#◖just the beating of hearts like two drums in the grey • radio ◗

[frizz-writing]

Elijah's POV

I stir awake to the late morning sun, already bright and full of life, proudly perched above the treeline outside and shining in through my window. I'm not quite sure how I manage to sleep long past her rising, but I don't have the time to mull over it. Rolling out of bed with a groan and admittedly dragging my feet at a speed equivalent to slogging through mud, I begrudgingly take the short steps to my open closet. I don't have much spare money to spend on clothes so it's not hard to identify my work uniform hanging amongst just a few other articles of clothing. Once I'm within arm's reach, I snatch the black button up and slacks off their hangers, causing the items around them to swing. I toss the shirt onto my bed and quickly step into my pants. My left leg glides in smoothly, but my right gets caught, causing me to lose my balance and slam into the wall next to me. 

"Gonna be one of those days." I think to myself while drawing in a deep breath. I pull them on the rest of the way and grab my shirt, easily slipping my arms into the thin fabric. After securing all the buttons except for the very top one, I pick up my name tag from my dresser and pin it over my heart.

"Elijah," it reads, written in bold, black letters over a white background, bordered by bright red. I look myself over in the full length mirror propped up next to my dresser. "Gonna need a trim soon." I think as I tousle my fluffy brown hair, my curls beginning to overflow over my shoulders. I shoot myself some finger guns after "fixing" my hair, "Lookin' good," I say aloud. Thoroughly satisfied with my appearance, I take my keys off the dresser, my keychain dangling wildly as I also grab my wallet. 

I walk down the narrow hall to my front door. My house isn't very big, just a two bedroom, one bathroom cabin type thing, but it works for me. I live alone with no pets so there's plenty of space, plus living on the edge of town means I get to look into the forest whenever I want. I've always been intrigued by it and all the wonderful secrets it surely hides within. Maybe one day I'll get to explore it and see them for myself, but for now, I have to get to work. 

I slip on my plain black sneakers and head out the door. After locking my front door behind me, I jump down the short 3-step staircase leading up to it. It's so low that it doesn't hurt and it's just more fun than walking down, like they say, gotta enjoy the little things in life. 

I hit the unlock button and the lights on my dark grey sedan flash a couple times. I will admit that it's a little beat up, but I'm pretty attached. It was my first car after all, and just about the only thing I brought with me when I moved to Montana. I pop the driver's door open and slide in, sinking into the leather seat. I run my hands across the steering wheel and smile to myself, thinking about the things I've achieved since my parents first gifted it to me. It may not seem like much to some people, but I always dreamed of moving to a small town like Lowbrook and living a simple, but happy life. 

"Enough daydreaming." I think as I shake my head to clear it. I insert my key into the ignition and turn it clockwise, smiling as the radio kicks on. I recognize the song immediately, Rocket Man by Elton John, one of my favorites. 

I sing along, tapping my fingers on each syllable. Drumming along to songs in any way possible always makes me happy. Today's gonna be a good day despite my late start, I can feel it. 

I glance up at the sun, now nearing its highest point in the sky. Its warm rays beam down on me, the last of the summer heat. Next week marks the beginning of fall, my favorite season. I've been waiting all year for the trees outside my house to don their beautiful reds and yellows so I can sit outside with a nice warm mug of coffee and admire them. Just thinking about it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. 

I rumble into the center of town and pull into the parking lot of the small pizzeria I work at. I leave my car running as I walk up to the door, not bothering to stop it as I expect there to be orders waiting to be delivered. My suspicions are confirmed as soon as I walk in when I hear someone call my name, "Elijah! 3 orders on the counter, addresses are on 'em. Just take 'em and get going!" I recognize the gruff voice as my boss and the owner of the restaurant, Al. He's a nice man, just takes his job very seriously. After hours, he's actually pretty laid back and entertaining. 

Not wanting to bring out that bad side, I call out, "Yes sir!" and do as I'm told. I pick up the warm boxes and rush out to my car. I place them in my passenger seat and look to find which order is closest. "258 Willow Road," I read aloud to myself, "That's across town so not this one." I pull the top box into my lap and inspect the second. "Let's see here, 3 Louis Street. Ah, I could walk that." Looks like this one is the lucky winner.

I throw my car into reverse and get right back on the road. I only have to drive for about 30 seconds before I take a left onto Louis Street. The "fancy" houses of Lowbrook start here, but fancy actually just means they have an upstairs. I count the addresses out loud, "1, 2, and 3. Here we are." I park alongside the curb and hop out with their order. 

It's just a quaint, pale yellow house with a white door, nothing fancy. I knock on the door and wait patiently for someone to appear. After a minute or two, a little old lady in a moo-moo opens the door. "That'll be $6!" I say in my cheeriest voice. She digs around in her purse for a moment before pulling out a $10 bill. "Keep the change." She says with a kind smile as she hands it to me. "Thank you so much, ma'am," I say as I hand her the pizza, "Have a great day!"

There's a little extra bounce in my step as I walk back to my car. Even if a $4 tip is the best thing that happens today, I'd still count it as a good one. Back in the driver's seat, I check the final box. "100 Main Street, halfway to the other one. How lucky!" I think to myself as I put my vehicle in gear. I pull into the old lady's driveway to turn around and drive to the end of Louis Street. After a quick stop at the stop sign, I turn left, putting myself back on Main Street. 

Halfway through the 10 minute drive to my next stop, my phone rings. I furrow my brow when I see that it's Al calling. He never calls when I'm out on deliveries. I answer and set it to speaker phone before setting it on my lap. "Hey, Al. What's up?" I ask, getting more concerned every second. 

"Hi, Eli. I'm really sorry, but I gotta close early today. Tony's teacher just called, he's got a fever and feels too bad to finish the day so I have to go get him." He says quickly, rightfully concerned about his son. 

"Oh, that's okay. I'll just finish these deliveries and call it a day. Tell Tony I said I hope he feels better." I reply. 

"Thanks Eli, I'll make sure you get something to try to make up for the money you're losing. Gotta go now, bye." He ends the call in a hurry. I would too if I was him. I shake my head, "Poor kid." I think to myself. 

I see my stop coming up on the right, a long driveway leading into a small patch of oak trees. There's a gate at the treeline, but it's wide open so I decided to just pull all the way up to the house. It's a cabin like mine, but quite a bit bigger. Chickens roam free in the front yard, kicking and scratching at the dirt to unearth insects. I'm careful to not hit any as I ease my car up to the front steps. 

They must've seen me coming because a tall, middle-aged man with short black hair and a long salt-and-pepper beard is already outside. I walk up, box in hand, with a big smile on my face. "That'll be $7.50." I say enthusiastically, starkly contrasting the man's monotone behavior. He pulls out exact change and we swap items before he sends me off with a nod."Have a good one." He says flatly. I return the gesture, "You too." I reply, still beaming a smile at him. I turn on my heel and saunter back to my car. I check under it for any feathered friends before getting in. 

I glance at the address on the last box one last time and excitedly thump my palm against my thigh a few times. Even though it's been a short day, it's always a good feeling to be on my last delivery. 

I turn my car around, still careful to not hit any chickens, and head back down the driveway. I take a right back onto the main road and begin the drive to Willow Road. 

I drive for about 10 minutes before I see the green street sign that reads "Willow Road." I take a right onto it, it won't be long now. I drive up a hill and trees start to come into view. Willow Road dead ends into the same forest that's next to my house, but my destination isn't quite that far. 

I park along the curb again, eager to get this pizza into the customer's hands so I can go home. I speed walk up to the double wide's door and knock rapidly, tapping my foot while I wait. A smile spreads across my face when I hear the characteristic click of a deadbolt unlocking. A teenage boy opens the door, money in hand. "Good afternoon! This'll be $6!" I say, practically shoving the pizza into his hands after he hands me the bills. He silently slips back inside the trailer and I take long strides back to my vehicle. 

I sit back into my seat with a sigh, taking a moment to relax before I drive home. Suddenly, a flash of movement between the trees catches my eye. I lean into my steering wheel to get a better look. A moment later, I see it again, a flash of brown. My breath hitches, this doesn't move like any animal I've seen before, and it looks like it's running in my direction. A few seconds pass, but the fear building in my chest makes it feel like an eternity before I see movement again. This time I make out a very clear face weaving between the trunks, it's a woman and she's running with all her power towards town. The thought that something might be chasing her briefly runs through my head, but she doesn't appear panicked at all. I shift my car into gear anyway, just in case something appears behind her as she breaks the treeline.

As she reaches the grass, I can see she's barefoot. I wait a few moments, anxiously scanning the trees, but nothing else appears. My fear starting to dissipate, I slowly start to drive in her direction. I feel like it's right to just make sure she's okay and not lost or in danger. She reaches a tall wooden fence and I watch in awe as she sails over it with ease. It looks like she's done that a million times. 

My awe is suddenly replaced by a surge of adrenaline when she collapses after hitting the ground. I see her clutch her foot as I speed up to go check on her. As I get closer, I see blood leaking from between her fingers. She's cut herself badly on something. 

I stop my car and jump out quickly. "Are you okay, Miss? Do you need help?" I say bewildered. She looks up at me, her pupils so dilated from the pain that her brown irises have been pushed to their edge and are now just thin rings of color. 

"I think so, but my foot hurts. I can't walk anywhere." She replies, her brow furrowing as she looks back down to her foot which is now creating a crimson puddle beneath it. I kneel beside her, and now I can see the cause of her pain, a shattered glass bottle is laying in the grass next to her. I wince in sympathy, that must've gone deep.

"Can I help you stand up?" I ask, offering my hand to her. She nods, placing her hand in mine. I can't help but notice all the small cuts across it. Some are new, but others look old, maybe even scarred over. I wonder how long she had been living out there.

I stand, bringing her up with me while I steady her. She brings her knee up so she can continue applying pressure to the wound with her free hand, and I realize there's no way she can walk at all, not even with my help. 

I open the passenger door. "If we can get you inside, we can get a better look at it and hopefully stop the bleeding, but I'm probably gonna have to carry you. Is that alright?" I ask, looking at her softly. I'm really starting to get worried.

She shakes her head, "No no, I can do this myself." She takes a small hop towards my car and lands awkwardly, causing her to lose her balance. She furrows her brow and huffs, clearly frustrated that she's struggling so much. She sighs, "You're right, I can't make it. Help me please." Without hesitation, I gently bring her arm around my neck. I wrap my right arm around her shoulders and put my left arm under the crooks of her knee. 

I count, "1, 2, 3." Then I sweep her up, careful to not jostle her too much. It's only a few steps before I gingerly set her down on the passenger seat. I open the back seat and rummage in the floorboard for a minute before I spot the little red box, my first aid kit. I always carry one. I kneel on the curb and set it down to me. I pop it open and find a couple of alcohol wipes.

"I'm sorry, this is really gonna suck." I warn her before running the wipe along the cut. She sharply inhales, her face scrunched into a grimace. I finish cleaning it as quickly as possible then fan the wound to neutralize the sting. Now that it's clean, I'm able to see that no glass is embedded in her foot and I breathe out a sigh of relief. I quickly reach for the large pad of gauze in my kit and press it to the wound before the bleeding starts again.

"Here. Hold this against it." I say, looking up gently at her. She silently nods and holds her red stained fingers firmly against the cotton. I turn my attention back to the box and begin looking for some tape to hold it in place. I find a roll tucked in the bottom left corner and pull off a short piece. Working around her hand, I tape the left side down widthwise and smooth it into place. I place another short piece on the right side to secure it and then a long piece lengthwise to ensure it doesn't go anywhere. 

"Okay, you're good. We just have to wrap it up now." I say looking up again with a warm smile. She returns the smile and I see her shoulders loosen a little as she places her hands in her lap. I feel my heart swell a little at her gesture. I hope I get the chance to hear her story, I bet it's astounding. I sigh, almost getting caught up in all the possibilities before I realize I'm getting ahead of myself and shake my head a little to get back on task. 

I easily spot the large, brown compression bandage and quickly unravel it. I wrap it around the bottom of her foot, holding the loose end on top and pulling the bandage tight against the gauze to make sure it stays in place. I wrap it around her foot and ankle like a cast, leaving only her toes and heel exposed. 

"How's that feel? I can redo it if it's too tight." I reassure her. She shakes her head, "No no, that's alright. It's fine." I give her another smile as I click my first aid kit shut. I clumsily stand up, knees stiff from kneeling, and toss the case onto the backseat and close the door.

I place my hand on the hot roof of the sedan and lean against it. "Now, where are you staying? I can drive you there if you need." I say, looking down at her. She breaks eye contact and looks at the floor quietly, running her hand along the seat for a moment before speaking. 

"I'm not quite sure yet. It's been a while and I, um, kinda don't have a house." My eyes grow wide in a mix of surprise and horror. "You have nowhere to stay!? But there's a huge storm coming tonight! We have to get you a hotel for the night." I say quickly, my nerves thoroughly frazzled at this point. 

I gently close her door, making sure I don't accidentally hurt her foot even more and sprint to the driver's seat. I turn the key that I left in the ignition as soon as I reach the seat. My hand hovers over the gear shifter before I suddenly remember that the only money in my wallet is a $20 bill and the tip I got earlier. I slump over the steering wheel, burying my face in my arms. "My payday is tomorrow. I can't afford a room." I admit in muffled defeat. I lift my head and look at her. "I've got a guest room. It's not the greatest but it's all I have to offer." I say sadly, deeply wishing I could help more. 

She's quiet for a moment, her eyes scanning my face. She quickly shakes her head then replies, "I'm sure it'll be better than being out here. Thanks." There's a slight smile forming at the corners of her mouth. I can feel my eyes light up. The disappointment drains out of me and I'm filled with a mix of relief and happiness. I'm so glad I don't have to leave her somewhere, I would've felt horrible. 

"Well, if we're staying together tonight, we should probably know each other's names. My name's Elijah, as you could probably tell from my shirt." I say with a big smile, glancing down at my name tag before making eye contact, "What's yours?"

"Aralia. Nice to meet you." She says, extending her hand. I do the same and we exchange a solid handshake. "Damn, nice grip." I point out, earning a chuckle from her. "Yeah, I've been working on it for a while." She replies with a grin.

[huicitawrites]

Can I see how Garou and Badd react to a girl kissing them on the cheek?

Yandere! Garou x Fem. reader and Yandere! Badd (Metal Bat) x Fem. reader

Prompt: fem.reader kisses Yan! Garou and Yan!Badd on the cheek (separately). What are their reactions?

Art by: hymenopuscoronatus on Tumblr!

Garou:

“Thank you Garou! It really means a lot to me.” her smile, wide and carved upon rosey lips, spread throughout her face. Her cheeks, smooth and brushed over with a beautiful soft pink were shined upon by the warm rays of the sun. Her lashes, perfectly (thin/thick) batted at him with profound gratitude and joy. A few strands of hair stuck out of her hairstyle, yet it highlighted her cuteness even more.

She truly was an angel, Garou thought.

Unworthy of her, he felt at that moment. For he was a but an ungraceful monster under the light of an angel. 

The grey-haired young man just rolled his eyes and cocked his head onto his shoulder, attempting to demonstrate disinterest. “Yeah, sure. It was no problem, I had nothing better to do, you see there’s nothing to hunt sweetheart”. He lifted his shoulders, stretched his back and kicked lightly the pavement with his foot while sighed words left his lips. Hands in his pocket and yours oh, so elegantly trying to hold back your golden giggle. His ears betrayed his body language, for they perked up at the slightest hint of the sweet melody.

“Well, whatever you say big guy!” She walked toward him with another of those gleaming smiles of yours and rested a hand on his shoulder, “See you Garou, take care. Try not to get beat around too much” then a peck, quick, dry yet soft, was placed in contrast to his callous cheek. 

As she patted his shoulder briefly, he stood there as stiff as stone. Eyes wide and hairs erected as a shaken cat. By the farther your legs carried you, the red on his cheeks grew as would crimson rosebuds..

His hand, scarred and covered in bandages reached out to the blessed skin. He swore, in all his monstrosity, the patch of skin turned smoother, lighter even. His heart twisted, rumbled and jumped all at once- the beating up on his eardrums. A rollercoaster of emotions, ones so pathetic and humiliating a monster had no need for,  coursed through his body causing all sorts of feelings.

Butterflies which fluttered and itched on his stomach walls and yet brought such ease on his callous self, emerged from that simple gesture.

From a mere kiss, by her; [Full Name].

The bandaged  appendage  dragged on the blessed cheek, trying to feel as much as possible in contemplation in spite of the fabric covering his hand.

Definitely, Garou would still be keeping an eye on [Name], a more kinner one. Maybe, if he stayed around more, he would get more of those heartwarming, sweet, plump lips.

Badd:  

“Thanks a lot Badd! The number of monsters has been increasing lately...and you must be up to your hands with hero work.” The [h/c] girl sighed, but quickly smiled to cover the pang of guilt picking at the strings of her heart. Her chest tightened, for she felt a little bit of a nuisance to her dear friend. They had known each other for so little, and yet he had done so much for her. Walking her home during the day or night, being on the lookout for monsters. Truly, [Full Name] was eternally grateful.

“I don’t know how to make it up to you. So sorry- um, I mean-”

“Quit apologizing already,” the black haired teen threw a glance at her, then rolled his eyes “ It’s what heroes do. Besides, Zenko would not ever forgive me for letting a lady mend for herself”. They both chuckled at his statement, as she remembered his cute little sister, Zenko, who already at the age of 7, was strong, independant and as chivalrous as her brother.

 “You two really are one of the like,” she said, a warm smile spreading over her lips. “How can I repay you, so far?” 

“So far? You think I’ll keep on goin’?”

“I guess, coming from you”

“And yer’d be right”, his rough fingers went to rest below his chin, thinking. “How about yer babysit Zenko for me? I bet yer’d get along just right.” 

“You think so?” a blush crept on her [s/c] cheeks, highlighting her factions. It was only a second, but Baddo’s heart -upon seeing her round, blushing, cheeks- increased in speed. Steadily, the drumming on his chest became increasingly obvious to him. He felt stupefied, words unable to escape his mouth- thus he nodded.

“Well then, I will cover for you. I’m excited to meet her, if I may say.” a giggle, oh so melodious and tempting left her lips as one, half-open smile blessed him.

“See you, then, Badd!” And so, she kissed him goodbye on the cheek and he swore he became a puddle of water right there and then. His feet wobbled, and his shoulders became lighter. It was a nice, foreign feeling for Badd had never been interested in romance or the sort before. 

In order to regain his composure, he put on an aloof facade. 

“See ya, [Name]”, as she turned around to insert her keys, the young hero stared deeply at her figure. Once he heard the click, he turned around on his heel and swung his loyal bat onto his shoulder, walking nonchalantly as he whistled a tune he heard over the radio.  However, he could not help but ponder, perhaps- How can I repay you, so far?- he should ask for more. 

#yandere x reader #writing blog #self insert #yandere opm #opm #one punch man #opm fanfiction #female reader #yandere garou

[applsauss]

Östliche Helden | I

Description: Your grin is unabashed when you hear him shouting after you.

Fandom: Hetalia


Pairing: Human!Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt)/Reader

Word Count: 4k+

Warning(s): None.

Unsere Freundschaft mit der Sowjet-Union erzwingt den Frieden.

The words are printed on a sun-bleached poster featuring two working class men, one holding the red and gold banner of the Soviet Union, the other with a German flag with three stripes: one black, one red, one yellow. 

“Our friendship with the Soviet Union enforces peace,” you whisper to yourself. Staring at the smiling men, trying to read into their expressions, you pick at the peeling corners of the poster, then try to smooth them down. 

Behind you, through the window, the sky is aglow with a strong orange and dusty red that fades into pink. You’ve wasted the afternoon in an abandoned factory, with the small, portable radio Gilbert spent a fortune on tuned to a western station. The announcer is saying something about a concert, but you don’t hear him. The sun is setting. The wind drags its fingers through the trees.

Gilbert is sitting in the window, with one leg bent at the knee and propped up on the window sill, the other dangling against the outside of the building. He’s reading a book your brother gave to you about Frederick II, the greatest king of Prussia. You could never sit through it, but Gilbert hasn’t been able to put it down for the last two weeks. 

You hum lightly to yourself as a different, tinny voice advertises some household cleaning product, and continue to observe your boyfriend. His brow is furrowed in focus, eyes scanning each page with intent, and his platinum hair is painted red by the blazing sun buzzing behind him. You can’t help but stare at him, and then past him. 

The view from the window is framed by Gilbert’s body, and then by large, dark trees that inhale and exhale with the breeze. Behind the trees is a demolished industrial block, rubble left where it fell at the foot of the wall--then past that is the Berlin Wall, itself: nearly four meters tall, two thick, and with various layers of increasingly horrible deterrents running the length of the death strip. It is a grisly sight. 

Behind that though, lies true innovation and freedom. Sunlight bounces off the windows of pristine West Berlin as if to say Look! Look at what is here. Look at Germans like you--but not--as they live with American autos, French wine, and Italian designer bags.

The radio announcer’s voice cuts off, and then the guitar chords of the next song fade in, plucking at all of your drifting thoughts and drawing them back tight again. It is a song of freedom, the western stations like playing it because they know it can be heard even behind the Iron Curtain. You close your eyes and let the music take you away, swaying in rhythm. 

“I, I will be king,

And you, you will be queen.

Though nothing will drive them away,

We can beat them, just for one day,

We can be heroes, just for one day.”

You never listen to western radio in your house. It is silent except for when your father listens to a concert performance, or when your brother used to practice piano in the sitting room. Besides, your mother is frighteningly aware of the ears in the walls, and your father makes a point of socialising with people he suspects of being connected to the Stasi--probably in hopes of being recruited. It’s why you’ve been left alone, even after your Onkel took bolt cutters to the chain-link border fence at the Austrian-Hungarian border.

You hear your shoes scrape on the floor as you step side to side, getting more into the song, nodding your head and then you hear Gilbert snicker under his breath. You peak your eyes open to find him watching you. His book is closed, resting on the window sill, and he’s now sitting with his legs inside the building. You stop dancing, laugh, but the music continues on without you, the sound like an afterthought calling to you.

Gilbert leans forward, watching you with steady eyes, then pushes off the window sill to stand. He tilts his head for a moment, like he’s appraising the music, then begins to snap his fingers on beat, tapping his foot and bobbing his head.

You join him, shimmying, waggling your eyebrows and he snorts, then gets more into the song, shaking his hips and dramatically reaching up towards the ceiling, then closing his fist and dragging it down in front of him like the disco stars on TV.

Trying to upstage him, you click your heels together and start to do the twist, but the song’s chords are drawn out, and so the shuffling you’re doing is more for comedic effect than anything else.

You pause when you’re closest to the ground, then jerk your head up to catch Gilbert’s eyes in challenge. He lets out a breathy laugh, then changes tactics. Not one to be outdone, he throws his arms above his head and begins thrusting his hips in time with the drums, while training his expression to remain serious, smoldering, almost. You laugh.

“And you, you can be mean,

And I, I'll drink all the time,”

“ 'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact,” he mouths the words dramatically, then winks and blows you a kiss, making you snicker again. “Yes, we're lovers, and that is that.”

Still thrusting his hips, he begins to make little hops towards you, dust from the floor kicking up around his feet. Grinning, you rise back up to both feet and meet him halfway, swinging your arms and stepping in time with the beat. 

When you finally meet each other, he reaches forward, smooshing your face between his hands, then ducks down to plant a silly, solid kiss to your lips. Your teeth clack, your nose presses hard into his cheek, and he laughs into your mouth, then quiets when you kiss him back. 

The music becomes less of something you hear, and more of something you feel thrumming in your heart, thrumming in Gilbert’s as it beats beneath your palm, and thrumming in the way you both sway side to side, caught up in the moment.

“Though nothing will keep us together,

We can steal time, just for one day.”

Gilbert sucks in a breath through his nose, kissing you earnestly, sincerely now, then pulls back slowly. His hands are cupping your face, thumb gently rubbing your cheek, and you’re humbled by the expression on his face, still painted in increasingly soft shades of red-pink. Affection blooms in your chest, warm like a candle, and spreads until you forget about the bite of the approaching evening. Almost overwhelmed, you pull his arms around you and lay your forehead on his shoulder, watching the West as the sun dips farther towards the horizon, as the sky begins to bleed the same red, the same damn Sowjetisch Rot, that paints their bloody flag.

You can hear him smiling in the way he breathes, feel it in the way he settles the weight of his arm over your shoulders and presses his face into your hair. You forget about school, you forget about the stress of your parents’ disapproval of Gilbert, of you, you forget about the future and you forget about the gottverdammte West. “Lieb’ dich, Liebchen,” he whispers into your hair.

The intimacy scares you. You think about pinching the soft fat on his stomach and twisting like you would a bottlecap to relieve some of the carbonated tension that’s filled the space, the tender moment buzzing around the two of you, surrounding you with its quiet intensity. The sudden thought makes you laugh, and you settle farther into his embrace instead, letting yourself sink into this feeling despite the fear for once. “Lieb’ dich, doch. You’re my favourite, you know.” 

