#just THINK of the potential pining/angst you could get from them NOT being together

[shackledaces]

to my friend who told me that, “judging by their body language, stuilly probably weren’t even in a relationship when they died”… congratulations, I’m now brainrotting on that.

[forzalando]

Seeing Someone

Lando Norris x friend!reader (female reader)

summary: Lando is finally ready to tell you how he feels when he overhears you say that you've started seeing someone - but overheard conversations aren't always what they seem. wc: 5.5k author's note: a few disclaimers: 1. let's all pretend that everyone has to spend a few weeks at MTC before the start of the season and they commute to/from London. 2. therapy and mental health help are so important - i purposefully left some things vague because people go to therapy for a variety of reasons and it should be normalized! i also didn't want things to get too heavy or potentially upset anyone by choosing to elaborate on something they relate to/hits a little too close to home. 3. this was inspired by a post i saw on my dash that said "when you said you were seeing someone i was hoping you meant a therapist". this originally started out more light-hearted, but the angst came out and i couldn't stop. feeling a little insecure about this one - thoughts and feelings in the comments/reblogs/my inbox would be so cherished and appreciated :) once again, special shoutout to @sof1shticated for being my beta reader. couldn't do this without you, Mel! warnings: mentions of reader going to therapy, mentions of reader drinking, a few curse words (i think), and angst! but there is a happy ending (even if it's a little open-ended)

Lando had searched the entirety of McLaren HQ at this point and started to worry – you were quite literally nowhere to be found. Usually, this wouldn’t phase him, since you were notorious for getting distracted or caught up in conversation with everyone you came across. You especially found ways to delay leaving MTC when you had to be there physically – the commute from HQ back to London each day was objectively the worst part of everyone coming together in the weeks leading up to each new season.

Today, however, the two of you had plans to get dinner at your favorite restaurant in London and you would never miss a chance to devour your favorite scallop risotto, cheese garlic bread, several glasses of wine, and a heaping mound of tiramisu for dessert.

He stopped speed-walking abruptly when he saw a familiar head of brown hair out of the corner of his eye.

“OSCAR,” Lando shouted, his speed-walk turning into a run. “Oscar, have you seen Y/N? She told me to meet at her office at 5:00pm but it’s 5:30pm and she is literally missing. She better have a good excuse, I hate being late.”

“Missing? Are you sure she’s not just caught up in a meeting? I saw her heading to Zak’s office around 4:45pm, did you check there?”

“Zak’s office, of course! The one place I didn’t check. Thanks, Osc, you’re the man.”

Oscar rolled his eyes – “Anytime, Lan. What are you running late for? Hot date?”

Lando didn’t miss the wiggle of Oscar’s eyebrows and slight smirk. It wasn’t a secret to the Australian that Lando had a crush on Y/N – although Lando had never confirmed or denied it, it was pretty obvious to anyone who spent more than 30 seconds around them.

“Ah, something like that,” Lando said nonchalantly, a bashful blush making its way to his cheeks.

“Good luck, mate!” Oscar threw a wave over his shoulder as he heard the retreating sound of Lando’s trainers smacking against the floor.

In truth, although you and Lando were just friends and Lando was terrified he may ruin that, he had plans to tell you about his feelings for you that night at dinner. It had been almost a year since you started working for McLaren, and almost a year of Lando pining after you in secret. He spent most days trying to convince himself he was content just being your friend, but he was determined to make 2024 his year. His first win, hopefully of many, maybe even WDC contender material, and finally plucking up the courage to be honest with you.

As Lando hurriedly approached Zak’s office, he could see that the door was slightly ajar and heard your voice trailing through the opening.

“I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Zak. And a massive thank you for approving the time off on such late notice.”

“Anytime, Y/N, you know you’re like family to me and everyone here. You sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I’m seeing someone. It’s still new so I’m not set on him yet but I have a really good feeling about it, I’m really starting to wish I had called him sooner. He actually suggested the days off, I’m seeing him on Tuesday and hopefully things continue to go well.”

Lando’s heart dropped to his stomach – all week he had been thinking about tonight. How to tell you, how you might react, how nervous he was, and each day he grew even more anxious. He was panicking – what was he supposed to do? How could he sit across from you all night knowing that he’d missed his chance?

“That’s so good to hear,” Zak said earnestly. “Keep me updated and enjoy your days off.”

Lando could hear chairs scraping and scrambled to leave the scene before you walked out of Zak’s office to find him eavesdropping. He got about 50 feet down the hallway before he heard your voice from behind.

“Lan,” you shouted. “I’m so sorry, I’m totally late but I had to meet with Zak about something and his last meeting went way over.”

You jogged a little to catch up to him – a bright smile on your face that made his heart rate skyrocket and his palms grow sweaty. He couldn’t see you feeling like this. Not tonight, not when he could barely keep himself from telling you that he would be a much better boyfriend than whoever you were dating.

“We still on for dinner? I grabbed everything I needed from my office before I met with Zak so if we leave right this second and ignore the speed limit, they may seat us,” you bumped his shoulder as you joked.

Unable to help himself, only thinking about how hurt he was even though you’d done nothing wrong, Lando blurted out an excuse. “Actually, I was trying to find you to tell you I can’t make it.”

He tried not to react when he saw your face fall a little, but he told himself it was because you were disappointed about the last-minute change in plans and not that he wasn’t going.

“You should still go though,” he offered quickly. “I’m sure you have someone you could take with you!”

Your eyes spotted Oscar across the hallway and you smiled slightly – it had been a while since you had spent time with him and you knew he was having a rough week.

“Yeah, I have someone in mind,” you mused, focusing your eyes back on Lando. “Is everything ok? Are you not feeling well?”

“No, I’m fine, I just forgot I have plans.”

“Well, we had plans. You scheduled over me?”

“It’s a last-minute thing. Date thing. Last-minute date thing.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “Oh, that’s great!” You plastered a fake smile on your face – hoping that he was just as oblivious now as he apparently is to your feelings. “I hope you have a great time, she’s a lucky girl! I’ll see you on Wednesday, I’m taking a couple days off!”

Before he had a chance to say anything else, you sped off in search of Oscar to bribe him to accompany you to dinner. While you set off across the room, Lando smacked himself in the forehead and groaned.

“Why did you tell her it was a date, you idiot,” he mumbled to himself. Now, it was his turn to speed walk through McLaren HQ, but if he had turned around just for a moment, he would have caught you stopped in your tracks staring at him longingly as he walked away.

You shook your head and sighed, continuing your quest to find the younger McLaren driver and rope him into an evening filled with good food and, if you were being honest with yourself, probably a few tears.

A few moments later, you spotted floppy brown hair bouncing as Oscar walked toward the employee parking lot.

“Oscar!” You yelled after him, increasing your pace to catch up to him.

“Hey,” he said, confusion evident on his face, “I thought you were going out with Lando?”

“He’s got a date,” you blurted. “He has a date and he canceled on me and it’s fine. I am fine. But I want my scallop risotto and tiramisu so you’re coming with me.”

“Sure, Y/N, lead the way.”

Oscar was, to put it extremely lightly, confused. Lando was completely enamored by you – anyone with eyes could see it. Oscar was wholly convinced that Lando was going to officially ask you out at dinner tonight, especially after the brief conversation they had while you were late to meet up with him.

Yet, here he was, sat across from you in a dimly lit room as you sipped on your third glass of wine and, with all the subtlety of a neon sign, wiped a tear from your lower lash line.

“It’s not that I’m not happy for him, I’m so happy for him. But canceling last minute is a dick move, right? It’s a dick move. I know I’m just his friend, sometimes I feel like just a colleague, but I’m not being dramatic, right?”

Oscar stared at you blankly – his eyes wide and a look of pure fear on his face. He considered himself good at most things, great at quite a few, but comforting a crying woman was bottom of the list of Oscar Piastri’s skills.

“It’s totally a dick move,” he nodded his head eagerly in agreement. “I just don’t get it – when I saw him earlier he was frantic trying to find you. I think he’d scoured the entirety of MTC, he was out of breath when I found him.”

“Well, at least he had the decency to find me and tell me in person that he planned on ditching me.”

“Yeah, but that’s just it, it didn’t seem like he was trying to find you to tell you that. He complained about being late and when I asked him if he had a hot date, he blushed.”

“He is literally on a hot date.”

“Ok, well, when I asked him I meant did he have a hot date specifically with you.”

You scoffed and set your glass down – as much as you loved Oscar and you knew he’d never judge you, if you had any more wine you’d end up sobbing and not just wiping stray tears away.

“As if! Lando has never once made a move on me even though I flirt, or at least try to flirt, with him any chance I get.”

“You flirt with Lando?”

“I made him a personalized Spotify playlist, had Stroopwafels overnighted to him from The Netherlands after Vegas, bought him a sweater for his birthday with a card that said ‘to match your eyes’, and I compliment him every time I see him.”

“That’s your idea of flirting?”

“Well, yes.”

“Y/N, that’s just being nice to people. You’re nice to everyone. Lando is not going to understand that you’re a little extra nice to him and that means you’re trying to woo him.”

You huffed and slumped in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Ok, well, how would you flirt with Lando?”

“Did you seriously just ask me that question?”

“Yes because apparently you know all about flirting! And by the way, Logan thought I was coming onto him when I was just being nice so some people would consider my actions flirtatious.”

“That doesn’t count, Logan thinks Uber drivers are flirting with him when they say ‘have a nice day’.”

You and Oscar shared a laugh at the mention of your mutual friend – somehow an even more hopeless case than you in the world of romance.

Your laughs turned to giggles and eventually died down completely. A sigh climbed its way out of your throat, the sudden change in your mood evident to Oscar.

“It doesn’t matter anyway – he’s seeing someone so no more trying, and according to you failing, to flirt.”

“You don’t know how serious it is, maybe this was a first date and it’ll go horribly. He definitely doesn’t have a girlfriend if that’s what you’re worried about, he was just saying the other day that Lily and I make him feel painfully single. We can ask him about it on Monday!”

You frowned a bit and tried to recover, but Oscar noticed the way your face fell slightly. “I’m actually taking a few days off, I need some personal time. I won’t be back at MTC until Wednesday.”

“Is everything ok? You don’t have to tell me but if you need anything, you know I’m there for you, right?”

You smiled at Oscar – it was a rare thing to find such great friends in the people you worked with, but you got so incredibly lucky with the McLaren team, especially Lando and Oscar. “I know that, Osc. You’re a gem.”

With a nod of understanding, Oscar changed the subject to something more pleasant, and you enjoyed the rest of your evening with your friend.

When Wednesday morning rolled around, you felt like your stomach might explode from nerves. You had resisted texting Lando over the past few days to ask about his date, you didn’t want to seem too eager and hoped it would come up naturally in conversation during the day. You hadn’t talked to Oscar much, though he’d texted you a few times to check in, but you wondered if he had talked to Lando at all and if he had details on how well Lando’s date went.

You arrived at MTC fairly early, hoping to get a head start on your day. Winter break was nearly over, and you were swamped with finalizing everything for the start of the 2024 season. It wasn’t until lunch that you saw Lando at all and he just so happened to be waiting in your office, sitting comfortably in your chair, while you were walking back from your latest meeting.

“Lando! What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” he scrambled. “I was just…I don’t know really. I guess I wanted to see you, we haven’t talked in a few days since you’ve been out.”

“Well, we’ve both been busy. You could’ve texted me. How was your date?”

“It was good. Great. How about yours?”

You smiled remembering your evening with Oscar, assuming he had told Lando at some point that he had accompanied you. “Honestly so fun, we had the best time. I hope we get to do it again soon.”

Lando cringed – jealousy rearing its ugly head as he looked down at his feet before answering. “Same, I’ll probably go out with her again this weekend.”

“Good for you,” you gritted. “I’m glad you had fun. I actually have a million things to do so if there’s nothing important…”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just wanted to see you. I guess we’ll catch up soon? Hope you enjoyed your days off.”

Mustering up a fake smile, you told him definitely, awkwardly standing as he rose from your desk and left your office. As soon as he was far enough away that he couldn’t hear you, you groaned. The tension between you and Lando was unbearable, though you didn’t understand why it seemed to mostly be coming from him. Before you had a chance to think any further, you could hear your phone buzzing from inside your bag and begrudgingly pulled it out to see a text from Oscar.

did you go on a date over the weekend?

no? why are you asking me that?

well then why did lando just sit across from me and say ‘did Y/N tell you anything about her date?’

he was just in my office, I asked him how his date went and he asked about ‘mine’. i assumed he was talking about Friday and that you told him i brought you?

i never told him, i guess he thought you brought a real date?

You paused before responding to Oscar, confusion evident on your face and in your lack of response. Before you could type out a reply, two more texts came in.

ok something is up because i just told him that i went with you on friday and he said “i know, i saw you in her insta story in the reflection of a wine glass, i’m talking about yesterday”

insane that he looked close enough to see me in your wine glass but not the point

i literally haven’t been on a date in two years

let me figure this out

You slid your phone back into your bag and pulled out your laptop – your Lando problems would have to wait until you were at least somewhat caught up after missing two days so close to the start of the season.

Meanwhile, at a conference room table in MTC, Oscar was confused. Which, as of late, was a common occurrence when it came to you and Lando.

“Mate,” Oscar addressed Lando, “if you’re not talking about Friday, what date did you ask Y/N about? She hasn’t been on a date in forever.”

“Well then he must have canceled on her because she was supposed to have plans yesterday, it’s why she took days off.”

“I don’t know the exact reason why she took days off but she told me on Friday that she was and didn’t seem too happy about it. Said it was personal reasons.”

“Going on a date is personal.”

“Not ‘take two days off of work’ personal! Where are you even getting this information?”

Lando looked away sheepishly, afraid to admit to Oscar that he had eavesdropped on a private conversation between you and Zak. With Oscar looking at him expectantly, and a bit like a pissed-off Mum, he blurted it out.

“I heard her talking to Zak! Last week on Friday, when I was looking for her, she was in his office and the door was cracked. She had asked him for a couple days off and talked about how she recently started seeing someone and was seeing him again on Tuesday aka yesterday.”

Now Oscar was really confused. You had cried over Lando publicly on Friday, and he knew you fairly well, which meant there was no way you would be crying over Lando and going out with someone else four days later.

“I think you need to just talk to her because I promise you, she is not seeing someone. Also, what do you care? You ditched her for a date on Friday.”

Oscar had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched Lando’s face fall.

“Lando, tell me you didn’t.”

“I might have.”

“Jesus, Lando, you heard 30 seconds of a conversation and decided to lie to her? Because what, your ego took a blow? Some caveman instinct?”

“No, I don’t know, honestly. It just slipped out! I had planned to ask her out for real and when I heard her say ‘I’m seeing someone’, I just didn’t know how to be around her. I couldn’t be around her that night.”

“You need to go talk to her. Apologize. Preferably, immediately.”

Lando jumped up from his seat and sighed. “You’re right. She might kill me, and she has every right to, but I have to talk to her and apologize to her. Wish me luck!”

Before Oscar could do what Lando had asked, Lando raced off towards your office, barely stopping himself from tripping over his own two feet.

Across MTC, you had just settled your mind and gotten into a groove of catching up on emails and making progress on deadlines. As soon as you thought to yourself that the day was going better than expected, your office door flung open and Lando Norris was standing stiff in your doorway.

“Lan, I told you that I’m busy. What is going on?” Annoyance was evident in your voice and Lando cringed knowing that this conversation was probably not going to be very pleasant.

“Why did you take time off?”

Your body straightened in shock, of all the things he could have asked you after bombarding you in your office, you wouldn’t have guessed he would pry into your personal life.

“That’s none of your business, Lando. If you were worried about me, you could have reached out, but I haven’t heard from you since you ditched me on Friday.”

Lando could see the hurt on your face, he could see it evident in your body language. He thought back to how you had looked upset immediately when he told you on Friday that he couldn’t go with you – when he told himself it had nothing to do with you wanting to spend time with him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry for that, it wasn’t – I mean I didn’t, I didn’t want to not go. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Ok, I’m totally lost. You didn’t know what to do about what, Lando?”

He steeled himself for your reaction – something he had learned by being your friend for the past year was that you held trust and truth in high regard. You didn’t like being lied to, and you didn’t like people trying to dig into your life or get information you weren’t willing to share.

“I heard you in Zak’s office. I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose, I swear, I was looking for you because you were late meeting me. Oscar told me you might be with Zak so I went there and the door was open. And I heard you. So I lied and told you that I couldn’t go to dinner, I don’t know why I said I had a date. All I could focus on was how hurt I was, I just couldn’t be around you and then I felt so stupid and terrible for lying so that’s why I didn’t text you at all.”

You were completely and utterly perplexed – you couldn’t even react with anger at the thought of Lando listening to a private conversation and outright lying to you. What could he have overheard that he was so upset about?

“Lando, I’m still confused. What did you hear? How did I hurt you?”

“No, no, you didn’t hurt me. You have no idea how I feel about you – I was going to tell you that night.” Lando was word-vomiting at this point, he never wanted you to find out this way but he couldn’t stop rambling. “I have had feelings for you for so long, and I finally decided that I was going to tell you even if I was convinced you don’t feel the same. And now I know you don’t because you’re seeing someone and – ”

You interrupted him sternly, allowing the anger you were feeling to come forth and shoving down your confusion. “I’m not dating anyone? Is that why you asked Oscar about my ‘date’? Where did you get that idea?”

“You told Zak that you’re seeing someone and that it’s new but things are going good. I heard you say you were seeing him again on Tuesday.”

Your eyes doubled in size – if you weren’t so pissed off, you might have found humor in this, but you felt heat rising to your cheeks and your stomach churned at the thought of divulging your personal struggles.

“Lando, I’m seeing a therapist,” you hissed.

He froze for a moment, then scrambled to shut your door which was still ajar from him barging in.

“A therapist? Are you okay? What’s going on, why didn’t you tell me that you’ve been struggling?”

“No, no, you don’t get to do this right now. You don’t get to make me less angry by being kind and caring.”

“I’m not doing it to make you less angry, Y/N, I genuinely – ”

“I don’t care, Lando! You eavesdropped on my private conversation, misunderstood the context of that conversation, and then you lied to me. You hurt me. And now, because you got your feelings hurt and did things you shouldn’t have done, I have to share something I wasn’t comfortable sharing with you just yet.”

Lando was speechless – you could see the remorse on his face, the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but in that moment you wanted him to feel even worse than you were.

“And you want to know the worst part,” you cried. “I feel the same way about you. I cried to Oscar at dinner because I thought you were with someone else, that you would have rather been at dinner with a different girl.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. Can we please just go somewhere and talk? Really talk this out? I know I messed up, but this doesn’t have to change things or how we feel about each other.”

You wanted to, god, did you want to – you knew Lando hadn’t done any of this on purpose. You knew he didn’t have malicious intent and you knew how hurt he probably felt at the idea of you being with someone – it was exactly the way you felt when you thought the same about him.

“I think you should go, Lan”. Despite every part of you wanting to sit and talk, you knew that you needed some time to settle down.

“Ok,” he whispered. “When you’re ready,” he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, “if you’re ever ready, you know where to find me.”

His posture made you feel sick as he left your office – Lando was always confident, shoulders back and head held high, but as you watched him through the glass walls surrounding you, he was hunched over. Dejected. You’d only ever seen him that way a few times – after he was torn apart by the media or after making a mistake during a race.

It hurt you to see him that way. But, he had also hurt you, and you needed time.

It had been two weeks since “the incident” with Lando – that’s what Oscar started calling it and it stuck. Fight felt too strong, disagreement felt too weak, so it became something nameless. Undefined. Indeterminate. Exactly like what existed now between you and Lando.

Oscar and Lando were set to leave for Sakhir in a week and you wouldn’t see them again until you joined the team for the Australian GP. If you didn’t work things out with Lando before they left for testing, it would be well over a month without a resolution.

The thought made your eyes burn with tears – you were still upset but more than that you missed Lando. You didn’t even have to wonder if he felt the same because you’d seen him around MTC. He looked just as awful as you, if not worse, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to start a conversation.

You began packing up your things to leave the office, grateful beyond belief that it was a Friday and you’d have two days without seeing Lando’s familiar curls everywhere you turned. At least at home, you would only see them behind closed eyes and wouldn’t have to blink back tears.

A knock at your door startled you, but you assumed it was your team lead looking for your latest analytics report. At least there was one thing you could be happy about – the car data was phenomenal and all signs were pointing to an amazing season for McLaren.

You told whoever was knocking to come in, not looking up from your bag as you rifled through your files. “So sorry, Tom, I meant to bring this to you earlier but I – ”

A throat clearing cut you off, and you looked up to see Lando standing in your doorway with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and one of those cheesy “I’m sorry” balloons in his left hand. You almost giggled, but then you looked at his face and your heart dropped. Dark circles under red-rimmed eyes - he looked awful. 

“I know you said you’d reach out when you’re ready to talk, and I wanted to respect that and give you all the space you need. But, we’re both miserable. At least I think you’re miserable, I know I am. I miss you terribly. I miss my friend. And if that’s all you’ll ever be to me, I can respect that and I will cherish it because the past week has been the worst week of my life.”

“Lando, I – ”

“Please, please let me get all of this out. Please let me apologize.”

You smiled slightly, nodding your head for him to continue.

“I’m sorry for invading your privacy. It wasn’t on purpose but I should have left as soon as I heard you talking because I know how important trust is to you. I violated yours and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying to you. It doesn’t matter if I was hurt, I could’ve just said I wasn’t feeling well or asked you about what I overheard immediately. After apologizing for overhearing, of course. I’m sorry that it took Oscar talking sense into me for me to come to you in the first place. I’m sorry that I hurt you and I’m sorry that I behaved like a child instead of talking to you about my feelings. My actions made you feel forced to tell me something personal that you weren’t ready to share. I’m so sorry, and I hope you know that I’m here for you always.”

He let out a deep breath and you watched his shoulders relax slightly for the first time in two weeks. You knew he was sorry – you’d known how sorry he was immediately when he started explaining and apologizing the first time around, but you just weren’t ready to hear it yet.

“Thank you, Lan,” you whispered as you walked towards him and took his free hand in your own. “I know you’re sorry and I know that this was all a misunderstanding that just got out of hand.”

“I am also sorry for springing my feelings on you. I wanted to tell you properly, ask you out properly, but I couldn’t explain myself without telling you. I ruined everything, it was woefully unromantic.”

“Yeah, that was a bit shit, I didn’t get my big grand gesture or anything.”

Lando’s eyes grew wide, a hopeful gleam in them. “I mean, would you – is that something you would still want? I don’t want to pressure you and I don’t want to assume that you still feel the same.”

“I do,” you said softly. “But, I think we should work on really moving past this before we officially jump into anything more.”

“I completely agree. However, I do have a reservation for two in about forty minutes to make up for ditching you, if you’d like to join me? Otherwise, I’ll have to bring Oscar. He won’t stop talking about the cheese garlic bread.”

“No, Lando, you don’t understand. He ordered three baskets. I went home and typed an apology email to Zak for ruining his diet.”

You both erupted in giggles, leaning into each other for support and out of habit. It felt so good to laugh, the weight and stress of the past two weeks rolling off in waves as Lando’s shoulder bumped yours and you heard the unmistakable laughter that you’d come to love so much.

“Maybe we should bring him anyway,” you pondered. “He’s been an exceptionally good friend to us both the past couple of weeks.”

“He can come next time, I’d like you to myself for the evening. If that’s ok?”

“More than ok, Lan. I’ve really missed you.”

He leaned in quickly, kissing your cheek gently and then nuzzling his nose against your neck, inhaling the scent of the perfume he’d gifted you for your last birthday. “Not as much as I’ve missed you,” he objected, his eyes glimmering slightly. Wet eyelashes fluttered against your neck as he stayed tucked into your side for a few more moments.

“We’re going to be late,” you whispered, with a sincere lack of urgency.

“Can we go back to my hotel room instead? Watch a movie and order in? Jus’ wanna hold you.”

Your heart constricted – as much as you wanted to tease him and say he owed you a night out and your favorite meal, you wanted nothing more than to spend the night in Lando’s arms.

“Of course, Lan. I think I need that too.”

On the way to Lando’s car, you passed Oscar who gave you both a knowing smile and a short wave. If you asked him if he had been waiting for you guys to leave, he would deny it. He would deny being so invested in your reconciliation that he waited close to an hour after he could leave for the day to make sure you were both ok. He would also deny that he tracked both of you and when it dawned on him that you were skipping your dinner, he sped to that little Italian place and stole your reservation for an order (or two) of cheese garlic bread.

He couldn’t resist sending a poorly taken picture to the group chat with the three of you and you burst out laughing when you opened it.

“Lan, Oscar somehow stole our dinner res,” you giggled, turning your phone to show Lando an unmistakable basket of bread and a follow-up text with several heart emojis.

Lando held his phone up to snap a quick selfie of you two cuddled up in bed, him leaning in for the second time that evening to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. Almost immediately after it delivered, your phones lit up with another text from Oscar.

HOT DATE FR THIS TIME?

