#life got really really really really bad last fall and I still haven’t recovered

[syd-djarin]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter two: sex and candy

*18+ minors DNI*

tags: mentions of anxiety, religious shame/guilt, reader being insecure, mentions of (negative) past sexual experiences and partners, brief mention of alcohol consumption, v fingering, oral (f receiving) joel is a cunnilinguist, 2000’s nostalgia, mentions of the patriarchy (booooo)  squirting (sue me),  Joel-Land™️™️™️

reader has hair that she fidgets with, "grows warm" /"cheeks burning" but not necessarily blushing, with embarrassment - minor edits to make this more inclusive for my readers <3

word count: ~4.5k

Author/s notes: Sorry it took longer to get ch. 2 out than I anticipated. I've had a lot going on in my personal life (I got a new job!) But I promise it won't be as long for ch. 3 hehe. this is a lengthy chapter, hope y'all enjoy!!

had to name reader's bestie after my dear friend @katiexpunk <3 thanks for always letting me run ideas by you and being a peach in general.

and thank you to @softiedingo for being a beta reader as well <333

It has been two weeks since you introduced yourself to Joel and Sarah. You hate to admit it, but you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Joel. Your mind will stay preoccupied temporarily, then they circle back to him. 

Throwing clothes in the washer? Joel. 

Boiling water for pasta? Joel. 

Doing the dishes? Joel. 

In the shower? Yep, definitely Joel. 

And this morning is no different. 

You’re staring at yourself in your bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth, mind deep into Joel-Land, then your thoughts take a sharp turn - for the worst. You’re thinking about all of your past sexual encounters. 

How unsatisfying and selfish your past partners were. You hadn’t been romantically involved with any of your past partners, all of them casual-no-strings-attached type of arrangements. 

Even if the sex was casual, did that mean the pleasure had to be one-sided? Of course not. 

However, after each encounter you found yourself feeling disappointed, and truthfully, it made you feel…..icky. Was it religious shame? Even though you don’t participate or believe in any religion anymore, your formative years were spent in a conservative, Christian church; where sex is bad, and sin is bad. And you don’t want to be bad, because you will go to hell. You don’t even believe in hell, yet, there is a small voice in your head that still worries about eternal damnation. Jeez, I should really see a therapist about that.  

 Perhaps it’s the misogyny and sexism, rampant and hard-wired into society and into mind’s since the beginning of time. 

Your internal theological and philosophical debate gives you a throbbing headache. 

+++

It’s Friday. Halloween falls on a Tuesday this year, so most Halloween celebrations would occur this weekend. 

If you were still in college, you’d most likely attend a costume party at a frat party and drink until the sun came up. These days, you don’t recover from hangovers as easily and find the anxiety spiral that follows a night of drinking to be too debilitating so you’re planning on keeping it chill this year. 

You’re pouring out a bag of candy into a bowl, so candy is easily accessible for your sweet tooth cravings when you hear a strong, loud cluster of knocks at your front door. 

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock. 

Shaking off your initial startling from the sudden knocks, you open your front door to find Joel. He’s leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, one half of his body bears all his weight. He swiftly straightens upright again when you greet him. He looks even more handsome from the last time you saw him. He’s wearing dark wash jeans that accentuate his body in the most delectable way and a black t-shirt with a faded MILLER CONSTRUCTION graphic that is just barely legible. 

You have the urge to steal the well-worn shirt so you can sleep in it, relish his scent, and let it become a metaphorical embrace of Joel. 

Fuck, I really am down bad, you internally scold yourself to come back to the present moment. 

“Joel! Ho-how are you?” you manage to creak out through nerves and surprise. 

His beautiful, dark brown eyes are staring right into yours. His eyes could compel you to do anything. 

“I’m doin’ alright, you?” The word ‘alright’ is drawn out making it sound like “awllll-right”

“Can’t complain. Y’all settling in okay?” tilting your head unconsciously, as if to convey genuinity.  

“Oh yeah, ‘s a nice neighborhood. Sarah seems to be enjoyin’ her new school, I was a lil worried she’d have a hard time but she’s a smart kid and gets along with pretty much everyone. Awful silly of me to worry in the first place…” he’s rambling, hands moving at the same pace as his speech. 

You find his rambling to be cute, it’s a bit of a juxtaposition from his strong, demanding presence. 

Joel realizes he’s nervous after he concludes his tangent. When’s the last time he felt nervous around women? Especially a sweet, non-threatening woman like you? 

“Anywho, I came over to uh- ask you somethin’... Sarah liked your cookies so much she wants to learn how to make them herself and was wondering if you’d teach her?”

“I’d love to!” You shoot him a flattered smile,  learning that Sarah wanted you to teach her to bake makes your heart sing.

Joel is amazed at you. You agreed to teach a twelve year old, one who you hardly know, to bake. He shouldn’t be surprised given your sweet demeanor and generous heart, but he’s in awe of you. 

“You sure? I mean, you obviously don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“Joel, I’d be honored to. Send her over in an hour,” you cut him off, hoping to convey your delight in teaching someone else to bake, the same way your grandma did for you. 

Joel can’t stop the shit-eating grin that appears on his face. 

“Sounds good. I’ll send her your way, sweetheart,” he lingers just for a moment to watch your reaction to the nickname, the one he’s used twice. 

You desperately try to keep your composure cool and collected, but you’ve never had a good poker face. You wear your emotions like an accessory. And right now, you are flustered. You divert your attention to the ground as if looking into his eyes would expose your every thought. 

“O-okay!” You can barely stammer out a response before he is pivoting off your porch, back to his own house. 

You can’t see it with his back turned to you, but Joel is smirking to himself and feeling amused at his effect on you. 

+++

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“Yes, dad. I don’t need a chaperone to bake cookies. I’m a big girl now, remember?”

Yes, he is acutely aware that she is a big girl now. Well, not really, to him she will always be his baby girl, but that doesn’t stop her from growing up. Too fast for his liking. The idea of her becoming a teenager almost gives him a coronary. It won’t be long before she’s driving, then graduating, and college. What if she wants to attend a school in another state? Across the country? 

He feels queasy at that thought, afraid that she will grow out of thinking her dad is the coolest, afraid that she doesn’t want to spend time with her old man anymore. 

He wills himself to think about something else. Anything else. Inevitably his thoughts wander to you. 

Joel hates to admit it, but he was hoping to join Sarah for the baking lesson. He wants an excuse to be in your radiant, sweet, beautiful presence again. 

While you can’t stop thinking about him, he can’t stop thinking about you. 

Driving home from work? You. 

Making dinner? You. 

Making his morning coffee? You. 

Laying in bed? Oh, yeah. Definitely you. 

Exactly one hour passes when Sarah arrives at your house. You’ve already set up in your kitchen in preparation; already pre-measured the ingredients, setting out all the necessary baking equipment and you even found a spare apron for Sarah to wear. Ya know, to give her the full experience. 

“Oooh, this apron makes me feel like a professional!” Sarah exclaims after tying the strings on her designated apron. 

“Well, after this, you will be.”

You can’t remember the last time you felt this much joy. Sharing a passion of yours with someone who is eager to learn from you delights your heart and soul in a way you didn’t know you needed until now. 

“So first, we’ll need to combine the butter and sugar,” Sarah dumps the butter and sugar into the mixing bowl. “Great, now we want to beat the mixture until it looks fluffy.” 

She is completely engrossed in watching for the desired texture, furrowing her brows together in a way that mimics Joel. You find it adorable. 

“Excellent, now we are going to add in the eggs and vanilla extract.” 

She follows your instructions to a T, meticulous and concentrated as if she were mixing hazardous chemicals in a lab. 

“You’re doing great.  Now let’s add our dry ingredients, half of it at a time.” 

Her eyes light up when it’s time to fold in the chocolate chips. You both agree it’s the best part, both of you indulging in a few before adding them to the dough. 

You assist Sarah in rolling the dough into little balls and placing them onto the baking sheet. 

While waiting for the cookies to bake, you learn more about Sarah and Joel. She tells you about their old house, the camping trip they went on this past summer, the catchy pop songs on the radio that Joel will pretend to hate but she catches him humming the tune later, how Joel makes a big breakfast for the two of them every Sunday, a ritual they started when Sarah started school - he makes pancakes just for her. 

Getting a snapshot of Joel and Sarah’s lives and their dynamic makes your mega crush on Joel that much bigger. From what Sarah has shared with you, he seems like a caring, protective yet fun dad. You’re aching to learn everything about him. 

“Do you have any plans for Halloween?” Sarah asks as you’re pulling the baking sheet out of the oven. 

“Oh um, I usually just hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. Nothing super exciting. What about you?”

“We always order pizza and watch a scary movie - nothing super scary though. We dress up too. Well, I dress up but dad thinks he is too cool to do that so he wears the same boring mask every year,” she has a mischievous grin on her face, concocting a plan when she asks, “do you want to come over and join us?” 

On one hand you’d love nothing more than to spend more time with your new friend and Joel, but on the other hand the thought of being in the same room as Joel, in his house, makes you both anxious and aroused. Dizzy, nervous, and horny makes for an unpleasant combination. 

Gaining a sliver of bravery, you swallow your apprehension and say yes. 

“Sure, yeah, what time should I come over?”

“6:30. And you better wear a costume!”

+++

You’ve spent the past hour trying to put a costume together. Not making any progress, you decide to seek external advice - your best friend Katie. 

You both met as freshman and have been close friends ever since, even rooming together in your first off-campus apartment. She moved to the West Coast shortly after graduation, though you still keep in touch via email and phone. You give her the scoop on Joel - him moving into the neighborhood, your gigantic crush on him, how you baked cookies with Sarah yesterday. She’s impatiently waiting for you to bone your hot neighbor. Girl, I’m waiting too. 

“Do you still have that bunny costume you wore junior year?”

You rummage through your tote of seasonal clothing in search of said costume. Pulling it out, you now realize just how skimpy the costume really is. Bunny ears and a tail paired with a skin tight black bodysuit leaves virtually nothing to the imagination and definitely too much skin for this occasion. 

“Dude, I can’t wear this! His daughter will be there! I can’t believe I wore this out in public. This is X-Rated,” you’re growing agitated in having no success in your costume, to the point that you are tempted to tell Sarah you came down with something so you don’t have to go. 

“Okay, okay, the ears and tail are still salvageable. Do you have something besides the bodysuit?”

“Ummm…” you trail off into the phone, frantically searching for something to replace the risque bodysuit. You find a plain white baby tee amongst the sea of clothing, deciding you can pair it with your favorite jeans, the ones that accentuate your body in all the right places. 

“This could work..” muttering to yourself when a devious thought pops into your head. White shirt, no bra. 

“Found it! Gotta go, loveyoubye!” You hang up the call before Katie has a chance to respond, tossing your pink Razr on your bed. Your body hums in anticipation and jitters, feeling emboldened by your no bra plot. 

After throwing on your outfit, you style your hair differently than you normally do. You add several coats of mascara to your lashes, sweep on some blush that complements your skin and add a sparkly lip gloss to your lips, making them appear extra plump and juicy. 

You grab a bag of Halloween candy and you practically skip across the street. Reaching the front door of your new bestie and her gorgeous dad, your confidence is replaced with a furious ball of anxiety. Your heart is palpitating and you feel your stomach churn. 

 Would Joel think you looked stupid? Or worse, childish? Fuck, you should’ve stayed home. 

Joel opening the door snaps you out of your thought spiral but only briefly, because he’s staring at you like you’ve started growing extra limbs. He looks both puzzled and pissed? 

“What uh-what’re you doing here?” 

His voice has a sharpness you haven’t heard before and it stings. 

You have a moment of realization. 

Sarah didn’t run the invitation by her dad.

 You deduct that he isn’t a fan of surprises. 

Before you can formulate a response, Sarah saves you from having to do so. 

“You dressed up! I’m glad you came,” she squeals while wrapping her arms around your middle in an embrace. 

She looks up at Joel from where she’s latched onto you and gives her confused dad an explanation. 

“Dad, it’s okay, I invited her.” 

That seems to alleviate his confusion. You, on the other hand, not so much. You’re internally screaming at yourself. It’s obvious to you that Joel wasn’t expecting you, and in conclusion, doesn’t want you here. 

“I didn’t mean to impose, I—I’m sorry, I’ll uh— just go back home,” fighting back tears of embarrassment, looking everywhere except at Joel.  You think now is a superb time to move across the country, change your name, dye your hair, somewhere far away from this humiliation. 

Joel senses you’re feeling rejected in some way.

“No, no, come on in. Jus’ wasn’t expectin’ you s’all,” he gives you his most reassuring smile. 

You swallow the lump of emotions in your throat. 

He didn’t expect you to come over, nor did he expect you’d show up as his personal version of a Playboy bunny.  He almost busted in his jeans when he could see your nipples through your very thin white t-shirt. He thinks you’re trying to kill him. 

+++

You’re starting to relax once you three settle on the couch, Sarah nestling between you and Joel, Alien on the TV. Turns out, you and Joel share a love for the film. You may or may not have gotten into a heated (playful) debate about the other films in the franchise.

Joel gets an influx of trick-or-treaters, more than you usually get, residents of the neighborhood taking advantage of this opportunity to be nosy. Again. 

In between costume clad visitors, you sneak glances at Joel, who looks absolutely scrumptious tonight. His hair had been damp and combed back when you arrived, his curls now almost dry and in all their glory. He’s wearing an obviously well-loved, faded Pearl Jam concert tee that clings to his arms and grey sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips. You wonder if all his shirts fit like that. When he stands, you can see the outline of his dick through his sweatpants.  You have to manually restrain yourself from pouncing on him. You’re soaking through your panties and you’re a little worried that if you stand, the seat beneath you will be soaked too. 

The scent of his body wash invades your nostrils, a heavenly mix of sandalwood and cinnamon. You’re imagining yourself running your hands through his hair and burying your nose into his neck, alternating between kissing and sucking on the skin there. You want to taste every inch of his skin, taking your time to savor him. 

Joel’s stealing glances at you, too. He’s never seen someone look so sweet and seductive, divine even. You smell warm and sweet, amber and vanilla. Not the artificial, manufactured type vanilla scent, it’s like vanilla straight from the bean. When you readjust your position on the couch to get more comfortable, your tits lightly bounce, unrestrained by a bra. He has to stifle a groan, disguising it as a cough. He wonders how much they’d bounce if you were riding his cock. Your lips are absolutely sinful. Pouty and plump, juicy from the lip gloss. The bunny ears are the nail in his coffin. He’s picturing you bent over on his couch, still wearing the bunny ears as he devours your pussy from behind. 

Only a quarter of the way through the movie, a few of Sarah’s friends from her old school pop in to invite her over for an impromptu sleepover to which Joel agrees to, since they no longer go to school together. 

Which means you and Joel are left alone. Together. Your body is aching to close space between you and the man you’re enamored with. You don’t know that Joel is itching to do the same. 

“Sarah couldn’t stop talkin’ bout yesterday. She loved hangin’ out with ya, thanks again for doin’ that.”

“She’s welcome to come over anytime. She’s a sweet kid,” you’re beaming at the fact she enjoyed baking with you. Joel notices the way your eyes gleam, overflowing with delight.

You finally have the courage to meet his eyes. The way his eyes are raking over your entire body makes your clit throb in anticipation. Your heartbeat is erratic, thumping loudly in your ears. 

The energy in the room is magnetic, pulling you and Joel closer together. 

“You can uh-scoot closer t’me if ya want,” he gruffs out, beckoning you to scoot closer to him. Joel wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you make him feel like a flustered teenage boy about to kiss a girl for the first time. 

You scoot closer to Joel, hoping he doesn’t notice your body trembling from nerves. 

With your body flush next to his, he stretches one of his toned arms behind your head, resting it on the back of the couch. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body and it sends a shiver down your spine, straight to your aching core. 

The tension in the air is palpable, both of your bodies buzzing in arousal. You’re both pretending to watch the movie in front of you, but your minds are elsewhere. He gently removes his arm from the couch and rests it across your shoulders. It’s a seemingly innocuous gesture, but its impact makes you clench around nothing, more arousal dripping into your panties. 

He leans his head down close to yours, his mouth behind your ear.

“No bra? You’re a naughty lil bunny aren’t ya?” His hot breath tickles your ear, your eyes clamp shut involuntarily and you whimper. A high-pitched, whiny whimper, and Joel’s never heard anything sweeter. 

