sardonic-sprite · 6 months ago
Note
SPRITE OH MY GOODNESS
NOW THAT YOU’RE BACK
Thoughts on The Underworld Saga?
ALL I HEAR ARE SCREAMS
They're mine. I'm the one screaming. Loudly.
It's so good it's so fucking. Ahhhhhhhh.
I accidentally like half memorized it already lmao, as well as Circe Saga, which I already had to catch up on and I ADORE them both, I will have literal blow-by-blow rants coming for every song in this show BUT IN SUMMARY FOR UNDERWORLD SAGA
"The Underworld"
So cool to have them GO to the underworld bc I asked my dad (who read the odyssey a long time ago) about the prophet and in the poem odysseus just summons Tireas's spirit so.
It starts quiet then eventually you actually hear the wails of the souls and it's v chilling and a great detail to add
The entire chorus is so good, it's survivors guilt in like 3 sentences, Jay, how?
I keep thinking of the infant from that night, I keep thinking of the infant from that night
POLITES!
And then it goes dead silent and then this soft wail of "waaaiiittttinnnnng!" And odysseus's reaction, oh lord, the way this of everything seems to hit home. The soft, quiet "Why, Mom?"
KEY CHANGE! DRAMA! And then unlike ending down the two previous times, where it gets softer, they end shouting DOWN JN THE UNDERWORLD! And it's almost like the underworld owns their screams too now
"No Longer You"
Tireas's voice is perfect I just. It's got this breathy edge making it ghostly ad then it's so low and soft it's kind of like
Ugh the whole song seems like a cross between a lullaby and a waltz and both are minor key and creepy as FUCK and I love it and wish I had the vocabulary to express this concept better
What?
A man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you. As the audience we know what this means. Odysseus survives and makes it back but he is so vastly changed that he is "no longer" the man who left for war. But in the pernicious way of prophecies, this is left unclarified and I don't even know if Tireas does this on purpose. Maybe he genuinely sees it all fuzzy (unlikely to me given other details he gives) maybe he thinks Odysseus is clever enough to understand (you'd think he'd change his literal tune when Odysseus keeps reacting the way he does) and maybe... maybe Tireas just doesn't fuckin give a shit. Here's your prophecy bitch let's see you battle it til you come back down here to never leave again
The rage in Odysseus's voice when he screams WHO!? This might be me wanting to make him like unrealistically good with his wife, but it almost seems like rage on behalf of Penelope? Like he's angry someone perhaps tricked or forced her into wedlock? Idk it feels like if he was reacting to the idea that she was cheating, he'd scream "what" again
And tireas literally repeats himself he's so fucking unhelpfjl and tbh of course odysseus is gonna go off the rails. I can't honestly blame him 😂
"Monster"
I'm the only one who's line is haven't crossed. Um. Boyo I'm pretty sure you did a long jump over your line with the infant thing. Other than that tho it's such an interesting line esp bc it's true like. So many people have given odysseus advice and told him limits they want to set, and he's pushed through all of it. That literally has made him the primary danger to his crew in a lot of ways
OK the whole section where hengoes through the examples of the cyclops, circe the witch, poseidon the god, and finally turns to himself and the horse, basically SPITTING out the words- I love it all, I love the rhythm, the rhymes, the reasoning he goes through... so good
OK it gets quite andnthennthat soft, low "Oh, ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves" and it starts to build, he's shouting out what he's lost and what he needs to keep, and his plan, and finally screams "THEN ILL BECOME THE MONSTER"
Ugh building om that last it's so fucking interesting bc this is both corruption and sacrifice, this change that odysseus is kindnof allowing within himself. He's built up all this time thar he wants to stop losing his men, so it can be read as him being a good leader, willing to put his personal need (integrity) aside to keep them safer.
But on the other hand, who is he talking to/about the entire end? Penelope and telemachus. He's got to see them. He wants/needs to, and he's frankly doing this for them, and like it all sounded reasonable until he says he'll fucking drop a baby off a a wall "in an instant" and you go WHOA.
He's no longer himself. All itntakes is one fucking song, odysseus declares he's not just crossing his own line, the last line, he's obliterating that line completely. There is no more line for this man, anywhere. He's going to do anything he fucking has to
But not for his men. For Penelope and telemachus
It's so much devotion and corruption and love and desperation and holy hell it is so good and it flows through so naturally that you hardly notice what's really going on unti you watch thr lyrics change
So yeah I think the underworld saga is near 🙃
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vocallywritten · 5 years ago
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Tags: Hey Guess Who’s Still Bad At Feelings, The Correct Answer Is Everyone, Except Diana, And Jerry, Diana is a queen whomest we stan, She’s also sick of Shirbert’s shit, overt sapphic vibes, Mandatory Jerry Cameo, requested Cole Cameo, bet you can guess who made the request, unexpected aunt Jo Cameo, Explicit descriptions of tea abuse, I wrote this with my sister, well I say we wrote it, I really mean she sort of helped but I did all the real work, like that one kid in school who does like 30 percent of the group project, and you did the other 70, so you have to put their name on the project, because they technically did enough work to earn it, but not really, Takes place after 3x05, probably is not compliant with 3x06 but who cares about canon compliance in Shirbert fics?
Summary: In a desperate attempt to get Charlie Sloane to leave her alone, Anne posts a notice of her own.
Or,
Anne and Gilbert abuse the Take Notice board, much to the amusement, and frustration of the people around them.
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ohayopoko · 3 years ago
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Connie's Mom p2 (NSFW)
Pairing: Eren x Blackfem!Reader
Summary: Eren befriends Connie when he goes home for summer vacation to get to his fine ass Momma
Or
19 year old Eren thinks he’s grown and Milf!Y/n shows him how to be grown
Story Playlist: Apple Spotify
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Eren’s lounging on Connie’s bed, strumming soft chords on his guitar and Connie’s on the window seat across from him furiously writing down lyrics. They had gotten tired of playing video games so now they were trying to write a song. Connie could sing, that’s one of the things that Eren never expected but it made the friendship more interesting.
“You’re taking too longgg,” Eren says with a drawn-out sigh as he stops strumming his guitar. “Sing something before I die, you fuckin’ monk.”
“Shut the fuck up you shit faced ass licker,”
“Geez, Connie, you kiss your mother with those lips?”
“What? Ew- no- didn’t I say shut up?”
“Make me or else I’ll lick your ass.”
“I'ma do something I never did to you girl,” Connie’s still writing his own lyrics as he sings for Eren and his voice is a melody, soulful and strong. Eren starts strumming his guitar again, trying to match Connie’s flow. “I'ma turn you out, ah show you a new you girl,”
Connie’s almost done writing their song, but he keeps singing anything so Eren doesn’t nag him to death. “Stretch it out 'cause I'm gon' work you good girl,” Connie pauses, biting his lower lip as he scrawls the last few words. “And don't be bougie it’s the night ah need a hood girl,”
“Sing that shit, Connie!” Eren’s laugh is genuinely pleased, liking the way Connie sang out each last word cause he has just the right chord for it.
Connie’s done singing though, bouncing in his seat as he says an energetic, “Yo, shutthefuckup”, rolling his tongue to make sure he has Eren’s attention before he says, “Listen to this, I had some trouble editing the chorus but I think it rhymes.”
They’re interrupted by his mother before Connie can even start. Y/n steps into the room, peeking around the crack in the door. “You were singing, my love?” She questions and her son’s already flustered cause he knows she’s about to start simping. “It sounded so beautiful, you’re an angel, darling!”
Being around Miss Y/n really messed with Eren’s nerves now, despite everything, Eren genuinely fucked with Connie- he was a cool guy. So it’s understandable when Eren comes to the conclusion that nobody can know cause he’d be fucked if it got back around to Connie. So the game began. Eren keeps his transactions with Y/n curt and he never made conversation with her if Connie was around.
“Mommm,” Connie sighs. “Not while Eren’s here.” Connie’s nothing like Eren, he’s loud, bright and goofy and he doesn’t get annoyed easily and maybe that’s why he and Eren have managed to stay friends up until now.
It’s a tiring game, though ‘cause all Eren does is hang out with Connie since there’s not much to do in this small town. Y/n’s playing the game so well though, going about her motherly duties without so much as a lingering look. It’s cold, though. Girls were usually all over him by now but not Miss Y/n. It’s sexy, it only makes him want her more when she acts like that.
Y/n’s not even looking at Eren and he takes great offense to this, so he teases her with a, “Yeah, Mom, not while I’m here.”
Y/n’s flustered and it’s so embarrassing when her pussy starts aching and she gets sex flashbacks, fondly remembering how Eren gripped her ass as he gave her some mean, long dick strokes. Where did he learn how to fuck like that? Huh?
“Are you guys hungry?” Y/n keeps the game going. “I cooked Mofongo,”
Connie’s such a sweet boy, face lighting up at his mother. “Really?! Oh man, now I’m hungry”
Connie’s father is Puerto Rican and even though he’s been absent, Y/n really tries to include his other cultural heritage so he doesn’t miss out on anything.
“Okay, I’ll bring some up.” Y/n takes her chance to leave, sparing Eren a glance before she leaves. He gives her one of his ‘Eren’ smirks and Y/n closes the door, stopping to take a breath before she goes to fetch the mofongo.
Y/n’s the type of mom to make sure your friends eat too and Eren’s never had mofongo before and he’s not hungry, but he eats it just because he knows Y/n cooked it. Nobody’s cooking compares to Carla’s yet Eren found himself actually enjoying it. After they eat, Connie sings him the lyrics he’d written down and Eren likes it, so he plays his guitar and it’s night time when they finally complete the symphony. Connie’s too tired to keep going and they decide to pick a name for the song tomorrow. Eren’s cool with that, so he tells Connie he’ll take the plates down to the kitchen on his way out.
Y/n’s there washing dishes and Eren likes the way the tye dye spaghetti strap romper squeezes her body. Damn, Miss Y/n looked dumb thick as Eren comes up behind her. She’s vigorously washing a pot, the force coming from her right hand scrubbing moving her body and Eren likes the way her ass ripples so he comes in close, reaching around her to put the plates in the sink.
“If I was your momma I’d whoop your ass,” Y/n mutters, but she doesn’t stop scrubbing though and she’s not all the way mad cause she’s getting hot between her legs, feeling Eren’s warm body on her back and she’s reconsidering when Eren starts feeling on her.
“She did,” Miss Y/n’s dumb thick and her back fat looks delicious, calling Eren’s hands to her sides. “Doesn’t mean it worked.” Eren muses, thumbs stroking her back fat as his hands slid down to her hips.
“Must’ve not been hard enough,” Y/n says with a little laugh but she doesn’t get to enjoy her laugh cause Eren gets on his knees, pushing his face up into her ass and Y/n jumps up onto her tippy toes.
“Boy, what are you doing?!” Y/n drops the pot, her black curls swinging over her shoulder as she turns her head, trying to get a look at Eren.
Eren wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her there as he nuzzles his nose up into her ass. She braces herself on the sink, eyes flickering to the kitchen door to watch for Connie. His face is in there, really in there, suffocating between her ass cheeks and Eren squeezes Y/n’s thighs. He can’t see but Eren doesn’t care, nose nuzzling her asshole through the slinky material and he feels the fatness of her pussy on his lips.
“Ah!” Y/n’s eyes go wide when he starts nipping at her pussy and she’s running, putting her knee up on the counter as she balances on one set of tippy toes. It wasn’t the smartest move and Eren abuses his access, fingers dipping into her flesh as he pushes her thigh up, holding it there as he nibbles at the outline of her pussy through her romper.
Y/n’s pussy’s getting hot, she’s spreading it for him and Eren nips at her clit, pulling a soft “Hnngh,” from Y/n’s sweet lips and he nips her there again.
“Goddd, Miss Y/n,” Eren praises when he pulls back, giving the side of her ass a slap. “No panties?” It’s supposed to be a scolding but Eren sounds excited, he sounds needy.
Y/n’s flustered, eyes closed and her eyebrows squinch up as she tries to compose herself- but fuck, her pussy got thumping something serious and it’s over for her when he nips her clit again. Y/n bends over the sink, poking her ass out and submitting to Eren. Eren’s in her business again, nose in her ass as he licks at the slinky material, his tongue pressing up into her pussy and he knows exactly where everything is, he knows exactly where to lick.
Eren works the middle, the center of her romper and his mouth is so wet with every lick the romper’s sticking to her pussy. He pulls back to get a good look and Eren shudders at the sight. The tye dye fabric is drenched on the outline of her fat pussy, clinging to her spread lips and dipping between them, clinging to her clit.
“Let me eat it, Miss Y/n.” Eren’s breath is shaky and all he can do is worship her. “Please.”
Y/n vaguely remembers taking Eren’s hand and leading him to her bedroom. There’s no talking once she closes the door cause Eren’s on her. She barely gets her romper off when he’s lifting her fine ass up and putting her on the bed. Eren doesn’t waste any time putting her on her back and he tears her legs open, stopping abruptly. The sight of Miss Y/n spread out like this for him sends shivers over his skin, raising the hairs on his arms.
Y/n’s hair is splayed out, hands are above her head and she looks so fucking yummy. Her breasts, her tummy, her pussy looked so fat, so delicious and Eren wants to eat her the fuck up. He goes to work, diving in her pussy with a passion even Y/n isn’t ready for.
“Oh...Oh,” Eren’s tonguing out her little clit and it’s like a shot of lighting everytime the wet texture of his long tongue dragged against her core and she doesn’t even have to pull her legs back, cause Eren’s pushing them back for her, taking all the pussy she had to offer. Soon Y/n’s burning up and her pussy’s all sensitive and hot and she’s leaking into Eren’s mouth and he’s such a thirsty boy, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he laps all of her up.
‘Where did he learn to eat pussy like this?’ Y/n’s thinking, wondering as she props herself up on her elbows, mouth open and eyebrows pulled together, moans breathy and hot. Her skin’s dipping under his fingers as he squeezes her thighs and Eren opens his eyes, smirking into her pussy when he sees how hot and bothered he’s gotten her. He slows down his licks as he looks into her and Y/n’s face gets hot, she gets shy, and she looks away. Eren likes the way her pretty big lips tremble and he knows she’s being stush with her moans.
“Don’t look away, Miss Y/n.” Eren’s hands are sliding down her thighs as he breathes hot words onto Y/n’s pussy. “Look at me,” Y/n hates his mouth but she loves how his lips are moving against her pussy. “Please, Miss Y/n.” She lifts her hips when Eren’s fingers start sliding under her ass and he licks her so soft, so light as he begs. “Please…”
So, Carla raised him right. Eren’s using his adult words and he sounds so needy, he sounds so desperate.
“Miss Y/nnn,”
Y/n doesn’t know if it’s her motherly instincts or the thumping in her pussy but she can’t not look when Eren starts kissing her pussy, nuzzling his nose into her front. He’s like a touch starved kitten, moaning into her pussy and squeezing her ass and Y/n gives him her attention, looking into him and Eren’s eyes light up with something mischievous. Y/n can’t describe it, it’s like his tongue twisted out from between his teeth and he licks her clit to the side before he licks it up and flicks his tongue, licking her clit to the other side and oh wow, she’s never had that before.
It was like a triple lick combo and Eren wins, his body shivering, dick painfully pressing into the bed when Y/n rewards him with one of her sweet, mind fucking moans. Eren reads her body and he’s never been one to pass up a fatality on Connie, so he plays the game, licking Y/n up just like that again. She moans for him, making up her face and Eren’s confident she won’t look away so he licks her again and again and again and Y/n’s tummy is tightening, she feels her nipples aching and goddd, her clit’s twitching in Eren’s care and he doesn’t care, he’s gonna make her cum.
Eren nips at her clit and Y/n jumps, back arching as she moans a loud, “Ohh,” and Eren’s nails are scratching her ass as he grips her flesh, chasing her pussy. It’s as if he’s sorry, rolling his tongue up and down between her lips, massaging her clit and Y/n forgives him, relaxing her body. Eren’s pulling his hands from underneath her and Y/n doesn’t realize he’s holding her down now cause he’s licking her pussy up in the loveliest manner. Eren nips her clit again and his hands are on tummy, keeping her shaking body still as he gently grazes her clit with the edges of his teeth and Y/n’s singing when he applies more pressure. It’s like she’s being fried, her pussy’s so hot, toes curling and Y/n wants to rip out her hair.
“Eren!” Y/n loves it, her chest heaving as she tosses her head back, crying his name. “Ere-ah-Eren!” She’s hissing when she cums, squirting on his lips and chin and Eren’s so nasty, he puts his face in it, nuzzling his nose into her pussy as she rides out her orgasm.
Eren’s licking his lips when she’s all spent. Her pussy juice tastes so good and he’s licked it all up off of his lips so he licks Y/n’s pussy again, getting it right from the source. Y/n’s clit is all sensitive and she’s jumpy, her spine lighting up with every single one Eren’s greedy licks.
“Wait.. Wait,” Y/n’s nervous, tummy sinking in as she tries to wiggle away and Eren reluctantly stops licking her, but he doesn’t leave her all the way alone, peppering butterfly kisses on her pussy lips. She’s taking too long to calm down, her chest still heaving and Eren’s getting desperate again, mumbling low, whiny “Miss Y/nnn,”s against her pussy. He can’t help himself and he licks Y/n again.
Y/n doesn’t like to see him like this and she feels the need to comfort him pulling at her core. Y/n doesn’t know what she’s doing, reaching down between her legs to hold his face as she purrs a, “Come up here baby,”
Eren’s an eager boy, crawling up between Y/n’s legs as she guides him up and Y/n caresses his face, pushing his baby hairs back as she guides him to her breast. She knows the left one is his favorite for sure now, cause Eren sighs as he closes his mouth around her big dark areola. When he closes his eyes, resting his head against her chest, Y/n tells him a soft, sweet, “Good boy,”. It doesn’t feel like anything at first, Eren sucking her breast, but it gets him to be quiet and that’s what she wants. His hair isn’t in a ponytail tonight, it’s long, tucked behind his ears and it feels soft when Y/n runs her fingers through it.
Eren wants all of her though, grinding his dick print against her wet pussy and massaging her other breast. Y/n lets him, enjoying the feeling of simply being wanted. It’s an amazing feeling, growing like a fire inside of her and Eren doesn’t leave her alone, squeezing her other breast and licking on her nipple. He’s humping her now and Y/n’s breathing a small, “Oh,” everytime her body rocks and Eren’s getting her all wound up, he’s getting himself all wound up.
Y/n realizes she’s gonna get to fuck him again and her pussy gets all hot again and there’s this spot, this spot deep inside of her that starts to tingle, to itch, and Y/n wants to scratch it, rocking her hips up everytime Eren humps her. He feels so solid, hard and her pussy flutters when she moves her hips down and her clit drags on the front of his sweatpants. It sends shivers into her and Y/n’s pushing him away and Eren pulls away thinking he’s done something wrong. Y/n doesn’t want him to pull away though, she’s burning up and her hands feel like they’re melting as they run down Eren’s sides, her long french tips hooking into the waist of his boxers. “Take these off,”
Eren breaths a, “Fuck, that’s hot.” and It’s not a request cause Y/n drags his boxers and sweatpants clean down his thighs in one go and it’s so sudden, Eren’s not ready and his ears get alarmingly red when his dick slaps his belly with a loud, “thwack”. Y/n’s face lights up, a devilish smile spreading on her pretty lips and It’s not helping Eren’s case.
“Don’t be shy now,” Y/n hums as she takes hold of his dick, handling it like if it were a mount she intended on taming. Eren watches as she guides his dick down, her delicate brown fingers running down the length of his dick and he thinks she’s gonna put it in, he wants her to put it in but she lets it go and Eren’s all flustered again when it slaps against his belly.
Y/n’s never seen him like this, she’s never seen him so flustered, so shy and she’s definitely heard Carla talk about his iconic red ears but she never thought she’d see them, see them here, like this. So she takes the opportunity to tease him.
“What’s a little boy like you doing with such a big cock?” It’s an adorable sight and Eren can’t look at Y/n, not when she giggles as she lets his dick slap his belly again.