You and Lando looked at each other and smiled, the mutual understanding of where you stood with your feelings evident.

not quite yet, but soon :)

[tinytennisskirt]

From Pain to Promise

Summary: based on a dialogue request- Art has been in love with you since he met you at twelve. He's been pining for six years, so it kills him when you get a boyfriend over the summer. He's your friend, he's supposed to be happy for you. Instead, he's just hurt. And jealous. Too blinded by it to see the way your boyfriend is really treating you. After a climactic event outside of a party, you're freed from it all. And Art is right there, waiting, the way he's always been.

MAJOR WARNINGS: violence, abusive relationships, mentions of unwanted sex/attempts at unwanted sex. a fight. mentions of injuries, nothing too graphic, just bruises.

Warnings: pining, yearning, angst, jealousy, mentions of drinking, a kiss. badly edited.

Kat Zimmerman had nothing on you, that was for sure. Only a few nights after his little learning experience with Patrick, you came into the boy’s lives and their worlds were forever changed. Art’s more so. It was that one fateful day when you were picking out a tennis racket, the new girl at MRTA, and those two little boys knew they had to befriend you before Jake Dalton did. Both little boys, stumbling over each other, made their way over to the rackets and said hi, overlapping pre-pubescent voices telling you their names. And you smiled, hair braided, cheeks pink and rosy, exchanging their names for yours. 

And you were friends. That’s how it was. You were friends. You, Patrick, and Art. But more so you and Art because Patrick didn’t know how he felt about being friends with girls. Especially when you were such a girl. Patrick didn’t have a painful little boy crush on you the way Art did. You told Art his hair would be perfect for pigtails and he’d let you do what you wanted, clips and bows and all, just so you’d touch him. He bragged to Patrick later that night. Patrick just laughed at him. “She put bows in your hair, dude. That doesn’t count as touching.” He was humbled. 

Patrick did feel a little different when fourteen rolled around and you had boobs, but Art was the same, if not deeper in it for you. You remained their friend. You were always around, playing with Art’s hair on the bleachers or studying with them, making sure they actually paid attention. You went to all of Art’s games and maybe, for a few split seconds, he thought maybe you liked him back. But it’s a tale as old as time. He couldn’t ever be sure, so why would he tell you and potentially ruin everything? If he told you and it wasn’t reciprocated, he could say goodbye to all the casual touching and the things you granted him somewhat platonically. 

Patrick was one of the only people who knew how bad Art had it because even after their first little incident, Patrick had once or twice heard or walked in on Art masturbating and it was a little obvious who he was thinking about. It was fine, it was nothing new. 

One thing was so very clear and that this was all just pining. Pining after you, pulling strings to be closer to you, to hang out with you. Cancelling plans, switching partners, everything. He’d go insane when your hand brushed his, he was there for you every time you needed him. And by twelfth grade, he could say he loved you. It’d been six years of pining, he knew it to be true. So when you called him over the summer to say you had a boyfriend, it just about killed him. 

“He’s really nice and he’s a tennis enjoyer, but not a player. It’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t know every single term and I get to be the smart one for once,” you gushed to him. He was your best friend after all. You’d been friends, best friends, for six years. Art was glad you managed six years without any real crushes for more than a day and he could handle those because they weren’t real, but this was very real. Or you said so. “God, I can’t believe it, he just asked for my number two weeks ago and now we’ve been together a week. It’s so surreal.” 

“That’s great, I’m happy for you,” Art said through clenched teeth. Six years of wanting you and this guy asked for your number and had you as his girlfriend in under a week. He wondered if you’d kissed him. He remembered when you had your first kiss just after his. Just about killed him though he’d just kissed Amy White two days before and bragged about it. He hoped it would make you jealous, but you had your own beau. This was worse than that. You were going to Stanford with him in a month or two, he thought if there was any time to make that change and tell you, it would be when he saw you next. And there wouldn’t be any college dating scandals and maybe he could live happily and find some girl to forget you with, though he knew he couldn’t.

“So it’s serious?” 

“Very. I’m excited.” Just about took him out. 

He didn’t eat for maybe two days. Would have been longer if Patrick didn’t come over and force-feed him nachos. Art told him the whole situation and Patrick, who had, of course, been rooting for you and Art since finding out Art liked you, was pretty pissed off about it. The two went back and forth just emphasizing ‘six years’. Six years of what? Six years of you hugging him and playing with his hair, going to movies with him, helping him study, spending time with him alone for you to just go and find some guy on a whim? And start dating him? You were all Art had wanted and it was then that he confessed that he was probably in love with you to Patrick. Patrick wasn’t surprised, then went and stole some beers from a friend, saying they needed to drink about it. 

You still called as you usually did and Art never got to really feel himself heal when every phone call was an update and a fresh wound. The poor boy was yours and you weren’t his. There was nothing he could say to change that, he was a good friend. And he wanted you to be happy, so he kept his mouth shut. You talked about dates and how good of a kisser he was though you wished he used less tongue sometimes and every word was a papercut that added up to a bigger hurt. He had never wanted anyone the same way he wanted you and he was so sure he couldn’t. He buried his face in his pillow and got so frustrated it drove him to tears. His stomach hurt constantly and he felt like his heart was being pulled down to his stomach. 

He was a little scared of how he’d act when you talked to him in person. He just finished settling into campus, his dorm room. You’d done the same with the agreement to meet him for coffee at the campus diner. You were still you, he noted, still painfully beautiful. And you were two months into dating this guy Greg. He sounded like a dick. You said he liked country music and he wasn’t going to post-secondary, he was older and going to a trade school. An asshole. Art did his best to change the topic. 

“Mmm, so they have campus events all the time, they’re showing E.T. this Friday if you want to go.” You said. “We should.” 

“We should talk them into playing Mac and Me after. A real movie.” 

“Shut up, oh my god.” You laughed. Your laugh was one of his favourite things. He found it just a little painful to be here with you, knowing you couldn’t be the way you used to be now that you had a boyfriend. “Do you want to come with me to E.T. or not though, I’m terrified of new people.” 

“No, yeah, I’ll go,” he nodded. 

Your boyfriend visited on Thursday, so he didn’t see you then. Usually, you called him regardless of being on the same campus, but you didn’t. And then when you said you’d meet Art on Friday, you didn’t show up until the movie was half over. Art sat there, watching the movie on a stupid lawn chair with stupid Reece's Pieces and you came and joined him, apologetic. Said you were with Greg and Art could only imagine what that meant. It was too dark for him to notice how red your wrist was. 

It was Art’s first step to breaking. The movie finished and he walked you back to your dorm. “Just saying, if you have plans with your boyfriend, don’t make plans with me. I’m not that kind of guy,” he reasoned, heading up the stairs with you. He tried not to sound bitter. He was only half-bitter anyway, he was mostly genuine. 

You sighed, rubbing your left eye just a little. “I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Does he know about me?” You were quiet. Too quiet. “Y/N?” 

You bite your lip, “He knows we’re friends. He doesn’t know the full extent and he doesn’t need to! There’s nothing to worry about, but I just don’t want to worry him. He knows you’re my friend, he doesn’t know… everything.” 

Art pressed his hand to his forehead, “I’m a secret, that’s crazy, that’s… fine, I guess. I don’t want to ruin anything for you.” 

“You couldn’t.” You told him. “He’s secure. He’s good. And I’m sorry again for being late, I’ll make it up to you with coffee tomorrow if you’ll let me.” 

Art nodded in response. How could he not forgive you? How could you stand here and be so beautiful and so apologetic and have him not forgive you? So he swallowed all his words for the thousandth time. “Coffee sounds good. Bring doughnuts. Campus library?” 

“Campus library…”

“3 pm?” 

“Perfect. See you then.” You kept your sleeve over your wrist which was still pinkened. “I really am sorry, Art.”

He smiled just a little, forced, “It’s okay. I promise. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Y/N.” 

You said goodnight back and slipped into your dorm room again. Greg had gone out to the local bar, he didn’t come back until 2am when he said he’d be back at 12. Came back drunk and wanting to kiss you quite badly, smelling awfully of whiskey and weed. 

Art wanted to forgive you for it all, but he felt like he couldn’t. Maybe he was bitter. He was bitter that you found someone and he didn’t, he was bitter that you had someone who wasn’t him. He’d yet to meet Greg, but he wondered if you smiled at him with your eyes... or when something funny was said if you'd lean into his shoulder while laughing. He wondered if you were the same, or if it felt the same when you were alone with him- like you could say anything and be unjudged. And that any darkness could be made a joke and made better just by talking for hours. He wondered if Greg had any of that the way he had. But Greg probably had that and more and Art would have to deal with that. He felt his heart physically slow its beating as it slowly, but surely, was beginning to crack. 

You met Art the next day and of course, he noticed the hickey on your neck. It made his stomach do flips and tie itself in knots and he wanted to get up and leave, but you had the doughnuts and coffee. And he was supposed to be happy for you. He had to remind himself of that. He looked at you, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear and laughed and engaged with what he had said and you were still the most gorgeous girl on the planet. Nothing could or ever would change that. He was still head over heels and he couldn’t help it. He would call himself pathetic, he would degrade himself for still wanting you, but after six years, he couldn’t get away from it. 

Greg was over quite a bit. You never called when he was around. You said you’d come hang out when Patrick was in town but you were late again, said you tripped down the stairs and the boys thought it was some excuse for sex with Greg, but you had the injuries to prove it, so neither of them could really be mad. “It hurts like a bitch,” you huffed, sitting down with them. “But it’s fine. We should drink tonight.” 

“Your dorm room or mine?” Art replied, a smile on his face. He was happy about an excuse to drink, he was happy you weren’t late because of Greg, and he was happy you were here. 

Your eyes widened and you answered much too quickly. “Yours.” 

The three of you headed back to Art’s dorm. You lay on his bed, checking your phone every minute or so. It looked like you were getting an abundance of messages, but you were never texting back. Your phone rang twice before you silenced it. The boys chalked it up to Greg and the obsessions of an early relationship, but it wasn’t that early. At one point you tossed your phone off the end of his bed and on top of Art’s laundry. “Please, please, please, pass the vodka,” you enthused. Art and Patrick chuckled, watching you take a pretty large swig. 

“Might want to slow down,” Patrick said, looking at Art, then back at you. You were out of the three of you, the person who hardly ever drank. And here you were chugging it like water. “Don’t want to return you to your boyfriend off your ass.” 

“It’s fine,” you replied. “He’s fine, it’s all fine.” 

“Yeah, I see that,” Patrick replied, taking the vodka back from you. Art grabbed it out of his hand and took a swig equal to yours, trying to drown out the way he was feeling. You were in his bed, talking about your boyfriend. It was fucked. And it felt awful. He looked at you, clouded by alcohol and god, he wished he kissed you in high school. He wished he told you how he felt. If he had, maybe you wouldn’t be so far out of reach. It took him all his strength not to tell you that while drunk. Instead he just laid on the bed next to you, laughing with you about some stupid shit Patrick said. 

“This is why you’re not in college, Pat,” you laughed, out of breath. You had turned on your side, your hand was resting on Art’s upper arm. Patrick just groaned, laughing as he turned his head down to the floor. Art was too aware of your hand on his arm. The way it moved up and down almost the way a person would soothe another, but it was you. And this never meant anything, so why should Art let himself believe it did now? 

“You’re so smart, tell us how good you are with context clues, go-” Patrick teased. But your eyes met the clock on Art’s desk. Your eyes widened a little. You’d lost track of time. 

“Oh my god,” you said, a little bit of panic in your voice. “It’s almost midnight, fuck, I have to go.” You jolted upright and literally climbed over Art to get off his bed. “I’m so sorry, guys, I’ll see you tomorrow, please text me.” You grabbed your phone and your bag and in seconds you were gone. 

Art just shut his eyes and sighed. “I feel that,” Patrick nodded. “What the fuck was that?” 

“Greg beckons,” Art replied bitingly. “Can’t be late to see Greg!” 

“Fucking Greg,” Patrick grunted. “You want the vodka back?” 

“Yes please,” Art groaned, covering his face with his pillow. 

You returned a little tipsy to Greg, who was tipsier. You used to think he was really great. He was funny and nice and he helped you drown out your feelings for Art. It felt like a step forward, progressive, real. Like a real relationship. One you knew you needed so maybe liking Art with no proof he liked you back would be easier. It was for a moment, but bliss is temporary. 

“You’re back, doll,” Greg said, greeting you on messed up bedsheets, not even bothering to meet you halfway. “I’ve had a night. C’mere, I missed you.” You’re afraid to say you’re tired and you just want to sleep. You slink into bed with him. He smells like whiskey again. It’s stronger, more potent, and he needs a shower. The second you’re in bed with him, he’s on top of you. “So why don’t you tell me why you didn’t answer my fucking texts, huh? Or when I called you four fucking times. You know how embarrassing to call your girl and she doesn’t pick up, huh? Had to do that four fucking times in front of my friends, were you trying to embarrass me?” His hand is tight on your arm, leaving bruises, the other hand is on your hair as he keeps himself propped up. It’s pulling and you feel the headache starting. 

“N-no, I’m sorry,” you manage. “Greg, you’re hurting me, you’re pulling my hair.” 

“Thought you liked that?” He smirked. Not once had you ever liked having your hair pulled. Not once had you ever said that to him in any context. 

“You’re hurting me!” You repeated. His hand eased out of your hair but his grip on your arm turned into a grip on your shoulder, just as hard. It hurt. You could feel it bruised already. “Greg, off, please.” 

He made a noise sort of like a whine, his breath horrible. “But I missed you, thought we could have some fun when you came back.” He kissed you. He kissed you. He kissed you. You didn’t want to kiss him, you wanted air, you didn’t want his hand down your waistband. “Don’t fight, pretty, come on. I know you want this.” 

No, you didn’t. You didn’t let it get so far without a fight. You were left to sleep alone as he stormed out. You tended to the injuries from earlier, the ‘stairs’ incident, plus the new injuries you’d have to make stories for because you’d be hanging out with Art and Patrick again. But the bruise that was already forming on your cheekbone looked bad enough that you texted Art saying you couldn’t make it tomorrow and you cried into your knees. 

Makeup didn’t do a very good job, especially when every time something healed, there was something new. You did see Art a few days later when Greg had gone ‘fishing’ with a friend. The bruise on your cheek had faded, but not enough. Makeup hardly fixed it either. “Ball to the face,” you sighed, pressing your lips into a straight line when Art noticed it. He grimaced. “I mean at least my partner has upped her miles per hour but it’s…”

“Ouch,” 

“Yeah,” you chuckled, walking next to him. “So I was thinking maybe we could hang out Tuesday night.” 

He looked at you, “You have something in mind?” As if he could say no. 

“Yes, actually. It’s like an improv show thing, it’ll probably be awful. We can get candy and make fun of them behind their backs.” You smiled just a little. 

He grinned, bowing his head just a little, “Sounds perfect.” 

“Thought so,” you laughed, nudging him a little so he walked off the sidewalk and onto the grass. He tried to nudge you back, but you dodged him and he nearly tripped down the hill you were walking next to. You laughed, but it only laughed so long as his expression turned into the determination to get you back for it. He chased you down the hill until it became a rolling matter, both of you falling into the lush grass and rolling down the last bit of it. He rolled into you, turning it into a chaotic tumble that slowed to a halt with him on top of you. Art breathed out hard, eyes meeting yours, his breath smelling like the mint gum he was chewing. You smiled first with your eyes and then the grin spread up your face. “Ouch,” you mumbled, almost a whisper. His eyes lingered on yours, his face hovering just above you. 

His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips and his brain told him to move, but he didn’t want to. But he had to. You were taken. It would be wrong. But you didn’t move either. You were both breathing hard, smiling at your compromising position until Art did move. Though maybe you didn’t want him to. “You’re okay?” 

“I will be,” you replied. He helped you up and once again, your faces were just inches apart. It was dangerous, wanting you. 

Greg threatened obscene things in the face of if you ever were to leave him. He’d tell your secrets, said he’d end his life, said he’d hurt you. You cried. A lot. For hours, later. He was terrifying. You cried so hard your eyes were completely bloodshot the next day. Your girlfriends were concerned, but you played it off as allergies. 

You saw Art another day and it was good to talk to him about everything and nothing. He was a good distraction from the throbbing pain in your ribs from Greg’s reaction to you mentioning a celebrity crush. He had been drunk. Too drunk. And you couldn’t get away fast enough. 

Tuesday rolled around. You kept your hair down to hide the bruise on your temple. It still ached, along with where your hair was pulled once again when you refused to have sex with Greg again. He was sitting bitter on your bed, angry still. You put on your jean shorts and a t-shirt. “Where you going dressed like that?” 

You looked up, “Like what?” 

“Why the fuck do you instantly talk back? What’s your fucking problem. I’m asking you where you think you’re going dressed like a slut?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Just getting dessert with Bea from my tennis program. She’s got this-” 

“Go change.”

You weren’t looking for a fight. You put on jeans and a sweater. It made you five minutes late to meet Art and you hated it. You looked at Art with sadness in your eyes and he recognized it but didn’t know what it was. “Are you okay?” He knew you. 

“Yeah, can we just… go make fun of bad improv?”

“I brought the gummy worms,” he nodded. You leaned slightly against him as you walked down to the outdoor theatre. You were glad to be out for the evening. Glad to be away from Greg and his anger and his hurtful words and the way he treated you. Art was the calm. He was the safety. He didn’t even know it, but he was what kept you going. If you ever got away from Greg, maybe you’d tell Art how you felt. As the feelings for Greg dissipated, your feelings for Art resurfaced. 

“The clown bit was actually so good,” you laughed, walking back up the steps of the campus theatre. ”Reminded me of what Patrick said the first time we got high.” 

His eyes widened and he swallowed the gummy worm he was eating, “Mm- I was thinking the same thing. It was him for sure.” 

“You think I’d be a good clown?” 

“Mmm, no.” He shook his head. “Your feet aren’t big enough.” 

“And yours are?” 

“One, who said anything about me being a clown and two, big feet are supposed to mean something, right?” 

You laughed, “Shut up, so boyish.” 

His hand brushed your upper arm, just slightly, and you were all too aware of it. In fact, you were all-too aware of how close you walked to him. It was always an unconscious thing. A forever type thing, always walking close, always leaning against each other in the cafeteria lines, always near each other- never near enough. He then nudged your arm again, this time on purpose, so you opened your hand so that he could dump a few more gummy worms in it and you just smiled. It had never, not once, been more apparent that finding someone to replace your feelings for Art was a mistake. Not when this boy, blonde curls and crooked grin was putting a pile of gummy worms in your hand. Wordlessly. Seamlessly. He just got you and the feeling to kiss him right there, right then was overwhelming. And wrong. 

It was wrong. You pressed your lips together for a moment before eating a gummy worm. If your boyfriend was around he’d smack them right out of your hand saying you don’t need more sugar. Maybe that’s why he was so bitter, you thought. Lack of sugar. You tried not to think too hard about the urges Art brought with him. He was so lovely, he was such an escape, and he was only your best friend. It was all he could be. You had no idea he was fighting the very same urge, paying extra attention to the fact he didn’t even have to ask you to open your hand, you just knew. But it was wrong. You had a boyfriend. 

You said goodbye to Art at the entrance to your building, rather than your dorm. If Greg heard you talking out there, you’d be in for something for sure. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight-” you started. “I needed it.” 

Art’s hands slunk into his pocket and he tilted his head just a little, “Yeah, about that. You’re doing okay?” 

“Oh, yeah, my mood lately has been down, it’s nothing big. I’m just extra appreciative of anything that brings it back up.” 

His eyes were understanding and a little apologetic. “If you want we can do something tomorrow? See a movie or play Scrabble or something stupid. We can get takeout? Takeout and going through Patrick’s Facebook and making fun of him.”

That made you grin. You scrunched your nose just a little, “That sounds good! Really good. I’ll call you tomorrow and I’ll let you know. I have to check with Greg.” Of course you did. Greg. Fuck. “But I’ll call you, I promise.”

“Okay,” he nodded. His gaze lingered on your lips. He wished they wouldn’t. He wished his mind wasn’t on who you were going back to after he said goodbye. He walked back to his dorm room in this perpetual state of angst and longing. There was no pain like it. Ever. In any part of his life he’d never known a greater emotional turmoil. You weren’t his. And he loved you, he didn’t even like you, he loved you and he knew it and you didn’t and there was nothing he could do. 

He went back to his dorm and got into bed in his jeans and his shoes, not bothering to turn the light off, not bothering to pull the covers over himself. He just hugged his pillow and thought about you and it and everything until he fell asleep. You didn’t have that luxury. 

“You’re late,” Greg said, sitting on your bed. He’d been smoking in your room, you could smell it. Potent and cheap, assaulting your nose. You’d give anything to walk out and not return, but this room was yours. If you left now, he’d have you back in your room with some threat or worse. “Care to tell me why?” 

“I thought I was home early?” You set your bag down on the chair. “You said 11.” 

“I said 10:30,” he replied. 

“Did you?” 

“Did I stutter?” 

“No. Look, I’m tired, can we just go to bed?” 

“Of course we can, doll,” he smirked a little bit evilly. You sighed, running your hand over the back of your neck. He wanted to fuck you. And you wanted to go to bed. “Come over here.” 

“Greg, I’m tired,” 

“Too tired?” 

“Yes. I’m too tired. I’m just going to wash my face and go to bed.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Greg, that’s uncalled for.” You said, standing your ground, just a little. “I’m just tired.” 

He shook his head, “Yeah? You go out for hours and come back and don’t even want to fuck. Sounds an awful lot like you’re getting your fill somewhere else. Hm?” 

You pressed your hand to your temple, “It means I’m tired, god, Greg, I’m not cheating.” And some voice in your head told you that you wished you were. “Please.” You slipped into the bathroom, locking the door, just in case. You washed your face and changed into your pajamas before getting in bed next to his heavy scent. As he wrapped an arm around your waist you thought maybe you could tune him out, but his hand slipped over your chest, coming to rest with your breast in his hand. You couldn’t pretend anything. He was himself. Even if you wished it was someone else, it wasn’t. 

The next morning, he was gone. Where to? You had no idea. You were just glad. You spent the morning with windows open, cleaning your things, wiping down surfaces and sorting laundry, spraying air freshener. And it dawned on you to call Art. Greg wasn’t around. You hadn’t asked him, but you would make some excuse, maybe. 

“Hey!” You greeted him, laying back on your bed, fresh sheets beneath you. “You still want to get takeout and make fun of Patrick’s facebook?” 

Art walked to the side of the tennis court, his partner yelling at him to make it quick. He smiled, sitting on the bleachers. “Yeah, if you’re up for it. My dorm, around seven? Does that work?” His smile grew to a grin. 

“That works,” you replied, smiling too. “Who is yelling at you right now?” 

“My partner for singles today,” he answered with a chuckle. “He’s telling me to get back on the court.” 

“Doesn’t he know you’re super busy making super important plans?” 

He looked at his partner, frustrated in waiting on the court. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“Right?” You rolled onto your stomach. “I’ll let you get back to him, I’ll see you later, Art.” 

“See you later, Y/N,” he said. You wished he didn’t have to go. You had nothing to do, Greg wasn’t around. Patrick was touring for another week before he came back around here. You decided to go out and meet up with some girlfriends for the afternoon. It was nice to be out and unbothered by having a set time to be home. There was no pressure. Greg didn’t call or text, not once, and it was a strange sort of peace. You talked to your friends about tennis and classes and their current crushes and it was fun and it was good. You retired back to your dorm around six thirty, showered, and did a little makeup. You were just about to leave to meet Art when Greg walked in.

It was like the light was sucked out of the room along with all the air. Or the fresh air. He smelled gross. He tasted worse, kissing you disgustingly. “Hey baby, I missed you,” he slurred. He needed to shave. “Where you headed?” 

“Bea’s,” you replied. “She’s having a movie night.” 

“Stay,” he breathed. “Missed you all day. Need to feel you.” He disgusted you. Hands on your chest with the door not even closed yet from his entry. “Come on, doll. Said no yesterday, can’t say no today.” 

“No.”

“Don’t give me that attitude, come on. I’m being nice.” 

“Greg, I have plans, I’m going to be late,” you tried to laugh it off nervously, but his hand was around your wrist in seconds. “Greg, please. Come on.” 

He narrowed his eyes, “You’re staying. Bea can fucking wait. Don’t your little friends know that I’m more important than them? Jesus christ, the company you keep.” 

You avoided his gaze. His hand slipped down to undo his belt. You debated running. He’d catch you, he was fast. You debated an argument. You didn’t want to fuck him, you didn’t want to have sex with him. He was expecting it more than wanting it. Like all you were was some object, some toy, some possession. His eyes were dark with lust and his words laced with alcohol. You were afraid of him. “Greg, I have to go. I’ll be back around eleven.” 

“You’re not fucking going,” Greg made it known. Flat out. He shut the door behind him. 

“I am. I made the plans, I can’t bail.” 

“For me, yes you fucking can.” He said, pushing you back onto the bed. “Come on, Y/N. You’ll like it soon enough.” 

“No. Greg. I’m serious. I have to go.” 

“You know better than to talk back to me,” he warned. As if you were a dog. Or a child. “You don’t fucking listen? You’re not going out. Cut the attitude before you regret it.” 

“Greg.” 