He places his other large palm on your thigh, gently squeezing it. Your skin prickling in goosebumps and your nipples are hard enough to cut glass. The wetness pooled in your panties is beyond the point of comfort. 

Joel presses a chaste kiss behind your ear, eliciting another whimper from you. He peppers kisses from your neck all the way to your collarbones.

“This okay?” 

“Mhmmm…”  You’re already so keyed up you feel hazy. Your whole body feels hot, lit aflame by Joel’s lips on your skin.  

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he rasps while his hand is caressing your thigh, intentionally not too close to where you want him. Need him. 

“Mhmmm,” you moan, still unable to form words, arousal taking over all of your bodily functions. 

“Need you to use your words, honey.” He squeezes your thigh again.

He pulls his face back from your neck to look you in the eyes, and slows his movements on your thigh so you can tell him to back off or give him the green light to continue. You grab his hand on your thigh and squeeze it, to keep him from removing it. 

“Joel, pleeease. Want it so bad. Need you so fuckin’ bad.” 

You beg in the most sultry voice you can muster, emphasizing every syllable. 

Your lust laden eyes and the way you mewl for him ignites something ravenous, primal, carnal in him. He hasn’t heard you cuss before and it sounds so filthy in your honeyed voice.  His rock hard cock twitches in his pants. 

He presses his plush lips against yours. It’s hesitant at first, but his apprehension dissipates when you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back with fervor. Joel deepens the kiss, one hand gripping your hip, the other hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing your body further into his. You tangle one of your hands in his luscious curls. He tastes like sweet peppermint and a hint of black coffee. You feel dizzy, tasting him, finally feeling him. 

He breaks the kiss, guiding you to lie down on your back and props your head up on one of the couch armrests. 

He’s looking down at you and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. You’re always pretty, effortlessly so. But seeing you underneath him, sweet and desperate for him? He’d do anything you ask him to.

“You’re the prettiest lil bunny. So fuckin’ pretty.”

You’re bashful under his gaze and his compliment, cheeks burning. 

Joel notices you trying to shy away and he places a thumb under your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. 

Now you feel embarrassed for trying to shy away in the first place.

“Sorry I’m—”

“Nothing to ‘pologize for, sweetheart,” he’s caressing your chin with his thumb, alleviating all of the embarrassment from you.

“Wanna taste you. You’ve no idea how bad I’ve wanted to taste you. Needed to know if you were as sweet as your cookies.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, “yes - yes please, taste me, Joel”

He chuckles softly at your enthusiasm and promptly rids you of your jeans, making the leather of the couch feel cool to the back of your thighs. 

Joel lets out a guttural moan when he sees your sky blue satin panties soaked through. He runs a finger over the damp spot, making you quiver. His touch is featherlight and it’s maddening. You’re squirming, hips lifting off the couch, chasing for more. 

He obliges, running a finger over your clit with added pressure. 

“Joel, please–” You’re a whiny mess under him, and he’s just getting started. He’s rubbing gentle circles over your bud, still-panty clad. 

He presses a kiss on your belly, just below your navel. The tenderness makes your body shudder.

He finally removes your panties and you gasp when the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. 

“Pretty girl with a pretty pussy to match.” Joel’s admiring the way your pussy is glistening for him, begging to be touched. 

He runs a finger through your drenched seam, your juices dripping onto his thick digit. He licks his finger, then shoves it into his mouth so he can taste every drop. His eyes clamp shut, groaning at how you taste. You commit the image to memory, not wanting to forget how he looks and sounds when he tastes you for the first time.

“Knew you’d taste sweet. So fuckin’ sweet.” 

Your brain short circuits when you realize that means he’s thought about this before. That he’s imagined how you’d taste. Picturing him fantasizing about you makes you light-headed. 

Joel spreads your legs wider, giving him full access to your pussy. He dives in without warning, licking from entrance up to your clit.

“Fuck, Joel!” You hoarsely shout with one hand gripping the couch cushion and one tugging onto Joel’s messy curls. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your pussy as you grind your hips into his mouth, desperate for release. 

 You see stars while he expertly alternates between flicking his tongue and sucking on your clit. He’s keeping a steady rhythm, on the slower side, taking his time pleasuring you. He’s enjoying this.

Obscene sounds fill the room; Joel devouring your pussy like it’s the Last Supper and your chorus of moans and expletives. 

“Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”

“Shitshitshit–”

“Joelllll-” 

He picks up the pace, your fingers cramping from their deathgrip on the couch. You feel your peak approaching - sweat beading on your forehead, chest heaving, head thrown back in ecstasy. 

Joel senses your approaching release and pushes one of his thick, dexterous fingers into your weeping hole. 

He reaches for your hand that’s tangled in his hair and intertwines your fingers with his, resting your connected hands on your inner thigh. It’s overwhelming; the intimacy of your interlocked fingers paired with the filthy onslaught of his mouth. 

He speeds up as he adds another finger, hitting the spot that no one except you has reached before. You never knew it could feel this amazing. You thought you were doomed to a life of bad sex. 

Apparently, you just needed Joel to show you differently. And you are so glad he proved you wrong. 

Joel hooks his fingers inside you bringing you closer and closer to that peak you’ve been dying to reach. You’re squeezing his fingers, both the ones inside you and the ones interlaced with yours. 

“Joel I-I’m close,” you manage to choke out, mind foggy from the intense pleasure. 

He sucks on your clit, hard and you’re coming, entering a euphoric plane of existence. You’re floating, body trembling, coming harder than you’ve ever come before. 

Joel slows his fingers and removes his mouth from your pussy, beard glistening with your release, gently bringing you back to reality. He keeps your fingers locked with his, grounding you in the present.

The orgasmic fog clears from your brain, regaining awareness of your surroundings when you feel how drenched your lower half is. Like, really drenched. You lift your head from the armrest and look down and you’re appalled by the scene. 

You fucking squirted. Everywhere. 

On yourself, on the couch, on Joel. His beard is soaked completely, to the point it’s dripping down his chin. He’s just as stunned as you are. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, fuck I-” you’re scrambling to get off the couch and Joel grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks. 

“What’re you sorry for? That was so fuckin’ hot, sweetheart.” 

“I-I didn’t know I could do that…”

“Oh yeah? First time ever squirtin’?

“Yeah, the first time anyone else has made me come… like, ever.” 

His gaze goes dark. 

You get the feeling that he’s just getting started with you. 

And just like your cookies, he’d never have enough. 

THE END

[hyungseos-cafe]

Pairing: Ex-best friend!Sunwoo x GN!Reader

Genre: Angst

Warning(s): Umm?? Get ready to fight Sunwoo 👊👊 He's a wee bit manipulative here.

Word count: 1.1k+

Summary: Sunwoo + Jealousy? Impossible! Sunwoo watches his friendship with you crumbles before him as he refuses to believe his jealousy got the better of him. Is he able to hold it all together or does he let you fall through the cracks of his ego? 

A/n: I don't really remember why, but this idea suddenly popped into my mind like?? Idk a few months ago and honestly I'm kinda shocked I actually finished this idea in less than two months lol

┊⋆ ˚✯✩. Songs to listen to while reading: Wish You Well - Jeff Bernet, Heather - Conan Gray, Good Grief - Sky .✩✯⋆ ˚ ┊

Taglist: @deoboyznet @zzoguri @from-izzy @quaissants (aka the biggest sunwoo enthusiasts🤌 i hope it’s okay if i tagged you 🥺)

You, the literal definition of perfect sitting in front of me, blinding me from the world. You were my world… Until our argument… Which I kind of started, but that’s besides the point. We never fight, so when we do, things don’t always end pretty. This is one of the cases where it all went sour and unfortunately I don’t know if we can recover. 

“Sunwoo, what’s your problem? Can I not live my own life too?”

“I– I didn’t say you couldn’t”

“You said I shouldn’t have friends because they wouldn’t be able to take care of me like you. Are you saying you’re perfect? I don’t want perfect friends, I want friends that are human, Sunwoo”

“I didn’t say I was perfect! I just don’t want you hanging around them”

That was when all hell broke loose; shoes, pens, vases and even clothes were thrown around Sunwoo’s room. Truthfully there was nothing wrong with those friends you had, I just felt like you were slowly replacing me with them and I got insecure, but of course I would never tell you that, because why would I?

“Oh so there’s a ‘them’ now? I can’t believe you Sunwoo! You have friends of your own too and I don’t say anything about them! Why is it suddenly different when I have my own friends? Are you j–”

“For the last time, I am not fucking jealous or whatever the fuck you want to call it! I just don’t like your friends, okay?” 

“See, you are jealous. Simple”

You gathered your things and started heading towards the door, sadness painted all over your face. I couldn’t bear to look at you, I even missed your silent “Bye Sunwoo” as you slowly shut the door to never come back. 

We’re just friends I kept reminding myself, but if we’re just friends, why does it hurt so much to let you go then? It felt like a void was suddenly created in my heart. Everywhere I look reminds me of you. You always liked the plump blueberries, the smaller ones were too sour and you always ate your cereal before it got soggy. Your lattes always had an extra pump of sweetener and your sweaters all had little holes in them from your cat. 

Three months, that’s how long it’s been since our argument. I haven’t been on social media these three months because your face was everywhere. We still had mutual friends you hangout with and every once in a while I would receive a message from them asking what happened between us. I didn’t have the heart to tell them I got jealous. Honestly, I had nothing to be jealous of since they were good people. They were always looking after you and would call me if anything went wrong. 

You would think three months isn’t a short amount of time, but in these three months I learned one of two things. One, you got a promotion and would be sent to the next city to work the lead role of your company. Two, you moved out of your apartment into the city last month and decided not to tell me. 

I know I shouldn’t be surprised considering how poorly we left things, but I think it may be for the best. I just can’t help, but feel bad with how I treated them. I shouldn’t’ve been jealous, but I was and that’s unfortunately where I’m at now. I’m alone in my own thoughts, the thoughts that pushed them away, the thoughts that cost me my friendship. 

It’s now 6 months now that you left when I received a postcard from you in the mail. It’s a photo of you and… Someone else, you look happy. My heart sank with guilt and remorse as I flipped over the card. 

“Hey Sunwoo! Sorry I left so abruptly, but I got promoted to a new position and was transferred to a new branch in the company. I also met someone, they’re really sweet; kind of reminds me of you! I hope you’ve been well! I’m actually flying back to see some old friends and if you’re free, i’d love to see you”

I was conflicted, why would you of all people want to see me? I left things on such a sour note and yet you want to see me? It’s now a few hours before I am meeting up with you. We arranged to meet at our favorite cafe, the one where we shared all our deepest secrets, yet the biggest one I hid from you is my love for you. 

“Sunwoo, you look good”

“Thanks, you too”

I forced my response because just moments before I saw you, you were holding hands with someone else. Someone that should’ve been me, but alas, I was too late and my ego blinded me from what was in front of me this whole time. 

“Thank you for meeting me here today, I was worried you wouldn’t show up. I mean considering everything”

“What do you mean by everything?” You sat there confused, did I say the wrong thing?

“Sunwoo, you were jealous. Were you not?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” 

“So you were jealous… Cool, I don’t need to know anything else since you clearly don’t care about me and what we went through” 

You rolled your eyes and began to get up from your seat, but I couldn’t let you go, not this time. I suddenly got the courage to reach over and gently pull your wrist back.

“Wait!” I got up and continued to hold onto your wrist as we exited the cafe. 

“I’m giving you two minutes Sunwoo so you better spill or I’m leaving” You crossed your arms as you turned your head, leaning on the exterior of the cafe.

“Just hear me out, okay? I wasn’t jealous I– I just…” My thoughts suddenly left me which put a disdained expression on your face. 

“See! You’re just proving my point Sunwoo. You were jealous. End of story, I’m leaving now” You began to turn around, heading to the end of the street before turning and walking up the hill to where you were staying.

“No! Please! Just hear me out!” I was out of breath having run up the hill, but you didn’t stop. 

There was no point. I fucked up, I couldn’t find the words to tell you how much life you added back into me. You were the light of my life and yet, I put yours out. Honestly, I don’t know what to do anymore. You were my person, the person I went to for advice, the person I went to for comfort, but now I have to comfort myself. 

All those years of friendship are now over since I tossed everything to the side because I couldn’t suck up my jealousy. I never imagined myself to be the jealous type, but with you, you were different. I thought– No. I think– I don’t know. I have to find my own happiness, to find my own drive and maybe when you’re ready, we could be friends again. 

Until then, I’ll walk on my own.

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

what do you think The Prophecy / Long Story Short mash up means and what it means in the lyrics choices? (take your time answer when you can)

Once again, buckle up because I AM LOSING MY MIND AND IM TAKING YOU WITH ME, anon! 😘

This combination feels like her tying up the loose ends from long story short. If such a fated relationship ended in this way, like slowly sinking in quicksand, what is the point of it all? How do you recover from the end of the end of all the endings? You have an epiphany about who is in charge of your fate!! 

I haven’t actually taken the time to write out my interpretation of the prophecy yet, so I kinda have to do that first before getting into how long story short changes it, so I’m sorry this is so long. 

First verse: I was going full steam ahead, thinking that I had finally managed the impossible, but it escaped me once again. This could either be a relationship that burned bright and fast and left her scorched, or, my personal interpretation, it’s her furiously writing music and chasing inspiration, when it escapes her and she’s left pondering the act of creation. It was written (who did the writing? Ambiguous!!!), and I was cursed. Other people have talked about “I got cursed like Eve got bitten” but it is still a confusing to me!! Eve wasn’t bitten, she was tricked. Eve did the biting, an act of defiance or free will or being pressured by the devil or all of the above? So is the line sarcastic? Either way, as a result, she is cast out, a sinner. Which is not to say that it’s all bad… Eve eating the fruit undeniably changed the world, and in that act of defiance, Eve set in motion all of human history. She paces around the house thinking. She is not greater or lesser than herself- She just… is who she is. Never losing hope, and not above asking for help. 

Chorus: she is begging on her knees, for this curse to be lifted. It is still is ambiguous to me what the curse actually is. She wants someone who wants her company but she herself doesn’t even want her own company. Is she cursed to hate herself forever? Is she cursed to always be cast out from paradise? Is she cursed to never find love?

Verse 2: “cards on the table mine play out like fools in a fable” is suuuuch a good line!! She’s recontextualizing her struggles in the first verse, zooming way out. It feels like a callback to foolish one: “my cards are on the table… chances are i will talk myself to sleep again… foolish one stop checking your mailbox for confessions of love that ain’t never gonna come.” She’s played all her cards, she’s played honestly and it still ended up hurting her. Or, the cards are oracle deck/tarot cards which have been dealt and her fate is sealed. But her cards are unique- they play out like fools in a fable, maybe because she is the one fable-izing her life. I think this is what was sinking in: She’s spun her life stories into characters, she’s cast herself as a fool (who hasn’t), but for her, the folklore has been passed around for years, and it creates a nasty self fulfilling prophecy. She didn’t realize she was in quicksand until it was too late. Is the quicksand her writing music or managing to land in relationships that slowly kill her or both? I LOVE this next line because it’s a sleeping beauty reference, a story about the impossibility of outrunning your cursed fate!!! She, the princess, cast out from her home for something that wasn’t really even her fault (similar to Eve!), was always going to enact the prophecy- to prick her finger. To hurt herself. Her blood (her ink filled veins) is full of poison, and it’s dripping from the pinprick. This part fascinates me! Is her songwriting/her emotions the poison? She falls into a deep sleep and dreams of him, the perfect kiss. She asks again: who do I have to speak to? Is her life really only as deep as a fairy tale where she’s saved by a kiss? Can I speak to the manager pls???? 

Verse 3: “I sound like an infant feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen” is such a glorious way to describe crying/regressing from being so used up and burned out. What’s left to even write about? How did it end vibes. She is fucked up like a werewolf!!! Howling at the moon, transformed into a beast!!! She looks unstable, casting spells to try and control her life. There’s no lesser woman in this verse, greater is repeated twice. She’s lost her faith!!! She’s believed in herself against all odds and had hope for so long that she isn’t actually cursed, but she’s been turned to stone waiting for the prophecy to change. She’s been frozen solid. She can’t change she can’t move she can’t do anything, she is utterly powerless. Of course she will crumble if all she was made for was to be beautiful and wait to be loved! This is scary!!!! But for the first time we get a glimmer of agency: I sealed my fate! She then immediately objectifies herself- she’s a paperweight. It feels similar to how she describes herself as a poster in Tsmwel. She’s a collectible. She chose to be a singer and to sing about her life, but that choice has made it very difficult for her to find true love, yet people purchase her pain/words to collect dust on their vinyl shelves. I did this to myself, and maybe I shouldn’t have gone down this path, but it was my choice. So now she’s giving away the last of herself to hear that it’ll be alright- therapist, psychic, sleeping with an indie pop incel, fans screaming lyrics back to her so she feels less alone? 

