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stovetuna · 3 years

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Oh! Oh! Your Tony-finally-accepts-Steve-Loves-him fic was so lovely. A+ 🥺

And the reverse-ish! The first time Steve realizes Tony doesn’t actually believe him when he says I love you and how Steve both reacts and comes to term with the situation (does he plan on talking about it? Love offensive with super romantic dates? Figure out that the solution to this problem a marathon not a sprint?)

aaaaaahhh I am gonna EXPIRE

can you imagine?? the moment I think about it my heart absolutely BREAKS in the best, most bittersweet way, because oh, Steve. you really thought the moment you kissed Tony the first time—you were sitting next to him on the living room sofa, a whole empty seat on either side of you because you were so unnecessarily close together, but then you were struck by the thought not close enough, and you were in the middle of listening to and watching Tony watch the Lost in Space reboot (so many science critiques you didn't understand a lick of but you are more than happy to play audience to the things Tony cares about, loudly) when you leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on the corner of Tony's motormouth, which apparently was all the invitation Tony needed to crawl into your lap and press his warm, warm, warm lips to yours and kiss the breath out of you—he understood.

because it was so easy to go from best friends to romantic partners, and you had years of friendship between you to hearken back to. Plenty of moments when you thought you'd made it clear to Tony that you loved him, that you cared about him, that you admired and respected and yes, deep down (not that deep, really) were very much attracted to him.

you thought.

so when you kiss the first time, you think he knows. when you go on your first real date and play footsie all night under the table and hold hands the whole walk home, you think he knows. when, a few days later, he slides inside you, deep and hard and wet, and butterfly-kisses the tears from your eyes and tells you how beautiful you are as he fucks you, wailing, into the mattress, you know, down to your soul, to the basest atoms of your existence, that Tony loves you as much as you love him.

but something isn't right, because even as weeks, months go by, and you move into Tony's suite and fall asleep wrapped around him almost every night (except those when he's in another country, and the bed is almost as cold as the ice, or when he's consumed by some project in the workshop and loses track of time), and you tell each other "I love you" out loud multiple times, and say it without words in a million other ways, you get the feeling that Tony. doesn't. believe you?

you're baffled. genuinely, it doesn't make sense. you've loved each other for years. even when you fought, bloody and fierce and deeply, horrifically wrong, you loved each other. it wouldn't have hurt nearly as much—felt like a piece of you being ripped away, phantom pain aging you inwardly until every step in any direction that wasn't toward Tony was agony—if you didn't.

but even though Tony says it back, and he does, every time, even when you're yelling at each other after a battle goes "tits-up," thank you, Logan, he has this look in his eyes, and the only word you've been able to put to it is doubt.

at first you think it means Tony doubts you—your feelings, your intentions, yourself and all the baggage that entails—but that thought quickly passes. because you know he doesn't. you know, from experience, that Tony's worst thoughts and feelings very rarely have anything to do with anyone other than himself. which means Tony doubts himself. maybe even reality. not in a "you might be a Skrull" kind of way, but in a "this is too good to be true" kind of way.

and doesn't that just break your fucking heart.

for months you watch this doubt flicker like a guttering little flame in Tony's bright blue eyes, every time you say "I love you, Tony" with your voice. it's never there when you're brushing your teeth next to other in the morning, bumping hips and giggling like the children you never got to be; it's not there when you silently hand him his coffee and kiss him on the temple on his way out the door to a morning meeting, grousing on the phone even as he blows a kiss to you before the elevator doors close; it's not there when you sit down next to him after a battle, on the steps of some middle-of-nowhere courthouse that just got blown up by some no-name villain, taking unspeakable comfort in the radiating heat coming off the armor that kept Tony safe in combat, and without having to ask or say anything at all Tony takes the helmet off and you lean your foreheads together and just breathe each other's air, too relieved and too exhausted to kiss; it's not there when you make love to him, slowly, excruciatingly sweet, your hips rolling in a steady, undulating wave between Tony's long, golden thighs, his arms loose around your neck, his gorgeous voice gone raspy and quiet from screaming through two orgasms already, and you tell him to look at you as you come together one last time.

it's only when you say it. put words to it. make it real. that's when that banked ember of doubt flickers to life, and it feels like you have to start all over again. which isn't a hardship, per se. not at all, really. it's an honor and a privilege and an absolute pleasure to be a part of Tony's life like this. it's also frustrating, and infuriating, and dangerous, but that was always the case. the only difference is now, you can have make-up sex.

you fight about it first. it starts out in earnest, a forthright—if frighteningly vulnerable—conversation over dinner that turns into a shouting match to rival anything from the war that of course gets cut short by the Avengers alarm going off and having to Assemble before you can clear the air. he almost dies in the battle, short-circuited by an exceptionally advanced EMP that takes out the RT (and whoo, boy does that make you spiral, thinking back, to the moment you did that to Tony, almost killed him, and thinking those thoughts while you keep vigil at his bedside for days makes you wish harder than you ever have before in your life that you could drink yourself to death), and you're too relieved when he opens his eyes and the first word out of his mouth is your name, like he's the one who should be relieved, to bring it up again.

you love him. he loves you. it works. better than that, it's good. and eventually—quickly, even—you learn. you learn tell him in every which way you can think of, without words, how much you love him, and why. you text him pictures from your runs through Central Park (he makes the photo you sent him that spring, of the adolescent raccoon emerging from a hollowed-out tree, his lock screen for a week before he changes it back to a picture of you in bed drooling onto your pillow). you help him take off the armor when he's dead on his feet. you feed him. you train with him. you listen to him ramble on about bad movie science and cheer when Matt Damon mentions him in that Mars movie. (You literally cry laughing when Tony picks up the phone at the end of the movie and calls Matt Damon and tells him to text him next time, "I'll come pick you up, just stop getting lost in fucking space, asshole!")

you kiss his scarred fingers, with their fresh cuts and scrapes and bruises from working in the shop, with a reverence. you draw baths for him and don't join, even though it's one of your favorite things to do in the world, because you can just tell Tony is going through something and he needs the space to work it out for himself. you're always there to fish him out when the water gets cold, and by that time Tony's ready to tell you about whatever's eating him.

you call him every foul, dirty name in the book when you fuck him loudly against the wall and sob yourself hoarse when he makes love to you for what feels like hours, so slow and deep and steady you honestly lose track of how many times you come. you clean him up after and tuck him in. you kiss him on the forehead before you go on your morning run, every morning without fail (except for those when you're apart, and you still, even after almost two years, catch yourself mid-motion sometimes, about to kiss empty air—you text Tony about it and he laughs every time).

you learn to be patient. you learn to show more than you tell. because you realize that Tony was lied to his entire life, about so many things. Lied to his face about who he was, who he was going to be, who he never would be allowed to be. Told over and over again by liars and cheats and villains and friends and lovers and family that he wasn't worth the effort of loving. that he would never be loved for anything other than the black credit card in his wallet, the cars in his garage, the houses and the private jets and the clothes and the money and the things he invented—the things he made—that were supposed to help people but only ever ended up killing them.

money, and blood.

it's no wonder he doubts.

so you set yourself to the long and genuinely joyous (if at times frustrating) task of convincing Tony that not only do you love him, more than you've loved anything else in your life, ever will, but he is lovable. not worthy of love, not deserving, and he is those things, but inherently—he is a sweet, caring, kind, fierce, sexy, strong, dangerous, incredible, dorky, suave, fumbling genius of a man and he is loved for those things.

it takes time. good things always do.

you've had a little velvet box hidden away in your bottom bedside drawer for four months when Tony wakes up and sees you in bed with him, realizes you've been watching him sleep—so peacefully, the furrow between his brows erased, as you play with his slightly overgrown hair (you wish he'd keep it, but it's a hazard, in your line of work). you kiss him on the forehead and say good morning, sweetheart, because it is, even if it is pouring down rain outside.

maybe especially because it's raining outside. because here you are, high up among thick grey clouds that smother every inch of the city, so it's just you two, in this bed, together in your own little world, and you're watching that stubborn ember of doubt in Tony's eyes finally get washed away.

read part one

#responses #rachel writes fic #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #stony fic #superhusbands #PHEW OKAY TIME TO GO CRY NOW #I can't remember the last time I wrote something in second person?? WHO AM I

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imaginethebeautifulworld · 3 years

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Please please please, may i please request a prussia/reader drabble (oneshot?? what ever is easier for you honestly) for the prompt: “Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”?? thank you so much and i love your writings <3

Hello, Lovely~ Wanted to thank you for your patience. Couldn't quite get the perfect scene in mind till about 1:14 am this morning. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request!

In a world that never seemed to rest, tranquility had become an elusive mistress, an antiquated ideal that was valuable for its rarity alone. There were many who would never find such a thing, or would be cursed with just a brief glimpse before it slipped away once more, never to return.

Tranquility was a gift, and you had been blessed in multitudes.

A light breeze was rustling the pines towering above you, scents of the nearby stream, forget-me-nots, and the wisps of smoke from the campfire dancing with it.

So tucked away from everything, you couldn't hear any engines, noisy neighbors, or- most fortunately- the impatient pings from your cell demanding your attention.

It was quiet, as quiet as Nature could be when one is sitting near a babbling brook, their swing squeaking on hinges decades older than themselves, birds of all ages serenading the small patches of sunlight reaching the forest floor.

Your foot trailed along the ground beneath you, a path carving in the soil from the steady back-and-forth of the old wooden swing, your head resting comfortably against Gil's chest.

He had one arm loosely draped on the back of the swing, the other extended as he read his paperback, folded over itself to spare himself a little freedom.

You shifted slightly, just a little, and he instinctively followed, adjusting the blanket across your legs and shifting his own to accommodate your new position, all without once removing his attention from the page.

It was approaching midday, and while you had both agreed on a short hike to visit some waterfall or other, you were finding you had no desire to leave just yet, perfectly content and cozy as you were.

You let yourself relax further, eyes closing as you rested your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady refrain of his heartbeat.

The familiar, unconscious dance of fingers against your upper arm made you smile, his decision to shift his free arm almost as reflexive as your decision to open your palm and rest it directly over his heart.

In a time not so long ago, the very thought of being alone in the same room as him would have been laughable, and now you were alone together in some ancient hunting cabin, leagues away from civilization, and completely at peace.

It struck you in that moment just how ingrained he was into your life, your sphere, your thoughts. You never could have anticipated this level of intimacy, and the unexpected epiphany of just how vulnerable that made you left you reeling.

"It kind of scares me sometimes," the words slipped out in a sigh, a wisp of a murmur that faded as easily as woodsmoke. They hadn't even been loud enough to disturb a trio of hares near the truck, and when several moments passed, you were beginning to hope Gil hadn't heard them at all.

It was more a rumbling than a fully coherent query that finally answered you, his eyes still firmly affixed to the Greek text before him. "What's that?"

Without fully lifting your head, you shifted your angle, giving you the chance to study his features- the small indents on his nose from wearing his glasses so much the past week, the single, nearly invisible freckle just by his left eye, the patch of chapped skin on his lower lip, the intoxicating and inexplicable gradients of indigoes and crimsons in his irises.

He hid nothing from you, every perceived flaw and weakness completely at your mercy. And to know that he could see through all of your own barriers, knew you in-and-out more than you perhaps knew yourself-

But there was trust there, and something so strong that- even years after first naming it, after first defining it, exploring it, embracing it- still left you breathless, still rendered you speechless.

For a moment, it did exactly that, overwhelming you in a wave of emotion so strong that you could scarcely think in the face of it.

But it was a familiar feeling, one so commonplace that you simply sighed again, letting it settle over you like an additional blanket, warmth settling in your veins as you relaxed once more.

"It scares me sometimes how in love I am with you." You traced a pattern with your finger against his shirt, eyes focused on the lupine family enjoying vegetable scraps from the night before. "It scares me how vulnerable you make me feel."

But no. Scared wouldn't be quite the right word for how this vulnerability made you feel. Intimidated, perhaps?

Irregardless, it was such a good feeling, so freeing to be so fully exposed to someone, to know they saw the worst of you and still-

He was resting his head against your own, silence patiently resting between you, the quiet of the forest yet again remaining undisturbed. He had even ceased powering the swing, apart from a small movement with his toes that was likely from his muscle spasms than anything else. You let yourself relax fully, because no matter how suddenly and aggressively this wave of realization had swept you away in its riptide, he would always keep you safe, always anchor you in the face of whatever storms may come.

"You know it's a two-way street, right?"

As if further testament to his knowing you, the words went straight to the core of it all, exposing his own vulnerability to you, proving just how much he had placed his faith in you.

What a perilous place to be, putting so much faith and trust and hope and care and control in someone else's hands, wholeheartedly believing that they will never bring you any harm, that-

"You're not going to leave me, right?"

The question was so sudden, so unexpected, that you took yourself by surprise, not accounting for the deep, tired exhale of the man so gently holding you. "How could you even ask that?"

You started to try taking it back, wishing for all the world you could keep your thoughts more thoroughly reined in, but he was plowing ahead, the arm that had been resting on the swing coming around you, fingers slipping in between your own. "Do you really think I could leave you?"

By all accounts, yes. Yes he could.

His claim to immortality was shaky at best, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't get bored of you, that someone pushing near 1,000 would wake up one morning and realise that-

"Where the Hell is all of this coming from anyway?"

You gave it a half a moment of thought, and soon found yourself melting in defeat. "I wish I had an answer, but I honestly have no idea."

He resumed his earlier motion, putting the swing back into a steady glide. When he spoke again, it was as if he were reaching across centuries, finding just the right words out of billions to try to comfort you. "To quote some book I read in some teahouse somewhere quite a long ass time ago: 'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own.'" Here he paused, a good six seconds of silence as he rooted himself once more to the present, voice lowering to a whisper. "Leaving you? Losing you? It would be like losing a part of myself, like losing the best parts of myself."

He paused again, a seriousness that was only just familiar to you making an appearance, a depth to his words that made your toes curl. "I was lost for centuries, Schatz, never realizing or accepting just how alone I was, how fucked up I was. I waited for you for ages, and didn't even know how badly I needed you until I finally met you. It was like everything I had done, everything I had gone through, suddenly made sense. You were- are- the very thing I was fighting so hard for."

For claiming to have not a hint of romance in him, he still always seemed to have the perfect strategy for disarming you, for charming you, for leaving you even more infatuated with him than you were mere minutes before.

But this pedestal that he had carved for you, these expectations-

"I'm only human, Gil."

"I know," he murmured.

"I could still get sick-"

"I know," he sighed.

"Or hurt-"

"I know," he growled.

"Or di-"

"I know!"

His exasperation was so unexpected that you swore the whole world had frozen around you, as if the tranquility of the forest had finally been disturbed.

But no-

Everything was still exactly as should be; it was only your surprise that had affected your perception.

In actuality, his interjection had been scarcely more than a rasp, so damaging to you alone as it cut straight through to your soul, piercing through what little armor you still had against him.

He squeezed your hand, an apology conveyed simply through touch, an armistice accepted and strengthened through reciprocation. "'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own,'" came the quiet refrain, each syllable accented through the dance of his thumb against your palm, each syllable a soft breath that tickled your scalp. You expected him to stop there, his point well made, but soon enough he was murmuring again, words nearly a hum. "'In pain and sickness they would still be dear.'"

You couldn't place the words- who knew if a copy of that book even existed anymore- but it didn't matter. They were exactly what you had needed, the balm for a restiveness that you hadn't even known was plaguing you till a few moments ago. And what's more, you never knew Gilbert to exaggerate, not when it came to matters of the heart. He knew no other option than complete sincerity, maddening some days, endearing most others.

Thoughts shifting, comfort once more reestablished, you shifted slightly, turning your attention to the few clouds you could see through the canopy. "Every atom, huh?"

There was a huff of a laugh, an accentuated exhale that highlighted his exasperation, but the amusement in his reply was tempered by fondness, highlighted with a small kiss above your ear. "Every proton, neutron, electron... Every single quark, if you need me to get technical," he finished in a whisper, slowly, gently, reassuringly, practically an embrace on its own.

You melted against him, giving his hand a small squeeze of gratitude, thoroughly reminded now of exactly why it was okay to share your vulnerabilities, how lucky you were to have found him, to be found, to trust and fall and grow together.

Tranquility eventually, quietly, made her reappearance, bringing with her the blessing of the midday sun.

Thanks for reading!

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Goodnight and Go by SisterSpooky1013

Part of the inspired by songs series, this work is inspired by “goodnight and go” by Imogen Heap.

2219 words, read it here on AO3

His knock was always a welcome interruption. The soft rap rap against her door seemed to have a direct line to her lips, quirking them into a secret smirk that she invariably erased before greeting him. She was, after all, an accomplished avoider, hider, and suppresser of emotions. She had become so adept at concealing her visceral response to him that she found she was unable to let it be known, even now that she felt ready for that part of herself to be seen. Nearly dying from cancer could do that to you; make you rethink why you ever built walls around your heart in the first place. What was meant to protect you from hurt and vulnerability also served to prevent you from having the type of true connection that made life worth living in the first place. And so when she learned her fate, that she would live, she decided to make a change, to let him in, only to discover that she didn’t actually know how. So, brick by brick, she was deconstructing her own defenses. Sometimes that looked like not suppressing a smile, or making a sexual innuendo, or sitting a little closer than was absolutely necessary. It was tedious work, but the progress was continual. What she had not anticipated, however, was how quickly Mulder would respond to the change in her, and how affected she would be by his response.

Mulder had always been affectionate towards her, tender even at times. His broad hand at the small of her back, the occasional stroke of her cheek, a kiss to the top of her head now and then, these were expected and appreciated gestures. Her own demeanor or their sometimes tumultuous relationship never seemed to affect whether he interacted with her in this way; it was simply a given. But the first time she reciprocated, returning his coy smile with a toothy grin of her own instead of a suppressed smirk, she saw his body respond to the feedback. Something shifted in his eyes, or maybe it was more like a subtle wave that traveled down his body, or a spark that sputtered from his fingertips. Whatever it was, she felt it from several feet away, electric and thick and heavy between them, and it hadn’t abated since.

Rap rap.