“What did I fucking say?” He yelled, then dropped his voice. It was nasty, his breath, his tone. “I’m gonna fuck you and you’re gonna like it.” 

“No-” his blow came like lightning through your body. A shock. A volt. And then the sting. “Greg, please-” another. And more. And then he left again. You couldn’t move. You didn’t want to, it hurt. Your ribs ached, your head pulsed. Your lip was bleeding. What could you do but cry and cry and cry? You wanted to call Art, you really did, but you knew if you cried on the phone he’d come over here and with Greg on the loose, it wasn’t a good idea. So you curled up into a ball and cried yourself to sleep. 

Art sat in his dorm room waiting all night for you. Until about 2 am, when he gave up calling and texting and went to bed. You called him the next morning and he didn’t pick up. 

You couldn’t reschedule for any day nearby because of your fat lip and new bruises. Greg came back and apologized like usual, dismissing the purple and blue on your face. His doing. His work. When he was in the bathroom, you called Art again, leaving a quiet voicemail. 

“Art, I’m so sorry about my no-show last night. Something came up and I couldn’t make it and I’m so sorry I didn’t call or text. I feel like such an asshole. But next week, for sure. We’ll do whatever you want, my treat. I want to make it up to you, I feel terrible about this. Please call or text me when you get this. I’m sorry.”

Art gazed over his screen. He wasn’t sure how to feel. Loving you was choking him out and these no-shows and being late and canceling, it was just… too much. You were you and you were everything he could ever want, but you had other priorities, it seemed. He could want you all he wanted, wish for you as often as he could, but you didn’t wish the same. That was all he knew, not knowing the whole truth. Not calling him that night was one of the hardest things to do, but it was for safety. 

You couldn’t even see Art if you wanted to for a few days. Not until the bruises faded enough to be covered by clever concealer. You wanted so desperately to go over to his dorm. You wanted to see your friends. Anything to feel better. Anything to get out of this fucking room, but you called in sick to your classes and worked on the material in your room, completely unable to really exist in the outside world. It was just you and Greg in this tiny little room. And he didn’t stop the aggression. You couldn’t escape it. 

You called Art again when he left for an hour or two to go to the bar. You had stifled your crying, feeling so completely alone, needing to hear his voice. Maybe he’d save you for even a moment. He was the light, he made things better. 

He picked up this time. “Hey.” It was singular, a little quiet. 

“Art, hi,” you said. You weren’t sure why you were so overwhelmed with emotion at his simple greeting. “Did you get my messages? I left a voicemail, god, I’m so sorry for the other night.  We made plans and I made a commitment but I got tangled up. I wanted to call, I’m so sorry I didn’t.” You gushed. “I understand if you’re angry. I know I promised you I wouldn’t do what I did, but you have to believe I didn’t mean to. And I’m really sorry.” 

He was quiet for a moment. “I know.” He wasn’t sure what to say. What you did wasn’t okay, but it was you, so he’d always forgive. “I get it.” But he didn’t. “You have a boyfriend, I can’t expect you to be free all the time. It’s fine.” But it wasn’t. 

“Art, really, I-” 

“I forgive you. Just call me next time? Please.” His words were so easy, it hurt you. “I heard your voicemail, if you still want to make it up to me, I’m free Friday night. There’s a party, Patrick wants to go. You should come with us.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. A party would be hard to lie about. But it was Art and he was asking and you so desperately wanted to see him that you agreed. You agreed. And the conversation mellowed into something normal. Your usual conversation and banter, slight teases, and warm words. And it felt better. You had plans for Friday and that was that. You wouldn’t let anything or anyone stop you this time. 

Getting ready for the party with Greg around sucked. You did your makeup modestly, you couldn’t look too nice or he’d stop you from leaving. The concealer didn't quite cover the bruise, but your lip had healed over pretty nicely. The dim lighting would be your friend for sure. You put on a long skirt over a mid-length one. You couldn’t be too careful, he once called a skirt slightly above the knee slutty. And you wore a dollar store t-shirt over your black tank top. 

“Where are you going?” Greg asked. 

“Sleepover at Bea’s, remember?” You said. You loved lying to him. It was the best you could get away with. “You said I could go.” 

“Yeah. It’s fine. Talk to you later.” He didn’t make you stay or make you kiss him goodbye, which was a relief. You walked over to Art’s dorm with what felt like pep in your step. You didn’t have to be home at any certain time, you were free to roam, to have fun. Greg wouldn’t know. Greg couldn’t know. Patrick let you into Art’s room. He’d been debriefed on the stunt you pulled, but he couldn’t hold it against you. 

“You look like you’re going to church,” he remarked, looking over your outfit.

 Art peered over from where he sat, “Amish?” 

You chuckled, pulling the shirt off over your head. Both boys were a little taken aback as you tossed the shirt to Art’s laundry. “Not quite.” You undid the button on the side of your skirt and took that off as well, revealing the shorter skirt underneath. You were beautiful, Art thought. He always thought it. But that was because you always were. Wanting you was hard and disruptive and wrong, he reminded himself. But you stood there and everything reminded him of just how fucked he was. Head over heels for a taken girl. Both of them were too distracted to pay attention to the covered-up bruise on your outer thighs. They didn’t pay close enough attention to the multitude of bracelets that covered the bruised fingerprints on your wrist. Your face was another story. Another lie. 

Art’s mouth was just a little open, watching you shed the outer layer of clothes. Patrick tossed you a shooter. “So what’s with the coverup?” 

You thought he meant your makeup over the bruise on your face and you held your breath for a half-second. He meant the clothes. “Oh, Greg wouldn’t like me out in a skirt and tank top.” You tried not to cringe at the words. Were they telling?

“Why does Greg have a say in that?” Patrick replied, leaning forward in his chair just a little. Art looked away, he had to. His face would say something he didn’t want you to know. Patrick was overstepping, he couldn’t bear that either. 

You unscrewed the cap of the shooter, “He’s not… I don’t know. But I don’t give a fuck, I’m going out anyway,” you said, trying to ignore that line of questioning. “I’m in the skirt and the shirt. Thoughts?” You did a little spin. Art couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were so perfect it hurt. It hurt. 

“Hot.” Patrick nodded. He unscrewed his own shooter, standing and grabbing one to pass to Art. Art pushed past his thoughts and the three of you did a little ‘cheers’, downing the small bottles. You would take hot. Hot was good. Hot was the opposite of how you were feeling. Greg made you feel so gross, it was hard to be anything else. And with staying cooped up in your room, bruised and marinating in the feeling of being ugly- so hot was good. He said what Art was thinking. It was a little less than he thought, but it was a good summary. 

The three of you headed out soon after, drinking on the way. You were leaning on Art as you walked, the three of you laughing at some inside joke. Your laugh was beautiful and rang out in the street. With the soft buzz of alcohol in his head, on his skin, you were an angel. You were always an angel, bathed in streetlight. And your hand was around his bare forearm and boundaries with you were always blurry but this felt odd. He was enjoying it, it was wrong, but he was letting it pass with the excuse of the alcohol. Your hand was so soft on his skin, the perfect temperature, perfect everything. When were you not perfect? 

“Okay so Patrick is set on bringing a girl back- but bringing a girl back where?” You laughed, turning onto one of the little pathways between the rented residencies. 

“I don’t think he’s thought that far ahead,” Art chuckled, nudging Patrick just a little. Patrick raised his hands in surrender, both hands filled with shooters. His pockets were also full. “You were going to say my dorm room, weren’t you?”

“Nasty,” you teased. “Poor Art. He sleeps in that bed, you know.” 

“Uh-huh. You’re one to talk, you’ve always got some form of hickey on your neck, you don’t even try to hide it. Me, nasty? You.” Your hand immediately flew to the side of your neck. “Sit with that one.” 

Art’s heart always fell at the mention of it. Every time, without fail. You moved away from him just slightly at the mention. You would usually have a retort to something like that. But you didn’t. Your hand just stayed on the side of your neck, covering the fingerprint bruises you didn’t know were visible. You pulled your hair over it. “Pass me another shooter, please.” 

Art, sweet, feeling pretty shitty over the way he was viewing you, stayed quiet. Mostly. Until you were just outside the party. Patrick pat him on the shoulder, heading in right away. Art, sweet, stopped you with the extension of his arm. “You’re quiet.” He said. 

“So were you,” you replied. 

“Just wondering if you’re okay?” He said. Posing it as a question. “You’ve seemed upset since we were at mine, I just wanted to know before we go in there and it’s too loud and I get too drunk to ask.” 

“You’ve never been too drunk you ask,” you smiled. You were standing a little bit close to him, your toes inches from touching. “You got soooo drunk at the Miller’s party last year and you still asked me if I was having fun. I wasn’t and we left and you threw up, remember?” 

“I don’t,” he chuckled, eyes soft. But he nodded, “You’re okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I need more to drink and I want to find Bea and dance. My plans. Your plans?” 

“Drink and save women from Patrick,” he nodded, his grin coming back. 

You, just a little clouded from alcohol, pressed your palm to the side of his face just for a second. “You’re a saint, Art Donaldson.” He felt his skin flush. Your hand slipped away and went down his forearm once again, pulling him into the party. It was natural you let go of him, Art made a beeline for Patrick who was already talking to some girl. She was weird, flirted with Art too once he showed up. 

You needed to lie to Greg more often, you thought, taking a shot from some girl you shared a 3pm class with. Bea’s hands on your hips, dancing together, hands raised over your heads. This was living, this was uncontrolled, unbridled by any abuse, any threat. You could have fun and not feel guilty about it after. Greg had too much trust in a girl he hit. You felt- though you weren’t- free. Just a little bit. 

Art watched you with Bea, watched the way you moved. He was out of it. Just a little. Not too drunk at all. But enough. Numb, watching you. Hard, watching you. He hid a little behind Patrick to hide it, watching your hips sway, watching how close you and your best friend were. He couldn’t have cared less about Bea. Just you. 

He should have told you he liked you in high school. Not saying anything had to be one of the biggest regrets of his entire life. You were perfect for him in every way and you were warm and inviting and you were witty and fun and you knew each other like the backs of your hands and it would have been worth it to tell you. He knew that, looking at you, that it would have been easiest to tell you when he still could. He was bitter about it. A missed chance. Patrick told him he’d regret it and watching you under purple lights, he knew Patrick had been right. It was all bullshit. 

Patrick suddenly grabbed Art’s arm pretty hard, yanking him closer, “That guy over there. That’s Greg, right?” He said, voice low even in the loudness of the party. He gestured over to the guy in the weird sweater and jeans, leaned up against the wall, arm hanging above a short hardly-dressed girl. Faces close. So close. Noses touching kind of close. 

“Oh, fuck,” Art breathed, eyes locked on them, watching Greg’s hand touch just under this girl’s chin. You didn’t know Greg was there, that was apparent. But of course, the dirtbag was. Art’s heart pounded hard in his chest. He looked back at Patrick, whose expression was filled with hatred. As it should be because what the fuck? Regardless of how much he was rooting for Art, always rooting for Art, Greg was still the guy you were with. Your boyfriend. And he was with someone else. 

“I need a reason not to fuck him up right now,” Patrick said. “What the fuck do we do?” 

“I don’t know.” Art answered truthfully. “She doesn’t know he’s here, he doesn’t know she’s here.” 

Patrick shook his head, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, visibly pissed off. At least Patrick could be pissed off, Art’s stomach was just in knots. It was almost nonsensical. No way he would cheat on you. You? You were everything, you were gorgeous in all ways and you had a personality. How could he cheat? He looked back over at Greg in a liplock with this other girl and the anger did rise, but his eyes fell back on you and it eased. This was fucked all around. Every bit of this was fucked up. “We have to tell her, we can’t keep it to ourselves.” 

“I agree but how are we going to say it? We’re in a crowd of people, it’s not exactly fun news.” 

“Fucking asshole. I’m pissed. He’s slobbering all over that girl like a fucking dog. You know, I should…”

Art couldn’t keep listening to Patrick’s rant. He didn’t even want to look back at Greg. But Greg was very obviously invested in his cheating schemes. Art wondered how long he’d been doing it to you. How long had this guy been cheating? Did you not satisfy him? How could you not satisfy him, you sported hickeys so often and you were late to meet up and it was all sickening, but it didn’t add up. This guy was the world's most unsatisfied, apparently. It, he, was disgusting. Art felt his face crinkle up just thinking about it, but he had to now. Your feelings were in the balance here. 

“- in the face. Knock his goatee right off. Art. Art, I’m telling her.” 

“Patrick, give me a fucking second,” Art said, holding a hand up. He looked back at you, Bea pouring a shot in your mouth. You were smiling. Grinning. And you were beautiful and he hated the idea that you’d stop soon. Fuck. Neither of you deserved this. Not you, not Art. “We’ll tell her it’s time to go and then we’ll tell her outside, no bullshit.” 

Patrick nodded, “This is bad.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m so fucking angry.” 

“I know.” Art’s heart was leaping out of his chest. He held his hand out and Patrick dug in his pocket for a stronger shooter. Art drank it all quickly, letting it burn his throat. His heart didn’t slow even a bit. “Fuck.” 

Patrick leaned over to the girl who he’d just been talking to, saying something about having to leave. Art watched her roll her eyes and walk away. It was fair, she’d been standing there for a bit listening to him trash talk your boyfriend. Art rubbed his eyes, trying to sober up just a little, but after that shooter, it was a little bit pointless. Regret seemed to be a theme around here. “He’s gone.” Patrick said. Art let the fuzz from rubbing his eyes melt and sure enough, Greg wasn’t where he was before. Just a little panicked, he set his eyes on you. There he was, towering over you, rage in his eyes. It was clear to Art what was going through your head, he knew you too well, you were cowering. Patrick was still scanning the crowd for Greg, but Art watched as Greg’s fingers locked onto your upper arm and he yanked you so hard that your shoulder went funny for a second. 

Art, a little shocked, watching him drag you out of sight. And he launched into action. He started into the sea of people dancing, drinking, leaving Patrick behind. Patrick was faced the other way, by the time Art was absorbed into the crowd, it was a little late to find even him. Art pushed through people, trying to keep his sight on you, but he lost you in it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbled. He’d never seen anyone grab anyone the way Greg just grabbed you. It was violent and harsh and the way it happened, it couldn’t have been good in any way. He pushed through people, accidentally pushing a guy as he passed him, the guy went to push back but Art just darted out of the way. He made his way to the door, you weren’t around it, so you had to have left. 

“Art Donaldson, my man,” one of his tennis buddies greeted him, stepped in front of him and Art just stepped around him, trying to find you. You, where were you? His heart rate was raised higher than he’d ever felt it. Rapid, as if he’d run a mile. He ran out onto the street, looking around, but there wasn’t any sight of you. What he would do when he found you, he had no idea, he just knew he needed to find you. Nobody just grabbed someone like that with good intentions. 

Greg wasn’t a good guy and he knew that, he just thought it was his bias. That maybe he was overreacting, but it didn’t look so much that way now. “Greg, please!” You yelled from his left. Art turned his head to see two figures head into one of the thin alleyways between buildings. He could hear a man speaking back to you, Greg, obviously, but his voice was too much of a growl to understand. Art started jogging toward the sound, cautiously. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry I lied,” you cried out. 

“Little fucking whore. Lie to me to go party with your friends? Dance on some fucking guy, cheat one me? That’s what you wanted?” Art’s heart was about to break his ribs. He ran just a little faster.

“No, fuck, Greg, stop! I was with Bea, I was with Bea!” 

“At a fucking party. If you wanted to be a slut you could have said so. Fucking lying to me, you’re disgusting. Fucking bitch.” 

“Greg!” 

“Don’t even start talking back to me now! You’re a lying, cheating whore who deserves to be treated like one!” 

Art was almost there, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. “Greg, don’t fucking touch me. I’m dead serious, I’ll scream. Get off me, get off me you asshole!” 

The sound of the blow made Art’s entire body go cold. He felt himself drain of colour, he felt his heart stop for just a second. It was a sickening noise. The entirety of him tensed up to a point he felt like a coiled spring, his chest tight, ribs pressing in. He hit you, that was the sound of him hitting you, he hit you. Art made it over and came at Greg with a surprising force, shoving him off of you and onto the ground. He was drunk, it was easy to do. Your hand grabbed Art’s upper arm, but missed as Art’s body followed through with the movement. 

“What the fuck?!” Greg exclaimed. You moved behind Art, backward, away. Tears streamed down your face, you were choking on sobs, cradling the side of your face with one hand and your upper arm with the other. Art stepped back with you. He was so angry he himself couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look at you, he kept his eyes on Greg, breathing hard. Shoving was tame, shoving him off of you was going to have to be enough, Art wasn’t violent. The shock of all this hadn’t settled, it wouldn’t settle. “Who the fuck are you, tough guy?” Greg advanced on Art who was nimble, but between anti-car poles, stuck. Shoved against the wall, he just avoided having his head hit the wall by putting his hand up. 

“Art!” You yelled. “Greg, stop! GREG!” You screamed, you hoped someone would come. You hoped someone would call the cops. 

“Art fucking Donaldson, huh?” Greg smirked, face close to Art’s. “You been fucking my girlfriend? Hm? This the one, Y/N, really? Just friends my ass, you probably came here with him.” 

“Fuck you,” Art seethed. Greg was bigger than him. 

“Get off of him, Greg, I’m begging you, don’t hurt him!” 

Greg fumed, “Used me to get over him, huh? Big-eared, fuckass, twinkie little pretty boy, here?” 

“Shut up!” You yelled. Your head pounded, your skin stung. “Stop. Now. I’ll call the police, I’ll get someone to call the police, Greg, get off of him!” 

Art shoved Greg backward again, but he just walked right back. “I don’t want to fight you.” Art said, his eyes dark. “Fuck off. Leave her alone, fuck off.” 

“He’s playing prince charming, Y/N. You’ve been fucking him on the side. Yeah, that’s why you never put out, you slut. Getting his pathetic skinny boy dick on the side.” Art kneed Greg in the groin, pushing him off again and stepping over to you. “Oh, you’re fucking dead.” His eyes burned with rage and he came at Art with a pouncing force, grabbing him and bringing him down to the ground. You screamed, watching Greg tackle Art to the pavement. The brawl began, Greg holding Art down, trying to punch him but being blocked. Art wasn’t violent, he was avoiding hurting Greg. For you. For your sake. You had no choice, you had to intervene. What was a few more bruises? You tried to push Greg off, but he kept at it, trying to hurt Art. 

“Hey! Hey, what the fuck!” It was Patrick and he dragged you out of this with too much ease, putting you to the side and going right back to push Greg off of Art and onto his back. A bystander behind Patrick had their phone out, calling 911, thank god. You watched in pure shock, Art get punched in the shoulder rather than the head and in a swift blow, Patrick punched Greg in the jaw. And he went limp. You grabbed Art, you grabbed whatever you could on him, his shirt, his opposite shoulder, on your knees. He looked at you with eyes sadder than you’d ever seen them. You moved closer. 

His hand reached up to your face desperately but also gently, despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “You’re okay? You’re okay.” 

“I’m okay,” you nodded a little too much, looking him over just as he looked you over, noting the way your cheekbone was bleeding. He really hit you. “God, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Art, I’m so sorry.” You were crying a steady stream of tears, lip trembling, and you were still so beautiful. 

“Don’t be sorry, don’t be sorry,” he said, trying to wipe your tears a little more desperately than he had just done. “He hit you, he hurt you, how-” 

“I wanted to tell you. I was scared. I was so scared he’d do something awful. I don’t love him, I don’t want him, I want you. I want you, I’ve wanted you.” You blurted, sobbing just a little more. Art messily moved your hair out of your face. “Art, I-”  You were crying so hard, it was hard to breathe. “I couldn’t leave him.” You looked over at Patrick shaking his hand out, at Greg’s unconscious self. Hands gentle, he turned your head away from it. 

Art’s lips were just a little parted, eyes looking over the damage to your face. “How long has he been?” 

“A long time,” you swallowed hard. “Three months in, maybe two- two and a half.” You said, biting your lip trying to stop crying. “I wanted to leave him. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn’t. He’s- he’s why I didn’t show up those times, I wanted to be there, but he’d… he was… I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry, you have nothing to be sorry for, this isn’t your fault,” he said, bracing you with soft hands. “It’s okay. He’s not getting close to you ever again, Patrick is making sure of that.” 

“He was right about the using him part, I was using him to get over you and it was- wrong. It was wrong and he started hurting me and then it was too late to get out.”

In the heat of the moment, your ‘I want you’s had slipped past him. He wanted to make sure you were okay, he wasn’t focused on that. You were blurting things out, he’d missed it. His eyebrows furrowed, he lowered his head just a bit, “Over me? What do you mean?” His judgment also wasn’t the best. But it didn’t matter. You sat up just a little, still clinging onto his clothes, hands shaking. With Greg out, going to be out of the picture the words just spilled from your mouth. Rolling off your tongue in light of what was soon to be true freedom. 

“I’ve wanted you forever, god, it kills me that I never said anything. It’s you, it’s been you, I don’t know why I thought I could ever try and be with anyone to forget that. It’s just, you’ve never…” 

“What? No, no. I’ve liked you since I met you, we were twelve, it was bad and it’s been you. You never said anything either-” the sound of a cop car approaching interrupted. “You liked me?” 

“Yes! So much. Too much, sometimes. God, I’m so stupid.” You were crying still, even more now. “You just… you never said anything, so I never said anything and then I got stuck, but it never stopped. It’s bad, it’s so bad, I probably love you, it’s awful.” The alcohol was still running the conversation. 

“That is awful,” Art chuckled just a little bit. On the pavement with you, cop car approaching, lights flashing. This conversation would be over in a minute. Your eyes met his, sad, angry, mutual thoughts and mutual expressions. 

“It’s bad?” You smiled just a little through your tears. 

He grinned just a little, “I've been in love with you for as long as I've known what being in love feels like”

Art’s thumb wiped your tears with a little less desperation now. His heart and yours were still beating hard. “That’s so bad, that’s six years,” 

“I know.” He said, grinning his wide crooked grin. The conversation had strayed from the real problem, but it was a good distraction. A welcomed one, in fact. Proof that things could and would be better. “It’s okay. Are you going to be okay?” 

“I’m going to be okay,” you nodded. The policemen, two of them walked over and began their spiel, asking about what happened and Art helped you to your feet. The night was still young, the persecution was easy to figure and a diary you kept detailing his abuse was a great help to the case. You, Patrick, and Art all spent the night at the police station with forms and questions and people trying to get a grasp on the situation. A blurry security camera was also a great amount of help. Greg was charged properly, put away. It was easy to see who was the real problem. You sat with ice to your face in one of the police chairs, being offered therapy and counseling and numbers to call for trauma and crisis. Everyone was so sweet, one of the policewomen held your hand for a good while until it stopped shaking. 

You still cried a lot. Sorry that everyone had to go through this just because you couldn’t leave a guy. Just because you had tried to forget your feelings for Art in someone else. But the words, ‘it’s not your fault’ were thrown around a lot. And that you’d be safe. And it felt good to know. You’d sobered back up, obviously. So did the boys. You had the most extensive questioning, the boys waited in the main room. 

“All the excuses, the ball to the face, the stairs…” Patrick sighed heavily, staring forward into a void. 

“It was him.” Art nodded. “I feel like such an idiot, how the fuck did I not know? I know her better than myself, she hid it and I didn’t want to think about her and Greg. It was… it hurt.” He admit. Patrick looked over at Art. 

“He’s gone. He won’t hurt her again. If he tries, best believe I’m doing more than knocking his ass out. I can’t fucking believe this shit. I’m glad I got off, but jesus fucking christ, I wish I’d done enough to be behind those bars.” 

“No you don’t,” Art sighed, leaning forward into his hands. “Fuck. I didn’t even fight back.” 

“You’re not that kind of guy,” Patrick reasoned. “Which is fine. You got him off her, that was all you needed to do.” 

“I guess, but… fuck.” 

“She told you she wanted you,” He reminded Art with a slight sly smile on his lips. He gave Art a gentle little push off the shoulder. As if Art had been able to stop thinking about it. He’d sobered up just the same and the confession might have been badly timed, but at least it happened. He meant it, he hoped you did too. He was trying not to let it eat him alive alongside the fact your now-ex hit you and he hadn’t known. Maybe he missed the other clues? How did he not know? “She likes you too. It’s all you’ve wanted.” 

“I know,” Art sighed. “After that, though?” 

“Means she’s yours.” 

Art looked up and met Patrick’s eyes, trying to verify if he meant it. As if Patrick was the dictator. But Patrick was only the reality. The gravity of the situation hung above him, but you were in front of him, free from the questioning. Your cheeks were pink and tear-stained still and your eyelashes were still wet. Patrick tipped his head toward you to gesture to Art and the second Art saw you, he was on his feet. His eyes were wide like a doe’s, hands in his pockets. 

He met you halfway down the blue-painted precinct hallways. Your eyes said more than words did as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He pulled you in the rest of the way into a hug that had more sincerity and life than the walls had ever seen. His arms wrapped around your waist, grabbing onto the fabric of your shirt on your sides, holding you tight and close. He kissed your shoulder, his chin resting in your hair. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He mumbled. You shut your eyes for a moment, allowing him to envelop you in his arms. He held you so tight, it felt like he was keeping you from falling to pieces. It would take you a while to get over all of this, but right now, it felt like you’d be okay. 