You somehow both see it coming and are taken by complete surprise when he pinches the meat of your arm and twists enough for it to smart.

“Ow-a!” You shove him off you and he stumbles back over a piece of broken furniture, snickering. You huff, dust your pants off, and try to glare at him, but you can’t bring yourself to be all that annoyed. Afterall, you chose this place and you chose him.

And the sun continues to set.

***

The morning is grey outside the apartment. It’s still early enough for the streetlamps to be on, and from under your bedroom door, you can tell the hallway light is on as well. You hear the muted clamor of breakfast coming from the kitchen, and your father coughs.

You smooth your hair back in the vanity one more time, double-checking your appearance, then grab your backpack and head out into the hall.

“You came home late last night,” your father comments from the dinner table as soon as you enter the sitting room. In front of him sits an empty plate, a mug of coffee and a half-empty glass of orange juice. 

You set your bag on the table and head into the kitchen. “I know.” 

“You shouldn’t ride your bike at night,” he calls after you.

“I know.” 

Your mother is by the stove, wearing her sunflower print apron and black slippers. The room smells like breakfast sausage. She has her back turned to you and when you approach, she spins on her heel and pushes a full plate into your empty hands before you can do anything else.

“Ah--Guten Morgen, Muti. Vielen--” you’re caught half-way through a yawn--“Dank.” 

“Good Morning, Liebling. Eat up.” 

You smile and return to the table. Your father is waiting, but says nothing. He continues to say nothing as the clouds are pushed across the sky and the food on your plate disappears one bite at a time.

Eventually, he grows tired of the silence. He takes a long sip of his coffee, then says, “You were out with that boy, weren’t you.” It is not a question.

“You know his name,” you say mildly as you push your chair back and stand to take your plate into the kitchen. Your mother appears at your elbow and collects it for you instead. Without another excuse, you pull your bag across the table to check if you have everything you’ll need for school.

Still sitting where he is, your father asks, “When are you going to break up with him?” 

“I’m not.” 

He gives you a hard look. You pull your arms through the straps of your bag. “Is there really no one else for you?”

“I’m going to class now.” 

He sighs, seemingly giving up on the conversation. “You have work after, right?”

“Right.” 

Another sigh. “Alright. Be safe. See you soon.” 

He drains the last of his coffee. Your mother kisses you on the cheek and tells you to have a good day as well. 

“You, too. Lieb’ dich.” You turn to your father, “Bye, Vati. See you soon.”

***

Childhoods are not made equal, and the law of even-stevens is not something adults seem overly interested in. You first learned this in year three, when you were dropped off by your mother to play with a friend who lived in an apartment the size of your living room. Her bed was folded up neatly under the coffee table and the bathroom was two floors below hers. When you explained all this to your parents, they never allowed you back.

The second time you learned that adults were not as worried about being fair as they pretended to be was at Gilbert’s house, when the two of you could only play cards on his bed because his newborn brother was sleeping and anything else would have woken him. His mother made you sandwiches and when you asked about her lunch, she said she wasn’t hungry, then ate the discarded crust off your bread. 

The third was when Gilbert was visiting your house, and switched on your family’s brand-new color television set. He casually flipped through the channels until he found one you’d never seen before, and you watched with confusion as image after image of the glamorous, rich, free West Germany flashed on the screen--something you’d never seen before, something he thought of as common knowledge, and something that made you begin to question what else was hidden from you. Your father catching the two of you soaking in the perverse capitalist propaganda movie ‘Grease’ was the beginning of his long-lasting feud with Your-Best-Friend-Gilbert. 

The list goes on and on, your eyes not so much being opened to a single dawning realisation--but rather that realisation was inevitable, a full picture fed to you piece by piece each time you bore witness to some other lie fed to East Germans, who chew and chew and swallow because they’re so starved of everything else. 

This is what you’re thinking about as Kristian goes on explaining Nietzsche to you. It’s terribly pretentious, he’s terribly pretentious, and so, regretfully, terribly, are you. 

“I thought it was interesting. Didn’t you as well? What Herr Ullman was saying about the difference between Nietzsche’s master and slave morality--obviously we are the strong masters. We must not be pitied.” 

Kristian is a person who never for a second thinks for, or critically, of himself. He is in your Philosophy lecture, your father knows his, and he has never once wanted for anything. The urge to fidget overcomes you, and so you grip the underside of the shop-counter, and rock back and forth on your heels to stop the annoyance from crawling up your arms. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I asked what you thought of how Nietzsche’s ideas could be applied to our politics now.” 

“Oh, well--” you pause for a moment to think about how much of yourself you’re willing to put into this conversation-- “It’s interesting how some people claim to be masters--”

“Of course!” he interrupts. “You’re brilliant--because in reality, they are not. Take here, in the DDR, for example. The majority of the working class think of themselves as masters, while holding slave moralities,” he finishes for you, incorrectly. You bite your tongue.

Sometimes, Kristian is enjoyable to be around because it’s like a game, to have a conversation with someone who refuses to hear anything you say. You like to test the limits of his perception of you and see just how far he’ll go to rationalise whatever you say so that in his head, you agree with him.

Recently though, it’s become clear that he has an interest in you that is just a little more than friendly, and casually letting him down is becoming a problem because he refuses to take a hint. Now, at Uni, every time you turn a corner, he’s there to follow you to your next class, and his forwardness is beginning to unroot whatever amusement you used to feel around him.

Kristian is another item to add to the growing list of reasons you’d rather be wasting your day watching the clouds go by than be at Uni--or be trapped behind the counter of the Apotheke you work at, begging the powers that be that Kristian leaves before your shift is up, otherwise he might get it in his head that you have free time to spend with him.

Time moves in slow motion as Kristian stands in front of the register and continues to talk. No one has come in after him so you don’t have any excuses to leave the conversation. You feel awkward, like being alone with him is a mistake that you can’t escape from because the owner of the Apotheke is out taking his lunch in the park across the street. 

“We think so alike, you and I…” Kristian trails off, and then he fiddles with the soda he bought ten minutes ago, and looks away, embarrassed. “Hey,” he begins again, and at the tone of his voice, your stomach drops. Before he was just dropping hints or loosely suggesting the idea of going on a date, but this is a confrontation that you’re not prepared to deal with. “I was wondering if sometime you’d like to--”

The bell above the door trills, and you jump into action. “Ah--Willkommen! How can I help you today?” you speak loud enough to smother the end of Kristian’s question.

“Liebe,” you hear the customer say, and immediately you know that it is Gilbert. What timing! He’d taken the morning off to go see Ludy’s school play and mentioned that he might be able to swing by after running a few errands for his mother. “You’ll never guess what happened! Oh! Kristian--” he pauses-- “Hallo. Anyways, I was riding my bike down Schulstrasse after the play and I--” 

“We were talking,” Kristian interrupts, whatever boyish shyness he’d had evaporating as he crosses his arms and turns to face Gilbert, almost puffing out his chest like a bird.

Gilbert gives him a funny look, then asks, “yea?” He looks to you for confirmation.

You shoot Gilbert a wobbly, unconfident smile and gesture to Kristian with wide eyes. He furrows his brow in confusion, then looks around and realizes you’re alone in the shop. He then turns his full attention to Kristian and, with fake pleasantness, asks, “how are your classes, Kristian?” 

Kristian rocks back on his heels and unfolds his arm at the sudden question. “Good, I guess…” He shoots a look back at you, and you pretend to be seriously inspecting the cash register for defects. You pop open the drawer and feign counting the Deutsche Marks.

“Good!” Gilbert presses forward. “I hear Herr Ullman is a hardhead.” 

“A bit,” Kristian replies, then turns his back to Gilbert and tries one last time to get your attention. “Y/N--” 

At the sound of your name leaving Kristian’s mouth, Gilbert slides an arm on the counter between you and Kristian, who bites off the rest of his response and drops all pretenses to glare at Gilbert. 

“Interesting,” Gilbert says flatly, “Sowieso, Schatz, when does Herr Friedman get back from his lunch?”

Kristian doesn’t wait for your response. He just huffs, snatches his drink off the counter, and stalks out of the Apotheke. The bell trills as he pulls the door open, then lets it slam shut in its frame.

“Tschussi!” Gilbert calls after him, and you really should reprimand him for that last, unnecessary taunt, but the amount of relief you feel now that Kristian is gone is ridiculous, and so you reach over the counter to grip his forearm with both hands, grinning up at him.

“Don’t be so mean,” you say half-heartedly. 

Gilbert cocks his head to the side. “Then he should take a hint and listen when you tell him no.” 

His genuine response surprises you when it shouldn’t. Afterall, you know what sort of man he is; you’ve known for years. It’s what kindled your crush on him in secondary school, the year before he went off for his apprenticeship in that garage he still dreams of, it’s what fanned the flames when he returned for his year of mandatory service, and it’s what stokes the love even now. “Thank you.” 

“Why?” He grins. “Did you think it was awesomely sexy when I made him back off--”

You choke on a laugh, cheeks warm. “Oh, shut it! You ruin everything!”

He laughs like a witch’s cackle, and you pretend to be put out, then ask,“what were you trying to tell me about before?” 

“Oh!” He straightens. “Remember that pigeon from school?”

***

“Gib can talk to birds, you know,” Ludwig says factually. ‘Gib’ is his childhood nickname for Gilbert. You nearly trip at the sudden change in topic.

“See!” Gilbert throws a hand out to gesture at Ludwig, vindicated. His other hand holds his bike steady as the three of you continue to walk down the sidewalk.

You groan. “I swear to god, the pigeon does not know you!”

“Yes he does! I’ve named him--” 

“Don’t remind me--” 

“His name is Gilbird.” Gilbert proudly sticks his nose up, and you resign yourself to pushing your bike in silence. You’ve had this same dispute since school. Gilbert is convinced that since he saved a pigeon from a hungry alleycat one time, it now owes him some sort of life debt, or at least he thinks the pigeon thinks that.

“I think it’s clever,” Ludwig says quietly, squeezing the straps of his backpack tighter in his hands as he continues to walk beside you and Gilbert, who are pushing your bikes to keep pace with him.

“Ludy,” you stage whisper just loud enough so Gilbert can still hear you, like you’re sharing some grave secret, “he’s been saying the same thing since year five. I don’t even think it’s the same bird!”

“Schatz!” Gilbert cries, outraged.

You roll your eyes dramatically. “C’mon,” you say, and goad Ludwig into jogging ahead of Gilbert with you. As much as Ludwig hero-worships his elder brother, he also can’t resist the temptation of teasing him, especially when you offer him the upper hand. 

“Ah!” Gilbert exclaims once he realizes your plan. “Hey!” When you pass him, you stick your foot out to unhinge his kickstand, making him stumble over his bike.

 “I’m too awesome to not be telling the truth!” he calls after you. “You were there! Hey!”

Ludwig laughs out loud, and so you turn around as well, only to see Gilbert struggling to untangle his handlebars from a bush. “Quickly!” 

You swing your leg over the seat of your bike, then usher Ludwig into the basket fixed over the rear wheel. It’s not meant for a person and is an uncomfortable fit, even for little Ludy, but the two of you manage. 

“That’s cheating!” Gilbert calls out sorely, still a little ways behind the two of you, though you know he’ll catch up in no time. Ludwig giggles right in your ear, and then you push off the concrete and begin pedaling down the sidewalk. 

“Look at him, all the way back there,” Ludwig teases. 

You can’t turn around to bask in your victory, you’re afraid to lose balance and throw Ludwig off the bike. “Is he still stuck?” 

“Yes--No! He’s just freed himself! Schneller! Faster!” Ludwig leans more of his weight forward, onto your back, and you laugh breathlessly, then pedal harder. You take the curb hard, pushing yourself off the seat to absorb the shock of your front wheel dropping onto the asphalt, then the rear wheel squeaks in protest under Ludwig’s added weight.

From around the wide bend of the road, you see the young trees that are planted in front of Gilbert and Ludwig’s Plattenbau, the tall apartment building looming over the road like a victory line. Your thighs begin to burn under the exercise. You pant, and Ludwig squeezes your shoulders tighter. “Oh no!” he cries. 

Then it’s over. “Ha ha!” Gilbert tuts victoriously as he flies past the two of you, legs stuck out in a silly pose as his gears rapidly click. 

“Aw! That’s no fair, Gib! Y/N has me on the bike, too!” Ludwig defends you from over your shoulder. 

“You should have thought about that before you two unawesomely conspired to push me into that bush!” 

“We didn’t push you! You tripped!” You slow to a stop in front of the side entrance next to Gilbert, and wobble under yours and Ludwig’s combined weight. Gilbert drops his bike in the grass and moves to help Ludwig down from his perch on the basket.

Gilbert rolls his eyes. “Same thing.” He sets Ludwig on the ground, then adds with fake scorn, “cheaters.”

Ludwig laughs, and you inspect your backpack, which Ludwig had been crouched on for the duration of the short ride. “Do you go to work now, Gib?” he asks.

“Ja. But I’ll be back like normal.” You look up in time to see Gilbert messing with Ludwig’s hair. You feel a pang of jealousy, thinking of your own brothers.

“Okay.” Ludwig walks to the entrance, then pulls open the door. “See you later!”

“Bye!” 

“Bye, Luddy!” 

For a moment, the two of you just breathe the filthy air. This part of town always stinks like a car’s exhaust pipe. Then Gilbert looks back at you. “Race you to your house?” 

You eye him critically for a moment, then turn your bike around and begin pedaling as fast as you can without so much as waiting for a fair start.

Your grin is unabashed when you hear him shouting after you.

***

Translations:

Unsere Freundschaft mit der Sowjet-Union erzwingt den Frieden. Our friendship with the Soviet Union enforces peace. From this 1979 propaganda poster.

Deutsche Demokratische Republik. DDR. German Democratic Republic. Abbreviated ‘GDR’ in english. The official name of ‘East Germany’.

Onkel. Uncle.

Sowjetisch Rot. Soviet Red, referring to the Soviet Union’s flag colour.

Gottverdammte. Goddamn (f).

Lieb’ dich. Love you (slang, not proper grammar).

Liebchen. Sweetheart, lovely (noun). Term of endearment. (Literally: little love, love I am fond of, the -chen is diminutive and cute).

Doch. Too, totally, all the same, nevertheless. This is a ridiculous german word.

O-Saft. Orange Juice (slang).

Guten Morgen. Good morning

Muti. Mom.

Vielen Dank. Thank you very much. 

Liebling. See Liebchen, though this is a more common version.

Vati. Dad.

Apotheke. Drug store, pharmacy.

Willkommen. Welcome.

Liebe. Love.

Hallo. Hello, Hi.

Deutsche Marks. Mark der DDR. Currency of the GDR.

Sowieso. Anyways.

Schatz. Babe, baby. Term of endearment. (Literally: Treasure)

Tschussi. Bye-bye, toodles. Cute with children, though usually used sarcastically by adults, especially men. (Gilbert is making fun of Kristian here)

Schneller! Faster!

Plattenbau. A cheap style of building made from prefabricated concrete slabs common in the GDR. (Literally: Panel building)

Masterlist | Posting Schedule 

#hetalia #aph #aph prussia #hetalia x reader #aph prussia x reader #aph prussia imagine #hetalia imagine #aph imagine #aph x reader

[terrm9]

you give it to me anyway (Tatum X Lina)

Set immediately after the ending of chapter 13.

Update (after the events of chapter 14): in this little series, Tatum does not go back to the army but is relocated to work as a bodyguard for some random politician in Rutherland. That's why this goodbye of theirs is not as heartbreaking as it was canonically. Therefore, shall the two other parts happen, they will not follow canon because I have them planned and I refuse to make new plans

WC: 3 600; rating: M (mature)

Warnings: swearing, making out, mentions of smoking, alcohol consumption, adult situations; hurt/comfort

Author’s note: my first Foreign Affair fic - it was so much fun to write I forgot about my two idiot doctors for a while. This is supposed to be part 1 of three-parts mini series, but 1) I have no idea when those two other parts will happen and 2) if it goes by plan, they will be all completely okay to read as stand-alones so hopefully this will be enjoyable no matter what.

She could feel it. She could swear she could; she could pinpoint the moment her mind stopped working and all the energy normally divided between the gears in her head and the beating of her heart suddenly focused solely on the latter.

Her mind stopped working and her heart drummed against her ribcage twice as hard.

Lina doesn’t remember much after that, after bursting through the door and demanding an answer (“Why the fuck would you take Tatum off the team?”), her memories a messy blur of shouting (hers), a voice trying to calm her down (Demarco’s) and the one that mattered in the end.

“Lina,” Tatum put his hand on her shoulder, his face stoic – but she knew better, she could see his eyes, eyes pained, eyes pleading. “Get inside. I will be with you in a moment.”

“But-“ she opened her mouth to protest, only to be stopped by Tatum’s gentle squeeze and eyes more pleading.

Just get in and wait for me, he whispered and that’s how she has gotten here.

Pacing back and forth in her room, biting her lip so hard she feels blood. Her brain is working again, thinking and analyzing (overthinking, overanalyzing) and she needs a cigarette, a shot of vodka, she needs to punch something (someone), needs to just do something.

The tremor in her hands violent and she clenches them in fists, telling herself that it’s anger, a rage running through her whole body, but there is that traitorous voice that whispers – no, screams – that she knows this is more than that, that it’s fear.

A lump in her throat formed and unmoving and Lina swallows once, twice, keeps swallowing until she cannot catch her breath but the fucking lump is still there and tears are threatening to fall from her eyes and-

No.

Line Monroe does not cry. She has learnt not to cry, hasn’t cried since-

She does not cry.

Tries to take a deep breath but it’s completely useless and Lina knows how she feels. Like a crystal vase in the middle of a big wooden table, beautiful and shiny and protected at all costs – all of it worth nothing when an earthquake comes. This is her personal earthquake, every second pushing her closer to the edge, sobs threatening to cut her open, to leave her mouth and never stop and she wonders if falling over the edge and just break into million pieces would be such a terrible thing.

She could beg. She would beg, if only that would help. She only begged once in her life.

(Lina has never been the picture of a perfect child – well, definitely not after Tatum left. No, she lived for making her mother’s political career an actual hell, she laughed into her face in the middle of a scolding. The First Daughter of Rutherland couldn’t give less fucks about what her mother wants, needs, asks for. Nobody ever asked what she wanted, needed, asked for.)

She only begged once in her life – she was seven and desperately wanted a puppy. (She could do it again at the age of twenty-two and desperately wanting her Tatum.)

Mom, I promise I’ll be good. (Mom, I promise I’ll be good.)

I will take care of him. (He will take care of me.)

I won’t eat sweets. (I won’t smoke. Won’t get drunk.)

I will do all of my homeworks. (I will go on as many fake dates as you want.)

I won’t watch TV. (I won’t cause another scandal.)

I will clean the whole house! (I will attend all the summits, I will, I will.)

Mom, please. (Mom, please.)

She never got the puppy. (She knows that no matter how much she begs, she will not get to keep Tatum, either.)

An earthquake and she is starting to accept her fate, awaiting the final shake, the strongest vibration that will make her fall from the table and shatter.

There is a soft knock on the door and she feels it coming, the magnitude strong enough to stir fear inside of people.

Tatum walks in, closing the door behind him carefully – and the Richter scale does not have enough values to describe how dangerous this earthquake has gotten.

“Lina,” he whispers softly, stretching his arms towards her and that’s it.

The crystal vase falls to the ground (into Tatum’s arms) and the shards cut skin (and the sobs cut Lina open).

It is easy after the first one – like the blood spilling out of the cut, like a plug removed and water pouring, flooding, destroying, the sobs leave her mouth and her shoulders shake and Lina hasn’t done this in four years, hasn’t shed a tear for so long but Tatum’s arms encircle her, strong and firm and safe and no, breaking into million pieces is not such a terrible thing after all.

She thinks she screams in one moment and Tatum only hugs her tighter, slowly dropping to the soft carpet, pulling Lina with him, his arms never (never, never) leaving her shivering body – and she holds onto him tighter than she holds onto her own life (own dignity, own worth, none of it more important that holding onto Tatum), hands still clenched in fists. Lina’s grip on his perfect white shirt must be uncomfortable and she is sure she is ruining the fabric, if not with her nails then definitely with her mascara-tinted tears.

For a long, long moment they stay like that – Tatum kneeling on the floor and Lina curled up against his chest, sobs wrecking her body and his hands drawing soothing circles on her back.

“We will make this work, Lina,” he whispers when the room falls into silence, the only memory of Lina’s ignominious breakdown being Tatum’s soaked shirt and her throbbing temples. “You are strong and the other bodyguards are capable. Demarco is a good agent, they will keep you safe.”

“I don’t care about being safe,” she scoffs. “All my life, everyone has only cared about me being safe. You are… You have always been the only one to care about how I am feeling. If I am happy. And now you are leaving again.”

Tatum pulls back a little – not enough to break the contact of his hands on her shoulders, just enough to look her into eyes – and with a voice that is quiet but firm, leaving no room for doubts, he says: “I am not leaving you, Lina. I won’t be returning to army, okay? I am going back to Rutherland tomorrow and only then I will be informed about this move – maybe I am only being taken off for some time. This is not the same as the last time.”

“I cannot lose you again,” she whispers, not meeting his eyes. As if she was not sure about her decision to share such moment of vulnerability with him.

“You will not. Who is my toughest galyetas here, hm?”

Lina looks up at him at that, the initial shock from hearing the old nickname (the one she hasn’t heard in years, the one she has missed for years) soon replace by her smile, however faint and it’s like the sun peeked into the room all at once.

(Eyes puffy and red, cheeks wet from tears and lips swollen from biting and has she always been this beautiful?, Tatum wonders.)

“I am,” she chuckles before Tatum demands the answer and encouraged by the moment of clarity that has settled over them, she manages to stand up and open the closet.

Impulsive would be a great word to describe Lina. Unpredictable. Fierce. Mostly fierce, Tatum thinks and it should not be a surprise for him when Lina takes off her skinny jeans and light blue blouse, carelessly throwing them over the chair and it should not be a surprise when she follows the motion to take her bra off, no, it should not be a surprise for him and yet-

The heat in his cheeks is inappropriate, for God’s sake, and he should – he must – tear his gaze off her naked back, but he cannot (and how many nights he wished he was granted this? how many days?). He stares and stares as she ruffles through the closet and it’s his time to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“I should… I will leave you to change,” he finds his voice and it’s low and husky and inappropriate, but Lina just smirks as she turns slightly to face him better and he needs to avert his gaze, he must not stare at the curve of her breasts, so perfect above her ribcage.

“You have already seen me naked,” the smirk widens. “And besides, you should get out of that wet shirt too.”

Getting out of his clothes does not sound like a good idea to him, not in the slightest, but it gives him a reason to look down and unbutton his shirt – and that motion gives him some time to take a deep breath and respond.

“Yes, I have seen you naked. When we were five and swimming in a lake.”

He can swear he heard Lina mutter ‘time to check how much has changed in those fifteen years’, but Tatum doesn’t trust himself enough to engage in that conversation and so he carefully slips out of his jacket and the stained shirt and switches his radio off before putting everything in a neat stack on the top of a drawer.

Tatum sits down again after that, his back leaned against Lina’s bed and soon she joins him, soft grey cotton shorts and tank top on. She mirrors his position and they share a private smile, because it is their position, the one everyone knows them by – knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, (heart to heart), Tatum’s arm wrapped around Lina’s shoulders and her hand resting on his right knee. It is always this position for them and Lina can’t count how many photos they have together, where they sit exactly like this.

“Are we going to be okay?” she whispers, almost not daring to break the comfort they bring out of each other. But she needs to. She needs to know that they are going to be okay.

“Of course,” he nudges her knee with his own softly and smiles down at her. For a moment, she pretends she does not see the panic swirling in his eyes, giving away that he does not know, that there is no of course for them.

She nods, her fingers drawing mindless patterns on his leg and she is sure they are not that mindless, she knows that in a language only known to them she is writing her confessions, she is writing a love letter.

More mindless patterns and Lina feels Tatum’s eyes on her, caring and loving and worried, definitely worried, but she doesn’t look up at him because the emotions his gaze can stir inside of her are enough to send her into another breakdown.

“Do you remember Scott Diaz’s party?” she asks into the silence.

Tatum chuckles loudly and squeezes the shoulder he is hugging. “Of course.”

“It was the first time I got drunk,” Lina says as if it was an explanation itself, when in reality this conversation was not making any sense so far.

Scott’s party was the one which only Lina attended when she was sixteen – Tatum had to stay home to help his father with something (it was not important to Lina back then) and Lina didn’t mind that much because she liked Scott and she believed there were higher chances of her charming him without Tatum’s alert gaze directed at her.

“Yes, I remember,” Tatum decides to play this game that makes no sense with her. “It was my toilet you threw up into that night.”

“I remember getting drunk with Scott and his stupid friends and realizing that they were a group of idiots, with Scott being the greatest idiot of them all. But I was drunk and he was my first crush and I just wanted him to like me and I was ready to do anything.”

