#now this is what I call a playlist...what a walk down memory lane!

[endless-summer-soldier]

cruel to be kind - chapter two

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (90s college AU)

summary: it started with a dare. Bucky restlessly pursues Y/N, seeking just one date. as he chases her, he realizes she's different from she challenges him, so he starts to catch feelings. but it all falls apart when she learns about his initial motivations. based on 10 things I hate about you!

warnings: alcohol use, cursing

word count: 1.9k

a/n: my taglist was getting messy so I created a sign up form! please complete and indicate your fic preferences. even if you're already being tagged, I'd really appreciate if you'd complete this! link for the sign up is here

series playlist

series masterlist

taglist: taglist: @sebsgirl71479 @ozwriterchick @notmeddy @drewsuncrustables @lokidokieokie @hextech-bros @nats-whore @m4nulup1n @arcanebabe @tanyaspartak @jackiehollanderr @princezzjasmine @fallenlilangel99 @pono-pura-vida @mavrellover91 @milanaasblog @marvel-wifey-86 @helluvapimp @charmedbysarge @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @unaxv @theroyalmanatee @tellmealovestory @zanneme (click here to be added!)

Bucky knocked twice on her front door and waited for about three minutes before knocking again. The door flew open and Y/N stood in front of him, clad in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of bike shorts.

“Can I help you,” she phrased it more as a statement than a question.

“Did you forget about our plans, doll?” he asked.

“You were serious?” she retorted.

“As the plague.” They squared off in an unspoken staring contest until Y/N finally blinked.

She sighed, “Fine. I’ll give you an hour.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” She grabbed her keys and slid on a pair of converse and Bucky smiled to himself. He loved that she was going to a party in an oversized T-shirt and no makeup on. She truly didn’t care what anyone thought of her and she wasn’t there to impress anyone. Little did she know that her IDGAF attitude was impressing him.

“How did you even know where I live? Creep.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’m not letting you evade that question. I need to make sure you aren’t actually stalking me.”

“My friends live next door. You’re always banging on the wall telling us to keep it down.”

“Ah, so you’re one of the degenerates. It’s all making sense now.”

“Well you’re on a date with one of the degenerates, so what does that make you?”

“This is not a date.”

“Oh no? Then what is it?”

“We are going to a party.”

“We are going to a party…together. Which is a date.”

“What if I turn around and go home…alone. What is that considered?”

“Come on doll, don’t do that.” She stood there frozen, glaring at him. “Stay for one drink and then, if you want, I’ll take you home.”

“Fine. And stop calling me doll.” They continued walking in silence. Bucky wanted to talk to her but he wasn’t going to risk pissing her off. 

“Where are we going anyway?” she asked, breaking the tension. 

“Some frat party. I told some people I would make an appearance. It’s not much further.”

“Really, a frat party? I haven’t been to one of those since freshman year.”

“If it helps, it’s one of the nicer frats.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Think of it like a walk down memory lane. You can relive your younger days and impart your wisdom on the underclassmen.”

“Oh, well in that case, I can’t wait!” she said with false enthusiasm. They walked up the sidewalk towards the surprisingly immaculate mansion. The only sign of the fraternity was the three greek letters mounted by the front door. Bucky walked through the entrance like he owned the place. He walked right past the pledges who were collecting entry fees without a blink of an eye and led her into the kitchen which was packed with people. Music from the basement was flowing into the room and there was a crowd circled around a keg, seeking a fresh pour. Bucky pulled two shot glasses out of a drying rack full of dishes and placed them on the counter as he retrieved a flask from his back pocket. 

“Whiskey okay?” he asked, as he filled the shot glasses. She nodded and they clinked the glasses together before downing the dark liquor.

“You bring your own liquor to these things?” she asked.

“If you want cheap liquor that’s been poured into a top-shelf bottle, go for it.”

“I’m not complaining, just curious.”

“Call it trust issues.” Before she could ask any other questions, he opened a cooler and pulled out two cans of cheap beer. He swiftly cracked them both and handed one to her. She immediately chugged close to half the can and Bucky looked at her with concern.

“It’s weird being here sober,” she explained.

“Can’t say I blame you,” he said. He passed her the flask and she took a quick swig and handed it back to him. He did the same and their night began.

Bucky couldn’t figure out when he’d lost her. They started the night at the beer pong table, defeating every challenger that came their way until they were coerced into playing flip cup. Bucky shouldn’t have been surprised that she was good at drinking games; she was competitive by nature. He had assumed she was always on the field or studying, but she also seemed to have a talent for drinking. Or so he thought.

He heard a roar of cheers coming from the other room and he followed the sound, hoping to find Y/N. And boy did he find her. She was standing on the pool table as “Hypnotize” by Notorious B.I.G. started blasting from the speakers. She started dancing on the table like she was in the club, rolling her hips and flipping her hair. She was either completely oblivious to the crowd of fraternity brothers surrounding her makeshift stage or she didn’t care. She dropped her hips low until she was suddenly on all fours doing a cat crawl across the table. Bucky pushed his way through the crowd, determined to get her off the table before she realized what she was doing. As she reached the end of the table she started to make her way back to a standing position. After a few hip gyrations, she bent over to complete another hair flip, only she hadn’t realized the lighting fixture was lower on this side of the table. Bucky saw the scene unfold in slow motion as she flipped her head back and it immediately made contact with the light. The crowd gasped, seemingly concerned, as her body gave out and she fell backwards. Bucky caught her effortlessly in his arms as she went limp and he pulled her off the table and away from the crowd. Despite the scene that had just played out, the music kept playing and people kept drinking as if nothing had happened.

He carried her out to the back porch and he ordered one of the pledges to bring her some water. He lowered her onto the porch step and sat down next to her, keeping his hand around her back to keep her up. She was starting to regain consciousness and as she woke up under Bucky’s arm she squinted at him in confusion.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that question. Here, drink some water.”

“Is it drugged?” she asked, before taking a sip from the red solo cup.

“No,” he said emphatically. “Do you really think I would do that?”

She didn’t answer his question and instead finished the cup of water.

“I think I’m just gonna take a quick nap,” she said leaning her head back on Bucky’s shoulder.

“No, no, no. You need to stay awake.”

“Whyyyyy?” she whined.

“Because you might have a concussion.” He felt her weight fall into his shoulder and he pulled her up. “Hey, hey…stay with me,” he said lightly smacking her face to keep her up.

She groaned and looked at him. “You don’t care about me,” she slurred.

“Sure I do. Without you I would have to go out with girls who actually like me. Where’s the fun in that?”

He expected her to laugh at the joke but when she didn’t, he looked down at her to make sure she was okay. She was staring up at him with a look of concentration on her face. He didn’t say a word, not wanting to interrupt whatever thoughts were racing through her brain.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” she eventually said. “There’s little flecks of green in them.”

He sighed, “You must be really drunk if you’re giving me compliments. Come on, let’s get you home.”

He pulled her up from the porch and she swayed in his arms, not yet able to support her own weight. 

“Jump onto my back,” he said.

“What?” she questioned, confusion displayed all over her face.

“Climb on my back and I’ll carry you home.”

“I’m fine,” she said, taking another step and stumbling on the grass. 

“Come on, it’ll be quicker this way.”

“Fine,” she mumbled. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he lowered himself so that she could climb on. She hoisted herself up and Bucky intertwined his arms with her legs to keep her secure.

Bucky carried her with ease and they made it about halfway to her apartment when she spoke up again.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Why am I being nice to you?” he echoed back, like the question was blasphemous. “Because I like you.”

“But I’m not very nice to you.”

“Oh trust me, I know. But that’s part of what makes you so interesting.”

She became quiet again, resting her head on his shoulder, “You falling asleep back there?”

“Nooo…” she groaned.

“Better not be,” he teased. “We’re almost there.” He picked up the pace a little more, knowing she was growing tired. When he reached her building, he gently returned her to the ground and steadied her.

“Do you have your keys?” he asked. She handed them over to him and he opened the door to the building and offered his hand to Y/N. She gave him a low five and walked inside. He chuckled to himself, even after a head injury she still had sass. She stopped in front of her apartment door and Bucky found the next key needed to open the apartment. She turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, leaving the door open for Bucky to follow her in.

She sat down on the couch and he walked into the kitchen to pour her a glass of water.

“You know, you don’t know me,” she said out of nowhere.

“I think I know more than you think,” he countered.

“Yeah, like what?”

He sat down next to her on the sofa. “I know that you like indie music but you also like classic rock from the 70s. While you aren’t the poster child for school spirit, you almost always find time to go to other teams games. You don’t like any condiments on your hot dogs. You turn everything into a competition. And I know that you don’t care about what anyone thinks about you, which I find incredibly attractive.”

Her gaze shifted and she leaned in a little closer to him, “You aren’t as vile as I thought you were…”

“Sometimes if you give people a chance, they surprise you,” he smiled at her, “Well I should get going.”

“I think…” she placed a hand on his thigh, “you should stay.” She glanced down towards his lips and her face inched closer to his.

Bucky took in a deep breath, feeling knots in his stomach and what he was about to do. She was so close that he could feel her breath on his skin.

He cleared his throat and softly said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea." Her eyes connected with his and she pulled back, a flicker of embarrassment on her face that quickly turned to rage.

“Fine, then get out,” she said with venom. She stood up and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, but knew it was the right call. He couldn’t make a move on her when she was either drunk or concussed. It didn’t feel right. But now he would have to find a way to reopen the door that was just slammed in his face.

Before leaving, Bucky slid a note under her roommate’s door, letting her know about the potential concussion. He just wanted to make sure someone kept an eye on her.

[mamaskillerqueen]

The First Time || Jake Seresin x Reader

Warnings: This is kinda angsty but also not... idk you tell me. I’ll add warnings y’all think are necessary because I suck at that and I’m sorry.

A/N: I randomly came across a song on TikTok one time and that is what sparked this idea. You should check it out. It’s called The First Time by Sam James

There was a faint snoring that was coming from the man beside you, a ticking of a watch that was placed on the bedside table echoed as well. Normally these sounds wouldn’t drive you as crazy as it was right now. A slight glance at the glaring red numbers on the alarm clock next to him told you it was just passed 3am. What felt like days ago when you crawled into the bed with him those numbers had only read 9pm.



As you laid awake memories ran through your head like a carefree child running through a field of daisy’s. Nights like this used to be your favourite. Here in the eerie silence with the cold black of night and the miles between you and the man next to you, that was no longer the case. It was rare that Jake was home early on a Friday night with no plans for Saturday. They used to mean early nights of movies and cuddling and talking until the sun came up. Now, you weren’t sure when the last time was that you shared something other than surface level pleasantries.



Nearly two years together was a huge accomplishment for the both of you. Neither of you had been big on long term relationships prior to each other. That was why you found yourself silently suffering in nostalgia. Things had been a little different lately. You’d both fallen into a routine and slowly started neglecting the things that made you feel so close to each other. Almost like you’d forgotten why you fell in love.

Pulling you from your musings, Jake huffed as he rolled onto his side. Watching him turn away from you, a deep ache settled into your chest. An ache like this had never happened to you before. You missed a man that was right beside you. The absence of his snoring was only slightly comforting while you allowed yourself to spiral down memory lane. You couldn’t help your own sigh while thinking about the late night walks down the beach, holding hands the whole way. Those ended a while ago.



It was almost 3:30 in the morning when you couldn’t take it anymore. You slid out of bed as slowly and quietly as possible. Nights like these, when he knew he didn’t have to worry about waking up, Jake could be a heavy sleeper. Creeping down the stairs you were glad tonight was one of those nights. Tonight, while the house was quiet and dark you would wallow and eat ice cream from the carton.



Tomorrow with the sun rise, you would pretend like you slept fine and things weren’t off between the two of you. With the sun rise, you could pretend like the little bickering that had started recently was normal. You could pretend like it didn’t bother you. With daylight you could act like you weren’t hurting because despite it all, you were so stupidly, madly, crazily in love with the man in your bed.



It would be nice to be best friends with your boyfriend again but this was uncharted territory. The waters were choppy, and the waves won’t stop coming in for their attempt to drown your love. The last thing you wanted to do was make him feel like this wasn’t good enough for you and it all to end. You would rather doggy paddle for your life to keep him in this way than risk losing him forever to the tide. So, a night of wallowing and ice cream would just have to be your coping mechanism.



The refrigerator door was hanging open, the light shining bright enough to illuminate the spoons in your silverware drawer. Your phone was quietly playing Jake’s Spotify playlist, a mix of songs he always said reminded him of you. It’s been at least two months since he’s added a song to it. You had gotten one bite of ice cream before you felt arms wrap around your waist.



“What are doin’ down here, darlin’?”



His voice was thick with sleep and the drawl of his accent sent shivers in all the right places. When you turned around in his arms you could see his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked like something the cat dragged in but you’ve never thought he looked more handsome. The spoon was still in your hand as you wrapped your arms around his neck and did your best to hide the fact that you were allowing the waters to pull you under. Even if just for a moment.



“Couldn’t sleep, so ice cream. Obviously.”



You felt the low rumble in his chest rather than heard his laugh. His arms tightened around your waist when you planted your feet firmly on the ground so you could turn back around. He had no intentions of letting you move from his view. There was an intense scrutiny happening and you hadn’t even realised it at first. His brow knitted together slowly and yours arched in response.



“You gonna tell me what’s really botherin’ you, sweets?”



The silence was different down here, mostly because of your music playing. Still the faint buzzing from the refrigerator was his only answer, aside from the slightly ashamed look that crossed your features. If the floor opened up a hole to swallow you, that would be preferable to answering that question. It was still dark. No sun on the horizon yet. Just a pale blue glow in a tiny kitchen shining on the wallowing you were allowing yourself.



Another song started up, faint guitar building into one of your favourites on the playlist. He had sung this song to you so many times, back when things weren’t so stuck. Part of you was hoping he’d just start humming, spin you in a few circles and forget about the pain in your eyes. You knew him too well, which was why you sighed.



“I really miss you.”



Confusion splashed across his face as you fought to come up for air. He clearly didn’t understand why you were drowning in the same water he was floating happily in.



“Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve talked about anything with substance? Since you’ve kissed me on the beach like we were the only two people on the planet? You’ve not sang me this song in so long…”



You hated how it sounded like your voice was cracking as if you’d swallowed too much salt water. A look flashed across his face, one you couldn’t place. The impending tide was slowly sweeping in and you were too tired to doggy paddle against it. And then it swept out, leaving nothing but sandy beach beneath your toes. You had no idea you could still touch the ground until the water was gone.



“It’s been too long,” he sighed heavily and you didn’t know it was possible but his arms tightened around you even more. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. You deserve so much better than what I’ve been givin’ you lately.”



It was startling to realise that the ground was still under your feet, and that Jake had a hold of you so tightly you couldn’t have drowned if you wanted to.  As you looked up into his face you could see the weeks, the months tallying up in his head. You could see the choppy waters finally catching up to him.



The sand beneath your feet was a jolting feeling. It sunk between your toes and anchored you to the ground as the waves started to roll in again. You noticed almost immediately that you weren’t needing to doggy paddle anymore. Maybe Jake’s arms around your waist and his chest pressed to yours was the buoy you needed.



“I think I know what we need,” Jake finally muttered. The slow growing smirk on his face had the beat of your heart racing, but this time it wasn’t in fear of drowning. Now it was anticipation. You’d been together long enough to know that look in his eyes.



An arched brow gave him enough but you hummed in question still, hoping he’d elaborate a little more. Instead of words though, his arms unwrapped from you as he reached for the ice cream still sat on the counter. Ice started melting down the sides of the carton, pulling into a puddle on the counter top which was surprising because of the chill from the fridge still being open. Once Jake had replaced the lid and shoved the sweet treat into the freezer he grabbed the spoon from your hand and replaced it with his own.



“We gotta put time in to get back to normal, right? So, tonight I’m taking you back up to bed and I’m gonna fuck you like it’s the first time,” he’d tossed the spoon into the sink and had pulled you into his chest as he spoke. That smirk still prominent on his face. “And then tomorrow, we’re gonna stay in bed until noon. We’re gonna party with our friends in the evening, and then I’m gonna take you on a walk down the beach so you can fill me in on everything I’ve missed the last few months.”



A hand came up to your cheek, cupping your jaw as his eyes met yours. For the first time in so long you felt like the waters were calming, like you were no longer in water too deep to touch. You could stand here, and if the waters ever got choppy again you knew that Jake was your buoy. A smile pulled your lips up, and you didn’t have to worry about a mouthful of salt water anymore.



“I think you had me at taking me back to bed, Cowboy.”

[vivelarevolution13]

moving like a river of trouble crossing

Rating: M | Word count: 10,260 | Tags: Set in the lead up to and right at the end of CATWS, Character Study, PTSD, Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug (And A Friend), Wait No Not That One, Going Down Memory Lane, SHIELD Has Shitty Therapists, Horrible People Still Acting Like People, Captain America Politics, Natasha's Love Language Is Surveillance, Folks Trained For Violence Engaging In You Guessed It: Violence | Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff, implied Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow (non-explicit, but still reasonably fucked up by virtue of Rumlow being Rumlow)

(belated) fic for @catws-anniversary, day 2. Thank you so much for putting it together, guys! | march 27th theme: steve rogers | prompts: guilt, "it kind of feels personal" | part of a WIP to be published on AO3

and because I apparently can't help myself with the music-fic thing, playlist for this here

i.

Good morning Captain Rogers. It is 05:15 AM, EST. Up 'n' at 'em. Good morning, Captain Rogers. It is 04:41 AM, EST. Would you like me to set the blinds to a lower density? Don't you nuh-uh at me, sunshine - get your lazy ass out of bed. You're gonna be late. Good morning, Captain Rogers. I understand you are under some duress right now, but please do not be alarmed. It is 2:32 am, EST. The year is 2012. You are in New York City. You are safe. Please try to take a breath. Would you like me to call anyone?

Good morning, Steve. Good morning. You're gonna be late. You awake? You awake yet?

Sure. Sure, he's awake.

That afternoon he packs his bag, the single duffle that fits all of his earthly possessions. He tries to ignore the vaguely smug tone of Fury's voice when he tells him they already have an apartment set up for him in DC: ten minutes from HQ, real convenient, and has he ever been to see Lincoln Memorial? He'll love it, it's a nice spot for a walk, especially in the summers, or so Fury's been told.

Steve's been to DC, but he's never beeen to the memorial, never seen much of the city outside the confines of the hotel the USO booked for them. He thinks he can count the grand total of places he's gotten to see up close on his right hand, and half of them were in the European Theatre. The other half he's running from now.

He's sure it'll be grand, he tells Fury. Beats the smell of moldy brick in the heat and a patchwork city manifesting ghosts out the corner of his eye, he doesn't say. ii.

They get him a therapist as a part of his onboarding at SHIELD. It’s due diligence, they say, in the aftermath of New York – someone to help him transition into his new role. But it’s been almost nine months now, and Steve’s learning their language, the words that get caught up in between all the red tape: saying assistance when they mean overwatch.

“This is supposed to be a safe space, not an interrogation,” the woman says at the start of her first evaluation, meeting all of his unease with a reassuring smile, and something about the misplaced quality of it puts him on a knife’s edge.

He only pieces it together the second time he’s called in to meet with her, when he's a bit more clear-headed and a whole lot more impatient than during their initial encounter. It only takes a few perfunctory exchanges before he starts registering the image as a whole: the painstakingly nonthreatening, gentle demeanor, the conservative clothes she’s wearing; the pale complexion and the sharp features and the unmistakable lilt to her voice, soft and rolling and decidedly more old country than east coast.

It would feel almost perverse, he thinks from a distance, if it wasn’t already painfully transparent and tactically inept to boot: this attempt at the same trick that didn’t work in their favor the first time around. He supposes he can’t blame them for trying to fill in the gaps between what they could scrounge up from paper and old photographs with something predictable and comforting, something expected of his background and what is now probably regarded as an antiquated time period.

He also knows that going off of little information when dealing with a potential threat is dangerous. What’s even more so, he thinks as he nods politely along to the lady's explanation of their work together, is believing you know more than you do, and that’s the easiest mistake to exploit.

Here's a fact probably still recorded somewhere on a faded death certificate: Sarah Rogers never lived long enough to get gray in her hair like that.

Here’s another, probably only still recorded in his memory and nowhere else: his mother had been fiercely caring, yes, and compassionate to a fault, but her kindness had never translated to docility, and it sure as hell had never translated to softspoken dishonesty.

So when the shrink bearing a near-painful resemblance to her starts asking incisive questions enshrouded in unoffensive words and indulgent tones, Steve packs his entire reality into a series of half-truths without batting an eye and doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

Yes, he’s eating. Yes, he’s sleeping well. No, he’s not on edge – sure, it gets hard, sometimes, but exercise helps, meditation, music. Going out into the world, meeting new people. Trying new things. Yes, he’s ready to be back in the field. No, not so much so that he’s itching for it. Yes ma’am, he’s doing fine, just fine, thank you for asking. iii.

“I heard Hannah’s single,” Romanoff's saying, and it’s not the first time his brain is latching onto the fact that she’s keeping pace with him without losing too much breath, without any discomfort in the cool air that's just starting to roll in as fall bleeds into the city, painting it in darkening evenings and dimming colors. “You know, from forensics? Glasses, leggy, science-y type. Blonde – you like blondes, right?”

“I’m starting to think you only have one thing on your mind,” Steve pants, pushes harder ahead until his calves start burning, just to see if she'll allow herself to follow. Keep moving, keep moving. You awake yet? “Gotta admit, it’s making it kinda hard to enjoy all this quality time we spend together.”

“What, you’re going to stop inviting me on runs? Aw, Rogers. Break a girl’s heart, why don’t you.”

“It’s not really an invitation if you just show up without me letting you know where I’m going, you know.”

She shrugs. “I needed to burn some energy, and you’re not exactly the most unpredictable person in this city.” Her ponytail whips over his shoulder as she follows his sharp right turn around the War Memorial and passes him towards Constitution Gardens, too close and competitive. “Brunette, then? There’s a girl in operations, real tough, good with a gun – at least your propensity for that type has been well documented, but I guess you didn't really have enough time to enjoy it, y'know, all the way –”

Steve knows she’s talking about Peggy, he does. It doesn’t help the hard-wired alarm bells going off in the back of his head any. He digs his heels in, skids to a stuttering halt over the wet pavement, and somewhere in the back of his consciousness he’s quietly pleased that it catches Romanoff off guard a little.

“What, too far?” she jokes, but her eyes are quick over his face; cataloguing the boundaries, the places she can still push.

He's sure it's well-meaning, as much as a blatant handler can get. But some habits are just harder to shake than others. That, he's intimately familiar with.

“If I say yes, will you stop? Or at least stop tailing me?”

“I don’t tail you. That’s below my paygrade,” she says, mouth quirking up at the corner like that’s all the punchline she needs as she types something into her smartphone. “I’ll text you her number. She likes spicy food and old movies.”

“Sure, fine. Great.”

“It is. You'll see.” The phone disappears back into one of the many hidden pockets of her skin-tight leggings. The marvels of modern technology, Steve thinks. Natasha quirks a challenging brow. “Now can we start the actual run finally or have you reached your limit, grandpa?”

He's all but ready to chicken out of the date all week, fighting the urge to cancel at the last minute, but he figures the girl doesn't deserve his bad manners just because he feels like spiting Romanoff when she tries to play his puppetmaster.

In the end it goes...surprisingly well. As Romanoff described, Lina’s beautiful and sharp and a little closed off, tough as nails and maybe even more rigid in her approach than him, but once they get over the initial hurdle of awkwardness and expectations the conversation flows with relative ease. They swap the basics, they talk interests and habits and what moving to DC's like, fun little stories from growing up; he tells her about the butcher on his block when he was a kid that kept a rooster in the backyard, and she tells him about the kid on her floor at community college that set the dorm on fire trying to boil an egg. They talk SHIELD and her work training the new recruits and there’s a spark in her eye as she dives into giving him a breakdown of what he should look into, BJJ and MMA and gyms around town that would be discreet enough to take him in.

“SHIELD’s got plenty of hand-to-hand experts,” she says in a pensive tone over the dessert, “but it can get a little…”

Steve chuckles around his spoonful of the sticky rice, the sweetness of the mango across the back of his palate soothing the previous burn of the spice. Turns out he likes Thai food, too. Who would’ve thought. “Intense?”

“Testosterone-riddled, I was gonna say,” Lina grins, conspiratory. “And paranoid. Not the best scene if you just want to learn,” and he nods along because it’s true, and because it’s a relief to have someone else say it for him.

So it’s nice, and sweet, and ultimately entirely impersonal. He walks her to her door and she gives him a kiss on the cheek, and when she explains how she’s not really looking for anything right now her dark eyes are warm and honest but not overly apologetic. It’s a gesture he’s grateful for.

“Besides, not to be blunt, but you don’t seem all that…” She trails off, waving her hand.

He winces. “Interested? I am, really, but...” And that’s just it, isn’t it. He’s interested; she’s wonderful, just his type, seems to like him well enough. But.

“Look, I get it. We’ve all been there. Can’t really avoid it in this business.” She shrugs as if to say what can you do, smiles up at him knowingly. “Wrong place, wrong time, right?”

And Steve thinks, yeah. Yeah, something like that. iv.

“–piece of shit, every time, wet sand all up in the fuckin’ thing. Goddamn Kandahar all over again,” Rumlow’s muttering, agitated and half to himself, and Steve doesn’t ask about the last part, just dumps his own gear on the rack and drops down onto the bench. They might be friendly, but they’re not friends – Rumlow doesn’t owe him his history. “I get sent to the fuckin’ desert in this weather one more time, I’m gonna start missing New York winters.”

The jet’s engines hum at his back, adrenaline leaving his body in slow pulls as he watches Rumlow work, notes the intermittent scarring over his hands as they strip the jammed gun down like it’s muscle memory, quick and capable. There's not a spot on him that seems unmarred, really - the scars are a continous, scattered motif up to his face, moving faint in the dim light of the jet.

Loved being in the ring, he'd said once with a wry grin, as far back as I can remember. Might've gotten the shit kicked out of me more than was strictly necessary, though. Accounts for me ending up here, in any case.

He’s drawn this exact scene, it occurs to Steve before he can push it away; down to the boxer's shoulders, down to the complaining, and more than once.

“You from the city?” he offers, an easy distraction that Rumlow seems grateful for.

“Yeah. Yeah, born and raised right off of Arthur Ave.”

“No shit?”

“Yep. Good old Belmont.” He looks up, gaze turning sharp at whatever he catches on Steve’s face before he can look away. “Wouldn’t think you’d know where that is. You ever even been past Central Park?”

Steve gets a flash of washed-out color and brilliant light, of Art and Charlie and the rest of them from the Y dragging him up to Harlem; thinks of the queens with their elaborate glamour and loud, unapologetic laughter and that last wet spring before the cops started shutting everything down, of stumbling tipsy towards the A down 155th Street with empty pockets and Jeanie giggling into his shoulder about some honey-eyed daddy that gave her a sweet kiss goodnight. A well-insulated secret, a fleeting memory of feeling like he could swallow the world whole.

It’s not what Rumlow’s talking about, he knows. He nods anyway.

“Loved that neighborhood. My folks moved us out to Staten when I was in high school, though,” and Steve must make an involuntary face at that because Rumlow chuckles and says, “Alright, tough guy. Not all of us had the privilege of living within two blocks of Prospect Park.”

“Neither did I, but it sure beat Staten," Steve snorts. "And it wasn’t even as much of a privilege, back then.”