He was refreshingly cold, the precinct was warm and you’d been upset, so of course you were warm. He held you for a minute or maybe five. Nobody had to use the hallway and anyone who did just went back around. Patrick didn’t watch, instead, he went to the counter to ask about getting a ride back to campus. 

Eventually, you pulled away from the hug. Not entirely, just almost. His arms slid over your back, his grip just loosening, not leaving. In fact you didn’t get very far in pulling away. Your heart beat fast in your chest. Even in the upset, even after the fact, Art was still your peace. He was quiet and he held you as long as you needed him to. He was always there and you knew he would be. With everything that happened just then, with that confession… Your forehead pressed against his. Gentle. Safe. You were safe. You felt safer here, like this, than you did in that room with the officers who asked you so many things. 

You looked at him through your eyelashes. He must have read your mind, he must have known you too well. With a tilt of your heads, your lips met. There was the slightest, softest bit of hesitation, but it was soothed over in seconds, your hand sliding to cup Art’s cheek. He pulled you back in with slow, easy hands that didn’t grab too hard. The kiss was patient, calculated, and warm. It sent what felt like tiny sparks through all of your veins leaving goosebumps in their wake. It felt like completion, like a satisfying end to a movie, like putting a book back on the shelf after reading it. It was easy to kiss him, your heart slowed for the first time as his pace matched yours. However, out of understanding, the kiss wasn’t too long. Maybe a minute, nothing more. 

You’d been through something. He couldn’t be the one to fix all of that, but he’d be there for you until it felt better. Stepping in now felt wrong, felt like it was one thing to another. You needed the time to yourself. Art didn’t kiss you again for another five months. All of which were spent the way they usually were, aside from being a little closer than usual and hanging out so much more. You were free to do as you pleased. Free to see him. Free to stay home- and you spent a good amount of your time alone healing. Physically and mentally. 

Patrick was often around to help you laugh it off, but when you needed to cry, Art was always right there. After some time, you were feeling like yourself again. And you were laughing too much, smiling all the time again, spinning in a new skirt and crashing into Art. Who you then kissed, after so much time thinking about it, replaying it, wanting it again. It was finally okay to do so. After seven years, it was only fitting that he welcomed it, fully, and entirely. You were giggling, your lips pressed to his, and he knew it was okay. There was no bruise on your cheekbone to be cautious of, both of his hands held your face, your head tilted back just a little as he kissed you the way you were meant to be kissed. The way Greg couldn’t. It would never mean so much. 

Greg was in your past, but Art was your past. And your future, now. Because now that you had each other, neither of you was going to let go. He promised you that between kisses. You promised it back. 

taglist: @swetearss @lalalandofive @reallycreativeusername @kaaaiiaaa @ladystardust-thinks @ke4s @ellzbellz18

[miraclewoozi]

UNDER THE COLLAR. -l.sm

your unlucky-in-love best friend goes on a date with someone who, by all accounts, should be his perfect person. so... how exactly do you end up being the one who tucks his sorry, drunk ass into bed?

pairing; lee seokmin x gn!reader.  (he calls reader pretty once but that is all<3) content; fluff / some mild angst towards the middle / pining / friends to… still friends but with some ~tension~ and a snuggle? w/c; 4.6k and a smidge. warnings; swearing, alcohol consumption (offscreen), drunkenness, some suggestiveness (MINORS DNI), reader has some hard thoughts, a bit of affectionate touching but nothing deliberately sexual? seok is needy and cuddly (and a terrible flirt). let me know if i've forgotten anything! note; this was originally gonna be part of a mini-series/multi-chap situation but!! i ended up hating the full thing and only being attached to like. two parts of it lol so here we are! there could potentially be a second part to this? if people want it? i don’t know yet! but this kinda just works as it’s own standalone thing anyway i think~ happy sunday <3

The first text comes through just after you finally set your phone down on the bedside table. Your eyes are dry and have started to sting from a long evening staring at screens, your bones feel impossibly heavy, and you think maybe you’re settling down for a semi-decent night’s sleep when you hear the buzz of a notification. A buzz you initially plan to ignore. It can’t be anything that important: who would be trying to reach you at this time of night, anyway? 

You roll away from the device and snuggle down into your pillows, pulling the sleeves of your — his — jumper down over your palms and resting them just in front of your face. This particular garment stopped smelling like Seokmin after the second time it went through your washing machine, but there’s a familiarity in the slightly rough inner lining that makes you want to wear it to sleep in every night, forever. He never liked it when his hoodies were too new, too soft, leaving balls of fluff all over his t-shirts and vests; you don’t know when you started to feel the same way, but you’ve realised recently that you do.

Your eyes flutter closed and your body relaxes, head starting to feel fuzzy in that calm, white-noise, lovely way. You haven’t felt this tired and genuinely sleepy for… months. It’s bliss. 

And then your phone buzzes again. You squeeze your eyes tighter, determined not to lose this warm, comfortable feeling, but your phone vibrates and vibrates and vibrates and with an audible groan, you sit back up, reaching over to see what, exactly, is so damn important at 02:23 in the fucking morning.

Seokmin’s contact name flashes up on the lock screen and you see that there are seven unread messages from him in the space of the last 3 minutes. Instantly, your brows draw together: he’s seldom shied away from a double text, but you’ve never known him to pull a septuple, and you can’t feel but feel a little bit of dread in your stomach as you read through them. 

> seokmin: yn

> seokmin: ynnnnnn

> seokmin: i lied

> seokmin: i didmt go homr yet

> seokmin: can you come get mr

> seokmin: mr

> seokmin: m e

You shoot back a message instantly asking where he is, turning on your bedside lamp and already swinging your legs out from under the covers. You keep hold of your phone in one hand, waiting for it to buzz again to tell you he’s given you his location. With the other, you search for and pull on some sweatpants, sliding into a pair of sneakers. His replies come simultaneously too quickly, and entirely not fast enough.

> seokmin: u knkw the bar in town with the bear statiiue oitside

> seokmin: lol

> seokmin: do you think i ciuld beat thsi bear in s fight???

> y/n: christ. okay, wait inside for me. i’ll be there in 15. 

> y/n: also, no. you couldn’t. x

Your veins feel alive with adrenaline and worry as you grab your keys and head down the stairs to your car. The drive is quiet — you don’t even waste the few seconds it would take to plug into the AUX and pick a playlist, leaving it up to the radio to keep you company on the way. It doesn’t take too long: soon enough, you’re pulling up alongside the infamous bear statue to find your best friend sitting on the curb, propped up against the marble base.

“I thought I told you to wait inside?” you chide, rolling down the passenger side window so you can announce your arrival. It’s like he’s moving in slow-motion, or maybe your words just take an extra few seconds to reach him? Either way, he doesn’t lift his head until a silence has settled between you, and he doesn’t smile until his slightly glazed-over eyes land on your face.

“Y/n!” He cheers, lifting himself off the floor and staggering upright, pushing a hand through his hair. “Hi! Yeah, I know — but look, it was too hot in there. It was so hot. And I didn’t want you to wait-…” Hiccup. “To have to wait for me.” 

He slides into the passenger seat with a contented sigh, a mess of long limbs he can’t quite control, adjusting the vent in front of him so that the cold from your air-con breezes against his flushed cheeks. As he settles, you reach over him, pulling his seatbelt across his chest. 

“I was getting to that,” he whines, pouting his pretty lips at you, and you click the belt in place with a laugh. History tells you that when he’s drunk, Seokmin doesn’t always believe in the power of the seatbelt, among other things, so you think maybe you could be forgiven for not believing him this time.

“Okay, dumbass. Sure you were.”

He reaches down into the passenger footwell for your AUX cord, bumping his head on the dashboard and letting out an exaggerated hiss as he sits back upright. Nonetheless, he plugs his phone in and presses play on his own night-driving playlist, holding the device between both of his hands as you start off towards his place.

“So…” you prompt, because he’s staring blankly out the windscreen with a tiny smile on his lips and you’re concerned that maybe, this time, he has actually managed to drink himself stupid. He rolls his head over to look at you, and fond bliss is written into every line of his face. “What happened?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, still just… staring at you as you drive. Staring, even though every detail of you is committed to his memory already. Staring, even though he knows how your eyelashes flutter when you blink. Even though he knows how the muscles in your throat bob as you swallow the saliva on your tongue. Even though he’s sat in your passenger seat enough times to remember exactly how the late-night glow of the street-lamps overhead catch and illuminate the curve of your nose, how they highlight the point of your chin. He knows all this, but he can’t help himself. Staring is… indulgent. So, so indulgent. But he is pretty drunk and he can get away with it when you’re focused on the road — at least, that’s what he tells himself.  

When he does attempt to speak, just as you slow to a stop at a set of traffic lights, the sparkle in his gaze falters. He faces forward again, shoulders rising and slumping in a meek ‘I don’t know’.

“She was… perfect, I think,” he tries to explain, and you glance across to look at him; his lips are both non-existent, pulled between his teeth and he has worry lines creasing up his forehead. With the hand not holding the wheel, you reach over, pressing your fingertips to where his eyebrows have scrunched to try and get him to relax the muscles there. It sort of works, if only because he releases an involuntary breath of a laugh.

“Not perfect,” you gasp, dramatic and teasing even though it stings a little to hear him say that out loud. “I mean, that definitely explains why you were out drinking, alone, three hours after you told me you were heading home.” He turns his head fully away from you, now, letting your hand drop dangerously towards his lap. You pull it back to yourself before it collides with his jeans, clearing your throat. The traffic signal changes to green, and you drive ahead. “I’m kidding. Come on. Talk to me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, despondent, crossing his arms over his chest. You’re not sure you’ve seen him acting like this since you were teenagers. It’s a strange twist away from your usual, very easy-going banter.

“Seok...” You try again. “I won’t stop for nuggets if you don’t tell me.” 

“Don’t stop, then.”

“Seokmin…”

“Don’t-…” It comes out quickly, the vein in the side of his neck popping until he takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “Y/n. I’m tired, I just-… I don’t wanna talk about it. Can you please just… take me home?”

He’s still struggling with his words, but he isn’t abrasive in the way he speaks; that’s something you learned about Seokmin very early on in your friendship. He doesn’t raise his voice at you. He doesn’t get deep and gravelly when he’s pissed off. He just… seems to let himself feel things super intensely for a few seconds at a time and then he short-circuits, goes flat. It might be convenient for him, but it gets frustrating for you. Especially when he encourages you to open up to him as much as he does. 

His head is bowed and cradled in his hands when you pull up outside his apartment block, and you unfasten his seatbelt for him which jolts him upright. You stay facing front, though, guilt coursing through your veins at the thought of maybe having pushed him too far. You just want to understand. Why was his date being good such a bad thing?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t be,” you tell him, and he scoffs, but quietly.

“Y/n,” he sighs, his crown falling against the headrest; he reaches over to you, places a hand just above your knee, and you try to ignore how it feels like someone has crashed their car into you from behind. How your heart lurches forwards in your chest. How your adrenaline spikes.

“I mean it. I shouldn’t have kept pushing. I’m sorry.”

He chews this over for a moment, but he doesn’t remove his hand, and you find that maybe you don’t want him to. Not yet, at least.

“Will you help me get up the stairs?”

“Of course I will.”

With one of his arms over your shoulders, your own supporting his waist, the pair of you begin the obnoxiously long ascent up through his building to his apartment. He’s lived here for a year and a half, and you think maybe the elevator has been working… for a total of about a week, since then? God forbid he ever got injured and couldn’t climb six flights just to get himself home. The climb is bad enough as is.

Somewhere around landing number four, Seokmin pulls away from you, mumbling something about having the spins and needing to sit down. You ease him to perch on one of the windowsills, sitting down next to him with your arm still around his hips to keep him balanced on the narrow ledge.

“You should’ve taken me back to your place,” he grumbles, doubling over with his elbows against his knees and his fingers linked behind his neck, taking deep breaths.

“Get your feet flat on the floor. Look at your shoelaces. Breathe slow. It’ll help,” you coo, and he shuffles a little so that he can do exactly that (not without wobbling and almost landing on his face, and he thanks you and your “super strong arms” for keeping him from such a fate). After a few more seconds of deep breathing and grounding, he lifts his head. Crisis averted.

“Are you-… like, a witch, or something?” he asks out of nowhere, and you snort so loudly that your throat hurts. He keeps staring at you, waiting for you to answer. Apparently your laugh wasn’t response enough.

“What are you talking about, Seok?” 

He rolls his eyes at you, as if you should just know. “How did you know how to fix me? It’s like magic.”

“Because I know you, stupid. Come on. Two more flights and I’ll get you into bed.”

“S’that a promise?” he asks, grinning to himself as you haul him back to standing, and he stumbles slightly against you, hands braced on your ribs. Sweating a little, you manoeuvre yourself away from him, landing a gentle, playful hit to his side. 

It doesn’t make your heart flutter, hearing what can only be a drunk rendition of his bedroom voice. It doesn’t. It doesn’t. It doesn’t.

“Save it for your next date with Ms. Perfect, would you?”

“Agh. You’re the worst.”

“I know. Now come on.”

After a few minutes of fumbling through Seokmin’s pockets yourself for his keys (it’s as if he’s forgotten how both hands and pockets work in his now very giggly stupor), apparently brushing every single one of his ticklish spots on the way, you’re inside his apartment and on your knees, untying his shoes for him, easing them off his feet. You don’t think he can be trusted to lean down to do it on his own without breaking something.

Or himself.

“If you go get ready for bed, I’ll bring you some water?” you suggest, sitting back on your heels, smiling up at him. There’s a weight in the gaze he’s looking down at you with, in the way his tongue darts out over his lips, and how his mouth doesn’t fully close after. You tell yourself he’s definitely only looking at you like this because he’s drunk, because you’re helping him — the boy doesn’t know ass from elbow, right now — but there’s no escaping the fact that your stomach drops a little at his intensity.

“Okay,” he strains after a moment, and you stand up and away from him, kicking off your own shoes. He heads in one direction towards his bedroom, and you move in the other towards his kitchen. 

Stop it, you tell yourself, leaning over the sink and splashing cold water from the faucet onto your face. Stop thinking about him like that. He’s your best friend. Stop it.

But… shit, you can’t get those big brown eyes out of your head. The way he looked down at you, the softness of his brows, the heat radiating off him. There’s nothing you can do to stop the way your thighs press together standing in his kitchen, in clothes that— you realise now— are entirely his. The hoodie. The sweatpants you pulled on. They’re an old pair that he let you steal just after your most recent breakup, when you’d stayed on his couch for a week straight just so you didn’t have to look at how ugly and empty your own apartment was. Everything. Even down to the socks.

You thought it was hard enough hearing that he was going out for dinner to your favourite restaurant with someone who wasn’t you; nothing could have prepared you for standing in his kitchen at three in the morning, hot under the collar over five seconds of tipsy eye contact, knowing he’s getting undressed behind the door you’ve been staring at for… minutes, now. Actual minutes. 

Oh, you think, feeling your blood run cold. 

Oh. 

I want him.

More minutes pass as you stew in this information — in the knowledge that you’re fucking desperate for the man who has been there for you through everything important enough to remember, and probably everything you’ve forgotten, too. The boy who took you to all of your school dances and was the perfect date, the perfect gentleman, the perfect partner. The man who has sat next to you in the doctor’s waiting room more times than you can count, waiting for results and sitting outside appointments that he told you that you were brave enough to book. Seokmin, who has been under your nose this entire fucking time — you want him, the man who went for dinner with his dream woman, today, and he said she was perfect. Acid burns the back of your throat as you fight not to run all the way back down to your car.

Fuck. It gets astronomically worse. I love him.

“Y/n?” you hear, and his whiny, gentle voice glides across the apartment like it’s been mounted on a cloud, blown straight into your ears. It floats around in your brain in the most beautiful way, and you think there could be love-hearts in the reflections on your eyes even despite the stress you’re now under. It occurs to you that his faucet is still running, and you still have two empty glasses sitting on the counter. How long has it been? Get it together. 

“Just a second,” you call back. Your voice breaks as you say it and you can hear him fucking giggle from behind the ajar door to his bedroom. The fluttering in your stomach worsens, and by the time you’ve shut off the tap and you’re walking through to him, you’re wondering if it’s possible for people to grow butterfly gardens inside themselves without noticing. No-one has ever made you feel this nervous, before. 

Breathe, you tell yourself as he comes into view, already snuggled down against his pillows with the top of his bare chest and shoulders visible in the low light. 

Fuck. 

This is the last thing you needed.

“Hi,” he greets you, pushing to sit up with eyes softer than the glow of the setting sun. “I missed you.” 

You stand corrected. That is. 

“You’re such a loser.”

You set his glass down on his bedside and crouch next to him. “Did you brush your teeth?” you ask, and his face transforms from a stupid childish pout at being teased to a devastatingly bright grin. 

This running joke you’ve shared between yourselves since your first night on the town together illuminates him, and he nods, proudly, his hair falling down over his face. You reach up to push a few strands away from his eyes, despite yourself.

“Sure did,” he tells you, and you believe him but you raise a brow anyway. He’s so pretty. With his playful smile, tongue held between his teeth, his nose a little scrunched. Fuck, how can anyone be so pretty?

“So if I go check your toothbrush, right now…” His smile turns into a laugh, his head lifts into your lingering touch until his cheek is fully rested in the palm of your hand. Stupidly, you tell yourself that this could mean something. Maybe he wants to feel you more.  

“You could find out another way,” he says, his voice dropping half an octave as his already heavy eyelids blink slowly at you. It’s a good thing you’re already on your knees because that tone could have you sinking to the ground in a split. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth fleetingly and you think you’re one more line away from melting into the floorboards. 

“You’re so out of it,” you murmur, shaking your head at him. “Did she make you get the oysters? Are you high on aphrodisiacs right now?”

He groans again and rolls onto his back, a hand dramatically coming up to cover his eyes. 

“Stop talking about her,” he whines. “I’m with you. I don’t wanna talk— I don’t wanna think about her right now.”

“Seokmin-…”

“Y/n,” he interrupts, lolling his head to the side, looking at you through impossibly long, dark lashes from between his fingers. “Please.”

You’re not sure what the pull in his voice is in aid of but you force yourself to let it go, pushing yourself up to your feet before you can fall forwards into him.

“I’m gonna head home,” you say, the quiet between you laying thick and heavy against your skin. “Text me when you’re awake tomorrow, okay?”

He contemplates this for a second, frowning; he doesn’t say anything as you start backing towards his bedroom door. Then…

“Please don’t.”

He says it so quietly. So hushed, you think you might have misheard. So delicate, you hold your breath just in case you somehow manage to shatter the moment. 

“Don’t what?” You ask, stopping in your tracks. He breathes deep and props up on one elbow, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Don’t go.”

Glued to the spot, you stare at him. You feel your head tilt to the side without really controlling it, and an eyebrow creeps up your forehead, slowly. 

“I left some lights on in my apartment,” you say feebly, and even though it’s true, a selfish part of you hopes that he’ll still keep trying to talk you around. It won’t take a lot to convince you. It never does. 

“So?” he asks, the duvet slipping just a little further down his upper half, baring more of his chest to you. “Please. I don’t want to be-…”

You swallow, waiting. The cogs in his inebriated brain are surely rotating at a few hundred miles a minute, his eyes almost desperate. Certainly glossy. Absolutely breath-taking.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Your already fragile resolve snaps under the pressure of his words and you’re moving towards his bed before you can stop yourself. 

“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you say, offering him one last out if he wants it, but Seokmin just shrugs and peels the duvet back for you to slip in beside him.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles, and you gesture for him to look away so, at the very least, you can shimmy out of his sweatpants. He does, and you do — a few seconds later, with the garment in question folded neatly on the floor by his bed, you’re pulling the sheets over your legs and burying down against his cushions.

His breathing matches yours inhale for exhale and the more you let yourself think about this, the worse you feel even though maybe you shouldn’t. How many times have you drunkenly shared Seokmin’s bed, or how many times has he shared yours? This isn’t new. Even sober, you’ve been curling up together on the couch to watch movies and sleeping with your heads in each other's laps for years. There’s no reason for the guilt that’s burrowing its way deep into your brain, but you can’t seem to get rid of it, no matter how hard you try.

“Y/n?” he asks after a few minutes of you lying stiff as a pair of boards, a few inches of cold mattress between your wide awake selves, both of you staring up at the ceiling. You hum an acknowledgement, and he clears his throat. “Can I hug you?”

Your heart does something you’re a little bit afraid of, but you nod in the dark anyway, before you realise he can’t really see you now all the lights are off.

“Drink some water first,” you tell him lightly. “Then you can.”

There’s something undeniably nerve-wracking about the sound of him obediently swallowing a few mouthfuls from the glass you brought him earlier, even more-so in the way he sets it back down on his dresser. The bed rustles a little as he moves towards you, the sheets shifting over your bare legs, and then he’s got an arm slung over your waist, his head is on the very edge of his pillow, right next to your own… he slides a leg over one of yours, slotting it between your calves, and before you know it, you’re completely wrapped up in him.

He’s warm, and soft, and his fingertips gently soothe circles into your waist where they’ve slipped just underneath the hem of the sweatshirt you’re still wearing. You hum gently, moving your arm so that it snakes beneath his neck, curling up to wrap around his shoulders. This close, you can smell the cologne he will have put on before meeting his date. It makes you dizzy, slows down the neurons firing away in your brain. You wonder what’s going through his own head — what he’s thinking about, being curled up against your side like this. Does he recognise the slight stuttering in your breathing? How cold you are in contrast to him? Will he even remember this, in the morning? Or will you just wake up on opposite sides of the bed tomorrow, all this just a weird, foggy memory in the dark?

His head burrows slightly closer to you and all of a sudden, you can feel him breathing. Every exhale fans against your neck, right where it feels sweetest; Seokmin breathes through his nose when he’s sober, but through his lips when he’s drunk. You’ve never noticed before. It’s maddening. 

“Comfy?” you ask, your voice dry and unsure, and he wriggles a little with a nod to affirm that yes, he is. Something about that makes your cheeks go hot.

“Always sleep better with you,” he murmurs, and your face grows even warmer. You tell yourself he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just drunk. It doesn’t help.

“Then sleep,” you say as his hand moves just slightly further up beneath the hoodie, the tips of his fingers gently tickling your lowest rib. You have to fight back a whine. “I’m here. You can sleep.”

“Thank you, y/n,” he breathes, and you turn your head: now your eyes have adjusted to the low light, you can sort of make out his features, so very close to you. This proves to be a mistake almost instantly, but you can’t look away. His eyes are closed now; you’re glad. He looks too sweet. Too peaceful.

“What for?”

“Everything.”

“Seokmin…”

“No, I mean — everything.”

You move your hand up slightly, fingers playing with the strands of his hair at the top of his neck, and he whimpers softly at the touch. You freeze, and he nuzzles back against your hand to beg you to keep going, so you do.

“You can’t thank me for everything,” you tease him, and he chuckles breathlessly, his palm now laying flat across your rib cage, curling around your side. Holding you. Claiming you, just for now.

“Can,” he protests, and you shake your head. 

“Nuh-uh. Against the rules.”

“What rules?”

“My rules.”

“I didn’t know you had rules.”

“I’ve got hundreds,” you tease, threading your fingers through his strands and gently massaging his scalp. Another whine from him, but you don’t stop. Especially not when he hugs you closer, arm and leg both tightening around you.

“Hundreds?”

“Mhm. Maybe even thousands.”

“Well. Fuck.”

You breathe a laugh at him, and he laughs back; within a few seconds, you’ve both dissolved into giggles, and Seokmin has squirmed even closer until he’s half-covering you, actively chortling into your covered collarbone.

“You’re s’posed to be getting to sleep,” you sigh as his own laughter picks back up following a few seconds of deep breathing and quiet.

“I can’t!” He says. You can feel the pout in his own voice, even with his face hidden. When did he end up practically on top of you? When did your arm slip down to around his waist? 

“You have to. You’re gonna feel so shitty tomorrow if you don’t.”

“I know. M’probably gonna feel shitty anyway, though.”

“Come on. Close your eyes. Count back from a hundred. You can do it.”

It falls silent again, and you delusionally tell yourself that maybe it’s working. Until…

“Can you lie on your side?” He asks, and you sigh dramatically but nod anyway: as he peels himself off you, you roll over, facing the wall in the foetal position. He’s right back against you in a blink though, legs tucked up behind yours, trying to find your hand under the quilt.

“S’this okay?” He asks as he accidentally brushes your thigh in his search, fingers lacing through your own when he finally succeeds. Your now joined hands work their way into the hoodie’s front pocket, and everything starts buzzing when he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Y-yeah,” you swallow. “S’good.”

“Good,” he mumbles. A few deep breaths later, his voice rumbles against your earlobe again. “You looked so pretty for me tonight, y/n. Dressed up in my clothes — you’re so pretty.”

“Go to sleep,” you whimper, grateful at least that at this angle that he doesn’t see how your face scrunches up, how wide your smile is, how ridiculously good he makes you feel.