What could he possibly say to that? Eren’s dick twitches in her hand when she wraps her fingers around the base and fuck, it feels good when she guides him down, her fingers dragging over his sensitive skin and it drives him crazy when they squeeze around his tip but it ends in shame when she lets his dick go and Y/n loves the sound it makes when it hits his belly.
“Did you hear that?” Eren quivers, pulling his eyebrows together when she touches him again, guiding him downwards and Y/n holds her breath when she lets him go. “That’s the sound of a strong cock,”
“S-Stop it,” Eren’s plead is a shaky one. “Stop it, M-Miss Y/n.”
“Where’s that mouth now?” Y/n’s taunt comes out with a small giggle as she toys him again and Eren’s sideburns are red now, it looks like it's on the back of his neck and Y/n coos a loving. “Aww, I’m sorry.”
Eren can’t forgive her and Y/n feels as if she took it too far. Y/n reaches up, comfort on her fingertips and in her pretty brown eyes as her fingers brush his neck before she caresses his face, bringing his eyes back to her own. Only when he looks at her Y/n runs her finger tips over his lips and Eren likes the way her nails feel on his lips so he flicks out his tongue and it doesn’t taste like anything but it’s Miss Y/n, so he enjoys it, licking his tongue under her long french tip.
Y/n cooes at that, soft and airy and continues, grazing his skin as she drags her fingers down his chin, his neck, his chest, his belly and Eren knows she’s gonna put it in, just by the way she takes hold of his dick. Y/n see’s him shaking, it’s not enough to cause alarm but he can’t stay still and Y/n likes this Eren, she likes this version of him, she likes him this way.
She tells him softly, “It’s okay,” as his dick rubs her slick pussy lips and when she puts it in, any resent Eren has for her melts away, his lips parting as he lets out an unsteady breath. It’s so hot, so wet and Eren can’t describe the feeling. Miss Y/n’s pussy feels full, plump inside- it’s like her walls were pushing against him and pulling at him at the same time, it feels like his dick is being choked, suffocated.
Y/n knows Eren’s forgiven her when he remembers his manners, sinking into her the rest of the way as he comes close and Y/n moans, soft and sweet for him when he starts digging in her deep and Eren rests his forehead against Y/n’s, breathing hot against her lips as he grinds her pussy out.
Eren itches her scratch, her pussy softly squelching when he pulls out and gives her a solid stroke and he loves the way Y/n moans for him, “F-haa, wow,”. It’s a delicious stab to her soft spot and it hurts but Y/n likes the way it hurts, it hurts so good. Eren kisses her and he doesn’t waste anytime, tongue delving her mouth as he strokes her again and Y/n’s eyes flutter shut, her body loves it, she’s opening her legs wider, chest pushing out as she arches her back and fuck, Eren likes the way she feels against him, the way she sounds right now and he can’t help giving her what she wants.
The dick is so good it’s stuffing her ears, her eyes, her head, her pussy and Y/n’s a mess under Eren, moaning small “Ooh,”’s and “Ah,”’s everytime he rocks into her body, opening her pussy up and pulling coat after coat of fresh cream from her insides. God, he’s all in her pussy, all in her face, breathing hot against her lips and Y/n loves being wanted, being needed and she feels young again. Eren’s lips are trailing down her chin and he buries his face in her neck, giving her pussy a particularly deep, needy stroke and Y/n’s getting lost in him, fingers scratching his back as she drags her hands down to his ass.
Eren lets out a soft, “Miss Y/nnn,”, hot in her neck as she squeezes his ass and Eren’s never been slutted out like this. His strokes don’t feel like they’re his own but he loves it, she’s encouraging him, pulling him into her and Eren doesn’t wanna let Miss Y/n down, she needs him so much right now. Eren doesn’t let her down, keeping the pace of his strokes consistent and he knows he’s got her when her pussy starts fluttering, clenching around his dick.
“Fuckkk, Miss Y/nnn, take this dickkk,” He’s moaning, hot into her neck and Y/n brings her hands up, cradling his head as he slides up in her pussy and she’s moans a soft drawn out, “I amm,” when Eren starts grinding out her soft spot and he’s really skewering her, digging into her womb and Y/n feels like she’s gonna break.
Eren takes care of her though and Y/n’s holding him tight as he starts stroking her pussy out again. Her tummy’s tightening, pussy clenching up and Eren really has to fight to open her pussy up, splitting her head and taking his time winding out her belly before he starts all over again. His crotch is rubbing against her clit, balls slapping her ass and fuck-
“-You really oh… really know how to fuckkk,” Y/n praises as she starts fucking him right back, rocking her hips up into his strokes. She’s cupping Eren’s ass, pulling his body into her own. Eren’s balls are churning something crazy, his dick starting to throb and he doesn’t wanna cum too fast so he slows down and starts grinding her soft spot out again. It’s all in vein though cause Y/n’s still fucking herself, rocking her hips up to drag her pussy up his dick and rocking her hips down to stroke him.
She’s taking it from him, eyes closed as she works for her nut and Eren’s face is hot, panting into her neck and when Y/n clenches her pussy tight around him he smashes his mouth into her own, pressing fervent kisses all over her lips until she she parts them for him. Eren’s tonguing her down, swirling and twirling her tongue and Y/n can’t keep up, her hips rocking in earnest, desperate for his dick.
Eren’s fumbling, hands feeling their way down her hips and once he’s got a grip on the back of her thighs he breaks the kiss and Y/n’s breathing hard, her pretty brown eyes low as Eren pushes her legs back and she moans a loud, breathy, “Ohhh,” when he starts beating her pussy down. Her body’s shaking, breast and tummy jumping everytime Eren slams into her and her pussy, oh god, Miss Y/n’s pussy’s squelching around his dick, obediently taking all Eren has to give her. He gives it to her, again and again and again and Y/n’s eyes are rolling back, fingers gripping the sheets and she doesn’t want to.
Fuck, she doesn’t want to cum but Eren makes her cum and Y/n can’t look, she can’t look as she loses her mind, body tensing up and she’s pushing her pussy out for him as she squirts, hot and wet on Eren’s dick. The bed under them is soaked, Y/n’s undone, Eren keeps going and Y/n keeps cumming. She squirts with every stroke and her body’s wiggling, trying to get her legs down but Eren doesn’t let her go anywhere, fingers pressing into her soft thighs as he holds her legs open.
Miss Y/n’s making up her pretty face, chest heaving, big breast bouncing as she tries to close her legs and Eren doesn’t stop, he couldn’t stop fucking into her sweet pussy and he can’t help it anymore than he could help the fact that he was born. His strokes are getting sloppy, fast and it’s so sexy, Miss Y/n trying to get him to stop. She’s cumming, moaning and she wants him to stop?
“Don’t tell me you’re tired, Miss Y/n?” He’s in her business again, in her pussy and Y/n can’t even think about cussing his narrow ass out right now, she’s hot, she’s burning up and Eren’s vibing her out, stroking that pussy in all the right places.
He feels her cum seeping through the knees, the crotch of his sweatpants but Eren doesn’t care, her pussy’s too good. Y/n’s squirt dies down to a stream and Eren wants it all, ramming her drooling pussy hole out and he’s not content until her pussy’s dripping, squishing around his dick. She’s swelling and it’s so beautiful, Eren never knew pink could compliment brown so well.
“You’re, so, pretty, Miss, Y/n,” It’s all he can think. “God, you’re so pretty, Miss Y/n.”
She is pretty, laying there, eyes closed and tired as she lets Eren in her pussy and he doesn’t think twice when he gives her his children, groaning as he rams into her womb and Y/n feels it, warm, pulsating inside of her. She peels her pretty brown eyes open as Eren pulls out and he’s so proud when she immediately starts leaking. Y/n feels it and Eren sees it, running out of her pussy, down her taint, between her cheeks and the bed’s getting warm under her again. Eren’s rubbing her thighs, silently apologizing for his rough treatment and Y/n’s so tired, her pussy’s spent.
She takes a deep breath, breast pushing out and when she sighs she says a “Wow,'' that makes Eren laugh and he’s moving to get off of the bed. The front of his sweatpants are soaked and Y/n mumbles a small, “Sorry.”
“Nah, you’re cool.” Eren starts to empty his pockets and Y/n’s oddly pleased when she sees he actually owns a wallet. It’s a dark leather wallet and it looks thick, like he has lots of money inside. Y/n wonders if he has a job and if so, where did he work?
“I can wash them for you,” Y/n says as she rolls over onto her tummy and Eren looks at her sideways, pausing in emptying his pockets, so she adds, “So you don’t catch cold.”
Eren considers this, glancing down at the front of his pants and it’s so wet he can feel his skin starting to itch. “Okay,” Eren agrees, taking his car keys out of his pockets and patting them to make sure they’re empty. “But I have to be home by ten or else mom’s gonna freak.”
It’s only nine, so they have an hour and Y/n has his sweatpants in the washing machine five minutes later. Eren’s chilling in her vanity chair, a towel wrapped around his lower half and Y/n has to act like his dick print isn’t in her face while she changes the bedsheets. It’s a big bed and Y/n likes fitted sheets so she has to wrestle the sheet onto the mattress. Eren snickers when she jumps up onto the bed to get the sheet tucked under the mattress and the sheet flies off of the lower part of the mattress. She tries to fix it but the part she had just tucked down flies off too and Eren starts laughing when she goes to fix it and the sheet just comes off completely.
“Do you need help?” Y/n shoots him a sour look as he gets up and he comes over to the bed, taking the bottom part of the sheet. “‘Cause you’re really struggling right now, Miss Y/n.”
“Zip your lips,” Y/n gets off of the bed and takes the top part of the sheet. “And make sure it’s tucked under.”
“I think I know how to use a sheet, Miss Y/n.” It comes out with a little chuckle and Y/n makes sure Eren’s looking when she looks him up and down, sizing him up.
“Oh? You do?” Y/n questions when she’s satisfied, moving to tuck the sheet under. “I learn new things about you every day.”
“I don’t know anything about you,” Eren challenges, tucking his part at the same time so it doesn’t fly off. “How old are you?” He moves to the other side of the bed and takes hold of the sheet as Y/n does.
“Old enough to be your momma,” Y/n’s internally rolling her eyes. Why would he ask her that?
“So, thirty eight?” The sheets on and Eren thinks he’s guessed it right when Y/n pulls away, taking a step back from the bed and she hesitates. She doesn’t validate him though and she keeps the game going.
“I’m not that old,” Y/n wasn’t about to bare her soul to this fast ass little boy but of course she wasn’t that old. She had Connie when she was a teenager and yeah, she’s in her thirties but Eren can’t know that. “Why are you always in my business?”
Eren gives her a look, as if it would be a chore to explain himself and Y/n’s seen that look on Connie millions of times. So, she moves on, settling on the bed and she pats the spot across from her, inviting Eren to sit.
“How old are you?” She asks when Eren settles down and he pretends to be offended.
“You don’t know how old I am?” He touches his chest and Y/n shakes her head, laughing as she looks away. “Wow, Miss Y/n. That kinda hurt.”
“How could me, not knowing your age possibly hurt?”
“Because,” Eren makes a show of sniffling. “I’m old enough to be your son.”
Y/n finally rolls her eyes and she tries really hard to look annoyed but Eren’s in her face again and when he kisses her cheek, Y/n smiles and Eren’s likes it, so he kisses her again, on the side of the mouth this time. He wants attention and Y/n turns her head, giving it to him in a kiss and his eyes flutter close as he leans into it. It’s just smooches, pecks and Y/n starts to enjoy it when his fingers graze her face and dance their way down to her waist. Eren’s licking at her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth open and once she does he takes her down to the bed, toying her tongue with his own.
The timer she had set goes off and Eren reluctantly pulls back from the kiss, but not before he bites her lip, running his tongue over it before he lets Y/n go. He doesn’t let her up though and Y/n can’t look away when he kisses her again, soft and chaste.
“You’ve gotta be home by ten,” Y/n mumbles, pretty brown eyes flicking all over Eren’s handsome face. He knows, but Eren’s in the moment and he kisses her again.
“Can I fuck you again?” His words are warm, soft on her lips and Y/n hesitates, eyes flitting away to the clock on the wall and Eren kisses her again, bringing her back to him. “Please, Miss Y/n?”
First, Y/n goes to put his pants in the dryer and when she comes back Eren’s waiting for her and he looks extremely bored, laying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. He’s watching her come around the bed and when she climbs in he reaches for her, touching her anywhere he could as she gets on top of him.
“We’ve got twenty minutes.” Y/n softly reminds him, placing her hands flat on his chest as she sits on his dick. “So, be a good boy and cum for me.”
Y/n sinks into his lap so easily, pulling a shaky, “Yes, Miss Y/n.” from Eren’s lips and she’s so warm, so tight Eren has to touch her again and she’s getting comfortable, sinking onto her knees as she grinds down, enjoying the feeling of Eren in her tummy. Eren’s rubbing her breast, squeezing them as she takes care of him and Y/n’s got it down pat, she gets right to the point, rising up a little and bouncing her ass on his dick as she strokes him.
Her pussy’s still wet and she takes him so easily and Eren’s bucking up into her, pressing into her as he encourages her, hands trailing to her waist and over her ass. She knows what she’s doing and Eren can barely hold on for the ride, he can barely get a grip on her ass and she’s winding him up, tightening his tummy and Eren’s in awe, groaning a needy, “Fuckk, right there, Miss Y/nn,”
He's making her feel good too, he’s putting that dick in her back and Y/n answers, moaning as she slams down on his dick and starts grinding him out. Eren’s dick is throbbing, Y/n’s clit is twitching and she’s going in circles, using Eren’s body to get her nut and Eren’s encouraging her, desperately pulling at her ass cheeks to spread her pussy as he winds her belly out.
“Goddd, you’re so fucking nasty, Miss Y/n.” Eren’s manhandling her now, picking her ass up and dragging it back into his lap as he rocks up into her pussy and Y/n’s hands slide down to his tummy as she cooes a soft, “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” Her pussy’s squishing, creaming, hot around his dick.
“Yeah?” Y/n starting bouncing her ass again, pressing on his tummy as she strokes him, fast and wet and her pussy’s singing, squelching around his dick and Eren doesn’t know what to do with his hands, she’s too fast for him, she’s too slick.
“F-ahh, hah,” Eren’s panting, legs stiff and toes curling as he presses up into Y/n’s sweet pussy, giving her all the dick she wants from him. “Fuck, yesss,”
“Yeahh,” Y/n’s moaning in agreement, tossing her head back and closing her eyes as she gets wild, as her pussy gets sloppy on Eren’s dick. His ass is wet, his balls are churning and Y/n knows she’s got his little fast ass when he starts grabbing at her, digging his fingers into her and she didn’t dare stop.
Her breast keep bouncing, rocking against each other and they’re so big, so brown, so yummy and Eren can’t look away, she’s hypnotizing him. She’s stroking him just right, he’s stabbing her so good and Y/n’s pussy feels so heavy, so hot and she’s gonna cum. “Fuckkk,” Y/n’s talking, moaning to herself as she vibes him out. “This is some good dickkk,”
Why was she like this? Why was Miss Y/n like this? Eren’s shuddering, feet cramping as he paints her insides with thick, hot spurts of cum. What could he possibly say to that? Y/n keeps bouncing that ass on his dick, enjoying herself so much she doesn’t hear the timer go off. Every stroke she gives him sends shivers up his spine and Eren’s panting, mouth open as he gives her everything he has.
Y/n’s pushing her pussy out, popping it open before she puts it on him and he’s still hard, still tall and he’s still making a mess of her pussy. Eren winces when she clenches her pussy up real tight but he doesn’t deny her, hands on her hips as he encourages her. Y/n starts stroking him, sitting on his dick all the way before she rises up and she’s whining and she sounds so desperate Eren has to shush her up the only way he knows how. Eren starts rocking his hips, fucking up into her and she hushes up, moaning soft, “Ah,”’s as she pushes her pussy out for him and Eren knows what Miss Y/n wants, he knows what she needs and he gives it to her, balls slapping her ass as he tears her pussy up from the bottom.
Y/n’s leaning over him, titties in his face as he fucks her pussy out and Eren starts sucking on his favorite nipple, winding her up with every long dick, deep stroke he threw up into her belly. Y/n’s pussy starts fluttering, clenching up and she moans a breathy, “Ohhh wowww,” when she cums all over Eren’s tummy. It’s everywhere and the bed’s wet again.
Everything feels so sensitive in the afterglow and Eren’s sending shivers up her spine. He’s still sucking her nipple, giving her pussy short, slow strokes as he vibes her out. He looks at peace when he sucks her nipples like that and it feels good so she lets him. The timer’s still ringing though and it’s hard to stay in the moment cause it’s annoying her and Y/n pulls away, leaving him crestfallen as she dismounts.
Eren sighs and he flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling again as Y/n leaves to go get his pants. When she comes back his pants are warm to the touch and they smell good, like the detergent Carla uses. It’s seven after ten when Eren leaves and before Y/n opens the front door Eren pulls out his wallet and Y/n’s looking at him like he’s crazy when he offers her money.
“What’s that for?” Y/n questions, sizing him up with a hand on her hip. It’s three bills, two twenties and one ten dollar bill.
Eren likes when he gets all mad like that, it’s so fucking sexy. “It’s for a plan b,”
Oh shit, he did cum inside, didn’t he? Y/n says a small, “Oh. Right.” and she takes it when Eren offers it to her again. “That’s really considerate.”
Eren’s smirking now and Y/n feels her pussy getting hot when he starts sizing her fine ass up again.
“Anytime, Miss Y/n.”
His stupid dimple is lighting up and Y/n pretends she’s counting the money so she doesn’t get flustered. He leaves after that and Y/n closes the door behind him, sighing as she rests her forehead against the cool wood. Where could she even find a plan b? It’s been so long since she’s had to buy one. But fuck, the last thing Y/n needed was another abortion and she definitely didn’t need one with Eren’s name on it.
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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago
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          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )
✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?
summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.
pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader
tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn
word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl
a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 
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MOSCOW, 1975.
In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.
War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.
You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.
War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.
In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.
To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.
He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.
He was the disease that devoured all.
He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.
The spoils of war.
His smile is stained red.
There is no deal to be made.
The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.
NOW.
His eyes are open.
Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —
Then:
“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”
The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.
He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.
When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?
He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It���s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.
Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.
“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.
You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”
“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”
You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.
“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”
His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.
“Thank you.”
You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.
“Don’t.”
“You want it?”
“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”
“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”
“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”
“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”
Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.
Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.
“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”
“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”
“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”
His face falls.
“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”
Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.
That hasn’t happened in a while.
Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”
You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.
You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.
“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”
“Looking?”
“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”
“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”
“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”
Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.
“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”
Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”
“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”
Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.
Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”
“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.
“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”
“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.
“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”
“You’re not the sidekick—”
“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”
“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”
Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.
The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.
Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.
You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.
His tone is stern. “I mean it.”
“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”
“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”
“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”
“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”
“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”
“Thursday.”
You nod.
All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.
“Today is Sunday.”
You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”
“Shit.”
“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.
He’s got keys in his hand.
“C’mon.”
He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.
“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”
“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.
You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.
“Why?”
“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”
You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.
Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.
“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”
Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.
Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.
It’s a jet black Harley.
Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”
He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.
“We’re going upstate.”
                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   
It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.
You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.
You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.
Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.
Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 
Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.
Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.
You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.
“Shit.”
“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”
“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”
“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.
Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”
He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.
“Want help?”
“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”
“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”
Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.
He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.
It unsettles Bucky every time.
Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.
“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”
The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.
Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.
The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.
Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.
There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.
Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.
You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.
“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”
You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.
“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”
You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.
“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”
His eyes soften. Bucky nods.
You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.
He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.
“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.
Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.
Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.
“How’d you do on that test?”
“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”
You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.
Bucky nudges you with his hand.
“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.
The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”
You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.
You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.
“What was that?”
“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”
Your face softens. “Sister?”
“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.
You hum. Bucky sighs.
He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.
This side of Elmwood is quieter.
Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.
There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.
One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.
“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”
“Everything alright?”
“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”
“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”
“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”
“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”
“Exactly.”
You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.
“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”
She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.
“Friend.”
“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.
It’s like a little slice of home.
Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.
And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.