BUT THEN!!!!! SHE GRABS THE REIGNS!!!! She breaks the first wall and addresses HERSELF explicitly!!! Who is she talking to?? HERSELF!!! “Listen up, you crying mess of my past self!!!! Don’t get lost in these petty things! All the people who chose to hurt you have already come face to face with karma!!! You will find someone who wants your company!!! Go with it!!! Follow comfort!! So what if you’ve been cast off the pedestal again? You’ve lived through worse! Long story short, it sucked!” She turns around with this mashup and embodies the fable-ization of her story again!!! She says okay fuck that, I’m gunna keep coping by writing my own narrative, because that is the most empowering thing a person can do! Due to circumstances beyond my control, I was pushed off a cliff (like Eve!) and I did the best with what I had and it didn’t serve me great in the end but I figured my shit out and got up! I SURVIVED! 

But the really clever part about the way she’s combined these two is that in the prophecy, she grapples with the string of fate in LSS and realizes…. She was still being thrown around by the ocean of fate in both the long term dying relationship and the following self-harm relationship situations… she was still putting her worth in how her partner/the world saw her. She says: “I want to change the prophecy, not by finding the perfect kiss, but by stepping into my power to write my own prophecy. I want to respect myself and choose to enjoy my own company. I want to enter relationships because they feel right and not because I’m falling off a cliff and need to grab whoever is offering me a hand. It might even be okay to fall off and hit rock bottom because even then, I still have myself. I can change my fate.” She decides to learn how to swim instead of grasping for a life raft someone else throws her. 

And then the cheeky self assuredness that is so important to LSS: long story short it was the wrong guy 🤷🏼‍♀️ long story short I SURVIVED!! Werewolf howling: complete ✅ Demons: exorcized ✅

[stardustsunny]

Dreams come true;

Word count: 4.3k Pairing: taehyun x fem!reader Genres: fluff, angst Warnings: a kiss?

song recs.: new west - those eyes taylor swift (feat lana del ray) - snow on the beach

Note: the pics of Tyun with the bike were the main inspiration for this. also, it's not supposed to be that big lol and I'm sorry beforehand but the ending might be a suck ㅠㅠ but I still hope you like it!

It's almost the end of August. The new semester in college will start in a few days. You spend your last days doing nothing but chilling with your best friend Kai. You have known this boy since kindergarten and that's when you two became inseparable. He is your friend for life and you have been together through thick and thin. So now you are lightly swaying on the swing on the playground near your home "Hyuka, are you ready for the second year of this hell?" You asked the boy sitting on the swing beside yours "Nope, I'm not..I wish we have at least one more month to recover from the previous year" he answered sourly.

You sighed, you wished this too, but to your regret, that was not possible. However, there is only one thing that makes you want to get back to college as soon as possible,  precisely speaking certain someone. Kang Taehyun. A well-known bad boy, who happens to be a friend of Kai since the first semester of last year.  You've never thought that he will befriend someone like Taehyun. Actually, you haven't met him properly yet, just saw him a few times when you came to Huening's class before went home together. The longest conversation that you have with him begins with a simple "Hi" and ends with "Bye" and nothing more. Though, it was more than enough for you to develop a really small crush on this boy, that grew slightly bigger once you accidentally saw him getting on his bike. Oh, girl..that's when you fall deeply, even though you swear to yourself it's just a small simple crush, you always tried to find him in the crowd, or you casually hang out near the college sports field where he hangs out sometimes. Every time you wait for Kai you hope to see his new friend too, but it happens to be a kind of rare occasion. 

Kai saw that you spaced out a bit "What are you thinking about?" and that's when you caught yourself on the mindless thoughts about Taehyun, you cursed under your breath "Let's go home, it's getting late" you got up and Kai followed your movements.

These few days flew by so fast, maybe it's because you did nothing but sleep in your bed till noon, hang out with Kai, and playing in some stupid games with him on PS5.

The day when college starts came and for you, it wasn't the best day at all as your morning was like hell. First of all, you forgot to set an alarm and of course, you overslept, you woke up only thanks to Kai's call. You didn't prepare the clothes and you didn't have much time since you were extremely late for your first class. You put on a skirt and a tank top, apply just a bit of makeup, and grab your bag. You were late for almost 30 minutes already, you understand that you won't make it in time, so you messaged Kai that you won't be present in the first class and will arrive before the second.

With this you decided that you should compensate this rough morning with some caffeine and go to this cafe you visited with your friend a few months ago, it's not that far from the college so you definitely won't be late for the next class.

Who knew that it was kind of a destiny that you overslept today and you met Kang Taehyun in that same cafe? You clearly didn't. When you received your order you decided that there is plenty of time before the class and you thought that it would be nice to drink coffee here. But what you didn't expect to see when you looked for a free seat is that Kang Taehyun will be here too. He sat at the table beside the big window, scrolled something in his phone mindlessly, and sipped his coffee. You doubted whether should you approach him or not, but determined to give it a shot, you just hope that he at least remembers your face. "Uh..Hi? Is this seat free?" You were awkward as heck, but you keep going.

He looked up "Yes, why?" What the hell did he mean by "why"? Isn't it pretty obvious that you want to sit here? "Don't you mind if I sit here?" Yes, you are impatient, and? "Ok" and he returned his gaze back to the phone screen. Was he always that indifferent? He seems brighter and friendlier by your friend's side, well maybe it's because he doesn't even remember who you are and that's how he is with strangers. There are a lot of questions in your head so you decided to ask at least one "Um..don't you maybe..remember my face?" You smiled sheepishly watching him as he again looked up at you and raised one of his brows. "No? Why do I have to remember you?``Sure, he won't remember, you didn't even introduce yourself properly back then, so you think it's time to do it now. " I'm Y/n a friend of Huening Kai. We've seen each other a few times, but I guess you don't remember " you felt just a tiny bit shy so you diverted your eyes from his face and to the street out of the window. "Oh..cool. I have to go already, see you around" he gets up and leaves the place, you watch him getting on the bike and leaving.  You feel a bit sad, that he didn't recognize you and was so emotionless and cold towards you, but at the same time, it's fine with you because you are just some random stranger to him. 

Soon you arrived at college and you have a few minutes before the class so you came to Kai's auditorium to greet him and ask about his day. You patiently wait for him to come out while leaning on the windowsill, you check the time every few minutes and there he is. Kai smiled at you and came by to greet you with a hug. You talked for a few minutes but you should have already hurried to your next class so you promised to meet him at recess and tell him about your awful morning.

When you found the auditorium, it was a really spacious one for lectures and there were lots of seats. You decided to sit in the middle row beside the window in case the lecture would be boring so you can occupy yourself with something. 

More people come to the auditorium, some of them you remember from last year and some of them were new to you. It seems like there are a lot of people who decided to choose this class. The professor came in already and started the lecture,  but suddenly the door was opened and the boy with slightly grayish hair came in, he apologized for being late and headed to the seat beside you. Well, everything would be fine if only this boy wouldn't be Taehyun. Is it some kind of joke? He didn't pay any attention to you and you think that it's better to concentrate on the lecture too. 

You peeked at him sometimes, actually, you expected him to do anything but pay attention to what the professor was talking about, also his notes were so neat that you almost felt embarrassed when you looked at yours. When the class ended you didn't even get a chance to say something to Taehyun as he disappeared from the room just like a ghost. 

Finally recess time! You're craving to eat something and meet Kai so you can complain to him about this day. By the way, he texted you a few minutes ago to ask if you wouldn't mind if his friend joined you two, of course, you won't. You are always excited to meet new people.

You took some food in the cafeteria and found a seat that the three of you can occupy.  Soon you heard the sound of chairs being pulled back. You lifted your head up and saw Kai smiling at you and greeting you for a second time this day and when you shifted your gaze to another person you saw him. Again. You hoped that Kai had other friends besides him but to your regret no. Taehyun's face though was surprised "You?" was everything he said to you. There is no "Hi" or "It's nice to see you again" but this dry question. Kai's eyes shifted from you to his friend "Huh? Have you guys met each other before?" he honestly didn't expect that you already knew each other. "Yes and unfortunately it wasn't really pleasant" you huffed out.

"Actually I planned to complain to you about this certain person that was cold and kind of mean to me today" you don't know where this hatred came from, maybe you were just fed up with his coldness and ignorance from only this one day. "Guys..I guess you just need to introduce each other properly, I'm pretty sure you will be able to befriend." Kai smiled nervously. He wanted two of his friends to actually find a common ground. "Let's forget everything that happened before and start from scratch,  okay? Y/n it's Taehyun, my friend and a groupmate, Taehyun it's my childhood best friend Y/n." He pointed at his friend and then at you. Both of you sighed and decided to try for the sake of Kai, you shook each other's hand as a sign of truce.

At first, the conversation was tense, but as time went by both of you tried to make some decent conversation, you even learned that he likes cats and even owns one. By the end of the break, you even cracked jokes to the boys and both of them laughed. Maybe, he is definitely not that bad.

That's how the next month went. You grew closer to Taehyun with Hyuka's help. Yes, you still bicker,  like a lot, but that's now a friendly one and not the wanna-choke-you-right-here ones. You learned more about him, for example, that all that "bad boy" thing started just because people see in him that clichéd image when you are wearing black clothes, smoking, riding on a bike, and of course skipping classes and being that cold and mean guy to others. But no, he's far from that image, yes, he smokes and has a bike, and yes,  he's skipping classes sometimes but just because they're really not interesting ones for him. Even though he's skipping, his grades are quite high and it turns out he's like a walking Wikipedia. 

Taehyun recently spent more time with you and Kai on the break, he also hung out with two of you outside the school and this only makes your heart beat faster every time you see him. Especially his little gestures whenever you greet each other, he used to hug you and Kai when you were meeting and you want that this hug will last for a few seconds longer. When he pulls the chair for you to sit when giving you his notes if you can't keep up with the professor's lecture.  Everything about these little gestures makes your heart flutter. You still try your best to not show your feelings as you're pretty sure he didn't see you as anyone but his friend.

Today Hyuka asked you to hang out at his dorm, watch some movies, or do anything else to distract yourself from a rough study week. You lay on his bed while he was sitting beside you looking for something you both can watch.

"Well, Y/n, how long will you act like that?" Kai stopped scrolling for a second and diverted his gaze to you. That was such an unexpected question and you don't really get what he means by that. "What do you mean? I didn't act like anything" you looked at him with incomprehension in your eyes. "I mean..you think you didn't think that obvious? With all of your blushes, long stares, accident hands brush, and other things. Anyone could guess you have a crush on Taehyun" he rolled his eyes like this question was the most obvious thing. But that is not what you are worried about, it's that you must be really obvious if even your best friend who usually can't see anything, did notice your crush. You wanted to keep it a secret as long as you could until you actually move on. "I don't know what you are talking about Hyuka, I don't have any stupid crushes on anyone, especially Tae. It's impossible to like someone like him" you laughed nervously, you should keep acting like that, you should convince him. "Y/n do you think I'm stupid or blind? It's the most obvious thing on the planet that you like him! Stop this pretending and just tell me, I want to help you, I want you to be happy" Kai almost yelled at you, that's new. You didn't expect him to yell at you over something like that. But you don't need anyone's help, you prefer to deal with anything by yourself without anyone's help, even if it is your close friend.

"Listen, I really appreciate your trying and understand that you wanna help me and everything but I do not need your help, ok?! I will deal with my feelings by myself. Pretend that you didn't see anything!" You snapped back at him abruptly getting up from his bed, you didn't plan to hurt your friend but you act before you think and that is your biggest problem. Kai's face shows the pain from your words, you wanted to get them back but it was too late. "Okay,  if that's what you want I will, but from now on don't even think to ask me for any help and get out of here I don't want to see you in my room!" That's not how you think this evening will go, if only you won't be that stubborn with accepting others' help this situation won't even happened in the first place. You sighed, mumbled a quiet apology, quickly grabbed your things, and went to your dorm. The heated conversation that happened minutes ago feels like the stupidest thing in the world and you felt so bad acting like that to your only close friend.

The next day Kai didn't show up at your dorm to go to classes together. He didn't even text you something like "good morning", but you didn't either. You didn't see him the whole day and even during recess, he didn't show up at the cafeteria and Taehyun too. The next few days were like this: you saw Kai a few times but he ignored you completely. That hurt but maybe you deserve it for your rudeness. Today was the third day, you sulked even more because you feel incomplete alone without Huening Kai as your second half. You slowly go to college, listening to some calming music in your earbuds, the pout visible on your face, when your eyes caught a familiar motorbike that is parked beside that same coffee shop you were at on your first day of this semester. As you still had plenty of time before the class you decided to grab a latte and find a certain someone inside the shop. 

When you came in you began looking around and spotted him in the far corner of the room, after ordering coffee you went straight to his table. "Hi! Is this seat taken?" You smiled sheepishly looking at him, the deja vu hit you at this moment,  it reminds you of your first proper meeting. Taehyun raised his head up and smiled instantly "Hi, y/n! Nope, you can take it" he scooted closer to the wall so you could sit beside him on the soft couch. While you waited for your order you talked about different things, it's easy to make a conversation with the boy once you know him better. "Y/n, I know it's not my business, but are you and Kai okay?" He looked at you with concern and slight worry. You didn't want to bother him with your problems, you know that fight between you and Kai was a bad one but you will definitely make it up no matter what, you just need some time. "Well..we kinda fought? It was kinda bad considering that we didn't even talk but it will be fine soon.." You didn't realize when your voice started shaking and Taehyun took your hand in his, that small gesture makes your heart flutter. "I'm sure you will make it up soon, right?" He smiled at you softly and squeezed your hand a bit to reassure you that everything will be alright. "Y/n..what do you think about skipping today's classes and going somewhere?" That was a totally unexpected question from Kang Taehyun himself. Yes, he is skipping sometimes but not the whole day. However, your inner voice told you to agree to his proposal and forget about your problems just for a day. "That's nice of you, but are you sure you want to skip the whole day-" you didn't get the opportunity to finish your question as Taehyun squeezed your hand tighter and pulled you out of the coffee shop to his bike. "There, you should wear it, 'cause safety is our first priority" he shoved his helmet in your hands, you wore it carefully and he smiled at you "You're so cute" he called you cute..does he want you to explode here and there? 

Taehyun get on the bike and motioned you to do the same "Did you ever ride the bike?" You shook your head negatively,  obviously, you never had such an opportunity.  "Okay, I bet you like it. Give me your hands" he took your hands in his and set them on his waist, you felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks and you are glad that he can't see you from behind. "Hold tight onto my waist so you won't fall" the next thing you heard is the engine started, you instinctively grabbed onto his waist tightly and snuggled up your upper body to his back. You've never seen it but Taehyun smiled softly at your moves. And with that, the ride begins. You expected that it would be fast, but you didn't think that the speed would be this high. You squeezed Taehyun's waist and the t-shirt out of fear and shut your eyes tightly. "You scared? I feel like you closed your eyes'' he chuckled at you "y/n don't be scary, open your eyes and watch the beautiful scenery around " you decided to trust him and slowly open your eyes, at first everything was so fast you can't make out anything of the scenery but once you adjust your eyes you saw that you head out of the town "Where are we going?" You tried to sound louder so the boy could hear you through the wind. "It's a surprise, you will like it." 

You sighed and leaned closer to his back. Soon you stopped by a gas station to have some coffee and rest for a few. "So will you tell me where we are heading?" You are impatient to know your destination but Taehyun is so secretive about it. "Nope, wait until we will arrive, you definitely like it, I promise" he smiled and handed you a cup of coffee and a cookie he bought for you. "Huh? What if I don't like it?" You watched him suspiciously while sipping on your coffee,  it wasn't the best one but to be honest you don't care about anything while you look into the boy's eyes. Taehyun leaned onto his bike and chuckled lightly "Stop with your silly questions, you mentioned this place once when we were at a cafe the other day. So drink your coffee and take a look at these beautiful yellow trees around" he grabbed one of your hands that holds a cookie and took a bite, smiling at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.  "Hey! It's mine, you should have bought one for yourself" you did it just to make your feelings less obvious,  but you feel butterflies inside you at his actions. "Have you finished your coffee? We should get going if we want to arrive on time" Taehyun stands up and looks at you as you nod and hands him your cup that he takes to the trash can. Within a few minutes, both of you get on the bike and continue your little journey.  

