#she thought it was funny though i’d just like to clarify

[franklyimissparis]

tormenting my sister with catboy mccartney

[feyburner]

This is part of a longer thing I may post on ao3 at some point but here’s some silly little Jaytim texting AU. I use this format as a writing warmup.

EDIT: This has been posted on AO3.

[Unknown] »

Hey. This is Jason. 

I have a favor to ask. You can say no.

« tim

uh

1. i’m aware of how favors work  

2. what is it?

« tim

?

« tim

hey are you like. good

J »

Yeah fine 

Sry. Rethinking this maybe

« tim

what, do you need a kidney or something?

i can’t give you a kidney.

i don’t have any organs to spare.

J »

What ? 

« tim

what’s the favor?

J »

I wouldn’t ask if it wasnt important

I’d ask Roy but hes in star city 

or Kori but shes off world

I tried dickhead but hes in haven. Cant get away tonight

« tim

yeah jason i get it lol

J »

So Im currently in the cargo hold of a private yacht

« tim

what >?

J »

We’re caught in the storm thats hitting the city its a whole thing. 

« tim

are you in the cargo hold of your own volition or did someone put you there

J »

So I dont think I can get back t

No its on purpose

« tim

hang on. you’re in gotham bay right now? in a boat?  

jason this storm is really bad.

it’s already sunk a houseboat and a fishing boat at the marina

J »

I dont think I can get back totown toni

Christ you type fast 

Shut up for a sec. Clam down

Clam*

*Calm fuck me

Thought I was gnna be back tonight but bc of storm its not looking great.

Can you feed my sourdough starter 

« tim

what

J »

4511 overhill apt 6D 

Key under the neighbors mat. 6H

« tim

hey to clarify. “its not looking great” ← what does that mean

J »

Starter is on counter. in glass jar 

Should just need one feeindg. Maybe 2. depending 

« tim

on???

J »

On wwhen I get back?

« tim

so you do plan on coming back

J »

Yeah timothy I’m in a boat not the heart of Mount Doom

« tim

yeah? vaders not there? so that means everything’s fine? 

J »

Did you

jst say Vader

As in Darth

« tim

??? 

J »

Oh my god

« tim

jason are you in peril or what.

J »

No im not in “peril” lol.

Did you see the thing I said about my sourddough starter

It needs to be fed

« tim

wtf is a sourdough starter

nvm i googled it

J »

Its a live bacteria colony you use to m 

Oh ok

Yeah so it just needs 50g lukewarm water + 50g flour

Theres a scale next to the jar

Stir until it looks like hummus

Put lid back on

The end

« tim

the internet says if you put it in the fridge it doesn’t need daily feedings

J »

Sure. But that would mess up my bread schedule

« tim

your bread schedule 

J »

Man are gyou gonna fuckin feed Breadie Mercury or should I find someone else

« tim

im already en route. 

J »

Oh

Ok

Thank you.

Wtf dont text and motorbike  

« tim

how about you dont text and Sinking Boat

J »

Hey its not like I’m gonna cause a boat crash

« tim

i was stopped at a red light 😐

anwyay i’m at your place.

1. why do you not have a security system. when you said key under the neighbor’s mat i thought you were joking. 

2. how warm is lukewarm

J »

1. I’m the security system

« tim

just rolled my eyes so hard it actually physically hurt

J »

God youre annoying

2. ? Its lukewarm

« tim

ohhhhh thanks! that’s so helpful :) here i am trying not to murder your incredibly important bacteria colony that i just drove across town for but no thats great jason very descriptive thanks :) 

J »

Like warm but not too wram, nothing you’d want to take a bath in

Can you fucking

I TYPE SLOW.

« tim

ok.

[Image Attached]

he is fed

J »

Thanks man.

Sincerely.

« tim

so hows the cargo hold going

still intact i assume? 

J »

Mostly ya

« tim

pardon? 

J »

Slight leakage. Nothing major

« tim

oh? are you a boatologist now? 

i dont think you’re qualified to judge that?

J »

Moving right past “boatologist” out of the goodness of my heart.

Chill lol. If it was rly bad thered probably be some sort of alar

Hm.

« tim

did an alarm just start going off

J »

Dont worry about it

« tim

im not. 

did it though

also which yacht? im in the marinas scheduling dtabase

blue miracle, serendipity, carp-e diem? which one

« tim

jason?

« tim

if this is a joke it’s not funny

oh cool you’re not on comms either. great.

hey if youre dead again and i just fed your stupid starter for nothing im gonna be soooo mad just fyi

« tim

ugh.

*

J »

Hey

Thanks again for the

I’m not gonna say “save” bc I was doinf just fine on my own.

But thanks for the backup.

Lmk when youre home

Nope sorry lol you dont have to do that.

Night.

« tim

home

J »

Also I just saw your messaages from

Ah. 👍

From earlier. 

« tim

you mean from when you said “huh, this boat seems to be filling with water” and then disappeared? those messages? 

J »

Those were not my exact words.

« tim

right. your exact words contained somehow even less information 

J »

Shut up

I just wanted to 

You know. Youre the only one who jokes about it

The only one in the family I mean

your family, I mean

The bats.

« tim

? 

the only one who jokes about what

J »

Me being dead

« tim

oh. 

ok. well

its not like. actually funny to me. i was just annoyed. sorry i guess

J »

No thats not 

Tim. Shut up.

I dont mind. I like that one of you does. 

Its better than people talking around it. Like its this big shameful thing I did.

One of many

If I mention it in front of dickhead he does the face

the :~{ face

« tim

wow its uncanny

uh. for the record. 

i don’t think that’s the reason people talk around it

if im correct in thinking that by “people” you mean “one specific person whose name rhymes with Rat Can” 

 

J »

Yeah well

I just

Christ never mind. Im sorry. You are not the person to be sayign this to.

Im gonna shut the fuck up I think. 

Goodnight.

« tim

oh what, you can’t talk to me about being dead bc of that one time you tried to kill me? 

and failed btw :/ 

J »

Tim

Not to be so unchill

But you know how me being dead isnt actaully funny to you

« tim

…got it. sorry

J »

No. don’t apologize to me

Ever

I’m serious 

« tim

like for anything? 

what if i killed breadie mercury 

J »

You didnt. He is thriving

« tim

he is?

wait. really?

you can tell?

J »

[Image Attached]

Hes doubled in size since you fed him.

« tim

whoa

J »

Yup. Thanks again for thattoo.

*that too

Its stupid but hes kinda my son.

« tim

wouldn’t he technically be like, 10 billion sons

J »

He is my 10 billion sons.

« tim

lolol

wow. why am i so pleased hes thriving lol 

J »

Right

« tim

jeez

i was so worried about the water temp

google said lukewarm is 98-105 so i did 98 to be safe

J »

You used a thermometer? 

« tim

your instructions were vague!

i didnt want to kill your bacteria colony!

J »

Thanks Tim.

« tim

? you already said that lol

i gotta pass out btw

glad you didnt die: the sequel in a yacht

that would have been so cringe

night jason

J »

Night

*

J »

You up?

« tim

obviously

why

J »

Could use your eyes on something.

[Image Attached]

« tim

morse code but the dots and dashes are reversed and its spelling backwards in russian, ASTITP AYALEB AVD RTSIRP → PRISTR DVA BELAYA PTITSA → PIER TWO WHITE BIRD

J »

Bc it looks like morse but its not, its kind of scrambl 

Ok jesus christ . 

30 seconds? Seriously? Fuck me

Can I hire you? Jesus lol

« tim

that depends. do you pay more than batman?

J »

The fuck? Does he pay you guys now?

« tim

no.

J »

Then yes. I do pay more than batman.

« tim

how much more

J »

One coffee per codebreak? 

« tim

:\

J »

Two coffees per codebreak

Two and a loaf of sourdough

« tim

sourdough from breadie mercury?

J »

Ya

« tim

done

J »

Damn. I feel like you should have higher standards

« tim

i mean i was already gonna do it for free

now i have successfully negotiated coffee & sustenance 

im on a roll. nothing but Ws 

J »

Ws?

« tim

its young people slang you wouldn’t get it ❤️

J »

I am barely 3 years older htan you.

It could be argued, considering certain events, that we’re basically the same age.

« tim

and yet you text like an old, old man

J »

I do not

Would you rather I texted like “idk brb lmao roflcopter”

« tim

ROFLCOPTER?

oh my god. ohhhhhh jason. oh my god

that is absolutely not what the kids are saying these days. oh my god

J »

Ok you know what. At least I know Mount Doom isnt a Star Wars thing

« tim

? 

oh, is it star trek? 

J »

I’m 99% sure youre antagonizing me on purpose

But have you seriously not read or watched Lord of the Rings

« tim

no i have not.

J »

Hm.

« tim

what

J »

Nothing.

« tim

……….what

*

« tim

did you NARC on me

to BRUCE

about LORD OF THE RINGS?????

J »

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

« tim

WHY DO I NOW HAVE 3 SEPARATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON “HOUSE MEETINGS” BLOCKED OFF IN MY CALENDAR, JASON? 

WHY ARE THEY EACH 4 HOURS LONG?

WHY ARE THEY LABELED “CULTURAL EDUCATION (MANDATORY)”? 

J »

I can’t pretend to know what goes on in B’s mind.

That said, I have reason to believe he and Alfred take lotr pretty seriously.

« tim

its a TWELVE HOUR MOVIE

about GOBLINS

J »

I’m not gonna respond to that bc I know youre just lashing out.

« tim

if youve sentenced me to 12 hours of a movie i hate i’m gonna hack everything you own. 

im gonna mass text the entire cape wearers community the footage of that time condiment king kicked your ass so bad he felt guilty and offered to personally help you out of the mustard pool 

J »

What the fuck

How do you fuckig know about ?????? that???????? 

Not that ithahpened 

What hefuckk ??

« tim

ooooooooo you better hope i love these goblins!

J »

Why are you?? evil??

« tim

you should have killed me when you had the chance!!

sorry.

J »

Its ok. That one was pretty funny tbh.

Oh hm shouldnt have laughed just then. Bad timing on my part

Brb

« tim

uh

« tim

ok…….. getting reports of a “disturbance” at pier two…….. 

« tim

sorry were you texting me *mid-standoff* with the russian mafia

« tim

ugh.

*

« tim

you know tracking your location would be so much easier if i didn’t have to hack into your comm sys every time

luckily your encryption is garbage but still. its 2 minutes of my life i wont get back.

J »

Not sure I recall giving you permission to track my location?

« tim

oh i’m sorry. next time i will simply leave you to go down with a texas oil magnate’s incredibly tacky yacht, or get swiss cheesified by mobsters 

J »

Hey I wrapped up the russians myself 

« tim

yeah? 

J »

…

Yeah….

« tim

so you thought the 12-minute universal signal jam was the act of a benevolent god? 

J »

:-|

« tim

im just saying it would be significantly more efficient if you agreed to a tracker

just one little tracker. you wouldn’t even notice it’s there.

think of all the time and energy you’d save me

J »

I feel the need to point out that you don’t have to repeatedly hack my comms system.

« tim

i mean it’s that or monitor sightings on the gocitizen app

i have an algo that texts relevant pings to me, which is super helpful for when i want an inbox full of random people talking about how hot you are. less helpful for literally every other circumstance 

J »

Uh

What

« tim

how hot *red hood is. to clarify

in their opinion

the people’s opinion

J »

?

« tim

the people of gotham city

J »

The people of Gotham city do not think Red Hood is hot lol

« tim

wait 

i cant tell if you’re being serious

J »

Uh? Yeah Im being serious? Lol tf

Why would they think hes hot 

They dont think Batman is hot 

« tim

o…kay…

huh.

how to… hmm

J »

Like nightwing sure

And the girls. Bc of objectification of women

« tim

oh wow

J »

Red Robin. If i had to guess

But when people see Hood its definitely not… that kind of response lol

« tim

what kind of response, exactly

J »

You know like saying “Hey Hood youre hot” 

« tim

oh, wow. 

okay. ummm

hmm. one sec.

J »

?

« tim

check your email 

J »

Ok…? 

J »

Oh my fucking god.

« tim

yeah

J »

Oh my god?

« tim

yeah

J »

This document is fucking 45 pages long?

« tim

its everything from the past 30 days yeah

J »

The past

Whaht the fuck

Ok some of these people definitely got hit by Poison Ivy.

This is . Tim wtf. I havent even heard of some of this stuff. 

« tim

oof are you on page 14

J »

Im on page 3???

« tim

oh my god

J »

What the fuck

Please please tell me its not like this for Batman too

Tim

« tim

its not like this for batman :)

J »

Ok. Jesus. I would genuinely have to move cities.

« tim

its worse :)

J »

Oh what the fuck

Oh my fucking god page 14.

You get this shit TEXTED to you?????

Ohm ygod. You read this?????

« tim

i mean

no

i glance at it

for security purposes.

i dont like, read it read it

anyway did you seriously not know? haha

J »

No??? Again its not like people tell me

« tim

yeah but

like

theres a certain level of objectivity involved, here

yknow

sorry im trying to find a non awkward way to be like “have you looked in a mirror lately” 

« tim

sorry

that was in fact awkward!

nvm

just let me know if you’d be ok with the tracker. its fine if not

i was mostly joking about the hacking

J (From Work) »

No you weren’t.

« tim

no i wasnt

i dont mind though. its like a brain teaser

anyway im going dark for patrol, later

*

J (From Work) »

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

Question. why is the average Gotham citizen a raging horndog 

« tim

oh my god

you know i can tell you searched “red robin hot” right

J (From Work) »

Figured it was only fair

[Screenshot Attached]

This persons got some mad zoom lens skills

I’d think it was you, if it wasnt, yknow, you

« tim

wow. that is certainly a photo of my ass

…a stellar photo of my ass. wow. 

do you have a direct link? i gotta send this to steph

J (From Work) »

goctz.app/user/3824973/post/29348230df3

Haha

I kinda thought you and blondie broke up

back on again?

« tim

no lol we are very much just friends

she has a thing going with someone who shall remain nameless but suffice to say it’s Going

anyway we just send each other gocitizen vigilante ass shots 

its a whole genre

they’re like trading cards

J (From Work) »

Guess everyone’s got a hobby?

« tim

the only rule is no nightwing

J (From Work) »

Do I want to know why

« tim

he accounts for a frankly overwhelming percentage of vigilante ass shots

so its too easy

you’d THINK we’d have a no-batman rule, because ew, but due to the cape and his sixth sense for cameras pointed at him, a qualifying shot is actually extremely rare. 

← only guy who ever managed to take quality photos of batman 

anyway, we put it to a vote. i lost.

J (From Work) »

A vote between you and Steph? 

You lost a 50/50 vote?

« tim

i dont wanna talk about it.

J (From Work) »

Right. 

So what I’m getting from this is you have Red Hood ass shots in your phone.

« tim

no

J (From Work) »

No?

« tim

well

J (From Work) »

Yeah?

« tim

we don’t like, save them

that would be weird

we just notify each other. professionally, as colleagues 

and keep an ongoing points tally

thats all

so i do not currently have photos of your ass in my phone. thank you

J (From Work) »

How many points is my ass worth

« tim

i hate everything about this conversation

J (From Work) »

Its 100% your own fault, answer the question

« tim

if you must know. 

points are awarded based on a series of objective scoring criteria.

J (From Work) »

Uh huh. Like what

« tim

technical excellence

composition. lighting and color balance. 

dynamism 

J (From Work) »

Dynamism…

« tim

creativity

umm

emotional impact

and 

subject matter

J (From Work) »

I see.

« tim

ok i know it sounds bad

J (From Work) »

It sounds fucking hysterical Im near tears 

« tim

but if you think abou

oh

okay, well, great

J (From Work) »

I’ll let you know if I stumble on any more. 

Or is that cheating

« tim

its totally cheating

please do

J (From Work) »

You got it red. 👍

« tim

:)

[precious-little-scoundrel]

i was thinking about what late night talks with bucky would be like (call me crazy), and it got me thinking:

other than dying (though arguably some are not afraid of dying), what do you think some of the mota men’s greatest fears are? i could write a hundred essays on each of them, they all are so different!

Gosh, this is an incredible ask and it got me thinkin. Too hard, probably. And while I didn’t summarize thoughts for everyone I did think of them for Bucky.

So much so I wrote a little blurb on it. Sorry Nonnie if you’re not even into this universe, I totally get it but I found fic to be a more enlightening method for exploring this. I wanna hear those thoughts of yours! Send them, I beg!

Greatest Fear

They got a bit existential as the weeks went on and their nights got more conscious. Ida and Bucky’s minds grew restless in the cold now that their bodies were healing. Huddled in their bunk they had debated baseball vs football endlessly, and argued regarding the accuracy of each other’s training anecdotes, the morality of mobsters and who was the better boxer: Braddock or Baer.

They’d ended up talking of the war, and both being sick of the dead end that the question of the future brought, they circled back around more concrete -if troublesome- thoughts. Most hairy landings, worst sounds either heard from their crew over the radio and what flashed across their minds when they had to finally press that abandon ship control.

And finally, Bucky ended up asking her what her worst fear was. And when Ida didn’t have it readily to hand -too used to suppressing any such thoughts even to her own self- he clarified: “Besides dying, I mean. If you’re even scared of that. Knowin’ you, maybe you aren’t.”

“I’d rather not.” she admitted.

“So? So what gets you scared?”

“This your way of fishing for another ghost story?” Ida teased.

“No. Just feels like sometimes you gotta remind yourself what it’s all about. Scared of dyin’ means you like livin’ enough to rather not stop. That sorta thing.”

“You’re saying love for one thing drives fear for another.” She summarized.

“Dunno. Just mullin’ it over.”

“I’d go through anything not to lose John.” she conceded, “Funny enough I’m positive he feels the same, so what a snarl.”

“I know he does.”

“Yeah.”

“If they put a gun to Buck’s head I’d tell ‘em Roosevelt's address and his favorite drink order, too.” Bucky expounded, tongue loosened by her tiny admission of frailty. “And he’d hate me for it.”

“All different kinds of loves out there.” Ida murmured consolingly, thinking hard on how her brother had been in a rage at her condition when he first saw her, and yet one of his first questions was whether she’d given anything up. Her Johnny knew she couldn’t live with herself if she had and he wouldn't've wanted her to. And nothing about that struck her as cold. Just as Bucky’s dangerous devotion to Gale didn’t strike her as weak. Just different.

“I saw a train.” Bucky began a thought but his voice died out with such finality Ida wondered if he’d ever pick the subject up again. But after a long moment he did, with some far away quality present in his voice that she’d never heard before, “On the way here. We were on one set of tracks and it was comin’ up the other.”

Ida had memories of trains, a lot of them. Going south all alone, first trip down to the uncle and aunts during the worst year of the depression. Old enough to know her own folks couldn’t support her, old enough to question how a ticket could be arranged but not supper. There had been trains that took her to training in Texas, then on to Iowa and Nebraska. Trains that took her deeper into Germany. One entire train car just for herself and too many German soldiers. Then the train that took them away from Ravensbruck. Ida felt an unsettled anticipation around trains that the peaceful rightness of flight had never caused her.

When Bucky mentioned trains and didn’t go on, Ida folded her hand into his huge one and squeezed it tightly. “What about those trains, John?”

“Heard ‘em before we saw ‘em.” he clarified, nodding his head conversationally as he was want to do, like he was gaining momentum towards a hard saying. Ida braced herself, squeezed just a little harder. “Not the engines, the screams. Car after car, and nothin’ but arms and faces reachin’ out. Screaming.”

Bucky’s bruised eyes were fixed, downcast gaze somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, but Ida knew he was seeing something far away. “I think I saw where they take them.” she muttered before she even had time to weigh her contribution to this horrid tale.