In it is Steve Rogers.
Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.
“Bucky.”
The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.
To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.
“Hi, punk.”
The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.
“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”
“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”
You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.
“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”
“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”
Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.
“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”
“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”
You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”
“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”
Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin�� weight, y’know.”
That earns him a wave of the hand.
Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.
“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”
“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”
“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”
You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.
“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”
Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.
“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”
A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”
“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”
There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.
When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.
“That’s right. I forgot.”
“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”
“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”
You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”
Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.
He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”
“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”
“Sam?” you ask slowly.
“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”
“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”
“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”
You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.
“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”
Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.
“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”
“M’ not flirting—”
“I know that look, Steve—”
Steve is laughing.
Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”
“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”
“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”
“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.
Steve laughs loudly at that.
Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.
The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.
It makes your heart ache.
And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…
The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.
The walk back to the bike is quiet.
Bucky speaks first.
“He’s dying.”
You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.
“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”
“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”
You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.
They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.
“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”
Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.
“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”
You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.
                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   
You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.
In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.
It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.
You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.
He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.
No use in thinking about it though.
“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”
Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.
“...I’ve got a date.”
You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.
“Oh. Oh!”
You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.
Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”
“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”
Bucky groans. “Shut up.”
“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”
The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.
“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”
“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”
But, that doesn’t end up happening.
No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.
He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.
“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”
When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.
“Get laid?”
Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.
He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.
“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”
You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.
He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.
Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.
“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”
“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”
You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”
“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”
You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.
“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.
“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”
That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.
Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.
Bucky laughs.
“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.
You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.
You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.
“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”
He lights up at that.
You laugh.
You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.
By your knees, Poke chirps.
“He’s cute.”
“I never took you for a cat guy.”
Bucky snorts.
You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”
“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”
You laugh out loud. It shocks you.
“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”
He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.
“I can be funny.”
“Funny lookin’.”
He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.
There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”
More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.
“You got a plan for Thursday?”
“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”
1K notes · View notes
boldlyvoid · 3 years ago
Text
Million Dollar Man | Chapter Five
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summary: Spencer's therapist recommended he branch out and meet new people who don't want to talk about his work... she didn't expect him to sign up for a Sugar Daddy website.
Content warnings: sugar daddy!spencer, age gaps (14 years), daddy kink, blow jobs, handcuffs, thigh fucking, public sex, exhibitionism, edging, vibrators, dirty talk, dom spencer
word count: 4.6K
a/n: updates on Wednesdays and Saturdays
Chapter Five | Masterlist
He’s ripped from a peaceful slumber by his work phone ringing on the night table. Y/N asleep on his chest, he tries to reach for it without waking her, successfully he answers with a groggy whisper, “hello?”
“Morning sleepy head?” Emily laughs, “it’s 10 am, Reid, why are you whispering?”
“I’m with my girlfriend, she’s still asleep,” he realizes he’s never told the team flat out that he was seeing someone, they all guessed but none of them had really asked.
“Oh,” Emily seems just as shocked that he said it. “We have a local case, I need you here for the geo profile and then you can go back to your mandated break.”
“I’ll be in, in 30,” he replies before hanging up.
“Can I come?” She whispers against him, obviously awake from all the commotion.
“Sure,” he shrugs, “if you don’t mind seeing and hearing about whatever horrific thing happened this time.”
“I don’t,” she sits up and stretches, “come on Mulder, we’ve got a case to crack.”
He laughs, “sure thing Scully.”
He’s nervous in the elevator on the way up to the BAU, Y/N on the other hand is so excited she’s practically vibrating. She’s dressed for the part, with her little visitor's badge and Spencer’s hand held tightly in her own, she basically drags him towards the bullpen when the doors open.
“Spence!” Luke calls for him, Tara and Matt turn around with big smiles to see him. “Who’s this?”
“Uh,” Spencer swallows sharply, “this is my girlfriend, Y/N this is Luke, Matt and Tara.”
She lets go of his hand to shake theirs, he watches as they all smile and introduce themselves to her, causing the rest of the team to notice the new person in the room and rush over. They have a lot of questions, they’re all very surprised she’s as young as he was when he started at the bureau and that he’s actually bringing her around.
When he finds out what’s going on, he’s really glad he brought her in. There’s been a few bomb threats in D.C, one of which is the building across from Y/N’s apartment. They’re trying to keep hysteria to a minimum, he knows he wouldn’t have been able to tell her if he didn’t bring her, he also knows he would have broken protocol to get her out of there.
She sits at his desk while he works, looking through all his things for a while before Spencer hears a familiar voice in the bullpen. Penelope was called in for backup, making eye contact with Y/N as soon as she walked in and cheering. “Oh! You’re here!”
Spencer leaves the briefing room, abandoning the geo-profile to introduce Penelope to the girl she helped him find, he runs down the stairs and wraps his arms around her.
“Spencer,” she relaxes into his embrace and holds him close, “I’ve missed you so much.”
When Spencer pulls away, the smile on his face is remarkable, “Penelope, this is Y/N,” he says her name and Penelope automatically knows who she is.
He told her right after he bought her whole Wishlist, Penelope has known about her the longest and yet she’s never been able to meet her. She turns to Y/N with a smile, “are you a hugger?”
Y/N stands and wraps her arms around her, “I think I owe you a very big thank you,” she whispers in Penelope’s ear.
“For what?”
“Teaching grandpa over here how to use the internet,” she teases him, “and for your helpful tips, he was the nicest one I met on there.”
“You’re very welcome,” Penelope pulls back with another smile, holding Y/N’s face in her hands, “and thank you.”
Y/N pulls her into another hug and now everyone is watching, Spencer knows he’s going to be bombarded with questions eventually but for now, Y/N is going with Penelope to her office and Spencer has a map to look at while he stresses himself out.
Matt, Tara and Emily head to the scene to join JJ, Rossi and Will, leaving Luke with Spencer in the briefing room.
“Can I ask?”
Spencer nods, “go ahead.”
“How did you meet her? Was she one of your students?”
He doesn’t know how to answer, not because he’s ashamed of it or of her, rather because he doesn’t know if she’ll want people to really know. “Penelope helped me get online to meet people, I made an account on a sugar daddy website thinking it would be easier to pay someone who doesn’t know me to hang out rather than try and make a new friend.”
“That’s smart,” Luke nods along as he listens. “She seems really cool.”
“She’s the best,” he smiles. “She’s really smart and talented, she’s an author actually, her books coming out in January.”
“I’ll have to get a copy,” Luke smiles right back.
“Her publisher and I have actually planned a big birthday party slash final draft party, if you and the team want to come and have drinks and get to know her more, that would be really nice,” Spencer offers, knowing it’s about time they all celebrated something together.
“I’d love to come, and I’ll bring Penelope,” Luke’s just as excited as he is.
“I’m a little surprised you didn’t know already, being with Penelope and everything?”
He shrugs, “we don’t talk about work or really gossip about the team now that she’s not working here, it makes her a little sad that she left but she’s doing a lot better just coming in occasionally.”
“I didn’t think I’d like my months off at first, either, but now I’m also debating leaving,” he knows it's a lie. He’s already written his letter of recognition, he’s just waiting for the go-ahead from Y/N that they’re moving to California.
“16 years is a really long time to be doing this job,” he agrees, “I’m sure if you wanted to leave the bureau would offer you your full retirement package early, given everything you’ve been through for this country.”
Spencer nods, “don’t let this job take your spark, you’re very wonderful, Luke, and I’d hate to see you lose it for the greater good.”
“My greater good is just down the hall,” he smirks, “I make the world a better place for the woman I love, she’s the reason I get up every day and come to work because I can’t wait to get home to her safely.”
Luke has always loved Penelope, it’s been very obvious, and yet she didn’t want really anything to do with him until Derek advised her to be nice. She was so busy thinking about all her other babies leaving the nest after Derek that she didn’t take the time to consider bringing in Luke to the nest for warmth and love as well.
“When are you asking her to marry you?”
Luke turns bashful, a slight blush on his cheeks as he stares at the table, “Christmas, it’s her favourite time of the year.”
“Have you talked to Derek?” Spencer only worries slightly, after what happened with Kevin he doesn’t want to see it happen to Luke.
“Nope, I’ve talked to her brothers though, we’re going to California again this year for Christmas and they all said they’d love to have me in the family,” Luke smiles, “the Garcias are my favourite.”
Spencer isn’t normally a hugger but he walks around the table and wraps Luke up, “I’m asking Y/N in a week.”
“No way?”
He nods, “she’s the greatest good I’m ever going to get.”
“Amen, brother.”
Penelope’s job was incredible, she was in awe as she watched her tap away at her keyboard and answer a million and one questions. She reminded her of Ned from Kim Possible and she knew if she said that to anyone she’d give away just how young she is.
She’s gotten a lot of looks, she knows people are talking about it and yet she doesn’t really care. There isn’t any malice behind the stares and the whispers, they all seem genuinely surprised that Spencer has a girlfriend over the fact she’s in her 20’s.
There’s a single dull moment and she turns to Y/N, “can I please have the juicy details, please,” she begs and it makes her feel giddy.
She’s never really had any girlfriends like this, and she certainly didn’t have anyone to tell about Spencer. “He’s the love of my life, I’m completely serious.”
Penelope squealed, “that’s all I’ve ever wanted for him, ugh this is so exciting! Are you guys serious? How long has it been?”
She nods, “not long, uh he got me this necklace a week or two ago and we’ve been moving pretty slow for his sake. In the last 10 months he’s become my bestie and I’ve convinced him to move in and he sleeps in my bed now and I love waking up beside him… he’s a real gentleman.”
“That’s good, he’s never been able to take the scenic route in life… I know you’re only here cause he trusts you and if he trusts you that means you know everything and if you know ever—“
“Yeah,” she cuts her off, “I know about all of it and everyone who’s hurt him and how he’s hurt himself but what’s more important is that it doesn’t phase me, he’s just a person trying to deal with the life he’s been given, we all are.”
Penelope wraps her up in a gentle hug, “he’s always needed someone like you.”
It makes her heartbreak just a tiny bit thinking about how as long he didn’t have anyone. Sure, he was surrounded by his friends at work and loved enough that they all brought him back home but he was never cared for the way she would have done it. There’s a weird maternal instinct that comes over her with Spencer and she knows exactly why, all she knows is she wants to love him and care for him for the rest of his life.
If she lives to be 100, she hopes he lives to be 116, because there isn’t a day she wants to spend on this earth where Spencer Reid isn’t alive and beside her.
She’s not going to cry in Penelope’s arms after just meeting her so she pulls back with a smile, “but what kind of juicy details are we talking? Cause I can’t embarrass him too bad…”
Penelope’s laugh is evil as she rubs her hands together, “a little birdie whose name rhymes with shmerek said he knows how to use that mouth for more than just talking…”
It makes her laugh almost a little too hard and she starts to feel her face heat up, she simply nods, “yeah, we haven’t gone all the way but from what’s happened so far, I can agree.”
Penelope turns in her rolling chair and laughs, “ugh that’s so great, I’m glad you’re having a good time— I mean I always thought Spencer would be good in bed after all the chats we’ve had about kinks and shit, he’s really educated, obviously, but I always knew that it would translate from paper to real-life very easily.”
“Oh totally,” she nods feverishly, “we talked about that before actually, virginity is simply a construct used to control women and make them feel pure or dirty, to feel like they can take something from a woman and yet virgins are so sexual and in tune with their needs and wants that they typically are good or at least know what to do from whatever porn they’ve consumed when it comes down to it. How the more in tune with someone's sexuality that they are the better they are in bed because they apply what they want to their partner and almost get off more on the fact someone is enjoying them than the fact they’re being pleasured.”
Penelope shakes her head with a loving smile, “you listen when he talks, you love every part of him and you’re beautiful… he really hit the jackpot.”
She brushes it off with a laugh, “I got pretty lucky with him too.”
Her phone rings before she can agree, answering with a cheerful tone, Spencer is on the other end, “do you have my beautiful girlfriend with you still?”
“Present,” she answers for herself, “are you still here, dad-Spence?”
She bites her lip and closes her eyes, fuck.
“Yeah, uh, I am, we think we got the actual building with the bomb, they’ve sent the team down there to clear it and check it out.”
“I’ll head back to the bullpen, then,” she stands and heads to the door, not wanting to face Penelope after almost calling him daddy right in front of her.
“Hey,” she calls to Y/N, “don’t be embarrassed. I get it, believe me, I’ve answered some calls in here with the dirtiest remarks to the completely wrong people. But, I’ll see you later?”
She smiles, “yeah, I’d love to see you again.”
In the bullpen, Spencer’s by his desk all alone. His teams cleared out and now it was just the office staff wandering around. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his back, “ready to go home?”
“Uh, not yet…” he turns to look at her, “I don’t want to bring you back to D.C unless the case is closed.” He looks nervous and she understands it perfectly.
“Okie Dokie, she smiles, leaning in for a hug to get close to his ear, “can we fuck in a storage closet to pass the time?”
He laughs but he takes her hand and he pretends to take her on a tour, he leads her down the hall and towards the filing room where he knows no one will be. “No one has really used this room in ages, since we went digital, and Penelope had all this stuff put online anyway.”
“So you can bend me over that table and rail me next time we come back?”
“Or?” She hears his playful tone and smirks to herself, letting him manhandle her hands behind her back as he bends her over a table, “I could fuck these big beautiful thighs of yours?”
“So only you can get off? Please,” She scoffs at him, wanting to piss him off to see where it gets her, wiggling her ass back against him as she does so.
He unbuttons her pants and drags them down her legs to leave her in just her thong, taking a handful of her ass and squeezing before laying a hard slap against her, she gasps at the feeling but also at the fact it was so loud.
“They’re going to hear you?!” She whispers with a disappointed tone.
“Isn’t that what you said you wanted? You wanted everyone to know only daddy can take care of you?” He uses her own words against her and she whines. “That’s what I thought.”
“No, but seriously,” she turns her head to look at him, “check my pocket.”
He does exactly that, finding one of her little bullet vibes in the front pocket of her jeans, “you planned this?”
“I knew we’d be having some kind of sex somewhere in this building,” she smirks. “Also my safe word is red but keep going.”
“Alrighty, then,” she can hear the smirk on his face as he thinks it over.
He takes his handcuffs out of his back pocket and cuffs her, “you know, it’s public indecency looking like this in here, technically it’s a federal offence and it’s my duty as a federal officer to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She swallows sharply, pushing back against his groin and gasping when her bare asscheek meets the cold metal of his gun in his holster. Sometimes she forgot he was a real FBI agent, sometimes it didn’t feel real to her because he was just her nerdy boyfriend and he never had any of his "cop props" with him… suddenly they weren’t just accessories to her anymore, he was actually a cop who just bent her over a table and cuffed her and now he’s going to fuck her "big beautiful thighs" as he called them.
“What’s the sentence, agent?” She plays along because damn he’s hot like this.
He presses his chest to her back as he leans in close to her ear, “It’s doctor, and you know that.”
He turns on the vibrator and rests it inside her underwear, right against her clit at the lowest setting, her thighs twitch at the feeling and all she wishes is that she had something to hold on to.
She whines again when she hears his belt buckle dangle and his zipper open, he grips his cock at the base and drags the head between her cheeks before slipping between her things with a sigh, “and it’s taking my time, you’re just going to have to, rather impatiently, deal with it.”
“Yes, doctor,” she closes her eyes and waits for the feeling of his cock between her legs but he doesn’t push in.
He places his feet on either side of hers so that she can't open her legs any further and finally, finally breaches her thighs. He groans at the drag of his cock against her skin as the vibrations from her panties continue to make her legs quake. She lets out a shaky breath and reaches for his shirt as he presses against her once more. Grabbing his tie instead, she pulls on it and he gasps for air.
“Sorry,” she mumbles with a smirk, not sorry at all for slightly choking him as she continues to hold his tie.
He swats her hands away from his tie and grips the cuffs to separate her hands, pushing them further up her back until it’s almost uncomfortable. The most uncomfortable thing about this was the fact he wasn’t inside of her, she felt so empty as she clenched around nothing. The stimulation on her clit was nice, the feeling of him taking her from behind is ungodly and yet he’s not in her. It’s the worst punishment in the whole world.
It was nowhere near enough to get her off and he knew that she wanted so much more that she wasn’t going to get, whining as he kept his thrusts at the same slow pace. It was agonizing, she squeezed her legs together more to tease him but he ended up liking it. There was nothing she could do for more, she was just going to have to let him take her, and that thought was what brought her closer.
“Please?” She begged, sounding just as desperate as she thought she would and not giving a single fuck.
“Please what?” He snaps his hips against her just a bit harder with each thrust.
She gasps again before biting her lip to hold back a moan, “finish in my mouth?” She begs once more, “please?”
He pulls off of her and yanks her off the table, turning her around, she drops to her knees without being told and opens her mouth immediately. He grips her by her hair and guides her towards his cock, slipping it past her lips and right down her throat.
He groans at the feeling, she closes her eyes for a moment to enjoy the feeling of his heavy cock in her mouth. Taking him more forcefully than ever before, he’s too caught up in the moment to realize he might be a little too rough but she also doesn’t mind. Breathing through her nose to stay calm she takes him as far as she can, pressing her nose to his pubes he can feel how hot her breath is as she struggles to breathe.
“Such a good girl,” he pulls her off so she can breathe for a moment, “you want my cum so bad don’t you?”
“Yes please, daddy,” she replies with a rasp in her voice that makes it obvious where he’s been.
She takes him in her mouth once more, sucking earnestly to get him closer and closer to the edge. He’s whining, pulling her hair and doing everything in his power not to thrust against her face, even though she’s okay with it.
She knows when he’s close because his cock always twitches in the same spot, it’s a tell-tale sign that he’s going to cum in a second. She applies more suction, running her tongue along the underside before taking him all the way once more just in time for him to cum right down her throat with each swallow.
He’s not quiet, anyone walking past the door will hear him panting and gasping, muttering good girl under his breath, he’s more fucked out by this blow job than she’s ever made him before. She can’t help but smirk as he pulls away and leaves her there on her knees, covered in spit and drool and unable to wipe her own mouth due to the fact she’s still fucking handcuffed.
She rests against his shoe, pressing the vibrator against her clit a little more, she twitches at how good it feels but it’s still not enough to get her off, and a part of her doesn’t want to.
He pulls her up to her feet and sits her down on the table he was just pretending to fuck her against. He attempts to spread her legs and get between them but she stops him, “leave the vibe where it is and let’s just go home?”
“You want to walk out of this building with a vibrator in your panties, and say goodbye to my co-workers and friends knowing you could cum anytime?”
She smirks, “yes, but I won't cum cause this pathetic toy isn’t as good at you.”
He clicks the button to turn it up a speed and she gasps, pushing against the feeling and moaning into it, “I’d like to see you try that.”
He takes her on the rest of the “tour” with that vibrator in her panties, she’s getting more and more flustered the more they look around. Eventually, he shows her the library, getting her alone in the back corner where he can talk to her without the risk of people knowing what’s going on.
“I can’t,” she whines as he presses her against the shelves, “please?”
“Please what?”
“Turn it off, daddy, I can’t take it anymore,” she grips his suit jacket tightly as she looks up at him with the eyes he can’t say no to.
“Mmm,” he hums, reaching into her pants to free her from the stimulation, she relaxes finally. “What do you think you deserve now?”
“Don’t wanna cum till we’re at home,” she whispers, “but you’ll have to make it quick because we have a flight to catch at 8.”
“Fuck,” he whispers like he forgot. “I hope we can get back into the apartment in time.”
“Why?”
“The bomb was in the basement of the building beside yours,” he admits and the whole facade fades, “that’s why I’m not taking you home yet.”
“That’s why you wanted to fuck me,” she whispers with a giggle. “You could have at least told me this was a ‘you almost died’ rush for you.”
“I didn’t want to say it like that,” he admits and a depression washes through his blood, he feels the low settle as he drops, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she takes his face in her hands and makes him look her in the eyes, “I love you, I’m glad we’re both safe. Everything in there is replaceable, you and me aren’t. This is a really good thing, Spencer.”