“Yeah, I think you’ll notice a lot of things’ve changed.” He tilts his head, scratches contemplative at his stubbled chin. Steve wonders if he’s projecting the bitterness in Rumlow’s voice. “A lotta things’ve gone to shit in that place. Food’s still way better than fuckin’ DC, though. Not nearly enough Italians over here.”

“Yeah. All that white marble and not a single decent, roach-infested deli. Real shithole. Should put that on the tourist brochures,” Steve says after a moment, testing the waters. It gets another laugh out of Rumlow, low and maybe a little surprised, and the sound settles like molten lead in Steve’s stomach, grounding. v.

One morning in November he gets a phone call from a Washington Post journalist asking for his statement on the newly planned Captain America exhibit, and then in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it feat of persuasion it’s three days later and he’s somehow been roped into a grand opening ceremony, a speech and a press conference at the Smithsonian.

It lasts for-fucking-ever.

By the time he's back in his neighborhood his ears are ringing with leftover noise and applause, his cheeks sore from a constant smile that'd felt more like a slashed tire than a friendly gesture even as he was forcing it. He'd reverted back to the Best Foot Forward, Always mentality of the bonds circuit quick enough - but at least back then it felt like it had a marginal purpose, no matter how flimsy or false. Back then it didn't drain him this much, he doesn't think, no matter how frustrating. Best Foot Forward these days feels more like sleepwalking his way off a cliff than anything else.

The second he's through the door he shrugs out of the tie and starched shirt chafing at his neck, tries not to think about how he still would've preferred all the commotion and the pretense to the unfamiliar silence of the otherwise big apartment building. Tries to give the feeling resurfacing in him now that he's got attention enough for it a name other than unbearable.

Here's the thing: pain, Steve knows on an intimate level, is something you get used to. It's not to say you forget it exists completely: you just subsume it, you learn to expect it. It’s less about it becoming a habit and more that it becomes a part of you when you’re not looking: fills up all the empty crevices it can find and creates a mold, and that’s the shape you start to take if you live with it long enough. The problem with that is that the longer it goes on, the less space in you there is for other things.

He was five the first time he got really sick. It'd started simple enough – the winter of ’23 came early and sudden, and New Year’s Eve found him in bed with a fever that earned the dreaded prefix scarlet soon enough when the spread of dotted red started taking up more and more space on his body. He'd spent two weeks feeling like someone's dangling him off the edge of the unknown, and much longer than that after with his mother's watchful eyes following him from the window whenever he left the house, like she couldn't force herself to look away.

But he made it. Despite all indications, little Stevie Rogers didn't die, and it was a miracle with a capital M. All he had to do is make peace with having a somewhat faulty heart as a keepsake of his survival and maybe never playing for the Dodgers, which is not to say it stopped him from trying.

But then next year it was the whooping cough so bad it cracked a rib, then his left ear giving out on him after a prolonged sinus infection, then the asthma he barely even noticed amidst everything else until it layed him out flat midway through a game of stickball bad enough it landed him in the hospital. The minor league dreams dissolved fairly quickly after that.

In ’25 he missed more school than he attended. The kids from down the block came round to call on him less and less, and it wasn't too long before they forgot completely and it was just him and a handful of toy soldiers left, with names like Joe and Jack and occasionally if he allowed himself, Steve. Their neighbors started smiling at him more. The grocer started handing him a fistful of candy under the counter every time they came in, looking at his mother in a way that said sorry for your loss and that Steve hated with a passion, least of all because he couldn't even enjoy the pity because hello, here comes diabetes. Then it was the pernicious goddamn anemia and months and months of the liver-fucking-everything diet followed closely by its sworn enemy the ulcers, and then the growing pains, and then the bad back, and then the bum joints –

Here’s the thing about pain: the longer you carry it, the more you forget you’re doing it in the first place. You ignore it because it’s the only way to survive it, because what the hell else are you supposed to do? And that’s when you start thinking you have it under control. You start to think you’ll be ready when it comes for you again.

Here’s the other thing about pain: you’re never ready. It comes as a surprise each time. He wasn’t ready in ‘30 when the neighborhood suddenly started reeking of despair and death and he wasn’t ready in ’36 when his ma went and he wasn’t ready in ’44 when he got shot in the neck and thought oh, so it can still hurt like this. I can still bleed.

Then '45 rolled around and a new thought followed, a miserable dot at the end of a sentence: maybe bleeding out would've hurt less. At least it would've made us even.

None of that experience and understanding stops him feeling it now, again, still, like an interrupted line from that first fever chill to here, standing in the middle of his living room with a glossy brochure full of dead faces in his hand and an exhaustion so deep it roots him to the spot.

And then there’s the anger, of course: equally familiar but much more muted, less expressive than it used to be, dancing around the edges of everything else. He looks back down at the crumpled pamphlet, to where the folded-unfolded-refolded creases cut through the title:

Captain America’s team: the top tier of the World War II effort and a leading example of integration! 

As if they were somehow Captain America's or even the US army’s to begin with; as if it was encouraged and Steve didn’t have to stand around in moldy tents arguing his brand-new, star-spangled ass off with Major Whatshisname and Colonel Whoever-the-fuck for days on end just to keep them eating in the same mess hall and sleeping in the same barracks. Nothing about any of the ugly parts, about the blood and the bureaucracy and the bullshit. Nothing about any of them, either - no mention of Dernier's politics or Gabe's professorship or Morita's writing. Not a single inch of space left for their families or their own stories except as a footnote in Steve's own, a way to make it picture perfect.

Nothing about Bucky other than the barebone facts: he was Steve's friend, he was a good soldier, he died. The meat and blood and soul of the person, left out; the fact of whose fault it ultimately was, conveniently gone.

And that name – the Howling fucking Commandos. The bunch of them would’ve busted a rib laughing at it, laid out all grandiose like that. For one, it’s still as ridiculous as it was back then – sounds more action novel than historical account and distinctly less bureaucratic and arbitrary than the Specialized 107th, which is what they were strictly called in the paperwork. Personally, Steve always thought that out of the variety of nicknames they’ve been awarded, the Invaders was by far the most fitting. Truer to wartime, to what it was they really did, and far more threatening if it ever reached the other side of the line. Then again, from what he’s gathered so far, it seems like America’s done far more than its fair share of invading since. It definitely accounts for the 180 degree change in branding.

Turns out it’s still all about selling comic books and war bonds. And Steve, too caught up in his own sorry wallowing, is just going along with it.

Jesus, he thinks, the tone of it coated in a wry, familiar voice nestled in the back of his brain but much harsher than it ever was in reality, drop the philosophy for one goddamn minute. Anybody ever tell you idle hands are the Devil's playthings? Get moving, Rogers. Trade the speeches in for something useful.

So he does: chucks the paper into the empty white fruit bowl collecting dust on the countertop, turns the TV on to a random channel to break the silence. He doesn’t recognize the title of the movie playing but it’s soothing, the background awash with static and the accents just familiar enough to make for pleasant white noise. He heats up his leftovers, sprawls out on the couch and gets to reading the reports Fury had unloaded on him, tuning in every so often to the witty back-and-forth dialogue. It’s maybe half an hour of squinting at indecipherable bureaucratic jargon before he finally gives up, lifts his head to rub the sleep from his eyes.

One of the men on screen – Nick, Steve thinks, or maybe that one’s Mikey, he hasn’t been following along all that well, to the work or the film – is trying to dissuade the other from visiting his mother’s grave in the dead of night.

It’s 1 in the morning.

That makes it nicer.

It doesn’t make it anything, Nick. A grave is a grave. There’s not a religion in the world that says a person’s soul is buried with them in their grave, the man argues, and it’s like whiplash pulling him out of the serene lull, the memory of a name over a plot in Greenwood he’d never gone to visit, and he thinks, a little disoriented – of course there’d be no soul in that patch of land. The grave itself is empty.

They’d given him reports in the beginning, too: a neat stack of papers, most of them stamped DECEASED in glaring red letters, and the single mocking MISSING IN ACTION. At the very end there’d been a laughably short list of contacts; among them a phone number and address for one Rebecca Barnes-Proctor.

God help us all, he can imagine the voice of George Barnes saying even now, jokingly abject, our Becca’s married a Proddie.

But there had been briefings, then, and the shitshow over Manhattan, and in between all of that the days where he couldn’t even find the will to leave his apartment block, let alone go to Brooklyn. Over and over, he’d given himself the same excuses as with Peggy – it would be too much, too soon, too selfish to usurp her life like that.

Of course, the truth of it all was much simpler. All too cowardly, too, in a way that has the guilt blooming with a vengence somewhere in the pit of his stomach: he didn’t have the guts to look Bucky’s baby sister in the eye, no matter her age, and say, I’m sorry you didn’t get a body to bury. I’m sorry the one time he needed it I didn’t do the job he spent his whole life doing for me. I’m sorry I left him behind when it should have been me down there in the first place.

He watches the two men stumble around in the muddy dark of the graveyard and yell and bicker in a way that strikes Steve as bitterly melancholy, the familiarity of it unmooring.

Mike, y’know what? Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to do, Nick finally admits at the foot of the tombstone, wild-eyed and devolving into a rambling laugh, and ain’t that a kicker. Welcome to the club.

It’s very hard to talk to a dead person, we have nothing in common. Hi, ma.

Nick, you’re making me forget the kaddish, Mike chides with mounting frustration as Nick keeps giggling and it’s not funny, it’s really not, the whole premise of it deeply morbid, but Steve finds himself laughing right along with Nick’s hysterical hiccups, his childlike plea of I don’t wanna die, ma.

You don’t get a choice in the matter, his own mother had told him when he was maybe 8 or 9, faced with the concept of death the first time when Mrs. Kowalski from 4C got sick, if that’s the way the chips fall, then that’s God’s will. But what matters is the middle, what you choose to do with it. Do you understand?

He didn’t, really, not back then, and ten years later when they’d lowered her into the ground all he could think was: what is the point of it, anyway, of all those right choices, if all that happens is you end up dying alone?

Steve hadn’t been, of course. For all of the isolation he’d felt during those last few months of his mother’s illness, he’d never been really alone. There’d been the Barnes’ and the old ladies from church and even some of the folks Sarah had helped treat at the hospital coming by and Bucky, Jesus Christ; Bucky crying at the funeral and saying kaddish for months like Sarah was his own and letting Steve rage and lash out until all the fight had drained out of him, his arms like a vice around Steve’s shaky frame.

And there’s the actual goddamned truth, he thinks, bone-weary. The only truth that matters, the one that’ll never get written on any museum walls: Steve was only ever as strong as the people propping him up.

I think that’s the reason we’re such good friends, Nick is saying to Mike when he tunes back in, and Steve’s not laughing anymore, hasn’t been ever since his throat had gone tight a long few minutes ago, because we remember each other from when we were kids. Things that happened when we were kids that no one else knows about but us. It’s in our heads. That’s how we know they really happened.

What are you talking about? I know what really happened when I was a kid.

Yeah, but no one else does, Nick says, painfully earnest. I mean, everyone we knew as kids is dead.

He shuts the TV off with a soft click, waits a long while before the heartbeat pounding in his ears has settled. Thinks about what it really means, then, to embody the final resting place of all your ghosts.

Maudlin, Bucky’s voice echoes in his head again, fills out the crevices of the silent apartment like a slow bleed. Always gotta be so maudlin, Rogers, like you’re Scarlett O-fucking-Hara. Just get up. Get up, Steve, c'mon.

“Yeah,” Steve sniffs, wipes a rough hand over his eyes; laughs again because it’s a damn joke, all of it, and he can afford to lose the plot in the privacy of his own home. “Yeah, fuck you too, asshole. Go haunt somebody else.” vi.

"Heard you had an eventful weekend," Rumlow comments when they all pile into the locker room the following week, a little roughed up and beat and stinking of iron and sweat but otherwise in decent spirits. "Seemed like a good time, all those pretty girls throwing themselves at you to shake their babies and kiss their hands or whatever."

"Shows how much you know. The pretty ladies were all balding men over the age of 50," Steve says, only half-joking, shrugging into his civvies with a wince. There's a cut on his side where he fell a little too close to a protruding piece of rebar that's already reopened twice by the time they've gotten off the jet, but despite the sharp sting of it he's feeling better than he did just a mere twelve hours ago.

Idle hands turns out to be true enough. Wryly, he thinks he might owe sending an apology up to Sister Andrea, although he figures anyone that enjoyed using a ruler on little kids that much wouldn't have ended up in Heaven, anyway.

"But sure, it was alright. A little too much attention all at once, if I'm being honest."

"Oh yeah?" Rumlow huffs. "Big talk coming from someone who dresses like you do. I hope you didn't show up there wearing that."

Steve frowns down at the faded jeans, the fitted grey shirt – one of many pairs that came with the closet in his apartment. It rubbed him the wrong way, at first, but it's easier in the end; not having all that wide array of choice dumped over his head all the time. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing. I just get worried they're gonna start cutting off blood flow at some point, y'know," Rumlow grins, his teeth very white in the bright fluorescent lights. "God forbid we go to a bar one of these days, I'd have to mind every creep from here to Dupont tryna get a peek down your shirt."

"Fuck off," Steve huffs, feeling heat flush down into his neck despite himself. Yeah, blood flow really isn't the problem. He gestures at Rumlow's own undershirt, all slick black and skin-tight, motion packed in. "Look who's talkin'."

"Yeah, but I don't dress like this out there. This is all for you guys," he yawns with a stretch, all exaggerated bravado. "I got one of those, y'know - work-life balances. Out there I clean up nice. You, I imagine you sleep in that shit."

Steve snorts. "You'll be happy to know I clean up just fine. Got the one suit and everything."

"Is that right? They get you decked out in some bespoke threads for the parade, Cap?" He chuckles at the face Steve makes when the word bespoke fully registers. "See if I believe that without any evidence."

Steve digs out his phone reluctantly. He does have pictures, is the thing, woke up the next morning feeling like a sack of potatoes tossed from a great height just to see his phone light up with an email from SHIELD's HR with an attachment sent over for approval - like he was a celebrity ending up in a tabloid, he thinks again with distate, like he should care much either way what he looked like. He thumbs through his email to the one labeled FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION, and shoves it over at Rumlow before he drops onto the bench to sort out the rest of his pack.

"Looking good, you weren't kidding. And the mural's all heroic," Rumlow comments lightly as he scrolls through. "Wait, don't tell me - the little mustachioed, scruffy looking one is the frogeater, yeah?"

Steve laugh comes easier this time. "The little mustachioed, scruffy looking one would've kicked your ass six ways from Sunday if he'd heard you call him that. Yeah, that's Dernier. Gabe, next to him," he lists, trying not to think about how it comes across that he's memorized the order, "Dum Dum - he didn't like that nickname, either - Bucky, Monty, and Morita."

"Sure were big on callin' each other everything other than your names, huh?" The joke is followed by a stretch of quiet, and when Steve looks back up Rumlow's frowning at the phone a little, a flicker of uncertainty over his face that Steve doesn't get to figure out before it's gone. His face smoothes out into a mostly neutral expression, an undercurrent of something unnerved and white-hot, and Steve can't help himself.

"What?"

Rumlow passes him the phone back with a shrug. "Nothing, just - haven't seen those pictures since I was in high school," he says, a little distant like the memory's faded to oblivion since, and hell if Steve'll ever stop finding it strange that all of them ended up in dusty old school books, long obsolete. "Long time ago, now. Guess I just remembered all of you being much older, is all."

He leans back against the wall of lockers, pensive, watches Steve fumble with the zipper of his hoodie where it keeps sticking for a minute. "You must miss it, though. The good old days. Your people."

Steve clears his throat, yanks at the cheap piece of plastic again. The fit and cut, he might've gotten used to - but he'll never get over the waste; just how quickly everything falls right apart in the future. "Yeah, well. Like you said, it was a long time ago."

"It was, wasn't it. Longer for some than others, though," he says cryptically, and Steve really has nothing to say to that that won't land him right back where he was two days ago. He doesn't have to, in the end, because Rumlow throws a curt nod at his front, and it takes a second too long for him to interpret what his zeroed-in expression means, to register the dotting of blood through the thin fabric of his shirt. "You're bleeding all over the place again."

"It's fine. Don't feel it much," Steve says. Something's different. What's different? Wake up.

"Sure. Never do, do you," he says, gesturing to the hoodie with a thoughtful expression that's inching away from the easy banter. "That shit's gonna stain, though."

"I was gonna throw it out anyway."

It should be enough, and in any other situation it would be. Any other situation he'd shrug it off with more conviction, Rumlow'd call him a tough guy with just the right amount of mockery, and the tension would pass. Except that Rumlow had to lead them into uncharted territory and Steve hadn't been quick enough to notice before he was flailing, too exposed.

Except that instead of a quip what he gets is Rumlow's stepping into his space, the casual slouch of his shoulders replaced with something more deliberate when he reaches for where Steve's hand is still holding onto where the teeth of the zipper have gotten all gnarled. In a heartbeat Steve's back to square one: keenly aware of the proximity and every inch of his body in the cramped space; back to that first day in the elevator with Rumlow's dark eyes turned on him with a questioning look and a twist to his mouth that said it's a pleasure, Cap but meant I've been here long enough - you don't impress me any more than any other kid I've seen this place chew up and spit back out.

It'd been enough to get his spine straightening of its own accord back then, too; the sheer challenge of it, pushing at the boundaries of hierarchy. It makes him want to pull away now, want to put the usual distance between them, to get the hell out of this stuffy locker room. Makes him want to push forward until he meets something immovable and solid. Want. want, want - too much and for things that were unreachable. That's always been his problem, hasn't it?

The sound of the zipper is too loud in the mostly empty space when it gets yanked loose, pulled up and over the slow spread of the stain, and Steve realizes with a start that he didn't notice the chatter die down as the few stragglers left the room. Realizes that he hasn't moved a muscle in a good minute, like a butterfly with its wing pinned.

Rumlow's touch lingers, just the barest pressure under his Adam's apple, and Steve's breath catches. Rumlow makes a considering noise.

He snapped a guy's neck with those hands not two hours ago: a thoughtless, instinctive thing in the middle of the ambush that was waiting for them. It's not that Steve's forgotten it; Steve's aware of it to the point of failure. It's just that it got bound up with everything else, the easy reliance and the ribbing bordering on rough and the adrenaline under his skin like a necessity.

Wake up.

Rumlow's eyes on him are sharp, a little curious. Less surprised than they ought to be.

Wake up, get moving, get out of sight. We've been here before.

Steve swallows. "Thanks."

"Sure." Rumlow steps back to hoist his bag over his shoulder and the moment breaks as quick as it came on, the whole uninterruped line of him lax and easy again, surface friendly. "Now you won't scare the guys at the front desk."

And then he's off down the hallway, leaving Steve to lean on the cool metal of the wall and do everything but think about the sudden feeling of being off balance, a little too tight in his skin in a way that only half has to do with the too-quick beat of his blood, the lingering smell of Rumlow's cologne.

vii.

Funnily enough, the Christmas gala almost slips his mind – an extraordinary accomplishment, considering that he spends most of December thinking up viable excuses not to go, dodging Romanoff’s questions and sideways looks with the agility of a man running for his life.

“We can hang out with the civilians. Break the record of how many weapons contractors you can piss off in one night,” she says one brisk and sunny afternoon when she manages to drag him out to a coffee shop barely across from SHIELD, the steam from her tea swirling up in billows to fog her opaque sunglasses. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know any civilians,” he says, deliberately obtuse. It’s a joke; he can’t help that it’s also mostly true.

“What about Kate?”

It’s not a surprise anymore, really, that she knows everything about his life, that she has no problem making that clear to him when she wants to. He’s fine with it, he has to keep reminding himself. Maybe it’s a control thing, like when she acts like she’s not holding back when they spar, a holdover from some other life. Maybe this is the closest they get to trust, and it doesn’t matter. Much like the tails that he pretends not to clock, the check-ins and evaluations and this whole neatly preordained life someone else's drawn up for him – it comes with the package, and what difference does it make, anyway? It’s simpler like this. He can do his job, and if thinking that he’s a situation she has a handle on makes Romanoff feel better, then that’s fine, too.

“What about her?”

“You talk to her yet?”

“I talk to her all the time,” he points out. Natasha cocks her head, the rest of her expression as obscure as her shaded eyes.

“It’s for a charity. The gala.” She keeps switching lanes. Trying to get him to stumble, he thinks.

“Yeah, Ms. Potts said.” Two can play at that game. “You want a date so bad, why don't you pester Barton this much about it?”

“Clint doesn’t need pestering. It’d be good publicity if you showed, you know.”

He scoffs; there it is. “For what, the charity or Stark Industries?”

“So it is about Stark, then.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, over-sweetened and dark. 100% pure Colombian arabica, apparently, and with the price tag to reflect it. The acidic taste sticks at the roof of his mouth. “I don’t have a problem with Tony.”

He doesn’t. Stark’s a good man, he thinks, despite having inherited all of Howard’s arrogance and none of his approachability. Whatever tension was there in the beginning had dissipated, though, the second Tony plummeted thousands of feet from the sky after having, for all intents and purposes, blown himself up to save all their sorry necks. They’d broken bread, shaken hands, parted ways.

For the best, probably. Good man or not, Tony has a singular way of getting under his skin.

And then there’s also the fact that being in Manhattan just doesn’t feel right, not with the destruction still settling over everything like a cloud of noxious dust, the fenced off craters and leftover vigils scattered every few blocks like an improvised graveyard. Good morning, Captain Rogers. It is 4:47 AM EST. It is a new day. Do you see it? Do you see it yet? Are you awake?

It’s not new, this sense of loss: looking at the city and feeling grief, compounded.

“Not what I said.”

“What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying SHIELD throws shitty office parties.” Natasha frowns and chugs half the scalding cup in one go before pushing up from the table, checking her phone. “I have to go,” she says, gives him a long look that he can’t really decipher, unusually lingering and far too serious by Natasha's standard. “Come to New York, Steve. Or at least think about it.”

viii.

He goes to see Peggy again, because of course he does. She greets him at the door with her most pleasant, polite smile this time, the kind reserved for strangers – Time for my medicine again, is it, darling? – but it’s alright, he understands. They’ve explained it to him, the good and bad days, how there’s rarely any constant. He’s grateful, anyway: just so grateful to have her around, as much as he can. Which is why he doesn’t flinch when she cries, when she calls for him like it’s been another seventy years, why he holds her brittle hand in his until she gets hazy around the eyes again and he feels a nurse’s gentle tap on his shoulder, hears her suggest that he come another time.

He takes the Harley out on the highway and drives aimlessly for the rest of the evening and well into the night, down and out and then back again until the traffic has thinned out to semis and the rare leftover commuter. He watches the speedometer kick up to 80, 90, a 100, the bike struggling, feels the rumble of the engine all the way up his spine when it skids unbalanced over the odd ice patch and thinks, grateful, grateful, grateful.

ix.

“You’re up late.”

“Hey.” Most of the building’s emptied out by now – he’d thought he’d find some privacy in the abandoned atmosphere of the holidays, and instead here Rumlow is when he was meant to be three states over, strolling through his periphery looking like he’s got nothing but time on his hands. “Thought you left with everybody else.”

“Nah. Had some business to take care of.” He settles against the wall opposite Steve, watches him shake out a one-two-three pattern that has the chain of the bag groaning. “Thought you’d be at Stark’s fancy party and putting that suit to good, promotional use.”

He never gets a chance to think about it, it turns out, getting called in two days before Christmas and ending up sending Ms. Potts – Pepper, please, call me Pepper – an overly apologetic, last-minute message excusing himself from the night. It’s a good call, in the end. The last thing he needs tonight is to be stuck in a room full of obscenely drunk, obscenely rich people expecting him to gush over the hors d’oeuvres and play at appearances.

He feels as though what he’s doing right now isn’t much different, though. It takes a whole lot of effort and posturing to dredge up a wry smile for Rumlow, anyway. “Well, it’s been busy here. Couldn’t fit it into my packed schedule.”

Rumlow snorts. He gets that expression on his face, sometimes, that same brand of amusement that makes Steve second-guess whether he’s actually in on the joke or just the punchline of it, that gets him hot under the collar in all the wrong ways. The punching bag chooses this moment to finally release its desperate grip on the physical realm, flying off the chain with one last pitiful creak and sending sand spraying across the floor. Rumlow’s eyes track the movement with unabashed fascination.

He walks over to the neat row of bags Steve’s lined up and picks one up with relative ease, a casual show of strength. “So you gonna talk about it,” he pipes back up, handing Steve the replacement, “or do I have to keep standing around here until you’ve run the rest of ‘em into the ground?”

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s got you shredding through these poor fuckin’ things at 11 pm on Christmas Eve.”

He wants to point out that he could be asking the same question – that there really is no reason for Rumlow to be here this late when he’s still technically on medical, to be in his usual tac clothes and looking as wired as Steve’s feeling. You ever take a day off? he considers asking, but that’d be prodding. What’s worse, it’d be hypocritical.

“Nothing, you know how it is – mission ran long. Had some leftover energy.”

“Yeah, Rollins mentioned you guys ran into some kinks.”

It’s not exactly the word Steve would use to describe the shitshow of that morning, utter failure avoided by a narrow margin because it was an old school lab, Christ, still had extracurriculars on the weekends and everything, and they just charged in half-blind.

It’s rigged, naturally. The room blows as he’s getting the janitor out, tears the face of the building open towards the sharp drop below, and all Steve can think is what a stupid, avoidable way to die. The electrical fire smell lingers for a long time after the explosion, the patter of the wet snow through the blown roof nowhere near enough to put the flames out.

They’re told to avoid detailing the collateral in the report, after: SHIELD had no way of knowing the complete situation beforehand, they say, short and brooking no argument, and Steve’s getting real damn tired of hearing that. By the time they wrap up cleanup he’s shivery and exhausted and when he finally dozes off on the long flight back with his ear to the monotonous drone of the engine, it’s to vague, uneasy bursts of the taste of ash in the mouth and many small, cold hands dragging him deep into the frozen ground.

Absurdly, the first thing he thinks of when he startles awake is Dugan’s thick mustache chained solid with frost, lips blue with the cold and grumbling under his breath.

"Gee, you're looking awful familiar there, Dum," Gabe'd say, biting off the ends of his sentences with the chatter of his own teeth. "Made this snowman that looked just like you when I was a kid - all white and lumpy with a great big bush over his lip. 'Cept his carrot nose was half as long and he never ran his fuckin' mouth this much."

And despite the cold and the misery, Dugan would elbow him and Gabe'd elbow back, obstinate. And Bucky'd laugh, Bucky'd call them all a bunch of fucking morons, and do they really want their last to be the Germans hearing them squabbling like two bitter old biddies out on the steps of the church for the whole neighborhood to see? Think of the image of our troops, golly gee. God forbid.

He strips out of his wet suit at the compound by rote and doesn’t think about the numbing cold of December among towering trees, of snow burning his fingers raw, clinging to his lashes. He runs until his lungs burn and it’s nothing like that thin, strangling air of the mountain range, nothing like warm skin sticking to icy metal, muscles all locked up and tears hot like bile in the back of his throat and the wind screaming in his ears, and –

Winters are warmer now, somebody’d told him at some point. Something about northern lights and the ozone in the Earth’s atmosphere.

“Kinks, right.”

He smooths out the edges of the tape that’s come loose over his knuckles, tries to tuck it in where he’s spotted red through the fabric. Suddenly he’s all too aware of the seconds lumbering on in silence, the eerie, empty quiet of the building; Rumlow looking at him with a single-minded intensity that makes the back of his neck prickle with heat, gets him on edge in a way he doesn't want to parse, doesn't have the energy to hide from.

