his eyebrow. “What the fuck? Why?”

You shrugged still trying to maintain your composure. Cool, calm, and collected. “Why not? You go on dates with other women. I haven’t heard from you in a month and you think you can make demands?”

He clenched his jaw, scoffing at your words. “That’s work and you know it.”

“Did work tell you to fuck her? To ignore me for a month.”

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t know shit, Y/N.”

“I don’t care. I saw you! Every time I went on Twitter. Every time I went to the fucking grocery store, I had to see stupid tabloids with your stupid faces on it.”

He pursed his lips and sighed. “Look-“

“Did work tell you to wait a fucking month before texting me? Oh, hey let’s go out for dinner,” you mocked him. “After ignoring me for a fucking month! Like fuck off!”

“And look you hopped on another guy’s dick quickly like a fucking slut.”

You’d never laid your hands on someone before, you always felt like you were above that but you gasped and before your brain could even think you’d already slapped his face. Tears welled up in your eyes when you realized what you’d done. “I’m so so so sor-“

But before you could finish what you were saying, he cut you off with a kiss. He slammed you into the wall before lifting you up with one arm and wrapping his hand around your neck. “Think you’re in charge here. I was about to apologize, but you just couldn’t shut the fuck up, huh.”

He pushed up your dress so you were completely exposed to him. It didn’t take him very long for him to undo his pants. Before you knew it, he was pushing into you. Your head lolled back as he started fucking you. Not even giving you the chance to push him away.

You hated how good he felt. How his thick dick made you not even care anymore. You just wanted it. Wanted him. Needed him to fuck you.

“Fuck, Daddy,” you moaned.

“That’s right. I’m your Daddy.” He hissed. “I’m your fucking Daddy.”

You bit your lip as he moved you into the wall. Like he was about to fuck you through it. “Right there,” you gasped as he started fucking into your spot. Right where he knew you liked it. “Don’t fucking stop.”

“See you naughty little slut. You fucking like it.” He was pounding into you.

You nodded trying to move back against him because you still needed it. It’d been two months since you’d last had sex with him. “Yes, I love it.”

“Yeah. You love Daddy’s dick?”

“Yes!”

“Say it. Fucking say it.”

“I love Daddy’s dick.” You moaned trying to keep your voice low so no one could hear you.

He hissed before letting out his own moan. “Louder, Baby.”

“I love Daddy’s dick,” you cried.

“Fucking louder. I want your fucking neighbor to hear you.”

“I love Daddy’s dick! I love Daddy’s dick!” You said a little louder as you tightened around him cumming all over his thick dick. He carried you over to the back of the couch, still stuffed inside of you.

He leaned you over the back of it so that he could kiss you. Thrusting in and out of you. It hurt so good.

He suddenly pulled out of you, grabbing your waist so he could make you turn around. Chris started kissing down your back getting on his knees pushing you up so you were leaning over. He finally tugged ag your panties ignoring the rip that he’d put in them as he pulled them off of you.

His tongue went to your pussy as soon as possible, licking and sucking up all the juices that were there “Fuck,” you mewled. “Don’t stop.”

He swirled his tongue around inside you. Licking you like he was making out with your cunt. His hands came up so he could jiggle your ass.

You started rubbing your clit. Needing to touch the nub because it was like it was throbbing for attention. He smacked your hand away as he started doing it himself.

His fingers were rubbing you so good. His mouth working at the same time. You could feel your orgasm so damn close. Chris didn’t let up until finally your drippy little pussy was gushing as you came hard. He wasted no time in standing up and pushing into you.

Your face felt flushed as he started moving into you again. Chris was never satisfied unless he made you cum so many times you were begging him to stop. Even then he might push you a little because he loves how whiny you get when you’re over stimulated.

“Did you let him fuck you like this?” Chris slammed his hips into you. Needing to keep fucking you as rough as he could.

“No,” you whimpered.

“Just me, huh. No one else could do this to you.” He smacked your ass leaving a stinging pain behind. “Bet you didn’t even let him hit it, huh.”

“No,” you answered.

“Why?”

“Because no one fucks me good like you.”

He chuckled clearly getting some amusement out of your desperation. Before he could cum again, he tore away from you leaving your pussy clenching on nothing as he grabbed your neck so he could take you to the carpet.

He signaled for you to get on you all fours and you thought he was going to make you suck his dick until he got down beside you. He grabbed you hard so he could put you into position. Grabbing a throw pillow to place on the ground before pushing your head into it.

The anticipation of whatever he was about to do was scaring you. Your body trembled as a reminder of the two orgasms he’d forced you through so far. He grabbed both your arms, holding them behind your back so your face was kind of dependent on the pillow that was about to be stained with your makeup for balance.

Oh, he was about to destroy your cunt.

The first thrust was so deep your body tried to pull away before you could even think about it. “No. Don’t you fucking run from me. You take it.”

The only thing you could do was take it since he was holding your hands behind you. He was violating your pussy and there was nothing you could do about it. You gasped with each thrust not being able to even wrap your head around how deep he was. You could feel him in your stomach. 

It was like this switch in your brain had turned off. All you could do was think about how much you needed Daddy’s dick. All you could fucking do. You wanted to be his bitch. Wanted for him to own you. You needed him to never ever stop.

“Oh, no. Did I fuck you stupid, Little Girl? Your stupid little brain couldn’t take it?” He sounded so condescending and it only added to how far gone you were. “Who am I?”

“You’re my daddy,” you whispered.

“I can’t hear you.”

“You’re my daddy,” you whimpered. You bit your lip, burying your head into the pillow because fuck you’d just buy a new one. Your roommate would understand.

He moaned seeing how fucked out he’d gotten you. In the same way your mind had slipped into the subspace, he felt him hit this feeling where he felt so dominant. Like you seemed so small compared to him and what he was doing to you. He reeled in these moments.

“I’m gonna cum,” you cried because right when you announced it, it hit you so deep. Your pussy juices cascading down his length. If he wasn’t stuffed inside of you, you would have probably made a mess everywhere.

Your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It felt so fucking good. Tears sprouted from your eyes and you knew you probably looked as messy as you felt.

“That’s it, Baby.” He let go of your arms, seeing how far gone you were. He pulled out of you so he could pull you into his arms. He cradled you bringing you close. “I’ve got you.” He kissed the side of your head as you cried softly. Your eyes were glazed over from how hard you came.

You sniffled burying your head into his chest. He kissed your nose before getting up with you in his arms and sitting you on the couch. He helped you pull your dress over your head because until then it’d just been bunched up. He undid your bra next so you’d be more comfortable.

“You need some water?” He asked.

You nodded, but didn’t let go of him. You needed him to be close. He chuckled, standing up with you still in his arms as he walked to the kitchen. It was fine he could hold you and get you water at the same time.

“Daddy,” you whimpered.

“What is it, Darling,” he whispered kissing the top of your head.

“I need you.”

“I’m here,” he sighed as he carried you back over to the couch. He brought the glass of water up to your face helping you take a sip. “That’s a good girl.” He set it down on the side table. “Need anything else?”

“I need to pee.”

He chuckled. “Well I can’t help you with that.”

You took a minute in the bathroom to wash your face so you could wake yourself up a little. The night was far from over. You knew that. He was just nice enough to let you take a break.

When you walked back into the living room, he was right there stroking his still hard cock. Your poor Daddy. You’d left him like this. As soon as you got closer to him you got on your knees, ready to take him into your mouth like a good slut.

He licked his lips as you got leveled with his thick cock. “It looks so yummy,” you said, before licking the underside. 

He groaned, bringing his thumb to your cheek. “That’s it, pretty girl, suck Daddy’s dick.”

You got to work. Slobbering all over him. You wanted to leave another mess on him. You could taste yourself on him and it only made you want to work harder. 

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, eyes hooded as he watched you. It was such a pretty sight seeing you on your knees before him. Your mouth worshipping his dick. “Did you suck his dick?”

You shook your head, looking up at him with big eyes. You held your tongue out as you bobbed your head up and down. He could feel the back of your throat every fucking time. Then you went all the way down his dick disappearing into your mouth completely. Your soft lips around him while your throat felt like it would swallow him whole.

“God damn,” he moaned, putting his hands in your hair so he could pull you off and then shove it back in. He fucked your throat and you let him, gagging on him sometimes, but still trying to be a good girl and take it. You didn’t want to let your daddy down. “That’s it, Bitch. You’re a good girl. You knew better than to fuck someone else, huh?”

You hummed around him, nodding your head. “Mhm.”

“Even when you’re a little fucking brat you know this is daddy’s cunt.” He groaned. “Daddy’s mouth. You’re fucking mine. You hear me?” You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him as he yanked your head up by your hair. “When I ask you a question you fucking answer me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

He grabbed your face before slapping your cheek. “Who owns this pussy?”

“You do.”

“See, that’s a good little slut.” He grabbed your hair so you’d have to lean up to kiss him. He made you stand up then turned you around so you’d have to sink down onto his cock again. You yelped as he stretched you out all over again.

His legs were spread wide as he started to move you up and down his length. Fuck he loved watching your ass as you rode him in reverse. You twerked on his length and watching your ass shake like that with your pussy full of him was so damn sexy. “Fuck, Daddy.”

See, perfect. Where the fuck else was he going to find a girl that let him do such depraved things and twerk on his cock while also calling him Daddy then thank him for it.

“Did you kiss him?” He suddenly asked, suddenly feeling irritated all over again. He fucking hated that you even thought it’d be okay to go on your little date.

“He just kissed my cheek,” you answered honestly.

Even the thought of that was enough to make him mad. He pushed you off of him, turning you back around so you had to climb onto his lap. “Don’t you ever, ever, ever pull some shit like that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you moaned.

You heard the keys in the door and he got up quickly so he could get you to your room without your roommate getting an eyeful of either of you. He closed the door, locking it behind. You put your head against his chest, laughing. He chuckled before kissing your forehead. “That was a close one,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry you haven’t even been able to cum.” You giggled. 

“It’s okay we got all night,” he said, smacking your ass.

There was a knock on your door and you groaned. “Um,” your roommates very clearly amused voice came from the other side, “as glad as I am that you’re moving on from the asshole that broke your heart, can you please keep it in your room.”

You scrunched up your face before looking at Chris who did not share your roommates’ sense of humor at the moment. “Sorry,” you said through the door. “I thought you’d be gone.”

“I will be. I just forgot something,” she replied. “Have fun with Devin.”

Chris slammed you down onto the bed. You purse your lips before trying to back away from him. “Just wait for when she leaves. I’m tearing this ass up,” he threatened.

And he did because as soon as you heard the front door close, he started pounding into you again. Spreading your legs wide open as he fucked into your cunt.

“Want me to cum in you?” He asked. “Fill you up?”

“Yes,” you cried.

“Look at it,” he grunted grabbing your hair again so he could force you up to watch his dick go in and out of you. “This is my cunt. Don’t you get forget that.”

“I won’t,” your voice got all whiny again as you started to cum again. This time he started to shoot inside of you giving you every single spurt. “Daddy!”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moaned himself hips stuttering as he shoved his cum into you.

Finally, as the two of you started to settle down getting you wrapped up in your blankets, he laid next to you to pull you into his arms. You were breathing heavy as he kissed your face. “You better break up with him,” he said so sweetly.

You groaned softly. “Chris... you still did what you did.”

“I promise nothing happened. It was just for the photo op.”

“Yeah, but they’re going to keep thinking something is going on because you don’t want to make things official with me. If you can date so can I.”

He groaned. “Is that what this is about?” He asked. “You need to hear the words?”

“It’s bigger than that. It’s about you respecting me.”

“I do, Baby,” he replied. “Fine. Do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

“Yes.” You poured before kissing his lips. “Was that so hard?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s just that I thought you were already my girlfriend and that you just wanted to keep a low profile.”

“Oh...”

“And I wasn’t ignoring you. I broke my phone and wasn’t able to get one right away,” he said. “If you hadn’t been dodging Scott’s calls, he would have told you.”

“Well now I feel like a jerk.”

He sighed. “It’s alright. I should head home, though.”

“Why?” You poured.

“I don’t want Dodger to be alone all night,” he replied. “Wanna come?”

You nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Okay, but on one condition.”

You huffed. “What?”

“First of all, lose the attitude,” he said. “Second, you gotta breakup with David.”

“It’s Devin,” you corrected him.

He gave you a very pointed look. “I don’t give a shit. Breakup with him right now or I’ll spank you.”

You groaned tossing your head back. “That’s so mean we literally just went out.”

“I don’t give a shit. Break. Up. With. Him. Now.”

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes.

After getting ready to go, he made you sit down on the couch so you could write your message. “Can’t I call him? It feels less mean.”

“Either you do it right now or I will,” he said. “Keep complaining and I’ll make it worse.”

He looked over at your shoulder as you typed before snatching it out of your hands. “Chris!” You protested.

“You took too long.” He shrugged before standing up, pulling you into his arms. “See isn’t that better?”

“You’re mean.”

“Yeah? I’ll show you how mean I can be when we get to my place.”

[cali-holland]

An Irregular Romance ★ Harrison Osterfield One Shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield X Reader

Summary: Over five years ago, Harrison followed his heart (a.k.a. you) to drama school, and the day he asked you out was the day he discovered you had a boyfriend. He thought that part of his past was behind him, but then he was cast as Leo in The Irregulars and you were cast as Bea. Romance and shenanigans ensue as he tries to navigate the resurrection of his crush on you.

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: spoilers for The Irregulars, swearing, drinking (reader gets v drunk at one point), cheating boyfriend + “open relationship” drama

Masterlist in bio

*Gif is not mine

A/N: inspired by harrison literally saying he followed the girl he liked to drama school but she didn’t like him back; the drama school is the brit school (idk if that’s what he was talking about but age wise it works better); also darci is 18+ in this fic bc it just fits better to make her around their age; plus i had to re-post this bc the tags didn’t work so rip

also just like to say a massive thank you to @duskholland​​ for proofreading this for me :) you’re the best! this fic would be missing 90% of its commas if it wasn’t for you lmao

❁❁❁❁❁

Harrison had been buzzing with excitement all week. While he knew for sure that he had landed the role of Prince Leo in The Irregulars, he had no idea who the other cast members were. His agent learned from Netflix that they’d announce the cast on Saturday, so now here he sat, anxiously awaiting the news as he drank another pint with his good friends.

“Anything yet?” Tuwaine asked, refreshing his Twitter timeline.

“Nope.” Harrison said with a shake of his head as Netflix’s Instagram page remained unchanged as another minute went by.

“Maybe they’re announcing it at midnight.” Tom shrugged, trying to be useful to ease his friend’s nerves.

“Everyone would be asleep.” The blond replied before taking another long drink of his beer.

“Well, congratulations whenever they officially announce it.” Harry stated, standing up with his empty glass. “Next round’s on me.”

The conversation began to wander off, and Harrison found himself deep in thought, pondering his mysterious, new castmates. Would he like them? Would they like him? Were they big names or no names? Were they people he had screen-tested with (because, truthfully, he only screen-tested with a few girls, but even then, he didn’t screen test with all of the potential actresses)? As he got stuck, trying to think of someone he’d actually liked when they screen-tested together, he was snapped out of his thoughts by Tom yelling.

“It’s up!” Tom held his phone in the middle of the table as he, Harrison, Tuwaine, and Harry, who was now back with more beer, looked over the cast. A sense of pride soared through the group at Harrison’s picture and name being on the official Netflix page for The Irregulars. Harrison read over the other names, wondering if he knew any by happenstance. Just as he recognized one name in particular, Tom spoke up.

“Y/N Y/L/N? Isn’t that the girl you fancied in drama school?” Tom asked with a smirk. His smirk seemed to widen as Harrison blushed a deeper shade of red.

“No, no, no!” Harrison grumbled, taking out his phone to look over the post for himself because maybe, if he looked from his own account, the cast would magically change. When he looked at your name and picture right beside his, realization hit him. He slumped over, putting his head down on the table regretfully.

“I’d nearly forgotten about Haz’s girl that wasn’t his girl.” Tuwaine joked.

“Wait, what girl?” Harry questioned, out of the loop.

Perhaps the stupidest but best choice Harrison had ever made in his life was following you, his biggest crush, to drama school. Why his mother even let him chase after a girl like that was beyond him; he thought she should’ve advised him against it, but with the whole “follow your heart” attitude, his mum was his biggest supporter. He did his best to impress you, to get you to notice him, but you were unfazed by him. The day that he finally got the courage to ask you out was the day that he learned you’d had a boyfriend for the past two months.

Though he didn’t get the girl in drama school, he actually enjoyed it, and look where he ended up now— a new Netflix show was on the horizon for him. Despite the fact that he was (and still sort of is) crushed and embarrassed by the fact that you (very kindly) rejected him five years ago, drama school turned out to be a blessing.

“Harrison, here,” Tom laughed as he clapped his friend’s shoulder as Harrison still didn’t lift his head from his pitiful position, “thought he’d pursue acting because Y/N wanted to be an actress. He didn’t realize that in order to get her attention, he’d have to actually talk to her.”

That was enough to make Harrison lift his head, eyeing his friend questioningly. Cutting Tom off, he defended himself, “What do you mean? I did talk to her.”

“Right— you’d have maybe one conversation with her every three weeks.” Tom turned back to his brother, “Anyway, Haz finally asked her out and, turns out, she’d been dating this other guy for months.”

“Whatever. I only asked her out because you and Tuwaine shoved me into her. Maybe she doesn’t even remember me.” Harrison pulled out his phone to check over Netflix’s Instagram, wanting to see for himself the new cast again. When he opened the app, it notified him of all the new followers he had gotten, and, with one glance at the list of names, one account stood out to him.

‘@yourusername started following you’. Harrison let out a sigh, not wanting to dwell on this any further.

“She works fast.” Harry teased, looking over the blond’s shoulder.

“We’re co-stars now. She probably followed everyone else too.”

As if on cue, a new notification came through his Instagram— ‘@yourusername sent you a message’. With bated breath, he opened it to see the message that confirmed his worst fear— you remembered him.

‘Hey stranger! How have you been?’

❁❁❁❁❁

With every passing day, Harrison’s excitement for this new big project grew… but so did his dread about seeing you again. He wasn’t entirely sure now as to why his gut was filled with butterflies mixed with anxiety just thinking about you. You were only ever nice to him, both before and after he asked you out. It all led him back to the same conclusion that he still had a thing for you, but yet again, maybe it’s just life that your first real crush always has some power over you.

As he walked down the strangely long hallway to the conference room, he adjusted the collar of his letterman’s jacket. Today was the big day— the first table read for The Irregulars, and the first day he’d be confronted by you after all these years. Just on the other side of this door, his co-stars and the main production crew were waiting. Everything was real now; production would start in just a few days.

With one last nervous breath, he pushed open the heavy oak door and entered the room. People were chatting as they sat around the large conference table, which had small name cards at each seat. Harrison’s eyes found you almost immediately. You were locked into a conversation with your co-star, Darci, seated to your left for the table read. To your right was one of the last available seats, and Harrison’s name was on the little card on the table. All hopes of being unnoticed by you were instantaneously gone as he took his seat beside you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You said to Harrison with a laugh, and he was instantly reminded of how that laugh basically drove him to where he was today.

“How long has it been?” Harrison asked, trying to play it cool like he hadn’t been rehearsing this day in his mind for the past several months.

“Far too long.” You smiled.

As the last few people trickled into the room, introductions flew around the table as everyone met their new coworkers. After a cold read-through of the script and a few words from the show’s creator, the table read was deemed over. Just when Harrison thought he was free to forget about your existence for a few more days, you pulled him aside.

“Hey, Darci and I were going to get drinks with McKell and Jojo. You should come.” You offered, and Harrison chanced a glance across the room to where Darci was chatting with your other two main co-stars.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Harrison replied. He cleared his throat before giving you a definite nod that yes, that’d be a great idea.

“Perfect.”

And just like that, the five of you made your way across town to a pub. Darci had chosen the spot, explaining that it was the best place for drinks in Liverpool, and, seeing as she’d lived there her whole life, none of you tried to argue with her.

Harrison felt a strange pit in his stomach as everyone talked and laughed over some beers, as if you weren’t all strangers a few hours ago. His eyes always seemed to land on you and your contagious smile. You looked almost exactly how he remembered you, and you still were the same happy, go-lucky girl he’d fallen hard for. It was crazy to him how quickly you gave him butterflies, how effortlessly you made him feel like a silly schoolboy all over again. He couldn’t help but wonder if you thought he’d changed since his school days, too… or if you even thought about him enough to notice. So far, you’d made no indication that he was anyone besides an old friend from drama school, making him hope you didn’t remember that dreadful day.

As you and Darci excused yourself for a bathroom break, Harrison gave himself a little reminder that he was meant to be getting to know all of his co-stars right now and wasn’t meant to be focusing so intently on you. He took another sip of his beer, turning back to Jojo and McKell.

“So how do you and Y/N know each other?” McKell asked, and Jojo tried to hide his shit-eating grin behind his beer.

“Drama school, a few years ago.” Harrison replied, trying to play ignorant.

“Ah, so it’s a schoolboy crush, then?” Jojo questioned teasingly.

Harrison felt his face heat up. Jojo and McKell were practically strangers to him, and they already knew. He was cornered, “Is it that obvious?”

“A little.” McKell said while Jojo simultaneously replied, “Very.”

“Just ask her out.” Jojo encouraged.

“That’s the problem— I did.” Harrison replied, and both of their jaws dropped.

“No way. Did she let you down easy at least?” McKell’s voice was somewhere between a disbelieving, teasing, and pitiful tone.

Harrison scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “Well, yeah? I mean she wasn’t rude about it, but it was still a bit awkward. She was dating this other guy at the time. He didn’t go to our school, though, so I had no clue about him.”

“That’s rough.” Jojo grimaced, before he gave Harrison a hopeful smile, “Maybe she’s single now.”

“I’ve been rejected by Y/N once— I don’t need her to reject me a second time.” He shook his head with a small laugh to conceal his embarrassment. He took a drink of his beer, hoping that would calm his nerves a little.

“Incoming,” McKell said quietly, nodding in the direction of the bathroom.

“What’d we miss?” Darci asked as she slipped back into her seat. You remained standing to put your jacket on, both you and Darci completely unaware of the boys’ conversation.

“Nothing, just Jojo being an idiot.” McKell joked, to which his newfound friend just punched him in the arm, taking another long drink of his beer.

“I think I might head back to the hotel.” Your words were met with a collective groan from three of your co-stars— Harrison silently frowned as he sipped on his beer.

As your head was down to collect your things, Jojo swiftly kicked Harrison under the table. Harrison looked at him quizzically, sending him a “what the hell was that for” look. When his co-star just nodded his head encouragingly towards you, Harrison got the idea.

“I’ll walk you.” Harrison said, making you look over at him. Standing up from his seat, he insisted, “I was just about to head out, too.”

“Okay,” You smiled, still completely unaware of his interaction with Jojo.

After you all exchanged phone numbers and created a group chat lovingly titled “The Irregz”, you and Harrison left the pub. You fell in step together, walking along the sidewalk in the chilly Liverpool air back to the hotel that you’d all be staying at for the next few months.

“So what have you been up to since graduation?” Harrison asked you, his hands deep in the pockets of his letterman’s jacket.

“All sorts of things, really.” You shrugged with a smile, “I got a few TV roles here and there, did some modeling, but so far none of it has really stuck, so I’m hopeful that this will be a foot in the door. What about you?”

“The same as you, really, but, instead of shows, I’ve done some short films.”

“I see you’re still best friends with Tom.” You said in a teasing tone. Harrison felt an unusual, upsetting tug on his heartstring. Not noticing any change in his demeanor, you continued with a laugh, “It’s funny. I would’ve placed my bets on you being world-famous after graduation.”

“Me?” He questioned, surprised by your words.

“Yeah, you didn’t go to LAMDA for nothing.” You playfully nudged his arm with your elbow, and he felt his cheeks heat up once more. “Don’t be modest— I’m not wrong.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.” A laugh passed his lips, any previous bashful reservations slowly fading away.

Before Harrison could say anything further, your phone began to ring. You fished it out of your pocket and barely looked at the caller ID before sending it to voicemail. Your actions were fast, but Harrison still caught the name of who was calling, Davey, followed by a red heart emoji. And that’s when it hit him— you were still with the same boyfriend from drama school, all those years ago.

And just like that, Harrison felt a tsunami wave of heartbreak from drama school wash over him.

“Hey, Y/N!” Harrison called out as he stumbled his way over to stall you from leaving school. He had one hand holding onto his book bag strap tight enough that his knuckles were turning white, and he shuffled his other through his hair.

“Hey, is everything alright?” You asked, concerned at how nervous he seemed.

“Yeah, um, well, tonight’s opening night for West Side Story, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me? I know it’s your favorite play, and it’s one of mine too, so, yeah, I thought maybe we could go together?” He was sure that he’d never sounded so unsure of himself. Truth is, he didn’t want to ask you out right now, but Tom and Tuwaine had quite literally shoved him in your direction, physically encouraging him. He felt rushed and unprepared.

When you smiled so captivatingly and softly at him, he felt his racing heart speed up even more. Was this it? Was he really going to take you on a date? He thought to himself. His hopes weren’t up for long as you spoke up, “I can’t. I’ve already got tickets for tonight. I’m going with Davey.”

“Davey?”

“My boyfriend.” You replied, a hint of guilt in your voice.

His heart shattered. The only reason he was here, at this school, was because of you, and now he just had all of his hopes for any future dates with you thrown out the window.

“You and Davey are still together?” Harrison wondered aloud as you two arrived at the hotel.

“Yeah,” Your response was hesitant and quiet. He knew why— there was that elephant in the room between the two of you.

Before he could stop himself from mentioning it, he blurted out, “You don’t have to feel guilty about it, you know.”

You paused, watching unsure as he ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I kinda wonder what would’ve happened if I had said yes. Davey and I didn’t even end up seeing  West Side Story, anyway, so I wonder if you and I would’ve ended up any differently.”

It wasn’t much, but his heart sped up ever so slightly— so you had thought about him, even in the dating context. Harrison couldn’t think of a response (his brain repeated “fuck Davey, ask her out again”) fast enough as you stopped at the front desk. You mumbled something about needing some towels, and Harrison took that as his cue to just continue walking. He bid you a quick farewell, wanting to escape to his room as fast as possible.

Nothing you had said tonight had been particularly flirty, but he still rewound the events in his head because maybe he missed something. As he laid down in his bed that night, his mind drifted off with thoughts of you, wondering just how he’d manage to pull off these next few months without falling for you all over again.

Over the next several weeks, his predicament only seemed to grow. Spending so much time with you (and your other three co-stars) just made Harrison wish even more that he’d asked you out sooner in drama school, and having to spend most of his screen time gawking over you added to it further. Maybe it was another school boy crush, or maybe it was intense method acting— either way, he definitely liked you.

Ever since he read the script for episode four, he knew that eventually your two characters would become romantically involved. He would’ve felt giddy over the thought (because his eighteen-year-old self would’ve died at this opportunity), but whenever he thought of the scene, he was reminded about your boyfriend. Harrison wasn’t the type of guy to hate his crush’s boyfriend, but something just didn’t seem right about Davey.

Harrison was lying on his hotel bed, reading over the episode’s script for what must have been the fifth time through that afternoon. It was Sunday, the day before you’d both film Leo and Bea’s kiss. With a beer on his side table and an array of highlighters beside it, he was set. As the words started to run together, and his glasses began to feel uncomfortable on his nose, he heard a knock at his door.

“Coming!” Harrison called out. Setting his script aside, he rolled off the bed. He was confused at who could possibly be at his door, but, figuring it was someone from set, he had the decency to slip on a white t-shirt, opting for not answering the door in nothing but grey sweats. He was thankful for his last-minute decision as he opened the door and was met with you on his doorstep. Smiling at you and leaning on the doorframe, he let out a small, “Hey.”

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to rehearse tomorrow’s scene.” You offered with a friendly smile on your face.

“Right now?” He asked, glancing back into his room to decipher if it was clean enough or not.

“Oh, is this a bad time?” You replied, subconsciously stepping back. “Is someone here?”

“What?” Harrison looked at you, confused before it clicked what you thought, “Oh, no, no. There’s no one here. I was just rehearsing, too.”

“So is that a yes then or-?” You trailed off.

“Yeah, come on in.” He opened his door fully, allowing you to step in. He chivalrously closed the door behind you. “Would you like water or anything?”

“Can I have a beer?” You asked, spotting the one on his nightstand.

“Sure.” Harrison nodded. While he got you a beer and grabbed his own half-consumed bottle and script, you settled on the couch with your pages in hand.

“Thank you.” You smiled as he handed you the beer, and you took a sip happily. “You know, I’m honestly so jealous of you this week.”

“Why?” He asked with a laugh, thrown off guard by your confession.

“You get to do all the palace scenes again.”

“I also throw myself off a balcony.”

“But still.” You insisted. “Leo really needs to sneak Bea into the palace just so I can have one of those extravagant ball dress scenes. I just want to feel like a princess, and I feel like it’s what Bea deserves.”

Harrison looked at you admiringly for a moment. “You are a princess.” His face dropped as soon as he realized he’d said his thoughts aloud. Coughing, he tried to cover it up, “I mean—- you were kind of princess-like in episode 3, right?”

“Smooth.” You laughed, but didn’t press the situation. Your phone began to ring, and Harrison watched as you rolled your eyes, declining the call and ultimately silencing your phone.

“Spam call?”

“More like clingy non-committal somewhat boyfriend.” You stated, rolling your eyes.

He furrowed his eyebrows, confused. You hadn’t mentioned Davey in the past few weeks— not that Harrison was complaining, but he just assumed you were private about your personal life. “I thought you and Davey were on good terms?”

“We are? I don’t know.” You sighed, taking a sip of your beer.

“If you’re not comfortable with the topic, we can just rehearse-”

“No, it’s fine. I just haven’t really talked about it with anyone. Before I came here, he asked about having an open relationship while I’m away, and I told him no. And the last time we talked, we got into an argument and that was a couple days ago. I’m not ready to talk to him, and at this point, I’d much rather talk to you than him. It’s very frustrating that he wants to have an open relationship, but he still expects me to be at his beck and call. It’s like he’s looking for someone to substitute me, but I can’t have a life of my own. He wasn’t the most supportive of me taking this job in the first place, too.” You paused, with a small shrug, “I know you’re probably thinking I should leave him, but I can’t. We’ve been together for 5 years. I don’t know anything else at this point.”

“I get it.” Harrison said softly, hesitantly resting a comforting hand on your knee. “He was your first love. It makes sense that it’s hard to move on.” He felt his own heart sink at his ironic words. After all, you were his first love.

“I wouldn’t say he’s my first love.” You said softly, placing your hand on his, squeezing it gently. “Plus, at this point, I wouldn’t even say I love him.”

A silence fell in the room. Harrison really didn’t know what to say now. He would have told you to leave him, but you already knew that, so what was the point in him repeating it? Besides, it was your relationship, and you needed to make the decision for yourself… or let Davey make it for you.

“Let’s go through the scene, yeah?” You asked, changing the topic. You dropped his hand to pick up your script again.

“Right.” Harrison mumbled to himself, flicking through the pages to the scene.

You glanced around his hotel suite for a moment, looking for something similar to a bridge rail to lean on. “Should we use the kitchen counter? As the bridge rail?”

“Yeah, that works.” He nodded. The two of you got up, scripts in hand. Harrison stood to your right, just as the stage direction had called for. There was some space between the two of you, enough room for Harrison to shuffle closer to you later, as scripted.

“You’re not on your own, Beatrice. You must remember that.” Harrison said to you, leaning on the counter but looking over to you with his icy blue eyes. “You’re very different to anyone I’ve ever met.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, looking at him curiously.

“You have something about you.” He started, awkwardly.

You cut him off, “Like a smell?”

“No, like a quality.” He chuckled softly before continuing, “I don’t know what it is, but I really like it.”

“Well, when you think of it, let me know.”

“I’ll be sure to.” He smiled at you, his confidence slowly building as the scene continued on. Harrison stepped closer to you until he was right beside you, leaning sideways on the counter. “And I’m not saying you don’t smell, by the way. I’m just saying that that’s not the thing.”