He nods, doing what she’s told him so many times she wants him to do, telling her his thoughts so that he’s no longer haunted alone, “when I told my friend Derek about you, he said dating a younger woman means I’ll never have to worry about you dying of old age before me. That’s one of his fears being the same age as Savannah, but I’ve lost so many people I never even thought about getting old with you I’ve just wanted to keep this version of you safe and with me forever.”
“Penelope said she always wished you’d find someone like me, and my only thought was If I live to be 100, I hope you live to be 116 because there isn’t a day I want to spend on this earth where Spencer Reid isn’t alive and beside me,” he whispers with a smile, “but now I’m thinking if you live to be 100, I don’t want to go past 84.”
“You can’t say that,” he whispers, tears bubbling in his eyes, “what if I die tomorrow? I need to know you’re going to be fine and not end your wonderful existence because I’m not here anymore. You’re too wonderful to put all your worth on me.”
She doesn’t want to cry, she already looks like she’s been fucked and now she’s a mess, she pulls him into a kiss so he’ll stop talking and they can just be together, it was hard enough for her thinking he was going to die eventually, let alone him hypothesizing dying tomorrow.
She rests her forehead against his, “we always do this.”
“What?”
“It’s like orgasms open the emotions or something,” she snuffles which turns into a laugh, “do you think our kids are going to find it weird that you’re so much older than me?”
Everything takes him for a loop, “uh,” he struggles to find the words, pulling back and looking at her as her face drops, “I um—
“You don’t want kids anymore?” She looks genuinely saddened and he doesn’t know how to answer.
“I do,” he nods, “just—“
“Not with me?” She puts the words in his mouth.
“With you, just not yet,” he holds her by the shoulders, “I need more time with you before we have a kid, I need to love life and be in a good place and somewhere where I can focus all my attention on them, and I can’t yet.”
“I want a baby by 30,” she whispers before pressing her lips together awkwardly, “46 isn’t too old to be a dad, I’ve seen men become fathers at 80.”
He laughs as the anxiety leaves him, “a little California surfer baby wouldn’t be too bad.”
“Well, we fuck like rabbits, we might get there sooner than you planned,” she nudges him, “you’re a wonderful boyfriend, and if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to stay my boyfriend for a little longer? I’m not ready to be a wife or a mom and change my name when I just got it put on a published book.”
“I’ll change mine to yours,” he replies like it's nothing, “or keep yours and we’ll hyphenate the kid's names.”
“It’s plural now?” She teases him once more.
“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you,” he assures her, “forever.”
“You’d pluck a star from the sky for me wouldn’t you, Doctor Y/L/N?”
He laughs at how it sounds but he kinda likes it. Her word choice is even funnier to him, however, because he’s actually gone out of his way to pluck a star for her. She has no idea, but her last present is a big one.
She struggled to get her own name on a book for so long, now there’s a star named after her, in the sky for everyone to see for the rest of time.
Permanent tag list:
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luminouspoes · 4 years ago
Text
until the poets run out of rhyme
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pairing: poe dameron x f!reader (modern au)
summary: poe and the reader go out for drinks with their friends, but soon have to make a detour in their evening plans. (based on the prompt: if you want to leave, we can)
word count: 4k ~
warnings: swearing, mentions of anxiety, sensory overload
You curl and uncurl your feet, burying your toes into the plush of your carpet, gnawing on your bottom lip as you stare at the dress on your bed. In just under an hour, your long-time best friend Poe Dameron will be showing up to pick you up to take you to Maz’s for drinks with Snap, Jess, Kare and Sura to celebrate Sura’s most recent journalism award. 
You aren't as close to them as you are to Poe - they were more his group of friends rather than your shared one of him, Finn and Rey - but they’d welcomed you with warm arms long ago, much like how your group of friends - Kaydel, Beaumont and Rose - welcomed Poe.
Which means that you really want to go to Maz’s bar and enjoy drinks with him, his friends, and celebrate Sura’s big moment because you know how much ass she kicks at her job and just how hard she's worked to get where she is today. But familiar icy ribbons of anxiety have coiled in your gut, spilling up and twisting around your heart at the idea of going out.
You close your eyes, breathing out slowly. Briefly, you remember something Poe once said, half as a joke, half as a genuine reassurance to himself, and you mumble it out loud to yourself in the empty room, “Happy beeps. You can do this.”
It doesn’t erase your anxiety, but the memory of your best friend is enough to bring a sense of comfort to you, and you grab the dress with a gentle smile on your lips to get dressed. The skirt flares out at your knees, and is a deep shade of red, with a sheer neck and sleeves. It’s comfortable, and once you add a pair of flat heeled ankle boots to the look, you think you’re just about ready.
You grab your purse and duck out of your bedroom into your living room, stopping by the bookcase to make your decision on which book to take. Finn and Rey were at first baffled by this trait of yours (then immediately started joking about how you really were perfect for Poe), but you never left home without a book within reach. Most of the time, you didn’t actually get a chance to even read it, but knowing you had one...helped your nerves. It was like carrying a miniature hug in your purse.
It took you longer than you expected to land on a decision: by the time you’re shoving your selected paperback into your purse, there’s a familiar knock on the door. Your heart does a quick somersault in your chest, and you bound to the door. You peer out the peep-hole, to see Poe standing in the hallway, waving a cheeky hello in your direction.
You grin as you unlatch the door, opening it with a swing. Your greeting flees from your mind as you take in the sight of him. It’s not so different from his usual attire, but he’s ditched his usual tee-shirt and beat-up leather flight jacket for a black button-up and black leather jacket. The jeans, however, are the same.
“Wow,” Poe breathes, beating you to the compliment as he gawks at you. “You look...really pretty.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks as you duck your head, giving a slight twirl so the skirt will flare out around you as you spin. When you come back to a stop in front of him, Poe’s still got that gobsmacked expression on your face that sends butterflies soaring in your gut. “You think?”
“I know,” Poe affirms, composing himself. “You ready for this?”
You nod once, “Just let me get my purse, I forgot it on the counter. You can come in, you know. You don’t have to wait outside every time, you’re not a vampire.” You don’t look behind you as you move through your apartment, but you hear the door click behind Poe as he follows.
“I could be, you don’t know for sure.” Poe calls. 
You bark a laugh as you pull your purse over your shoulder, twisting to face him as he crosses the room to you. “Mhm, I’ve seen you doing your hair in the mirror before, you have a reflection. You love the sunlight, and you always eat the garlic bread I make when we have dinner parties.” 
“I could be a recent vampire?” Poe tries with a lopsided smile, and you giggle again. His eyes light up at the sound; he loves hearing your laugh but especially loves it when he’s the cause of it. He’ll be purposely ridiculous for it any day of the week. “Got your book?” 
You pull it from your bag to show him the cover, and he clicks his tongue appreciatively, “Good taste.” 
"I always have good taste in books.”
Poe hums in response, taking a step closer to you. Moments like these come easily, where the rest of the world just...fades away until it’s just the two of you. It drives your friends up a wall, but you couldn’t care less when Poe looks at you like you’re his whole world and his lips are quirked up in a little bit of a smirk as he banters back. “I don’t know about,” he says in a low tone, dragging his gaze from the cover back up to your face and you swear for just a moment he pauses on your lips, "you like horror novels.”
Your heart thundering against your ribcage for a much different reason now, you fight to keep your eyes in a safe zone. The way he’s looking at you makes every possible response you could normally think of fly right out of your mind, as your mouth goes dry. Finally, you take another step forward, challenging him with a smirk of your own, "That’s because I’m not afraid to read them like some people, Dameron.”
“I’m not afraid,” Poe protests automatically, the argument a familiar one, but neither of you are really focused on running through the motions of it right now.
The room seems to crackle with energy and potential around you, and part of you so desperately wants to take that leap, but the other half is terrified that if you do, then you’ll lose this magic, this friendship you’ve nurtured with Poe for the last five years. So you dip your head at the last second, folding first. 
Breaking out of his own trance, Poe takes a slight step back before he holds out his arm to you, “Ready?”
There’s that spike of nerves again, but you brave through it, nod once and loop your arm through his. “Let’s rock and roll,”  you hesitate just a moment as you think of the moment before and how easily the two of you still managed to fall into each other’s personal space again. Maybe you really don’t have anything to worry about. “Oh and Poe?”
“Yeah?” He asks as you step out into the hallway, cocking his head towards you.
“You look pretty wow too,” you tell him, leaning forward to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. 
-
It goes well, for the most part. The others grabbed a booth in the corner of the bar, placing you away from the brunt of the noise and crowd. You knew this wasn’t a coincidence: Snap, Kare, Jess and Sura were always accommodating for your anxiety, and it wasn’t as though they didn’t have their own to contend with either. 
Poe leads you to the booth with a hand on the small of your back, a wide grin on his face as he nears his friends. You drink in the sight of his joy, as you do every time you meet up with them, in between reunion hugs with everyone. Then, the two of you settle into one side of the booth, you at the wall and Poe sliding in next to you, his arm winding around behind you on the back of the seat, as he always did, but you surprise him by keeping one hand on his thigh the entire time. 
The conversation comes easily between the six of you, laughter flooding through the corner as you knock back cheers for Suralinda’s accomplishments. By the time you’re halfway through your first (and only) drink, you’ve nearly forgotten about your apprehension. 
It comes back quickly before you hit the bottom of the glass when a new, far rowdier group enters the bar. They aren’t doing anything malicious, but their loud rumbles and hollers are too much combined with the rustle of silverware and clinking of glasses and the noise of the pool table and the radio blaring above, and the tv stationed by Maz’s bar.
You tense up as you try to tune out the rest of the noise to focus on your friends, but you can already feel your nerves beginning to fray, and you just want to run away to somewhere quiet, and that only frustrates you more because you want to be here, in this corner and -
“Hey,” Poe’s voice was but a concerned whisper to get your attention and it cuts through some of the haze in your mind. You turn to him, opening your mouth to...say what you have no idea, but recognition flashes behind his eyes. Poe has an incredible sense for when you’re getting overwhelmed. “If you want to leave, we can.” 
You want to protest, because you’ve barely spent any time here, but before you can, someone drops a glass from across the room and you jump at the sound. “Alright,” Poe says as he locks eyes with Jess, tilting his head toward the door and jerking his thumb in your direction as Snap, Kare and Suralinda continue their argument over a show they all watch. Jess nods in understanding, and then Poe’s standing up and offering you his hand.
You take it after a beat of hesitance, and then he guides you away from all the noise, back outside toward his car. He was one of two designated sober drivers of the night - Snap being the other one.
You slide into the passenger seat, Poe closing the door behind you, before coming around to sit in the driver’s seat. He twists around to face you. He wants to reach out for you, but he knows sometimes touch can make things worse when you’re overwhelmed. “Better?” he asks.
“Yeah, thank you. Sorry for messing up the evening.” You tilt your head back against the seat-rest, eyes closing with exhaustion. This is far from the first time you’ve all had to cut an evening short or take a breather from things, but still...you were hoping tonight would go by smoothly for the celebration.
“You didn’t mess anything up,” Poe assures you, giving you a pained look that you miss. He hates how you blame yourself for things that aren’t even your fault, how you seem to think taking care of you is some horrible burden he and the others have to deal with. He can’t even begin to count how many times you’ve taken care of him when he needed it, how in the last five years, you’ve come to understand and know him in ways that so few could, that you knew exactly what to do to calm and ground him. 
How many times had you held him after he woke up from a nightmare while you were staying at his apartment, or him at yours? How many mornings had he woken up feeling safe and loved, still in your arms in the morning light? He could only hope he made you feel the same way. “We’ve all had a great time already, we got to celebrate Suralinda’s big moment, and if you want, when you’re ready, we can go back in for more fun - and if you’re not up for that, then that’s okay, too.”
You exhale deeply, focusing on his words and the sincerity behind them. You know it’s true - really, you do. You know it’s not as big of a deal as your brain is trying to make it out to be, you know that your brain can lie to you, make shit up that simply isn’t true to make you feel alone, but sometimes it’s hard to rationalize through that, sometimes it’s hard to remember what’s true and what isn’t.
But Poe knows that.
You turn your head to face him; Poe’s half washed in golden light from an overhead streetlight, half cloaked in shadows, and the smile on his lips is rueful. You don’t know how you lucked out at having such an amazing best friend in your life, but you’re suddenly choked up with some soft, overpowering emotion as you realize - not for the first time - how much he means to you.
You duck your head. “Thank you, for always having my back.”
Poe reaches out for you, catching your wrist lightly and his touch burns in the most wonderful way as he grazes his palm down over yours, interlocking your fingers together. “Thank you for the same,” he tells you, before adding with a lopsided smile, “what are best friends for, right?”
You shake your head, a laugh bubbling from your lips before you can help it, and you echo his words in agreement, “What are best friends for?” 
-
You head back into Maz’s long enough to say goodbye to everyone and congratulate Sura again, and then you’re climbing back into Poe’s car. You kick off your shoes into the floorboard, tucking one leg under you as Poe offers to drive you around town to help clear your head.
Most nights when you’d go on drives like this, the car would be filled with songs from your favorite playlist and the sound of you and Poe singing along to them. However, tonight it’s filled with a gentle silence occasionally broken by Poe filling it with stories from work that week: he worked at Alderaan Books, a small mom and pop store that’d been a staple in the town for years. It was run by the gentle powerhouse of a woman, Leia Organa, who’d inherited it from her parents Bail and Breha. 
Alderaan Books was entirely the reason why you even had Poe in your life. When you moved into town five years before, you’d decided to familiarize yourself with the various shops and stuff. Eventually, a storm had caught you, and the bookshop was the nearest dry place within quick walking distance. You’d burst inside, shivering and soaked from head to toe, and then there was Poe: with black as midnight curls and twinkling eyes and a soft, friendly smile as he offered you a towel to dry off with.
You’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the shop, talking with him - because of the storm, you were pretty much the only customer there - getting to know him. By the time he was offering you a cup of coffee and a book recommendation, you knew Alderaan Books and Poe Dameron would become an important part of your life here in this town, and you hadn’t been wrong.
Eventually, he’s turning down the road that leads to his apartment and you feel the rest of the tension in your body deflate. You didn’t fancy the idea of going back to your own apartment, empty and quiet as it was, after tonight. Which Poe would’ve known because you’ve asked to stay with him after being overwhelmed for that exact reason before; still, something warm stirs in your chest as he does so instinctively. 
He does spare a glance at you, to double check if that’s alright, and you give him a grateful nod, reaching out to squeeze his hand. He twists his so that your palms are flush against each other, and he interlocks your fingers together.
(He wishes he could pull your hand up to his lips, press a kiss to your knuckles, and maybe in another life, he could. But in this one, he doesn’t).
You’re both practically leaning against each other as you walk up the stairs to his apartment, your shoes in your hand, as Poe tells you about a book he’d found in their stock that he thought sounded up your alley. This was, in a way, a love language for the two of you: sharing music and books were as much a staple in your relationship as your banter and lack of personal space.
As you reach his door, Poe’s still describing the plot as detailed on the back cover as he unlocks it to let you in. You smile gratefully at him as he holds it open for you, letting you in first. Immediately, you look around the living room to see if you can spy Poe’s beloved cat, Beebee, but he doesn’t seem to be in the room - probably curled up on one of Poe’s bookshelves in his bedroom, since that was one of Beebee’s favorite haunts.
You collapse onto Poe’s couch as he heads to the kitchen to start boiling some water in the electric kettle. You sit your ankle boots neatly between the space between the couch and the little table beside it, and then crash back against the soft pillows. 
“Why is your couch so comfortable?” You call to the kitchen. Poe leans out from the window frame that bridges the kitchen to the living room, his curls falling haphazardly over his brow at the sudden movement.
“Because I have excellent taste,” he reminds you, before he pulls his body back into the kitchen. The ridiculousness of the man that is your best friend makes you laugh, and you slowly haul yourself from the comfort of the cushions to pad to the kitchen. You’re still a little worn out from the evening, but there’s a quiet thrum of energy in you now that you’re somewhere that feels safe and cozy.
He’s pouring water into two different mugs for you both, tea tags hanging loosely at their sides. Your heart warms as you realize he’s pulled out your favorite mug - a dull orange one that you always used for tea, because you’d unconsciously adapted a system at his house and had a different mug for coffee and tea - from the cabinet. When Poe turns around, there’s a gentle smile on his face as he motions at the mugs. “They’ll be done in about four minutes,” he announced unnecessarily, because you knew how long it took for his favorite brand of tea to steep. 
Wordlessly, you pull your phone from your dress’ pocket, and pull up your music player. You press the shuffle button and sit the phone down on the counter, letting the room fill with soft tunes as you wait for your tea, leaning against the counter and letting your head roll back and forth.
Poe’s hand skims down your arm, leaves goosebumps in his wake, “You feeling better?”
“Yeah, I am. Just kind of restless now, you know?” 
“Well,” Poe drawls out, his eyes flicking over to your phone and back at you, a mischievous smile lighting up his handsome features, “we’ve got some time...and you so helpfully gave us a soundtrack,” he presses his hand over his heart and gives you a small bow, flourishing that same hand out to you in offering, “would you allow me this dance, sweetheart?”
Your cheeks warm, a smile rising to your own face and you accept his hand. “I’d like that a lot.” 
He tugs you closer to him, linking both your hands together, and you both begin to dance around the kitchen - clumsy, dorky movements that follow the beat of an Abba song, laughing each time one of you bump into each other or step on each other’s feet. Eventually, you collide against each other, still swaying and bouncing to the music, and you rest your head against Poe’s shoulder.
As the first song fades out, your shuffle immediately begins the next — which just so happens to be “Can’t Help Falling In Love”. Poe shifts into a slower dance and you follow his lead. He presses his nose against the side of your head, and you can feel his breath against your earlobe as he begins to murmur the lyrics of the song.
Like earlier in your apartment, the air between you grows weighted. This isn’t just him singing along to a song, the way he’s reciting the lyrics feels like a confession: a gentle one, one that you could easily ignore if you wanted to - and a thrill of anticipation thrums under your skin as you realize you don’t want to ignore it. You’re not sure you’ve ever known someone so beautiful before: not just in appearance, but in soul. He practically radiates light and love, a constant source of warmth and sunshine in your life that you’ve come to rely on. You can’t imagine life without him: he’s who you picture beside you whenever you think of the future: late night car rides with him, bickering together in the kitchen, cuddling on the couch reading together. He’s your best friend, he’s -
You swallow hard. He’s more than that. You want him, more than anything, and it’s suddenly imperative that he knows that.
“Our tea should be done,” Poe says when the song comes to a close, pulling back to search your eyes for your reaction. 
“They were done by the time Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! ended, Poe.” 
“So they’re really strong cups of tea now,” Poe offers with a lopsided smile. His hands have found a home on your waist, and their warmth seeps through the fabric of your dress. When you still don’t move out of his arms, but rather shift closer to him, placing your hand on his cheek, his breath hitches just slightly before he says your name.
“Yeah?”
He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s internally debating something. Finally, he whispers, “You’re beautiful.”
“So are you,” you reply as you run your thumb along his cheekbone. You lean up on your tiptoes, searching his gaze for any signs of hesitance at your closeness, then you finally ask what you’ve wanted to for a fucking long time: “Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” Poe replies but he doesn’t move any closer to you, instead just asks, “You sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you tell him lowly and the heated look he gives you in return, paired with a dazzling smile you want to remember for as long as you live, is enough to give you the courage you need to crash your lips against his.
He gathers you up in his arms to draw you closer, a warm expansive hand sliding up your spine,to cradle the back of your neck as his other hand grips your hip, fingers bunching around the fabric of your dress. You move your hand from his cheek up into his curls, dragging your fingers through them experimentally, dragging a hum from low in his throat that you want to pull from him again.
You move forward, intending to nudge him back against the kitchen counter, but Poe has other plans, and at the last second, he spins you around so that the counter presses against your back as he presses flush against you. He pulls away from your mouth to pepper kisses everywhere he can reach: your brow, the tip of your nose, your eyelids, your jawline, and finally, your neck, where he stops and stays, burying his face in the crook of it as you hold him against you as you try to catch your breath.