It'd be no use, anyway; sometimes he thinks Rumlow can smell it on him, blood in the water.

“Alright, then.”

He aims a perfunctory jab at the bag and lets it swing back to catch it mid-air, brand-new vinyl creaking under his fingers, and considers ignoring the man altogether. He's not feeling generous with his words tonight. “Alright what?”

When he turns back around Rumlow’s ditching his holstered gun on the bench. Steve didn't even notice he was armed. “You said you got some energy to burn – so let’s go a few rounds.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Come on,” and it’s his voice in the end, if he’s being honest with himself, that makes Steve fold; the cajoling tone and those long, tightly rolled vowels that curl and hook into the sheltered space behind his ribs. “C’mon, man, it’s been a while. I could stand to let off some steam, too.”

Come on, do it for me, Bucky had said in dozens of different iterations over the years and then only once after when it had meant something, only once when he was really asking, back up against the hard bark of the tree with his hands dangling between his legs like a man who had no more use for them. You gotta promise me, Steve, he’d tried, low and worn thin, and Steve didn’t, couldn’t find the words to that wouldn’t be a complete lie and a betrayal. Instead he’d leaned harder into his side, hand at the back of his neck, and wanted and wanted and wished like hell, not for the first time, that he could drain the misery and exhaustion out of Bucky’s body at every point of contact.

Come on, Rumlow says, and Steve goes, Pavlovian.

He rewraps his hands in silence, waits for the other man to tape up before he steps into the ring.

“Y’know, it could’ve been worse,” he says, circling Steve, tone casual, “No casualties is better than what we get most days. So you might as well stop with all this self-flagellation bullshit, Cap. It’s no good.”

“You wanna keep talking,” Steve goads him because it’s worked in the past, because it really has been a long day, “or do you wanna fight?”

They start off slow, Rumlow testing the waters and Steve pulling his punches by habit by now. He manages to land a few hits that don’t really scratch the surface, doesn’t pull back in time to avoid Rumlow’s hook. His blood rushes at the first, second, third collision, zings up his spine and sharpens everything out, bright Technicolor; it’s good, doesn’t even hurt, he’d almost forgotten –

It gets real brutal real quick, after that.

“C’mon. What, you gettin’ bored already?” Rumlow says the third time he gets past his guard, an edge of something mean and frustrated in it. He strikes out again just to skirt off Steve’s belated block, more provocation than actual intent. “Jesus, you fallin' asleep on me? Fight the fuck back, old man.”

“Look who’s talkin’,” Steve gets out, putting distance between them. “Ain’t you supposed to be passed out drunk on eggnog in Staten Island right now?”

“You ever stop running your mouth? No wonder you were the neighborhood punching bag, kid.”

“I weighed a 100 pounds soaking wet, I had to compensate. What’s your excuse?”

He’s slow this time, too. Rumlow’s not someone who signals. The kick to the plexus sends Steve stumbling back and something pops, loud. He coughs once, twice; shakes it off.

“Aw, there he is. You’re alright,” Rumlow says, deceptively sweet, dismissive. “You’re just fine. Come on, Cap. You gonna quit being a pussy or what?"

Here’s the thing: he’s not sure he likes Rumlow all that much, really, can’t read him all the way to be able to say for sure; isn't sure that he wants to. They don’t know each other, not in a way that counts – it’s only been a handful of times that they’ve even worked on the same team in the time Steve’s been in DC, even less they've gotten to have anything that counts as a real conversation outside the single locker room incident, but he’s been leading men long enough that he can pick up on the patterns. He can see the way Rumlow commands respect among STRIKE, knows the type, besides: collected and confident and purposeful, committed to the cause to the point of failure. Violent, too, sure, shooting for the head when Steve’d still be asking questions; a little too rough around the edges, sometimes, yes, but so what – Steve’s seen his fair share of that. Steve’s lived it, felt it on his own skin, inside and out, been in it for three whole years. So what. He’s not about to run away screaming.

It isn’t even the first time they’ve done this, beaten the shit out of each other after hours in the deserted facility. It’s not the first time he’s seeing Rumlow in this light, eyes dark and focused; liking it a little too much, maybe, liking riling Steve up and drawing blood. A natural progression to all the things about him Steve maybe didn't want to notice and all the things that had his full attention since the second they met.

It’s fine – Steve figures, this body can take it. It’s what it was made for, anyway. Steve figures better here than out there, and out there Rumlow’s all brutal efficiency and casual competence and Steve trusts him to have his back, get the job done, which is the only part that matters. Steve trusts him, is the thing, and that carries more weight likeability ever could.

Rumlow’s fist connects with his jaw and he feels it rattle up into his teeth, the dull pain like a live current through his body, whiting everything else out: you awake, Steve? You awake yet? Is it enough, to still be able to bleed?

So sure, maybe it’s the violence that gets him. Maybe it’s that Rumlow fights just dirty enough and doesn’t pull his punches with Steve, grins at him sharp when he spits blood from his busted lip and squares back up. Maybe it’s just that he’s not afraid to touch him or look at him wrong. Everyone else seems to be.

He blinks sweat out of his eyes and creeps in close, lands a few swings in quick succession that have Rumlow easing off, head snapping to the side.

“Yeah. That’s it, there you go. C’mon,” he laughs, pushes damp hair out of his face in a well-worn afterthought of a move, and Steve –

Steve has to remind himself, is the thing. Every goddamn day of the week he has to keep reminding himself of where he is. Eventually, he thinks, it might stick – but God, he’s sick and tired of it.

They don’t even look alike. For one, Rumlow’s much older than Bucky ever got to be. Has the scars and the experience and the too-mean edge to his voice to prove it.

But in the end, when he's got Steve face down on the floor, breath hot down his neck, it turns out it doesn't really matter all that much.

He bucks anyway, if for no other reason just to prove a point to himself, just to feel his bones grind together. You're still moving, you're still just going forward, heart pumping like it's gonna burst with it. Rumlow twists his arm further up his back, grip iron tight. “I said stay down.”

“Yeah, fuck you,” Steve pants into the mat. “Pretty sure this ain’t within kickboxing rules.”

“Pretty sure there was no talk of rules in the first place. I keep tellin’ you, don’t I, you gotta get that or else people’ll think you’ve gone soft. Someone might take advantage.”

“You ever quit talkin’ shit?” Steve throws back at him.

“Nah.” Rumlow shifts, the weight of him heavy and hot, too close. Steve can’t catch his breath. Rumlow’s knee is still pressing into his back and he can already feel a bruise spreading at the bottom of his ribs that’ll be gone in the morning. He doesn’t even feel it all that much. He never even – “See, I don’t think you’d want that.”

Steve could break the hold with ease. He could throw Rumlow off and still walk away with most of his dignity intact. Steve could do a lot of things.

He’s fucking tired, is the thing. He’s in his body and buzzing hard out of his head and it hurts, Christ, it hurts so bad, has for such a long time now, and it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter one bit.

Keep moving, keep moving. Maybe he doesn't want to. Maybe it's alright if it's not him, anyway; a river of trouble, cross currents, carrying him along.

It’s just easier, in the end, to trust someone on his team. That’s all there is to it. It's easier, it is, it's getting there at least, Steve keeps telling himself as he lets Rumlow take him apart in more ways than one.

Eventually, he thinks, he might even believe it.

x.

He meets Sam Wilson on a humid day in late May when the sun's barely made its way up, the sky an overripe color and all of his bruises already healing or healed or tucked neatly all the way back under the surface. Like many things with him these days, it starts off as muscle memory; then a shot in the dark, then relief when it works.

It still takes all of his willpower not to physically retreat when he's hit with the familiar, tired refrain:

You must miss the good old days, huh?

But then Sam cuts straight through the middle of it: Sam calls his bluff, quick as hell but with kind, serious eyes and an outstreched hand, and by the time the sleek black car rolls up to the curb with a roar Steve's got another title in his little book of the future and a chest that feels slightly lighter than it did when he jolted awake at 3 in the morning.

Romanoff pulls them back out onto the street without a word, and he doesn't even mind the knowing look she casts his way all that much. Just looks out the open window, the spring air whipping past as the speedometer ticks up 40, 50, 60, and thinks about whether the farmer's market will be open when they get back in: having some fruit in that goddamned fruit bowl might be nice for a change.

(epilogue)

When all is said and done, he thinks he really should have seen it coming. There was no talk of rules, and it's Steve's own damn fault for not listening. When the dust settles and the Potomac still reeks of a gasoline fire, when Steve's switched back onto battlefield efficiency despite the nightmares creeping into his subconscious with a vengance, it really shouldn't feel personal.

Except for the memory of Rumlow's slick grin in the too-bright, too-close space of the elevator, except for the phantom feeling that he can still sometimes smell scorched skin on his stomach; except for the way Bucky's horrified expression is burnt into the backs of Steve's eyelids like a brand, like a scar that won't heal fully.

Except that it's nothing but personal, in all the ways that matter.

Sam looks at him in question when he pauses in the middle of breakfast, eyes glued to the closest thing that passes for a modern TV in a roadside diner in Bumfuck, Iowa. Hospital breakout, the breaking news states, three dead, seven injured, dangerous fugitive on the loose. Be advised. Do not engage. Do not engage.

Yeah. Too fucking late for that now, isn't it.

"You alright?"

That's a loaded question, he thinks. I'm not sure what that really means and I don't know if I have for a while, he thinks.

You awake, Steve? You awake? You see it yet?

"Fine," he says, and digs back into the cold, gummy pancakes. "You think they got any blueberries in this place?"

Sam's face cracks into a smile, dubious and slow and then all at once. Sure, if you say so. Sure, I see what you're doing, but I'll trust your lead. Prop me up, I've got you right back. "Man, I don't think they even have hot water, but. Gimme five minutes and a Captain America name drop, I'm sure we can figure something out."

xx

[xcomewakemeupx]

Sentence Starters from my On Repeat playlist Pt.1

change anything necessary. a part two will follow

"I want every bit of you. I guess I'm selfish."

"Every time the phone rings, I hope that it's you on the other side."

"Is that a baton in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

"Arrest me, but make it sexy."

"I don't know how I should say it."

"You make me feel a feeling that I've never felt before."

"'Cause I'm nobody's but yours."

"If it's real, and if it's true and if our love is wrong then I don't ever wanna be right."

"I walk down memory lane 'cause I love running into you."

"I'll always laugh at all your bad jokes."

"I will never stop until you're mine."

"I can wait forever 'til the end of time."

"I miss knowing what you're thinking."

"And when I said we could be friends, guess I lied."

"Maybe I only brought you down."

"You didn't love when you had me."

"Now you put the blame in reverse tryna make me feel guilty for everything you've done."

"You should trademark your face."

"You got the key to my heart and I need it."

"Give me a call if you ever get desperate."

"It's murder on the dancefloor. But you better not kill the groove."

"Don't think you'll get away, I will prove you wrong."

"Never could imagine the way the story happened."

"I used to be your focus, now you don't even notice when I leave the room."

"You weren't even tryin' to make me jealous."

"And I ain't even tryin' to make you miss me, I know we're history."

"And it kills me to know that you found somebody to love."

"Hate the thought of her bein' with someone else."

"I'm twisted 'cause one side of me is tellin' me that I need to move on. On the other side, I wanna break down and cry."

"Are you feeling what I'm feeling?"

"I'm not really feeling like I wanna get lit."

"Take it easy with me, please."

"Touch me gently like a summer evening breeze."

"There’s a shimmer in your eyes like the feeling of a thousand butterflies."

[slutforsfender]

𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

November 11th. I had completely blocked out the date until Phoebe, bless her soul, sent me a message checking on me. I never knew quite what to do on this date. Is it okay to be mad? Is it okay to cry? Is it okay to miss him? Is it okay that twelve years later the only thing that would heal today is him?

I laid in my double bed, scanning my bedroom as if it had answers. It didn't. Instead my brain decided that drifting down memory lane was the answer. I replayed memories of him and everything over until eventually I sunk into a flashback. No surprise there.

I sat down in my new favourite lesson as he asked if I was okay, also taking his seat. We couldn't stop talking like usual but something felt different. It felt off. The look in his eye that I had memorised wasn't there. It left a pit in my stomach. 

We were mid conversation as one of our mutual friends turned around, smirk on his face. 

"Are you two breaking up?" He asked. 

"No." Sam answered so quickly. 

"Well your friends have been saying things about us breaking up so are you sure?" I questioned Sam.

"Yes. I am not breaking up with you"

I gave him a questioning look. 

"I'm not I promise"

"Are you sure?" I asked, slightly joking but also trying to soothe the freaking out in my stomach. 

"I'll talk to you after lesson" Sam said, making direct eye contact with me. 

That look still wasn't there. 

"Sam if you are breaking up with me, tell me now" I say, feeling my heart slowly break. 

"Yes" He said, his face red. 

Suddenly my body crashed. The final crack in my heart made it's mark. 

"It's not you. I think you are great. I just don't know whether we work together. I don't see us having a future." Sam explains himself as I just nod. 

He lied all along.

My world was gone. I kept the tears in, focused on the table. In one moment, my whole world, heart and life was crashed. 

 As I replayed the moment, I felt the familiar tingling in my body. My heart started pounding. My breathing soon followed. My body felt alive but it was horrible. Tears pricked my eyes. Then before I knew it, I was in a full blown heart attack. 

My hands started shaking, my phone now impossible to be able to get to calm down. My vision went blurry causing them to full shut as I put my head on my knees. I was stuck with my own devices to calm me down. 

In for 4. 

Hold for 7. 

Out for 8. 

I repeated over and over, letting out shaky breaths after shaking breaths. It wasn't working. I was getting worse, now a pain in my chest.

Count from 1 to 5. 

Breathe. 

After a few sobs and shaking breaths, I felt the come down wave over me. I was back to reality. My mind and body felt drained as I threw a t-shirt over my body. Treading downstairs for sugar, knowing it's best after a panic attack like that.

I sat on our kitchen counter, eating one of those little chocolate cadbury bars. 

"Russell, we've got a gremlin in here" My granny joked as she walked into the kitchen. 

"Never let that joke go, do you Gran?" I roll my eyes. 

"Call me Gran again missus and I will hit ya" She threatened, raising the back of her hand for affect. 

I just smiled in reply, too weak at the minute. My granny took the hint that I wasn't okay and decided that playing our playlist through the Alexa would cheer me up. 

"You need to start to wear your glasses child" She commented as I scrunched my eyes. 

"Aye, I know. Don't worry" I start to say before my breath is cut short as the familiar intro played.

Dancing In The Dark.

"Alexa skip" I shouted in the room, not even having to think twice. 

Gran brushed it off, going to make a tea as I played the video in my head that I watched last night of Sam singing it. 

That one lyric cutting a line in my heart.

'You can't start a fire, sitting around crying over a broken heart'

I ran upstairs, grabbing my phone off my bedside. I clicked on the his account again, rereading that message. 

I typed and I typed just like I had done since I first saw it. A part of me hoped, the words would just appear in front of me. A part of me hoped I could call him right and pretend nothing ever happened. That he would soothe me, just like he used to.

Instead I decided spending my day by my guitar with a record playing and cigarettes in my hand was the better option. Except I had no inspiration so wasting the day away watching crap TV and pretending that right now did not exist was the option I was going with. 

I decided a late night walk would be nice since I have hardly left the house since being back home. Of course, I asked Phoebe if she wanted to join. 

Arabella: hey! feeling like exploring the places we wasted our teens, wanna join? love ya dickhead x

Phoebe: I can't tonight belle, another night? love ya too x 

I brushed it off before that panic sinked into my stomach and sent a quick reply before chucking on some clothes and shoes. I grabbed my headphones and cigarettes before going on my way.

As soon as I started walking, memories played over and I felt like that girl again. There was that feeling again that I'm not the same girl, no matter how much my accent or appearance hasn't changed.

Memories with my mum. Memories with Levi. Memories with my grandparents. Memories with Phoebe. Memories with him.

This place is like a chapter of a book. That chapter you read but don't think about even though a part of your subconscious does because it hits a little different.

The shops and pubs that essence that I missed. That Newcastle essence that will never be achieved in London. The people are so different. Here everyone knows everyone. There you are a stranger to everyone. 

I wandered down my favourite street of the whole place, even if it is his album cover now. I stopped and took it all in. The drunk and sometimes high memories. The laughter. The love. 

I want to let him go and all that pain I carry from my teens but then I look down places like this and I don't. I want to do the opposite, I want to love him all over again. 

I walked further down and noticed a figure in the darkness but ignored it, probably just someone having a late night smoke. I was correct, but not so much on the stranger aspect. 

It was him and we made that eye contact. The one I cherished and now avoid. 

"Want one?" He asked so casually, pointing the cigarette pack at my direction.

----

hey guys! bit of a random update but things are coming. one more week of gcses then i promise updates after updates. so excited to start off this plot x

[path-of-my-childhood]

Brian Mansfield shared on Twitter that he found a thumb drive with data showing music Taylor was listening back in the day when he worked and interviewed her for USA Today. Article in question can still be accessed with the help of Wayback Machine, if Flash is enabled in your browser. Alternatively, you can check out the whole list, with around 500 song, HERE.

You can also check out playlist on Spotify that Brian made with the songs that 18-year-old Taylor listened to the most on her iPod, or you can check them out below the cut.

Taylor Swift's iPod When She Was 18

Family Force 5 - Love Addict

Damien Rice - The Blower's Daughter

Patty Griffin - Christina

Better Than Ezra - Breathless

Metro Station - Now That We're Done

Gwen Stefani - Hollaback Girl

Trace Adkins - Every Light in the House

Gorillaz - Feel Good Inc.

Jem - 24

Damien Rice - 9 Crimes

Yung Joc feat. Nitti Explicit - It's Goin' Down

Savage Garden - I Want You

The Cardigans - I Need Some Fine Wine and You, You Need to Be Nicer

Ingrid Michaelson - The Way I Am

Mat Kearney - All I Need

Aslyn - Be The Girl

John Mayer - Comfortable (EP Version)

Patty Griffin - Heavenly Day

The Corrs - Breathless

Brandi Carlile - What Can I Say

Coldplay - Sparks

Corinne Bailey Rae - Put Your Records On

Josh Rouse - It's The Nighttime

The Wreckers - Cigarettes

Chantal Kreviazuk - In This Life

The Veronicas - When It All Falls Apart

Hellogoodbye - Here In Your Arms

Coheed and Cambria - The Suffering

Gwen Stefani ft. Akon - The Sweet Escape

Dixie Chicks - Top Of The World

Dixie Chicks - Easy Silence

Mat Kearney - Where We Gonna Go From Here

Rachael Yamagata - Worn Me Down

Tyler Hilton - Kiss On (Revised)

Gavin DeGraw - Follow Through

Ben Jelen - Come On

Colbie Caillat - Feelings Show

Emerson Drive - Fall Into Me

James Blunt - Goodbye My Lover

Liz Phair - Why Can't I?

Paris Hilton - Nothing In This World

Dashboard Confessional - Vindicated

Jimmy Eat World - The Middle

Lenny Kravitz - Again

Diana Anaid - Last Thing

Maroon 5 - Harder To Breathe

Metro Station - Shake It

LFO - Every Other Time (Radio Edit & Album Version)

Mindy Smith - Come To Jesus

Patty Griffin - Burgundy Shoes

Patty Griffin - Peter Pan

Plumb - Stranded

Better Than Ezra - Our Last Night

Def Leppard - Pour Some Sugar On Me

Fort Minor feat. Holly Brook & Jonah Matranga - Where'd You Go

Lil Scrappy - No Problem

Patty Griffin - When It Don't Come Easy

Ryan Adams - Come Pick Me Up

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers - American Girl

Dem Franchize Boyz - Ridin' Rims

Unkle Bob - Swans

Jann Arden - Insensitive

Rilo Kiley - Portions For Foxes

Landon Pigg - Can't Let Go

LeAnn Rimes - The Right Kind Of Wrong

The Fray - Look After You

The Wallflowers - Closer To You

Matt Wertz - Red Meets Blue

The Veronicas - 4ever

Beyoncé - Irreplaceable

David Mead - Nashville

Something Corporate - Ruthless

Blu Sanders - Like the Movies

Britney Spears - Do Somethin'

Fefe Dobson - 8 x 10

Frankie J featuring Baby Bash - Obsesion (No Es Amor)

Gavin DeGraw - Belief

Kelly Clarkson - Some Kind of Miracle

Miranda Lambert - Kerosene

Pat Benatar - Wuthering Heights

Shakira - Don't Bother

SHeDAISY - In Terms Of Love

Tori Amos - A Sorta Fairytale

The Fray - How to Save a Life

A Fine Frenzy - Almost Lover

Coldplay - Yellow

Dixie Chicks - Cold Day In July

Gary Allan - Promise Broken

Kelly Clarkson - Low

Sheryl Crow - It's So Easy

Dixie Chicks - Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)

Fefe Dobson - Revolution Song

Jet - Look What You've Done

John Mayer - Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

Michelle Branch - Goodbye To You

Plain White T's - Hate (I Really Don't Like You)

T.I. - What You Know

The Corrs - Summer Sunshine

Divinyls - I Touch Myself

Goo Goo Dolls - Here Is Gone

Pitbull ft. Lil Jon - Culo

Jake Owen - Ghosts

Lil Scrappy ft. Young Buck - Money In The Bank

BarlowGirl - Never Alone (Radio Remix)

Coldplay - The Scientist

Dem Franchize Boyz, Peanut, Charlay - Lean Wit It, Rock Wit It

Hope Partlow - Don't Go

Matchbox Twenty - Long Day

Semisonic - Closing Time

U2 - One

Brandi Carlile - Turpentine

Brandi Carlile - Throw It All Away

Mr. Big - To Be With You

Gabrielle - Out Of Reach

Colbie Caillat - One Fine Wire

Anna Nalick - Catalyst

Dashboard Confessional - Hands Down

Dixie Chicks - Not Ready to Make Nice

Fefe Dobson - Take Me Away

Staind - Everything Changes

Del Amitri - Roll To Me

Jake Owen - Eight Second Ride

Anna Nalick - Breathe (2 AM)

Bruce Robison - Virginia

Dixie Chicks - Lullaby

Dwight Yoakam - The Back of Your Hand

Maroon 5 - She Will Be Loved

The Veronicas - Everything I'm Not

Three 6 Mafia - Side 2 Side

Vertical Horizon - You're a God

Jason Mraz - I'm Yours

Joanna - Screaming Infidelities

David Gray - This Year's Love

Rachael Yamagata - Be Be Your Love

Sarah McLachlan - Fallen (Album Mix)

Backstreet Boys - Crawling Back to You

Pat Benatar - Hit Me With Your Best Shot

The All-American Rejects - Dirty Little Secret

Avril Lavigne - Fall To Pieces

Pat Benatar - Heartbreaker

Def Leppard - Photograph

Vanessa Carlton - Who's To Say

Mannie Fresh - Real Big

Alanis Morissette - Hands Clean

Ben Lee - Catch My Disease

Beyoncé, Bun B, Slim Thug ft. Bun B and Slim Thug - Check On It

Fefe Dobson - Don't Let It Go To Your Head

Grace Potter & The Nocturnals - Apologies

Jack Johnson - Taylor

James Blunt - You're Beautiful

Katie Herzig - Fools Gold

Matchbox Twenty - If You're Gone

The All-American Rejects - Swing, Swing

Third Eye Blind - Semi-Charmed Life

Jonas Brothers - Tonight

Acceptance - Different

Alison Krauss & Union Station - New Favorite

Ben Folds Five - Brick

Brandi Carlile - Fall Apart Again

Courtney Jaye - Can You Sleep

Dashboard Confessional - Ghost Of A Good Thing

Fefe Dobson - Bye Bye Boyfriend

Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah

John Mayer - Your Body Is a Wonderland

Mozella - You Wanted It

Oasis - Wonderwall

Shop Boyz - Party Like A Rock Star

Wheat - I Met A Girl

John Mayer - Waiting On the World to Change

[shmaptainwrites]

Memory Lane [Aaron Hotchner]

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Lorena (OC)

Summary: On a trip back home for his mother’s funeral, Aaron doesn’t expect to run into someone he missed so dearly

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, mentions of death

A/N: Okay so after listening to the playlist of yee haw music @ssahotchie made me I knew I just had to write something for at least one of the songs and this is what happened! Hope you guys enjoy <3

Young Man’s Blues | Parker McCollum

Somehow the streets were quieter than he remembered. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, his younger years always spent noticing the small town he called home was seemingly getting closer and closer to the end of its life, and as Aaron walked the streets he knew it was now on the brink of death.

It was a hard emotion to process, especially given the reason he was there, it just made everything feel so confusing.

He had almost managed to get away with only taking a few days off to come to the funeral and leave it at that, but Dave had encouraged him to take more time, to take in being home, to let himself grieve for his mother. He wasn’t sure how much he appreciated the advice now that he was there and didn’t know what to do with himself.

He thought maybe clearing out her things and getting ready to sell his childhood home would take more time than it did, but it seemed the one person that saw his mother’s death coming was herself.

How long she had been fighting, Aaron had no idea, she never told him, and he loved his mother with all his heart, but one thing she always did was make sure that he and Sean never had to worry.

When Aaron first walked into the home, upon his arrival, he noticed that almost everything was already packed in boxes and labelled, a few here and there with strict instructions to keep, containing important family photos and maybe an heirloom or two.

But now he was stuck with time and nothing to do.

Shoving his hands deep in his pockets he let out a heavy sigh as he looked to the ground, following his feet and the memorized cobblestone path instead of looking up at where he was going.

He probably shouldn’t have been doing that, but he only realized it when it was too late and when coming around a corner he walked straight into someone and on instinct reached out and grabbed them before they fell.

“Hey! Watch where you’re…” you paused both of your wrist being tightly gripped onto and you followed the arms that held you until you saw glowing hazel eyes, shining in the afternoon light. “…going,”

Aaron was so busy spewing out apologies that he didn’t even seem to recognize who was right in front of him until you covered his mouth with one of your hands and it gave him a chance to get a really good look at you.

“Aaron?” you asked and his eyes went wide. “W-Wait, what are you doing here,”

You quickly moved your hand and stood back, taking him in.

He had changed so much since the last time you had seen him, granted you were both twelve at the time and now, well, now you were adults.

“I could say the same for you,” he blinked a few times, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Back after the end of seventh grade you remembered the day clearly, you had come home from the last day of school, Aaron eagerly awaiting you to join him at his home across the street when you got the news. Your dad had gotten a new job, it came with a pay raise and everything. He just couldn’t turn it down.

And so on the last day of that summer you moved away from your hometown, and Aaron followed in your footsteps five years later.

“I moved back,” you answered finally. “Missed the quiet. And you?”

“My mom died,” he stated, it was almost void of emotion, but you could hear that twinge of sadness escape his throat. “But I’m here for the rest of the month,”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said softly. “If you need anything, well, I’m in the same house as before,”

He nodded his head and you stood there for a moment in silence before you spoke up again.

“Can I take you out for a coffee?” you asked. “Just to catch up? I missed that golden smile of yours,”

Hearing that come past your lips, Aaron couldn’t help but give you what you wanted, a small shy smile while he looked back down at his feet.

“Sure,” he nodded. “I could do with some caffeine,”

He didn’t even have to ask where you were taking him. If things hadn’t changed there would still only be one little cafe in town; even if they did, Aaron knew you preferred things you were familiar with.