In 30 minutes or so, you arrived at a small village. Your eyes were closed due to how comfortable it was to hug Taehyun all of this ride, but suddenly the engine came to a stop and you slowly opened your eyes and saw the seashore in front of you. You hopped off of the bike and took off the helmet and then gasped at the view. "Wow…is this real?" You can't believe what you see, you dreamed of the trip to the sea for a really long time, especially when it's not the season when there won't be many people around. You mentioned it once on your hangout with boys, but you never thought that Taehyun would remember it. "Well, I was right, you liked it" he smiled at your amazed face. He took your hand and led both of you closer to the water. "I never thought that my dream will come true anytime soon and that you will be the one to make it real" you looked him in the eyes softly. "Do you feel better now?" Taehyun is still holding your hand in his hand and gives you a small squeeze. "Uh..yeah, much better now, thank you" both of you smiled at each other. Then Taehyun motioned you to sit on the sand, it was like a silent invitation for you to sit and listen to the waves comfortably. Today's weather is really fine, it's warm and not windy, perfect weather for the sea trip.

But it's still not that warm for you who wears only jeans, a light sweater, and a jean jacket, so you decide to scoot closer to the boy because you feel his warmth radiate. "Are you cold? I can borrow you my jacket if you want to" he tilted his head to see your face and you knew that this move of his is very dangerous as your cheeks became hotter, you pray that he can't see the blush on your face. "N-no, I'm fine, really, don't worry I'm just comfortable like th-" you can't finish the sentence cause you felt the arm wrapped around your shoulders and moved you closer to Taehyun's body. You didn't expect this so your body froze and all you heard was the waves and a little chuckle coming from Taehyun. "Why are you so flustered, hm? Do you like me maybe?" there is nothing you wanna do that badly than wipe his stupid smirk from his face. "W-what?! No, how can I have a crush on someone like you, I d-don't" you tried your best to hide the feelings but the stuttering you can't deal with, that's the thing that always occurs anytime you are nervous. "Really? Are you sure about it? Cause I think it's quite the opposite" he leaned closer to your face, such close proximity only makes you more flustered and there is no point for you to denying your feelings anymore, your body betrayed you really badly. "Y/n..What if I say that I like you? Since our second meeting at the cafeteria, you were so cute when you laughed at this stupid story from your childhood  Kai telling me. Since that day I thought that maybe I will have a chance with you." your flustered state slowly changed to shock ones. Kang Taehyun,  the boy you had a crush on, is now telling you that he likes you. At this point, everything looks just like a dream. "You have. I mean you have a chance..cause this feeling is mutual" you almost whispered the last part of the sentence. The next thing you felt is Taehyun's soft and plush lips on yours. The kiss was sweet and full of tenderness, it didn't last too long and the boy was the first to break it. He leaned his forehead against yours and looked into your hazed eyes. You wrapped both of your arms around his neck and reached for a second kiss, this one was longer and slower, your lips moved in sync, and with every move you wanted more, it felt like a good wine that you wanted to drink more and more without stopping. But eventually, both of you need the air so you break the kiss, through the panting you heard Taehyun's low chuckle "Didn't think you will initiate the second one, but that was hot" you on the other hand used all of your courage so you shyly buried your face in boy's neck "Just shut up Kang Taehyun" you heard the vibrations of his laugh and his hands moved to your waist and hugged you tightly. "So…does this mean you will be my girl now?" Oh.." his girl" you almost squealed at this, it was your dream since day one, and now you hug the boy of your dreams sitting on the shore and he asks you to be his girl, this doesn't feel real. "Earth to Y/n, I'm still here waiting for your answer" you were too much into your thoughts, you raised your head too fast for your liking but still nodded "Yes, and will you..be my boy then?" there is no point asking for it, but you still need it. "Of course, I will" he pecked your lips with a smile tugged on his. That's how dreams come true, unexpectedly but at the right time.

Reblogs and likes are highly appreciated <3 Do not steal/copy/repost thx.

[primewritessmut]

47, 49, 81, 99

Also I'm soooooo curious about the 1930s Albany research 👀👀👀

47. what story are you most proud of?

Oh, damn. You just came straight out and asked me to choose my favorite child. 😂

I’m honestly proud of (almost) everything I’ve written but all for different reasons. Each one of them walks around with a special little trophy. First finished fic. First multi-chapter. First first person pov. First “dark” work. Etc. But the one I’m MOST proud of right now is the story I wrote for Spooktober; it’s the first original story I’ve actually buckled down and finished from beginning to end.

So now that I’ve proven I can do it, watch out world, I guess.

49. do you want to be published some day?

Yes? No? I have complicated feelings about being published, mostly because I don’t want this thing I really enjoy, that brings some small measure of peace in (gestures broadly) all this, to become something I have to do.

But, I also like to sleep with a roof over my head and eat so wouldn’t it be nice if this thing I spend so much time on could help with that?

I’ve “““monetized””” an enjoyable skill of mine before and still haven’t recovered. Funny to say here, maybe, but the social media requirements alone to be successful in a field like writing/publishing makes me want to disappear into a cave and never be seen from again.

I could go on so, yeah. Complicated.

81. if you could go back in time and give your younger self a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

Keep fucking writing, you industrial grade moron.

There was a looooong span of my life where I didn’t write anything at all. (Except those half-stories I’d tell myself to get my brain to chill enough to fall asleep.) When I look at the difference between things I wrote last year (when I got back into writing after way too long) versus stuff I wrote this year, the difference in quality is already so huge.

I just… I wish it was a skill I had kept up with instead of letting stupid adulthood raze everything to the ground.

99. was being a writer a dream of yours when you were little? or did it spring up when your older? or is it just a hobby?

It was never a dream of mine but, in a truly bizarro world twist, it was something both of my parents wanted me to pursue. Like, who does that? “No, Prime. Don’t go into astronomy or business admin, be a writer.”

Writing doesn’t really feel like a dream even now. It feels like coming home in a weird sense. Like breathing through a straw and then, finally, getting to fill your lungs all the way. So… I guess I wouldn’t call it a hobby so much as an imperative. That doesn’t mean anyone but seventeen people on Tumblr and 300 people on AO3 will ever get to read it, though.

In that sense, I suppose it’s a hobby?

Also I'm soooooo curious about the 1930s Albany research 👀👀👀

There’s this fic that takes place in the 1930s (shout-out to the Malevolent podcast) predicated on the fact that a Very Bad Thing™️ happened in Albany in the main character’s past. And he’s on this journey to find the thing he lost during the Very Bad Thing which takes him around various New York cities that eventually leads him back to Albany.

I’ve looked up census data, historical photos, distance between towns, the type of car someone might be driving and how fast it could travel, local churches (photos and floor plans), and then drew myself a dumb little map so I could trace his journey as I wrote it.

I don’t know if it’s made the story any better, but it’s definitely made me feel more comfortable when writing the scenery. 😂

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

I started like... mildly crying 20 minutes ago and I haven’t stopped.

It’s equal parts Good Feelings and Bad Feelings! But it’s a lot of feelings.

tl;dr helping a friend made me emotional, my stomach tormented me last night so I’m especially fragile, I’m insanely excited for QPP Moving Day TOMORROW!, and then I heard a leader in the org say “I celebrate the person sitting in your seat” and a bunch of other really loving, gentle, appreciative things and I realized how badly I NEED TO HEAR THAT, and how, for the longest time, I just didn’t.

Mild emetophobia warning for discussion of Feeling Bad, and emotional warning for what might amount to... childhood emotional neglect? Is that a thing?

I don’t know if I can ramble, my emotions are kinda threadbare right now. So, bullet points.

- I stayed up late last night to talk to a friend having a crisis. Staying up late alone wouldn’t have been a problem at all, I was happy to “make time” for sia! But

- RIGHT as I was falling asleep, my stomach hit me with Overwhelmingly Sick Feeling that escalated RAPIDLY, convinced me I was going to Be S*ck for 2-3 hours straight, and I was trying to fight the phobia down, I really was, but I couldn’t. I wound up laying there huddling and shivering, frantic for Literally Hours, until it finally decided to just feel sore instead, and I finally got to sleep.

( ^ That part is probably my own fault. I got Chipotle for dinner because I wanted to Do Things instead of cook yesterday, and Chipotle usually goes well. But then I ate the whole bowl AND the whole (small) bag of ships. Which I KNOW I shouldn’t do, my stomach can barely handle a SMALL meal! But I THOUGHT I was still hungry? And I felt fine, mostly just sleepy, Right Up Until 1-2 AM. And then it all hit me HARD.)

But even when it finally calmed down, emotionally I was in pieces. It Didn’t Actually Happen, but gods I really thought it was going to that whole time.

So between recovering from The Struggle Against Phobia Panic and not sleeping much, I’ve spent all day feeling low-energy and tired and wrung out.

So I’ve got this Emotional Torment right up alongside the “WILD INSANE EXCITEMENT AHHHH” because my QPP is moving in here TOMORROW, and I can’t believe it’s finally going to be REAL? We’re going to be here? Together? In this place that’s our own? We can see each other and hug each other and play games or watch movies together whenever our schedule allows? I can tell them goodnight in person?

I have so many starry-eyed feelings about this, I just. Fuck, man, it’s going to be life-changing.

And then I listened to a recording from a couple years ago. One of the leaders in the organization, probably one of my very favorite people to hear speaking, gave one of her heart-wrenchingly encouraging speeches. Encouragement wrenches MY heart, anyways. In a good way, but also in the way that makes me realize how starved I am for that kind of... just, love.

“I celebrate the person sitting in your seat.”

I’m just going to copy the relevant bits of the message I sent to my mentor and elaborate a little bit, because... I don’t have the energy to reword it, frankly.

I started crying a little at the part where she said "I celebrate the person sitting in your seat"...but I also think there's some underlying wounds that she speaks to. That part specifically made me feel so overwhelmingly loved and appreciated and part of the reason I started crying is because I don't feel that way very often. But I want to. I think everyone wants that, probably.

And I'm almost envious of her. I want so, so badly to learn how to edify and uplift and love on people the way she does.

It's especially hard because my love language is words of affirmation and I want to be able to give those words to people, but that's one of the times my throat just doesn't work and I struggle to get the words out. They're important and deeply felt, and for me big emotions are the hardest feelings to put words to. But I desperately WANT to. I want people to know I care.

But I want to learn how to give people those affirmations more often. And I don't think I don't do it at all, because last night a friend was going through a crisis and she called me and we talked for like an hour, and afterwards she said it helped so much, and today another friend...sent me a message saying they're having a hard time and could they please have some comfort, so obviously I'm making SOME kind of impact in peoples' lives. They must feel safe and loved if they come to me for help like that. But I forget that really easily.

This is probably one of those things that's going to come with practice, but do you have any tips for how to help people feel loved and appreciated? I'm not sure exactly HOW to practice telling people "I love you" and "I appreciate you". I haven't had many good examples of that being communicated in my life, so when I try to think of HOW to do it, I kinda just draw a blank.

Is it like that method you have about practicing feeling joy, where you notice the things that make you feel that way, and make notes of it, and then kind of take that and extend that to others? Or is this one of those things where you have to ask people point-blank, "What makes you feel loved and appreciated?" How do you shine that light and warmth on people?

All I want in life is to leave a positive mark on this world, and I think that's a pretty important way to do that.

But what I didn’t tell my mentor is, I spent ten minutes while I was trying to compose this message to feel my way through the pain that GL’s message brought up.

With the love I felt from it came the deep-aching realization that the reason it felt So Amazingly Impactful to me is because I don’t GET THAT much.

I so, so very RARELY am told “Thank you”, or “You made a difference”, or “I’m proud of you”.

That last one, I’m so desperate to hear that when my stepmother (OF ALL PEOPLE!) was drunk at my sister’s wedding reception and told me “I’m so proud of you”, I legitimately felt my eyes going wide and starry, and I tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t resist fishing deeper. “Really? For what?” (She didn’t have any specifications to that, unfortunately. “Just the person you are.” That’s news to me. It felt a little empty tbh.)

Like... I want to specify that my mother DOES tell me she’s proud of me, she encourages me, she compliments me, she gives me heartfelt praise and I can tell she really means it. But her and my mentor are probably my only source of that. I didn’t have those heartfelt conversations with her until I was about 19 years old. I wonder if maybe she didn’t know how to give me those shreds of affirmation, the same way I struggle to give them to people now?

Growing up, I essentially NEVER heard any kind of praise or thanks. The one and only thing people usually praised me for was “You’re so smart”, but even that was usually the backhanded-compliment prefix to a following “But if only you were better at being smart!” (Gifted kid complex, anyone?)

I used to write in my diary when I was in elementary school that “nobody loves me”. I wasn’t being melodramatic or exaggerating, that was genuinely what it felt like sometimes. I felt unappreciated and unloved. I would be told “Love you!” before bed and that was about it. I still drank up those 2-to-3 word statements and cried the one time my stepmother didn’t tell me that. But I was starved of any genuine praise rooted in sincere appreciation or pride or joy.

Maybe I got a “You did so well!” after doing a solo piece in a choir concert, or giving a speech at a school function. But when I stopped performing on a stage around age 12, I stopped getting even that.

That was when I started sharing my stories. When I started posting my fanfictions, I was so incredibly over-the-moon ELATED whenever someone posted a nice comment that I responded to Every Single Individual One with a private message giving them my heartfelt thanks. And if they were anonymous, I responded in the story’s next chapter.

And the thing that hurts so much about this NOW is... I desperately, really, truly, needfully Want to Tell People I Love and Appreciate Them. But I don’t have any examples. I don’t know how. I wasn’t taught the language of positivity growing up, and I wasn’t shown how to be vulnerable enough to be sincerely grateful and happy for someone.

I don’t want to make people feel unloved or unappreciated the way I felt growing up. I don’t EVER want someone to think I take their love for granted. I never, ever EVER want to make people think they’re unworthy or failures or even just “nothing special”. Especially the people I love.

One of my biggest “angst” points when I was a kid relentlessly controlling my emotions was lamenting that the people around me felt unloved. I thought that was my own fault. I didn’t realize that’s something you’re taught, just like sewing and cooking and writing. I thought I was broken somehow, that I had permanently removed my own ability to feel and show love.

That wasn’t the case. That wasn’t EVER the case. I never stopped being compassionate; I never stopped holding my friends very near and dear to my heart. I never (well, almost never) became cruel. I always had love, it just felt trapped inside me. I didn’t know how to release it.

I still don’t. And that makes me sad because the people in my life, even the random people I talk to on the street, deserve to feel loved and deserve to know they’re appreciated and important and deserve that genuine connection. They deserve encouragement and praise.

And the people I love most... My boyfriend, my friends, my mother? I so, so desperately mourn for the fact that I can’t bear my whole heart. I don’t know how to share the immense well of love with them when it’s locked up.

I wish I knew how to tell people, “I love and appreciate you.”

I’m trying to learn, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Does it matter? Does it make a difference? Do people know I love them?

(Don’t try to eliminate all emotion from yourself for 10+ years, kids. It makes you insecure about what you show, what you CAN show, and it makes it harder to connect with the hearts around you.)

There was more, it is a deep wound, but I’m running out of steam... I might be all cried out now. I’m not sure.

Anyways, I’m going to go catch up on Broken Youth because I don’t know what to do with these emotions and maybe that’ll make me cry more and get it out.