Eventually, with one last brush of his lips against your skin, he straightens and fixes you with a bashful expression. You loop your arms around his neck, smiling up at him, feeling warm and happy. “Poe?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He leans down again, and when your lips meet a second time, you can feel his smile pressed against your own, as he murmurs, “I love you too.”
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siren-of-redriver96 · 2 years ago
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Villian Heights (part 10)
Last part heyo!
(reading Wuthering Heights for the first time and trying to figure out the deal with this book with some assumptions from previous summaries of the story)
Today: (from Zillah’s recount to the end of the book)
it was nice to get to know Zillah - we haven’t heard much about her until now
wow - it’s sad how little they care about Linton dying except for Catherine - but then it was Heathcliff’s plan all along
poor Cathylin ... but she powers through it, that’s something
interesting to hear what happened to the church after it didn’t have a preacher any more (it was now governed by baptists or methodists and renamed the chapel)
I didn’t know Hareton liked hunting - maybe I missed that
it’s cute how he wants to hear what she reads - still he shouldn’t have touched her hair out of nowhere
and he tried to be her friend, that’s true
I like how she’s firece and not scared of Heathcliff
yeah Lockwood, leave that place
it’s sad to hear how Cathylin is faltering
I like how she makes little figurines out of vegetables - that’s actually a really cute idea for a photo series
and Hareton is pretty solidly under Heathcliff’s boot
she keeps books in her heart and head - I relate to that
she’s mean, but he shouldn’t have hit her
sad to think that he tried so hard to get some of the education Heathcliff denied him
Hareton looking like Cathy is interesting - kids often look like their parent’s siblings
cute to imagine that the girl Lockwood sees is probably the elder servants granddaughter she babysits when he isn’t home
nice of him to just ask for a few things while he’s there
and to not disturb her while carrying the coals - thoughtful
the landscape description of the sunset and rising moon is nice
Cathylin teaching Hareton how to read and them being happy is so precious I can’t
given the number of pages left I was surprised Heathcliff had died already
the way Cathylin behaves when trying to mend things with Hareton reminds me of her mother - like how when she made others cry or did them wrong, she was sorry and made up for it
and it’s nice how there were some honest misunderstandings between them
and that Hareton did plea for her, which she didn’t know
how they make up is heartwarming. He didn’t not want to give her a chance, and she made a genuine effort
poor Joseph - well Hareton is trying to make it right to him, that’s nice. It’s not true that he is ungrateful to him
Cathylin - some primrose is poisonous when taken orally (I had a similar complaint about her dad didn’t I)
and oh boy does Cathy not take shit from Heathcliff, even making demands for her and Haretons inheritance
but poor Hareton is still under his boot - at least he makes an effort to help Cathylin
interesting to know they had a discussion, but she understood - he’s too attached to Heathcliff. It’s that kind of relationship, he’s dependend on him
it’s nice to hear how much Hareton blooms while learning to read and spending time with Cathylin
I’m still laughing when reading Penistone. Leave me my fun
how creepy must it be for Heathcliff to look into the faces of two people who both look like Cathy?
and he’s residing from his evil plans. He’s grown tired of them - that’s an interesting development
I like that they moved the flower bead to another spot for Joseph
Heathcliff is not okay but at least happy
he’s wasting away surprisingly quickly
and Earnshaw was no nice person Nelly. He just wasn’t in too many ways
shivers - how Nelly finds Heathcliff is creepy
Heathcliff and Cathy haunting the area - I like that. Especially since they’ve scared the Linton’s like that once too. Poltergeists
but Hareton and Cathylin aren’t scared of anything (love that rhyme)
I know they’re cousins, but the way they’re in love now, their strength and this being the end of the misery for both families is just awesome
and hey, it all works out now - not even Joseph loses anything, he even gets the house and a farmhand
and yes, thank you for the story Nelly Dean :)
even a coin for Joseph, that’s nice
and I like the ending. The wind is soft in the grass - the wuthering across the moors is over
Big thanks for reading :)
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dragonseattofu · 3 years ago
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Faithful Companion (TWEWY fanfic)
Summary:
“Every morning I tell myself, today’ll be the day,” she said to the statue, tracing the engravings as it’s base, “but I’m always wrong.”
All the sounds of Shibuya stilled as an unfamiliar deep voice rang in her ears.
“Not today.”
(Written for Day 3 of Neshiki Week: Hachiko; link to Ao3 in content source)
Preview:
“Scuse me for a sec, yo,” Beat growled, running in the direction of his sister and what looked to be a stranger.
“Oo-okay, don’t start any trouble,” Shiki yelled futilely. She prayed the boy would catch on to the black and blonde blur heading for him before it was too late.
Alone once again, Shiki sighed and tightened her grip on Mr. Mew. For everyone meandering in the Scramble, it looked like any other ordinary day.
But for Shiki, it wasn’t. No one knew that Shibuya was almost on the brink of destruction. And that there were people that almost died trying to save it.
Sometimes Shiki wondered what it would be like to be so blissfully unaware of what is happening in the other planes of existence. But then, she would have never known what it would be like to have friends like Beat and Rhyme. She would never have realized what it would be like to truly value oneself. She would never have met Neku.
She twirled the ring on her finger absentmindedly, turning to face her old faithful companion for so many years.
“Any minute now … right?”
He didn’t answer, as usual, but just his presence was comforting.
Even though a lot of things have changed since her time in the reapers game three years ago, the one constant in her life was Hachiko.
The ever present statue was there for her when she met Neku for the first time in the UG. He was there for her a week later after returning to the RG, when she was anxious to meet Beat, Rhyme and Neku for the first time unmasked with her true appearance. He was there for her when she finally got the chance to make amends with Eri.
He was there for her when Neku disappeared again.
Hachiko was the first place she came to when it happened, when Beat stormed through her house, tears rolling down his face, panic in his eyes, struggling to get the words out of his choked-up throat.
”Phones…Phones is…”
“Beat, what’s going on. What’s wrong with Neku?
“H-he’s gone.”
“...What? Gone? Gone where?”
“Pixie Chick … that damn reaper chick, s-she shot him.”
“A reaper … shot Neku…?”
Beat’s pained expression was all the confirmation she needed for the situation to sink in
Frantically Shiki looked around her room, searching for something, anything to help her make sense of what was happening. Her world felt like it was crumbling again, and there was only one person that could help it from collapsing completely.
“JOSH!” she screamed into the open air, jerking Beat up from his stumped over position.
“JOSH, I know you can hear me,” she demanded. Shiki knew how powerful the composer was, and normally wouldn’t speak to him in such a harsh manner, but terror was starting to settle in to her muscles. If what Beat had said was true, she didn’t have the luxury of cordiality.
“Josh, what is going on!?” she pleaded.
“I don’t know.” Light particles began to shimmer into existence before her, gathering and morphing into a white silhouette. The image shattered like a mirror, revealing the composer of Shibuya.
“Where’s Neku?” Shiki asked impatiently.
“Like I said, I don’t know.”
“Wadda mean ya don’t know, Priss-kid?! Where’s Phones?”
“If I knew Daisukenojo,” he said shortly, “I would tell you, but alas, I do not know my dear partner’s whereabouts at the moment. I did not foresee this happening.”
“Is Neku,” Shiki stuttered, “is he d-dead?”
It was unnerving for Shiki when Joshua stared directly into her eyes, the gears in his head turning in a way she could not understand. She wasn’t sure if the fair-skinned boy was feigning ignorance, or if he was being genuine.
Slowly he replied, “... it seems so.”
The pin holding Shiki together fell to the ground, and so did she. Beat lunged to steady her down, falling with her as he too felt the heavy weight of this revelation.
“This can’t be happening. Not after everything we’ve been through,” Shiki mumbled.
“Priss-kid, can’t Phones just play ‘nother game and win or somethin’?”
Before Joshua could reply. Shiki responded, “he can’t, after the third week, he was banned from playing the game again.”
Without missing a beat, “Do somethin’, yo. Ain’t you the Composer? The guy who can do anythin’?”
Rolling his eyes, Joshua sighed, “I am, and unlike you, I’m trying to save him,” he said, tapping away on his orange phone.
“Save him? So he’s alive?”
“Not exactly. That reaper was working outside of my protocols. When she shot him, I tried to send Neku to the UG. But like you said before, he’s banned from entering the UG in Shibuya.”
“So where did you send him? Is he okay?”
“I … tried to send him to the UG of a city that was destroyed. But I’m not sure if it worked because it’s outside my jurisdiction”
“When will you know if it worked?”
“Well I would have found out already if someone didn’t ungraciously demand my presence. Now, if you’ll excuse me, some arrangements still need to be discussed with some unsavory beings.”
And without warning, a blinding light surrounded Joshua forcing Shiki to look away, and when she was finally able to open her eyes, the composer was gone.
Frustrated that the platinum blonde teen wasn’t very forgoing in information, Beat rose to his feet. If Priss-kid wasn’t going to tell them where Phones was, then he was going to turn Shibuya upside down to find him himself. He wasn’t the type of guy to sit around and do nothing when a brother’s in trouble.
For once, Shiki agreed with Beat’s rash behavior. She didn’t know where Neku was, or if he was okay, but if Josh had done something to try and save Neku, that’s all the hope she needed to keep going. Beat took off on his skateboard to Cat Street near Miyashita Park in hopes that Mr. H might be more helpful. She pulled on her messenger bag and ran to the place where she was supposed to meet Neku for their shopping da- hangout tomorrow. Even though she wasn’t sure why, something told her that going to see the bronze akita would help her get through whatever nightmare she found herself in.
As the summer heat gave way to cooler breezes, and the first frost led into dancing pink petals, Shiki’s little ritual of seeking solace from her silent companion continued. It was fitting that Hachiko was a symbol of loyalty; a dog waiting for the return of his master, a girl waiting for the return of her best friend.
All the while, life carried on, and so did she. He would be back, she reassured herself, and she couldn’t wait to show him how much she had grown. She sometimes wondered if he would recognize her now that she’s older. She subconsciously hugged Mr. Mew for moral support.
“He should be able to spot me thanks to this little guy.
“Every morning I tell myself, today’ll be the day,” she said to the statue, tracing the engravings as it’s base, “but I’m always wrong.”
All the sounds of Shibuya stilled as an unfamiliar deep voice rang in her ears.
“Not today.”
Shiki gasped, and turned around pausing to take him all in. With a smidge of guilt, the first thing she noticed was his clothes. He’s always looked good in purple, she thinks. And she wondered if he picked that particular jacket on purpose since she had designed it with him in mind, but knowing him, he probably didn’t even know it was her brand. Fashion was never his strong point.
Lastly, her eyes fell onto his wrists. It was pure coincidence that they had matching yellow wristbands in the reapers game. In fact she thinks it was the only item other than Mr. Mew that was hers when she took on Eri’s appearance. After the game had ended, she had taken the yellow garment off, and didn’t think much of it until two years ago, when she was cleaning her room, and noticed that it was no longer where she had kept it.
Now she realized where it went, and wondered if the fairy reaper had anything to do with more of her things going missing.
The legendary savior of Shibuya flashes her a shy smile, “Right?”
Water started to well in her eyes and she felt herself tremble from emotion.
“Neku,” Shiki said, realizing how long she waited to finally say his name again.
“Hey, sorry it took me so long,” he said apologetically, looking down at his feet.
Shiki didn’t try to wipe her eyes, letting the tears fall down the sides of her framed face. She couldn’t even begin to care how she must look right now, she’s just so overwhelmed to finally see him.
“It’s okay, waiting wasn’t so bad.
“All that matters is that you’re here now.”
“Thanks,” Neku replied. He wonders what he did to deserve someone so kind and forgiving like her in his life.
“I’m so happy you’re back,” Shiki said, smiling through the tears.
“Me too.”
Was it possible to miss someone so much that the simple act of hearing that person’s voice resonants like a melody in his mind and he’s saddened when it stops because she takes a simple breath between sentences?
Or that he’s reeling from the fact that not only did she not forget about him, but that she waited for him everyday for three years, never giving up hope that he might come back.
Or that even though they are both older, she still remained the same Shiki he held onto for all those years; she was beautiful on the inside and out.
Now that he’s finally seen her for the first time in three years, he’s not sure what to do next. A part of him embarrassingly wants to … hug her. His face warmed at the thought.
He settled for closing the gap between them, and gently thumbing the droplets of water on her face away. His hand lingered on her cheek, suddenly so touch starved, he wanted to relish in her warmth just a little longer.
“It’s so good to be home.”
Shiki moved away from him for a brief moment, startling him that he must have done something wrong, but she surprised him by burying her face in his chest, arms weaving around him and holding on as tightly as she could.
“Welcome home, Neku,” she mumbled in between the folds of fabric. He didn’t mind how strongly she was squeezing him, even though it was slightly uncomfortable having Mr. Mew pressed into his back. Neku found himself returning the gesture eagerly. He didn’t want to take moments like these for granted anymore, and wished that he could just hold onto her for a little longer.
Eventually they pulled away, and Neku rested his head on Shiki’s. Sound resumed, and the orange haired teen is reminded that their private moment was in a not so private place. His friends are probably wondering what is taking him so long. He can already hear the teasing Beat has in store for him.
“Beat’s probably waiting for us,” Neku said reluctantly.
“Rhyme too. I just came back to Shibuya, and I haven’t had the chance to catch up with her yet.”
“I also have some friends I want you to meet. One of them is your biggest fan, and she’d probably go crazy if she met you.”
She smiled, glad to hear that Neku’s made some friends during his time away.
“I can’t wait to meet them.”
He takes her hand, interlacing their fingers. Neku’s not leaving anything to chance anymore. He’s not going to take time for granted. Sure, he’s blushing at the bold motion, but unless Shiki pulls away, he’s going to do what should have been done years ago. To his pleasure, her hand stays firmly in his, fitting together like keys in a lock.
He leads her down the street, seeing Beat’s blonde hair and red headphones a short distance away.
A couple steps away from Hachiko, Neku feels the cool metal around her finger in his hand.
“You still have this on. I thought this was Eri’s?” he remarks, remembering the ring on her finger when Shiki had Eri’s appearance from his first time in the game.
“It’s a matching set actually. Sort of like friendship rings. We both wear them on our left pinkys, and we pinky promised to always be friends,” she recounted, “kind of silly, right?”
For someone who didn’t know Shiki well, the side comment would have probably been brushed off. But for Neku, red flags started to wave. Those self-deprecating thoughts needed to be nipped in the bud immediately.
Neku brought them to a stop, “I don’t think it’s silly at all. It’s a symbol of your friendship with Eri, and it’s important enough to you that you’re still wearing it for so many years. I think that’s pretty amazing.”
There had to be a limit to how warm the face can get, right? From holding his hand to his encouraging words was just too much in one day! Her reaction must have been impressive enough, because he smiled at her, and remarked, “In fact, It’s actually giving me an idea.”
“What idea?”
“You’ll see,” he teased, before resuming their walk, hands still linked together.
After meeting up with the Bito siblings, the boys led the girls to where the Wicked Twisters had gathered in the Scramble. And as greetings and promises to meet again soon were exchanged, the bronze statue silently watched their connections grow into a network of lasting friendships.
Notes:
This was my second attempt at writing a reunion story. I wrote my first one before I finished NEO, and I wanted to try and write a more canonical version of their reunion, that goes a little slower then the first one did. I'm also trying to tie this one into something else I'm working on, so stay tuned for that.
(This was written for Day 3 of Neshiki Week 2021, with the theme of Hachiko.) My next installments for the remainder of Neshiki week will be delayed by a couple days since this one took me two days to write, but I do plan on having something for every day of the week. (I've never been this ambitious, hopefully I'm not lying to your faces right now >.>)
Till next time friends! - Tofu
Disclaimer: Certain parts of dialogue were taken directly from the game, which I do not claim ownership of; they belong to the NEO The World Ends With You writers.
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buckysgoldenheart · 4 years ago
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Unexpectedly Bitten
Vampire!Henry Cavill x Reader
Summary: Your ex gets into some trouble with Vampires, and his mistakes lead the bloodsuckers back to you. After seeing you, one vampire gets a little attached and he’s taking his time deciding what he plans to do with you, but whatever it is, you’re not afraid. In fact, you might just be a little attached to him too.
Warnings: cursing, smut, violence. (Count on spelling mistakes or repeating words too often. it’s very likely.)
Notes: Let me emphasize this: there is little rhyme or reason to the way this story is broken into parts. I did my best though, and I stuck to 7. I tried not to make each part too long.
This is a Vampire!Henry x Reader story where each chapter, while chronological, is a different conversation or event during the course of their evolving relationship. 
Words: 2045
Part 6: Out of Time
You laid facing each other on Henry’s plush mattress you’d somehow made it to as the night went on, while he ran his fingers through your messy, sex-crazed hair. Three times took everything out of you, but you hadn’t slept a wink, afraid of what another day gone by would mean. He said you had to go back, but it would have to be before the five a.m. summer sunrise tomorrow or you would be stuck until night, when the Lord arrived.
You wanted to be stuck with him. Stuck in his bed, in his arms. Stuck to the life you’d been living since he took you. And you hoped everything between you was enough to convince him, to squash his fear, and believe in himself to protect you.
“I don’t want to be without you,” He whispered.
“Then don’t be without me,” You said, tracing over his bottom lip with your thumb, savoring the way those words passed through them moments before. Your bite had already healed, and it made you want to make another.
“Lamb—” You covered his mouth with your hand, fearing what he may say.
After a beat, Henry gently removed that hand and placed a kiss on your palm before pressing it against his heart.
“It’s so strange,” You said.
“What is?”
“Stories say a vampire’s heart is ripped from their chest when they are turned, that the holes are filled with hatred for humans. But yours beats as strong as anyone else’s.” Your fingers on his skin practically vibrated from the intense thumping.
“This heart has been living for hundreds of years, you know.” He smiled. “You’d think it’d be old, worn out, but…I don’t think it could ever get to that point if you’re around.” Then the smile faded as he gripped your hand harder, and said, “I have to take you back today.”
“Henry—”
“No,” He shook his head. “My turn now. You must listen to me, Lamb.” You looked away but he tilted your face back to his. “He comes tomorrow,” He said, emphasizing each word.
The tears threatened to sting sharper than they ever had before, as if you needed a reminder that this loss—the loss of Henry—would be the worst you’d faced yet. You did not need that reminder, and you cursed the tears. “Then bring me back after he’s gone.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?” You practically choked trying to get the sound out.
“Because Elec was suspicious when he saw you. I’ll be watched for some time and if they catch me bringing you back, they’ll know I didn’t drain you and they’ll kill you anyway.”
Your cheeks began to burn from the hot downpour of tears coating them. “Henry…”
He couldn’t wipe the droplets from your skin fast enough, like he knew they were hurting you. “I don’t want this either.”
“How…How long would it be until I could see you again?”
“I don’t know,” He said, kissing you hard to kill your sob.
-------------------------------------------
You convinced him to let you stay until night. But it wasn’t so hard after getting him drunk off of the feel of you sweetly nipping at his neck. ‘What’s another few hours,’ He’d said in that raspy, lust-drenched voice, then pulled your body on top of his and kissed you. There was no reason to leave a second before you had to, but you knew it was pushing Henry to the brink. It was a stress on his shoulders that you hated to admit would not be relieved until you were gone.
But as it would turn out, a few hours could make all the difference. A few hours full of selfish choices has the power to make or break your entire world.
Henry was deep inside of you, your breaths mixing as you ground your hips back and forth on top of him. His hold on your hips was beautifully tight, but it turned painful the instant Chris barged through the door to Henry’s room. Fear struck your vampire’s core at the expression on his friend’s face, and he rushed to cover you as you lifted off of him.
“What is it?” Henry asked, sitting up fast; the thick blankets pooling above his hips. You couldn’t see his face, but the agitation in his voice made your lungs collapse.
Chris tossed you a terrified glance, and said to you both, “We are out of time.”
You weren’t so sure Henry hadn’t lied when he said his heart wouldn’t die as long as you were around. You could practically feel it withering. He looked back at you. “Stay here,” he said, shoving the covers off his legs and yanking his boxers on. He threw the rest of his clothes on his body and walked to you, cupping your face in his hands and giving you a quick kiss. “Promise me you won’t move; you won’t make a sound.”