She felt a flush spread from her chest to her fingertips, and her tongue darted out to taste the smile that stretched across her lips. She wouldn’t push it away this time; she wanted him to see how happy she was to see him. Pulling the door open, she greeted him warmly with a “hi” and he grinned in return, setting off a fluttering in her belly that had previously been reserved for high school crushes. His snug jeans and grey T shirt hugged his muscular body in all the right places, and she decided then and there to pull down her brick for the day, to chip away at part of the wall. Still smiling, she let her gaze float down his body, taking in the hard swell of his pecs and the soft bulge in his pants before she met his eye again. It felt gratuitous and overt, but in reality it was nothing more than a flicker; something he might have missed had he looked away for even a moment. But he hadn’t missed it. She knew because he inhaled deeply and she saw his eyes darken as his pupils expanded, his nervous system unable to suppress its natural response to the flush of dopamine he experienced as a result of her leering.

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside, ignoring the blush that she felt warm her cheeks. She couldn’t suppress her body’s natural response to what felt dangerous and exciting any more than he could. “Can I get you something? Coffee, beer?”

She had been working on not asking why he was there, or what he needed. She wanted to eliminate the pretense that their relationship could exist only as it related to a case or a task, so that they could simply be together without a reason for doing so. Maybe if she stopped asking him to justify why he came over or called, he would do so more often, just because.

“Sure, beer sounds great,” he replied, slipping off his shoes and making for the couch. He had nothing in his hands, seemingly no agenda, and that fact both thrilled her and made her uncomfortable. The discomfort, she knew, was part of her defense mechanisms, and so she chose to ignore it. Another brick fell away with a THUNK as she plopped down beside him, on the middle cushion rather than the opposite end as she normally would.

“What have you been up to today?” She asked, handing him his open bottle while taking a swig of her own. His thick fingers brushed over hers as he took the beer from her hand and she caught his eye briefly.

“Not much, I’ve just been over at the gunmen’s, playing Monopoly of all things.” He pivoted his body towards hers, draping an arm over the back of the couch behind her head, which felt like some kind of embrace though they weren’t touching at all.

“Ah, who won?” She asked, curling her legs underneath her torso so that she could also face him, the side of her body leaning on the back of the couch, his arm close enough that she could smell the soap on his skin.

“Nobody, we just stopped playing. I don’t think I’ve ever finished a game of Monopoly, actually.” He shifted slightly and she felt his fingertips brush over the back of her neck momentarily, sending a shiver up her spine.

“What? How can you just stop without anyone winning?!” She was genuinely incredulous.

Mulder chuckled good-naturedly. “Not everyone is as competitive as you, Scully. We were just playing for fun, it doesn’t matter who won.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “That approach would not fly in the Scully household.”

“I’m suddenly getting an idea of why you never played sports in school,” he teased, touching her neck on purpose this time, squeezing gently. Without allowing herself to think about it, she leaned into his touch like a cat, or a flower seeking sunlight. Encouraged, he threaded his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull and kept them there.

“No,” she replied, though her voice was a little softer, her breath a little less even, “I never played sports because I’m terrible at them.”

“Really? I was under the impression that there’s nothing you aren’t good at.” His eyes were on her lips, studying them as though he was seeing them for the first time. In what was an unconscious tick, her tongue slipped out and ran along the seam of her mouth. She saw his eyebrows jump almost imperceptibly.

“I don’t like doing things I’m not good at, so I generally avoid them,” she answered, trying to ignore the way his fingertips whispered against her skin, and the resulting throb between her legs.

“What are you bad at, other than sports?” He asked, and she was momentarily lost in the flutter of his eyelashes and the green flecks in his irises as they traversed her face, cool and serene and without nervousness. He always seemed so comfortable and in his element, unflappable in a way that she often envied. His eyes fixed on hers and she realized she was staring, but forced herself not to look away.

“Puzzles. I suck at puzzles,” she finally answered, and his mouth quirked into a smile that she mirrored, just because his smile made her happy.

“I’ve seen you do puzzles, Scully. Difficult ones.”

She nodded, humming at the feeling of his fingers rubbing against her scalp with the movement. “Once I start I have to finish it, but that doesn’t mean that I like it, or that I’m any good at it.”

“Ah, yes, that sounds like the Scully I know,” he said, slipping his hand away from her and returning his arm to the back of the couch. “Maybe we should play Monopoly sometime, see it all the way through,” he added, not seeming to notice the fact that every atom in her body was straining towards him, desperate to feel his touch again.

“I’m not sure that’s a good plan. We may not be friends when the game is over, regardless of who wins. Perhaps something lower stakes, like Candy Land,” she said with a smirk.

Mulder shook his head in mock-doubt. “I dunno, Scully, I can just envision you getting the cupcake card when you’re up by chocolate mountain. You’ll flip the table.” She screwed up her mouth but didn’t deny it. “How about strip poker? There are no losers in that game.”

She imagined Mulder peeling off his boxers after a bad hand, unable to conceal his arousal. Or maybe it would be her, revealing herself to him bit by bit. Her nipples tightened at the thought, and she saw his eyes dart down to her chest, noticing. Of course she wouldn’t be wearing a bra when she wasn’t expecting company.

“Isn’t the person who ends up naked the loser in strip poker?” She asked rhetorically, the verbalizing of nakedness a thrill in itself. Not that they hadn’t both seen each other naked before, but they seemed to have an unspoken agreement that incidental eyefulls during times of medical emergency didn’t count.

“Technically speaking, yes, but if they aren’t particularly opposed to getting naked in the first place, that too can be a win.” He took a swig of his beer, and Scully suddenly remembered hers existed and did the same. “So you’d last, what,” he looked over her body, calculating how many items of clothing she was wearing, imagining not only what he could see but what lay beneath, “Four rounds at most. You don’t have socks on, that’s a disadvantage.”

She took a deep breath, summoning courage. “Only two, actually. You caught me at a bad time, strip poker wise.” She took another drink to cover her shock at her own admission.

Mulder’s eyes narrowed as he appraised her again. Pants and shirt. Oh. He shifted a little.

“Do you make a habit of not wearing underwear, Scully?” He ventured, the pitch of his voice one she was not well acquainted with. His mouth held a playful smirk, but his eyes betrayed his true reaction to what she’d said.

“Why do you ask?” She returned, question for question.

He smiled like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Just curious,” he said, heat rising in his cheeks.

She nodded, then diverted the focus to him. She’d had about as much as she could handle. “You’ve got about…6 losing hands to work with?” She asked, guesstimating. “Unless you’re also not wearing underwear,” she added cheekily.

“On the contrary, I’m outfitted in my favorites,” he said, leaning forward to set his beer on the coffee table before he leaned back and pulled up his shirt, revealing the ripples of his abdomen and a trail of soft brown hair that disappeared into his jeans. Scully suppressed a moan. He tugged the waistband of his boxers above his jeans to reveal a pattern of tiny cartoon Elvis’ on a black background.

“Those are very adult underwear, Mulder,” she teased him, and he tucked them away but stayed reclined like that, hands folded on his belly. There was still a sliver of flesh visible between his shirt and pants, which she pointedly avoided looking at.

He tilted his head up to look at her, their faces closer now in his reclined position. “I’d ask to see yours, but…y’know.” He arched his eyebrows and flicked his eyes over her body quickly.

“Maybe some other time,” she replied, a coy smile on her mouth.

“May-be,” he returned.

They were quiet for a moment, which turned into a minute, and felt like an eternity. It was the kind of silence that demanded action, shit or get off the pot kind of silence. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up, anticipation pricking her skin like a sunburn. Do something, she told herself. She parted her lips to speak, but no words came out.

“I should get going,” he said abruptly, and sat up. It felt like a bucket of cold water. Had he interpreted her hesitation as disinterest? She stood dumbly and followed him to the door. “Thanks for the beer,” he said, hand on the knob, and she nodded.

Just before he was about to pull the door closed behind him, he stopped. “Hey, next time I go to the Gunmen’s for game night, you wanna come with?”

She smiled tightly, “yeah, that sounds fun.”

He heaved a sigh that sounded like relief and smiled. “Great, I’ll let them know. Though I really recommend you wear underwear going over there. Never can be too careful with Frohike around. You know how he feels about you.” She chuffed a small laugh, and he added “can’t say I blame the guy.” Giving her one more glance from head to toe, he left.

Brick by brick. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless. One day they would get there.

Tagging @today-in-fic thank you!

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #angst #fluff #UST

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henryspearl · 4 years

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24 - “I never want you to think you’re anything less than my top priority.” please ☺️

ao3 link

Callum felt lucky. So lucky.

Something that was clogging up his lungs to the extent that at times he felt like he was gasping for breath, wanting his lungs to grasp onto the tiniest bit of air, had now been broken down. Disintegrated into the tiniest of pieces like atoms floating about in the night sky that was peaking through the drawn curtains of Ben and Callum’s bedroom. The shadows of the silver and white of moonlight reflecting into Callum’s eyes like it was showing him that there is now light seeping into the crazy world that he’s built around him. That maybe he can finally, really be happy.

It was the early hours of the morning when Callum let his mind wander into the night sky as he laid in his bed, sheets swimming around him. He lets a breath of air escape his lips, his lungs feeling free and back to its healthy rhythm.

Though, he felt something restrictive, something that was tugging at his lungs. Callum swallowed and looked down at the man that was putting a comforting and warming pressure on one side of his body. The silvers of the night bounced across Ben’s face as he snuggled into Callum’s chest that was covered with a grey t-shirt. His breathing was even and his arm was wrapped tightly around Callum’s waist, like he never wanted to let him go, even while he was asleep.

Callum found it endearing watching Ben sleep. There were some nights where Callum would wake up in the early hours, where pinks would threaten to splash over the blues of the night. He would look down or over to the other side of the bed a few finger widths apart to find Ben laying there fast asleep peacefully.

It was like all the demons that perched on Ben’s shoulders every day and surrounded him with rage and fire had just gone. Like it had all been lifted from the complexity of his facial features as he slept.

Callum smiled softly and tickled the back of Ben’s hairline as a mechanism to soothe the both of them. He looked up at the ceiling, exhaling quietly as he watched the shadows of the night dance.

The doomed thought of almost losing Ben and his new found family crackles over Callum’s heart like awakening deafening thunder and makes his stomach drop. Callum swallowed the lump that was threatening to rise in his throat as the insides of his stomach started to roll and hot prickles came shooting up his spine.

He really thought he would lose everything that he had built. It made him sick to the stomach on the depths he went to to protect Ben that he was almost blinded by it. Blinded on the consequences that he was actually betraying Ben’s family which would hurt Ben even more and damage his trust, their love.

The moment he first found Ben when he swanned into the Queen Vic, he felt petrified. He still remembers the way his hand gripped against his, the way the blue in Ben’s eyes swam whenever he dared to look his way, the cheeky grin that always shined on his lips.

But in the end he knew why his heart wanted to thump out of his chest with every aching second that he was in the same room as Ben. He didn’t want to face it at first but then when he did, facing his fears head on - he didn’t have to be scared anymore - he didn’t want to be scared anymore. When he admitted it in front of the whole pub, he wasn’t scared anymore.

Because he had Ben by his side. He couldn’t imagine a life without him, he didn’t want to imagine a life without him.

He had to do it once and it shattered every piece of him like he was glass and everything he had and everything he was was broken into tiny fragments.

When he told Ben everything at the pub, he could feel Ben’s eyes on him. Whenever he looked up, he could see the way that Ben looked at him intensely. And after every intense look, the more his stomach dropped into a black hole. Thinking this was it, the last pint and then it’s over.

Callum felt like he could burst when Ben looked back at him with a reassuring smile that was so soft and warm, which was only for him. Ben reached over and squeezed his hand comfortingly and Callum felt his body tremble, like he was about to rupture into a blubbering mess.

Callum ran a hand down his face, his fingers clammy as he let out a small sigh. He really did expect to be sleeping on the sofa of his old flat, not still here in the one place that he feels the happiest that is confined within these four walls, in the warmth and presence of the love of his life and bed sheets.

“Can’t sleep?”

The familiar sleepy voice that had a small croak at the back of the throat dragged Callum away from his thoughts. He looked down to find Ben looking up at him through his eyelashes. He could feel Ben stroke his chest lightly.

“You okay?” Ben presses quietly amongst the stars.

“Yeah m’fine,” Callum sniffs. “Just woke up and it’s taking a while for me to get back off again.”

Ben lifts his head up at this moment, and brings it to rest on his hand that is planted gently on the side of Callum’s chest. “Ya not thinking about work are ya?” He approaches the subject delicately, with a hesitant bite of his bottom lip. “Y’know it’s okay, we’re okay. I do get why you did what you did.” He adds, taking hold of Callum’s hand and slowly intertwining their fingers - a perfect fit like two pieces of a jigsaw fitting together, like a beautiful melody as they were in flawless sync.

“I just can’t help but think about the last couple of months,” Callum admits sheepishly. “It eats me up how I went behind your back all the time, how I ditched you for work even when we were both supposed to be having the day off.” Callum looks at Ben, the moonlight reflecting on his face, outlining his features and making his freckles look like twinkling stars.

Callum gently places his hand on Ben’s jaw, the roughness of his short stubble sending goosebumps and tickling his fingertips. “I meant what I said. It was never about going against your dad, your family. I was doing this for you, to protect you. I would do anything to protect you.”

Ben smiles almost shyly, the navy blue that is pouring into the room hiding the flush that is highlighting his cheeks, “Ditto.”

Callum breathes out, “I never want you to think you’re anything less than my top priority, Ben. Never. You will always come first.”

Ben could feel his heart swelling in his chest, with nothing but love. He meant what he said to Jay earlier on, he did want to marry Callum and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. Callum was the only one who got Ben, who understood him. Hell, he was the only one who could take his shit.

Ben looked up at Callum almost vulnerable, like all his shields have come down under the spell of the night. When it was just the two of them, he was allowed to be vulnerable, he was allowed to be soft around Callum. No one would know apart from the two of them, the thick sheets that surrounded them, and the stars.

Ben swallows. “You’ll always be my top priority too as it goes, Cal. Even if it doesn’t look like it at times. You and Lex are the two most important people in my life; when push comes to shove, you two will be what really matters. You are my family.”

Callum can feel the lump burning in his throat, threatening to come pouring out. “You’re my family too,” he almost croaks out. “I love you.”

“You better,” a glint of teasing dances in Ben’s tone. Through the darkness, Callum notices how Ben’s face softens, breaking into an endearing smile that is infectious as it also tugs at Callum’s lips. “I love you too,” he states, leaning up and pecking Callum softly on the lips.

“Now c’mon,” Ben moves off of Callum to shuffle on his back. “Get some sleep.”

When Ben looks back at Callum, Callum’s head is turned to the side with his eyebrow raised curiously. Ben stretches his arm out, luring for Callum to come closer, so he can be wrapped up in his warmth and any light that Ben surprisingly may have, to send him back to sleep. He needs it.

Callum shuffles under the covers and gently rests his head on Ben’s chest. He immediately breathes in everything Ben, his smell and his touch tingling all of his senses as they envelope him under the covers.

“I’m not going anywhere okay?” Ben whispers, his lulling voice echoing into the night as he runs his fingers through Callum’s hair, enjoying the satisfaction of his fingers digging into his soft bouncy locks.

“And I’m never going to leave you,” Callum responds, his eyes fluttering to a close.

He felt so lucky. They both felt so lucky.

#ballum fic #my writing #i hope you like this gemma!<3 #so sorry for the hold up!#ballum #ben x callum

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lesbianlotties · 3 years

Note

a one shot marla x fran fic request for the one tru queen titled “I know I'm young but if I had to choose her or the sun I'd be one nocturnal son of a gun” inspired by this beautiful lesbian fanart from twitter https://twitter.com/sombergeist/status/1382073638715801612?s=21

it took me some time but !!! here it is. i hope you like it <333

read on AO3 here.

Their bedroom was perfect. That was something both of them agreed on. They had designed it together, obsessing over every little thing until they felt they wouldn’t change a thing about it. Marla made a bigger effort on style, and Fran convinced her of splurging on their whims. So, the blonde was in charge of picking the few decorations, and the brunette insisted on the fireplace and the television. Mostly, though, it was all a joint decision. For example, Marla was an early bird, unlike her girlfriend, who requested the best curtains to keep out the sun in the mornings, but Marla got to pick the color. The bookshelf they filled together. Their favorite books, a couple of photo albums, and just the right amount of incriminating content from all the past lives they lived until they got where they are. Then, there was the bed. A magnificent thing they considered for hours in several stores until they were satisfied with the result. They barely left it during the first day it arrived at their home.

One morning, Fran was lying in that wonderful bed of theirs. Everything around her felt soft, and warm, yet not quite enough. She was alone in bed. Sun was peeking through their curtains in the careful way it did when Marla gently rustled the fabrics after her wake in hopes that her lover would rise up sooner rather than later. As her mind started to catch up with her, Fran registered the strong and familiar smell of coffee. That convinced her to open her eyes. Just a little shifting in bed and she found what she was looking for.

“Happy birthday,” Marla said as soon as her girlfriend’s sleepy brown eyes met hers. Her heart skipped a beat just watching Fran blink. Long eyelashes resting atop impeccable cheekbones for an instant. When Fran opened her eyes again, her stare was instantly sharper.

Fran grinned and snuggled deeply into their bed, then she yawned. “Morning, baby,” she sighed afterward and stretched a little. She tried not to look away, not for one second, from Marla’s beautiful smile. As fascinated as she usually was by the blonde’s shark-like grin that could conquer empires, Fran preferred that one smile. That soft tilt of lips, so close to shy that nobody else would believe Marla Grayson would ever look at anybody like that.

“How do you feel about thirty?” Marla asked, then took a sip of coffee.

The swift movement made Fran notice the love of her life was wearing only a white robe and holding on to a steaming cup of coffee. Speaking of which, there was a cup on the nightstand, waiting for her to take it. “Hm, nothing special, really,” the brunette replied, and sighed pleasurably after the first taste of the hot beverage.

Marla tilted her head, studying her. “It’s still young,” she said, almost in a whisper. She would have sounded playful to anyone but the one woman in the world that knew the exact meaning behind those teasing words.

Fran blinked. She took another sip of coffee. Then she sat up straighter in bed and stared at Marla with all that breathtaking confidence of hers that was the mythical power that years ago got to break down Marla’s walls.

“Is this the part where you try to insinuate I should leave your heinous, old, but wickedly sexy self?”