“Yes,” Tatum says again, this time much more quietly, though. “I remember your phone call at 2 AM. You were crying and asked me to come and rescue you because you are drunk and nauseous and Scott is a dick but you might sleep with him if I don’t come.”

There is a long pause and Lina thinks he might not continue. Even worse, she fears he might ask why she is bringing the story up now.

To her utmost surprise, Tatum laughs and continues: “I stole my dad’s car so that I could get you out of there faster. You threw up in the backseat and my dad almost killed me because he was supposed to take your mother to the airport the next morning.”

Lina laughs with him shortly and the room falls into silence once again.

Once again, Lina makes sure to interrupt the comfort it brings.

“And then you left and there was nobody to rescue me anymore.”

She is not sure why she said that. No, Lina does not want to tell Tatum about those years he has been away. She is scared (and she has never been that scared in her whole damn life), scared to share the failures and slips of her past, scared that he would get up and leave-

(Because that’s what he should do)

-scared that he would see what she sees every time she looks in the mirror and Lina does not care about the opinion of the others, she does not care if someone sees her as someone worthy or not, as long as that someone is not Tatum.

Deep down, she knows he would not, he will not leave, she knows Tatum - the same Tatum that strokes her upper arm now, giving her the space to sort her thoughts – will stay with her even in the moments she does not want to stay with herself.

And there is one fear that is bigger, greater, more terrible than the fear of being left – fear of hurting him. The idea of her past being the reason of his hurt, being the thing that puts the haunted look into his eyes, makes her want to throw up.

She will need to tell him eventually because if somebody deserves her honesty, it’s Tatum Mendoza, her best friend, her savior, her Tatum.

Eventually does not mean now.

Tatum wishes Lina could say something, anything, he wants her to share her demons with him and he almost asks her to tell him everything but before he can do so, she turns abruptly and looks at him, her eyes no longer puffy or red – glossy and bright and beautiful now and she doesn’t say a word.

She just looks at him like he is the only thing in the whole world worth looking at.

"It's your eyes," she says quietly, reaching to cup his stubbled cheek with her left hand.

"My eyes?" Tatum asks, surprised by the sudden statement.

Lina nods, tracing his left eyebrow with her finger before moving to stroke the skin under his eyes and finally reaching the bridge of his nose.

"There's no one else's eyes that could see into me," she whispers and her finger traces circles around his right eye now, soothing the wrinkles - reminders of their earlier laugh.

(She doesn't know those wrinkles are hers; nobody makes him laugh like she does)

Her gaze doesn't leave those eyes, not for a second and and the intensity she looks at him with is far more intimate than her naked form, bare torso and soft skin she shared with him moments ago.

Tatum is sure he must be blushing.

It’s the moment her thumb traces his lower lip when they snap.

The atmosphere of fear and uncertainty and mutual understanding so deep it ignites further fear changing into the one of passion and need and fire, fire, fire, burning inside and outside, the moment their lips meet.

He has kissed many girls and he knows Lina has kissed many people too and fuck, they even kissed each other before but this kiss is different, filled with more than just years of friendship (years of love) – filled with years of separation, years of longing, years of pain.

They kiss as if the pressure of their tongues against each other’s could be their private painkiller.

A moment later they are on the bed and Lina is not sure how they got there, she can’t remember they mouths parting but it must be so, because she is laying on her back, her hands firmly against Tatum’s shoulder blades to pull him closer and it still feels like he is not close enough, one of his hands next to her head and the other tangled in her hair, pulling on them and massaging her scalp all at once as he kisses her the way she has never been kissed before.

Lina’s hand moves from his upper back to his shoulder, caressing the old scar there and moves to his chest and his stomach and she feels him growl against the skin of her neck at the touch, the vibrations sending shivers over her whole body; she reaches his waistband and her finger fumble on the button of his trousers as he kisses her collarbone.

His fingers circle her wrist suddenly and he moves her hand away from him, gently (as he always is with her, gentle).

“You don’t want-?” she doesn’t know what to say. Me? This? Us?

“I want everything with you, Lina,” he sighs and it’s almost painful sound. “But I cannot take an advantage of this situation. You are – we both are – worried about your future, exhausted and uncertain and I don’t want our first time to happen under such circumstances. You deserve much better.”

There is a part of her that wants to cry again. Sob again and punch someone, because of course he is right.

(It is every single part of her, actually. Every single part wants to cry and sob and punch)

He is right, as he always is. He knows what she needs even when she doesn't know it herself – he always had known. Five years apart did nothing to change that.

Lina traces the lines of Tatum naked torso with her eyes and perhaps it should scare her how familiar it feels. She knows his body, every (almost every. Almost, she reminds herself) scar and every freckle, his flexed muscles and long fingers, she knows his body, even though she grew up getting to know a body of a boy and now her fingers are caressing a body of a man.

She hates how vulnerable she feels and how much she wants to share everything with him. But that's now what she has taught herself, no.

And so, despite the disgusting feeling of tension in her throat, she smirks and asks: "Why do you care about the first time so much?"

Tatum chuckles and makes a show of rolling his eyes (not leaving his position above her, not even now), biting his lower lip deep in his thoughts.

When he looks down at her again, however, his gaze is tender, too tender and intense and Lina has to avert her eyes because surely he can see into her, he can see all that she has done, all that she has caused while he was gone, not there to save her, to take care of her.

"It's not the first time I care about," he speaks softly and any hints of amusement are gone. "It's the first time with you."                                                                    

She almost asks him about his first time – she knows it must have happened after he left. There is the part that is Tatum’s childhood best friend and is simply curious. They shared everything with each other – first crush and first kiss and first platonic love, she knew his and he knew hers. Of course she is curious about his first sex or how many firsts there were, how many people that got to know him in the way she has never gotten.

There is another part of her, a bigger one, she realizes with dread, that hopes he would tell her that he has lost count, that his five years in army were filled with infinite excesses and that he would rather not talk about it – maybe then her deeds would be justified.

She cannot ask him because it’s Tatum and he would ask back.

What would she tell him?

She laughs to herself, a sardonic sound lacking any hint of joy it is supposed to carry.

I have no idea. I am not sure about the first nor about the last time. I cannot count them, I will never be able to count them because I do not remember.

I do not remember.

“Lina,” he whispers, still hovering above her. “Don’t do that. Stay here with me.”

“I-“ she opens her mouth – for what, she doesn’t know. To explain or to apologize?

“We do not have to talk, mahal. We can just lay next to each other until the morning comes, alright?”

Tatum lays down next to her and wraps his arms around her without further questions and as she puts her head on his chest and listens to the steady beat of his heart, she feels calm for the first time in weeks.

“Alright,” she whispers back.

They lay next to each other through the night, listening to each other’s hearts and breathing and Lina thinks that even though they don’t talk, there are novels of conversations exchanged between them that night, written in the softest of sounds they make.

  *** *** ***

Ever since finding out that Tatum is Filipino, I felt this desire in my heart to throw some (nick)names for Lina in his native language here and for him to use them. I can’t see him calling her darling on daily basis, but I can see him muttering it in the language he grew up with when the moment asks for it

galyetas = cookie, biscuit (Tatum’s nickname for Lina since forever)

mahal = darling, sweetheart

 I am not exactly happy with how the ending turned out but it’s not going to get better so you have to suffer through it with me

Thank you for reading!

#foreign affairs #tatum x mc #tatum mendoza #tatum x lina #play choices

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eleven: Water Under the Bridge (Finale)

a/n: welcome back my loves <3 It’s so weird to think that this is the final chapter of YBMH and I’m definitely having a lot of feelings about it (denial, mostly). I want to say a huge thank you from the very bottom of my heart for sticking with this story and these characters that I love so much. I’ve had the most fun over the past few months talking to some of you and hearing your thoughts; I cherish it more than you’ll ever know. With all of that said, I’m going to miss this era so so much but I would still love to hear from you lovelies, so please feel free to drop by my inbox and let me know what you thought of this series!! Feedback, criticism, all of it is welcome :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, angst

Word Count: 6.7k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten

January, 2018

A strand of hair tickles Harry’s nose and his eyes flutter open. The faint sound of car horns and traffic outside reminds him of his location when his memory fails. He gently slips out of the bed and tiptoes over to the window, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly next to him. A thick layer of snow blankets every building and surface in New York City as far as the eye can see, and the grey sky above signals another storm on its way. 

I’m going to die of hypothermia, Alani shivers, nursing her steaming cup of tea as she walks away from the office window and takes a seat behind her desk. Even after living in the city for a year, she still hadn’t adjusted to the cold weather and feared that she never would. Her boyfriend had joked on numerous occasions that you can take the girl out of the island, but you can’t take the island out of the girl. 

“Vanessa’s on line three,” her assistant calls from the doorway. 

“Thanks,” Alani nods before bringing the phone to her ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was brilliant,” the editor admits. “Insightful, witty. I think they’ll love it,”

Alani smiles and spins in her seat to face the window again. “St. James has been on my ass about this piece for weeks. I hope it’ll shut him up,”

“It will, trust me. Hey, I gotta go, but I sent the revision notes and we can discuss more later,”

“Great, thank you so much. See you at dinner,”

“Ta-ta.”

Alani reaches for a pen and scribbles a reminder onto a pink post-it note nearby. 

Bloody five-star hotel, you’d think they could afford decent pens.  Harry grumbles to himself, shaking the ballpoint to no avail. 

“Where are you going?”

Harry freezes in his tracks and turns to the brunette stretching out her tired limbs. He has to clear his throat to keep from saying the wrong name. 

“Just a quick walk,” he explains with a tight lipped smile. “Go back to bed.” 

She flashes a wide grin and snuggles back into the covers, but he secretly hopes that she’s gone by the time he returns. 

The snow crunches under Harry’s feet and he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He had never been very fond of the cold, but he did have to admit that Central Park looked unbelievably beautiful in the winter. His phone buzzes inside his pocket and he digs it out to read the message. 

Mitch: Me and Sarah are going to Bisous in ten. Meet us?

Harry: See you there. 

********

“French is such a pretentious language,” Maleah scoffs, taking a bite of her pastry. “But I’ll be damned if I have to give up my chocolate croissants,”

Alani chuckles lightly and traces the restaurant’s logo of a red kiss printed on her napkin. Going to Bisous at least once a day had become a tradition during her best friend’s visits. 

“I’ll have to smuggle a real one back for you and then you can tell me if this one’s the real deal,”

“When are you going, again?”

“Next month,”  

Maleah wiggles her brows. “Oooh, Valentine’s Day? Are you taking Mason with you?”

“No,” Alani says casually. “It’s for work,”

“Well, who says you can’t mix business and pleasure?”

“Literally everyone.”

“Okay,” Maleah sighs, patting her full stomach. “Let’s go now before I get sleepy.”

The two friends make their way out of the busy restaurant and Alani’s shoulder brushes someone next to her. 

“Sorry.” she apologizes, making brief eye contact with the other person before doing a double take. 

Mitch purses his lips and turns his head back to the other girl at his arm while Maleah drags Alani out the door. 

********

“I mean, what the hell was that? I could barely keep my drum kit together,” Sarah laughs gently, sipping her coffee. 

“Cause of death: rocking too fucking hard,” Mitch shrugs. “There are worse ways to die,”

Harry stirs his black coffee with a spoon and watches the mini whirlpool grow. “Rob said you could feel it in the balcony, too,”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Mitch pokes. “Mr. defective lungs,”

“Heyyy, I can’t help the asthma thing, alright?”

“Well it’s the last night,” Sarah chimes in. “Are we gonna try to beat the Kiwi record and go for four times in a row?”

Harry shrugs, a soft grin on his lips. “Dunno. Maybe if it feels right,”

“I say we cut out the middleman and just bulldoze MSG ourselves. What difference does it make if the fans tear the house down or if we do?” Mitch suggests. 

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m sure Irving would love that.”

“Some food for thought.”

The trio finish their breakfasts and excitedly continue their conversations about the impending show, but the entire time, Mitch is haunted by the knowledge of Alani’s presence in the city. He debates telling Harry, but is suddenly reminded of the intense aftermath of the pair’s falling out. 

********

“Where’s Alani?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that name to me ever again.” 

Mitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

And with a simple question, anger had subsided into grief. Mitch still didn’t  know all of the details surrounding their split, but he had pieced together sufficient bits from Jeff and, in part, from the lyrics Harry penned in the following weeks. The slump had lasted through the fall and winter of that year, but as spring rolled around and the album’s release drew closer, Harry pulled himself together enough to promote and tour. It felt good to be on the road, and he found himself revitalized by the energy of those who came to support. Tour itself had been relatively intimate, as he had actively decided to play smaller venues than the sold out stadiums he was accustomed to, but the enthusiasm of the crowds hadn’t changed from his band days. As Harry occupied his attention with music, Hawaii grew smaller and smaller in the back of his mind. Eventually, it dwindled into a dull ache at the center of his chest, felt only on particularly long nights coaxed with a little bit of alcohol in his bloodstream. For now, he tried to focus on his last show at Madison Square Garden. 

********

Alani’s stomach turns. Had she really seen Mitch or had it been a remarkable doppelgänger? She hoped it was the latter, knowing that if he really was in New York City, Harry wasn’t far behind. This was by no means the first time she had been reminded of her summer love turned sour, but it stung just as much every time. The first incident was last April when she turned on the T.V. only to find Harry performing one of his new songs on Saturday Night Live. It had resulted in the loss of her favorite mug as it shattered against the hardwood floor in her apartment. Since that day, Alani had seen his face on countless billboards in Times Square and habitually asked taxi drivers to change the radio station or turn it off entirely. After a while, she had gotten better at dealing with the sinking feeling whenever he was mentioned, it was easier to detach feelings for someone who lived on a screen. Running into Mitch, however, had blasted a hole straight through the fourth wall that Alani had erected,  and she knew that there was absolutely no way she could cope with a similar encounter from Harry. 

“Oh shit,” Maleah gasps softly, looking through the windshield at the hundreds of people lined up on the pavement outside of Madison Square Garden. 

“What?” Alani asks, head still spinning. 

Her best friend immediately turns to her with a nervous smile and shrugs. “Oh it’s nothing. Hey do I have something in my teeth?”

Alani glances out the window behind Maleah and her eyes bulge. “Woah, what’s happening there?”

“Oh it’s probably, like, Lady Gaga or something. Anyways, look at this random text I got the other day.”

But it wasn’t “Lady Gaga or something.” The marquee reads “Harry Styles—SOLD OUT” in bold lettering. Alani retches into her bag. 

********

“Oh, for fucks saaake!” Harry shouts playfully, the sound of his obscenities echoing throughout the large venue. 

Mitch and Adam chuckle beside him and continue setting up their equipment while Sarah offers a comedic “badum-tss” on her drum set. 

“Okay then at that point, stage lights will come down and it’s ‘Meet Me in the Hallway’,” the technical director speaks into his earpiece.

Harry nods and watches the screen behind him roll through the animation that will play during the song. 

“Alright, then it’s—”

“Wait,” Harry interjects over the mic. “Sorry, can we run it?”

“Run ‘Meet Me’?”

“Yeah,”

Mitch tenses listening to the conversation that filters through his own inner ear piece, but he continues fiddling with the strings of his guitar.  

“Running ‘Meet Me’,” the director affirms. “Sarah, stand by.”

Harry’s eyes dart over to Mitch and he nods as a sign to begin. The guitarist clears his throat and strums the opening chords. 

Meet me in the hallway 

“M’gonna go wait in the hall…”

Meet me in the hallway 

“Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

I just left your bedroom 

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Give me some morphine 

“I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

Is there any more to do?

“Please don’t go.”

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Maleah offers. “I can catch a return flight tomorrow,”

Alani sits up in her bed and shakes her head. “No, Mi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something,”

Maleah gives her friend a tight squeeze and pulls away to read her face. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll come right back,”

“Thank you,” Alani says, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry to put a damper on your last day.”

“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about. Feel better soon, Nani.”

The door closes softly and Alani burrows deeper into the covers. She tries to bury the emotion back under a lock and key, but a gentle sob fights its way up her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she cries, but maybe it was. Just as the sun rises and sets, so had Harry entered and exited her life, and maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be. After all, Alani had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why does it still hurt? 

The snow falls gently outside of her window, but the entire scene blurs into shades of white and grey behind her tears. It had snowed just like this on the day she moved to the city. Shortly after the article about Harry had been published by a small gossip site, Alani had contacted the publishers and threatened litigation if they didn’t take it down. Unsurprisingly, they had also been contacted by Columbia Records and thus, the piece was removed that same day. Despite the quick turnaround, Rolling Stone had caught wind of the storm brewing on social media and reached out to Alani a few days later. They had been impressed that the elusive Harry Styles granted her an interview, but they didn’t push the matter much further. Instead, they had offered her one piece of her choosing to prove herself. If the reviews were favorable, she would be given a regular contributor spot, unpaid of course. They would re-evaluate at the beginning of the new quarter and negotiate from there. When January of 2017 rolled around, Alani’s writing was making surprising waves in the Rolling Stone community, so she had been hired on as a junior writer and assistant to the Editor in Chief. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a leap in the right direction. 

Despite everything that had changed in a year, a string of random letters on a building that Alani passed a million times had brought her emotions right back to the day she had tried so hard to forget. Her phone buzzes under the covers and she reaches out a hand to locate it. Her editor’s name appears and she answers it quickly. 

“Hello?”

“Darling, hello! Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Alani groans. “Vanessa I’m so sorry,”

“Is everything okay?”

Alani sits up and clears her throat. “I have food poisoning,”

“Christ, from where?”

“Bisous,”

Vanessa sighs. “Poor thing. Okay, no worries we’ll just reschedule,”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you,”

“No need to be sorry, get some rest and we’ll catch up later!”

The call ends and Alani gawks at the time. 7:30 already?  She slumps back under the covers and sifts through her social media, wincing when she sees several of her friends posting about the line outside of Madison Square Garden. No, Alani decides sternly when the sudden urge to go stirs in the pit of her stomach, absolutely no fucking way. 

********

“10 minutes!”

Harry scans the crowd from the monitor backstage. He pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb as the nerves settle in. 

“The house is packed,” Jeff comments with a hand on the singer’s shoulder. “And there’s still a crowd outside,”

“We did it?”

“You did it,”

So why does it still hurt? 

“Thanks for everything,” Harry says, bringing his manager in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jeff pats Harry on the back. “All in a day’s work for the dream team.”

Before heading out, Harry stops one of the crew members and asks if any of the guests on his list have arrived yet. Names are read off, friends from different inner circles over the years, but there’s one name in particular that isn’t called. He offers a thumbs up and a forced grin before making his way to the stage.

It always surprises the technical crew at every venue that Harry has specific lighting requests for the house. Performers had their individual preferences, this wasn’t unusual, but no one made a bigger deal about being able to see the crowd like Harry did. He enjoyed being able to see each person and connect with them, especially when performing an album that was as personal as this one. But in every sea he searched, one face was always missing. Tonight’s audience, much to his disappointment, was no different. 

The crowd cheers as “Sweet Creature” fades out and the lights on stage dim. More than half of the show has already gone by and they’ve reached the point that is always a little harder to get through. Harry takes a swig from his water bottle and clears his throat to fight the lump that forms. He breathes in deeply and “Meet Me in the Hallway” begins, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the technical aspects of his performance, it’s nearly impossible not to get dragged back into the moment when the song was written. 

“I should go back,” 

“H, I don’t know if that’s such a good—”

“I have to go back.” 

And so he had. After two hours of pacing the airport lounge, Harry had jumped into an Uber and sped back to the hotel. It had taken another agonizing twenty minutes to explain his situation to the front desk workers and retrieve his old room key, but it was no use. He was too late. The bed was still unmade, but there was no sign of Alani save for the faint scent of Baby Honey and a gold necklace tucked away between the sheets. 

The flight back to the mainland had already departed by the time Harry stumbled through the hotel lobby, and there wouldn’t be another one for three more hours. In the meantime, he decided to get some fresh air and clear his mind, hoping all the while that he would find Alani at the edge of the beach waiting to run back into his arms. She never did, and he was left with all the words he wished he had said. 

I walked the streets all day 

Running with the thieves 

‘Cause you left me in the hallway 

Just take my pain away 

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Great show,” praises Rob Sheffield, author of one of Harry’s favorite books, Love is a Mix Tape. “Drummer’s incredible,”

Sarah beams and Harry flashes her a grin. “Thanks. It’s Sarah’s band, really. I’m just the frontman,”

“Well she kicked ass. All of you did, and I can tell by the way the floor was shaking that I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

More guests filter in and congratulate Harry and the rest of the band, but while he sincerely appreciates all of the love, he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to the door every once in a while in the hope that someone else will straggle in. He slowly loses that hope when the room empties and the night drags on. 

********

This isn’t ethical, Alani chastises herself, this is wrong on every level and you’re gonna pay. She runs her fingers over the Rolling Stone press badge in her hand and stares at the marquee towering over her. What the fuck are you doing? 

“Excuse me!” Alani calls when she sees an employee slip through a side door. “Hi, I know I’m really late but I’m actually here with Rolling Stone,”

The blonde-haired woman blinks and scans over the badge with an unamused look on her face. 

“Nice try,”

“No, wait,” Alani begs. “I have to get in there, please—”

“You and every other girl within a twenty-five mile radius.”

Alani takes a deep breath and re-groups. “You don’t understand. I really need to get back there, I’m working on an important piece,”

As the struggle continues, another woman in stiletto heels exits through the side door with a clipboard in tow. 

“My name is Alani Hale, see? Please just—”

“Wait,” the woman with the clipboard intervenes. The name sounded strangely familiar, probably from the blacklist, in which case security would need to be notified. “What did you say your name was?”

Alani holds her badge out and swallows hard. “Alani Hale, junior writer for Rolling Stone.”

The woman checks through the blacklist but the name isn’t registered. She does a cursory glance over the V.I.P section and her finger lands on a note that reads “Mahealani ‘Alani’ Hale—Code Carolina: escort backstage and inform Mr. Styles immediately.”

“Follow me, please,”

Alani trails behind, doing her best to keep up with the long strides of the woman with the clipboard.

 “Marta to security, I have a Code Carolina,” she murmurs into her ear piece. “Repeat, I have a Code Carolina.”

Alani’s heart races as they zig-zag through the arena. Did Harry know that she was coming? Had Mitch told him that they saw each other at Bisous? The answer was no, Mitch hadn’t told and Harry didn’t know. He had only hoped. Unbeknownst to Alani, her name was printed on the Madison Square Garden list and on every list of every show in all the countries scheduled. Through Paris and all through Rome, Harry had looked for her face in the crowd and he dreamed that one day his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Wait here,” Marta instructs, leading Alani to a back room with mirrors, a couple of couches, and a clothing rack. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Before she can ask any questions, Marta is gone and the sound of her heels echo down the hall. Alani takes a deep breath and her lungs are immediately filled with the familiar scent of vanilla. Her eyes carefully rake over the scene and land on a familiar white shirt hanging on the rack and the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey.”

“Thief,”

“I meant to return it.”

Alani spins on her heel and Harry stands with his fists shoved deep inside the pockets of his flared pants, eyes cast down at the floor. She tugs on the sleeves of her coat and offers a shy smile. 

“It’s okay, looked better on you anyway.”

A brief silence follows and they size each other up like it’s a gunfight, each waiting to see who will draw first. His hair is longer and curlier, Alani notices, chest and shoulders broader, too. But there’s a familiarity in his creased brow and in the heart shaped curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry does his own inventory; dark, almond shaped eyes, check. Round face, cinnamon skin, check and check. Her long, wavy locks are now shoulder length, but he’d recognize the scent of Baby Honey anywhere. The two are absorbed in their own silent assessments for a moment longer, but Alani quickly gets the urge to flee after she counts too many similarities between this Harry and the one that left her with a broken heart. 

“I should go,” she croaks, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have come—”

“Why did you?” Harry asks earnestly. 

Alani tugs at a loose thread on her sleeve before crossing her arms. “Saw your name outside and got curious. For a while there, I started to think that maybe I imagined you,”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he had haunted her as much as she had plagued him. He had spent so long believing that he meant nothing to her, but nevertheless, a part of him left room for her return. 

“You did, this is a hologram projection,”

Alani smiles and her shoulders relax at his humor. It really was him. 

“Did you enjoy—”

“I didn’t see the show—” they speak at the same time, eager words overlapping. 

“Oh,” Harry laughs softly. “You didn’t miss much,”

Alani shakes her head and takes a single step forward. “No, that’s not true. I’m sure it was amazing,”

Harry offers a coy grin, the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek. One hand emerges from his pocket and his knuckle brushes against the tip of his nose. Alani catches sight of the silver rose on his finger and she still remembers how it feels under the pad of her thumb. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, pulling her from her reverie.��

“What?”

“Have dinner with me?”

Alani blinks, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh. Well I don’t know, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Never an interruption,” Harry assures her. 

She nods and he takes a step back. 

“M’gonna go change,” he explains. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“What, you don’t wear custom Marc Jacobs suits to dinner?” She teases. 

He grins, amused, and continues backing away towards the door before correcting her. “It’s Gucci.”