His eyes focused again and he looked at her with silent inquiry. “They took us to a labor camp first. Before here. Apparently one of the nicer ones, they had intentions of treating us as civilians.” Ida had been preoccupied with her aching body and her sharp terror of failure while at Ravensbruck, but not so much as to not notice the haunting vestiges of humanity answering roll beside her. “I felt like I was in Hades, the cold hell. Where the living damned can peruse each special misery waiting for them when they die. Called it a labor camp but I don’t know how skeletons like that could produce anything. Last bits of human resilience used to put together some industry to keep their oppressors fed, equipped. What an end.”

“Scares me shitless.” Bucky replied vehemently, and Ida realized they’d gotten full circle in their talk, that he’d dragged more out of her than she ever intended. Somehow neither his statement of fear nor her own felt weak in the moment. “That folks could get so hard they could do that to each other -I don’t know what to do with that, Ida. How’s it get to that point. Why’ve you got Fritz and then you’ve got…that? Same country, same sauerkraut, same uniforms. Scares me shitless.”

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

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@claireelizabeth85

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@piastrinho

[leclsrc]

keep a place for me – cl16

Charles has been single all his life, and you know the reason why.

auds here... title from this, the song that inspired me to write. u can Never go wrong w frank ocean (facts) one of my top artists of allll time!

Will Charles Leclerc Ever Stop Being a Bachelor?

“This is fucking bullshit.” He shuts the phone off, but the headline’s font has branded itself even behind his eyelids. Irritation simmers just beneath them, his hands gesturing wildly to convey his annoyance to you and Pierre, as you watch with mild concern. He eyes you both. “Bullshit!”

“Not—mate, I love you—but it’s not really.” Pierre eases into it slowly, sheepishly almost. “You’ve been single forever. And the headline is just pointing that… out.”

Charles huffs a little, crosses his arms, gives a half-hearted shrug. “Fine. So what, what do—do they wish for me to get married and have kids within the year?!”

“I don’t think your bachelor status is really a cause of complaint for these fans,” you point out. “I’d think they’re happy. Charles, tabloids spin this bullshit all the time for their benefit and clout.”

“Yeah.” Pierre nods along. “Fans know not to feed into it, so relax. Believe us—your two closest friends. And hey, the fans, they’re actually making a pretty good point, if you think about it.”

Pierre! You yell in unison, heads whipping in his direction.

He throws two arms up, eyes widening at the sudden display of aggression from his two friends, fans the both of you off. “Oi, I’m being honest. Charles has been single since forever. Seriously, forever.” Your eyes refuse to meet Charles’ now that the topic has fully focused on his being single; you gulp instead, crossing your arms. Pierre is a little shit though, and pushes further: “What, did thirteen-year-old Charles get his heart broken, or something?”

“Try seventeen,” sighs Charles, defeated almost. Your eyes flicker to him, his sitting figure, then back to Pierre, whose eyes are bright with curiosity. 

Pierre almost can’t believe it. “Mate?! Why’ve you never mentioned this?”

“Because it wasn’t relevant,” he clarifies firmly. “At the time. But it’s been so long, I guess. With somebody from Monaco. We’d been proper close then, but I’d always liked her. Maybe love, it was, at that point.”

“Aha, now we’re talking, chat!” Pierre pulls a seat out from the counter you’re all sitting at—your kitchen counter—and leans forward, interested. You remain standing, leaning against the counter, eyes on the tile, breathing slow and heavy. “Then what?”

“Nothing, I just—I told her I liked her on a trip to Paris.”

He lies. Even now, in the clouds of age and patched-up relationships and work and new lives, you can recount the night from memory, a cold chilly one in Monaco on the eve of his eighteenth, on the roof of your family home. He let it all out in one breath, a rushed I love you, and then garbled additions to his confession followed.

I’ve always loved you, he said, pressed when you shook your head no. You kept shaking your head and he kept going. You know I’ve always loved you, je ne cesserai jamais de t’aimer. But even with your hands clasped in his you said no, no, this is wrong, it’ll end badly, don’t want this, please. For us, don’t. For me. 

Because even then Charles had the light of a world champion, the drive of one, and you saw it in him so early. You saw with it the doom of a potential relationship, and resolved to end things before they even started. It wouldn’t happen without it being ruined, you figured, so why let it happen at all? 

“Proper romantic, Charles!” Pierre hollers. “What’d she say?”

You loved Charles so much it was almost painful.

Rejecting him, feigning indifference, pretending you only thought of him platonically felt alien. You played the part well, thought—this is Charles with the funny voice impressions. Charles with a habit of biting his nails. But the truth was, you cared. You cared so deeply, and you were so in love, in the way all seventeen-year-olds are, a childish thing.

You might dismiss the love to be childish, just to ignore how real it was, but it really was real. The love really was something. You’d have done anything for him, and you can place for a fact he would’ve said the same for you. The problem is you’re still in love, living out the stretch of the last few years in silent torture, silent suffering.

And you wish sometimes to be childish again, to be seventeen and say yes, I do love you, ignore the consequences that might come with it. You long so desperately for his love, and the fact that he’s willing to give it makes it more painful, the way you know you will never allow yourself to receive it. The fans, the fame, the danger. Was it worth it? To be wanted, needed by him?

“She said she…” Finally, finally your eyes meet, in a way so different from the usual. With this comes the rush of nostalgia, of hurt, of pain. Of love, unrequited and unconfessed, left abandoned in childhood rooftops. “…just wanted to stay friends.”

[solarisstyles]

WARMER

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader Word Count: 3.2k+ Warnings: fighting, angst, discussions of feelings, neglected friendships Summary: Your friendship with Harry is on the rocks, forcing you to admit your feelings for him. A/N: None!

read part one here

4 years later…

Nothing has changed since that day with Harry. Aside from the fact that you were more confused than ever on where you both stood. When he wasn’t on tour, he was with friends, and sometimes you. It was kind of like doing backflips to get Harry to hang out with you now. Everytime you’d randomly send him a text, asking to hang out, he would already have plans. So, you eventually stopped reaching out, letting him be the one to make a move if he wanted to really spend time with you. Of course, that resulted in several arguments of you both yelling the same thing back and forth to each other.

“I ALWAYS HAVE TO REACH OUT TO YOU. YOU NEVER CALL ME ANYMORE!” Harry screamed over the phone.

“Because you ALWAYS have something else going on, Harry. You’re either busy when I call or already have plans with people!” your voice was strained, trying desperately to not cry. You couldn’t let him hear how much this broke your heart. How much he was breaking your heart.

You decided that night, that if he wouldn’t listen to you, that your journal would. You started out just simply writing, but it evolved into a heartfelt letter. A letter to Harry you swore he would never see. Everytime a big fight would happen, or you would find yourself overwhelmed with feelings, you’d write Harry a letter. Most of the pages in your journal had wet spots on them from tears you’d cry as you poured your heart out to the pages before you. You didn’t care though. It helped relieve the pain some.

The first big crack Harry ever put in your heart, was the night he randomly dropped on you that he had a girlfriend. A girlfriend he’d been hiding for six months. The way he told you though, tore straight through you.

You were having one of those rare nights where he was able to spend time on the phone with you. It was so nice to hear his voice, until you could hear the shift in his tone, like he was nervous to tell you something.

“So, asking for a friend, but what would you do if the girl you were dating for six months now, just ghosted you for four of those months?” The random bombshell made your heart lurch up your throat.

Giving a small forced laugh, you attempted to joke with him, “Is this your way of telling me you have a girlfriend?” you asked.

“No, no I’m genuinely asking for a friend.” he assured.

“Well, I’d dump her. She’s clearly not really into your friend then.”

“See! That’s what I’ve been telling him but he won’t listen!” Harry exclaimed.

Laughing softly, you carried on with another conversation topic you’ve been dying to tell him about. In the middle of your story, he dropped it on you, “I’m the friend.” he quickly said.

There was a beat of silence, you looked at the wall in front of you, waiting for it to open up and swallow you whole. “What?” you asked, wanting to make sure you heard him right.

“I’m the friend with the girlfriend.” He clarified, voice slightly shaky.

“You’ve had a girlfriend for six months and you didn’t tell me?” Your voice cracked, wavering some as you processed what he was telling you.

He was hesitant to speak, scared of how this conversation was going, “I thought I told you…”

“No, you didn't, Harry.” you bit back. “Look I gotta go.”

“No, please I-” without letting him finish, you hung up, freely letting your tears fall and your broken sobs fill the room. You began to reflect back on your time with Harry over the past couple years. He never wanted to take photos with you, anytime you hung out felt like a secret and you had to sneak around, he got upset when you would mention a funny memory you have with him to another friend. You felt dirty, small, insignificant. Were you only good enough when nobody else would pick up the phone? Were you only good enough when he had nobody else to hang out with? Were you just a last option to him now?

You didn’t know when it got to this point. You felt blindsided even though it was in front of you this whole time. Like a snake just waiting to strike when you least expected it.

The next call you got from Harry was on Valentine's Day, you really didn’t know what to expect from him anymore, so you answered with caution, “Hello?”

“Hey…” he softly said, you can’t recall ever hearing him speak so gently. “I, um, I broke up with her.”

You weren’t sure what kind of response he was expecting. You were still hurt that he hid the relationship from you. The worst part was that you didn’t even know why he hid it. You thought you were both closer than that. “I’m…sorry?” was the response he got instead.

“Don’t be. It was a crappy relationship anyway.” he mumbled.

It was silent for a few minutes, and you could feel the tension building in your chest. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

“No, no! I also just wanted to say happy Valentine’s Day. I know it’s your favorite holiday.”

He was desperately scrambling to try and make things normal. He hated the divide that seemed to be growing further and further between the two of you. Harry would never admit how much this was hurting him too. He knew what a dumbass he was being and deeply regretted acting the way he was. It was so second nature for him to tell people you were his best friend, but he wasn’t treating you like it.

“Thanks. You too Harry.” you softly replied, wanting to keep the conversation short. “I gotta go, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, I understand.” it was an open endearing statement, but you both knew what he meant behind it.

You wrote another letter to him that night.

The second time Harry left a crack in your heart, was embarrassingly in front of his friends. You were lucky to have the night off and catch one of their local shows. It was electric and you could see the pure joy and love for the music on all their faces. Harry belonged on that stage.

After the concert, you all hung out for a while, having a few drinks and just enjoying each other’s company. It’d been a while since you hung out with the whole group. It felt like old times that you held close to your heart. 

When it was time to leave, you followed them out to their bus. Standing back so they could pack up the last of their things, you stepped forward to give Harry a hug. “Love you.” you whispered low enough where you thought only you two could hear it.

“Yep.” Harry replied, quickly letting go of you.

“Okay, Harry.” you said, instantly annoyed and hurt.

“You can say you love her too, Harry.” Mitch scolded, hearing the interaction between the two of you.

“I’m treating everyone that way, it's no big deal!” he exclaimed, doing a piss poor job of recovering the situation so he didn’t look bad. Walking around to all of his friends giving them a awkwardly quick hug, and trying to pull you and Mitch into a group hug.

You pushed him off of you, “Don’t touch me!” you exclaimed, stepping away from him. This earned a collective round of ‘ooooh’s from the others.

You tried to ignore the hurt look on Harry’s face. He didn’t deserve your pity after treating you this way.

Gathering your things to leave, Mitch stopped you and pulled you into a gentle hug, “It was nice seeing you tonight. I’m glad you could make it.”

Hugging him back, you held back your tears that so badly wanted to rain down your cheeks, “I’m glad I could make it too. You guys did amazing.”

Giving the others a hug as well, you quickly made your way to your car without a second look back. You were glad you didn’t, or you would have seen Mitch going off on Harry inside of the tour bus, and his face contorted as he tried not to cry, watching as you walked away.

You wrote him another letter that night as well.

Over all you had a total of five letters written so far. You read through them one evening with a looming sense of dread hanging over you. Maybe you and Harry weren’t meant to be anything more than friends. It was a hard pill to swallow, and an even more harsh reality to accept. Setting the journal on your bedside table, you laid down and sobbed into your pillow. 

How could you be so dumb to fall for your best friend? Why was he giving you so many mixed signals? Did he want you or did he just like being your friend? You thought back to all the hopeful moments he put in your head. 

The custom Hogwarts acceptance letter he got you for Christmas, he knew you were obsessed with the series and it was something you both bonded over. But the kicker was he said that would be the perfect gift for a girlfriend. Then there was the time he talked to you about the type of engagement rings he would like to get for the girl he marries. Making random comments about how certain rings would look on your own hand. 

There were also the sweet messages he would send you while he was traveling, “I’m trying to send you a picture of the stars from the plane.” he texted you one evening. It took you back to the night you first hung out by yourselves. Sitting on the back of your car and using a shitty constellation app on your phone to look at the sparkling sky above you.

It was moments like these that made you think you were possibly getting warmer. That he would finally make a move. It was starting to seem more and more unlikely though as time went on.

You stopped answering every time he would call. You stopped replying to every text. Pulling yourself away was the only way you knew how to cope. It was your way of accepting how things were.

The next time Harry was in town, he made a beeline for your apartment. Banging on the door loud enough to startle you even though it was 11:00 pm. “Who the hell?” you mumbled, walking over to your door, peaking through your peephole to see Harry standing there with his hands in his pockets, anxiously looking around.

Opening your door, you could see the distress all over his face, his body even seemed tense. “Hey…” he said, trying to be casual. 

“Harry, it’s late. What are you doing here?” you asked, concerned something was seriously wrong.

“I couldn’t-...I couldn’t sleep.I needed to see you.” shifting his gaze from you to the ground, he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shown up like this.”

You could feel your anger bubbling over. It didn’t help that he caught you at a vulnerable time of drowsiness. Staring him down, you wondered how he could be so oblivious. Any other time, you’d welcome him into your home without a second thought, but right now you really just wanted to slam the door in his face.

Your strong resolve was crumbling and quickly. You didn’t want to fight with him where it would be a disturbance to your neighbors, so you opened the door a little more and stood to the side, “Come in.”

Once he was inside, you closed the door and returned it to its locked position. “Go sit on the couch, I need to grab something from my room.” your instructions left no room for argument, walking down the hallway to your room before he could protest.

Opening the drawer to your bedside table, you pulled out the journal and held it in your hands. They trembled slightly as you thought about what you were about to do. This was going to either make or break the both of you, and you couldn’t help but think it would break you. He needed to know though. He needed to read all the pain he’d put you through along with all the happiness. You’ve never put your heart out on the line like this for somebody and you always swore that nobody would have this kind of hold over you. Harry snuck in though and wrapped himself around your heart, and if he wasn’t going to take care of it, then you needed him gone.

Slowly making your way back to the living room, you found Harry sitting on your sofa like you’d instructed. He must have felt that he was dancing on thin ice with you and knew it was best to just listen at this point. He didn’t even think you’d answer the door, he didn’t deserve your kindness.

He looked up at you as you came to stand in front of him, clutching the journal to your chest.

You looked back down at him, jaw set and body tense as you thought of what to say. “This…this journal holds some of my most intimate thoughts and feelings. I started writing a while ago as an outlet. What started as a diary for nobody to see turned into a book of letters to you that I swore you’d never see.” a shaky sigh parted your lips. “But, now I think you should.” holding the journal out to him, you watched as he hesitantly looked from you to the book. He seemed almost scared to touch it, as if it would burn him. A twisted part of you hoped it would.

Hesitantly taking the book, he sat it in his lap and looked down at it, like he was trying to telepathically will it to tell him what it said without having to open it. He looked genuinely scared, almost making you feel bad for doing this. You had to stay strong though.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you sniffled softly to clear your nose, “I’ll be in my room to give you some privacy.”, walking back to your bedroom, and softly closing the door. You sat in bed, staring a hole through the door as you waited for a response. Your phone couldn’t even distract you from the jack rabbit pace your heart was beating.

It was cliche but minutes truly felt like hours, and the hours felt like days. It was nearing 1:30 am now and you were starting to wonder if he’d left. Just as you were about to get up and do a sweep of your apartment, there was a soft knock at your door. You felt your heart lurch to your throat once more. It was Harry on the other side, but your heart was beating as if there was an intruder in your home. In a sense he was. He almost felt like a stranger to you now, a spark of hope was still lit inside of you though.

Opening the door, you were once again met with Harry’s face, except this time, his eyes were bloodshot, dried tear stains on his cheeks, and his eyelashes still wet from the tears he’d cried. Now he was the one clutching the journal to his chest, shifting his gaze to the ground in shame when your eyes met his own.

“I don’t know where to begin.” he sniffled, “I know sorry won’t change anything I’ve put you through. I didn’t deserve to know any of this after how I’ve treated you.” his voice cracked half way through his sentence, making your own heart ache.

You stood in silence, letting him gather his thoughts so he could speak his own feelings to you. Putting on a brave face so he didn’t see how absolutely nervous you were.

“I’ve been a horrible friend to you. I don’t deserve to even be standing here right now or holding this journal. Worst of all I’ve been so painfully blind to how you feel about me. When I look back on it, you made it so obvious. Truthfully the thought of you being in love with me scares me, because I’m in love with you too, I’ll fuck up though, I already have.” his face contorted as he began to cry again.

Your own eyes started to sting with unshed tears, your chest began to ache as it felt like your heart was constricting within you. Words failed to escape you as you tried to find a way to comfort him. Nothing could express how happy you were that he didn’t run like he always would. He didn’t push you away this time. 

Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms tightly around him, hugging him close to you as you rested your head on his shoulder.

Dropping the journal, Harry was quick to wrap you in his arms as well, resting his head upon your own as he cried. “I never meant to break your heart the way I did. I thought I was protecting us both by keeping you at a distance. I’m so sorry.” His hand cradled the back of your head gently as if you would break in his arms more than you already have.

Your own tears now stained his shirt, knowing your feelings were finally heard, and seen felt like the biggest weight off your shoulders. Like you were able to drop a boulder you’ve been carrying for so long. “I forgive you.” 

“I don’t deserve it, but I’m so happy you do. Because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” his eyes were screwed shut, soaking in the feeling of you finally being in his arms like he wanted you to be for so long.

“You were my friend before anything Harry. I wasn’t going to let our friendship die over this. But I needed you to know how bad it was hurting me.”

“I understand.”

Standing in your doorway, the both of you stood in silence as you held one another. Eventually the tears were dried up and the exhaustion began to set in. “Do you want to stay the night? I’m so drained.” you asked, feeling like your eyelids had a ten pound weight resting on them.

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.” Harry assured you, rubbing your back softly.

Moving to your bed, you both laid there, facing one another in the now dark room. You could feel Harry looking at you, as you were looking back at him. “I love you.” he whispered.

“I love you too.” you whispered back.

Feeling him shift closer to you, and his arms wrap around you once more, your face cuddled into his chest as the exhaustion pulled you under.

Harry stayed awake till he felt your breathing even out, letting him know you’d fallen asleep. This wasn’t how he was expecting things to end up when he showed up on your doorstep. As he fell asleep with you in his arms, he thanked whatever higher power there was that things turned the way they did.

[1800classiccherries]

Go home machine!

⚘ 1610! Miles Morales x black!spider!fem!reader

⚘ idk if this is necessarily fluff... but idk what else I’d classify it. spider gang is featured in this one. it’s basically the reader inserted into the movie

⚘ summary: Miles arrives to HQ only to have every spider in the building after him. Y/n and Margo help him go home.

⚘ wc: 1.2k (yippee)

You were talking to Margo about something random while she was strolling around the spacious room. Your and Margo's job was to run the “go home” machine. Though doing that job didn’t stop y’all from talking, which led to you two becoming very good friends. 