You laughed, turning your head away from him in disbelief. “You know, I was thinking of kissing you, but now I’m not gonna.”

Harrison paused, taking a moment to mentally hype himself up for what was about to happen, but also taking a moment because it was scripted for Leo to be nervous. “Well, uh, I suppose I have to kiss you then.”

You turned to him, smiling coyly. Slowly, Harrison closed his eyes and leaned in. His heart started racing faster as he felt your breath fan against his face before his lips finally found yours. It was gentle and hesitant, everything that it had been scripted to be. As much as he wanted to keep kissing you and keep tasting the sweet strawberries of your lipgloss, it had to end. He pulled away after a moment, and you seemed almost breathless as you opened your eyes to see him again.

“I meant it when I said you’re not on your own.” Harrison looked at you with more hesitancy this time, but he still kissed you with the softest passion. The script said that Leo and Bea kiss and continue to kiss for a few seconds; Harrison wasn’t counting, but he was sure this kiss was longer than it was meant to be. Again, he found himself dreading its inevitable end. If there was one thing he could do for the rest of his life, it’d be this… well, this amongst other things with you. His stomach started to stir with guilt as he remembered Davey; you were still technically in a relationship, open or not, arguing currently or not. But then it clicked with Harrison, you weren’t pulling away— no, you were fully kissing him back.

Before he could pull away and end the scene with his last few lines, a knock came from his door. Regretfully, he stepped away from you. He didn’t meet your eye as he went to answer the door while you read over the script on the counter. Flustered, he opened the door.

“Mum! You’re here.” Harrison’s eyes went wide, surprised to see his mother and his sister standing before him.

“Surprise!” She smiled, hugging him almost immediately. “We had to come and see you at your big job.”

“Are you not happy to see us?” Charlotte teased, and Harrison shook his head, pulling her in for a hug. As they all stepped into Harrison’s apartment, you waved from the kitchen.

“Hi.” You smiled, coming over to introduce yourself.

“Oh, mum, Charlotte, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my mum and Charlotte, my sister.” Harrison introduced the three of you.

“You’re Y/N Y/L/N from drama school?” Phil said with a smile, making the connection as you shook her hand. Charlotte seemed to stifle a laugh as Harrison’s cheeks heated up.

“Yes, that sounds like me.” You laughed, brushing off any awkwardness that Harrison feared was there. “We were just rehearsing our scene for tomorrow.”

“Maybe we can come to set.” Phil suggested, sending Harrison an expectant look.

“I’ll have to ask. This is so, so last-minute, though, so I don’t know.” He replied.

“It’s a spontaneous weekend trip.” Charlotte clarified.

“We should get some dinner. We haven’t eaten much all day.” Phil told Harrison before turning to you, “Y/N, you should come, too. It’d be so lovely to get to know you.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You trailed off, glancing at Harrison. He sent you a silent look that said ‘she seriously does want you to come… If you don’t come, I won’t hear the end of it’. “I’d love to. I just need to go change first.”

You grabbed your script off the counter, and Harrison walked you to the door. “How long do you need?”

“Like 10 minutes?” You replied, and he nodded.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were coming, or that they’d invite you to dinner.” He said quietly, making you laugh.

“It’s fine, but I do have to warn you, if my parents spontaneously drop by, they don’t know who you are.” You teased.

He let out an embarrassed groan, “Let’s not talk about that.”

“See you in ten.” You sent him a wink before leaving to your own hotel room. As Harrison closed the door and turned back around, he was met with the smirking faces of his mother and sister.

“So, is there anything you want to tell us?” Phil asked.

“We were rehearsing. That’s all.” Harrison insisted, going through the wardrobe to find some clothes to change into for dinner.

“Huh,” Charlotte trailed off, crossing her arms. “So, you wearing sparkly lip gloss that matches Y/N’s is a coincidence?”

“It’s a kiss scene tomorrow. We rehearsed the lines and the kisses, too.” He explained. With a pair of jeans, a clean shirt, and his red letterman jacket in hand, he made his way to the bathroom.

“Oh, multiple kisses.” She teased, making him roll his eyes.

“She has a boyfriend!” Harrison ended the conversation, closing the door to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, you returned back to Harrison’s room, and the four of you left, making your way to an Italian restaurant nearby. You and Harrison shared anecdotes about filming so far, keeping spoilers to a minimum until the server came with your food.

“We got in so much trouble from the makeup and hair department.” You laughed as Harrison finished telling them of how you two went on the playground last week, much to the chagrin of the crew.

“It was worth it.” He added.

“Who would’ve known you’d play a Netflix prince?” Charlotte asked teasingly, but it was clear she was still proud of his achievements.

“Look at that face. He couldn’t play anything but a prince.” You joked, and he smiled smugly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He stated.

“Phil, I have to say, I’ve never met someone more well suited to play a well-mannered prince.” You told her, playfully pinching Harrison’s cheek beside you.

“I remember when there was a time he was revolted at the idea of playing a prince.” Phil said, her lips growing into a smirk, and Harrison knew exactly what that meant.

“Mum, no—“ He started, but you just shushed him, wanting to hear whatever embarrassing story was about to be told.

“He watched a single Batman movie growing up— and not even a good one at that, and decided he simply had to be Batman.” She explained. “Then the Christopher Nolan ones came out, and there was no stopping him.”

“Every kid wants to be a superhero, and Batman is simply the best one.” He said as if it was obvious.

“I didn’t know you had a Batman phase.” You teased.

“Phase? He still has posters and comic books and dolls.” Charlotte added.

“Action figures.” He corrected her, making you laugh at the humor of it all.

“You know, honestly, I think I still have Catwoman action figures.” You admitted, trying to make him feel better, and Phil’s eyes lit up as she remembered another story.

“I cleaned your room a couple weeks ago, Harrison, and I was surprised to see you still Anne Hathaway as Catwoman posters.”

“Do we really have to talk about that? Does this torture not end?” He groaned.

“Fine. That’s enough for tonight.” Phil let out a defeated sigh, clearly enjoying herself.

“Y/N, if you want the really embarrassing stories, you’ve got to talk to Tom. He’s told me embarrassing Harrison stories that I can’t say in front of mum.” Charlotte laughed, and Harrison’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head at his sister’s words.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You smiled coyly.

“Sometimes, I wonder if he forgets that I know just as much embarrassing shit that he did growing up, too.” Harrison stated, shaking his head.

The night went on with minimal embarrassment on Harrison’s end. After Phil and Charlotte went back to their hotel, you and Harrison started the walk back to your own hotel. As you walked, your hands would brush against each other’s every so often, but neither of you made any move to take it further.

“Darci’s going to be so jealous in the morning.” You said, making him laugh a little.

“Why’s that?”

“That’s her favorite restaurant in town. Plus, I just got a free meal.” You laughed. A visible shiver coursed through you as the chilly night air picked up.

“Are you cold?” Harrison asked, already taking off his letterman’s jacket.

“Thank you.” You replied, taking his offer of warmth. Your short sleeves did nothing to shield you from the cold, but he had at least been prepared enough with long sleeves. “Are you sure you won’t get chilly?”

“I’ll be fine.” He reassured you.

“I had a really nice time tonight. I’m glad your mum invited me.” You admitted happily.

“Me, too. Apart from all of the embarrassment I just went through, I enjoyed tonight.”

“I never knew you had a secret Batman fanboy side.”

“I never knew you had a secret Catwoman fangirl side.” He countered with a smile.

“Guess that means we make a good team, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

As you smiled at him, completely content under the moonlight, he wanted nothing more than to kiss you right then, to taste the sweetness of your strawberry lip gloss again. The last bit of your walk was filled with you two arguing over Batwoman and Catwoman, two things that neither of you had ever realized you had in common before.

Harrison’s wish finally came true the next day, as you two ran through the kiss scene multiple times. It was strange at first for him, because his sister and mother were intently watching, proud to see him in action, even if it was just a kiss scene over and over again. But, with you there, he grew more and more comfortable with each take.

As a few more weeks passed by, Harrison thought that perhaps you and Davey had officially ended things, but then he heard through Darci that you had magically worked it out. Whatever magic it was, he was upset about it, and he found himself increasingly irritated at the mention of Davey.

“Ooh, we finally get to meet the Davey tonight?” Darci asked as the five of you enjoyed lunch in between shots. It had been two weeks Harrison’s mother and sister visited, and now Davey was coming, much to Harrison chagrin.

“He’s only here for two days.” You explained, taking a bite of your sandwich.

“Ah, so you’ll be very busy, then.” McKell teased, suggestively nudging your side with his elbow. You brushed off his comment with a laugh, avoiding Harrison’s eyes.

“We should get him to do that calzone challenge with us.” Jojo said to Harrison. Although Jojo and McKell had been rather supportive of Harrison’s interest in you at the beginning, they seemed to forget about it most of the time now— for which he was actually kind of grateful.

The conversation couldn’t go any further as the director came into the room, holding the script in his hands. The look on his face told all of you that something was up. He looked between you and Harrison before speaking, “Change of plans for tomorrow. Eileen isn’t feeling well, so we’ll film Bea and Leo’s scene tomorrow instead of her scenes.”

“But tomorrow was supposed to be—“ You started, but cut yourself short, realizing there was no point in arguing. Schedules, plans, things all change, and this was just part of the job. “Never mind.”

“Well, tomorrow will be interesting.” Darci said quietly, voicing what was on everybody’s minds.

The director left with a silent nod, and the room fell silent for a moment. You and Harrison wouldn’t dare to look at each other, both of you feeling awkward suddenly. Making out with Harrison multiple times, especially with your boyfriend there, was not something either of you particularly enjoyed the thought of.

Having to film no more scenes today, Harrison went back to the hotel with Jojo and McKell. He didn’t end up seeing you for the rest of the day, but he was okay with that as he wanted to go as long as he could without meeting Davey. The director had taken some pity on the two of you, asking you to come in later in the morning instead of at 6 AM like usual.

Harrison made his way down to the hotel gym, wanting to utilize his newfound free time. Normally, he’d get his daily workout in after filming, but he didn’t see a reason to not get an early start today. He didn’t expect anyone to be up this early, but as he got closer to the gym, he could hear a voice coming from inside the room, the door cracked just slightly.

“Love, I promise I’ll be back in two days.” The stranger paused before continuing, “You know I’m only here for business, nothing else.”

Curious and trying to decide if he should even enter the room, Harrison snuck a quick glance through the crack in the doorway. He felt his blood run cold as he immediately recognized the guy sitting on the weight bench. Afterall, Harrison had looked at your social media enough to recognize your olive-skinned boyfriend, Davey.

“Bit early for you, isn’t it?” Harrison nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your voice from down the hall. He heard Davey mumbled something on the other side of the door, probably having heard your voice too.

“Yeah, but I just figured I’d start my pull-ups early today.” He replied before opening the door for you, acting like he had no clue that Davey had been in there.

“Hello, gorgeous.” Davey said to you, completely ignoring Harrison. He stood from his spot at the weight bench to wrap his arms around your waist and kiss you possessively.

“Davey, this is Harrison, he plays Leo. Harrison, this is Davey.” You introduced the two guys.

Davey looked Harrison up and down with his dark brown eyes and seemed to stand straighter, even though the blond was inches taller. Harrison was the first to step forward and politely outstretch a hand to the raven-haired guy before him. With a tight smile, Davey shook his hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Davey turned back to you, “Spot me?”

“Actually, I wanted to-” Your eyes drifted over to the treadmill as Harrison got in position to start his pull-ups at the bar. Davey looked at you expectantly, and you nodded, silently agreeing to stand there and spot Davey while he bench pressed.

Slipping on his headphones and turning on some music, Harrison began his workout. He played his music loud enough to block out your conversations with Davey. Not only was it none of his business, but god, Harrison really hated everything about him already. Hearing silence between you and Davey when his song changed, Harrison spared a glance over towards you. He was surprised when he found your eyes trained on him or, rather, trained on his abdomen that seemed to stick out from his tight white shirt. Still unaware of his eyes on you, your own eyes trailed up to his arms, watching as they flexed with each pull-up. Feeling flustered by your fixed gaze, Harrison faltered a little, and your eyes immediately darted back to Davey in front of you. Harrison couldn’t help the proud smile that ghosted his lips as he continued— you were checking him out.

Harrison finished his workout and decided to get cleaned up before heading to set in half an hour, leaving you and Davey in the gym. When he left, he was surprised that you were still spotting Davey, getting no work out in like you had planned. The whole time he was getting cleaned up (and brushing his teeth repeatedly to ensure he had good breath), he just kept picturing your staring in his head. He had worked very hard to get his body in this shape, and he was very proud of himself too, but he was even prouder that you’d clearly taken notice. If anything, it almost excited him that they’d be filming this scene today. There were a few times in this episode specifically in which Leo is shirtless, but none of those scenes had been filmed— and if this scene was going to be anything like it was scripted to be, then you’d definitely get a better show than in the hotel gym.

He didn’t see you again until the two of you were on set, in full costume and makeup. He had a loose shirt on, but underneath it, his chest had been painted with blues and purples to make convincing bruises. As he went to his mark, Leo’s makeshift bed on the floor of the cellar, Harrison spotted Davey across the set, looking bored and unhappy. His blue eyes drifted over to you next, and he refrained himself from smirking as he noticed your makeup artist applying chapstick to your lips.

While you gathered your prop lantern and the lights dimmed around you all, Harrison made himself comfortable under the ragged blankets. The director called out “Action!” and Harrison closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep as he waited for you to come into the shot. Hearing your footsteps, Harrison stirred, blinking his eyes open.

“Bea, is everything alright?” He asked, looking up at you as you stood over him.

“Let me see your body.” You said definitively.

“Beatrice—” He started, but you cut him off.

“Show me, Leo. I want to see it.” At your words, Harrison shifted slowly, moving as if in pain. He pulled the blankets down and went to roll up his shirt. “Take your top off.”

He paused, looking at you questioningly with a hint of fear in his eyes. Groaning a little, Harrison sat up and removed his shirt. He looked at you expectantly, and you set aside the lantern before kneeling on the blankets beside him. Your hand drifted over the painted bruise tentatively, ghosting over the same abs that you had been studying just hours earlier. Harrison waited for you to deliver your next line, knowing he was scripted to kiss you after it. It felt like ages that he was waiting for you, wanting nothing more than to kiss you right now. His mind went blank as your eyes found his and you leaned in to kiss him.

It was unscripted, and he was surprised, but he didn’t let his surprise stop him from immediately kissing you back. Your chapstick tasted of strawberries, just as it had the last time the two of you had a kissing scene, and he swore he was in love with the taste of it. He expected to hear the director yell cut, to hear him question why you suddenly improvised, but when nothing came, he just continued to kiss you. You pulled back, a shy smile on your face, “I don’t want you to hide your body from me anymore. It’s too nice to be hidden.”

His heart leapt as he leaned forward to catch your lips once more, this time scripted. His hands shuffled to your waist, pulling you down to lay beside him as he rolled onto his side, his chest leaning over yours. Your fingers tangled into his hair, and he savored the feeling.

You pulled back again, whispering up to him, “No more hiding.”

“No more hiding.” He reaffirmed. As he continued to kiss you, his hands sensually wandered down your back, keeping you as close to him as possible. Part of him wanted to pause the intimate scene and pinch himself, just to make sure it was really happening, but he was worried if he stopped kissing you now that he’d never get the opportunity to kiss you like this again.

“Cut!” The director called, and Harrison reluctantly pulled away from you. He could’ve sworn a small frown passed your lips as he looked down at you, not having shifted off of you yet.

“Spearmint— my favorite.” You teased quietly, as if it was only for the two of you to hear. As you laughed underneath him, Harrison couldn’t help but wonder what his younger self would think if he knew he’d one day get to make out with Y/N Y/L/N. Even if it was just for the show, it was a sight that he’d always want to remember.

“I’ve always enjoyed the taste of strawberries.” He replied softly, rolling away from you.

The director ran you two through a couple pointers for the scene, and, to Harrison’s surprise, he even suggested Bea kissing Leo first, just like you had improvised. You reasoned that you forgot your line momentarily, but something about the way you kissed Harrison made him feel like that wasn’t the case; no, it seemed like you’d truly wanted to kiss him.

After running through the scene a few more times, the director was satisfied. While you stayed behind on set to film more scenes, Harrison returned to his hotel room. Just as he was searching his toiletry bag for some much-needed chapstick, his phone began to ring with a Facetime call. Seeing Harry’s contact photo light up on his screen, he accepted and set his phone aside momentarily. He didn’t need to wonder what Harry (and most likely Tom, Tuwaine and maybe even Sam) were calling about— he had made the dire mistake of telling his easily-excited best friends about today’s scene.

“Why are we looking at your ceiling?” Harry asked almost immediately.

“I’m, uh, looking for lip balm.” Harrison admitted quietly and smiled to himself when he found some. He quickly put it on and then grabbed his phone, heading to his bed where he could comfortably talk to his friends.

As expected, his friends let out an incoherent chorus of excitement. Sam seemed to calm down enough first to ask (more like, shout through the phone), “How was it?”

“Does she really kiss with tongue? Remember Jack used to say-” Tom started, and Harrison scoffed, hearing the name of one of their old classmates who swears he had a summer fling with you once.

“I still don’t believe him, but no, not today at least.” Harrison was honestly a bit embarrassed to admit it. You were in a relationship… with a possibly cheating moron, but still. It just didn’t feel right to talk about you in that way.

“Not today? So there could be another time!” Tuwaine shouted encouragingly.

“Is she still with that prick?” Tom asked.

“Yes, but,” Harrison paused, and they all looked at him expectantly, waiting for elaboration, “I think he might be cheating on her.”

“What makes you say that?” Harry questioned. “Mate, just because you fancy her doesn’t mean her boyfriend’s a cheater.”

“No, I mean I heard him on the phone, and he said he was in Liverpool for business, not for his girlfriend.” He reasoned, “I’m just very suspicious of him.”

“You should tell her if you think he is.” Sam stated, “If he isn’t, then, oh no, you’re on bad terms with her boyfriend, who probably already hates you after today. If he is, well, she’d hate you if she finds out you kept it from her.”

Harrison let out a small sigh as the others nodded. “I don’t know. It’s not my place. Besides, she said something a few weeks about him wanting an open relationship. Maybe it’s that?”

“Okay, look, forget I asked about him.” Tom said, shaking his head, while the others looked at Harrison skeptically through the phone, “How was it to finally have your drama school dreams fulfilled?”

“Fucking heaven.” Harrison admitted with a laugh.

For the next week, Harrison resisted the urge to tell you about Davey. He wanted to, he really did, but whenever he’d finally be alone with you and mentally prepare himself for the conversation, you would always just seem so happy and content. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb your happiness, especially when it was Harrison making you happy. After Davey left, it’s like something changed within you, and Harrison had no clue what it was, but he enjoyed it.

‘You have to tell her.’ Harrison read over his most recent text from Tom again. He let out a small sigh, trying to get the courage to tell you as you sat across from him at the booth.

It was Saturday, and you two, along with Darci, Jojo, and McKell, had made your way to a club, wanting to celebrate another week down. With only two episodes left to film, you all knew your time together was starting to run low. You were all a few drinks in by now, happily buzzed. Jojo and McKell were off somewhere, probably attempting to be each other’s wingmen. Darci was telling you a story so wild that Harrison wondered if it was even true. He finished the rest of his drink and shuffled out of the booth.

“I’m going to grab another drink.” Harrison said to you two, and, without waiting for a response, he left. He made no move to flag down the bartender, leaning against an empty spot in the bar. Pulling on the collar of his blue shirt, he started to feel hot, unsure if he could handle this.

“What happened to getting another drink?” You asked him, stepping up beside him.

“Where’s Darci?” He replied, not wanting to answer your question.

“Found a friend in the crowd.” You laughed and turned to flag down the bartender. You ordered a round of shots, to Harrison’s surprise.

“Are you good?” He asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” You nodded, but with how your eyes were glazed over the alcohol and another unreadable emotion, Harrison didn’t quite believe you. Playfully, you nudged him, “I should ask you the same thing. You’re the one who’s been moping all night for god knows why.”

“I haven’t been moping.” He argued as a tray of four shots was placed in front of you two. You handed one to him and took one for yourself.

“Cheers to another week done.” You clinked your shot glass against his before both of you downed them.

As you went to grab your second shot, Harrison reached a hand and stopped you. Concerned, he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Davey and I broke up— for good this time.” You admitted, and his hold on your wrist softened while he looked at you pitifully. “He told me when he was here that he went through with his ‘open relationship’ plan, even though I never agreed to it, so he’s been basically cheating on me since I left for this job. Then tonight, he drunkenly texts me, and I know it’s just a booty call. He’s done it for years, but now I actually see it for what it is. So now, my shitty boyfriend is gone, I’m finally single, and my only plans for tonight is to get properly drunk. Maybe even hookup with a stranger— god knows it’s been a while since I had decent sex.” Harrison was speechless, and you continued, a smile finding its way to your face at the end of your venting. “Dance with me after this shot?”

“Do I have a choice?” He asked playfully, feeling your mood lighten once more. You winked at him, handing him a full shot glass. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on you and to keep you from drinking anymore.

After you both drank back the burning liquid, you grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the dancefloor. Harrison had felt the alcohol that was flooding his system earlier, but the colored lights, pounding music, and countless bodies around him seemed to make the alcohol hit him harder. There was a weight off his shoulders, knowing you were actually single as you danced with him, and yet he still felt strange about his current state with you— were you truly into him or was he just the first guy you could drunkenly hook up with?

You turned to face him, a small frown on your face, “Haz, you’re being a bit of a killjoy.”

It was then that he realized, while you were fully grinding on his body, he was relatively motionless. Your hands found his, and you planted one on your hip and another on the small of your back, low enough though that it teetered being on your ass. You leaned in closer to him, letting him get a whiff of your perfume. While one of your hands trailed along the hem of his shirt, daring to even dip below his shirt, the other traced through his hair.

As you planted a kiss on Harrison’s neck, not caring at all for the dancing bodies around you, you heard him let out a strangled groan of your name. Your nails light scratched over the deep V in his hips, hooking onto where his jeans met the line.

“Should we get out of here?” You asked Harrison, your lips right next to his ear as your voice dripped with seduction. He felt his heart flip with intoxicating excitement before he was immediately reminded of the gravity of the situation. You went to kiss him, but he moved back quickly, stepping out of your reach. Pouting, you asked, “Do you not want me? After all this time?”

“No, I do.” Harrison insisted. “I want you, but not like this, not when you’re drunk. You’re not in the right headspace for this. I don’t want to be your drunken rebound.”

“How can you be a rebound when it’s always been you?”

Harrison sighed. Oh, how much he’d love to hear that from you— sober. He was saved from having to reply when Darci, McKell, and Jojo found you two. They looked at the two of you skeptically, but Harrison just shook his head.

“I’m going to take Y/N back to the hotel.” He said as he stepped closer to the group so that they could hear him over the music.

“We’ll come, too.” Jojo insisted, even though, with his words slurred and his eyes glazed over, he was thoroughly drunk, too.

“Where did Y/N go?” McKell asked, realizing your sudden absence.

“Oh god,” Harrison muttered, and the four of them dispersed in the crowd to find you, tripping over the other sweaty bodies. Darci found you first, unable to stop you from having a couple more shots.

“No, no, you’re done.” She argued with you. You reached for the last shot that she had taken from you, but, in your intoxicated state, you easily lost your balance. Harrison quickly wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you up.

“I don’t think she can walk.” Jojo commented.

“What gave that away?” McKell asked sarcastically.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” With a small sigh, Harrison, as the most sober of the group (though he still felt fairly tipsy), proceeded to lead you out of the club.

Darci hailed a cab for the five of you, and while it was an illegally tight fit, you all made it work. You leaned on Harrison as he was pressed right up against you. On your other side sat Jojo. You mumbled softly to Harrison, one of your hands falling onto his knee, “Do you remember that year when they put up mistletoe at school?”

“Where are you going with this?” He asked you softly.

“I saw you kiss Vivian at the one outside of the gym, and I couldn’t walk in that area for three months without thinking of you. I was so jealous of her, and you just looked like such a good kisser, which I’m happy to report you are.”

“Babes, maybe stop with the drunk talking.” Darci said, because all of you could tell this was stuff sober you would never say.

Harrison looked at you in surprise— he barely even remembered when Vivian dragged him under the mistletoe, so the fact that you remembered and were jealous? And you said he was a good kisser, too. He felt a glimmer of pride overcome him.

“Ask me tomorrow, it’s the truth.” You shuffled in your seat, laying your head against Jojo’s shoulder, “Jojo, wanna know a secret?”

“Y/N, maybe-” Darci started, but Jojo cut her off.

“No, go on, Y/N.” He laughed, wanting to hear your drunk thoughts.

“Do you think I’d make a good Catwoman?” You asked, words slurring together as you grew tired.

“Catwoman? Like Anne Hathaway?” He questioned, and you hummed a ‘yes’. “Yeah, you’d make a good Catwoman.”

“Good. Tell Haz he needs to my Batman then.” Your voice was quiet, as if it was something just meant for the two of you to hear, but your voice wasn’t nearly as soft as you had thought it was, meaning Harrison and the rest of your friends were truly aware of your little drunken secret

“Okay, I’ll tell him.” Jojo reassured you, a shit-eating grin on his face as he glanced over your head to look at the embarrassed Harrison.

The rest of the car ride was silent, and Harrison helped you out of your seat. With the help of the others, he got you safely inside your hotel room. Everyone retreated to their own rooms, except for Harrison who stayed with you. He laid you down on your bed and went searching for your pajamas, which to his luck were stowed underneath your pillow.

“Can you change or—?” Harrison asked, holding out the clothes to you

“I’ve got it, though I wouldn’t mind you helping.” You said with a wink. As you started to change out of your club clothes, Harrison turned away from you and focused on getting out some much-needed pain reliever and a glass of water for you to have in the morning. He heard you shuffle on the bed behind him before you let out a small huff, “Hazzy, can you come here?”

Hazzy— that was a new nickname. To his surprise, you were already tucked up in bed, your previously worn clothes scattered on the floor around you. He set the water and meds on your nightstand before kneeling to your level, “What’s wrong, love?”

“Do you know why Davey wasn’t my first love?” You asked quietly, your eyes beginning to droop with sleep. You reached a hand out to tentatively run your fingers over his cheek before you cupped it, smiling softly at him.

He had a hunch, but he played along anyway, wanting to hear you say it, in case he never heard it again. “Why?”

“Because you were.” Your voice was so quiet that he barely heard you, but he was so glad that he did. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, and you let your hand fall from his face.

“Get some sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

“Can you stay tonight? Please?”

“Of course, love.” Harrison stood to his full height, and when he looked at you again, you were already asleep. He softly readjusted the blankets on your bed to make sure you were warm enough, before he made his way over to the couch. Grabbing a throw blanket off the back of the couch, he settled into his bed for the night. Just like every other night lately, he drifted off thinking of you, but this time, there was an excited flutter in his heart.

The next day, Harrison woke up to you letting out a groan, loudly asking, “Why the fuck is it so bright in here?”

He slowly sat up from the couch to check on you. A smile crossed his face as you took the pain meds he’d left out and downed the glass of water. Your eyes seemed to bulge out of your head when you noticed his presence in the room. Laughing, he greeted you, “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Please tell me you miraculously don’t remember anything I said last night because I remember, and I don’t want to.” You said, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“Sorry to disappoint then.” He sent you a sympathetic smile.

With a sigh, you patted the spot beside you on your bed. Wordlessly, Harrison got up from the couch and came to sit beside you on the bed. He expected you to say something, but when you were silent, seemingly caught up in your thoughts, he spoke up, “Did you mean it? When you said I was your first love?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in your reply, and you turned to finally meet his eye, “It was a very intense schoolgirl crush, hence why I hated Vivian after that mistletoe incident, but seeing you again just made me realize that it was more than just a crush. I’ve regretted saying no to you all those years ago ever since you came back into my life.”

“Well, I thought I was over my crush on you, but turns out, there are just some things time can’t change.”

A comfortable silence overfell you two again before you finally spoke up with the words that had been on your mind for weeks, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“I think I’m in love with you, too.” Harrison sealed his words by leaning in to kiss you.

With no script to follow now, he felt fireworks as you kissed him back. One of your hands drifted to the back of his neck, silently urging him to continue kissing you. His hands snaked around your waist before he shifted to lay on his back, rolling you on top of him. You deepened the kiss, your tongue finding its way into his mouth. He moaned at first, fully enjoying himself, before his lips curved into a smile, and he started to laugh against your lips.

“What’s so funny?” You asked, pulling away from his lips. His hands wandered from your hips up to where your own hands were resting on his chest, and he casually intertwined your fingers.

“It’s nothing.” He said in an attempt to play it off, but the smile on his face told you that whatever he was thinking was hilarious to him. “You remember Jack Evans? He told everyone that you were the best french kisser in school, and, well, he’s not wrong.”

You let out a scoff before giggling to yourself, “First of all, how many girls have you french kissed from drama school and should I be jealous? Second of all, Jack was an ass who couldn’t kiss for shit, but I’ll take it as a compliment that he told everyone that.” You leaned down until your lips were just barely touching, “And thirdly, do you want to keep talking about drama school, or do you want me to keep kissing you?”

“You don’t need to be jealous, but I kinda like that you are.” He replied with a cheeky smile. “And you’re right. He was an ass.”

“And for the last one?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

Harrison pretended to think about it for a second before he let go of your hand to cup your cheek, bringing your lips crashing back down to his.

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

It started with a whisper

I originally wrote ‘Like I did with you’ as a one-shot but people wanted a sequel. This turned out to be waaaaay longer than expected (4.7k word count). Inspired by Everybody Talks by Neon Trees. I hope you lot enjoy!

Ao3

(Also this is Mari’s new outfit, all credits go to the original artist)

————

Two teens stood upon the balcony of a large banquet hall, exposed to the midsummer night air. The sky was a lilac blanket that hung over the Parisian buildings, speckled with glowing stars. The moon, with it’s crescent smile, beamed down of the young couple.

Hey, baby, won't you look my way?

Marinette’s eyes were closed as she rested her head upon his shoulder, relaxing after the night’s rapid escalation. Tonight she had arrived at the ball with the intent to be there for her friends, but somehow she found herself within the arms of Gotham’s (and probably Paris’) Ice Prince. She had overheard his nickname from the Gotham students, one of which being Jon, who was in the middle of mocking the young Wayne. She had never considered that nickname as suitable; sure he was temperamental & had a tendency to snap, but icey to the core? No.

I can be your new addiction

Damian was calm. For the first time in his life he felt like he could take a breath. His exhale was carried off by a small gust of wind, the bush over hanging the stone railing rustled. With his inhale, the scent of Marinette’s perfume became present once more. Mixed with the crisp night’s air, her usual scent of pastries was mixed with what could only be described as ambrosia. His phone vibrated within his pocket, it was never on volume due to the potential risk it caused during his heroic activities.

“Shit.” Notifications covered his screen, multiple tweets, Instagrams and Tiktoks in which he had been tagged in. But the alert came from his family’s private messaging chat. The whole thread was a shit storm, Grayson and Todd’s messages were completely capitalised (he learnt years ago this meant ‘to yell’ in writing form) and both had multiple ‘keyboard spasms’. Drake, like the thorough detective he is, had combed through the images and videos, investigating their validity. His honorary sisters had replied with ‘awwwww’(s) and ‘Omg we MUST meet this girl! I need to know how she tamed the demon!’. He could practically hear Brown’s shrill voice from across the ocean.

Hey, baby, what you gotta say?

No reply from his father or Alfred. The two of them were the only semblance of ‘normal’ paternal figures he had within his life, after the sham of a relationship he had previously held with his grandfather. Their silence unnerved him.

Marinette had noticed his attention had shifted to his phone, her own mobile was buzzing away within her baby pink purse. Messages, notifications of account tagging and comments galore. A sigh left her lips when she saw her parents seemed to be none the wiser. Good, she didn’t need to deal with future adoration for ‘The boy who swept our daughter off of her feet’ (or something along those lines).