Alani rolls her eyes and he disappears into the hallway. 

When Harry reemerges in a beanie, puffy coat, and light wash denim jeans, he leads them through a series of tunnels and exits. 

“Where are we going?” Alani asks, bracing herself for the snow outside. 

“It’s a surprise.” he offers and she doesn’t fight him on it.

********

“We’re not eating here?” 

A soft smile falls on Harry’s lips. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her incessant questioning. 

“No,”  he replies, opening the passenger door with one hand and passing her the bag that contains their dinner. “Too crowded,”

“Oh,” 

It made sense that Harry would want to keep a low profile and avoid any possible paparazzi sightings of the two of them, but it still felt strange to worry about such things after they had lived so carefree in Hawai’i. But that was then, and this was now, things had inevitably changed. 

“D’you wanna play some music?” Harry asks, settling behind the wheel. The parallels between this moment and their first excursion together make her chest tighten. 

“How about,” Alani starts. “Your album? Since I didn’t get to hear it live,”

Harry’s breathing hitches. “Well, I dunno—”

“Please?”

He meets her pleading eyes momentarily and, against his better judgment, agrees. 

“What’s it called?” she questions. 

“It’s just my name,”

“Self-titled, very classy. I like it,”

“I thought about calling it Sign of the Times,” Harry reveals. “But it’s already been done before,”

Alani hums. “Prince,”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But then I also thought about going with ‘Pink,’ because, you know, when in doubt—”

“Go with the pink one,” they say in unison and Alani smiles softly. How had he remembered that?

“And it’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” she continues. 

Harry beams. “Exactly. But then Jeff suggested that we just go with the name. Simple, but effective,”

“Okay, so now that we’ve got the background,” Alani pokes. “And you’ve sufficiently distracted me, can I listen now?”

He swallows and checks the GPS, still twenty-five minutes to go. 

“How about we hold off,” he suggests. “Just for now so we can listen to the full thing and really soak it in?”

Alani backs off. “Alright, deal.”

She presses shuffle on the playlist of her frequently played songs for the month and immediately regrets doing so. Clearing her throat, she goes to press skip but Harry stops her. 

“S’a good one.” he says gently, so Alani lets Adele fill the awkward space. 

If you’re gonna let me down 

Let me down gently don’t pretend 

That you don’t want me 

Our love ain’t water under the bridge

********

Harry opens the passenger door and Alani steps out, her eyes squinting to make out any recognizable landmarks in their surroundings. They remain a comfortable two feet apart and make their way to the entrance of what appears to be some sort of greenhouse. Alani is filled with more confusion, but she doesn’t ask further questions until they reach the white double doors. 

“What?” Harry questions. “Never been to the New York Botanical Garden?”

Alani’s eyes widen. “The—wait, you—we’re?”

“After you,” he chuckles lightly, opening the doors. 

“Are we even allowed? I mean is it open?”

“I pulled some strings,”

She enters cautiously, immediately met with an archway of blush colored flowers and string lights that takes her breath away. A long, narrow pond in the center reflects the image back and creates a kaleidoscope of pink, green, and golden hues. 

“How did you,” Alani begins, at a complete loss for words. “Who are you?”

Harry nods in the direction of an adjacent hallway. “There’s a ballroom set up for a wedding tomorrow night, but Jim said we could crash as long as we clean up after ourselves,”

“Jim?”

“The director.”

“Of course.” 

Sure enough, round tables with cream colored tablecloth and elaborate floral centerpieces are arranged around the room. A delicate, yet undoubtedly expensive, chandelier twinkles in the center of the room and casts such a warm glow that Alani momentarily forgets about the snow outside. 

“Dig in,” Harry instructs, setting the pasta on the table in front of them. 

Alani sits and gently sheds her winter coat as he does the same. Underneath his jacket, Harry wears a yellow shirt that catches her eye with the words “treat people with kindness” printed in black lettering. She freezes when she spots a gold chain with a sun and moon pendant nestled comfortably between above the words.

“How is everyone?” Alani questions politely to shift her attention. “Mitch, Tom, Jeff,”

“They’re good, yeah,” he nods. “How’re Freddie and your family?”

“They’re fine, and he’s living his blissful little life,”

“Good for him. Miss his cuddles,”

And yours, Harry thinks, but he pulls back. Alani offers a shy laugh and thinks about the elephant in the room yet to be addressed: the break-up. It’s worth discussing, but she sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it up. 

“And how’ve you been?” Harry asks when the silence stretches out for too long. 

Alani chews and ponders the question. “Good. Been working a lot,”

“Where at?”

“Rolling Stone,”

“Really?” he beams. “That’s incredible, congratulations,”

“Thank you,” she replies graciously. 

Harry’s chin rests in his palm and he twirls a noodle around his fork. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, in the Village,”

“Wow. Greenwich Village, a real city-slicker now. Traded Stevie in for the Holland Tunnel?”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Alani’s lips at the memory of her beloved Bronco. “Sadly, yes. And you?”

“Malibu,” Harry divulges. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad. You can always cuddle up with the giant rats,” she jokes, which makes his nose scrunch.

“I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” 

“Speaking of pretend,” Alani wiggles her brows. “You were in a movie after all,” 

“I was,” 

“I didn’t watch it, sorry,” 

Harry feigns offense and Alani quickly back pedals. “I don’t like war movies!”

“And you hated my guts.” he teases, though it pains him that there might be some truth to his words. 

Alani shakes her head and fights the urge to reach across the table for his hand. “No, not really. It was kind of the opposite, actually.” 

Harry’s eye wanders to the outside of Alani’s wrist and a faint smile creeps across his face when he spots the black outline of a crescent moon. He wonders if there are any new inked designs that he isn’t aware of. Despite all the time that has elapsed, there is a familiarity in her presence that he hadn’t felt even in the comforts of his California residence. It was like kicking off your shoes in the doorway after a long trip. It was like coming home. 

They finish their meal and continue their light-hearted banter into the night. Harry tells his favorite stories from tour and Alani wishes more than anything that she could have been there. She details the events of her own busy life in New York and the highlights of working for Rolling Stone, one of which being the time that she got to meet Stevie Nicks in the flesh. 

“Did you tell her about your car?” Harry presses enthusiastically. 

“No way,” Alani chuckles, draining the last of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself in front of the Supreme,” 

“I think she would’ve found it flattering,” 

“Naming your child after someone is flattering, not a car,” 

Harry shrugs. “I think it’s cute,” 

“Yeah well,” Alani sighs. “You’re not like most people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She mulls it over, studying the familiar sea glass irises that she never thought she’d see again. What had Alani meant by that statement? Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could put it into words, nor had she meant to say them in the first place. But something about Harry always made her feel brave, like she could speak her mind uncensored and he would understand without even trying. 

“I just meant that you’re, you know,” she starts. “Not judgemental. Like, I could tell you that I think I’m part alien and you’d probably try to help me find my home planet,” 

Harry laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the table, an unspoken challenge for Alani to continue her thoughts. 

“You make people feel seen and heard,” she says finally with a wistful look in her eye. “I mean, why do you think all those people lined up to see you tonight?” 

The last part of her statement is a deflection from what she really wants to say, which is that Harry makes her feel seen and heard. Despite all the time and space between them, it was still true and it terrified her. There was only so much bravery that Harry’s presence could evoke. The mood shifts suddenly when Alani’s phone buzzes and the name “Mason” with a pink heart emoji lights up the screen next to her glass of water. Harry hadn’t meant to look and he deeply regrets that he did. 

“You have a boyfriend,” he comments dejectedly, and though he hadn’t meant it to be accusatory, all words carry the sting of judgment when falling on guilty ears. 

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve stayed celibate this entire time,” Alani bites back. 

Harry’s brow furrows. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she apologizes, standing with her coat. 

“Wait,” he jumps up. “What just happened?”

“I have to go—”

“Just stop for a minute, please,”

Alani stops in her tracks and turns back to face Harry slowly. His jaw is tight and the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than she remembers. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins carefully. “Thank you for tonight, but I really shouldn’t be here—”

Harry’s eyes clamp shut and he runs a frustrated hand through his messy curls.  

“Can you stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by leaving and just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Alani pushes back. “‘I’m sorry that I saw your name in flashing lights and I got caught trying to spy on you’?”

“Alani—”

“‘I’m sorry that I tried to move on’?”

“Stop apologizing—”

“I’m sorry that I fell in love and fucked it all up because I was afraid and I’m sorry that I betrayed the one person who meant everything to me,”

Silence falls between them and the only sound is the sniffling of Alani’s nose as she tries, and fails, to hold back the emotions that pour over. 

“That’s why I went,” she continues, voice wavering. “Because I’m selfish and I couldn’t stay away. Every single day, I’m reminded of how royally I screwed everything up and it tears me apart, so I went to try to make things right and take some of that pain away. Even though I hurt you and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that,”

Harry swallows hard and his eyes sting, but Alani speaks up again before he can respond. 

“So please,” she begs. “Please, just let me finally do something right by you and let me go,”

He takes a cautious step forward and shakes his head. “I don’t want to,”

They both hold their breaths, anticipating the other person’s next draw. 

“And maybe that makes me selfish too,” Harry adds. “‘Cause I went back that day, back to the hotel,”

Alani blinks. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Because I wasn’t mad that you published the article, I was scared that it was the only reason you were with me—”

“Harry—”

“But then I realized that I didn’t care,” he laughs dryly. “Because I still loved you, and I figured that having you— having just a little bit of your heart and your attention—was worth it, even if you didn’t really love me back,”

He takes another step forward and the toes of their shoes nearly touch. “And maybe I’m being selfish now by asking you to stay, but you’re not the only one trying to get rid of the pain,”

Alani takes a shallow breath and studies the eagerness in his eyes. The sight makes her chest pound. 

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt,” she whispers. “But I meant every word I said, you were everything to me. You were the sun that my life revolved around and I was terrified of losing you because the truth is that I hate the cold, too,”

Harry gently reaches a hand up to her cheek and Alani leans into the warmth of his touch. 

“Can I show you something?”

You and your goddamn surprises. “Yes.”

He leads them down several winding hallways before flicking a light on in the gallery. Alani’s heart stops when she sees it. 

“Not quite as impressive as the real thing,” Harry offers. “But Ms. O’Keeffe did a pretty damn good job,”

An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a waterfall, their waterfall, the one that Alani had mentioned all that time ago, is displayed proudly on the wall before them. A replica had hung above the bed they shared on many nights and all at once a faint memory resurfaces. 

“Where did you say the original was?”

“New York Botanical Garden,” 

 “M’gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alani takes a step closer to the artwork and examines the details of the oil on canvas. A few steps behind, Harry is only concerned with her reaction and pays little attention to the piece of art on display. As far as he was concerned, Alani was the only one worth admiring. 

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked why you went to the falls to write?” Alani asks. 

Of course Harry had, but he remains silent to let her continue. 

“You said that you liked going there,” she adds, deliberate. “Because it made you forget about every bad thing that ever happened to you, because none of it was real in comparison to the feeling of standing in front of that waterfall,”

Harry nods gently, but he still doesn’t speak. 

“Do you know what that feeling is called?”

“No,”

“It’s called home,” Alani says softly, turning to face him. “It’s what I felt, what I feel, when I’m with you,”

His breath hitches and he stands frozen as she carefully walks toward him.

“And while we’re making wishes come true,” she smiles delicately. “I never told you what I wished for the day we saw that rainbow,”

“What did you wish for?” Harry searches. 

Alani’s eyes fall to his parted lips. “That you would kiss me.”

His mouth curls at the edges and he releases a long breath. “Think maybe I can deliver on that one, too.”

Harry leans in, ever so slightly, and Alani closes the gap. They had been standing mere inches apart, but the meeting of their lips bridges an entire chasm. Over and over again, like waves against the shore, their mouths collide desperately as they pull each other closer with no intentions of ever letting go. 

********

February 14, 2018

“Comment est le temps?” 

Alani peers up at Harry and shields her eyes from the sun behind his back. “What does that mean?”

He grins softly and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat on the balcony next to her. 

“Means ‘how’s the weather?’,” 

“Oh,” she leans over, lips puckered for a kiss. “Full of perfectly Parisian sunshine,”

“Try sayin’ that ten times fast,”

Alani swipes his pink, heart shaped sunglasses and slips them onto the bridge of her nose with a contented sigh. Ahead, the Eiffel tower stands proudly in the distance and the lenses of her glasses tint the entire scene in a picturesque rosy glow. 

“La Ville de L’amour,” she hums. “Did I say that right?”

“Oui,”

“Hey, you know what I saw on the room service menu?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Piña coladas,” Alani wiggles her brows. “Think they deliver at midnight?”

He chuckles lightly and his hand takes purchase on her knee. “They better,”

“Never had a Parisian piña colada. Sounds romantic, though.”

“Sure does, sweets.”

Alani stands and reaches for Harry’s hand. He accepts and rises to his feet, pulling her close. Below, the sounds of the city serenade them as they gently sway in the chilly breeze. When Harry feels Alani shiver, he hugs  her to his chest and rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head. She feels his steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles softly, fingertips smoothing up and down his back. 

“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day surprise number one?” he asks, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes. 

She narrows her eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls back with a mischievous smile, hands still attached to hers, and leads them back inside.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alani giggles but she doesn’t push. Instead, she happily follows him out of their room, down the hall, and into the bustling streets of Paris. 

We don’t know where we’re going 

But we know where we belong 

And oh we started 

Two hearts in one home 

It’s hard when we argue 

We’re both stubborn 

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature 

Wherever I go, you bring me home 

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road 

You bring me home

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #ybmh #so!!!! that's all folks <3

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 4

Neil x Reader

Chapter 4: Save me

(see chapter 3, 2, 1)

summary: what’s gonna happen if we lock them together for some time...?

warnings: some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+ 

author’s note: 4,8k words, just because I thought I needed to add more plot to it because you wanted 2 shorter chapters instead of a longer one. Who’s laughing now? 

Reading this may cause a slight whiplash. Sorry, not sorry. 

song for this chapter: Aimee Mann - Save me 

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

----

The Protagonist’s eyes darted at Ives. 

“And what did she say?”

“Short answer? Nunya,” Ives shrugged, closing the door behind him.

Wheeler giggled and TP looked at her in confusion.

“Long answer,” continued Ives, joining the other two by the coffee machine, “is that as long as they're doing their job, it doesn’t matter who they are fucking in their free time.”

“And are they?”

“What, fucking? I thought we’ve already--”

“No, doing their job,” TP pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I have a mission for them, but it requires locking them together for a significant amount of time.”

Wheeler took a sip from her cup. “If they don’t bond, they’ll bone, and I’d say it’s better than killing each other.”

Ives snorted, clearly amused, but TP hid his face in his palms and groaned lightly.

“Was that your plan all along?”

Wheeler gave them an innocent smile. “Wasn’t yours?” she asked, and as she caught the exchange of looks, her eyes lit up. “You’re welcome.”

-----

You found the car parked near the front door and you had to admit - that grey-ish sedan was the dullest, most ordinary vehicle you’d seen in a while. And that’s why it was perfect.

Neil tossed you the keys and proceeded to load your bags into the trunk. You went to check the GPS setting. The total route was calculated for a little over 5 hours, which gave you enough time to go over the details of the assignment at least once on the way there.

As your mission partner took the passenger seat, you handed him the tablet with all the documents loaded up and ready to go. He nodded, fortunately sparing you the small talk and unnecessary comments, and started reading through them out loud as you followed the GPS directions to your destination.

What you didn’t expect was an almost insultingly short length of reports from the previous stakeout teams, and even a slightly more detailed operation brief was not enough to keep you occupied for too long. Exhausting all the work-related topics, you tensed, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence between the two of you. Especially since you caught Neil’s stare, because if his furrowed brows could be any indication, you had a feeling he might start asking way too many questions any minute now. 

As the radio crackled again, you groaned in frustration. There were still two hours left of traveling through the middle of nowhere, and you’d appreciate any distraction that wouldn’t make you want to drive into the nearest tree. Unlike talking to your partner. 

Neil opened the glove compartment and searched through its contents. He found a thick CD case and started flipping through pages curiously. With the corner of your eye, you saw a grin lighting his face when he finally picked one. 

As you heard the familiar piano notes, your knuckles on the steering wheel turned white. Oh, fuck no.

You glared at Neil, who was gently swaying his head, eyes closed, fighting himself to keep a straight face. When the lyrics started, he pressed his palms to his chest right over his heart and looked at you as he mouthed the words.

//When I was young

I never needed anyone

And making love was just for fun

Those days are gone//

You gritted your teeth and focused back on the road, trying to keep in check the rising anger already boiling the blood in your veins, as Neil was clearly feeling the song more and more with every line.

Well, at least this time he wasn’t--...

And then just as the chorus was about to hit, Neil mimicked the opening drum sequence and spread his arms wide, singing along:

//All by myself

Don't wanna be

All by myself

Anymore//

“If you don’t change that fucking song in the next 10 seconds, be ready to walk all the way to the city--...”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he complained, the biggest smile not leaving his face even for a moment.

You smacked your tongue, finding your most casual voice, “...and I’m not gonna be bothered with pulling over.”

Neil turned down the volume so the music was barely audible, and while it was not what you’d asked him to do, he didn’t give you a chance to scold him. 

“I bet you’ve spent at least one evening listening to that song with a big box of ice cream on your lap,” he smirked, closely watching your reaction to his words.

You could feel your ears burning. Fucking hell, you really hated his guts.

“No,” you scoffed, but even you were not convinced by the sound of that. Judging by Neil’s expression, neither was he. You winced and groaned, ”...shut up!” 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” - he shrugged - “been there, done that.” 

“Of course you have,” you couldn’t help but snicker at the image planted in your head. 

The blue eyes studied you for a while longer before focusing back at the view outside the window. Meanwhile, the song ended, getting replaced by an instrumental track. You turned the volume up and for the next minute or two, you drove in silence. 

When you heard a light chuckle, you glanced at Neil again. There was something peculiar in the look on his face, a soft gaze in contrast to a knowing grin.

You sighed.

“Do I wanna know what you’re grinning about now?”

Neil raised a brow and his lips parted in an even wider smile.

“Probably not.”

You shook your head, drawing a long breath, wondering how you were going to survive the next forty-something hours together. You could just hope that being at the actual location and starting the real work was going to make it easier. 

Grounding yourself, you stared into the darkness stepping back under the car’s headlights as dusk slowly turned into night. You noticed a faint glow of city lights reflecting in the clouds over the horizon and you relaxed slowly, tuning out anything other than the road ahead. 

Just as the CD player jumped back to the first song again and you switched to a local radio station, now clear of static, you realized your companion had been unusually quiet for the last half an hour. You looked at the passenger seat only to find Neil deep in his sleep and your heart started beating a little faster. Suddenly, everything about the sight seemed endearing - the peaceful face under the ruffled blonde hair, the slightly open mouth almost hidden behind the turned-up collar of the dark navy jacket, the way he wrapped his arms around himself in a little self-hug…

Your lips curled into a fond smile and as your chest clenched painfully, you turned the radio down, wishing you could do the same thing to your feelings just as easily.

-----------

The second you pulled over in the alley at the back of the abandoned hotel, two figures emerged from the door and rushed in your direction. You recognized the fellow agents and jumped out of the car to make the exchange as smooth as possible. 

“Ten-minute window until the patrol comes back,” you said to a short brunette, taking your bags out of the trunk and passing her the car keys.

“Got it,” she nodded, handing you the room key in return. “Our report should be ready before we reach HQ, I will send it to you ASAP.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that the lack of an easy escape plan is intentional,” said Neil as he grabbed one of the bags and looked around.

“But it is,” you shrugged, walking into the building and heading to the nearest staircase. “No loose ends. You’re either good enough to make it out undiscovered and alive, or you get revealed and --...”

“...and then even having the cavalry on call is not going to make a difference, I get it,’ he sighed, matching your two-steps-at-once pace up the stairs, “Can’t say I like it, though.” 

“So let’s try not to do anything stupid so we don’t get caught, shall we?”

A corner of your lips twitched as you heard him scoff at your remark, but to your surprise, he didn’t take the bait. Huh.

When you reached the room, you turned the lock and looked around, taking mental note of the location of every piece of equipment left by the previous team - two cameras, night vision binoculars, and a parabolic microphone placed by the windows. Some parts of the blinds on the windows were broken, others were missing, but the remaining parts still provided a decent cover from the curious eyes peeking up from street level. Other than that, the room was exactly what you would expect from a stakeout location - peeled-off wallpapers of an undefined color, a small table with an electric kettle, a couple of chairs, a mini-fridge, and a mattress. 

As you went to check the last few minutes registered by the camera, Neil started unpacking the supplies. Seeing nothing interesting on the feed, you grabbed one of the water bottles he’d just put on the table and took a seat by the window, your usual first-hour-of-stakeout enthusiasm fending off the tiredness you felt after the long drive.

Neil took a laptop and sat on a chair at the other window, alternating glancing outside and typing in a message to TP with a quick update on your situation.

Your main objective was to observe the building on the other side of the street, especially one loft that was suspected to be a meeting place for one of the smuggling cells’ bosses. Snapping photos of the vehicles pulling over, of the visitors, and reporting any odd activity straight ahead. The usual. But it was past midnight already and your targets were having a pretty quiet night, apparently. 

As Neil finished filing in the paperwork, he stretched his arms and groaned.

“Tea?”

You rubbed your eyes, a sudden wave of sleepiness flooded your brain as soon as you lost focus on the mission. 

“Yes, please, there should be a box with a green one somewhere.”

“Ah, pity, I don’t know how well it’s gonna mix with the biscuits,” said Neil in a ridiculous posh accent, making you facepalm in response. 

Partially, to hide an amused smile. 

You really were that tired, huh?

“I take my tea with no sugar, no biscuits, and no snarky comments, thanks,” you huffed as your eyes followed him to the table.

“I, too, don’t like talking over a cuppa.”

“What did I just say--” you groaned, smacking your thigh in frustration.

Neil giggled and rolled his eyes, now lit by a playful twinkle. “All right, one ‘green tea no bullshit’ coming right up.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, glancing up to the ceiling as if it was supposed to help with the alarming level of annoyance in your system.

Less than two hours on-site and you already wanted to strangle him. 

Among other things.

And before you could stop your tired brain, it brought up a memory of that karaoke night. 

His hands roaming through your body. The sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor. Your frantic gasp when you felt him inside you. His firm grip on your hips. The heart racing in your chest. Your longing body pressing itself into him even further. His uneven breath on your neck. The quickening pace of his thrusts. Your eyes squeezing shut. His muffled moan when you tugged at his hair. The cold wall against your cheek. Your fingers interlocked. His arm wrapped around you tightly. The things whispered into your ear---

“Your tea.”

“Hmm?” you mumbled, blinking rapidly and focusing your gaze on a thermal cup in front of your face. “Oh, thanks.”

Neil studied your expression curiously, a sly grin hiding in the corner of his mouth.

“Pleasant daydream?”

“Maybe,” you sent him a smug smile and raised a brow.

His lips parted slightly at the implication. Drinking his tea, he schooled his features and sat back on the chair. 

You spent the next moments enjoying the hot beverages, the silence becoming more comfortable with every sip you took. But as the time went by and you ran out of tea, the peacefulness turned into boredom. 

Finally, Neil shuffled in his seat and turned your way. 

"We should play a game."

Even though it sounded tempting, you didn’t trust those roguish sparks in his eyes. 

“We already had a chance to play ‘yellow car’,” - you shrugged - “not my fault you chose a nap instead.”

His puzzled face gave you a hint he didn’t get the reference. Pity.

“I was thinking about some sort of...questions game,” he said and cleared his throat, shifting in his chair again. "To get to know each other better."

"Why?" you stared at him with your mouth open, suddenly taken aback. 

He gave you a half-smile. "Don't you think it's weird that the only thing I know about you is all the ways to turn you on and piss you off?"

"Wouldn't be so confident about that ‘all’ part…" you huffed and lost a train of thought as you spotted the familiar flare in his gaze.

"You’re sure you wanna challenge me like that right now?"

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the way his voice got lower. You gritted your teeth as your mind started racing to find a way out of the dangerous waters. 

"Aren't you a master of multitasking?" you teased, batting your eyelashes.

"And aren't you scared of having an actual conversation?" Neil narrowed his eyes and grimaced slightly. 

"Fine!” you fumed as you tossed your hands in the air in defeat. “Why don’t you get straight to the point because I have a weird feeling you have a very specific question in mind."

A silence that dropped after your words was heavy and you realized you’d made a mistake.

"Actually, I do,” he said, tilting his head and locking his gaze on you. “What's up with you and kissing?"

...shit, walked right into that one, huh? 

You pulled one leg up on the chair, glancing outside the window to avoid the blue eyes boring into you. "It's nothing."

“Didn’t look like nothing to me.”