Her words make Marla actually throw her head back laughing. “You’re impossible,” the blonde said, fondly, then worked on finishing her coffee. As an answer, she only received a precious grin from the other woman.

Her love for Fran, the realest, more honest thing she had ever known, didn’t come without complications. It was a feeling that blossomed showing dozens of new layers as the months passed. First, she wanted Fran like a whim, like one more prey. Then she wanted her more fiercely, almost as a dare to herself to get over the deeper feelings she hadn’t yet acknowledged. Later, she gave in to the feeling of wanting, needing, loving Fran like the summer sun on her skin, not just vital but delightful, necessary but simultaneously a luxury. Still, there would always be a part of her that only wanted Fran as far away from her as possible. She shouldn’t have a weakness, and Fran deserved better than a barely legal life that someday would come to collect the deadly price for all their glorious sins. That, however, was the mindset of someone that feared death, the future, losing, weaknesses, and prices to pay. Marla wasn’t, Marla refused to be that person. So, she comfortably settled into that bold and devoted love the two of them had kept burning on brightly for years, and she swore to keep it burning on until the day she died.

“I got you a gift,” Marla announced, breaking out of her own thoughts.

“Oh yeah? Show me,” Fran easily replied. She abandoned her coffee mug on the bedside table and leaned in forward. Her intentions were clear.

Marla saw no choice but to indulge the birthday girl. She got up from the bed and walked closer to Fran, leaned in to kiss her, kissed her deeply, bit her lower lip… “You’ll have to wait,” she whispered.

“Why?” the brunette sighed. her fingers found the back of Marla’s neck, and she tugged on the short blonde hairs she found there.

Marla’s knees threatened to give in, so she sat down beside Fran and let their kisses continue for a moment longer until she had the words to answer. “Because the police are likely on their way here for another useless interrogation,” Marla said, pulling back with a distinctive smirk, “and since you so charmingly refused to leave me, now you’re going down with me, baby.”

This time, Marla was genuinely playful, but Fran’s reply was completely earnest. “We’re in this together,” she said, meaning every word, “Ride or die.”

“I love you,” Marla said, a little breathlessly, as if the words had just demanded to be said in that instant in specific, “more than anything, you know?” There was a small but serious frown on her forehead, and her hand cradled Fran’s jaw with the utmost adoration.

“I know,” Fran replied gently. “I love you too,” she whispered as her lips brushed Marla’s one more time.

As Marla walked away to get dressed for the day, Fran couldn’t take her eyes off her. Distantly, she noticed the police sirens in the background, and didn’t wonder too hard about the way they felt like the perfect soundtrack to Marla Grayson applying her red lipstick. It certainly wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time that police sirens chased them or, perhaps more worrying even, worked along with them. It also wasn’t the first time that Marla had attempted to suggest Fran would be better off without her, that she should leave her and her corrupt ways.

As if she could, Fran thought with equal parts fondness and amusement. As if there was even one atom in all of her that could ever picture leaving Marla. It wasn’t even about this brilliant vision in front of her now, this methodically constructed image of a picture-perfect caring, protective, and nurturing woman about to fool the entire legal system and steal from the vulnerable. No. It all comes down to the exact feeling Fran experienced the moment she woke up and Marla was the first thing she saw. Marla in her bathrobe, with her coffee, her crystal clear blue eyes as honest as they were capable of and her smile secretly tender. At that moment Fran just knew, the world could come crumbling down, it could be heaven and hell against the two of them, life or death, and no matter what, she would choose Marla, knowing Marla would choose her as well.

#delivering a request for literal icon justqueeerious! <3 #i care a lot #ical #marla grayson #fran #marla x fran #marla and fran #ical fanfic #my fic

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hanmajoerin · 4 years

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I’m just gonna say it, y’all, Yashahime isn’t what I expected and there are elements to the series that I would have handled differently but to be honest, if I was at the helm of this all of you guys would be shitting on my version too.

My expectations–my hopes and dreams for the InuYasha cast after the end–it’s all so different from yours. I’ve read your fanfictions, I’ve seen your OC children. I respect them even if they’re not the characters that exist in my head. I respect them even if your ideas of the world after Kagome returns take three different turns than mine. This is exactly why I am urging some of you guys to brew a cup of chamomile tea and wait, at least until we have all 24 episodes of Yashahime at our disposal. I’m not the biggest fan of them, but Sunrise deserves the same respect as all of you do. And before you get all defensive and upset, don’t think for a single second that I have forgotten what InuYasha: A Fedual Fairytale did to the relationships of every InuYasha character. I feel their poor representation of InuYasha and Kagome’s relationship in the very atoms on my fingernails to this day.

Still, I have 193 animated TV episodes and four feature films to point at and criticize. And believe me when I tell you that the amount of college papers I could compose regarding the disservice that was done not just to my favorite couple, but to all of the characters that I’ve spent the past fourteen going on fifteen years of my life growing up alongside is kind of crazy. Yashahime has four episodes. F O U R E P I S O D E S.

For some crazy reason, Rumiko Takahashi loves the cast and staff that worked on InuYasha: A Feudal Fairytale–they take annual vacations together for Christ’s sake. It sounds like Sunrise has a plan for this sequel and just because the four released episodes include elements that I didn’t anticipate doesn’t make it fair to rule out the possibility of the series’ potential as a whole. Takahashi claimed to like it and that woman is coo-coo banana crazy, but if she believes in it, I have faith too.

But something that I wanted to remind you guys about is the fact that sequels don’t happen in the Rumic World. That’s why Yashahime existing is so fucking insane to me in general. Takahashi wanted to make a new story instead of “InuYasha Two” and as a writer who tends to not be a fan of sequels myself, I know where she’s coming from. I also wanted to remind you that we are not watching “InuYasha Two” either. We have Hanyo no Yashahime. This is a series about the daughters of some characters we love carving a path sprinkled with a little bit of familiar stuff and a little bit of new stuff. The whereabouts of our favorite characters from the past (unless you’re a Sesshomaru fan, we found that guy today LOL) is the series’ greatest mystery. Sunrise is dragging us along without an ounce of remorse as the new generation uncovers it. And it’s painful, but that doesn’t make it fair to disregard the potential of an entire work so early on in its run. If you decide that the story is simply not for you and you’d like jump ship? Totally different. It’s absolutely fine. It’s expected! But if you’re discrediting any kind of potential? No way.

What’s been confirmed so far is that Moroha has little to no memories of her parents even though she knows who they are. Today we saw her grandmother ask for regards to be sent to her mom. Instead of having an emotional breakdown like we (with our 559 chapter history with Kagome) wanted, Moroha showed the largest amount of discomfort yet. She faltered, she admitted that she didn’t really “know” her mother, and scratched the back of her head uncomfortably. Nonetheless, she agreed to send the regards. This was Moroha acting in-character. Seriously, this quarter-demon is a fucking spitfire like twenty-six hours a day; she may have bared her butt to the family, but she hasn’t shown them any signs of emotional vulnerability. Two different things.

Speaking of two, I’ll fight anyone who says Towa didn’t deserve that scene with Sota. In Yashahime, Sota raised Towa for a decade. Towa was his first baby. Towa is so much more than just the daughter of Sesshomaru, she is Sota’s daughter. His baby girl. And he sees so much of his big sister in her, especially now that Towa’s departing on an epic journey to gather her twin’s memories like the shards of the Sacred Jewel. It felt nostalgic to Sota. It felt right for him to share this moment with his daughter instead of his tiny gremlin niece who jacked his credit card and came into his life a few days ago 😉. And it was positively monumental that for the first time, Towa called Sota “Papa” instead of “Sota Papa.” It was in-character for the lore of the show. Maybe not our hearts, but in the reality of the show and therein lies the difference.

Please don’t take this post as a declaration stating that you cannot be upset. Sunrise can’t make us all happy, that’s preposterous! We just need to be fair. It’s been a test for me too, in some ways, but I’m genuinely enjoying Yashahime for what it is. My blog is always going to be here for fun stupid posts, sentiments fics, and anything InuYasha. I want to continue participating in the journey that is Yashahime with my followers which is precisely why I’m encouraging you to watch the series with a calming cup of chamomile tea at your side. I’m encouraging you to remember that the main cast and main supporting cast of this sequel simply do not share the same history that we do with InuYasha and his friends. We need to acknowledge the characters for where they stand–their history with the world we’ve been shown–not where we stand.

I know it’s hard, my dudes, we miss our family. I want their safety and happiness just as much as you. But, I promise you, it’s going to be okay in the end. Kagome already told us so.

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illfoandillfie · 4 years

Text

5 Simple Rules For A Successful Fake Relationship: Drive Me Crazy

5 SIMPLE RULES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summery: The aftermath of your night together. The premiere of The Perfect Match. Will Ben ever let you tell him how you feel?

Warnings: Angst city but it’s worth it, drinking, swearing, idiots who won’t communicate, the usual.

Words: 8392

A/N: So here we are. The end. Kind of. I've still got an epilogue planned and a chapter of moments from Ben's POV but this is the last of the main chapters. I've had an absolute blast writing this story and I am so proud of it and so happy to have gotten this far in it. I hope you enjoy it.

Taglist: @laedymoon @dtfrogertaylor @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie @tenement-funstah @taron-egrotten @johndeaconshands @borhapbois

@coni-martina @hardforbenhardy @cubedtriangle @vicouscirce @arianabrashierstuff @pattieboydwannabe @maggieroseevans @theprettyandthereckless

It took you a couple of minutes after you woke up to remember why you weren’t in your bed but as soon as the memory of the previous night hit you, you felt wide awake. A soft knock on the door made you sit up, head flicking towards the noise as the knob turned and the door creaked open a crack. “Oh. You’re up,” Ben said, obviously displeased, closing the door behind him with his foot, his hands both occupied. He must have had the same thought you did, of him kicking the door shut and pushing you up against it, because his cheeks were flushed as he handed you a cup of coffee and a plate of toast, “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake yet but mum insisted I bring you breakfast.” “Thanks,” you smiled despite his cold greeting. “Right, well.” “Hey, do you want to talk about what happened? We didn’t really get a chance last night but ther-” “No. Not here, not now. I’ll be in the kitchen, take your time.” He was gone before you could stop him. You sighed and looked down at the toast, knowing full well you weren’t going to eat it. Even if breakfast had been your most regular meal you were sure you’d be sick if you ate anything. The sip of coffee you had made you feel nauseous enough. How were you meant to tell Ben you loved him if he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as you? You dumped the unwanted breakfast on the bedside table and got up to start packing. It was easy enough, you didn’t really have that much to find, though your bra had been kicked under the bed in the previous night’s excitement. And the condom wrapper that crunched under your foot, so hastily discarded, sent another pang through you. While you dressed you went over what you wanted to say to Ben. Perhaps he’d soften once you were further away from his family and the scene of the crime. Perhaps the drive would give you time to discuss what you both wanted. With a deep breath you hoped would calm your worries, you picked up the uneaten breakfast and headed for the kitchen. It was empty. You tipped the warm coffee down the sink and put the toast in the compost bin on the bench before poking your head back into the hallway to try to find Ben or anyone else.

A noise from outside caught your attention and you followed it to find Ben, his parents, his brother, and a couple that might have been an aunt and uncle though you couldn’t quite remember. They explained there hadn’t been enough room in the kitchen and invited you to join them. Ben was standing beside you within seconds, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as if he did it every morning. Of course, you knew it was just for show, just because there was an audience to perform for. But that didn’t stop you from savouring it, breathing him in. Then he was telling you to take his seat since he had to shower and pack anyway. You chatted with his family, apologised for not saying goodbye the previous night. Ben had already covered for you, which you found out when his mum waved off your apology and said she understood all about auditions. “Ben always used to be in bed early the night before so I’m not that surprised he insisted on getting you out of the party when he did. Did you sleep okay?” “Yeah, really well.” Lie. Add it to the list. “Good. Wouldn’t want you losing out on a roll because you were yawning too much,” You laughed your agreement and steered the conversation in another direction until Ben emerged again, hair damp, smelling like unfamiliar shampoo. With no spare seat he nudged you to stand, taking your place and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you onto his lap. You smiled as he leaned into your shoulder, trying not to draw too much attention your way lest someone realise your thoughts were stuck on last night, stuck on how he’d felt under you, your palm flat against his chest. Eager hands and harsh breaths, achingly hard, because of you. You blinked back to the present when someone directed a question your way. After a little while Ben checked his phone for the time and, nudging you off his lap, suggested you should leave. Goodbyes were said on the driveway ten minutes later, Angela catching you in a hug and promising to have you back soon, before Ben ushered you into the passenger seat with a reminder that you’d be late if you didn’t leave soon. He tooted the horn as you pulled off down the street and you waved from the window. And then it was quiet. The mood was so different to the trip there. The radio was the only sound but even it was turned down low. You didn’t know what to say. You knew what you wanted to say but not how to go about starting the conversation. Ben kept his eyes glued to the road until you were well away from his family home, as if worried someone might overhear. And then he broke his silence. “Last night was a mistake. I didn’t mean it. Any of it.” “Any of what?” “I’m not in love with you. Never was. It was a mild crush based on physical attraction that got blown out of proportion because we were asked to pretend to date. Last night happened because it had been a while and we’d been drinking. It meant nothing.” You were too stunned to do more than nod along, every word you’d wanted to say disappearing from your mind. It didn’t matter. You were too late. You’d wasted all that time pretending not to care and now that you’d finally come to your senses, he’d apparently come to his too, had the same epiphany but in reverse. It was just a game of make believe taken too far. And you’d let yourself get caught up in it.

The rest of the trip back was torture. If you’d been in a more familiar area you would have told him to pull over and got yourself home, but so far from your usual neck of the woods it didn’t really feel like an option. The one silver lining was that you’d left early enough that the traffic wasn’t too heavy. Not that it made the trip feel any shorter. For his part Ben did seem more open to conversation once he’d got his confession off his chest, but you found it hard to match him, especially since he avoided every topic related to your relationship and the upcoming premiere. The one silver lining was that you’d left early enough that traffic wasn’t heavy. Not that it made the trip feel any shorter. You were still stiff and sad when you got out of the car, a terse goodbye the last thing Ben said before he sped off.

Nothing more was said about it. You didn’t mention how enlightening spending time with his family had been, and he didn’t mention what had happened between you. But you kept in touch, mostly through text. Mary let you know the casting director of the witch movie was interested in seeing you read for the middle witch and you sent Ben an excited message to let him know and ask if he’d help film you. He sent back a congratulations that sounded, to you, less than enthusiastic (certainly, there were less emojis than normal), and an excuse about being caught up with friends. You tried a few more times to engage him in conversation, sending him a photo of your makeshift camera stand that you used to film yourself, and then when that didn’t work, a few memes you’d found funny and a message asking how he was. He replied to all of them and if you’d shown the responses to anyone else they probably would have said you had nothing to worry about, but you couldn’t help feeling they were off somehow. The more you thought about it though, the more certain you were that you should come clean after the premiere. Even if he didn’t love you now, he definitely had before. You remembered what Joe had said about how he was pretending he didn’t feel anything for you. And more than that, you remembered what it had been like when he sobbed on your shoulder at the thought of you hating him, the way he’d whispered I love you against your lips while he was buried inside you, vulnerable and honest. By now you considered yourself pretty well versed in the difference between real and fake and there was absolutely no way he’d been faking those completely raw moments. He was a good actor, but not that good. If you could just get the words out, tell him how you felt, surely that would be enough for him to admit what he’d once felt, hopefully still felt. So, after some back and forth about when would be suitable time to bring it up, you decided that you’d tell him at the afterparty. You’d been sent the details of the night and you’d be by Ben’s side for pretty much all of it. The limo would pick him up first and then you, you’d walk the red carpet together, although some interviews would be done separately, and then you’d go on stage together to introduce the movie before sitting beside each other to watch it. After that you’d leave together and arrive at the afterparty together. It meant you should be able to find the opportunity to get him on his own, pull him aside and just tell him. There’d be somewhere you could go to escape the noise and the crowd and you’d sit him down and force him to hear you out. And then either he’d apologise and say it was flattering but he didn’t reciprocate, or he’d let out a soft thank god before pulling you into a real kiss. Not done because people were watching and expecting it. Done because he wanted to and you wanted to. And then you could tell the studio not to worry about breaking you up. And you could date for real. Go back and visit his family, introduce him to yours and to Felicity, meet his friends, move in together. You shook your head to clear it. One step at a time. No point getting ahead of yourself. You still had to make him listen to you and, if his behaviour so far was any indication, he was going to stubbornly refuse for as long as he could.

The lowest point before the premiere was when Joe messaged you on Instagram. You were surprised at first though on reflection you wondered if you should have expected it. It wasn’t a long message. A simple, can we talk about Ben? followed by his phone number. You called straight away. “Joe? It’s Y/N,” “Oh, wow, that was fast,” You shrugged and then realised he couldn’t see you, “I saw the message come in, figured I might as well call now while I knew you were awake. You wanted to talk about Ben” “Yeah, it’s….” You hoped he was going to tell you about how madly in love with you Ben was, how he was miserable not talking to you properly, how he was pining for you, wishing you’d come over and kiss him again. “This is a bit of an awkward call.” The hopefulness slipped, creating a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I know what happened between you and Ben.” “I figured you would. How long did he wait to brag or whatever,” “It was hardly bragging, he was a mess. I asked you not to toy with him and then you go and seduce him?” “It’s not like that. I didn’t plan it to happen.” Joe sighed on the other end of the line. “It doesn’t matter anyway because according to Ben it meant nothing.” “He said that?” “Yup,” you wondered how bitter you sounded as Joe paused. “How long before this is all done?” “You mean me and Ben being the tabloid’s sweethearts? Couple of weeks tops. Premiere is this weekend. I wouldn’t expect us to last too long after that.” “Okay, good.” “Is that it?” “Unless you had anything else to say?” You thought about it for a few seconds, seriously considered telling Joe how you felt. He could probably get Ben to hear you out. But who was he to know your feelings? It was bad enough that Ben ran to him with every minor shift in your relationship, why should you do the same? Especially after he’d asked to talk just to tell you off, “Nope. So, if you’re done scolding me,” “It’s a shame. I thought – but I guess not. I can’t wait for all this to be over.” “You and me both.” As soon as you’d hung up you regretted it. But it would be too awkward to call back and ask for help.