Her cheeks regained some of the warmth they held before as she thought of her parent’s reaction. Scrolling through her Twitter she saw her friends had posted multiple images of the night’s events, majority being her shared dance.

Chloé Bourgeois @TheBestBourgeois

what kind of Disney shit is this? (Insert video of two teens dancing around an mostly empty dance floor.)

Alix Kubdel @Sk8trGirl

Replying to @TheBestBourgeois

I KNOW RIGHT?! THEY WERE FUCKING FLOATING!!!

All you're giving me is fiction

She was thankful that they hadn’t tagged her but she hadn’t been spared by others in attendance. Her post thread had blown up, thousands had commented and even more had viewed the evidence. There was no way she would come out of this unscathed.

“Has anyone been on Twitter today?” The blonde of the family asked as she walked into the dining room. Her eyes focused on her scrolling screen, brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually has anyone seen what’s happening on any of our socials?”

It was early in the afternoon and the family had recently returned home after a straining stakeout. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and the Batfam had to deal with his minions. Dick’s arm was in a sling (sprained from a grapple gone wrong), Jason was icing his hand, Alfred was stitching Bruce’s chest wounds while Tim and the girls escaped without severe injuries. All were still recuperating and finally able to recharge.

Alfred always enforced a strict ‘no devices at the dinner table’ rule; no matter how urgent it was, it could wait until after sustenance was consumed. Tim strongly opposed this, but there was no arguing with Agent A. This all surmises that probably no one had seen the crap storm on social media.

I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time

Bruce sighed, bringing his free arm up to rub his eyes. Tilting his head back to look at Steph, “Who was it this time?” Barbara quickly took out her phone to see what Stephanie was talking about, all the while glancing accusingly at Dick and Jason. Both of whom held up their arms (or in Dick’s case arm), declaring their innocence.

“It wasn’t fucking me!”

“Jason! Language!” Dick shot a glare at Jason and was met with one in return. “It wasn’t me either.”

“Then who-“ Bruce started before being cut off by his most rambunctious daughter.

I found out that everybody talks

Stephanie with a squeal, exclaimed that it was Damian. Visions of what the Wayne brat could have done flashed through the heads of everyone in the room. He had been sent overseas before the quarantines and lockdowns hit. During Damian’s first month in France he had been forced into online schooling and then finally when he got to go to in-person classes he hated it. Described the class as a kindergarten with petty and vindictive toddlers.

Had he broken someone’s arm? Was that person of such importance that it had spread over multiple social media platforms? France’s government had announced on June 15th, that teens were now being inoculated so him having COVID-19 was doubtful. Had he insulted the wrong person? Had he taken over the government? He certainly had the potential.

Everybody talks, everybody talks

What they saw stunned them, even Steph as she watched it for the 7th time. Damian Wayne was dancing. But not only that, he was dancing with a girl.

It started with a whisper

“What is this shit?”

No one verbally objected to Jason’s outburst but he was sent a harsh glare from Alfred, Dick and Bruce. Their focus soon returned to the images and videos before them. Babs’ and Steph’s phones were returned to them as the others ran to grab their own devices. They all met back at the table, comparing the posts and comparing their notes.

I can hear the chitchat

“There’s no way this can be real.”

“Jesus Tim,” Barbara rolls her eyes, “have you seen the amount of posts there are? You’d be an idiot to think otherwise.”

Take me to your love shack

“I’m with Tim, how do we know this isn’t some skit. I mean, Demon Spawn almost looks normal. That’s a matter of concern.” He almost dry heaved when he agreed with Tim. Damian couldn’t be capable of naturally exuding that amount of humanity unless there was something in it for him.

Mamas always gotta backtrack

“I was just saying Babs, that we should check the credibility of these images. For all we know they could be gorilla glued together and trying to get unstuck.” Tim cringed at his own reasoning, he really needed to either sleep (probably not going to happen anytime soon) or find his favourite coffee brand (which had been one of the first to vanish after the covid hoarders appeared).

When everybody talks back

Dick was too busy freaking out and spam messaging the youngest Wayne, to defend Damian’s humanity. The family saw this and followed suit, wanting to get information from the source.

Chat name: Alfred supremacy

BigBird: AHHHHHH DAMIAN!

BigBird: YOU LOOK SO CUTE!!!

BigBird: HAIFJDNDNFI

LittleWing: WTF HAPPENED DEMON SPAWN YOU LOOK ALMOST HUMAN

Babs: who knew the city of love would influence the brat

Blondie: they are so cuteeeeeee!

Blondie: We HAVE to meet her!

Silent-but-deadly: agreed.

Timbo: YO DEMON

Timbo: Apparently the videos are legit

Timbo: are you being blackmailed?

And it just devolved into more chaos from there, fueled by the fact that they saw Damian’s ‘Blood Son’ account appear online before vanishing once more. Dick shrieked, “I FOUND HER ACCOUNT!”

The family gathered around the eldest son, peering over his shoulder to view his iPhone 12max screen. They saw a young girl’s Instagram account. It was locked but they could see her profile pic, the girl had black hair and looked to be if Asian decent. They compared it to the videos but it was hard to see due to the hall’s lighting and the minimised facial features of the pfp. Alfred suggested that they search up her username and see who has tagged her, some might have other photos of her.

After research for awhile, the family began to get frustrated with lack of results.

Hey honey you could be my drug

You could be my new prescription

“Come on!” Jason complained, “What kind of teenage girl doesn’t post her life online?” He ignored the girls glares and went back to researching. How had the account by the name of ‘mariiiiinette’ to managed to prevent the entire Wayne clan from accessing it? Damn Instagram privacy settings. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “We are fucking stupid. Why don’t we just use the Bat-computer? It would be so much fucking easier.”

“It shouldn’t be used for civilian issues-“

Too much could be an overdose

“The girl could be a meta for all we know! We aren’t safe until we know who she is.” Jason points a finger at Tim, his paranoia flared up and even though he would never admit it, Jason would do anything to protect each member of his family (although Bruce is still debatable).

All this trash talk make me itching

Barbara and Tim took their usual positions as Oracle and Red Robin (who had been banned from patrol due to lack of sleep). The rest of the Batfam stood behind them either with arms crossed or still failing at researching.

Oh my my shit

“The account is owned by a girl called Marinette Dupian-Cheng. She is French-Chinese and her parents own a popular bakery. Also if it wasn’t already obvious, she goes to Collège Françoise Dupont, aka Damian’s French school.” Tim begun informing his nosy family, “But this account has been inactive for the past 6 months, which is strange due to her frequent posting schedule before hand. It seems she probably has a second account and this is her old one.”

Everybody talks, everybody talks

“Not only that,” Barbara interrupted. “There are unopened messages from other accounts that accuse her of being a bully. There is a whole Facebook page about this girl and how she has been hurting her old friends, but neither side seems reliable. The so called victims seem to be twisting the truth but there is barely any information about Marinette so we can’t disprove it either.”

“Read out some of the messages.” Bruce took a cup of coffee from Alfred and sipped it.

The main screen of the bat computer displayed a Facebook group with the banner picture being a photo of Marinette. “They are mostly complaints expected of teen girls when there is a girl they don’t like; ‘Marinette is such a know-it-all’, ‘She is constantly insulting Lila’s intelligence’. They go on to talk about how Marinette was briefly expelled from the Collège before being reinstated by the principle for a reason unknown to them.”

Everybody talks too much

“Her school reports up until this year were good. The newest one states, ‘While Marinette is a wonderful and bright student, I encourage her to settle her disagreements outside of class. This seems to only be a recent occurrence and I implore her to go to the guidance council if she is in need of help.’” A beat of silence echoes through the cave, Tim sighed. “Jason’s meta theory could be correct. She could have just recently started exhibiting her abilities and using them to get what she wants.”

“Bruce what do you want to do?”

“We’re going to Paris.”

She opened her eyes to the blaring morning light that streamed through the blinds. Her lashes still painted with mascara that refused to leave. She felt a pang of sorrow when she was removing her makeup and dress last night, she never wanted the night to end. She shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, covering her mouth when she yawned. She greeted her mother as she entered the kitchen to get breakfast.

She glanced at her phone and there was the chaos that was started hours ago and it was still occurring. It was the weekend, she wouldn’t need to deal with her classmates until Monday. But she would still have to survive her parent’s interrogation. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her mother smirking at her.

Everybody talks

“Nadja told me some interesting news about last night.” Marinette held her breath, glaring at the toaster, willing it to hurry up so she could escape. “Well,” Sabine patted her shoulder before rubbing Mari’s back. “I know you didn’t want to go but I hope you had fun.”

With that she exited the kitchen, probably going to help her father in the bakery. The ravenette stared after her, eye widened in shock, jumping when the toaster went off. Buttering her toast she went over the conversation, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had expected a ‘When do I get to meet the oh so famous prince?’ or ‘Should I be expecting a new guest sometime in the near future?’ or at least a ‘Who was that young man, Bǎozàng (宝藏 it means treasure)?’ But she said nothing.

A small smile was plastered upon her face as she changed and went down to help her parents in the bakery. Her father didn’t say anything either, he gave her a knowing smile before continuing to kneed the dough. She sat at the the store front as the cashier whilst her parents were busy making ‘Paris’s Finest Pastries’.

Her musings slowly faded as she was brought back to reality by badly hushed whispers. Two young preteens were by the bread roll casing near the door. She had seen them come in before with their parents, the girls went to the prestigious international school over in the 16th arrondissement. The one with purple hair kept whispering to the brunette, both ‘subtly’ glancing towards her. Using her enhanced hearing she listened in on their conversation.

“That’s her, I swear that’s her in the video.”

The blonde’s face soured likes she sucked on a lemon. “No, it wasn’t good lighting there is no way he would dance with someone like her.”

Everybody talks

Marinette had tough skin but their words had an impact, only a small one due to her defence mechanism of repressing emotions. She stopped listening and went back to drawing in her sketchpad, she was in desperate need of a new school outfit.

The two girls eventually came up to the counter, goods in hand. Marinette rung up and bagged their items (paper because save the turtles sksksk) in a tired daze. A phone was shoved into her face, her eyes barely adjusted to view the screen before the blonde spoke.

“Is this your instagram?” She asked in a tone so snobbish that it should be illegal from a person her age. Marinette finally was able to view the screen that was barely an inch from her face. Her old Instagram ‘mariiiiinette’ was displayed on screen, she hesitantly nodded, gaze flicking back to the two in front of her.

The blonde’s nose scrunched up and the purple goth girl squealed in delight. They soon after left the store, their conversation had devolved into ‘See! I told you’ and ‘Yeah, yeah. You were right.’

Walking to school on Monday, she had finally come down from cloud nine. She still rode the tail end of her high as she rushed along her path to her campus, she wasn’t going to be late but she sure wasn’t going to be early. She had spent the better part of the weekend designing and sewing a brand new outfit. Her new look was composed of a black cropped singlet (L'amour gagne hemmed into it and it’s straps), paired matching peach plaid cropped overshirt and a-line miniskirt. Her hair was down, ballet flats were worn and her makeup was the usual with the added edition of a rose gold eyeshadow.

Even though her face was covered in a black and gold mask, she looked hot.

She reached the campus and the whispers started again, people were still buzzing from Friday night. Her classmates, the majority of her grade and the younger years seemed to gossiping before class about the formal’s events. She couldn’t spot any of her friends or the two Gotham transfers, so she was stuck listening the the chitchat. Why couldn’t she have been late like usual?

Damian had a fowl disposition and it showed in multiple icey glares (and that was before he even reached the collège). His family had made their appearance known in Paris at 1am Sunday morning. He could have used his dorm to escape but his family didn’t have the word ‘privacy’ within their vocabulary. He didn’t want to have to pay for a lock replacement due to his brothers’ (most likely Todd with Drake & Grayson laughing at him) lock picking habit.

The Ice Prince was back with full force. He had just been... influenced by all the other couples. Yes he did respect Dupain-Cheng and he appreciated her company & pleasant conversations. He would struggle to hide a small smile at the memory of the dance, even if he denied himself the happiness of normality, he felt content when reminiscing.

“Ooo the Ice Prince is here, did he have a fight with his princess or something?” The voice seemed to mock him.

“The Disney Magic is gone. The demon is back.”

Everybody talks

At the second jeer he shot a glare at the perpetrator. Jon held his hands up in an ‘I surrender manner’, laughing as he joined Damian at his side. The two entered the school’s large foyer and looked to see if any of the classes were open yet. Sadly they weren’t, before he was wrong and the his class was plain torture but this was truely hell.

He saw Dupain-Cheng sitting alone on the stairs, drawing within her sketchpad. He wondered how a girl like her, who always seemed to be involved in other’s lives (for the better) was ignoring all of the comments about her. She felt his focus centre on her, eyes flicking up to meet his, she provided him with a small wave before continuing to draw.

Jon nudged him with an elbow to his ribs and dragged him off to the side, into the boy’s locker rooms. Jon scowled at the door, “It’s a mad house out there. You’ve heard what some people are saying right?”

“Why would I care about these imbeciles?”

Jon jabbed Damian in the chest, causing the demon to stumble. Green eyes darted from blue eyes to the tan finger. “You care when lies hurt people you care about.”

The day began to rapidly decline once the two dance partners took their seats, next to each other. They had both been placed up the back of the class and them sitting together hadn’t been a problem until now apparently. She wasn’t even safe when the teacher started their lecture, whispers and glances were cast towards them. Once the two got to biology it was better, Ms Mendeleiev was a strict teacher and was able to control the class.

Everybody talks

But the recess came. When the bell rang she slowly started packing up her equipment, Alix and Max (who she shared biology with) waited for her; she watched as the Ice Prince left through the door. She knew she didn’t need to be concerned about her friends joining in with the gossiping, if anything they would dispel people and tell them to ‘Mind their own fucking business’ because this whole situations is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

She did receive some slight teasing from Alix about being a Disney princess, but Marinette quipped back about the skater’s fairytale story being ‘Pinknette, the Geek and the Beast’. The three met up with the other two of their group, they had just come from geography. Kim was complaining that Argentina was a state in America.

“That’s Arkansas you idiot!” Chloe shrieked, lightly hitting his arm with her white handbag. Max held his head in his hand as he approached, how had his tutoring sessions failed so badly?

Chloe turned to Marinette, a smile forming from her glare. The blonde examined the designer’s clothing, nodding. “You look like you are about to have a hot girl summer.”

Marinette’s face burned, the tips of her ears coated in red. Alix chuckled and nudged her shoulder.

Everybody talks

“Look at her, she is so desperate for his attention that she probably copied those designs.”

“Why do you think he danced with her anyways? Maybe she has something on him? I mean, she forces him to sit next to her in class, who knows what else she has done.”

What. The. Fuck.

Chloe glowered towards Lila’s posy. “We have a fucking seating plan, those cretins-“ She made a motion to storm over but was caught by the ravenette, looking back to Mari, her rage decreased from a boil to a simmer.

“No Chlo. It’s fine, it’s not worth it.”

Everybody talks... back

The group walked out to the school’s front steps, it was a mad house... a mad courtyard? Students sitting on the stairs, on the grass and standing around mingling, all of them now were staring at her. She held her backpack close to her chest (she had swapped her signature coin-bag purse for the pastel pink bag), pretending its a shield. Her friends circled around her becoming an obstacle to prevent their stares. If people were afraid of a scowling Kim then they don’t know the scorn of Chloe or Alix’s bite. And Max, sweet quiet Max.... you better hope he doesn’t have blackmail on you (he probably does), he can dismantle your life with a single anonymous post.

Rushed footsteps approached them. The group was broken apart by a rude Wayne boy, he swept Mari away from the school and the gossip crowds within. Her four friends shouted at him and he kept walking, shooting a glare at them in response. He kept pushing Marinette forward with a hand placed on the small of her back, her backpack was now swung over his other shoulder.

They ended up in her favourite alcove. She had brought him here with the other Gotham transfers for a native’s tour of Paris. It had always been her safe place to be creative.

It started with a whisper (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“My apologises for our rushed departure but you seemed to want to get out of their anyhow.” His gruff tone danced through the silence, his head still peaking around the corner; watching for any unwelcome guests.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice almost being carried off by the gentle wind. A genuine smile illustrated upon her face.

“We weren’t able to converse after the events of the other night. I would like to formally apologise once more for my actions causing this adverse reaction. If I had kn-“

“You don’t need to apologise!” She squeaked, hiding her eyes behind her fisted hand. Her shoulders curled inwards as she tried to make herself seem as small as possible, a side effect of her common use of her secondary miraculous form: Multimouse.

“I chose to dance with you, you don’t need to apologise for my own actions.” He stared at her with confusion. He had taken the blame so she wouldn’t need to do so herself; but she had taken it anyways. He had given her an out. Why does she always take the blame, even for things out of her control?

“But if I hadn’t danced with you then you wouldn’t have been the focus of the entire school.”

Marinette stepped forward, her eyes hardened and blazing. “Damian Friday night I went there out of obligation to my friends, I didn’t want to be there. But dancing with you? That was the highlight of my week, probably my month too. I enjoyed our time together.” Her face softened, lips twitched downwards ever so slightly. “I don’t regret anything about that night, but do you?”

He was bad at comfort. Everyone in his family avoided him when they were in need, he plainly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t visibly upset but he sensed that she is disappointed that he apparently didn’t share the same opinion of the night. The only thing he regretted about that night was letting Jon call him a coward, but then again if he didn’t he never would have danced with Dupa- Marinette.

He picked up her clenched hand, the tension in her body alleviated at his embrace. He remembered how Grayson would apologise to Kor’i or how his father interacted with Ms Kyle. He brought their hands up and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

And that was when I kissed her (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“I do not regret anything either—“ he cleared his throat, “In fact, I’d appreciate if we would be able to interact more, especially outside of that cesspit.”

Was he...?

It didn’t matter.

She smiled the same dazzling smile she gave him at the dance. She nodded while laughing, “I’d love that.”

Everybody talks

The two stay talking, hidden within their secret alcove for the rest of the day. She texted her parents to say she was with a friend and would be back later that night. Damian didn’t bother texting his family, Marinette knew he had to be back soon due to his dorm’s curfew.

The sun was setting at they walked back together, he did the gentlemanly thing and dropped her off at her bakery door. She could see her mother behind the register inconspicuously looking over at the two of them. Damian’s lips quirked upwards, she was satisfied with his kinda-smile.

He walked back, hands in pockets and a neutral expression upon his face instead of a scowl. He reached his door and took his keys, he found that it was already open. Damn.

His family was splayed out within his two roomed dorm. Todd and Drake were fighting over a place to sit on his bed, whilst his father sat at his desk, watching the commotion. The three of them turned to him as he enter the room, they were the only family members able to attend on short notice; Cain had a ballet audition, Gordon & Brown had concert tickets for tomorrow, Grayson had to take care of Mar’i while Kor’i was on Tamaran and Alfred stayed to ensure no one died during their night time activities.

“We need to talk Damian.” His father stood, leaning onto the desk chair. “The school called and said you had an unexcused absence for half the day. Where were you Damian?”

Damian stared into his father’s eyes. He was fifteen, almost an adult, but was treated like he was ten again.

“I was with a friend.”

“Probably the girl from the dance. Marinette, right?” Todd mocked him. Damian snapped his head in the direction of his bed, glaring at both his brothers.

“That’s what I want to talk about with you Damian. Now I don’t know her personally but from what we’ve discovered through our investigation we have some concerns. What’s happened Damian?”

The youngest Wayne’s glare shifted off of his brothers to the floor, and then finally to his father; his family sitting in wait for his answer. Straightening his posture, his shoulders clicked as he rolled then back. His statement’s tone was sure and steady, “Everybody talks father.”

Everybody talks... back

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 3)

(part 1) (part 2) 

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 3k

chapter warnings: mention of past sexual harassment, very mature karaoke (lol), mention of pornography

Day 63 and you still hadn’t talked about it.  He’d actually gotten to know you a lot better over the past two months, even almost confessing his feelings for you with that stupid half-asleep storybook thing he’d done way back when, but you still hadn’t talked about the night you saw him looking in the rearview mirror.

Tonight actually reminded him of that night; this time was a premiere, for a movie you hadn’t actually been in but apparently you were supposed to go anyways?  He didn’t get it but he figured he didn’t need to.  As long as you came back alone this time, he’d be happy.

Of course, when he saw you step out to the car to leave for the venue, he was confident that would be impossible— not that you ever looked bad on a red carpet or anything, but wow… this was different.

“It’s not too slutty, is it?” you asked him nervously, spinning around to show him the back.  Don’t look at her ass don’t look at her ass don’t look at her ass—   

“Just slutty enough,” he responded with a gloved thumbs up.

“Perfect,” you smiled, and he opened the door for you to get in the back.  He took a moment to catch his breath before circling around to the driver’s side.

You actually chatted with him on the way, which was a new thing you two had started doing when he drove you.  He looked forward to your talks a lot— especially the ones where you ranted about whatever was on your mind.  You would usually apologize for rambling but he liked it; and, you were cute when you got really worked up about something, even if he thought it was kind of trivial.

As he pulled up to the red carpet, with cameras flashing and the indistinguishable yelling of reporters and fans, you shot him a look as if you didn’t want to go.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” you shook your head incredulously, “I just… I wish you would’ve come and seen it.”

He recalled a few weeks back when you offered him a ticket to the premiere showing, but he’d insisted on just sticking to what he knew and letting your assistant have the spare ticket.  “I’ll catch it on Netflix,” he dismissed.

“No, I mean, I wish you were coming with me,” you explained.

Was it hot in here, all of a sudden?  Because his cheeks felt warm.  “Uh, you don’t want me in there.  I always fall asleep in theaters anyways.  Just go have fun and I’ll catch you after.”

“Okay,” you nodded with an adorable little smile.

So he waited, wondering if he should’ve taken you up on it all those weeks ago, but decided he probably made the right call.  He would just embarrass you in a place like that, more than likely, and you had enough to deal with already.  He felt more useful waiting in the wings than being in the spotlight, to use a fittingly-timed theater metaphor.

It was a few hours of him killing time in the car, but he got to relax a little more since the event already had pretty good security on its own.  You’d recommended a book called Flowers for Algernon to him, even lending him your copy for the time being, and so he leaned his seat back and picked up where he’d left off from this morning.  Of course, if he had known that you’d be gone long enough for him to finish, and that the ending was going to make him cry, he probably wouldn’t have read it.  WIth his luck, it was inevitable that he’d be all but sobbing when you texted him to pull the car around.

Wiping his tears and hoping his eyes wouldn’t be too red, he tossed the book into the glovebox and started the engine.  You waved cheerily when you saw him from the entrance, and he attempted to navigate through all the other cars pulling up so he could reach you.  Thankfully, you didn’t have a new friend with you this time— or an old friend.  Jealousy crisis averted, for now.

“How was it?” he asked with a smile as you opened the door and slipped in, unable to hide how happy he was to see you.

“The premiere itself was a lot of fun, I got to see some people I hadn’t seen in ages; the movie, though?  Sort of pretentious,” you admitted as you shut the door and he got the car moving again.  “And way too long!  I could watch movies all day, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch a movie all day!”

“Fair enough,” he laughed.

“What did you do?” you asked innocently.

“I finished your book,” he frowned, trying not to think about it so he wouldn’t get emotional again.  

“Ah, I can tell you’re still a little hurt about it,” you smiled mischievously.  “Should’ve warned you about the ending.”

“No, no,” he disagreed, “it’s not a bad ending just because it’s a sad one… it was a good book.”

You’d already been smiling, but your smile undeniably changed as he watched it in the rearview mirror.  Something softer, something more sensitive.  He liked this one better.  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Just in time to interrupt the moment, you saw something on the passing street outside that caught your attention.

“Ooh, karaoke!” you piped up, pressing your face against the inside of the window excitedly.  “Pull over!”

He chuckled at how easily distracted you were, but did as you’d asked.  He barely found time to slow down to a stop before you were opening the door and running out, flashing your ID to get inside.

He groaned as he realized how completely unsafe it was for you to be in a bar… especially now, when you were at your most recognizable and literally still wearing what you’d had on at the premiere.  Thankfully, he managed to pull the car around and park in the closest spot he could find, jogging to join you inside the bar and hoping you hadn’t already made too much of a scene.  His hopes were dashed the moment he pushed through the door, however.

“Is she perverted like me?  Would she go down on you in a theater?” you sang along with the grungy backing track of Alanis Morrisette’s You Oughta Know; your lips were curled into a faux snarl as you stood on stage with your heels in one hand and the microphone in the other.

Bucky’s head fell into his hands, looking around to see hundreds of bar patrons, nearly all of them with their phones out filming you.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Bucky mumbled to himself, hoping you would somehow hear it and take his advice.  Instead, you pantomimed sucking a dick with a cute little wink and everyone cheered.  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“And I’m here, to remind you,” you continued, jumping around wildly; you looked like you were having the time of your life, honestly.  If he wasn’t so worried about you, he would’ve let himself smile seeing you so happy.

During the bridge, you stole someone’s water off their table and poured a bit on your head, slicking your hair back and shivering from the cold.  There was something about the water dripping down your face, starting to soak your clothes and make your skin glisten...

Bucky glanced around to make sure no one was looking at him before subtly adjusting his jeans.

He watched you sing the entire song, making most of the notes and definitely capturing the anger of the original song— if clearly having a lot more fun with it than most would.  The entire bar cheered when you finished, and you took a moment to take some pictures with people and meet a few fans, which he thought was sweet even if his bodyguard instincts forced him to interrupt after a moment.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he guided you away gently.

“Goodnight!” you waved goodbye to someone who was already buried in her phone and posting the photo you’d taken with her.

“Have a good time?” he asked sarcastically as the two of you began to walk out together.

“Would’ve been better if you hadn’t been glaring at me the whole time,” you smirked.

“I wasn’t glaring, I was just… watching.  You have a good voice, you know.”

You seemed surprised by the compliment.  “Oh.  Thanks.”

“And your stage presence is certainly… energetic,” he grinned.  “I bet your little charade is already trending.”

“I checked, and it is,” you giggled, showing him your phone for a moment where Twitter was open and you were the #7 topic in the United States and climbing.  “And the part where I poured that water on myself is pretty gif-able, don’t you think?”

He raised a brow as he held the back door of the bar open as you slipped back on your heels and walked past him.  “Is that why you did it?  For the reaction?”

“I did it cause it was fun,” you corrected.  “You wouldn’t know anything about that.  And the water thing was just practical, I was getting hot in this dress.”

That didn’t seem to be a problem anymore with the way you shivered in the night air as he walked you through the parking lot.  “Want my jacket?” he offered.

“No,” you frowned, but you eyed the leather with a hungry stare.  He chuckled and took it off, draping it over your shoulders anyways.  “How far is the car?” 

“Uh, a block?  Not much parking this time of night,” he explained.

“Ugh, these heels,” you groaned, “they hurt so bad.  I don’t know if I can make it.”  You began to slip them off but he stopped you.

“You can’t go barefoot out here, god knows what’s on the ground,” he shuddered; what if there was broken glass or something?

“Well, I can’t wear these,” you frowned, “and I probably shouldn’t be walking on asphalt in red bottoms anyway…”

He probably should’ve warned you before he scooped you up into his arms, but it was sort of instinct and he kinda forgot to say anything first.  You squealed a little but then went lax in his grip.

“You’re gonna carry me the whole way?” you asked incredulously.

“It’s only a block,” he shrugged, adjusting you in his arms a bit before starting the walk. 

It got quiet after that, the cool night air rustling the trees and blowing through his hair— frankly, he was a little chilly without his jacket, but it looked better on you anyhow.  The drive home was quiet, too, or at least quieter than usual, but it didn’t feel awkward, necessarily.  It didn’t feel like a lull in the conversation; it felt more like the conversation had just changed from verbal to non-verbal.  You both looked around at the city lights surrounding you on the drive, silent because there was nothing that needed to be said.  It wasn’t nervous, or tense, or anxiety-inducing like most of his interactions with you (or with anyone) could be.

It felt like time spent with an old friend.  He hadn’t known you long enough for that to be accurate, but he was happy to think of you as a new friend.  He just hoped you thought the same.

Arriving at the house, he dropped you off at the front and watched you make a mad dash for the stairs and presumably your bedroom, smiling to himself as he parked the car and came in to follow you.  He saw his jacket tossed onto the couch and your expensive shoes discarded right by the door.  Going upstairs and peeking into your room, he saw your limp form flopped onto the bed, your back exposed from the low cut of the dress.

“You’d better not get comfortable, you’ll kill me if I let you fall asleep with all that makeup on,” he frowned, leaning against the doorway.

"I couldn't fall asleep yet, anyways.  I'm wired."

“Any plans to burn off all that energy?” he pressed.

You groaned a little as you sat up, starting to unclasp all the jewelry on your wrists, around your neck, and on your ears.  “It’ll take me a while to get out of all of this— but not as long as it took me to get into it,” you laughed.  “Then I’m thinking TV and beers.”

“Beers?” he questioned, emphasizing the plural.  “You plannin’ to get toasted right before you go to sleep?”

“No, it’s plural because there’s one beer for me and one beer for you,” you explained with the slightest air of condescension, but he couldn’t really think of it as rude since it was an invitation.

“I don’t want to intrude on your chill evening,” he refuted.

“No, really, you’re not intruding!” you insisted, standing up and setting the jewelry on a nightstand before approaching him and turning to face away from him.  “Will you unzip me please?”

He stammered a little.  “I don’t… see a zipper,” he admitted with a weak voice.

“It’s on the side here, see?” you lifted your arm a bit, and pointed to it.  

Reaching out to touch your zipper was reminiscent of that old boardgame Operation: he needed to touch the zipper and only the zipper, cause if he bumped into anything else nearby, he got the feeling he’d get zapped.

His breath caught a bit as he watched more and more of your skin become exposed, the zipper ending up so low that he could just barely see the top of something lacy around your hips— and he had to stop there because anything more could induce cardiac arrest.  

“Thanks!” you piped up happily, slipping away to your closet to do the rest in private.  “Will you get the beers while I take my makeup off?” you requested through the shut door.

“Sure,’ he replied, turning to leave but realizing he should ask first: “Shiner or Pabst?” 

“Don’t patronize me,” you grumbled, and he laughed because it was a stupid question.  Trodding downstairs, he grabbed the Shiners from the fridge, stopping to check his phone only to see that it had started to automatically send him headlines pertaining to you.

‘Touch of Blood’ star gives impromptu karaoke performance at Queens dive bar!

He laughed at the picture of you onstage, even though he thought it was kind of reductive to describe you by a movie you’d been in so long ago when you had so much great new stuff coming out.  Jumping back up the stairs, beers in hand, he found you makeup-free (aside from some leftover mascara and eyeliner that hadn’t really made it all the way off) and in a robe, laying on the bed as you pointed the remote at your TV.  He thought you looked almost more beautiful like this than you did on the red carpet; of course, objectively, everybody looks better when they’ve been painted to the point of perfection, but he liked the domesticity of this.  When you were casual and relaxed like this, he could almost, almost pretend you were his girlfriend or something.  And not, you know, a global superstar and his employer.

“Beer me,” you requested as he sat down next to you, handing you a bottle and trying to ignore the thorough view of your legs he was getting in that robe.

“Anything good on?” he prompted as he watched you scroll through the channels on the guide.

“Uh, not particularly,” you frowned.  

“They’re showing a game,” he pointed out as you passed the sports channels.

“I’d rather watch this pay-per-view porn,” you rolled your eyes.

He cleared his throat but said nothing because he was confident there was no good response to that.

“Hey, I’m in this!” you beamed, changing the channel quickly.  He nearly had a heart attack until he realized you weren’t scrolling through the porn channels anymore.

He recognized the film instantly as the one of yours that he’d seen the most, for one very embarrassing and slightly sinister reason; looking down to the corner, he saw the HBO logo and realized it wasn’t going to be edited.  His palms got a little clammy but he tried not to worry about it too much.

“Oh, this girl was super nice,” you remembered as you pointed to a character on-screen.  “She had a bigger role but most of it got edited out.”

“That must be a bummer,” he imagined.

“Eh, it happens,” you shrugged.  “Beats getting fired, or recast in the sequel.”

“Have you ever been fired during filming?” he pressed, morbidly curious.