As you slipped into the small cafe and picked a seat in a corner booth Aaron took his chance to say something.

“You look really great,” he said. “I mean, you look happy,”

“I am,” you nodded with a genuine smile.

“I guess it must be really nice for you to be back,” he noted and you agreed with him. “What kind of job do you have that lets you hang around here?”

“I’m a GP,” you told him. “I know there’s always a shortage of doctors in smaller communities so I thought my services would be best used here,”

“Is Dr. Pemberton still in?” he asked.

“Yeah, I work at his clinic,” you nodded. “Since basically no one lives here we share patients and depending on scheduling we’ll normally only have one of us there at time,”

“So a day off for you?”

“More like a week and a bit, my stuff came from Phoenix in different loads and I just got another big one yesterday,” you explained. “Any way I can convince you to help me drag a mattress or two upstairs?”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he nodded. “It’s the least I can do for an old friend,”

“Sweet,” you grinned. “But now it’s your turn, give me the update. All the juicy details,” you tapped the table in front of you as Lorena brought you and Aaron your coffee. It was standard practice never to order anything. Lorena knew what you wanted better than you did yourself.

“All of them?” he asked, but his tone indicated that it was almost as if he was giving himself permission to share with you what had happened over the past couple decades.

You nodded your head and listened as he started off small, talking about how he moved to the city for college, got married, got a job, had a career change, had a son, got a divorce, but then he faltered.

“So is Jack with Haley now then?” you asked and he bit his lip and swallowed hard.

“She passed away when he was four,” he admitted. “He’s with his aunt, her sister. She helps me take care of him,”

“They came for the funeral?”

He nodded his head and sipped his coffee.

“Sean didn’t show up but that’s no surprise,” he rolled his eyes. “Didn’t come to Haley’s funeral, didn’t even show up at our wedding,”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “But you’re here now for how much longer?”

“The rest of the month,”

“Then we have the rest of the month to make up for all those years we missed in high school. We can start by moving me back in,”

You stood up abruptly and put your hand out for him to take. He stared at it for a minute the thought of what the rest of his stay would be like if he didn’t take your hand.

The moping, the silence, the boredom.

Going with you was by far the better choice.

He placed his hand in yours and you dragged him out of the cafe, telling Lorena to put the coffees on your tab and that you’d be back to pay it later.

You started to walk in the direction Aaron had come from, until you reached the front yard of your childhood home and you excitedly ran to the door to open it.

Aaron smiled at the sight of you, so giddy and excited, like moving back here had made you twelve again.

“What are you waiting for, c’mere,” you motioned for him to come inside and when he stepped in, it was like nothing had changed.

He inhaled deeply and frowned curiously before looking at you and asking,

“Is that-?”

“My mom’s lemon cake? Sure is,”

“Oh you’re going to have to make me one of those before I leave,” he pointed at you and you chuckled.

“You can have all the lemon cake you want and more if we can manage to bring these two babies upstairs,”

“And you didn’t hire movers because?”

“Really Aaron, do you have to ask?” you raised your brows at him and he nudged your side. “Come on, let’s get moving,”

It took maybe around forty five minutes to an hour to move all of the things you needed upstairs and by the end you had poured both you and Aaron a large tall glass of iced tea to go with the lemon cake.

“So what’s your plan,” he asked.

“What do you mean what’s my plan,”

“I mean you always have a plan. I can see the gears turning. You’ve got something in store for me,”

“Perhaps,” you hummed. “But it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow, because I just remembered I promised Mrs. Hiller I’d go get groceries for her today,”

“Okay, tomorrow it is then,” he nodded. “I’ll see you,”

“Bright and early,” you said in a sing-song voice and he chuckled, waving at you one last time before stealing another piece of cake and heading out the door and walking across the street to his own childhood home.

When he went inside he realized the view wasn’t much different from what was in your house, but it felt like it pulled whatever happiness he’d gained from spending the afternoon with you and threw it outside the door.

Everywhere he looked there was a bad memory, something he’d rather forget and every bone in his body wanted to run back to you, to look for an excuse to stay away longer.

But like he always did when he entered the home, he swallowed thickly and cursed the town under his breath. It seemed to be the only thing he could do.

Avoiding the areas of the house that carried worse memories he headed straight for the guest bedroom, unable to even stay in his own room. And that’s where he stayed, eagerly awaiting for the next day to come so you could relieve him of his pain with a touch of your hand.

—

“So you picked here, why?” Aaron asked as you walked across the bleachers on the deserted looking high school field.

“Never got to go to a high school football game,” you looked back at him, but tripped going forward only to have Aaron quickly grab your waist and pull you in before you fell down. “Thanks,” you chuckled. “Guess I’m still as clumsy as I was back then,”

“You weren’t clumsy,” he countered. “You were just-,”

“Oblivious? Air headed?” you offered.

“A dreamer,” he found his words and you gave him a small smile before sitting down and looking out at the field.

“Do you remember the last time we were here together?” you asked.

“It was the day you told me you were leaving,” he nodded. “Day you broke my heart,”

“I broke your heart? Aaron “It Doesn’t Matter” Hotchner, I broke his heart?”

“Right in half,” he confirmed. “You were my best friend and you moved to another state. As much as I said I was okay with it…I wasn’t,”

“Why did you never call?” you asked.

“Dad,” he sighed, running his hands across his thighs. “He got worse after you guys left,”

“Aaron…God, I’m so sorry,”

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t be. Really, you were always there. The one thing that would make everything better,”

“I just…I know we were young, but I wish I could’ve stayed. Or just have been there for you,” you mumbled.

“You’re here for me now,” Aaron placed a hand on your knee. “Helping me remember that maybe this town isn’t as bad as I remember it to be,”

You leaned into his side letting your head rest on his shoulder while you looked out at the space ahead of you.

The quiet gave you both peace. A moment to regroup with yourselves and each other. To know and feel deep down you were on the same page.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed together like that before you stood up and held out your hand for him to take, this time he did without hesitation and watched as you led him down the bleachers and to the end so you could walk underneath, hidden from the afternoon sun.

“And what about here?” you asked. “Do you remember the last time we were here together?”

“Your last day in town,”

You could feel him squeeze your hand a little tighter and you squeezed it back.

“And…what did I do?”

He looked down at you, blinked once, then twice making sure he understood you correctly and when you nodded he knew what you were asking of him.

“You took my face like this,” he demonstrated, holding your face in both his hands. “Told me not to cry, and then…” he leaned in carefully and placed the softest, most chaste peck to your lips before pulling away. “…you did that,”

“Do you think if I had stayed-,”

“It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, holding you closer. “It doesn’t matter because you’re here now. We’re here now,”

“But do you think…we would have worked?”

“Without a doubt,” he breathed, pulling you in once more and letting his lips rest against yours, kissing you like you always knew he would if you gave him the chance.

Because he had always loved you unconditionally, his friendship was your base, your foundation, and all you could do from there was build.

You could build anything you wanted, but Aaron, all he wanted to build was a home and your heart was the perfect place to start.

[peeterparkr]

red; tom's version|one.

chapter one: sad, beautiful tragic. “Long handwritten note deep in your pocket”

pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (tom's not famous here) story summary: you’re reminiscing through your relationship months after the heartbreak and breakup. Wondering if it went wrong from the very start when Tom arrived at New York, and him being a cautionary tale or if the problems came along the way. Perhaps the key to find back your way to him is going back through the nice things before the heartbreak came. Or is it too painful to go all over again?

chapter summary: you haven't seen him since he ditched you, after months of wearing plaid you go out and realize he's back in new york warnings: angsty, I mean it's a breakup, swearing. word count: 7.3k playlist (updated after each chapter, including Red songs+ other for the chapter): Spotify | Apple Music

fic masterlist next chapter

a/n: Hi, I couldn't wait to share it so I said, screw it, I'm posting this. You don't know how excited I am to write this and share it with you. As you know, this is inspired by Red by Taylor Swift and will hurt. So I expect us all to be crumpled up pieces of paper wearing scarves by the end of this. (perennial is still coming, I'm just waiting on a few people who're reading it). SPECIAL THANKS TO @erodasghosts for reading it and hyping me up and helping me figure this all out. I hope you guys all like it as much as I did. The story is set in New York. Please give feedback!

One month after the breakup.

Strong whiskey, on the rocks. That was his drink of choice that night. The night before had been a beer. You knew you could imagine the taste of his lips by only looking at him. You wondered if he’d gone there for a second night for the same reason you had.

When you had seen him across the place the night before, you had tried to decide how to feel. We always think we will react one way or another when we see our official heartbreak walking through. Victorious as he is perfectly dressed, with his hair flowing.

He hadn’t brought her. Which you didn’t know how to feel about.

The day before you had not been alone, Jules, Matty, and Lula were there.

“Shit, the axolotl at 10 o'clock, you’ve got to be shitting me,” Lourdes, Lula, had whispered before sipping her drink, a Long Island Tea. “We are celebrating she’s doing better, can’t fucking believe this,” she hissed at Jules who only lifted her chin slightly to see who she was referring to. “What the fuck is he doing here? Ay, es que, con qué huevos se atreve a venir aquí? Que no mame.” [with what balls did he dare to come here? He shouldn’t fuck with us. ]

You loved hanging out with Lula and listening to her very refined Spanish cursing.

“It’s not him,” Julia said.

You tried looking back to see who they were referring to. “Who is—?”

“Y/N, wait I just noticed the haircut!” Matt pointed out, reaching over, getting your attention back to them and not at whatever they were referring to. “It looks great. It’s like a new you!”

This new you. The one that had been screwed over twice. Men really have the nerve when it comes to breaking hearts. They recklessly go in and let you believe love comes in all shades of colors, passionate red like the roses they send, and tender pinks like your sweet innocence that they end up stealing. But they never tell you it’ll be you all alone in a dark room with shades of grey under a flickering light that barely warms you.

The new you, which was still a bit lost. Your old self was a stranger to you now. You had no idea who this new you was, she was quiet now. Didn’t have a heart because someone had stolen it and broken it and left it behind a dumpster. Still trying to find it. The new you wasn't.. you.

Your friends were glad, however, they finally got you to go out again. After weeks of wearing plaid and watching Fleabag, and even considering watching Greys Anatomy, a low point, you had finally decided to come back to see if there was any sunshine left for you.

It’s important to point out that you had been broken-hearted and almost crazy when the breakup had happened. Very… delusional. You were not proud of the way you’d reacted. Although you wouldn’t have reacted any other way.

The city had been quiet, the red lights seemed to last longer, and the crowds would often swallow you. The city you once loved was now an open book of a relationship that seemed real, should’ve known it was all fiction.

In your dreams they’d be bright, colorful. The village is aglow. Cold days with warm hearts. Like his.

You’d been cold ever since.

“Ah, yeah, the haircut. Got it today. Lula’s idea” The haircut had come as the solution to a problem that would never be solved. As if cutting your hair meant there was something you had the power on. You didn’t.

How stupid was it? You couldn’t control your life.

“It suits her well, doesn’t it?” Lula admitted proudly.

You still had his picture engraved in your heart. You still dreamed he would come back and say it was all a nightmare.

“It’s nice, I’m glad to have you back,” Jules commented. Julia had probably been the most surprised with the news of the breakup, she had almost gone and killed Tom when he had….unimportant. She hadn’t, though, and she had yet to tell you the reason why. Julia had been mysterious since.

“I’m glad to be back,” you confirmed. You’d ordered a beer, and maybe you shouldn’t have. Stella Artois, his one favorite. You pocketed the beer cap. “Though I was not gone.”

Matt watched you, him and Julia had recently started dating. Best friends since kids who just recently confessed their feelings for each other, took them long enough. “How back are you, though?”

“Meaning?” You asked, taking a sip.

Matt shrugged, “I could introduce you to some friends from work, there’s this hot guy—“

“No,” you interrupted him, leaving the bottle down as you had almost choked. “No, no. Not in the dating area yet. Won’t be in a long time. Still healing.”

Lula still had her eyes glued elsewhere. “Healing from a bullet hole, y/n, whatever you’re doing isn’t working, and band aids won’t fix it—Jules it is, I swear to god it’s him.”

“It’s not him,” Julia rolled her eyes.

“Ay, que sí!” [he is]

“Who?” You asked.

Julia took your hands, “you know Lula,” she rolled her eyes. “I love that you ordered a beer.”

“Yeah,” you gulped. “Beer is universal language for men as in: ‘don’t get close to me.’” A lesson someone dear had taught you once.

Matt tilted his head in agreement, “Yeah.”

“Really?” Lula frowned, “should’ve ordered one. Next time I’ll ask for my drink but instead of a glass I’ll ask them to put it in a beer bottle.”

“Wouldn't it be easier to order a beer?” Matt suggested.

“But then I’d break our tradition.”

Matt watched her, “you really are something.”

You chuckled.

“Why is beer seen as not—feminine?” Matt questioned.

Julia shrugged. “It’s beyond me, really. It’s a drink.”

“Like does my drink make me less of a man?” Matt watched his glass, another Long Island Tea. A stupid inside joke you all had.

“No,” you admitted. “But you know how society is. Since it’s sweet, it’s got to be—“

“Oh, no, no, I love you, y/n, but tonight I don’t want you lecturing us on it, no, tonight we are having fun, ok?” Lula reminded you. “We will not talk about femininity or lack of a beer—or whatever your agenda is up to these days, which, hey! Why does y/n get to break the rule?” Lula questioned. “No Long Island Tea?

Julia glared at her, “Because she can do whatever she wants tonight,” she hissed and then turned to you. “But how are you feeling? It’s your first time going out in months, is it as fun?” Julia was the one to try to cheer you up the most.

No, it wasn’t fun.

“I—feel good!” You lied. Although you were not. But you guessed that’s the response they wanted after seeing you laying down on the ground and crying yourself to sleep. Staring at windows and walking down in the rain. They wanted you to feel better.

Your body was covered in scars.Though, they were from adventures.

“Bullshit,” Lula intruded. “You seem sad. Maybe I’ll get some shots,” she announced before going to get some.

“Well,” you chuckled. “My first time going out and you bring me back to the place where it all started?” You answered cynically but then shrugged. “I’m—I…no. I just—It’s weird. I still see him everywhere, and as I’m here it’s like watching a movie of our greatest moments,” you admitted. “Like hey, look over there, it’s Tom and Y/N’s greatest moments,” you stated, Lula got back. “Let’s start memory lane…”and you sighed and continued with the best presenter voice you had. “Here you’ll wonder how the hell did it go so wrong since they were so perfect, what the hell went wrong, when did it turn into some sad stupid love affair. You’ll be asking yourself hey, they seemed in love, over there, they danced! Over there… they sang a song together! See over there? There was a fucking jukebox in which they have memories! Oh they have memories there too! And you’ll ask yourself, he made it seem real, what the hell happened?” You sighed exhaustedly. “What happened? What the fuck happened? How was I so stupid?” You ran your hands through your face.

Your friends only watched you, with pity, sadness. Even Lula had turned her gaze guilty.

You cleared your throat, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Lula sighed, “it’s our fault for bringing you here. We’re fucking idiots. Besides he is—Julia I swear to god, he is there.” Lula raised her hand and Julia quickly pulled it down.

Julia bit her lip, “I—hadn’t realized how much Tom there is here.”

“Yeah.”

“He called me—“Matt had started.

“No, no, we can’t talk about him, baby,” Julia reminded him. Matt widened his eyes and nodded.

You blinked, “no, it’s—He called you? Tom?” Why had Tom called Matty? What for?

“Yeah, had a missed call,” Matt explained, ignoring his girlfriend. “I—it was this morning.”

You felt your chest twist. “Yeah, I get a lot of those too.”

Perhaps he wanted to talk to you and thought Matty was dumb enough to give you the phone.

Julia glared at Matt. “We promised not to—“

“No, hey,” you stopped her. “I—sorry, I brought him up.”

“But we shouldn’t talk about him,” Julia insisted. “Tonight is all about having fun,” she stated as she handed everyone their shots.

“No, it’s alright,” you said. “I’m fine talking about it.”

Lula turned her gaze to you. “Shouldn’t you hate him?”

Were you supposed to hate someone who gave you something so beautiful? Just because it’s over doesn’t mean you have to look back and hate it.

“No,” you answered simply.

Matt watched you. “Wait, really?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m—I decided I’m thankful for everything. He really… I… I mean I knew from the start he was trouble. But he got me to get rid of Will. So I’m thankful for Tom. He showed me some beautiful things about him, about myself and… I’m thankful. Even the part when he broke my heart.”

It was a lie. Partly. You had been so full of doubts that you only tried wondering why it had gone so wrong. Or course, the lie was there. His lies. But how could any of it be a lie?

Julia smiled gently, “You’re really a grown up.”

“Or very stupid.” Lula commented.

“Thanks, Lula, I appreciate it,” you rolled your eyes. “I… well, I’ve gotta admit I was pretty stupid.”

Lula shrugged, “Hey, I don’t blame you, boy came in with an accent, he had a cute smile, he was hot, I must admit, and he wasn’t one of those Brooklyn fuckboys that take you to the rooftop and offer you a whiteclaw to watch the sunrise together,” Lula gave in.

“Oh, and they take candid pictures, and they say that their phone camera isn’t as good as their polaroid,” Julia laughed, “But hey, you’re lucky they took you to the rooftop, they never take anyone there, they took you there just because you’re…”

“Different,” Julia, Lula and you chanted.

Matt laughed, “You guys are the worst.”

“Anyway,” Lula said. “We should drink these,” she pointed at the shot glasses as she raised her own. “I came here to get drunk. So, to Y/N being thankful Tom was a piece of shit even when the boy had a dreamy accent?”

You closed your eyes, and let out a defeated dry chuckle. “Yes, to that.”

“To the piece of shit, then!” Lula grinned as the shots clinked and were downed. You instantly regretted drinking it.

Lula scowled as she had her eyes glued back at the bar, “It’s him, Julia, it’s him! What is he doing here? Pendejo, I swear to god I’ll go kill him.” She was furious, and you tried once again following her gaze.

The bar was crowded, red lights crossed around the place, with girls walking with tall heels, trying to smile and nod at guys who were talking to them but clearly were not of interest to them. Friends laughing, people flirting. You didn’t know who your friends were watching.

But the bar seemed to be enough of a reminder of him. How he had made you feel like crowds were never there, and how whenever you had been with him everything disappeared just to be with him.

“Who are we killing?” You questioned.

“Is new y/n a murderer?” Asked Matt. Matt and Julia were your oldest friends. The three of you grew up in Staten Island, and now moved to the crowded places.

Lula coughed. “Hope she is.” Lula, on the other hand, you’ve met in college, she was a very defined addition to the friend group. With more personality. A strong one. Lula, Julia and you shared a small apartment.

Julia cleared her throat.

“The fucking scarf,” Lula scowled.

“What scarf?” Matt asked. And you had the same question.

Julia whispered to her boyfriend’s ear who had turned cold. He lifted his head.

“But it’s not.”

“It is him,” Matt confirmed to Lula. “Jules, it is.”

And now your three friends were acting strange. Usually they did but this was strang-er. They all shared looks, Julia struggled with her hands.

They were watching you with pity but you’d gotten used to that. After the breakup they had been extra careful around you, kinder, you guessed.

Fools they were to believe that by not mentioning him you wouldn’t think of him. He was a memory that would haunt you for the rest of the days.

“So, y/n,” Julia was clearly hiding whatever Lula was seeing.

“Wasn’t he in London? What in this fucking world is he doing here?” Lula continued.

“Shut up!” Julia ordered.

“London?” You asked and you lifted your head, and any noise that was bustling before had stopped.

Tom.

Tom was there.

Thomas.

Tom who had broken your heart. In every possible way that he could’ve. Like he had planned it. Like he was aware.

He was there, on a stool with a beer in his hand and wearing a red scarf. The red scarf. As if he was mocking you.

Tom.

Did he pride on hurting you?

He had always said you were invincible. That you were unrivaled in matters of the heart. Was he proud he had beaten the unbeaten?

You’d always thought he would.

When we love deeply, getting hurt comes as a given. But when we love deeply, we are never expecting it to come. And when it does come the skies cannot turn grayer. Funny thing, you were a fan of the rain but when the rain doesn’t cease, the hope doesn’t perdure.

But he was back in your life. Or at least he had been in the same room as you after months.

What was he doing back in New York with your scarf?

You turned back to your own table, breathing in quickly, bringing your hand to your chest in an attempt to calm yourself down.

You saw your friends speaking but you couldn’t make a word of what they’re saying. Your heart was rushing. Thomas was there. Tom. Your Tom. And there was a part of you that had completely forgotten over the heartbreak and wanted to run to him.

Kiss him, try to fix it. Try to bring back the beautiful thing you both had. Because it was. And it hurt looking back.

You were having trouble breathing now, the heartbreak had come.

That’s the worst thing about heartbreak. You never saw it coming, though you should’ve. Though it was beautiful you’d known from the start you’d end up hurt. But when a lie is crafted so beautifully, how could you?

“It’s him.” The words had come in whispers.

You barely remembered what had happened next. You had only stood up, decisive to leave, you’d seen him try to walk his way to you. You’d heard him call your name, but you hadn’t turned back, you had seen Matty stop him from running to you.

It was blurry. You didn’t know how you got home. Desperately trying to understand why he was there and how the night had turned too badly.

Lula and Matt had come back later to find Julia trying to comfort you, hugging a pillow that you were sure he had slept on. Breathless.

But it was in the past now, you were there again. Same bar, both in stools far away.

You were almost sure he’d gone to that bar in hopes of finding you again.

Just like you’d gone again.

His eyes the night before were guilty. You only took a deep breath, you remembered trying to avoid his glance at any chance as you had walked out.

Why were you there again?

That feeling in your chest growing, like there was something heavy expanding. Yet your stomach falling smaller. The pain was but a shield, as if it was creating a special protection around your heart, and though it hurt it was enough for it to make your heart strong to leave the place.

You didn’t want to see Tom. You hadn’t talked to him since. Even when he’d tried to call. Even when you’d tried calling.

Not when you had replayed the breakup over and over and over again since he was gone.

Everyone deals with breakups in different ways. Yours, specifically, was avoiding it. Everything and everyone. Especially Tom.

It was hard when he was everywhere. In that tattoo he’d convinced you to get, in that ring he’d left, in that cereal box that you still hadn’t finished. Whenever you listened to a song he’d recommended. Whenever you’d open Netflix and that series you had started watching together was still recommended to you even when you’d deleted it.

Everywhere.

You couldn’t use your favorite colors because you could hear it, in the back of your head “I love how it looks on you.” “You should wear more blue, it suits you.”

Even your stupid laugh remind you of him. “Your laugh is the most wonderful thing I’ve heard, even if it’s so ugly.”

You missed the person you were when he was with you. How everything was happy. Who was that y/n? Who didn’t mind if she was slightly late to a place because he’d come with you? Who didn’t feel alone at parties when she knew nobody because you knew him?

A y/n that existed only for a short period of time when he’d been around and that he’d shattered like glass when he had the chance.

You missed that y/n.

The y/n that would sometimes lose her breath and catch it back when he walked into the room. A y/n that sang along to her favorite songs all day. The one that would give her heart in a rush to him. The one that watched movies no matter if they were good or not.

Life had colors back then.

Now you were full of regrets and of doubts. Wondering what you had done wrong? Where did it lead you?

You looked up at him then. He was staring down at his glass.

There was a slight trace of him still there, the Tom you once loved. The one with the silly smile and the gentle chuckle, the one with the jokes about everything.

You wondered how much of that y/n he saw too.

You were the same two people, in essence. But how different you were now.

The Tom you knew before finding out it was a lie.

There was still a hint. You knew. But there was so much of him in you that it was hard to see if you still were there. Or the Tom you thought you knew. Not the one with the lie. Or maybe this was the truest Tom he could ever be.

He had to move on, rather quickly, you recalled. If he ever did.

There was a stupid reminder of you in his hand, that red scarf from the very first day.

You still remembered how it all started, a stupid red scarf. He kept it, then, and he wore it.

You had ordered a beer, too. You pocketed the cap again.

But there was an image in your mind, maybe he had gone back and probably had his arm around her and he laughed at a joke she made. Maybe she was funnier than you. Definitely prettier, with her hair falling down all the way to her waist, her clothing accentuating everything you didn’t have.

You recalled having to leave the room when you found out. You had been a mess.

Leaning against a wall as you caught your breath before the tears came down, as if he had pierced right through it. A pain chest that had expanded all the way on your body, not sure how you were able to keep walking back to your place. Falling down to your knees when you did.

Pain. Words failed to describe such a deep sentiment.

But it was gone now. Not entirely but at least you could hold your breath fine when he was just across the room.

What went wrong?

You could ask him. He was right there.

Maybe even tell him how you had lost sight. He hadn’t walked up to you. He was nervous, but he seemed calm enough to see you were there. You were still unsure why you had gone there.

Maybe all the good things were enough to bring you there, maybe the fact that you still didn’t believe it was a lie brought you there. Maybe the fact that one of those pictures from that photobooth was still in a locket. So stupid.

He fiddled with the glass.

You waited and waited but he didn’t approach you. He took out a paper out of his pocket as he stared at it.

You wouldn’t approach him. No matter how happy he had made you once, you wouldn’t walk to him. No matter how beautiful it was. No matter if you were lonely and that when you dared to sleep he’d be haunting your dreams.

It was a tragedy now. What you both were, and not even worth enough to try and save it. You knew you were haunting him too. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

He was shakin, as he stared at you, nervous. He downed his drink, you guessed it was for some liquid courage and stood up, with the note in one hand and your red scarf in the other.

Your own courage for coming here was gone, as you saw his intentions, the urge to run you had the night before was becoming you. But he couldn’t walk. He had to sit down again, rubbing his face.

The courage that had come when choosing what Lula called the ‘revenge black dress’ was nowhere in sight. You were cold and regretting putting it on.

“I can’t do this,” you said to yourself and quickly let out some dollars to pay for your drink before picking up your stuff to leave.

You saw he panicked when he saw you leaving, he quickly called the bartender to pay for his drink.

You closed your coat as you were shaking yourself, punishing yourself for going there. Why had you gone there? The man had broken your heart? Were you really there to see him?

Was your heart foolish enough to ignore the warnings in your mind once again?

You walked your way to get to the subway station, how irrelevant you were through the crowds. You hadn’t felt this way for a while, caring for the crowds. But you had to get through them. There was a part of you that wished Tom was following you after. But the crowds didn’t let you see if he was.

Besides, you shouldn’t want that.

You finally managed to get to the station, you clung to your purse as you stared at the tracks, waiting for the next train to come. Peaceful it seemed, the station. As peaceful as New York could be. You guessed if you cried nobody would care.

“y/n!” You heard your name in the distance and you couldn’t handle it.

You took a deep breath and shook your head, angrily. Why had you gone? You could’ve easily kept ignoring his calls. You could’ve stayed in your apartment, crying as you watched SNL videos on youtube, or rewatching a cartoon for the hundredth time, letting your own sadness and self pity swallow you.

But you had gone to him. This was your fault. You should’ve taken a cab, instead, he would know you’d get at this station and he for sure would know what train you’d take.

“y/n, y/n!” He kept calling as he finally arrived next to you. “Sorry I would’ve gotten here faster but the damn MetroCard-”

“I’m not doing this, Tom,” you stated before he could go on rambling like the idiot he was. You couldn’t do it. “Not here, not anywhere. I don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“I…” His face was kind, and he seemed to be nervous. You could tell he hadn’t been sleeping, probably the jet lag.