Sighing, you rested the chin on your knee and wrapped your arms around it, as if that little bit of comfort was enough to make the conversation easier. Your ears were burning, your heart pounded heavily in the clenched chest, and it all was only adding to your frustration. Because it really was nothing. Or maybe it should have been, and that was the issue.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it--”

Your eyes darted at Neil only to meet his soft look. A shadow of concern on his face wasn’t helping, but you were grateful that he was willing to give you a way out.

Although at that moment, you felt you owed him an explanation. 

“No, it’s just that it’s a bit silly,” you said, wincing. “I’m gonna tell you, but if you laugh, I will murder you in your sleep.”

Neil smiled lightly in encouragement.

“Got it.”

So you took a deep breath and squeezed the first word past the lump in your throat.

“It’s just that kissing to me was always something… special,” you cringed, fully aware that you sounded like a flustered teenager. “Like it really meant something. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Neil’s brows knitted together.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good,” you sighed, forcing yourself to breathe again. “And some time ago, I made a mistake and opened up too soon, burning myself. Fuck, it’s pathetic, I know, I just…” you hesitated and looked away, feeling the rising panic. You were exposing yourself, again. “...maybe I’m just wired that way and we should leave it at that. And never talk about it again,” your voice was hollow, the result of your brain’s desperate attempts to keep your emotions bottled up, just to keep you safe. 

And after what felt like forever--

“Okay.”

You shot him a thankful look, too overwhelmed to say anything. 

Neil got up, moving his shoulders in small circles to get rid of the stiffness. As he walked by you on his way to the bathroom, he patted your arm lightly. Reassuringly. The tip of your nose tingled and you bit the inside of your cheek, cursing a sudden wave of softness clouding your mind.  

A few minutes passed and Neil was back. He fell on the chair heavily, slowly massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. Catching a question in your stare, he shook his head and grinned.

“What?” you asked, squinting suspiciously.

Neil chuckled, leaning back and spreading his legs. “Trying to figure you out is giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, focusing on the view outside the window. 

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things, you know.”

“So it’s all an act?”

You looked back at him, suddenly perplexed. “What is?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely in your direction and shrugged. “Or rather your usual behavior.”

You snorted. “Oh, I am a real ray of sunshine, but somehow being around you makes my inner bitch jump out,” you teased, meeting his amused gaze. A corner of your lips curled and you exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, after some time you learn life is easier that way, and at one point the line blurs,” you stopped for a second and frowned, wondering what had gotten into you tonight. “Does it make any sense to you?”

Something new tainted Neil’s features as he looked away, smiling sadly.

“You have no idea.”

Just as you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, the blue eyes darted back at you.

“I’ll take the first shift, already had my nap after all,” the little laugh escaping his mouth felt forced. “You must be exhausted. Try to get some sleep.”

Oh you were exhausted, all right. But all of the sudden it felt as if he wanted to get rid of you and you couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt by that. There was something in his presence that gave you a hint that it wasn’t the best idea to pressure him about it now, and you slumped your shoulders, nodding.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, getting up. All that held-back fatigue was going to hit you in full force any minute now, and you really wanted to be laid down by then.

A few moments in the bathroom and you were back in the room again in more comfortable clothes. You rolled out a sleeping bag on the mattress and slipped into it, covering your mouth as you let out a small yawn. 

“Wake me up if anything happens or you need me to take over, will you?”

Neil shot you a quick look from his chair. 

“Sure thing,” he gave you a weak smile. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumbled. 

You curled up and closed your eyes, hoping the heaviness you felt in your chest would be gone by the morning.

--------

It took your still half-asleep brain a moment to remember where you were and what was going on. You looked around as much as you could without moving your body to avoid revealing that you were no longer asleep. Oh right, the stakeout. 

You noticed Neil sitting on the floor by the only floor-to-ceiling window near the corner of the room, looking outside. The early morning light seeping through the blinds was reflecting in the disheveled blonde hair, a fitting addition to his overall tired appearance. It seemed like he’d spent most of the night working through whatever bothered him after your last talk, but he seemed more at peace now. You studied him in a little moment of sleep-deprived self-indulgence, musing over the dark quarter zip pullover, those absurdly long legs in khaki pants--...

Okay, enough. You sat up, rubbing your face.

“How’s the mattress?”

Hearing Neil’s raspy voice made you quite tempted to invite him over to check for himself.

“Passable,” you replied instead, stretching your arms and wriggling out of your sleeping bag. You nodded at the cameras. “Anything?” 

“Not really. One visitor, already on the list,” he said as his eyes followed you around the room.

“All right,” you sighed, flipping the switch on the kettle. “I need coffee, you want some?”

“No, thank you, but if you could pass me a bottle of water--”

You grabbed one and tossed it to him, heading to the bathroom. 

When you finally looked and felt like a decent human being again, you went back to finish making coffee. As you walked to the windows with the thermal cup in your hands, you caught Neil’s resigned stare. You sat down on the floor in front of him, leaning your shoulder against the wall. A glimpse of internal battle clouded his features and you tilted your head, waiting for him to speak up first.

“I didn’t want this,” he blurted out, and when nothing else followed the statement, you cleared your throat. 

“You have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

Neil clenched his jaw. You noticed a hint of frustration in his eyes, but then his shoulders dropped and he let out a nervous chuckle, fastening his gaze on the view outside the window.

“I wanted to do things by the book. When TP recruited me… I thought I’d be just another field agent and I was okay with that,” he sighed and grimaced. “But he insisted on fast-tracking me, even when I told him it wasn’t fair to the rest of you.” Neil shook his head slowly and a corner of his lips twitched. “He promised me one of his best agents’ help on the way though. Imagine my surprise when the agent in question kept snarling at me and shoving me around instead.” 

When Neil looked back at you, you realized the meaning behind his words and your mind went blank. You stared into the blue eyes with your mouth open, trying to process everything you’d just heard and its implications.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathed out, feeling light-headed.

“Why?”

“Nobody told you…?” you asked, but his confused expression was his only answer. And you simply couldn’t believe that he hadn’t known all this time. “I’d been working my ass off for that position,” you huffed, studying his reaction to your words closely. “And then you showed up.”

Neil’s face dropped as he finally connected all the dots. “Fuck...I had no idea, I’m sorry.” 

Seeing his sincere look, you sighed, raking fingers through your hair. Fucking hell, what a mess. The impossible mix of emotions swirled inside you and you giggled hysterically, suddenly finding the whole situation absolutely hilarious. 

“And I had no idea I was supposed to babysit you,” you said as you stretched your legs, positioning them alongside Neil’s. 

“Thought we were having a moment here,” he scoffed, smiling lightly.

You smirked and tapped his thigh with your foot.

“Think again.”

Neil tapped you back, stifling a chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Too bad you can’t do anything about that now, huh,” you teased, wiggling your brows as you nibbled at your bottom lip.

The blue eyes lit up. “Just you wait till we finish the job,” he said slowly and placed a hand on your ankle.

But before you could respond, you heard a phone alert and Neil jumped at his feet.

He read the message quickly. 

“Seems like we are about to see some action after all,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. You downed your coffee and joined Neil by the table.

“Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker… okay, now”

“Hope you two are rested,” TP’s voice filled the room. “We intercepted a phone call. Our target is expecting a delivery in the next hour or so. Significant enough that from this moment on, the mission objective changes.” You exchanged looks with Neil, knowing well what was coming next. You walked back to the windows to keep an eye on the street. “We have a chance to prevent this shipment from spreading to different sellers. I’m sending the cavalry your way. But you’ll need to assess the situation as it progresses.”

“Means we might have to engage early, got it.”

“It’s your call, Neil. And as we have enough intel now… no loose ends. Good luck.” said TP and hung up.

Neil tossed the phone on the table and dashed to the bags to prep the equipment. You noticed movement in the loft across the street and snapped a few pictures before looking back at your partner.

“Are you good to go? You haven’t slept tonight.”

He glanced at you and gave you a smug smile. 

“How nice of you to worry about me.”

You could feel the usual annoyance mixed with a new emotion, but maybe you were just glad to be back on familiar waters.

“Nah, I’m worried about the mission,” you snorted. “Especially if we may end up going in there alone.”

“I’m okay. How does it look out there?”

You looked outside again and tensed as a van appeared at the end of the street. “We’ve got company.”

Neil changed you by the window and you rushed to get ready.

-------

After clearing the back entrance, you found yourselves in the underground garage. 

Splitting up, you took down the guards one by one without raising any alarms. 

Neil checked the van and then you both made your way upstairs. You knew there were at least five more people in the loft, but you had to rely on the element of surprise because the cavalry was still on their way. 

As you got to the door, you cocked your pistol and met Neil’s determined stare. You nodded. 

Bursting through the door, your instincts kicked in, allowing you to put a bullet into two men before they had a chance to realize what was going on. In the next second all hell broke loose. You knew one thing - you somehow underestimated the numbers. And just as you thought that maybe you got lucky and got every last of them, someone grabbed you from behind and you felt something cold and sharp pressed against your neck. Fuck.

You dug your fingers into the arm wrapped around your shoulders, but a stinging pain made you stop any further attempts at breaking free. The blood pounded in your ears and everything seemed to slow down. 

You noticed Neil standing in front of you with a gun pointed right next to your head. 

He secured a grip on his pistol and the man holding you yelled something at him, but you didn’t listen, focusing completely on the blue eyes, now filled with a silent question, looking straight into yours.

You let out a shaky breath and blinked slowly. 

A gunshot echoed through the room.

The pressure on your neck lowered and you heard a thud of a body fitting the floor behind you. 

Neil lowered his gun. 

You stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

“Nice shot,” you said, composing yourself first.

He gave you a weak smile, and just as he opened his mouth to say something, your comms filled with a familiar voice.

“We’ve missed all the fun, eh?”

------

Neither of you said anything on the way back to the HQ, not counting the short answers to the questions asked by Ives, but even he gave up after a while seeing you weren’t in the mood for talking.  

You got your duffel bag out of the trunk and looked around. Neil was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the building, talking on the phone. You walked up to him slowly, waiting for him to finish the conversation.

“Do they need us to get in to file a report?” 

“No, I convinced TP to give us the rest of the day off,” he said, hiding the phone in the pocket of his jacket. “We can do that first thing tomorrow, I’m just gonna drop the equipment now.”

“Great, thanks.”

You couldn’t wait to get back to your apartment. You tossed the bag on your arm and smiled at the thought of a long hot shower and crashing in your own bed. 

There was just one thing you needed to do first.

Neil took a step towards the building and without thinking too much about it, you reached out for his hand.

“Neil…?”

He stopped and turned around, puzzled. His eyes dropped to your joined hands and slowly moved up to your face. 

You gave him a nervous smile.

“Thank you.”

His features softened and he squeezed your hand gently.

“Don’t mention it.”

And then he smirked.

...of course.

“Guess that makes us even.”

(next chapter->)

#neil tenet x reader #neil tenet #neil tenet fanfiction #tenet #robert pattinson #tenet fanfiction #the protagonist tenet #ives tenet #wheeler tenet #neil tenet imagine #neil x reader #smoke & mirrors #tags hate me

[dreamcure]

note: this has been uploaded a number of times to my accounts in the past. i am the original poster, vinny, and this is not plagiarized work.

cw: pwp (smut), semi-public, blowjob

word count: 1.8k

That was enough motivation for you to get out of bed and throw on some clothes.

You kept in mind that this was your boyfriend, and any time you were with him was a reason to look nice. Putting in the minimum effort, you pulled on some clean sweatpants and shrugged on his team jacket afterwards, as you usually do with your outfits. It was his own fault he kept forgetting to grab it from your house! He ended up just ordering another one. That meant this one was rightfully yours now.

Car headlights ran across your bedroom window when he pulled onto your street and waited on the road. You passed the empty living room, as your roommate had gone to bed a few hours ago. This granted you the perfect opportunity to go and spend some quality time with your boyfriend without bugging them. His time was so sparse nowadays, what with his pro-athlete lifestyle and your own busy schedule trying to get your life on track, you both leaped at the opportunity to be together. Even if it’s just a half hour in between practice and classes. Texts like these happened often enough for you to be prepared at any time.

He was on his phone when you approached the car. Maybe he was texting you to say he had arrived, but he put it down when you got into the passenger side, nonetheless. Ever since his parents got a new car and let him start using their old car, he’s been unstoppable. And with no one to tell him he can’t go get food on a whim, well… here you are now. “Hey hey hey,” He cooed over the music and leaned over to greet you with a kiss once you shut your door. “Nice jacket, we’re twinning now!” He exclaimed, showing you that he was wearing the team jacket that he had to order once you took his first one.

You put your seatbelt on, he turned up the music even more, put the car into drive, and stepped on it. His lead foot got you to McDonald’s faster than you expected, and it’s probably due to his hunger. At the drive-through window he knew exactly what he wanted, and he turned to you as if to ask if you wanted anything different than your usual. Leave it to him to know these things by heart - although he didn’t eat fast food too often.

The order was put through, and you both waited rather impatiently for the food to be made. It was late, the employees hadn’t much need for a lot of food on standby, but you insisted this was good because then it would be fresh! Sitting at the second window, car in park, listening to whatever song was playing through his aux, he began to play your thigh like a drum - rather horribly along to the beat of his music. His childlike nature just couldn’t be contained when he was excited to eat!

“Bokuto, baby, what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, babe, just happy to see you is all~”

The food was acquired, and instead of going anywhere else to eat it, he pulled off to the side and parked the car. It was the only car in the small lot, besides the employee cars, which were very few. The dashboard served as a buffet table, wrappers were tossed into the backseat, and the music was playing softer now that you were talking away.

You spoke about Bokuto’s plans for next week, and how it was basically booked with volleyball practice and travel, as per usual. You told him that you had classes for a couple days, and then time allotted for homework but not much else. In between the conversations, you both stuffed your face. Bokuto stole some of your fries, even if his own weren’t gone yet. In response, you drank from his milkshake, even though you had your own to sip from as well.

The food was demolished. Your boyfriend laid his seat back just a tiny bit and stretched his arm over the console just to hold onto your thigh while you nurse your drink.

“I don’t want to go home,” You said after finishing the last of your meal. It was very late now, far past the time you usually go to bed.

“We can stay out all night if that’s what you want,” he replies, not the least bit concerned that he has responsibilities in the morning.

You were just enjoying the time together so much. He picked up his phone again and began texting rapidly. Curious, you leaned your head on his shoulder to see his screen. He never has anything to hide from you, so he let you read the messages between him and his best friend Akaashi, talking about how he’s not home right now.

“What’s he up to?”

“Akaashi? Probably homework, or Netflix.”

Bokuto put his phone down once the message was sent, and rested his own head down against your’s. Easily he could smell your shampoo. It might just be his favourite scent, because it gives him such a nice feeling whenever he catches a similar scent literally anywhere. Meanwhile, you sat there with your eyes turned downward. His leg was bouncing a little, to release some of his constant energy.

Just like normal, he sat with his seat pushed all the way back from the wheel, and his legs were still bent and thighs spread while he relaxed in his seat. It was only now that you noticed he was wearing grey sweatpants, his pajamas… you could see him half exposing himself, now that you were paying attention. This is exactly what you could be doing instead of going home. The technicalities didn’t run through your mind, you were only thinking about taking this opportunity to get dicked down.

It wasn’t long before your hand was reaching over and traveling north from his knee. “Is this all right?” You asked, because consent is always the key. In physical response, he pushed his legs completely apart in the space he was given and adjusted his hips in his seat, now slouching a little bit. Though, verbally, he chuckled and said, “You know it’s always okay.”

Just like that, it was all over. You closed your hand around the mound in his sweatpants and Bokuto let out the first moan of the night. It was soft, and followed by a sharp inhale of breath when your fingers began to rub and work at it. Slowly but surely, the member under your hand was growing harder and larger. You lifted your head from his shoulder and he took the opportunity to kiss you - eager enough to lead with the tongue and quickly deepen it. His own hand traveled over to find its way and nestle in between your thighs, giving the muscle there a tender squeeze.

Wow, this was really happening. In his parents’ car. They wouldn’t know the difference since they no longer drive it, but… still. One thing led to another and soon you were pulling the waistband of his sweats down. Bokuto lifted his hips enough to let them down his legs and expose nothing beneath them. This wasn’t really his intent when he wore grey sweatpants to your little late night dinner date, but he was really liking the result he got with them. He had a rather large, wavering grin on his face because he was just so excited to see you take this much initiative in staying away from home as long as possible.

“I took a shower a couple of hours ago,” He felt the need to tell you.

It meant his dick was fresh, and perfect for blowing. You weren’t stupid, you knew exactly what he wanted without him even asking for it. And just for now, you were willing to give it to him while he wasn’t dirtied up from exercise. Getting right to it, you brushed your hair away from your face and had a quick look around. If anyone got close enough they could easily deduce what you two were doing in this car. Still, you got comfortable leaning over the center console and prepared to take him in your mouth.

To begin, you pulled back his briefs and tucked the band under his balls. Already you could tell he was near throbbing for your attention, just by the way his cock stood up once the fabric was out of the way. You couldn’t deny him of the attention either - or he might start whining. The moment your hand wrapped into a loose fist around him and your lips pressed to the very tip, he was spreading his legs further and leaning his seat back a little more.

You let your tongue slip out past your lips and give a generous swirl around the head of Bokuto’s cock that brings out a deep moan from him. You kept heavy on the tongue, sometimes resting your head on his abdomen and treating his dick like a candy and sucking the head till it turns a deep red.

Besides the music, the car was filled with the wet noises from your sucking, and Bokuto’s hot as hell moans. You soon forgot you were in a car, until your boyfriend cracked open a window at the first sight of fogging at the windows. He was always full of hot air. It was barely ten minutes of blowing, gently playing with his balls, and humming along to the songs on the radio while you did so, before Bokuto was tensing up more than usual. Obviously he was close, and you were eager to taste the ending he had in store.

The fingers in your hair clenched, tugging the strands at the roots while you bobbed your head up and down his entire length. Your lips were tightly clenched around his cock while waiting for him to release his load. Sure, you were in a parking lot of McDonald’s - more or less public - but Bokuto moaned your name when he came as if you two were home alone regardless. His hands that were lost in your hair were now forcing your head down as far as you’d let it.

When you were allowed to lift your head back up you made sure he heard you swallow the load you were given, then proceeded to lick him clean. From base to tip, you ran your tongue. It made him shiver and attempt at pushing your face away in all his post-orgasm glory. His head was tipped back and he watched out the side window of the car while catching his breath.

Naturally, he had something bright to say, “You just didn’t want to go home.”

He was right.

“Your turn, babe, c’mon now.”

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto koutarou x reader #koutarou bokuto x reader #gn!reader

[jonah-aesthetic]

That One Pt.3 I Jonah Marais

Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey

Plot: Jonah kidnaps the reader into showing her who he is. They’re something like friends as she faces the deal her dad gives her to change her career path. Ivette couldn’t be more supportive for her best friend. 

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s Note: Um this series is longer then I thought oh well I’m proud of it. I wish I put in more Jonah, but next part with hopefully have that as your relationship blossoms. Um I just realised Jonah is a pianist and not a guitarist I feel so dumb for making that mistake. Not edited.

Rating: 16+ 

One Two

---------

Days continued to past by like seasons, painfully slow. As if you were waiting for the October breeze in the middle of summer. Finals came and gone shedding you of dreading nights of studying, coffees with seven espresso shots, and long early 2000s playlists. You haven’t heard from Trey since the night of the party and you assumed weren’t going to hear from him again. 

You were still furious with Jonah, he had you in his bed and said nothing about it. He was probably use to having girls in his bed and didn’t bother making an excuse. Your heart grew fonder from him as the days went on as your brain’s resentment bloomed stronger. The great battle between the brain and the heart has begun. 

“You know you could come with us.” Ivette’s voice sliced through your thoughts. You both were curled into each other on your double bed in your one person dorm. A soft white fleece blanket cover in orange pumpkins engulfed the both of you, Bottles of pop scattered all around you as well as bags of candies and chips. The light was off as you both watch To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before for the tenth time this week. 

“To the gala?” You asked with an amused eyebrow. The gala in question was the annual auto auction for richest families in the city. This year it was a 1956 Breathtaking Chevrolet Corvette Convertible. Gorgeous metals, pristine cherry red paint, and an engine purred like nothing before. It was a car that you’d probably kill for.

“Yes, I know you hate them-” 

“I don’t hate them, I severely don’t like them. There’s a difference.”  

“There’s really not. Anyways it’d be fun if you came. You’d get to mingle with hot Richies and maybe take one home for the night.” Ivette made her voice as innocent as she could. Leaning more into your side with brown puppy dog eyes. 

“You’re going with Daniel I don’t want to crash the date and Julie thinks Jonah and I are together.” You sigh looking at your moving feet under the thin blanket. They poke out revealing your still healing wounds, starting yo close with nothing but tiny scars. Jonah was very precise with disinfecting them. Without him they would’ve been infected deeply right now. 

“Okay, it’s up to you.” Ivette didn’t push. She knew there was something going on between the two of you. Your best friend didn’t know exactly what but it was something, she didn’t tell you what to do wanting you to figure it out on your own. Sometimes you wish she’d push ans prod at you about it, but at the same time you were grateful for her. 

“I love you.” You say giving her a small smile, she returned the words and hugged you close to her. Your phone rang and buzzed on your night stand cutting the moment you were sharing with your best friend. You felt Ivette move as she reached for it,  confusion etch into her dark brows. “Who is it?” you ask.

“Its..It’s your dad.” You sat up at the information, shock running in your veins. “What.” You asked dubious, you grasp the phone into your hands not believing what she had said. Your dad’s name glowed at the top on the screen with the a blank picture. He didn’t deserve one. You glanced at Ivette, she shared the same expression you did. Then you answered it.

“Y/n How has the semester been going?” His voice was almost robotic. Of course the only thing he cared about was the family legacy that you didn’t want.

“Why are you calling me?” You ask coldly remembering  the last time you interacted with him. In your room throwing everyone of your paintings is a box telling you that this wasn’t a career path he wanted you on. He never saw the hours you spend on them, never cared to actually look at what you brought to live. 

He found a premed program and you were going to attend weather you wanted to or not. Of course he told you he didn’t want to see your life fade out and he was doing this because he cared about you. Your dad continued to put your life’s work into the attic with no further discussion. At that point you were mentally drain and didn’t fight him on it. 

“Look I know I haven’t been fair to you. I just..I didn’t want to see you sit there and do nothing with your life. I thought painting was a hobby not a passion, but I went up into the attic recently and saw them tucked into the corner. I was amazed at what you created with a brush and a little colour.” His voice had more expression in it. 

“What are you getting at? I was busy,” You say glance at Ivette sitting against the head bored observation written in her eyes. Chewing at her raw finger tips. 

“If you can sell one of your painting for two grand you can drop out. And I’ll put you through art school.” He sighed like he was already regretting his discussion. 

“Are you serious?” You asked not being about to control your excitement. He was giving you a chance even if it was just a sliver it was something. 

“Yes you’re miserable I know this because you haven’t said anything me for two years.” regret dripping in his voice.

“Two grand for one painting?” You asked as if you didn’t hear him word for word.

“Yes those are my conditions, don’t make me regret it.” The line goes dead and you stare at the wall flabbergasted still processing the information.    

-----------

I pressed his body against the wall with the all the strength I had. He could over power me with any wrong move I chose to make. The silver tip of my dagger tug into his throat, olive skin sizzled under the touch of it making the Alpha seethe at the pain you were inflicting on him. 

Do you think you can over power me little Omega the humour in his question was like venom

Where is Kaden I growled at him, the anger and fear raiding off me. 

I killed him, I couldn't have my precious mate fall in love with a pathetic human 

Without thinking you ran the dagger across his throat, the skin parting and burning at the touch of it. Red blood erupted from the cut, flowing down the blade and my hands. Shock was written in his eyes and a whimper left his lips. 

I loved you he accused as his blood choked out of his mouth and bubbled at the fresh cut on his throat. I never loved you it was a lie to get him back. I seethed at him, 

Ungrateful I gave you this kingdom. I ga-  the dagger found the way into his heart cutting off his wretched words. Warm blood splattered across my face and it felt like sweet sweet revenge upon him. I plunged the dagger deeper into his chest, feeling the way it pierced through his heart. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, body falling limp to the ground your grasp on him faltering. 

I felt the second he died, the breaking of the matting bond and the power of the alpha swarm into my body. Redemption w-his green eyes stalked onto me-wait that didn't happen!

The Presence of Him tore you from the beautiful universe of werewolves. Ink appeared on the pages of the book between your fingers again. Jonah leaned against a book shelve half covered by your book. You narrowed your eyes and glared at him. Sighing heavily you reluctantly put your book down, you were at a good part and wasn't exactly happy to be interrupted. 

“What do you want? I’m currently busy.” You Grumble at him from a bay window inside the library. The sky was reaching a midnight blue as the stars gleamed and sparkled. Lights inside didn’t shine as bright as the ones at Chocolate Shop, those ones were luminescent. Threading through Jonah’s curls and making them gorgeously lighter. His eyes were a bright green that seems to call your name-stop!