While you talked, you noticed a Spider-man you hadn’t seen before approaching behind her, but you didn’t say anything about it ‘cause that’s what a spider sense is for. 

“No, but that's what I’m saying, though. Like, imagine if-” She bumps into him.

“So you just weren’t gonna tell me someone was behind me?” she looks back at you offended, getting a shrug in response, before she rolls her eyes at you and looks back at who she ran into.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

“Woww, no way- All of us are.” she deadpans, getting a snicker from you watching this happen.

“Can we just keep moving?”

“what's the rush, Gwen?” you speak up, noticing how she seems on edge.

“Have somewhere to be,” vague answer.

You open your mouth to reply before getting cut off by Miles. “Woah woah woah, w-what are you?” he questions interested. 

Margo explains while starting up the go-home machine. The group proceeds forward in your direction whilst you rock back and forth on a makeshift swing you made out of webs.

“Ah, so you’ve been making the swings. Defacing the workplace; respect,” Hobie says with a proud smile walking up to you.

“Thank you, brotha,” you dap him up.

Gwen turns her head to you, “I thought Miguel told you to stop making them?”

“He did, and then the next day, I saw him sitting in one of them, which basically means keep going. And plus, they’re very comfortable and dissolve after a few business days so what’s the harm” You shrug nonchalantly, not really caring about the webs you leave around the building.

You shift your attention to the unfamiliar face looking at you. You raise your eyebrows in curiosity, prompting him to introduce himself. “Oh, I’m uh- Miles.” 

“Nice to meet you, Miles.”

You get up to go to the control panel, needing to do your side of the work regards to the go-home machine. After doing your part, you walk back over to the group, following their line of sight to the sizeable machine.

“what does that do?”

“apart from having a great name.” 

“The go-home machine”

“What’d I say?” Hobie quips with a singular chuckle.

“I voted against it.” Gwen clarifies.

“We voted for it,” you say, referring to you and Margo, “It’s a cute name.”

 Margo looks over at the group, “It detects whatever dimension your DNA is from and sends you there.”

“Cool, right?” I grin.

“Super humane and not creepy,” Hobie adds inexpressively.

“well, y’know,” I shrug.

After a moment of silence, you see Gwen sigh out of the corner of your eye, “We should go.”

“Uh.. see you two around?” Miles asks, getting a nod of confirmation from the two of us.

“Hey, good luck out there, man,” Margo calls.

“Have fun!” you add with a shout before Miles gets a web shot to his back and is dragged away.

“Okay, bye!”

Margo lets out a laugh, and you sit back on your web swing. As she turns to face you, her smile falters, seeing your slowly spreading grin and giggle, “Why he kinda...”

“Girl, stop.”

~

“Ugh, Margo, tell me why I can’t get this boy outta my head,” you’re hanging upside down with your hands covering your face giggling.

“Y/n, you had one conversation with him- actually, it wasn't even that- less than that. You said-” A blaring alarm cuts Margo off from continuing to go in on you.

All stations; drop what you're doing and stop Spider-Man!

“Looks like you're finally getting locked up,” Margo smirks.

“Very funny.” you give her a look of annoyance. “I bet every spider in the building is making that joke.”

Ay coño, Miles! Miles Morales! He’s entering sector four!

“Huh. Weird.” You shrug after the hologram from your watch closes.

“That’s all you gotta say?” 

“What do you want me to say, Margo? ‘Well, shucks, lemme go find him right away!’”

“Ooh, you infuriate me.” She seethes.

“Love you too...” you trail off, giving her a stink eye. You put on your headphones and mask. 

“Going on my break. Let me know if you need sumn,” I announce as I walk out of the room.

“What convenient timing...” Margo mutters.

~

Contrary to Margo's assumption, you were not going on a break to look for miles. You genuinely were just tired of working. You roam the halls, closing your eyes as the music in your headphones plays; suddenly, you feel a body collide with you, knocking you to the ground. So much for a spider-sense.

“Hey! Watch where you’re swing- Oh. Hey,” You backtrack, dropping your aggravated tone when you stand up seeing Miles rushing to get up, looking around.

“You gotta hide me!” He pleads; knowing what’s happening from the announcement everyone had gotten, you nod. “Follow me.”

You jump up onto the ceiling shrinking down 10 sizes.

“Woah!” Miles exclaims, “Can you do anything?” You ask, hoping he has some kind of skill to help your plan of sneaking away.

He fades in and out of being invisible before staying that way, “Perfect!” I cheer, “Let’s go.”

As Miles follows you crawling around obscure passageways and corridors, you figure this is a good time to flesh out the next plan of action. “Where are you trying to go from here?”

“Home, I want to just go home.” he breathes, sounding exhausted.

“Margo and I can send you there with the go-home machine.” You offer, knowing she’ll help.

“Thank you, I really appreciate this.”

“Mhm, no problem. And if you don’t end up coming back here to visit or whatever, I’ll be sure to visit you.” You say with a sweet smile.

Eventually, you and Miles make it back to the room housing the go-home machine.

“Psst! Margo!” You whisper-shout dropping from the ceiling onto her shoulder, still miniature-sized, of course.

“What?” she looks over at you, “why are you so small?”

“I bumped into Miles while I was on a walk, and well, y’know, he’s kind of a wanted man, so I offered we’d get him home,” you explain, hopping off her shoulder, sizing back up to normal. Miles followed suit, letting go of the ceiling and returning visible.

Margo looks at Miles for a moment, “Sure, I’ll start it up.”

You and Margo get to work as Miles swings onto the platform. It was all going smooth until Miguel broke through the glass, yelling, “Stop him! Now!”

“Man, what does it look like I’m tryna do?!” Margo yells back, the both of you acting like you can’t stop it. 

The dashboard to the machine prompts the finalization screen, and you run over to Margo's side of the room, giving each other a nod and then looking at Miles. You give him a thin-lipped smile before Margo presses ‘yes.’

The red lights in the room fade away and silence in the room was loud, deafening even, aside from Miguel’s heavy breathing.

"What do we do now...” you whisper to the avatar beside you, seeing Miguel rip the web swing you made off the ceiling after it brushed against his arm.

“No idea.”

Thanks for reading!

sorry if there are any mistakes, this is longer than what I normally write so I wouldn’t be surprised if something got overlooked. also the picture i used doesnt really match but it is what it is.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Typical Wonderful View

Fandom: Daisy Jones & The Six Pairing: Karen x Graham Rating: E Word Count: 4700

Summary: Julia interviews her about the Six, bringing Karen's memories of that time back into focus. Particularly memories of Graham. Particularly what happened between them that one afternoon, home from the beach. With Julia in contact with all Karen's former bandmates, Graham doesn't have to stay a memory.

1997

“Can I ask you a question?”

Karen leans forward in her chair, forearms on her knees and hands clasped lightly together—more nerves than formality, but she’s trying not to feel them. She’s lost track of how long she’s been sitting here. She’s never told such a lengthy story. Maybe she would have, except no one’s ever asked. No one’s ever let her. It’s funny, she thinks, how it’s still so easy to skim over whole years and yet dwell on things that happened in an instant, speaking strange details to the camera and Julia behind it.

“Sure, Karen,” Julia encourages.

Karen tilts her head inquiringly before the question comes out: “Who is this for?”

“The story? The documentary?”

“Isn’t the documentary the story?” Karen quips.

“It’s the story and how it’s told,” Julia supplies, not tripped up by Karen’s cleverness for a second.

Karen nods in acknowledgement. “The documentary, then. Who’s it for?”

“Well, you know I’d like to show it. I wanna make something of it. You agreed when we sat down to film. It’s alright if you’ve changed your—”

“I haven’t changed my mind, I just…” Karen blinks, feeling the pull of more memories. Her eyebrows tug together as she focuses. “You’re the first person who’s ever shown an interest not motivated purely by morbid curiosity.”

“My curiosity is incredibly morbid,” Julia jokes, adjusting the angle of the screen that protrudes from her camera.

“Alright, sure.” Karen gestures in defeat before clapping her hands back together. “I guess I should have said, you’re the first person who’s doing this not out of love for the band but for the people who were in it.”

“Is that a question?”

Karen smiles. “You sound like your mother.”

Julia smiles too. “Still not a question.”

“But you already know my question, Jules. You’re just avoiding it.”

“It’s for me,” Julia admits, “but no more than it is for you.”

“‘You’ being the Six.”

“Plus Mom.”

“Of course. She was always part of it.”

“I thought you would all like to know,” Julia says. “I thought you’d want to know as much as you could, with the time that’s gone by. I thought you’d feel ready.”

Karen absorbs this, hoping she looks calm on camera. Her hands are trembling slightly.

“Ready,” she repeats.

“Not detached,” Julia is careful to clarify. “I hoped it wouldn’t have been so long that none of you cared anymore, just that you could all speak about it more comfortably now. Emotionally, but comfortably.”

“You have the foresight to assume we might still be closer to emotional than comfortable.”

“Why do you say that?”

Karen smiles more broadly than before.

“Because you’re interviewing us separately. Will you promise me one thing though?”

“Maybe,” Julia hedges.

“I’m not asking for special treatment,” Karen assures her.

“You are a rockstar.”

Karen rolls her eyes at the cheek.

“Promise me I get to see it before the world does,” she requests.

“Any specific part?” Julia asks.

Karen opens her mouth to lie, to say no, but this is for the record—not the album sort, but the sort Julia Dunne is willing to set down.

“I’d like to see Graham’s interview. Chicago. I wanna know what he says about that.”

“I’ll let you know when I have it,” Julia promises.

Karen nods, grateful, vulnerable. What she’s feeling reminds her of stage fright, though she hasn’t felt that in decades.

—

Of all of them, Warren’s been the only one Karen really sees. They’ve played on some of the same tracks, which has been nice. Getting on the same page in the studio without needing a lot of talk. Smoking in the corner between recordings, then in the parking lot when people stopped smoking indoors, then nowhere when Karen and Warren realized they had better stop smoking altogether. That was hard. Years later, there are still days Karen gets in the car to buy a carton of cigarettes. Gets as far as keys in the ignition. But she’s managed not to get sucked back in. She hates feeling like something has control over her. Only two things in her life have really felt that way, the two toughest things to kick: addiction and love.

When Julia calls her up a second time, it isn’t addiction that makes Karen’s heart quaver like a raindrop on the windshield of a speeding car. She has Graham’s interview.

They sit together at Karen’s kitchen table while Julia plays her the footage. Karen still can’t believe she has a kitchen table. After the Six, after Chicago, after Graham, Karen couldn’t commit to so much as a six-month lease. These days, she’s still renting, because there’s still something about homeownership that deeply freaks her the fuck out, but the furniture is hers. She bought it. If she goes, it goes too, and that’s different. After a career on the stage and in the studio, moving place to place with something that belongs to her is the novelty. She has belongings. She’s wondered—not desperately, but quietly, from time to time—what it’s like to feel belonged to.

By the time Graham tells the camera Karen gave him the chance to have the family he’s loved, she’s messily wiping the tears from her cheeks with her palm. Julia watches her with concerned, sympathetic eyes and offers to stop, but Karen shakes her head. She can take it.

Because it’s not bad, it’s good. She’s glad somebody’s loved him. She’s selfishly relieved that she didn’t give him up for nothing, that she didn’t set that wounded bird free just to have him snatched from the air by a hawk. The tears are only confirmation she did the right thing; they’re closure.

“You should call him up,” Julia suggests, when Graham’s interview ends.

“Oh, no, I—”

“You should. I think he’d like to hear from you.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Karen questions wryly.

“Chicago was a long time ago,” Julia says simply.

Karen turns her head to look out the kitchen window. She smiles at the view, her expression a little pained.

“No,” she says. “It’s not. It’s in the music, and that’s preserved, perfectly preserved. It’s a time capsule, Jules.” She looks at her. “There isn’t a Six record in existence where Graham isn’t in love with me while he plays guitar, because he always played guitar, and he was always in love with me. On the later stuff, I was in love with him too. I know what we were both feeling. I can hear it in D major and G major and F bloody minor. I could put Aurora on right now and hear it. It’s not a long time ago.”

“Then I’m sure Uncle Graham feels the same,” Julia replies.

“Still think I should call him?”

Karen stares her down, but Julia just rests her cheek on her fist and shrugs.

Neither of them really needs to guess how Graham feels; it’s right there in his interview: grateful. He feels grateful to Karen. The feeling gets under her skin. It doesn’t leave when Julia does. Karen can’t bolt her door to keep it out. It rises from within her, and itches and creeps like a sunburn, like sand inside a swimsuit. It’s not because Graham’s gratitude is new that she can’t settle. It’s because it is very, very familiar.

—

1975

It kind of turns her on that he’s so grateful—like it turns him on that she’s jealous. Karen wants to rewind Graham like a tape, back to the moment before she kissed him, back before she grabbed his sweater and slammed him into the fridge door, back to following him into the house while she worked up the nerve to, one, finally plant one on him, two, ruin his fledgling relationship with the Manilow-loving future doctor, and, three, see what Graham’s face would look like the instant she made his dreams come true.

This isn’t their first kiss, but it might as well be; it’s the first one they’re both truly a part of. Graham emerges from the initial shock and comes at her, shaking like a car-crash survivor. Karen’s usual flinty resolve is gone, abandoned. The woman Graham kisses is malleable and willing. He could mould her in his palm and rub her on his surfboard because she is wax, she is soft for him in a way neither of them ever, ever thought she’d be.

They stagger through the kitchen, hardly breathing as they refuse to detach their desperate mouths, and it feels like they’re still on the water. Karen’s swept up in Graham’s motion—or maybe it’s him in hers—and nothing is solid except Graham’s cock in his shorts when her hips pin his to the wall, or the cupboards, or the door. Honestly, she has no clue. His hands are in her hair, lifting it away from her neck and gripping the length of it like a rope he wants to tug, a pull which will ring a triumphant bell. He kisses her deeply, hungry with his tongue, and she’s the first to moan.

The couch is somewhere in the next room, and they make for it with blind faith, through the bead curtain, stumbling faster since the moan, which seems to have shaken Graham to his core. His hands are rapid and greedy, fumbling up and down her body. With the cutouts in her swimsuit, it’s easy for him to thrust his hands under the material and fondle her breasts. His fingers pinch her nipples and she nearly bites his lip, her own fingers tearing at the button on his shorts. He suddenly sits down hard, dropping away from her. Karen snorts a laugh. Ah—there’s the couch.

She digs her hand into her beach- and finger-tangled hair as she looks down on Graham, the both of them panting. He sits with his legs sprawled wide. Karen steps confidently between his knees. There might be the distant honk of a horn, but whatever, she thinks. Let Caroline believe there were burglars. Let her believe the worst of them both: that Karen would make a move on Graham the second they were out of Caroline’s sight, and that Graham would be only too happy to go back to forgetting other women exist. It’s what he thought before. And maybe it made Karen feel a little bad then, when he made her the sun in his personal planetarium and she offered him nothing but harsh, cold light. Maybe she caught him watching her a hundred thousand times and felt the guilt of a friend, unable to give this good man the thing he wanted even more than friendship. But now she herself has seen the light, and she’s ready to be the only woman for Graham Dunne. She doesn’t know how well Dr. Caroline sucks cock, but it’s obviously not well enough to compete with a single kiss from Karen Sirko.

Karen strips off her jacket; it’s meant to be a statement, a reclamation of army green post-Vietnam, though today it was just a convenient coverup over her swimsuit. Maybe, even, when she told Graham she’d come to the beach, she wanted him to always have a view of her skin. Principled and sexy, she can be both. Selectively principled; there is still the now ex-girlfriend who might be realizing something’s up and driving over Graham’s surfboard to snap it in two. Karen grins down at Graham—in response to her slowly unbuttoning and unzipping her shorts, he’s eagerly yanking the sweater over his head to muss the hair that dried in swirling waves—and decides she’ll buy him a new one.

Down to her swimsuit and her seductive smile, Karen kneels on the carpet, shuffling closer to finish unfastening his shorts. But Graham flinches back, jerking the denim out of her grip. He’s grinning madly.

“No, no,” he says, half-laugh. “Karen, I can’t deal. I’ll lose my mind if you do that.”

“That’s kind of the point,” she replies.

“Ok, well, I’ll lose my mind and my load, and I’d really rather…” Graham trails off, seeming to notice here that he’s speaking quite bluntly. The boys do, of course, about sex. Only, it’s always sex with some other girl that they’re either recounting or fantasizing. Karen stares steadily at him and he holds her eyes as though mesmerized. She watches him swallow.

“You’d rather what, Graham?”

Graham blinks quickly, but shakes his head when he can’t come up with the words.

“Come inside me?” she guesses.

He manages to open his mouth this time, though it doesn’t do him much good. A squeak of breath comes out. Karen grins and grabs his knees, pushing to her feet.

“Another time then,” she says.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, hands sliding over her thighs as she climbs onto his lap.

She can tell he’s cursing over the promise as much as the present. Sure, this is amazing—she’s wet, and it’s not from the swimsuit that dried on the beach after their surfing lesson—but she gets that what might be even crazier to Graham than what’s happening right now is that Karen’s open to a repeat. She’s suggesting it, she’s offering it. The night of the blackout, she basically killed what hope he had of something occurring between them even once, and now she’s so casually handing him the future. They will fuck, and they will fuck again. Her hair might not smell like the ocean then, but he’ll still get to comb his fingers into it while she gives him head. She gives him this promise so easily.

On his lap, Karen presses herself against his bulge just once before Graham scrambles to undo and shove his shorts down. There’s nothing underneath. She breathes hard, studying the ready length of him, flushed like his skin’s been sunkissed, and the untamed curls, the shiny smear his tip’s left on his abdomen. When Graham’s hand finds the back of her neck, Karen lets herself be persuaded into a deep, sloppy kiss. He fumbles for the tie of her swimsuit, and she reaches back to unhook the band that wraps around her ribs. Together, they shove the top of her swimsuit down to her waist, Graham’s hands jumping back up to palm her breasts with such exuberance you’d think they were the first he’d ever touched. It isn’t until he tucks a hand into the back of her suit to grab her ass that she remembers they need protection. She braces a hand on his chest and pushes him back, breaking the kiss.

“Woah,” she says. “Condom.”

“Oh, yeah, I… Jesus…” Graham begins to sit up straighter, called to action, only to apparently appreciate Karen’s half-bared body anew.

“Focus,” she requests, but she smirks.

“Yeah, no, I’ve got a condom.” He shuts his eyes as he nods once. “It’s…”

Karen swings off his lap to settle beside him when it becomes obvious that Graham wants to reach forward and she’s in the way—and he’s too interested in her being in the way to ask her to get out of the way. Without her there, he grabs for the shorts that only made it as far as his ankles.

She stares at him a bit lasciviously as he bends forward and roots in the pockets: Graham, naked on the couch they use every fucking day. The sunburn across his shoulders, the blush of blood in his waiting prick. If they hadn’t done this, they might have sat side by side on this couch tomorrow, and Karen might have watched Graham lean forward in just the same way, but with clothes on, reaching for a fallen pencil or slice of toast (which she would have ordered him not to eat; they do not clean the floors enough for that). She could have let them be a near miss forever. But what a shame it would have been.

It's one thing to tell herself she’s going into this with her eyes open, but it’s another to reckon with the fact that the condom Graham so proudly retrieves from his pocket was not meant for her. Graham’s face falls as Karen glances from him to the condom and back with a sombre expression.

He grasps the hands she’s clenched shut without realizing. The wrapper rustles, trapped between two of his fingers.

“Hey, no,” he says, hunching to seek her eyes when she starts to duck her head to avoid his gaze. “I want you.”