You took a moment to look at him, he didn’t look as victorious as you had thought he was. His hair was messy, and his cheeks flushed, the buttons on his shirt were not buttoned right.

Seeing him again, with that signature look he had made you want to go down to your knees.

“Aren’t you supposed to be back in London?” You snapped. “With that pretty girl-”

“No, no, I’m-I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” Tom stuttered. “I was an idiot.”

You stared into his eyes, you were not ready for this. You were not ready to look into his stupid eyes. You looked away. “That’s all you have to say?” You tried walking away from him..

He shook his head. “No, no, no, no, I… No, I actually… I had this… I wrote down my apology,” Tom confessed. He showed you a sad, handwritten paper, now slightly teared up with the ink running. “I… I had….”

You looked down at it, his messy handwriting, crinkled with words scratched down. “You wrote it down?”

You didn’t know why you felt your heart warm. This kind of stuff was why you couldn’t understand what had happened. Someone like him, who writes his apologies down. Someone who stutters when he’s speaking.

“Yeah, I… but I spilled my drink on it after seeing you fled,” He explained, swallowing hard. “I… I… I had written it down so I wouldn’t forget it but now I realize how stupid that is… I’m… I’m really sorry, y/n.” .

You could hear the train coming. You were seeing him again. It hit you right there. And this was not the reaction you thought. You had said you would be delusional, crying and fighting and questioning him why the fuck he had done that.

Yet you weren’t. You were only watching him, eyes full of tears wanting to slide down but unable to. But there was that pain still in your chest.

How could he ever dare to hurt you that way? “I don’t want to talk to you,” you said. And meant it. “Please leave me alone.” You said before walking into the train.

“Y/N, please, no, please, please, listen to me,” He followed you in, the scarf still in his hand.

You tried sitting as far away as you could. Arms and legs crossed as you tried breathing in.

He sat beside you and you changed seats. He sighed but followed you again. “Please, I need to talk to you. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well you did,” you snapped. “You did, and now you come here a month later with a handwritten note apology thinking I will be fine with it?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I had to solve-Please, would you listen?” Tom asked, knowing damn well he had to ask, and not just straight up blurt it out.

“Why would I, Tom?” You turned to him, with a tear traveling down your cheek. You were incredulous. “You’re kidding me, right? I… You… You think that just because you show up with that stupid face of yours and my scarf I’ll want to listen to you? You’re an idiot.”

He sighed and reached to give you the scarf. You ignored it.You were furious now.

The other people on the train were certainly getting a show. A guy with a backpack was trying to pretend he wasn’t listening but his reactions were giving it away. Another woman pretended to keep reading her book but she hadn’t turned any pages.

Tom took the scarf back staring at it. “I need to explain everything to you.”

“What if I don’t want an explanation?” You snapped. Though you did. You had been waiting for one, you wanted one. You would beg for it. But your pride was taking the wheel of the conversation. “Don’t you think it’s fucking late for it?”

“Is it?” Tom turned back to you.

“Yes!” You couldn’t believe him. But this seemed a bit too familiar of a conversation. “And beside no explanation would make me forgive you!” You stated, whispering, not wanting any of the attention you were receiving.

“I’m not… I… If you just listen to me,” Tom said.

You glared, “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Then why did you come to the bar?” He asked.

He fucking asked.

Your eyes widened. He had gone there. He knew. He fucking knew you’d gone back because you wanted an explanation. Or so he thought. No, you’d gone back because… Yes, because you wanted an explanation. Because everything he’d done had been beautiful. Until the heartbreak. He had crafted and vexed his way into your cold stupid heart and then he had gone and pierced right through it, crushed it.

You wanted to ask why. Why did he do it so vehemently?

You didn’t answer, instead you moved one seat away. He kept his eyes on you.

“You wouldn’t have gone if you didn’t want an explanation,” he said. “Or to see me, at least. I know I did, I needed to see you.”

You saw the guy with the backpack purse his lips, knowing that Tom had got you. There was little context for them. The girl with the book directed a glance to you, trying to read your emotions.

If they knew, they’d be on your side and yelling at him as well.

He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face.

“I didn’t, it was a coincidence,” you answered coldly.

“No, it bloody wasn’t,” Tom scoffed and then sat up. “No, I’m… No, but you know, you went to the bar for a reason.”

“And I left for a million more,” you frowned.

Tom pursed his lips and took out the paper again, trying to make out whatever he’d written before. “I’m really sorry.” His eyes traced through the note.

“Are you genuinely trying to read it? Don’t you know what you’re supposed to apologize for?”

Tom looked up, “So you do want me to apologize?”

The guy with the backpack squeezed his eyes shut, knowing Tom had fucked up.

“You’re kidding, right? Yes, you have to apologize, what you did is really, really shitty!” You pointed out.

“But you won’t forgive me, then?” Tom watched you.

“I don’t know,” you said and he looked up, a beaming gaze. “No, I won’t.”

He wrinkled his eyes, “I… I know I’m supposed to apologize, not to expect you to forgive. I'm just…”

He gulped, and then sat back, staring at the dirty walls and lights. He had dressed up. Badly, but he had tried looking good, you could tell. You could smell his lotion, too.

He was fiddling with the paper, crumpling up and then it fell to the floor. You looked at it and somehow related to it, not sure how.

You took a deep breath so you wouldn’t kill him and turned to him. “I have questions for you, if you answer them I might consider listening to you.”

Tom’s eyes brightened up. “Yes, yes, anything.”

You eyed him up and down as he watched you with begging eyes. You avoided his gaze. Tom followed your gaze as you tried to figure out what was the first thing you could ask him. Why had he hurt you?

Why did he not stop and think before making you fall in love with him?

Why did he not stop and tell you the truth?

“Where are you staying?” You asked,

Tom blinked. “Is that… is that the question?”

“No, but I know you don’t know how to fucking get anywhere,” you said.

Tom gulped, “I… uh, again with Harrison,” he explained.

You sighed. You remembered Harrison alright. And though there was a petty part inside you, you would help him out. Knowing he’d always get lost in the city. Though you could let him get lost, so you’d have to go after him and spend a bit more time. With an excuse, because you didn’t seem to have any excuse to be with him.

It hurt. What hurt the most was trying not to look back at the incredible moments you had because none of them were true.

You sighed. “Okay, when we get down you’ll take the F train—“

Tom stopped you, taking your hand. “No, wait, I don’t care if I get lost, okay, I… I just.”

You snatched your hand away from his cold hands he had. You darkened your gaze at him.

“Please, Y/n, I just need a chance. If you don’t want to listen… maybe I’ll just…” He handed you the note.

You crossed your arms, and tapped your foot, trying to decide whether or not to give it to him. “Fine,” you took the note.

You've gotten to your stop. So you stood up.

The girl with the book and the guy with the backpack watched you both as you walked out, pitying they couldn’t follow the drama.

Tom followed after you, he licked his lips. “You… you had questions, right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, taking yet another heavy breath. You turned on your feet to look at him “One, did you lie to me?”

Tom was taken back by this, his eyes, consternated, only watched you. He gulped. “What?”

“Did you lie to me?

“I… well.”

You were getting desperate. “Did you ?”

“I didn’t lie about how I felt,” he said. You knew he wasn’t lying about it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t have ever lied about how he felt because you knew he had felt it too, a bit, at least,

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“I mean it, I…” Tom gulped. “I really liked you.”

“Yeah, I know, you liked me yadda, yadda,” you started. Liked not loved. “Cut the bullshit for once, did you or did you not lie to me?”

Tom took a deep breath. “Yes. But I had feelings for you.”

You bit your inner cheeks. “Uh-huh, yes, okay, good, yes, you acknowledge it. So, we have two statements here, Tom. You say you had feelings yet you lied to me,” you squinted. “Sounds-”

Tom gulped and avoided your gaze. “I know yes,” he looked down. “But, if you give me-”

“Ah, buh-buh, nope, I’m just gathering my thoughts here,” you coughed. “I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me what you felt.”

Tom shook his head in confusion. “I—I’m”

“Go on,” you motioned your hand.

“Y/N,” he said. And the way he dared to say your name was like having a knife right through you. “I had—I have feelings for you,” he said looking right into your eyes.

He didn’t say what feelings.

You were not sure where you wanted to go with this. “Fine, my next question…” you really didn’t know where this was going. “So, alright, you…” You couldn’t even phrase it. “You… made me fall in love with you knowing….Well, we both know what you did. What you hid from me. You’re a liar who made me—“

Tom took a deep breath. “Yes, but I didn’t… plan that.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, so it’s my fault?” You stepped back. “Sorry for developing feelings for you. Sorry for ruining your life—“

Tom closed his eyes, “No, no, look, I… wasn’t. I didn’t come here expecting to meet you, I didn’t want… It just happened, okay, I never thought—You're making it sound like it’s some big master plan. I—I never planned—I never would’ve ever planned on hurting you.”

You watched him, incredulous. “Thomas you do realize what you did to me?”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t! You’re trying to make me seem like I’m crazy for not even wanting to talk to you!” You called him out.

“I’m not, I’m just saying that if you’re here—you must miss it too, you know it was too real, and you want it back, possibly—M-maybe not, but if you came to the bar tonight it was in hopes of finding me again because you knew I’d be there, and you want to feel how you felt before, and i just… you know I miss it and that you knew I didn’t lie—“

You glared at him. “You did lie!”

“Okay—yes, yes I did—But not entirely, I just happened to omit one truth—“

“One very important truth,” you snarked.

“Fine but—please listen,” he tried to convince you. “and I’m sorry, okay? I—I didn’t want to hurt you. But I never planned this. It just happened. I didn’t come here expecting to fall in love with anyone, I didn’t come here trying to date, and I never expected it to be someone as complex—“

“Complex?”

“Yes, I never came to New York trying to find the most mental relationship I’ve ever had—“

“Mental?” You snapped.

“Yes! I love you but you’re fucking crazy! And I am too! I’m fucking crazy and mental but I—I—I loved being crazy and mental with you! We are fucking mental! Driving to nowhere? Breaking into places? Getting a jukebox on the subway? That’s mental! But—but I love that about you, alright? Don’t you get it? I could’ve stayed in London, I could've been the asshole who just ditched you and lied to you—“

You scoffed. “Well that’s comforting!”

“But I’m—I’m here, ain’t I? And I know I fucked up, I know, I accept that, I’m the asshole here, and I know you’ll never—I hid it from you because I didn’t know what was going on, I didn’t even get it myself. I’m here to give you my version of it. I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you…I am…,I am in love with you, and I never planned that, I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with someone else, it just happened. I may have thought it was just—Some fling, initially.”

You laughed cynically. “A fling.”

He gulped. “And the moment I realized what was really going on—”

“You left, that’s what you fucking did, when you realized it was way too real for you, you destroyed the one real thing you’ve ever known,” you barked, he stepped back. “I fell in love with you, I—I—and then you ditched me, and I thought that was the worst thing you could ever do to me but then I realized that it wasn’t real! I—you were never mine, Tom! I simply was—a break you needed or—a fling.”

“It wasn’t that—“

You watched him. Looking so innocent, kind eyes and tender lips. You would’ve believed him had he come before.

“You used me!” You snapped, the words that had wanted to come for a while just blurted out. “I just can’t believe you,” you said. “You don’t feel sorry.” You shook your head, your voice was cracking. “You're not sorry because you don’t understand. You don’t know what I went through, and if you had come earlier, if you hadn’t left me, I probably would have believed you. But—No! No!” You stepped back. “No!”

“I did call! You never picked up the phone! I tried—“Tom started.

“Was I really expected to pick it up? Let’s get back to it. Shall we? The facts. Did you or did you not date me? And made me fall in love with you?”

Tom sighed. “I—yes.”

“Did you lie?”

“…yes.”

You nodded. “Was I the other one?”

Tom squinted his eyes. “No… yes, no.”

You took a deep breath. “Did you leave me without an explanation?”

Tom looked down. “I did.”

“Did you ditch me?”

Tom looked everywhere and nowhere. “Yes,” he answered, defeated.

“Now, do you think I can ever forgive you?”

Tom didn’t answer.

You reached for your purse, for the locket that dug deep inside. “I don’t know you,” you stated giving him the locket, the stupid locket you’d bought as a joke when making fun of other couples and now laughed in your face. “Whatever happened means nothing. Because that’s the thing Tom. Everything we lived was a lie, those two people in the locket are not us, because you weren’t who you said you were, no matter how much I loved it, it’s not true and though it was too many emotions all at once I’m—It’s not real, not for you. I spent this whole time thinking I wanted you to apologize but I don’t want it. That charming guy wasn’t truly you because you omitted one very important thing. You—What were you thinking? Were you planning to never say it? Or did you plan it like that? Just ditching me, hoping I wouldn’t find out—“

Tom took a deep breath. “No—No, I didn’t. I just—-I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you and I should’ve fixed it before—-“

“No, no you didn’t because it wasn’t enough for you.”

Tom gulped, “It was, it was—-the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“And you ruined it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How little words mean when you’re a little too late, huh?” And that was the cue you needed to walk away. He silently watched you as you tried not to cry.

“I’m really sorry.” He said.

Was he?

“What if I try to prove it to you?” He asked as you were steps away from him.

You didn’t stop.

“If we go over this, you’ll see I never lied about it.” He continued.

“I already went over it, I remember everything, Tom, and maybe that’s why I don't want to talk to you.”

Tom walked behind, slowly. “I just happened to be very unlucky when it came to my own circumstances,” he reached over. “And I wish the timing had been better. But you’re right, it’s the one real thing I’ve ever had and I lost it because I hid something in fear of losing you. I lied because it was too good to be true. And I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me but I think you deserve to know why. But you went to the bar for a reason, and you had the locket for another.”

You stopped this time. Looking down at the floor and then at his hand, holding your stupid scarf. You shook your head, you really didn’t want to go through it all over again.

“I know you won’t forgive me,” he stated. “But I can’t let you go. You’re everywhere. And I miss the person I was when you were around, and I won’t stop fighting because you’re everywhere. Dreams, nightmares.”

Funny. You were his demons too.

“Am I haunting your nightmares?” You asked. Tom only watched you.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, I just need—I really need you to listen to my version.”

“Fine then, let’s go down this sad, beautiful tragic love affair.”

-

next chapter

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[naalbinder]

phoebe bridgers // elliott smith parallels

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BEfu6YZ7XbdHFZBXthIpN?si=6bf8fc460eba4d33

E - Riot Coming - “Sat down in jail with this friend of mine/Who'd never close both his eyes/But one was shut all the time/To cover the thing he was scared of”

E - Stupidity Tries “To sail across the sea of trash”

E - Going nowhere - “The old records are sitting on the floor/The ones I can’t put on anymore”

E - Clementine - “Anything to pass the time/And keep that song out of your mind”

P - Smoke Signals - “One of your eyes is always half-shut/Something happened when you were a kid” - “burning trash out on the beach” - “You said that song'll creep you out until you're dead”

E - Miss Misery - (music videos on the same street)

E - Easy way out - “While I watch you making mistakes/I wish you luck I really do” “I heard you found another audience to bore”

E - Looking Over My Shoulder - “Another sick rock ‘n’ roller acting like a dick”

E - Placeholder - “I'm the person you'll never need/The biggest loser on sixteenth street” - “Just like my favourite song/Some pretty words that didn't last that long”

P - Motion Sickness - “I'll be glad that I made it out/And sorry that it all went down like it did” “You said when you met me, you were bored” - “Hey, why do you sing with an English accent?/I guess it's too late to change it now”

E - Some Song - “Help me kill my time cause I'll never be fine”

P - Funeral - “Jesus Christ i'm so blue all the time/And that's just how i feel/Always have and i always will ”

E - Bled White - “Happy and sad come in quick succession/I’m never going to become what you became”

P - Demi Moore - “I got a good feeling/It doesn't happen very often”

E - St Ides Heaven - “With an open container from 7/11”

E - A Fond Farewell - “A fond farewell to a friend”

P - Scott Street - “With an open heart, open container” - “Anyway, don’t be a stranger / don’t be a stranger”

E - Last Call - “And I think I’m all done, you can switch me off safely/While i’m lying here for sleep to overtake me”

E - Roman Candle - “I’m a roman candle/My head is full of flames ”

P - Killer - “But when I’m sick and tired/And when my mind is barely there/When a machine keeps me alive/And I’m losing all my hair/I hope you kiss my rotten head/And pull the plug” - “Tame the fire in you”

E - Georgia Georgia

P - Georgia - “Georgia, Georgia, I love your son”

E - Twilight - “That you are already somebody’s baby”

E - See you later - “Made out of a night train”

E - King’s Crossing - “Instruments shine on a silver tray”

P - Chelsea - “You are somebody’s baby” - “For a chemical imbalance/You sure know how to ride a train” - “With a needle on a tray”

E - Christian Brothers - “No bad dream fucker's gonna boss me around/Christian brothers gonna take him down”

P - Would you rather - “Quarantined in a bad dream/He's half the man and you're twice as tall”

E - Son of Sam - “Son of Sam, son of a doctors love a nurses touch/Acting under orders from above”

P - You Missed My Heart - “A feeling of relief came over my soul/I couldn't take it any longer, and I lost control”

E - Bye - (instrumental)

E - New Monkey (Instrumental)

P - DVD Menu - (instrumental)

E - Coming up roses - “And you're coming up roses everywhere you go/Red roses follow”

E - Rose Parade - “Said, Won't you follow me down to the Rose Parade?”

P - Garden Song “They're gluing roses on a flatbed/You should see it, I mean thousands”

E - Condor Ave - “I don’t know what to do with your clothes or your letters”

E - Baby Britain - “Fights problems with bigger problems/Sees the ocean fall and rise/Counts the waves that somehow didn’t hit her/Water pouring from her eyes/Alcoholic and very bitter”

E - Say Yes - “I'm in love with the world/Through the eyes of a girl/Who's still around the morning after”

E - Seen How Things Are Hard - “You just didn't care/You were off getting drunk instead”

E - The Biggest Lie - "Oh, I just told the biggest lie/ I just told the biggest lie/The biggest lie"

P - Kyoto - “And you wrote me a letter/But I don't have to read it” - “I wanted to see the world/Then I flew over the ocean/And I changed my mind” - “I wanted to see the world/Through your eyes until it happened/Then I changed my mind” - “I'm gonna kill you/If you don't beat me to it” - "Guess I lied/I'm a liar/Who lies/'Cause I'm a liar"

E - Memory Lane - “Your little house on memory lane ”

E - Angel in the Snow - “Angel in the snow/all crushed out on the way you are”

E - Last Call - “And I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me”

E - New Monkey - “For the millions of fans ignoring the bands”

E - Waltz #2 - “I'm never gonna know you now/But I'm gonna love you anyhow”

E - Amity - “I'm a neon sign and I stay open all the time”

P - Punisher - “The house where you lived with Snow White” - “But never not sweet to the trust funds and punishers” - “What if I told you/I feel like I know you?/But we never met” - “The drugstores are open all night/The only real reason I moved to the east side”

E - Some Song - “Yeah it's halloween tonight and every night”

E - Pitseleh - “I got a joke I've been dying to tell you/A silent kid is looking down the barrel/To make the noise that I kept so quiet”

P - Halloween - “Baby, it's Halloween” - “I hate living by the hospital/The sirens go all night/I used to joke that if they woke you up/Somebody better be dying”

E - Shooting Star - “So bad, so far/You made me sad/Shooting star/You're distant and cold/And a sight to behold/Everybody just sighs”

E - Satellite - “When they call it a lover's moon, the satellite/'Cause it acts just like lovers do, the satellite/A burned-out world you know/Staying up all night/The satellite”

E - Everything Reminds Me of Her - “Why are you staring into outer space, crying?/Just because you came across it and lost it”

P - Chinese Satellite - “Took a tour to see the stars/But they weren't out tonight/So I wished hard on a Chinese satellite” - “Sometimes, when I can't sleep/It's just a matter of time before I'm hearing things” b- “Instead, I look at the sky and I feel nothing/You know I hate to be alone/I want to be wrong”

E - Coast to Coast - “Still you're keeping me around/'Til I finally drag us both down (Gonna drag us both down)”

E - Little one - “The moonlight tonight/Seems to belong to me” - “One more/Little one, I love you”

E - Coming up Roses - “The moon is a sickle cell/It'll kill you in time” “While the moon does its division/You're buried below”

E - Everything Means Nothing to Me - “At attention, looking backward in a pool of water/Wishes with a blue songbird on his shoulder/Who keeps singing over everything”

E - Pretty Mary K (Other Version) - “oh Mary K, I can see your face/down there in the waves, painted and erased/but I know it's just a reflection of the moon”

P - Moon song - (52) “You asked to walk me home/But I had to carry you” - (53) “And if I could give you the moon/I would give you the moon” - (54) “You are sick and you're married/And you might be dying” - (55/56) “And you pushed me in/And now my feet can't touch the bottom of you” “But you're holding me like water in your hands/When you saw the dead little bird”

E - New Disaster - “Everybody is the same in this long no-win game/Where every new blood/Gets time to become resigned” - “Until everyone knows that your smile is just a ghost/The ghost of your smile was seen on a body in the park”

P - Savior Complex - “Baby, you're a vampire/You want blood and I promised” - “All the bad dreams that you hide/Show me yours, I'll show you mine”

E - Oh well, Ok - “If you get a feeling next time you see me/Do me a favor and let me know/Cause it's hard to tell, it's hard to say 'oh well, Ok'”

E - Last Call - “You're a tongueless talker/You don't care what you say”

E - Angel in the Snow - “Only a cold still life/ that fell down here to lay beside you”

P - ICU - (58) “But I feel something when I see you now/I feel something when I see you” - (59) “I hate your mom/I hate it when she opens her mouth/It's amazing to me/How much you can say/When you don't know what you're talking about” - “laying down on the lawn” “if you’re a work of art/I’m standing too close/I can see the brush strokes”

E - Happiness / The Gondola Man - “What I used to be/Will pass away and then you'll see/That all I want now/Is happiness for you and me”

E - Whatever (Folk Song in C) - “Whatever you're doing now would probably suit me fine/If you're all done, like you said you'd be/What are you doing hanging out with me?”

E - Big Ballad of Nothing - “You can do what you want to whenever you want to/You can do what you want to there's no one to stop you”

P - Graceland too - “Said she knows she lived through it to get to this moment” - “Whatever she wants (Whatever you want)”

E - Bottle up and Explode “Bottle up and go/I can make it outside”

E - A Distorted Reality is Now a Necessity to be Free - “God knows why my country don't give a fuck” - “Shine on me baby, because it's raining in my heart”

E - Alphabet Town - “Alphabet City is haunted”

P - I Know The End - “There's no place like my room” - “To some America First rap country song” “Driving out into the sun/Let the ultraviolet cover me up”- “I'll find a new place to be from/A haunted house with a picket fence”

[stayinzencity]

how far we've come

Part of the Neo Future Collab!

Pairing: Ten x fem! Reader

Genre/AU: fluff, romance, angst, band au, apocalypse au, time capsule au

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, food, making out, cockroaches/bugs and their extermination, mentions of alcohol, dream/nightmare, mentions of death and the undead, no cheating and it's barely a love triangle but she has a boyfriend who isn’t Ten at one point and that causes conflict of the bromantic kind, pettiness, a bit of dark humor, non linear narrative

Synopsis: In a world that's changing in ways none of them ever imagined, Ten and his friends take a trip down memory lane.

WC: 5.6K

Inspiration: Playlist (also Club Nightmare- I might write a spinoff inspired by it one day, expanding on 'the nightmare' au)

Ten wakes up to the sound of Mariya Takeuchi’s Plastic Love and is left staring at his phone in disbelief when the ringtone cuts off right as his finger hovers over the answer button. 

Nine missed calls. It’s 7’oclock and Johnny knows he doesn’t wake up before eleven on Sundays, so this better be important, or else.

When the phone lights up, Ten answers before the music even starts playing. It’s not Johnny’s voice he hears. 

“Johnny says we’ll be in front of your place in fifteen minutes. Today’s the day, you know?” That’s all Doyoung says before he hangs up. 

A look at the calendar is all it takes for Ten to realize that it has, in fact, been five years since that day. Wow. Ten feels old, theoretically. He can still do the splits with little to no strain, so he’s technically fine, for now. 

 

She is not a morning person. Sure she could stick to the schedule on weekdays. Weekends and holidays though? Those are days to sleep in, stay in bed all day. Three cups of coffee is the minimum to be functional in the morning on a day like this, though the flask she holds barely qualifies as coffee and is really just warm water.

So why is she awake and outside so early on a Sunday without the comfort of caffeine?  

Five years ago, Johnny had a eureka moment that led to them shoveling dirt. Fortunately, Johnny’s brilliant idea did not involve hiding a dead body. Unfortunately, there’d be more digging today. 

She snatches a flyer flying around with the wind. We make your special day as special as it can be, it says. 20% discount with this flyer, it says. You dream and we plan, it says. 

She is engulfed in a warm embrace, and she relaxes in the familiar scent of her fiancé, the flyer now in his grasp. 

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asks, amusement slipping into his voice behind the mock seriousness. There's a pause before the two of them burst into laughter. 

It started with a post she saw online that got her thinking. 

“Ok so this is the part where you come up with a bad idea and I go along with it because I’m amazing and I love you, right?” Ten teased. 

She’d swatted at Ten for that. Failing to hide her smile at his laughter, she continued. “ You know I don’t want to get married, but I want a wedding.”

“So you want to have a fake wedding? Get fake married?”

“Exactly!” She grinned, grasping his hands. “It’ll be fun.”

“Wait seriously?” When she nodded, he thought it over. “Did you miss the news this morning? Is this the best time?”

They’d announced an asteroid was likely to crash land on the Earth, its expected impact being great enough to worry about the fate of humanity. There was a chance that its path could pass by the planet without doing any damage. 

“Is any time the best? We have to make the best out of what we have.”

Doyoung did not react well to the news when he found out a week later. 

They’d walked in with matching rings and said they were engaged- fake engaged. 

Doyoung stared at them in disbelief, and then when he realised they weren’t kidding, he started shouting and it quickly evolved into a quarrel between Doyoung and her. 

A car drives down the street, coming to a halt right before them. Johnny sticks his head out the window to tell them to get in, although his way of doing it is a little crude. 

"So," she says. "Who else?"

"Taeil, Taeyong, Jungwoo." A pause. "Oh, Donghyuck decided to tag along." 

She brightens up at the mention of the youngest member of NCity. "Sunny boy's going to be with us? Then this certainly counts as band bonding activities." 

“You’re not our manager anymore.” Doyoung rolls his eyes at her. 

She scoffs. “Yeah well, do you see Kun here?”

For the remaining duration of the car ride, the bickering between the two serves both as entertainment and annoyance for the rest. 

Finally, they reach the place they’d left behind their memories and trinkets. Technically, they’re supposed to wait another five years, but with the way the world is headed, it’s hard to say how things would be next week, let alone years into the future. 

The others had gotten there first, already digging at the spot. 

Jungwoo runs over to the couple and pulls Ten into a hug, not letting go until she playfully accuses him of trying to steal Ten away. They laugh, and join the rest of the group in their chatter and labor.

Finally they get what they're looking for. Inside the tin box they used as their time capsule they find:

·       A used spray paint can 

·       A photograph with all the original members of Seventh Sense 

·       A flyer for Mad City's performance

·       A newspaper cutting

·       A letter for Jungwoo

·       Taeyong’s mixtape

·       A sketch of apples

·       A Planet of The Apes DVD

·       A dead cockroach (that shouldn't be there- why the fuck is it there)

 

A used spray paint can:

Ten drops the empty spray paint can into his bag. Taking a few steps back, Ten's eyes flicker over the work he'd just finished spraying onto the wall that had once been covered with vulgarity, advertisement flyers, and painted political campaigns. 