“Once,” you nodded.  “We were only a few days into it so they had no trouble finding somebody new and redoing my scenes.  Just think: I could’ve been a Bond girl if I’d slept with that producer.”

“You— what?!” he squawked.  “You got fired because you wouldn’t have sex with a film exec?”

“I got fired because of ‘creative differences,’” you explained with exaggerated air quotes, “and, unrelatedly, those creative differences surfaced the morning after I refused to get down and dirty with the EP.”

“Jesus,” he shook his head, “that’s… I hope you told someone.”

“Yeah, anonymously.  Somebody will care someday, but not yet.  He’s still too profitable, and not enough people have come forward.”

He glanced over at you, admiring your profile as you kept your eyes on the TV and took a sip of your beer.  When you turned your head and looked back at him, he realized he’d been staring a bit too long.

“What?” you asked, quirking your brow a bit. 

“What?” he repeated.

“You’re staring at me,” you frowned.

“Sorry, I was just… sorry,” he shook his head and looked back ahead.  What he found there wasn’t much less embarrassing, though: he knew all too well that this was the scene right before THE scene.  The scene he’d watched over and over until his arousal overpowered his shame.  The scene that he’d used to try to satisfy his crush on you, but it only made it worse.  The scene that had burrowed into his mind and deepened his obsession even as he fought it with everything he had…

You know, that scene.  And he was about to watch it with you.  

Bucky was completely, entirely, and supremely fucked.

[andypantsx3]

say the word and you know i’ll follow

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 3,262 words

summary: While moving in with Shouto, you get caught up reliving the scene of his confession. Quite literally.

(A smutty oneshot sequel to my fic if i could keep cool.)

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, smut

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, cunnilingus, light bondage

notes: Also cross-posted on my AO3! The manga really has me all in my Todo feels rn but I don't wanna write a whole other fic before I finish the Hawks one, so please have this fluffy smutty one shot as a compromise. It likely won’t make sense unless you’ve read if i could keep cool first, so please check it out if you have the time!

It was sweltering when you stepped outside to make your way to Shouto’s apartment.

A thin film of sweat immediately began to build wherever your skin pressed against the box you carried, and the sun beat down furiously on the crown of your head. You instantly started to second guess your choice to take the train, wondering how dumb of a move it had been to decline an alternative means of transit. It was going to be like being packed into a sardine can and roasted over a hot stove.

Shouto had offered to send an agency car, but there were only so many more times you were going to make the trip from your crumbling student apartment to his place, and you had wanted to make the most of it. You didn’t even really need to bring boxes over just yet--as Shouto had hired a moving company to take care of everything next week--but you didn’t want to lose anything that was inside this one. This one held all your most treasured items--keepsakes from your friends, a pressed white tulip, and all the gifts Shouto had ever given you (minus, of course, the vegetables).

Steeling yourself for an uncomfortable twenty minutes, you set off towards the station, weaving through the tired crowds of people who looked just as sun-weary as you. Thankfully, with a hat over your face and a box you could shift to obscure your features, very few people seemed to recognize you as you did so.

A lot of the media attention surrounding your mishap a year ago had died down, and you had been good about keeping your relationship mostly private, so you weren’t exactly a household name to most people. But there were enough twitter-savvy teens and meme-literate college students that you were sometimes recognized as you went about your daily life.

This time, you were only eyed curiously by one pair of teenage girls as they bundled into the train car across from you, but they didn’t say anything to you, didn’t ask you to reenact the most embarrassing five seconds of your entire life into their phones, as many often did. The box hid you from the rest of the train car, and no one else seemed to take interest in your presence.

After exiting the train at downtown, you made it to Shouto’s building in record time, all but rocket-fueled by your desire to get out of the hot sun. The security team in the lobby of his building gave you friendly nods as you passed, one of them graciously pressing the button for the elevator so you didn’t have to fumble around your box.

You thanked her, making your way into the elevator and elbowing the button for Shouto’s floor. The elevator was even cooler than the lobby, and you shivered in delight as the frigid chill of air conditioning washed over you. God, this building was so fucking nice compared to yours. You were going to be spoiled as fuck once you lived here.

You made it to Shouto’s floor without incident, though digging in your bag for your keys was impossible at the moment, so you knocked on his door as firmly as you could manage with the box still balanced in your arms.

There were a few seconds of silence. Then, the door swung open and Shouto stood there, grinning at you.

His hair still looked a little damp from a recent shower, and he was wearing a dark button up over a soft tee shirt and a pair of dark jeans. He looked unbearably good, as boyishly handsome as ever, and your heart gave an embarrassing little stutter, like it always did whenever you saw him. You suspected it was always going to be like that, no matter how long the two of you had been dating.

Shouto’s eyebrows went up as he considered the box in your arms. That heterochromatic gaze picked over you curiously, expression going carefully blank, like it typically did when he was up to some mischief. And then, after a long moment, he spoke.

“You’re not wearing the scarf,” he said, sounding upset.

You stared up at him, feeling your brow wrinkle. The scarf? It was fucking summer, and the scarf was neatly tucked away in the box you were holding. It was literally boiling hot just outside the well-air conditioned hallways of his building. Why on earth did he think you would be wearing--

You inhaled a little sharply when the answer hit you.

The scarf.

The scarf was the first thing he had mentioned the day he had finally confessed to you. Well, after you had confessed first, really, on national television earlier that week, that you were thirsty as hell for him and were also really bad at picking up subtle clues. Or overt clues. Or any clues, honestly.

But now you were standing in his hallway with a box again, and he was clearly remembering what had happened the last time you had done so.

You wracked your brain for what you had said to him in reply that day, trying to hone in on the words past the sudden swell of embarrassment.

“Uh, it’s in here,” you finally replied, gesturing to the box.

That grey and blue gaze dropped to the parcel in your arms, then flickered up to your face. You pushed the box at him, the way you had the day he’d confessed, feeling just as squirmish as you had then.

What else had you said to him? Something very watery and over dramatic, likely. Something like...

“It’s all, um, there--if you wanted to check,” you said. “Except for the vegetables obviously. But I can pay you back, if you give me a couple months.”

Shouto was clearly suppressing a smirk as he feigned curiosity. “Pay me….what?”

You suppressed your own absurd laugh, wondering how far down mortifying memory lane he wanted to go.

“I also wrote down a recommendation for a new cleaning lady, if you want,” you said, patting the top of the box. “It’s in there. Her name’s Mika, she’s super nice. And I can message you or your manager when I have the money. Just let me know which one you’d prefer. Or I can have Mika drop it off.”

Shouto gripped the box, then, long, elegant fingers pulling back the flaps for him to peer inside. He looked absolutely delighted to find the scarf actually within. In one fluid movement, he pulled the scarf out, depositing the box behind him, and turned back to grab your sleeve, pulling you quickly into the apartment with him.

“Okay, what are you doing with the scarf this time?” you laughed, breaking character.

One white eyebrow went up as Shouto gripped your wrist firmly, eyeing you closely as he pulled off your baseball cap.

“Mm,” he hummed absently in his deep tone. “Something I should have done the first time.” He caught your other wrist, pressing it into the sinfully soft fabric of your favorite accessory.

You looked at him, bewildered, feeling your mouth twist into a slight frown. You rather liked the way things had gone the first time around, considering that you had ended up with a boyfriend at the end of it all. What was his bone to pick with the first time around?

“Uh, if I’m recalling correctly, the first time went great,” you said to him. “Like, really really great. Christening your countertops several different times great.”

There was a flash of white teeth as Shouto grinned.

“Ah, but I missed an opportunity,” he said. A soft sensation slid over your other wrist, and you looked down in confusion.

Then it hit you what he was up to, and your face instantly went up in flames.

A firm tug had your wrists knotted together, and Shouto smirked down at you, tugging you closer by the silky fabric of your scarf. Your stomach swooped at the intent look in his eye.

“I had been upset you weren’t wearing the scarf,” he said. “But there was an easy way to fix that.”

You swallowed heavily, your tongue feeling strangely thick. Your brain was suddenly, but predictably, very very empty.

“Y-yeah. But technically you, um. You did fix it,” you babbled helplessly, limbs growing shivery with static as Shouto pressed closer. He was so warm, and he was so stupidly handsome.

“I’ve, uh, worn it a lot since,” you managed.

Shouto considered you quietly, a familiar, wry little smile pressing at the corner of his mouth.

Before you’d started dating, you’d been confused as hell by that expression, suspecting it meant he was bewildered by your very existence but was too polite to say so. After just over a year together, however, you had learned that was just what his face did when he thought you were being unreasonably appealing. Which, mystifyingly, was mostly when the working part of your brain disconnected from your mouth.

You scrounged around for other coherent words, thoughts thick and sluggish, like you were thinking through pudding.

Shouto, however, was merciful, putting an end to your suffering by leaning down and taking your mouth with his.

All the coherent thought you’d managed to dredge up melted away like frost under the morning sun. You pressed yourself closer to him, leaning up to give him better access to your mouth. Shouto kissed you as stupid as he always did before a hot hand came up to cup your face, thumb sliding over your cheek affectionately.

“It seems I’ve got you in the scarf as I had wanted,” Shouto said quietly, once he let you up for air. “But now I find that the scarf is all I want you in.”

You opened your mouth to respond, though what you might have said was as much a mystery to you as anyone. But all that managed to come out was a choked, breathy little noise.

Shouto laughed.

Then there were large hands on your waist, and the next thing you knew, you were staring down at the wood paneling of Shouto’s floor as it moved underneath you. Shouto adjusted you over his shoulder briefly, and then he was charting a brisk course to his bedroom, depositing you like an errant pillow back onto his sheets.

Your cheeks burned as he crawled over you, gaze hot and searching.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked.

You nodded vehemently, eyes pulled to the little flat sliver of his abs where his shirt had ridden up.

“Good, yeah, I’m so good,” you managed to garble out. You were going to be so embarrassed about this later, but as usual when it came to him, you really couldn’t help it. If you’d learned anything in the year you’d been together, it was that you would always have the world’s fattest crush on Shouto Todoroki.

Strong fingers came up to grasp your chin, tipping your face up for another searing kiss. You managed to loop your bound arms over the back of Shouto’s neck, tangling your fingers in his soft hair and pulling him down to you more firmly.

Shouto flattened himself against you, so that you could feel every strong plane of his body, every hard muscle. You shuddered, and you could feel Shouto smirk against your mouth.

“Like that, do you?” he asked, hands pulling at your shirt. You wiggled so that he could pull it out from under you, sliding it up to rest just below the scarf. In the next second he’d also gotten you out of your pants, so that you were mostly bare to him in the cool apartment air.

Shouto looked you over for a moment, looking like he still couldn’t believe you existed. “Having you over the countertops was something that I wouldn’t change. Something that I won’t change, once you move in.”

Your face went hot and you squirmed underneath him.

“However,” he said softly, “I believe I would have liked to have been more deliberate with you. Taken my time with you,” he paused. “Perhaps...I might have made you come once for every photo of me on your twitter.”

The tips of your ears went hot. Jesus Christ, he couldn’t be serious.

You had deleted that twitter over a year ago, and though he’d apparently been allowed access to the contents by his manager (rude) there was absolutely no way he could remember how many pictures of him you’d retweeted. You’d been the one doing the retweeting, and even you didn’t remember, though you thought the number was probably embarrassingly high.

“There was like, one,” you squeaked out.

Shouto’s smile went dark and he leaned over you, his perfect, infuriating mouth so close he might have kissed you again.

“Thirteen,” he said, mouth brushing yours as he spoke. “There were thirteen photos of me on your twitter. All while you tried so hard to act like you didn’t want me, that you wanted to be just friends.”

“Hey, you said you wanted to be my friend,” you protested. You jerked when his hand slid up your side to cup a breast, thumb slipping under the band of your bra.

“You weren’t accepting my gifts,” he said, fingers grazing your nipple. You bit down on an embarrassing noise, letting out a sharp breath. “How else was I to make you take them?”

You opened your mouth to respond but Shouto made another pass over your nipple, and a moan escaped you instead.

“That’s right, love,” he said encouragingly. “Now I’m going to make you give me something in return. Thirteen somethings, in fact.”

He peeled down the cup of your bra, fastening his hot mouth over your breast. You whined, twitching when he flattened his tongue, dragging it slowly over the point of your nipple. A strong arm came up to press your hands down over your head.

“Shouto, thirteen is insane,” you panted.

He paid you no mind, instead swirling his tongue in a way that made your vision blur.

A tugging at your wrists made you look up, in time to see Shouto one-handedly looping the long end of the scarf through the slats on his headboard and pulling tight. Your whole body clenched up at the implication.

The slide of fabric over your breasts told you that Shouto had also managed to get your bra up, and hot mouth closed over your other nipple, long fingers carefully plucking at the other. “We have all weekend, love. Thirteen is ambitious but quite possible.”

You made a weak noise of acknowledgement, hips shifting forward against his stomach.

Shouto laughed, hot breath ghosting over your breast, and then he was crawling down your torso, hands grasping your underwear. He pulled it down slowly, torturously, until he managed to get it off you, then pulled your knee over his shoulder.

You whimpered, feeling like you might actually pass out from how hot he looked, one thigh thrown carelessly over his shoulder, gaze intent, staring down at you like a starving man looking at a hot meal.

You squirmed, trying to pull your arms down to get your hands on him, but the scarf held fast, pulling more firmly over your wrists.

“Shouto, please,” you said, though whether you were begging for him to touch you or to let you go, even you didn’t know.

Shouto seemed to take it as permission. Those two-toned eyes passed over you hotly, and then he was leaning down, biting down gently on the inside of your thigh. You jerked violently, but he held you in place, mouth trailing slowly, slowly down to where you wanted him.

You thought you might actually black out before he got where he was going.

“I can’t believe I ever told you you were unwelcome in my apartment,” he murmured, sucking a slow bruise into the skin at the crease of your thigh. “Once you move in, I’m never going to let you leave it.”

“Oh my god,” you said.

Shouto’s tongue flicked out, catching the edge of your sex, and you tried not to choke on air.

Then, finally, he moved, fastening his mouth over you, exactly where you wanted him. All reason completely left you.

After that, everything was an unbearable flurry of feeling--a soft tongue swirling over you, the tickle of his bangs on your stomach, the press of broad shoulders between your knees. There was the rasp of his sheets between your shoulder blades, the slow, deliberate press of two fingers inside of you, a firm grip on your thigh, fingers digging in tightly.

You could feel every point of connection with him, every minute movement of his mouth over you, and the sensation built up into something so horribly, terribly good. You were unable to do anything but writhe and pant underneath him, babbling something that sounded like it might be an approximation of his name.

Shouto hummed and sucked softly, those long fingers curling inside you. He finally hit a spot that made you see stars, and you practically lifted off the bed, back bowing. Shouto licked you through it, tongue curling expertly around your clit while you sobbed out his name, only slowing when your body went slack, collapsing back into his sheets.

When you could see straight once more, you realized he was staring up at you, that wry smile curling the corner of his mouth again.

You fought down a blush, feeling an embarrassed grin pull at the corner of your own mouth.

“You’re unreal,” you said. “I can’t believe I’m going to get to have you all the time.”

Shouto pressed a short kiss to the skin of your hip. “You already have me all the time.”

You flapped a hand in its bindings. “You know what I mean. I can’t believe we’re going to live together.”

His fingers slid gently over the back of your thigh. “I’d have had you in here sooner, if you hadn’t insisted on graduating first.”

You laughed. He was always so very straightforward about whatever he wanted.

He had been making very unsubtle noises about living together only a few months into your relationship, but you’d insisted that you wait at least a year. He’d grown up with more conservative mores, having been raised a rich boy, and taking things quickly once he knew he was serious about you seemed to be the style of things. But you, despite your frankly unreasonable thirst for your own boyfriend, knew the value of taking things just a little bit slower.

So you’d waited a year, just to be prudent, though you’d known all along how things would end up.

And now he finally had his way.

“I’m all yours now,” you promised, laughing. “Soon you’ll be sick of me hogging the bed, and leaving books everywhere, and getting so blackout at the farmer’s market that we don’t have room for all the vegetables.”

“Ah, you’re using me for vegetable access,” he accused, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the smile he was attempting to smother into your thigh.

“A girl’s gotta have her priorities,” you grinned.

Something lit up in Shouto’s gaze again, and he shifted up against your thigh to lean over you more fully. His fingers gripped the back of your knee tightly.

“I'll make you pay for that,” he promised darkly. “Twelve more times.”

You shivered as he took your mouth again, fingers sliding back between your thighs with obvious intent.

And then you really did. You paid for it.

Twelve more times.

[bisexualdaemon]

Cake

a/n: when tipsy meets twitter, all bets are off

hello! I woke up three days ago like I’d been reborn in my love for this kid, so I wrote this filth 😅 i’ve posted a few times recently about this video but if you haven’t seen it, scroll my blog or search cake lol trust me it’s worth your time. 

(masterlist is linked in my description)

warnings: 3.9k of absolute filth

Movie night had ended hours ago, giving way to sleepy rideshares and drunken footsteps into the second bedroom. Brian was passed out and snoring in the giant armchair across from you. The Top Gun drinking game had gone wrong at around the eighth high five and completely derailed at the sixth “Iceman,” which became a salud of sorts in the room. Beer cans, mango White Claws, and the occasional tequila bottle littered the kitchen island.

“Psst, are you awake?” a toe poked your side from above. Shawn looked down at you with a cocked eyebrow from under his crooked elbow. You’d taken residence behind his legs, resting your head on his hip to watch the movie, bowing out of getting totally trashed. Your lips were still tingly enough to be dangerous.

“Yeah,” you croaked, clearing your throat and stretching, “I’m awake.”

“Are you suuure?” he slurred, tired and tipsy. The smirk was audible, “I thought I felt you drooling through my sweatpants.” His breath came out in a whoosh when you punched him in the abs with your outstretched arm.

“How’s that for awake, fucker?!” He chuckled and caught at your hand, unfisting your fingers and playing with them as he pulled out his phone. You let him. You even opened your hand fully so he could trace little patterns on your palm.

It had been like this for a few months, the flirting, the touching. A drunken night of 20-somethings playing spin the bottle had ended with multiple people clearing their throats with wide eyes as Shawn kissed you.

My God, he had kissed you. Fingers splayed against your neck, his lips gently interlocked with yours. It started out chaste, just two mouths touching, but as soon as he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, it was game over. The people, the voices, your friends, all melted away and it was just the two of you. His top lip between yours. Gentle sucking pressure. His body heat radiating onto your skin. It was everything you never knew you wanted. Until Connor clapped Shawn on the shoulder and ripped him away, turning the two of you into human embarrassed laughing emojis.

Since then, it had been like this. His hand on your lower back at the coffee shop, lazy naps together after midday movies, play fighting and fake indignation after one too many shots at the bar. Your friends all shared sideways looks and snide smirks every time you hung out but you hadn’t crossed any lines again and you definitely hadn’t talked about it. Whatever it was didn’t need conversation. It was fun. It was nothing. He was busy. He was a globally-famous popstar. You were normal. The last thing you wanted was one of those embarrassing tabloid articles, “15 Things You Need to Know About Shawn Mendes’s New Fling.” So, in the quiet moments, you let him trace patterns on your palm and send shivers down to your toes.

“Hey, come up here, I’m scrolling Twitter,” he swept his fingers down to your wrist and gave it a tug, a little giddiness in his tone. He made space for you in front of him on the couch, giving you his bicep as a pillow. You settled back against his hard chest and let your legs weave into his. He’s so goddamn warm. It was a mistake wearing jean shorts to his condo. There was a part of you that wondered if he turned the A/C down on purpose but you didn’t want to think about why.

Scrolling Twitter, where Shawn saw the most fan activity, was one of your favorite pastimes. Seeing the reactions to this dude you knew in real life was occasionally shocking, sometimes horrifying, but always amusing. He held the phone out in front of you and thumbed through his feed.

Most of his mentions were about missing him. He’d been on a break since the end of his last tour, taking some time to himself without a schedule for every minute of every day. For a guy who had been taking photos with fans pretty much everyday for the last seven years, you understood why they might be freaking out. He’d broken the pattern. Thank God for that.

You tried to keep your eyes from crossing at the repeated “I miss Shawn @shawnmendes” tweets and the feeling of his alcohol-warmed fingers against your hip. I shouldn’t want this.

“Wait!” you snapped a finger at his phone, “what was that?”

“Oh, that?” he scrolled back, “it’s just an old video.” His voice broke a couple octaves on the last bit. The tweet was accompanied by the wide-eyed blushing emoji. Curious. You raised an eyebrow and watched. He was eating a guitar-shaped cake...with his hands. Mouth wide open, his face buried over and over in thick pieces of chocolate cake with some kind of blue frosting on it. It was fucking filthy. You rubbed your thighs together absent-mindedly.

“What do the comments say?” You poked at his phone before he could move it away.

“Oh, nothing really,” his voice was still high, which meant he knew what the comments likely said. You huffed and grabbed at the phone. “Shawn, you know I have Twitter, I’ll see it whether you like it or not!” You rammed your hips backward, pausing for a second when you felt something you weren’t expecting, but not for too long. He sucked in a breath, coughing, and dropped his phone—right into your waiting hands.

“Hahaha!” You jumped up and ran to the other side of the big white couch, kicking your legs in victory, “I win!” He tripped over his own oversized limbs before he got to you, falling to the floor within reach of your feet. He reached out and pulled your legs toward him, framing his face between your thighs. Your giggles stopped short and your face flamed.

“Can you assholes get a room?!” Brian was awake and fussing at the thin fleece blanket he’d scrounged off the back of the couch. He rolled over mumbling something that sounded like just fucking fuck already but you were too busy thinking about Shawn’s head still between your legs to be bothered by it.

Shawn slowly lifted his finger to his lips in the universal sign to be quiet and untangled himself to stand. He reached out a hand and you didn’t hesitate to grab it, leading you to his bedroom down the hall. You held his phone in a death grip, unwilling to let go in case he caught you off guard.

The room was dark, save for his phone, the rectangle reflecting a solid white off the wall of glass facing the city. The CN Tower lights flickered in the late night sky, seemingly suspended in midair. His unmade  bed was the biggest and brightest thing in the room. A white comforter hung half on the floor at an odd angle off the corner of the mattress, his white sheets completely exposed. The pillows were all scrunched up at the headboard, like he’d been kicking and pushing all night long. Like he hadn’t slept soundly in weeks.

“Okay, so what you’re about to read…” he shut the door behind him, scrubbing at the back of his neck, “it’s gonna be weird, but like it’s fine I’m used to it. They’re...a little invasive.” Weird? Invasive? Curiouser and curiouser…

You walked over to his bed, picking up the comforter and tossing it haphazardly back onto the bed, and sat on the edge staring at the video and letting it play a few more times. Then you swiped down.

@canadianmendussy: ALEXA PLAY BIRTHDAY CAKE BY RIHANNAAAAA

@perfectlyru1n: oh my goD does he really go down like thAT?!

“Oh...my God,” you covered your mouth to keep from laughing, “you’ve seen this before?”

He bounced on the mattress facedown, mumbling something into the sheets.

“What was that?” you asked, with Southern sweet tea levels of sugar. You ruffled his hair, brushing through his curls. He turned his head, his face flushed with more than just alcohol.

“I said yes, I’ve seen it before…” he opened one eye and looked up at you, “I usually just ignore them.”

There were over 400 replies on this tweet, some people chiding the horny stans for posting something Shawn can see, others just piling on.

@illuminateruin: is that cake gluten-free?

@kidinlover: @illuminateruin idk but I know pussy is

@particularbenito: CAN HE EAT PUSSY LIKE THAT?!?!?!

“Can he eat pussy like that...” you read out loud under your breath, your mind conjuring up that image of his face between your thighs. Shawn’s head shot up, eyes wide.

“What???” His face was practically magenta at this point, “is that a serious question??”

“What? Uhh, no. Not serious. A reply actually,” you rushed, giving him a sideways look. I mean...maybe it was a serious question? The curiosity was going to kill you. Oh, no. No, no, no. Your lips tingled.

“Well, I mean….can you?” You could hear the glint in your eye.

Fuck it all.

“Can I….w-what?” he stuttered, the air crackling between the two of you. He looked like a cornered animal, like the wrong move would get him killed.

“Can you,” you pushed a loose curl out of his face and nodded toward his phone, “eat pussy like that?”

Oh, God, did I just…?

“I’ve never gotten any complaints,” your head popped up at his self-satisfied tone. Gone was the red-faced shy boy talking about embarrassing fans. The Shawn in front of you was...confident. Hungry. His fingers grazed your ankles resting beside him. It didn’t escape your notice. You shivered.

It wasn’t cold.

“M-maybe they were just too afraid to tell a big, famous rockstar that he sucked,” you were the one stuttering now, face heating by the second.

“Oh, sucking was definitely part of it,” his fingers traced the indent in your calf. You refused to pull away even though you should, even though part of you—a small, shrinking part—knew that if this went where it was definitely going, things were going to change. You snuck a finger under his chin to pull his gaze to yours.

“Is that a promise?”

“I don’t know,” he flashed a toothy smile, gravity and sheer force of will pulling his body toward yours, “is that an invitation?”

I’m probably gonna regret this in the morning.

Your lips crashed into his, giving him your answer. His mouth was hot, his breathing heavy. Tongues and teeth and lips wrestled together, refusing to part while he made his way above you, crawling on hands and knees between your legs as you settled against the pillows. He licked up into your mouth just before nibbling on your bottom lip, forcing a moan from deep inside you. This was primal, the need you felt with him. Like once you came together, nothing could break you apart.

His hands moved up your body, scratching gently at your exposed legs and slipping beneath your hoodie. He broke away from your lips to shuck off your top and expose all your delicate skin. His fingers slipped beneath your lace bralette and he played with the tiny clasp between your breasts.

“Is this okay?” he asked, a little out of breath, his thin t-shirt pressing against your skin.

You nodded so quickly you thought your neck might snap. He popped the clasp and spread his calloused hands across your chest. The friction was glorious. Your body chased his fingers involuntarily, bowing up off the high thread count sheets.

“Be still, baby,” he whispered, dipping his head and placing an open mouthed kiss just above your belly button. Your eyes rolled back at the pet name, another moan escaping your lips. Warmth rushed between your legs.

“Shawn,” you gasped, trying to control your breathing so he didn’t know just how fucked you were, “when I gave you an invitation, I didn’t expect you to be late to the party.” You rocked your hips up into his chest pointedly.

“Well, I can't just jump to the entrée, can I?” He fiddled with the button on your denim shorts, loosening it with a little pop. Teasing, he licked at a freckle just above your hip before sucking at it with enough force to leave a mark.

“Fuck!” Your hands shot down to his mop of curls, fingers buried in the thick locks. He pulled and nibbled at that spot over and over, all while grazing his fingers just beneath the waistband of your simple cotton cheeky panties.

When he pulled away, an angry red violet half-moon colored the skin. He took one last lick, smiling at your gasp in response.

“I love that sound,” he sat back on his heels between your legs, looking down at your heaving chest.

“I’ll make it again if you take that shirt off,” you reached for him with grabby hands, trying to Harry Potter that shit. He laughed and did the boy thing, grabbing his shirt at the back of his neck before tugging it forward off his body.

The gasp came again. Not even on purpose or because you’s promised him, but because he was so stupid gorgeous in the low light of the city you couldn’t help yourself. You’d seen him in hot tubs and at sweaty summer parties and in those fucking Calvin Klein pictures, but none of that compared to having him shirtless between your thighs just a few inches from your outstretched fingers.

His chest was flushed, some combination of adrenaline and alcohol. Little freckles dotted his lightly tanned skin all the way up his torso to the dusting of chest hair that colored his chest. His perfect pink nipples were hard against the cool air of the room, begging for you to touch or kiss or bite. Or all of the above. You reached out to trace his appendix scar where it peaked out of his low-slung sweatpants. His body danced away from you as he caught at your hand.

“Don’t,” he growled, weaving his fingers between yours and pressing his lips onto the back of your palm like a fucking Victorian gentleman. Like he wasn’t staring down at your hardening nipples thinking about how good they would feel pinched warm between his fingers. He tipped forward, bracing himself against the mattress, his mouth just a few centimeters from your skin. Dragging flesh against flesh, he left kisses at random in the valley between your breasts. Moving farther and farther down your body, he paused, sitting up on his heels.

“Are you sure?” He was breathing heavy, looking straight through you, both hands hovering around the edges of your shorts. You were nodding before he even finished his question.

He curled his fingers around all the fabric in his way, denim and cotton both, and dragged the offending pieces of clothing down your legs, lifting them off and tossing them against the wall across the room. You breathed steady, looking at him looking at you. His mouth hung open in speechless wonder.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered, settling back between your thighs, a mirror of his earlier pose on the couch. Another wave of heat rushed straight to your clit, silently screaming for him.

“I know,” you brushed through his curls, giving him a suggestive grin when he looked up at you, “I taste good too.”

That was all the permission he needed. A second later, he buried his face between your legs, nudging your knees over his shoulders. His tongue swirled in circles around your clit finishing in random flicks. He moaned into you, his lips closing around your swollen folds with gently sucking pressure.

“Shit, Shawn!” you shouted, praying to the gods that everyone still in the condo was too drunk and passed out to hear you. The white sheets bunched in your fists, arms spread wide. Your thighs clamped down against his ears.

He continued his licks and flicks, snaking his hands up your legs and gently prying your legs apart. You clenched hard as he pinned your thighs to the mattress, holding you open with his forearms. Filthy sounds echoed off the walls, wet sucking, moaning from both of you. He dipped his chin and circled your entrance with his tongue, lapping at you.

“Christ!” your hands shot into his damp curls. He was working hard down there, flexing and moaning and fighting your spasms. You looked down and saw his hips impatiently rutting into the mattress. It only made you wetter, gushing onto his waiting tongue. He drank everything you gave him.

“He’s not here,” he said in a low and gravelly voice, a little breathless. He pulled back, the bottom half of his face shining in the dark. His fingers toyed with your sensitive, wet lips, watching as you twitched and trembled, so close to the edge. A firm circle around your clit had your back bowing, contorting backward off the bed. A single tear rolled down your temple.

“I’m so close,” you panted, trapping his outstretched hand against your skin.

“Shawn, I need you.��

“Need me?” His fingers paused, “need me where?”

“Oh, God, don’t stop,” you choked out, a sob threatening. Your back arched up off the sheets again to find friction. “I need...I need you inside me.”

At some point between your words and the needy moan that followed, he’d removed his sweatpants and a black pair of Calvins. You heard him rustling his hand inside the bedside table followed by the metallic sound of foil and the sharp scent of latex. Thank fuck he’s prepared.

When he dropped down onto his forearms, hovering an inch from where you needed him, you were dripping onto the sheets, grinding down into the mattress waiting desperately for him. He ran his nose over your collarbone, peppering kisses along your neck. It was slow and deliberate. A fucking tease.

“Shawn,” you pulled his face up to yours, all squished between your hands, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I swear I will…”

He pressed inside to the hilt in one swift motion, cutting off your threat.

“What are you swearing to do, princess?” he asked, a smirk and a fire in his eyes. The moan that escaped you in response was embarrassingly loud. He stilled and closed his eyes, allowing you to adjust. You took even breaths, relaxing into his hips, holding on to his shoulders for dear life. His cock was perfect. He was perfect.

I am so fucked.

He moved, slowly at first, stroking all the right places. When his hips separated from yours, pulling almost all the way out, he rutted back inside. It was deep, long thrusts touching some place inside you weren’t sure you knew was there. Your head thrashed against the pillows. Your grip on his shoulders turned sharp, clawing long red-raw marks into his pale skin.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he hissed into your ear, “fuck, you’re so tight.” His abs scraped against your body like a washboard, the tension clear in his muscles. He was wound up, ready to shatter. He crashed into you, repeatedly slapping skin against skin. His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles in contrast with the punishing rhythm of his hips. He lifted one of your legs over his hip to change the angle, to make you even tighter around him. A bead of salty-sweet sweat dropped from his chest into your mouth.

“Right...there,” you groaned, your eyes rolling back, “I’m gonna come!”