Karen shakes her hair back and meets his eye.

“I know you do. It’s still weird.”

“I should feel bad, right? About Caroline?” Graham checks. Karen nods and he adds, “And you should definitely feel bad. For sure.”

His teasing makes her laugh, which makes Graham beam; her smallest delight brings him the greatest joy. She’s gotten so used to trying to ignore that, but it’s nice actually. It feels good to make a guy like Graham happy.

“She never stood a chance, Sirko,” he admits, tender as hell. “Nobody did.”

Karen assesses him.

“I guess I’ve made you wait long enough,” she says.

“I mean, whenever you’re ready, but I’m—”

Yeah, she gets it. She cuts Graham off with a kiss, no need for him to go on. He squeezes her hands, her arms, her waist, hauling her close. When he pulls away to concentrate on getting the condom on, Karen wriggles her swimsuit off.

“Don’t tear it,” she cautions, because Graham’s suddenly a lot less focused on the condom.

His head bobs up and down in a drunken nod, and he figures it out, sheathing himself before looking at her with eyes so hopeful they almost twinkle. Grateful, she thinks, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. So bloody grateful.

They’re both salt-infused, sand-scrubbed, sun-addled. Karen inches close enough for a slow grind against Graham’s cock, and all the vastness of the ocean, the pale, endless stretch of beach, grows dim and distant. They live in this insular moment, the texture of the couch under his ass and her knees. Their warm skin touching as she sits on his thighs, and he cradles her back, and she tilts his jaw to kiss his neck. Graham groans. She loves that he doesn’t hide how much he wants this. She licks his throat with a smile on her face, rubbing her clit against his cock.

His prick twitches between them, and she knows she’s torturing him every time she rocks up like she’s finally gonna sink down on him this time. The trouble is, Graham loves it. He pants and grunts and grins. He lets her get a fistful of his curly hair, bite his ear, scrape her nails down his chest so she catches his nipple. Karen wonders what he wouldn’t let her do, where he’d draw the line, where he’d let her down, but the thought of pushing that far scares her. She doesn’t wanna hurt him just because he might let her. How simple it would be to think this rock-band guitarist, this wave-tumbled surfer isn’t the delicate one. That, because he’s grateful to fuck her, she doesn’t need to care about what else he might need.

They both know he loves her. She isn’t sure whether she’s supposed to know that, but the night of the blackout—the night he kissed her and she laughed because the thought of them was so ridiculous, even with his lips on hers—she felt it was implied. It was about the only thing she could see clearly in the dark.

“You ready?” she huffs, curling her fingers around his cock and pressing up on her knees to align them.

“Probably not,” he says with an awestruck laugh lurking in his tone.

She appreciates the honesty.

With little more foreplay than kissing and rubbing up against one another, Karen helps Graham press inside her, and they fuck. It’s beautiful, like music, and it’s raw, like her muted fear that the others will come home while she and Graham are defiling this couch.

At various points, she’s sure he’d like to flip them into missionary, but she resists. He respects it. She finds being face to face with Graham frightening enough; she can’t imagine the way he’d stare down at her, the eyes that are currently communicating your basic (if intense) lust turning unabashedly lovestruck. She can’t handle that today. Just this: surging up and down on his lap while his hips snap rhythmically upward and he buries his face against her chest, her neck, her hair. She can feel him breathing, maybe even more than she can hear it. She wraps an arm around the back of his neck and shuts her eyes. Inhales his gratitude.

—

1997

She can’t remember the last time she was this nervous to knock on someone’s door. But there’s no need to be, because Graham opens it, and it turns out that it’s the easiest thing in the world to get to talking. He gave Julia permission to pass on his address, so he knew Karen might stop by, just not when.

She’s across the threshold and down the hallway before things begin to catch up with her. Graham looks so happy, and it blindsided her, but she takes in the framed photos on the walls. The children. She stops walking. She remembers Graham in the video, because how can she not? The gratitude for what Karen Sirko gave him, way back when. She really hopes she isn’t here today to try to take it away from him. She thought she could trust herself—it’s certainly been goddamn long enough—but maybe not. Graham’s ease is transfixing, the relaxed swing of his step as he continues on towards the back of the house without her, not realizing yet that she’s stopped. Karen remembers she forgot to look at his hand. She has this terrible curiosity to see how he looks wearing a wedding ring. The curiosity seems to come from a perverse place, a place of self-inflicted suffering. She wonders whether Graham and the missus have a darling bathroom she can throw up in.

“Kids,” she blurts, and Graham turns with his eyebrows raised in question. She points at one of the photographs. “Your children.”

He breaks into a smile so lovely it makes her ache. They’re still exactly what he always wanted. Karen’s glad at the same time as she’s mournful. It’s complicated. She smiles back.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges. The single word is full of pride.

“Are they here?” she asks weakly.

“Nah, they’re with their mom. At their mom’s,” he corrects, but it still takes a few seconds for Karen to get it. “Her house.”

“Which is not this house,” she says slowly.

“I mean, the divorce was amicable, but yeah. I mean, no. No, we’re not roommates or anything like that. Who is, with their ex-wife?” Graham chuckles, and between that and the babbling, she’s charmed to realize he’s nervous too.

“I’m sorry,” she says, because it seems like the thing to say.

Graham shrugs. “Like I said, totally amicable. Just didn’t work out. The kids don’t exactly understand, but… I’m rambling.” He laughs again, fully at himself this time, and looks down at his sock feet. It’s sweet and self-deprecating and so Graham that it makes Karen feel nostalgic, even with him right in front of her.

“Hell of a documentary Jules is putting together,” she says so she doesn’t say something else, like how Graham’s ex-wife was either a fool to leave him or a fool to let him go, even though she once did the same.

“Yeah!” This seems to be safer territory, but then—“Yeah,” he repeats more thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “It brought a lot back, you know? Stuff I’d forgotten.”

“Bad stuff?” Though Karen’s scared to ask, it’s impossible not to.

“Good too. But there’s some stuff I’d never forget.”

“Me too.” Her voice is small, but not weak, and any guardedness she feels evaporates when their eyes meet and she finds such tenderness in his gaze. For everything she sees there, there’s no regret.

They hold on long enough that she can see when it happens—the second Graham decides he’s going to say something to give her an out, to spare her the love he was once too willing to let her convince him wasn’t returned. God, she could let him. Let him lie down on the wire for her the way she did for him so she can get away unscathed, or at least faking it. But she didn’t come all this way—and not just to Pittsburgh—for denial and understatement. If what Karen wanted was to never see Graham again, never confront those feelings, it would’ve been easy. She doesn’t want the out.

“I’d like to talk,” she offers. “Really talk.”

His smile starts out tentative, but soon, it’s crinkling the corners of his eyes. Bizarrely, Karen remembers what that girl Caroline once called Graham: sexy as hell. Karen takes in what two decades have changed about him, and she sees a happy man, a man who’s gained and lost, but would likely describe himself as having mostly gained. She misses his shorts and flares, but she still likes how he looks in jeans, how he rests his hand on his hip as he gives her this smile. She wouldn’t have to force herself to go to him, only let herself. Whatever it was about him then, he has it still.

“Sexy as hell,” she says under her breath.

“What was that?”

Karen smiles and swears, “Nothing.”

“Well, I’d like that,” Graham says. “Talking. To you.”

“The only hard part might be figuring out where to start.”

Apparently, she can read him as well as she used to, because she knows he’s had an idea before he says as much.

“Come with me,” Graham requests, and Karen follows him to a room off the kitchen, leaving her bag on the counter.

It’s a study, or an office, or maybe a man cave, if time has made Graham the kind of jackass who would use that term. Whatever he calls it, it’s nice—chairs in toasty-brown leather, a large, leafy plant he seems to be successfully keeping alive, an earth-toned rug that reminds her of their mutual California, the California of the ’70s. And the records, of course. Shelves lined with records, plus the accompanying record player. Karen’s been to the homes of people not in the business, people for whom a record player might be little more than a décor item or conversation starter. That isn’t Graham. He might’ve left music to have a family, but music clearly hasn’t left him; rather than stuck someplace off to the side, his record player is an obvious focal point, probably more because he uses it a lot than because of some latent design sense. It’s there, without a speck of dust on it.

Karen’s smiling as she looks at it, and Graham goes eagerly to the shelves, running a finger across coloured sleeves.

“Can I play you something?”

“I wish you would,” she says.

He makes his selection. There’s the papery noise of the record sliding from its sleeve. Dropping the needle on Aurora, Graham says, “Let’s start here.”

The sound pours out, warm and rich, and not too loud. Warren’s confident thump, then the little zing of Graham’s guitar. “Aurora”—their title track.

“You still listen to this?” Karen asks. She can’t decide whether she’s surprised.

Graham turns to her.

“Yeah. Not a lot, you know. Not all the time. It can be overwhelming.” He laughs lightly and sticks his hands in his front pockets, thumbs hooked out. “I listen to it sometimes for the same reason I avoid it other times. I can hear everything I felt.”

“So can I.”

“How do you feel now?”

For a minute, she closes her eyes and just listens. She hears Graham’s footsteps as he comes to stand next to her. Never mind that they’re in Pittsburgh—she’d swear she smells the ocean drying in their hair.

She opens her eyes.

“Grateful,” Karen says, earning her a smile. “All I feel is grateful.”

[psapphic95]

The way I keep rereading these chapters makes me think I have an obsession the way Regina is obsessed with emma. In chapter 7 Regina reminisced on the time emma was upset at regina because of the dream she had where Regina cheated and I was just wondering if it was possible to see how it played out. I loved reading the short snippet of it in the chapter and I'm dying to read more

You may have to read the first chapter of You're Mine Too, Mommy to understand this snippet

++++++

“Emma?” 

Regina called out from the kitchen as she heard the front door to her apartment open and close, without hearing Emma shouting out to greet her, as she normally did once she arrived home. 

When no response came, Regina hurried out of the kitchen and emerged into the living room to investigate. There, she found Emma sitting on the sofa unlacing her shoes, her face screwed up into a terribly grumpy little expression. 

“Angel?” Regina entered the room. “You’re not going to say hi?” 

Green eyes barely gave her a glance before settling back down on the task of taking off her shoes. 

“Oh, yeah. Hi.” 

Disconcerted by Emma’s abruptness, Regina immediately approached the sofa where Emma was sitting. The two hadn’t texted much throughout the day; Regina didn’t receive the cute little morning text that Emma usually sent once she woke up if Regina left for work before she woke up. The older woman just assumed Emma was busy, though it was unlike her little girl to not communicate that if that was the case. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Did you have a bad day?” 

The concerned woman sat next to her girl and brushed some hair away from her cheek so she could see her face properly. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Emma said, her tone clipped and eyes still avoiding her Mommy’s.  

Her tone was unmistakably irritated, face still crumpled into a deep scowl. Regina frowned, she began to feel hurt by Emma’s attitude. 

“Have I done something wrong?” Regina tentatively posed. 

“You cheated on me,” Emma snapped.  

Completely staggered, Regina replied, “I-I’m sorry?” 

“You. Cheated. On. Me. I saw you,” Emma repeated, her pout worsening. 

Regina almost felt like laughing. Of all the things that Emma could have possibly said, this seemed the most preposterous. A brief thought flashed through her brain that wondered if Emma was having some sort of delusional episode. From the moment that she first saw her little girl, she hadn’t even been able to think about being with someone else romantically - let alone cheat on her baby. Emma knew how obsessed her Mommy was with her, so the suggestion that Regina would do anything of the sort was so ludicrous that it was funny.  

Trying to swallow her gobsmacked laugh, Regina started to explain herself. 

“Angel I don’t know when you saw me cheating on you or with whom, but I can assure you that it wasn’t—” 

“In my dream, I saw you kissing someone else.” 

The girl interrupted, sounding deadly serious. 

What on earth…

“You saw me cheating…in your dream?” Regina clarified. 

Emma nodded and kicked off her shoes a little too aggressively. 

“Baby, dreams don’t constitute reality. I’d never do that to you, I love you more than anything.” 

“I know,” Emma huffed. “But I’m still going to be grumpy for a little while.” 

“Grumpy at me?” 

“Yes.” 

“I haven’t done anything wrong!” Regina finally exclaimed. 

“Stop trying to rationalise my emotions! Archie told me that I’m allowed to feel the way I want to in order to process my thoughts!” Emma snipped back. 

For a few moments, Regina just stared at Emma, almost waiting for her to tell her that she was just pulling a stupid prank. That didn’t happen, and Emma just sat with her arms folded over her chest and slumped back into the sofa. 

“Okay, silly girl,” Regina leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of Emma’s head. “Come find me when you’ve calmed down.” 

With that, she got up and left to continue making dinner. 

Perhaps she was too confident and optimistic when she expected Emma to immediately come to her senses and toddle along after her to apologise for being ridiculous. Whatever it was, after an hour had passed and Emma had not come into the kitchen to help Mommy with dinner, or at least keep her company, Regina had grown tense and anxious. Mommy thought she could successfully call Emma's bluff, but as stubborn as ever, Emma did not budge. There were a lot of things Regina could handle, but her baby girl being unhappy with her was not one. 

Once she heard the sound of the TV begin playing in the living room, Regina decided enough was enough. 

A part of her couldn’t actually believe she was entertaining such absolute nonsense.  The strict Mistress inside her advised her to grab Emma and bend her over her knee for being so rude and avoidant all day. But, her soft, simpering, whipped Mommy-side instructed her to go and make amends with her little princess, for the sins of her dream-self. 

It was no surprise which side Regina listened to. 

Out of the freezer came a pint of Emma's favourite Ben and Jerry's caramel ice cream and placed on the counter. As that defrosted a bit, Regina busied herself chopping up a whole banana into a bowl. Normally, the girl only had half of a banana with her ice cream, but since she wasn’t there to oversee, Mommy snuck more fruit into the pre-dinner dessert. A single scoop of slightly melted caramel ice cream was mixed in after and Regina silently finalised her plan in her mind. 

With a bowl of ice cream in hand and a look of remorse on her face, Regina re-entered the living room, determined to atone for ‘her actions.’ Emma sat on the sofa, still looking utterly grumpy and adorable, hugging her knees close to her chest and watching her favourite show; Spongebob. She didn’t even look up when Regina entered the room, until Mommy cleared her throat and spoke. 

“I’m sorry that you had a bad dream, munchkin,” the older woman said with as much sincerity that she could muster. 

Walking up to Emma, Regina knelt in front of the girl, who opened her knees to look down to see what her Mommy was up to. 

Through Emma’s open legs, Regina handed her the bowl of ice cream. 

“You know that Mama belongs to you. Don’t you?” 

Thankfully, Emma was only wearing a sweater and panties, so Mommy had easy access to her pussy. Caressing one of Emma’s legs with one hand, Regina used the other to run her thumb up Emma’s slit, which was covered by her yellow panties. 

Suddenly, Emma felt very guilty for making her Mommy feel like she needed to make up for something that wasn’t actually her fault. 

“Mommy, you don’t have to—”

“Shhh,” Regina interrupted, hooking her finger into Emma’s underwear and pulling it to the side. “Let me show you how much I love you, princess.”

[postguiltypleasures]

My Peak TV journey *The Marvelous Mrs Maisel*

Prior to the final I made some predictions about where the show would end up. one was that Esther would grow up to resent her mother like Lorelei resented Emily Gilmore. I was right about that. I also speculated that maybe this was the story of how Midge could make anybody laugh, but could not make it as a comic. I was wrong about Midge’s career.

I liked the flash forwards but some of the choices of people she would be involved with seemed more funny peculiar than funny haha. It implies she was involved with Mike Nichols. In the first season there was an episode where she did not know about his act with Elaine May and almost ended up in a Nichols and May knock off act, making this later implication funnier. The flash forwards made a big deal about her working with Bob Hope which tracks with aspirational dialogue from earlier in the series. While Hope had a long and successful career, (meaning I understand why he was chosen as the symbol of what success in the field looked like), he also fell incredibly out of fashion starting in the late sixties. As a choice, it says Midge never quite seemed “young” in her career. Which, I guess makes sense.

That said I really liked the final season. In earlier posts about the show I acknowledge criticism that the Weisman’s players by goy actors were so much more likable than the Maisels, played by actually Jewish actors. This season seemed to recognize it and subtly correct.

The elder Maisels were suddenly hilarious, if still crass and unkind. The Wiseman’s reliance on their housekeeper Zelda, who got married and retired over the season revealed some very unappealing aspects of their characters.

The show sometimes felt like it took place in 1960 for multiple years. As a series The Marvelous Mrs Maisel didn’t exact love the time period in which it took place, so much as it loves the pop culture from its time. It never made me want to be there, just to keep watching people in their colorful, well tailored clothes. But it was not particularly critical, nor interested in a “this is what led to things being the way they are now” type of rational for its existence. As a choice it’s doesn’t clarify, but doesn’t let you wallow for the good old days either. Sometimes it felt like every year on screen was 1960. This disinterested ambivalence occasionally led to wanting to me I’d want to fact check it, but rarely actually doing it. The one time I did was regarding Clark Gable’s death, which I thought took place a year after the season was set. I was wrong. 

In the final episode there was an establishing shot of the Ansonia indicating that is where Midge live in 2005. Later she makes a comment about Yoko Ono being one of her neighbors. Ono famously lives in the Dakota, several avenues from the Ansonia. I was going list this as another thing that makes me doubt the interest in veracity o the series. Then I found this discussed in this post finale interview with Amy Sherman-Palladino. It’s a fictional building in a fictional timeline. Don’t make a big deal about it. Some how this made define with it.

I want to end this by praising the actors who joined the series late players. 

Some how I forgot that Julie Klausner joined the series late in the fourth season, but she regularly had me giggling over her appearances in the final season.  (Interestingly, Klausner is not a Lenny Bruce fan.)

Alfie Fuller is new to me and she was so great as Dinah. I hope Dinah has as great a management career and I look forward to seeing Fuller in something soon.

Reid Scott is such a charming bully as Gordon Ford, you almost don’t resent his character’s success. (Though I think the no writer on the show rule was a good one) 

I’ve liked Chris Eigeman since those Whit Stillman films and I really liked seeing him run the Village Voice here.

Jason Ralph, (Rachel Brosnahan’s real life husband) had some very funny bits as Mike, especially in relation to Suzie. Seeing him here mostly made me think how I want to see him as a lead again. 

Nina Arianda has intrigued me since I saw her play Stan Laurel’s wife in Stan and Ollie. She still does as Gordon’s wife/Susie’s ex, Hedy. 

[writing-astrid]

midnight feelings

pairing: choi san!nurse x mora (y/n)!college student

word count: 10.6k

summary: both invited to the same party in the changing march, mora meets san—a nurse that also lacks of rhythm to dance—at midnight and under the dim shaft the kitchen light casts on them. it is almost instant their connection, their desire for each other, but mora is experiencing this lust for the first time in her life with this unknown guy, so it would be correct if she follows her instincts?

a/n: welp, hey, there. this is me coming for the first time with an original fanfic, starring none less than one of the demonteez line yet being the sunshine he is, obviously our guy san. hope you enjoy it! lit spent 9 months writing this and i finally could finished it.

don't forget to like and comment! they are much appreciated xoxo

_________________

It was late at night. Saturday was minutes to be history, and I was in my second beer. Chatter came from everywhere, music filling the March breeze running through the house I was in. Lights were off except from the one in the kitchen and the patio. Bad Bunny was on the speaker, and the dancing people were chorusing him. Even I joined them sometimes while standing there, in the limbo between the kitchen and the dining room, holding my beer, careful not to warm it up. The mood was nice and my girlfriends seemed to be enjoying themselves too.