You nodded.
“Say it!”
“I promise.”
He took a deep breath and kissed you once more, then jogged out the door after Chris.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Long silver hair draped over the slim shoulders of the self-appointed yet widely accepted vampire Lord. His height landed somewhere between Henry’s and Elec’s, but despite his size, he emanated a power that could crumble the walls of Henry’s home until the roof caved in; a roof that would cave in on the home you were currently in. For more than one reason, Henry knew he had to tread lightly.
The Lord smiled--his fangs a little longer, slightly sharper than most--when Chris returned to the living room with Henry in tow. “You certainly know how to make you master wait,” Elias said in such an even, unthreatening tone it made Henry’s stomach quiver.
“Forgive me. I was expecting you tomorrow.”
A well-manicured eyebrow arched in what appeared to be genuine surprise. “Is that so?”
“A mistake on my part, I’m sure,” Henry said, gesturing toward one of the couches, inviting the Lord to sit as tradition expected.
Elias sat, pleased, and crossed one long leg over the other. His Amber eyes--the color of the burning sun at dusk—scanned the room. “Still not a touch of modernization in this home, is there?”
“No real reason to change much,” Chris said with an attempt at a casual shrug. “We don’t get visitors.”
Elias’s eyes pierced Henry’s like a dagger to the gut. “Oh no?”
“No,” Chris affirmed, but Henry didn’t miss the small smirk stretching across Elec’s pale, thin lips.
Elias’s mouth twitched to the side before settling into a frown. “You see, that’s not what I heard. I heard you’ve had quite a…unique visitor as of late. An extended-stay guest, some might say.”
Neither Chris nor Henry answered, both unable to find the oxygen in the air to do so.
“Where is the human, boys?”
“Gone,” Henry managed to say.
“Gone or dead?”
“What does it matter how I word it?”
“How you word it is everything,” The Lord replied. “After all, Henry, we all know ‘gone’ and ‘dead’ are not the same. So, I’ll ask again.” He clicked his tongue. “Where is the human?”
“Dead, then.”
Elias sighed in sincere disappointment and gave a brief nod to Elec, who disappeared to scour the home.
“She’s not here,” Henry said, trying to restrain his panic.
“Henry…” Elias frowned again, like a disappointed parent at their child’s transparent lie.
Henry didn’t know what to do. He felt useless, weak. If he ran to find you before Elec could, then it would give you away. If he held his breath and prayed you hid well enough for Elec to pass over you, there might be a chance; though slim, it was all Henry could place his hope in. But in the end, what he saw ripped his heart from his chest.
Elec only tsked as he carried you into the room, your body wrapped tight in Henry’s bedsheet. “Didn’t even bother to hide her, Hen? You must not care for her very much. Although, I suppose the look on your face suggests otherwise." You were set on your feet and Elec held firmly to your hand as if he were escorting you. The blank look in your eyes made Henry’s body freeze over. It was the look humans only get if their minds have been blocked by a vampires’ will. Elec looked to Elias. “I told you he loves her.”
“I’ll put her back where I found her.” Henry tried to keep his voice steady as his eyes stayed glued to your glazed over ones. “Please.”
“We all know that’s not how this works.” Elias stood, pulling on the cuffs of his coat until they straightened down to his wrists. “Elec explained everything. You got your one chance to dispose of her, and you failed to take advantage of it. She needs to be made an example of. Now, stay,” He commanded Henry like a dog, keeping his feet from taking another step.
Henry practically doubled over at the sight of Elias’s fingers wrapping around your slender neck, as a silent sob prepared to destroy him from the inside out. Chris moved to Henry and threw his arms around his shoulders while Henry cried ‘Please’ over and over like a man with a broken mind.
“Be thankful, Henry.” Elias said. “Be happy she’ll die while in the trance instead of flailing and sobbing like a small lamb at slaughter time.”
There was no suspense, no drama to the way your neck snapped. It was just a crack, like a lightning strike in an empty field; no other sound around until your body and Henry’s knees hit the floor in sync with thunderous thuds. Your death was not meant to be a long, drawn out torture. It was to make a point; and it certainly had.
Through the cloud of his tears, Henry noticed Elias crouch down in front of him. “I am not an evil man, Henry,” Elias said, cupping Henry’s cheek, but his blue eyes couldn’t be forced from your body, broken on the floor. “I understand how you must be feeling. The majority of us were in love with a human once long ago. But they made us weak, and a weak vampire is a useless vampire. We had grown so accustomed to placing our humans on a pedestal that we were blind to the flip it caused in our power. We’d begun to bow to them, but now we have regained our strength. Over the last few centuries, we’ve come to show them that we are the ones in power again; that their species serves us one purpose. Our laws surrounding humans were put in place for a reason, Henry. That, I know you know. However…” Elias glanced back at your body. “I see you have lost so much here today. So, I will ignore your blatant disrespect for your Lord and the law, as well as for your lack of offerings.” Elias then stood, dusting off and smoothing his already wrinkleless coat. “I visit every quarter-century, and you’ve been so good up until now, Henry. This truly is a disappointment.”
The second the Lord and his loyal pup were out the door, Henry stood and rushed to your side, only to collapse back on his knees again. He touched you delicately as if he might break another of your bones, then framed your face with his hands, cradling it with care.
“Henry…” Chris said, but received no answer. “Henry!”
Henry’s head shot around with a growl when Chris’s touch met his shoulder. “Don’t!”
“If you’re going to do it, do it now, before it’s too late.”
Henry’s face fell to anguish as he looked back at you, and he softly brushed your hair away from your face. He was losing valuable time, and there was a deadline for this sort of thing; one that could not be toyed with.
His kiss landed on your forehead, your cheek, your mouth, then he grabbed your wrist with shaking fingers and brought it to his lips. He kissed the inner side of it for a long beat.
“Forgive me, my love. I did not want this for you,” He whispered against your skin before sinking his piercing fangs into your delicate flesh.
---
tags:  @agniavateira​ @tumblenewby @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @summersong69​ @starlite13​ @mstgsmy​ @purplelove75​ @defffcc​ @the-soot-sprite​ @kissthatlifeaway @atomicpaperhairdouniversity​ @aquariuslavenderhoney​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @the-problem-of-leisure​ @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair​ @readermia​ @angelofthorr​ @itmejado​ @caro-jean​ @raven-black102​ @itty-bitty-dancer​ @grungeisntmything​ @wolfiepirate​ @scuzmonkie @heartfullofl @wanderlustkitkat @maan24​ @furievonalexandria​ @posiemax​ @sweetybuzz25​ @iamthetwickster
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azucanela · 4 years ago
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Ahh i'm glad you write for them, thank you so much for answering my question :) may i ask for Dabi, Shigaraki and Toga headcanons w/ a female reader that likes to sing but is kinda shy about it? and like one time they catch her singing and are just speechless because her voice is so beautiful? Thank you so much :)
HEARING THEIR SHY S/O SING[HEADCANNONS]
[ft. dabi, shigaraki tomura, and toga himiko]
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SUMMARY: in which Y/N can sing but nobody else knew that, until they did, and let me tell you they were SHOCKED.
WORD COUNT: 1.6k
WARNINGS: implications of death, implications of nsfw, almost nudity bc towels, embarrassment, dabi being a perv, blood, injuries
A/N: this concept makes me happy lol, dabi’s is my favorite kjsahkjfshdkjh anyways ofc bb thank you for requesting! this is adorable :D
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DABI
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in all honesty, you’re probably singing in the shower and dabi is super nosy and has zero shame, so he kinda just comes into the bathroom while you are showering, like a perv
he hears you singing in the shower because he randomly shows up to your apartment, and he kinda just listens from outside for a hot minute because WOW, there is no one else it could be, unless you lived with a ghost who took 30 minute showers just like you did
he sincerely doubted this was the case
he’s vibing tbh, after he collects himself, he’ll kinda just take a seat on the toilet with a small smile on his face, and you won’t hear him unless he decides to sing along just to give you a heart attack
probably realizes that the reason he didn’t already know you have the voice of a literal angel is because of the fact that you’re a shy bb, and he’s gonna savor this while it lasts
he will tease you though, when you come out of the shower, grabbing your towel and then opening the shower curtain to him just sitting there, dopey smile on his face
“hey doll.”
you curse him out, cheeks warming, you lowkey forgot that you have no clothes on as you cuss him out, and he APPRECIATES the sight before him
you being angry is a TURN O N, angry and naked? even better
i think you know where this about to go
anyways as you curse him out for invading your privacy, you do be feeling EMBARRASSED because you were singing your heart out in there and he was just listENING
the audacity.
“you’re a really good singer, babe.”
Now you are more embarrassed and it suddenly dawns on you that you are not wearing clothes, just a towel to cover your body, and you are glaring at this mans because what the-
“what were you even thinking?!”
“that i would listen to my beautiful girlfriends equally beautiful voice.”
the type to ask you to sing for him, he has no shame like i said, will randomly say, “i like this song, think you could sing for me?”
you’re shy and like nO
he’s like, “come on babe, a private session ;)”
yeah he really likes this whole singing thing and will hype you up, but subtly, like hes constantly complimenting your singing voice because it really is just super pretty and he wants you to know this so that you’ll sing more
already comes to your home randomly, but this will increase in frequency because he really wants to hear you sing more AND catch you singing in the shower
LOWKEY
REALLY REALLY LOWKEY
LIKE R E A L L Y LOWKEY
i can see him asking you to sing him to sleep, it reminds him of his childhood because he finds comfort in your voice, and this would be the only time he’s shy about it
you’re just like WHAT internally, because if you express your shock externally he IS going to retreat back into himself and you will have lost your chance at a emotionally available Dabi
my type is emotionally unavailable people sigh
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SHIGARAKI TOMURA
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most confused award goes to this mans
you’re probably just singing along to your music as you clean your room, he told you he was dropping by, hence the cleaning, you are also dancing because why not vibe
he opens the door, you don’t hear him with your earbuds in, and he kinda just freezes at the door because thats your voice 
your actual voice
he listens for a bit because it sounds pretty and he likes it, he’s really confused, but he likes it, and you
tbh this is a really domestic moment and tomura is really shocked that he’s enjoying leaning up against your doorway as you treat the broom in hand as a mic and belt out some nice lyrics
kinda hates that he likes it
they you turn around after finishing the song with a dramatic little ending, and open your eyes to see your lovely emotionally constipated boyfriend standing there, albeit uncomfortably, his arms are awkwardly crossed and he’s squirming under your gaze
“so... is that your quirk?” genuinely thinks you are such a good singer that it is your QUIRK to be a literal ANGEL
you’re too mortified to answer because shyness, mouth gaping open as you grapple for words and you feel your entire body heat up in embarrassment. You genuinely are contemplating jumping onto your bed and screaming into your pillow before suffocating yourself with it.
“how long have you been standing tHeRe?” your voice cracks and you lowkey wanna cry because WHAT EVEN IS THIS DAY
he kinda shrugs, “few minutes.” he’d mumble and then look up at you, he is equally nervous at this point, “you have a nice voice.”
“thank you,,,,”
he’s too awkward to ask you to sing for him, but he would try and encourage you to sing, because he really does want to hear you again, he just can’t find a way to ask you
literally this is stressing him out, just start singing randomly and he’ll appreciate it so much, don’t make him ask p l e a s e
he is definitely gonna start stopping by randomly way more often, in hopes of catching you singing once more, because thats just an experience he wants to happen again
would probably bring it up that you have a pretty voice to other league members in hopes that they’ll bully you into singing so that he doesn’t have to
sometimes he wishes he didn’t tell them though because he kinda just wants to keep you and your talent for himself
isn’t the best at hyping you up, especially not outright, definitely the most awkward of the three, but he’s going to try, purely because he thinks that if he boosts your confidence enough then he’ll hear you sing more and he won’t have to outright ask you to sing for him because that would be painful for the both of you
“you know... you sing good.”
“thank you...?”
“this is a nice song.”
“yeah,”
“sing it.”
sounds really demanding but he’s trying his hardest okay. 
understands if you don’t want to sing in front of others due to your shyness, he’s awkward too, so as long as you sing for him its chill
he likes the intimacy of the moments when you sing for him and him alone, it just makes him happy to have that, especially since you are shy about singing.
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TOGA HIMIKO
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oh knife wife, love of my life, 
that rhymes
toga is probably the most outwardly supportive of you and your singing endeavors, bbg is gonna be so happy when she finds out you can sing, unlike the other boys she won’t have time to savor it because she will immediately start talking about it
probably breaking into your home through your window because she needs medical assistance and cannot tell if the blood on her belongs to someone else or not, you are her go to because hospitals are a no no for a villain such as herself
she sees you through the window, and she can kinda hear you singing as you cook in your kitchen, though you aren’t that visible and the window blocks out most of the noise.
genuinely contemplates breaking the window so that she can hear you better because it already sounds so pretty??? how??? why didn’t she know about this, why didn’t you tell her?
the audacity honestly what are you doing
she opens the window with class instead, effectively breaking into your home, but you don’t hear her as she closes it and re-locks the window
she’s gonna be speechless for a hot minute, now that she hears your voice clearly, she’s beginning to wonder if the blood is hers and shes dead, because you have a voice that belongs in the heavens literally what-
wondering how she didn’t know about this as she bursts into your kitchen covered with blood, “Y/N BABY YOU CAN SING?”
you nearly drop the knife in your hand and cut your foot off at the sight of your bloody girlfriend like, for several reasons
one. how the hell did she get into your apartment. two, why is she covered in so much blood???? three. she heard you singing. oh god she head you singing. time to panic and die
you kinda freeze and your mouth gapes open because you are so confused and panicked right now as your hands begin to gesture vividly while you search for words, trying to avoid her gaze and questions as your face heats up
this shock and panic distracts you from the fact that she broke into your house covered in blood as you respond, “i mean anyone can sing-”
“you sing GOOD.”
brags about you being such a good singer ALL THE TIME, literally how she introduces you to people, much to your dismay
will ask you to sing for her with no shame, unlike dabi she isn’t even going to shut down if you say no or find it weird, she’s just gonna keep asking until you agree to do it
would not be opposed to falling asleep to your similar voice, in fact, your voice is one of few things that calms her down
she’s literally just so excited about the fact that you can sing, like WOW, the whole league is gonna know so fast, she’s just 
SO HAPPY
she’s literally going to be hyping you up 24/7 like even if the conversation has nothing to do with it, she’s going to tell you how amazing you are and try to help you overcome your shyness because your talent must be SHARED WITH THE WORLD
just a super supportive gf at the end of the day we love toga
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A/N: the vibes are immaculate, sing for your evil lover, that is the point here
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davidmann95 · 4 years ago
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How about those JL storyboards?
In case you haven’t heard, Zack Snyder is putting on display the ‘storyboards’ - i.e. a rough plot summary accompanied by some Jim Lee sketches - for what would have been Justice League 2 and 3, or as this puts it 2 and ‘2A’. You can see them here (I imagine better-quality versions will soon be released), and read a transcript here. This is evidently a very early version: this was apparently pitched prior to the release of BvS and Justice League being rewritten in the wake of it, with numerous plot details that now don’t line up with what we know about the Snyder Cut, plus it outright mentions it builds on the originally planned versions of the Batman and Flash movies. But it’s a broad outline of what was gonna go down, and while I initially thought it was Snyder throwing in the towel, the timing - paired with the ambiguity left by the necessity for changes, including that this doesn’t factor whatever that “massive cliffhanger” at the end of the Cut is - says to me he’s hoping this’ll be a force multiplier behind efforts to will sequel/s into existence. He’s probably right.
I’ll be discussing spoilers below, but in short: with this Zack Snyder has finally lived up to Alan Moore, in that like Twilight of the Superheroes I wouldn’t believe this was real as opposed to a shockingly on-point parody if not for direct, irrefutable evidence.
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Doing some rapid-fire bullet points for this baby to kick us off:
* Folks who know the subject say a lot of this is a yet further continuation of Snyder doing Arthuriana fanfic with the League reskinned over those major players, and I’ll take their word for it.
* I don’t know whether I love or hate that in Justice League 2 the Justice League are only an extant thing for the first scene, and then it’s Snyder giving everybody their own mini-movies. It’s compressing the entire MCU “loosely interconnected solo stories leading to a single big movie later” strategy into a single movie!
*  Funniest line in the whole thing: "Even Lantern has heard of the Kryptonian, worried that he's under the control of Darkseid. He heard his spirit was unbreakable." Hal what fuckin' Superman movie did YOU watch? Second funniest being “IT WILL GIVE HIM POWER OVER ALL LIVING LIFE”
* 90% of the plot I have nothing to say about, it’s generic stage-setting crap. That to be clear is the ‘shocked it’s Snyder’ element, it feels so crassly commercial in a way I can’t believe is coming from the BvS guy.
* Most of what I have to say is unsurprisingly gonna be about a handful of characters but Cyborg’s happy ending being “he isn’t visibly disabled anymore!” is not great!
* The Goddess of War battle with Superman...never pays off? No clue why it’s there.
* What I’d originally heard was that the Codex in Superman’s blood was the last key to the Anti-Life Equation and that’s why Darkseid was coming to Earth. It’s not like all of this wouldn’t have already been averted by Kal-El’s pod smacking into an asteroid on the way to Earth so it’s not as if this makes it any more Superman’s fault, and it would have at least tied all this back to the beginning of the movies, but I suppose that was either fake or from a later draft.
* I have NO idea how this was reimagined without the ‘love triangle’, it’s the central character thing and the entire climax flows directly out of it!
* Darkseid’s kinda a chump in this, huh
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Anonymous said: So: Does Zack Snyder hate Superman?
Look: the hilarity of this when Cuck Kent has been a go-to Snyder cult insult towards ‘inferior’ takes on Superman for years cannot be understated, yet at the same time I can almost wrap my brain around where Snyder’s coming from with that as the end for his take on the character. He talked in that Variety piece on how his interest in Superman is informed by having adopted children himself, and Deborah Snyder is the stepmother to his kids by previous relationships, so I can see where he’d be coming from, and I can even imagine how he’d see this as ‘rhyming’ in the sense of “the series begins with Kal-El being adopted by Earth, it ends with him adopting a child of Earth!” In the same way as MARTHA, I can envision how he would put these pieces together in his head thematically without registering or caring what the end result would actually look like. In this case, Superman raising the kid of the man who beat the shit out of him who Batman had with Clark’s wife, who earlier told Bruce she was staying with Clark because he ‘needed her’, suggesting if inadvertently that this really honest to god was a “she’s only staying with Superman out of pity, she really loved Batman more” thing.
But Clark is nothing in this. He’s sad and existential because of coming back from the dead I guess, then he’s corrupted, then time’s undone and he woo-rah rallies the collective armies of the world (interesting angle for the ‘anti-military/anti-establishment’ Superman he’s talked up as) as his big heroic moment in the finale, and then he stops being sad because he’s adopting a kid. So his big much-ballyhooed, extremely necessary five-movie character arc towards truly becoming Superman was:
Sad weird kid -> sad weird kid learns he’s an alien, is still weird and sad, maybe he shouldn’t save people because things could go really wrong? -> his dad is so convinced it could go wrong he lets himself die -> ????? -> Clark is saving people anyway -> learns his origin, gets an inspiring speech about being a bridge between worlds and a costume -> becomes superman (not Superman, that’s later) to save the world, albeit a very property-damagey version, rejects his heritage he just learned about and space dad’s bridge idea -> folks hate him being superman and that sucks though at least he’s got a girlfriend now -> things go so wrong he considers not being superman but his ghost dad reminds him shit always goes wrong so he should be good anyway, which sorta feels like it contradicts his previous advice -> immediate renewed goodness is out the window as he’s blackmailed into having to try and kill a dude but the dude happens to coincidentally have some things in common so they don’t kill each other after all -> big monster now but superman keeps supermaning at it because he loves his girlfriend and he dies -> he’s brought back, wears black which apparently means now he likes Krypton again? -> he has work friends now but he’s still sad because he was dead -> evil now! -> wait nevermind time travel -> rallies the troops -> his wife’s having a kid so he’s not sad anymore -> Superman! Who gives way to more Batman.