“That’s right, honey,” he grunted, flattening his fingers across your clit with intense pressure, “come for me.”

The room went white. The sound of your hips colliding was replaced with a high-pitched ring. Your world seemed to implode, your muscles moving independently. He wrapped his arms around your middle and held you as he fucked you through the waves, his weight the only thing keeping you from being swept away in the current.

“Stay here with me,” he cooed, sweet but taut in his throat. Your heart slammed against your ribs in rhythm with his hips. He grunted once, twice, three times with his final thrusts and came undone, pumping into the condom. Biting down on your shoulder to stifle his sounds, he sucked hard enough to leave an angry mark. You contracted around him, both inside and out, curling around his thighs and back and neck, letting the full weight of his completely spent body bring you back to full consciousness.

“Hey,” you fingered his frizzed and fucked curls, “Shawn?”

“Hmm?” he nuzzled into your hands and squeezed you a little tighter.

“You’re crushing me,” you exhaled, strained.

“Oh, fuck! I’m sorry!”

He shifted to his side, accidentally pulling out too quickly, making both of you wince.

“Shit, shit, I’m so sorry,” he was so cute when he was scrambling. He got up and threw out the used condom, quickly returning from the adjoining bathroom with a damp cloth.

“Come here,” he held his arms out, making a perfect you-sized place in front of him. You slid into it easily and let him press the cloth between your legs, wincing again.

“Did I hurt you?” There was so much concern in his voice.

“No, no, I just…” you held onto his arm, glad to be facing away, “I haven’t been fucked like that in awhile.”

“Glad to be of service.” You didn’t have to be looking at him to see his smug smile. Reaching back, you slapped his thigh in retaliation. He caught your hand and kissed it like a Victorian gentleman again, like it made up for his cockiness. You tried to convince yourself that it didn’t, flushing even harder than your just-fucked body should have allowed. He wrapped his arm around your front and intertwined your legs, snuggling his face into the nape of your neck.

“So, uhhh, are we gonna do this again?” he asked, barely concealing the hope in his voice.

“Shhh,” you said, yawning for effect, “we’ll talk about it in the morning. Just sleep.”

He exhaled against your back, placing one last kiss on the mark you were sure he’d left in the midst of his orgasm. You stared out into the Toronto skyline as his breathing evened, his quiet snores barely audible against the screaming voices in your head. As the light crept into the room, as morning dawned on your sleepless night, you repeated his question over and over again.

Are we gonna do this again?

There was an easy answer: yes. Yes, yes, yes, my God, yes you were going to do this again. But there was another, harder question to answer beneath it. If we do this again, will we ever be able to stop?

***

taglist: @justanotherfangurl272  @siennarossi @trustfundshawn @alone-in-madness @harryandmolly @thatindiannerdygirl @fromthicctosticcc @softmendesss @sinplisticshawn @nedthegay @september-lace @itrocksmysocks @disaster-rose @mendesoft @luvluvxx @i-play-video-games @ihearthemcallingforyou @gentleshawn @kitykatnumber @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @ijustreallylikeshawnokay @shhhawnmendes @shawnsblue @imaginashawnns @mendesficsxbombay @shawn-youth @kerwritesthings @starlightsivann @lavenderhoneymndes @begginyouformendes @fallinallincurls @shawn-youth​ @linanilssonfurberg​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @bucky-ish​

(as always let me know if you want on/off the tag list...I realize I don’t post regularly and like half of these people could be out of the fandom lol)

[yeojaa]

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears.  You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard.  The best part?  You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main.  He might just love you.

alt summary.  Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing.  jeon jungkook

genre + rating.  fluffy crack.  general, for now.

warning / tags.  long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish),  eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch.  tags are hard.  :( 

reading.   n/a.  a three part one-shot.

word count.  ~2750

part ii.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Sunday, 15 March, 2020.  2:01 AM.   

He falls for you in between the tireless teasing, the laughter that sinks into his ears and replays like a highlight reel.  It happens when he leasts expects it, when he's got his face pressed into the velvet of Yeontan's fur and you're cooing over voice chat, whispering sweet nothings to the manic panic pup.  It comes in the moments he's not expecting it to, when he's frustrated and unbearable and you're as sunny as always, spilling yellow paint across the doors he tries to keep shut.  

Bit by bit, day by day, he finds himself thinking of you more. 

First, it's wondering what you're doing while he's half-asleep and on his way to the studio.  Do you look as tired as you sound?  What colour is your hair and how does it stick up when you've just rolled out of bed?  When you yawn, do you stretch like a cat?  He thinks you do, if the sounds you make are any indication.

Then it's asking himself whether you might like the same things he does, from horror movies to carnival rides.  Would you hold his hand as you made the drop, stomachs leaping into your throats?  Would you scream?  Would it sound anything like that terrified pterodactyl noise you make when you're spawn camped by a Roadhog?  He doesn't consider the fact that he doesn't even know if you're in the same city and you'll likely never meet - bound to the servers of Overwatch only.  

He thinks about all the things he'd like to do with you.  Video game nights filled with butter-tipped fingers and spilled popcorn.  Walks with your family dog - Natto - you'd told him about, all fluffy white fur and dark teddy bear eyes.  Sunrises on the rooftop of his building, because you had the worst insomnia he'd ever seen and what better way to spend your endless waking hours than with him.  

Jeon Jungkook knows he'll probably never get any of these things, but he lets himself daydream anyway. 

Like now, for instance, as the two of you sit in another queue at 2 AM.  You just woke up and you've got that tell-tale rattle in your lungs, words sluggish and lacking any real intent.  He imagines you look the way you sound - tired and a little out of it, with barely opened eyes and sleep-loosened limbs.  

"How'd you sleep?"  He asks softly, crossing his legs beneath him and raising his arms high above his head in the same instance.  The bones of his body realign, ridges of his spine clicking into place when he knots his fingers together and pulls taut.  

"You know - the usual,"  you muse, apathetic.  It's always the same.  

He doesn't question it any further.  He had once or twice, when you'd first started talking and he'd noticed the way you were always up at inhuman times.  One grumbling response had told him enough - your schedule was what it was and no amount of remedying could fix it.  

There's a beat of silence before he hears rustling and then the loud, inescapable sound of an electric toothbrush.  You don't bother to mute your microphone, not that he minds.  He simply sits quietly, scrolling through his phone as you go about your "morning" routine.  

"How was your day?"  You're settled back at your computer, he thinks.  The acoustics sound far less like that of a bathroom.  

"I had the day off, actually."  He'd used it to edit some footage and record a cover.  He hasn't posted it to Twitter yet - there were certain times he was supposed to, to maximize visibility - but he's excited for when he does.  It's a song that's been stuck in his head for weeks, all thanks to you.

"Woah - you didn't work today?"  There's genuine surprise in your question, rounded syllables that pop off your tongue in an explosion of shock.

“Right?”  He laughs a little, short and sweet.

Despite his carefully crafted facade, there were certain plot points that just stuck, intrinsically weaved into his day-to-day whether he liked it or not.

His jam packed schedule, for instance. 

To you, it’s the result of stretching himself too thin between teaching at his friend’s dance studio (where he also apparently moonlights as a personal trainer) and working as a videographer for his media-involved friends.  Not that you know any of them.  No, no.  All the work he does is for the little guys - none of those big companies like BigHit or JYP.  Jungkook’s just your average Joe behind the camera.

“What did you do all day then?”  You’re still in awe, little flecks of wonder threaded throughout like glittering gold yarn.  

“Hung out.  Did some editing.  I’m kind of behind.”  That was an understatement.  He’s working on footage from six months ago, trying to get it out before they head on tour and he won’t have the kind of time he has now.  

“Probably spending too much time gaming.”  

“Yeah, probably.”  Not that he minds, or that he’d change it.  He savours the time you spend together, even if it has kind of messed up his sleep schedule.  

“Sorry not sorry,”  you quip, seemingly reading his mind.  

“You should be,”  he retorts with laughter that builds in his stomach and echoes out of his chest.  “I don’t think I’ve had a good night's sleep in weeks.”

If you hadn’t had this conversation a handful of times before, he thinks you might be offended.  Instead, he can practically hear you roll your eyes - imagines your optic nerve nearly severs with the intensity of it - and grins.

“Don’t kid yourself - you know I’m the best thing about your nights!”

You’re not wrong.  “You’ve been lied to.”

“I’m suing!”

“I’ll have my lawyer contact your lawyer.”

“Wait, what?” 

The two of you have done what you always do - talked yourself into a tizzy that has you both laughing, sound crackling across the airwaves.  It’s nonsensical and silly but it feels good.  Your bond shines with it, glitters prettily between you.

Thank god for Overwatch.

You return the conversation to a semblance of normalcy first.  “Did you listen to that song I sent?”

“Yeah.”  The briefest pause.  “It was terrible.  Hated it.”

“Oh, shut up!” 

“I’m kidding.  It was really good.”  Jungkook doesn’t tell you that he’s had it on repeat for the past few days, saved to the private playlist that’s filled with the rest of your song recommendations.  

“I know!”  You’re preening as if he’d just complimented you, clearly pleased by the praise.  He supposes it’s a pretty good endorsement regardless. 

“Got any more for me?” 

“I should just make you a playlist.”

He ignores the way his heart skips a very real beat, mimics the erratic rhythm of his fingers on his keyboard.  Because he’d absolutely love that.

“You should.”

“Really?”  You sound uncertain but maybe - just maybe - a little hopeful.  He might also just be imagining things, as he so often does with you. 

“Yeah.  Why not?”  It comes nonchalantly despite the rushing in his ears, the wave that threatens to drown him.  He can feel emotion in his chest - winged and distracting.  A kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering away. 

You’re quiet for another second.  It feels like an eon.  “Okay, yeah.  I’ll start one and we can just add to it together.”

BIG HIT ENTERTAINMENT’S GYM Thursday, 26 March, 2020.  6:30 PM.   

“You sound like a meathead,”  you say, off-hand and disinterested.  

He loathes the grunt that squeaks past his teeth as he gently returns the dumbbells to the floor. Cue a generous chug of water and a near death experience when the liquid goes down the wrong pipe. 

Loud coughing crackles through his airpods before he’s addressing you.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re grunting like a caveman.”

If your first comment hadn’t offended him, this one does.  Jungkook scoffs, tonguing the interior of his cheek as his brow furrows.  Weights are returned to his hands, rotated above each shoulder as he resumes another set of presses. 

“Do you even workout anything other than your fingers?”  He’s making a conscious effort not to make a sound, breath exhaled sharply through his nose.  It’s harder than he cares to admit but he’s also not about to give you an excuse to tease him further.  You already had way too much material.

“Don’t shame me!”  You really don’t sound that indignant.

“So, I’m right?  You’re a big couch potato who’s just jealous of my hot body?”

Now you’re incredulous.  It’s one of his favourite sounds because it comes draped in laughter, dancing around his head in the form of cartoon hearts. 

“Did you just say ‘hot body’, Jay?”

“Maybe I did.  What of it?”  He sniffs - he’s picked it up from you over the months - and your amusement doubles, giggles crashing into each other in their haste.  

“You are so, so weird.”  There’s a tenderness in your voice that he’d like to live in.  It wraps him up like a hug, tugging at his feeble little heartstrings. 

“Weird and hot.”

“You can’t just say that!”

“Why not?”  If anything, you’re the one person he can say it to.  With you, it’s the funniest joke he’s ever made.  It’s playful and silly, with no rhyme or reason.  He doesn’t have to worry about it being misconstrued or held against him. 

“You just can’t!  Only other people can say it.”  You sigh dramatically, from your chest.  “Do I have to teach you everything?”

“Everything but being healthy, probably.” 

“Har har har.”  

He can tell by how the words roll off your tongue, muffled and lacking clarity, that you’re eating.  He wonders if you’ve made pancakes - you’d been complaining about craving them just two days ago.  There are no tell-tale crunching or slurping, so he knows it isn’t your usual double whammy combo of ramyeon and Choco Boys.  

“I’ll have you know I used to run.”  Something about the way you say it makes him believe you, even though he wants to mock you a little more.  

“In gym class doesn’t count.”

“I used to run with Natto, you ass!”  Okay - so that actually sounded legitimate.

“Why don’t you still then?”

“There was an incident once.”  You’re sipping on something - likely coffee with oat milk and two pumps of hazelnut syrup.  It doesn’t matter that it’s dinner time and most people would be winding down for the evening.  “Because of my insomnia, I’d run at odd hours.  One day, some weirdo stopped me while I was running along the river.  He didn’t hurt me or anything—”  A part of him thinks you’re downplaying it but he says nothing, only waiting for you to continue.  “—but he followed me home.  I made the mistake of telling my parents and they freaked out so…” 

“So no more running by yourself.” 

“Yeah, exactly.”

“I’d run with you.”  It doesn’t mean much, but it’s the thought that counts.  

“Thanks, Jay.”  

Not for the first time, he wishes he could hear his name - his real name.  Just once.

“JUNGKOOOOOOOOOOK.”  It eats up every ounce of space of the gym, filling the room with the resounding boom of it.  How it manages to be so loud, he’s not sure.  He wishes it weren’t.  There’s no way you haven’t heard it.  

Especially not when it comes again, deafening even to his occupied ears. 

“JUNGKOOOOK-AH!”  Namjoon now, right as the double doors fly open.

Jimin’s barreling toward the alarmed maknae as he shouts.  “WE’RE DOING A VLIVE!”

Jungkook feels like his insides are melting  - his internal temperature spiking with embarrassment and worry and something that chants oh no! over and over in his head.  The tops of his ears are burning, as is the column of his throat.  A quick glance in the mirror confirms his suspicion that he is, indeed, bright tomato red.

“Jay?”  You repeat once, twice, when he doesn’t immediately answer.  “Everything okay?”

He moves with a speed he doesn’t expect, weights unceremoniously dropped on either side of him before he’s tearing his AirPods out.  “I’ve got to go. Sorry!”

He doesn’t end the Discord call a moment too soon, Jimin upon him in the next instant.  The smaller dancer is draping himself across Jungkook’s shoulders, the widest shit-eating grin on his pretty face.

“Want to join us for a VLive?”  

“No.  I’m busy.”  

“Busy with your girlfriend?”  Jimin’s wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  He only stops when Jungkook shifts aggressively, tearing himself out from underneath the other.  

“Not my girlfriend!”  

“But you wish she was!”  

He can’t deny that, so he doesn’t bother, instead seizing his discarded weights with an embarrassed scowl permanently etched into the planes of his face.  He’s reracking them - because god, he’s not an animal - when he notices Jimin making his departure, that teasing smile replaced with something soft and edging on concern.

“What’re you going to do when we’re on tour?”

Jungkook blanches then.  You’d become such an undeniable part of his everyday life that he hadn’t even considered what it’d mean when he was busier than now, unable to spend late nights gaming with you. 

But Jimn’s already gone, leaving him and his thoughts alone.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Friday, 27 March, 2020.  12:05 AM. 

It’s close to midnight by the team he logs on.  Realistically, he should go to sleep.  He’s clean and worn out and his bed is calling to him like a siren at sea.  But you’re sitting alone in the channel, streaming Overwatch for no one to see, and he can’t just leave it at that.

He needs to say goodnight, like he always does. 

“Coming for my title as Headshot God?”   The quip’s off his tongue before you have a chance to acknowledge him, your laughter the first thing he hears once he’s connected.

“I’ve been waiting in this queue for seven minutes.  Seven!”  

It’s really not that bad.  The rare times you’d both queue for DPS were nearly double that.  

“Patience is key,”  he teases, slumping into his chair as he watches you click through your Hero Gallery.  You’re cruising seemingly aimlessly, roving through the different skins for your mains (Mercy, Ana, Genji, Ashe).  The silence between you is comfortable, interspersed only by the occasional munching he can only assume comes from the carrots you seem to inhale.

For all the junk you ate, you were somehow also weirdly into vegetables.  

“Patience sucks,”  you retort, matter-of-fact. 

“You know what else sucks?”  

It’s a rhetorical question and he knows you know, but because you’re you, you start listing things off just to get under his skin.  “Spiders?  Undercooked samgyupsal?  Not having coffee?  Your jokes?”

If he weren’t laughing so hard, he might’ve given you shit for making fun of his comedic genius.  He really doesn’t understand how you think he’s the unfunny one when all you do is crack puns.  

“I was actually going to say me,”  he finally manages in between those high pitched cackles of his.  

“Wait, why?”  You’re used to him having witty comebacks.

Edge of enamel worries his bottom lip and Jungkook can taste cherry Chapstick and what would be bashfulness, if it had a flavour.  “For earlier.”

You scoff, your own tinkling laughter tearing him out from inside his own head.

“It’s okay, goofball.”

He appreciates how laidback you are, never holding anything against him.  Not even when he hangs up on you or accidentally spams you with memes when you’re trying (and failing) to sleep.  “No.  I’m sorry.”  He says it earnestly, with all the meaning he can muster.  

MATCH FOUND flickers across his and your screen and you’re loading into hero selection.  He knows you’ll be too distracted once the game starts, so he’s grateful when you laugh again, sweet as summer.  

“Nothing to be sorry about.  Just tell me everything’s okay and we’re even.”  

Inhale, exhale.  Try not to tell her you have the biggest, stupidest crush on her,  he tells himself. 

“Everything’s okay.”  And he means it when he says it, though they aren’t the words he wishes he could say.  

“Good.”  

You’ve chosen Genji,  He smiles to himself when you join voice chat and the rest follow, greetings filtering in from your team members.  

“Good luck.”  You don’t need it.  He still likes to say it.

“You have an early day tomorrow, right?”  Leave it to you to remember his schedule even when he doesn’t.  

“Yeah, pretty early.”  

“Then go to bed!  I’ll still be awake when you’re up.”  

He lingers on that fact - holds it tightly in his hands so it can’t slip away.  You’d be there in the morning, just like you always were.  Knowing that stirs those same butterflies in his chest, words stolen by the overzealous beating of their wings.

You read his silence like they’re your own thoughts,  “I’m always here for you, Jay.”  

“Goodnight.”

"Sleep sweet."

notes.  this chapter is set four-ish months following the first, in case that’s not clear.  :) 

tag list.  @teawithbucky​ 

[aries-writingblog]

Atlas (9)

Summary: After years of being imprisoned on the Raft, Tony negotiates freedom for his sister Tessa. When she’s free- so is her past, and it will never stop hunting her.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC(Stark)

Chapter Word count: 935

Warnings: PTSD (subtle ish), trauma, torture (in later parts), suicidal behaviors and thoughts, mentions of death, character death, injury, violence, angst, and a lil bit of fluff in there, language

Disclaimer: Atlas is my own, original work with characters belonging to Marvel (except Tessa and Dr. Clifton). Plagiarism is not cool kids.

A/N: this is my first work Im posting to this platform and I’m really excited and nervous about it. Hope you enjoy- constructive criticism is always helpful as well!!

This is the final part in this series.

~~6 months later~~

“Sam! Give it back!” Tessa’s loud, boisterous voice could be heard from the kitchen. She and Sam had been playing Mario Kart for hours, leaving most of the others to watch. Bucky and Steve had made the most of the cloudy day, going on a jog around the local park before coming back to join everyone.

Bucky crashed on the couch beside Tessa, laying his head on her lap as she swerved on screen. She scowled as Sam took the lead again, pushing her character off the side of the map.

“Oh screw you Barnes, you’re in league with him.” She griped, begrudgingly accepting a sloppy kiss to her jaw. He took notice of her breathing, seeing that she was doing so without struggle. The first two months after the mission was hard, her mood often swinging many times a day, making her frustrated with herself. And then she would be angry, irritated with the nurses who were only trying to help.

Then there was her physical limitations- her punctured lung healing slowly. The skin on her arm had been replaced by Dr. Cho, not even leaving a scar.

And she had been training more with Wanda and Steve, gaining more control of her powers. Now when she had a nightmare, she no longer set anything on fire subconsciously. Which was good because Bucky had thrown enough burnt shirts that he just started sleeping without them. Of course, that decision came with strings attached, his own doubt bubbling up as he revealed his full metal appendage to Tessa. But she took it in stride- giving him love and acceptance, just as he had shown her.

Tony was still very apprehensive of the whole idea of them being together but, he caved everyday that Tessa became more of herself. He wasn’t blind- he saw the rapid progress she’d made. He also saw her relapses and how Bucky handled them. As much as he hated it, they were good for each other. His frigid nature and her white hot anger seemed to counteract each other when they were together.

“What do you guys want for dinner?” Natasha asked. She had been sitting in the same chair for the past thirty minutes, her head hanging upside down from the chair, legs thrown over the back.

“Nat, did you see that post Matt from accounting made on Twitter?” Wanda asked. Natasha’s head shot up.

“He posted?” She shouted, scrambling over to see Wanda’s phone. “Oh my god he’s an idiot! Look at that spelling...”

“It’s a gold mine!” Wanda cackled, scrolling through his posts.

“Stop harassing the employees, you two.” Steve scolded. Then he leaned over, glancing at the phone. “He didn’t even capitalize his letters.”

“We’re eating pizza for dinner tonight- it’s Thursday.” Vision reported, picking at a piece of lint on his sweater.

“Fucking- Sam, stop that!” Tessa slapped his hand away as he tried to sabotage her. Bucky only cuddled himself closer to her abdomen, feeling the warmth of her overheated skin. He loved feeling that warmth- too accustomed to the cold, craving the temperature her body emitted. “Alright, I quit. You’re just cheating.” She tossed the remote to the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Fine, whatever, anybody else up for a round?” Sam offered, holding the remote out. Tessa tapped on Bucky’s head and he looked up to her eyes.

“I’m gonna head up to our room... I don’t think I can handle anymore today.” Bucky swiftly untangled himself and stood up, offering an arm to her.

“We’ll see you guys later.” Bucky announced, the words falling on deaf ears. Bucky had made her promise that if she ever began to feel like her ‘social battery’ began to run out to tell him. It was something her therapist suggested and Bucky took it and ran with it. And so far, it had been successful.

Once they were in the seclusion of their room, Tessa sighed, stretching her arms above her head before flopping to the bed. Since he had moved into her apartment two weeks ago, he had stopped sleeping on the bathroom floor- giving the bed an actual chance. She wasn’t lighting things on fire so it was safe. They established a new sort of trust in one another.

Bucky lay down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. She sighed contentedly and nuzzled closer. He pressed a quiet kiss to the crown of her head, his eyes heavy with sleep.

“Bucky...” her words were quiet, soft. He hummed in response. “Thank you...” She didn’t have to explain anything. He understood the weight of the words in the silence. “I know it isn’t easy to take care of me.” A squeeze to her shoulder.

“Not to me.” He answered, keeping his voice low. He knew she wouldn’t say it back yet, but it didn’t stop him from letting the next words tumble from his lips. “I love you.”

Tessa squeezed an arm around his waist, curling closer to his chest. Her lips grazed his chest, a light kiss pressed to his pectoral. In a way, that was his answer. She said the words everyday in multiple ways, including small kisses to his body. And he was okay with that. She was still learning, just as he was. It would take time and patience. The weight of both of their pasts threatening to swallow them while, to crush them alive. But Bucky was willing to help shoulder hers, just as she was to his. As long as neither of them held the weight alone.

[evansfm]

𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 –– 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 .

every  morning  evan  woke  up  to  a  london  sky  that  refused  to  let  the  sun  in  ;  summer  was  drier  than  spring  ,  but  the  clouds  seemed  to  linger  year  round  .  .  .  not  that  she  minded  .  she  had  ,  after  all  ,  grown  up  in  county  dublin  ,  where  things  were  always  a  bit  damp  .  still  ,  the  lack  of  COLOR  could  be  draining  .  .  .  so  she  searched  for  it  in  unexpected  places  ,  creating  little  pockets  of  color  for  herself  in  a  rather  grayscale  world  .  golden  lights  strung  on  her  balcony  ,  isla’s  bright  red  hair  and  matching  smile  ,  an  array  of  bright  letters  boasting  NME  lining  a  wall  ––  covers  from  past  decades  ,  a  rainbow  rubik’s  cube  next  to  her  keyboard  ,  two  framed  photographs  perched  on  her  desk  .  the  first  seemed  like  forever  ago  ,  a  beaming  eloise  with  a  twin  on  either  side  ;  beck  on  the  left  ,  evan  on  the  right  ,  both  planting  kisses  on  her  cheek  one  valentine’s  day  years  and  years  ago  .  the  second  was  more  recent  ,  backstage  at  a  show  in  galway  ;  kieran  sat  in  his  chair  with  his  fingers  intertwined  with  evan’s  as  she  draped  her  arms  over  his  shoulders  from  behind  ,  chin  resting  on  top  of  his  curls  and  a  smile  that  looked  SOFT  compared  to  the  goofy  one  ruairi  wore  ,  looming  behind  her  with  his  chin  on  her  head  .  she  felt  warmth  every  t​​ime  she  looked  at  them  ,  but  there  was  always  a  tug  in  her  stomach  .  .  .  the  undeniable  feeling  of  something  missing  .  she  found  her  little  pockets  of  color  ,  but  they  still  seemed  muted  w​​ithout  the  people  she  loved  ––  the  PERSON  she  loved  .

their  schedules  had  begun  to  clash  ––  and  evan  hated  the  way  she  was  beginning  to  get  used  to  the  dull  ache  of  his  absence  .  distance  had  been  a  part  of  their  relationship  for  months  ,  but  the  time  zones  were  killing  her  .  they  couldn’t  always  make  time  for  hours  wasted  away  on  facetime  ;  she  couldn’t  always  fall  asleep  to  the  sound  of  his  voice  on  the  other  end  of  the  line  .  they  were  both  where  they  were  supposed  to  be  ,  chasing  their  dreams  together  ,  separately  .  .  .  but  evan  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  the  path  she  was  on  ––  the  desk  ,  the  deadlines  ,  the  distance  ––  was  actually  what  she  WANTED  .  there  was  a  lack  of  creative  control  at  nme  ;  she  was  a  part  of  a  greater  whole  ,  confined  to  a  desk  when  she  wasn’t  out  in  the  field  .  she  felt  restless  .  .  .  bored  ,  almost  .  and  with  her  most  recent  deadline  met  and  a  job  of  her  own  ––  evan  connely  ,  sans  nme  ––  waiting  at  the  end  of  the  week  ,  she  was  distracted  .  

“  WHAT  are  you  doing  ?  ”  isla  popped  up  behind  her  ,  coming  out  of  nowhere  to  look  over  her  shoulder  .

“  jesus  ,  ”  evan  startled  ,  nearly  dropping  the  plastic  puzzle  in  her  hand  ,  “  where  t’e  fuck  did  you  come  from  ?  ”

“  charlotte’s  office  .  answer  my  question  .  ”

“  playing  wit’  a  toy  ,  ”  she  held  up  the  half  solved  rubik’s  cube  ,  then  let  out  an  audible  sigh  as  isla  looked  unimpressed  ,  then  jutted  her  chin  towards  the  computer  screen  ,  “  trying  to  put  together  a  mood  board  for  t’is  gig  i’ve  got  wit’  saint  valentine  on  friday  .  ”

perfectly  shaped  auburn  brows  raised  ,  “  we  got  saint  valentine  ?  ”

“  no  ,  ”  evan’s  lips  lifted  into  the  faintest  smirk  ,  “  i  got  saint  valentine  .  ”

“  you’re  bloody  joking  .  shut  UP  ,  ”  isla  gasped  ,  rounding  to  her  side  of  the  table  desk  ,  just  to  roll  her  chair  around  ,  “  and  you  didn’t  fucking  tell  me  ?  ”

“  no  ,  because  you  couldn’t  keep  a  secret  if  you  tried  .”

“  well  that’s  because  it  shouldn’t  be  a  fucking  secret  ,  ev  .  this  is  fantastic  ,  ”  hazel  eyes  widened  with  excitement  ,  “  so  you’re  shooting  them  for  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  t’ey  weren’t  too  explicit  about  it  .  i  know  for  certain  i’m  covering  bot’  shows  at  t’e  o2  ,  documenting  t’e  whole  thing  from  t’e  moment  they  get  there  ,  ”  evan  huffed  a  curl  away  from  her  face  ,  nodding  to  the  screen  ,  “  and  t’en  a  shoot  on  site  at  t’e  venue  .  so  i’ve  got  to  work  wit’  what  i’ve  got  .  i’ve  got  ONE  chance  here  ,  and  nicky  haven  scares  t’e  absolute  fuck  out’a  me  ,  so  i  can’t  blow  it  .  ”

“  nicky  haven  scares  EVERYONE  .  it’s  part  of  h​​is  charm  ,  ”  isla  leaned  in  ,  ma​​king  herself  perfectly  comfortable  in  evan’s  space  as  she  took  the  mouse  and  began  clicking  through  different  ideas  opened  on  photoshop  ,  “  let’s  see  what  you’ve  got  so  far  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  isla  ,  it’s  not  a  big  deal  .  really  i  shouldn’t  even  be  working  on  t’is  HERE  ,  right  now  .  it’s  not  exactly  nme  related  stuff  ,  you  kn––  ”

“  i  TOLD  you  she  was  here  today  ,  ”  a  girl  called  sophie  ,  who  manned  nme’s  front  desk  in  the  mornings  ,  materialized  on  the  other  side  of  evan’s  desk  .  a  junior  writer  ,  andrew  ,  was  hot  on  her  heels  .

“  soph  ,  now  really  probably  isn’t  the  best  time  and  it  really  isn’t  your  busi––  ”

“  someone’s  got  to  show  her  ,  ”  sophie  was  ,  admittedly  ,  obnoxious  .  and  coming  from  EVAN  ,  that  was  a  feat  .

“  show  WHAT  to  WHO  ?  ”  isla’s  voice  changed  in  tone  ,  taking  on  a  hint  of  authority  as  she  looked  at  andrew  ,  “  aren’t  you  meant  to  be  doing  some  social  media  research  right  now  ?  ”

“  i  WAS  ,  but  ––  ”

“  but  we’ve  found  something  that  evan  HAS  to  see  ,  ”  sophie  .  again  .

“  we  ?  ”

“  ME  ?  ”  evan  said  in  tandem  with  isla  ,  brows  lifting  as  she  clicked  the  final  piece  into  place  on  the  cube  .  she  glanced  over  at  isla  and  felt  a  strange  twist  in  her  stomach  when  she  saw  the  redhead  had  gone  rigid  .

“  is  this  about  ––  ”

“  rebecca  stringer  ,  ”  andrew  nodded  solemnly  ,  as  though  evan  was  supposed  to  know  who  the  hell  THAT  was  .

“  better  known  as  BEX  ,  ”  sophie  added  .

it  was  evan’s  turn  to  go  rigid  .  her  back  straightened  ,  and  it  felt  like  ice  had  just  been  shot  through  her  veins  .  truth  be  told  ,  she  was  more  worried  about  conflicting  schedules  lately  .  .  .  not  the  way  bex  sing-songed  a  shortened  version  of  kieran’s  name  .  .  .  or  the  way  she  answered  his  phone  and  simply  couldn’t  remember  who  evan  was  .  .  .  or  the  way  she’d  made  sure  evan  could  hear  her  promise  to  personally  deliver  kieran  to  his  hotel  room  that  first  night  in  los  angeles  .  it  wasn’t  exactly  PLEASANT  being  reminded  of  the  instinct  that  she’d  shut  down  ,  intuition  telling  her  something  wasn’t  quite  right  there  .  her  brows  pinched  together  as  the  rubik’s  cube  slid  from  one  hand  to  the  other  and  back  .  she  glanced  over  at  isla  with  a  prompting  look  .