“Sorry to interrupt, must of been a good part from the expression you were making.” He says leaning against a book shelf watching you from your little nook. The leather jacket he wore circled his lean biceps flawlessly, He wore all black. His bruises before had faded and healed clean as the grey lion pendant dangled at his chest. 

“You did. But now that you’re hear might as well get on with it.” You say now wondering what expression you were making awhile reading. 

“Ivette didn’t tell you? Her phone must be dead.” Confusion was displayed on his sharp features. At the small mention of Ivette being in trouble you scrambled for your phone. Mind scattering on what could of possible happened to her when Daniel was on watch. Heart picking up speed as you found that the useless device in your hands was dead. 

“What happened to her?” You ask abruptly, getting to your feet and forgetting about your book. “Calm down, she’s fine. No limbs missing and all her blood is in tact.” Jonah says easing your raging mind. “Ivette’s tire pressure was too high, she ran over a massive rock and it exploded.” 

“Well what are you waiting for lets go.” You insist walking past him urgent to see if Ivette was truly okay. Sure Jonah said she was but you had to see for yourself. “Your book.” Jonah called over his shoulder, still in the same position watching you amazed. “Right my book.” You mumble to yourself as you go back and retrieved it on the velvet cushion. 

Jonah’s Jeep had the harsh contrast of Ivette’s Range, while hers smelled of cherries and light vanilla Jonah’s had smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. The heavy aroma of a male was evident in the seat of the passenger seat. Radio hummed like that night of the party, Jonah’s fingers drummed to the beat. His rings clanking against the steering wheel and you wondered what they’s feel like dancing on your soft skin. What would his warm fingers feel like gripping your chin while he made you look into his green eyes. Stop. 

“What street was it on?” You asked still looking outside the passenger window. Head resting in your palm watching the trees pass on the highway. You wondered what happened to Ivette’s heels, because they weren’t sitting on the floor of Jonah’s vehicle anymore.

“I lied.” Jonah says coolly, your head snaps to him. “What do you mean you lied?” Your voice furious. “Ivette is at the fraternity watching Frozen 2 with Daniel and Zach.” His voice nonchalant as he kept his eyes on the road. 

“Stop this car Jonah or I swear I’ll jump out.” You threatened, your hand on the door knob. “You’re not go-” You unbuckle your seat belt, pulling the door open. The interior light beams on. His face falls watching you scoot closer to the door. The adrenaline from the rage you held for him blocked all rationality. The pavement races past the tire as the wind kissing your legs and cheeks, whipping through your hair with a wicked breeze . 

The Jeep swerves as he grabs your wrist yanking you back in the car.  The vehicle behind him honks as he swerves the Jeep again to reach across from you and slam the door shut. The silent anger on his stone cold face deflates yours. you finally got under his skin. You smile to yourself as you look out the window again. 

“Why would you think of doing something like that?” The roar of his voice made you flinch. You didn’t dare look at him knowing he was burning holes into the fabric of your shirt. That angry passion for your well being was attractive to say the least. 

“Honestly Jonah why do you care all of a sudden?” Your voice flat. If you acted like you had no feelings for him maybe you’d be able to trick your heart into thinking it was real. 

He said nothing as if he didn’t have an answer. But he had multiple and had no idea which one to pick. He didn’t and let the silence fill in. He glanced at you every ten minutes that passed, you could tell by the way the leather groaned at his movement. He drove forty-five minutes out of town just to show you the view of it on a massive cliff. 

He yanked the steering wheel all the way to the left taking a sharp left. With fast hands he spun it all the right and reversed to the edge of the cliff. You watched him with observant eyes as Jonah popped the trunk, unbuckling himself as he got out of the Jeep. Not saying a word to you as he crawled into the back. 

Why did he bring you here? why had he reacted the way he did when you were trying to hop out of the moving Jeep? Although you had to admit that it was a tad bit too much, even for Ivette. There wasn’t a clear answer for him. 

The open of the passenger door had you jumping out of your skin. Heart skipping a beat, confused you didn’t sense his presence reach you. Looking up at him with doe eyes, his complex soft in the moonlight. Not an ounce of anger in sight. 

“Come,” his voice gentle offering his right hand to you. The softness of him reminded you of how he took care of you that night at the ice cream shop. Cleaning your wounds and feeding you ice cream. Maybe that’s why your chose to place your hand in his. Warmth crawled up your forearm and stopped at your shoulder blade. His hand fit in yours like a puzzle piece like it was meant to be there. 

Silently Jonah guided you to the back of the Jeep, keeping you close to his body as he parked fairly close to the edge. You leaned into him closer once your foot kissed the edge and dirt flung off the cliff. Breath catching in your throat as your heart dropped in your stomach. “I got you.” Jonah whispered pulling you closer into his side. You looked up at him, all you saw was his jawline but you were beyond grateful he didn’t feed you to the cliff. 

Your fingers ached to gasp the back of his neck and pull him to your lips. He was making it harder each day to resist the urge of him. Warm hands wrapping on your hips had you gasping, digging into the fabric of your shirt he lifted you onto the back of his Jeep. Blankets coated the hard plastic floor of the Jeep making it more comfortable. 

The view of your city in the dead of night was breathtaking. Street light, traffic light and store light illuminated it. Like is had been the only star left in the sky. “Gorgeous isn’t it?” Jonah’s breath hits your neck and you now realised how close he was sitting next to you.

“What am I doing here, Jonah.” 

You turn your head to him, noses almost grazing each other. You’re meet with his eyes and a small sigh leaves your lips. The green was the exact colour of an oak tree leaf, small flecks of brown floated into his flawless swirls of green. You could spot each individual stand of his curls upon his forehead. Light stubble mingled onto his jawline reaching his cheeks vaguely. There was a faint scab on his eye from a previous wound you wouldn’t of spotted out if you weren’t  so close to him. 

Fuck. 

“I wanted to show you view of the city, stunning from the outside at a certain time. But if you reach inside you can spot all the flaws it has to offer and yet you’re still in love with it.” Jonah swallows harshly and you could see how his Adam’s apple bob. You finally pull your gaze away from him hearing your heart pound in your ears. 

“It’s the point of view you look at it. You could despise it from the pollution it causes and end up leaving. Or you could love it know it’s flaws and help take care of it.”  You spot Chocolate Shop close enough to see the glowing brown letters. 

“You only see the outskirts of me, I’m here to show you the inner point of view of thee Jonah Marais.” You turn to him again and raised your eyebrows at him amused.

“and who is Thee Jonah Marais.” You mocked him playfully. 

“I’m serious. Let me show you and you’ll find out along the way.” He shrugs his shoulders as in question towards you. 

You’re quiet looking at him searching for anything. Not green eyes looked to the side and there was no biting of the lip. Zero fidgeting and zero wavered octave in his voice. He wasn’t playing around like you thought he was.  If he was willingly to reach out, trick you, and make the effort to tell you then you’d let him with no resistance.

“Who is Jonah Marais?” You asked, 

He tells you the entire story of his life, every year of his life he could remember. How he was just a kid in his room going live on Younow to finding his the guys and starting a band with them. How it was a rocky begging with barely any gigs to being booked every weekend for six weeks at a time.To adopting Sawyer and moving out for college. Jonah held this rock star persona about him scared to let people in. You were so wrong about him and you felt like shit for it, maybe he’d forgive you for it. 

Now You were curled up into the corner of Jonah’s Jeep covered in blankets. The cold breeze of the night air getting to you. He strummed his acoustic guitar that he seemed to always have tucked into the back seat. Fingers changing against the strings making a beautiful melody. He sat at the edge of the Jeep letting his legs dangle off, his back to you as he hummed. 

I can’t even hide it 

I haven’t stop thinking about your lips

mm, your lips, yeah I losing my mind

It’s been too long, I’m missing your kiss

yeah, your kiss

Jonah’s voice is soft as it tangles with the stings of the instrument perfectly. Almost the same octaves of an angel, gentle and flawless. No scratch that a god the sound pulled you to him which felt slightly strange to you. Your body wanted to be by his side watching his fingers pick at the strings. Instead you nuzzled into the blankets further. 

you

you’ve been there through it all

you answered all my calls

you

I can’t believe I let you go

Beautiful, you let the thoughts of him flow freely. Not scolding yourself for thinking them. It was like you were meeting him for the first time, a side of Jonah you’ve never seen before. Even his vaguely muscular back was perfect, They were most likely sculpted by god himself if Jonah wasn’t already him.

Tears and slamming doors

I’m falling, now on the floor

Begging, begging please

you don’t want me no more.

A small innocent yawn passing your lips halted Jonah’s voice and finger picking. Looking back at you with a tired glance full of worry. Looking into his green pools you yawned again like a kitten and Jonah couldn’t help but swoon. Sleep was swarming your body and Jonah could tell by the dopey smile on your face. But all you wanted was him to start playing the guitar again. 

“Don’t fall asleep again you’ll end up in my bed again.” Jonah warns, 

That makes you stare at him blankly full attention on him, “How did I wake up in your bed again? ‘Cause all I remember is the ice cream and the lights were out after that.” 

He tells you, including the part where you woke up, Coddling Sawyer’s head in your lap. Throwing an old t-shirt at you in hopes you’ll change out of your dress. Prepping the couch for a hard’s night sleep.You wanting him to stay until you fell asleep, but not wanting to sleep. 

“Oh.” You look at the blanket not wanting to look at him. “I asked you to sleep in bed with me?” You voice so much softer then before. “Yes.” was his only response. You believed him, who would he lie about something so small. You’re upset with yourself that you let your feelings take the steering wheel. 

“Look you were intoxicated and half asleep, everybody wants someone when they’re like that. Don’t beat yourself up.” Jonah says scooting a little closer, placing his guitar down, tiny reassurance that it really was okay.

“Thank you.” You glance back up at him giving Jonah a delicate smile. He returns it, “Let’s get you home, the sun is rising.” he says offering you a hand. Just past his head you spot light blues and pinks blending in with the bright yellow of the sun. You spent the entire night with Jonah and you didn't even realise, Talking with him only felt like an hour, give or take. 

“I guess it is.” You say letting your hand slip into his. You flinch at the warmth it caused to bloom in your shoulder blades, you haven’t gotten use to it. 

---------

Ivette drove you to your parents house the next weekend. You needed to pick a painting to sell or at least put it up for bidding. Your car was still in the shop. It’s been months and you’re about to give up on it. But Ivette was gladly willing to drive you said it was a quick road trip. 

The attic’s floor creaked with every step you took searching for that breathtaking painting. You would see between to floorboards into the den and began to wonder if it was safe to be up here. “What about this one?” Ivette’s optimistic voice left you perplex. Glancing up you sighed staring the painting in the eyes. 

“No body in there right mind would pay two grand of a a faceless watercolour painting of Phcahontas.” 

“I would.” Ivette shrugs before putting the canvas back into the bin that said watercolour. You shake your head and laugh playfully. “That’s because you’re my best friend Ivette.” 

“Yes, and the painting your selling I’m buying.” 

“Um. No, you’re not...Ivette I swear if you buy this canvas. I won’t speak to you for a month.” You threaten digging through the landscape acrylic paint. 

“It’s only a month.” Ivette says pulling up a cafe picture done in all pencil crayon. You and you shake your head. 

“I’m serious. I have to do this on my own.” You say honestly, flicking through watercolour ocean life. Multiple bins were full of stories you created with your hands. Divided by the media you used to make them and the surface you made them on like canvas or card-stock. 

“Fine. What happens if you sell it for lets say five-hundred-thousand?” She asks her attention mainly on picking out art piece she thinks are worth it.  

“None of my paintings are worth that, but if and that’s a big if. Pay you back for all the things you gave me.” You say still digging and now realising they were sorted into years. Damn you painted anything you could think of. 

“No you’re not!” Ivette basically yells at you and your eyes widen in shock at the random out burst. 

“Okay you fucking psycho. I would get a vehicle. A used one that would run on four wheels just fine.” You say really thinking about it, that’s what you loved about Ivette she listened to you and never judge you for anything. 

“I think that’s a perfect stat.” She purred like that was the answer she was looking for. An hour whizzes by scavenging for the most likely candidate and goofing around with Ivette. Skipping directly over painting of your family you did, surprisingly there’s a lot. Like the one with your dad painted into the king of hell, or Ivette painted as a goddess. 

“I think I found it!” Ivette shouts so loud it causes the family dog to bark. Your face is blank as you stare at the canvas hanging from her finger tips. The second painting you had painted for spirit animal week back in high school. First you painted a doe. Your art teacher said it was un-gradable by how perfectly you captured yourself in it. 

That lion dangling from your best friend’s fingers was of Jonah’s spirit animal. You had a brief thing for him back then and if anyone saw it back then they’d know exactly who it was.�� he always carried himself like the king. That school was his domain to say the least, not to mention he always wore the lion pendent around his neck. The same one he wears to this day. 

“That’s the one.” you say reluctantly. If you were going to sell an art piece for two thousand it’d be this one. You’ve spent hours on that one piece, it was your most dedicated painting as embarrassing as it was to admit. 

You took a few pictures of the painting before packing it into the trunk of Ivette’s Range. Posting it on a few website for bidding you hoped it go for the wanting price. Giving her a small nod Ivette started the hour drive back to campus with a coffee run.

------

The sun stretched through the massive window of Ivette’s gorgeous loft. Kissing the top on her glass table top. Notes and text books of your other classes spread along the glass leaving small gaps between. Nothing big was coming up but you liked refreshing your brain with the keyed information. This hack saved you from getting confused in your college courses, only god knows how perplexed in high school classes. 

Sure your dad gave you a sliver to dodge all of this but you weren’t going to relay on it. Of course you prayed to the sun and the moon that it would sell. And that’s why the painting sat in your dorm room waiting to rot. 

Taking a sip of your iced coffee you sighed in bliss, nothing like a well made coffee to chase the worry away. On the couch you could spot Ivette’s head tucked into Daniel’s shoulder. God they were so fucking cute. 

“What’s the colour scheme for the gala?” Daniel hummed into her forehead before planting a kiss there. “I was thinking somewhere between red and white?” It was a question, a chance to see what Daniel was okay with.

“I think red is amazing. Wine, ruby, burgundy, or blood?” He answered her with a question. She Beamed at it the knowledge for the colour. “Ruby.” She said before bringing her hands to jawline and pull him to her before kissing him. 

Your attention turning back on the notes in front of you. Ivette was undeniably happy with him and you wished she had the courage to stay with him this time. No matter what she says she deserves to finally be happy with him. 

“Y/n?” Your whips up and eyes connected with hers. “You should come, I know you said no already. But it’ll be fun. You’ll be my plus one since the Seavey’s are invited.” Her eyes softened and formed into her famous puppy dog eyes. Bottom lip rolling out into a pout, a pleading that worked for a good percentage of the time. 

“It’s in two days. I don’t have time to gather a worthy gown.” You resisted her charm. “I can make a quick call or two.” She practically begged you. 

Daniel glances at you with a mischievous ocean glint in his eyes. Flashes a smirk before leaning into Ivette, what was this one up to now? He’s always in the centre of Jonah’s treacherous plans. He whispers into her ear and a small wave of shock washed over her. She’s nodding before Daniel has a chance to pull away and agree to what he said to her. 

“Fine It’s up to you.” Ivette shrugs trying to brush of the fact Daniel whispered his evil plans in her ear. Which were differently about you if he had to whisper them to her. 

“Whatever you’re up to Seavey keep me out of it!” You narrow your eyes at him. Wide doe eyes Daniel begins to throw his hands up in surrender. Trying to seem innocent but failing miserably and looking suspiciously guilty. “I Wouldn’t speak of such crime.” 

He winks. 

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

You haven’t gotten wind of their devious plan for twenty-four hours,  you felt safe enough to say you were in the clear. You took a seat at your favourite coffee shop Golden Biscuit, the one Trey worked at. You asked about him and they had said he stopped working a week ago, the day of the party. which felt oddly suspicious. 

Trying to bury yourself back into the steamy werewolf romance your phone buzzed on the table top. Shaking the entirety of it yet you reluctantly reached for it. Ivette’s name flashed at the top “This better be life or death.” You mumble to yourself. 

“Where are you!?” You could hear the tears and desperation wrapping in her words. It was rare for Ivette to call you in hysterical breathes of cry. But you knew exactly what it sounded like a the first breath that left her lips. 

“Hey calm down. I’m at the coffee shop. What happened?” Your voice soft as your attention was on the situation at hand. 

“Bonnie sent me the wrong size! I need your help to fix it please!” You could hear her hiccup in her distressed striped voice. “Just take a breath, I’m assuming your in my dorm. Hold tight Ivette I’m on my way.” You soothe knowing how important these galas were to her. It was the one night a year where she could replenish her statues of a Richie and not feel guilty about it. 

“Okay, okay.” she says finally breathing through her nose. “I love you.” You say into the phone gathering your book into your bag and your coffee into your hand.”I love you too.” She replies back sounding less hysteric almost making you halt at the sudden change in her voice. You waved it off as a mind trick continuing to rushing out of Golden Biscuit and towards campus.  

Shouldering the door open you clatter to the floor of your dorm with an exaggerated oof. Chest tight and legs feeling like jelly as you pull yourself up, door wide open as your keys dangle from the knob. A few passing students pier in with wondering eyes. You huff before kicking the door shut closing it on anymore prying eyes. You’d remind yourself to fetch your keys later.

As soon as you collected your breath you saw no sign of Ivette and her hysterics. You rolled your eyes knowing she tricked your gullible little ass. Those theatre class we really paying off, Ivette really knew how to act and knew you’d come running in her signs of panic. 

A large crisp orange box sat a top your bed along side a black bag. Cautiously your hands reached for the gift bag pulling tissue paper out. Glancing inside you spot your silk green dress and Ivette’s heels. In your hand the dress condition was pristine as if it’s never been worn. Confusion your hands dart for the heels and you began to inspect them, not a single blood stain upon the velvet straps. Were these replaced?

Setting the thought aside you begin to open the box, a top white tissue paper was a clean envelope. Inside the wax seal was the Marais family crest, breaking it you fingers find a letter inside written in delicate swirling loops. 

A little birdie told me your dress size. Now forgive me for the colour there wasn’t much option in a day’s notice. Daniel and I will fetch the both of you at her house. By the way I took your green dress on a trip to the dry cleaners. 

- Jonah Marais

As soon as you think you’re in the clear it rolls into view. He didn’t give you a chance to say no, clever you didn’t think you could because the gala was tomorrow night. All Jonah brought was stress upon you and your perplexed feelings. But now you felt more friends then enemies but there was still the instinct to stay clear of him.

sighing you places the letter down and unwrap the tissue paper. A gorgeous sapphire ball gown with a sweet heart neckline sit inside. mesmerised by it’s workmanship you grasp it in your hands.  Silky texture nothing like your green dress,this was higher quality thick in fabric and softer. You wondered the price. It stayed a mystery because no tag dangled off the dress. Ivette most like told you about your fear of her expensive gift and removed it with his hands. God those hands plucking the strings of his guitar.

This wasn’t a reality it was written deep in some fantasy book you’ve read before. You were dreaming or you’re hallucinating, that’s the only explanation. It was a rare occasion you got the man and the gown, This shit was only in between the pages of fiction. 

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

Thank you so much for the people who have stuck with this series you’re god sent I swear. 

Which was your favourite part? Do you guys like the other elements of the story like the reader selling the painting and the Gala? or are you all about the romance?

Don’t be afraid to message me if anything offended you with my POC characters. This is a safe space for everyone and I want to make it right!

Taglist:  @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @someinsanefangirl​ @evans-dejong​

#🐆 #jonah aesthetic #that one #wdw #why don't we #why dont we #daniel seavey #corbyn besson #zach herron #jack avery #jonah marais #Jonah marais imagine #Jonah marais imagines #Jonah marais fic #wdw imagines #wdw imagine #wdw fic #why don’t we imagines #why don’t we imagine #why don’t we fic #Jonah x reader #wdw x reader #why don’t we x reader

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Cumberland County Civic Centre in Portland ME, USA - November 11, 1977

Not only this was the only concert where Sleeping On The Sidewalk was played (although we still have no idea if it was sung by Brian or Freddie) but something else happened as an eyewitness says: "It was the very first time Freddie had the crowd singing to Love Of My Life. I KNOW the crowd I was in that night were singing it at he top of our lungs and I DO remember Freddie looking at us in amazement that we knew all the words and were VERY loud about it."

(x)

Queen have revamped their show quite a bit for this tour promoting their new album, News Of The World. This is the first tour for which they don't bring a support act - their show is longer, running at roughly two hours a night. Visually, they now have a scaled down version of the Earls Court crown as their lighting rig, which was built in Boston.

The album was a return to basics for Queen, as most of the tracks saw very few overdubs. As a result, most of the songs translated well to the stage, and very quickly. We Will Rock You, We Are The Champions, Sheer Heart Attack, Spread Your Wings, Get Down Make Love, and My Melancholy Blues are all heard on this tour, and are most likely performed for the first time tonight. I'm In Love With My Car and Love Of My Life from A Night At The Opera are also heard live for the first time at this show. Roger sings the former as he did on the album.

In a radio interview earlier in the year, he had this to say about singing lead in concert from behind the drums: "In the context of Queen it's not an easy thing to do. I sing a lot from the drums, but to sing lead on stage, the vocalist should be focal point in concert. For the drummer to sing, I think the whole thing loses a lot somehow." Still, they gave I'm In Love With My Car a try, and it would be played nearly every night through 1981. It would never be performed completely. After the "Cars don't talk back; they're just four-wheeled friends now" line, the band would slightly extend the instrumental section of the song before coming to an abrupt end.

Sleeping On The Sidewalk, however, wouldn't fare so well. They played Brian's bluesy News Of The World number early on the tour, with Freddie on the lead vocal, but it was soon dropped after only three performances.

On this tour the show would begin with a tape of the stomp-stomp-clap of the studio version of We Will Rock You being played. A spotlight would appear on Freddie on one side of the stage where he would sing only the first verse and a chorus (with vocals from the record also being heard), after which another spotlight would be on Brian for the climatic guitar solo. They would then leave the stage amidst dry ice to perform a faster, more straight-ahead rock version of the song. This fast version of the song would prove to be a very effective concert opener, and would be played at most shows from now through the end of 1982.

Death On Two Legs has been cut down, and segues into Killer Queen as part of a much longer medley. Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy follows, as it did earlier in the year.

Get Down Make Love would always be performed with the second verse and chorus omitted. The middle section would never be performed the same way twice, featuring Brian May on the E-bow along with a harmonizer pedal, and vocal gymnastics from Freddie, creating new sounds and treading new ground every night. The Millionaire Waltz and You're My Best Friend close the medley through May of next year.

Spread Your Wings would be performed on this tour with a much more aggressive beat by Roger (in double time) during the improv at the end of the song, like the BBC version recorded on October 28. This song, along with It's Late, would rotate in the setlist in autumn 1977, but they would be heard every night in 1978 and in much of 1979.

Love Of My Life would be performed very differently on stage than on the record, with Brian on guitar instead of Freddie on piano, performed a key and a half lower. Over the years it would develop into a number where audiences of all sizes would sing along, as heard on the various live albums and videos. Although few US audiences sang along with the song, a fan who attended this show fondly recalls Freddie's surprise when some audience members were singing along (thanks to Cameron Myers for confirming). By 1979, singalongs and vocal duels between Freddie and the audience became staples of Queen's live set.

Like the A Day At The Races tour, the segment of The Prophet's Song after White Man is a vocal solo by Freddie, but on this tour it leads into a guitar solo. Brian May's solo spots during this period were his most experimental, as he created many unique sounds every night. Unlike every other tour, he was tuned to drop-D (for the segment of The Prophet's Song to come), which was at least partially responsible for making room for that creativity.

On this tour Brian used his E-bow for the first segment of his solo spot. He recalled in 2004: "It was very useful for starting off my long solo at one point. I could make long Whale-like noises by gently moving the device up to a position over a low string. Along with use of the Tremolo to zoom the pitch way down, and the delays I was using at the time, it gave a lot of scope for building up weird textures. I really enjoyed it if the mood was developing well that night. Usually at some point after a couple of minutes I would lob the E-bow in Jobby's direction, and lay into the guitar with a pick instead, going into more rhythmic areas."

At the end of the opera section of Bohemian Rhapsody, Freddie now emerges from a trap door under the stage.

Tie Your Mother Down is now the final song of the set proper, where it would remain through 1982, with a few exceptions.

The punk element of the era made its way into Queen's show, via the high-energy of Sheer Heart Attack. The song's performance would evolve over time, and soon the band, particularly Freddie, would really ham it up. For now only a small portion of the song is performed, and with a giant snare fill from Roger it merges into Jailhouse Rock. Brian May recalled in 2003: "Strangely enough it was Roger who would wince when someone suggested Sheer Heart Attack as an extra encore – it was totally draining for him to keep up that pattern, especially when we got into it and it got more and more extended in our enthusiasm."

We Will Rock You would be played once again near the end of the show on this tour, but this time the band would encourage audience participation - clapping and singing along to a song that would soon become an anthem for the band and rock music as a whole. Only the first verse would be played on the News Of The World tour. The second and third verses would be added for the Jazz tour and beyond.