[distort1xn]

life is honestly the weirdest thing any of us could possibly go through.

i had bronchitis a few weeks back, took my meds, felt better for weeks, and now my chest is acting up for reasons i couldn’t even begin to explain to you. during this time, however, i rediscovered a writer i absolutely adore and have been binging her books like a total fanatic. last night, when i woke up in the throws of actual suffocation due to my chest simply having closed up completely, it was her writing i turned to to keep me sane while i sat around at 2AM, waiting for some kind of relief when my meds wouldn’t work.

changing the context, but not the topic.

i got a promotion at work a few months back. i work in finance and i’m quite good at my job, but i inherited an unprofitable book of clients from an ex-colleague and have been fighting an uphill battle ever since. fighting that battle, though, hasn’t been nearly as anxiety-inducing as this promotion. not because i am in danger of losing said promotion, but because it was given to me by my sister and brother-in-law and i really don’t want to mess this up for them. they are applying exactly zero pressure and expect nothing of me other than to do my job the way i was already doing it, but lately i’ve just been fighting work stress like a motherfucker.

more context change.

my baby brother (24) is getting married soon. 14th of september, to be exact. long gone are the expectations that i, as the eldest sibling (my sister is a year older, but we also honorarily adopted her well into adulthood), should be married off and living in domestic bliss by now. my family is well aware that marriage, kids and suburban banality is not my idea of happy-ever-after. but i still feel pressure. i still feel like i should’ve made something of my life by now. not necessarily emotionally, but in some other significant way. i am painfully aware that this is my (extremely likely) thrice neurodivergent ass measuring myself by neurotypical standards. i know, okay? not to mention, we have another brother, between the ‘baby’ and i (he’ll be 26 in december) who isn’t anywhere near marriage yet, either. he has a business that did quite well for a while, but shifting socio-economic factors in our country has made him a bit strapped for cash, too, as of late. so, we’re in the same boat. but i’m not judging him – just myself.

add to this that my mother is seemingly utterly clueless about any sort of trauma whatsoever, because she just sent me a puff piece article about my ex music teacher who was so beyond abusive i can’t even utter his name without getting a panic attack so severe, all the king’s benzos and all the king’s zen couldn’t put me back together again. the man’s abuse of me was emotional, mental and sexual, and i have literally never recovered. 12 years down the line and i have probably uttered his name maybe a handful of times. but, sure, mom – you’re right: i haven’t rehashed those 2 years of trauma in a while. thanks so much for reminding me!

things just haven’t felt ‘normal’ for a while now. i feel scrutinised and weird and like i’m walking on eggshells around myself. i feel like i’m letting people down, even when no one has any expectations of me beyond what i’m already doing. maybe it’s imposter syndrome. anyone who knows me knows that if ‘negative interoception’ was something that could exist on a scale of ‘good’ to ‘bad’, that’d be where i’d fall.

i just wish i could find some way back to myself. i’m watching myself slip into old, bad habits in survival mode, and i don’t need to be here. i’m not in any ‘danger’.

life is weird. emotions are hard. living becomes surviving without any one of us noticing far too easily. help.

[saveahorse-ride-a-cowboy]

When the letter unfolds, it reveals several long paragraphs in Arthur’s beautiful handwriting. Several other pieces of paper fall out, showing drawings he had done for you to show what he was doing and the things he’s seen.

Dearest Miss Harris,

I apologize for such a long time between this letter and our last interaction. By the time you get this, it’ll have been even longer. I still remember our night together real well and with great fondness. Going forward I apologize if my words and writing aren’t fancy like you’re maybe used to. But I’ll do my best for you.

Dutch got the money and he & John have been making fun of me for being a little smitten. John calls me the Starstruck Gunslinger now… bastard. Speaking of gunslinging; I was finally able to settle and write to you only ‘cause I’ve been shot. Got shot twice. Once in my leg, right above the knee, and another in my shoulder. Luckily it wasn’t my good arm, or else I couldn’t write.

I’m goin stir crazy here. Can’t move, need people to bring me things. I don’t like making people cater to me. And I don’t like that I haven’t been able to visit you. Dutch wants to come. He wants to see the land and the home and thank you for helping Heather out. He’s real fond of her, I think. Anyway… none of my business.

John has been hunting with Javier and not me. I think Javier drives him a little crazy. I don’t mind the guy, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a little jealous sometimes. Hunting is kinda me and John’s thing. Always has been. He’s like a brother to me and I don’t want these wounds to cause me to get replaced by someone in John’s life.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m saying all this. John is telling me as I write this that I’ve been writing too long. Maybe I should stop. I don’t want to annoy you. But I want to write and talk to you. I can hear your voice in my head still, just like you’re here next to me. Miss the smell of your strawberry fields and your porch breakfasts. Miss your soap smell.

Anyway, I don’t write this to ask for pity or anything. Been shot plenty of times in my life. I’m just worried about walking properly ever again, I guess. Lots of my lifestyle relies on my ability to move. Mounting horses, dodging bullets, all that. But I think I’ll heal just fine. I have to. For my own sanity.

Enough from me. I really hope that you’re able to write back to me. And that you haven’t found your someone special yet, in these months. If you have, well, I’m happy for ya. Pretty young thing like you deserves a good man. I’m… not a good man. But I thought maybe I could try, sometime, for you.

I’ve added some drawings of things I’ve seen on the way. Mountains. A lake. Some deer. Even saw a bear one evening. I even… drew a photo of you, mid delirium when I was first hurting real bad. Hope ya like it.

Anyway, please write back to me. We’ll be here a while for me and a few others to recover enough to move. It’s cold, at night. Where we are. Wish I could hold you.

Hopefully when we see each other again, if I’m hobbling like an old man and can’t recover fully, you’ll still have me.

Yours honorably,

Arthur Morgan

That’s my real name. Few people know it.

—

Each drawing included in the letter has minimal erasings and/or mistakes, visible proof that he can draw straight from memory without much trouble. The portrait of you is probably the best drawing he’s ever done. Perfect shading, and he captured your resting expression flawlessly.

I grin to myself as I read over his beautiful words and study his gorgeous drawings.

He’s hurt… but it sounds like he’s with a family. And that’s something good.

I decide to go into the city later that day and make up a several many gift baskets, each full of fruit, treats, blankets, and other necessities a camp might need, just for the hell of it.

Then, I stop into an art store and purchase a traveling case of water colors and paintbrushes for Arthur. He has a talent, and it absolutely needs to be explored.

I give two of my stable men extra money and tell them to be careful but to take the care baskets in a coach to Arthur’s last location.

Arthur.

That’s a perfect name.

[jreynoldsward]

Writing Accountability Post #24

The summer front porch evening office is BACK! Doesn't quite look like this for 2023, but it's close.

I sat down and did some looking at the first and second quarters of the year as far as sales were concerned, and was pleasantly surprised to see that Q2 sales were significantly better than Q1--however, that's also reflective of a new release in February that got some much-appreciated support from Deborah Ross, amongst others, and reflects March sales that didn't get posted until April. What doesn't show up necessarily is the degree to which both Ingram and Amazon have supplanted Draft2Digital as my primary sales sites. D2D just went completely flat for sales in Q2, and I'm still not sure why. Barnes and Noble is now a complete and total bust, where previously it used to be my best venue. I suspect it has something to do with changes in their management, because it was pretty dramatic. That, plus the Books2Read links became unreliable. Sigh. I think it's time to tackle Linktree.

Ingram has been a complete and total surprise this year. I hadn't been selling much there until suddenly, with the release of A Different Life: Now. Always. Forever. books started to sell. Well, the paperback of Beating the Apocalypse did decently, too, as have some of the Netwalk paperbacks. I'm somewhat falling down right now because I haven't really been keeping up with the process of editing and getting those paperbacks OUT. I swear, there's something in the air that keeps holding those books back. Too bad, because as my first series, I really like those books and I think they're pretty decent. Oh well. We shall see.

But this isn't the first year that I've foundered on the rock of April-May-June when it comes to productivity, especially when it comes to promotion. Oh, some of it is due to health issues--cataract last year, reacting to Covid shot and a couple of other things this year--but that doesn't really explain other years. I really hit the shoals in April. Possibly due to the time and seasonal changes. April is all about the time change, followed by the need to adjust the horse schedule to later in the day to reflect more daylight and warmer weather. Then comes May and June, with woodcutting and recovering from woodcutting days in between those woodcutting days. We shoot for anything from six to ten pickup loads in the spring, depending on the state of the woodshed and our health. This year, we hauled nine loads of wood.

This year, we also had work on the Portland house, which sucked up a week of time working hard and not doing much fun because we were either a.) working or b.) recovering from physical labor. Plus two weekend virtual conventions. One involved paneling, the other one didn't, but that still took up time.

Essentially, what seems to happen from April-June is a lot of disruption at about the time that any new routine I might institute needs to be revised and reconsidered. And I think that's where I flounder in the whole organization thing. I don't always get back on track as a response to the disruption, and that's not a good thing.

Still another piece is that my office setup for winter doesn't always work for summer. I instituted some changes in ergonomics and rapidly became unhappy with the layout. I've since fixed it, but it's entirely possible that I may need to reorganize my office twice a year to reflect the different needs of the season as far as what lives in my office, what sort of paper-sorting organization I need to set up due to what's happening, and what my responsibilities may be, as well as expanding places where I can work (in summer) and contracting spaces (in winter).

When it comes to promotion, I really need to get my act together. Part of "getting my act together" includes reducing complexities. I sat down and made a list of my social media platforms, sorted them by "these platforms I can post something somewhere in some group on a daily basis," those where "targeted promotion once a week" is appropriate, and those where "only when something new--blog post, cover reveal, new release--is to be posted." I sorted them out, grouped 'em, and made that list part of my monthly promo plan list. We'll see how well it works.

The other piece with regard to promotion is that I really, really need to organize how I solicit reviews and interviews. I'm very hit and miss on that aspect of organization, and I need some sort of system to make it function. Some of that is a result of dropped emails--I need to set up a daily time to review and either respond or delete responses. Not sure how I'm going to set that up.

My biggest problem is that I've written and published a lot of work without building the supports I need for easy promotion organization. Now I'm playing catch up, and it's making me a wee bit frustrated.

Ah well. It just takes time. Deep breath. Onward.

[darksber]

how am I supposed to come back to creating when 1) I’m severely depressed and stuck 2) I’m tired constantly 3) I feel like I have to catch up to all the creators and trends again 4) imposter syndrome still holds my life on a short leash 5) I forgot how to make gifs 🤡

[cillspropertea]

Chapter 2: Shit!

Y/N finds herself in a unique situation where her heart wants to believe everything but her mind wants her to repress herself to prevent heartbreak. The love of her life is miraculously close enough to touch but everything stops with the question, “Is any of this real?”

Warnings: mentions of memory loss, angsty situations

Authors note: I apologize beforehand to how medically incompatible this story will be, as I am not a professional doctor, just a fanfic writer with an idea she cannot contain in her head anymore. So, please, bear with me.

What the fuck was going on? Cillian Fucking Murphy was still holding me in his arms, calling me Mrs. Murphy? Maybe he’d lost his mind in  the two years I was in the coma. ‘Shit! What do I do now?’ I politely moved him back. He was crying. His baby blue eyes, which were actually my lock-screen wallpaper the last time I remembered, were red with tears. ‘God! He is gorgeous!’ I thought. His hands clasping my face, rubbing my cheeks with his thumbs, I couldn’t believe what was happening! “You scared the shit out of me you know that?” He mumbled, smiling and looking at me as if he still could not believe I was here. “I thought I’d lost you… So much has happened!” His hands were on MY GOD DANM FACE!!????? And then he was completely lost in excitement to tell me more and more of what I had missed, apparently, moving his hands animatedly the way he always did during interviews,

     “Your sister got married! Can you believe it? Don’t be mad at her okay. She didn’t want to do it without you, but Ashton’s mother… You wouldn’t believe it if I told you…” I was absolutely lost in him. ‘Is he talking about Marie? My Marie??’ I felt so light-headed all of a sudden. “I knew how much you loved both of them and would never want them to break apart because of yourself right?. So, ‘I’ was the one who gave them the permission to do so, on your behalf.” I don’t know what he saw on my face but it made him scowl for the teensiest moment before he recovered himself, “I’ve overwhelmed you haven’t I? I’m sorry…” But then I felt his cool wedding ring on my cheek when he’d cupped my face with one of his hands again. ‘This isn’t right! He’s married!’ I moved away, gulping down my horniness and obsessive thoughts, as much as the pillow behind me allowed, “I… I am so sorry…. I” He opened his eyes to stare into mine, “Don’t apologize….” “I think you’re in the wrong room Mr. Murphy.” He moved back confused, “Is everything okay Cilli…” I am not on the first name bases with Cillian Murphy! ‘Get a grip Y/N!’ I cleared my throat, “Mr. Murphy? Is Amanda okay?” I ask about his wife, last I remembered she was pregnant with his third. But it has been two years, hell! His youngest child must be almost two now. I bet he or she must be gorgeous! Just like his two other kids. “Who?” he scowled. “Amanda? Your wife?” I explained. “Amanda Winfield? Are you asking about my brother’s fiancé Y/N? She is fine. And her daughters too. Why do you keep calling me Mr. Murphy?” he chuckled but he looked… worried. Wait! He knows my name. HE KNOWS MY FUCKING NAME? “Do you know me?” His frown deepened. “Don’t you recognize me? It’s me Y/N. Cillian! Your husband!” My head started to spin. “This has to be a joke! Did someone pay you to do this?” I questioned, my head in pain now. Maybe in the two blank years of mine, he went broke and started taking requests of, you know, birthday wishes and engagement wishes to get money and in my case, playing a practical joke! It seemed as if I’d hurt him.  

     “If it is then it’s a really bad one!” I stood up, feeling a weird tingling pain inside my head. My legs still wobbly, but they did not let me fall this time. He looks horrified and completely… shattered. “Y/N if you are playing some prank then let me tell you this is not funny. Just stop it.” He warns as his eyes widen. Could it really be possible? No, it cannot be! I can’t remember anything! I just remember the last day. I was super tired and I went to bed. How did I have a fucking accident in my fucking bed? Before I know it, I start to hyperventilate. Things start getting blurry as I drop down to the chair next to my bed clutching my burning, hurting head between both my hands. The pain gets so bad that I literally bend over. Cillian Murphy was screaming something, calling the doctor maybe? But I did not hear anything but silent ringing in my ears. I screamed in pain but couldn’t even hear my own sound before everything went black once more.

-------

  “From what I have gathered, it seems like what she is experiencing is a rare and unique type of amnesia.” I heard Dr. Benjamin before I could see him. By seeing him I meant his back really. He was facing away from me, unaware of my returned consciousness. “In simple words, memory loss, the extent of which would be determined later on. It isn’t rare in these types of cases. She did have an injury to her head upon the time of the accident.” He sighs deeply, “The human mind is a complex organ.” “When will she get better?” Cillian Murphy’s voice was tense with concern, “We don’t know yet.” A mature female voice replied, “It can take a week, a month, and maybe years. And there is a possibility that she may never be able to remember everything at all.” Cillian Murphy stood up and walked towards the window, staring outside with a hand rubbing his temple. “Oh god!” I heard Mom, before she started to sob on which I knew Marie would be rolling her eyes at. “Come on Mrs. YLN, she needs your support right now.” the female voice said as Dr. Benjamin handed the tissue box to Mom. Marie was sitting on the sofa handle, rubbing her arm and then I saw her get up and move towards Cillian Murphy, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be okay. Both of you will. It’ll take time, but I know she’ll come around. You know how stubborn she is don’t you?” Cillian Murphy’s eyes were red rimmed as Marie brought him back towards the discussion table. “I know Mr. Murphy how hard it has been for you since these past two years, but I feel that you should keep a bit of a distance between yourself and Y/N. You are one of the people she doesn’t remember at all it seems, and forcing her to remember will put too much strain on her brain which will make her experience these episodes more and more.” “But how can it be Dr. Sophia? That she only fucking forgot me huh?” His voice rising, “I’ve waited for two years! Two years to see her eyes open, to see her talk and smile! And this is the fucking reward I get! She doesn’t even remember me!” Cillian Murphy was furious. He was about to get out of the room and I wanted to stop him. The pain on his face was breaking my heart for some reason. “I suggest…”Dr. Benjamin began again which must have made him change his mind, “… we should not tell her about…” before I could stop myself I blurted, “Tell me about what?” All of them stared at me as I struggled to straighten up and set the pillow behind me.  Cillian moved… I mean Cillian Murphy moved abruptly, almost instinctively to help me, but stopped mid-stride when Marie passed him a look of sorts and beat him to it.