“  we’re  .  .  .  doing  a  piece  about  nepotism  babies  in  the  industry  ,  and  she’s  a  PERFECT  example  of  one  so  i  was  having  andrew  look  into  the  way  she  interacts  with  fans  and  her  socials  and  what  not  .  she’s  one  of  like  TEN  people  we’re  look​​ing  into  ,  ”  she  explained  with  an  apologetic  look  .  it  was  then  that  she  turned  a  sharp  eye  to  andrew  and  sophie  ,  “  don’t  know  what  THAT  has  to  do  with  evan  ,  though  .  ”

“  see  for  yourself  .  ”

“  SOPHIE  .  ”

“  what  ?  it  probably  isn’t  even  new  information  for  her  ,  ”  she  shrugged  ,  reaching  over  two  monitors  to  hand  evan  a  phone  .  twitter  was  opened  to  a  profile  with  bex’s  beaming  face  in  the  icon  ,  but  the  handle  wasn’t  hers  .  she  gave  the  pair  of  them  a  skeptical  look  before  glancing  over  at  isla  who  only  offered  a  half  -  hearted  shrug  .  it  didn’t  take  long  to  see  what  ,  exactly  ,  sophie  had  been  talking  about  ,  a  slew  of  tweets  and  retweets  .

bexupdates  :  bex  &  kieran  pulled  up  to  the  venue  together  .  .  .  and  then  left  at  the  same  time  .  why  are  they  lowkey  so  cute  annathefound  :  not  bex  wearing  a  baby  tee  version  of  the  found’s  merch  .  .  .  stanning  her  boyfriend  just  like  the  rest  of  us  

ruairidailyposts  :  ok  wait  are  evan  &  kieran  even  dating  anymore  bc  i  could  be  down  with  a  bex  &  kieran  moment  cheerupbailey  :  @ruairidailyposts  you  know  two  people  can  have  a  relationship  without  posting  about  it  right  ???  they’re  in  separate  countries  rn  lol

babybexxx  :  i  just  think  that  bex  &  kieran  walsh  as  a  power  couple  .

bxhq  :  no  offense  but  bex  is  simply  so  much  better  for  him  than  some  rando  from  ireland  like  what thefoundupdates  :  @bxhq  babes  they  LITERALLY  grew  up  together  ????

totallyconan  :  be  honest  do  u  guys  think  the  reason  evan  isn’t  on  tour  with  them  is  bc  they’re  not  together  anymore  like  she  literally  never  misses  shows

adamfitzupdates :  why  are  y’all  so  obsessed  with  a  relationship  that  doesn’t  concern  you  ???  chill bexlevitates  :  @adamfitzupdates  bc  it’s  weird  that  evan  knew  him  for  so  long  and  only  started  dating  him  AFTER  the  found  started  to  get  big  like  that’s  shady

bexupdates  :  find  someone  who  looks  at  u  the  way  bex  looks  at  kieran  on  stage  wtf  did  y’all  see  that

newruleshq  :  no  waaaay  this  man  has  a  gf  when  he  and  bex  look  so  good  next  to  each  other  LMAO  

thefoundupdates  :  according  to  the  girl  who  wrote  the  article  kieran  literally  WALKED  OUT  on  the  interview  ???  rockstar  behavior  but  also  hope  he’s  ok

evan  could’ve  kept  scrolling  for  hours  as  her  heart  rate  began  to  rise  and  rise  .  the  crease  between  her  brows  deepened  ,  and  she  reminded  herself  of  everything  she  knew  to  be  true  .  kieran  LOVED  her  .  twitter  was  a  BRUTAL  place  .  it  was  as  though  the  worst  parts  of  her  subconscious  had  come  to  life  in  280  characters  or  less  .  her  head  began  to  swim  as  her  heart  sank  into  her  stomach  .

“  what  does  t’is  ––  .  .  .  ”  her  voice  cracked  ,  and  she  cleared  her  throat  ,  finally  looking  up  from  the  phone  screen  ,  “  why  ,  exactly  ,  are  you  showing  me  this  ?  ”  

sophie  looked  as  though  she  was  shocked  by  evan’s  question  ,  “  because  i’ve  dated  musicians  .  .  .  and  like  HALF  of  those  are  in  bex’s  likes  .  which  are  public  ,  by  the  way  .  just  doesn’t  seem  subtle  to  me  .  ”

“  are  you  trying  to  insinuate  something  here  ,  sophie  ?  ”  her  tone  shifted  ,  irritated  as  she  handed  the  phone  back  .

“  like  i  said  ,  i’ve  dated  guys  in  bands  ,  too  ,  and  ––  ”

“  enough  ,  ”  isla  snapped  ,  “  you’re  sticking  your  nose  where  it  doesn’t  belong  .  BOTH  of  you  should  be  off  doing  your  jobs  right  now  ,  so  ,  run  along  .  ”

both  of  them  scurried  off  without  a  word  .  

evan  was  still  for  a  moment  ,  but  her  fingertips  were  itching  for  the  keyboard  .  she  was  no  stranger  to  things  like  this  ,  unkind  words  from  strangers  who  didn’t  LOVE  the  idea  of  her  ––  despite  not  knowing  her  .  the  good  outweighed  the  bad  on  the  internet  ,  but  the  voices  who  didn’t  like  her  were  always  the  loudest  .  even  BEFORE  she  and  kieran  had  gone  public  with  their  relationship  .  .  .  even  before  they  were  ever  in  a  relationship  at  all  .  over  time  ,  she’d  learned  to  tune  it  out  and  focus  on  the  kindness  that  flooded  her  comment  sections  and  mentions  .  .  .  but  every  now  and  again  something  slipped  through  the  cracks  .  .  .  and  when  they  did  ,  she  absorbed  them  like  a  blow  to  the  abdomen  .  they  settled  into  her  memory  and  cemented  themselves  there  ,  tucked  away  until  they  found  the  perfect  moment  to  make  her  self  conscious  .  like  the  fan  who  had  commented  on  the  shape  of  her  body  before  and  after  going  to  uni  .  .  .  and  another  from  galway  who  made  it  their  business  to  let  everyone  know  she’d  slept  around  while  living  there  .  .  .  and  every  time  someone  said  she  wasn’t  good  enough  for  kieran  or  any  of  them  .  that  she  had  bad  intentions  ,  leeching  onto  the  boys  for  fame  .  that  her  career  was  based  SOLELY  on  the  four  of  them  .  

if  she  caved  and  kept  scrolling  ,  she’d  commit  it  all  to  memory  .  .  .  everything  that  made  her  intuition  about  bex  STRONGER  .  

instead  ,  she  launched  forward  and  snatched  the  rubik’s  cube  back  up  ,  immediately  distorting  its  perfect  faces  and  mixing  it  up  again  .  it  was  good  to  keep  your  hands  busy  ,  she  knew  ,  when  your  mind  began  to  run  away  .  

the  worst  of  it  wasn’t  even  TRULY  comments  about  their  relationship  .  .  .  those  hurt  ,  but  they  didn’t  sting  quite  as  bad  as  real  -  time  updates  about  kieran  and  bex  showing  up  or  leaving  venues  together  .  she  dulled  the  pain  by  reminding  herself  that  THREE  other  boys  were  never  too  far  behind  .  that  kieran  would  never  .  .  .  COULD  never  .  .  .  

but  then  again  ,  there  was  the  tweet  that  weighed  heaviest  in  her  mind  .  kieran  walked  out  in  the  middle  of  an  interview  ,  and  he  hadn’t  told  her  .  something  rattled  him  to  the  point  of  his  version  of  an  outburst  ,  and  he  hadn’t  told  her  .  that  seemed  like  something  he  would  have  told  her  .  .  .  it  seemed  important  enough  ,  she  thought  to  herself  ,  right  ?  RIGHT  ?

her  throat  felt  tight  ,  and  she  kept  running  the  tweets  she’d  read  over  in  her  mind  .  there  was  a  deep  furrow  in  her  brow  as  she  looked  down  at  her  hands  ,  still  vehemently  mixing  up  the  toy  .  something  felt  off  kilter  .  .  .  but  she  couldn’t  pin  down  which  hurt  more  :  the  slew  of  tweets  from  people  pretending  to  know  what  went  on  in  her  relationship  .  .  .  or  the  thought  of  kieran  doing  something  as  rash  as  storming  out  of  an  interview  ––  and  then  not  telling  her  .  

“  i  didn’t  know  about  t’e  interv​​iew  bit  ,  ”  she  said  quietly  ,  eyes  still  trained  on  the  colorful  cube  .  she  was  certain  her  face  was  the  opposite  ,  color  drained  .  

“  evan  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  it’s  fine  ,  ”  she  said  firmly  ,  “  it’s  probably  not  true  .  just  like  t’e  rest  of  it  isn’t  true  .  ”

her  voice  sounded  distant  .  .  .  and  she  wasn’t  sure  if  she  was  trying  to  convince  isla  or  HERSELF  .  clearing  her  throat  again  ,  she  set  the  toy  back  down  on  her  desk  and  scooted  towards  the  computer  .  

“  i’ve  got  work  to  do  ,  ”  she  said  quietly  ,  getting  back  to  the  monitor  .  though  all  she  wanted  to  do  was  go  home  .  how  many  more  people  thought  that  she  wasn’t  GOOD  ENOUGH  for  kieran  ?  how  many  people  thought  someone  like  bex  was  a  better  fit  ?  how  long  would  it  take  for  the  suggestion  to  become  potent  enough  to  make  the  people  who  KNEW  them  question  it  as  well  ?  and  if  kieran  had  walked  out  of  an  interv​​iew  ,  WHY  hadn’t  he  told  her  ?  

she  glanced  down  at  her  own  phone  screen  ,  hoping  that  maybe  she’d  missed  a  text  or  a  call  .  .  .  but  all  she  got  was  nothing  .  nothing  but  the  words  she’d  seen  written  down  ,  now  cemented  in  her  mind  :  bex  is  simply  so  much  better  for  him  .  .  .  because  SHE  was  there  ,  wrapped  up  in  the  same  world  he  was  in  .  she  was  accessible  .  immediate  .  beautiful  .  

and  evan  was  stuck  in  london  with  nothing  but  time  to  wonder  .

[cuthian]

Dancing in the Rain Chapter Two

Hi guys!

For this chapter, I'd like to warn you to please read the tags carefully. There is a potentially triggering scene involving gaslighting and violence at the end of the chapter -- if you think that's something that might trigger you or that you'd prefer not to read, please stop reading when Brock Rumlow's scene starts and skip to the end notes, where I'll summarise the scene for you.

Thank you again to my lovely beta and to my roommate, who have dragged me through writing this entire piece.

And thank you for still reading! I love you all.

See you in the comments, and then next week!

Love, Annaelle

Chapter Two

MUST-SEE: PEPPER POTTS SHARES ADORABLE AND HILARIOUS ULTRASOUND PICTURE OF HER BABY ON TWITTER!

Pepper Potts revealed she was expecting her first child with partners James Rhodes and Tony Stark a few months ago. Yesterday, the C.E.O. of Stark Industries shared an ultrasound picture on Twitter, where we can clearly see the baby takes after one of its fathers!

Potts, 43, announced her first pregnancy in December of last year through a truly adorable video starring her partners and Captain Steve Rogers, who is a close friend of Potts and her partners. Since the announcement, Potts has been sharing biweekly updates in the form of pictures, anecdotes and short videos featuring most of the Avengers.

[…] Besides Potts herself, the most frequent guest on Potts’ Twitter page is Rebecca Barnes, who announced that she and Thor Odinson are expecting their first child only a few weeks after Potts’ announcement. […] Potts has shared quite a few ultrasound pictures of the baby already, but her last update promises to be the most popular so far. The post boasts another ultrasound picture, this one showing that the baby might take after daddy Tony Stark! “[…]baby swallowed amniotic fluid, and then they opened their little mouth SO wide and stuck their little tongue out so far the gynaecologist nearly fell of her stool laughing,” Potts wrote. “It was wonderful to see, because it looked like our baby had the biggest, cheekiest smile on their face—just like Tony.”

Many of the other Avengers and various other celebrities saw the resemblance too.

“Takes after Tony, that one,” Steve Rogers, Captain America and close personal friend of Stark, Rhodes, and Potts, replied. “We’re gonna have our hands full.”

“Lord have mercy,” James Rhodes, daddy number two, replied. “The world’s not ready for a second Tony Stark.”

—Clarke Blake, Flair Magazine, “Pepper Potts Tweets Adorable Ultrasound Picture”, April 2016

——————

6th avenue, Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States of America

23 April 2016

Peggy Carter

Peggy Carter had lived through quite a few life-altering events during her ninety-five years, but she dared say that sitting through a—albeit lovely—dinner with her goddaughter and her darling boyfriend, her niece and her prickly fiancé, her wonderfully dumb Steven, and Becky was a trial unlike any other she had faced so far.

Conversation was perfectly civil, of course, because Rebecca Barnes—senior, that is—did not tolerate acrimony of any sort at her dinner table, but there was a certain… tension between them that had not abated throughout the entire meal.

She had an inkling as to its origin, of course.

Sharon and her Brock had been together for quite some time, and while Peggy certainly had her reservations about the man, none of her background checks or even the private investigators had raised any red flags beyond a mild propensity for running his mouth when he had had a few drinks.

She never quite warmed up to the man though, finding herself a little put off by his brash attitude and his overall personality.

Sharon, however, had been quite besotted with the man since the day they’d met, and Peggy was not in the habit of trying to dictate her children’s—for that was what Sharon and Becca were, to her—love life. She had discretely done said background check on him, of course, because one could never be too careful, but nothing had come out of it, and so she held her tongue.

Whatever her own reservations towards him, Sharon loved him and he made her happy.

That was, in the end, all that Peggy wanted for her.

Her distaste of Brock, though, had been more apparent this night than she had intended for it to be.

Honestly, she blamed Thor a little bit, because Becca’s young man was so absurdly charming and lovely that Peggy couldn’t be fully blamed for showing something that might, in the right circumstances, be construed as… preference.

And honestly, whoever decided she was not allowed such preference?

People didn’t work that way.

Sometimes, one clicked with people, and sometimes, one didn’t.  

It was just that…

Well, she always strived to be fair to her family, even when her personality didn’t quite match with everyone, and Brock—as became increasingly clear as time passed and his relationship with her niece became more serious—was part of that family.

So was Thor, but the scales skewed much more in his favor because he reminded her so very much of her Daniel that sometimes it ached to look at him.

He was courteous and kind, and he revelled in her stories of her days as director of S.H.I.E.L.D. He referred to each little scuffle as a mighty battle, won by glorious victory, and had sworn to her that her days as a warrior for Earth had certainly earned her spot at his father’s table in Valhalla on the very first day they’d met.

She may—or may not—have shed a tear or two.

It should have occurred to her then, when Becca invited her over for dinner with Sharon, Brock, Thor, and Becky, that Brock would sense the difference in their interactions.

He was, after all, a fully trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and a good one too.

He’d noticed.

And the atmosphere during dinner had suffered for it.

It seemed to have eased off some now, while Thor bustled about in the kitchen to do the dishes, chattering happily with Becca, who sat perched on the counter beside him, cradling her swollen belly. Sharon leaned on the doorpost beside Becca, dangling an empty glass of wine from her fingertips as she occasionally threw a comment into the conversation.

They’d been whispering and giggling to each other the entire evening, and Peggy had to admit she was curious what those two were up to.

Steve had taken Brock to the living room, distracting the man from glowering at Peggy and Thor.

Honestly, Peggy huffed to herself, the entire thing was a tad tedious.

So she had a bit of a preference when it came to Sharon and Becca’s partners—sue her.

There was no need to be so petty about it.

“Well,” Becky said, raising an eyebrow at her, leaning back in her chair. “That could’ve gone better.”

Peggy snorted lightly and shook her head, setting down the glass of red wine she’d been sipping from all night on the table. “I suppose I could’ve comported myself better towards Brock,” Peggy admitted, glancing towards the living room, where she assumed Steve was entertaining the man in question.

Becky bit her lip and nodded lightly. “I mean… You hardly said two words to him and spent the rest of the night talking to Thor. It was rather obvious, Peg.”

Peggy pouted. “I suppose I should make an effort then, shouldn’t I?”

Becky wrinkled her nose at her and nodded. “I think you should.”

Peggy heaved a very put-upon sigh and hoisted herself out of her chair, smiling when Becky followed her example. They made their way into the living room, supporting each other as they walked, and settled comfortably on the love seat directly across from the fireplace.

Steve was kneeling in front of said fireplace, stacking several more blocks of chopped wood onto the dwindling flames. Peggy sighed wistfully, trailing her eyes appreciatively over Steve’s impressive biceps and exquisite form. It really was such a shame he had always been so hung up on Barnes—Peggy had had a great appreciation for him before the serum too, but…

There was something to be said for the way he had stepped out of the machine too.

She was sure they’d have had a lot of fun together if he hadn’t been so arse over teakettle in love with Bucky Barnes. Of course, she supposed if she and Steve had given each other a chance, she would never have married Daniel, and she would never have eventually fallen in love with her Angie too…

She would not have given them up for the world.

“Steve, darling,” she called out when he got back to his feet. “Come sit with us. What were you two talking about?”

Steve sat down on the sofa beside her and Becky’s love seat and smiled tightly. “We were discussing work, actually.” He shot a quick grin towards Rumlow when the man dragged a chair over so he could sit across from them, leaving the rest of the sofa open for the others.

“We were talking about the time he botched my mission,” Brock said, just the hint of a sneer detectable in his tone but voice otherwise just friendly enough to not be called out. “Put two of my guys in the hospital and had the Widow tase the shit out of another one. Still jumps at shadows, that one. Can’t use him for ops anymore, so thanks.”

He shook his head and took a chug of his beer. “Scared away our target too.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Is this true?” she asked, turning to Steve.

She was aware Steve ran mostly Avengers-related missions nowadays, and that those missions were usually meticulously planned by Becca, Maria Hill, and Pepper Potts. She couldn’t quite imagine such a large mistake escaping their notice.

Steve’s cheeks colored, and he shrugged. “Yeah. We got the same anonymous tip about a terrorist group we’d been monitoring, and we responded without a lot of delay—we informed Fury, and he gave us the go-ahead, but apparently Maria had also sent out a STRIKE team.” He sighed and hung his head. “We collided mid-mission.”

Rumlow snorted. “I gotta hand it to ya, you had us down quick. Team’s good.”

Steve smiled, and Peggy eyed him carefully. It wasn’t a real smile, because Steve’s real smiles still made her heart flutter a little, but there was enough sincerity in it to fool the people that didn’t quite know him as well as she did—or, she supposed, as well as Becca did.

Her goddaughter walked into the room and plopped down on the couch beside Steve, poking him in the arm immediately and drawing his attention away from the conversation.

Sharon and Thor filed into the room as well, and Peggy watched her niece as she sidled up beside her fiancé, leaning her hip against his shoulder until he slipped his arm around her waist and leaned in to press a light kiss to her cloth-covered hip.

Thor, on the other hand, fit himself into the narrow available space between Becca and Steve, jostling them both playfully as he settled, allowing Becca to lean up against him comfortably, slipping one hand to the curve of her stomach, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth.

Peggy smiled despite herself.

He did remind her so very much of Daniel, even in this.

Daniel had been sweet and nervous and in awe of her pregnancy too, and he had tried to wait on her hand and foot, even when it had made her want to shoot him more than it had helped.

She’d seen enough interaction between Thor and Becca to know their dynamic was similar, but also wildly different. Where Peggy had grated beneath Daniel’s care and constant attention, too independent and too unwilling to let loose her grasp on control, Becca seemed to find Thor’s constant gaze reassuring, and his touch calming.

“So,” Brock said, eyeing Sharon and Becca contemplatively. “You two gonna tell us what it is you’ve been whispering about all night?”

Peggy looked between the two as well. She had to admit she was rather curious too, because Becky had already informed her that it was actually Becca who had asked if she would host a dinner for all of them so she could give them some important news.

“Yes,” Becca said slowly, glancing towards Sharon and then Thor. “Yes, I think…” She exhaled shakily and set one hand on her stomach. “Well, I think you’ve all noticed I’m pregnant.”

Peggy snorted a laugh, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Thor’s dad…” Becca continued slowly, “he… Well, he’s not been the most supportive about it.”

Thor leaned forward then, a determined, yet grave expression on his face. “My father is a most traditional man, when it suits him to be one. He has ratified laws that state that if I wish to be able to claim our child as mine—my heir—it must be born on Asgard.”

Peggy blinked.

“Oh,” she said.

Becca smiled tightly. “Because travel through the Bifrost is extremely taxing for humans as it is, I need to travel there before I hit twenty-eight weeks. Just to be safe. It’s like flying in the third trimester.”

A heavy silence followed her words, and Peggy tried to wrap her head around what that meant.

“You’re—you’re twenty-six weeks along, though,” Peggy asserted. “You would have to go within…”

“Within two weeks, yes,” Becca nodded, leaning back into Thor’s embrace. “And I would be gone for… for a while, probably. If Eir and Thor are right, I wouldn’t be up for any sort of Bifrost travel for quite some time after the baby’s born either. So I…” She looked at Sharon, who smiled encouragingly, and Peggy found she had an inkling of where this was going.

“I need a replacement for my position as official S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison to the Avengers,” Becca continued. “Someone the Avengers as a whole trust, so I…” She finally returned Sharon’s smile. “I thought of Sharon. I know you’ve… you’ve had a hard time at S.H.I.E.L.D. since… everything,” Becca’s voice lowered, and rage pulsed deep within Peggy’s veins at the mere mention of the absurd charges they’d tried to lay against her niece. “I hoped you might like a change of scenery,” Becca continued. “Some new colleagues.”

She chuckled and elbowed Steve in the side as she added, “Mind you, they’re a mad bunch, and you should never listen to Steve, even though he’s team leader, because he’s full of shit, but—”

“I am not,” Steve said, affronted.

“Oh darling,” Peggy sighed. “You always were a dramatic shit. It stands to reason that didn’t change.”

Brock guffawed and the others snickered at Steve’s expense, and Peggy smiled broadly at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve huffed indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on, Becs, you were telling us something big, remember?”

Becca smiled beatifically at him, and Peggy shook her head to clear it—it was difficult, in moments like these, to remember that she wasn’t back in the war, and that Becca wasn’t Bucky Barnes, ribbing Steve about something or the other while the rest of the Howlies laughed at them.  

Becky, God bless her, noticed her slip in attention, and patted her hand lightly on top of Peggy’s.

Peggy shot her a grateful smile before she focused her attention back on Becca.

“That’s mostly it,” Becca shrugged. “If Sharon agrees—”

“Oh, Sharon agrees,” the woman in question piped up from where she had settled on a second dining chair next to Brock, reaching out to take her fiancé’s hand. “It’ll be good to get away from S.H.I.E.L.D. for a bit,” she added sadly, and Peggy frowned.

It hurt, to think that the organisation she had built from the ground up was such a stifling place for her own niece now. It was so upsetting, in fact, that she nearly missed the scowl that marred Brock’s face before he schooled his face into a pretty convincing smile.

Nearly.

She eyed him shrewdly.

Did his jealousy of their acceptance of Thor run so deep that anything connected to him was automatically met with anger and resentment?

“—well,” Becca continued, grinning at Sharon, “then all that’s really left is me teaching you the ropes, and us coordinating moving to Asgard for the foreseeable future.” She looked back at Thor, who smiled tenderly at her before he leaned in to press a kiss to her temple.

“I’ll miss you, sweetheart,” Becky said quietly, and Peggy’s heart broke a little for her friend. Becky had raised Becca, thought of her as her daughter more than she did her actual daughter. It wasn’t easy for Peggy to know she’d miss the birth of Becca’s first—of their first great-grandchild—so it had to be agonising for Becky.

“About that,” Thor began. “If I may… I want to suggest that perhaps, you could accompany us. I’m sure it would mean a great deal to Rebecca to have you there,” he continued, and Peggy surmised from the stunned expression on Becca’s face that Thor’s suggestions was news to her too.

Becky blinked.

“Wouldn’t I be imposing?” she asked in a small, soft voice. “Your father hasn’t exactly been accepting of Becca—would he accept another human on Asgard?”

Thor shrugged. “That is really no concern of mine. He has made too many demands that we have been forced to concede to already. I will not stand for him removing Becca from her family when she needs them most.” His eyes softened, and Peggy was harshly reminded of Daniel, of the way he’d looked at her when she was being unreasonable, of the way he’d gone to bat for her when no one would even give her the time of day.

“Steve’s coming too,” Becca said, although she didn’t take her eyes off Thor. “For a bit.”

Peggy’s gaze swivelled to Steve, who nodded. “I haven’t put down the shield in almost a decade,” he said, and Peggy was fairly certain she wasn’t imagining the way his voice wavered a little. “What better time to take a break than now?” He shrugged and said, “Well, in a few weeks. I’ll have a few things to take care of before I can go too.”

“Just let me know when,” Becky said, startling Peggy a little. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

In a flash, Becca was up and flung her arms around her grandmother, and Peggy smiled lightly. She’d never gotten to have these kinds of moments with her own son—he’d passed away before he’d been able to marry, to have children, and Peggy had been left with no one until Tony was born, and then later Sharon and Becca.

She was glad that she would get to have these moments now, at least.

Becca’s children, Tony’s children, Sharon’s children—if she ever chose to have any—would be her great-grandchildren, and she would love them like they’d been Michael’s.

She leaned her shoulder into Steve’s when he sat beside her, taking her small, wrinkled hand in his.

“Almost feels perfect,” he said quietly, watching Becca and Becky with a very familiar gleam in his eye. “Doesn’t it?” He looked at her and squeezed her hand carefully—so very carefully.

Peggy knew everything he wasn’t saying.

They’d lost Timothy only a few months ago, and Gabe a year before that. Dernier, Morita, Falsworth and Barnes had been gone for so long they felt like distant memories to her, and the others were only a little fresher in her mind than that—although she supposed they were much fresher in Steve’s mind. They were the only ones left of their merry little band, and… she understood what he meant.

They still had family, and it felt almost like home—but nothing ever would without the others.

“Yes,” she agreed, leaning her cheek against his shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. “Almost.”

——————

THE EFFECT OF POPULAR CULTURE ON WARTIME PROPAGANDA: CAPTAIN AMERICA

The character of Captain America was created by Jack Kirby and Joe Simon at the instruction of Senator Brandt after Captain Steve Rogers—a soldier without a military rank at that time—received the super serum and successfully survived the procedure. The character that was based on Steve Rogers’ life and journey to become the first and only American super soldier first saw the light on March 10th, 1942 in what would become a monthly collection that ended in July 1949, for after the war people lost interest in these kinds of stories.

[…] Thus we can see the importance that offers this comic as a primary source, as well as being interesting to study the covert propaganda mechanisms. It also shows how people reacted to the horrors of war, especially those who felt that it was something that could happen to themselves, like the creators of Captain America. […] All the same, the collection of Captain America is most suitable for this type of study because we do not just see an imaginary superhero fighting Nazis and preventing them from seizing global control, but we see an American soldier and patriot fighting for his rights and his ideals.

This is something to keep in mind when analysing these comics because, after all, Steve Rogers is a soldier and a real man, rather than another superhero. There is no official report on how Captain Rogers felt about his life being used to create propaganda, although there are several interviews available with members of the Howling Commandos, who all imply with varying degrees of subtlety that the Captain was not a fan of being followed around by cameras during missions.

[…] Captain America has become a classical icon in the American culture over time, paraded about in comic books and films to promote what one can generally classify as “traditional Christian values”. An interesting, if not important, question one must ask themselves here is whether Captain Rogers supported those values himself. What little sources remain documenting the Captain’s life before he received the serum paint a picture that does not always fit with the image propaganda painted.

Rogers was, for example, the only child of a widowed, Irish immigrant mother, sickly and small in stature, and a card-carrying socialist whose arrest record was more impressive than several of today’s most well-known activists’. The only thing from his propaganda Captain Rogers ever openly agreed with was that he valued his new powers because he hadn’t always been this healthy—he used them to fight adversaries, Nazis and villainous HYDRA, to defend his homeland and principles because it was the right thing to do, not because he sought to fight anyone.

[…] also in one of the first issues of the Captain America comics after Captain Rogers’ rescue of the 107th Regiment from Azzano, we are introduced to his inseparable partner, Bucky, who is the mascot of the 107th regiment in the comic books. This character soon became almost as popular as Captain America, because children didn’t have to dream about superheroes anymore—they could be one even when they were as young as Bucky Barnes.

Of course, James Buchanan Barnes, the inspiration for the character, was no child, nor a simple mascot for the 107th Regiment. The decision to make a grown man, who was an accomplished soldier that made the rank of Sergeant before he finished boot camp and was handpicked for extended training as an expert marksman, was almost definitely a carefully considered one.

He was Captain Rogers’ childhood best friend and rumoured to be the reason Captain Rogers’ decided to save the imprisoned soldiers at Azzano. His influence on Captain Rogers, both as a comic book character and as his real-life right-hand man, is undeniable and must be considered in the context of this study. […] little is known how Sergeant Barnes felt about his comic book character, although several of the surviving members of the Howling Commandos have implied that neither Barnes nor Rogers were particularly pleased with their fictive counterparts.

[…] on the pages of this comic, the fears and concerns of the American society at the time, regarding their ideas about the war and the Germans, are reflected.

[…] nevertheless, it should be noted that Captain America was meant to be a figure that brings hope to the society, to bring it together to overcome the crisis. Not only this, with his ideals based on the reform of the New Deal, they could recover it to set a perfect example to try to carry out a new economic change. […] even after Sergeant’s Barnes’ and Captain Rogers’ untimely and tragic demises, the figures of Captain America and Bucky Barnes continued growing, expanding and reaching mythical proportions.

With Captain Rogers’ miraculous recovery and revival, and his subsequent breakdown of everything the public has been fed by propaganda during the last sixty years, the question has arisen of how much of written wartime history is correct, and how much of it is the result of propaganda made real by fictional characters.

[…] perhaps we live in a historic moment in time in which we need to appeal to the fictional characters to find heroes and role models that everyone should and could follow.

—Marina Chorro Giner, “Political Propaganda during WWII: Captain America”, unpublished article on academia.edu about the influence of popular culture as political propaganda during WWII, March 2013

———————

Tony Stark’s Personal Lab, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, United States of America

12:23 A.M., 28 April 2016

Tony

Tony was a few hours into his favorite, semi-hazy mindset, tinkering with one of his newer prototypes—a modified version of the Mark IV suit, possibly designed with specs of every individual Avenger in mind, just in case—grease smeared across his cheek and all over his shirt when the elevator dinged pleasantly, and a heavily pregnant Pepper waddled into his workshop, one hand supporting her belly and the other pressed to her lower back.

Tony dropped his screwdriver and shot to his feet, rushing towards his girlfriend. “Hey Pep,” he said gently, because last week he’d greeted her too loudly and she’d cried for an hour and then yelled at Rhodey for not getting her French fries.

Tony was a genius. He occasionally learned from his mistakes—and the first thing he’d learned during Pepper’s pregnancy was to not aggravate or question the expectant mommy.

“What’re you doing down here?” he added, subtly walking her to the ultra-comfortable couch he’d put in his lab because Pepper—and occasionally Becca, when she got bored and needed to rib someone other than Cap—wandered down here to find him regularly.

“It’s late,” she told him reproachfully. “Rhodey’s not here to cuddle me, so you have to.” She tugged on his hand and frowned at him. “Come to bed with me.”

Usually, Pepper telling him to come to bed did the trick fine—Tony really did have a hard time saying no to her in general, and it was twice as bad now that she was pregnant and he owed her because “she was letting his spawn dance on her bladder for nine months”, and really, he couldn’t argue with that.

Of course, Pepper used that argument on him and Rhodey for everything—ranging from letting her have the last slice of bacon to driving to the grocery store in the middle of the night to get her the good kind of chocolate, because it “just wasn’t the same” if they got it delivered—but that didn’t make it any less effective.

Tony looked longingly over his shoulder at the suit he’d been working on.

Pepper sighed. “Alright. Compromise. Show me what you’re working on first, then bed.”

Tony beamed and led her back to the workbench, plopping down on his seat and gesturing to the suit—that would fit Cap’s dorito-esque proportions perfectly once it was finished—excitedly while he explained the features he’d built into it. Pepper smiled indulgently at him, rubbing her fingers through his loose, curly hair—he hadn’t put any product in it today, and he knew she liked it best that way.

“Steve’ll definitely appreciate it,” she told him when he fell silent.

Tony sighed and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the swell of her stomach, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment. He hadn’t slept in a while, because… because he needed to be sure that everything was ready, was safe by the time the baby—babies—would arrive, and he didn’t have a lot of time left.