John Deacon has switched back to his Fender Precision bass, which he'd use through to the end of Queen's touring days.

This is the first tour where Queen are well-off enough to afford their own private plane to travel between cities.

The first photo is from Shepperton Studios in London, where they spent the last week of October rehearsing (note that Freddie is holding the News Of The World inner sleeve, as he's still in the midst of memorizing the lyrics).

Footage of the band running through Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy and The Millionaire Waltz at Shepperton was seen at the "Stormtroopers in Stilettoes" exhibition in London in 2011. The footage, along with some of the dates on the ensuing tour, was filmed by Bob Harris and his Old Grey Whistle Test crew for a documentary intended to be aired in early 1978, but it took over 30 years for any of it to be seen. Other bits of the rehearsal footage were seen in the "American Dream" documentary on the News Of The World box set released in 2017.

The second row of photos are from a 1978 German magazine. This piece in Bravo primarily focused on the Portland show, so the photos may well be from this night.

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #queen concerts

[patricksmusicblog]

PMB Favorites: My Favorite Albums of 2020

2020 was largely year of changes that brought on a heightened sense of stress and anxiety in my life (and a lot of peoples lives as well) but when I needed it music was there to provide escapism or to color the grim and uncertain mood the year tended to bring. Here are the albums that were the soundtrack to my 2020(In no particular order). I welcome all musical recommendations.

. Squarepusher- Be Up, Hello: Squarepusher returned early in 2020 with a hard-hitting drum and bass album, filled with bright textures and poly-rhythms. The albums both exhilarating and intense listen at times. Love “Speedcrank” and “Voltrack”

Oneohtrix Point Never- Magic Oneohtrix Point Never: Released in the 4th quarter of the year Oneohtrix Point Never came through with an album strongly inspired by his love of radio growing up Magic 106.7 to be specific. The result is an album of diverse styles of pop, rock, hip-hop etc blended into the plunder-phonics that Oneohtrix fans have come to know, great project.

Lady Gaga- Chromatica: Chromatica is Lady Gaga's triumphant return to dance-pop after getting personal with Joanne (2016) and doing the Star is Born soundtrack. Chromatica, like Gaga's early work, is packed with hits and catchy tunes, i.e., the Ariana Grande assisted "Rain on Me" and "Stupid love," a great pop album and one of my favorite albums from Lady Gaga thus far. 

TOPS-I Feel Alive: Tops are a band that has been progressing with each release. This album is a beautiful mix of indie-pop/dream pop that features the summery title track and the brisk synth-driven "Colder and Closer." It is one of the better indie-pop releases this year. 

Dream Wife-So When You Gonna...”:  Dream Wife typically has a high octane and raucous sound. So When You Gonna... calms things down a bit. They go more in-depth on this project with songs about keeping sexual agency, not seeking validation from others, and staying true to yourself. It has nearly the energy of their previous self titled LP but with lyrical depth.

Hinds-The Prettiest Curse: Hinds have gotten better with every album. The Prettiest Curse is their best thus far. The Prettiest Curse finds them expanding their sound with more lavish production and some synth-pop in there to go along with their garage rock sound. A few Great tracks on here but "Good Bad Times" and "Take Me Back" are amongst my favorites. 

Nas- King’s Disease: Nas's Kings Disease maybe the best Nas release since at least Untitled and probably since the early 00s. A lot of that has to do with producer Hit-Boy who provided Nas the canvas to create a wise and timely album. "Ultra Black," "Til the War is Won" with Lil Durk, and "10 Points" are amongst my favorites on the album. 

Westside Gunn- Pray for Paris: Griselda Records was dominant in 2020. Westside Gunn is a big part of that in that he released two great albums this year. The first of which was the menacing but luxurious Pray for Paris. The beats are hard and classy, and Westside's rhymes are both street and opulent/artful. "$500 Ounces", "Shawn vs. Flair," "George Bando," and "327″ are essential. 

Westside- Gunn- Who Made The Sunshine: The second great album by Westside was Who Made The Sunshine. This album is a darker ominous project that sounds like quintessential Griselda. Built for grey skies and dark times, it was great on overcast days late this year. "The Butcher and the Blade," "98 Sabers and "All Praises" are my favorites on this one.

Conway The Machine- From a King to a God:  Conway The Machine's From a King to a God may be the best album from the camp this year. It's an album that spans both street tales, introspection, and some social commentary. It's also found Conway getting as personal as he's gotten any album thus far. The album features high-level production from Hit-Boy, Daringer, DJ Premier, etc. "Spurs 3″, "Dough & Damani", are my favorites here.

Benny The Butcher-Burden of Proof: Rounding out the Griselda releases to make my 2020 favorites is Benny The Butcher's Burden of Proof. Burden of Proof is handled 100% by Hit-Boy, who gives Benny's hard-nosed rhymes a bit of pristine sheen without taking anything away from Benny's style. There's no real reaching here, and it ends up being an album that shows Benny can be versatile. "One Way Flight," "Timeless," "War Paint," and "Legend" rank amongst my favorites on the album.

Freddie Gibbs- Alfredo:  Been following Freddie Gibbs since Pinata with Madlib in 2014, and it seems as though he hasn't missed since. I loved his 2019 project Bandanna, and Alfredo is another excellent project. Alchemist handles the production here and does a great job providing a backdrop for Freddie's fluid and vivid rhymes. There's the measured reminiscing of "Babies & Fools," the soaring "1985″, the shadowy menace of "God is Perfect," essential hip-hop listens for 2020. 

Royce Da 5′9-Allegory: Royce Da 5′9 follows up his excellent Book of Ryan (not to mention PRhyme with DJ Premier) with Allegory. While his last album was decidedly a personal effort, this one finds him using his lyrical gymnastics on being the best and spitting knowledge on what's going on in rap and in general. "I Play Forever," "Tricked," "Overcomer" are the favorites here. 

Princess Nokia- Everything is Beautiful: Everything is Beautiful is in my opinion, the better of two albums; Princess Nokia released in the early part of 2020, an album that finds Princess Nokia reflecting on what made her coming up in her childhood. Elastic flows and charisma with eclectic production from the likes of Adam Pallin and Tony Seltzer. Favorite cuts on this are "Green Eggs and Ham," "Wash and Sets," and "The Conclusion."

Logic-No Pressure:  Logic came full circle on this album from 2014 Under Pressure to his current and (for now) final release No Pressure. No Pressure may be his best album. It's consistent all the way through, it wears its influences on its sleeve than previous albums, and it's not a knee-jerk reaction album done based on what people want from him, and it's not corny. It feels closest to pure Logic that sounds like he's just spitting about where he's at in life(dadbod) and finding peace within himself. I love this LP. 

Jeezy- Recession 2: Jeezy's one of those rappers that is just solid, you know what to expect, thunderous beats, hood motivation music. Even still, Jeezy's music continues to mature as he does, touching on the ills of the ghetto, police brutality, and putting your monetary priorities in the right place. "Modern Day," "Back," "Almighty Black Dollar" are amongst my favorites here. 

Roc Marciano- Mt. Marci:  Roc Marciano's Mt. Marci is a darkly beautiful album. The album features collages of different soundscapes that are generally classy and ominous. Of course, Roc's stoic monotone flow continuously reeling off-kilter references and punchlines is the album's centerpiece. Roc's flow is just cold-blooded. "Covid Cough," "Downtown 81″, "Wheat 40s", and "Butterfly Effect" are among the livest tracks on this album, in my opinion. 

Run The Jewels-RTJ4: Killer Mike and EL-P kill it every time they drop, and RTJ4 is no different. It's another album of high octane/great beats from EL-P and essential bars from Killer Mike and EL-P. As you'd expect, RTJ speaks to lots of issues going on today while at the same time going crazy to one-up each other bar for bar. "Ooh La La," "Out of Sight," "Never Look Back," and "Pulling the Pin" are the highlights of the project to my ears. 

Megan Thee Stallion-Good News: Megan Thee Stallion has been dope since Tina Snow.  Whether it's Fever or Suga, you can expect both skill and top-notch charisma and confidence from Meg’. If you've heard those projects, you know you can expect to hear Meg taking explicit agency of her sexuality, partying, rappin' her ass off, and generally commanding these tracks. There's also the drama with Tory Lanez, but the album, fortunately, isn't weighed down with ways about that. Favorites on this album include "Shots Fired," "Savage(Remix), "Movie," "Girls In The Hood."

21 Savage & Metro Boomin- Savage Mode II: 21 Savage and Metro Boomin's original Savage Mode was bleak and brooding enough to launch 21 Savage careers, and this one is similarly cold-hearted. Still, there are more varied styles of savagery here, whether we're talking the 80′s inspired "Steppin' On Niggas” or the more pop-orientated "Mr. Right Now" or the inspirational/introspective "Said N Done."

#My Favorite Albums of 2020 #20 Albums #Music Blogs #Music Favorites #Lady Gaga #griselda #21 savage #TOPS #dream wife #Hinds #Jeezy #megan thee stallion #roc marciano #Freddie gibbs #RTJ #princess nokia #Square pusher #oneohtrix point never

[serzhantkris]

Rebel Yell- 4

Summary: Let’s get something straight: he does not love you. He knows that for sure, because he doesn’t want to scream at you and he doesn’t want to get married, and that’s the only things he knows for sure about people who are in love. And he was doomed to kiss with his fists and scream and be angry and blame everyone but himself for the rest of his life. So, no. Billy did not love you. Billy Hargrove x Hopper!Reader

Word Count: ~1900

Masterlist

The sun was setting behind the trailer when the purr of the Camaro echoed through the surrounding trees. The screen door rattles in the frame as it slams behind you. Smoke pours from the muffler and the driver’s side window, both swirling into the dying daylight. Your boots scuff in the dirt as you walk to the car, watching Billy as he flicks his cigarette to the ground. 

Bending down, you look in the passenger window. Billy grins at you from under his sunglasses, flashing white teeth with a pink tongue caught between them. Yanking open the door, you slide onto the leather seats. 

“Hey,” you breathe, still half-way through pulling on your jacket. Billy shifts into drive before the door even slams shut, wheels spitting dust into the air as he pulls onto the road.

“Nice skirt,” he says, eyes trailing over your form as you roll down your window. “You like scary movies?”

Your brow shoots up. “What kind? We talkin’ Halloween or Rosemary’s Baby? ‘Cause that demonic shit freaks me right the fuck out.”

Billy laughs, not hiding the amusement when his nose scrunches up and cheeks burst. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He flashes a wink at you, adjusting his grip on the wheel.

Humming under your breath, your reflection grins back at you from the side mirror. Watching the flashes of green and brown as Hawkins passes, your hands grip the window and you lean out, just enough to see the sun disappear over a hill. Turning back to Billy, the soft glow of dying light on your face, your heart jumps when you caught him looking at you. His eyes flicker over your back, down to the hem of your skirt and back up to your face.

“Hey, Billy,” you hum. “How fast does your baby go?”

Music burst from the seams of the Camaro, filling every curved inch of leather and hard plastic that lines the inside. Billy’s hands beat down on the steering wheel, his right foot heavy as he sped down the dirt roads, blowing up dust behind the Camaro as he turned corners sharply, the tires squealing. The grin plastered to his face never faltered, not even as he swiveled on a particularly hard turn.

You were still half-way out the window, holding yourself up and screaming into the wind. A whooping hollar fell out of Billy’s throat as he went up a hill, the car coming just off the road as he kept shooting forward. The laughter in your throat vanished with the whipping wind as blue and red lights spread across the field, illuminating your face as you whipped around to see the police car trailing after the Camaro.

You fell back into the seat as Billy slowed down the car, a hard expression on his face. He had turned the music down, the sound a soft murmur between you.

Shit. Billy closed his eyes, resting his head back against the headrest. Shit shit shit-

In the rear view mirror, he catches sight of the officer making his way toward the Camaro. He’s eyeing it, the way he might if the car was out on a lot with a price tag on it. He stops at the window, leaning down to look into the car. Billy’s eyes scan the lines in his face, the dark grey-streaked goatee.

“Drivin’ awful fast there, kid.”

Billy sits up a little straighter, hands clenching the steering wheel. A voice in the back of his head tells him to be pleasant, to smile and nod. Respect and responsibility.

Tentatively, you lean toward the window, smiling sheepishly. “Hi, Daddy.”

Jim’s eyes flickered from Billy’s face to yours, his face falling when he realizes it’s you sitting in the passenger’s seat. 

“Y/N,” he warns. “The hell do you think you’re doing hanging out the car window like that? You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

“I know, I’m sorry, I won’t do it anymore.”

Jim’s eyes flicker back to Billy. Billy forces a tight smile, red crawling over his face. “Who’s this?”

“This is Billy, Dad.”

“Does Billy,” Jim flashes an equally tight smile at the younger man, “have a last name?”

Billy swallows hard. “Hargrove, sir.”

“Hargrove,” Jim mumbles, brows tugging together. “I don’t know that one. What street?”

“Cherry... Sir.”

“Dad,” you interject, dropping the sweet smile. “No interrogating my date. We’re gonna be late for our movie.”

“You’d be later if you crashed and didn’t make it at all.” Jim shoots you a glare, but stands up and gives Billy another cautionary look. 

“Okay, Dad. I promise we’ll be careful, can we please go now?”

“No more speeding,” Jim warns, pointing at Billy. “If you do, I’ll find out. And get her home by ten.”

“Dad.”

“And wear your seatbelt, both of you.”

“Yes, sir.” Billy keeps his hands on the wheel as Jim tucked his fingers into his belt loops and moved back toward his jeep. 

The flashing lights turn off, leaving the road dark and quiet as the jeep pulls back onto the road. It stops next to the Camaro, the windows rolled down as Jim leans closer. “Ten o’clock, young lady. And keep your ass in that seat.”

The jeep headlights grow smaller and smaller, and Billy finally lets out a deep breath when they disappear. “Your dad.” His teeth are clenched, eyes closing as the tension lets out of his shoulders. “Is a cop?”

“Um- no?” You purse your lips, embarrassed. “He’s the… Chief of Police.”

“Jesus,” Billy breathes, his head back against the seat, eyes trained on the ceiling of the car. “Jesus, Y/N, you could have warned me.”

Billy turned to look at you, annoyed, but his face softened at the sight of you trying not to smile. His lips twitched, unable to suppress the relief bubbling up in his chest. You started to laugh first, filling the car with the beautiful sound, and Billy doesn’t hold back his laughter anymore either. 

The Twilight Drive-In is packed, cars almost mirror-to-mirror. Billy fiddles with the radio station as he finds a parking spot at toward the back of the lot, turning the volume down and rolling the windows up. He licks his lips as he reaches for the door handle, glancing up to where the opening credits have started. “Do you want anything?”

You shake your head, smiling softly as he throws the door open and clamors out. He’s only gone a minute, returning with two glass bottles in his hand. Climbing back into the seat, he pops off both caps with the keychain dangling from the ignition before passing one to you. With a quiet thanks, you sip at the bubbly soda and turn your focus on the screen.

It’s quiet for a solid three minutes, the theme of the movie filling the silence between you and Billy, before he scoffs under his breath. “This is stupid.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Not the movie,” Billy rolls his eyes, taking a drink from his soda. “Just…”

Billy sighs and runs a hand down his face. This is a first for him, and expressing to you what’s going through his head when he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking proves to be a challenge. 

“Going to the movies,” he says, resting the bottle on his knee. “For a first date.”

“Every first date I’ve been on has been to the movies,” you say. Billy nods.

“Yeah. Me, too. And it’s stupid, isn’t it?”

“Why’s it stupid?”

His fingers drum in the side of the bottle, licking up the condensation. “Normally, if I take a girl to the movies, it’s so we can screw around in the back in peace.”

You wrinkle your nose. “And telling me this is how you plan to woo me back there?”

“No,” he bites, rolling his eyes. “I just mean- Like, the point of movies is to sit and, I don’t know, not talk. But how are you supposed to get to know somebody if all you do is stare at a screen?”

“Or romp in the back seat?”

“Exactly.”

The movie keeps playing, and both of you stare forward, but it’s become less interesting now. Your brain seems slowed down, trying to piece together why it mattered to Billy whether the two of you had a conversation. “Billy, can I be honest with you?”

He takes a drink, catching the drops on his lips with his tongue.

“I was a hundred percent prepared for us to get here and you to ask me to hop in the back with you,” you sigh, hands picking at the hem of your skirt. “What do you care if we talk to each other or not?”

The way his blue eyes are trained on you, it’s hard to sit still. There’s something about the aggressive way they stare at you, soaking in the image of you fidgeting in your seat, that puts you on edge. His jaw works back and forth, tumbling words around in his mouth before he swallows thickly. “I told you I wanna know you.”

“But not- not in that way?”

His cheek flexes. “I mean, yeah-” his shoulders are tense, and he’s looking out the windshield at the little monsters crawling on the screen. “But not just that way.”

There’s something about you that Billy can’t pinpoint on a map. Most girls, every girl that’s been in the same seat you are, they were easy. In more than one way. Billy could flash that smile and they’d be on their knees under the steering wheel in a heartbeat. Then he’d take them home and completely forget who they were and where they lived not five minutes after he sped off.

But when you got in the car, making jokes, telling him to drive fast and laughing; every intention he’d had when he pulled up to that dinghy trailer was wiped away. He didn’t just want to lift up your skirt, but your smile too- and he wanted to remember where you lived and what your name was and what your chapstick tasted like.

“I think,” you say, after a moment of silence left the both of you staring at the screen again. “Maybe people go to the movies on a first date so they have something to talk about afterward. Like, maybe that movie is the only thing they have in common.”

“If that’s the case,” Billy shifts in his seat, dangling the glass bottle and watching the way it catches the glow coming through the windshield. “What even is the point? Why go out with someone when you’re just gonna talk for twenty minutes then sit in awkward silence, staring at each other until one of you decided they’ve had enough?”

“Silence isn’t always awkward,” you say. “Sometimes it’s nice. Sometimes it’s right.”

“What?”

It’s quiet a moment, Billy looking at you, looking at the way the lights make your eyes sparkle, the way you smile softly to yourself as you purposefully let it be silent and Billy thinks, you’re right. It isn’t always awkward.

“That’s how you know you found someone special. When you can just… shut the fuck up for a minute and enjoy each other.”

Billy smiles that crooked grin. You look at him, at the curl that falls away from the rest and dangles on his forehead and the uneven fold of his jacket collar. And you both shut the fuck up for a minute. 

Headlights began to dot the dark lot like shooting stars as they wove out of their spaces toward the gated entrance. Billy reached into his pocket, pulling out two cigarettes, waiting for most of the crowd to clear away. He lit them both, passing one to you.

“Alright, Hopper,” he says, turning his head to blow the smoke out his window. “Tell the new guy where’s the best place for a milkshake.”

Taglist Open

@william-hargroves​​​ @killer-queen-xo​​​ @sallyp-53​​​ @cloverrover​​​ @scud994​​​ @nighttwingg​​​ @yaidothat​​​ @abiwebb12​​​ @camillewester​​ @vespertxne​​ @potatoheadthewise​ @tearsforhan​ @leedelee14​ @crowned-gemini​ @ericuhlorain​ @frozenhuntress67​ @chloe-skywalker​ @thatpunkmaximoff​

#billy hargrove x reader #billy x reader #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove

[404fmdminjung]

self para — reflections

summary: a self-reflection into the psyche of seo minjung. (i got inspired — it’s trash don’t read it). warnings: analogies to suicide tw wc: 1468 

“아빠는 그냥... 네가 행복했으면 좋겠어.” (i just want you to be happy).

it’s the first time she hears those words from her father when she’s twenty-five — not a child, nor does she feel like an adult. (in hindsight, she doesn’t believe him).

in person, her hand cups the aged japanese whiskey (her father’s favorite). lets the pain from gripping onto something cold wash redness over her fragile fingers. she grimaces, clenches it harder — her hand shakes, just like her whole body rumbles from the exhaustion of thoughts and the tear that streamlines down her face.

ugly sobs and in comes the cataclysmic effect of short breaths, heavy chests. she lets go of the glass. lets herself reel in, savor the pang in her chest. it’s no longer freeing, no. it feels like a weight settled heavy, unwavering in the face of the short words.

“난 아빠 한테 죄야.” (to you, i’m only ever a burden). it comes out in muffled sobs and a voice too broken, incoherent.

happiness — she doesn’t know where happiness stems from.

—

she flits from one corner to another, her mind in a blanked out grey haze. it blackens out, darker and darker till it all hits — a blacked out mind, and her heart now hides behind coy smiles and rose-tinted words.

when she’s eight, she learns how to deal the cards to a game. 

one fold over and a pretty grin, teeth exposed. inside her eyes bring in the contest for warm conversation and false camaraderie. the type of laughter that frees her chest, and becomes enticing for the poor souls around. here, they feed into it with their hungry hands, reaching deep for the taste of seo minjung.

the voices rattle off the same backhanded sweet nothings that jar her heart more than they offer a billowing sense of an escape — pretty girl, funny girl. draws beautiful pictures of blossoming magnolias, never the lilies. jitae’s daughter, second in the top of her class (my son’s got first).

she learns skepticism early on.

how pearl lined teeth becomes masks for the piranhas of the vast sea, and how easy they are to bite before they entice her in with the bait singing the songs to her praise. (seo minjung never bites. never has, never will).

her mind crafts the boundaries for a make believe world. it’s her and the lonely willow tree in a distasteful breeze. palms behind her back, the branches are enough to cast their shadow — an ablation of the sunshine, she’s never craved it anyways. it’s her taste of permanency inside the four walls of her imagination with her legs crossed and eyes closed. ignorance is bliss, and she’ll only ever be blissfully lonely. 

—

then, she turns ten — she learns the backhanded rush of perfectionism.

it comes when her painting’s on display in tandem with the high marks of class. “she’s bound to the ivys at this rate.” they tell her. 

her lips curve into a smirk, and her father tells her: 넌 진짜 무서운 애야. (you’re a scary child).

when her hearts in play to the weeping willow, she doesn’t learn how to decipher his words nor the narrowed eyebrows that fidget when she stares right into it. what he means is straight, dead-on: nobody knows what your smile is ever thinking or what you’re hiding behind your head.

she learns to play a game with her own parents by age twelve.

it’s when perfection embodies itself in rose-tinted words, circular in motion and weaved in pastels. she lures them into a game one by one, fingers lightly entangled on heartstrings, floating to the rhythm of her bleeding heart. they don’t know, but she knows — they fall like pieces of pawns, and she maneuvers it bit by bit till it all topples. checkmate, she wins. her mother cries.

—

thirteen comes when she’s on the verge of youth in rebellion.

it comes in glimpses of edged words, poised to attack and the isolation that comes in hours inside her room. it’s here she juxtaposes the pieces scattered around to form the willow tree — she’s lonely, but she never admits it. the noose around her neck becomes tighter with the expectations that grow by the day — a sister bound for the hollow mold laid out for her. and she’s still, the lonely girl settled underneath the willow, sketching away.

it’s habitual when the ribbons of golden hues peek through the curtain, and lodge themselves against her bed. knees against her chest, she steadies herself in shallow holds — one two three. 

eyes swollen in heavy steps, she makes one by one into the corridor of their dogok-dong apartment (the second apartment in the past twelve years, the fourth move). she passes the first room, her brother’s asleep — the second, and her sister’s already made a home somewhere in a boarding school far off. vacancy, and she’s never felt more whole. 

it’s when she shuffles in lazy steps, she’s greeted — “일찍 일어났네.” (you woke up early)

“잠이 안 와.. 피곤하네.” (i couldn’t sleep — i’m tired.)

“네가 그러는거니까 할 말이 없네. 다시 들어가서 자라.. 3시간 뒤에 학원가야지.” (since you do this to yourself, i have nothing to say. go back and sleep, you have hakwon in three hours). 

“나 학원 안 갈래. 이제 내 일에 신경 쓰지마” (i don’t want to go to hakwon, stop caring about what i do.)

“알아서해" (do as you please).

(but she knows, it’s the kickstart to an implosion ready to happen when her father dims down, subdues himself to the nighttime curse where her mother becomes relegated to a casualty, wounded by the war of words.)

she takes it by stride, one by one. confident steps inside a dead-beat silence kitchen, so quiet that only the stream of water shatters it. there’s no exchange of eyes, just the smirk that rests on her head: fuck this.

—

fifteen comes when she’s helpless.

a sister already on the verge of the ivies and a brother following in the footsteps. an outcast, it’s spoken inside her head as she clutches the sketchbook tighter in hopes for an escape.

she doesn’t draw the magnolias today, nor does she dip into the vibrancy of lilies. instead comes the outlines of the willows, grey. withering. dead.

boston’s cold, but enough that she cracks a window. lets the breeze singe the tip of her nose, enough for the red sheet to occur. dead of night, her father calls her down with her mother evidently too tired in her subtle shakes of her head.