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Do I think Zack Snyder is lying when he says he likes Superman? No. I think he sincerely finds much of the basic conceits and imagery engaging. But I don’t think he meaningfully gives shit about Clark as a character, just a vessel for Big Iconic Beats he wants to hit. Whereas while for instance he’s critical of Batman as an idea (at least up to a point), he’s much more passionately, directly enamored with him as a presence and personality. So while Superman may be the character whose ostensible myth cycle or arc or however it’s spun might be propelling a lot of events here, it’s a distant appreciation - of course the other guy takes over and subsumes him into his own narrative. Of course Batman is the savior, the past and the future (though if he’s supposed to be Batman’s kid raised by Superman there’s no excuse for him not to be Nightwing), the tragic martyr to our potential. Admittedly the implication here is also that Batman can apparently only REALLY with his whole heart be willing to sacrifice his life to save an innocent, for that matter apparently his great love, once said innocent is a receptacle for his Bat-brood, but he and Clark are both already irredeemable pieces of shit by the end of BvS so it’s not like this even registers by comparison.
Anonymous said: That “plan” Snyder had was utter dogshit. Picture proof that DC & WB hate Superman. Also I love how you’re like Jor-El: Every single idealistic take you had about Snyder, his fandom, and BvS was wrong. Snyder’s an edgy hack, his fanbase just wants to jerk off to their edgy self-insert Batgod as he screams FUCK while mowing people down with machine guns, and the idea that BvS said Superman was better than Bats was completely wrong. You know what comes next SuperMann: Either you die or I do.
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In the final analysis, beyond that mother of god is there sure no conceivable excuse for the treatment of Lois in this? The temptation is to join that anon and say as I originally tweeted that these were “built entirely to disabuse every single redemptive reading of the previous work and any notion of these movies as nuanced, artistic, self-reflective, or meaningful”.
...
...
...yeah, okay, that’s mostly right. Zack Snyder’s vision really was the vision of an edgelord idiot with bad ideas who was never going to build up to anything that would reframe it all as a sensible whole. He’s a sincere edgelord genuinely trying really hard with his bad ideas who put some of them together quite cleverly! But they’re fucking bad and the endgame was never anything more than ramping up into smashing the action figures together as big as he could, the political overtones and moral sketchiness of BvS while trying to say something in that movie reverberated through the grand scheme of his pentalogy in no way beyond giving his boys a big sad pit to rise out of so when they kicked ass later it’d rule harder, and all the gods among men questions and horror and trappings were only that: trappings. Apparently he’s really pleasant and well-meaning in person, but at his core his art as embodied in a couple weeks in his 4-hour R-rated Justice League movie meant to be seen in black-and-white all comes down to that time he yelled at someone on Twitter that he couldn’t appreciate Snyder’s work because it’s for grown-ups. He made half-clever, occasionally exciting shit cape movies for a bunch of corny pseudo-intellectual douchebags, folks latching onto and justifying blockbusters that at least acknowledge how horrifying the world is right now even if the superheroes are basically useless in the face of it if not outright part of the problem until a convenient alien invasion shows up to justify them, and a handful of non-asshole smart people who vibe with it but...well. ‘Suckered’ is a harsh word, and definitely doesn’t apply to all of them re: what they’ve gotten out of it up to this point and would (somehow) get out of this. But it doesn’t apply to none of them, either.
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freckledmountain · 3 years ago
Text
Lulling comfort
By @freckledmountain for @romeoandjulietyouwish
Rating: Gen
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark
Summary:
"Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between. … He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again."
Or, an AU where you hear whatever your platonic soulmate sings or hums! :D
For the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange
Read on Ao3
Chapter 1: Change
Some-
BODY ONCE TOLD ME
the WORLD IS GONNA ROLL ME
I AIN´T THE SHARPEST TOOL IN THE sHE-ED
Peter´s endearing screech and dramatics at the starting notes startles a fond laugh out of Tony, making DUM-E beep in curious surprise.
The bot has a screwdriver in his grasp and usually Tony´d chastise him for grabbing tools without permission (he has not forgotten the last lab incident, thank you) but right now he´s much too preoccupied resisting the urge to join in the kid´s slumber party via his own singing.
God bless karaoke.
Peter had looked sheepish when he´d mentioned it to him, the little get-together his scary girlfriend and Ned had planned this weekend at the latter´s place after a ridiculously long week of exams. Tony had absolutely no problem listening to his kid´s voice in his head, but it was still sweet of Peter to ask beforehand.
“You know I work best with music anyway.” He´d said, remembering all the times he´d listened to Peter perform dramatically to songs on the radio.
Peter´d hunched his shoulders a bit, smiling. “Yeah, okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure because Ned might ask me to duet to Take on me again, and last time I sang it you were on a meeting and FRIDAY sent me that video of you mouthing the words and Ms. Potts looked like the disappointed dad from that Shawn Mendes vine- “
…even if he had no idea what the kid was talking about sometimes.
He´d gasped and placed a hand to his chest, feigning offence. “Have you forgotten the time you had Call me maybe on loopin my head for an entire day?”
“…It was a dare?”
“Hmm” he´d said, raising an eyebrow playfully as Peter dissolved into laughter. “whatever you say, bud.”
His smile softens unconsciously at the memory as he methodically tweaks a few things in his nanotech suit, still listening to Peter belt out lyrics in his head. Truth be told, he misses the kid working alongside him like usual, but he knows how important spending time with his friends is to Peter.
(The parenting books say it´s imperative too, although of course he hasn´t ever read, purchased five on a whim or fret over anything of the sort. Obviously.)
He hopes Ned and Michelle´s respective other halves don´t mind the kids crooning 80´s rock on a Friday evening, but he guesses if they´re anything like them, they probably won´t complain. Soulmates are cool like that.
He remembers all the times Rhodey had told him about his soulmate´s voice inside his own head, how he´d suddenly perk up and grin at whatever melody he could hear, how he´d start humming randomly to join in.
Tony had grown up hearing nothing but his own treacherous thoughts for the longest time, almost losing hope completely at the possibility of having a soulmate right up until adulthood. Heavy metal music blasted over his speakers constantly whenever he was busy in his workshop, but he never joined in. There were moments when he´d thought his love for singing would be soured forever, since apparently the universe or whoever was in charge didn´t have a problem leaving him without someone out there to share it with him in his head.
Thankfully, he always did have Rhodey, and boycould he kick-start the fun in singing again with his flawless Mariah Carey impressions. He´d loved the few times he´d heard Pepper sing too, and there´d even been one memorable instance where he´d surprised Happy vocalizing in an unexpectedly pleasant lilt.
Hearing Peter sing though...simply put, there was nothing else like it.
-and we could aLL use a little changeeeeeeeEEE
…Yes, nothing was quite like it.
Tony shakes his head, smiling, and grabs his phone to text May about the kid´s shenanigans. She´d been more than a little concerned when Peter and him had figured out who the other was, (that was one heck of a superhero fundraiser) but now they´ve become much closer, and Tony can genuinely say they´re friends. He´s glad to have her on his side, because May Parker is, in Peter terms, a very kind powerhouse, and not someone he´d like to mess with.
He´s about to press send when the lights in the room flash red.
Tony´s up and summoning his gauntlet attentively in a second, right as FRIDAY pulls up screens around him, showing footage of the emergency.
“What am I looking at, FRI?”
“Around 30 heavily armed machines have emerged in Midtown Manhattan, boss.” She responds, as the room fills with projections. The robots on screen are huge and ugly as heck, about the width and height of three school buses together. They´re making their way through the streets surprisingly quickly for how heavy they look. People run away, steering clear of their illuminated blasts. “They appear to be releasing high frequency blasts approximately every ten seconds. Local police have just arrived at the scene and are requesting backup, since the blasts are causing structural damage to the surrounding buildings. The source of these machines is unknown.”
“Tell the team to suit up and meet me there.”
“They have already been alerted, boss, but I´ll relay your message as well.”
The rest of his suit materializes around him, and he makes haste to get to the nearest window, half worried and half downright annoyed at whoever was behind this.
“Another one for the robot bingo card on means of world domination.” He says to himself, unimpressed. Just one week without this crap…
He soars above the sky nonetheless, blasting his way towards the fight.
Please stay put kid, he wishes, even as the singing stops.
---
Three blocks.
He´s three blocks away from where Peter is making his way back when it happens.
As big and fast as the robots are, Tony can tell they weren´t exactly made by the finest of the loons who regularly try to take over New York. Not to mention they´re absolutely appalling to look at, whoever designed these things had absolutely no taste, Tony thinks, crushing his twenty-second bot with the suit´s repulsors. It hasn´t exactly been easy, since the wretched machines have no real apparent motive but to blow up everything in their path, but within an hour it seems they´re done with the worst of it.
He can see Nat and Wanda dealing with the remains of one of the last ones below, while a little way away Cap´s talking with a few cops, scoping out the damage. Even though the air is permeated with smoke and there´s rubble in some places, there are no casualties, and they´ve thankfully emptied out the buildings that got wrecked. SHIELD will take care of the rest.
He flies over the skyscrapers, keeping an eye out for any other bots, but it seems like FRIDAY´s finished identifying all of them. He activates a private line on the comms to talk to Peter.
“Done securing the area from whatever that disastrous colour scheme was?”
He can hear Peter´s good-natured groan as his location pops up on Tony´s screen, six blocks away.
“I know, right? I can wear mismatched socks for a week and rock them no problem, but blue with like, eye-melting neon? Yikes.”
“Exactamundo. Couldn´t agree with you more, kid. But hey, it looks like you might actually be able to get back to your sleepover after all. Can´t wait to hear what alarming chorus is going to keep me up until midnight.”
“Oh you just wait, we´re doing ABBA next and it´s gonna be so-“
FRIDAY tears through the conversation with an alarm, but it´s precious seconds too late.
A gasp. An abrupt thud resounding through the comms. A scream. Peter´s.
Tony´s blood freezes in his veins.
“Peter? Peter!?”
He gets there in less than a minute and sees one of the bots with its blaster pointed at Peter, still smoking from the shot.
He obliterates it without a second thought, his mind swirling with fear and rejection at FRIDAY´s next words as he runs towards Spiderman´s crumbled figure.
“No heartbeat detected, boss”.
Chapter 2
The first time he´d ever heard Peter´s voice, he´d been running on three hours of sleep, a frankly heart-attack inducing dose of caffeine, and no motivation whatsoever to sit down with stuffy board members for five hours.
It didn´t exactly come as a surprise that for the first few milliseconds of the “Itsy bitsy spider” chant in his head he´d thought, confusingly, that it might just have been his mind finally resorting to the resurface of old nursery rhymes as a way to tell him to go the frick to sleep.
His heart however, was another matter.
As ridiculous and improbable as it sounded, a new something in his chest rose even before he knew what was happening. He might not have been a machine, but something slowly and irrevocably clicked into place the more he heard that gentle voice go on about water spouts and suns.
He´d stopped short in realization. Blinked.
And then smiled wide enough to lose himself in the mirth of it.
He´d run back to his workshop right after that, laughing like mad with the absolute mayhem of emotions coursing through his whole being, almost crashing into Pepper in the process. She´d looked back at him in concern, questions already forming in her lips, before Tony had frantically mimed at her to keep quiet, wanting to listen to the soft voice´s final notes.
Once the song finished, Tony may or may not have let out a loud shriek of sheer joy and told an increasingly delighted Pepper all about it, practically bursting with excitement.
“Pep! Wait, what do I do now!? Do I- Do I sing it back to him? Do I sing another- crap I don´t even know any children´s songs, JARVIS, JARVIS!”
In the end he´d had to phone Rhodey to yell the news ecstatically to him, because he´d just found maybe the universe hadn´t wanted to screw him over after all, and he felt like screaming it from the rooftops. The little voice was sweet and shy and boyish and happy, and about the best thing Tony had heard in his damn life. He couldn´t have contained himself if he´d tried, and heck if he was going to any time soon.
(“Tones, what- “
“Rhodey!”
“…was that you or a screech owl.”
“It happened! There´s- a little kid! Somewhere! Spiders! My soulmate!”
“The- wait what-? “)
Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between.
He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again.
Burning.
He´s burning all over.
Screaming in pain, he tries to escape from the scorching heat, but it´s everywhere, it´s everything, he´s the pain, he´s the fire, everything hurts-
And then as soon as it appears, the pain is gone.
He opens his eyes, blinking woozily.
“Oh, thank God.”
His vision blurs all over for a minute. There´s dampness in the corners, left over from tears.
Tears?
He makes an attempt to sit up, but there´s a hand holding his shoulder gently. He blinks again.
Tries to decipher his surroundings.
He´s laying down in a mostly deserted, grubby looking street. A figure kneels close to him, some sort of red and gold robot type thing. He narrows his eyes at it, trying to figure out why it feels so familiar…but finds, to a detached kind of surprise, that he can´t.
He has no idea what happened.
The robot seems to be very relieved for some reason, just staring up at the sky for a couple of seconds, taking a deep, wheezy breath.
Even with his head feeling like wet cotton, he looks at him with concern. The robot sounds seconds away from fainting. Is he…alright?
When the robot´s face opens and a man´s head peeps out (cool!), he almost jumps back in surprise.
And then…
Well. He still doesn´t have a clue who this person is, but as soon as he sees the man´s expression of utter joy and relief, something inside him settles. Safe.
He blinks in confusion at the feeling. He knows this person. He does.
But who is he?
“Pete? You´re back bud. Do you feel okay?” The man´s (man? robot? man-robot? cyborg? figment of his imagination?) smile fades slightly, looking at him in worry. “FRIDAY” Friday? Who on earth is he talking to? “didn´t you say the CPR made his vitals-“
“I´m- I´m fine” he says, because enormous confusion aside, he is. Maybe his head is scrambled, and he feels exhausted, but he has a feeling he´s been in worse shape before.
A feeling.
The man (he´s decided on man) starts going on about robots, and getting him to a tower with someone called Dr. Cho, but all he can do is blink back, his confusion increasing.
“I´m really sorry” he interrupts, knowing he´s probably going to disappoint the man, but needing to push forward even so, “who- who are you? Are you-? “
He tries to put a word on the feeling seeing the man´s face had evoked in him before, tries to remember who he is or what he has to do with the man or why he feels so…safe. So safe. With him there, even with all the questions going round and round inside his head.
“Are you my dad?”
The man´s face stills. For a second, it looks like his brain short-circuits.
Mood, a thought rings out in his head, unbidden.
That´s when he hears it.
A huge metallic…thing coming through the street towards them, and he doesn´t know why but it makes his heart thump like a rabbit´s in a cage, and suddenly he gets a flash of remembering pain, and he knows these machines, these machines are dangerous, and what if the man gets hurt too-
He pushes the man behind him as he desperately tries to look for somewhere they can hide-
-but the man grabs his hand first and hurries them both towards the sturdiest-looking car on the street, crouching so they´re out of sight.
“Uh, alright. I- this must be really weird for you, but it´ll be okay. Just stay here for now, ´kay? I´ll- We´ll figure this out. You with me?” The man holds his gaze for a second, and it´s so sincere, he finds himself nodding.
The man smiles. “Okay. Give me a sec.” And then he gets up and turns towards the robot.
What the-what´s he doing!?
He reaches out clumsily to drag him back, but the man´s face gets obscured by his robot mask once more and he…
Flies?
The frick? He thinks in bewilderment, as he sees the man lift off and attack the robot with blasts coming from his hands. My maybe-dad can fly!?
Either he lives in a sci-fi novel, or he´s going absolutely nuts.
Could be both at this point, frankly.
The whiz of gold and red fighting the robot is almost quicker than his sight can keep up with, but he persists, looking out anxiously for any opening the robot might have to take the man down so he can try to warn him about it. There is none though, the robot might be exceedingly fast, but the man remains unyielding. He takes another look at the giant machine and sees it´s blaster-
And then it´s like someone takes his brain and shakes it around everywhere, and the throbbing is so sudden he kneels and clutches his head tightly to keep it from falling apart. His thoughts feel shattered and tampered with, and the pain-
He cries out in agony, and tears fill his eyes again.
The man! I have to look out for him!
He tries to listen to the fight again, but just as he tries to focus in on it it´s like a tsunami of yells and police sirens and voices washes over him, and noise, why is there so much noise-
Overwhelmed, he kneels until his forehead touches the grainy concrete, and wishes he would just pass out.
He doesn´t, though.
Among the oversaturated ocean of noise, one adds to the mix.
Except this one isn´t grating. This one doesn´t make everything seem like too much.
Because it feels like it´s coming from within himself.
He´s at a loss for what´s happening, but the voice slowly and lightly blocks out all the other noise, grounding him in a gentle tune. In a flash, he recognizes the song. He knows where he heard it last.
Mr Stark.
And he remembers.
“Kid? What are you doing up?”
He shrugs, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Baby Tarzan laughs onscreen.
He half expects Mr Stark to push him for more details, but he seems to understand Peter´s not in a talking mood and walks up to him solemnly.
“Scoot.”
He does, and Mr Stark plops down next to him, wordlessly extending his arms out in invitation. Peter falls into the hug gratefully and sighs. Exhaustion pulls down on his bones, but he´d rather not get back to the nightmare he woke up from. Mr Stark snorts softly at something in the movie, and then they both jump a bit at the sudden loud gorilla roar. They keep watching the movie, and Peter´s curls are brushed back gently in a soothing motion.
He wants to sleep. But he can´t.
But he´s safe here, isn´t he?
His chest grows heavier as he thinks of the dream, and when he blinks, his eyelids dampen. He hasn´t shed a tear yet, but Mr Stark must sense something again because his hand at Peter´s hair stills.
And then he starts singing.
It´s a lulling comfort, and Peter melts into the embrace, allowing his tired eyes some rest.
He´s safe.
Come stop your crying
It will be alright
Just take my hand
Hold it tight
I will protect you
From all around you
I will be here
Don't you cry
He´s safe.
With a final shot from Iron man´s repulsors, the robot powers down, and Peter runs out to meet Mr Stark, almost crushing his ribs in a hug.
“Woah, woah!” The helmet´s visor pulls up, revealing a grinning Tony. “Did that actually work? FRIDAY told me you were freaking out and I thought it might help calm you down.” He says, hugging him back. “But it did more than that, didn´t it?”
Peter´s too relieved to do anything but nod happily into his shoulder, but he gets the point across.
They stay there for a full minute, just holding on to each other. Until Tony grumbles out a “and I can´t believe you remembered Phil Collins before Iron man, seriously.” and Peter bursts out laughing, lightening the mood.
“The man didn´t sing that soundtrack in five languages for nothing, Mr Stark. It slaps.”
Tony hides his smile in Peter´s curls, and hugs him close.
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yeojaa · 4 years ago
Text
ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)
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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
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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.”
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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.
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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."
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notes.  this chapter is set four-ish months following the first, in case that’s not clear.  :) 
tag list.  @teawithbucky​ 
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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago
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Made not Born: Part 1
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Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)
Pairing: Jaskier x Plus Size! Goddess! Reader
Warnings: 
Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​
Summary: You’re a goddess of little things, but you were made not born. You tire of immortality, of the glitter that does not fade, of watching those around you grow and age and falter and die. You help Jaskier in a moment of need and in return he tries to help you. Perhaps you find yourself falling in love along the way.
Notes: 
You find him by the roadside. You’ve followed his journeys, one of the many mortals you enjoy watching the life of, and now you find him in need of help. His clothes are dirtied, he is sat in a muddy ditch, hair misplaced and blood bleeding from the broken skin of his lip. He is beaten and he is bloody, but not dangerously so. But you are a minor goddess, good for healing little wounds and mending small broken things. 
You don’t answer his questioning calls until you’ve placed a hand on his cheek and the bruises have faded, the cuts stitching themselves back together, the rips in his doublet mending. You doubt he knows what god you are, few do, but his eyes glimmer with recognition as he takes in your form. You are the homeliest looking of the gods, although by mortal standards anything but. Your hips are wide, your stomach soft, your skin is covered in marks and scars from your previous mortal life. Your hair does not shine and your eyes do not glow. You looked as you did in your mortal life, only with something extra, something which mortals could never place a finger on and could never quite describe. It was an essence that let them know you were more than them, something else, something other. For some this bred fear, other’s awe, some comfort, and many curiosity.