  “We were just talking about you dear!, I am Dr. Sophia. I am a psychologist you’ll be working with.” “I did hear you people. I know I have some kind of a memory loss?” I wanted to state but somehow it came out as a question. “Yes, but the last thing we want you to do is worry.” I nodded. Still trying to process everything. “If you worry or put too much pressure on your mind this will happen.” I nodded again. Cillian just watched me like a hawk the whole time. His expressions were as if he expected me to break any moment, or was it hope? Hope that I would get my memory back any minute now. I swallowed and focused back on what Dr. Sophia was saying.

-------

The doctors left with everyone, “To discuss further protocols…” I was sitting alone in the hospital room thinking about everything that was happening. The memory loss storyline had made a lot of movies very successful, but this was real life. My life. I had tried to pinch myself, hard. Tried to open my already open eyes but nothing was happening. Had I somehow travelled to some alternative universe? Could be. But what do I do with this? Cillian Murphy was my life! I had dreamed of being close to him, near him, look at him, but how do I process this fact that apparently I was his wife now? And what if this is a dream? Or as I said, a short trip to an alternative universe? If I get used to this, and end up back where I came from, how am I supposed to cope? The truth is that I’m terrified of Cillian right now, no matter how much I deny it. He was my ultimate crush but right now he is a stranger who is claiming to be my husband for the past two and a half years, if I believed Marie.

  I did not realize when my eyes had started to tear up, but I was sobbing now. Everything felt so fucking fucked up. I could feel a long blank in my mind. Imagine forgetting a name of a celebrity during a conversation. How frustrating it becomes when no matter how hard you try you cannot remember it right? But then you google it and all is merry again. But I can’t do that now can I.

      Sniffling and wiping my nose with a tissue paper in the most unladylike manner I was taking deep breaths to calm myself down when I heard a soft knock on the door. It was Marie. “Hey, thought I’d check on you. Just sent Mom to the hotel with Cillian’s driver. How are you doing hmm?” she sat down on the bed and that was it, I wrapped my arms around her and cried, “Shhh its okay baby! Let it out. Let it all out.” She rocked me as I sobbed even harder. Only when she observed that my sobs had slowed down a bit she moved away and made me look in her eyes. “Now tell be what is bothering my baby sister huh?” she asked wiping my tears. “I’m scared Marie! I’m so fucking scared!” she nodded with a grimace, “I don’t know what is happening. Everything is just so… strange! I don’t know how I will cope with this.” She held my shoulders, “Listen to me now very carefully. Do you trust me?” It wasn’t even a question I had to think before answering to, “Of course!” “Then understand this, everything will be alright. It is a scary situation, I know, but we are all together in this with you, on every step, and…” when I started to look at my hands on my lap she once again made me focus on her face, “We will take this one day at a time. Without any pressure, without any anxiety of any sorts. We all love you and we’ve waited for you for so long, You think we cannot wait a bit more for you to catch up with us huh?” This for some reason made me sob harder. “There’s no need to cry now. I know how resilient you are and how much strength you have. This will be hard for Cillian though. Harder than any of us.” My eyes snap to hers, “Marie, didn’t I have a crush on him? I had his magazines and movies in my room right? I had a poster of him on my wall too, I kind of remember…” Marie raised her brows, “No love. You were obsessed, but not with Cillian. It was Jack Robertson.” I frown, “Who?” “Jack Robertson? The guy who played a baddy vampire in that series? God, you were so danm in love with him! He was literally everywhere in your room. Magazines, posters, T-shirts, even on your mug, when you were seventeen.” I was stunned into silence. How was this possible? I could feel my head starting to pound again. “You had even sworn to marry him remember?” she tried to explain, “I don’t.” I said pathetically. “But as I said, one day at a time. Do not strain yourself, physically or mentally.” I sighed and tried to sink back into the mattress. “When can I leave? I want to go home.” ‘And check the posters and paraphernalia myself.’ I did not say it aloud. “Tomorrow. After we get your test results. Me and Mum have a late night flight tomorrow as well so there will be plenty of time for me to help you settle in.” I sat up again, alarmed, “What do you mean you and Mum are leaving? Are we not in Istanbul?” She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes, “No silly, we’re in Dublin, Ireland. You and Cillian live here while me and Mum live in Turkey. I got a few days off which is why we had decided to visit. And thank God for that!” I was freaking out now. “You cannot just leave me here alone with that stranger! I don’t know him!” My voice had risen a few octaves, “I’ll try and visit every month  Y/N and…” “Every month! No no no no!” I was truly freaking out now. “He’s your husband Y/N! And he loves you so danm much!” I shook my head, “No! I can’t. It’s not happening!” Her voice raised as well, she never took bullshit from me. “Just think about him! He’s and actor! A fucking actor, on top of his bloody game! Who could have moved on so easily! But he stayed by your side. Chose to stay with you!” I just stared at her, “He did not go to a single event. He simply did the projects he had already committed to before your accident and rushed back in between as soon as they gave him days off, fully aware of the fact that you hadn’t woken up. That a living corpse awaited him here nothing else! And you’re calling him a stranger?” I did not think before I spoke at all, “So what! What should I do about it huh? He did all of that for someone else! Not me!” Marie rubbed her temple agitatedly, “You can’t deny the fact Marie THAT I DON’T FUCKING KNOW HIM!” Just then I heard someone clear their throat from the door. As me and Marie turned we saw Cillian standing there with a bouquet of red roses and a paper bag.

“I just came to give you these.” He simply handed the bag to Marie and turned around to go out again, “oh and Marie” he turned still focused on my sister, “I’ll text you after arranging another seat with you and Mrs. YLN.” With that and without a single glance towards me, he left with the bouquet still in his hands. ‘Shit!’

[fanfic-scribbles]

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

  ~

 You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

~

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

~

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

~

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

~

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

~

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

~

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

~

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

~

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

~

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

~

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

~

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

~

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

~

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

[mbti-notes]

Anon #1: I assume my problem comes form Fi Te, is it? Can you give me insights or ideas on how to develop? I’m INFP about to go to university. I’ve been accepted in a good university with the degree I always wanted, in the country I always wanted to study at. However it’s not so demanded (linguistics) and I have vague career path.

In the last few months, I usually get random frustrations about my future, that I’ll find no job and get no money, I read all these opinions of people saying how there are no job and the world is falling and I start to panic as i can’t sleep. Can a one find a job? Is the world this bad? How are my parents and so many people I know do so?

I then start to hate the idea that I’ll go and study what I like instead of just start “hustling”. My family is able to pay fees comfortably, but I still feel like I’m a burden who do nothing but waste money in uni, and then maybe got nothing. I’m generally knowledgeable and I got good skills, and I take care of myself physically and mentally, but I can’t think that I’m good enough to find a job later.

I know this happened because I started to associate my worth with what is outside, because when I was more healthy, I knew that my worth come from within. I knew that this degree would require endurance, I’ve planned different successful possibilities and I’m ready to work hard because it’s something I’m passionate about. But now as the time gets closer, i feel like maybe I’ve done a mistake, all what I see is that I’m worthless, the world is a terrible place and there’s no hope.

to provide more context, dad always told me I should go study business, other wise I’ll starve, period (he didn’t study so but he works in business). Whenever my relatives asks me and I told them about linguistics they said it was stupid decision, especially as I get good grades that could allow me to study something “better”, all my best friends got into medicine, and they tell me i could’ve done better.

Anon #2: I am an INFJ from brazil and I would like your advice. I am 27, and I study to be a judge here in my country. The access to the career is by standardized tests which were never my strongest suit. It's also really competitive and it takes years of hard work, and of course, the result is not guaranteed. I have ADHD, being organiszed to study is hard too. I keep thinking about all the tests I took in competitive environments that didn't go well, such as not attending the university I wanted a couple of years ago. How do I deal with uncertainty? How can still put myself out there to try?

I thought of aiming lower, but then I'd never reach my dream. My financial condition is fine to just spend years studying, I am supported by my mom, but I am afraid not to reach my dream. I know it is contradictory to aim lower in such conditions, however, I am scared of putting out years of hard work and fail. Somehow I think I am too old because people who tried before me started when they were younger, but I was recovering from severe depression. I am scared that I won't reach my dream. How can I overcome fear? Thanks.

-----------------------

There are several issues to address:

1) The problem of inflexibility: To live life well, one must have faith. First and foremost, one must have faith in one's ability to adapt. All human beings are born with the capacity to adapt to change. People catastrophize because they feel helpless or incompetent; they don't believe they can handle what comes. This is related to poor N development; you don't have faith in your ability to be creative and resourceful in turning around negative situations. It is also related to poor T development; you haven't spent enough time building your skills and thus don't have faith in using them to get through your challenges.

2) The problem of out-of-control expectations: There are no guarantees in life. You could be the top student and follow each and every rule for everything, but it won't guarantee that your future will be exactly what you want. Everyone has their own path to travel in life and part of what makes life fun and interesting is that you don’t always know. This means there are many ways to define "success". You are both young, inexperienced, and far too narrow-minded, so you only have one oversimplistic idea about what "success" is. This is related to poor N development and failure to consider different possibilities and potentialities. It is also related to low level of ego development in terms of holding yourself up to other people's standards.

3) The problem of childishness: Perhaps you are still too used to being taken care of and you’re afraid of being an adult who has to take responsibility for each and every decision. When you are a child, you look to others to define your value/worth because you have a weak sense of self. When you still have the mentality of a child as an adult, the whole world becomes your “parent”, and you constantly feel judged and shamed for your “transgressions”, for not living up to various external images of how you should be.

You still haven’t set your own standards that are respectful of your own individuality. This makes you afraid of negativity. You believe negativity reveals that you are "unworthy” of love and/or “undeserving” of acceptance - it is painful to see the negative side of yourself. Until you learn to approach situations like an adult, through taking full responsibility for everything you are, positive and negative, you won’t be able to stand strong in yourself.

4) The problem of wrong attitude: It doesn't matter what you do, it is impossible to live a life without challenges, difficulties, problems, setbacks, and failures. Why? Because these things are necessary for people to learn and grow. Your attitude toward challenges is naive; you still believe that life should always be smooth or perfect. An essential part of becoming a mature adult is to be independent, in terms of facing up to the challenges in your life with the attitude of using them as learning opportunities to realize more and more of your potential - this is only possible when you learn to use your N function appropriately. Do you want to realize your greater potential, or do you want to be stuck in fear for the rest of your life?

If you care about realizing your potential, you have to be in touch with where your potential lies, you have to take risks to develop your potential, and you have to learn from your every experience along the way. Living life well isn't about being unafraid. You have an unrealistic view of emotions if you believe it’s possible to banish fear. Living life well is about being afraid but taking risks anyway because you see the necessity of growing pains and you understand that the growth will be good for you in the end. This relates back to the first point: You have to have faith in the process, in order to persist in carrying out long term vision.

[captains-simp]

Ummmmm........

Can I have Yelena Belova "I'll stay as long as you need me too" or Fluff number 3?

I think i got the right prompt but it's definitely fluff.

If you still are accepting these requests and you haven't already done this one yet.

Chskdjks I didn't think anyone was actually going to request anything, this sparks so much joy (all of the requests are amazing and I'm working on them all). Soft Yelena let's gooooo

"I'll stay as long as you need me to."

Warnings: injury detail and my extreme lack of knowledge regarding medical treatment

2k words

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hearing someone knocking at your door at 11:48 pm was never something you took much comfort in. Especially when there was no previous heads up about it.

You considered not opening door, telling yourself to continue watching your show and not think about the fact that you didn't live in the best neighbourhood.

When the knocking continued you wondered if you should call someone, anyone, but the faint and very much strained sound of your friend's voice had you sprinting across the apartment to open the door.

Yelena was leaning against the door frame, frighteningly pale and looking as tired as someone who had just fought a war on their own. Given her line of work you guessed you weren't that far off.

"Lena you...what happened?" Your eyes fell to her stomach where she was holding her blood stained shirt. You felt faint imagining how bad of an injury she had sustained.

You stumbled backwards and motioned for her to come in before you shut the door behind her and rushed to the bathroom to get your well-stocked first aid kit.

You had meant to go back to the front door to help Yelena into the bathroom but she had already made her way towards you.

"I love that you have such a small appartment." She breathed out. You smiled weakly and supported her weight as you helped her manage the final few steps to your bathroom and sat her on the edge of the tub.

"You should be thankful for the friend that owns it too." You joked as you knelt down infront of her.

"I am." Yelena was quick to say. "I really am." You smiled up at her took her hands away from her shirt before you slowly peeled it away to expose the gun shot wound. You took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of it.

"You need to go to a hospital." You said as you tried to examine it without causing your friend any extra discomfort.

"I can't." You knew better than to push that. It no doubt had something to do with her mission, which meant you weren't allowed to know.

Yelena had never made it a habit of coming to you for medical assistance - especially as you weren't a doctor or nurse. The first time you had done so was when you picked up on her strained walk. You kept bugging her about it until she finally showed you the gash on her calf. It had been easy to clean and healed quickly. After that was a deep cut on her arm, then a burn on her back, then another cut. All of which you noticed. It was only when the injuries were bad that Yelena asked for your help. Too stubborn to ask anyone else and smart enough to know she needed assistance.

You never told Yelena, but you had gone out of your way to learn a little more than the basics on dealing with injuries. Once or twice you had to sneak away from her in your bathroom to double check one of your books to make sure you were doing everything right. Whenever she asked how you knew so much you made up some lie about watching a lot of TV...okay so maybe that wasn't a complete lie.

"Where's the bullet?" You asked, confused by the absence of an exit wound.

"I took it out." Yelena mumbled, she was starting to look worse now.

"Yelena!" You scolded. "No wonder you're bleeding so much." Yelena knew better than to do that but you decided you would investigate that further another day.

You placed a cloth against the wound and held it there with one hand and bit your lip as you glanced up at her.

She's lost a lot of blood...really needs a hospital...are stitches enough?

You didn't want to leave Yelena's side for a second to check one of your books. You weren't sure stitches would cut it, the wound should have been cauterized but you had no experience with that and didn't want to try your luck. Stitches would have to do.

You prepared the needle and thread as Yelena held onto the cloth. Your hand was shaking slightly in anxiety over the situation. You wanted to hear about the mission, about who shot the blonde you cared for so deeply. She wasn't meant to tell you anything, but you needed to hear her voice and it would help her stay conscious so you tried.

"Did you get the jackass who shot you?" You asked as you started to hold the skin in place. Yelena hissed sharply before speaking.

"Of course." Even bleeding out she was smug, what else would you expect from her?

"Mmm, and the mission was a success?"

"It was." You were surprised at the confirmation. "Besides getting shot." She added. You had been trying to keep her attention off of that fact.

Yelena gripped the bathtub tightly and groaned. There had been no time for anaesthetic.

"Almost done." You assured.

You stayed in a concentrated silence as you finished the last stitch. It wasn't perfect, but you had done a good job.

You got up to get a bottle of painkillers from the cabinet and handed them to Yelena with a glass of water. She waved them away at first until she begrudgingly accepted them after a firm look from you.

You carefully cleaned the blood off of her stomach with half a dozen wipes and placed a dressing over the wound as gently as you could manage. It would need constant attention for a while and you could only hope that Yelena would stay with you in that time. You wanted her by your side until she was well. You wanted her by your side when she recovered too. That was a convosation you weren't ready for.

"Thank you, y/n." Yelena said as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

"Let's get you to bed." You said, lifting her arm over your shoulder again to help her up.

"No, you don't have to-"

"Doctor's orders." You insisted, not in the mood to deal with Yelena's stubborness when she could have bled out in your bathroom. There was still a chance that could happen. She could sense your slightly agitated tone - she was superspy and your best friend of years, so of course she could.

"Not a doctor." She muttered as you guided her to your room. You rolled your eyes but didn't manage to stop the small smile creeping onto the corner of your mouth.

"I'll take the couch." She made a move to separate from you but you held onto her waist perhaps a little too desperately to lead her to your room.

"No way."

"It's your house." Yelena said, trying to look at you but you kept your eyes forward, afraid of what she would discover when she read you.

"Then we'll both take the bed." You sighed. Yelena managed a sly smile at your words and you gently nudged her side as you sat her down on your bed. "It's not like we haven't shared a bed before." You said that to yourself more than Yelena, trying not to think about how close you would be during the night and how that would probably keep you awake.

You handed her a spare pair of pajamas and went to leave for the bathroom to change and clean away when you noticed her struggle.

"Let me." You muttered in the least pitiful and condescending tone you could, knowing if she thought she heard some she would reject any further help from you. She nodded so you lifted the stained shirt over her head as carefully as you could, using her breathing patterns as a guide to tell you if she had any discomfort.