Although they were also shy and not that drunk to be in the middle of the living room dancing with the many faces I’d seen in past parties. The three of us glimpsed at each other before lifting the bottles to our lips. Cami was in her third drink; Niki also in her second—she had bought like four Strongbows and it looked like they were soon to be gone.

“Faster!” Cami addressed me. I looked up at her. “Chug it down!”

I laughed. “One of us has to remove the makeup of the three.”

“None of us will!” Niki corrected. A fun spark crossed through her eyes, and I knew she was joking by seeing how her blue lips showed her flashy, perfect set of teeth. “But seriously, though. Enjoy the night. It’s been a heck of a week.”

“And it’s not even midnight.” Cami made a funny face before taking one more sip. I laughed again and imitated her. The cold liquid made it through the throats when another bop was being played on the speaker. Rompe by Daddy Yankee rumbled on the walls of the living room. Every single soul in the whole property screamed, immediately chanting the catchy beginning.

A circle was made where more people stepped into the darkness of the room to twerk—whether against a partner or down the floor, hard—and sing-slash-shout with no fear of losing a lung. Niki, Cami and I stayed behind like three static security cameras, drinking in their excitement with grins. The amount of people surrounding us flushed our cheeks.

“Holy shit, that’s sick!” exclaimed over the noise a guy on my left. Since I hadn’t noticed his presence, I was oddly amazed to find he was closer to me than what I’d thought. His smile widened to one side as he glanced at the three of us.

Dim light from the kitchen hit his profile, since he was half-facing us. A breath of mine joined the atmosphere when the clothes involving our arms brushed.

“Wish I could twerk like him, but the body Jesus gave just knows how to stand still like this,” he continued. His voice was a few decibels louder than the new verse of the song.

Not knowing which of us he was regarding, I answered, “All mortals like us can do is watch them and steal some of their energy.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, so you don’t dance either?”

“Can’t,” I clarified and deviated my sight from him to the dance floor. But now I knew I couldn’t easily forget his long eyelashes. “My parents didn’t program me to have rhythm when they created me.”

His body prompted toward me, finishing the connection his back had with the wallpaper. Lifted up a hand, eyes on me. Whoever this guy was wouldn’t need to say another word for me to high-five him. His skin warmed our touch.

“They used to tell me a bedtime story about why San—me—couldn’t dance at all. Spoiler alert: the stork that brought me to their garden wasn’t used to dance either.” The tone in his amiable voice made me laugh. The joke coming from his mouth sounded so funny to my relaxed system. “But hey, this isn’t fair. You already know my name. What’s yours?”

This wasn’t the moment to roll my eyes, not when I wasn’t even bothered to play along and follow the path San began to walk in. It actually caused a nice sensation in my insides.

Could’ve been the beers? I wouldn’t know.

“I’m”—I gave a step closer to him and tiptoed. The music boomed against every wall in the house and my voice was a small piece compared to it—“Mora!”

Feeling ashamed, because I practically yelled to his ear, I returned back quickly. I hadn’t expected what he did once I looked up again, though.

He had his lips pursed in a contained smile. Within one of my heavy breaths, he seized the opportunity and bent over my shoulder. “Mora? Isn’t that the Spanish word for ‘berry’?” The words got caught up in my throat, so I nodded. Jesus, his perfume suited him. “What a pretty name. It matches your lipstick.”

I shouldn’t have patted myself mentally for choosing the lost purple lipstick from the drawer.

But I did. I was elated I had.

“Thank you,” I whispered. My attention fell on my friends when they mouthed they’d go to the restroom; I signaled them a thumb up. “My parents were going to name me Monet, but I much prefer Mora.”

I gestured to him to move from where we were, back to the limbo I’d been standing at, where we could talk better.

“That’s because you’re accustomed to it by now. You would’ve said the same thing at some point in your life if your name had been Monet.” He pinched his lower lip with two fingers, as though it was a habit when thinking. “So, Mora, how did you know of this party?”

This time I did roll my eyes.

With a fucking smile on my face. “The host is my friend. You?”

“Same,” he said, his tongue catching and moistening that exact lip. “Though I heard of the party an hour ago or so. Lily invited us at the last minute.”

I went back to leaning on the wall, my eyes shifting from his to the dancefloor and vice versa. The person controlling the playlist really wanted everyone to move. “I’m not surprised.” I laughed with the mouth of the bottle between my lips. “If you’re friends with her, you may know how distracted she can be. I’m not blaming her, though!” I added immediately, before drinking another sip. “She has a lot in her mind with med school already.”

A brow arched above his wooden eyes and then exhaled. “Those good ol’ days. I graduated in December and damn, this ain’t no better than what I’d anticipated.”

“You’re already working?” I asked as I realized I had no clue what he could've specialized in. We were at a party hosted by a future doctor, but I wasn’t studying this and I couldn’t tell by just looking at him. It almost felt like guessing his name.

If he hadn’t told me, I would’ve named him Diego. That dark brown hair and wooden eyes gave off a Diego vibe. Or perhaps I was projecting one of my recent crushes on this San guy.

Both of them had been attractive to me the moment I paid attention to their presence near me. This is a secret, so keep it, please.

“What did you major in?”

“Nursery, actually. Many of these faces are faces I’ve seen daily the past four years.” San grinned in the middle of our eye contact. “I— To this day I still don’t know why I chose it.” And our laughs boomed with a drumming base of the music.

“Nor how you survived through.”

His eyes spread out, like he finally had realized something shocking. “Damn. You’re right, Mora. I keep going to school for my internship, so it feels like my student days haven’t come to an end.”

“Wow. I don’t think we’ve ever crossed paths.”

San dismissed my statement with a shrugging of a shoulder. “But tell me, what are you studying?” He moved aside to let a couple walk into the kitchen. One guy opened the fridge to my right, and by noticing the way he stumbled kneeling down, there was no doubt a single hit would send him to the floor; I grabbed the handle for him.

The other guy had halted in front of the stove, looking at the digital clock on it absent-mindedly.

“Translation, actually.” I mocked his voice tone, causing him to free a chuckle.

“Hey, that’s so cool! Many of my friends also studied that. You have to learn a third language, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Then ask them if they can help me. I’m a sophomore, but how I’ve come this far is yet to be known.”

I took another sip of beer while seeing him lift a finger at me, a crease forming between both brows.

A cute reaction, not gonna lie.

“Wait a moment.” I mouthed “Okay” and waited a moment.

And another.

I let go of the door finally.

But yet another.

Until I couldn’t help myself by asking, “What is it?” when he looked like his brain had stopped being functional.

“How old are you?”

My head tilted with tiny confusion curling my lips. “Nineteen. Why?”

He gulped down saliva so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed in a quick motion. I wouldn’t have noticed the moment I turned my sight away from him if it hadn’t been for the strands of hair landing between us like a curtain. My arms positioned as to embrace my torso, the cold, dark glass of the bottle resting on the corner of my elbow.

“I’m sorry I look flabbergasted. Guess wasn’t expecting you to be much younger than me.” One of my brows arched inquisitively, which he decoded immediately. “I’m turning twenty-three in summer.”

I held his gaze during a breath until I stared at the chanters on the couches and muttered, “Damn, you’re indeed old.”

“I’m— Sorry, sorry. I didn’t intend to say it that way. It’s just— You could be my sister’s friend.” San stepped forward and gingerly grabbed the wrist over my ribs as he noted my sulking. His face had drawn a nervous smile when I glanced back at him. “Hey.”

The next series of things occurring were as though the writer of my life had stoned. The couple in the kitchen decided they had had enough of kissing under the light and, thus, stumbled their way out.

Meaning, they either crossed between San and me or, as the easiest available option and the one they executed, pushed San to me to clear the way for both. They might’ve been a drop away from blacking out, but God wouldn’t minimize their strength.

One arm went to the concrete about my head, cutting him short from mashing my body with the mass of his body.

Both guys staggered behind him. I perceived when they were finally on the other side of the limbo, because my eyes were locked with the thin brown ring of his, and one second to another his background had again the rusty tone of the wall.

San’s perfume melted my insides, causing my breath to get stuck in my throat. I was almost capable of tasting him. In his gaze I found stars and fog, turning into shooting stars at the vibration when regarding my face. But when his chest stretched at him grasping for air, I had to control myself from raising my palms and touch him. Heat ran through my veins and never from where San was holding still my wrist—a countdown for me to ignite when it arrived in my heart. 

I could’ve burst into flames at his proximity. And the worst of it all was how little I cared. I’d gladly become ashes if I could have him this close again.

Exhaling shakingly and lowering his arm, careful not to hit me, San stepped back in slow motion. It seemed, by the flush on his cheeks and oscillation of his lashes, that he felt torn apart. Especially when our skins broke contact. My rush of adrenaline ceased and my breathing took wing—I believe the medical terminology would be “hyperventilation,” but the spot-on person to know if I was hyperventilating for a ridiculous reason was San, not me.

My hearing focused on the irregular beating heart drumming in my head. San regarded me with a teeny-tiny smile, bare visible yet there. Maybe trying to reassure me—nonetheless, I couldn’t bring myself to answer him. My brain was processing so much information I noticed his gesture five seconds after, when it proceeded to waver and vanish.

Then, and out of nowhere, before my vocal cords could produce any kind of sound, Niki materialized on my side, grabbing my hand and exasperatingly asking if I could call her. It had been a while since she used her phone and now didn’t remember where she’d left it. The noise made it hard for me to understand it all in one go, but once I assimilated the thread of words, and as Niki began to drag me out of my spot, I glimpsed back at San and his dark eyes and contrasting reddish t-shirt.

My heart begged to leave my chest as I said, “Sorry. I, uh— I’ll be back.”

Niki eventually brought me with her after he responded with hefty eyelids and messy hair, “Yeah, no worries.”

Worrisome crept through my skull and hung from my ribs, and fucking used it like a swing. 

San disappeared from my sight when we meandered left, walked past the queue to the toilet and through the main door. I found Cami sitting in front of a beautiful scarlet bougainvillea, using the edge of the concrete planter as a bench. Her also scarlet hair and crimson lipstick suited her so much my mouth wouldn’t shut up when I first saw her earlier.

“So how did it happen? When was the last time you used it?” I asked, cheeks flushed by the different first-experiences I’d had.

Cami furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

I was already on my contact list searching for Niki’s number the moment she herself placed a hand between the screen and my sight. “Well…A white lie doesn’t hurt anyone, does it?” She giggled, and Cami and I exchanged looks.

“What did this girl tell you?”

“That she lost her phone— Bitch, it was a lie?”

“In my defense, you were suffocating in flames there. It looked like you really needed some air, so I had to think fast.” Niki took a seat next to Cami and let go of a restrained sigh. “But air aids fire. Instead, I thought some watering should do you good.”

My brows erased the “Distance” entry from their dictionary. “Watering? What do you mean?”

“It’s going to rain. I can smell in the air.” Niki lifted a shoulder as it was nothing. Then grinned.

“Liar. You checked the weather app in the morning,” Cami reprimanded her with a soft shoving to the side. Her attention returned to me, and gifted me a reassuring smile. “So Mora, my girl, what was all that?”

Darn Cami and her devious gestures.

“Did you—?”

“Yup.” Cami popped the “p” and the way I heard it was as though she had enjoyed it. I glared at them, agape and sensing static crawling under my skin. “Everything.”

“Oh, God.” I didn’t know the many times I repeated myself in my pacing out of madness, but when I came to a halt, Niki and Cami had their eyes focused on me.

“We were taking care of you. We don’t know him, Mora,” Niki explained carefully, delicacy in her eyes.

It took me a few seconds to comprehend them, but I nodded. She was right. I also would’ve taken care of both if they had been in my position—talking to a stranger in a party where obviously, we were the vulnerable ones.

“What did you see?” I inquired secretly, trusting they would understand the real intention.

They glanced at each other, as in remembering better, and pondered in silence. Niki stretched her legs and crossed them again afterward. “He wants to kiss you so bad. More than the half of the time you’ve talked, he kept his hands on the pockets of his pants. And y’know what that means.”

“And when he noted he’d grabbed your wrist, the expression he made…like it also was a surprise to him for reacting in that manner.”

“Damn, and the way he approached to touch her,” Niki squeaked. “Please don’t let me know if I hallucinated because I couldn’t have gotten butterflies from my imagination.”

“Niki—”

I gasped, silently feeling comforted that I wasn’t making it up either. “You didn’t,” my voice managed to formulate.

I didn’t feel attacked at his attempt to reduce space between us. His grasp had been tender and hot around my skin, being mindful that the gemstones in my bracelet could easily hurt me if put more pressure on. Not even I’d been that attentive to it; for a reason I continuously ended up stabbing myself when doing anything.

“Then what did he make you feel? Are you comfortable around him?” Cami questioned with her mom-like tone.

I pondered an adequate answer while evoking our conversation and how he adventured to start it. In front of me, both girls squawked.

“We’ve lost her!” they yelled, and I had no other option than to shut them up with a slap on their laps. Their giggles caught the attention of the people in the garage, provoking my face to paint as maroon as the flowers behind my friends looked in the shade.

“We’ll keep eyeing you, okay?” The corners of Niki’s blue lips curled upwards. “Now you may return with your man.”

It is fair to say she deserved this second hit, at which she remained impassive notwithstanding. “He’s not my man, idiot.”

But then she challenged me with a threat. “You’ll be sleeping on the freezing floor if we leave this party and you’ve got no action.”

“I wouldn’t even be sorry I’ll be taking your place on the bed, Mora,” Cami seconded her with a smirk too.

“At times like this is when I seriously ask myself why and how you gained my love.” Biting my lip, I stomped my way back under the same rhythm of my erratic heart. The last thing I heard from outside were their devil laughs, and, to my great surprise, a thunder that silenced for a beat the music from inside.

It saddened me for a second that I’d missed the twisting of the lighting in the closed sky.

To be completely honest, I don’t quite have an idea of how I arrived back to the kitchen with my mouth filled with beer and my bottle hanging now empty from my fingers. I did somehow, and without any inconvenience the beer went down my throat, still cold and bitter. I trashed the bottle and moved to the fridge to open my last one.

While trying to find our box of beers, I also pathetically attempted to shy away every thought related to San. What we talked about, and what could happen next.

However, it was impossible.

I was intrigued, and my mind wouldn’t stop inquiring. When I stood up, my eyes roamed through the room and its feeble lighting. My eyes plummeted on a group of guys on the patio, talking and laughing. San was there, from his fingers dangled a lit-up cigarette whereas his other hand held a beer. A warm yellow shaft fell on his features, and I could see a threat of smoke emitting from his lips.

When I raised my eyes back to his, he already had been staring at me. He raised the cigarette back to his plump lips as soon as he exhaled the puff. His t-shirt stretched with his breathing in, but I couldn’t look away.

We stared at each other, inert on our feet while people danced their way between us.

San didn’t return to the mass intoning Danny Ocean even when the rain broke the skies and poured outside. And I focused on other things to forget that I had a clock right behind me. Cami and Niki pranced tipsy through the hallway to the living room and, at last, joined the crowd. I found another friend in the party, and drank half of the bottle with her, mumbling into nonsense as I accepted the alcohol in my system.

More lightning and thunder echoed in the heavens. I would like to say that was the reason I’d look outside the window door so frequently, and not because of certain someone whose heavy stare I felt on my body, making like a path of burning tingles, from time to time. Although it was impressive how him and his friends were still in the patio even when rain began pouring slightly.

A part of the night clicked by lively with the three of us attempting to twerk, making us company when going to the toilet—thank God neither needed help inside the restroom—and trails of screen’s lights, manes, and shirts roaming around.

The speaker had played perhaps four or ten songs by the moment I finished my drink and my phone vibrated in my hand from a text. It was my brother at two a.m. asking if we were going to need him to come for us since rain had gotten heavy in the last five minutes. The house was just a pair of streets away, but I pondered on the answer while making my way to the countertop to grab a glass of water. I bent to fill the red cup, and unconsciously left the chat open, so hearing a voice next to me was a huge startle that got me hitting in the crown of my head.

“Your boyfriend?” San had asked, and caused my scene of humiliation. “Oh, shit, are you okay?”

“I hope so.” I chuckled and massaged the area that was throbbing.

Seldom are the times I promise things, but I swear I had my eyes closed the moment I faced the voice. That, until another pair of hands cupped my hand and jaw, leading me to stare widely at his eyes, surprise plastered on my features and in my heartbeat. There were so many questions I wanted to formulate—how could you make me feel things so soon? Who are you? Who will be you tomorrow morning?—while mingling in his voice and smell.

Blame the alcohol crashing in my bloodstream, but if I were to turn into thin dust at this exact second by formulating them and continue talking to him the rest of the damn night, I knew I wouldn’t fucking mind.

Before I could hear his questioning inside the walls of my head, my vision lowered to his mouth and plump pink lips. He’d pursed them once again. This occasion, near the yellow kitchen shaft, their shape reminded me of the buttons of my shirt—round and fleecy, absorbing the dim shadows of the room. And my hands wished to do just two things: to bring his lips closer and tear my shirt open.

A shift on his brow in a cocky manner brought me back to the query floating around us. “Does my response matter?”

Not a single beat in when he said, “Yes.”

My hand fell to my side, and along with the motion I swung his skin with me. I blinked. “No. It’s my brother asking if he should collect us since it’s…raining.” One finger of him was grabbing one of mine, loosely.

That’s when I noted his wet hair and the drops of cold rain on his t-shirt, all over his broad shoulders. Two trailed down the side of his neck, and it took all of me not to lick them off.

The point where our skins connected was severely precarious. We’d stop touching each other even at the slightest involuntary movement. It got me in a state of self-awareness and warning, red codes flooding my arteries. I shouldn’t even consider grasping tighter to not let him go.

But he was digging deeper in both my skin and eyes. Each ticking second became harder for me to differentiate if the numbing of my thoughts were his nearness or the drinks perching in my system and fogging them. San was under my touch, in front of my sight, inside my lungs. How could I not have gotten intoxicated by him?

My guts clenched at noticing the sex-themed lyrics of the songs blasting from the speaker. Verses I’d sung my lungs out on my own were stuck within my breath in the back of my throat.

“I shouldn’t be worried then?” His husky voice electrified my veins.

My eyelids fluttered in bewilderment. “About what?”

“You having a boyfriend.” I sensed his smirk prior to swinging down my gaze. Curling the fingers of my free and useless hand, I forced myself to peek at his wooden eyes and maintain my focus there.

Me fighting against myself and these foreign instincts was somehow a ground absolutely virgin—such as I indeed was.

My brain cells had died or extinguished themselves from Earth, as the dinosaurs. Because constructing sentences and foreseeing what could happen only led me to an awkward emptiness in my mind, where not even the noisy murmur of my subconscious would guide me. As though it had turned off, like a radio with dead batteries.

That was when I snapped out of my cage—grabbed my phone, now the screen off, and stepped away from him, shaking my head as the response his frown was eager to hear. Placing the phone in one butt-pocket, I looked in the counter for my previous glass but ended up grabbing a new one to fill with water. It was clearer than the liquid I was drinking that I didn’t want to see what his reaction was.

Never had I been ashamed of never having a boyfriend—or of basically being inexperienced with guys—but now, missing the possible change of his expression would make it simpler to the thumping of my heart aiming to rip my chest open.

When I glanced at San, the creases from his forehead had disappeared. The smirk had stayed, though, and caught something like relief flooding his features.

“I’d never had a boyfriend, as a matter-of-fact,” I faintly said, not knowing what had prompted me to, once half of the red plastic glass was finished. The liquid in it was tasteless, so I was positive it was water.

My body couldn’t take another drop of alcohol.