In Ten's opinion, graffiti cats getting a social message across seemed a better use of the wall than Park Jinyoung's name and face plastered on it or Lee Sooman Inc.'s poster on their latest advancements in AI technology. 

He wasn't alone, his partner spraying the sign of their team in fluorescent green which he didn't have long to admire, the sound of sirens in the distance being their cue to flee from the site. 

They take a moment to grab their stuff before she takes hold of his hand and pulls him along as they make their escape. There are shouts at them to stop which they, naturally, ignore.

Hurrying onto a busier street gives them the chance to blend into the crowd. Slipping into an alley at the side of a restaurant, they pull off their masks, caps and hoodies and shove them into their bags. Then they walk back out like they were a couple having fun on a date. 

Which is why he leans into her space, close enough to place a kiss if he just moves forward a bit. It doesn’t hurt to be careful, even if Ten is pretty sure they'd lost the people pursuing them streets ago. Yep. That is why he draws closer, eyes dropping down to her lips. Just to keep their cover believable. It has nothing to do with the attraction that has been lingering in the air between them since they first met.

Ten has to admit that doesn’t sound believable even to his own ears. But it doesn’t matter. He throws away all excuses when she lunges forward and lets her lips meet his. 

There was nothing shy or gentle about the way they kiss with how they skip the slow start to dive straight into the passion. 

"Do you want to spend the night at my place?" Those are the most words Ten has heard from her today, and he finds himself wanting to hear more of her voice. What would it sound like when she wasn't breathless after all the exertion? Not that Ten doesn’t like how she sounds now. He does. Very much. She speaks and he focuses on the sounds over the meaning of the words. Ten just stares at her, lost in his thoughts, until she flicks his forehead. 

"So I was saying," her grin makes Ten's heart beat faster. "What do you think about dinner and a movie marathon?" 

"Yeah. Sure. That sounds great." 

When she beams at him, Ten knows the night would be worth it. Shit. He is falling fast and hard, he knows it, and he doesn’t care. The world could end tomorrow for all they know, but tonight would be theirs, and Ten had every intention of making each moment count. 

It would have been nice if he'd gotten a warning beforehand. 

Overprotective flat mate trying to intimidate him into leaving was a part of the night he didn't foresee. Ten had gotten through his life so far without getting injured over his flings and relationships, something he would like to keep that way. 

Fortunately, said flat mate is soon dragged away by an apologetic roommate who hands a bowl of popcorn to Ten with a kind smile. 

The rest of the night is fun and the start of something, though they don’t talk about it. 

A photograph with all the original members of Seventh Sense:

Yuta is the one who first brings up the idea of starting a band.  

It's a Wednesday that passes by without much excitement like the week before and likely the week to follow. 

Yuta is sprawled across Taeil's bed with his head hanging off the edge- which Taeil had told him to stop doing multiple times, only to be ignored- when suddenly he sits up, startling Jungwoo who rolls off the mattress onto the floor. Sicheng doesn't bother to divert attention from the book he was reading even as his friend falls close to where he is seated. 

Immunity to their antics developed over time, and Sicheng had known them for years. Jungwoo was eager for excuses to be dramatic, and Yuta gave him plenty of them. 

Taeil, who'd just walked back into the room after hearing the commotion, sighs and looks expectantly at Yuta, who clearly had something to say if his wide grin and sparkling eyes were any hint.

"Let's start a band." 

That certainly hadn't been expected, and even Sicheng's attention is on Yuta once he makes that declaration.

Honestly, Yuta expected Sicheng to be the one who refused to participate, so it was a pleasant surprise when he’s the first to get on board with the idea. Taeil hesitates, more since he has questions than because he is against the idea. Yuta thought Jungwoo would be the most enthusiastic after him, however he's proven wrong when Jungwoo's face hardens and he walks out of the room without another word.

Taeil and Sicheng exchange a glance that suggests they knew something that Yuta didn't. Annoying information out of Sicheng was Yuta's specialty, though he doesn't have to resort to that when Taeil explains it himself.

"Remember Jungwoo had an ex when you were away? She broke up with him for the drummer of a band, and he's still bitter about it." 

"So? What does that have to do with us starting a band? He needs to get over it," Yuta scoffs. "It's been months. If anything, it's even more a reason to start our band." 

"Let's do it," Jungwoo announces. 

"There's a chance we'll run into them. Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, I count on it. Yuta has a point." Determination shines in Jungwoo's eyes. "Even if he's a dick." 

The problem wasn't that Yuta quit the band when bigger, better opportunities came. It was how he did it that left the rest of them fuming, in tears, or a mix of both. He sends a text in the group chat to tell them the band wasn't working for him, cuts himself out of their lives without any further explanation and when almost all of them had finally resigned to the fact they'd probably never see him again, well, that's when he shows up again. 

Jungwoo notices a Yuta listed as a member of Cherry Bomb and makes a whole fuss over it for an afternoon which for most part is brushed off as a coincidence by the rest of the band. 

Their Yuta couldn't be the only Yuta in the world- though it was debatable whether he could still be called their Yuta. No, no matter what they couldn't deny the memories they'd made, regardless of how Yuta had vanished from their lives so easily as if he wasn't the reason the band existed in the first place. 

Except it is the Yuta that had been with them through it all, heck, he's the one who started the band- but now he's the one that left them behind for Cherry Bomb. 

If any good comes out of it, it's that they write songs about broken promises and the one that got away, and it's still raw and painful and bitter, something that seeps into the songs and snatches people's attention. 

Eventually, Sicheng leaves the country. At least he told them beforehand, giving them time to say goodbye. He admits that he isn't sure about staying in touch, but wishes them well, nevertheless. They hold a farewell party which in reality is just Taeil, Jungwoo and Sicheng ordering food and acting like it's just another evening, and not the last time they'll see each other in a while, or possibly ever. Unlike Yuta who they see around in magazines and on the television and on the sides of buildings, once Sicheng gets on his plane they don't hear from him again. 

Jungwoo doesn't want to give up on the band. Taeil finds himself less enthusiastic about getting on stage, especially when they don't have their former friends around anymore. It doesn't feel right to him to replace Yuta and Sicheng. 

For Jungwoo, it's been all about moving on from the start. He had to move on when the band started, and he'll move on now to let the band survive. 

Johnny agrees to give the band a try. It's more of a favor to Taeil than anything, but it makes Jungwoo happy to see Taeil trying. When Johnny brings Ten along, Jungwoo's smile widens further. They'd shown up, and Jungwoo wasn't going to let them go so easily.

 

A flyer for Mad City's performance:

"So, you still don't know her name?" 

Johnny's brow raises, unimpressed. Well, perhaps he is a tad impressed with the absurdity of what Ten's narrating. 

They'd somehow skipped over the introductions and gone straight to whatever they were doing now, Ten and her. And it'd be weird to go, "Hey, so what's your name? I never asked before, haha." It'd been days since they'd first met. To not know the name of the person you spend most of your time with shouldn't be possible, yet Ten had managed to do just that. 

"Well fuck," Johnny exclaims as he realises Ten isn't joking. "You know where she lives, for fuck's sake. How do you know everything about her besides her name?" 

"In my defense, we used nicknames from the start. I didn't think it'd get serious, so I didn't bother to ask, you know. But then it did get serious.  So yeah." Ten scratches his neck. "Everyone uses nicknames with her, so that's no help in finding out."

Johnny pats him on the back. "I'm sure you'll find out eventually. Or you'll break up and it won't even matter." 

Ten tries to bite Johnny's hand for that. 

 

"Well I think it's time I properly introduced myself, " she says before giving him her name and revealing her job- or well, one of them. "Manager of Mad City." 

Mad City. The Seventh Sense’s rival. That made her the enemy. This was a forbidden romance. They were star-crossed lovers. Ten was going to get in trouble for fraternizing with the enemy. No wonder she lived with half of Mad City. That should have raised suspicion. 

"No way." Ten is not ready for this. Shit. "Are we going to break up?"

She just laughs with her arms still wrapped around him. "Is that what you want?"

Ten shakes his head. "No. I like you too much to let you go so easily." 

Satisfied, she kisses him. This time it was soft and short, though a promise of more lay behind it. 

Except Ten gets busy with the band and his art and his dance classes, and she drifts away too. It's a while before they meet again, and things change. 

 

A newspaper cutting:

It starts with news that the dead weren’t staying dead. People weren’t rising from ancient graves or anything. But the recent death reports were a mess with people’s bodies somehow repairing themselves and recovering like they hadn’t undergone fatal injury. Even so, there were limits- ashes could not piece back together. 

“It’s something in the air,” Doyoung says. “Mutagens. Genetic mutations. We’ve evolved.” 

He was the only one who’d finished college with a STEM degree, so the rest of them are inclined to believe he had an idea of what he is talking about- but his theories are boring and technical and no one actually listens past three sentences. 

“Let’s say I drive a knife through someone.” Everyone knows who Jungwoo has on his mind. “They’ll recover like it never happened. Would I still get in trouble?”

“Jungwoo!” Taeyong turns to glare at him, disappointed. “No.”

“He’ll be fine though. Probably. Just once?”

 “You cannot stab Ten,” says Taeil. He rubs his forehead, he needs more caffeine to deal with all of this. “No one is stabbing anyone.”

 

A letter:

She hasn’t been anywhere near alcohol. That doesn’t stop her from giggling as she takes the seat next to Ten, "I swear I'm not drunk."

He picks out the fruit from his sundae and carefully arranges it on her plate. "I know." Sometimes she acted like she was when excitement coursed through her. It was kind of cute, kind of annoying. 

Annoyingly cute. That summed up what Ten thought of her. 

She was quiet and shy, until she was yelling in Ten's ears and animatedly telling him about how they could take over the world. 

The first time he'd met her was at a party as a friend of a friend of a friend, and it'd been so brief they'd exchanged no words, let alone their names. She'd rushed away, Ten's gaze following her until she was out of sight, and since then he'd been trying to get her out of mind. 

Except he ran into her again, that next time with paint and adrenaline. And then she'd wormed her way into his life as she already had with his heart. 

There's a period where they didn’t have as much contact, and while he didn't see anyone else, she didn’t wait for him. 

"I have a boyfriend," Y/N says one day in a voice that suggests she regretted it. Or maybe that is just Ten's wishful thinking. After a pause she adds, “You know him.”

Well, fuck. 

She doesn't reveal who it is. Ten doesn't probe any further. He isn't sure if he wants to know. He did, he didn’t. 

And one day there she is with Jungwoo’s arm around her, snuggled into his side. Jungwoo meets his eyes and turns up his smugness. Ten is a nice person, or he would give in to the temptation to rip Jungwoo away from her. 

She finally notices him, and they just stare at each other for a while. Jungwoo has to nudge her, his smile fading. This brings Ten satisfaction. 

“Hey,” she says. 

“Hey,” Ten says back. 

“Hey,” Jungwoo says. Because of fucking course Jungwoo cannot be left out of a conversation even when it is smaller than small talk. 

Sometimes Ten wonders if he’s too harsh on Jungwoo. He gets close to admitting his jealousy colors his opinion of Jungwoo. But then Jungwoo opens his mouth or does something stupid and Ten knows he wasn’t wrong when called Jungwoo all those names at 3 AM last Saturday. 

 

Afraid of the answer, Ten asks anyway. “Do you love him?”

Ten expected her to take a moment to think about it. Yet there’s no hesitation as she immediately says, “No.” Her hand flies to her mouth and she looks like she wants to take it back, but it’s too late and now Ten knows he hasn’t been imagining it. 

Knowing she doesn’t want to dive into this, not now, not with him, Ten starts talking about his latest art project. 

It isn't long before Jungwoo and her break up. 

She calls Jungwoo out for coffee, they talk it over and it's a pretty anticlimactic end to their short relationship. They decide to stay friends, although they agree it might take a while before the awkwardness entirely dissipates. Before they leave the shop, she holds out a letter, which he takes with curiosity. 

“A parting gift?” She grins.

Jungwoo smiles back. 

 

As much as he harbors dislike for Jungwoo, he isn’t the worst and Ten is decent enough to feel guilty. Ten knows Jungwoo and her had been falling apart even before he came into the picture. Yet there was a chance they could have reconciled if he didn’t show up and find a place in her heart. Ten was no homewrecker, and they hadn’t cheated. But maybe he’d pushed along the process of breaking up that would have been prolonged without his presence. 

Jungwoo is quick to reassure her that he doesn't hold a grudge against her. Both of them knew their relationship wasn't meant to be, they just couldn't bring it to an end. Until Ten came along as the perfect excuse. 

They hadn't been in love. Besides, this wasn't Jungwoo's first break up. Barely even counted as a heartbreak.

But he did care about Ten. They were supposed to be bandmates, best friends,  bros. Ten was all supportive, then he stole her heart. So maybe Ten had met her first, and there hadn't been any cheating, but Jungwoo felt bitter and betrayed and needed someone to blame, and Ten was taking the brunt of it. It was easy to put the blame on Ten and bitch about him. Jungwoo is aware he's being unreasonably petty, but it makes him feel better. Eventually, he'd make up with Ten and they could go back to their old ways, but for now they were enemies. 

Ten loses Jungwoo, but Ten has her. 

She kisses him desperate and deep, as though they have no time left and this might be their last chance. Ten wonders if this is what Jungwoo felt before they broke up. Maybe these were the signs that Jungwoo saw and acted like he didn't notice, the way Ten was doing now. 

A mixtape:

Apparently they wanted to ban music after the riots that they blamed on the rebellious music. At any rate, censorship laws were going to be stricter. Freedom of speech was being taken away one step at a time. AI existed for the purpose of music and entertainment, slowly replacing their human counterparts.

Ten wasn’t going to stop creating music, and Taeyong was already busy working on their new song. Donghyuck had only been motivated by the news. As for Doyoung, he thought it was more trouble than worth. Surprisingly, Jungwoo had volunteered to take his place. Taeil, Jaehyun and Johnny voiced their support though they still didn’t want to go on stage or in front of the camera.

Johnny takes off the headphones, leaning back in his chair as he gives his opinion on Taeyong’s latest track. “It sounds awfully similar to that song from the 2010’s. Remember what happened last time we released a song like that?” 

It was kind of scary how so much had changed in such a short time. 

AI music wasn’t supposed to take away from human made music. Yet it did. AI idols and bands could do what humans could and more. Sure, the AI revolution had brought plenty of positive advancement to society. It had its downsides too.

Like how they were essentially useless in a world that didn’t want them with their imperfections when they could have the perfect idealised versions. Besides, those who sought human music had centuries worth of music to listen to already.

Was that going to stop Taeyong? 

Of course not. 

"Listen to this one." Taeyong leans over to click on a different file. "I'm still working on it, but-"

Johnny's already listening to it, and from his expressions he seems to enjoy it more than the previous one. Taeyong smiles to himself, satisfied. 

A sketch of apples:

She loved apples so much that she couldn't go a day without them. Doyoung had said it was her obsession, pointing out how she had decorated her room with apple themed memorabilia. Snow White, he called her. She'd retorted that it meant he was one of the dwarves. Jungwoo would call her Snow, while she'd call him Rose. 

Ten thought she was straight out of a fairytale. What he'd forgotten was that Grimm Brothers' fairy tales were far more gruesome than the stories he remembered. 

"If you had to give up on singing or dancing forever, which would you choose?" The question she asked Ten had been innocent enough. He hadn't known how damning it would be. "Which loss would haunt you greater?"

Her voice had suddenly turned serious, smile abandoned. He'd laughed it off, and changed the topic. It had been a bit strange, but nothing that would keep him awake at night. 

The next day she’d vanished, taking a piece of Ten with her. 

It had seemed like a normal day until they found Ten eating apples, almost as if it were an addiction. Like clockwork, a crunch could be heard every hour. Never more than a single bite. There was a bin filled to the brim with apples each day. 

It wouldn't have been as worrying if Ten had been a person who enjoyed fruit. Yet he'd stayed away from fruits. Until now. 

Ten didn't speak, simply staring into the distance, only taking a break when he needed to bite into an apple every hour. Breaking him out of the trance hadn't worked, so they'd taken to watching him in shifts.

There was no doubt that it had something to do with Y/N and her disappearance since that night they'd gone out together and Ten had returned alone.

Sicheng was convinced Ten was possessed and insisted on calling his exorcist friend. Taeil had taken one look at Ten's state, handed Jungwoo a business card and hastily walked out the door of the flat, muttering about cats and poisoned apples and curses. 

No matter how many times they turned the card around, it had nothing but Club Nightmare embossed in gold on its sleek crimson surface. 

Taeil said the club had the answers they sought but also begged them not to go seeking that place. As a last resort, if they had nothing left to lose- only then should they even think about it. According to Taeil, if anyone might be able to help, it would be Yuta . 

Once Yuta had been generous and would offer help without even being asked, especially to old friends. Time had taken its toll on him though, turning him into a self-serving person who'd do anything to survive. Which meant his assistance came at a price.

"A favor for later," Yuta said with a shrug and smile that sent chills up Jungwoo’s spine. "That's all I ask."

Hidden behind Yuta's lies and tall tales were invaluable snippets of information. If that could help Ten, then they'd have to trust Yuta. 

And that’s when Jungwoo had woken up. 

In his dreams, Ten hadn't been the prince or the huntsman or a dwarf- he'd been the villain. And like the evil queen danced to her death in her hot red shoes, dancing had been Ten's undoing as well. At least in Jungwoo's mind it seemed fitting after all that had happened. 

But lately Jungwoo had been helping Ten recover from heartbreak and curses and danger. The thing was, Jungwoo didn’t mind much anymore. 

In his dreams, he had moved on and put his friendship with Ten first. Maybe it was time to do the same in real life.

 

A Planet of The Apes DVD:

The end of the world should have been more worrisome, but there'd been so many close calls already that the words had lost their threat. 

The apocalypse news really shouldn't be compared to the boy who cried wolf. Yet after living through the pandemics, an alien invasion that never came, the floods and abnormal weather changes, well, Ten didn't feel fear like he would've years ago. 

He wasn't the only one. People saw the news and just went on with their lives. There were some cults that insisted on making it a big deal, although they'd been trying to do that for ages with no success. 

Maybe a big space rock would hit the Earth and change their lives forever. Maybe it would just pass by. Maybe Ten didn't care if humanity was wiped away like the dinosaurs once were. Maybe it was time for a new species to take over the world.

Voicing out these thoughts, had gotten a snort from her, "It's time for a Planet of the Apes marathon."

Neither of them particularly cared for the franchise, and as it plays on the screen, they soon find other things to distract them. Like playing Tic Tac Toe until their hands and forearms were covered with X's and O's. Then moving on to the other kind of XOXO. Soon Ten finds himself drifting to sleep with her cuddled up in his arms.

The next morning when Ten wakes up, she is still snoozing against him, a blanket wrapped around them both that hadn't been there before. Gently slipping out of her grasp, Ten notices the TV had been switched off though he couldn't remember doing it. 

"G'morning!" Taeyong holds out a warm mug for him which he gratefully accepts. “Have a fun night?”

Doyoung, who is slumped over the counter between the kitchen and the dining room, raises an arm along with his muffled greeting. 

"Yeah, hey. Good morning, Taeyong. Doyoung."

Jungwoo wasn’t around, though that wasn’t unusual. He stayed away whenever Ten came to the flat. 

“So which one of you tucked us in and turned off the TV?” 

Taeyong and Doyoung exchange a glance. 

“That wasn’t us,” Doyoung says. His head rests on his elbow now, his words much clearer than before. “We fell asleep long before you two yesterday.”

Ten gapes at them. “Wait. What?” There was one other person who lived here, but it couldn’t possibly be him, no way.

Jungwoo walks over and snatches the toast off Ten’s plate. 

“You?” Any other day, Ten would have attempted to grab back his food. He’s a bit too busy putting things together to bother today. 

Jungwoo raises a brow, glancing at Ten like he’s the one acting strange. 

A dead cockroach:

The morning starts with shouts.

"Why won't you just die?" 

Her face fills with disgust, nothing but loathsome hatred in her whines. 

"Ten! Do something!" 

Yeah, no. There is no way Ten is approaching that beast. No matter how little it is, Ten is not taking chances by going into a fight he knows he'd lose. 

Cockroaches had wings. Which probably meant they could fly, jump high or something. Not to be underestimated. Ugh. 

"You do something," Ten shoots back. The cockroach scurries across the room towards them and with a yelp Ten jumps onto the couch where he’s hopefully out of its reach.

In the end, she gets fed up and uses a broomstick to get rid of the creature. 

Once he is certain it’s safe, Ten finally slides off where he was crouched on the couch. He heads over to the bathroom, opens the door and immediately slams it shut. 

"Love, can you come over here?" Ten slowly pushes the door again to peer in and assess the situation. 

There are cockroaches everywhere.  Well not just cockroaches, there is a whole assortment of bugs, but Ten doesn’t know the names of them. Creepy crawlies is sufficient enough a word to call them all. He doesn’t particularly care what they are. He just wants to be as far away from them as possible. 

"Ten? Darling, what's wrong?" She hurries over, radiating concern. Then she sees the problem and sighs. "Wait. I'll be back."

Ten tries to hide his nervousness but it still seeps into his voice. "H-hurry please." 

"I think we should start naming these guys," she says as she shakes the bottle of bug spray. "Like look at that one. Doesn't it remind you of that guy who tried to scam you last summer?" 

Ten's glance at the insect she points at isn’t long enough to see any sort of resemblance but he nods his head in agreement. 

“Can you call Doyoung for me? And let him know about this.” She gestures at the insects, some dead and others still scuttling around. “Actually, maybe you should stay at their place until we deal with this. Taeyong invited us for dinner tonight anyway. You can go over early and help him out.”

“Ok,” Ten agrees. "Can we move somewhere else?"

"If it's about the bug problem, then no."

"But-"

"There's no point, Ten. Even if we move, bugs might appear there. We can't keep moving each time."

"The bugs are taking over the world,” groans Ten. He sounds way too serious for what he’s saying. “This is how my life ends."

"Ten. You'll be fine. I'll keep getting rid of the bugs for you, okay?" She wasn’t exactly happy about it, no, but she’d do it if she had to. 

"I thought you were afraid of bugs," Doyoung says as he sets down the bag of bottles of bug spray and other equipment for the battle against the creepy crawlies. 

"I am. But one of us has to take care of the creepy crawlies," she says with a grimace. "And you know how Ten is."

Doyoung smirks. “Ah, so it’s love.”

“Love?” She ponders it for a moment. “Maybe it is.”

A/N: I return from hiatus with the longest fic I've finished so far! The inspiration for this fic came from songs (plus the time I saw a cockroach on the wall) and it has come a long way from what I initially had in mind. At first I thought I'd write an angsty futuristic tale but somehow it turned into a fic about ordinary people living their ordinary lives with the possibility of the world as they know it ending in the background. This fic is the smoothie of all the ideas I had- take a bunch of different stories and mix them all into one.

Thank you for giving this fic a chance! As always, feedback/comments/likes/reblogs are appreciated!

I have to thank @ericssmile for reading this fic and reassuring me! Also extremely grateful to @hvae for the help and comments that made my day :')

Jia, I hope you enjoyed the fic! It is unlikely that I would've written this, if it weren't for the wonderful collab. Thank you ♡

© 2021, stayinzencity. All rights reserved.

[mercurymilkshakes]

Lose It | Zendaya

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: zendaya x gn! reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): angst

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you reminisce about your relationship as you try to come to terms with your breakup, but no matter how hard you try, you just don't want to accept it.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓(𝐒): lose it by swmrs

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1k

In all of the different feelings in the world that a human could possibly feel, it felt like you were lucky enough to have the very worst of it. Of course, there was always physical pain which some might argue was way worse than anything mental, but to you, it just didn't feel that way.

Sitting in the car as rain hammered down onto the roof like the sky was throwing rocks at you to pull you away from your thoughts. You had the music turned up as loud as your stereo could handle it without getting distorted. And you sat there just like that for what seemed like hours.

Clicking on the playlist you had on your phone. Just the two of us. Ironic how only one of you was listening to it now, making your stomach churn and your skin crawl with worried thoughts that perhaps you were doing something wrong.

Two months of exactly this. Pulling up to an old, empty parking lot with your car doors locked just in case anyone decided to try and bug you. Music blaring as you took a painful walk down memory lane.

It seemed like just yesterday when the two of you were sitting in the car singing at the top of your lungs. It had gotten so bad that you had both lost your voices the next day and had to call in from work, but it had been worth it. A whole day just spent in bed watching your favourite movies and basking in the comfortable silence that you had been awarded.

Or all the times you had come to this exact parking lot to practice skateboarding because your desperately wanted to learn, but were terrified of anyone seeing you fall. Everyone besides her, because even though she laughed when you slipped off the board and landed on your ass, she would run over and help you up with a smile. She'd gently kiss your lips and start to help you get your balance before you finally took off and were able to stay on top the small board of wood.

Even the times when all you did was sit in the backseat and kiss. It never went any further than that, but those moments were so quiet and intimate that your skin felt like it was on fire and your heart was racing a million miles per second. You could still feel her hands running through your hair now.

She would always make the comment of how soft it was, she loved the feeling of it's silkiness between her fingertips. She would always ask to do you hair just so she could get more of that comfortable feeling. It always put you damn close to sleep from all the gentle strokes upon your head.

All these things were so good, there was nothing but happy memories all the way until the end. But that sunken feelings just didn't leave your heart.

That single thought that felt so cruel and unforgivable, "What would it be like if I never fell in love with you, Daya?"

One would imagine that after all that happened, you'd finally have learned to live with no regrets. It wasn't that you actually did, but the craving to feel that way was there. The urge to forget it all and stop playing all the same damn songs you would listen to when you'd drive to visit your parents together.

To just pretend none of it had ever happened.

It would have made it all so much easier.

If only you had told your best friend no when they had asked you to go out to dinner with them that night with some work friends. You knew you had to get up early the next morning, but you still decided to go and ended up staying up all night as you waited for the sun to come up.

You spend the whole next month thinking about her and how you wanted to see her again, making a playlist of all the songs that reminded you of that night you spent together chasing the sunrise, talking about life and what you had hoped would come of it. Only to find out when you went to that party a month later that she had done the same thing.

How easy it all would have been if you didn't spend every single minute texting for the next multiple weeks, getting together on the weekends to go to karaoke bars to get drunk and sing your hearts out.

How much easier it would be if you didn't have to lose it all at the end of the ride.

Regret. You regret lying that you were okay when you weren't. Telling everyone you didn't miss her that much. That she was just like a passing ship in the night. Zendaya had been your whole light and life, the reason you woke up excited for a new day. Rolling over in bed to see her sleepy smile and hearing her tired voice just like music to the ears.

She loved all the same music you did, loved the same shows and movies, and despite the height difference you were always sharing clothes.

You missed every single part of her. The good, the bad, the ugly. The moments of love just as much as the moments of fighting. Even when it seemed like the world would freeze and then start to end, it was all worth it.

She made every single bad day feel like just that, just a bad day that passes. Not something life ending and altering. Just a bad day.

God. Your lungs expanded and collapsed, quickly and rapidly. Your skin felt like it was melting off your body and your chest was going to explode. You face was stained with sticky tears, red brushed harshly against your cheeks.