The night of the premiere was vastly different from the last time you’d got completely dolled up to go out with Ben. Felicity wasn’t there, though you wished she was. Instead you had a small team of makeup artists and hair stylists ready to spruce you up. Your dress was new, sleek and elegant, and they created a style to match it. If it had been any other week you were sure Ben would have been blown away by the sight of you. His reaction upon seeing you climb into the back of the limo beside him was a stiff complement though the not-as-subtle-as-he-was-hoping once over her gave you was very gratifying, especially when you caught him looking at you, eyes soft and lip held lightly between his teeth, twice more before you arrived at the red carpet. Perhaps there was hope. You certainly wanted to believe there was as you got out and Ben offered you his arm. Together you made your way down the carpet, breaking apart to sign posters and photos for fans, pausing for quickfire interviews, sometimes together, sometimes apart. You talked about who you were wearing and smiled whenever Ben complemented you, returning the sweet words with your own. But there was a tension in the way Ben carried himself, like he was trying to stop himself running away from you and was only barely managing it. And then there was the lack of contact. Where he’d usually grab your hand and squeeze it for support, he instead settled on bumping fingers and pulling away like a teenager on their first date still a little scared of cooties. He didn’t hug you or wrap an arm around your waist as you walked down the carpet, didn’t come any closer than he had to. Even when you stopped in front of a wall of cameras and had people yelling at you to kiss he seemed reluctant. It wasn’t the usual soft, sweet brush of his lips. It was quicker, more self-conscious, like an obligation. Like he’d have gone for a simple cheek kiss if he’d thought he could get away with it. But, if Ben was acting less affectionate, you were acting more so. You found any excuse to touch his arm or lean on his shoulder, any excuse to get a little closer. It was possible you could write his coldness off as stress or nerves about the premiere getting to him, and if that was the case you wanted to be extra warm to make up for it. And even if his demeanour was directly related to a lack of interest in you, it made you feel better to make it harder for him. But it also made you question the sanity of your plan. Was it worth it to tell him? Would you even be able to convince him to join you in a less public area so you could talk? It was an argument you continued to have with yourself the entire night. All the way down the red carpet. As you entered the theatre. Even while you were on stage, beaming at each other as you talked about how proud you were of the movie, how much you’d enjoyed making it and how much you hoped the audience liked it. Watching the film was a slightly surreal experience. You’d seen those expression’s on Ben’s face off set as much as on. The way Andy looked at Edith, the small, shy smile he got when she complemented him, the pleading in his eyes when he was trying to convince her he still loved her, the soft loving gaze as he watched her at their engagement party. You’d seen them all, directed not at Edith but you, Y/N. You wondered if he’d noticed the same things about you. Did your face give away your feelings as much as his did? Had you been looking at him like that without even realising it? You chanced a glanced at Ben, but he was staring resolutely at the screen.

Afterwards you were ushered out of the theatre along with your co-stars, back to the cars. The group split in half, you and Ben leaving with Alfie tagging along. Not that you minded, it made the drive a little more enjoyable than it would have been otherwise. You still weren’t sure what you were going to do and this way you got to escape making a decision for a little longer. But not forever. The car pulled up to a club that had essentially been hired out for the cast and crew to celebrate in. Most people were already there and already a couple of drinks in. You cuddled up to Ben at the first flash of the cameras, hanging off his arm as you headed inside. Now was your chance. The entrance was the quietest part of the building and there was a long corridor that led to a set of bathrooms, completely devoid of other people. If you were going to tell him, that would be the perfect place. But before you could indicate you wanted a private word he caught your arm. “Can I speak to you over here for a sec?” You nodded and accompanied him towards the hallway. The trim was a deep teal colour but the rest of the hallway was one long mirror and for a moment you were distracted by what you and Ben looked like together. “Y/N?” “Yes, sorry,” you said, pulling your focus back to him, “Um, actually, I kinda had something I wanted to say too,” Ben didn’t acknowledge your sentence just bowled on through with his own, “I was going to hold off until later but I don’t want to let something slip after a few drinks or anything like that. I can’t do this anymore. This whole thing was a mistake that I should never have agreed to and I need it to be over now.” “What does that mean?” “Y/N, don’t be difficult.” His sneer was reflected at you from every angle “Who’s being difficult? You know they’re going to break us up in like a week, right?” “Yeah well, that’s too long to wait. I’m breaking us up now. They can still run the story whenever they want to but I am going to tell my parents because I am so fucking sick of Mum asking when I’m bringing you back. And…” he paused as if contemplating the next part, “I don’t think I can see you again, not for a while at least. I need some space to forget this ever happened. I um, I start my new job in a few days so I think they’ll probably use that in the magazines to explain our breakup. And I don’t expect I’ll see you until after it’s finished. If then. So….good luck with that witch movie. Take care of yourself.” He pushed past you back out into the main entry before you could fully understand what had just happened. By the time you found your voice he was gone.

You walked in a daze, out the door you’d only just entered, back to where the cars waited. Your last opportunity, gone. As soon as you were alone in the back of the car you called Felicity. “Are you calling just to brag about how much fun you’re having?” Your voice was steady as you spoke, “Can you come to mine, like, now?” “Aren’t you out at the party though?” “Something happened and I left,” “Honey? What happened, are you okay? Is Ben there?” Hearing his name was like a punch in the gut and you felt your voice shake as it got harder to breath calmly, “No, h-he’s not,” “Okay, I’ll be there in ten.” By the time you pulled up outside the house, she was waiting on the front doorstep with a shopping bag. “I bought ice cream and booze. Wasn’t sure which was more necessary.” “What kind of booze?” you asked as you dug your key out of your clutch, voice thick. “Baileys,” “It’ll do. Think I have something stronger round here as well.” “Here, let me help,” Felicity took the key from your shaking hand and successfully opened the door. As soon as you were inside, she steered you to the lounge room and sat you on the couch. The baileys and tubs of slightly melted ice cream were placed on the coffee table, condensation pooling on the smooth surface. She disappeared for a bit but you, reliving everything Ben had said, only noticed when she came back by the clanking of the spoons on the coffee table. She handed you a glass and you downed half of it in one hit. “Shit, that bad huh? You wanna tell me what happened?” she asked as she took the spot next to you and settled in, legs folded up under her. “I…I think I love Ben,” it was half sob as the magnitude of his words fully hit you. “Isn’t that a good thing though?” You shook your head, trying to keep composed when you realised how much you had to explain. Felicity just looked confused as she took a spoon of ice cream. “It was fake. The whole relationship. All the dates and all the pictures of us and everything was planned out by the studio to drum up hype for the movie.” “Wait, really?” she looked more shocked than you’d expected, “Everything? Even the stuff you told me on the phone?” You nodded, “I didn’t want to keep it from you but there was a contract involved.” “Okay, that’s insane. I had no idea that actually happened! So, all of it was fake?” “All of it. More or less anyway.” “The three orgasms?” “Yeah,” you nodded slowly, not even able to laugh at where her mind went first, “Well sort of. I mean it was only two but it didn’t happened then, it was a bit later and he said…” you broke off again, trying to swallow though your mouth felt completely dry. “Wait, you gotta go back, I’m not following,” “Okay,” you tried to steady yourself but your leg bounced against the floor and your fingers twisted against each other, “The studio set up our relationship and we were just acting the whole time except…except I found out th-that Ben actually did love me,” you had to take another steadying breath, Felicity’s hand shooting out to squeeze your knee reassuringly, “I overheard him on the phone and I freaked out because I didn’t realise I felt the same. I thought it was just the job getting to me and I figured once the studio broke us up it’d be over except then we actually did sleep together for real at his parents place and he told me he loved me during it and I realised I actually do like him and I tried to tell him but he couldn’t even look at me and the next day he said it was a mistake and that he’d never loved me and then tonight he basically told me he doesn’t want to see me again and I don’t know what to do.” by the time everything was out you were breathless and well and truly in tears. Felicity got up to grab you a tissue and when she returned she sat down right beside you, practically on top of you, so you could lean on her shoulder as you cried. Your heart ached at the thought of never seeing Ben again, but Felicity comforted you until you calmed enough to repeat some of the parts she’d missed. Eventually she had enough of a grasp of it to offer some advice. “Why don’t you call him, tell him how you feel?” “You didn’t see how he looked at me tonight. He wants nothing to do with me,” “God he must have been a good lay to make you fall so hard,” You let out a watery laugh at that. “I can’t believe the whole thing was fake and I didn’t pick it. You’re a good actress. Had me completely fooled.” “That was kinda the point. Helped that we both did like each other too. I was just too dumb to see it,” “Nah, you weren’t dumb. It can’t have been easy having to pretend the whole time,” she was silent for a second, stroking your hair, “He’ll come round. You wait, he’ll be calling up tomorrow to apologise for being such an arse.”

But there was no call. Not the next day or the day after or the day after that. You waited, curled up in bed hoping that if you stared at the phone long enough you could force it to ring, but the only calls you got were from Felicity, checking to see if you’d gotten out of bed at all, and one from Mary to go over the details of the break up. Ben had been right, they were going to use his new movie as the catalyst. “Distance is a known relationship killer and Ben is filming outside of the UK so it’ll be easy to sell it as a result of that. Plus, as far as the public know, you’ve had some rocky patches anyway so it shouldn’t take much to convince everyone you’re over.” “Wait, he’s not in London?” “Not from what I’ve heard.” “Do you know where he is?” “Y/N, I’m not his agent.” As soon as you were off the phone you sent Ben a text wishing him good luck with the new movie, but he left you on read. To try and distract yourself you opened Instagram and watched some of your friend’s stories, but it didn’t work for long and you quickly closed the app down. In the first couple of days you’d spent a lot of time scrolling through social media, checking the regular hashtags, seeing what people were saying about you and Ben. To start it had just been a lot of comments, complements and criticism alike, about what you’d worn to the premiere. But gradually the speculation crept in. People could see something was off, even if they couldn’t tell what. Gossip blogs direct messaged you looking for confirmation that you were either still together or, better yet, split up. You saw tweets casting you as the jilted ex, so blinded by love she didn’t see the end coming. Others were sure you had been or would be the one to break it off, sometimes proclaiming it a win for independent women everywhere, sometimes a villainous attack on poor Ben. You stopped looking after that. It just made you more upset and you weren’t sure you could handle what else might be posted. For one thing, you couldn’t remember if there had been photos taken of you fleeing the party not ten minutes after arriving. You had to assume there had been, though at the time you were too distraught to notice. And then there was the idea that someone might have seen Ben pull you aside, might have intended to sneak some shots of you making out in a deserted corridor and instead caught the moment he broke your heart. You definitely wouldn’t be able to cope with that. Just thinking about it sent a wave of despair through you, seeing it would be ten times worse. Not that you had any reason to believe you had been seen but you never knew with these things and it was better to be safe than sorry.

You stuck to your no-social-media guns even after the breakup was officially announced but, unfortunately, all the previous times you’d clicked on article after article, scrolled through tweets about yourself, had impacted things your phone recommended to you and you found yourself being ambushed by photos of you and Ben accompanied by headlines proclaiming the split. The worst came a few days after the news broke when you saw an article about Ben being back in the dating game. According to the website his account on Bumble had been active again for the first time in months. Any notions you’d had about getting over him were proved wrong as soon as you realised what the article was saying. Your chest tightened until you felt like you could barely breathe and the words on the screen began to blur. You sent a link to it to Felicity who called you as soon as she saw it. “It can’t be real, Y/N.” “Why not. We weren’t really dating so what’s to stop him finding someone else now?” “It’s been like three days since it was announced, his PR team or whatever would hate an article like this because it makes him look like a sleezy fuckboy.” “So then it’s not leaked by his people, it’s more likely to be legit.” “Or it’s made up to get hits.” “Maybe he meant it,” “Meant what?” “That he never loved me.” “I very much doubt that.” “How would you know, you never met him,” “No but I saw the photos of how he looked at you,” “Which weren’t real,” “Fine, maybe I don’t know what I’m on about. But you met him, and I’d guess you know him pretty well by now, and to be this torn up about him you must have thought there was a chance he felt the same way.” She waited for you to say something else but, when she was met with nothing but your sniffles she kept talking, “I still think you need to talk to him. Leave him a voicemail if he doesn’t answer.” “I don’t think he’d listen even if I did,” you sighed miserably. “Y/N, honey, I know you’re hurting but you can’t keep waiting for him to call. If you really want to be with him then call him and tell him that. Or forget about him. But either way you have got to stop wallowing like this. I’m coming over tonight and I expect to see you out of bed at least, preferably showered and in clean clothes.”

You’d ended the call just as dejected as when you’d made it, though with the added pain of a headache from crying too much. Slowly you slipped out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen to search for your box of painkillers. Reaching into the cupboard for a glass your fingers brushed over your coffee mug. Distracted from your original goal, you pulled the mug down and stared at it, tracing over the design Ben had painted on it. The purple splatters, the ring, the words. We’re really good at this dating thing. If only you’d realised back then what you felt. You might have actually been with Ben by now. Certainly, if you’d known you would have said something after you overheard his phone call. You’d been standing just a few steps over when you’d heard it, his low voice and the bitter laugh as he told Joe how shit it was to unrequitedly love someone. You hated knowing how right he’d been. But the memory gave you an idea. What you’d said to Felicity was true, she’d never known Ben beyond what he let the public see so she was hardly a reliable judge of character. But you knew someone who did know Ben. Calling him was probably insane. It wasn’t like you were particularly close, and with how your last conversation had ended, it definitely felt more bad idea than good. But, then again, that had been before the premiere, before Ben had gone radio silent, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Quickly, before you could rethink the idea, you picked up your phone and found Joe’s number again.

“Joe speaking,” “Is Ben dating again?” you blurted out. “What? Who is this?” “Sorry, it’s Y/N. Is it true Ben’s dating again?” “Why exactly are you calling me about this?” he sounded completely baffled. “Ben won’t answer or return my texts or anything,” “So naturally you call me. You ever think maybe it’s a hint he doesn’t want to talk to you?” You changed tact, “Do you know where his new movie’s filming?” “Yes but I’m not telling you,” You grunted in frustration. Why was he being so fucking difficult about this, “Look if you just told me I could get out of your hair. There’s something Ben needs to know.” “What sort of something?” “None of your business,” “Okay, well, good luck then.” “Wait!” you paused, listening for the click of the phone being hung up. It didn’t come. “Can I ask one more thing?” “Go on then,” “Did Ben actually love me? At any point?” There was silence for long enough to make you think he’d hung up and then, softly, “Yeah, he did. Don’t tell him I said it, but I think he still does.” “Then can you please just tell me where in the world he is because I need to tell him I love him too and he won’t fucking let me.” “Wait, really?” “Yeah,” “I fucking knew it,” the sound of Joe slapping something in excitement echoed down the line, “I knew it!” “And you didn’t think to let either of us know?” “Well you I’d only just met so I couldn’t be sure. And Ben can be so fucking stubborn sometimes,” “Yeah, tell me about it.” Joe’s laugh was loud and clear, “He’s in Spain. Barcelona to be exact. Give me a minute and I can probably get you the name of the hotel,” you heard some paper rustling, “I fucking knew it.”

When Felicity arrived the next day, she was pleased to see you not only out of bed, showered and dressed, but busily working away at something on the computer. Her happiness slipped into something much closer to disbelief when you told her the plan you’d come up with after your conversation with Joe, but you pointed out that really it was her fault for being adamant that you should talk to Ben. “I can’t just call and hope Ben doesn’t delete the message, I have to make him listen. Otherwise I’ll never know for sure.” “Okay but you know this sounds fucking insane, right? What if he’s not there? What if he refuses to see you?” “Then I come home again as soon as I can and try to move on. Look, I know it’s like completely ridiculous and mad but I have to do something. You’re gonna help me, right?” “Well duh.” The first thing she helped you do was find a good flight. It was a little later than you’d wanted but it took off that night and didn’t stop over in any other countries. You bought a one way ticket just in case Ben wanted you to stay. Once you had it you couldn’t help but laugh. It was fitting, this grand gesture to tell Ben how you felt. The sort of thing you’d expect to see in a rom-com. And considering you’d met on the set of one, had acted out the scene already (though of course, he’d been the one running through the rain to find you in the movie), it made a certain sort of sense that this was what you had to do. Apparently the universe had a sense of humour. The rest of the evening was spent putting the plan into motion, packing a suitcase in the hopes you’d be there at least a little while. Felicity drove you to the airport, talking excitedly about how she couldn’t believe you were actually going to fly to Spain just to talk to a boy. It helped to keep you calm as you oscillated between wishing you could go faster and wondering if this wasn’t a big mistake. When you voiced this out loud Felicity made a frustrated noise, nearly forgetting to break at a red light. “You are not backing out of this Y/N. I swear to god I’ll get on that plane with you if I have to. You’re doing this.” “I know, I know. Thanks,” “It’s what I’m here for. I know how to get my best friend laid.” You snorted your laughter.