"You want that off too?" You motioned to her sports bra and averted your eyes a little too obviously from her toned stomach.

Yelena huffed when she noticed the sports bra, clearly thinking about how much of a literal pain it would be to get off.

"Just get me some scissors." You nodded and grabbed some from your desk and handed them to her, instantly turning on your heals to leave to avoid a sight that would be stuck in you head for the rest of your life.

God, y/n. Don't be such a perv. You mentally scolded as you cleaned and cleared everything away before quickly getting into your pajamas.

You knocked on your bedroom door and heard Yelena tell you you could come in.

Her discarded and very much ruined beyond saving clothes were in a surprisingly neat pile on the floor, you would deal with that the next day.

Yelena was wearing one of your shirts, which looked much better on her, and hadn't bothered with the pajama bottoms. You gulped as you realised you would be sleeping next to her in that.

"You always have your heating on way too high." Yelena mumbled, you smiled sheepishly and let the complaint go as she was clearly not having the best of days.

"I get-"

"Cold easily. I know." Yelena smiled knowingly at you as she pulled the covers over herself and layed on her side facing your side of the bed. You got in next to her and mirrored her position.

"Please don't go disappearing as soon as I fall asleep." You said with a slight pout. It wasn't like she hadn't done that before.

"I'll stay as long as you need me to." Yelena smiled reassuringly at you. You wanted to believe that, but it seemed much more likely that you would wake up without Yelena next to you the next day.

The blonde must have picked up on your skepticalism, she placed a gentle hand on your hip and the other snaked around your back. Together, they pulled you closer to her slowly until you were pressed against Yelena as she moved onto her back. One of her legs even tangled around yours to keep you close.

You didn't move for a moment, almost not trusting yourself, but eventually you gave in to what you were craving and rested your head in the crook of her neck and wrapped your arms firmly around her.

Her familiar scent engulfed you in a way that was much more reassuring than her words. This was amplified when Yelena kept her hand on your hip while the other combed through the top of your hair in the most comforting gesture you had ever seen from her much less received. You felt yourself sink into her more as you fully relaxed.

You couldn't contain the smile on your lips. Nor could you ignore the butterflies throwing a rave in your stomach. It definetly didn't help you get a handle on your ever-growing feelings for your friend, but there was no way you were going to pull away from the embrace.

In the warmth and security of Yelena's comfort it didn't take long for sleep to overtake you. You knew she was safe, as you kept brushing your fingers lightly across the part of her shirt concealing the dressing, and you knew she was there with you. It put your mind at rest better than anything else ever had.

But just as you slipped into your deep sleep you could have sworn you felt Yelena's soft lips on your forehead.

Maybe there was a chance you could fall asleep in her arms more often and maybe it could be when she was unharmed. You were unsure about a lot of things in life, but that was something you felt confident on.

And rightly so.

[mandoalorian]

so you have any angsty writings about max raising his voice at u?

my tears ricochet

Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader

Summary: Everyone had warned you that dating your boss would be a bad idea. So when you make a crucial mistake at work, a mistake that leads into your biggest fight yet, you wonder if your relationship with Maxwell Lord will ever be able to recover.

Rating: T

Warnings: ANGST :( a few curses, hurt/comfort with a happy ending, but most of this is very very angst-y. Bruce Wayne makes an appearance (because for some reason, he always does?) and he’s a dickkkkk lmao.

Word count: 2.2k

I haven’t wrote anything in a few weeks, and I haven’t wrote for Maxie in well over a month. Reblogs would be so appreciated because I kinda need the motivation atm ;-;

You never normally messed up, or at least, not like this.

You were a good secretary for the most part, as you’d been working at Black Gold Cooperative for almost three years now. You knew your way around the office, and most importantly, you knew your way around your boss, the dashing and charismatic business mogul, Maxwell Lord.

Everyone had warned you not to mix business with pleasure, and that dating Maxwell Lord was a bad idea because he was your boss. You could get behind that idea; as you’d never really been one to date colleagues or co-workers. But you swore that he was different. They were probably right, you knew that deep down, but you’d made the mistake of falling hopelessly in love with him.

You and Maxwell had been together for half a year now, and things were going good. Things were going better than good. You really believed he could be the one. He seemed happier when he was with you. He smiled more. You gave his life meaning, and a purpose that strived past his failing business.

He treated you different to his other employees. He was softer with you, and more gentle. He never raised his voice or talked down to you. He was a gentleman, and treated you to luxuries on every occasion that he could manage. Work was sometimes difficult, but he was good with you. You had zero complaints, really.

He’d buzzed you into his office, his dark blonde hair a mess and his patterned tie pulled apart. The first three buttons of his white dress shirt were undone and his collar was wonky. You had to refrain from walking over to his side of the oak wood desk and fixing it for him. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his tan forearms and the golden Rolex that adorned his wrist, and he was staring at you, his dark brows furrowed together.

“I just spoke to Bruce Wayne,” Maxwell started hesitantly, his index finger impatiently tapping away on the telephone.

“Oh?” you hummed. You knew it was coming, but you tried to remain calm.

“He said he didn’t receive the oil distribution report you sent on Friday,” Maxwell said, followed by a wary chuckle. “But I told him you sent it. Because you did send it. Didn’t you?”

You winced, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend.

“You sent the reports, didn’t you?” Maxwell repeated, this time his voice having dropped an octave and his eyes staring dead at you. There was no love in his expression, no happiness. Just pure anger and disbelief.

“Uhm…” you trailed off, your voice breaking nervously. “Wayne Enterprises didn’t get the report on last month’s oil distribution because uhm— I sent the wrong thing instead.” you fumbled with your fingers, shyly looking away from your Maxwell.

Max blinked, and stifled a laugh. “What?”

You folded your arms across your chest, feeling vulnerable as guilt coarsed through your veins.

“Uhm yeah,” you replied, ducking your head down. “I thought I sent it but I just— I found the reports on the main desk at lunch time. And I was going to tell you. I just— I just—“

You were flustered, and could feel your cheeks burn up as you stumbled over your words.

“You just what?” Maxwell prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“I just—“

“You just thought you’d keep it to yourself? Thought you wouldn’t tell me just because…? Because of what, exactly? You know this means we could potentially lose millions of dollars,” he raised his voice, sliding out of his chair and leaning over his desk, balling his fingers into fists.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “It was a mistake. A one-time mistake—“

“—a mistake that could potentially cost us thousands—“ Maxwell repeated bitterly. Money was a sensitive subject right now, you knew this. He had every right to be mad, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“—It won’t cost thousands.” you finished, your words trying to ease him. But it came out patronising and you immediately regretted it. Maxwell slammed his hand on the desk before pointing his finger at you.

“Don’t interrupt me!” he shouted.

He’d never spoken to you like this. Hell, you didn’t think he’d ever spoken to anyone like this before. Or at least, not that you’d heard of. His cheeks were red with rage and little beads of sweat glazed his hairline.

You flinched are his tone, not used to him raising his voice at you like that. Max noticed the change in your demeanour and his face softened, his brown eyes widening slightly when he realised what he’d done. He slowly sank back into his chair, ripping his gaze from you. You stood there awkwardly, trying to hold back tears.

Maxwell regulated his breathing and pushed his hair out of his face before pointing to the door.

“Leave.” He ordered, his voice shaky and not even bringing himself to look at you.

Your lips were trembling. “What?” you croaked out, your voice merely above a whisper.

“Just— go home.” he waved his hand in a dismissing manner.

You stood there a little longer, lingering on the other side of his desk and praying that he’d have a change of heart. You didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. Was it a break-up? Was he firing you? Was he simply just telling you to go home?

“Max…”

Your boyfriend rubbed his temples before picking up the phone and re-dialling what you assumed to be Wayne Enterprises. He had nothing else to say to you, so, you sadly sauntered out of his office, quietly shutting the door behind you.

The entire sales team was staring at you as you walked over to the elevator. No doubt they’d overheard the whole fight. Raquel tapped your shoulder and offered you an apologetic smile. “Are you okay?” she asked.

You nodded and forced a grin, desperate to just get outside and feel the cool evening air. The office felt stuffy and hot and you just had to get out. You opted to take the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. You could feel their eyes burn into you as you left Black Gold Cooperative.

It was raining when you got outside, and you managed to catch a cab just down the street.

After a few rings, Max finally pushed through Bruce Wayne’s receptionist and was waiting to get on the line with the big man himself. He breathed a sigh of relief when Bruce picked up.

“Hi, Bruce, it’s me Max. There’s been a mistake with the reports,” Maxwell said quickly, feigning confidence as he tried to forget about the fight that had just happened. But he couldn’t get it out of his head. He was terrified that you’d leave him. He’d leave him.

“Let me guess— it’s that secretary of yours?” Bruce smirked, twirling the phone wire around his finger as he waited for Max to try and salvage the business deal.

“Wh—what?” Max laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“You know, your arm candy? The one that always accompanies to those charity events and galas? The one you’re fucking on the side?”

Maxwell’s face hardened and his heart dropped in his chest. “Excuse me?”

He hated the way Bruce was talking about you. Bruce was always like that, Maxwell knew that much. He treated everyone like they were lesser than him. Maxwell was able to shrug it off when it happened to him, but he wasn’t going to let it happen to you, too.

“Please, we all know it,” Bruce rolled his eyes. “I learned the hard way about mixing business with pleasure. Never works out, my friend.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Wayne, but you know nothing about Y/N and I. So if we could please get back to the topic at hand…”

“You still want to secure the deal?” Bruce quizzed. “I supposed as much.”

Jesus, he was insufferable. Maxwell knew what it took to climb to the top of the business world. You had to be cold and brutal; everything that Bruce Wayne was. That’s why he was so successful, and truthfully, that was the difference between the two men.

It was probably the reason Black Gold was failing too. Ever since you came into Maxwell’s life, the business had been losing more and more money. Maybe it was because Maxwell worked less, always choosing to favour his time and spend it with you. He wasn’t hardened by the business world anymore. He was softened by you.

Max wouldn’t allow the entrepreneur to hurt the ones he loved. At the end of the day, you were infinitely more important than some reports on oil distribution.

“Wait,” Maxwell paused, unable to escape the invasive thoughts that consumed his mind. Thinking about your glossy eyes and your timid voice, and the way you flinched when he yelled at you. You looked terrified. “No.”

“No?” Bruce repeated incredulously.

“No,” Maxwell confirmed. “I have to go.”

“You’re making a big mistake Lord,” Bruce warned. “If you’re thinking about throwing this entire deal away over some nobody secretary—“

And with that, Maxwell tore the phone from his ear and slammed it down on the hook. He rose to his feet and grabbed his pinstripe suit jacket, hastily throwing it over his shoulder before leaving his office in a rush.

When he got home, you were curled up on the sofa, enveloped in a blanket with balled up tissues scattered around you. When he saw you, his heart broke. He dropped his keys on the coffee table, the noise alerting you. The rattling sound made you jump and you looked over at him, your eyes red and puffy.

“Hi,” you said quietly, watching as he sauntered over to you. He offered you a weak smile before sliding down on the sofa next to you.

“Hi,” he said, gazing into your eyes.

You shuffled around and sighed. “I’m sorry.” you both said at the same time.

You giggled gently, always cherishing the way you and him were so in-sync. Maxwell smiled too, a dimple appearing in his left cheek.

“I thought you hated me,” you admitted with a sniffle, and Max frowned, leaning over and cupping your face with his hands.

“No my love, I could never hate you,” he swore, shaking his head. “I— I’m sorry I yelled at you like that. I got so worked up over this deal and—“

“I know,” you cut him short, pressing the palms of your hands flat against his chest. “You don’t have to apologise. I know. It’s been a stressful few weeks.” you said knowingly.

“Still,” you Maxwell sighed. “It can’t be excused.”

“It won’t happen again?” You asked hopefully.

Maxwell smiled. “Never again, honey,” he promised. “Can I hold you?”

You nodded desperately and nuzzled into his warm embrace. He wrapped his strong arms around you and smoothed out your hair, pressing a chaste kiss into your forehead.

“I love you so much, and I won’t ever let anything come between us again,” Maxwell whispered. “No job or business deal is jeopardising what we have together.”

You smiled, squeezing him tight and never wanting to let him go. “I agree.” you replied, pulling yourself up onto his lap and nudging your nose against his.

Maxwell’s smile spoke a thousand words. It wasn’t the forced smile he showed the world when he hyped up his business on the television. It was his real, genuine smile. The smile only you got to see.

Everyone had warned you not to mix business with pleasure, and that dating Maxwell Lord was a bad idea because he was your boss. But in that exact moment, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

—————————

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[helloalycia]

girl next door [one] // wanda maximoff

summary: somebody new moves into the flat next to yours and you feel the need to introduce yourself, only to learn she's not very talkative

warning/s: none i don’t think??

author’s note: first part to a three-parter i’ve been working on, hope you like it! (also the masterlist needs to be updated so soz about that)

part two | part three | part four | part five |masterlist | wattpad

Shopping bags in hand, I returned from the supermarket to my flat when I saw the usually-vacant flat next door to me in use. The front door was slightly ajar, with several moving boxes in front and the sound of someone moving about inside. Huh, so someone moved in. It had been vacant for half a year now – it was nice to finally have a neighbour!

I headed to my own flat, my nosey self taking a peek through the door to see if I could have an idea of who was moving in, but I couldn't see anyone, so I continued to go into my own place and unpack my groceries. After doing so, I decided to head next door and introduce myself, excited to meet someone new in the building.

The boxes from earlier were gone now, probably all inside, and the door was shut like I usually saw it. I sucked up a breath before knocking on, a friendly smile reserved on my lips for whoever would open.

It took a moment, but the door finally opened and revealed a brunette with bright hazel eyes and a mildly confused expression on her face. She seemed strangely familiar, but I couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"Hey! I just wanted to come 'round and introduce myself. I'm your new neighbour." I pointed to my door next to hers and added, "I saw you moving in earlier. I'm Y/N."

She pursed her lips, eyes glancing around subtly before looking me up and down. "Er, hi... I'm Wanda."

I detected a slight accent in her voice with the few words she spoke and became immediately intrigued since everyone in this building was usually the same old American. I didn't ask about it though, as I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable at our first meeting.

"Nice to meet you, Wanda," I returned with a smile. "I've been living here for a year now, so if you need a hand with anything or need pointers for where to get the best Chinese, I'm your girl." I paused, expecting some sort of reaction, but she didn't move a muscle. Swallowing awkwardly, I added, "Of course, if you just need a hand with unpacking or anything, I'm also happy to help."

She still didn't reply, and in fact, she looked a bit peeved with my presence which made me realise that maybe she just wasn't a talkative person.

I cleared my throat nervously before finishing with, "I'll, er, I'll leave you to it. Sorry to disturb you..."

I chewed on my lower lip as I avoided her piercing gaze and went back to my own place. Not everybody was interested in befriending their neighbours, I got that, so I respected her decision and decided not to bother her in the future. It didn't make me feel any less embarrassed at my intrusiveness though.

I didn't think much of it until the following morning when I was watering my plants out on the fire escape. My fire escape was joined with the neighbour's – the neighbour that usually didn't exist but was now Wanda. The brunette was stood there, drinking some coffee and staring out into the distance. I debated wishing her a good morning, but decided against it as I recalled her being quite introverted. Instead, I awkwardly watered the several plant pots I had, opting to stay quiet so I could be in and out without bugging her once more.

To my surprise, she spoke up and it took me a second to realise she was talking to me.

I held my watering jug upright as I glanced in her direction. She was already staring at me, deep set eyes darkened over the rim of her coffee cup.

"What's that?" I asked, not sure what she’d said.

She cleared her throat, eyes flickering to the plants to distract from her discomfort. "I'm sorry. For being strange yesterday. You were being warm and welcoming and I just..." She paused, releasing a shaky breath. "I've had a bad past few weeks. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

I definitely wasn't expecting that, then realised how many bad days I'd had and taken out on random strangers. I didn't blame her and instead felt bad for her – moving into a new place was supposed to be exciting, so I couldn't imagine what had ruined her past few weeks.

"Well, apology accepted," I said with a small smile. "And I hope things begin to look up for you soon, Wanda."

Her lips twitched into the tiniest of smiles and I noticed how different she looked when she wasn't down in the dumps – she was quite beautiful.