“I’m calling BS,” San exclaimed in stupefaction.

I grimaced. “Believe me when I say I wish it was. Always have attributed it to the numerous unrequited loves I’ve found myself in. Knowing that nothing would ever go beyond that, perhaps even unconsciously, every single time has made it easier for me to just…unclasp them from me. Or me from them.” A corner of my lips went upwards bittersweetly as I swung in the water left in my hand.

San crossed his arms on his chest and peered the room behind me before asking, “So you’ve had no sex?”

My face flushed and my stomach sank. Didn’t think he would dare to enquiry so directly. “Nope,” I answered sincerely, staring at the countertop. Then at his eyes. “What about you?”

San nodded. “My first time was a few years ago, with my now ex.” He scratched his nape. “Wait, have you gotten to any base?”

That question got me biting back my lip before I could think it through. “The abstract of my romantic and sexual lives is inexistent.” I laughed my usual laugh, with my head falling back and my neck exposing. “Never have I held hands with somebody. Never have I kissed someone. Never have been touched—”

Unlike other situations caused by alcohol, this moment caught me with the surprise that indeed alcohol is dangerous to people like me. The kind that takes too long to say things because we overthink everything. But due to our systems altered and light-feathered head, words would be vomited, slurred, that otherwise would’ve been thought thoroughly in some fake scenario prepared beforehand.

And sharing this information wasn’t in my plans. Although it was too late to mend the mess—San had heard, processed, and comprehended my words.

Feeling my mouth open and close twice, I went mute for a second as I dwelled on what I should do next to avoid the slightest idea in him of stopping our acquaintance. As inexperienced as I was at kissing and being in intimacy with guys, the blood in my veins still fancied his proximity, his attention, his eyes on me and my lips nonetheless.

I was not dense enough to miss noticing how his view swayed downwards, and it wasn’t to admire the purple-ish lipstick fading, even though his eyes locked there for a beat too much. 

“I’m not gonna apologize for speaking facts about me. And if it’s a huge pressure on you and I to be friends due to that and it leads to us stopping our convo, then I guess you may regret it a little. But I assure you in the end it’s gonna be okay; you’ll survive.”

His chortle danced to my ears. San didn’t spare my blood pressure as he let his head hang cutely to one side. “It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to a girl in a party, and you’re easy-going and funny that I don’t think I could let you go just right away.” He snatched from my black-polished nails the red glass. “Besides, I ought to know how come that no one has ever…been inside your walls.”

The rose tint from the beers on my cheeks grew darker as I caught the suggestiveness rolling out of his tongue. But I was riveted on him filling back the cup and sipping next to the spot of a purple lipstick that, in the end, I didn’t relate this new wave of heat to his words.

“What would you do then, if you had the opportunity in your hands?” He returned to my left flank and leaned his hip on the counter. “Would you have sex with someone you’d just met?”

My head shook on its own before the ˂20 sober percentage in my system could process and ponder his question. “One-night stands aren’t really my thing.”

“Oh, that’s good, you’ll be safer. I never have experienced it either, since it is never sure if the people involved are completely clean. Irony would be if a doctor or nurse ends up catching a STD.”

“It may be mainly that, yeah. But just imagine if one of them has a kink that is not of your liking and wouldn’t respect your decision by imposing themself. There must be trust, respect for each other and their boundaries, and—”

“Love?”

The mocking tone in his voice drew my brows together. “San, please, we’re talking about sex. You well know this is apart from romantic emotions.”

He shrugged a shoulder and showed me a wide smile. “It was a dumb question you answered perfectly.”

To continue his joke, I pushed myself away from the counter and teased him with a nineteenth-century curtsy. “It has been my pleasure, my lord.” I finished my little theatrical act and returned my gaze to him, freezing briefly at the smirk that popped into view a pair of beautiful dimples I had tried my best to ignore before.

This bastard had to have it all, hadn’t he?

“But yeah, that’s how things are. Personally, I could never be with someone whom I don’t trust nor connect. Developing these feelings toward someone completely different from you takes a big-ass amount of time.”

While he began answering me, he moved us away from a group of friends that had entered the kitchen and that I was unaware of. “You’re one of those who enjoy suffering thus choosing the hard way, ain’t you?”

I smiled at him, biting my lip quickly to behave as I should.

But being tipsy wasn’t advantageous for the situation. “And you’re one of those who act in a bold manner.” I pointed at his hand wrapping my waist, his warm hand spread immobile against my only layer of clothing. “Not that I mind. Things have felt and been different tonight and somehow…I can’t seem to complain having you close,” I whispered, fidgeting with the ends of my mane.

Two of his fingers, oozing security and softness, placed a few of my rebel baby hairs with the rest, but ended up wandering through the bridge of my nose to a brow and then to my temple until they were brought to a halt in my jaw. His stare exposed his confusion and desire, as it glued for seconds on my features in sheer silence. Not even his breath made it to my ears, much less his heartbeat.

San and I were in a corner of the room, and he acted as if no one else could see us there, standing so close we might’ve as well looked like we already kissed. The purple of my lips was surely smeared, but San wasn’t the reason. 

I wasn’t used to having eyes on me. Under other circumstances, people would take a look over us and gossip about things. However, every single soul in the house was in their own world, I had to remind myself.

I wasn’t used to having eyes on me, although in this circumstance, if by “eyes” meant his, then I think I had no option than to sway along the river.

“The night is young and yet I feel it slipping through my fingers.” San tightened his grasp on my back, inducing me to get a step closer. Our chests had finally clashed one onto the other. “I want to know you more, so talk to me, please.”

It took nineteen years in order to fully acknowledge that my boobs were too small for my liking.

A nervous laughter, another of those that display my neck, came out. Thank God San was holding me steadily, because I could’ve lost balance. “We’re already talking.”

“This is not enough, Mora,” he said with a small smile to the side, a small dimple appearing. “Tell me more about you, your family, your past. I’m genuinely interested in this girl named after one of my favorite berries found in Costco.”

He welcomed my weak fist on one solid bicep.

And San laughed, shrinking his eyes and frowning his brows. His shoulders had also lifted but when the tension left his system, his stare returned to be the heavy, beaming one pouring over me.

I did as requested and we…got lost into our own little world. Exchanged life experiences, dreams and goals for the future, and family situations with their respective inside jokes. Stole two pieces of cake from the fridge and savored them at three a.m. Although San finished what I’d left, since I wasn’t as hungry as him—I had eaten the leftovers of my hamburger minutes prior to starting putting on makeup. He handed me his phone to write down my name on Facebook’s searching bar; I unlocked mine on my other hand to accept him. We laughed, I almost cried and he freaked out a little bit. He held me close, stood between my legs when I sat down on the countertop, or grabbed me again from the waist with one or both hands when his hip was leaned on the edge of the laminate. 

We’d provoke brushes or strokes if for any reason we had finished the prior contact. I sent him signals, mental texts, images of what I was manifesting, because our connection grew and I felt it—as well as I felt a big percentage of the alcohol leaving my body by now, though this wasn’t as urgent as the former.

The clock was ticking, and I had become a bit surer of what I wanted to happen between us. Even with the threat of me sleeping on the floor if I returned home with no action, my mind was made up for a completely independent reason. And that certain reason was thumping as mad as a drummer inside my ribcage and throbbing against other parts of my body. There was no necessity for him to know this.

But before anything else happened, I had to hear the truth from his lips and voice.

“San?” I muttered.

He turned toward me after having searched everywhere for the third red cup we’d lose within an hour. “Yeah?”

“Let me be straightforward and ask something even if I kill the mood.”

San laughed. “Go ahead.”

“You—” I cut myself to breath in. Speaking my sober mind wouldn’t ever stop being hard, ain’t it? “Earlier, you talked to me thinking I was older?”

Not a single second passed when he articulated in a shy tone, “Positive.”

“And you’ve always had in mind kissing me?” God, it’s me again. With the alcohol remaining in my veins, make me look good and nothing-at-all ashamed for interrogating him this way.

His head tilted, and a half curve was formed on his lips. “If the chance came, yes. No one says no to kissing in a party. Just look around. Everyone’s lips are glued to another’s. But knowing this would be your first kiss, I wouldn’t like to pressure yourself into doing something you’re not sure of.”

Well, I hadn’t learned at school which is the best timing to give your first kiss, and even though I wasn’t against the idea of turning this moment into a romantic memory, I’d always wanted to have my first kiss with a boy I liked. Yeah, that’s right. The dream of every girl with pink-colored glasses on.

Truth be told, I’d felt this electricity running through my whole body when San’s eyes landed on mine or studied my face, so it was impossible to deny that I wasn’t attracted to him. He’d been treating me respectfully the whole night, which made me think of him like a safe guy. And he already pledged he’d stop whenever there was a “no” from either his partner or him.

He seemed trustworthy after all the time we’d spent talking and opening about ourselves.

It just was my mind that wouldn’t shut up with all its hourly overthinking, nonetheless. He was older, yes. He had more experience, yes. He knew what he was looking for—which I didn’t know. Did he come to me because he thought of me as a pretty gal or as someone sexy who he’d get something from? Did he see me and couldn’t stop himself from coming over? Or was I the easiest target because I was with my girlfriends and standing still?

And after the sun rises again, with me in his Facebook friends and vice versa, what will be going to happen? Back to strangers, but now with the only difference that he will have become the guy who took my first kiss away from my lips?

Funny thing is, regardless of the overthinking of my mind, I did want it.

I wanted him to kiss me. 

I did crave the shortening of distance between his lips and mine.

I had made my mind that he was the one I’d chosen the moment I started feeling protected in every kind of way. When he didn’t laugh at my lack of experience and romance in my life. When he answered my naïve questions with seriousness, never trying to mansplain what he knew about.

And he might’ve acted all out to get this one goal—to eat someone’s mouth in a party, the most casual thing—but I might have as well. I’m no goddess-looking girl, but I flirted, intended to focus him on my lips by playing with them, posed to look sexier for him to notice the usual cute face everyone sees.

It may be not a lie when I say that we both were lusting for it. To taste, smell, feel each other. Arousal ran under my skin at the expectation, though I still hadn’t answered him. My eyes fell on the closed glass door. And then beyond that, to the darkness of the night and the few raindrops that had lingered enough time on the ceiling and would meet the same spot on the floor.

“Ever crossed your mind that your first kiss would be under the rain?” he asked, silencing my train of thought.

I couldn’t stop a smirk from forming on my face. “Oh, Mr. San, are you asking me if you can kiss me?” I half-joked. I was done. My heartbeat had taken the race thing too seriously and now bumped blood to my body at the speed of light. The weightless breeze caressing the bare skin of my neck was cold.

Or maybe I was too turned on.

Which was weird, because he hadn’t touched me past my hand and clothes. Besides, I had stopped drinking a while now.

Lust really was something else, huh?

“I’m open to the opportunity if you also want to.” He shrugged like it meant nothing, maybe not to put pressure on me, but I sensed his lie under the tip of my tongue. It tasted sour.

“Okay,” I found myself muttering with a crescent smile. “I do. I’m in.”

Best mood-killer ever, by the way.

He gave me a shocked look before questioning me if he’d heard right. I repeated myself. He grinned.

We snickered into the door on his back, into the laundry room. The door shut us in the darkness, and I didn’t care if someone caught us on our way in. This moment was San’s and mine.

“Follow me,” I whispered even though the music beyond the walls could hide my normal voice enough.

“Where are we going?”

I grabbed the knob of a door to my left and unlocked it. I let him walk out first, facing a short corridor that also led to the patio. I knew beforehand not a single soul was outside, due to the rain, so it was the perfect spot for our escapism to sin. “You asked if I wanted my first kiss to be under the rain.” I shrugged a shoulder and intertwined my shaking fingers. “I thought a private place would be better.” San gulped down and nodded.

The lightbulb above us illuminated half of our faces. I kept fidgeting with my nails even when my back hit the brick and its temperature ran through my skin. “I’m nervous,” I admitted in a low voice. I hardly felt the blasts of the speaker on my feet.

“Me too.” San, looking at my hands, scratched one side of his neck. “Are you—?”

“I’m okay. Are you still—?”

Now he cut me off by cocooning my trembling limbs with a hand. “Yes.”

“Okay,” I mouthed inaudibly, rather to myself than to him.

“Okay,” San mirrored. He came nearer, and I had all my back fused to the cement. Both of his hands cupped my face. I was jammed staring at the wooden eyes of his when they blinked numerous times and glanced down to my lips. “Okay, then,” he repeated again, a breath away from me.

I had seen in movies how mouths had to be open, so I did. My lips parted slowly for the first time and for him. The last thing I viewed was him closing his eyelids with pleasure.

Kissing was a weird sensation. Or maybe I’d thought that because he went hard on me, as though he indeed had been wanting to taste my mouth and play with my lips all night long. I tried to keep up with his years of experience by moving them and accepting each feeling the moment was granting me.

He broke our kiss when I wasn’t ready to let go of the sensation. I sighed and opened my eyes; his were two thin lines. Barely. “Wait, let’s do it this way,” he commanded in a clear, hot mumble. My legs wobbled, and I felt like newborn Bambi.

However, starting from the next kiss, he had a fire burning inside him. And I was confused how I could've been the one to light it. Because catching my lips again, San shifted our positions. He was breathing loudly and with effort, though it didn’t cut him short of embracing my waist with his ripped arms and raising me from the ground—like I weighed nothing—a second before placing his solid thigh between my legs. As he was taller than me, I ended up being tiptoed, my upper body clenched against him. And in under the span of one second, somehow, my hands grabbed him from the shoulders even though it wasn’t necessary—his grasp kept tight and firm around my shape.

This time, San enjoyed sucking my lower lip, and gave it a tiny bite prior to kissing me with his tongue meandering in, licking and looking for mine. I was sensing everything so much in every corner of my body that, when I chose to make my tongue dance and fight against his, my hips began rocking back and forward on his thigh. The tension was electrifying, violent within my nerves, and it took all my might to not dip my nails on him.

I could’ve died right there, or maybe I did and came back to life immediately. San was devouring me, leaving no room in my senses to think of anything else that weren’t either him and this moment. I followed his lead and separated to fill our lungs with a scent other than ourselves, but it was hard, especially when what happened the next time I inhaled, I was sent berserk.

We were inches apart, inhaling and exhaling with difficulty. My bottom lip was throbbing and numb when I nibbled it while expecting the next inevitable kiss, but San had planned another trajectory. Contrarily to my shrouded thoughts, San set down briefly his lips on my jaw and, just like that, he was facing my neck. His grip around me got tightened, and it was efficient for me to not fall as I was melting down for him. My hips were still rolling against his thigh, aiding the pulsing spot between my legs, this time a bit more steadily. He left wet kisses and its noises downwards until the base of my neck.

The effect that had on me led me to my head falling back, giving him more space if possible, at the deadly feeling. I wish I had grabbed his hair between my fingers and held him closer, but I didn’t. I could barely feel my limbs.

“You smell so damn good,” he had said with his mouth caressing my sensitive skin.

My eyes were shut, trying to understand what he had said with the feather-like sensation of my head. “Thank you,” I answered finally in a murmur. However, now that I think of it, a moan could’ve been a more adequate response, though.

He giggled his way up, and when I reopened my eyes, he was staring down at me, a smirk showing off his cute dimples. The oscillation of our chests was irregular, and my blood pressure was one kiss away from causing a heart attack.

That was when I recognized the sound of the glass door sliding open. And I supposed he also had, because he grabbed my hand and unclicked the door for us. My mind was hazy and my senses numb, so by some means, I turned on the lightbulb of the laundry room above our heads. Both of us leaned on each door to grasp for the last breath we were interrupted from having in the fresh night air.

I glanced at him, he glanced back, and our laughter filled the tiny space we were in.

“I’m sorry if I came out rude,” he said staring at the ceiling. “I thought you wouldn’t like anyone seeing us kissing.”

“Don’t worry. It’s all good.” I smiled at him, but it was a strange one, because my lips were plumber than usual, filled with fluttering static.

He lowered his gaze and stepped forward, to me, licking his lips. And I spotted desire stacking up in his eyes—his wanting to kiss me again. His hands lifted up to cup my face again, and his towering shape bended on me.

But my hand flew to his thorax to stop him. It worked on his marching, but he kept his hands close to my jaw, a concerned expression welled up from his frown to his pursed lips.

“I’m feeling lightheaded and dizzy,” I confessed and he nodded, the creases on his forehead not disappearing though. I sighed, nestled on his warm touch, and finally dared to stroke the growing hairs of his nape. We were still like this a few seconds while waiting for me to regain back any healthy shade of color on my cheeks.

When I focused on him again, I noticed my eyes had been closed as he’d caressed a cheek and a piercing of my ear. One of the corners of my lips raised on its own. “Thank you,” I muttered after accommodating my weight on my two feet. “I’m feeling better.”

“Really? I’m glad. That, uh— That’s good to hear,” he also spoke in his suppressed, husky tone. His hands fell to his sides and widened the space between us. Ironically, I felt as though air had been fisted out of my lungs.

My limbs, not knowing yet what to do with them, crossed over my ribs. A finger with a mind on its own crept to my lips nonetheless, and like I was at the cinema, watching a movie, my brain opted to show me everything that had happened in the span of the last few minutes. It had been easier to relive it since the room we were in was so quiet, and the chants coming from my back were muffled.

I had to rest on the wood of the door to keep on my feet. “And thank you, San.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could’ve had the chance to swallow them.

He was reclining on the washing machine to my right, his arms tensed for the weight pushing his body straight. His eyes squinted with wonderment. “What for?”

“For making me feel safe. For talking to me this whole time. For being the first guy to ever kiss me.”

“There’s a tint on your voice like we’re breaking up,” he joked.

I shook my head gingerly. “The night’s soon to be over.” I scratched one brow at reminiscing the entire scene once again. “Damn, you’re a good kisser.”

Fuck, did I just say that out loud?

At least I made him bend over, laughing. “Well, thank you. I’m happy you enjoyed yourself. I also did.”

I bit back my lips and beamed at him with a grimace. “I think we should go back. My friends must be looking for me.”

“Sure.” San gazed at me so tenderly I almost begged him to hug me. Almost.

Instead, I opened the door for him and he walked out first. The moment I prepared to bear the rest of the party as though I hadn’t just devoted my first kiss to San, I heard Niki’s voice regarding him. “Have you seen Mora?” she had asked the exact moment I came into her range of view to turn off the light behind me. I caught at most a glimpse of the shape of her brows rising before she said then in a raucous voice, “Oh,” and turned away.

“She knows, right?” San questioned.

“Yup.” I popped the “p” as if it were chewing gum. “She may have an idea.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do, is there?”

I shrugged a shoulder and sighed. I could bet she had prompted to Cami and told her everything now. “You’re right. Anyways, want another glass of water?”

He nodded and stole my opportunity to fill the red glass by snatching it from my hands and doing it himself. Then, he waited for me to drink my sips and was until I had enough when he emptied it. Damn, I just wanted to be taken care of by him a little more.

The night continued. Music thumped each tile of the floor, voices broke by singing to a high note, laughter joined to the mess created. The last message I received from my brother was two hours ago, at 2:18 a.m. when he sent “Goodnight, Loca” instead of writing “Mora” because he had always liked how they rhymed.

I didn’t enjoy it as much as him, but whatever. I left his message unread.

I left San in the kitchen two times to go pee, and each time I returned, he was waiting for me with our red plastic glass between his teeth and on the phone. The second time I wasn’t running lucky, since he was answering to some friends that had come to the party with him. The clock in the stove read 4:44 when I blinked at it in the middle of my yawn.

“I think it’s time for me to leave,” he said apologetically.