There was no need for Felicity to join you on the plane, though she stayed with you until your flight boarded, the nerves only getting stronger. You took your seat and waited for everyone else to find theirs, watching as businessmen and tourists shuffled past you. The two or so hours the flight took was the hardest part. At home you’d had the process of packing and planning to occupy your mind, as well as Felicity’s constant conversation. But on the plane, you had nothing but the entertainment screen and a magazine you’d picked up in the airport. And they could hardly be called distractions. The crossword puzzle at the back of the magazine just reminded you of sitting next to Ben on the flight to New York, the articles made you think about everything that had been published about you over the previous half a year, and the screen seemed to hold nothing but romantic movies designed to make you emotional. You had to grab the sick bag tucked into the seat pouch in front of you at one point, fearing the building anticipation would make you throw up. But you, and the woman in the seat next to yours, were able to breathe a sigh of relief when you landed, vomit free. After that you were moving again, able to focus on each step as they came. Finding a cab, telling the driver where you needed to go, watching the buildings flying past as you drove towards the hotel. You glanced at the time and wondered if it had been a mistake to not wait until morning but the idea of trying to sleep another night without knowing how Ben actually felt was impossible to contemplate. When the cab pulled up outside the hotel you fumbled pulling your card out of your purse, and then climbed out and grabbed your suitcase, hoping it hadn’t just been wishful thinking to pack it. Joe had given you Ben’s room number, so you headed straight for the elevator, counted the floors as you past each one. All of a sudden you were walking down the hall, searching for his room, standing outside his door, knocking on it. There was silence from inside, so you knocked again. More silence. You chewed the inside of your cheek as you contemplated what to do. It was possible he wasn’t in there, maybe caught up with the rest of the cast somewhere. You glanced at the time again. It wasn’t exactly early and there was a do not disturb sign swinging from the door handle, maybe he’d called it a night already and was sleeping peacefully. Third time’s the charm, you thought as you raised your fist to knock again. If he didn’t answer you’d go downstairs and make an enquiry at the reception desk, see if anyone knew if he was in or not. You’d just pulled your hand away again when you heard it, footsteps coming towards the door followed by a deep, familiar voice that said, “I’m coming, I’m coming,”, and then he was tugging it open, mumbling something about not being disturbed. He stopped when he saw you, tired eyes blinking in disbelief, wearing a t-shirt and flannel pyjama pants. Your heart was hammering against your chest as you tried to remember everything you’d planned to say. “Y/N? What ar-” You put your hand over his mouth as your brain kicked back into gear, “You wouldn’t reply to my texts and I didn’t know if you’d listen to any voicemails I left you but I have something I need to tell you so that’s why I’m here. I love you. I didn’t realise it at first but I think I started to feel something after our first date, maybe earlier, I can’t tell. By the time I started to think that maybe I liked you as more than a friend I thought it was just because we were acting like we were in love but then spending time with your family made me realise it wasn’t just pretend, I wanted to be with you. And when we slept together, that just confirmed it for me, I love you. I wanted to tell you that night but you shut me out and then you said you’d never loved me and I didn’t know what to do so I thought I’d wait until after the premiere except then you broke up with me and stopped talking to me and it’s been hell without you. I’ve missed you so much, so fucking much, and all I’ve wanted is to see you again and hear your voice and hug you and I’d really like to date you for real, or at least be friends again because not having you in my life is complete shit.” You stopped and slowly pulled your hand away from him, breathing as hard as if you’d just run a marathon, blinking away the tears that had begun to form. Ben stared at you, lips slightly parted. When he didn’t move, didn’t respond, you began to think you’d made a monumental error, “That’s all I had to say,” you mumbled, already preparing yourself to have the door shut in your face. “Thank God,” he breathed out as he suddenly moved, pressing his lips to yours, cupping your face with one hand as the other pulled your body tight against his. Pure relief flooded your system, as you kissed him back as hard as you could manage, determined to show him exactly how much you felt for him. Together you teetered on the spot, his fingers tight on your waist, yours pressing into his chest and the back of his neck. Even when you stopped kissing you remained standing close enough to see the tears clinging to his eyelashes, both of you breathing hard as you adjusted to the knowledge your feelings were reciprocated.

The creak of a door further up the hallway reminded you where you were. “Are you staying?” he asked softly, closing his eyes, nudging your nose with his. “Is that okay?” “More than okay. I’m so happy to see you.” He broke away for real a few seconds later, though his hand quickly found yours so he could pull you inside his suite. It was nicer than the ones you’d shared in America, bigger, more spacious. Perks of living there for months rather than weeks. You left your bag in the entrance, let him lead you towards the couch. The coffee table was littered with dirty dishes. “Comfort food,” he shrugged when he saw you looking, “I was a fucking idiot.” “Little bit. Can’t say I was much smarter though,” He chuckled at that and followed it up with a sigh, “I’m really sorry for how I acted,” he said softly, frowning a little as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear. You took the seat he offered you, perched on the edge of the couch, unsure how to be comfortable until everything that needed to be said had been. Ben followed suit, taking the place next to yours, your knees pointing towards each other. For a moment neither of you spoke. There was a lot to process, a lot you still wanted to know, and it was hard to work out where to start. Finally you broke the silence, “Why’d you do it?” He understood what you meant, “After that night at my parent’s…. I thought I’d fucked everything up when I said that while we were y’know. After the first time I told you and you nearly ran off, how could you ever want to see me again? And I was so worried I’d never be able to get over you. I thought if I told you I’d never been into you, acted like it, then I could make it true.” “Did it work?” “Of course not,” he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Which is why I pushed you away. I figured it would be easier to get over you if I didn’t have to see you or act like your boyfriend and I knew I’d be coming here so it seemed like a good idea to make a clean break of it.” You nodded, processing what he’d said. Hesitantly he reached for your hand again, pulled it from your lap, closer to him, so he could play with your fingers. You were happy to let him. Ben stifled a yawn, “Sorry. Promise it’s not ‘cause I’m bored,” You realised just how tired he looked. It was late after all, and he’d probably had a long day filming. You yourself felt pretty worn out too, no longer running on adrenaline and anxiety. But there was still one thing you needed to hear before you could relax. Everything else, all the questions that remained and everything you’d need to discuss, it could all wait until the morning except this one thing. “Has there been anyone else?” “Anyone else what?” “I saw a thing about you dating again,” Ben shook his head, “No. I went out with some mates back in London, before I left, and, um, they tried. Said I’d get over you easier if I hooked up with someone else, but I didn’t want anyone else.” It felt like a weight was lifted and you smiled, let your head fall to his shoulder. He kept running his fingers over yours until he yawned again, “Sorry.” “Long day?” “Not long exactly. Just, a lot, y’know.” “You wanna go to bed?” He nodded and yawned again but he waited until you’d got your suitcase before he stood up, watching you the whole time. He’d clearly been in bed when you’d knocked, the blankets out of place, the lights out, and the TV on with the volume down low. Ben replaced the light from the TV with that from a lamp and readjusted the covers as you ducked into the bathroom to change. When you exited the bathroom you found him sitting up in bed, staring at the door. “You okay?” “Brilliant,” he said softly, giving you a small smile. He shuffled down further under the covers as you climbed in beside him, turned to face each other. There was a moment where he seemed almost afraid to touch you, hand stopping short. You just shuffled closer, caught his hand and placed it around you. “You’re actually here, yeah? I’m not just dreaming it?” “I’m here Ben.” “Don’t leave, okay?” “I won’t.” He took a breath and then said, so softly you might have missed it if the room weren’t so quiet, “I love you,” “I love you too,” With that reassurance he pulled you closer still and gave you a soft, lingering kiss.

Ben fought off sleep for as long as he could, eyes slipping shut and then blinking open again until finally his breathing evened out and he dropped off. It was sweet, his attempts to keep you in sight. You still weren’t certain he wasn’t going to vanish in a puff of smoke either. It seemed unreal that you could be there with him, wrapped up in his arms, with no one trying to catch you on camera. That was something you’d have to talk about before long, the tabloids. For the moment they were preoccupied running stories about your breakup but how long would it be before they sought you out for more? And when they found you together, they weren’t going to just let it go. Even now there was probably someone camped outside your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you with another man or a tub of ice-cream and a box of tissues. How long before they realised you weren’t there? How long before they found out where you’d gone? Ben snuffled in his sleep and distracted you from your worries. It could all wait. You could feel yourself edging closer to sleep, helped along by the steady rise and fall of Ben’s chest, the familiar rhythm of him. A pinging noise cut though the quiet of the room and you realised it was your phone. Carefully, so as not to wake Ben, you extracted yourself from his arms and tiptoed over to your suitcase where you’d dumped the clothes you’d been wearing. Your phone dinged again and then again right as you found it. Y/N, What happened? You have to have arrived by now, did you find Ben? Y/N!!! I’m dying here!!! This silence better be because you’re being dicked down right now BITCH!!! ANSWER YOUR PHONE!!! You laughed quietly to yourself and typed back a quick reply, “I’m with Ben. Been talking. Will call tomorrow.” You’d barely hit send when a new reply came in, “So it worked? You’re together?” “Yeah. For real this time.” You dropped your phone amongst your things and climbed back into bed, snuggling back into Ben’s warm embrace.

#my writing #my fics #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #its done #oh god i hope ya'll like it #why tf don't links work on desktop????

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whetstonefires · 4 years

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Your post about romance was so spot on and this is from someone who really likes reading romances some of the time. I just wish there were more books where friendships (which after all make up the majority of people's relationships!!) were given the same weight and importance as romance gets unthinkingly. Like, I want books or fic which show the development of two (or more) new friends *as the plot and main part of the book*, and the same thing for the progression of pre-established friendship.

Human relationships are varied and complex and interesting and limiting writing to mainly concerning romantic or dating ones is infuriating! I enjoy reading character driven stuff, which is why I like some romances but I really want to see similarly detailed deep studies of friendship. Friendships are so important, and romantic relationships do not supersede them. Obviously there is gendered bias against romance as a genre but that is not the only reason to be uninterested in romance damnit!

Sorry for ranting in your inbox about romance and thanks for the post

Hah thank and welcome. Very true!

Yeah, the problem is not just how ubiquitous romance is but the inevitability of it. So many people are so much in the habit of hanging their emotional investment on ‘couples getting together’ that not putting one in is a risk, as a creator, and the faint suggestion of a possibility that a romance might eventuate between two characters constitutes a promise that the audience will be outraged to see not followed through.

So making a story focus at all on a relationship between two people who are considered valid potential romantic partners means having to go through incredible backflips and contortions as a writer to get away with not pairing them up, or there will be outrage. There will be outrage anyway, but hopefully on a contained scale that doesn’t have people throwing your book away.

(The easiest way, of course, is to give one or both of them an alternate partner, but then you either have to build up that relationship as the central focus instead, because you aren’t allowed to love anyone that much and not be romantically involved or be romantically involved For Real with anyone but whoever you love most, or accept that you’ve plastered on a beard of some kind in a way that at this point makes your main duo look even more romantic to people who are looking for that in the first place, even if it lets you write a plot that doesn’t acknowledge this.)

This has contributed enormously to the cultural truism ‘men and women can’t be friends.’ They aren’t allowed to be. And this weird intense romantic pressure is now increasingly extending to same-sex friendships, and it’s like...it’s good that gay visibility and acceptance are growing! That’s great!

But it means that all relationships are increasingly exposed to this honestly fucked up set of expectations. That every single love of any intensity is romantic and probably sexual. That that’s the only love that’s real, or that really matters. With occasional exemptions carved out for parents.

And that’s cultural, I want to say. The inclusion of and an interest in the romantic lives of characters in fiction is definitely natural and practically inevitable, but the outsize role it occupies in our current media culture is abnormal and totally non-compulsory. The central role of romance in so much of narrative is just...a pattern, a narrative schema that currently holds sway, born of an assortment of historical accidents and trends, and I don’t think it’s a good one.

I think it would be better for us as a culture and all our individual relationships for that particular social construct to be broken down.

Because this cultural obsession with The Romance in media mirrors and continually recreates the obsession with The Romance in real life. You know how many people are making themselves miserable by either being in a relationship predicated on the need to have one, any one, rather than actual mutual affection, or about not having a love interest currently at any given moment?

Like, quite separately from the actual frustrated romantic feelings themselves, people feeling like they are less or failures or just...unfinished somehow, because they don’t have a romantic partner. It’s so harmful and absurd! We all know this!

And there are of course a lot of sociological factors that have led to that point as well, but it’s linked particularly closely I think to the atomization of modern society.

You’re not likely to retain any particular community for long--we move around so much over the course of our lives, anything you have is designed to be taken apart. School friends are only rarely retained after school, work friends are only until you get a new job, family is quite often something to be avoided or something you have to leave behind, and not usually an extended network anymore anyway.

We are always moving into new contexts, or knowing we might be moved, and holding onto relationships from one context into another is generally regarded as an unusual feat betokening particular, though not lionized, devotion, and leaning on these relationships ‘too much’ or pursuing them with ‘too much’ energy is regarded with deep suspicion.

This, too, is not particularly normal in the human experience. We are not psychologically designed for this level of impermanence. And we have developed very few structures as a culture thus far to make up for it, which is why the modern adult is so famously, dangerously lonely.

But we have all these social protocols for acquiring a person and holding onto them. A person who’s just yours, all yours, who it is promised will fulfill all those gaping needs all by themselves, and if they don’t it’s because you or they are wrong, and need either a different partner or fixing.

The fact that this is insane and not how romance works over 90% of the time is irrelevant to the dream of it, and the dream overwhelms and controls the reality. I agree that codependency is really fucking romantic, and having a kind and supportive mutual one is a lovely fantasy! It’s just...

A lot of harm eventuates from pursuing this fantasy in reality with a media-based conviction that it is 1) a reasonable thing to expect and 2) a necessary precondition for wellbeing and worthiness.

But we have poured so much cultural freight and need into this one single relationship format. At this point having need in any other direction is regarded as disordered and suspect and probably a misdirected application of sexual desire.

The law, too, has put a lot of energy into supporting the focus on seeking the romance as life goal, because the nuclear family is built on the codependent marriage, and capitalism likes the nuclear family very much. The nuclear family is extremely vulnerable to market pressures and bad at collective action, and tends to produce new tiny humans whose main social outlet has been within the school system, which is specifically structured to condition you to accept abusive workplace conditions as a normal precondition of existence, and not to attempt too much intimacy.

Ahem. Spiraled there. But! It’s all connected! Many of the privileges piled onto the institution of marriage were put there specifically because the nuclear family was considered desirable for the expansion of the economy. That’s clearly documented historical fact.

So yeah, the modern cultural obsession with the romance is a symptom of collective emotional disorder, and it chugs along at the expense of the more complex emotional support infrastructures most of us need and deserve.

It’s not just about me wanting representation, wanting an image in the narratives of my culture where I can see myself with the potential for happiness. Everyone needs this. We learn so much about how to be, how to relate to others, from media at this point, since the school system and other weird age-hierarchy stuff keeps us largely segregated from human society for a majority of our growing years and limits our exposure to live examples.

So the paucity of in-depth explorations of friendship, of mutual support, of widespread narrative acceptance that you can have a good life without a romance as its central support pillar, is harmful to people in general.

It’s funny, I get frustrated about this periodically, when a piece of media lets me down, or even when I’m following along a funny piece of meta and then the punchline is ‘and the ace character is obviously in denial about how they’re already dating their favorite person’ or whatever.

(The meta is annoying on a surface level and distressing on a deeper level because it’s a threat; so many times a good platonic relationship will buckle under public pressure and it doesn’t matter how asexual, how uninterested in romance, how emphatically platonic the affection has been established as being, The Romance arrives in the next installment of the story because it’s what people expect. Which reinforces the general perception that any other love is illegitimate, lesser, and as soon as it’s meant to be taken seriously it has to be crammed into that one valid shape, and invalidates future insistences in the same mode.

Seriously people stop doing this, we long since reached the point where a character saying in words ‘I have no romantic interest in [person]’ is perceived as a glaring neon sign that they’re destined to get together and that does not do good things for fostering a culture of consent. Obviously people are in denial sometimes but it should not be understood to be the rule.)

But I don’t get upset about it until someone starts in with reasons I’m bad and wrong for not liking these norms.

Like, whatever, media does not cater to my needs, I’ll cope, but when people start trying to get in my head and make me not only responsible for my own discomfort that I’m managing thanks but dishonest and malevolent I...get upset. There’s history there, okay.

‘You don’t care about this ship because you’re homophobic’ ‘you don’t want a love interest in the sequel because you’re racist’ ‘you don’t like romance in stories because you’re a misogynist’ fucking stop.

And occasionally it’s like ‘i guess you have the right to feel that way but how dare you talk about it where other people might hear’ which...well, is particularly common and particularly ironic in the context of people hung up on gay representation.

If we as a society had a healthy relationship with romance, there wouldn’t be negative side effects to that crowd’s pursuit of their worthy goal of applying that schema in places it has been Forbidden, but as it is we don’t, and there are.

#aromanticism #romance #society #social constructs #i throw salt #on a related note #i know The Untamed was Ambiguous because of censorship #but i was still enjoying not being able to tell dammit #you can ALWAYS tell normally #and that's so boring #people complain less about getting fake foreshadowing about who the murderer was than about not knowing who's interested in who #and who has a real shot with their target #being forced to be ambiguous was making those actors bring their A game #so i still wish i could have watched it play out without spoilers #because it's SO RARE that you can't immediately tell which way a story intends itself to be read on that front #and it was such a nice change #and i have legitimately cried several times over the loss of the joy i was getting out of that relationship not being so fucking dull #because like it's still fun and well done and stuff but it's not INTERESTING #i didn't even realize how much i was missing that until i briefly had it and it was taken away #so now i get sad a lot when i think about it #and it sucks that the forms for including romance in our media are so formalized #that the only way to get that realistic unclear coalescence of emotional energies #is by writing a romance and being forced to lie about it #a nonny mouse #ask #hoc est meum

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lizacstuff · 4 years

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I agree with what you said to that anon about appreciating what we have while we have it. Eda and Serkan are so epic and I like all their moments. I would enjoy reading your thoughts on the episode as a whole.

Sorry I’m just getting to this today, busy week!

I loved episode 19! A random hodgepodge of thoughts:

Serkan just... handling Efe. I love that our king eventually, always wins. I mean this story isn’t over, but in ep 19 Serkan showed who’s the boss. From telling Efe straight out that he needed to apologize to the staff to engineering his continent-wide confession, Serkan was in control.

Speaking of Efe, I love that Eda didn’t sugarcoat anything with him. She made it clear she was disappointed in him and gave him honest advice about how to continue. Efe was a bit delusional thinking that Eda deescalating the situation the night before, meant she was on his side. DUDE, you lied and even though you haven’t admitted that it was more than a mistake, SHE KNOWS you did something underhanded. It gave me a weird warm fuzzy the way Eda told Efe that she knows what Serkan is capable of doing and what he would do next. She knows him.

(More under the cut:)

Also love that Engin was so angry and ready to throw down. Apparently, sabotage is what it takes to get the giant teddy bear angry, good to know. I love that Engin is such a good friend and business partner to Serkan. He’s exactly the energy Serkan needs around him. I have no idea why Engin can give Serkan exactly the right advice about Eda all the time, but can’t navigate his own love life at all, but I’m glad he’s been a great wingman to Serkan.

I’m also glad Ayfer has something else to think about other than worrying about Eda going back to Serkan. She gets a little obsessed in that vein, so I’m all for her starting a new catering business. Don’t know what to say about Erdeem and Leyla’s fake engagement, I guess I’m on board if it brings some comic relief, but I still don’t see what Fifi would ever see in him.