Euphoria. This is euphoria; you never want it to end.

“Count for me,” he asks, dropping his head down so his brows rest against your back, now. So you do.

“A hundred… ninety nine… ninety eight… ninety seven…”

His breathing is slow and his grip on your hand is slack by the time you reach eighty three. You doze off too, not very far behind.

thank u for reading all the way to the end!! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always appreciated<3

[madgirlmuahaha]

*cocks gun* Inkblade headcanons or the ship gets it!

My high school experience with romance (as a closeted biro/asexual teen) went two ways simultaneously: pining silently for years over someone I had a raging nerd-crush over, and also being completely oblivious to the fact that other people are interested in me because flirting and picking up on those cues doesn’t come intuitively. I’m definitely projecting but I also feel like Oisin is the silent piner with the nerd-crush and Adaine is the oblivious to flirting one. She understands flirting on a conceptual level but is pretty late to catch on when she’s being flirted with.

Maybe Adaine is a late bloomer, maybe she’s sapiosexual, I see her as somewhere on the gray-ace spectrum. Oisin caught her attention when he started talking magic theory and it was only after that initial spark of intellectual interest that she appreciated the physical characteristics like his cool tattoos and buff figure.

He’s been down bad for her the whole time, though he was never confident enough to make a move.

I’m gonna run with the idea that they’re narrative foils and say that Oisin’s family also isn’t the best, especially since his great-grandma was buddies with Kalvaxus. Compared to Adaine’s relationship with self-worth and overcoming her family trauma, Oisin is at a much earlier part of his journey, not yet ready to let go of the idea that his self-worth is dependent on external validation from his family. That’s a lesson he’ll have to learn during his post-Ragenarok redemption.

I so badly want to see them get together, but I think Oisin deserves just a little more suffering.

That whole “you must not be a very good oracle” lives in my head rent-free. The drama. The angst. Adaine feels stupid because she finally let herself play into the flirting, and she got horribly burned and betrayed over it. Oisin is going to have an uphill climb to prove that even though he was actively plotting against her, his feelings did have some sincerity. These teenagers are so messy and I’m rooting for them.

I’m sort of using this as an analysis of their characters and potential messy relationship dynamic, but I do have a few fluffy hc’s:

Boggy the Froggy warms up to Oisin pretty quickly. He likes to ride on top of Oisin’s head, tucked between his horns.

If Oisin decides to tap into the innate sorcery magic of his draconic heritage and multiclass into sorcery, the first time he uses metamagic will be to protect Adaine.

Their love language is spellcrafting. The first time they officially call each other boyfriend and girlfriend is after they’ve created and exchanged custom spells for each other, because they’re nerds like that. I haven’t yet decided what kind of spells, but it could just be something stupid, like “conjure singing mephits” or “create meme”.

[purpleberiii]

Hello there, I just read your Nightingale and Captain fics and it was an interesting read, though I would not have been as forgiving in the alternate ending one, that said it reminded me of an idea I had a while back that I feel like sharing.

To warn you, I am not a concise person, and these ideas are quite angst heavy, so beware of a lengthy read lol.

First idea:

This takes place in a Soulmate Mark Au with Nightingale being the soul mate to a Sinner reader, the only issue being that Nightingale refuses to acknowledge the bond in public and goes out of her way to try and distance herself from the reader and make it clear she feels nothing for them, all while secretly pining for them.

This backfires on her however, when the reader either has the soul mark removed, or it removes itself from Nightingale after she sends them on a mission that results in them nearly dying, with the Adjutant breaking down and begging for another chance while the reader simply looks at her and ignores her as they return to their cell, leaving her crying in the hallway.

No matter how hard the staff and sinners alike try to get the pair back together, nothing works, until one day Nightingale hears the reader laughing and looks up to see them smiling and laughing with another Sinner, a new set of marks forming on them.

Second idea:

I also have an angst idea involving the Chief breaking up with a reader to try and keep them safe from Paradeisos and the Underground, that the female Sinners were likewise fond of the reader only makes it more bitter,.

Though come the day of her plan, she loses her nerve halfway through her plan and tries to change wheels, only for the reader to instead break up with her while the intercom is unknowingly active, with the reader claiming they cannot be with someone who is constantly throwing their life away and has no time for them, along with just how much danger they are in just by being near the Chief, with them ignoring her pleas as they leave her sobbing in her office.

Cue the Sinner helping a depressed Chief recover before the events of Rustfire and such to happen, with the Chief resolving to winning their lover back and completing their family.

Only for her to learn that the reader has moved on and is now raising a child that, depending on your take on it, could be the Chief's own child, personally I like this idea due to huge angst potential but if you want it to be an adopted one you can, with the Reader having gone so far as to have a restraining order placed against the chief to protect themselves and their child from her and the sinners.

Cue the long battle for not only her lover but also her child, featuring a custody battle where a judge agrees the Chief is not fit to raise a child due to her profession, and the revelation that her lover has plans of leaving Dis entirely.

Now Sinners and Staff alike are trying to help the Chief out, all while the chief's mental state begins to spiral towards obsession and darker places still.

All it would take is one mania bullet, and she could have her family be whole again...

Just one bullet.

All of that said, I hope you like the ideas, you can do whatever you want with them, I just felt like sharing them after reading your fics.

With that last bit out of the way, take care and stay safe.

P.S. Sinners are enablers for the Chief being selfish and doing something for themselves as opposed to constantly doing everything for others.

Oh my... these are truly amazing ideas 🔥

The Soul mate Au one tho 🔥🔥

I think imma write about thr Soul Mate Au 🔥

It's absolutely amazing I really don't have words, but I'll use the idea of the Nightingale one and crate a fic based on it and maybe create more fics in the soul mate Au 😌🔥

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

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1. Hi! I'm looking for a fic which was about LWJ and his feelings about relation WWX&LSZ. It was post-canon fic. LWJ felt hurt because Sizhui was formal while speaking to him meanwhile he treated WWX like parent, calling him Baba (or other word but with the same meaning)or joking with him etc. LWJ haven't told anyone. I remember that they were going to nighthunt but LWJ fainted and that's how WWX noticed that sth is wrong. WWX told Sizhui sth like "your father miss you"

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2. Hi, I was wondering if you know a fanfic where it’s like during war time,wei ying and nie mingjue get together and than add lan zhan to the mix. Thank you @chloecov4506

FOUND? Bruises be damnded red and green by amykissthedark (T, 44k, WWX/NMJ, wangxian, NMJ/WWX/LWJ, canon divergence, everyone lives au, character study, PTSD, trauma, canon-typical behavior, pining, blood & gore, YLLZ WWX, golden core reveal, sunshot campaign, warnign: JGS, polyamory, fix-it, slow burn, WIP) not sure but it could potentially be this one. At least the description reminds me of this one

FOUND? Better Things to Do with a Flute in Wartime by Anonymous (E, 365k, MingXian, WangXianJue, Sunshot Campaign, Fix-It, Magical Healing Cock, Dual Cultivation, mild Dom/Sub, Undernegotiated Kink, Golden Core Reveal, Breathplay, Choking, Painplay, Subdrop, Topdrop, Major Character Injury, Canon Divergence, What-If, Temperature Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Fisting, Spanking, PTSD, Trauma, Self-Harm, (in the pursuit of cultivational badassery))

FOUND? An Elegant Solution by giraffeter (E, 205k, niewangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fix-it, everyone lives au, courtship, polyamory, smut)

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3. Hey! Hope you guys are doing well.

I was looking for this fanfic where the sects send their heirs to vanquish the Yiling Patriarch, but none of them return. Even Lan Sizhui goes missing, and Jin Ling takes matters into his own hands and goes to find the Yiling Patriarch himself because he's grieving.

So he goes there but the situation is entirely different. All the sect heirs are at Burial Mounds safe and dound they just didn't go back because of all the responsibilities their parents have for them.

Also, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are actually together, and Wangji just sent Sizhui because the teen misses his other baba. And so when Jin Ling gets to know and Lan Wangji comes and they establish them as a new sect and all that jazz.

I'm not sure if the fix is actually complete. But please find this for me cuz I really really love the feels in this fic. @poetic-writes

FOUND! Safe in the Arms of a Demon by Starlight1395 (G, 19k, JC & JL & WWX, wangxian, LJY/LSZ, canon divergence, angst w happy ending, hurt/comfort, WWX doens’t die instead quarantines in BM, WWX adopts every child he sees, uncle nephew bonding)

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4. help to find a fic please. So there was this Wangxian fic, where Lan Wangji is rescued after being tortured. I don't think it was very long; probably on the shorter side. One quirk I remember is the narration being in second person, though I don't know if I'm remembering correctly. There was a mention of sea glass near the end of the fic. That's all the details I remember. Please help me find the fic.

I think #4 is one of those mer type fics, where lan zhan is held hostage and either his scales are being harvested for medicine or he's tortured to give tears, I have to research some more , but does the requestor think it could be along those lines ?

FOUND? ocean eyes by bunnylan (weiyingpretty) (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Human WWX, mermaid LWJ, Childhood Friends, Memory Magic, Getting Back Together, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Mutual Pining, Temporary Amnesia) tho I don't know if this is 2nd person narration ?

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5. Hi!! I'm looking for a fic where lwj is a fanfic writer and wwx was a podficer? is that the word? anyways that's all I remember from it because I only read the summary :')

FOUND! Your Words, My Voice by AverageFandomEnjoyer (T, 5k, wangxian, modern, canon divergence, fluff, kissing, pining, falling in love, writer LWJ, podficcer WWX, meet-cute, minor miscommunication) and has a podfic! :)

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6. Could you please help me find a colored-blood fic? It was canon divergent, where people with golden cores had golden blood (and normal people had normal red blood). After the core transfer WWX’s blood slowly turns back to red and he has to be careful not to get injured or it will show that he lost his core. In that scene after he is revived JC doesn’t whip him, WWX pretends to be MXY and shows his red blood to “prove” it. I am dying to read this again! It was most likely on ao3.

FOUND? who cares when you're gone by camellialice (M, 22k, WangXian, Hades (Video Game) Fusion, Canon-Typical Levels of Self-Sacrifice, Canon-Typical Levels of Spitting Up Blood, Canon-Typical Levels of Pining) this is a bit of a stretch, but 'who cares when you're gone' by camellialice on ao3 might be #6 on the fic finder. it has the gold blood / red blood thing but not the mo xuanyu part of the ask.

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7. Hi can you help me find a fic I read a couple of years ago? It was a modern au where all the sect heirs were sent to another planet/alternate reality (?) for some kind of reality TV show. I think JGS was behind it but for some reason also sent JZX. I remember that NMJ is killed while they are trying to escape and WWX stays behind alone to allow the rest to escape. He has to survive in a wintery wilderness until the others manage to rescue him.  Thanks for your help. @i-amnotawriter​

FOUND? and from our own/live to ourselves by betweentheheavesofstorm (M, 105k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fantasy, Reality TV, Arctic Survival, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Getting Together, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Bloodletting, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Animal Death, Hunting, Mild Sexual Content)

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8. helluu! i have this one fic that i really want to re-read, but i cant find it for the life of me. i remember it was pretty long and so well written so i really hope you can help. what i remember is it took place during (after?) the guanyin temple arch, and i think JGY forced WWX to make a time travel array for him. dont remember much but i belive WWX LXC NHS and JC end up sacrificing themselves to get the array working and they send back the junior quartet to the time of Jin Lings one month anniversary party (i just remember random facts from here and there) but i think the try to fix things up with jin zixuan’s death so it doesn’t happen..? i hope any of that makes sense. could you please help me find it? @constant-brainrot-24-7​

FOUND? ❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

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9. Hi! It's me again hahaha.

I was reading a fic and suddenly I remembered another fic, but I can't find it in my bookmarks. It's a Canon Divergence where WQ transfer the half of the golden core back to WWX with the permission of JC.

I hope you can help me, thanks ☺️. @wangxiansgirl

FOUND! The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou ( E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts)

Not FOUND in this place where we don't have a prayer by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T, 42k, WangXian)

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10. 👋Hello! I'm a big fan of your blog! ❤️ I've seen that you help to find fics and I'd like to ask for help to find one. 🙏

It's a Wangxian and takes place after the war ¿? 🤔 I think. I remember that Lan Zhan has to accumulate power in his golden core and then transfer it to Wei Ying.

And Idk if it's the same fanfic, I think not, but Lan Zhan has to create a second golden core for Wei Ying.

I'm sorry, that's all I can remember. I have a terrible memory. Please help 🙏😔

FOUND? 🧡 Discarded by teawater (E, 141k, WIP, WangXian, Lots of Angst, Hurt/Comfort, YLLZ WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect, Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ) I remember a scene where LWJ gives WWX the second core he slowly grew over the years specifically for him in this one? - Mod C

FOUND? these colours fade for you only by doodlebutt (T, 36k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, …eventually, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Mutual Pining, like really unreasonable amounts of pining, Slow Burn) i'm not sure about the details, but maybe this fits? iirc lwj starts cultiivating a new core during sunshot and gives it to wwx right after

FOUND? three surgeries and a mercy kill by MarbleGlove (T, 11k, Medical Procedures, Demonic Cultivation, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Self-Indulgent, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

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11. Hi,This fic has the whole group thinking wei ying commited suicide but actually he ran away thinking everyone hates him and living in streets. Accidentally meets Lanzhan in a coffee shop who feels connected to him even though LZ thinks he is Mo xuanyu. starts taking care of him and the huisang plots to reveal weiying to all so things happen.LZ is super protective and its super angsty. Also LZ sleepwalks. Know the fic? @mridhu6​

FOUND! Where You Fell by Sweet_William (E, 303k, wangxian, 3zun, NHS/JC, JYL/JZX, modern, coffee shop au, angst w happy ending, homeless au, pining, getting together, slow burn, implied/referenced child abuse, suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, autistic character, WWX has ADHD, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, implied/referenced sex work, implied/referenced substance abuse) but i dont remember reading about some of the details the asker mentioned, so it might not be the same fic

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12. Hello! Read a fic a couple months ago and have been scouring the internet to find it for the past week. (My apologies for the very bad recalling of what happened in the fic) Anyway, basic plot points that i remember was wwx had been asked to paint lwj bedroom walls and was given a key to his apartment (fairly sure they were already friends before this tho) also lwj had a pet rabbit that wwx would often feed. Sorry! I know there's not much to work with it for finding fic but I'd really appreciate @mopdopplophop

FOUND? show me a quiver, give me tonight by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 115k, wangxian, modern, artist au, communication failure, pining, angst w happy ending, demisexual WWX, mentioned past LWJ/OMCs, eventual smut, gossip, getting together, crack treated seriously, friends to friends w benefits to lovers, WWX pov)

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13. Hi! I'm trying to find a fic I've read a while ago. On that fic, an old person at Yilling confuses Wwx with a woman, and gives him a discount because they think he's a young woman who was abandoned with her son by her husband. Wwx starts dressing as a woman to gain people's sympathy and get discounts. He accidentally describes his husband as being Lwj, and when Lwj goes to Yilling people all but siege him because they think he's the scoundrel who abandoned his wife and son.

FOUND? Mother Knows Best by misbehavingvigilante (M, 12k, wangxian, canon divergence, crossdressing, food issues, gender identity, gender noncomforming, trans WWX, poverty)

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14. A) Hi, I'm trying to find a fic where its female wei ying who becomes pregnant with twins and is perilously I'll so lan zhan volunteers to marry her but something about a caravan attacked by jin and her becoming so I'll happens.. any idea

B) Hi, I'm trying to find a fic where wei ying is disguised as lan zhans bride fo be and weirdly makes friends with lan Quiren by being he model in law? @quxxnrandonmness27​

14B)

FOUND? Wei Wuxian, Who’s That? by bumbledees (T, 48k, wangxian, crossdressing, pining, sibling feels)

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15. Hi could you help me find this fic, I think it's been deleted

I know the summary went like this

Wei Wuxian begins weakly, but Lan-laoshi, cruel as he is, continues speaking.“Well? I have provided you with three choices. You move, you act, or you let Wangji tutor you after school.” Lan-laoshi raises an eyebrow. “I, of course, recommend option two, as it would solve everyone’s problems, but alas. Teenagers.”He should choose to move classes. Lan-laoshi is right – it would help him focus, and it would help his grades, and Madam Yu would be less disappointed in him than she usually is. And Lan Wangji would be rid of him, which would undoubtedly make him more comfortable in his own damn class.But Wei Wuxian is weak. And horrible, and selfish, and so he chooses the third option. “Lan Wangji,” he says, turning to him with pleading eyes, “Lan-er-gege, light of my life – would you terribly mind tutoring me after school?”

Any help would be appreciated @imgonnablogtheworldtodeath

~*~

16. Hi so i read this fic but i cant remember its name.this is a fic in which wangxian adopt a abused ayuan .he was abused by xue yang i think.and they adopt him and ayuan still has that trauma but slwlu overcomes it @rosy1324

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17. Hii for the next fic finder pls help me with a story where 

wwx gets de aged (post canon) and doesn’t remember that Jiang Yanli is dead but he gets happy to see jin Ling even says something about JY to him (that he should address him better cause he’s his nephew). Then he goes to lotus pier because he wants to be with JC but he starts remembering more things and is sent back  to cloud recess. The more the time pases the more he remembers and he gets where he remembers the wens, he’s happy to see Sizhui but discontented with the fact that after all he dies. 

After that, His body kind of shuts down (replicating  the years that was dead) and lwj has to keep passing energy so he doesn’t die and after a week or something he finally wakes up with full memory of what happened. 

Thank you!! 💙💙

FOUND? Rewritten by yamadori (Katsumi27) (G, 6k, wangxian, JC & WWX, age regression/de-aging, hurt/comfort)

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18. Fic Finder for a twitter thread fic? It was Modern AU, LQR POV, and he was Convinced WWX was abusive toward LWJ. LWJ gets very sick and isn't answering LQR's phonecalls, and LQR assumes WWX is isolating LWJ from his family; it's implied LWJ had actually pulled away from LQR because of LQR's behavior. WWX and LWJ owned a farm with the wens and were raising a-Yuan. LQR goes to the farm for the first time and ends up seeing how much WWX cares for LWJ. @lewiscarrolatemybrain​

FOUND? Twitter thread by enigmatree

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19. Hi! Can you help me find a fic? it is a time travel fic wherein Wangxian, Ayuan, Xicheng time traveled in the middle of Past wwx and jzx's fight? Yilling Laozu was hurt and he's craddling ayuan. There's also a part where the past characters thought HGJ and YLL were married and had a child which is Ayuan. It is also not Xicheng friendly if I remembered correctly. Thank you! @sandralyne07

FOUND? How did I end up with this Frozen Heart? by Grace_ShadowWolf (TaubeLePigeon) (T, 53k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Fix-It, PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, YP!WWX, twin prides of yunmeng are horrified at the relationship between their future selves, YP!WWX has short hair, Canon Divergence, Self-Indulgent, wangxian get together early, Songfic, JC Bashing, LXC Bashing)

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20. Hello! I’m looking for a fic where I think WWX was a dragon or fox who imprinted on LWJ and refused to leave him. I don’t remember much but I think there was a scene where LXC says he can’t do anything about it because dragons/foxes are celestial beings and that LWJ should study some books… or something like that.

FOUND? To lurk, to lie in wait by trippednfell (M, 124k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Huli Jing, strangers to co-parents to lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Dragons, Kid Fic, teenage juniors, background NieLan, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Fox Spirit WWX, Dragon LWJ, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note)

#20 sounds like a fic where Wei ying was a literal tiny noodle dragon 🐉  that literally imprinted on lan zhan and would ride on his shoulders and go to classes with him lol and they had to research how to get him back to human form. Wei ying apparently was messing around with arrays or something and sumoned and then was trapped by a celestial dragon being form.   they fix it and then Wei ying becomes human and wakes up in bed with lan zhan lol

FOUND? Strange Magic by Sabinasan (T, 18k, wangxian, Alternate Universe, Cursed WWX, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Cuddling & Snuggling, Possessive WWX, Protective WWX, Sharing a Bed, Sharing Clothes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Hair Brushing)

~*~

[thesolarangel]

A touch of cinnamon and spice

Chapter 1

Summary: Eddie and Steve meet for the first time at college under awkward circumstances. Well, at least for Eddie.

1.438 words · Rated: G · College AU, no upside down · fluff, pining, getting together, cozy cute fall fanfic with minimum drama and zero angst or warnings!

Thanks again to @elronds-pointy-ears for reading my first unhinged draft and giving me some thoughts on how to deepen the interactions between them! @niennawept for beta reading my edited draft, you helped me so much, THANK YOU again! …. and for @lady-of-imladris for helping me choose a title! I love you guys!

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1 · throwback · summer ‘86

“You’re kidding… College?” Eddie chuckled, staring at his uncle wide eyed.

They had been standing in the kitchen of their trailer home, a few weeks after Eddie had graduated, discussing where he could go from there. If it were up to Eddie, he’d just get famous with his metal band “Corroded Coffin” right away and tour the country, but these things didn’t happen over night. And it wasn’t like Wayne decided over Eddie’s life. He was of age, he could decide on his own. But Wayne’s opinion mattered to him greatly. This man had provided for Eddie for half of his life and he was deeply grateful for that.

Wayne crossed his arms and looked at him sternly. “Listen, kid, I know high school was tough –”

“That’s the understatement of the year, right there.” Eddie snorted.

He had managed to get his high school diploma on the third try. Keeping up with homework and studying for exams never came easy to him. He had had trouble concentrating and listening to what was being discussed in class and the teachers labeled him as lazy without even trying to get through to him.

When it came to math, history and other school subjects that Eddie found boring, it was almost like there was an invisible force pulling his attention away, keeping him from concentrating and it was very hard to fight that.

But eventually, with the help of a terrific new guidance counselor that had transferred to his school that year and the support of his uncle, he had made it somehow. Alumni of ‘86, baby!

“Eddie, you’re incredibly talented when it comes to the stuff you’re interested in. You’re creative, driven… I’ve seen the artwork you put up in your room… and you learned that puppet song within a week it came out.”

“Master of Puppets”, Eddie corrected him. And how could he not, it was a legendary piece by his favorite band.

“All I’m sayin’ is, would be pretty unfortunate if you wasted that kinda potential, son.”

He was right. Eddie did have a different mindset when it came to drawing, writing his own lyrics or shredding away on his guitar.

“Alright, I’ll think about it.” Eddie sighed.

A while later he had applied to a few public colleges in the area that had art programs. For his application portfolio Eddie had collected some design work he did for the promotion of their band, some pencil sketches and several elaborate fantasy drawings he did for his recent DnD campaign. And he had gotten in!

_______

October 5th 1987

Fall had always been Eddie’s favorite season ever since he was little. The deep red color of the fallen maple leaves was his favorite color and he secretly loved crunching the dry leaves under his boots. With every passing day of summer, he looked forward to cooler temperatures, horror movie nights and of course: Halloween. While planning his costume in his head, he put the hood of his parka over his unruly brown hair and made his way to class.

This was going to be his 3rd semester of studying fine art and so far he was doing really well, despite his own doubts. Learning about the subjects he was interested in and acquiring new creative skills had proven to be much more straightforward and uncomplicated for him than high school stuff.

College had given Eddie the chance for a fresh start. For the first time, he wasn’t the freak, the loser, the kid with the weird hair who listened to “devil” music. The university offered all kinds of programs and they had a big art department ranging from photography and fine art to design and film-making. So naturally, there were plenty of art nerds, film geeks and a variety of young people studying alongside Eddie. He fit right in and he had also made some new, real friends.

Jonathan, his roommate, was studying photography and English and wanted to become a journalist. He already wrote a weekly column in the school’s paper. Jonathan was the intelligent, kind, introverted type with short shaggy dark blonde hair and inconspicuous appearance. Eddie connected with him through his open-mindedness and his passion for music.

Argyle lived in another dorm down the hall. He studied film-making and worked part time at a local pizza shop from where he often swiped pizzas for them. He was a laid-back, approachable guy, who got along with everyone and also hugged everyone when he had the chance. With his long black hair, tall stature and colorful clothing, he stood out in most places.

Eddie thought he was very lucky to have met them since making friends had never been easy for him in the past. Both of them were very easy to get along with and they also had a lot of shared interests.

…

Eddie arrived at a seemingly empty classroom, illuminated by the bright morning sun. Several canvas stands and some chairs were set up for the students. He chose a seat and dropped his bag and coat on the back of the chair.

When he sat down and combed through his backpack for his pencil case, he heard something rustling from behind the nearby folding screen. Obviously not thinking this through, Eddie wandered over and found –

Oh.

His eyes landed on the muscular naked back of a stranger who was in the process of getting undressed. Eddie froze. Unable to take his eyes off of this guy’s athletic physique. His tanned skin was patterned with plenty of freckles that looked like stars in a beautiful constellation which Eddie desperately needed to explore. Those jeans hugged his butt perfectly and when he took them off, they revealed tight black boxer briefs and broad hairy thighs. Eddie wanted nothing more than to have his head crushed by those legs. Oh, what a way to go.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

A voice ripped him from his fantasy. Fuck.