“Really? Why?” I wish I had bitten back the words. I feared my voice had the neediness my insides were trying hard to ignore.

“One of my friends is staggering on the sidewalk and another is throwing up in the bathroom from upstairs. They’re at their limit and I still have to drop them off before I get home.”

“Yeah, sorry. It was a stupid question.” I glared down, fidgeting with my nails.

“It wasn’t, I promise.” He raised my face with a grip on my chin. “Thank you for making me company tonight and allowing me to get to know you. I had a great time.”

Blood rushed to my cheeks. “I did too. And if you want to talk, you know my DM is open.”

Please kiss me again.

“Sure. See you, Mora.” San half-hugged me, his arm embracing my waist, and kissed my cheek.

Please make me yours.

“Night, San.” His perfume made it to my lungs and held it in as much as I could.

Please don’t go yet.

His touch slithered from my torso to my arm and then, my fingerprints on his palm disappeared as soon as our mutual brush finished and I was there, hanging and grasping the crisp air. My arm returned loosely to my side, as though he had stolen part of my energy.

I set free my breathing and didn’t risk a flood of emotions at seeing him leave the house, or at knowing which car was his. I channeled my attention to the songs and the few souls remaining. It was a wonder to me how there were only ten of us left when an hour prior the house was crowded and it looked like it was vomiting humans.

The chilly breeze flew through the rooms, so I grabbed and put on the sweater I had thrown to the sofa when we first arrived.

By the moment I encountered Lily, she was drunk and sad at five a.m. She wanted to sleep, but the rest of the guests—us—weren’t leaving yet. So I opted to help her ease her frustration and fetched Niki and Cami. In no time they gathered up their things and the three kissed Lily goodbye.

“I’m sorry,” she said but Niki waved off her words.

“We understand, girl. Have a good night, sweetie.”

“Sleep tight,” I said, and Cami waved a hand.

As the house Niki and I lived in was near, and the rain had stopped from watering wild flowers, we walked past the houses for two or three minutes until we stopped in front of the door of our garage. The streetlight blinked a few times before steading, just right when Niki unlocked the door.

The city was one hour from dawning and yet, everything was so quiet out there. No wind, no clouds, and a dog barking was hardly heard in the distance. I gave it a quick thought to San and if he had arrived safely by now; however, I knew I had better things to think about—than a guy I might never see again—like how to recollect strength to change into pajamas and wipe off my makeup.

And these only were two of them.

Niki and Cami spoke of the fun they had, and I was more than proud, since they’d been my guests. I was listening to the conversation in parts, for I was coming in and going out of Niki’s room, where we were going to sleep all three. Once I had changed into a new set of pajamas in the bathroom and washed my teeth, I returned to the bedroom to remove my little effort of eyeliner, mascara, shadows, and the smeared lipstick.

“—and when that guy did the step of Anita, I almost joined him on the floor. Just facts,” Cami stated and snapped her fingers twice.

“Fuck! If you’ve had, I also would’ve, bitch! Why didn’t you tell me?” Niki called out. Both of her hands rushed to cover his mouth as she noticed she had screamed.

“That isn’t my fault, ‘kay?” Cami whispered.

“What in the world are you talking about?” I expressed in amusement while taking off my glasses and tapping on one eye the remover cream.

They shared a glance I could catch up with since I wasn’t as sight-depraved as Niki. Their giggles boomed in the room, but they weren’t normal ones—these had evilness in their ring.

“You would’ve seen the public show if you just hadn’t starred your own.” I swore Cami had secret horns matching her hair color.

“Her own private show,” seconded Niki, dancing up and down her brows.

“Y’all don’t even know what happened.” Okay, I admit that was a crappy attempt to defend myself.

“But I saw the two of you coming out of the laundry room, somewhat…buoyant.”

“I have to say, Mora, what the fuck? Why, girl, why in the damn laundry room?”

 I raised my palms briefly. “Nothing happened there! Calm down, geez.”

“Then?” Cami’s honey eyes beamed at me. She had on her pajamas and looked more angelic than before. That chameleon girl. “What happened elsewhere? Because that guy? He had laid his eyes on you the moment he arrived.”

Comprehending her last sentence, all my prior thoughts evaporated. “What?”

Cami stared up at both from the individual air mattress Niki had put for her. “You heard right. He arrived at eleven-ish with some other guys, and left their beers in the fridge, but I think you were in the bathroom helping Lily at that time. However, the first moment I saw you catching his attention, we were in the backyard. He was—”

“Standing at the right, with a bunch of other guys, talking, wasn’t he?” I cut in, faintly remembering someone with a red t-shirt in the middle of a circle composed of darker colors.

“Yeah. When we decided to get inside, I noticed his friends outside encouraging him to do something.”

“Fists and all?” Niki deadpanned.

“Fists and all,” answered Cami back within a sigh. “Instead of encouraging him, it seemed like they were going to kill him before he could even try something with you. But yeah, I saw him walk through the door and, as unnoticeable as a tall guy with a red t-shirt could be, he approached to your side. Not ours; yours. He glanced many times to see if you’d noticed him, and got so relieved when he finally stopped at your side.”

The words had caught up in my throat.

“I am witness to this last part,” Niki said. “So when he said something, it was for you to answer, not us, so we let you take charge of the rest.”

“How come I-I wasn’t aware of this?” San had felt attracted to me…way before we even exchanged names? He had been nervous since the beginning? “You’re not messing with me, are you?”

They shook their heads in sync. “You need to check your glasses, hun.” Niki patted my knee with a chortle stuck in her tongue.

Cami and I rolled our eyes. “It just means you didn’t go to the party looking for guys.”

“Speaking of which, I’m sorry I left you on your own the whole night after— Well, after him.”

“What the fuck are you saying? We’re more than happy you also spent a great night, be it with us or not.” Cami smiled widely.

“And we were together, so it didn’t matter to us much. Don’t worry.” Niki put on a black hoodie. “But what’s done is done. Now spill the tea between you two, bitch.”

I didn’t know where to begin with. I had lived so much with him in the span of a few hours that my brain was still processing everything. “We talked, like a lot. He seemed genuinely interested in my life and dreams and goals, so, after I returned inside from your shitty lie”—I glared at Niki and her muffled laughter came from behind the sheets—“we opened up about ourselves. My mind began to produce images that hadn’t happened…yet. But when we were actually living the moment…it was much better, I swear. He kissed me as though he would die otherwise. With tongue too, which was something totally unexpected.”

“Did you like it?” Niki asked.

“I didn’t not like it, but it is a weird sensation having someone else’s tongue inside your mouth, you know? And it was barely the second time we had, yeah, our lips pressed together, so it’d escalated rather quickly to my liking.”

As I ran out of breath, I had the time to regard their reactions. My eyes lifted from my hands to their agape faces.

“What’d you say?”

“Wait a damn minute.” Niki pressed her mouth in a thin line. “Mora, bitch, how many kisses were there?”

Color dashed to my face and the neck he had also savored. And since I couldn’t bring my voice to pass through the knot in my throat, I signaled them three and four. Not even I recalled when it finished one and started the next.

For the following five minutes I narrated my vague memories. I was tired yet still mesmerized by San. Although I still was having a hard time gulping down what Cami had told us.

I left the girls chatting some more about the party to go to the bathroom, but when I stopped at the door, no sound came from the inside. I entered tiptoeing and lay back on the mattress, reminiscing the night in the ceiling once more, because…why the hell not? I was in my right.

It was early in the morning when my eyelids felt too heavy for me to maintain them open any longer.

After waking up, we cooked pancakes at eleven for breakfast with a cup of coffee to energize our dehydrated bodies. The dishes were placed in the sink, and I had a foolish wish for them to wash themselves. At one we put a movie on the TV in the living room and, although I wasn’t paying much attention, I caught glimpses of some scenes. I had spent mainly my time surfing on Instagram, watching reels to help with the boredom that a Sunday afternoon meant.

That, until a bubble with his name on my screen appeared, and I evoked his promise for a kiss under the rain and when we were outside, nothing had poured.

[scripted-downfall]

I have finally got some titles for you! 😈😈😈

1.) to hook a star

2.) Shadows Ticking

3.) the Stud Muffin and the Cupcake

Have fun! 😌😚

Okay so.  On the one hand, kudos on the gif because I love that one.  On the other hand… WTF ARE THESE TITLES, MY DEAR???  I adore you but WOT.  ESPECIALLY number 3!?!??!!

Anyway :) 

1. to hook a star

This, my dear, is foul freaking play because you know full well that I have so many Howl’s Moving Castle thoughts… At this point, I’m not even sure which universe I’m going to choose (maybe more than one, but I’d have to take care not to get too repetitive), so I’ll give the possibilities.  I’ve considered fusions with: 

a) Supernatural.  Dean as Howl and Cas as Calcifer… Casting for Markl and Sophie are a bit more up-in-the-air, but I’m thinking Jack as Markl and Sam as Sophie — and this is obvious since you know me, but I want to clarify: no Wincest.  This would work within the HMC framework, but not be a complete fusion

b) Heaven Official’s Blessing, of course!  You know this too, because I’ve already mentioned it, but Hua Cheng and E’Ming as Howl and Calcifer respectively (this would take slight tweaks to the falling-star premise, but I think the parallels are visible), Xie Lian as Sophie, and… idk for sure about Markl.  I have to finish the series.  Ban Yue would be an option, but she was always more Xie Lian’s apprentice, so… meh.  There’s Yin Yu, I guess, but I haven’t seen much of him yet and idk if the characterization works.  Maybeeeee He Xuan, though it’d take some tweaking.  That has funny possibilities.  And maybe I could work in beefleaf :) 

c) I have kinda considered a few other universes --- Stranger Things, Good Omens --- but never especially seriously... They still deserve mention though.

I swear there were more, but this is all I can remember right now aldksjf

2. Shadows Ticking

Huh… Interesting.  Ummmmmm.  I just went through my writing doc, and this title would work for a From Dusk ‘Til Dawn fusion I’ve had planned for a bit… idk if it’s the title I’ll use whenever I get around to writing it, but I think it’s the only idea I’ve got rn.

Anyway, Sam and Dean stand in for the Gecko brothers, while you’ve got fallen (by which I mean “disgraced”, not “demonic”) angel Castiel with adoptive kids Jack and Claire.  The basic outline of the story is roughly the same, but I’m modifying it a bit… specifically, because Jack, Cas, and maybe Sam have varying degrees of supernatural heritage/biology, so they don’t die like their source characters in canon; instead they just… change.

3. The Stud Muffin and the Cupcake

Can I once again say wtf????  Uh… Suffice to say that, while both of those^ stand a chance of being written, I’m almost certainly not writing this one…  I don’t think I’ve ever said the words “stud muffin.”  Ever.  But anyway…

Crackfic, goes without saying.  I’m really trying to make this something about baking, and Heaven Official’s Blessing (and Xie Lian’s absolutely atrocious cooking, and the fact that people always underestimate Xie Lian/think he’s too sweet/polite/kind to take seriously) keeps invading my head, but I also don’t want to soil HOB by connecting it to this title, so… Frustration.  But I guess that’s my very-vague-because-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-it summary.  You suck :)

Thanks for the ask, Jezebel… You’re a problem child, but I appreciate it :) 

– – – 

(Title Ask Game)

[twisted-fucked-up-sunflower]

my thoughts on crime and punishment characters!!

Raskolnikov: he’s so babygirl, he’s just like me fr. Minus the killing people part and the ubermensch complex he has. I’d argue he’s schizotypal but that’s likely not true. So I headcanon him as such. (If it’s unclear, I am schizotypal myself)

Razumikhin: Undisputed best bisexual representation in literature, my GOAT, love him to death, XOXO. No further comments. Perfect character.

Dunia: [to Svidrigailov] GET A JOB. STAY AWAY FROM HER (I wrote this in the book pages where it was relevant). She’s as smart as Rodia from what I read, though she wasn’t developed a lot as a character I think? I still need to re-read the book later. She should’ve shot the revolver at the guy’s head. Probably didn’t want to end up like her brother, though. Unlikely she’d come out winning from killing a man with connections, as evil as he was.

Pulkeria: Didn’t really find her too interesting, but I think that’s because she wasn’t focused on a lot. Remarkably patient towards Rodia, it was infuriating when Rodia just fucked off and didn’t speak to them (Dunia and Pulkeria) for days. His ungrateful ass. I get this habit, though, since I have it myself. Sometimes people are upsetting to be around, for no reason, might I add.

Svidrigailov: Exceedingly, unabashedly, shamelessly despicable. Hate him with my heart. He seems like a parallel to Rodia, and the book seems to focus on this from Rodia’s own observations. Parallel not in a good way, I’ll clarify, but in a “What if he was completely evil” way. I’ve got 40 pages left to read in this book and I’d like it if within the next 20 he ****** himself. Irredeemable but really interesting at the psychological level. He’s insane, it seems. Or maybe also schizotypal. Either way words cannot describe how much I hate this man.

Porfiry: Not much to say here, he ate Raskolnikov up both times they talked though, gagged him 😭 #embarrassing

Lujin/Luzhin (not sure on how it’s spelt): He’s so laughable. Gets insulted once, subsequently sends word of how it hurt his feewings to get clocked at the psychological level by the brother of the woman he’s going to marry, at his historic age like FOH ☠️. And I was livid when he tried to incriminate Sonia/Sofya (I prefer Sonia tbh) like bro really tried that shit 😂😂😂. He got owned by Rodion every single time he tried to fight back it was so fucking funny. Pathetic ass man. Glad he called off the marriage. Asshole.

Sonia: She’s Rodion’s love interest, it seems. I don’t get why she’s going to go to Siberia with him, though. Her family’s taken care of (by SVIDRIGAILOV of all people) and she hasn’t committed any crimes. Is it just something to do with misogyny or something related to it? She told Rodia to confess to his crime to atone, but in a *catholic* way. It’s crazy she got burdened with the knowledge of Rodia’s crimes and still said “Oh how you suffer! Atone for your sin willingly, it’s your only way to get rid of the guilt!” Her abnegate character showed a bit here, methinks. Still, why the fuck would she go to Siberia? Just because she *loves* Rodia? They both seem like they fell in love with each other for some odd reason, or maybe none at all so yeah. She’s also a favorite because of the way they describe her, the blue eyes seem like something I’d like to draw, when I get to it. Though, it’s curious that it’s Svidrigailov in love with Dunia and Raskolnikov in love with Sonia. Dunia and Sonia get stuck with the two murderous morons. (Well, not Dunia, because she managed to get Svidrigailov to not assault her. Again, DESPICABLE man, that one. Hope he dies :D) 

 Anastasia/Anastasya: I love her so much, I wish we’d gotten to see her interact with Razumikhin more because their dynamic was funny to me. She also laughed with a snort if I recall and that is so real of her. She also helped Rodia with food, basically kept his stupid ass alive for free before Razumikhin came back.

Zamiotov: Not much to say about him, really. Funny when Rodia explained in detail how he ‘would have’ gone about murdering Alyona, though. Fucking hilarious to read that shit. Most obvious criminal of all time.

Marmeladov: God knows how many pages he went on telling Rodia his entire life story. Perfect character. No notes.

Catarina/Sonia’s mother: Very tragic. Her death made me feel sad. But the parts before that when she was just DRAGGING Amelia Lippewechsel, she was so real for that.

I think I might be missing a few characters. No worries! I won’t update this lol. I hope those who read, if any do, find this funny. 

[bonesandthebees]

Next I’d like to look at these lines [“It wasn’t your fault though. It never was.”] - Niki

[It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t-]

[It just looks like… you’re breathing easier now, I suppose.”] -Phil

The guilt is gone. Wilbur spent three years feeling guilty about leaving her. Even when he knows that there was nothing they could have done. That they would have died if they stayed any longer. But now Niki tells him that it’s okay. And she’s okay too. And he can take her with him. Take her home. So the guilt is gone. Or at least significantly lessened.

Another thing that explains why Niki never left on her own is because she thinks Themis and Essempi are still a threat to her. They might be without Wilbur there, but I feel like after three years both of them would have stopped caring. Both of them are still around, but I feel like Essmepi has fallen from grace a bit (though someone else probably took over). While Themis seems to be at least allied with the Empire and otherwise smart enough not to start shit with the people who control the Blaziphane.

I love the split second of dread Wilbur feels when Niki says she can’t come with him only for it to immediately disappear when he hears why. Niki has no way to know how much power Wilbur holds now and the realisation that he’s Phil’s protege has long since been forgotten by the realisation that he found her.

Wilbur beating around the bush as to why exactly Niki is under Antartic protection now is so funny. Part of it is probably because he hasn’t officially asked even if he knows Phil will give it to her. And part of it is because it’s indeed a long story and going [“Emperor Philza is… my dad.”] gets him this reaction [“Excuse me, what?!”] in Niki’s defense that is a bomb shell. Also Wilbur doesn’t specify adoptive father so there’s a possibility Niki thinks that he means biological father since Wilbur never knew his.

(9/10)

-🌲

the guilt is finally gone!! that guilt has been weighing on wilbur for so long, so hearing niki tell him it wasn't his fault and there was nothing he could do is so unbelievably freeing.

yup i wanted to make it clear why niki never left and more than anything that was related to themis and essempi. again, she only gets sparse rumors that far out on the edge of the galaxy. as time goes on she suspects that essempi probably stopped caring, but she knows how protective themis is of female sirens. she's not sure if they're still hunting her, but she assumes they are and doesn't want to risk being dragged back to them. (also, yes, essempi has fallen from grace quite a bit. it's still around, but the loss of dream really destabilized things). themis meanwhile just wants blaziphane, so yeah, they're not exactly allied with the antarctic empire but they're not gonna start shit

lol yeah niki has no idea the power wilbur has now. he never even really confirmed he was the protege, she just thought he might've been until she realized who he was.

yeah uhhhh how do you explain to your childhood best friend that you got adopted by the most powerful man in the galaxy? it's a very long and complicated story to try and explain. also correction, wilbur does specify phil is his adoptive father after niki's initial reaction but he doesn't get a chance to elaborate because they get interrupted

["Excuse me, what?!"

"It's a lot to explain but he's kind of my adoptive father and-"]

so yeah he does clarify phil isn't his biological dad lol

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I’ve finished the audiobook of Isy Suttie’s memoir, The Actual One. I enjoyed it a lot. It wasn’t quite what I’d expected, which is my fault for not expecting it to be exactly what I was told it would be. The book’s description said it was the story of her love life after a big breakup. I assumed that was just a framing device, and it would really be a more general autobiography, with stuff about one relationship as a starting point. But no, it was the story of one romantic breakup, and her love life in the exactly two years that followed it.

I was hoping for a few more comedy stories, as I enjoy those, particularly comedians telling old Edinburgh stories but I like the ones about traveling for gigs and stuff too. I was about to say old Edinburgh Festival stories are my favourite type of comedy gossip, but I suppose I have to say they’re my second favourite, after Tuesday football stories. This book had a few of those but was heavier on the more traditional love life-based gossip, which wasn’t quite was I was prepared for (my fault, as the description was quite clear about that) but it ended up being fun to listen to anyway.

And there was a fair bit of Chocolate Milk Gang gossip, which I of course always enjoy. Mainly it was just Gavin Osborn-based (at least, Gavin was the only CMG member to appear without an effort made to change his name, and even though that effort was fairly cursory, I guess I’ll respect it by not referencing anyone with a (badly) hidden identity). And the acknowledgements at the end thanked Daniel Kitson for being cool about not appearing in the book even though he was there in real life, which I was glad about, because pretty much every male “character” in that book besides Gavin Osborn was a terrible person, so nice that none of them were Kitson under a code name. Although there were a few parts of the book where even Gavin came off as a little bit of a dick, which I kind of liked. I love Gavin Osborn’s work and his persona of being the nicest guy in the entire world, but it was amusing to hear him humanized slightly. (To clarify for anyone concerned about where the other British comedian/nicest guy in the entire world fits into a chronicle of Isy Suttie’s love life where every man she meets sucks, the book ends long before she meets Elis James.)