Pep was due in five weeks—Becca in thirteen.

Sure, Becca wouldn’t be in the Tower for a while after the baby was born, and she was probably going to be safer on Asgard than anywhere else, but… just in case.

Just in case any of his nightmares turned out to be true.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a dull thump against his forehead. He looked up and blinked at Pepper, who was clearly fighting a smile.

“Was that—” he said, astonished, “Did my own kid just kick me in the head?”

Pepper snorted a laugh and Tony gaped at her. “My kid kicked me,” he repeated, slightly hysterically.

“Kid’s got good sense already,” someone said from behind him, and Tony whirled around on his wheelie chair to find the fucking Widow and her younger, redder shadow crowded in his doorway.

“Well, fuck you too,” Tony blurted, although he winced as Pepper smacked the back of his head for cursing in front of the—unborn—baby.

“We have to talk to you,” Wanda said slowly, accent lightly coloring her words. “We have…” she frowned and looked to Nat with a light frown, “…discovered something. Possibly.”

Pepper huffed a sigh. “You can have him for thirty minutes. No longer,” she said sternly, wagging her finger at the two other women. “It’s late and I need sleep, and I need my favorite teddy bear in my bed—preferably after he’s showered the grease off.”

Widow smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”

With that, Pepper waddled out of the lab, leaving Tony alone with their resident lethally reds. “Okay,” he said. “Well. Whaddya got?”

----------------------------

Poetic Edda – Hovamol – stanza 81 to 89

“Give praise to the day at evening, to a woman on her pyre, to a weapon which is tried, to a maid at wedlock, to ice when it is crossed, to ale that is drunk.

When the gale blows hew wood, in fair winds seek the water, sport with maidens at dusk, for day’s eyes are many; from the ship seek swiftness, from the shield protection, from the sword cuts and from the maiden kisses.

By the fire drink ale, over ice go on skates; buy a steed that is lean and a sword when tarnished.

A man shall trust not the oath of a maid, nor the word a woman speaks, for their hearts on a whirling wheel were fashioned, and fickle their breasts were formed.

In a breaking bow or a burning flame, a ravening wold or a croaking raven, in a grunting boar, a tree with roots broken, in billowy seas or a bubbling kettle, in a flying arrow or falling waters.

In ice new formed or the serpents folds, in a bride’s bed-speech or a broken sword; in the sport of bears or in sons of kings. In a calf that is sick, or a stubborn thrall, a flattering witch or a foe new slain.

In a light, clear sky or a laughing throng, in the bowl of a dog or a harlot’s grief!

In a brother’s slayer, if thou meet him abroad, in a half-burned house, in a horse full swift; one leg hurt and the horse is useless… None had ever such faith as to trust in them all.”

—Predictions of Odin One-Eyed, King of Asgard and the Nine, as quoted by Snorri

--------------------------------

Tony Stark’s Personal Lab, Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York, United States of America

2 A.M., 28 April 2016

Steve

Steve yawned and rubbed his hand through his undoubtedly messy hair.

He had rolled straight out of bed when J.A.R.V.I.S. had called for him, and the only reason he hadn’t rolled right into the suit was because the A.I. had assured him it wasn’t an Assemble-call. He had, thus, not made a lot of effort, and wandered down to Tony’s lab in his pyjama’s.

His only concession to social convention had been to pull on an incredibly soft t-shirt, and thick, woollen socks that Thor had once gifted him.

“Tony,” he complained as soon as the elevator doors opened, “why am I here? I could be sleeping.”

He stopped short when he caught sight of Natasha and Wanda, both gaping at him with parted lips, Tony standing a little behind them, his hair wild and curly and his expression sheepish.

“You woke him up for this?” Natasha demanded, rounding on Tony with a mighty frown. “I thought we agreed to wait until tomorrow, at least—J.A.R.V.I.S. hasn’t even finished processing all the information!” She gestured towards the large holographic screen angrily, and Steve looked too, unsure of what he was looking at.

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Tony protested. “You said—”

“We don’t know anything!” Natasha bit out harshly, uncharacteristically emotional and expressive.

“He should know!” Tony argued.

Nat opened her mouth to argue back, but Steve had had enough. “Guys!” he yelled, startling them all. “What do I need to know?”

Tony blinked wide-eyed at him. “Uh,” he said. “See. The thing is…” He stopped and looked helplessly at Natasha, who had her arms crossed over her chest and was glaring at him.

“Steve,” Wanda said timidly from where she stood, slightly behind Natasha, her eyes wide and imploring. “I didn’t want to tell you unless I was sure.” She had pulled the sleeves of her long t-shirt down over her hands and was fiddling with the edges nervously. Steve hadn’t seen her look this withdrawn and nervous in… God, he didn’t even know how long, and he didn’t like it.

“Tell me what, kid?” he asked, careful to keep his tone calmer than before.

“We think Hydra might be back,” Tony blurted, before his eyes went wide again and he clapped his own hands over his mouth.

Steve stared at him.

“That’s not funny,” he croaked, his hands curling into fists at the mere idea. “That’s not fucking funny.”

Natasha looked at him, for the first time since she’d turned from him to yell at Tony, and her eyes were so sad, so horribly sad, that it made his skin crawl. He stood stock still as she approached, didn’t move when she laid a hand on his arm, didn’t breathe as she said, softly, “No one’s laughing, Steve.”

“I destroyed them,” he said, a little desperate. “I burned them to the ground, and I salted the earth, I made sure nothing was left.” He didn’t realize how loud he was speaking until the ringing silence that followed the last, shouted word. “I died destroying them,” he whispered. “They’re gone. Tony, you’re—you’re wrong.”

“It wasn’t Tony,” Wanda said quietly, and Steve startled at the sound of her voice.

“What?”

“It wasn’t Tony,” she repeated. “I found them. And we’re not sure, but… we’re as sure as we can be.”

Steve noted, right then, that his breathing was more unsteady than it had been since he’d received the serum. He felt like he was having an asthma attack for the first time in eighty years.

He couldn’t say he’d missed it.

He sat, heavily, in the nearest wheelie chair and stared at his hands—he’d killed, pretty indiscriminately, with these hands, had tried to raze everything even remotely related to Hydra to the ground with these hands—and wondered if everything he’d done, if everything he’d died for…

If it had all been for nothing.

“Tell me,” he finally whispered hoarsely, lifting his gaze from his hands to look at his teammates—his friends. “Tell me everything.”

—————————

E 206th Street, The Bronx, New York City, New York, United States of America

28 April 2016

Brock Rumlow

“Look,” Brock said patiently, slowly, because he knew he was pushing the line here, and that this whole thing could backfire on him very easily. “I’m not saying that I don’t think it’s a good idea, or that I don’t think you could and should do it.” He pushed up from the bed he shared with Sharon and walked over to where she stood, arms crossed over her chest and frowning.

“Shar,” he cajoled, trailing his hands down her upper arms. “I’m so proud of you. And of course, you should absolutely take this amazingopportunity, I’m just…” he shrugged and schooled his face into something semi-hurt. “I just wish I’d been part of the conversation, you know? We’re… I mean,” he sighed. “We’re supposed to be doing all of this together, right? And making huge, career-defining decisions are a part of that, aren’t they?”

He could see Sharon’s anger melting away, replaced by something sheepish—something he had been hoping to incite in her. He was desperately trying to salvage whatever he could from the flaming wreckage that had been his plan to turn Sharon.

In his defence, it had been working—Sharon had been relying on him, mostly, had been talking much more warmly about his fellow S.T.R.I.K.E. agents, who had been vocal about their support of her, while still feeding into the rumours about her supposed misconduct, and Brock had been so close to gently suggesting that maybe they should spend more time with those kinds of people…

With the people that believed her, that didn’t perpetuate a false, twisted version of her, with people like her and Brock—

And then it all got fucked up.

He’d been planning on how to turn Sharon for years, had set everything into motion years ago, had been working it—on her—for the longest time before fucking Rebecca Barnes and her meddlesome band of Avengers had ruined everything.

Fuck those fucking bastards.

And fuck fucking Rebecca Barnes for giving Sharon options.

For getting her away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and from Brock’s direct influence and fuck her for doing it so smoothly and sneakily and fucking publicly that he hadn’t been able to do anything but nod along.

All he could do now was try to pick up whatever pieces were left and try to formulate something new, something equally good or better, something that would get Pierce to listen to him, to acknowledge him and to recognise the work he did for the betterment of Hydra.

“You’re right,” Sharon sighed, arms falling to her side as she leaned back against their dresser. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I should’ve talked about it with you. I just…” she threw her hands up in exasperation and shook her head. “I was so excited, so thrilled by the idea of getting away from it all that I just…” she hesitated. “I just didn’t think about it and said yes.”

Brock lifted a hand to stroke his fingers through her thick, blonde hair as he must’ve done hundreds, if not thousands of times before in the past five years, and heaved a sigh.

Really, he might have grown to like Sharon more, over time, if she’d let him turn her.

She was fucking smart, and if he hadn’t been quite so good an actor, she’d have seen through him years ago, and it didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes either.

Not to mention that the sex was fantastic.

It really was too bad she was so independent and opinionated.

So mouthy.

He could’ve put up with her overbearing aunt and Rogers and Barnes if she’d just been a little more… a little more docile, a little more receptive to his needs.

If she would’ve let him turn her to Hydra, rather than take the first opportunity that led away from him with both hands, not even bothering to look back.

Some fiancée she was.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, before she leaned in and kissed him.

He kissed back automatically, without thinking much about it—it’d become a reflex, after all this time—trying to consider what he was going to do now. What use did he have for Sharon now that it had become glaringly obvious that he was never going to be able to turn her unless he would entirely rewrite her memory, like they’d done to the Soldier.

Unlike the Soldier though, Sharon would likely not survive the procedure.

Barnes, however… much as she aggravated him just by existing, Barnes had the exact potential that Sharon now lacked.

He needed access to Barnes, to the Avengers and their plans—

Brock broke the kiss abruptly, leaning back far enough to see Sharon’s quizzical expression.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, forehead creasing into a frown.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, eyeing her carefully, fingers tightening in her hair. “Sorry babe. This ain’t personal.” He abruptly tightened his hand into a fist and yanked, smashing Sharon’s head against the dresser as hard as he could. She gave a yelp that abruptly cut off when she hit the hardwood surface, and dropped like a sack of bricks when he let go off her, falling to the floor of their bedroom in an inelegant heap.

Brock eyed her prone body.

Well. That was step one.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot a quick text to Jack Rollins.

Time to implement step two and work out the rest of the plan.

HYDRA had sat back and watched Barnes and the Avengers mess up their plans for too long. It was high time to remind Barnes of her place in the world—not a future princess of fucking Asgard, but a future Soldier of Hydra.

—————————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Dancing in the Rain: 

(1)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

[newhopegeorgie]

reunited I r.b

(hello! i’ve been away on vacation but i’m finally back with another one shot. this one was based on a request from the very kind @wallows-spring. i hope you enjoy it! if it isn’t exactly what you wanted or envisioned then feel free to send in another request with some more details and i’d be happy to rewrite it for you! anyways, hope you all like it, feedback is always appreciated and requests are open if you’d like to send one in <3)

When New Hope Club announced that they were finally doing a show in your home country you were ecstatic. You’d been following the band since the beginning and only been able to see them perform live once. That was a year ago. You’d begged your mom to let you travel to a different country to go see their show and thankfully she decided to let you. Of course, you’d interacted with the boys on social media, they even followed you, but it wasn’t anywhere near the same as seeing them in person, and you really missed them.

But they’d just released some new tour dates and finally, your country was one of them. It took you no time at all to secure your tickets, making sure you were going to the meet and greet as well. You posted a screenshot on Twitter, tagging the boys and expressing your excitement for the show.

A few minutes later your phone dinged. You didn’t really think anything of it until it started blowing up with notifications. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and went to see what was going on. Your mentions on Twitter were going insane with your followers and some friends congratulating you. You wondered what it was you did that warranted congratulations, but then you realized. A few minutes ago, Reece had replied to your tweet about your tickets.

@ NewHopeReece: So happy you’re excited love. Can’t wait to see you it’s been so long xx

You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t jump as you read his tweet. You were surprised by his message, definitely not thinking he’d ever remembered having met you before. The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy and you only felt more excited to meet the boys, despite your show being about two months away.

As the day got closer you posted updates on Twitter, not being able to contain yourself. Every few days you’d send out ‘29 more days!’ or an ‘only 2 weeks left !!’. And every time, without fail, Reece would like your tweet. He almost seemed more excited than you were, not that you were complaining. 

Your show was the next day and you felt bits of your excitement turn to nerves. You’re overthinking had taken up most of the space in your brain, meaning to have posted a ‘tomorrow!’ update on Twitter but completely forgetting. A notification on your phone broke through your loud thoughts and you went to see what it was. A new tweet from Reece.

@ NewHopeReece: one more day! @ yourtwitter x

You swore felt your heart stop for a second. Had he been counting down too? You quickly retweeted it and sent it to your friends, being met back with ‘he’s def in love w you’ and ‘you guys are my faves’. You laughed softly at their responses before continuing on with your day. Your mentions were full of other fans saying how cute they thought it was or how they couldn’t wait to see videos of you and Reece meeting. All the kind words made you smile.

That night you couldn’t sleep. You were way too excited to shut your eyes for more than 2 minutes, let alone enough time for you to actually drift off. You’d already spent much of your time procrastinating sleeping. You’d picked out what you were going to wear, practiced your hair and your makeup. Hell you’d even practiced faces to make in your pictures with the boys, you told yourself it was so you didn’t have to worry about not liking your pictures, so you felt less silly about the whole thing. You really didn’t want to be tired though, so you willed your body to sleep despite your racing thoughts trying to keep you up.

•••

The next morning was kind of a blur. You were practically on autopilot as you got ready. All your brain could seem to do was theorize every possible way you could screw this up. You tried not to dwell on it but the thoughts kept nagging you at the back of your mind. You friends had come over not too long ago to get ready with you, as you were all going to the show together. They’d helped put your mind at ease, telling you Reece was probably even more nervous than you, making you chuckle a bit.

“Seriously Y/N, I’m pretty sure you have nothing to worry about,” one of them reassured you.

“Yeah, literally listen to what he just tweeted. ‘@ yourtwitter todays the day x’. Even he’s counting down,” another said with a laugh. Their words made you feel a bit better about the situation and you decided to stop worrying and just let yourself enjoy the night. 

After everyone was finished getting ready, you all headed out. The meet and greet didn’t even start for a few hours so you and your friends decided to go get lunch first. You took a picture of your meal, and your friends sitting across the table from you and posted it to Twitter. 

@ yourtwitter: concert pregame with these girlies lol

A few minutes later you got a notification. And, yet again, Reece responded to you.

@ NewHopeReece: Didn’t even invite me? I’m hurt @ yourtwitter

You gaped at his message, quickly turning your phone to show your friends what he’d said. “What am I supposed to say?” you asked them. Your friend took your phone from your hands, typing out a response and sending it before handing your phone back to you.

@ yourtwitter: haha i’ll bring you something i promise xx @ NewHopeReece

You laughed at her message, thinking it was funny and that’d be the end of the conversation. But not even a minute later Reece tweeted at you again.

@ NewHopeReece: I’m holding you too that ;) @ yourtwitter

“I was kidding when I put that but now you really have to get him something,” your friend said laughing. You rolled your eyes at her, making a mental note to buy him a cookie on your way out of the cafe.

It was finally time for the meet and greet and you and your friends had just entered the venue. You definitely weren’t the first ones there but you also weren’t too far back in line so you were happy. You felt your excitement rising as you waited, gradually moving closer to the boys. You chatted happily with your group, the cookie you’d bought for Reece held in your hands. The boys were stood in order of George, then Blake, and Reece at the end so you were going to meet him last.

As you got to the front of the line your friends hastily pushed you forward to go first. You approached George with a wide smile on your face. He welcomed you with open arms, saying hello to you. You hugged him tightly and asked him for a picture together. He was incredibly sweet just as you’d expected. The two of you got to talk for about a minute before you were ushered to move on.

When you got to Blake it went about the same as with George. Hugs and pictures and getting to chat for a bit. “Reece is very excited to see you,” he said, handing your phone to you after getting a couple pictures. You let out a giddy laugh, “Seriously?” you asked him. He nodded his head quickly at you. “Hasn’t stopped talking about it. You might wanna go say hi before he shouts at me for taking up all your time.” He said lightheartedly. He gave you one last hug before sending you on your way towards Reece.

His face brightened as he saw you, immediately scooping you up into a tight embrace. “Reunited at last!” he shouted. A few fans that were in line laughed at your little reunion. “It's been so long, I’ve missed you, love!” He let you out of his hug and held your arms, keeping you close as he spoke to you.

“I know, it's been forever!”

“Do you want a picture?” he asked, gesturing to your phone. You nodded and he took it from your grasp, throwing his arm around your waist to take a few photos with you. You thanked him once he was done, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Now if I’m not mistaken, you promised me something earlier.” He said in a teasing tone. 

“I did promise you something,” you laughed. You handed him the cookie that you’d gotten for him, “I don’t break promises Bibby,” you said, teasing him back. His face lit up as he took it from you.

“I thought you were joking! Wow, you really are the best,” he said to you, pulling you into his side for another hug. You smiled brightly at him, gladly accepting his warm embrace.

“I’m kind of sad, I don’t want to wait another year to see you again,” you frowned, a half-hearted laugh escaping your lips. Reece placed the cookie on a table not too far from him, frowning at your statement.

“Awe, love I don’t either. I promise we’ll figure something out, I won’t make you wait long.”He looked you in the eyes and for some reason, you trusted that he meant it. One of the event coordinators was trying to move you along, saying you were out of time. Reece hugged you one last time before you had to leave. “The boys and I have a free day tomorrow before we leave, I’ll dm you,” he whispered to you. The coordinator was now rushing you off, getting impatient. You smiled at him, saying goodbye as you left, not before seeing Reece send you a subtle wink.

After the meet and greet you got to enjoy the concert. It was amazing, exceeding all your expectations. It went by far too quickly for your liking and before you knew it, you and your friends were leaving the venue. You all talked a mile a minute, recounting everything that's gone on the past few hours. Your Twitter was flooded yet again and you wondered what's happened.

You opened the app to find countless videos of your interaction with Reece. People were tagging you and him, saying how they shipped you two or thought you guys were adorable. You smiled at the messages, liking and retweeting a few that made you laugh. You wondered to yourself if Reece was actually serious about dming you like he said he would. Of course, you wanted nothing more than to receive a message from him, but then again he was Reece Bibby so you didn’t get your hopes up.

•••

 The next day you woke up to the sun shining in your eyes. You smiled to yourself, replaying the previous day over in your mind. You rolled over in bed to go through your phone, much like you did every morning. You’d gone through most of your social media, tapping on the Twitter icon last, opening up the app. You saw a dm notification and furrowed your eyebrows, confused. When you clicked on it you felt your heart jump to your throat, not believing what you had just read.

From @ NewHopeReece: Hey love, it’s Reece. You busy today? x

[d2kvirus]

Dickheads of the Month: September 2019

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of September 2019 to make sure that they are never forgotten.

As if proven liar Boris Johnson suspending parliament to try and force through a No Deal Britait at the end of August didn’t look dictatorial enough, he then moved on to threatening and Tory MP who doesn't fall in line with deselection - and yet, rather than call this the obviously despotic move that it is, instead the media spent more time focusing on him adopting a fucking dog

Master strategist Dominic Cummings said that, rather than listen to “rich Remainers” in London, people should listen to those all over the country - which certainly helped, as Cummings’ genius idea to have proven liar Alexander Boris De Pfeffel Johnson walk the streets of Morley and Doncaster saw said proven liar have to listen to the non-rich giving him both barrels for being responsible for the mess we are currently in

Not only did Laura Kuenssberg repeat what the press did with Carrie Symonds’ neighbours and throw around the term “Labour activist” to dismiss the very real concerns of the father whose daughter was in the understaffed hospital that proven liar Boris Johnson visited for a press op and then called out the proven liar’s claims it wasn’t a press op by pointing to the camera crew a few feet away, but she went one step further by doxxing the person by posting one of his tweets to her Twitter timeline, which unsurprisingly led to him getting a dog’s abuse from people because he dared say bad things about proven liar Boris Johnson - abuse he would not have got if Kuenssberg hadn’t doxxed him to her 1.1m Twitter followers, all because she wanted to distract attention from the fact her beloved BoBo had been caught on camera lying to someone’s face

...and it wasn’t long before the BBC proved their blatant double standards, having circled the wagons around Kuenssberg to say she did nothing wrong while doxxing a member of the public, yet disciplining Naga Munchetty for an off-the-cuff remark about the Orange Overlord saying Trump saying non-whites who criticise him should “go back where they came from” is racist

There is nothing sinister about Dominic Cummings saying that, if MPs wants to stop receiving death threats, they need to get Britait done.  Absolutely nothing sinister about that at all...

When Jacob Rees Mogg wasn’t literally lying in parliament, he was dismissing the genuine concerns of neurologist Dr David Nicholl by comparing his concerns to those of anti-vaxxer Andrew Wakefield, who was struck off for giving erroneous advice

I’m trying to work out if Justin Trudeau forgot about the whole wearing blackface thing, or merely assumed everyone else had.  Either way, at best he could generously be accused of gross naivety - especially when the second round of photos came out, after he tried to pass it off as a one-time prank

So not only did proven liar Boris Johnson sound supremely cuntish by saying that leaving the EU would honour the memory of Jo Cox - that’s the same Jo Cox who, while campaigning for Remain, was murdered by a member of Britain First - but when quizzed on this Bernard Jenkin could only respond about the stress that the proven liar was under, because as we all know the real victim is the person who said something monumentally dense and not the person murdered by a member of the far-right on the streets of their constituency

If anyone can explain what the hell compelled Stephen Kinnock to suddenly decide that Theresa May’s deal should have yet another going over in parliament in spite it being defeated three times already and her not even being PM at this point, let alone why he wanted to bring this up at the moment No Deal was being defanged, I would love to hear it

Something compelled Quentin Letts to compare the recently-deceased Robert Mugabe to Boris Johnson...as a compliment

Compelling argument against nominative determinism James Cleverly thought he was being clever by keeping up the “chicken” jibes against Jeremy Corbyn that proven liar Boris Johnson and his cronies at The Sun had been keeping up for days in a desperate attempt to pretend Corbyn hadn’t spotted an obvious tarp by Dominic Cummings and sidestepped it...right up until his stunt ended up seeing the entire Tory party get bitchslapped by Kentucky Fried Chicken

...and it wasn’t long before proven liar Boris Johnson rendered all jibes of Corbyn being “chicken” laughable when he responded to some heckling when visiting Luxembourg by publicly running away from a press conference with Luxembourg’s PM 

According to Kwasi Kwarteng there are people up and down the country questioning the impartiality of the Scottish judges who ruled Boris Johnson’s prorogation of parliament unlawful.  Just a reminder, Kwasi Kwarteng is the Business Secretary and not a Youtube right-wing conspiracy nut

Waffling gargoyle Nigel Farage has decided that those dozens of appearances on BBC political programming over the last decade were examples of the BBC being biased against him, and he;s boycotting all future appearances.  He neglected to mention whether or not any other member of The Nigel Farage Ego Project would follow suit...

We saw just how little credibility Laura Kuenssberg has on the 2nd September edition of The Six O’Clock News where she stood outside 10 Downing Street talking about how proven liar Boris Johnson would be calling a snap election, only for her to be cut off mid-sentence by the proven liar walking out to waffle for five minutes where the only thing of note he said that wasn’t an easily-debunked lie was that there would be no election...and once he was finished Kuenssberg continued talking about a snap election as if she hadn’t been stood less than twenty feet away when it was said there would be no election

The fact that nobody was surprised when James Cleverly falsely claimed that the Tories created the NHS during the Tory conference isn’t a surprise - not least because it’s not even the first time Cleverly has made that patently false claim 

It would appear that Alan Sugar misses the days that he and not Alexander Boris De Pfeil Johnson was being held up as the British answer to Donald Trump, judging by his posting a tweet taking aim at the dogwhistlers’ favourite target Diane Abbott

We are supposed to feel sorry for David Cameron after his memoirs stated that he thought that Boris Johnson and Michael Gove behaved “appallingly” before and during the EU Referendum campaign.  If only the party leader did something about this, which they were in the position to do, and what was the name of the leader of the Tories at that moment in time again...?

Forgetting that we’re supposed to be calling Jeremy Corbyn a chicken, instead our good and honest friends at the Daily Mail instead ran an article about how awful it was that Jeremy Corbyn supported the Guildford Four’s Paul Hill.  That’s the Paul Hill who, like the other members of the Guildford Four (and the Maguire Seven) were threatened, beaten and tortured by the police and served fifteen years in jail for being members of the IRA in spite of the fact that they weren’t members of the IRA nor plotted any terror attacks, and the Mail thinks it’s bad to show support for someone who was a victim of one of the worst miscarriages of justice in British history

It’s a bit rich for Rachel Riley to be the face of the Don’t Feed The Trolls campaign considering her history of harassing, doxxing and encouraging pile-ons on anyone who disagrees with her

Sentient testicle Toby Young thought he was being really, really clever when he accused Phillip Hammond of an “anti-semitic conspiracy theory” after Hammond stated that the sole reason for proven liar Boris Johnson trying to take the UK out of the EU by October 31st is to help out his speculator mates - although the cleverness rapidly evaporated when Hammond responded personally with a threat of suing for libel, and for some strange reason Young’s really, really clever tweet vanished off the face of the earth

...and because Toby Young has to be Toby Young about things, rather than keep his head down after Hammond’s threat of legal action instead he came rushing to the defence of the proven liar by saying that female Spectator employees felt upset if they weren’t groped by proven liar Boris Johnson, which is not only the defence of the rapist but his “defence” only serves to say that proven liar Boris Johnson has a history of groping

It’s as if The Sun have decided they can go back to their pre-Leveson levels of scumbaggery, judging by how they’d both told Gareth Thomas’ parents he was HIV positive and threatened to publish it, as well as reporting how two members of Ben Stokes’ family had been shot and killed several years ago without actually obtaining consent from Stokes before splashing it across their front page

...and right on their heels was the Daily Mail doxxing Jo Maughan for the sole purpose of...nope, no idea why they felt the need to do so, but they did it anyway

If Steve Baker thought he was helping the Leave side look non-deranged, his claiming that proven liar Boris Johnson is moving the Tories back to the centre ground failed to do that on a molecular level

It’s all well and good the Liberal Democrats acting as if bringing in Luciana Berger and Angela “funny tinge” Smith as MPs is some kind of major breakthrough...but they sure kept it quiet that they wouldn’t be defending the parliamentary seats they’ve been squatting in since February

So nice of Mike Gapes to join the dogwhistling brigade with his deciding to highlight Diane Abbott’s poor use of grammar...by highlighting that she was using grammar correctly while Gapes’ attempts at grammar bullying only served to highlight his grasp of the English language could be better

It says it all that the Daily Mail was encouraging their readers to stop sponsoring the RNLI for the crime of using 2% of those donations to support causes abroad

To nobody’s surprise, as soon as John Humphrys was out the door he harrumphed about the BBC’s “liberal bias” to the Daily Mail - as if over thirty years of his using the Today programme as a platform of his right-wing views and generally being a miserable twat

How generous of Tim Martin to say that, as the UK had left the Customs Union, Wetherspoons could now charge 20p less per pint...except Britain hadn’t left the Customs Union, revealing that Martin could have cut prices long ago if he wanted to, but he obviously felt he didn’t need to as the chain’s profits weren’t nosediving as a direct consequence of Tim Martin alienating half of his customer base for the past three years

According to reports, Nicalis head honcho Tyrone Rodriguez went to the same business school as Channel Awesome supremo Mike Michaud, judging by the reports coming out that he would go weeks without answering any calls - which is not what an indie dev who sent their game over to Nicalis to be ported wants to discover - as well as a laundry list of evidence of him not realising he isn't a 14-year old edgelord who can only talk in raicst, antisemitic, homophobic or ablest slurs, on top of his charming habit of bullying members of staff

In the latest attempt by PewDipShit to prove he's not beholden to the alt-right section of his fanbase he offered to donate $50,000 to the Anti-Defamation League...and when that same alt-right section of his fanbase kicked up a fuss, he cancelled the donation and waffled about “taking responsibility” while demonstrating that how averse he is to the idea

This month it was John Ocasio-Nolte who was getting insanely triggered by Greta Thunburg, taking to Twitter to suggest she either needs to be spanked or receive psychological counselling (which worked about as well as can be expected the second the tweet was posted) while Dinesh D’Souza said she looks just like images used for Nazi propaganda as if that means anything other than Dinesh D’Souza spend hours going through Google image searches to try and find something, anything that would serve as the basis of an utterly batshit proclamation that his moron followers would swallow

Not a good look for Focus Home Entertainment to decide that, once their deal to distribute Frogwares’ games expired, their solution would be to drop all of Frogwares’ games from every online store - yet rather than return the code to Frogwares, instead they’d be keeping those as well because if Focus Home can’t sell those games, no-one can

It’s not a surprise to see The Sun forgot the faux outrage they stoked last December at trying to say Jeremy Corbyn called Theresa may a “stupid woman” (even though any lipreader will tell you he said “stupid people” of the entire Tory front bench) judging by their response to proven liar Boris Johnson calling Corbyn a “big girl’s blouse” was to dispatch one of their hacks to Corbyn’s house the following dya waving an item of women’s clothing at him, seemingly under the impression this looked anything other than mad

Meanwhile The Daily Telegraph wrote a piece comparing waffling gargoyle Nigel Farage to Britait’s Icarus...somehow forgetting how the story of Icarus ended

Britain’s most triggered man Piers Moron Morgan took to Twitter to howl about how Dora the Explorer discourages men from becoming explorers.  I’m guessing that he forgot how Indiana Jones and Nathan Drake exist...

What would a month be without Donald Trump doing something utterly lunkheaded?  Not this month, that’s for sure, judging by his response to mistakenly claiming that Hurricane Dorian was heading to Alabama wasn’t to admit the mistake or even never mention it again, but instead draw on a weather map with a Sharpie to make it look like Dorian’s path would now head into Alabama - so not only did he prove he can’t admit to being wrong, but he’s so thin-skinned his being wrong eats at him so much he can’t let his being wrong go, which only draws attention to his being wrong in the first place

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Pregnant | Jack Johnson

Requested? Nope! But a close friend of mine gave me the idea and I just ran with it 

Warnings? Swearing, Talks of pregnancy 

Word Count: 4,935 

“(y/n)! Can you please turn that down!” 