The gorgeous stranger was now facing Eddie with both hands on his hips and a slightly cocky expression. Eddie noticed his beautiful hazel eyes, pouty lips and effortlessly styled hair. His strong chest was even hairier than his legs and a dark little happy trail disappeared at the rim of his underwear which displayed a significant bulge.

Fuuuuck.

“I’m so sorry!” Eddie almost yelled when he realized he had been staring. He could feel the burn of embarrassment on his face but like a deer in headlights, he stood there completely frozen.

The brunette smirked. “Don't worry about it, you're gonna see me nude in a minute anyhow", he replied in a smug voice. Eddie went even redder if that was at all possible.

Right, they were going to do nude sketches today, to learn some anatomy… Eddie felt he had already learned a lot.

“Alright, I’m gonna, uh… go, yes, I’m gonna go set up”, he stumbled backwards, averting the stranger’s view.

Little by little the classroom filled with students and their tutor arrived and gave them a quick instruction on sketching techniques when drawing from a live model. Two other students closed the door and blinds and placed a small platform in the middle of the room. They were ready to start drawing.

The handsome stranger emerged completely naked from behind the folding screen. He seemed very secure in his body, judging the way he stepped gracefully onto the platform, striking a pose the tutor had asked for.

Eddie tried so hard to look at him in a professional manner as he began sketching his beautiful body. He roughly outlined his proportions with some charcoal on his sketchbook. He tried to keep a straight face when his view landed on the model’s dick. And what a gorgeous one it was… Eddie felt his heart thump violently in his chest.

In a moment of carelessness when Eddie’s eyes wandered over his freckled skin upwards to his handsome face, their eyes locked. The brunette gave him a wink and held his view. If he was flattered or amused, Eddie couldn’t tell, his face was burning up once again and he tried to hide behind his sketchbook.

Focus, Munson. You just gotta keep it together for 20 more minutes!

His hand swept over the paper, messily sketching and filling in the model silhouette with charcoal. At this point, he didn’t care if the drawings turned out badly, he just wanted to get out of there, away from this awkward situation. Once he was done, he quickly packed up his stuff and rushed out of the classroom.

...

To be continued...

tag list: @starlady66 @bananaphanta @runawaymun @mistergandalf @fenharel-enaste @queenmeriadoc @elronds-pointy-ears @hbyrde36 @hammity-hammer @corrodedbisexual @spoookysix @rozzieroos @cranberrymoons

devider by @firefly-graphics

[rolloollor]

Hey, I was wondering what made you like Mallerollo?

Sure thing, I can explain! There'll be spoilers if you haven't read the event in full, but I can't really get into the nitty gritty without spoilers, so… get ready for rambling.

I was hooked from the first time Rollo screamed "Malleus Draconiaaaa!" in the prologue to the event.

Malleus is isolated as a character aside from people in Diasomnia, but their relationships with Malleus have always felt very familial to me and I can't ship any of them with him. I can't really picture him in a relationship with anyone in NRC, either. He just floats about, helping people sometimes, bullying people other times, but he's not super close to them. I have no interest in Yuu, shipping canon characters with OCs, or self-inserting, so that's also out for me. Leona and Malleus are probably the closest in terms of relationship dynamics that I like, but any 'feelings' (mainly negative) seem strong on Leona's side, but not on Malleus' side. It's too unbalanced for me.

So, when Rollo was announced, I thought that he would be a great opportunity for not only a Malleus ship, but to also present Malleus with someone who would antagonize him. And that's exactly what he did.

When Rollo finally deploys his plan, Malleus gets super pissed and yells, "I'll never forgive you, Rollo Flamme!!!" and that got me doubly on board. Rollo had tricked/outsmarted him. He didn't win in the end, but he had triumphed over Malleus more than any other human. That's pretty big considering I don't remember Leona's plan impacting Malleus at all. The event really improved Malleus' character in my mind since we got to see him struggle a little. He couldn't solve the problem with another show of overwhelming strength.

With Rollo, it seems like he was created with Malleus in mind. He hates magic, thereby making him conflict with Malleus. He invited Malleus to the event, he's old-timey, he has a connection to gargoyles (something Malleus has to be wildly jealous about), and he's a genuine threat. He made Malleus feel fear! With all this, of course Malleus is going to be curious about him. So, Malleus has strong feelings about Rollo and obviously Rollo fucking hates him at minimum, so there's intensity on both sides.

At the same time, Rollo's kinda more isolated than Malleus is, but by choice. People gravitate to Rollo and he spurns them. People avoid Malleus even though he would like to make a friend or two. Just an interesting contrast between them.

Another thing, Toboso knows what she's doing. She didn't have them dance together and promise to rendezvous beneath the bell just because. Obviously nothing will ever be canon, but come on. I legit could not believe they actually danced and talked for so long tbh, that is some crazy ship bait.

Malleus is an insanely powerful fae. Rollo is a cunning human with immense willpower. I think they bounce off each other really well and could make each other better, if given the chance. Malleus almost is magic in a sense--if the relationship developed to a certain point, I think he could ease Rollo's guilt regarding his brother and help him get over his hang-ups about magic. Rollo would act as someone who challenges Malleus (which he sorely needs, he is way too coddled) and maybe he could help him develop some empathy.

But them being toxic with each other is fun, too… Malleus is really fucking good at being toxic and I like exploring that side of things.

There are a lot possibilities for pining, for jealousy, for angst, for development, and just... all sorts of things.

Basically, I think both characters bring out what's interesting in the other and, as a pairing, have a fantastic potential for either growth or festering in toxicity. They also fit into tropes I like (lifespan differences, royal problems, lots of magic, enemies to lovers, etc...)

[ahsoka-its-all-of-us]

Bad Batch episode 9 thoughts!

You fucking idiots, you didn’t even lock your spaceship?!? Take the ignition keys with you or something? How naive are you?

Oh my god is The Bad Batch seriously throwing us a Lion King? Damn me for half expecting Crosshair to appear at the top and throwing the cable back with a ‘Long live the king’ or smth

I kinda love how the squad is on the verge of falling apart. Tech may say that the squad existed before Echo, and he’s correct, but that doesn’t mean it can exist without him anymore. They already lost Crosshair, and Omega may not truly understand the significance of that because she hadn’t been with them when they were still complete, but the others do.

Also lmao, a team of single dads attempting to deal with puberty when they’ve never gone through it themselves.

I think there’s a lot of untapped conflict potential with Tech and Echo. From the moment Echo joined I have wondered what has place in the squad would be, considering they were already pretty complete before he joined. I mean of course he brings something to the group because he’s Echo and he’s awesome, but his main thing, him being half-droid, overlaps with Tech’s abilities. I wonder if Echo joining and taking over tasks that used to be Tech’s could have been cause for conflict or quiet resentment. And in that case I could see Tech’s emotional confusion because in a way Echo’s departure returns things to the way they were and as such is almost a relief, but he would feel guilty about that thought and also he would miss Echo, because he’s a squad mate now.

I love the tiny detail of Tech shaking the water out of his goggles 🖤

More untapped angst potential for Tech and Crosshair; hc that Tech never got over Crosshair’s betrayal and departure. He’s too emotionally constipated to admit it, even to himself, but he misses Crosshair terribly. Hunter has been rather cold in the whole Crosshair situation, Wrecker is the only one of the team who can genuinely move on in a healthy way, Omega never really knew him as part of their squad and Echo also didn’t know him for as long as the others, so Tech feels alone in his hurt and buries it underneath a thick layer of apathy and reasoning, as he always does, but deep down he just wants his brother back. Echo’s departure only further agitates this wound, so in self-protection he becomes even more robotic. As long as he doesn’t have to feel the pain.

Is Cid’s reluctance to help going to tie in with what the dude in the racing episode said about her being not to be trusted?

Seriously though, do I now have to pine over not only Crosshair and Cody but also Echo and Rex?

Okay but I hope that they will actually get together. I mean, Echo is not going to return to the Bad Batch anytime soon, his choice to go with Rex has been too much prepared in the season to be a temporary thing that’ll just last a few missions. But the series, other than The Clone Wars, has one team of protagonists and as such can’t jump storylines that much. To have to divide the attention between the main Batch, Crosshair (and hopefully Cody) and Rex/Echo seems a difficult feat, especially considering the amount of episodes still left in the season. But if Rex and Echo somehow meet up or even team up with Crosshair (and hopefully Cody), the attention will only have to be divided between two groups. Here’s hoping 😬

[drabbles-mc]

Turn of the Tide (2/2)

Pirate!Stucky AU

Summary: After years apart thinking that they would never see each other again, Steve and Bucky come face to face under circumstances neither of them ever would have dreamed of.

Warnings: 18+, minor blood/injury, angst (with a happy ending), pining, alcohol

For the Alternate June-iverse prompt: Pirates

Part 1 can be found HERE

Word Count: 8.4k (oops)

A/N: It took me forever to find time to go back and edit this part but we got it done! I love this little au and I will be thinking about Pirate Stucky for a long time.

MCU Taglist: @artemiseamoon @garbinge @late-to-the-party-81 (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

The sky was slowly changing from black to grey as they got closer to sunrise. Bucky had faded in and out of sleep, the rest of his crew in much the same situation. He had a feeling that over the next couple of hours exhaustion would completely take over them regardless of the rising sun. Sam had gone and traded off with someone a little while before. Steve had turned away a few of his men offering to take up the helm. The shift in the sky clued him in to just how long he had been awake, though, so the next time someone offered he allowed them to take it.

The smart thing to do would’ve been to scamper off to his quarters, try and get some rest while he still could especially now that their typical merchant run had the potential to turn into something else entirely. There was the possibility of having much more to answer for once they reached their destination, and Steve had no idea what to do about any of it.

Rather than doing the smart thing and getting whatever sleep he could, Steve made his way back across the deck. His steps were quiet as he strode up to the mast where they had all the men tied. Bucky was the only one awake at the moment, and he had been staring, watching Steve the entire time. He looked up as Steve stopped in front of him, not saying anything until the captain spoke up and said something first.

“We need to talk,” Steve finally said, trying to sound serious but just sounding tired instead.

“We can talk here.” Bucky matched his tone, every ounce of exhaustion being reflected.

Steve sighed, not wanting to argue but not willing to back down this time. “C’mon.”

“Can’t say it here?” he asked, a challenge in his tone. Despite that he was still keeping his voice low, a pointed effort to make sure that none of his men woke up.

“James.” He let it serve as its own sentence, exasperation coming through even with so few words being spoken.

“I’m not—”

“We need to talk.” He saw the look in Bucky’s eyes that he was going to come back with another argument, some thinly veiled reason why they had to talk here or they wouldn’t talk about it at all. “Keep the ropes on, if that makes you feel better,” Steve said, almost like a joke but he was perfectly serious, and he knew that Bucky would be too.

Bucky almost gave into it but then shook his head. “I’m not—”

He stopped short when Steve leaned down, expertly slicing through the rope that was keeping him pinned to the mast but not the one that was keeping his wrists tied together. Seconds later Steve’s hand was wrapping around his bicep all over again, yanking him up off the ground. He meant to fight against it but he was still having trouble wrapping his head around how much things had changed. Never in a million years did he think that Steve would be able to yoke him up off the deck with such ease.

“And I’m not asking,” was all Steve said as he started to drag Bucky back towards his sleeping quarters, one of the only places where they could get anything resembling privacy.

Steve pushed the door open, dragging Bucky inside with him. He’d been prepared for more resistance, but once he got Bucky to his feet it was like all the fight drained out of him. Steve had brought him along like an unruly dog on a leash, going along because there was only so far he could get if he didn’t.

“Steve, I told you—”

“Listen to me,” Steve spoke up, his voice still firm, still quiet, “this is about your crew. And you. What,” he shook his head, “what am I supposed to do when we reach port?”

It wasn’t funny but Bucky was still smiling anyway. The inevitability of it all was something that he had been wrestling with for years, on and off acceptance levels with it all. Clearly Steve hadn’t ever given it much thought, never really had to. His perspective of it was always going to be different anyway—he was never going to be the one getting handed over to authorities, thrown in jail or strung up in a noose in the public square. Steve was safely outside all of that, always had been. However, Bucky could tell by the look on his friend’s face, if he could still call him that, that Steve hadn’t ever given much thought to having to be the man who handed others over for that type of fate. It wasn’t sitting well, clearly. Bucky wondered if he would’ve had the same crisis of faith if it had been anyone else who stormed his ship. Would there be the same hesitation if Steve wasn’t looking at him and seeing James?

“Think you know the answer to that,” Bucky finally answered.

“Don’t,” Steve said softly, wearily.

“What else is there?” He shrugged as best he could with his hands still bound behind his back. “You let us go, or you turn us over.”

“I can’t just…” he trailed off, not sure what he wanted to end the sentence with.

He couldn’t just let them go—his own crew would never allow that after everything. But he didn’t think that he could just hand them over when they got there, either. Steve went years blaming himself for what happened to Bucky before and it wasn’t really his fault at the core of it. This, though? There would be no way to deny that the fallout would rest squarely on Steve’s shoulders. He didn’t want to lose him again. Last time he lost him as James and he came back as Bucky, but there would be no coming back a few years down the road with a different name if he followed through with this. The fact that it happened once was an astronomical stroke of luck.

“You have to,” Bucky said simply. “Make the call and stay with it. Live with it.”

Steve ran his hands back through his hair as he started to pace the room. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Bucky took the opportunity sit on the edge of Steve’s bed. There were so many things swirling around the inside of his head that he couldn’t slow down and pick one. The sun just kept rising, taking away more time that Steve didn’t have to figure everything out. So many pressing issues and yet when he was finally able to focus on one thought long enough to ask it, he didn’t say anything having to do with the future.

“Why didn’t you ever come home?” Steve asked. “All these years. Never came, never even…” he trailed off, suddenly unsure of what he really expected of James now that he knew the circumstances of it all. “All this time I thought—”

“It wasn’t that easy. I couldn’t just,” he shook his head, a fresh sense of awareness of the ridges and divots of scarring on his arm even through the fabric of his shirt. “It wasn’t that easy.”

There were more questions that Steve wanted to ask, conversations that he wanted to have, but there just wasn’t the time. If he didn’t figure out a plan soon there wasn’t ever going to be time. Walking over, he sat down on the edge of the bed beside Bucky.

“I know,” he finally admitted, although there was no way that he knew the half of it. With a sigh, he pulled his knife out and sliced through the ropes on Bucky’s wrists. Steve was expecting him to pull away, fight him on it, but he didn’t. Instead, he let out a small huff of relief at no longer having the ropes pulling at his skin.

Bucky ran his hands over the indentations left behind by the ropes. “If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else.” He let out a deep sigh. “Time always runs out.”

“It doesn’t have—”

“What, then?” he asked, the anger in his tone not really directed at Steve, but he was long past wanting any sort of false hope. “You said it yourself, you can’t—”

“I don’t know what.” While Steve could appreciate the difference in their positions, he didn’t need Bucky to sit there and reiterate back to him the circumstances that they were in. He knew full-well. “But there has to be something. I can’t,” he paused to hide the crack threatening to slice its way through his voice, “I won’t just hand you over like that.”

“Your men won’t allow otherwise.”

“They don’t have a say—”

“They do,” Bucky’s voice was firm. “They do and you know that. Besides, I told you, I won’t weasel out of this and eave the rest of my crew to hang.”

The sadness in Steve’s eyes was almost too much to bear. “James…”

“What I said, I didn’t say it just because they were sitting next to me. I meant it. If there isn’t a solution for all of us, then you will just have to find it in yourself to hand me over with them.”

“I won’t do it,” Steve said, trying to remain adamant despite the weight accumulating inside his chest. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll…I’ll get my men on-board.”

Bucky laughed quietly. Still stubborn, still unconcerned in the face of impossible odds. How Steve had changed so much and yet so little over the years was almost admirable. Bucky wished that he’d had the means to remain so steadfast. He looked at Steve and then at the small window that looked out onto the deck, the thin strip of sky and ocean just visible beyond.

“Better figure something out quick, Stevie.” There was still a tiny grin on his face despite it all as he nodded towards the window, hands no longer rubbing at his wrists. “Sun’s up now. Time’s running out.”

The gears were visibly turning in Steve’s head. “Will you wait here, at least? While I figure it out?”

He sighed as he shook his head, tracing his fingers along his wrists once more, savoring a few more seconds without the restraint and the residual pain from it. “I can’t.”

“You could,” Steve argued, a lightness to his tone that hadn’t been there before, like there was humor to it all. Ridiculousness if nothing else.

He could, but he didn’t. In no time at all Bucky found himself right back alongside his men. He was met with a peppering of questions from members of his crew, rightfully so, about what had transpired when Steve pulled him away. He answered them honestly, not that the honest answers really provided anyone with any type of certainty. There was none to be had given their current circumstances. Their fate now rested in Steve’s hands, and his ability to persuade his crew to do something that they undoubtedly had no interest in doing.

The conversation was taking place just too far away to make out the exact words that were being said, regardless of how hard Bucky tried. But even if he couldn’t make out each word, he could hear the rise and fall of the volume, the anger in men’s tones as they argued about it all. He wished that he could’ve heard what Steve was saying, never mind the rest of them. Whatever the fallout, Bucky hoped that he would get a chance to ask him about it.

“I never asked,” the same man from before spoke up, once more drawing Bucky’s attention away from everything else, “what your life was before all this. Was never my business then. But now?” He looked over at Steve and his crew. “Now it feels like our business.”

Bucky shook his head. “We were just kids. It’s been too long to assume that it all still matters.”

He chuckled. “Seems like it matters to him.”

The weary smile crept back onto his face again. “Won’t matter to the rest of them. That’s what this is all hinging on.”

“Didn’t think I’d find myself in the position of rooting for him,” he admitted with another laugh, “and yet here I am.”

Bucky let his gaze drift back over to Steve and his crew. “Yeah, here we are.”

He and the rest of his crew were already prepared for whatever was coming their way. They’d abandoned the idea of any other outcome besides the worst the moment Steve’s crew congregated to decide their fate. The longer the conversation went on, the more likely it seemed that hanging was going to be the only out.

Bucky had allowed his eyes a minute to rest, and when he opened them again to the sound of footsteps, he was surprised to see that it wasn’t Steve standing in front of him, but a member of the crew instead. The same man who had stayed up almost the entire night right alongside Steve.

“The captain wouldn’t ever say it,” Sam said as he crouched down so he was on the same level as the rest of the men, but most importantly Bucky, “but I will—you all should be grateful to him for this.”

One of the men in Bucky’s crew spoke up before he could. “Grateful for what, exactly?”

Sam leaned to try and get a better look at whoever it was that had said that. “Grateful that he’s willing to cut you all loose and save you from hanging in the center of the square once we make port.”

Bucky was fighting to feel some sense of relief but there was no way that it was going to be so simple. “At what cost?”

“Give it all up,” Sam said, toying with the knife in his hand, one that was only inches away from cutting the lot of them free if they agreed to the short and simple list of terms. “The lives you’ve had up until now, piracy and prizes. Leave it all behind, join our crew, then we can cut you loose. Forget,” he sighed, notes of bitterness underlying it all, “that all of this ever happened.”

“That simple, eh?” the man beside him spoke up and Bucky wondered when he lost the title of the man with the quickest wit of his own crew.

“Simple doesn’t mean easy,” Sam replied, and something about the look in his eyes told Bucky that that sentence was something Steve said at some point during their discussion. Sam looked around at all of them. “Leave you to discuss—”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Bucky said, determined to be the first one to speak up this time, determined not to let his men cost themselves their only shot at something resembling freedom. “We’ll do it.” He nodded. “Cut us loose and we’ll do it.”

There were instant murmurs of dissent, mutterings of Captain, and Bucky, as men tried to make their case. Bucky wasn’t having any of it.

“There is no other option,” he said firmly. “If you don’t want to hang, this is what we’re going to do.” He took a deep breath. “We’re no strangers to being part of a crew.”

Sam let another moment pass, like he was waiting for a real issue or argument to arise. He wasn’t just going to start cutting everyone loose if it was immediately going to backfire onto them. The silence that followed was undoubtedly tense, but it was also telling. For as much as they might not have thought of it as a favorable thing, it was the only option that kept them alive to see the next sunrise.

When he was convinced enough, Sam reached and sliced through the ropes that were keeping Bucky bound in place. His wrists were unbound from each other and he was unbound from the mast all within the same expert swipe of Sam’s wrist. Bucky let out a short, quiet sigh of relief. There were still plenty of questions to answer but at least they managed to make it to the next step. One at a time would have to do for now.

The two of them stood facing each other in silence for a moment. They were almost completely eye-to-eye, each sizing the other up to a degree. Bucky knew that he didn’t have much footing to stand on, that he was in a lot of ways at the mercy of Sam and the rest of the crew, but old habits die hard and he wasn’t going to set himself to be walked over, either. There was a tightness in Sam’s jaw and for a moment he thought that it would be nothing short of a miracle if it ever went away if things continued to play out the way that they were.

Another long second ticked by and then Sam reached and pulled a knife from the back of his belt. He twirled it expertly in his hand before carefully holding the handle end out to Bucky for him to take. “Guess you can have this back.”

Something about the action, about Sam’s tone, brought the signature smirk back to Bucky’s face. Maybe one day they’d learn to get along, maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, Bucky had the feeling that there was something about Sam he’d grow to like even if the feeling was never mutual.

He deftly plucked the knife out of Sam’s hand. “Thank you.”

Sam didn’t grant him the courtesy of saying you’re welcome. Instead, he nodded towards the rest of Bucky’s crew, wondering when or if he would ever stop thinking of them that way. “I’ll leave you to this, then.”

It became apparent within a few seconds that Sam might have excused himself from the action of cutting the men loose, but he certainly wasn’t going to just turn his back and walk away. As Bucky set about the task of freeing everyone from their binds, he realized that it was, most likely, going to be a very long time before any of them were capable of doing anything without someone looking over their shoulders. Understandable, of course, but that would be an adjustment all its own for his men. He briefly wondered if they would be able to accept it.

As everyone was getting the blood back into their limbs and attempting to rub away the irritation left behind by the ropes that were around their wrists and ankles, they couldn’t help but to try and chatter quietly amongst themselves. The solution given to them posed far more questions than it did answers, and everyone involved was aware of that. Bucky could learn to live with it, as could his men, if the looming questions overhead meant that they wouldn’t be thrown to the gallows. He did wonder, though, how Steve convinced his own men to be alright with so little certainty.

“Now what?” one of the men finally spoke up, not a yell, but louder than the hushed tones they’d been using. “We just…pretend?”

Bucky shook his head. “There is no pretending. This is our crew, now.”

“Bucky—”

“Or we can let them tie you back up and you can be the port authority’s problem. That sound better to you?” He took a breath, trying not to let his own frustrations and confusion boil over. “Ste—Captain Rogers,” he corrected himself for the sake of the men in front of him, “is more than fair. We will figure this out. We have to, because the only alternative would be to take our chances trying to escape once we reached port. And those chances didn’t look good since we were all bound to the mast.”

“Why do you trust him so much?”

It was a fair question, one with an answer so loaded Bucky didn’t think that he could even try chipping away at it given the current state of things. Rather than attempt to get into all of that, he simply replied, “What other choice do we have?” Turning from his men back to Sam, he said, “I take it you’re the person we should be going to?”

Sam took all the time that he could to collect himself, staring down at the wooden planks of the deck beneath his feet before finally meeting the gazes of the men in front of him. “Seems that way, yeah.”

Bucky made a point to put his knife back in its rightful spot on his belt. Then, he held his hand out. “Don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m—”

“I know,” Sam cut him off but still returned the gesture, clasping Bucky’s hand tightly with his own.

He nodded understandingly, not bothered by a little bit of harshness. It was par for the course when they carried out the lives they were thrown into. All things being equal, the way that Sam was handling things was fairly civil.

“Wilson, right?”

Sam nodded. “That’s right.”

Bucky let his hand drop back to his side, noting how when Sam pulled his hand back it immediately went to the hilt of his sword. “Tell us what you need.”

He gestured with his chin towards the opposite end of the deck. “Captain wants to talk to you, specifically. I’ll get the rest of your crew…reacquainted.”

In some ways, Bucky knew that the hardest part was over. In terms of ensuring that his crew didn’t face immediate death, the hardest part was over. The long road ahead was going to be figuring out what to do now. And that didn’t even begin to touch upon him and Steve—that was a mess to uncoil all on its own.

He set off across the deck, not having much of another option. His fingers toyed with the handle of his knife. He tried to just keep his eyes fixed forward, tried not to pay too much mind to the eyes that he felt following his every step. Of all the things that he could think about in that moment, could focus on, he tried to center all of his thoughts around Steve. He was the closest thing to a constant in all of this as he could try and get. Plenty of things had changed over the years, but apparently one thing that still rang true was the fact that Steve was determined to take Bucky in like a stray. Another thing that hadn’t changed was the fact that Bucky was content to let him do so.

He could see the way that Steve’s hands were gripping tightly to the helm, unnecessarily so given the smoothness of the water they were currently experiencing. There was so much to talk about that it seemed futile to try and pick a starting point. In an attempt to steady is mounting nerves, Bucky idly toyed with the pendant at the base of one of his necklaces.