Anyway, the main character in the book was Isy Suttie, and I found myself hugely enjoying just listening to her talk. I’ve obviously liked Isy Suttie before, I’ve found her stand-up funny and been impressed by her acting and sometimes her radio show got sweet and lovely and it’s a pretty thing to listen to. I also like Isy on podcasts, as both a host (Things We Do For Love has a few really great episodes, which are largely down to Isy being so good at getting people talking) and as a guest. But I’ve always listened to her before and thought, I can’t imagine what it would be like to have thought processes that work the way hers do. Not in a way of “she’s quirky/whimsical like Dobby”, but more in the way of “all her stories seem to be driven by this underlying trait of being brave and romantic and exciting in a way that I have never felt but it’s fun to hear from someone who does.”

This book was definitely the most I’ve ever understood Isy Suttie (I mean, understood where she was coming from in the version she presented of herself in this specific book), and she makes that so easy, with the way she writes. The book jumps around a bit, going between her two-year post-breakup timeline, to occasionally telling related stories from before or after that point. There are maybe two times when that feels slightly clunky, but most of the time it feels really smooth and natural and like someone’s just telling you about their life in a way that all makes sense and all seems right.

The other day, I went out to the pub with my roommate, it was almost empty, there was an eccentric bartender who started telling us about his favourite music gigs, and even though I had water and chicken wings instead of a pint, I thought, this is all right. This is the sort of social I experience I shut down when I stopped socializing during COVID, and I’m now getting back even if it can’t all be the same, I like this stuff, I’m so glad I live with my best friend and we can just go to the pub on a Sunday afternoon. Then, an old friend of ours happened to walk by the pub with his wife and daughter, and they came in to say hello. We used to see him all the time – I first met him on a camping trip when I was 19. Now I’m 33, and I haven’t seen him in quite a few years. I’d heard a few years ago that he’d had a kid and I even briefly met the kid, and when I saw the baby he had with him in the pub, I thought, this kid is younger than I was expecting, maybe not all that much time has passed since I heard about him having that kid, maybe the years aren’t flying by so fast. Then it turned out that this is his second kid, the one I met years ago is older and at home. Then he explained that this baby is a year old and he and his wife pretty much haven’t left the house in a year or seen anyone but thought they’d go for a walk today. And he wishes he could come in and have a pint with us like old times but can’t because they have to get the baby home. But we must see each other again sometime. Maybe they’ll come over for a barbecue sometime this summer. Once in a year. As long as we can childproof the house so they can bring their kids.

Then they left and I sat back down, feeling vaguely sad that this is everyone now but also relieved that that isn’t my life. Then some older guy, half drunk, walked in the pub, sat down near us, and started talking to the bartender and then my roommate about various things. This quickly devolved into a rant about how Justin Trudeau is a fascist for shutting down the trucker protest and is ruining the economy with environmental policies and he needs his truck so Justin will never make him take public transit and we need to get more (oil) pipelines going and the Conservatives will save us from this. Then he started asking my roommate what he does, and got really weird about it when my roommate mentioned that some of the athletes he coaches are female. And I thought, actually, it’s possible that living a lifestyle where you can go to a pub on a Sunday afternoon isn’t that much better than being home with your loving partner and two adorable children where no one shouts about how they only constructed the local light rail lines to launder money at City Hall. I think I maybe just don’t like anything.

Anyway, what was I talking about again? Right, right, Isy Suttie. I had that afternoon at the pub, then went home and put on the audiobook, where I immediately heard a scene about her visiting Gavin Osborn in the place where he’d moved to have a family, away from the big city, and Isy’s talking about how uncomfortable she felt with her friends suddenly being grown-up family people instead of pub people (one of the main themes of the book), and she doesn’t know how to hold Gavin’s baby because it's weird that he has a baby at all but also seems like a nice life. I listened to that scene and thought, well I guess I can take Isy Suttie off my list of comedians I find funny but not personally relatable. This is definitely the most relatable I’ve ever found Isy Suttie.

Anyway, if you have ever turned 33 (that happens to be the age I am now, I think Isy was slightly younger when most events of this book take place, but around there) and found your friends living lives of suburbs and marriages when you are not into that, you may enjoy this book. You may also enjoy this book even if that has not happened to you, because as Isy has proved with her other comedy stories, she’s fun to listen to even if you don’t personally relate. You’ll probably enjoy this book whether or not you have ever been personally upset about Gavin Osborn having a child. And there were a few fun stories about terrible early comedy gigs, which is all I really want out of a comedian's memoir.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

With Eyes to See and Ears to Hear - Chapter 11

‘Sweet Tooth’ – October 11th prompt. Clint gets a plus one to a Halloween party – or rather, to an excuse to get drunk and eat candy. CW: Implied non-specific prejudice, mild distress

Check it out on AO3 here, or under the KR :)

“What’s your plans for the evening?” I looked up with a soft sigh, eyebrows raise. “Going home to Matt. Dare I ask why?” Nat smirked, leaning once more against the edge of my desk. “Doesn’t he have his own home? He seems to spend a hell of a lot of time at yours…” “He helps me sleep,” I proffered weakly. I’d become acutely aware that Matt had spent the majority of the last twelve nights with me, and was starting to worry if we were moving too quickly; he returned to his own apartment as a purely perfunctory measure at this point, for clean clothes or a file he’d forgotten. He’d all but moved in with me, though neither of us had acknowledged that fact. “Mhm…” She watched me steadily before continuing, emerald eyes locked on mine. “More on that later… But anyway – we’re heading up to Tony’s apartment this evening. Halloween party – costumes mandatory. And no, your uniform doesn’t count,” she added when I opened my mouth, and laughed when I scowled. “And you can bring your boyfriend…” I snorted in disbelief at the suggestion, shaking my head. “You want me to bring Matt? Here?” I clarified incredulously. “Why not? He’s just… Matt. He’ll be fine,” she added pointedly, gaze unwavering on my own. I knew what she meant – a silent reassurance that we were the only ones working the Daredevil case, and as long as we were careful, nobody would be any the wiser – but it did little to reassure me. I opened my mouth once more, but her hand finding mine softly made it close with a click. “You can’t hide him away forever, Clint.” My jaw worked slowly, considering my response before I let out a quiet sigh. “Fine. I’ll see if he’s interested. But I’ll be very surprised if he wants to go…” “Are you kidding? That sounds great! Let’s do it!” I blinked in surprise, horrified realisation dawning slowly. “You- really? What? Really?” He chuckled, hands finding my shoulders as he kissed my forehead gently. “Honey, these are the most important people in your life. Of course I want to meet them. And a costume party sounds like a lot of fun.” “Matt, you-” “You can tell me what everyone’s wearing,” he interjected, rolling his eyes playfully. “No, I-” “I don’t have work tomorrow, either, I don’t have to worry about-” I clamped a hand over his mouth, my own face lined with amused frustration. “Can you just? I’m trying to express concern. What if someone recognises you? If Natasha and I can figure it out, I’m pretty sure the likes of Tony and Bruce won’t have much of a problem, even if they are less familiar with the case.” He scoffed softly, thumb caressing my jaw gently. “I won’t lie to you; the idea of being in a room full of Avengers is somewhat anxiety-inducing. But these people matter to you, which means that… well, that they matter to me. I’d love to meet them, if you’ll let me.” I blinked back foolish tears that pooled in my eyes, touching my lips to his gently. “I’d be honoured. But… We’ve got to be careful. Nothing devil-related, okay?” He smirked and nodded, pressing his forehead softly to mine, and I let out a quiet, concerned sigh. What the hell is he planning?

I glanced over at him, letting out a soft groan as we stood in the elevator. “I still can’t believe that is what you opted for. I expect you think you’re funny…” He tipped his halo jauntily, grinning. “I do, actually. You said ‘nothing devil-related’… This isn’t devil-related.” I rolled my eyes playfully, stroking the white wings folded against his back fondly. “You do look cute, to be fair…” He grinned, draping an arm over my shoulders affectionately and tweaking the devil horns on my head. “I thought we vetoed the devil stuff?” “We said no devil stuff for you. Nobody’s going to bat an eyelid at me.” He laughed aloud, holding me tighter to him as the doors open, a silent betrayal to his anxieties, and my own hand found his waist encouragingly. “You’ve got this, honey,” I breathed, kissing his cheek softly. “They’re going to love you.” “Clint! And Matt!” “… Really, Nat? Isn’t that a little… Close to the bone?” I scoffed as my friend approached us, reaching out to flick the cat ears. “It’s just your suit with a headband.” “And a tail,” she added indignantly, turning to show a length of semi-rigid black fur protruding from her belt. “I’m a cat!” “What happened to no uniforms?!” “I’m a cat, not a Widow!” “Natasha, it is your suit with a dollar-store pair of ears.” “And a tail!” Matt snorted, beside me, slowly relaxing as we bantered back and forth playfully. “The two of you really are always like this, aren’t you?” “Yes,” Nat snickered, reaching out to straighten his halo affectionately, “we are. And look what you came as. Isn’t that a little… Pointed?” Matt stiffened in horror, and I grimaced. “Oh. I, uh… I knew there was something I forgot to mention…” Natasha’s mouth moved minutely, muttering too low for my hearing aids to pick up, the subtlety not allowing for lip-reading, but Matt relaxed once more, head inclined. “Interesting…” he murmured, lips pursed. “Incredibly observant of you. Very few people notice details like that. I appreciate your discretion, Romanoff.” I smiled at her gratefully, leaning my head against my partner’s shoulder affectionately. “She’s a good friend – a good person, really. Even if she likes to try and convince people otherwise.” She rolled her eyes as she offered me a beer, clinking her bottle against mine. “Go get your boyfriend a drink, Clint. Leave us to talk about you.” I arched an eyebrow, but she simply stepped between us, linking an arm through his and tugging him away with a smirk. “So, Mr. Murdock – you never did thank me for introducing the two of you, though I understand it’s been hard to find the time amidst your whirlwind romance…” With a soft sigh, I headed into the kitchen, smiling politely at a few of our junior recruits as they met my eye with broad grins. Weird... Tony raised a glass when spotted me, leaning against his counter, costume identifiable even without the leather-clad woman on his arm. “Danny and Sandy? Good choice.” Pepper rolled her eyes playfully, leaning into her partner. “Pretty sure he only suggested it to get me into these pants.” “I also happen to think I make a hot Danny,” he replied with a grin, taking a swig from his tumbler. “Though I’m kind of mad Steve called ‘genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist’ before I could.” He tipped his head, and I followed his gaze curiously, snorting at the sight of Batman cornered by Catwoman and my angel. “So... Who’s that?” Pepper pressed, leaning closer to nudge me gently. “He’s cute.” Tony frowned, but I could only chuckle softly. “I... His name is Matt. He’s a lawyer. It’s... I guess it’s quite new, but...” I looked down, blushing softly, and she grinned. “You love him.” “I do,” I admitted softly, gaze shifting quickly back to my Devil in disguise as he laughed aloud. “I really do.”

Tony and Pepper eventually wandered off to mingle, but I stayed where I was for a few moments, watching my boyfriend and best friend joke with my Captain contentedly, Nat sticking close to Matt protectively. By the time I joined them, the lawyer was fully relaxed, his arm finding my waist when I leant against him. “You doing okay?” I breathed subtly, and he offered me a quick, reassuring squeeze, pressing his lips to my temple. “You picked a good one, Clint,” Steve chuckled, his own arm finding Natasha’s hips to pull her close to him. “So did you,” I added, eyes landing on his  hand on my best friend’s waist pointedly. The skin beneath his mask flushed nervously, and he stammered sheepishly. “I, uh... I mean, I know that you... That she... I-” “Jesus, Cap. I’m messing with you,” I snorted, offering him a grin. “You’re good. Just don’t hurt her, or you’ll have me to answer to – and, more concerningly, Nat herself.” He turned a darker shade of red as he nodded obligingly, the motion fierce and determined. “I would never.” I opened my mouth to reply, but Matt’s muscles clenching against me gave me pause, my gaze flicking to him worriedly. “... Everything okay, honey?” I pressed, and he pulled me tighter against his side. “Yeah. Fine,” he replied tersely, head half-turned away from me, cocked infinitesimally. He’s listening. “What is it?” I breathed, fingers finding his automatically. “What’s going on?” “What? I- Nothing.” “Matt, I-” “There’s... A few rumours floating around,” Nat muttered, glancing over my shoulder at the grinning group of trainees I’d passed earlier. “Nothing to worry yourself about. It’ll pass. It always does.” My blood ran little cold, muscles clenching a little taut. “The usual?” She nodded, and I grimaced. “Haven’t they found new things to laugh about yet?” “This happens a lot?” Matt pressed gently, his jaw tight, and I shrugged. “Most times when there’s a new round of recruits. It’s not a big deal, honey. Honestly.” His chest rumbled with an ominous growl, and I pressed a palm to his cheek, turning his sightless eyes to me insistently. “I promise. It’s annoying, and shitty of them, but I’m used to it.” “You shouldn’t have to be,” he muttered, pulling me closer. “Tony shuts it down pretty quick.” “It shouldn’t start in the first place!” His biceps clenched protectively, but I pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Easy, D… Angel.” I dropped my voice and shifted closer, lips finding his jaw. “Not the time, or the place. Consider your company. Calm down, Matt.” He nodded minutely, exhaling slowly, his muscles relaxing gradually. “I’m fine.” The music shifted to something more acoustic, smooth timbre echoing and wreathing around us, and Steve broke the tension by offering a hand to his partner. “May I have this dance, my love?” She blushed minutely, fingers lacing into his, and I shot her a grin as they stepped away, heart swelling with happiness for her. Matt’s lips skimmed my temple apologetically, his own hand entwining with mine. “May I have this dance, my love?” I blushed, shaking my head softly. “I can’t track the beat well enough when I’m moving, I…” He pulled me flush against him, one hand resting gently at the base of my spine. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, baby.”

It took the rest of the track for me to finally let myself relax against him, trusting his senses to keep us from barging into anyone, and his enviable fluidity to keep me from humiliating myself. It took four more for me to stop grinning like a fool, arms around his neck, face buried in his throat in delight as we moved slowly. Steve was far smoother than the pair of us, spinning Nat with practiced precision and grace restricted largely to those of an earlier generation. And even after that, I stayed in his arms until Tony cleared his throat, forcing me to raise my head from my Devil’s shoulder reluctantly. “Pepper told me that I need more than just costumes to call it a Halloween party. So... Apple bobbing. Which apparently needs motivation other than tradition, so… Get an apple in a minute, and you can have one of Pepper’s caramel apples.” He shrugged a little, and I rolled my eyes fondly. “Try to rein in your enthusiasm, Tone,” I called, snorting, and he grinned. “Pepper wouldn’t let me use vodka instead of water. There’s only so much enthusiasm I can muster for fruit in a bowl.” I returned my temple to Matt’s shoulder, but he stepped back, smiling with excitement and making me groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Really?” “I love caramel apples!” he replied indignantly. “Of course you do,” I sighed, shaking my head fondly. “Who knew you had such a sweet tooth?” “Well… You are sweet as sugar, and I can’t get enough of you,” he purred, moving closer to kiss me softly, but he drew back swiftly, practically buzzing with anticipation. Another sigh, and I kissed his nose gently. “Go on, then. Have fun.”

By the time we eventually made it home, Matt was vibrating from the sugar like a poorly controlled toddler, while I could barely keep my eyes open, anxiety and alcohol combining into pure exhaustion. “- seems like he – wonder how it’s changed – long time, you know?” I blinked in confusion, gaze flickering desperately across his face in an effort to comprehend what he was talking about, his rapid speech moving too quickly for me to follow. My head ached with the effort, anxiety driven higher as I got more and more lost, until he eventually noted my distress and ground to a halt. “Clint? What…” His voice faltered as realisation dawned, fist moving slowly across his chest. ‘Sorry.’ Smiling softly, I pressed my forehead to his, hand wrapping around his wrist gently to take it away. “It’s okay. Just… A little fast,  sweetheart. But I’m glad you had a nice time.” “It was lovely to meet your…” ‘Family?’ he finished tentatively, and I felt my face light up, lips brushing his. “When did you…?” “I’ve been practicing. Foggy’s been helping.” My heart ached with adoration, fingers finding his hips. “For me?” “Of course,” he frowned, inching closer into my embrace. “Who else, my love?” “What else do you know?” I murmured. He hummed thoughtfully before grinning, one side curled higher than the other in a gesture I was beginning to know well. ‘Bed?’ I snorted, pressing my lips to his once more with a happy, adoring sigh. “Bed.” @flufftober

[fodenswhore]

cobra kai s5 rant

- thoroughly enjoyed this season, i thought it was funny, not as cringey as previous seasons and the fight scenes were so so good. however, there were a few things that really annoyed me or made me question why i have a netflix account. here they are:

pregnancy storyline - when i tell you this plot annoyed the fuck outta me, i mean it. as soon as carmen said ‘i’m late johnny’ i was like oh for fuck sake and i had to pause the tv and resist the urge to smack my head off a wall. it’s such an unnecessary storyline and it aggravated me every time it was mentioned throughout the rest of the season. like, come on writers, could you be any more predictable? and don’t get me wrong, i think babies are cute n stuff, but throwing a baby into a book or a show just ruins it for me. also, johnny runs from all of his problems so who’s to say he won’t do the same when things get challenging with his new baby?

robby - i love love love robby, but the way he gets treated is not it. whilst johnny is funny i’ve come to the realisation that he is a really shitty person. he only acknowledges his own feelings and doesn’t care about anyone else’s - especially robby’s. and robby’s reaction to the pregnancy threw me off guard. he was happy??? he deserves to be angry about it, hell i would be. his dad literally neglected him his whole life and is now having a baby with miguel’s mum? i’d be more than pissed. robby needs a hug and i volunteer to give him one, he deserves the world <3

carmen and johnny - carmen really pissed me off this season idk why, she just did. like babe, how are you gonna have a child with a man who still acts like one😭😭😭 and johnny annoyed me too, he literally prioritised everything over robby. and then when he forced robby and miguel to fight out their issues as if those issues didn’t literally stem from him being a better father figure to miguel than he was an actual father to robby (i am glad they’re all good now tho).

silver - even just his face annoys me, had to hold myself back from punching the tv every time he had a scene. he’s a good villain though.

kenny and kyler - oh my god. i physically recoil anytime kyler has a scene, he’s so cringe it’s actually painful to watch. kenny also annoyed me as well, like bro i think you’ve messed with anthony enough, leave him alone now. and then when he tried intimidating robby and miguel, like honey know your place x

sam - now sam annoys me every season, i reallyyy want to like her but i just can’t. this season however, she did annoy me significantly less than usual. although she did make miguel’s circumstances in mexico about her which was very irritating and then had the audacity to get mad at miguel when he kissed another girl after she’d broken up with him???

okay, rant over. i’m sure there’s more that annoyed me but i can’t remember at the moment. so apart from the pregnancy storyline that it is so stupid, pointless, basic, predictable, annoying, ew and the characters mentioned above (except robby i love him, just the way he was treated annoyed me), the season was really good.

to clarify, i am not hating on the actors at all, i think they all do a brilliant job, this is just my opinion on the characters and storylines which are both entirely fictional :)

times the word annoyed/annoys was used in this rant = 9

- season 6 part 1