Ceren and Ferit were interesting, no? Ceren can’t say she wasn’t warned about Ferit, both Ayfer and Eda tried. However, I have to give him some props for admitting where he was mentally before things went too far. I think that’s a sign that he does really like her, knows he’s not ready for it and doesn’t want to start something that is doomed to fail. Selin really did a number on him and it certainly shouldn’t be Ceren’s mess to clean up.

About Selin, I’ve already talked way too much about her in this post from earlier in the week, but there’s one thing I didn’t touch on that I’m curious about. When Celin is told to take a hike with the chauffeur, she leaves the loft, pauses while all teary eyed and brings up her phone like she’s going to call someone before deciding not to make the call. Who? Who was she thinking of calling? Clearly not Serkan or Eda. Ferit? Was that jackass really going to call Ferit to make her feel better? Or was she going to call her reporter friend? Aydan? Efe? Piril? Enquiring minds want to know. It seems like more than a throwaway moment. Why put it in if it wasn’t foreshadowing something. Or was it just to show she had run through all her friends and realized not one would be sympathetic or approve of what she had done, so she had no one to call when her schemes failed and it gave her a sad?

Aydan and Seyfi as matchmakers is everything I need to be happy. As long as they are on the side of Edser, then I say let them meddle! Also props to Aydan for burning Alptekin’s clothes. That dude needs a huge wakeup call, so any act that might get his attention and bring him to his senses is a-okay in my book.

As for the meddling, that breakfast scene was so bittersweet. OMG. Serkan and the crusts. It was such a perfect detail to add. It showed that he not only knows her, but even subconsciously his default is to do things, big and small, that make her happy. No wonder the sweetness of it all but broke her. With that they ratcheted up the pining/longing/angst to atomic level.

That whole day was fraught for both of them and the audience. Serkan realizing he had to tell her at the same moment that Eda decided she wasn’t going to play his hot and cold game anymore was both entertaining and frustrating. I think Serkan let her get away a few times, because he was putting off the inevitable, but by the end it was like, EDA, JUST SIT DOWN AND GIVE HIM A MINUTE TO PULL HIMSELF TOGETHER AND TELL YOU WHAT HE NEEDS TO TELL YOU. Not that I blame her for her cynicism, he earned that over the last few weeks. I did very much enjoy the merry chase she led him on, the fact that he’s even willing to walk in on that charity dinner meeting is a testament to how much he wanted to find her. You can’t convince me he would ever walk into that nest of vipers without a very strong motivation.

I honestly can’t believe we got them sharing a chair in front of all those ladies. This show! It gives and it gives and it gives. There’s always something sweet or silly or romantic right around the corner. Rarely does it miss an opportunity. As for Serkan attempt at the dinner, he would have had better luck talking to her if he hadn’t gotten hung up on asking her if she still loved him. Duuuuude. You broke up with her and now want to back her into a corner where she would need to be vulnerable with you while you’re trying to get her to listen to you. Tactical error. But I get why he was distracted by that.

Thankfully, it lead to the most romantic phone conversation that was never heard. But I love that even though she couldn’t hear what he said, she sensed it. She somehow knew he might have said he missed her. I also love the way that Serkan was playing along with her about the party. He knew she had been put through the emotional wringer over the last couple of weeks and was trying to make him jealous and he gave her the gift of succeeding. They are so much more compatible that they think sometimes.

As much as they tend to miscommunicate in important moments when emotions are running high and clouding the issue, when they aren’t they seem to fundamentally understand one another.

Which takes us to the biggest misunderstanding of the episode. The morning after. Serkan woke up embarrassed. Not really because he’d been drunk, but because he’d called Eda and she’d come over and taken care of him when he had no right to ask that of her while she’s still in the dark about what separates them. That’s why practically the first words out of him mouth the next morning are that he shouldn’t have called her while drunk. I understand why he felt that way, its all about him not deserving her kindness, especially not until she knows, but I can also see why that would hit Eda wrong. She immediately takes it that he’s sorry she came, that he wishes she wasn’t there. Which is, of course, not remotely the case, but they just talk past each other and her hurt feelings cause things to escalate uncontrollably.

I really wanted to yell at Serkan to just rip off the bandaid and tell her. I did enjoy that Eda’s wound-up emotional state was the thing that pushed him to matter-of-factly yell out how in love with her he is and how in love with her he will always be, thank you show. We needed that. And so did Eda. They’re the words she’s ached to hear since the first moment she realized there was something more to the breakup.

Thank goodness this damn secret will all be over within the first few minutes of the next episode. They, and we, deserve to move on to a world where Eda knows a) why Serkan broke up with her b) that he’s still, and always, madly in love with her.

All in all a very good episode that moved things forward.

#sen cal kapimi #edser #edser discussion #sck discussion #sck episode discussion #sckask #sck 1x19 #asklizac #Anonymous

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hydrasweapon · 4 years

Text

@weaponizedembrace gets the longest starter in history for our thing

Howard doesn’t find Steve. Even after days, after months, he doesn’t find Steve. He keeps on searching, though – maybe because he cannot stand Bucky’s face whenever he comes back empty-handed. In the meantime, Bucky’s injuries heal up. Way quicker than should be possible, he’s as fresh as a daisy – minus the arm, of course. They want to send him home. He tells them very sincerely fuck you and that’s it. He guesses it’s also Carter’s and maybe Colonel Phillips doing that they leave him alone, but he doesn’t care. To be honest, Bucky doesn’t care about a lot of things anymore. VE-day comes and goes and he toasts with the other Howlies but then he walks back to the barracks, surrounded by screaming, partying people, and he feels nothing. The war in Europe is over and he has never felt more lost, not even in the trenches with shells detonating right next to him.

He reads about the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and wonders what Steve would have said to that. Then he has to put the newspaper away because it feels like his heart is going to give up on him. He gets a lot of letters from his family but doesn’t know how to respond, so he only puts them in his duffel or sometimes in the pocket of his jacket and feels bad for never finding the right words.

In late August, Carter tells him that she’s going to go to New York City to continue the SSR’s work and also that there’s going to be an official state funeral for Steve in Arlington. Nobody, not even a super-soldier, could survive months without food or shelter in the icy, windswept wasteland of the Arctic. Bucky listens and doesn’t answer but he turns up the day Carter and Stark leave for the States in Stark’s private plane.

The ceremony is pompous. The Arlington National Cemetery is bursting at the seams because every politician wants to say goodbye to a hero and hopefully get some good publicity while doing that. Bucky has to puke three times behind a tree before he is able to walk up to President Truman to get his own Purple Heart medal and receive Steve’s Medal of Honor because there is no other family member left to take it for him. They even conjured a fucking statue up out of nothing. They want to take photos in front of that statue. Bucky is glad his stomach is already empty or he would have puked on the shoes of the President himself and wouldn’t that be something to put on the front page.

He doesn’t stay longer than it takes to get the medals, do some hand-shaking and take some pictures. There is a speech. The President said some words, too, but the real speech is by Colonel Phillips himself and Bucky can’t listen to that, he just can’t. They will think he’s rude but he’s pretty certain Phillips understands. He leaves the cemetery and promises himself to never come back to this place.

Bucky takes the train up to New York. After half an hour, he feigns to be asleep because people keep thanking him for his service and welcoming him home and it makes his already empty stomach roil again. His parents and Becca are waiting for him at the train station. It’s when Winifred Barnes wraps her son up in her arms, that something breaks inside him. Bucky takes a deep, shuddering breath, and now the tears, finally, come. They stream down his face, soak his mother’s blouse, and he cannot get enough air into his lungs, everything is hurting, the pain squeezes his chest, his insides, his heart, and he falls to his knees and Winifred sits down next to him on the cold, hard ground, and just keeps him close and rocks him back and forth like a child, but he will always be her child, won’t he? No matter what.

Bucky doesn’t manage to get a grip on himself for half an hour. All the time, his mother’s tight embrace doesn’t waver; Becca shields his vulnerable left side and his father’s hand is heavy and protecting on his shoulder. George Barnes glares at every passenger even thinking of making a stupid remark concerning this scene on a public station platform.

Then, somehow, Bucky manages to stop crying, or maybe he is just – empty. His father bundles his family up in the car and they drive through Manhattan and back to Brookly, home. Bucky is too tired and exhausted and falls asleep with his head on his sister’s shoulder. He doesn’t even notice when George picks him up carefully and carries him inside as he used to do back when he was a young boy and drifted off listening to the wireless in the evening. His and Becca’s child room changed into Winifred’s sewing room years ago but there’s still his old bed and when his father puts him down there and covers him with a warm quilt, he curls up and sleeps for hours.

During the next couple of weeks, neither Bucky nor his family knows how to treat each other. Winifred bakes a lot, George urges Bucky to play cards with him in the evenings. Becca comes over whenever she can. Bucky visits his grandparents' grave; they had died while he'd been overseas. Apart from that, he doesn't really leave the house: There are always people on the street he knows. They welcome him back and either tell him how sorry they are for his loss or ask where Steve is (if they didn't put 2 and 2 together yet).

He stays in his family home and stares out of the window and lets his mother put some meat on his bones and wonders what on earth he is supposed to do now, without his best friend and without a left arm besides.

It’s shortly after Christmas (a rather silent affair) that Margaret Carter knocks on his door and kind of bullies him into joining the SSR once more. She knows all the perfect words for him to agree -- that Steve wouldn’t want him to spend the rest of his life this way, that he cannot live off his parents forever, that he is still a useful member of society. He agrees just to get her out of his room because she makes him feel scraped raw. Shortly after New Year’s Day, Bucky starts to work for the New York office of the SSR.

The years pass. They are -- mostly a dull succession of days. His sister marries in 1949, a guy called William Proctor, who works for a shipping company and never saw the European Theater due to really bad eyesight. Dancing with Rebecca on her wedding day is one of the few memories Bucky will cherish for the rest of his life. She is so happy.

Unfortunately, being a married woman seems to mean that she absolutely has to marry her brother off, too. She introduces him to friends at least once a month and invites him over for dinner with -- what a coincidence! -- single ladies all the time. She also makes him visit the dance halls with her every other week. He doesn’t mind the last one -- it’s really nice to watch all the couples dance, learn this new Boogie Woogie thing. He is not interested in the gals, though. He simply cannot bring himself to think of love again.

He's no longer working for the SSR but for an agency Carter, Stark, and Phillips formed of its remnants: the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. The acronym makes Bucky want to both puke and cry. It doesn’t change much, workwise, though.

1954 is a big year. He attends the weddings of Dum Dum Dugan and Jim Morita and it’s almost as if the Howling Commandos are back together. Even Falsworth comes to the States for the occasion, him and Gabe sharing pictures of chubby Montgomery Junior and little Steven. Gabe looks a little sheepish when he tells Bucky the name of his son and Bucky might be a little choked-up but he’s certain Steve would have loved this little, full-faced namesake. Only Dernier doesn’t make it.

1954 is also the year Bucky has a vocal dispute with Peggy Carter and quits his job quite aggressively. But what else is he supposed to do when he’s down in former Camp Lehigh for a work thing and crosses paths with Arnim godfuckingdamn Zola? It’s only due to three coworkers that he cannot bash Zola’s face the moment he spots him in the corridor. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about Operation Paperclip. Carter’s words are like poison in his ears. He doubts she believes them, herself. But she has the greater good in mind and was probably overruled in Zola’s case. Bucky does not care. He will not work for an agency hiring this piece of dirty shit. He has nightmares for weeks, always seeing that grubby little face with its evil smirk in front of his eyes.

It’s complicated to find another job. Nobody wants to hire a cripple. Labor work is impossible for him, too. Shortly before Thanksgiving in 1954, Bucky notices for the first time that something is off. That he is -- wrong. When he asks for a job in a nearby factory, the boss asks him how he lost his arm. He doesn’t believe the war-story. “Look at you, you’re too young to have been in the war, son.”

That evening, Bucky stares into the mirror. The guy is right: He looks like he came home from Europe yesterday. He looks like a guy in his mid-20s, not like a man going on 40. His younger sister looks older now. There’s not a single white hair. There are no wrinkles. He drinks a whole bottle of whisky and tells himself he’s having excellent genes.

Shortly before Christmas, he gets a new job thanks to his brother-in-law and works as an accountant in the same shipping company as William Proctor.

1958 is both a joyful and terrible year. Becca gives birth to her first child after years of trying to get pregnant. Little Emily Sarah is the cutest thing on earth and Bucky loves her with every fiber of his being. He tries to ignore the women gushing at him ‘being such a young, handsome father’ when he takes her out for walks. He turned 40 two months ago. He should not look like this.

In late August, George Barnes dies. The doctor speaks of a heart attack. Bucky cries late at night, in his bed, when he doesn’t have to be the strong one anymore. He moves in with his mother again to support her -- so she can keep the apartment she lived in for nearly 45 years already, and so she has company and someone to watch over her. She, too, is getting older and frailer. Bucky could be her grandson, now, given his looks. When their old neighbor Mr. Lowenstein mentions this, Bucky cannot ignore it any longer. He calls Howard Stark.

The passage of time manifested itself in a lot of wrinkles in Stark’s face. That’s how a man his age should look like. That’s what Bucky wants to see when he’s standing in front of a mirror. Stark looks taken aback at his sight, then explains in great detail that he’s an engineer and usually doesn’t do biological stuff but he draws a vial of blood either way and looks at it under a microscope and then tells him that he could be mistaken but the last and only time he ever saw cells like Bucky’s was shortly after they shot Steve up with Erskine’s serum.

Bucky thinks of Zola and his countless injections and fire in his veins and pukes right across Stark’s workbench. Stark says there’s nothing he can do. That was Erskine’s area of expertise, not his. He really doubts Bucky is immortal but he will probably live to see his 150th birthday. Bucky could ask Zola, of course, Zola who’s working for S.H.I.E.L.D. now. But he’d rather cut his remaining arm off than ever seeing him again.

He doesn’t tell his mother nor his sister. He tries to live on as if nothing happened but it’s hard. He notices now that he heals way quicker than the average human being. He gets bonuses because he never calls in sick for work. On a sleepless night, he walks through Brooklyn and over to Manhattan and back to the docks for work and doesn’t feel tired at all. He’s----he’s like Steve now. Or rather, was since that factory in Kreischberg. He just chose to never notice.

He sees his mother age and little Emily Sarah grow up and his own face doesn’t change at all. Sometimes he wonders if everyone he knows is going to die and he will end up alone in this world. It’s a terrifying thought. More often than not he finds himself standing on the docks after work, staring into the muddy water. Steve is down there, too. A cold, dark grave. He wouldn’t want Bucky to off himself. He would be furious. That, and maybe whatever Zola did to his body would prevent him from dying, anyway. So Bucky thinks about it but never acts on it.

In January 1961, Winifred Barnes dies. Bucky, confused he doesn’t find his mother in the kitchen as usual in the morning, goes to check on her. She looks like she’s still sleeping but her hands are cold. Bucky sits down next to her for three hours and cries and hides his face in her neck that still smells like her. It’s only when his brother-in-law pounds on the front door because he didn’t turn up for work that Bucky gets up and calls his sister.

They bury their mother next to George Barnes. Bucky brings flowers every week.

One year later, shortly before the assassination of Kennedy, Howard Stark pops up out of nowhere, looking mad and excited. He talks a lot of gibberish Bucky doesn’t understand, but he gets the gist either way. Howard invented the prototype of a mechanical prosthesis that will work like a normal arm made of flesh and bone does. It’s absolutely batshit crazy. The surgery needed to implant the sensors of the arm into one’s brain will probably kill the test subject. Bucky agrees, anyway. First of all, he doesn’t mind dying. Sooner rather than later (which means in over 100 fucking years). Secondly, having only one arm sucks. He has gotten used to it, over the years, but it’s still crap. And, in the end, if Stark manages to develop a working prosthesis far superior to what they got now, all the other poor cripples will benefit, too.

Bucky doesn’t tell his sister because she would try to stop him. She’s mad as hell at him, though, and refuses to speak to him for one month when he comes back with a metal arm (because of course, he did not die). Emily Sarah thinks her uncle is absolutely amazing.

The arm is better than any prosthesis he had so far. It’s not a real arm but he doubts anything will be like the real thing. He keeps it covered up whenever he goes outside. According to Stark, there’s nobody else who would survive such extensive surgery. He puts the blueprints away for later generations. ‘Now is just not the time’, he says.

Then there’s another war. Bucky wonders why on earth the United States engage in whatever is happening in Vietnam. 20 years later and everyone seemed to have forgotten about Europe. They probably think now that there’s a wall dividing Germany and thus Eastern and Western countries, they have to do their bombing and shooting somewhere else. He’s getting more and more nightmares just reading the newspapers. Steve didn’t sacrifice his life so humans could fight on another continent. But nobody cares about Captain America anymore save perhaps for stupid comics and stupid movies and stupid biographies they want to interview Bucky for.

His mood, never back to being cheery and humorous after the war, turns even darker. There are no more mirrors in his apartment. He’s sick of seeing his young face. He knows Becca and her husband noticed, too, but they don’t say anything. Some ghosts you just cannot explain. Some ghost you just cannot understand if you didn’t see them yourself.

His only glimmer of hope is little Emily Sarah. He lets her dance on his feet. He lets her play with his metal arm. He picks her up from school if his job allows it. He tells her about a guy named Captain America he met in Europe who was really brave and heroic and saved them all. Those stories are her favorite. Unfortunately, she also notices the comics and thinks it’s absolutely hilarious that Captain America has a young friend whose name is also Bucky. Neither Bucky himself nor her parents tell her the truth.

Then, on a rainy day in April 1966, Bucky gets the worst message imaginable. Car accident. Slippery road. No survivors.

He breaks down when he has to pick a coffin small enough for a child.

He lays them to rest next to his parents. Carter is there, too. She puts a huge bouquet of lilies in front of the headstones and squeezes his arm. Her cheeks are wet. Bucky doesn’t thank her, cannot open his mouth because he fears he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming. She knows, though.

Bucky has to clear out his sister’s apartment the next day. When he stands in front of the big mirror in the main bedroom and sees his youthful face, chestnut hair, the skin free of wrinkles, he puts his fist through the glass. There’s a sharp-edged shard embedded in his wrist. He pulls it out and stares at the blood oozing out and then sits down and hopes.