Steve’s eyes diverted over to Bucky a couple times, although they were mostly trained on the water ahead. The lack of sleep had stopped affecting him about halfway through the discussion with his men. He had a feeling now that he wouldn’t be able to rest until the day was done and the sun went back down. And even then, it would only be because his body shut down of its own volition.

“Your men are okay with this?” Steve finally said, still looking forward.

“Are yours?” Bucky retorted, sounding a little more amused than maybe he should have.

That got Steve to cut his gaze over towards him. “No. But…”

“They trust you,” he filled in the end of the sentence for him, “even if they don’t trust us.” He watched as Steve silently nodded in agreement. “My men won’t cost you that. I’ll make sure of it.”

An ounce of the tension dropped out of Steve’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

“What did you say to them?” Bucky asked. It wasn’t the most pressing issue, but it was something that he was going to be thinking about until he got an answer for it.

Steve shook his head. “What I had to. I,” he sucked in a deep breath, “I said what I had to, to make sure that they wouldn’t let you hang.”

To say thank you just didn’t seem like enough. The amount of trust that Steve was still placing in him after all the years apart, despite how the universe brought them back together, two small words just didn’t seem like enough to offset it.

Bucky realized that his silence must have lasted a couple beats too long because Steve spoke up again. “We have to talk.”

Bucky nodded. “I know. We need to figure out—”

The exhaustion washed over Steve’s face again, rough waves in the ocean of his expression. “Not that,” Steve stopped him, knowing that Bucky was thinking far too practically in that moment to be on the same page as him. “Making port will be simple. They know my father, and me. They trust me.”

“Everyone does,” Bucky said, a dash of humor in his voice.

“Lucky for your men,” Steve said, wearier than he meant to. He saw the way that Bucky’s expression immediately sobered and he almost apologized. He stopped himself before it slipped out, not wanting to take away from the very real gravity of the situation. “I mean we need to talk about the rest of it. All of it.”

Bucky knew that Steve was right, but he didn’t know how or where to start. “One thing at a time,” he finally said.

Steve nodded slowly. “One thing at a time.”

Their travels were swift, although it didn’t quite feel like it for most of the men aboard the ship. The thick tension seemed to make time go slower even with the wind and the sea on their side. It wasn’t until land was actually in sight that any of them started to discuss what they were going to say and, more importantly, what they were not going to say.

There was no doubt that the man Steve was speaking to was casting dubious looks over at the lot of them. Everyone was doing their best to remain as calm and casual as possible, but even with that there was still a bit of a noticeable divide among the men on the ship.

Still, the man was giving Steve the benefit of the doubt. Neither him nor his father had ever given any of them reason to suspect foul play. Steve had never been as thankful as he was in that moment. “Expanded the crew since our last trip.”

The man nodded thoughtfully as he took the silver being handed to him. He didn’t say anything as he counted the money out. There was a brief moment that had Steve wondering if he should have put a few extra pieces in there like Bucky had said. Steve’s argument against it had been that if there was extra money, it would be like an automatic admission of guilt. It was sound logic, but the unreadable look on the man’s face made Steve, for a moment, buy into Bucky’s mentality of anyone can be swayed for the right price.

After a few more agonizing seconds, the man slid the coins back into the pouch that Steve had handed them over in. He tightened the string and looked at Steve, his face finally showing an emotion as he smiled. “Father thought you’d need extra reinforcements without him?”

Steve wouldn’t have been able to describe his immense relief if someone had asked, and because of that he was fighting extremely hard to not let it show on his face. He chuckled and nodded, the actions a genuine outlet for the emotions inside of him. “He’s always been cautious that way.”

The man gestured towards the ship. “They don’t seem nearly as enthused about it as you are.”

The smile on Steve’s face was as charming as it had ever been. “No one is ever as enthused about anything as I am.”

The man laughed. “That’s fair.”

And just like that, they were safe. At least for the time being. It hadn’t ever been in Steve’s plans to linger, but with the change in circumstances, now he was more determined than ever to get in and out as quickly as possible. This was the part that he was familiar with, after all. He knew the merchants, he knew the metaphorical dances that needed to be done in order to get the money he wanted for the goods that they had. It would be a quick trip. He just had to hope that it would be quick enough for all the men with him to avoid suspicion.

It was impossible not to notice some of the looks that were getting thrown their way. Steve noticed it but managed to not let it show on his face—the more confidently he could carry himself, act like it was all simply business as usual, the less likely it was that anyone else would try and cause any problems with them. He did his best not to let it rattle him too much.

Bucky hadn’t been more than an arm’s length away since they made port. A few of his men had elected to stay back with the ship, not wanting any undue risk of someone trying to cause trouble with them or someone realizing who they were. While their crew might not have been as notorious as some, they’d still managed to leave some enemies scattered along the way. Bucky didn’t have the same lingering sense of dread about it as they did, so he followed right alongside Steve.

He wondered if Steve refusing to look over at him too long was on purpose in that he didn’t want to draw any attention, or if it was because of something much deeper and messier than that. Again, Bucky didn’t share the restraint. Every few strides, if he wasn’t looking to take stock of their surroundings, his eyes were on Steve. He was studying everything about him while he had the chance—the way he spoke, the way he carried himself. Bucky was trying hard to reconcile that with the mental imagery of Steve that he’d been carrying with him all these years. The thought crossed his mind frequently, even as the years continued to tick on, and he always wondered what Steve looked like and acted like now. But now that he was right there in front of him, whatever thoughts and conjurings had been in Bucky’s head all that time immediately evaporated out of existence. It was just this Steve now, just the one walking beside him. He wondered if Steve would soon be doing the same thing in return.

“You’re going to trip,” Steve said, eyes still fixed forward as they made their way farther and farther from the docks.

His statement caused Bucky to look down at the ground for a moment and then back up at him. “I’m not—”

“If you don’t stop staring at me,” he elaborated, finally turning to give a split-second glance to the man beside him, “you’re going to trip.”

The look was brief, but it was just long enough for Bucky to see the slight up-turn of Steve’s lips as he looked away again. There was comfort in that, the fact that Steve could still look at him and smile. There were so many things ahead of them that there was no certainty about, but things like that made Bucky feel that even if he didn’t have anything else when this all shook out, he might still have Steve.

“You should let me do the talking,” Bucky said, the palpable humor in his voice letting Steve know that he wasn’t seriously requesting it.

Still, Steve shook his head. “I don’t that’s the type of haggling we’re looking to do here.”

He could hear it in Steve’s voice, the way that he was trying not to sound amused by any of it. He nettled him a little more, hand coming to rest casually on the hilt of his sword. “Would bring it all to an end a lot quicker, though.”

Steve faced him, managing not to let his steps falter. “James.”

He said it like a parent preemptively scolding a child, just enough firmness to his tone so that the situation wouldn’t escalate to the point of needing to yell in earnest. Steve’s chastising tone hadn’t changed all that much over the years—his voice was just a little deeper now.

Bucky turned and looked at him, eyebrows raised, everything about his posture communicating just how unbothered he was. “Steve.” He took his hand off his sword, letting a smile crack across his face like a sign of surrender. “Only if they give you a hard time, then.”

Steve meant to huff out a sigh but it turned into a chuckle at the tail-end of it. “Thank you.”

True to his word, Bucky kept his mouth shut. He was even kind, or rather, level-headed enough to not say anything to Steve’s other men who were giving him more questioning looks than anyone else in the myriad of shops and streets they found themselves all walking through. He understood it, of course, but it didn’t mean that he particularly enjoyed it. It hadn’t even been a day yet but Bucky already found himself wondering just how long it was going to take for those looks to fade away.

“See?” Bucky said, his voice more triumphant than it had any right to be as they started making their way back towards the ship. “I’m a man of my word.”

The sky was getting darker by the second, and Steve was thankful for it as it hid the amused look on his face. He was just about to come back with something equally light-hearted when one of his men let out a scoff behind them. Steve felt his entire body tense at the sound, knowing exactly what it was about, and having a relatively good idea of how Bucky was going to respond to it.

He tried to keep his voice low and even. He reached and placed his hand on Bucky’s arm. “James, don’t—”

Bucky knew he should heed the warning but he was already turning around to face the man standing behind them. Bucky had heard someone else from the crew say his name but it hadn’t stuck. He supposed that didn’t really matter given the circumstances. “Something you’d like to say?” Bucky offered, the apparent nonchalance in his voice only fooling any passerby’s.

The man gave a tight shake of his head as he stepped in closer to Bucky, keeping his voice low which was an odd act of kindness given the circumstances. “The things I’d like to say would get you strung up in the square.”

Bucky’s jaw twitched, the indignant and hurt part of him wanted to lash out, make the situation worse. It was a skillset he’d spent a lifetime honing. “If that’s what you want, go ahead and say whatever it is that you’re thinking. See how it—”

Steve wedged himself between the two of them, trying to keep a close eye not just on the two of them, but on the people who were weaving their ways around them as well. “That’s enough.” He subtly pushed each of them farther apart. “We can resolve this back on the ship.”

There were a few seconds of tension, but they ended up passing without incident as the man turned and continued on his way to the ship, brushing by Bucky and Steve angrily. The other men followed swiftly behind him, leaving the two of them standing there, still practically chest to chest from when Steve had pushed the men apart using his own body.

“There will be nothing to resolve by the time we get back to the ship,” Steve tried to reassure. “The walk back will calm—”

“Until one of them gets angry again,” Bucky countered.

“And I’ll deal with it then,” Steve told him, voice steady.

His tone left no room for argument, and Bucky was impressed by that. Maybe he’d get around to voicing that later. For now, he managed to create an argument that Steve was desperately trying to extinguish before it even got started. “If you end up regretting this, you—”

“Don’t do that,” Steve cut him off, shaking his head as he took a small step back to create a little bit of space between them.

It wasn’t until Steve removed himself that Bucky realized how close he’d still been. “What?”

“You know what.”

And he did. Many things were different now but in spite of all that, there were certain looks and certain tones that meant the same thing now as they had years ago. Bucky nodded. “Okay.”

That seemed to be the end of it as the two of them also continued their trip back to the ship. There was clamor and scattered conversations happening around them, the occasional tune being sung off-key by someone in the pub. They let that take place of the conversation, a palette cleanser after everything that had just transpired.

“We’ll head back first thing in the morning,” Steve said when the ship was in sight.

Bucky nodded, knowing that even if he had an opinion on any of it, it wouldn’t have changed anything. “Alright.” He paused, allowing himself a chuckle. “Long as your crew doesn’t slit my throat while I’m sleeping.”

Steve knew that he shouldn’t laugh at that but he couldn’t quite stop himself. “They won’t.”

Bucky almost made a joke about the men tossing him overboard instead, but he thought better of it. Too soon. Decades later but still too soon. Instead he let the conversation fade once more as the two of them walked back up and onto the ship. The conversations taking place on the ship soon filled the space between them. They both looked around, impressed to see that a few of the men from each crew had started trying to mingle. It wasn’t everyone, and there was still tension in the air, but it was a start.

Sam popped up practically as soon as the two of them were fully on the deck. He looked eager, not quite as exhausted as he had looked at the start of the day. “How’d it go?”

Steve nodded approvingly. “Everything’s fine. We’ll be set to leave at sunrise.”

Confusion crossed Sam’s face for a moment. “Sunrise? I thought—”

“I’m in no condition to man the helm, Wilson,” Steve spoke firmly but still kindly. “It’s been a long eventful time since I last slept well, so I would rather do that and take off in the morning. If that’s alright.”

Sam nodded as Steve spoke. He wasn’t looking to disagree, he just hadn’t thought of it that way. He told Steve as much before saying, “There’s food in your quarters,” his eyes darted over to Bucky for a fraction of a second, “when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

When Sam had strode far enough away to be out of earshot, Bucky spoke up. “Good kid.”

Even though he hadn’t said it like a question, Steve still responded as though he had. “Yeah, he is.” He looked over at Bucky. “That one’s gonna take awhile.”

The exhaustion was starting to wash over him now that the most fast-paced of it was over, but he still manufactured a genuine chuckle. “I figured.”

Steve saw the tiredness on his face and for some reason it made him feel a little heavier as well. He rested his hand on Bucky’s shoulder for a moment. “Go. Rest. We can talk tomorrow.”

Bucky didn’t necessarily want to pull himself away, but he knew that he had to. With nothing more than a nod, he slipped away and went off to get back with the rest of his crew. Steve watched him for a few moments, unable to look away until Bucky was sitting and apparently comfortable with some of his men. Only then did he finally turn to head towards his own quarters.

Steve didn’t remember falling asleep. He remembered going back to his quarters, he remembered scarfing down the food that Sam had left there for him. He even vaguely remembered removing his boots as he sat on the edge of his bed. He did not, however, remember succumbing to his exhaustion in such a way that he was sprawled completely out across his bed, one arm dangling off the edge of it, body contorted in ways that certainly wouldn’t be comfortable to anyone who was at all conscious.

Pulling himself into a somewhat normal and upright position, like a marionette being pulled up by its strings, Steve swung his legs so that they were off the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. He propped his elbows on his knees so that he could drop his head into his hands for a moment, rubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes. He could see that it was pitch black out, that he hadn’t slept clean through until morning. But he felt leagues better than he had before he fell asleep so he would take the win regardless.

After sitting still for a few moments, he put his boots back on and made his way for the door, leading himself back out to the deck. Looking seaward, it was dark save for the stars and what little light carried far enough from the docks and town behind. Steve chose to keep his eyes trained that way, enjoying the peace of it all. The chaos of the shore had quieted, almost nonexistent now and nearly impossible to hear over the waves lapping against the docks and the ships.

The wood of the deck creaked beneath his feet as he walked. His eyes adjusted quickly to the lack of light with each step that he took, and it was only when that happened that he saw that he wasn’t alone out on the deck. A silhouette that was old and new to him at the same time lingered at the far side, leaning against the rail, staring out at the seemingly endless sea. Steve felt the nerves creeping up his spine and tried to ignore them as he continued to walk over.

He leaned against the railing beside Bucky, not looking at him as he asked, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not for very long.”

That was all either of them said. Bucky looked out at the ocean waves for a little while longer before he let his gaze drop to the wooden railing that they were each leaning on. His stomach tightened, old memories rearing their ugly heads—a past life that he didn’t feel he had any right to anymore.

Steve watched the way that Bucky’s hands moved tentatively along the wood. He had a fairly good idea of what Bucky was thinking about, because he was thinking about the same exact thing. There was so much that Steve had planned to say, spent years thinking it all through, but now that they were standing there next to each other the words died before they even made it up the column of his throat. None of them would change what happened.

With each movement of Bucky’s hand and arm, the sleeve of his shirt pulled up higher and higher. Bucky didn’t seem to notice, or if he noticed he didn’t seem to care, but Steve couldn’t help but to look at the scarring that ran up his left arm.

“What happened?” the question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.

Bucky looked at him, confused at the vagueness of his question until he saw where Steve was looking. He gave a small shake of his head. “That night…” he trailed off, not needing to spell it all out.

The sad expression that took over Steve’s face in that moment was enough to break just about anyone’s heart. He knew that he should have something elegant or meaningful to say, but all that came out was a quiet, sad, “Oh.” If he was simply being nosey, he would’ve followed it up with more specific questions, but once he heard that it was all the answer he felt he needed.

Bucky stared down at his arm. The scars were so much a part of him now that he hardly noticed them anymore. Some days his arm still ached, pains that he was almost certain were all in his head but he couldn’t prove it. So many horrid things packed into one night so long ago.

“The waves weren’t the only thing that I had to worry about,” he finally said.

Steve’s heart was getting heavier by the second. “I’m sorr—”

“Don’t,” Bucky cut him off. He pried his eyes up off his arm and looked at Steve. “What could you have done? Either of us?”

Bucky could see it on Steve’s face that he was fighting the urge to argue. He never argued just for the sake of it, something that Bucky found himself doing more than once or twice over the years, but Steve still sometimes couldn’t help but land himself in a debate. He always meant well by it. Any argument with him usually, as much as Bucky could remember, ensued because Steve just couldn’t stop himself from sticking up for someone, for something. A good trait to have most times, but not all. Bucky marveled at that about him now just as much as he had back then, maybe even a little more-so. It was easier to appreciate things with more years and experience.

Steve sighed, shoulders deflating as he nodded. “I know.”

Something about those two small words made it seem like a world of tension had been taken off their shoulders. Both of them had spent so long carrying around so much hurt, so much guilt. They’d been living with countless question marks hovering just above their heads. The burden of things far beyond one’s own control was a heavy one to carry, and they’d been doing it for years. But the admission that there was nothing they could have done then? Or in the interim since? There was comfort in that. It didn’t absolve them of all the grief, but it was a start. And that was more than they ever thought they were going to get.

Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on the water in front of them then. He watched the waves as they gently came lapping at the sides of their ship and the others that had anchored around them. It was so calm, so unlike the night they were both thinking about in that moment.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Steve shifting nervously. There was something more that he wanted to say. Bucky briefly wondered if there had ever been a time when Steve didn’t have something more to say. He didn’t try to rush it out of him, though. He’d get to it when he was ready.

All of the shifting and fussing with his hands landed Steve closer to Bucky than he already had been. They were shoulder to shoulder now. The outside of Steve’s arm was pressed flush against Bucky’s, from his bicep all the way down to their wrists. Bucky waited for Steve to realize it, to pull away and put the distance between them again, but it never happened.

“I don’t care what happens now,” Steve finally said.

Bucky’s face scrunched in confusion for a moment. “What?”

Steve wanted to look him in the eyes but for the moment he couldn’t manage it. He settled for staring intently at Bucky’s hand instead as it rested dangerously close to his own. “I know it matters, but I just,” he shook his head, “I don’t care what happens next.”

Bucky didn’t know what to make of the relief in Steve’s voice. “Steve…”

He did his best to fill in the gaps between what he was saying and what he actually meant. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever happens next isn’t going to matter,” Steve felt his courage surging with each word he spoke, finding it in himself to finally take Bucky’s hand in his as he continued, “because we’re going to handle it. No matter what.”

He matched Steve’s grip, each of them holding the hand of the other like they were the only thing keeping them from slipping away again. In a way they were. He felt the warmth, the softness of the skin of Steve’s forearm against his own scars and for the first time in a long time he didn’t feel the want to pull away from the touch. It was Steve, after all.

Bucky’s eyes were glued to their entwined hands, watching the way Steve’s thumb traced back and forth over his. The only thing that got him to look up was the sound of Steve’s voice as he spoke up again.

“Remember what we always used to say?”

The ends of his lips began to curl upwards, warmth in the small gesture. He remembered. Of course, he remembered. “Yeah.”

Steve’s sigh of relief was quiet, but not quite silent as he allowed himself to lean a little more against Bucky’s side. There was something familiar about the gesture. Suddenly they were teenagers staying up past curfew again—staying out a little too late, drinking a little too much, sitting a little too close. But it didn’t feel like a secret anymore.

“I still mean it,” Steve said with a small nod.

Bucky gave his hand a light squeeze. “Yeah.” His breathing hitched for a moment as Steve’s head dropped onto his shoulder. “Me too.” He let a beat of silence pass, allowed himself to soak up the closeness. “It’s not gonna be easy.”

Steve chuckled softly, not lifting his head from Bucky’s shoulder. “It never was.”

“No?” Bucky joked.

Steve laughed a little harder at that, still quiet as his shoulders shook with the laughter, the recognition that he had the opportunity for this when he thought he never would again. “No.”

“Least that didn’t change.”

Steve felt the slight pressure of Bucky leaning his head down against his own, felt the way his heartrate spiked at the realization of it. New and familiar all at once. Steve tried to breathe into it, allow himself to enjoy it. A tether in the midst of so much upcoming uncertainty.

He ran his thumb across Bucky’s knuckles. “A lot of things didn’t change.”

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

What do you think about a selfcest polycule between all of Tails variants?

😏

Anon, you have come to the right place with this question

Simple answer? Yes. Yes

ㅤ

Okay, if you wanted my longer answer, here you go😂

So if you've seen some of my Sonic Prime posts and read my tags, it's no secret that I was a fan of Black Rose/Thorn Rose/Rusty Rose as a ship, or Sails/Nine, Sails/Mangey, Tails/Nine, etc

The draw of Amycest/Rosecest to me was how Black Rose and Rusty reacted to seeing Thorn for the first time and how we went from Black Rose and Rusty not caring for each other much to being a dynamic duo who are a bit clingy (+ the addition of Thorn coming in to help them out when those two need it or all three fucking up shit together). They had a compelling background arc to me, and I don't see Rusty leaving Black Rose's side anytime soon.

But for Tailscest... In Prime (and in general, for the most part) the draw to me is bonding over shared experiences or the lack thereof. Nine has an identity crisis on his hands by S3, and yet I loved the idea of him getting to bicker and bond with Sails. I loved the idea of Nine feeling naturally bitter towards Tails and having a mischaracterized idea of him in his head initially, and then seeing him in action, meeting him, and thinking both "I can't believe *he'd* want me alive" and "oh he's a little fucked up, actually". I loved those interactions with Sails and Mangey in S3, and the idea that they grew to find comfort in each other and we're able to settle in and work together so well. I think despite what Nine tried to do to the two of them (and his identity crisis), he should feel a strange sense of hurt at the idea of them dead, and a strange sense of relief when they turn out to be alive (accompanying all other feelings of course).

As a polycule, the Prime!Tails variants + Tails have a lot of potential to me. For fluff lovers, there's the au where they all make a home together. When they're not out with other friends or on adventures, they're home tinkering or hobbying or living in domestic bliss. And the angst/toxicity potential is good too! I interpret Tails as secretly jealous/possessive when it comes to Sonic, but to a point in his life where he doesn't want to let it lead him into trying to control Sonic and his relationships. Perhaps Tails meets Nine post canon and he can see the pining from a mile away. Then, when Sonic make his shared history with Nine clear, Tails finds himself struggling between the wish to be welcoming and to sympathize and that deep down wish to assert his place to Sonic in his life. Perhaps he sees Mangey hide behind Sonic when he's scared, watches Sonic give him head pats/ear scritches and words of comfort, thinks of how he used to do that and wishes Sonic was giving him words of comfort and physical touch right now. Maybe he starts turning Sails into his little apprentice or work partner, and when Sonic praises Sails' work on a contraption he feels jealous that it's not him being praised.

So, likewise, I think there could be a lot of individual comflicting feelings and compelling relationships inside the polycule as well! Feelings of jealousy, feelings of annoyance, feelings of comfort. Despite their similarities, the variants also do not have the same personalities, so you can also think up funny interactions between them (like Sails starting a "is a hot dog a sandwich" argument with Nine for fun). The sky is the limit, really.

As a sontails fan also, I just kind of like the idea of a functional Tails + Tails variant polycule who live and work together who also all want to maintain a close bond with Sonic to be honest.

And if we're talking about Tails variants, I like the idea of branching out too. Despite fandom characterization, I think it would be interesting to pair Nine and Miles (anti-Tails) together and force them to work together. Despite some similar trauma, they have wildly different lives and backstories, so I can't help but wonder what they'd think of each other. And (like Bingge in SVSSS) I can see Miles growing this wish deep down (as Nine did) to have someone like Prime!Sonic in his life. To watch another variant of yourself pine hopelessly over a version of Sonic who would save that young "miles prower", who would give this version of yourself words of praise and comfort. It's easy to imagine both of them growing jealous of Prime!Tails, and of Miles being jealous that Nine had the chance to meet Prime!Sonic.

Anyhow, I should probably wrap this up. Thanks for the ask, anon!! This blog has a lot of thoughts about individual relationships between Tails variants in general or within a polycule situation, and thinks it has versatility in being cute as hell, toxic, or...some secret third thing. If you'd like to hear more talk about the Tails variant polycule, individual relationships/smaller polycule dynamics between Tails and/or the Tails variants, or my interpretation/headcanons in regards to Tails or different variants, feel free to shoot me an ask!

[booklove22]

Nace Mutual Pining Wishlist

I’ve been thinking a lot about the next few episodes and how we’re going to have to deal with the people-who-shall-not-be-named plotline soon. And as much as I don’t want to see it and wish we weren’t wasting our LAST SEASON on this rude interruption to the Nace endgame, I do think the potential for ongoing romantic angst for Nace is actually really high and COULD be really rewarding if done right.

After the season 3 finale, I wrote about the angst I wanted to see and a lot of it still applies now. I’m rehashing some of that post here, but also adding in a few more things and refining others because of what we’ve seen in the first 3 episodes.

Before we get to that though – I need to explain my headspace and why I think we could actually get a lot out of high-quality Nace content out of these eps despite the other love interests.

It all rests on their last exchange and Nancy saying  “I can’t go back” while Ace says “I can’t go forward” – which highlights one very important thing: they are in a different place than they were before the curse. Ace thinking they could go back to being friends and “manage” by shoving the feelings back down because they did it before just isn’t realistic. That only worked before because they both thought their feelings were one-sided. They didn’t have post-curse honeymoon plans; and confessions of years-long feelings; and jealousy admissions; and the most epic of first kisses between them when they were shoving those feelings down. So, I mean, no offense Ace – I see what you’re trying to do here, but to quote another TV show “you can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube.”