I finished watering my plants before giving her a final smile. I was about to head back inside, but I hung back curiously.

"Er, Wanda, if you don't mind me saying," I started randomly, "you seem familiar. We haven't met before, have we?"

She raised her eyebrows with surprise. "Oh, really? You don't kn–?" She tilted her head to the side, as if expecting me to understand, but I wasn't sure what she wanted. "I... I guess I just have one of those faces."

I studied her curiously, trying to figure it out. But nothing was coming to mind, so I hummed in agreement. "Yeah, I guess so... anyway, enjoy the rest of your day."

She nodded. "You, too."

–

The next time I saw Wanda was probably a week later, just after I collected my mail from the mailroom. I'd received one of those random free trial boxes for a subscription I must have accidentally signed up for – a box of different flavoured trail mixes – and felt bad throwing it out since it was still food at the end of the day. There were nuts in the mixes, which I was allergic to, so I decided to knock on Wanda's door and see if she wanted them.

I hadn't spoken to her since she moved in, except for the occasional good morning on the fire escape if we saw one another, so I hoped she was a little happier compared to when we last spoke properly. Maybe whatever had bothered her was resolved now.

When she opened the door, she seemed surprised that it was me, probably not expecting me to stop by again after last time.

I offered her a smile. "Hey, Wanda. I, er, hope this isn't a bad time."

She shook her head after recovering from her surprise. "No, no, it's not. Is everything okay?" She paused, glancing around, unprepared. "Do you want to come in or...?"

"It's okay, I'm good here," I said when I saw how uncomfortable she seemed. I wasn't just about to invite myself into her flat because she felt she needed to ask. "I just stopped by because, well, do you want this?" I handed her the box, adding, "I got a free sample in the post. Didn't wanna throw it out because it's food, y'know? And I'm allergic to nuts, so my throat will probably puff up and stop me from breathing which isn't good."

I laughed awkwardly, internally cringing at how I spoke utter nonsense because of her lack of her words and my stupid need to fill the silence.

"Unless you're allergic to nuts too," I added as an afterthought, when she glanced at the packaging with no readable expression. "In which case I should probably throw them right away and this whole thing is stupid."

After what felt like an eternity of me not shutting up, she lifted her gaze, eyes softening with a hint of amusement.

"I'm not allergic to nuts," she assured me, before nodding. "Thank you, Y/N."

I relaxed, not even realising how tense my shoulders were. "That's– that's good... so, how are you settling into your new place? All good, I hope?"

Subconsciously, I chewed on the inside of my mouth, wondering why I was so eager to speak to somebody who clearly didn't want to speak to me. She was so quiet, not a woman of many words, yet I couldn't help but feel responsible for welcoming her.

"It's nice," she said, glancing around thoughtfully. "It's quiet. Private."

I nodded in agreement, eyes falling to her doorframe as I said, "Yeah, that's true. Nothing eventful ever happens here."

She hummed, acknowledging my words. I figured the conversation had ran dry and I'd stayed a little too long, so I tried to think of a way to end it without her feeling forced to. Instead, she spoke up next.

"I like your garden."

I furrowed my brows, wondering what she was talking about.

"The flowers on our fire escape," she clarified, small smile tugging at her lips. "They're beautiful."

I stifled a laugh. "I mean, thanks, but it's barely a garden. I've always wanted a proper space to grow stuff, but obviously I can't have that here."

"Well, you've done a great job with what you have," she complimented, and I was sure it was the most she'd spoken to me since moving in. I suddenly didn't feel like she disliked my presence as much as I once thought.

"Thank you," I said gratefully. "Maybe you can start your own alongside mine some day."

"Maybe," she shrugged, "but probably not. Everything I touch–" She paused, life leaving her eyes momentarily, and head looking down to her shoes. "Everything I touch dies."

I pressed my lips together, not expecting the awkward silence to follow. Wanda seemed stuck in thought and I wasn't sure how I'd managed to bring the conversation down so suddenly, especially with the talk of flowers.

"The lovely thing about flowers," I began, earning her attention and hoping to brighten the mood, "is that they only require a little love, some sunlight and some water to keep going. They tend to take care of themselves. Perfect for even the blackest of thumbs."

She let out a breath through her nose, a half chuckle and half acknowledgment of my comment. It was the closest I'd get to a response, so I ran a hand through my hair and took a step back.

"Anyway, I'm glad you're settling in okay," I concluded with a kind smile. "Again, if you need anything, I'm just next door."

"Thank you," she said, returning the smile, and her eyes sparkled as she did. "Have a good afternoon, Y/N."

"You, too, Wanda."

–

The apartment complex I lived in rarely had people entering that I didn't recognise – I'd lived here long enough to know who was who, even the postwoman and maintenance guy. So, when I was leaving for the supermarket and saw a suspicious-looking man walking down the hall, eyes checking every door, I grew curious.

"You okay there, sir?" I called out to him after locking my front door.

He looked my way, readjusting his cap lower on his head, casting a shadow over his face. "Er, yeah..." He hesitated, glancing at his phone before looking to me again. "Actually, maybe you can help me. I'm looking for Wanda Maximoff's apartment. Do you know which one that is?"

I narrowed my eyes at the tall stranger. "I'm sure you can understand my concern when I ask who's asking."

"Oh, no, I completely understand," he said with a nod, and I could swear I had seen him before. "I'm an old friend of hers."

I quirked a brow. Strange man who claimed to a woman-who-lived-alone's friend? That had trouble written all over it. And from one woman to another, I was concerned, even if I didn’t know her very well.

"That's not saying much, sir," I said, biting back the annoyance. "I think that maybe you should–"

I stopped speaking when Wanda's door opened and she popped her head out. She looked to me before spotting the tall stranger, shoulders relaxing.

"I thought I heard you out here," she mumbled to the stranger, before stepping out fully and giving me a reassuring look. "It's okay, Y/N. I know him."

I nodded, glancing at the man, before meeting Wanda's eyes knowingly. "If you're sure..."

She seemed comfortable as she crossed her arms, hugging herself. Smiling reassuringly, she nodded. I relaxed when I saw she knew the suspicious stranger.

"In that case, sorry 'bout the interrogation," I apologised to her friend. "But, you gotta understand with the whole getup you have..."

Her friend chuckled deeply, looking to his shoes with amusement. "Yeah, sorry about that, ma'am. Didn't mean to worry you. It's nice to know Wanda here has thoughtful neighbours though."

"I'm twenty-two, not a ma'am," I said with amusement, before shaking my head. "Anyway, I should get going. Sorry again."

Wanda and her friend nodded as I left them; I was just glad it wasn't some creepy perv stalking our building – that had happened once.

I headed to the supermarket to do some shopping when I saw Wanda again, this time in the milk aisle. Well, she actually saw me, her trolley stopping before mine as she got my attention.

"Oh, Wanda, hey," I greeted her with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here."

She cracked a smile. "Yeah, well, I needed to pick up a few things. Milk, actually," she grabbed some from the fridge to prove her point, "when I saw you."

I nodded, before remembering earlier and feeling a little embarrassed. "Hey, er, sorry about before with your friend. I hope I didn't offend them or anything."

"No need to apologise," she said with a shake of her head. "It's actually very nice of you to have my back like that. I mean, we don't even know each other that well, but you watched out for me. I appreciate it."

"It's the bare minimum of a neighbour," I joked, before settling into genuine smile. "Besides, I'd like to think you'd do the same."

"Of course," she agreed, nodding slightly, before her eyes drifted to the fridge.

I noticed that every conversation we shared felt unfinished, like there was more to be said but neither of us had the guts to say it. Like now, for example, I wanted to check in and see if she was okay, but I felt like I was overstepping since, as she'd put it, we didn’t know each other very well. So, I changed the subject instead.

"So, just milk then?" I asked, nodding to her trolley which had a few bits and bobs in.

She was confused for a moment, zoning back into reality, before it registered in her mind and she answered, "Along with a few other things. And you?"

"Pretty much same," I said with a shrug.

Her eyes lingered in my trolley as she stifled a smile. "That looks like a lot more than a few things, Y/N." 

I almost laughed. "Technically, yeah, I guess..." I met her curious gaze, explaining, "I'm having a meal with my sister, her boyfriend and my boyfriend at my place tonight. Cooking a lamb roast." She raised her eyebrows with mild surprise, making me shrug dismissively. "It's not that big of a deal, but there's a lot to prepare and I like things to be perfect, so yeah."

She licked her lips and nodded. "It sounds great. Good luck, I guess. I'm sure it'll turn out wonderful."

"Fingers crossed."

She chuckled, glancing at her shoes, making her dark hair fall in front of her like a curtain. When she looked back up, I couldn't help but smile at how cute she looked.

"I'll leave you to it then," she said, before redirecting her trolley around me. "See you whenever."

"See you." I nodded as she walked past me, shoulder brushing mine and leaving me startled at the weird effect she had on me whenever we spoke.

It didn't last for long though, so I brushed it off and continued to do my shop. The evening couldn't come soon enough, and I soon found myself entertaining my boyfriend, my sister and her boyfriend at my dinner table.

"So I was cooking us a nice meal, as we planned, and she ended up having a go at me because of the mess I made afterwards," my boyfriend, Teddy, was explaining to my sister and her boyfriend, Caleb. "That's why I don't try to be romantic anymore."

I paused from sipping my water, looking over at Teddy with an are you serious? look on my face. Y/S/N and Caleb laughed at Teddy's story, but I wasn't as amused as they were.

"Aw, c'mon, babe, don't be pissed off again," Teddy pleaded teasingly from beside me. "It's a joke. I'm joking."

"But that's not how it happened," I corrected him, before looking to the couple before me. "What Teddy means to say is that I had just cleaned the kitchen and told him that when he cooks, he should try to clean as he goes along so it's easier, but of course, he drops cream everywhere and I had to clean it out of the crevices of the counter. All over again."

Y/S/N and Caleb laughed at my retelling of the story, and Teddy frowned playfully as he looked my way.

"And that's definitely not the reason you're not romantic," I said to him promisingly. "When was the last time you even got me flowers?"

He tried to take lead of the conversation again, straightening up and asking, "When was the last time you got me flowers? Feminism, Y/N. It goes both ways."

He was never usually this obnoxious and it was irking me. Y/S/N and Caleb assumed it was all a joke, so were laughing it off, but I was starting to get frustrated. How could he try and make me look terrible in front of my own family?

"I bought you flowers two weeks ago when you got your promotion, remember?" I answered him with a raised brow.

"Damn, she got you there, Ted," Caleb said like it was a burn.

I subtly clenched my jaw and distracted myself with sipping water. Teddy sighed and tried to wrap an arm around me, but I pulled away slightly.

"Oh, come on, you're not mad, are you? This is all in good faith, babe," he said lightly.

I downed my water and looked between them all. "I think I'm gonna get some air. You guys enjoy your drinks."

They all chorused their disagreements, but I couldn't be bothered dealing with them when they were tipsy and annoying, so I ignored them and headed to the fire escape for a breather.

When I reached the railing, I sighed immediately, feeling like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Until I heard a creaking noise and jumped with surprise before seeing Wanda sitting on her side of the fire escape, drink in hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said apologetically.

I breathed out, turning around and leaning my back against the railing so I could see her better. "It's okay, it's not you. I just– I forgot you could be there. Used to living without a neighbour. It's taking some getting used to."

I forced a small smile to reassure her, before looking down and taking small breaths of fresh air. Teddy could get under my skin at times, tonight being one of those times, and it was happening more and more lately. Why couldn't he just be less... annoying?

"Is everything okay?" Wanda asked, and I looked up fo see her green-gold eyes glowing in the dark under the moon light.

"Yeah," I said with a nod. I glanced inside, seeing my three guests laughing it up like I was still there. I collapsed on my chair and stared into the bustling city ahead. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Wanda hesitated. "Didn't you have that dinner tonight?"

I leaned in the palm of my hand, mumbling, "Yeah. It's still going on. I just needed some air."

Wanda must have sensed there was more to my words – it didn't take a genius to see that – but to my relief, she didn't push on. All she said was, "Oh, okay," and stayed quiet.

The two of us sat there, in a comfortable silence, staring into the city and revelling in the moon's presence. It was beautiful out, though not a single star could be seen because of the city's pollution. Instead, the moon hung high above our heads and conflicted with the many street and building lights of New York City, thriving even past dusk.

I probably could have stayed there all night, preferring Wanda's silent yet comfortable presence to whatever was waiting for me back inside. But to my dismay, I was called back in and sighed quietly to myself. 

"I should head back in," I excused myself, standing up to leave. But I lingered by the door, asking Wanda, "Have you eaten dinner yet?" She seemed puzzled with my question, and I continued speaking anyway. "I made a lot of food and have loads of leftovers I can't finish myself."

She seemed to understand what I was implying and shook her head. "That's okay, Y/N, thank you."

"Wanda, I insist," I said with a small smile. "It'll just go in the bin otherwise."

She was still reluctant. "Honestly, it's fine."

i wasn't taking no for an answer though. "I'll stop by in a bit to drop it off."

"Y/N, I–"

"See you then!" I exclaimed before heading back inside and leaving her no choice to deny it.

"There she is," Y/S/N called out to me when I returned. "You feel better?"

"Perfect," I said sarcastically.

She laughed. "C'mon, we're all sorry. Besides, Caleb and I have to go now, so we want to end on a good note."

Was I being too butt hurt? Probably.

"Right, sorry," I said, looking to them all, before saying, "Do you guys want any food to bring back with you?"

"You guys enjoy it," Caleb said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was delicious though, Y/N. Thanks for the lovely evening."

"Anytime," I said with a tired smile, before leading them to the door and looking to my sister. "Let me know when you're home, yeah?"

She hummed in agreement, before pulling me into a tight hug. "Love you, Y/N."

"Love you, too," I returned with a playful eye roll.

After bidding them a goodbye, I was left alone with Teddy, who was surprisingly washing the dishes.

"This your way of apologising?" I joked, stopping by the sink.

He glanced at me with apologetic eyes. "Depends. Is it working?"

As I met his brown eyes, I thought back to how frustrating he was acting earlier. He must have been acting out in front of guests for some reason, but he wasn't always like that. Maybe I was overreacting. 

"I'll let you know when you're done," I retorted, making him smile with amusement.

As he did that, I worked on filling some containers with leftover dinner for Wanda, being sure to include a generous amount of everything.

"Who's that for?" Teddy asked, noticing what I was doing.

"Wanda, my new neighbour."

"Never heard of her."

I gave him a knowing look. "Hence the word 'new'."'

He returned the stare. "What I mean is, I've never seen her around."

I shrugged, finishing packing the containers and stacking them to carry. "She prefers to keep to herself."

"What, like a weirdo?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, Teddy. She's just private. Introverted, if you will."

"Sounds like a weirdo to me..."

I chose to ignore him as I left the flat and headed to Wanda's. She opened up quicker than usual, probably since she was expecting me this time.

"Bon appétit," I joked, before holding out the takeaway containers. "It's lamb roast with veg, potatoes, some gravy and bread."

"You really didn't have to," she said, though accepted the food. When she glanced down at it, she added, "This is a lot for one person."

I couldn't help the smile on my face. "Enough for second's. You'll have to let me know if you like it. It's my best recipe."

She snickered, eyes meeting mine. "I'm sure it's delicious... do you want to come in?"

Stepping to the side, she looked to me with what I think was a hopeful expression. I felt bad when I smiled sadly, shaking my head.

"I'd love to, Wanda, but I've actually still got my boyfriend over and I can't really, y'know..."

"No worries," she was quick to reassure. "It's– no, it's okay, honestly. I just thought I'd ask."

It was the first time she'd ever asked and meant it, which meant she was finally getting comfortable with me. I would have preferred to go in, but I couldn't just leave Teddy, nor kick him out.

"Maybe we can hang out tomorrow?" I asked hopefully. "If you want, that is. Because I want to. But I don't want to just invite myself over."

She seemed amused as she nodded. "Tomorrow sounds great. Maybe I can make you dinner, as a thank you for this food."

I grew a little excited at spending a bit more time with the quiet, reserved brunette. "I'd like that."

She nodded, lips pursed into a suppressed smile, and glanced at the food in her hand. "Great. Well... have a good evening, Y/N. And thank you again for the food."

"Good evening," I returned, subconsciously memorising the rare smile she gave me, before leaving her to it.

When I returned to my flat, all I could think about was the next night and getting to know Wanda.