You roll your eyes and ignore your mom yelling from downstairs. You were working on a new song that you wanted to release as soon as possible and you needed to get this guitar part down. Without realizing it, your mom had marched up the stairs and barged straight into your room. She rips the plug to your guitar from your amp and your head whips up to face her instantly. “Mom!” You exclaim. “I told you to keep it down.” She repeats while crossing her arms across her chest. “And I told you I need to finish this song today.” You retort, placing your guitar down next to you to stand in front of your mom. “Why do you bother? It’s not like you’re going to get famous off of all this junk.” She says gesturing around your room to the various instruments lying around. “Don’t you have a dinner party to attend to?” You ask sarcastically. She sighs and shakes her head slowly before leaving the room once more. You turn back to your bed and pick up the guitar you had just put down. You carry it over to the stand and place it down before walking back over to your bed and collapsing onto it. Your parents always told you that you were good at music. But they never ever believed you could make a living out of it. They decided early on that there was no way you could become famous from a simple hobby. So as soon as you could, you enrolled in every music class possible. You saved up your allowances and later on money from actual jobs to buy different instruments and learn how to play them. Music consumed every bit of your life and while your parents thought you were good they never thought it was enough. You started off posting covers on twitter and Instagram and built a small following there. After saving up a bit more you bought a professional camera and started your own YouTube channel. You never strayed far from doing covers but about a year ago you started to write your own music. You fell in love with it. Scribbling chords and lyrics across all of your school notes. You’d get an idea for something and bolt from the room just to write it down. Music was your passion. And no matter how many times or how many people told you that it would never amount to anything, you never gave up. You currently had almost one million subscribers on YouTube and fifty thousand followers on twitter. You hadn’t told your family yet, in fear they would get upset that you hadn’t told them earlier. You sit up and grab your ukulele, an idea for popping into your head. You strum a couple of different chords until you get a pattern you like. When you’re set on the chords and the strumming pattern you quickly get up from your bed and run over to your desk. You scribble the notes down in a rush before sitting back down. You stare at your notebook with a wide smile before turning back to your ukulele to record he new part. After about two more hours of recording and editing, the song is finished. You sigh happily and upload the finished product up on YouTube. You check the time to see it’s almost two am. You quickly shut your laptop and pass out. The next morning (technically afternoon) you wake up to your phone ringing loudly next to you. You reach a hand out towards your nightstand and reach around until you find your phone. Without seeing who it is, you answer the phone and press it against your face. “Hello?” You ask, your voice coming out raspy. “(y/n)!!!” It takes you a few seconds but you recognize the voice of your best friend and sigh tiredly. “Yeah Ella?” “Did you just wake up? It’s one o’clock!” She announces incredulously and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “What do you want Ella? You say trying to keep the edge from your voice. You knew that you’d get yelled at by your Mom for being up so late and waking up super late too. “Have you checked your phone?” She asks and it took everything in you to not snap at her. “No. I woke up to you calling me.” “Check your phone right now! Jack and Jack tweeted about your new song!!!” You immediately sit up straight in bed. You and your best friend had been fans of Jack and Jack since they released their song Flights. You had seen them in concert a few months back and fell in love with their music even more. You quickly put your friend on speaker and then check your phone to see a billion notifications. You finally find the original tweet by Jack and Jack. It was a YouTube link to your song with the caption. “Straight Fire 🔥 🔥 “ You stare at the tweet in shock before quickly retweeting it. You look through the tweets replying to Jack and only see nice tweets back. “(y/n)?” You snap out of your shocked state at the sound of your best friend calling out to you. “Yeah?” You ask still not being able to wrap your head around this whole situation. “Did you see the tweet?” “Yeah.” You say still scrolling through all of the mentions. You see you have a couple of new dms and you click there to see most of them be new fans complimenting your song. “No way.” You whisper quietly. “What?” Ella asks. “No way!” You yell loudly. “What?!?” Ella yells into the phone catching your attention once more. “Jack Johnson dm’d me!!!” You yell loudly. “Do not open it yet!” Ella yells over the phone. “I’m coming over right now!” Your phone clicks off and you wait an agonizingly slow three minutes before Ella shows up to your house. She barges into your room without a word and runs over to your bed and jumps onto it. “What did he DM you?” She asks not bothering to greet you. You and Ella have been best friends since pre school. She lived right next door, making it easy for you two to hang out 24/7. You click open the DM and read it out loud to your best friend. “Hey (y/n)! I found your music last night and I think you’re amazing. Jack and I were talking and we’re wondering if you want to open for us on tour? Let us know asap and we’ll set up a time to meet up and talk more.” You and Ella both scream loudly when you finish reading the DM. You couldn’t believe it. Jack and Jack wanted you to open up for them. It was an absolute dream come true. “What do I say?” You ask Ella once you calm down. “Say yes! You’ve wanted this forever!” She insists. “What about my parents?” You ask quietly. “What will they say?” “Fuck what they say.” Ella say placing her hands on your shoulders. “This is your shot. Take it.” You nod your head and smile widely at her. You grab your phone from next to you and start to type a reply back to Jack. “Hi Jack!” Thank you so much for tweeting out about my music it means a lot! I would love to open up for you and Jack on tour. I’m free pretty much anytime so tell me when and we can meet up. Thank you again!” “You’re gonna tour with Jack and Jack!!!” Ella yells loudly causing you two to scream out loud once more. Jack DM’d you back pretty quickly and you had decided that you, him, and Gilinsky would meet up on Friday after you got out of class. You decided not to tell your parents yet, wanting to make sure that your spot as an opener was solidified first. “What am I supposed to wear?” You turn to face Ella who was lounging on your bed, her phone held up in front of her face. “What are you choices?” She says sitting up and throwing her phone down next to her. You hold up a black flowy dress that was probably your favorite to wear. Next was a simple flannel and skinny jeans. Lastly was a T-shirt that you usually tuck into a skirt with converse. “I say flannel and jeans. A classic that’s not too fancy and it makes your legs look good.” She compliments. You nod your head and walk into your bathroom to change quickly. When you walk back out Ella starts to hype you up causing you to laugh and start to blush. “Now go chase your dream! And tell Gilinsky I said hi!” She pushes you out the door and you jog down to your car. You get in and make the 15 minute trip to the local Starbucks you three planned to meet up at. When you get there you recheck your hair and outfit before getting out and heading inside. You find Jack and Jack pretty quickly. You spot them sitting towards the back of the small cafe and Johnson waves you over excitedly. “Hi!” Johnson greets happily. “Hey!” You say sticking your hand out, which he happily takes. “I’m (y/n).” “I’m Jack.” Johnson says as he let’s go of your hand so you can shake Gilinsky’s. “And I’m Jack.” Gilinsky responds, a slight smirk on his face. “Do you want to get something to drink or eat first and then we’ll get down to business?” Johnson suggests. “Can you get me my usual?” Gilinsky asks and Johnson nods. He stands up and the two of you walk to the end of the line together. “So, I’m gonna be honest.” You start and Johnson gives you a confused look. “I’ve been a fan of you two since flights and I’m high key freaking out inside that I’m meeting you right now.” “Really? That’s crazy!” Johnson says smiling widely at you. “Yeah me and my best friend have loved you guys for awhile.” You admit sheepishly. “Well don’t be shy, and don’t be intimidated by us. We’re just two regular guys that can also be huge dorks sometimes.” He says winking at you causing you to blush. It was finally your turn in line and Johnson orders for him and Gilinsky before turning towards you. You order your usual and before you can start to dig around in your purse for your wallet, Johnson had already payed. “Hey, I could have-“ You start but soon interrupted. “My treat. It’s the least I could do considering you’re kinda saving our butts on this tour.” After you get your drinks you sit back down across from the Jacks. You start off just talking about yourself and your music first and the boys tell you how they discovered you. You eventually get into the logistic of things and by the time you’re finished, you’ve talked for two hours. “I still can’t believe this is happening.” You say leaning back into your seat. Gilinsky smiles at you. “You’ll get used to it. Promise.” After wrapping up some finishing business things, you swap phone numbers and you leave with the biggest smile on your face. Once you get home and fall onto your bed you let out an excited scream. “I’m touring with Jack and Jack!!!!” You scream out before getting up and jumping around your room. Tour was in a month and you still hadn’t told your family. You were constantly making excuses to them as to why you disappeared every other day for rehearsals or meetings with the guys. You planned for tonight at your brothers birthday dinner that you would finally tell them, hoping you would get a good reaction. “Hey guys, I have to tell you something.” You said once you were all seated at your table. “Yes?” You Mom asks. “I’m going on tour with Jack and Jack.” You watch as your Mom and Dad sport confused looks but your brother smiles widely. He leans over and hugs you tightly. “I’m so proud of you!” He cheers. “When did this happen?” Your Dad finally asks. “A month or two ago I met up with them and they told me they wanted me to open up for them on tour.” You explain. “And this is what you want?” Your Dad asks. “More than anything.” “Well there’s no reason for me to stop you.” Your Dad smiles at you and you feel relief flood over you. You could tell your Mom wasn’t happy about you going but it didn’t matter in your eyes. This was your choice. “The LA show is at the end of the tour, but I’ll get you tickets to other shows to come to if you want.” You tell your Dad. “You’re gonna do amazing.” He says pulling you into a tight hug. You then hug your mom, who whispers encouraging things to you. She came around about two weeks after you told your family. Lastly you hug your brother, who insists you’re gonna kick ass at every show. With one final wave you head out and towards the SUV that would take you to the airport. You first stop was in Florida, so you would fly their first and then get onto the tour bus you would be living on for the next two months with the boys. Just as you approach the car, Gilinsky jumps out and greets you. He takes your bags and puts them in the back before following you inside the car. “Hey (y/n/n)!” Johnson greets. “Ready for tour?” “You know it.” After the hour long drive to the airport, and about thirty minutes through security, the three of you were finally on your way to Florida. You were sat in between the two boys, Johnson on your left and Gilinsky on your right. You and Johnson talked a bit more about tour before plugging your headphones in and being left to your own devices. You started to watch one of your favorite movies, Baby Driver, when Gilinsky taps on your shoulder. “Can I watch?” He asks and you nod your head. You take out one of your headphones and hand it over to him. Together you watch the movie, heads bent close together as you draw closer and closer to Florida. About halfway through the movie, you become a bit sleepy. You rest your head against Gilinsky’s shoulder before eventually passing out completely. When you wake up again, Gilinsky is shaking your shoulder lightly and you look up to meet his chocolate brown eyes staring into yours. He offers you a small smile in which you return. “We’re about to land.” He whispers to you and you nod. You sit up and look over to see Johnson passed out next to you. You shake his shoulder, making him wake up and tell him what Gilinsky had just told you. After 10 more minutes of flying, you finally land. You peek around Johnson excitedly to look out at the beautiful Florida landscape. After getting off the plane and grabbing your luggage the three of you head out to the SUV that would take you to your hotel room for the night.

You end up falling asleep on Gilinsky again during the car ride but when you wake up again this time, you find yourself in a hotel room. You sit up and notice Gilinsky sitting in a chair across the room scrolling through his phone.

“Oh hey. You’re up.” He says smiling before walking over to you. “Johnson went out to go get pizza.”

“Are we all staying in one hotel room?” You ask as you sit up further in bed.

“For tonight yeah.” Gilinksy responds. “The hotel messed up our rooms so we only have one room.”

You nod your head slowly and just as your about to ask him who would be sleeping where, Johnson walks in with two large pizzas in one arm and sodas in the other.

“You’re finally awake!” He exclaims as he sets down the pizzas on the table Gilinsky was sitting in front of just moments ago. “Did G tell you about the rooms?”

“Yeah he told me. What are we gonna do about sleeping arrangements?” You ask while standing up to walk over where Johnson is.

“I’m fine with sleeping on the floor. Ask G I can sleep pretty much anywhere.”

“I can sleep on the couch. No big deal.” G says shrugging.

“I don’t want to take up the whole bed.” You say feeling bad that the boys were sleeping on the floor.

“It’s just one night.” G shrugs “Unless your fine with sharing?”

“Like you said it’s just one night and there’s no reason for both of you to have to sleep uncomfortably.”

“Okay, G you take the bed with (y/n). I’ll take the couch.” Johnson says before turning back towards the table so he can start eating.

After dinner, you all decide to watch a movie together before heading off to bed. You changed into comfier clothes to sleep in before jumping onto the bed next to Gilinsky. The three of you decide on watching Dunkirk, Gilinsky sitting on your left and Johnson sitting at the end of the bed. About an hour into the movie, you feel yourself growing tired. Eventually unconsciousness falls over you and you curl up into the inviting warmth of the unfamiliar bed.

“Show day! Get up (y/n)!” Your eyes slowly crack open to meet Johnsons bright blue ones. He offers you a smile before pulling you up and out of bed.

“Lets go! Shower and change. We have to be at the venue in an hour!” He says pushing you into the bathroom.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, you’re rushing out of the door with the boys, heading to your first venue of the tour. When you get there, you run out of the car and towards the small building you would be performing in. The three of you explore the small concert hall before starting up soundcheck.

“You ready for your first show?” Johnson says coming up behind you.

“I think so.” You say messing with the hair tie around your wrist.

“Don’t be nervous.” G reassures you. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks guys.” You smile and hug them both tightly. Suddenly, you hear the first drum beat, signaling the start of your set. You wait until it’s time before running out on stage and starting your first night on tour.

“That was amazing!!!” You cheer excitedly as you run back off stage.

“You did amazing!” J praises and G agrees.

“This is the best feeling ever.” You say breathlessly.

“Don’t worry.” J starts. “It never gets old.”

You had officially been on tour for almost a month now and you were in love. You loved how much fun going on stage and singing your heart out was. You had dreamed of this your entire life and now that you were living it was still insane to you.

You had also grown much closer to the boys making the endless road trip a billion times more fun. You and Johnson had hit it off from the start and you two acted like you had been best friends for years.

You and G were pretty close too but nothing like you and J. You two could talk about nothing and everything for hours and even though it probably made no sense to anyone else, you and G understood each other perfectly.

Tonight was your New York show, the concert you had been waiting for forever. New York City was a place you had always dreamed of visiting and the fact that you got to perform their too was mind blowing. You were about an hour out from the city and you were lounging in the back of the bus, a book in your hand and music playing softly.

G was sat on the other end of the couch, scrolling through apps on his phone. That was the other thing about you and G, you two never needed to say much if need be. You could sit in a room together without a word and know exactly what the other was thinking.

“Guys!” Johnson says running into the room. You and G both look up simultaneously, signaling for J to continue talking.

“There’s an awesome party going down at a club not too far from the venue. You guys down to go?”

You and G cast each other a quick glance before turning back to Johnson and nodding. “Sounds like fun.”

“Just you wait.”

Once the show ends, you and the guys head back to the hotel room to freshen up before heading out to the club. You change into a cute black dress with small heels and a black clutch. When you walk out you see the guys haven’t changed much but it wasn’t like they really needed to.

“Let’s party!” J yells as we walk back out to the club.

When you get their, the three of you are split up pretty quickly. You find yourself at the bar first, grabbing a drink or two before making your way to the dance floor. The music pulses through you and you finally let loose. You stay like this for awhile, dancing to a few songs before grabbing a drink and then heading back into the mass of bodies on the dance floor.

Suddenly, you feel two hands find your waist and you twist in the person's arms to meet G’s familiar brown eyes. He scans you up and down before pulling you closer to him, your hands find his hair and you run your fingers through his ends.

He leans down closer to you, capturing your lips in a drunken kiss. His hands slip to your hips as yours tangle in his hair further. When you break away for air G leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Let’s take this back to the hotel room, yeah?” He says a bit breathlessly.

You nod your head in response and he takes your hand in his, leading you through the crowd of people. When you get outside, you instinctively keep close to Gilinsky. He wraps an arm around your waist tightly as you wait for your cab.

When you finally get back to your hotel room, G doesn’t wait a second. As soon as the door closes, G is pushing you against it, his lips finding yours in an instant. He pins your hands above your head against the door, as he deepens the kiss. When you break away for air for the second time, G attacks your neck and your hands drop to his neck as your head falls backwards.

G’s hands slip to your waist and he pulls you towards him and off the door. He reconnects your lips as you make your way over to your bed. He pushes you on top of it before hovering over you and reconnecting your lips.

When you wake up the next morning, it takes you a few seconds to remember where you are.  You lean over to grab your phone on the nightstand next to you and see it’s almost noon. You go to sit up but groan loudly once you realize that your brain feels like it’s pounding against your skull.

All at once, memories of last night resurface in your brain. You groan out loud once more and fall back into the soft mass of pillows. What were you going to do? Was it going to be awkward between you and G now? Questions rack your brain but instead of sitting there and driving yourself insane, you slip on a comfortable hoodie and a pair of slippers and walk over to the boys hotel room.

When you knock on the door, G answers and you can see J is passed out on the bed in the hotel room. Without a word, Gilinsky makes sure he has a room key before shutting the door and gesturing towards your hotel room.

After walking into your hotel room, you make your way over to the couch in the room and sit down. Gilinsky sits down next to you but at a safe distance making you realize that he remembers last night too.

You decide to break the ice first, and ask the question that has been bothering you the most. “Did last night mean anything to you? Or am I just another hook up?”

“You could never be just another hook up to me (y/n).” He reassures you. “But I think our friendship is more important than this.”

“Oh thank god.” You say breathing out a sigh of relief and leaning back against the couch. “I’d rather be friends to be honest.” You admit when G gives you a confused look.

“So it’s settled. Best friends till the end.” He says standing up. “Now let’s go get food I’m starving.” He holds out a hand for you in which you take and the two of you head out of the hotel to look for a good place to eat.

“Yo gilinsk have you seen (y/n)? She was supposed to be at soundcheck ten minutes ago.” J says with a worried expression.

“I thought she went to the bathroom?”

As soon as G says this, J takes off towards the bathrooms. When he knocks on the door he doesn’t hear anything, causing worry to spike through him.

“(y/n)? You in there?” J calls out.

“Yeah I’m here.” You call out weakly.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” You say staring at the positive pregnancy test. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Clearly J decides that’s good enough for him and walks away from the bathroom. You sit there for another minute or two trying to figure out what to do. You were pregnant. With G’s baby. This couldn't be happening.

You knew you couldn’t keep it a secret. You had two weeks left of tour and the boys knew you well enough now to know if you were hiding something. Especially something as big a this. When you walk out of the bathroom, you find G waiting outside for you. From his expression you could tell he was worried about you.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks pushing off against the wall he was leaning on to face you.

“I have to tell you something.” You start slowly and G nods, encouraging you to tell him. “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?” He asks clearly stunned. You go to say it again but G quickly cuts you off. “Are you sure it’s mine?”

You scoff lightly at him, taken aback that he was acting like this. “I haven’t slept with anyone else Jack.”

“I can’t- you can’t be pregnant. I’m way too young to have a kid.” He says running a hand through his hair worriedly.

“And I’m not? You really think I wanted this to happen?”

“No but, fuck (y/n) this can’t be happening. I can’t help you with this.” Gilinsky finally says.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You start but you’re soon interrupted by Johnson.

“Woah, what’s going on here?” He asks while walking over to stand in between the two of you.

“Ask her.” G snaps before walking away.

J turns to you and his face falls instantly. He pulls you towards him and hugs you tightly as tears stream down your face. You knew G wouldn’t be over the moon with the new but you never expected him to act like this.

“What’s wrong?” J asks pulling back slightly from the hug so he can look you in the eye.

“I’m pregnant with Jack’s baby.” You whisper quietly before starting to cry once more. “And he doesn’t want anything to do with it. Or me.” You start to cry again and J pulls you towards him. His arms are wrapped securely around you as you sob quietly into his chest.

“I’ll help you.” J reassures you. “If G doesn’t want this baby, I’ll help you in anyway need me to. I’ll always be here for you (y/n).”

You and G didn’t talk much for the rest of the night. After the show, you went straight to your hotel room. You needed time to think about what you were gonna do about this baby and what J and G both had to say about it.

Just as your about to get ready for bed, you hear yelling coming from the hotel room next to yours. J and G’s hotel room. You rush over and see that the door is already open. You step into the room to see the boys in a clearly heated argument.

“Woah! What the hell is going on?” You ask walking over to stand in between the two boys.

“Is it true? You’re gonna let Johnson help you raise this baby? Our baby?” G snaps at you.

“Last time I checked, you wanted nothing to do with this baby. So yes, if J wants to help then he can help.” You say turning to face G completely.

“I’m the baby’s father.” G says, his tone growing lower.

“Talk to me when you start acting like one.” You snap. “But for now, Johnson is helping me with this baby. You’re just going to have to deal with it.”

[kurogenesis]

What can I say?

Certainly can’t say I didn’t see this coming. Well, might as well get down to it, eh, @adobsonartworks? (I do so wish I could actually tag you, maybe at least let you try to defend yourself). Fair warning, this post is going to get excessively wordy, as I am wont to do. So, first off, it’s a pity you’re so eager to just mash the block button when confronted with someone who disagrees with you. I didn’t even get the chance to see your response before you had blocked me on Twitter - hell, I didn’t even know you HAD responded before you decided to hammer that block button. Luckily for me I can see your response simply by not being logged in to twitter. You made the claim that men never get harassed off of twitter - and made the implication that your claim can be applied across all social media - when you yourself provided not one, but two examples - Ahmed Best and Jake Lloyd - being on the receiving end of harassment so brutal that it nearly drove the former to suicide and led the latter to gave up acting entirely.

And you’re awfully quick to turn around and dismiss something that happened 18 years ago, when you had made a comic about Star Wars related harassment campaigns just over a month ago. A comic that by the end of the month, you yourself said could be considered a failure because you had no profit to show for it - something you could have at least given an attempt to remedy. You have a Patreon - I’ve seen the page, that’s a nice 30 bucks a month you’re getting, and yes it was easy to figure out that you’re getting an average of less than two dollars per patron; you may not list the amount on the page, but your goals are still based on money, and you explicitly list $50 for the first goal - and I’ve heard you have a Kofi account, but I’ve never done anything with that site. If you wanted money, you could have easily linked either or both of them to that post - or any other artwork post - and I’m sure there would be people more than happy to throw some more cash your way. Clearly I struck a nerve by bringing that up. Which is a great way to transition into the real meat of the post; I just wanted to give the response I had been denied because you choose to turn with your tail between your legs rather than actually have a discussion. Can’t really stick to your request to remain “on topic” when you immediately excise me from the conversation. Anyway, let’s talk about you, sir. So far you’ve blocked me on Facebook after a back and forth about TotalBiscuit, on Tumblr after I sided with @the-specksynder against your opinion that punching Nazis is the way to go - you didn’t even bother to try and respond to that one - and now on Twitter after a brief back and forth on harassment. The only time I got even remotely nasty was calling you a “petulant little shit” at the beginning for the first of those three, and I will fully admit that’s because I was legitimately angry when I started that back and forth - raking the dead over coals like that is one of the few things that legitimately pisses me off. But that’s the kind of person you are. You’re not interested in debate or having your ideas challenged. You’re not interested in testing your worldview or adjusting it when someone suggests you might be wrong. I advised you to take a look at the RecastBatwoman hashtag, and based on some comments on Facebook - yes, I really can actually see all your public posts on there and on Tumblr, the only thing you’ve succeeded in doing is silencing critics - you did take me up on that, and for this I applaud you... but you proceeded to wrap the tinfoil fedora around your head ever tighter rather than consider that you might be wrong.

Looking over your history on the internet - your current history on Tumblr, Facebook, and Twitter, as well as your former Twitter and DA accounts, of which many screen shots exist - this is a pattern of behavior for you. And it’s one that runs deep, because you have never let yourself move on from the past (only claiming to when it is convenient for you to do so). You continually blame others for your own shortcomings rather than just own up to your mistakes and genuinely make an effort to change. I will be perfectly honest - if you genuinely made an effort to change yourself for the better, then I would forgiven you of your past mistakes. But that’s the core of your problem - you don’t try to grow. You don’t try to move forward. I don’t know at what point it happened, but at some point in your life you allowed your anger, your envy, your hatred, your negativity to claw its way into you and start dragging you down, further and further into the festering abyss. It’s why you think exclusively in sides, black vs white, the way a child does. It’s why you don’t believe your political opponents can genuinely change. It’s why you hold on to every little slight. You yourself have outright stated to - at least at one point - have kept a running list of those who have “wronged” you in some way, as if that is actually a healthy thing to do. It’s why you think of the world as such an evil, hate-filled place - because that’s all you can see any more. 

You advocate violence against those you fear would destroy you - a show of force to cow them into submission. But while shock and awe may work for military warfare, the war you choose to wage is not one of bombs and bullets, but of ideas and beliefs. Such a war is won through changing the hearts and minds of those around you. You claim to want to fight hate - but the only tool you have is your own hatred - and just as you cannot extinguish a fire with more flame, you cannot destroy hatred with more enmity.

I suppose at the end of the day that’s the fundamental difference between you and me. Once a upon a time I was not so different from you. I was bullied, I was angry, I held contempt in my heart for so many things. I came to hold dearly to one side of the political spectrum, convinced that they could do no wrong. I can’t really pinpoint any one thing that changed it, but I let go of my hate and anger years ago. Do I still find myself getting angry and spiteful? Yeah, of course I do. I’m not perfect. But I don’t hold on to those feelings. I don’t let them consume me. Because I realized that we shape the world we live in. If we sow hatred and ugliness, we will reap hatred and ugliness. The only way to create a world of love and beauty is to go out and put a little love and beauty into it. Yeah, the world has a lot of awful to it. But we may as well give our best effort to do good, otherwise it will never be better.

I suppose I’ve let this get wordy enough, so I might as well wrap it up with a little quote from John Lennon - “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you will join us, and the world will be as one.”

[ichoiheedong]

I Met You In The Winter[BTS J.J.K] pt.1

GENRE : SMUT/ FLUFF/ ANGST/ LANGUAGE/ CHEATING /FORCED MARRIAGE

bts members Jeon jungkook x y/N 

                     summary : " He cheated on me , she cheated on you" you said looking at his eager eyes and continued " you need to help me to deal with it!! "

do not copy my work or post it anywhere without my permission also i don’t allow translation i work hard on this and it’s unfair because i recently find out some of my work posted in Youtube without any credits and it’s a crime !!  

part one : innocent potato 

it was cold tonight , and for a girl who used to be her mother's spoiled child you missed being engulfed into someone's hug, patting your hair or just sweetly talking to you , you like when some one makes love to your ear but you have to be real you were here alone ,a popular tv show was on on your TV that was the only beaming thing around you as you crawled into your sofa having a green tea and scrolling up into facebook messaging your friend, a sudden argue made you look up for the tenth time to your boyfriend profile

where the heck was he ? you just wondered , he didn't reply to your texts or called you back and you felt upset as he did ,you both have been together since you made it to Seoul ; a year passed and things instead of being great they were all crushing down ,every thing in your relation with Jin was chaotic now he wasn't here like usual anymore , he didn't stay for nights since a month now ,his scent changed , his hair color his fashion taste every thing about him seemed like strange to you and you being alone tonight in this cold weather was included into this long list

he changed and you were sure something made him change but no one would believe you not your mother who adored him; of course! he was the sweetest creature ever someone who knows how to spend hours in kitchen cooking without getting bored how would you expect that your mother will be by your side; even your best friend Lilly she was always calming you saying that he was stressed because of his father's company and you should be grateful to have him as a boyfriend

it wasn't your fault though ,you didn't try to seduce him it was an innocent serendipity when both met at first he was sweetly naturally attracted to you and you like him he was freaking handsome and rich he was talented and has his own stylish look also he was tall and his shoulder were wide something you craved right now to be engulfed in but Jin wasn't the young man you met a year ago and helped you to get back your purse when you lost it in the lotte world

it wasn't only hard to think about it but also to prove it ,

every time your eyes looked up to the wall watch ,you couldn't believe that jin isn't going to come tonight, he promised you this morning before he ran out of here he would be here tonight to cuddle with you as you were on period but look at him only gods knows were is he

giving up on this, you stood up on adjusting your sweatpants and over sized shirt heading to the kitchen ,chocolate was the best option to calm you down you grabbed a chips bag and some chocolates and came back to turn off your tv it was turned on since hours without any attention so you decided to go to bed at least it was comfy

you grabbed the curtains and closed them so the day lights will not disrupt your sleep in your free morning then you took off your sweatpants and slides into your pajama shorts and went to bed grabbing your laptop wasn't off you noticed that it was on hibernate and as realization hits you it was Jin again you don't know why but he really liked to do some works in the early morning so he used your laptop to finis some works or send some mails and as last night he passed out next to you of course he will be the one using it

you sighed and decided to reconnect to your Facebook and twitter accounts again before putting a film to help you fall asleep in this boring night

you hit the tab waiting for the Facebook page to pop out and you frowned as you see your account already opened , it's been a while since you really log in using your PC you were always on your iPhone you looked again scrolling down seing your boyfriend face on the little profil picture

"oh god it was his account not yours ,something you got the gold card now , jin hated so much that some one try to peek to his list message or to his private group chat with his friends and it was funny tonight to see this , for so long you watched him replying at their silly texts and it was funny to read that when he was laying with you in the bed but he refused to let you do that and you really didn't care, he has his rights to have private conversation with his friends but now you were bored and reading some funny crazy men stuff will be perfect just perfect !

you opened the chat box ,and your eyes danced through the names , until your sight fell into a chat, it popped out firstly and it seemed like you didn't notice it before

'Oh Seyna' was the girl's name you didn't want why you became nervous as you clicked you never in your life thought that will be an end to you and Jin relation and for sure not this way

"okay baby see you tonight then <3 "

your heart dropped and your hand were shaking as you scrolled down the texts , they were sweetly talking but briefly too but Jin had you as a girlfriend why would he call an other woman baby girl and kitten !!

you gulped hitting her profile and got the chock of your life she had some private picture were jin was there with a bunch of other friends in a bar she was sitting in his lap

why you never see this before it's been months since the picture had been aploaded in her facebook !!

you panicked taking out your phone and search for her name looking up in all the popping list but she wasn't there , you were blocked it hits you

he was cheating ..

cold sweat run into your body and your breath hitched , you felt like you want to cry but you held it ,this is not the prove you want any way !

your fingers brushed your hair nervously almost severing it as you tried to calm down

you were now sat on your knees as your laptop was in front of you, as you went back to the chat and started reading you wanted to see if they will meet or where they meet usually and it felt like life was on your side as your eyes dropped to an hotel address with a room number

your feet felt like freezing when you jumped out off bed ,damn it you were already bleeding and your hormone rage made it worse as you tried to think and think

nothing came up with your trouble ,you just fell down collapsing on the floor and cried hard ..

-

who's there ?? Lilly shouted before she reach her apartment door , it can't be her boyfriend right !! it's like 1 am she peeked on the door secret crystal hole and she panicked

" oh my god y/N what the heck did happen ??Lilly was shocked as you rushed in her apartment throwing your self on the coach crying

"y/N please tell me what's going on "

you cried harder and as soon as Lilly started to cry too you stopped sniffling trying to say something but you couldn't gather your words

"he's cheating on me Lilly you finally let out panting hard like you've got the biggest rock tossing you down

"crap ! is this why you're here for i thought someone's die or something and why would Jin cheat on you y/N he adores you "

"he doesn't not any more , not when i caught him finally "

the girl sitting beside you jumped off the couch " what do you mean finally??

" because you don't know any thing you didn't want to believe me ,no one does you sobbed , it's been a while since he changed and i didn't say any thing because no one will actually believe me ,you all love him and it's hard to believe that he is fucking someone right now!! you cried more eyes blood shot as you hugged your head

"oh my god , Lilly tried to approach you "tell me let's work out this together ho did you know

"he forgot his Facebook actif on my laptop and i got some pictures and texts i even know the hotel address

"oh crap ! what the heck is this please tell me you're lying and i'm having a bad dream

you were angry , your coat was soaked as you walked out the taxi on to get into Lilly's building block

" you need to find the truth she said and you looked up"

"every thing is clear now i will just confront him "

"how ?

"i want to go see him i want to kick his face so he would become the ugliest creature ever

"c'mon let's go see him then let's just find out if you're right or not

it hurts you hearing this why it seemed this hard to believe you why it felt bad to put Jin in this kind of situation when he was just a cheater

"Lilly got you into her car and drove off to the hotel you told her about and it turned out that she knows it well of course she would know this kind of places she was rich and she was always invited to events and she knows every place down town here

you let the mission of finding Jin's and the girl room to her as she was the person who was thinking right now , you were done every cell on your brain was destroyed and you stopped half way

"hey! are you okay Lilly hissed as she checked you "we're almost here look that's the room "

"i can't assume this i will not bear that no no you backed up wanting to run to your place hide into your sheets and stay there until you calm down and tomorrow sun sneaks on the room but you realized it was hard your curtains were closed and your room is gonna stay dim just like your coming days , pain was there digging into your body and you whimpered there is no more shiny days jin cheated on you and you're here to see this with your own eyes

"do you want me to go first "Lilly said as she kept dragging your lifeless body to the door "

"c'mon knock !"she said and you looked terrified

"i'm not ready , what if it's not true , what if it's true Lilly i'm done i can't work out any thing

"let's just cut this crap forever she furiously knocked the door ignoring the door bell and as soon as someone's behind the door was angrily shouting your heart dropped

it was his voice you will never got it wrong fuck!

jin walked to check the door he was furious and annoyed , it's not a cheap motel so people could easily break in and annoy him damn it

and as soon as his head popped out; it was few seconds that feels like a century a whole world crushed in front of you in this room full of sex smell and betray , you pushed the door open you didn't even know from where you get the energy to do as you broke into the place with your best friend behind !!