Which leads me to the belief/hope that what we are about to witness (the ick-factor of other love interests aside) could actually be a level of mutual pining like we’ve never seen before. Keep in mind this is purely a wish list on my part, but these are the things I’d love to see while we wait for the Nace pendulum to swing back in the right direction.

Mutual Pining Wishlist

The entire Drew Crew, but mainly Nancy and Ace, all dressed up for some event and having one of those silent "god he/she looks amazing"     longing moments with their eyes.

A dance at this same event. THEY DESERVE A DANCE. Like where they didn’t intend to  dance together but like somehow they awkwardly get pushed together and its just pure tension and awkwardness at first but bleeds into something comfortable and sweet

A  "stuck somewhere together/in trouble together alone" episode to     really ratchet up the tension to peak levels. Bonus points if they are tied or cuffed together. Jesus. But I’ll take anything where its literally just the two of them against the evil of the week.

Someone on Twitter mentioned this ages ago so I can't take credit but... Ace going "absolutely feral" on someone who tries to hurt Nancy. Honestly, now that the image is in my head, I can't shake it. Like he didn’t give up being with the love of his life just to lose her through some other means, you know? I want to see him scared. Then I want to see him absolutely FURIOUS AND VIOLENT.

I already mentioned Ace stitching Nancy up in another post but revisiting that here. The idea being that Nancy gets hurt or has to use her blood in a ritual and Ace uses his newly learned suturing skills to stitch her up.  Think about how close they’d have to be. How he’d apologize if he was hurting her because “the people I do this on aren’t usually alive”…like a tension filled mirror image of the Sigil painting scene.

Nancy openly proud of Ace’s new job/expertise. Like I just feel like he would really want that praise from her. Even knowing that she never thought he was “lacking” (and I mean REALLY knowing that now), I still feel like he  still has baggage about his own self worth.

Ace being the one to be there for Nancy on the anniversary of Kate’s death. Alternatively, maybe Ace’s mom dies (is that heart problem going to come back around???) and Nancy being there for him as the only other person in  their friend group to know what its like to lose a mother. It would be SUCH an amazing bonding moment for them and really showcase how, curse aside, they are each other’s person no matter what the circumstance.

I don’t  know, but I really need some sort of high school flashback now. It feels out of reach honestly. Or maybe a case takes them to Keane High at one point and the tension of knowing that’s where Ace first had feelings for her…like…cmon. GIVE IT TO ME.

And I mean….what would mutual pining be without a sharing  a bed trope? Do I think they’ll go THAT far? No. But honestly, ever since Kennedy posted her “Season 4 emoji hints” tweet and it included a tent emoji…I’ve had an absurd amount of thoughts about the two of them somehow ending up in a sharing a tent situation. Maybe very survival driven. And it’s cold in Maine, you know, so maybe they also need to share a sleeping bag for body warmth. I’m probably way off but like…a girl can dream.

Please add more. I literally can’t stop thinking about Nace and I need the distraction of all the potential pining. Like I think we know there will be jealousy, but pining is where its really at...

[late-to-the-party-81]

You bring me closer to God - Ch2

AN: I hope you all enjoyed part one - onwards to part two!

The prompt for this chapter, from the lovely @buckybarnesevents was Give me a colour.

Beta’d by @hannahshattuck

Master list| Hot Bucky Summer Master list| Chapter 1

Summary: Joaquín thinks over his relationship with Bucky and what it means to him…

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Joaquín Torres

Word Count: 1.8k

CW: Mean Dom Top Bucky, Enthusiastic Sub Bottom Joaquín, Pre-established ‘Situationship’, Safe word discussion, mentions of Degradation, mentions of Sub Space, mentions of aftercare, mentions of sex toys and masturbation, Angst, Pining 

Joaquín dragged his hand down his face in frustration.

“Idiot!” He let out a shout as he kicked his trash can across his room. A few paper tissues and the plastic liner wafted lightly in the air, almost mocking him. He took two steps over to his couch and dropped down into it, feeling both the physical exhaustion from the mission, as well as the mental exhaustion of trying to keep his emotions in check.

But it was getting harder and harder to do. To keep it light, to just be ‘bubbly and carefree Joaquín’, when all he wanted was to shout his truth from the rooftops and revel in it.

He’d been in awe of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes from the moment he’d first seen him. Despite the almost permanent scowl, Joaquín had thought the Sergeant the most handsome man he’d ever seen. Then he had to go and rip the sleeve off his jacket and jump out of the aircraft, following Sam into the jaws of danger, without either a set of wings or a parachute. Just thinking about it made the young man feel all funny inside.

Then, when Sam had gifted him the old wings, saying he could wear them if he was able to repair them, it was the start of the three of them working together, and he’d had to tamp down his crush on the vastly older man. Which had been incredibly hard, mentally and physically, because, as it turned out Joaquín had a competence kink. Or was it a knife kink? Maybe it was just a Bucky kink? Either way, whenever he saw the former Winter Soldier fighting, effortlessly taking down the enemy, it took every ounce of control not to look at him with heart eyes or pop a boner. A couple of times he’d had to rush to the tiny washroom in the jet at the end of a mission and quickly tug one out, lest he actually explode from the amount of want inside him. On some occasions, just watching Bucky clean and check his knives and guns on the way home had got him all hot again, and he’d had to go a second round when they got back to the compound. He didn’t remember being this horny, even as a teenager.

However, despite his best efforts, he must have given something away because now he and Bucky were doing this dance where they were cordial to each other in front of the rest of the crew, and then went completely feral with each other when they were alone. He’d have said private, but some of the places where they’d indulged themselves were definitely not that. He prayed no-one ever got a black light out on the jet…

It was great though. He was definitely physically satisfied - Bucky was a more than generous lover, and the things he did! Just thinking about it made Joaquín glad he was already sitting down. Bucky had helped him explore a side of him he didn’t even know existed until the first moment those slightly chapped lips had met his own. Yes, he might wish they could be more open, have a more conventional relationship, but he knew that isn’t what Bucky wanted from him. It was obviously, purely physical between them. An outlet for pent up frustrations and even if it got his heart broken, Joaquín was all in until Bucky wanted out.

Of course though, today, he’d fucked up. He’d let his feelings take the lead and he’d swooped in and made himself a target to distract some alien heat-seeking missiles away from his not-boyfriend. It was an instinctual reaction to seeing someone he loved cared for in potential danger, and in that moment  it completely slipped his mind that he was eminently more fragile than the super-soldier. It had all turned out okay, but Joaquín had felt the waves of anger rolling off Bucky from that point on. He’d tried to apologise, to explain himself on the way home, but Bucky had damn near bitten his head off before sinking into himself and cleaning his knives in a way which was both frightening and arousing all at once.

Joaquín had hoped he’d have the opportunity to speak to Bucky after they’d landed and the older man had some time to cool off, but that had been a no-go as well when Bucky had unceremoniously stalked off in a manner which indicated it wouldn’t be a good idea to stop him. He’d seen Sam bravely catch him and mutter something, but he’d been out of earshot.

Slapping his hands on his knees, he stood up. There was no use mouldering on the couch, all sweaty. Maybe a shower and good night’s sleep would help, and then in the morning he would have the opportunity to seek Bucky out. It was odd though, not being with him at the moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Bucky hadn’t spent any time together after a mission, even if it was a frenzied quickie in a closet.

Admittedly, those… encounters weren’t his favourite. He liked it - loved it - when Bucky took his sweet time with him, breaking him down and keeping him on the edge for as long as he could stand, before granting him sweet relief.

Fuck, he was horny.

He stripped off his clothes and threw them in the laundry basket and made his way to the bathroom. He’d have a quick shower, clean off the grime and then relieve some tension before going to sleep.

He couldn’t help teasing himself though as he stood under the blissful spray, running his hands down his body as he washed himself. His thumbs traced the dips in his hips, the small hollows surprising free of bruises placed there by his lover. He gently traced over his nipples, the small dark buds puckering, acting like switches that activated his cock as they did so. Bucky loved to tease them as well, sucking and biting for what seemed like hours until Joaquín was thrashing under his touch. God, he wished the man was here right now. He had sexual torture down to an art. Joaquín would be crying from frustration, but at the same time still be thanking him, over and over.

Realising that he’d been standing, daydreaming in the water, for far too long, Joaquin shut off the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and started to rub at his hair with another. His erect cock rubbed against the fuzzy material with each movement, and while brushing his teeth, considered how he wanted to relieve himself before going to sleep.

Obviously, there was the quick, efficient version, just using his hand and a dollop of his favourite lube, but he could always ‘jazz it up’ with the textured stroker he’d bought a few weeks back. He’d only used it once so far, but it did feel really good. However, he was really horny, and missing Bucky, so maybe using his dildo would hit the spot, so to speak? It wasn’t as wide, or as long as the man himself, but at this moment Joaquín was aching to be filled, and prior to Bucky, the fake dick had been satisfactory enough.

He let out a sigh then, as he realised how much Bucky had ruined him for other people - and apparently toys as well - because even the fattest fake cock wasn’t going to pin him down with only one hand. It wasn’t going to drip the most degrading, but erotic words in his ear, telling him how dirty he was, how slutty. How he was just a set of holes for Bucky to use over and over until his lusts were slaked. The best nipple clamps weren’t going to come anywhere close to the feeling of those vibranium fingers closing over his tender flesh, pulling on them harshly until tears rolled down his cheeks. And no stroker was going to replicate the feeling of Bucky’s mouth around his cock, teasing him, edging him and setting him up for failure for which there would be an inevitable punishment.

He almost wished he hadn’t already kicked over the trash can, just so he could do it now. Because as much as he, very enthusiastically, enjoyed everything Bucky did to him, his favourite part of their encounters, by far, was afterwards. That 30-40 minutes after he’d been wrung dry and Bucky was satisfied with the number of orgasms he’d had, and the supersoldier shifted gears, no longer a demanding lover with a wonderfully cruel streak, but a caring and attentive partner, cleaning Joaquín up and talking him back round with soft words and tender touches. 

Joaquín liked to think that when they were in the afterglow bubble, the person he was seeing was more akin to how Barnes was before the fall, before WW2. Before the world had left him hurt, scarred and traumatised. He could also pretend in those moments, that he and Bucky were actually boyfriends, whose friends knew about them, and complained about them when they indulged in over the top PDA. But it was just a dream, and as Joaquin walked out of his bathroom, back into his bedroom, he resolved to keep reminding himself he was lucky to get what he did, and that Bucky didn’t need his lo…

The hand grabbing hold of his throat was entirely unexpected, and he left out a strangled squawk as his body was slammed up against the wall. He kicked and lashed out with his hands and legs for about a second before his brain realised that it wasn’t in any danger.

He was in the Avengers compound, and unless something had gone very wrong with the multiple security protocols, this couldn’t be anyone who wasn’t authorised attacking him. Additionally, the fact that whoever it was had bypassed the security on his room and, most importantly, owned a metal arm, meant only one thing.

“Bucky!”

His lover didn’t answer, just pressed his clothed body against Joaquín’s almost naked one and kissed him. It wasn’t gentle, it was hard. Possessive. And Joaquín unfurled under it like a flower under the morning sun. He rolled his hips against Bucky’s and grabbed fistfuls of his black t-shirt. As Bucky continued assaulting his mouth, he let go of Joaquín’s throat to pick him up, took three steps over to his bed and tossed him down onto it.

The young man let out a plaintive whine at the loss of touch, but in a moment, the towel around his waist was torn away and Bucky’s large body loomed over him. Cool vibranium cupped his erection and that whine immediately changed to a reedy moan.

“I need you baby boy. I’m still mad at you, but, fuck, I need you. Gimme your colour, yeah? ‘Cause I’ve got plans for you, and I need to know you’re with me on this.���

Bucky’s voice was a husky growl, and for a heartbeat Joaquín.exe stopped responding, but a gentle squeeze of his cock had him writhing and nodding and babbling again.

“Green, Bucky. Green. Oh, god! Please, please, please.”

Chapter 3

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel @kmc1989

[archonfurina]

what are your otps and notps? and why?

Baldur's Gate 3:

OTP: Wyll x Astarion. Chemistry, both have traumas, many tropes I enjoy like monster hunter x monster. They have their moments in canon too, they're clearly attracted to each other. + Astarion's line about wanting to marry a prince-like type like Wyll.

OTP: Lae'zel x Shadowheart. They are insane. Peak enemies to lovers content. They have so much tension, but they're perfect for each other. Like Shadowheart said, if they channeled all that energy into their enemies, they'd be unstoppable together. + Healer and warrior trope. Mwah.

NOTP: I don't really have one. Maybe Astarion x Shadowheart? They don't really fit together. But I don't hate it either. They're just more like gay best friends.

Genshin Impact:

OTP: Neuvillette x Furina. The angst potential of these two is crazy. Not to be obsessed but like. They spent 400 years together as the rulers of Fontaine. And now Furina thinks it's better that they don't see each other and Neuvillette is desperate to see her again. THE PINING. The misunderstandings. Furina being lonely for centuries and having only Neuvillette as her only companion but being unable to share herself completely with him because her entire nation's existence depends on it?? The grief?? And what Neuvillette must be feeling when he finds out she's sacrificed so much for her people and has had to shoulder so much by herself, an ordinary human? THE GUILT??? And after everything, she's mortal now and what if they missed their chance?? But it could also finally be their moment to be honest and real with each other and heal together. + Neuvillette giving her a vision with dragon claws.. To mark her as being beyond Celestia's clutches. Don't get me started on these two holy shit I WILL go on forever

OTP: Zhongli x Lumine. Old dragon hot. Jk I also love them for lore reasons and they'd be beautiful together.

OTP: Kaeya x Lumine. My original and first ship in Genshin. I just love them so much. I don't really have any coherent thoughts on them I just adore them together. + They're both outsiders.

OTP: Xiao x Lumine. Can you tell I play a fem traveler? Anyway. There's sooo many moments in canon where they're together and having intimate conversations. Xiao appearing only when Lumi calls for him?? "I'll do it because it's you." (paraphrasing). Xiao keeps saving her? Honestly that whole Chasm questline was so much food for us.

OTP: Raiden Shogun x Kujou Sara. Okay hear me out. The archon and her general. The deity and her worshiper. The idol and the fan. I just.... They just are so good. Sara has dedicated her whole life and herself fully to Ei. There's nothing else in her mind. She's loyal, dutiful soldier and she loves the Shogun almost to the point of obsession. That kind of love, devotion... Chef's kiss.

OTP: Cyno x Alhaitham. I like them a lot but I feel like @elbatmun would be better to explain their dynamic. I'm not super invested but going from enemies to friends to lovers is always so good.

OTP: Beidou x Ningguang. The original lesbians of this game. I mean come on. That lantern rite moment where she compliments Ningguang's looks? That moment was loaded. And even in the event going on right now, Beidou keeps her in her mind and wants to get her a potion because she has trouble sleeping.. They're so cute. + The time they traveled to Mondstadt together and went on a date to the tavern.

OTP: Clorinde x Navia. The Fontaine version of Beigguang.. Nah I mean they've got their own stories and chemistry. This is another tragic ship that has angst potential. HOWEVER, they already moved past it in canon and are now friends. So it's a friends to lovers story arc and I love it. + Protector and princess vibes.

NOTP: Wriothesley x Neuvillette. They have nothing in canon, it's just an empty ship born from people's wish to have two men together.

NOTP: Kaveh x Alhaitham. I saw the potential and I get why people ship them but it just.. something about them rubs me the wrong way. Plus the way people act like they're canon is really annoying. Honestly it sounds like they hate each other from their interactions.

[angelofthenight]

Cardigans in August Pt.1

(Bruce Yamada x Fem!Reader x Vance Hopper)

Summary: During the summer after a fight, (Y/n) cheats on Bruce with Vance. When school starts again Vance thinks he finally has (Y/n) until she tries to win Bruce back.

Warnings: Love triangle, Brief mention of underage drinking, Unreciprocated love, Jealousy, Eventual angst, Like this is gonna get sad most of the time, (Y/n) isn’t a very good person

Word Count: 2.1k

Parts: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

(This is based off Taylor Swift’s Folklore love triangle with Bruce as Betty, (Y/n) as James, and Vance as August)

“Chase two boys, lose the one”

“Slept next to him, but I dreamt of you all summer long”

“'Cause you weren't mine to lose”

When you’re young, everyone assumes you know nothing.

But Bruce Yamada knew it was real; his love for you and your love for him. He knew it was true love. He just knew it.

He knew by the way he felt when you shared your first kiss in his sophomore car. He always felt a twinkle when with you but after that moment the twinkles amplified into fireworks. Your kisses was all the motivation he needed in life; the stepping stones to just simply waking up every morning. Because every morning was just the start of a brand new day to spend with you. To spend the passing periods kissing under the stairs, to spend the weekends attached at the hip, to spend the nights drinking in the trunk of your car with the tailgate open. And with tipsy flushed cheeks glowing under the streetlights, you two would lean in and share sweet kisses as your hands would slip under each other’s shirts.

But then there was the “other man” that Bruce would have never suspected pining after you this whole time; Pinball Vance Hopper. The bad boy of North Denver. The guy who sent two kids to the hospital for just simply bumping into his beloved pinball machine.

Despite his aggressive persona and violent reputation, you two were close friends. No one knows why or how, you just… were. Not exactly best friends, but it's not as if you didn’t have the potential to be.

Once the bell rang everyone in your history class practically jumped out of their seats before your teacher could even pull the stupid “the bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do”. You slid your books off your desk and into your bag so you could spring to your feet and join the crowd of classmates trying to pour out of the room through the small doorway. You eventually got out as well and as always, Vance was leaning against the wall beside the wall as he waited for you.

You smiled as you stood in front of him, he always waited for you after the last class on Fridays to walk you to your car since Bruce had Baseball practice. “You are always the last person out of that class.” Vance commented which received a roll of your eyes.

“Wow, sorry you have to wait like 12 seconds after the bell. Your life is just the worst.” You humorously pitied as he kicked himself off the wall to begin walking at your side. “I know. It’s hard being me.” Vance stated which successfully received a giggle from you.

The melody of your laugh made Vance secretly smile to himself, glad he was always able to get them out of you. He had a thought at the back of his mind that wondered if Bruce could make you laugh as much as he could.

That thought gave him enough confidence to speak without thinking, “So, you thinkin’ of going to-” He cut himself off from asking if you and Bruce were going to the weekend dance together when he saw the whole baseball team rush down the hall toward the two of you. You both stopped in your tracks as the group of smiling boys in matching uniforms reached you. The front two stepped to the side to allow Bruce to walk through the group and up to you.

A smile spread across your lips in surprise as Bruce revealed the small bouquet of flowers he was hiding behind his back. “(Y/n). Will you go to the dance with me?” Bruce asked with a toothy grin, holding the flowers out toward you.

The baseball team looked at you with waiting eyes and all the girls present in the hallway watched in jealousy over the gesture from the gorgeous popular boy. What you didn’t see was Vance’s stone stare set on your face watching your reaction, a part of him internally begging that you’d decline even though he already sadly knew your answer.

“Of course!” You exclaimed while grabbing the flowers then throwing your arms around his neck for a tight hug. The whole baseball team erupted in cheers and obnoxious clapping behind Bruce. You departed from the embrace to smack a warm kiss on Bruce’s smiling cheek as his hands rested on your back. You both smiled at each other gushingly and connected hands to walk down the wall. You turned to look over your shoulder once remembering about your friend, but completely forgetting he wanted to ask you something. “Oh, bye Vance!” You hollered before turning to look back at Bruce as you two walked hand in hand.

Vance raised his hand as a goodbye as he watched you go with a deep frown and furrowed brows. The painful reminder of his torturous reality creeping back up his neck in an attempt to strangle him, and sometimes he wished it just would to put him out of his misery.

He hated being the second choice. He hated wondering if he had to love you from afar forever. He hated that he loves you harder everyday yet everyday you break his heart easier and easier. But even though he was utterly hopeless, he was still hopeful.

~

You honestly don’t know why on earth you let Bruce woo you into coming to the dance. You hated crowds, they were overstimulating and you had itching social anxiety. You loved music and dancing with Bruce… in privacy and when it just consisted of the two of you. Your back was bumped into by multiple different formally dressed teens which made your miserability spread to your frown.

Bruce still shimmied and swayed in front of you with the brightest smile plastered across his face. His brows crinkled at the sight of your clear unhappiness. “Are you alright!?” He yelled over the loud music. You still stepped side to side to the Bee Gees as you just couldn’t bring yourself to fake a smile. “I’m gonna go get some fresh air.” You said to him, stepping closer to his shoulder so he could hear you.

“I’ll come with you.” He said, slowing his dancing down to a stop and resting a hand on your lower back to guide you out. You grabbed his arm and returned it to his side. “I’ll just be a second, stay and keep having fun with your friends.” You said, nodding over to his dancing group of friends with their dates beside the two of you. He looked to his friends then back at you with an unsure expression but you had already slipped off into the crowd.

You walked through the gymnasium doors into the small dome shaped area where some teachers and students were talking with friends away from the noise. You walked past them all to the hallway that led to the exit doors. The further you walked the more you could finally hear the sound of your heels clicking as you stepped. You pushed the doors open and instantly took a relieving inhale as the cool night air hit your sweaty face, chills spilling down your exposed skin. You took a seat on the curb of the sidewalk and rested your hands on your knees to gather yourself, the music from the gymnasium faintly being heard.

Bruce danced with his energetic friends, keeping a patient eye out for you so he could return to dancing with you. Three songs from Foreigner, The Runaways, and Heatwave had passed and still no sign of you but he was too caught up in enjoying the music to let his worries wear him down. It wasn’t until the band started playing the intro to his favorite song, Edgar Winter Group’s Free Ride, where an excited smile exploded on his face and he whipped his body around to look for where you were. You should’ve been back by now, so why weren’t you back? His smile slowly melted away as you were nowhere to be found no matter where he looked.

“Hey Bruce, it’s your song! Why aren’t ya dancing?” A girlish voice said from behind him. He turned to one of his female friends rocking her shoulders to the beat of the music as her hands swayed her yellow eyelet lace dress. “Looking for my girlfriend!” He said to her over the catchy beat, mindlessly moving to the music. She shrugged, “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.” She continued dancing and he soon joined her, not wanting to put his favorite song to waste.

The sound of a familiar guitar melody made your ears perk up and your head turn to look behind you. Bruce’s favorite song was playing! You got up to your healed feet and rushed back to the doors to down the hall and back to the gymnasium doors. You stopped at the doorway and tilted your head up to look for where Bruce was now. The smile you didn’t realize sprouted dropped when your eyes caught the sight of Bruce dancing with another girl. A really pretty girl.

You knew they were friends but you also knew, from the knowledge of one of your gossip friends, that she used to have a crush on Bruce until she found out you two were a couple. You never once thought illy of her since of how sweet and polite she was but just the sight of her sweet smile being reciprocated in an equal style by Bruce made your stomach turn. Unwanted jealousy stuffed you as you watched how they danced with each other.

You couldn’t bear to look another second as your insecurities embodied into salty water over your eyes. You turned away and allowed your feet to quickly carry you back to the hallway as you bit your lip to prevent it from quivering. You couldn’t even make it to the doors as you slowed to a stop and let your back fall to the wall and your body sank to the floor, bringing your knees to your chest. You knew your face resembled one of those sad clown paintings with your eyebrows curving up and your frown deepening. Your eyes were glossy with tears but yet they didn’t fall from the confines of behind your lower lash line.

Your throat felt like there was a rock stuck in it and you felt a tight rotting pain in your chest as you soaked in your own pathetic, pitiful misery. You heard footsteps approach you and you had the mind that it was a teacher coming to check up on you so you swallowed the lump in your throat, sniffled and blinked away the watery substance coating your iris’.

You looked up only to make eye contact with Pinball Vance. He was dressed sloppily formal with his everyday brown boots, dark blue jeans and a long sleeve white dress shirt with the top three buttons undone. His hair was the same as always and he had one hand shoved in his pocket with the other holding a black suit jacket slung over his shoulder by the collar.

“Vance? I didn’t know you came to dance’s.” You said partnered with another sniffle. Vance gave a half shrug, “I don’t but my mom forced me to come to this one.” You nodded before looking back down to the floor in front of your feet. Vance slid his jacket off his shoulder as he squatted to take a seat beside you. A moment of silence passed before Vance broke it, “Crowd too much for you?”

A small smile slipped over the endearing fact that he remembered your dislike of overwhelming crowds. “Yeah, it just…” your mind drifted back to Bruce and the girl, “got a little too much for me.” Vance nodded in understanding. “Where’s Bruce?” He asked without thinking. A bitter scoff escaped past your lips before you subconsciously remarked, “Ask Michelle.” Your eyes widened over your snotty tone and words and you clapped your hands over your mouth in embarrassment as if that would take back what you said.

But Vance didn’t judge or criticize you, he could never bring himself to, and that was one of the things that made you feel comfortable with him. Vance stood up to his feet and offered you a hand. “Let me walk you home.” He said. You stared at his face for a few seconds before taking his hand and letting him effortlessly pull you up.

Once standing, he threw his jacket over your shoulders and you felt your skin immediately relax into the smooth fabric. With the light jerk of his head, you followed Vance down the hall.