You just couldn't take this feeling anymore.

You wiped away your tears and started up the car, driving home only to park and sit in the car there. The sunlight had dimmed even more and your only light was from your front porch and the dim lights along the street.

Just as you were about to take our your phone and send a message, a familiar car pulled up behind you. Opening up to have the pouring rain run through her hair, down her face, completely drenching her body.

It seemed like time had frozen, the rain had stopped, the wind slowed, and it was just you two.

"I missed you."

Omg we are back for the time being! How crazy is that, I never thought I'd see the day. I'm just kidding, just kidding. But seriously it's good to be posting again. I've missed the little community we've made. -♥️

Wanna join our taglist? Fill out this form!

✎ tags: @asherhunterx

[ruckystarnes]

Characters: OFC-Constance Wallace, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Warnings: not much?

Rating: PG-13

Words: 2,297

Square Filled: Y3: Bodyguard

Written for: @buckybarnesbingo

Summary: Constance gets a phone call from her sister asking where she was.

Royal Pain Masterlist

Playlist on Spotify

After their talk in the library, he told her to get her bathing suit on so they could go down to the private beach. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but it was a compromise from her wanting to go into the town and get out of the house. She opted for one of her one-pieces in black with cut outs just above the hips and a sheer cover dress. She was pulling her hair into a high bun when she was making her way down the stairs, seeing Bucky waiting for her at the door still in the cargo shorts and a button up short sleeve blue shirt he was wearing earlier, but he had added a pair of dark sunglasses and was shoeless.

“Where’s your suit, Barnes?” she asked, cocking her head to the side as she looked him over.

“I don’t swim, Princess,” he smirked.

“Is it because of your arm? Because I thought vibranium didn’t rust.” She rolled her eyes at him when he lowered his sunglasses to give her a surprise look. “I might like to play the dumb party princess, but I’m really not stupid.”

“So you didn’t graduate college with a party degree?” he teased, placing his sunglasses back where they were and opened the door. “And if you need to know, I don’t like swimming because it involves too little clothing.”

Constance couldn’t stop herself when she giggled. “Afraid you can’t hide a gun or knife in swim trunks? Seriously, Barnes, loosen up. The security system will notify if anything is amiss here. C’mon, I know Steve made you pack a pair. Even if you just get up to your knees.”

“It’s not because I can’t hide a weapon in them, it’s personal,” Bucky replied, walking out the door without looking back at her. Constance couldn’t stop the growl as she rushed to him and grabbed his flesh wrist.

“I will make the day hell if you don’t go and get the swim trunks on,” she threatened, eyes narrowed. He scoffed at her, moving his arm gently to release it from her grip, but he felt her fingers tighten further. “I’m serious. I know these woods and all the areas that I can slip through to sneak away. If you want me to be good, you’ll get the swim trunks on right now.”

He sighed heavily and shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. “See what I mean if you channel your feistiness? Alright, I’ll put them on, but the shirt stays.”

Constance could barely hide the satisfactory grin on her face as she let go of his wrist and crossed her arms in front of her chest in triumph. “I’ll be a good girl and wait right here, Sergeant.” Bucky’s smile faltered for a second and she swore he wore a grimace before starting to walk backwards towards the house. She pondered what that was all about before she let her arms fall to her side and looked around. The property hasn’t changed much, save for a few trees that have been replaced and some more flower gardens that were put in. It had been ages since she and Carter were both here, running around the front lawn before slipping away to find ways out of the secured place. It used to drive mother crazy that they would lose their nannies to explore without repression.

Constance scoffed at the thought of her and Carter’s nannies: Maria and Helen weren’t nannies, no by the sense of what her father and mother would want them. No, those two women were ex-military, much like everyone one else that worked close with her family, and it wasn’t until Constance was in her teens that she realized she never really slipped Maria; she just knew how to tail her without her ever realizing she was there.

“Wow, you are actually good with your word.”

Constance jumped, her memories jostled by the sound of Bucky’s voice.

“Alright there princess?” he asked, his brows raising slightly.

“Just taking a trip down memory lane,” she sighed, looking at him with slightly reddened cheeks. She turned and started down the path she knew would lead to the ocean, scolding herself for getting flustered.

“Are you seriously going to stay there?” Constance yelled from where she was in the ocean.

She was waist deep in the cerulean waters, hands on her hips as she squinted towards the beach where Bucky was standing in the sand. She saw him wave her off and she rolled her eyes, dropping her shoulders before turning and diving into the cool water. The water was the only place she truly felt free from everything from her life, even more so than being at the club. She surfaced, her hands smoothing back her hair. She looked over at the beach again, Bucky still standing there with his arms crossed over his chest watching her. It didn’t matter how much she tried to convince him she would be fine in the water, that he could enjoy himself a bit more, he was still adamant that he wasn’t going in the water nor relaxing. She continued to swim for a moment, her mind going completely blank as she enjoyed the nothingness sensation the water gave her. That was until she heard Bucky from the shore.

Constance righted herself and looked over at him, cocking her head to the side as he waved for her to come in. She rolled her eyes and slowly began to swim back to the shore. Curses formed in her head, ready to tell him off once she was close enough, for ruining her perfect moment. But all was lost to her when he held out a phone to her, his glasses pushed to the top of his head and brows knitted together.

“It’s your sister,” he stated, letting her take the phone but not giving her space. She knew that people suspected her sister’s in-laws to be behind her father’s death, but sometimes she just wanted to have one conversation that wasn’t overheard. She rolled her eyes again and stuck her tongue out at him, turning around when he started to smile.

“Hey Carter,” she rushed out, a smile gracing her lips.

"Connie," her sister said sweetly, making Constance stuffen. Carter never called her Connie without wanting something. "Momma told me you're off grid with your new guard. Where did they send you?"

"Carter, I'm not supposed to tell anyone, even you and Momma," Constance sighed, turning to look at Bucky with wide eyes. "You know how this goes. I'll be back by coronation."

“But Connie...what if I go into labor while you’re there? I need my sister.” Carter was practically whining and Constance grimaced.

“Carter,” she started, fighting the sigh she so desperately wanted to let go. “You have your husband and momma and all the hospital staff there. You are not going to need me. Besides, what am I going to do? You know I don’t like kids.”

“You damn well why I need you here,” Carter replied, her words hitching higher and higher with each one she spoke. “You are my best friend.”

Constance couldn’t control the scoff that came forth and covered her mouth. “Listen, I’ll talk to my shadow and see what he says. He makes the call right now, and Momma would have both our skins if I put myself in any more danger than is needed.”

“Fine,” Carter ground out, and Constance could hear her covering the receiver to murmur something to someone (probably Helmut) before speaking to her again. “Just be safe I guess. I’ll call again when I do go into labor. Okay. Love you! Bye!”

Then the phone went silent.

Constance handed it back to Bucky, lips pursed.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked measurely, and Constance knew he had heard everything that was said.

“Sure sure. My baby sister whining to me how she needs me there for her delivery. She knows how these stupid protocols work.”

“She asked where you were.”

It wasn’t a question. Constance could hear the accusation in each word he spoke.

“You seriously do think all this could be Carter?” She stared at the man in disbelief. “She couldn’t hurt a fly even if she wanted to...and I’ve seen her try.”

“Constance, it’s not her we’re worried about. It’s her husband. Your sister, according to Steve, has always been influential with everyone she meets.”

“She doesn’t want the crown,” Constance replied, heat dripping into her words, “neither of us wanted it. We’ve seen how it had affected Daddy and Granddad. It’s nothing we wanted. Daddy aged ten years in the first six months of taking up the role.” She walked past him, heading towards the trail that led back to the estate and she could hear Bucky sigh heavily before following her.

It wasn’t that she was angry at him for suggesting that her own flesh and blood could have murdered her father, it was more the thought that her sister knew about it. And after the weird conversation she just had with her sister proved that Carter might know something. She was the one, afterall, married and having an heir.

She went straight for the outdoor shower, pulling at the strings at her neck to untie the swimsuit. She gave very little care if Bucky saw her; hell, Steve had seen more than his fair share of her body since she turned eighteen. She pulled down the wet material and threw it to the side and turned on the shower head. Cool water started to stream down on her, making her bristle slightly before relaxing under it. All her irritation and anger started to wash away.

Bucky turned away when he saw Constance pull down the top of her suit, his cheeks growing hot. He had to start getting a hold of himself when she did things like that, but he wasn’t used to it by any means. He fiddled with the phone as he tossed her coverup onto a nearby chair and made his mind up to call Steve.

“What’s going on Buck?” Steve rushed out after only a ring.

“She’s fine. Safe. But we got a call from Sharon,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She was asking Constance where she was and that she needed her home when the baby comes.”

Steve hummed before speaking to someone in the background, most likely Moira, to excuse himself.

“How did she even know your number?”

“Doesn’t everyone in your little secret service group have it?” Bucky would have assumed just that since Nicholas Fury had called him once before.

“No, just me and my boss.”

Well, this is interesting. How did Constance’s sister know his number then? He had never met her detail, not knowing exactly who they were or what they looked like. He had only seen Sharon with her husband, Helmut.

“That’s all Carter wanted?” Steve asked, bringing Bucky out of his thoughts.

“From what it sounded like, yeah,” Bucky sighed, “and Constance is pissed because I questioned why Sharon needed her there.”

“Those girls have had a complicated relationship since Carter started dating Helmut.”

“Why’s that?” Bucky wasn’t one for gossip, but if this was something to help him understand Constance better, he would take whatever detail Steve would give him.

“Helmut courted Constance before.” The news made Bucky’s mouth drop open. He had met the man only twice and even then, he couldn’t imagine Constance with the weasley looking man. “Yeah, it’s a weird image, ain’t it? When Constance was sixteen, her father and Helmut’s father thought it would be a good match and arranged for them to be married by her twentieth birthday.”

“I gather Constance was against it?”

“Oh, she voiced her opinion every day for the three months they were together,” Steve chuckled, “her words about him were: self-centered, showy, emotionless, and I believe she used insatiable.”

“So he has an ego; I could gather that from the moment I met him. But how did he end up with Sharon.”

“Constance dumped him and said he needed to find himself another girl willing to be his puppet.”

“So he went for her sister,” Bucky replied slowly, “that’s cold.”

“To be fair, Carter had a crush on Helmut since she was four. Puppy love does things to people.”

“This is why I vowed never to get involved with anyone,” Bucky grumbled, “So I assume Zemo was promised part of the kingdom and when our girl said no, he went for the next in hopes of getting it anyway.”

“That’s what Fury and I think. We even think he has their details, Rumlow, Pierce, and Rollins, in on it. From now on, only answer calls from Fury or me. I’ll pass the information on to Fury and see what he wants to do.”

“Thanks Steve. I might as well ask how her mother is doing, so I can give her something good to think about?”

“Moira is well, missing her and worried sick, but just let Constance know she’s good. Take care, Buck, and call if anything seems off.”

“Yep.” He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He still couldn’t get the image of Constance being with Zemo out of his head, and it made him wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“What’s got you all repulsed?”

Bucky turned around to see Constance standing there wrapped in a bright pink towel.

“Oh nothing, Steve just informed me about some interesting information about your past dating life,” he replied, giving her a smirk.

“Oh god,” Constance groaned and turned to walk back into the house, but Bucky could see the slight pink tinge to her cheeks.

[pedrothirst]

Fine Line - Part VI

Author’s note: This one is focused on Javi. You could even say it’s written from his POV, kinda. It’s a new part and I hope you like it!

Part V / Masterlist / Playlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/OC hybrid

Word count: 1,330

Warnings: smut (male masturbation, to be exact)

He wouldn't admit it towards her once he was back in Bogotá but he missed her. The past week in Cali had been even more exhausting than the last time he had been here. After the arrest of Gilberto Rodríguez Orejuela, the other three gentlemen of Cali stood with their backs against the wall. They were set to make mistakes, to act rashly. And when they did, the DEA would be ready. 

However, those assumptions came with the premise that the DEA's people were present and working on catching the other brother day and night. The little time Javier had to himself he spent wishing for some distraction, something that wouldn't stress him out and made him think about work when he was supposed to relax. Something like paying her a visit at the café she was working at, having breakfast with her and letting her bully him just for fun.

Seeing her before work usually set him up for a good day ahead. 

Even that hiking trip she had talked him into the other day hadn't been as bad as he had thought originally. He missed blowing off steam with her, either by complaining about work and all its dead ends as vaguely as he could, or by letting go of his frustration in the bedroom. That big mouth of hers, whether it sent a witty comeback his way or was wrapped around his cock, was a force to be reckoned with. 

The last time he had come back from Cali had been after said arrest of one of the cartel's leaders. He had felt so full of endorphins and there had only been one person in all of Colombia he had wanted to share this victory with. The sex they had had was unlike anything before. It hadn't been just sex and he was sure she had felt it as well. That kind of peaceful sense of well-being hadn't been something she could have ignored. 

Intimacy wasn't exactly Javier's forte but the adrenaline in his veins and his desire to be with her again had made him forget that this arrangement wasn't to be taken to the next level. After that passionate first round, she had been quick to bring them both back to their more feral selves. He could feel his blood streaming downwards just by thinking about her naked body in his DEA jacket. How she had looked a little lost in it because it was too big on her when she was far from being lost at all. She always knew exactly what she was doing, knew how to make a man weak, yearn for her. 

Javier's hand went down to his pants. The other one was lying on the armrest of the couch as he tried not to think about how he probably wasn't the first DEA agent helping himself in this apartment on a lonely Saturday night. While he cupped his length through his briefs, his thoughts went back to her, back to the way she had kneeled in front of him, ready to be taken again. Back to her sultry voice calling him "Sir", a kink he hadn't known he had before that night, asking him to not be too rough with her when in reality, it couldn't be rough enough for her. He liked it when she played innocent, as if she hadn't been wiggling her ass, nonverbally asking him to slap it, to pound into her while grabbing her hips, moving her back and forth on his cock. She had thrown back her head when he had picked her up to press her covered back against his naked chest and cup her tits with his big hands through the cold fabric of his jacket.

Just as he wanted to wrap his fingers around his now freed cock, he remembered something about that night. Something that was so unlike her, he had almost forgotten it had actually happened. Javier stood up and went to the bedroom where he opened his suitcase to get the photo from one of the inside pockets. It showed her back and her ass, kneeling in front of him with his cum running down her cheeks and her pussy. She had suggested he should take that Polaroid picture of her for the next time he had to leave, under the one condition that it didn't show her face or anything else that could lead someone to believe it was her. In case Javier lost it by accident. 

This photo wasn't far from anything he had seen in certain magazines but the fact that he knew it was her body, his jacket and his cum on her skin made his cock twitch. He got rid of his pants and briefs and sat down on the bed, the instant picture in one hand and his throbbing length in the other. 

His mind went back to the memories of that night. He remembered how shehad got the visible red marks on her butt, how he had spanked her, digged into the soft but sensitive flesh with his fingers before he had entered her tight pussy. How he had taken her patiently, since she had liked to pretend that she didn't like it rough. 

And how, eventually, she had asked him to give her more. 

"Please, fuck me harder, Sir."

Javier was biting on his bottom lip, breathing heavily and couldn't stop himself from sighing quietly, moaning even every now and then while he kept pumping his cock. His thumb brushed over the tip and smeared the first few beads of precum around, making him buck his hips. He took in the sight of her pussy dripping of his cum again before he closed his eyes and imagined that it was her hand jerking him off like this. That she would wrap her lips around his cock any second to get a taste of him, to make herself gag and eventually swallow his cum like the good girl she could be. The filthy wet sounds she would make while blowing him rumbled in his mind as his own moves got faster. She always looked so pretty on her knees for him, whether it was her mouth stretching around his thick cock or her pussy. 

With her name on his lips, he shot his cum over his own hand and stomach, making the same mess of himself that he had made of her last week. It took him a few seconds to catch his breath before he left the bed to get clean. He felt like a horny teenager, as if he just had lost his virginity and was still walking down memory lane. Which was her fault for the most part because she was driving him insane with her perfect little pussy and and how she knew how to play with him. 

After he had put on a fresh pair of briefs and a new shirt, he couldn't stop himself from picking up the phone and dialing her land-line number. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey sweetheart, it's Javi."

His voice was still a little hoarse, thanks to the fact that he had had an orgasm just minutes ago. 

"Oh hi old man, everything alright in Cali? You sound tired." 

"Yeah it's a lot right now. I don't know when I'll be back in Bogotá but I thought once I am, we could have breakfast together the next day?" 

"Sure, I'd love that. But just so you know, you won't see me naked unless you come back with another arrest on your résumé."

Javier chuckled and pressed the phone a bit closer to his ear.

"What kind of motivational coaching is that?" 

"Is it working?" 

Judging by the way his soft dick started to feel again, it was. 

"I'll give you a heads up before I leave here. So you don't have to yearn for me every morning now."

"Oh that's what your dreams are made off, I bet."

"God, baby, you have no idea."

[Taglist: @steeeeeeeviebb​ @otherthingsinhead​ @pascalisthepunkest​ @onebatch--twobatch​ @letaliabane​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @mrsparknuts​ @xletmetaste-yoursmilex @jitterbugs927​ @harrys-stan​ @lunaserenade​ @anu-simps​ @smoke-and-sunset​ @pedrospunk​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @sfr99]

[topsytervy]

Good Night ~ Rafe Cameron

Ahaha I did a Part 3 to goodbye. It kind of got a little dicey at the end but it’s chill. You can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Blurb: You and Rafe go out for some drinks and I don’t know what else to say.

Word Count: 3,323

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, grammar/spelling mistakes, I think that’s it

~~~~~~

Rafe smiled as he unlocked the door to his apartment and walked in, closing the door behind him as he placed his keys in the little dish on the counter.

He walked further into his apartment, taking off his coat and placing it on the back of a chair before walking down the hall to his bedroom to change into pajamas. He flopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling as a smile crept onto his face. 

He let out a breathy laugh as he ran his hands over his face as he thought about his day with you in the car. It was a dream come true to have alone time with you after all these years. All he wanted was 5 minutes with you and he got 8 hours instead.

His phone vibrated on his nightstand and he reached over, grabbing it and unlocking it before his grin grew.

My plans for tomorrow fell through and I don't work the day after, so drinks tomorrow night?

Rafe looked up towards his ceiling. "I'm starting to think you exist, big guy." 

Yeah. I'll pick you up at 7?

I'll see you then.

Rafe set his phone back on the nightstand and positioned himself under the covers, closing his eyes as he thought about your conversation when he dropped you off.

Rafe held open the door to your apartment complex for you before walking in behind you.

"Thank you," you smiled as you began your journey up the stairs to your apartment.

Rafe stood at the bottom of the steps and pointed to the elevator. "Why are we not using the elevator?" He asked.

"I got stuck in one a few years back and I decided that I'm staying far away from those things for the rest of my life." You shrugged. Rafe chuckled lightly and took his first step up. You looked back at him with a grin. "Hope you plan on skipping leg day cause I'm up on floor six."

Rafe waved his hand, dismissing your sentence. "Please, this will be a cinch."

Halfway up, Rafe looked over at you as he heard the slight panting coming from you. His lips formed into a smirk as he spoke. "Are you okay over there?"

You nodded. "Peachy."

"Mhm,"

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes as you two continued up the stairs, Rafe offering to carry you the rest of the way but you denied his offer. 

Rafe watched as you brought your tired feet up the last step, opening the door that separated the stairwell from the hallway of apartment doors.

You led the way to your apartment door and pulled out your key, shoving it into the lock. "Thanks for letting me ride with you. It was way better than the ride with Kie, JJ, and Pope." You glanced at him as you turned the key.

"It's no problem. I enjoyed the company." Rafe leaned against the wall, praying his voice wouldn't waver at his next sentence. "So, you wanna go out tomorrow night? Hit the town or whatever?"

Even though he knew that you two were on alright terms now, after all the car ride was filled with catching up and bad karaoke, there was still a part of his mind that was nervous. 

Nervous that you would tell him that, as fun as the last two days were, you couldn't see yourselves being more than civil acquaintances. Nervous that you'd say, 'yes, as long as the guy I've been seeing in secret for the past month can join us'. Nervous that you'd say 'let me check my schedule and I'll let you know’, but then ghost him.

Nervous that he would have to watch you walk out of his life again.

"I kind of already have a prior commitment to tomorrow," You told him before reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone, "but I'll let you know when I can squeeze in some time for you when I check my work schedule." You smiled as you extended your unlocked phone to Rafe.

"You promise?" Rafe asked as he hesitantly took your phone. 

This was the beginning of one of his scenarios he created in his mind and not one of the ones that ended with you two saying 'I do'.

You shot Rafe a look. "Rafe, you and I both know that I wouldn't be looking this calm and collected if I was lying to you. I'd be a stuttering, panicking mess."

Rafe chuckled lightly at the truthful statement of your terrible lying as he began putting in his number under his name before texting himself a ‘hi’ so he'd have your number. 

He handed your phone back to you with a grin. "To be fair, you were a stuttering, panicking mess when we first met, Y/N/N, and all you were saying was hello."

You blushed profusely at the memory of you being nervous as hell when you met Rafe for the first time and Rafe wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and tease you about the sudden redness on your cheeks like he used to do whenever you blushed.

But instead, he just added, "Don't worry. You were a cute stuttering, panicking mess," before he walked back towards the stairwell.

As Rafe slipped off into dreamland, you stayed awake, waiting for your kettle to go off so you could make your tea.

You grabbed your phone and unlocked it, Rafe’s contact staring back at you. You clicked edit and erased his name before typing out his new name.

Bub

You smiled slightly at the familiar nickname from years ago and hit save before opening Spotify. You went to click on your liked songs before remembering something from the car ride with Rafe and went to the search bar, typing in Rafe’s Spotify name that you still had memorized.

"You're music is so fucking basic, Rafe." You laughed as you once again listened to some random pop song that you had already heard way too many times on the radio.

Rafe shook his head. “My music is not basic. I just have different playlists with different genres. It’s called being organized Y/L/N.” He answered with a grin.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow,

Rafe nodded. “Mhm. If I’m in the mood for rap, I have my rap playlist. If I want alternative, I have my alternative playlist. And so on.”

“Mind if I look through and choose one?” You asked. 

Rafe grabbed his phone from his hoodie pocket and unlocked it with his fingerprint before handing it over to you. You found Spotify and clicked it open, going to his playlists. You were going to click on his alternative playlist but another one caught your eye.

My Girl’s Favorites.

You glanced over at Rafe. 

“My girl’s favorites?” 

“Hmm?” He glanced over at you and you turned the screen to him. “Oh. Guess I never deleted that one.”

“Oh. You want me to delete it for you so you don’t have to remember her?” You clicked on the playlist and went to click on the three dots but Rafe spoke up.

“No!” His hand reached out and he placed a hand on your forearm to stop you. You turned to look at him and moved your finger away from the dots. “That’s… that’s your playlist. It’s probably a little outdated considering it’s been five years but… yeah. That should be all your favorites from when you were 16.” He admitted, glancing out his window before turning his attention back to the road ahead of him.

You bit your lip before clicking play on the playlist, gasping when Mr.Brightside came on first.

Rafe looked over at you and smiled as you immediately went to turn up the volume before beginning to yell the lyrics as you scrolled through all the songs that were apparently your favorites back in high school.

“This is going to be one hell of a trip down memory lane.” You commented as your eyes widened at some of the songs that you had forgotten about.

Rafe nodded. “Oh yeah. You’re in for a treat.” You glanced at him and you saw his cheeks redden slightly. “I have, on occasion, listened to it.”

You smiled and thought about Rafe listening to all of your old favorites while he was alone. If you were being honest, you still had a playlist of Rafe’s favorites that you found yourself putting on from time to time. 

You smiled as you found the playlist of your high school favorites and clicked on it, playing the music that brought back so many memories. The kettle began to whistle and you quickly turned off the heat and removed it from the burner, pouring the water into your mug that already had a teabag in it.

You grabbed your phone and your tea, heading off into your bedroom so you could begin your nightly hour of coloring to help you unwind before bed.

******

When you and Rafe pulled up at the club at 8 the next night, you got out of the car, shivering slightly in the cold breeze s you waited for Rafe. Once out, he held out his fist. 

“Rack, paper, scissors for designated driver?” 

You waved him off. “I’ll be DD.” You told him and Rafe had a look of confusion on his face. 

“Really? That easy?” 

You shrugged. “I’m used to being DD. I almost always am with the pogues.” You went to grab his keys but he pulled them away.

“Y/N, when’s the last time you got shit-faced?” He asked.

When you didn’t answer, Rafe pocketed his keys. "I’ll be DD tonight. You, my dear, are going to drink to your heart’s content.” 

You ignored the slight flutter your heart did at my dear and went for his pocket to grab his keys. “Seriously, Rafe. It’s not that big of a deal. I don’t want to ruin your fun of getting wasted.”

Rafe grabbed your wrists gently and pushed you away from his body with a small laugh. “I find the thought of you getting wasted way more entertaining.” You shot him a look and he turned you around, pushing you to the back of the small line. “Think of this as your opportunity to let loose and have some fun.”

You rolled your eyes before walking to the back of the line with Rafe behind you.

Two hours had passed since you two entered the club, sitting next to Rafe in a booth in the corner after you two had spent the last twenty minutes dancing. Rafe had two beers the whole night and you… well, Rafe would say you were closer to the shit-faced side of the scale from what he could tell. 

Rafe looked over at you and saw you yawn before picking up your drink and placing the straw in your mouth. Well, attempt to. You missed your mouth a couple of times.

"Alright, sweetheart. I think that is our cue to get you home." He told you, finishing off the beer he'd been nursing for the past 45 minutes.

You whined and grabbed his bicep with your hands. "Rafe, I'm not tired." You finally managed to get the straw into your mouth.

"Oh yeah? That yawn says otherwise. Stay here while I close the tab." He slipped out of the booth and walked over to the bar. 

After getting the bartender's attention and letting him know he was closing the tab, he glanced over at you, smiling as he watched you finish off your drink. He narrowed his eyes as he saw a dude slide into the booth next to you, a smile on his face as he reached over and touched your hand, saying something. Rafe watched you take the straw out of your mouth and respond with a shake of your head as you slowly slid out of your seat, placing your glass on the table as you said something back to him.

Rafe looked back at the bartender who tapped his shoulder and took his card back with a thanks before making his way back to you quickly.

"Rafe!" You cheered, throwing your arms around his neck. 

Throughout the night, he noticed how with each drink you got touchier and more affectionate. Not that he minded, of course, but the sudden movement took him off guard for a second before he slid his arms around your waist to keep you from tipping over.

Okay, half to keep you from tipping over, half because he wanted to.

But, you know, tomato, tomato.

"Hey, Ready to go?" He grinned, his eyes shifting from you to the guy who was now standing behind you. 

You nodded your head and you took your arms from his neck, heading towards the door as Rafe’s hand found its home on the small of your back. Rafe led you outside and to his car, opening the passenger door for you. The sleepiness seemed to finally be hitting you now that you were away from the crowd and loud music, the quiet night taking over instead as you yawned once more. Rafe opened the door for you and you whispered a quick thanks before climbing in.

“Can you buckle yourself in?” 

You nodded as you reached for the seatbelt. "Tonight was fun Rafe." You told him quietly as he watched you struggle to grab it.

Rafe smiled. "Yeah, it was." He grabbed the seatbelt and handed it to you, causing you to smile back and click it into place as he shut your door.

He walked over to the driver’s side and slid into the seat, shoving the key into the ignition before turning it and starting the car.

The ride was quiet except for the radio and when Rafe glanced over at you about halfway to your place, you were fast asleep, head resting against the window. 

When he pulled up to your apartment building, he decided against waking you up, cause what kind of a gentleman would he be if he woke a princess from her slumber just so she had to walk up six flights of stairs while drunk to her apartment, and got out of the car.

He opened your door just enough to slip his hand inside and place his hand between your head and the window before opening the door all the way. He reached over your body and clicked the button to unlatch the seatbelt. 

You stirred slightly as you groaned and Rafe looked at you the seatbelt retracted.

“It’s just me, Y/N.” He whispered, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms around his neck.

You tightened your grip around his neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist, his hands going to the bottom of your thighs. 

“Watch your head,” He told you as he pulled you out of the car.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck as he shut the door, beginning the journey to your apartment.

You sniffed as Rafe started up the first flight of stairs, causing one of Rafe’s hands to go to your back, rubbing your back softly.

“You okay?” 

“No.”

Rafe’s face fell at your answer. “Why?”

“Because I lied to you.” You murmured into his neck.

“Oh?”

“I never got stuck in the elevator. I made that up so I could spend a few more minutes with you.” You murmured into his neck.

Rafe felt a smile creep onto his face. “Yeah?”

He felt you nod and he chuckled. “You could’ve just invited me in for tea or something, you know?”

“My plans didn’t fall through either. I canceled them. It was a tinder date but you’re way more interesting than that guy.”

“Oh really?" He smirked, his ego slightly boosted over the fact that you chose him over some random guy.

"Mhm. I blocked him too."

"That’s nice, Y/N/N." His smirk turning into a grin. "Are you gonna delete the app entirely?"

You shrugged. "Maybe." You sighed, one of your hands beginning to play with his hair. 

The rest of the trip upstairs was quiet, Rafe hoping you didn’t fall back asleep when he came face to face with your door.

"Where are your keys?" He whispered, just in case you had actually fallen asleep.

You dug into your bag and grabbed the keys, handing them to the man without taking your face from his neck.

You kissed his cheek as he unlocked your door and opened it before setting you down.

"Do you wanna stay? It's late and I don't think you should drive anymore." You stared at him.

Rafe shoved his hands into the pockets. "Uh...yeah. Sure. Someone's gotta take care of you, right?"

You smiled as you grabbed his arm and dragged him inside, closing the door behind him. You lead him into your room and handed him a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants you never got around to returning to him before directing him to the bathroom.

You climbed into bed after getting dressed and Rafe came back into your bedroom, placing a bucket on your side of the bed. 

"Just in case you have to throw up during the night." He told you, knowing you rarely ever made it to the bathroom.

You once threw up in an empty cooler once cause you couldn't make it to the trash can that was 5 feet away but that’s a different story.

You smiled and he turned to walk away but you grabbed his wrist. He turned to look at you and you opened your arms. "Come cuddle with me?" 

Rafe smiled. "Are you sure?"

You pouted at him and patted the spot next to you. Rafe climbed into your bed, opening his arms and you rolled into his side, your head resting on his chest.

"I missed this a lot." You sighed, inhaling his scent.

"Me too, Y/N. Me too." Rafe kissed the top of your head.

You looked up at him before placing your lips on his softly. Rafe smiled as he kissed you back before pulling away after a couple of seconds.

"Go to sleep now. We'll talk in the morning." He whispered, his thumb rubbing circles on your side.

"Okay, but Rafe, you should know something else I lied about." Rafe looked down at you, waiting for what you were about to say. "I'm not that drunk." You shrugged, a small smile on your face.

Rafe stared at you.  "I carried you up the stairs for no reason? Six fights of stairs when I could've taken the elevator or you could've walked them yourself?" Rafe shook his head. “Did you use the five years to work on your lying?”

You let out a small laugh at his words. "You should've known I'm not a lightweight. I mean, JJ is one of my best friends. We didn’t even have that many drinks tonight."

Rafe shook his head at you again with a tsk. "I know your mom didn't raise you as a liar. I'm going to have to call her and tell her her daughter has been lying to me."

"But it was to spend more time with you." You grinned as you took your finger and booped his nose.

He took an arm from your waist and grabbed your wrist gently, kissing your hand. "I mean, I guess I can forgive you if that’s your reason." He smiled. 

"That is my reason." You giggled.

Rafe squeezed your side. "Then I guess you're forgiven then, sweetheart."

You threw your leg over his and closed your eyes, your arm resting across his abdomen. "That’s good to know. I can go to sleep now without worrying about you being mad at me." You hummed. "Goodnight, bubs."

Rafe grinned, kissing the top of your head once more before closing his own eyes. "Goodnight, baby."