Two hours later, the wound is scabbed over and the dizzy feeling has vanished. He takes the photos and other mementos and leaves the apartment.

Stark does not seem surprised to find Bucky visiting his Estate in Los Angeles. ‘I tried to, you know,’ he tells him. ‘To reverse the effects of that serum. But I did not succeed. Maybe smarter minds in the future will be able to.’

Bucky stares at him, feeling all the pain of the world settling on his shoulders. ‘I can’t wait that long. I can’t. Put a bullet through my head or reverse the effects, I don’t care.’

Stark is silent for a long time. Then he says: ‘Maybe there’s another option.’ And leads him down to the basement.

The thing that looks like an iron maiden from the Dark Ages is supposed to freeze a person like you’d put a piece of steak into the freezer for eating it later. Little does Bucky know that Howard’s idea for it comes from Arnim Zola himself. Having received a terminal diagnosis, there is absolutely no idea too crazy for Zola to extend his lifespan or survive until more advanced medicine will save him. Stark toyed with the idea himself. What if he would get sick? What if he wants to go to a future where he isn’t limited by his own time and state of research? He doesn’t tell Bucky any of that. He only says: ‘It might kill you. It will kill every normal human, that’s for sure. If you don’t die, though, maybe scientists can help you in the future.’

Bucky needs a week to take care of his belongings, money, and the apartment. He never felt more alive in the past 20 years than this week. He only keeps what reminds him of his family and Steve. It fits in two suitcases. He offers Stark all the money he’s got and the billionaire looks affronted. It’s probably only peanuts, for him. He takes it anyway, ‘to make investments. Gonna need money in the future, pal.’

Then, on a Sunday evening, Bucky unscrews the metal arm, undresses, and steps inside the tank-like machine. The metal is cold under his bare feet.

‘Do you really want to do that?’ Stark asks one last time. Bucky looks at him, all the tiredness of the world in his eyes. Then he closes his eyes. He doesn’t feel the cold at all.

#weaponizedembrace #ᴥ ;; au: to the future #(putting this under a read more bc otherwise I'd spam everyone's dash with 5 fucking pages of starter)#(rest my soul)#(this all wanted to get out)#(also)#suicide mention tw #(just to be on the safe side)#(he doesn't really attempt to but he thinks about it)#thread: to the future

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years

Text

Sub Rosa [16]

iii. reapercussions

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Violence, death, mentions of blood.

Summary: how far will you go to find out what happened to your friends? your twin? how far will Finn go?

a/n: I hate summaries I am sorry. The taglist for this series is open!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

The walk through the woods is strangely relaxing.

As night turns to day and the sun starts to warm your bones, the tension in your body melts away, and you can almost forget why you’re hiking along behind Bellamy and Murphy. But then your thoughts drift to your sister, and the war with the Grounders, and all of your earlier stress returns in a rush.

You try to push it away again as Bellamy stops the group and turns to Murphy. “Alright Murphy, where to now?”

He lifts his still cuffed hands. “What do you say we lose these first, huh?”

Bellamy deadpans, “No.”

“If we get attacked out here, I have nothing to defend myself with.”

“I don't care.” And you know he really doesn’t, because Bellamy’s face is settled into a “so what” expression. It almost makes you laugh, despite the topic.

Finn spins around from his place in the lead, pulling a small pair of pliers from his bag and cutting Murphy free. You and Bellamy both turn to him with matching confused expressions, but he’s already turned away and walking on.

Murphy shrugs, “Thank you.”

Bellamy jogs to catch up to Finn, ignoring Murphy, and you join him. His voice is hard when he reaches him. “Hey, what the hell are you doing?”

“It was your idea to bring him.”

“Yeah, because he's the only one who's seen where the Grounders keep their prisoners.”

Finn glances at him over his shoulder, “Then we probably shouldn't let him be defenseless out here. We can handle Murphy.”

“Better hope so,” Bellamy mutters to Finn’s retreating figure. Murphy jogs between you two, smirking at Bellamy. “So, do I get a gun now?”

Bellamy shoves Murphy ahead, annoyed. You walk side by side in silence for a minute before he exclaims, “Oh, almost forgot.”

You turn to him and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the knife you found during the battle. The one you killed two Grounders with. You shake the thought loose, and take it as he offers it to you. “Thanks.”

You turn the knife over in your palm, looking at it for the first time. It isn’t big; large enough to be effective, but small enough that you can safely slide it into the waistband of most of your pants. The handle is made of wood, smooth and polished, save for the rows of notches along it. Tallymarks, 16 in total. You hold the knife up, showing Bellamy. “What do you think it means?”

“Number of kills, maybe?” His eyes search yours, before dropping to the landscape around him, looking for Grounders. “Lincoln had something similar with the scars on his back.”

“Maybe.” You brush a thumb over the marks, and muse, “It’s missing two notches then.”

Bellamy looks at you, confused, as you slide it into your belt. You clarify, “From the two Grounders I killed.”

He nods once, but doesn’t say anything for a long moment, before dropping his voice lower. “We never got to talk about it, but you saved my life. Just like with Atom, you did what needed to be done. You did what you had to in order to survive.”

Your voice is a quiet whisper, “I feel like a monster.”

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things.”

Your eyes search his face for any signs of being disingenuous, but you find none. “It doesn’t feel like that sometimes.” You pause, turning to look at the woods around you before turning back to him. “Aren’t the Grounders just trying to survive too? We landed in their territory, launched flares that burned down a village, kidnapped one of their own…”

You see his face fall, and you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I know why we made the choices that we have, to survive and protect our people. I’m just saying that maybe, that’s what the Grounders are doing too. And that doesn’t make anything that we’ve done or they’ve done right or wrong, it’s just...something I’ve been thinking about, I guess.”

“And you think that because we look at the Grounders as monsters…”

He trails off, and you finish for him, nodding. “That others will look at me the same.”

He shakes his head, “That’s not what people think of you. Our people see you as a leader, someone who keeps them safe, helps them survive. They’ve seen you vulnerable and they’ve seen you strong. They see you as what you are: human. You’re a good leader and you’ve had to do some things that no person should ever have to do, but you are not changed because of that.” He turns to you, and you see him hiding a smile. “You’re still the same stubborn, hot headed girl that I met in the halls of the Ark.”

You let out a quiet laugh and punch him lightly on the arm. “I’m stubborn? That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

His mouth drops open in mock offense, and you grin at him, which he returns. But the moment is cut short by Murphy grabbing you both and pulling you to the ground behind the cover of trees. “Everybody down! Now!”

You look up and for the first time notice the village in front of you. You got so wrapped up in Bellamy that you didn’t even notice the changing terrain or the buildings that climb and connect to the trees around them.

“This is it. Told you I'd find it.”

Bellamy lifts his gun to look at the village through his scope, and you swing your rifle around and do the same. Bellamy mutters, “I see nothing but Grounders. Our people aren't here.”

You start to nod in agreement when Finn counters, “Wait a minute, they've got stuff from our dropship.” He’s quiet for a minute before he whispers your name and adds, “Son of a bitch.”

You lower your gun and turn to him. “What is it?”

“The guy with the one eye. Around his neck.”

You lift your gun again and scan the Grounders until you find him, and then you lower the scope to his neck, gasping when you see it. Bellamy, still confused, whispers, “What am I looking at?”

You drop the gun again and turn to look at him. “Clarke’s watch. It was our dad’s, she would never take it off.”

Bellamy lowers his gun and meets your eyes, understanding your fear. “She wouldn't give that up without a fight.”

Behind you, Finn quips, “Neither will we.”

“Okay.” Bellamy turns away from the village and towards the group. He nods at you and Finn, “You two are with me.”

You both nod in confirmation, and he looks at Sterling and Monroe. “You two stay here. If this thing goes south, take out the other Grounders, but don't shoot the Grounder with the watch. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Copy. And what about Murphy?”

Murphy turns to Bellamy expectantly. “Yeah, do I get a gun now?”

“Something like that.” He grabs him and pulls him up, pushing him ahead. You leave Sterling and Monroe behind and head deeper into the trees on the other side of the camp. Bellamy explains the plan to Murphy, who immediately disagrees. “No, no way. I’m not going to be Grounder bait.”

“Yes you are.”

You smirk at him, “Besides, we’re gonna be in the trees beside you the whole time.”

Murphy sighs, realizing that he doesn’t have any other option, before turning on Bellamy, pushing a finger into his chest. “Fine, but if I get one scratch on me from that Grounder, I’m taking your gun and shooting you.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and you suppress a laugh, as you all reach a small clearing to use. Murphy gets set up along the edge of a clearing, hidden behind a tree, and you, Bellamy, and Finn all sink into the brush surrounding him, hidden from view. You slip the knife from your waistband, figuring that it’s better for close quarters combat, and lie in wait as Murphy clacks together two rocks.

From your place amongst the vegetation, you can see the Grounder turn, looking around with suspicion. After a moment, he sneaks from his spot and heads towards Murphy, eyes always scanning the trees around him, vigilant. Just when you think he’s going to stumble upon Murphy, the delinquent slips into the bushes, and the Grounder steps into the clearing, looking around. He’s facing towards Finn, so Bellamy rises from the brush slowly, moving without making a sound. The Grounder starts to turn when Bellamy lifts his gun, sensing the movement, but his eyes never reach him before he’s knocked out cold. You all stand from your places and move to the Grounder, and Finn reaches him first. His hand closes around the watch hanging from his neck and he pulls, yanking it free. He reaches over the man to hand it to you, and you smile in appreciation. You slide the watch over your wrist, latching it into place as Bellamy looks at Finn. “We need to take him somewhere quiet.”

“I know just the place.”

Bellamy nods and they pull the man to his feet, tossing the Grounder’s arms around their shoulders so they can drag him away. Bellamy looks back at you. “Can you go get the others? Meet us at the split in the path.”

You slip away and run towards the pair, letting out a low whistle as you approach so they know it’s you. They still spin towards you, guns raised, and you lift your arms in surrender. They drop the weapons quickly, and you motion for them to follow you.

You make it back to the boys quickly, and Finn says, “Let’s go.”

It’s not long before Finn pulls to a stop, motioning for Murphy to grab the man. When he slips free from the Grounder’s weight, he bends down and pulls open a door, revealing a ladder that descends into darkness. He slips down first, and you can see lights come on in the space before his voice drifts up to you, “Okay, bring the Grounder next.”

Bellamy and Murphy maneuver him down, followed by Monroe and then Sterling. You’re the last to descend, taking one last look at the woods around you before swinging the door closed and dropping to the floor below. When your feet hit the ground, you look around, taking in the small bunker. There’s a bed in the corner, large enough for two, and supplies are scattered around the space. Art kits, toys, a few canned goods, lanterns. You note that the space seems used and you glance over at Finn, who moves around the bunker comfortably. You tuck the information away for later, just as Finn smacks the Grounder on the face. “Wake up!”

The Grounder’s head rolls and then lifts, a groan pushing past his lips from the pounding in his head, no doubt. His eyes grow wide in alarm when he realizes he’s tied up, and he tugs against the restraints once he lifts his head and sees you all standing around him. Finn wastes no time reaching out for you and pulling you forward, lifting your arm to put the watch on display. “Where did you get this watch?”

The Grounder glances at it, but says nothing, and you’re reminded of Lincoln. Bellamy steps forward, voice hard, as the others slink back into the shadows. “Where did you get the watch? Where are our people?”

When the Grounder offers up nothing other than silence, you see Finn and Bellamy exchange a look over your head. Bellamy’s hand reaches out to give you a squeeze, and a second later, Finn hits the Grounder across the face. You flinch at the sound of the impact, cringing at the use of torture, despite it being the only way to find Clarke. And you know that, you really do, but it doesn’t make the act any more comfortable. “Where did you get the watch?!”

They receive more silence, and Finn hits him again, growing angrier, more erratic. “Where is she?”

The next round of silence sets him off, and he delivers blow after blow, blood blooming beneath his fists, and you step back a little, shielding yourself from the view by moving behind Bellamy. Finally, the Grounder breaks. “I found it outside your camp.”

Bellamy’s voice is annoyed, “You really expect us to believe that?”

He says nothing, and you start to feel the anger rise in your chest a little. “Clarke would never take this off. Where is she?”

You glance over at Finn as he hits him again. “Tell the truth!”

“I told you, I found it outside your camp.”

Finn grabs your wrist again, pulling you closer. “Where is the girl who was wearing this watch!?”

“I never saw a girl.”

From behind you, Murphy’s voice floats towards you, bored. “Another lie. Maybe you should stop asking him nicely.”

Bellamy sets his jaw. “Shut up, Murphy.” He looks down at the ground, thinking, before glancing at the Grounder again. “Where are our friends? You took them, we know you did, just tell us where!”

Finn drops your arm, and reaches for the gun in his waistband. “Murphy's right, we're wasting time.” He pulls his arm back and strikes the Grounder in the head with the gun, screaming, “Answer the question!”

You reach forward, grabbing Finn, trying to keep his arms pinned down. But he’s too strong and shakes you off easily. You descend on him again, Bellamy now at your side, and the two of you pull him back. “Finn! Finn, stop!”

Bellamy tightens his arms around Finn. “You don't want to do this, trust me. There are some lines you can't uncross.”

Bellamy’s face falls a little when he says it, his eyes full of regret. When he feels Finn’s breathing start to calm, he releases him and steps away. You drop your arms and he turns to look at you, grabbing your wrist, hard. “She’s your sister. Your twin.”

You glance down at his hand and try to shake him off, failing, before meeting his eyes again, your voice hard. “Exactly Finn. She’s my twin. And that’s how I know she wouldn’t like this.”

He squeezes harder as he grinds out, “She would do anything to get you back.”

You let out a squeak of pain, and you see Bellamy step toward you both, voice a low warning. “Finn.”

He drops your wrist and takes in a shaky breath, before turning around suddenly and hitting the Grounder again, over and over. “Where is Clarke!? Where is she?!”

“Finn!”

Bellamy runs towards him, grabbing him and pulling him back, but Finn shoves him and lifts the gun towards him. “Back off!”

Bellamy glances at the gun and then to his friend. “Put down the gun, Finn.”

He keeps the weapon aimed there, breathing hard, and you whisper, “Finn. This isn’t you.”

Bellamy nods his head in agreement and you see Finn’s teeth clench before he swings around and cocks the gun, aiming at the Grounder. “Three seconds!”

His hand shakes, and you and Bellamy exchange a worried glance. “Two!”

His voice drops down to a whisper, and his finger slides towards the trigger. “One.”

Just before you think he’s going to shoot, the Grounder breaks. “Okay, okay! I'll tell you. Your friends are East of here, the village where we take our prisoners of war.”

“East, where? How do we get to them?”

“I can draw you a map. But you should hurry, soon they'll outlive their usefulness.”

Finn lowers his gun, and steps away. “Get him something to draw a map.”

Monroe steps up with a piece of paper and a pencil, and Murphy walks by Bellamy. “You thought I was the crazy one, huh?”

Bellamy turns and looks at Finn, still in shock, before grabbing your hand and leading you to the back of the bunker, away from him. He pulls up your sleeve, revealing small fingerprint shaped bruises that are already forming, and you see the muscle in his jaw twitch. You put your hand over his, reassuring him, before tugging your sleeve down when you hear Finn approaching you from behind. He hands you and Bellamy the map, which you both look over in silence, studying it.

Bellamy starts to fold it up and turns to the others. “Gather up the gear. We're leaving.”

Sterling turns and gives the Grounder a wary look. “What about him?”

Bellamy glances over at the man, tied up and now gagged, “For now, we leave him. We’ll deal with him when we're done.”

“And what if he escapes? He knows exactly where we're going.”

Bellamy turns and glares at Murphy, his tone final. “We're not killing him!”

“I don't really see another option here. If we don't take care of this now, it'll blow back on us and you know it.”

“He's unarmed, Murphy.” He glances at you, and you know he’s thinking of your earlier conversation, about the Grounders doing what they need to survive, too. You give him a nod, a show of support, as Murphy argues his point. “He's a Grounder.”

He turns and looks between Sterling and Monroe. “Really? Come on, tell him.”

“I don't know.” Monroe’s voice is quiet, and Murphy turns on her. “You don't know what? He's gonna tell his people everything. We're as good as dead. Our friends too.”

Bellamy grabs him. “We're not doing this, end of discussion. You want him, you gotta go through me.”

Murphy steps towards him and spits out, “What exactly happened to you, huh?” He glances over at you, realization crossing his features, and then back to Bellamy. “You're acting like you've never killed a Grounder before.”

“That was in battle. This would be an execution-”

He’s cut off by a gunshot ringing out, too loud in the small space. Your stomach sinks, afraid of what you’re going to see when you turn to look, but you force yourself to look anyways.

Your eyes land on the gun first, smoke still curling out of the barrel, and then to the ground, where the prisoner now lays dead, blood spilling out of his wound and onto the floor. Finn lowers the gun, and you follow the action before looking up to meet his gaze. “Let's get moving.”

He reaches out and grabs the map from Bellamy and brushes past, climbing up the ladder quickly. Murphy recovers from his shock first and follows after, and Monroe reaches down and grabs Bellamy’s gun, passing it to him. He takes it as Sterling passes you yours, and they both follow the other two men. You and Bellamy still stand frozen in place, your gazes both turning and dropping onto the now dead Grounder.

“Bellamy…” You whisper, trailing off, unsure what to say. That was an execution. What have we done? Finn is losing it.

Bellamy’s voice answers you, agreeing with all of your thoughts. “I know.”

And then he steps away from you, heading towards the ladder and onto the surface. You follow, taking in a deep breath of fresh air, wishing that it was enough to erase the memory of this bunker from your head.

next chapter

#bellamy blake x reader #bellamy x reader #bellamy blake x you #bellamy blake fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction

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starlightinhumanform · 5 years

Text

Seeing in Technicolor

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Analoceit

Summary: Logan and Virgil are used to having the living room to themselves by the ending of movie marathons. This time, however, they’re joined by Deceit who finds himself dragged into their weekly cuddle sessions.

Warnings (in order of strength): One Somewhat Non-Consensual Hug, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Fluff (like seriously tooth-rotting, my pals)

A/N: -In this fic, Virgil dated Deceit while he lived with the dark sides. After joining the light sides, he began dating Logan. -This switches occasionally from being Virgil-centric to being Logan-centric so both of their voices are included. Hope you enjoy! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

As usual, Logan and Virgil found themselves the last ones up. The others had gone out in their usual order: Patton snuggled up against Roman’s legs, Roman finally giving in and staying quiet long enough to drift off, and Remus passed out behind the couch snoring loudly.