“You’re Desara” He lifts himself from his place sitting, only to kneel instead. Blue eyes twinkling up at you, taking in the strands of your hair, the colour of your eyes, the way your dress falls around your body as if purposefully effortless. He tries not to stare, he really does, but he’s never met a god before and you’re...godly, no...otherworldly, effortlessly beautiful, shining like a beacon and, most of all, you look kind. There is a softness in your face that he never expected a god to have, he always imagined there would be glares and glowering, thunderbolts and lightning. He always thought gods were supposed to be frightening.  You were the opposite of what he had imagined, you gave off a feeling of comfort and safety that had his shoulders relaxing without a thought.
“That’s what you mortals call me...I go by Y/N...” You rest your hands on his shoulders and urge him to rise, he towers above you. Another thing he thought impossible. He always imagined the gods doing the towering, but he has to angle his head downwards to look you in the eye. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to look a god in the eye...he’s not sure what godly etiquette is. He’s fully prepared to make a massive faux pas and be struck down with some sort of plague or be crushed under the might of your godly powers. 
“Well, that’s very...”
“It’s a very mundane name, I know. I wasn’t always a goddess, you know?” You say with a small little smile, coy, playful. He shakes his head and swallows hard. He will admit he knows your name, knows that you are a minor goddess, known for little things, but he does not know what little things and he does not know your story or history. He always imagined that Gods were born. That they simply burst into existence or rather they existed and birthed everything else. He’d be lying if he said he was an overly devout man, he’d seen enough to be open minded, but had never been one for leaving offerings at shrines or speaking out prayers and thanks.  
“I was once a farmer’s daughter. I sowed the seeds, I threshed the wheat, I brought in the harvest...and then one day a god came to me and decided to make me a god too. She believed they needed more, believed she could create something more of me. I think she believed I’d become a great one, a powerful one.” You laugh and he thinks it is supposed to sound bitter and humourless, but instead it sounds soft on the breeze like the light strumming of his lute or the sound of birdsong on a spring morning. “So I became Desara, Goddess of the little things, the warmth of a hearth, the feeling of home after a long journey. Goddess of small creatures and little deeds, of jaunty tunes and a noiseless breeze. Goddess of the seed that roots and the weed that dies, Goddess of the daisy chains and flower crowns. Of worms and of rhymes. Of broken noses and split lips. My powers are minor and few pray to me. Mostly, little children who find my rhymes and songs amusing or who wind chains of flowers for their friends. They soon forget, however.”
“A rather impressive list, oh beautiful creature, oh mighty goddess” He is not sure how anyone could forget you. If you consider yourself minor and unimpressive he cannot imagine what the other gods are like, but he finds that he has no interest in finding out.
“Please. Y/N. I do not enjoy being....grovelled too or worshipped. I am so tired, Julian Alfred Pankratz. I have lived so long and so lonely.” 
“If I am to call you Y/N, then please call me Jaskier.” There is a pause before he continues, “Surely you have admirers at your beck and call?” He cannot imagine you without them. Cannot imagine why men and women would not flock to worship at your feet, why they would not revel in the swell of your hips or the softness of your body, the kindness of your face, or the gentle nature of your words. It seemed to him that anyone would be a fool not to admire and worship you. 
“Admirers are not loves. They grovel, they seek, they desire, they want, but they do not wish to truly know or listen or care. What I would give to be mortal again, to live in the moment, to know there is an end. To be loved for myself, a farmer’s daughter and not a goddess.”
“Is there not some way to do so? To become mortal, I mean?” He doesn’t pretend to know much about these sorts of things, that was always Geralt’s area of expertise, but it makes sense to him that anything that is made can be unmade, anything that is fixed can be broken. 
“For all my years, my knowledge of gods and kings, monsters and men is rather limited. If there is, I doubt the other God’s would tell me for fear that in some hateful fury I might make them mortal. Although I tend to avoid them where possible and would much rather leave them to their quibbling and return to a simpler life”
“Your predicament moves me, Y/N...I am humbled in your presence, “ You go to cut him off and chastise but he stops you, “Not because you are a god or some immortal being but because it is clear to me you have a mortal soul longing for what mortals do.  Love.” Perhaps he is flowery with his words, like most bards are, but you decide that he truly means what he says, no matter how poetic it might appear. 
“If you will permit me, I would try to help? I have little knowledge on the subject of Gods, but I know a friend who might know where to look.”
“The Witcher.” He looks surprised, “Us Gods watch, you know. From our skies and our seas and our grasses and our trees. I find you enjoyable in your journeys, Toss a Coin to Your Witcher really was a masterpiece,” 
“-Why thank yo-” You cut off the thanks, not needing thanks for speaking what you feel is the truth. 
“I watch and I know things. He is your friend and you are right, he knows a great deal about my kind and all the tricks to make or break us...do stress that I was not born a god, I was made...and surely what was made can be unmade?” You take a deep breath and humble yourself, kneeling in front of him in a way none of the other gods would,  “I...thank you, Jaskier...I wish to be me again and I no longer wish to be so old and weary and never age. Thank you for trying even if an answer cannot be found.”
“I’ll find an answer. For good or ill. I’ve never had a quest of my own before, a true adventure, and I refuse to fail you, Y/N. I hope I can return your mortality.” You feel a little of your composure slip at the genuine kindness and determination in his voice, at the hopefully gleam in his blue eyes. You blink away what tears have filled your eyes and stand up to lean forward, pressing a thankful kiss to his forehead, gentleness you bestow upon any you can, but rarely with such genuine feeling. 
“Thank you, Jaskier. I will aid in what little ways I can, but I am no greater god, I cannot do much but mend small breaks, and soothe little hurts.” It’s a warning, kindly, but one to remind him that if he needs help greater than you can give then there is little you can do. It would pain you to see one of your favourite mortals perish in an effort to help you, you wanted your mortality, but not at the cost of a life. Perhaps your mortality wasn’t even possible to regain.
You leave him there, kneeling in the dirt with soft eyes and a softer heart. To him it seems as if you become one with the leaves and the trees, drifting off to somewhere unknown and his eyes follow for as long as they can before you disappear entirely. He steels himself, rising from the ground, tugging on his now mended doublet and grabbing his lute. He has a witcher to find and despite their current differences, Geralt had made it quite clear that he didn’t want the bard hanging around, Jaskier needed his help and he would put up with the grump for you. A kind goddess in need of help regaining her mortality, beautiful as the sunrise and quiet as the moon, well, that was just a song that needed to be written and a story that needed to be told.
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tayliviaspeace · 3 years ago
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Day 2 of analysing Taylor in quarantine
Day 2: cardigan
1 sentence summary: This is basically Betty, many years in the future, talking about what a mess her first love was, but how she is still with him now.
"Vintage tee, brand new phone High heels on cobblestones When you are young, they assume you know nothing Sequin smile, black lipstick Sensual politics When you are young, they assume you know nothing"
Taylor is talking about her albums as well as the love triangle. In her albums, 'vintage tee' is debut, 'brand new phone' is fearless, 'high heels' is speak now, 'cobblestones' is red, 'sequin smile' is 1989, 'black lipstick' is reputation, and 'sensual politics' is lover. In the love triangle, the vintage tee is something Betty keeps from James. The new phone symbolises a new start after he cheated on her. She moved away and completely changed herself. 'When you are young the assume you know nothing,' references James in 'Betty,' when he says, 'I'm only 17 I don't know anything.' Betty is smart and knows that however old you are, you do know things, which is why she sounds kind of resentful when she says that. Taylor could also be telling this to her past self, 'make your voice heard.' She is showing people that if you take time to educate yourself, you can give your opinions and people won't take advantage of your silence, because you won't be silenced. 'Sequin smile, black lipstick,' is her at the 2016 MET Gala, where she met Joe. Sensual politics is when she started speaking out, trading her sweetheart image for someone thats more forceful and who uses their voice. She also addressed sexist comments and things that have happened to her as a woman in the music industry.
"But I knew you Dancin' in your Levi's Drunk under a streetlight, I I knew you Hand under my sweatshirt Baby, kiss it better, I"
Taylor shows lovers when the wear jeans and Levi's is a jeans company in the US. This shows an ending where James and Betty get together. Like Taylor did with Betty, she's allowing you to pick the end. This shows Betty's idea of love and how she and James are together. 'Drunk under a streetlight,' references Betty, when they stopped at a streetlight. It could also reference Cornelia street on 'Lover,' when they're drunk on something stronger than the drinks at the bar, which is true love.
"And when I felt like I was an old cardigan Under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favourite"
Betty feels like she has done something wrong, that she is unlovable, which may be a reflection of how Taylor felt in 2016, before Joe. Betty and Taylor show quite a few similarities here. They share the feeling of being vulnerable, and the fear of not being wanted. They also share the feeling that when the right person comes along things make sense and you feel a different way, which is a thought shared by all humanity. That's something I love in Taylor's writing. The songs aren't just for her. It's always so relatable. 'Putting on' could be putting a show and faking feelings, and it could also mean literally putting on a cardigan, which highlights the
"A friend to all is a friend to none Chase two girls, lose the one When you are young, they assume you know nothing"
This is showing what would happen in the event that James and Betty don't get back together. He cheats on her with Augustine, and he lost the love of his life in that process. Taylor left the ending very open ended so the listener can pick their ending. The repetition of 'when you are young they assume you know nothing' sounds like James constantly trying to get Betty to see perspective and forgive him. It also reminds me of 'only the young,' and how the line goes against the song, and the fact that only the young can change anything and that they have the power. But if you don't know anything you don't know what to change which makes this interesting.
"But I knew you Playing hide-and-seek and Giving me your weekends, I I knew you Your heartbeat on the High Line Once in twenty lifetimes, I"
Betty knew that James would never be honest about his feelings and in doing so he was hiding his feelings. However, he spends his weekends with her, but this could show him toying with her feelings as hide and seek is a game. High Line is a place in NYC, which could show a new start for Betty. She broke up with James and she's in NYC now (I've always imagined the love triangle to be like a small town scandal [that rhymes]) and she never imagined she'd meet James there, which is why it's only something that'll happen once in 20 lifetimes. 20 could also hint to how long Taylor's career has been and what she has gone through in the 20 years.
"And when I felt like I was an old cardigan Under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favourite"
Same thing as above. The repetition also highlights how this is something people feel constantly, and a feeling that is repeated through the years.
"To kiss in cars and downtown bars Was all we needed You drew stars around my scars But now I'm bleedin'"
This is referencing Betty, where the line is "kissin' in my car again," and downtown bars is probably a place where Taylor and Joe went (a dive bar on Eastside). It also references earlier in the song, where they're drunk. James made Betty feel like she was special and he healed her from past wounds, but when he cheated on her, he gave her more things to need healing. It was as though he put a band-aid on her wounds, but when he cheated on Betty, he ripped it off.
"'Cause I knew you Steppin' on the last train Marked me like a bloodstain, I I knew you Tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy, I I knew you Leavin' like a father Running like water, I And when you are young, they assume you know nothing"
This is relating to 'champagne problems' in evermore, where its 'you took the nigh train for a reason, so you could sit there in this hurt', which is probably talking about James' feelings when Betty didn't take him back. I love how the song [cardigan] is open ended for the listener to pick the ending they want. Bloodstains are hard to forget and James and his mistakes were hard on Betty and may have shaped how she feels about people later. Betty knew that James wouldn't give up very easily and he tried to change both himself and how their story ended. Betty's father may have left when she was a child. Sometimes people don't take the news of a child well, and they leave, and Betty could have associated James to her father. Water doesn't stop running, it moves like time, and if you want to move with it you need to make the effort. James refused to grow up and accept that he had cheated on Betty, and he kept saying, 'I don't know anything'. That isn't an excuse you can use after sometime.
"But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young I knew I'd curse you for the longest time Chasin' shadows in the grocery line I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired And you'd be standin' in my front porch light And I knew you'd come back to me You'd come back to me And you'd come back to me And you'd come back"
A tattoo is something that's permanent, and James is Betty's first love. No matter how hard you try to forget, you can never forget your first love, and you always think that would my life now be different if I didn't do this with my first love. They're in your thoughts a lot, and there's some sense of permanence in it. Betty is going against James, and saying that your excuse of not knowing anything is rubbish. You had us both at one point and now you have neither. She also knew that he was cheating on her and that once he felt guilty for it, James would make amends. 'Standing in my front porch light,' is another reference to Betty, where James says 'I'm here on your doorstep'. Like Betty said, James does come back to her.
"And when I felt like I was an old cardigan Under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favourite"
When this ends the song, from Betty's perspective it looks like they got a happy ever after, because despite everything that James put her through, he showed more genuine care and love for her than anyone else, and he made Betty feel special.
Overall review: I love this song so much!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love the meaning, the message, everything. One of the messages I think the song is trying to get across is to give second chances and people change. The ones who truly love us are there for us, and will apologise for their mistakes. I'm very optimistic in thinking they [James and Betty] get together and she forgives him.
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entity9silvergen · 4 years ago
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Why Don’t you Play Me One of Your Songs? (Sanders Sides Fanfiction)
Summary: Logan professes his love for Patton through song.
Fandom: Sanders Sides
Characters: Logan, Patton
Relationships: Logan/ Patton
Other Tags: Valentines Day, Band, Music, Song fic, BoJack Horseman, College
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1500
Chapter Count: 1 (Oneshot)
Written 2021
Author’s Note: As of when I started this, I’d written over 25,000 words for Aromantic Writing Month. With Valentine's Day coming up, I figured I’d take a break from that and write something short with romantic love. This fic was inspired by Judah’s song in BoJack Horseman. When I heard it, I immediately knew I had to write a fic where Logan sang it.
========
It was… How to describe it?
It was entropy. 
In thermodynamics, entropy was defined as a measure of the unavailable energy in a closed thermodynamic system that is also usually considered to be a measure of the system's disorder, that is a property of the system's state, and that varies directly with any reversible change in heat in the system and inversely with the temperature of the system.
When Logan was retailing the story for Virgil, his roommate used a much simpler definition. Entropy is the tendency for chaos, the belief that things in order will move toward disorder. Logan had to admit that definition was a bit better suited for his situation. Virgil had called him dramatic and Logan agreed but the word truly fit.
Logan was working at his local library. He was a broke college student and it was about the best job he could get. He liked it just fine. He could get lost in aisles of books, far from the demanding world, and spend hours just organizing. He rather enjoyed it. That was until the library hired another student to man the cafe, that is.
Logan hadn’t liked Patton when he started his job. He was noisy, always striking up conversation with people coming in, and people eating his baked goods never followed protocol. Crumbs. Everywhere. So many that Logan even had dreams about crumbs getting in his beloved books. But when Logan had gone to talk to Patton about it, he found that he couldn’t.
Patton was sweet. And beautiful. Logan couldn’t say a negative thing to his face. He’d actually panicked so hard that he ended up leaving. That night when he came home, Virgil had laughed at him and told him to try to talk to him. It might do him some good to have a friend at work.
Logan had protested but followed Virgil’s advice and talked to Patton. Patton took to him with the same friendliness that he did with everything else. They became friends. And as time went on, Logan realized he was falling in love.
Which brought him to tonight. Or rather, that morning.
“Hey, Lo,” Patton greeted when Logan came by that morning and Logan’s heart had fluttered a bit at the nickname. “What’s that?”
Logan mentally froze for a moment before holding up the case in his hand. “This? It’s, um, my guitar. I’m in a band. A small one. We’re playing later.”
“I know. I saw the flyer.”
It took every ounce of Logan’s willpower not to glance at the bulletin board by the door. Why had he put the flyer up here? Where Patton could see it? Oh right, because Remy had told him they needed people to show up to their concerts if they were going to call themselves a band. But here? Really, Logan?
“So, um, I was just wondering why you hadn’t invited me? I was talking to Roman and Emile and it sounded like you invited everyone else.”
Logan felt a flash of guilt at Patton’s tone. Stupid, Logan. He mentally slapped himself Had he really been so caught up in worrying about his crush that he’d accidentally alienated Patton?
“I know you’re working tonight,” Logan said, the words coming to him with remarkable speed. Words had never failed him but he kind of wished they didn’t come so quick, not right now. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to put you in the position where you felt obligated to come or felt bad saying no.”
Patton’s face softened and Logan felt a bit better. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’d love to hear you play and I’d cancel my shift to-”
“No!” Logan cut him off before he realized what he was doing. He cleared his throat. More calmly, he amended, “I mean, no. You don’t have to do that. I’m a college student too, I know how important these paychecks are.”
Patton looked doubtful. “Well, if you’re sure…”
“I am,” Logan responded in an even tone that didn’t match the storm of feelings in his chest. “Don’t worry yourself over it, Patton. Maybe next time.”
“Next time,” Patton echoed but Logan was already stepping away from the counter and heading toward his beloved books, failing to see Patton’s disappointed gaze watching him walk away.
But Logan regretted it.
That night, standing up on that stage, he couldn’t help but feel crushing disappointment when he didn’t see Patton’s face in the crowd.
“Go to him, gurl,” Remy said, making Logan turn around, startled. The other man was leaned casually over his keyboard but his eyes were fixed on Logan. “We can survive without you.”
“But-”
“Hey, gurls!” Remy yelled at the crowd. “No vocals tonight! All vibes!”
The crowd cheered. Logan didn’t take offense. The confused glances of his other bandmates did offset him a bit and he offered them an awkward smile before thanking Remy. “Thank you.”
“No prob, gurl. Now get your ass out of here.”
Logan didn’t hesitate. 
He’d carpooled here and he didn’t want to leave his bandmates hanging so he just ran. He ran like it was 7th grade PE and he needed to beat his record mile time to pass the class. He ran like Remus was chasing him with a booger on his finger. He ran like he was being chased by death itself.
He ran like he was in love.
But when he burst into the library, Patton wasn’t there.
Logan didn’t know he could feel such crushing disappointment.
He took a seat at one of the chairs at the cafe tables and crumbled. Under the weight of his despondency or out of exhaustion, he didn’t know. He just knew he felt hopeless. Right when he’d found the courage to tell Patton how he felt, he wasn’t even there.
But then he heard the door swing open and there Patton was. He looked stricken but relaxed when he saw Logan. He smiled and drifted over to one of the seats at the counter. “Hey, Lo.”
“Hello, Patton.”
“I closed early to go see you but you weren’t there. Someone told me you left.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
They slipped into silence for a moment. Logan gazed into Patton’s eyes, seeing something unreadable in them. Patton didn’t look away.
“Hey, Logan?”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you play me one of your songs?”
Logan suddenly noticed he was holding his guitar case in a death grip. He swallowed and nodded, taking care to slip his guitar out of its case. It felt nice to have it in his hands. Grounding. And then the words came to him.
“I strive for precision.”
He sang slowly. His voice was almost hesitant. This wasn’t a song he’d written. It wasn’t a song anyone had written. Logan wasn’t a songwriter. He was awkward with words, always making sentences too long and lacking rhythm. But, he had an even voice so he sang. And sometimes the words just wrote themselves.
“My aim is to be accurate and clear.”
He was hopeful. It wasn’t something Logan could say often. He relied on concrete proof and evidence, not feelings. But hope was a nice feeling. He felt like he could do this.
“I don’t say things I don’t know to be true.”
There were few things Logan knew were genuine truths. This was one of them. He knew it deep in his heart. It resonated in his chest with the words as they formed. And that made him feel at peace.
“So believe me when I tell you I love you.”
His voice cracked halfway through. Logan didn’t look up to see Patton’s face but the words flowed to his mouth almost faster than he could keep up.
“I don’t write good love songs. I’m not adept with metaphors or rhymes. I just want to describe the things I know. And the only thing that I know is that I love you. Please believe me when I tell you…”
He took a deep breath and forced himself to look up from the strings of his guitar.
“I love you, Patton.”
And Patton smiled.
==============
Author’s Note: I tried a different writing style for this. There’s very little detail, more of a tell than a show story, and I did very little editing. Let me know if you like it. There’s a fine line between stylistic choices and bad writing.
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