~~~~~~~

[lifeofkaze]

Chapter 19 - Change the Stars

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Allusions to Childhood Trauma

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell @thatravenpuffwitch

Would you do it with me

Heal the scars and change the stars

Would you do it for me

Turn loose the heaven within

~ Nightwish - Ever Dream ~

As soon as all the children had left the building, a visible sigh of relief went through the people assembled on stage. All of them were glad that their first assignment of the day was done and they would be able to get some rest before returning for their second show in a few hours’ time.

Lizzie and Skye were chatting about the meet & greet when the sound of subdued voices drew their attention. Merula and Orion were standing close together at the exit of the stage; Merula was frowning, her whole body language defensive, while the signs of tension Lizzie had noticed on Orion previously were rapidly breaking through as he spoke. When Merula hissed something to him, Orion gave a frustrated sigh, turned on his heels and marched off stage.

Merula’s whole demeanour changed instantly; she seemed to be sorry for whatever she had said. But when she saw Lizzie and Skye looking, she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, before walking away into the opposite direction.

“What a fun little trip down memory lane,” Everett said with a dry chuckle as he came to stand beside them. He rested his elbow on Lizzie’s shoulder but she shook it off again.

“Don’t be a dick, Ev,” she frowned, “you know it’s hard for them.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged, “it’s a show, just like anything else in this fucking business. They should be used to it by now. Ladies,” he tipped two of his fingers against his temple and left them standing.

Skye looked after him, shaking her head. “When exactly did Ev turn into such a dick?”

“Ask me something easier,” Lizzie muttered in return.

They didn’t speak much on their way back to the hotel, at least not to each other. Skye was rambling on about the new additions Celtic Glasgow had made to its roster, but Lizzie was only half listening.

The thought about Orion disappearing so abruptly wouldn’t leave her mind. These kinds of events stirred up memories in Merula and him, but usually, it was only Merula who openly showed signs of her distress; Lizzie had never before seen them getting into an argument afterwards.

“Jameson? Are you even listening?”

“Sorry, what?” Lizzie looked at her friend remorsefully; she had no idea what Skye had been talking about, let alone if they still were on the topic of football.

“I was saying we’re going to slay it this year in the Champions’ League. No comment on this from a misguided Reds fan?”

“In your dreams, Parkin. You’ll be lucky if you make it through the preliminary rounds,” Lizzie said half-heartedly. Usually, she would never pass on an argument about football, but today her mind was elsewhere.

“You know what, I’m more tired than I thought,” Lizzie said when they had arrived at their hotel, “I think I’ll catch some sleep before heading back.”

Skye made an indignant sound. “I thought we wanted to grab something to eat.”

“Sorry about that, but I really need to get some rest,” Lizzie said evasively, not meeting Skye’s eyes. “Maybe Ev is around somewhere, you could spend some time with him.”

Skye snorted. “As if. See you later, Jameson.”

Lizzie waited until Skye was out of sight before climbing the stairs to the floor where they had their rooms. But instead of entering her own room, she walked straight past it until she came to Orion’s door. Hesitating for a moment, she knocked tentatively against the dark, lacquered wood.

She waited a little before she knocked again, but no sound was coming from behind the door. Lizzie wondered for a moment if she had misjudged Orion and he wasn’t in there after all.

“Orion?” she called quietly. “Are you there?”

After a moment, she could hear movement from the inside of the hotel room. She stepped back when the door opened, revealing Orion standing in the doorframe. He looked at her questioningly.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing,” Lizzie said. His clothes were creased and his hair even more tousled than usual. “Have you been sleeping? Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Orion shook his head. “I tried to, but to no avail. My mind won’t let me rest.”

Lizzie hummed in response. “I thought so. You seemed upset before you left.” She offered him a warm smile. “Do you want some distraction?”

A flicker of irritation crossed Orion’s face before the thoughtful expression from before returned. “I appreciate both your concern and your offer, but I’m not in the mood, sorry.”

Realising how her words must have sounded, Lizzie felt the heat rising to her face. “That’s not… No. Sorry, that came across all wrong. I just want to know if you’re okay. You never are after shows like this.”

Orion inclined his head. “That is true. Memories are a fickle thing; they can lie dormant so long you almost forget them, but once stirred, there is no running from them anymore.” He sighed, the sadness on his face tugging at Lizzie’s heartstrings. “To answer your question: No, I am not okay.”

Lizzie felt the overwhelming need to wrap her arms around him, just to give him the comfort he so obviously needed. But she was still standing in the hallway, somebody could step out of their room at any time.

“Can I come in?” she asked instead.

Orion looked her up and down, a curious look in his eyes. “Events like the one today have always brought back the ghosts of my past. Usually, you let me be; this is the first time you have come to me. Why?”

Lizzie contemplated his question, but didn’t know the answer. Orion liked to come to terms with anything that was bothering him on his own, she knew that. She had never felt the need to check on him before.

Instead of answering his question, she shrugged, the smile on her lips more uncertain than before. “I can leave if you want me to.”

She was relieved when Orion immediately shook his head and stepped away from the door. “No, your company is always welcome. I was just curious.”

Lizzie walked past him into the room that was looking exactly like hers, maybe a little less messy. Orion had drawn the curtains and turned on the lights, shutting out the bright blue sky outside. The sheets of the bed were creased, speaking of his failed attempt to escape from his thoughts by means of sleep.

Several of the notebooks containing his sacred ideas lay strewn around the room; Lizzie picked one of them up. She was itching to have a look inside but knew Orion wouldn’t appreciate it; he often shared his unfinished works with her, but always in his own time. And sure enough, he gently but firmly took the notebook from her hands and placed it in a neat stack on the desk alongside the others.

“Have you been able to get any work done?” she wanted to know.

Orion sighed again; it sounded like it came from the bottom of his heart. “Unfortunately not. My thoughts are running wild. Every time I focus on one thing, they break away and return to places I do not want them to go.” He motioned to the book lying upside down on his bed. “I can’t even read one sentence without them wandering off. I’d usually let them roam freely, but not today.”

He sat down on the bed, his dark hair falling into his face as he dropped his eyes to the floor. “I’m not a pleasant company at this moment, I’m afraid, so I would understand if you want to spend your time with someone a little more uplifting.”

Lizzie was concerned at the level of distress Orion was displaying. She had known something was off with him but not that he was as affected so badly.

She kneeled down next to Orion on the bed, reaching out and gently touching his forearm. Orion tensed momentarily but his muscles relaxed once his eyes found hers. She gave him a reassuring smile.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

She let her hand drop when Orion shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Do you want me to go?” she offered a second time. It was plain to see that Orion was bothered but Lizzie didn’t know how to comfort him. She hated this feeling of helplessness.

But Orion shook his head again. “I’d be glad if you stayed.”

Lizzie’s eyes grew soft. “That’s why I’m here.”

She reached out again and drew Orion into a hug. The ends of his dark hair tickled her neck as he buried his face against her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her as he held on to her tightly. Lizzie felt his chest rise and fall as he took deep and deliberate breaths, shaky at first, but calmer by the minute; the tension in his shoulders started lessening ever so slowly.

She loosened her arms around his shoulders after a while, but Orion made no move to do the same. If anything, he pulled her even closer.

“You can let go now,” she chuckled against his hair.

“I don’t want to.”

The vibration of his words against her collarbone made Lizzie laugh softly. She leaned her head against his, her fingers gently grazing the skin on his neck.

They sat like that for a while, not speaking a single word, until Lizzie felt the muscles in her shoulders starting to tense. She leaned back ever so carefully until her back made contact with the headboard of the bed. Orion adjusted his position alongside her, his head coming to rest in her lap. His lips curved into a smile which was now reaching his eyes again.

“Do you feel better now?”

He closed his eyes, enjoying the way her fingers were gently stroking his hair. “I do. You have gathered my thoughts from the past and firmly grounded them in this moment again.”

Lizzie smiled. “That’s good.” She didn’t stop brushing her fingers through his hair, however. Orion wasn’t the only one who was feeling considerably calmer than before.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Orion said suddenly, “I wouldn’t have expected it, but thank you.”

Frowning slightly, Lizzie tilted her head. “You said so before. Why is it so strange that I would want to know if you’re okay?”

Orion averted his eyes, looking at the ceiling instead. He was turning the pendant of his necklace between his fingers. “We never spend time together like this.”

A trace of hurt flickered across Lizzie’s face and she pulled her hand away. “You make this sound as if I don’t care for you except for a good shag,” she said a little more sharply than she had meant to. It stung that Orion seemed to be thinking that way. “We’re friends after all, I hope you haven’t forgotten that.”

He didn’t look at her, seemingly lost in thought. “I haven’t.”

He turned his head slightly. “I didn’t mean to upset you; of course we are friends. I meant that I usually keep to myself when my emotions run wild and until today, you’ve always left me alone. Why did you come today?” he repeated his question from earlier.

Lizzie hesitated. “You seemed different.”

Orion hummed in confirmation, his face darkening again. “Today was different.”

His voice sounded so defeated, Lizzie had never heard him speak like this before. She picked up stroking his hair again. “Why?”

This time, Orion didn’t deny her the explanation. “It was something Merula said after the show was over,” he said quietly. “Being confronted by the demons of our past always gets to her, much more so than it does to me. Our experiences are the same but also so different. She is angry with Ethan, she thinks he’s exploiting stories better left alone for the sake of publicity. Which I can’t really disagree with,” Orion added sadly. “To him it’s not about making those children happy but about pitching our sales.”

“But that’s something we’ve known all along,” Lizzie pointed out. “He’s never kept his attitude a secret.”

“True, but Merula thinks we’re giving these kids false perspectives. And I think she’s right.”

He closed his eyes as if the thought was paining him. “The determination in our hearts can take us places unimaginable. But even so, the universe has a plan for all of us. Not everyone can end up being a superhero, astronaut or rockstar,” he smiled wryly at the last one. “All those kids today were looking at me with this utmost trust that one days their dreams will come true. It breaks my heart knowing that they will have to face the truth eventually. Most of them won’t be as lucky as Merula and I were.”

Lizzie listened to his words, feeling her heart break a little at the pain in Orion’s voice. She could tell how much he was hurting for these children; her throat felt constricted at the thought of how Orion himself must have felt all those years ago.

“Maybe they won’t,” Lizzie said quietly, “but that’s a lesson we all had to learn eventually.” She caught his gaze and held it. “Something you like to tell us right before we go on stage is how everything that matters is the present. To not dwell on songs that are done and not about which one is coming next. Just to focus on what is now, that’s the only way to truly live the moment.”

Her hand went from his hair to his face, the backs of her fingers caressing his cheek. She felt the scratch of his beard against the back of her hand; even though she was familiar with how it bit into her skin, this moment shared between them felt incredibly intimate.

Maybe it was the way Orion was looking at her; his eyes caught hers as he listened, his complete focus bound on what she had to say.

“These kids today,” she continued, “they are living in the here and now, just like you always try to teach us. In their minds, they are living their dreams, even if it’s only for a little while. You are their proof that it's worth hanging onto them, and that is something so precious. Without dreams, there’s no reason to chase after what we truly want. No one can achieve anything great without a goal in mind. You’re right, not all of them will become what they dream of now, but you have shown them that with a bit of luck and dedication, it can happen. Anyone can find happiness, no matter who they are.

Orion let her words sink in. “You really think so?” he asked eventually, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.

A smile stole onto Lizzie’s face. “I’m sure of it.”

The corners of Orion’s mouth twitched into a slight smirk. “I wasn’t the only one they adored, though. I saw how they were looking at you.” His smirk widened into a grin. “You seemed to have gained a personal fan.”

Lizzie remembered the little girl and her burning enthusiasm all too well. “I did,” she laughed, “she told me she wants to become a drummer, just like me.”

“That’s a wonderful goal to have,” Orion said. “The world needs more people like you. Was that what you two talked about at the end?”

“No,” Lizzie chuckled, “she asked me about the dreamcatcher.”

Orion had closed his eyes again, enjoying the feel of Lizzie’s fingers entangled in his hair. She watched his face relaxing before she casually added “And she wanted to know if you’re my boyfriend.”

“Did she now?” he mumbled drowsily.

“I believe she is very in love with you. She told me she’s going to marry you once she’s older,” Lizzie giggled, “Just so you are prepared.”

“And what did you tell her?” Orion smirked.

“I said that you are a very lucky man,” she laughed, brushing a rogue strand of hair from his face.

Lizzie was glad to see that the sparkle in his eyes had returned when Orion looked at her; his gaze was as captivating again as it had always been.

“I guess I am.”

The unreadable expression on his face was gone before Lizzie could think on it any further. The trace of his smile was still playing around his lips as Orion let himself get carried away by her gentle touch.

After a few more minutes, his body relaxed completely and his head fell slightly to the side; he had finally fallen asleep.

Lizzie studied his face; her eyes wandered over his black hair messed up by her fingers, then down his forehead, lingering on his long lashes that almost seemed to touch his skin. She saw the shallow lines around his eyes, edged into his skin from the many moments he spent laughing with his friends. Her eyes followed the bridge of his nose and swept over the dark stubble on his cheeks before they came to rest on the curve of his lips. They were slightly parted, and for one second, she almost gave in to the urge to kiss him; just like that, one simple, innocent kiss.

Lizzie shook her head to clear her thoughts. What was she even thinking? That wasn’t how she did things; Orion wasn’t her boyfriend, and that was exactly how she wanted it to stay. She had no place stealing a kiss from him while he was asleep.

Trying her best not to move too much lest he might wake up again, she reached over to Orion’s book. Perhaps some reading would distract her from her unruly thoughts; with his head still resting on her lap, it wasn’t like she could do much else anyway.

She placed the feather Orion was using as a bookmark between the pages and flicked through the book until she found her own bookmark. She had started reading it some time ago, when she had waited for him to be done showering; by the time he had been done, she had already been thoroughly invested in the story.

Before she picked up where she had left off, she glanced down at Orion’s peaceful face. She felt a touch of sadness as she thought back on their conversation.

How could Orion genuinely not know what he meant to the people around him?

[sugar-petals]

BTS Scenario: Taking Care of Them When They Have a Cold

↳ ♡ NOTE ⇁ time for fluff. autumn season is coming, let me set the mood right here, we’re going cozy 🍂

warnings ⚠️ hurt/comfort, brief mention of sexual tension

⌈jimin⌋ ⇢ Jimin’s cold is unusually subtle. In terms of visible signs, it’d take some time to notice it for someone who doesn’t know him or doesn’t check just how heavy another person’s breath is going. But feedback? You will definitely get. Compared to how he’s pouting about it, which will melt your heart is what I’m saying, the symptoms are understated in comparison to the other members. Taehyung’s cough can shatter an entire neighborhood, Jimin sneezing is as graceful as a gazelle. Mind you, his nose is runny, and the slight fatigue of the first two days isn’t negligible, but the major thing to actively mend is more psychological than physical. In other words, his body does its thing, you don’t have to overextend yourself. 

That’s what you have to figure out first to really take care of him properly. After laying him down and bringing both snacks and liquids, talking is what he needs rather than ten thousand types of medications and cool towels all over him. Jimin doesn’t want to see you become sick as well so you don’t sit up close, but at talking range, and you text a lot during the day while you work. He’s worried about not being able to practice and hopes the cold doesn’t show in his appearance. You assure him it takes five days at best and he is okay again and promise a lot of kisses. With that prospect, healing is even sweeter. And, you know the guy, Jimin misses seducing you, so.

⌈taehyung⌋ ⇢ Absolutely enjoys being babied ten times out of ten. Nothing better than you preparing a hot herbal bath. Rosemary, thyme, camomile. The steam spiraling off the water surface looks so relaxing in the candlelight, the classical music you put on sways him into a trance, he lays there for half an hour just motionless. He gets a little tray of coconut cookies on the bed stand, you play the guitar to him, you massage his feet before he sleeps… Which, and he hates admitting it, makes it nice to be sick. By all means not because of the fever, but the extra attentions, the hot chocolate for bed. Taehyung thinks about that twice and concludes something. He doesn’t want to get a cold just to receive this treatment. Not for his own health nor to worry or overwhelm you, he’s not gonna guilt-trip you into being a servant. 

So, you agree for later: It’s good to treat him sporadically just because, whenever and wherever, cue Shakira. That Taehyung so enjoys a good healing and mending time and it just explodes when you both have a reason to, that’s rather something to expand to the whole relationship. Taehyung will do the exact spoiling for you, with a romantic twist the way you know him. It doesn’t need a sickness to resort to doing nice things for your partner. At the end of the day, the body will remember it and get sick again because it sees what it gets through being ill. That’s something to squarely avoid doing, a random gesture is good for its own sake, amen.

⌈yoongi⌋ ⇢ Grumpy, murmuring, disgruntled he can’t work without getting a headache, needs a lot of silence to recover so he curls up on his own with earphones in and fifty playlists on repeat. He’s like tch, only thing I need is tiger balm to whip me back into shape. Or… wait. Wait a second. A cup of steaming hot coffee with extra foam he will not reject. Or a plate of fried rice. Anything fried and super crispy, really. Yoongi likes those things, especially when prepared by you. Nothing is more honoring. Actually? I’ll change the initial statement. Yoongi does accept some help. You simply gotta find out his catnip I mean favorite dishes and either know the place to order it from or have some kitchen basics down. Nothing super fancy though, it doesn’t need a God’s Menu. The right seasoning does the trick already. 

He wants it mega spicy, sweating out the cold is the way to go said Yoongi’s mom back in the day so he goes by that motto. Love starts in the stomach for felines. If another BTS member drops take-out at the door, even better, that uplifts him greatly. When he munches, that’s the most gratifying thing in the world. Yoongi wants you to eat with him by the bed so that means chili in the bedroom but screw it. All that food and you cranking up the heater distracts Yoongi from his cold and some head pats have him on his way to recovery. And, by the way. He’s kinda turned on by you cooking for him so… the frustration is real, you’re gonna fuck like rabbits once he’s okay again.

★ ⌈namjoon⌋ ⇢ The friendly giant will stay in denial about his cough for at least three days and walk around with way too much medicine in his system. He begs for someone to relieve him, mostly himself, but all those sky-high standards are in the way. Responsibility! Hard work and endurance! Solve it in your head! What is the spiritual reason for colds? How many pills keep you awake for an all-nighter to write an album in one go? What’s next on the schedule? So it goes on, you know the deal with Joonie. You have to kick that leader butt so he finally enters the healing cave under the sheets. Don’t kick too hard though, he doesn’t have Jimin-level cushions. He topples over into his sheets fast anyway, he’s that level of exhausted from his own suppression. 

The story goes on, Namjoon feels extremely guilty for getting pampered and still ponders the reasons why he is ill rather than slowing down a minute and closing his laptop for a hot second. It gets a little awkward unless you figure out your secret weapon. What he feels better with is you reading him stories while he rests on the sofa. I’m not kidding. Or if you’re busy or he wants to be alone, audiobooks. That input is like a lullaby to Namjoon who gets knocked out by the soft whispering only to descend into 12 hours of sleep. Ah, he’s namjooning. Yep. His cold will force him into resting, but by the time he recovers, he is six books wiser and has had the pleasure of listening to your voice which he finds soothing. Thankful he is, anticipate an expensive present and flowers.

★ ⌈jungkook⌋ ⇢ Meal and fluid intake: Quantity explosion! Wow, wow, and wow again, the sheer amount that he can snack and turn into what seems even more muscle and more sweetness. Guinness World Record. He knows his system is currently resetting, he wants to hand it the building blocks, he knows the math. Yes, even sick Jungkook is the cutest foodie in the world. Yes, he will eat his veggies. He worries about not being able to work out so you at least help him stretch his legs ever so slightly in bed. He’s missing his boxing gloves like crazy, he wants to see the members in the practice room, he wants his milk. The latter is easy to get for him, and FaceTime comes in handy. 

Namjoon does a little motivational speech, and Jungkook feels better almost instantly. Later on, you have to scold him — well, just a little bit — for getting up in all that enthusiasm to do some of his routine on the second day, but he already knows it’s not good for him to get his heart rate up like that. He patiently snuggles in a cocoon of duvets with only his eyes being visible. Until, finally, his red lil’ nose goes back to normal and his lungs feel a lot lighter. Jungkook really hates being dizzy, so it’s a weight off his hunky shoulders all right. Then, he can join you at the dinner table for a double portion of extra Parmesan Spaghetti, and you settle on the couch to bingewatch romantic animes and any Studio Ghibli movie in history.

★ ⌈jin⌋ ⇢ It simply can’t be helped, he even wants to make this funny. Humor really is a never-ending well, Jin is Spongebob’s long lost cousin if you go by his amount of meme talk. He calls himself Rudolph the Red-Nosed Jindeer, stuffs handkerchiefs into his nostrils, draws smileys on his knees with the cream usually meant for a dry philtrum (he now has very hydrated knees, how about that), does impossible contortions to find the right sleeping or reading position. Honestly, you don’t really have to take much care of him nor worry, Jin will cure himself through laughter. The power of positive emotion. Entertainment is nothing to provide for, he’s a one-man show after all. Jin is the least bored when he’s sick among the group, however! It needs someone else to exchange with, you know. No punchline without an audience. Listening is the best thing. 

Sit, lean back, see what he has to say. The only thing you gotta actively do is stop him from choking on his own spit after a particularly dead-on joke. Maybe it’s introducing some room for serious time that helps Jin enter a different track. I can imagine that. Some talk about memories, talk about sorrows and issues. Jin is a complete man, but he still has plenty of ’em, demons don’t evade handsome people. And those need to be talked through in a silent minute. Jin also enjoys movie nights with a cup of tea in one hand and syrup in the other, that’s the go-to way to unwind. You can finally go all out and pour him his tea, bake for him, serve some self-made popcorn, extra sticky and sweet, oh yum.

★ ⌈hoseok⌋ ⇢ If Jimin and Hobi ever get colds at the same time, this will be the poutiest contest. They’re the most vocal about it in the group. Hoseok, and that will come to surprise you a little, becomes needy. Not at the beginning where he’s confused and emotional about what’s going on with him (someone who works this hard and needs a fully functioning body is thrown out of their lane even by the slightest symptom), but shortly after. You’ll come to understand how sensitive his body is, almost as perceptive as Jungkook’s actually. His body blows up with a strong fever, a hot man heating up even more is just an explosion of physics. 

He needs handkerchiefs, he needs tons of water, he needs music to distract him a little, he needs a heating blanket for his feet once the fever is gone. Granted, every sick person depends on those things, but Hoseok is someone who calls out of the bedroom often because he ran out. He’s not afraid to ask for things unlike Namjoon who would refuse out of overt politeness. You certainly have a lot to do because his cold comes in strong so it’s important you enjoy taking care of him and don’t do it out of obligation. Quality time is what we’re talking about here. It’s not about you doing the things, it’s about the presence. That’s why Hoseok will use his money well and always order proper take-out that’s not just classic fast food, you don’t have to cook or anything.

related: putting bts to sleep after a hard day 

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