Staying up was kind of their thing. The others would fall asleep, giving Logan and Virgil the opportunity to scoot closer and closer until Logan inevitably found Virgil curled up in his lap, their arms and legs comfortably tangled together. (Virgil would always claim that technically Logan was not something that was meant to be sat on and, therefore, it was his way of relaxing).

What was new was Deceit.

He had been the last to join the group in their movie marathons, only joining them for the first time tonight, and he clearly didn’t know where he fit in. When he had first walked into the room, he had frozen, startled by the loud cheers from the others. It took him a few minutes of stuttering around the room before he had finally- and tentatively- sat down between Virgil and Logan on the couch.

Now he sat between them, body still tense like he was ready to run at any moment. He was hunched over his knees and his focus kept flickering away from the movie to glance at Virgil and Logan out of the corner of his eye.

Virgil recognized the similarities immediately- the rhythmic way Deceit tapped his fingertips together, how he kept holding his breath only to let it out in one purposefully quiet exhale, even the way he kept his arms and legs tucked neatly away so they didn’t touch anyone else. Deceit looked like him.

Virgil might embody Thomas’ anxiety, but right now Deceit was doing a better job of playing the role.

It especially reminded Virgil of when he had just started hanging out with the light sides. He had been completely unsure of where he was supposed to go and completely convinced that he didn’t belong there. The problem was obvious: Deceit was scared.

Virgil wished there was something he could do. If only there were some magic words he could say to put Deceit’s worries to rest. To just tell him Hey, you do belong with us and no, we don’t mind you and yes, we’re glad you’re here. He wanted to reach out and take all that tension from Deceit’s body. To let him know that he was safe.

But he couldn’t find the courage to do it, remembering the bitter ways he had reacted to the light sides’ friendliness at first. If any of them had shown him the sympathy or affection he wanted to give Deceit right now, he probably would have bitten their hand off before it could reach him.

Logan had noticed it too. Not that it was something too difficult to see. The discomfort in Deceit’s body language was painfully obvious. If Deceit could’ve compressed the space between his atoms to make himself smaller, he probably would have.

It was distracting, really. The anxiety radiating of Deceit was enough to draw even Logan’s attention away from the screen’s flickering colours and loud noises. Not to mention Deceit’s fidgeting, which had apparently decided to take up permanent residence in Logan’s peripheral vision.

Finally Logan sighed, tired of his attention being spilt and missing the familiar warmth of another side pressed up against him. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Deceit’s unsuspecting body, pulling backwards so Deceit was dragged into the couch cushions with him.

Deceit immediately yelped, waving his arms and trying to squirm out of Logan’s grip. By the time Logan hit the back of the couch, Deceit had stopped struggling, just frozen in Logan’s grasp. Every muscle in his body seemed to clench up once.

Even though Logan’s sudden movement had surprised Virgil, he was more concerned by just how terrified Deceit seemed. He was like a coiled spring, just waiting to be pushed past his breaking point- snap.

“Deceit- are you ok?” Virgil had never seen him look like this before.

Deceit’s wide eyes snapped to reach his, just the gaze of a scared animal. His chest started heaving and Virgil realized Deceit had stopped breathing for a second.

Logan let his arms relax and fall gently against Deceit’s stomach. With one hand he reached up and began combing Deceit’s bangs back from his forehead, “You really should relax.”

“What, what are you doing?” Deceit’s voice escaped him like the cracks and creaks of a haunted house.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Logan scrunched his eyebrows together, “I’m trying to help you relax; this usually works for Virgil.”

Virgil smirked, suddenly realizing that Logan’s abrupt (and somewhat startling) actions were his attempt at making Deceit feeling welcome. Logan had difficulty grasping the volume dial on affection- it was more of a simple on/off switch for him. Apparently Deceit had flipped the switch into On mode, “Hey, Logan, maybe you should let Dee go for now.”

“Oh. Certainly,” Logan couldn’t help but scowl slightly as he unwound he arms and released Deceit. He had been under the impression that physical affection was one on the most popular forms through which care could be displayed.

To both his and Virgil’s surprise, Deceit didn’t move far. He shifted until he was more centered between the two, but remained leaning back. His body was stiff and his eyes snapped from side to side, like he was waiting for one of the others to tell him he was doing something wrong. But he was there. Between them. And at least trying to join. Logan and Virgil blinked at each other across Deceit like Hey, I didn’t see that one coming.

For a second, nobody dared break the spell. Logan and Virgil were afraid that they’d breathe wrong and suddenly Deceit would be gone. Deceit sunk into the couch cushions as if he hoped to simply dissolve away.

The television filled the space between them. Neon mosaics painted across three faces. Flashes of colour reflected in three sets of glassy eyes. The scales on Deceit’s face seemed to drip with light as they reflected whatever movie Roman had chosen hours ago. Deceit’s expression was hard to place as it was painted by the ever-changing lighting. His wide eyes soaked in the saturated flashes from the film- warm brown turning into a kaleidoscope. A tiny pull on one side of his lips that was tugging them upwards. It was nearly impossible to see but it was something Virgil had learned to see in the years before. Hook, line, sinker. Virgil was in it all over again.

Logan was fixated. It was like he had been going to the same museum every single day and suddenly a new exhibit had been added with absolutely no warning and it just so happened to be one of the most beautiful pieces he had ever seen. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Awe? No, that’s too strong. Appreciation? Maybe. Affection was always a part of the equation; Logan had more respect for Deceit than probably any other side. Logan has a fondness for the way he liked to solve problems like a rationally thinking person (which just went to show how low the bar was) but Logan had never considered that the fondness could extend to Deceit himself. But looking down at Deceit- one usually stubborn and strong suddenly turned so small and vulnerable- there was a soft warmth filling up the empty spaces in his chest that was usually only reserved for Virgil. He couldn’t look away.

Finally Deceit’s voice broke the glaze that had settled over both of the others, “It actually wasn’t that bad?”

Virgil gave his head a shake, trying to remember what was going on, “What wasn’t?”

Deceit winced and pressed further into the couch cushions. Any hint of confidence disappeared, “Um, you know, uh-“

“This?” Virgil slid sideways and snaked his arm around Deceit, resting his chin on Deceit’s chest.

Deceit’s breath hitched, body tensing once again before softening into the hold, “Yeah. That.”

Virgil settled down further into the body below him, snuggling his chest flat against Deceit and resting his face against soft material of Deceit’s shirt. He was warm and Virgil liked the way Deceit’s slowly-steadying breath played against the loose strands of his hair.

He could feel Logan’s gaze settle across him and Deceit. A pang of worry hit him, wondering if Logan would be jealous or feel betrayed. Guilt seeped into the edges of his mind, distracting him from the steady, comfortable rhythm of Deceit’s chest rising and falling. Logan had been the one to reach out for Deceit first, but he also knew about Virgil and Deceit’s history.

“Hey!”

Logan’s voice pulled Virgil’s attention from where he had been staring at the meaningless movements on the screen. He was still siting up straight and looked comically insulted, a pout pulling at the ends of his mouth.

A laugh escaped Virgil as he stared up at Logan’s expression, relief washing over when it was obvious Logan wasn’t actually upset. Besides, the grumpy scrunch set of his mouth was nothing if not adorable.

Virgil gave him a lopsided smile from where he was still settled on Deceit, “Well you can join us.”

After a moment’s hesitation Logan leaned against Deceit’s other side. He wrapped one arm around Deceit’s shoulders and let other lie against Virgil’s arm.

All three turned their attention back to the movie, but Logan couldn’t see anything; he was far too concentrated on the thoughts flooding through his mind (systematically, of course).

So this wasn’t the usual arrangement. It was incredibly different, in fact. Deceit’s discomfort had been nearly tangible and it had been ruining Logan’s ability to pay attention to anything else. That’s why he had grabbed him- right? Obviously, he had felt some sort of sympathy for Deceit and held the understandable amount of affection one would for a companion. It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary.

Now, transfixed by the two men curled next to him, he wasn’t so sure. The movie was still playing and he still wasn’t watching it. Deceit’s anxiety wasn’t distracting him anymore but Logan couldn’t look away.

Virgil held his distinct beauty- eyes sparkling and a smug grin replacing his usual scowl. It took Logan’s breath away every time. Tonight, though, Logan seemed to be having an especially hard time catching his breath.

He was pretty sure it had something to do with the way Deceit’s face had been slowly but surely transforming into a smirk. Maybe it was the way Deceit’s back was pressing into Logan’s chest so he could feel the other side’s heartbeat. Or maybe it was how Deceit placed his hand lightly on Logan’s leg. His hand barely touched his thigh, fingertips merely brushing. Deceit may have relaxed somewhat but he was still so different than what Logan was used to. He was so unsure, so defenseless. He had never looked like this before but, then again, maybe Logan just hadn’t ever looked at him this way before.

Logan stared down at the hand barely resting against his leg. Deceit was still wearing his gloves, having- like Logan- chosen to remain in his usual outfit. The touch was feather-light but it was still there, dragging his attention to focus on that and that alone.

Deceit apparently noticed Logan’s eyes boring into the back of his hand and quickly tried to jerk back, breathing out a yelp of a “sorry-sorry-sorry” as he did.

Logan reacted instinctively, slamming his own palm over Deceit’s hand before it could move too far. He immediately regretted the action. Virgil and Deceit were both blinking at him like a pair of disbelieving owls.

If “wince” was an emotion, Logan was definitely experiencing it. He was acting like a bumbling fool, as if all of Roman’s starstruck foolishness had combined with Virgil’s awkward impulsiveness to create... whatever this was.

Virgil began laughing, a genuine bark that was so loud, Logan began worrying it would wake the others. After a few seconds, Virgil gasped in a breath, “God, you nerds. And I was worried you two wouldn’t get along. I mean, Logan, should I be jealous? You were never this much of a mess for me.”

Logan could feel his brain freeze up at what Virgil was implying- that he felt the same things for Deceit that he did for Virgil. Well, there was some definite logic to it. But Virgil had ripped the bandaid off before Logan even had the chance to accept the fact he had a wound.

“I, well, I- I don’t think,” Logan stuttered out words just so he could give something in the vague shape of a response. But what words to say? To deny it would be pointless but to confirm anything would lead to his figurative ruin.

He was sent reeling once again as Deceit twisted his hand so his palm faced upwards and smoothed the pad of his thumb against the top of Logan’s still clamped-down hand. Logan’s eyes never left that yellow glove as Deceit guided their hands upwards until their clasped hands sat between their two faces. Logan’s gaze flickered from his hand to Deceit’s sparkling eyes.

Deceit kept the eye contact steady- always questioning, but always smiling- as he pulled Logan’s hand forward, finally pressing his lips against the knuckles of Logan’s hand.

Logan sucked in a breath, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. He was being ridiculous and he knew it. He had an upfront approach to love and seemingly Deceit did too. But this was so different than Logan’s method. It was something about the way a thousand unsaid things floated in Deceit’s eyes, the way they searched Logan without ever moving.

A disgruntled sigh came from Virgil, “Excuse me, do you lovebirds need a room?”

Deceit let Logan’s hand fall from his lips, lacing their fingers together. He held Logan’s stare for a second longer as Virgil continued grumbling. Logan knew there was weight in the way Deceit looked at him, but it was in a measurement he could never translate.

Deceit turned away from Logan, dragging both of their attentions to Virgil snuggled into Deceit with a begrudging expression.

“-besides, I was here first. And that can be said for both of you-“

Virgil’s rambling was cut off as Deceit cupped his hand around Virgil’s chin, tilting his head up slightly. He leaned forward and placed his lips squarely over Virgil’s.

Virgil gave in, rolling his eyes and pressing his lips back against Deceit’s. He could feel Deceit smile, lips curling against his mouth. This felt right. He loved being with the light sides now but something had been lacking; finally all of the puzzle pieces clicked into places. The kiss deepened naturally, falling into the rhythm that had been so familiar to them at one point in time.

Virgil reached out, unclasping his hands from around Deceit’s back without breaking away. He stretched his arms until he found Logan. Virgil rested his hand against Logan’s chest, unconsciously lacing his tie through his fingers. He needed the contact; to say Hey I haven’t forgotten about you- I still love you. He needed the confirmation that Logan was still there. This all seemed too perfect. Virgil had always assumed he could only have one or the other- a life with dark sides or a life with the light sides, Logan’s care or Deceit’s affection. Virgil was sure one of them was going dissolve away at any moment.

But Logan’s heart was beating right beneath his palm. He could feel the warmth of his skin through the shirt’s material. And Deceit, he was real too- hand pressed against Virgil’s back and lips pressed even closer. Yeah, this felt right.

Deceit pulled away, eyebrow quirked, “Still needy for attention, I see-“

“Shut up,” Virgil shifted so he could grab Logan’s hand from Deceit’s shoulder and intertwined their finger’s together to lay on the top of the couch cushions. His other hand remained comfortably against Deceit’s chest.

For the first time since Deceit had joined them much earlier that evening, things were still. A calm settled over the room, the gentle breathing of the sleeping sides just barely audible beneath the sound of the movie. Deceit and Virgil turned their attention back to the screen. They were apparently quite comfortable with this new closeness between the three of them.

Logan, on the other hand, found himself wonderfully perplexed. This wasn’t the outcome he had been necessarily looking for and it certainly wasn’t something he could’ve possibly predicted. But Virgil looked more content than Logan had seen him in months. Deceit- god, Deceit- was practically glowing between them. Logan was confused as to how it had taken him to long to notice how beautiful Deceit was.

He didn’t want to break the tranquility but some small, not-so-serious part of Logan was struggling to not clap his hands like a little kid who had just received a surprise. The emotions squirmed through him, making it hard to sit still.

“What are you smiling about?” Virgil was wearing a smug grin like he knew exactly why Logan was smiling.

“Be quiet and watch the movie,” Logan turned away slightly and tried to ignore the two pairs of sparkling eyes that he knew were watching him.

The rest of the movie ended uneventfully. Logan found the animation to be rudimentary, the music shrill, and the plot to have no consistency. But it was enjoyable. He especially appreciated how Virgil’s hand had migrated closer across the couch cushions to play through his hair and the way Deceit had burrowed snugly against his chest.

Finally, the screen faded to black, credits rolling to a close without another movie queued behind it. Tucked against Logan, Deceit seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes open. They would fall slowly only to flicker back open a second later.

Logan found himself watching the cycle for a minute before shaking his head and chuckling. He wasn’t even sure whose foolishness he was laughing at- his own strange transfixation or Deceit’s sorry attempt at resisting sleep.

He used his free hand to brush Deceit’s bangs back and smiled when Deceit responded by snuggling his head in closer, “Why don’t you just fall asleep?”

“I wanna stay awake,” Deceit grumbled.

“But there’s no movie left to watch,” Logan tried to assure him.

“Not awake for movie- wanna stay with you guys.”

Virgil grinned at the shocked look on Logan’s face, “Don’t let him get to you- he always gets sappy when he’s tired.”

Deceit raised his head to glare but between his ruffled hair and sleepy eyes it wasn’t that affective, “I’m not tired.”

Virgil rolled his eyes as Deceit stifled a yawn, “Liar.”

“That’s kind of my job.”

If Deceit’s statement of wanting to stay awake with them hadn’t melted Virgil’s heart, the pout Deceit was giving him now would have done the trick.

“Come on, Snake,” Virgil unwound his hand from Logan’s and wrapped his arms around Deceit’s chest, pulling him into his lap. Deceit tilted sideways without resistance and lifted his legs up lie over Logan.

Virgil scooted over into Logan’s waiting arms and sighed happily as the hold tightened around his shoulders. Virgil rubbed his hands idly along Deceit’s shoulders and twisted his neck to rest his chin on Logan’s collarbone.

He was content to stay there- maybe forever- just silently watching the way Logan’s eyes roamed over his face. Virgil couldn’t help but flush happily under the direct attention.

But Deceit was quickly drifting away and Virgil was still convinced that whatever this was could never coexist with reality. Thousands of worries floated through his mind but one question in particular kept rising to the surface-

“Logan, you’re- you’re alright with this, right? You usually don’t jump into things this quickly and we didn’t have a chance to talk about this at all. Well, honestly, I didn’t think any of this would happen so I guess we couldn’t really have talked about but still I want to make sure you’re comfortable with all of this and-“

“Virgil, dear, you’re rambling again,” Logan bent his head down until their foreheads met with a gentle bump, “Besides we don’t even know what ‘this’ is yet. I suggest we gather more observations and then calculate a decision when we are better able to do so.”

Virgil snorted, “You mean we should wait and see where it goes?”

Logan darted forward, pecking Virgil on the lips before straightening up, “Yeah that’s exactly what I mean.”

Virgil felt a warmth seeping through his chest, burning hot. He wasn’t sure if it was result of his own affection or if it was just the warmth that radiated of Logan’s space-heater of a body. Maybe it was both. He wedged himself closer to Logan and smiled at the soft waves of drowsiness that were washing over him. Darkness soon took over his vision and only the sensation of comfort remained.

“So I can stay?”

Logan glanced past Virgil’s unconscious form at Deceit who blinked at him slowly with his reptilian eye. He shifted carefully so his back was flat against Virgil’s. His movements were unhurried and and his eyes remained half-lidded. Those eyes- still so full of questions, looking for answers, looking for safety. If Logan’s heart had the figurative strings that everyone spoke of, Deceit would have been playing them like a harp.

“Yeah. I think we’d both-,” Logan jerked his head gently to the side, indicating Virgil, “like that a lot.”

“Oh,” For a moment Deceit’s face wrinkled in confusion like he was having a hard translating Logan’s words. After a somewhat terrifying moment, his expression relaxed into a smile, “I think I’d like that too.”

Deceit curled up again, a tight little ball pressing into Logan’s lap. At his side, Virgil tucked himself tighter against his chest. Deceit’s breathing evened out, creating a soft counter rhythm to Virgil’s gentle snores. A few feet ahead, the DVD logo was bumping across the screen from side to side, casting a tiny blue spotlight over the room as it moved. Logan felt his eyes glazing over as he watched its hypnotizing movement. He could definitely get used to this.

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