“넌 야망이 없어. 어쩔수없다. 아빠는 그래도 이거라도 추천할게.. 네가 알아들을지는 모르겠지만.” (you have no ambition, nothing we can do with you. still, i’ll recommend this whether you listen or not)

there’s silence that ticks when the cracks of the wooden chair creak as she slips into it. her gaze averted, she pays more attention to the white walls which feel eerie, and never like home.

“연예인 해라. 넌 그거 밖에 안 된다.” (become a celebrity, you only have that going for you.)

seo minjung pulls together another grin, shakes her head. doesn’t say a word into the radio silence that feeds into the thickness in the air — she’s never listened to a word he says, only ever drumming to the hums of her own push. 

but for once, the weeping willow roots itself in seoul. bound, and never willing to let go.

— 

twenty-two comes with remorse.

the limelight on stage, and public eyes hungrier and more ravenous than the talks when she was eight. this time, they’re louder — starved for attention as they dig their nails into her flesh. piece by piece, they tear her apart till nothing’s left but the barren smile she learned when she was ten.

her father’s face no longer looks like it had three years past. his eyes wearier, the effects of time strangling him whole. grey hairs form faster, she notices he starts to get his hair dyed. (her heart cracks, just a notch). and when she sees her mom in her frail hands and wistful smile — her heart shatters, and the replay of past choices come to broad daylight.

before she swims, she voices — “i can, i’m the best swimmer.” 

but the bristles of the tree in her makeshift reflect honesty: “you don’t know how to swim.”

so, she jumps in head first, eyes casted to the rest of the faces. her body moves, wades through — catches up. and when she looks back, she’s come to realize: she swims.

yet, the continuation ceases and the dance of harp strings wedge themselves deep inside her mind. 

she jumps from sea to land only to gasp for air when she’s drowning ten feet under.

#(이해불가서민정) #suicide tw

[hystericalweenie]

Just Another Day at the Office Series - The Sexperiment

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Three: Meeting Andrew

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n is doing better than ever; she’s finally in a relationship with the man she’s been constantly thinking about, she has some great friends, and she’s thriving at her dream job. Except, there’s one problem: being in a relationship with one of your coworkers can get really steamy, and can cause a lot of sexual frustration. Her new pitch idea may solve exactly that problem, but will George be okay with it?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! **“The Sexperiment” is inspired by an actual Cosmopolitan article (here’s the link!) I also have no personal experience being in a rehabilitation center, so I apologize if the descriptions aren’t accurate. I imagine Andrew as Timothee Chalamet (it won’t let me put the accent over the e on here) but his description could also match Harry Styles, so choose your fighter.... you could also just imagine him however you please, it doesn’t have to be either of them :)

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s NSFW content..aka smut. You have been warned. TW: mention of rehab and drug use. This part is kinda long :/ Sorry!

I sat in the passenger seat of George’s car, staring out of the window at the highway signs passing by us like a blur. George’s hand rested on my thigh, a foreign feeling but nonetheless amazing, as his fingers drummed against my jeans to the beat of the song playing softly on the radio. Dean insisted that I sit in the passenger seat, which I’d felt guilty about but after reminiscing on the sex George and I had just the day before on the very seat, I didn’t feel as guilty. I turned my head enough to examine George’s focused eyes, his side profile as perfect as one could imagine. The shape of his nose to his furrowed eyebrows, the way his waves were in perfect tact on his head, ruffling only when he moved his head to check his blindspots. 

As we pulled into the parking lot, he turned to me, giving my thigh a gentle squeeze before removing it from my leg and turning the car off, shoving the keys into his pocket. We unbuckled ourselves and made our way into the building, stopping at the entrance. George turned his head to me, as if making sure I was okay to go in. I gave him a nod of confirmation, following the boys inside. 

The first thing that I noticed was that the building was cold. It wasn’t warm and welcoming, and I’d hoped that the patients’ rooms weren’t as cold as the entrance. There was an older woman at a large desk, which the boys led me to. George spoke a few words to her and she gave him a clipboard. I didn’t pay attention to their conversation, instead, my eyes examined the room, noticing a woman as pale as the white walls of the building. Sickly dark circles rested under her eyes and her hair was tangled down her back. Her facial structure looked hollowed, her cheekbones sticking out and her eyes looking sunken in. I watched as she followed a doctor down a hallway, away from the entrance, away from my eyesight. My eyes stilled on the place they’d been standing, hoping that this woman would get the help she looked like she desperately deserved. 

“Y/n.”

I turned my head, noticing George, Dean, and a man looking similar to the doctor I’d seen stood ahead of me, motioning for me to follow them. I quickly caught up to them, following as they headed down another hallway and turning into an elevator. As the doors closed in front of us and the machine jerked us upward, I felt George grab my hand. I looked down at his large hand engulfing mine, intertwining our fingers. 

“How is he?” Dean asked, crossing his arms.

The doctor shrugged, the shoulders of his white coat wrinkling as he did so.

“Good,” he began. “He didn’t make a single sarcastic remark in therapy today, so that’s progress.”

The boys chuckled beside me.

“That’s him, alright,” Dean confirmed, his laugh fading as the elevator doors opened.

We piled out of the confined space, walking down a hallway with multiples of doors on each side. We turned into one as the doctor opened it slowly, leaving it open for the rest of us.

“You guys can go down to the courtyard, just have him back up here in an hour,” he notified us, sticking a block in the bottom gap of the door, and leaving back down the hallway. 

My heart raced in anticipation as a bed came into view, a man sitting upright with his legs hanging off the side coming into view. I remembered distinctly how he looked in a few of Dean’s Facebook photos, but it was much different seeing him in person. Much like the woman I’d seen before, his appearance was sickly, his skin pale and dark circles settled under his eyes. He had dark brown hair–almost black–with bright green eyes. His freckles were much more apparent than George’s as they settled on his tiny nose. His eyebrows matched the dark locks on his hair, and they were bushy alike Bree’s. 

He wore grey sweatpants and a black sweatshirt with slippers and hospital socks peeking out of them. His face brightened at my appearance and he leaned away from the bed, moving toward me. George watched with a smile on his lips as Andrew held his hand out to me, which I gladly took. 

“I’m Andrew,” he spoke, his voice deep and American, a welcoming difference from Dean and George’s accents. “AKA the drug addict.”

I snorted, giving his hand a firm shake.

“I’m Y/n, AKA George’s whore,” I mimicked him, showing him my own humorous side. 

Dean gasped a laugh and George rolled his eyes, a blush spreading over his cheeks at my bluntness whilst Andrew nodded, turning to look at his friends.

“I like her,” he stated in approval.

“C’mon, let’s get going,” George muttered, still embarrassed, grabbing my hand and leading us out of the doorway. 

We walked through the hallway in silence, heading back into the elevator we were previously in with the doctor. We entered the confined space, Dean pushing the main floor button, before the doors slid closed and we were jerked downward. George reached for my hand again, offering a comfort for the surprise of the janky machine. 

“So,” Andrew began, clicking his tongue a few times and looking around the closed-in metal walls. “What’d you guys do today?”

Dean shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Same old, same old,” he replied.

George nodded in agreement.

“This guy, must have been his first day here, whipped his dick out in group therapy; looked as cracked out as I did before I got admitted here,” Andrew explained, earning a chuckle of amusement from Dean and a groan from George.

“Can we please avoid talking about dicks while Y/n is here?” George pleaded in annoyance.

Andrew put his hands up in defense, turning toward me and bowing down to me sarcastically.

“Won’t happen again,” he apologized, making me softly giggle as the elevator doors opened.

We headed down an unfamiliar hallway, coming to a wall of windows in which two security guards were standing in front of. The windows revealed a large courtyard, including multiple benches scattered about. Walking a little further, we reached a door, which allowed us to enter the courtyard. George held the door open for us, joining my side as I slid in lastly.

They chose a bench by a tree, fallen leaves scattering the grass around it. We all seated ourselves, distinct conversations of others across the courtyard filling the air. 

“Being here is causing me to quit smoking, cold turkey,” the green-eyed man revealed, looking down at the grass below us.

“Shit, I forgot about that,” Dean admitted, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth worriedly. “How’s that goin’?”

Andrew shrugged, his slippers gently kicking some leaves aside as he thought to himself before speaking. 

“I suppose it’s a good thing,” he confessed, lifting his head to look at the fellow brunette boy. “It’s hard as fuck, though. I feel fucking awful sometimes, and there’s just nothing I can do about it.”

“You could ask the nurses to bring you straws,” I spoke up. He turned his head toward me in curiosity. “It’ll mimic the feeling and act of smoking; it could help when you crave nicotine.”

He nodded, a small smile taking form on his lips.

“I never thought of that,” he admitted, nudging my shoulder. “Thanks, Y/n.”

I smiled in response, turning my head to George, who was seated at my other side. He smiled down at me in admiration at his friend and I’s interaction, wrapping an arm around my torso and gently squeezing my side. 

“Has George cooked for you yet?” Andrew asked, changing the subject.

I nodded, a blush spreading across my cheeks as I thought about the many times George had cooked me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the last time being the ratatouille in which I had interrupted with my appearance in lingerie. 

“Yeah, he’s an amazing chef,” I complimented, turning my head to look at George again.

His skin seemed to glow under the setting sun, his hair appearing golden and his eyes bluer than ever. He winked at me, giving my side another gentle squeeze.

“Don’t take it for granted,” my new green-eyed friend warned as I returned my attention back to him. “He used to make us breakfast and dinner everyday and all Dean, here, can do is poach a fuckin’ egg.”

I snorted at this, George joining me in laughter as Dean’s jaw dropped and defensive murmurs left his lips. 

“I can do a lot more than you can, bastard,” Dean defended with a roll of his eyes. “And, by the way, I don’t miss goin’ in the shower after you’ve had a wank.”

Andrew’s eyebrows furrowed at this allegation, George continuing to laugh at their bickering beside me.

“How the hell can you tell when I jerk off?” he interrogated, crossing his arms in his loose hoodie sleeves. 

“Oh, I can tell,” Dean replied with a scoff. 

“Guys, I said no talking about dicks,” George reminded them, still softly laughing. 

The two brunette boys looked at each other with slitted eyes of suspicion, shutting themselves up whilst their expressions continued to argue.

“One time, when all three of us were living together, we had a party,” George began, looking down at me. 

“Oh, I love this story!” Andrew exclaimed beside me, raising a shy fist in victory.

I looked at the two brunettes with curiosity, trying to decipher what George was about to say from their expressions before returning my attention to my lover next to me, looking up at him as he spoke.

“What was supposed to be a small gathering of our closest coworkers turned into a huge party with one invitation on Facebook,” George explained, motioning his head toward Andrew, signifying that he was the one that sent out the Facebook invitation. 

Dean shuffled in his spot on the bench, moving his body to face the green-eyed brunette.

“Yeah, I’ll never fuckin’ forgive you for that, by the way,” Dean groaned. “Someone broke our bloody tile floor! How the fuck do you break a tile floor?!”

“Anyway,” George interrupted, continuing with the story.

He proceeded to tell me about a story of him mistaking a pan of brownies someone had brought for pot brownies, resulting in him getting his first–and quote “most likely his last”–high. He went on to explain how he was convinced the entire flat was physically spinning in circles, causing him to profusely vomit. With cuts in from the two brunettes beside us, I was a giggling mess, imagining my lover as high as a kite. 

Before we knew it, our hour was up, and we returned back to the room in which Andrew was staying in. I stepped away to let the boys speak to him privately for a moment before we bid our goodbyes and exited the building.

After dropping Dean off, I politely asked George if he would stop at my apartment for me to “get a few things”. Without question, probably thinking I needed a tampon, he obliged. I quietly thanked him, hurriedly speed-walking into the building. As I reached the door, I sprinted inside, running to my bedroom to grab my slip, shoving it into my purse. Fixing my appearance quickly, I sprinted out of the complex into a casual speed-walk back to his car. 

As I reached his car, almost entirely out of breath, he started towards his house. With my heart beating in my ears and butterflies taking over my stomach, I awaited the exciting unknown. I watched the way he stared, concentrated on the road in front of us to distract my nerves; watching his jaw clench and unclench at the agonizing traffic. I nearly gasped as he returned his hand onto my thigh, making small, comforting circles with his thumb onto the fabric of my jeans, which I’d been gratefully able to change into before we met with Andrew. 

He turned his head to look at me, his lips turning up into a small smile before returning his eyes to the road. I attempted to bite back the grin that fought to take over my lips, resting my hand over his own on my leg. The back of his hand was smooth and soft, small valleys of his raised veins under my fingertips. My fingers drew shapes at random against his skin, attempting to distract myself from my nerves.  

Finally, we reached the parking lot to his complex. After shutting the car off, he quickly came around to my side, opening the door for me. Blushing, I got out, following him into the building. Going up the stairs, we reached his door, which he fumbled with his keys before finally opening it. Walking inside, I quickly held my purse close to me, remembering what exactly I had up my sleeve.

“Can I use your bathroom?” I asked, trying to sound the least bit suspicious as I could.

He nodded, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Of course, you don’t have to ask.”

I smiled gratefully at him, scurrying to the bathroom by the kitchen. After closing the door behind me, I looked around, noticing the similarities and differences the features of the room had with the upstairs bathroom. This one was much smaller, and had a washer and dryer in place of a shower. Don’t take too long, I reminded myself. Opening my purse and grabbing the bunched ball of satin fabric, I peeled my clothes off, including the mismatched bra and panties; the slip alone would do the job. 

Staring at my reflection in the small mirror above the sink, I admired the way the royal blue of the fabric complimented my skin. I hoped he would think so, as well. Leaving my pool of clothes on the floor, I slowly opened the door, walking out to his sitting figure on the living room sofa, his phone in his hands occupying him. Leaning against the wall, I cleared my throat, making my appearance known. Bringing his eyes up from the screen in confusion, his pupils grew large at the sight in front of him, dropping his phone in the process. Without bothering to pick it up, he stood from the sofa and made his way toward me.

He brought a palm to my cheek in which he slowly dragged down to my breasts, the buds of my nipples hardened through the thin silk. He ran his thumb over a bud once before moving his hand down to my waist, grabbing my thigh and pulling my leg to his side. I moved my hands to his shoulders, resting my weight on him whilst I brought my other leg around him. His eyes examined my face before bringing his nose to gently brush against my own. Our lips ghosted over one another’s, wanting to savor what was to come. 

Pressing his lips to mine, he began his way toward the stairs, lips gently moving against each other’s as carried me up the staircase. Holding my bum and kicking his bedroom door open, he treaded to his bed, tossing me onto it. Breathing heavily from the breath he’d lost while kissing me and the adrenaline rushing through his veins, he panted, eyes scanning my vulnerable state over his comforter, stilling on my parted legs. 

He breathed a laugh.

“No panties, again, love?” he taunted, moving closer until he was hovering over me. 

He moved his hand between us, running a finger with the gentlest touch over my entrance. I could barely feel the pad of his finger against me, and the ghost of his touch made my back arch; I needed him. 

“You’re dripping already, angel,” he whispered, spearmint breath against my face. 

My lips parted at the dirty words escaping his mouth, escaping the kissed-swollen lips of his. He brought his finger to his mouth, sucking on the skin, wet with my own juices. I watched in awe, snaking my hand around the nape of his neck and bringing his lips to mine. We kissed sloppily for a moment, tongues dancing with one another’s without any rhythm, before he pulled away to remove his shirt. I admired his torso as always, the pale, toned skin with moles scattered at random. I sat up, undoing the buckle of his jeans and pulling them down to his calves. 

He kicked the denim off, leaving him in his briefs with an obvious tent at the crotch. He ran his fingers down my sides, slipping the silk over my body with the help of my raised arms, tossing the lingerie to the floor with his own clothing. Moving himself over me and scooting ourselves up toward the top of the bed, our lips met once again. My legs parted for him, allowing him to rest himself between my legs as I tangled my fingers through his dark blond locks. He pressed his clothed bulge against my bare entrance, making me gasp against his lips at the pleasurable relief of built up tension within me. 

Smirking at my noise, he rolled his hips against me, pressing where I needed him once more. Feeling him against me again was like ecstasy, I hadn’t realized how much I needed him again already. I peeled my lips away from his own, unable to conceal my moans any longer as he continued to roll his hips against me. 

“George,” I begged, half-lidded eyes meeting his own. “I need you.”

He smirked, stopping his movements.

“Not just yet, Y/n,” he grinned devilishly. 

I didn’t have time to register what he’d meant. Within seconds, he got to his knees and rolled me over to my stomach. I gasped at the quick movement, turning to look at him in confusion. 

“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered, yet his tone still soft. 

I smirked, watching his chest heaving up and down, his cheeks blushing, but I obliged. I got on my hands and knees, facing the headboard, my heart racing at the unexpected. I felt his hand gently grasp my ass, rubbing softly; I knew exactly what he was going to do. As soon as his hand left, it joined my ass again. I gasped as I felt him spank me, a slight stinging lingering afterward. I turned my head to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me worriedly. I grinned.

“Do it again,” I egged him on.

A smirk took over his lips once again, grabbing my hair in one hand, forming a makeshift ponytail in his fist and bringing his other hand to spank me once more. I gasped, followed by a moan at the sensation of his hand against my bum.

“Didn’t expect you to be such a dirty girl,” he tormented, leaning his torso against my back as he whispered behind my ear. 

Feeling his hot skin against my own, his clothed cock against my core again, my lips parted in bliss.

“You bring it out of me,” I admitted, my voice barely existent through my words.

He chuckled softly; I could feel his warm breath against the back of my ear, his ghostly presence making me more eager to want him. 

“My dirty girl,” he corrected himself, his voice a mere whisper. 

His torso left my back, his fist letting go of my hair as I felt him shuffle on the bed. As I turned around in confusion before realizing that he’d taken off his briefs and tossed them to the floor, he flipped me onto my back, wrapping his arms around my thighs and dragging my body closer to his. Moving back on top of me, his forehead rested against my own whilst he rubbed his cock against my folds, his tip teasingly collecting my leaking juices before slowly entering into me. 

My legs wrapped around his waist instantly, attempting to push him into me further as I ached for any sort of pleasure I could get. Pressing a sweet kiss against my lips, he looked at me cautiously–as if he were worried he’d hurt me–before slamming his hips into mine. My back arched as my head dropped backwards, my body practically going into shock in pleasure. He moved his hips roughly against my own, his pace moving slowly but deeply. I could feel his length already brushing my most pleasurable spot within me, and I found myself moving my hips against his own in an attempt to feel him deep enough. 

HIs hips began moving faster, growing impatient himself and needing to reach his own orgasm. He moved his hand up to my neck, grasping underneath my jaw as his blue eyes watched my eyes roll back in awe at the feeling of his hand wrapped around me. 

“Faster, George,” I pleaded, my voice cracking as I watched him smirk, grabbing one of my thighs and hiking it up to reach the side of his chest. 

Finally, his length reached the spot within me, hitting it over and over again with every thrust. I squirmed beneath him, staring at his face helplessly, my stomach knotting as I felt myself clench around him. His lips parted, hips thrusting just enough to ride out my high before stilling, feeling him spurt inside of me. He released his hand from my throat, pressing a long, tender kiss against my lips before slowly pulling his length out of me. 

I laid there, chest rising up and down before moving myself to lay against him. I rested my head on his chest, a leg sprawled over him. I moved my hand to his chest as well, watching as my fingers ghosted over the auburn hairs that sprouted between his pecks. I felt his hand go to my head, combing his fingers gently through my hair as our breathing patterns calmed down. 

“Stay the night.” His raspy voice accentuated his accent.

I breathed a laugh.

“I can’t,” I sighed, my tired voice cracking. 

He pressed his lips to the top of my head.

“Why not? We can go to your apartment and get your things for tomorrow. And, we can carpool to work together,” he suggested, his voice almost a whisper. 

I lifted my head up, resting my chin against his chest whilst I gave him a look of confusion.

“Are you sure?” I affirmed. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me closer to him.

He began to trail his fingers up my bare back, raking his fingertips gently up and down my spine; my eyes were beginning to close as I rested my cheek back against his chest.

“Do you have the energy to get up right now?” I interrogated, my voice beginning to rasp. “Because, I sure as hell don’t.”

He sighed, rubbing my back with his whole palm, comfortingly. 

“Well, love,” he began, “if it means I get this for the night, then I’ll do whatever I can.”

He spanked my bum, making me gasp, which in return, earned a chuckle from him. I rolled my eyes, removing myself from him as he got up from the bed, stretching, before attempting to find his clothes on his floor. I watched his body contort as he slipped his clothes on, his muscles contracting as he pulled the fabric over his skin. Watching as he reached into his closet, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, tossing them to me onto the bed. 

I didn’t hide the fact that I wanted to smell the clothes, to smell him, this time. I slipped the soft fabrics over my naked body, engulfing me with the sweet scent. 

I, Y/f/n Y/l/n, was about to sleep at my boyfriend–also my coworker–’s house on a work night, risking multiple bad scenarios involving my dream job...but why didn’t I care? 

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #George Mackay smut #fanfic #x reader #x reader fic #1917 #1917 cast

[youngjustusorbust]

Day 3 Angst

finally have the energy to cross post this, anywho here’s day three of yjfanweek

warnings: HORROR! BODY HORROR AND ALL THAT STUFF!!! 

ao3

First there’s nothingness. Then, there’s sound, and sensation. When Greta slowly blinks open her eyes, she can hear a song on the radio. It sounds familiar, but she can’t remember from where. She mouths the words, more because she can’t help herself than any other reason.

She’s in a tub, stretching her long, (finally) human legs out. Enjoying a bubble bath. Something she hasn’t enjoyed in… she frowns, in a while. But she can’t remember why. Treat yourself, Cassie’s been saying that a lot lately, something from one of the shows that Cissie’s been staring in. Greta relaxes into the warm water. She breathes in the vanilla scented bubbles.

Treat yourself. Yeah, that’s what she’s doing, treating herself.

So she’s surprised when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!” she calls. The door opens before she finishes getting the words out.

The radio on the windowsill beside the tub, drums out the song: ‘better watch out~ better watch out~ better watch out~’ Greta knows those words are wrong somehow, but she can’t remember what they should be. She’s reasonably sure they aren’t the words she was singing a minute ago.

Billy stands in the doorway.

“EW!” She cries, splashing as he comes closer, “Billy! Get out!”

“See you in the abyss, sis,” he rasps.

Greta knows what he’s going to do too late, as if she’s lived this moment before hundreds of times.

Maybe, she thinks as he swipes the radio off of the sill, song sputtering into nothingness, she has. She’s half out of the tub when it hits the water.

It feels like a tickle, and she knows acutely, that she’s going to die.

Then it feels like a lightning strike, and Greta doesn’t even get out a scream.

~

Greta gasps, heaving herself up and over onto the grass. Bile and metal sting her mouth and she blinks away the tears. Here, she’s safe. Billy’s gone, she knows. He’s dead, and she’s not anymore, and everything is going to be okay.

Everything is going to be okay.

She coughs out some spittle as the nausea settles in her belly. The world stops spinning—the light blue sky stays above, and the soft green grass below her. She catches her breath, swallowing sobs, and he lets her. She can feel his eyes watching her.

“Alright?” Slobo asks.

Greta closes her eyes, curls her hands into fists and nods.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine.” Slowly she turns back over, onto her back. She settles back next to him, and glances over.

Here Slobo looks calm like he almost never did in life. He closes his eyes. His thin arms support his head. His legs cross over one another. A warm breeze blows by, and his long black bangs flutter. They’ve grown longer since he died, which Greta wouldn’t think possible but-

“But,” Slobo finishes for her, “this is your world, after all.”

My world. Greta glances back up at the perfect blue sky. At the perfect paper-white clouds that float lazily by. The grass soft but just prickly enough.

Her world. The one born of her mind after she was sick of freezing herself to death in the place between life and death. She made this place. If she tries hard enough, she can see the real world around them—the desolate meteor that they sit on, the black and cold sky around them. If she listens hard enough she could hear screams.

Greta doesn’t try too hard, not when she’s here.

“Bad dream?” Slobo asks.

Greta shrugs. “The usual.”

Slobo’s quiet for a minute, and Greta knows he wants to speak but doesn’t want to offend her. It’s weird, before he died, he didn’t care about what anyone thought, but here… here…

“Do you ever wish you brought him back?” Slobo asks slowly.

Greta blinks at him. She can tell there’s more to the more that he doesn’t say. Can’t say. Won’t say.

She knows who the ‘him’ is too.

“No,” Greta says. “Not… not Billy, at least.”

Slobo looks over at her. “Then who?”

“I tried, you know,” Greta almost whispers. She’s always been able to tell Slobo about her sins. He never judged. “To bring back my father and mother, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t-wasn’t quick enough. Angry enough.”

“But with me…?”

Greta closes her eyes, sucking in a breath. She doesn’t technically breathe here, neither of them do but Slobo also doesn’t breathe because he’s dead.

“Greta?” he says pointedly when she doesn’t answer. When she refuses to answer.

She doesn’t want to remember. She comes here to be, not so she has to remember.

“Can you stop,” the words come out as a hissing order. Were they blades they’d have cut Slobo clean through. But Slobo’s brow has solidified, and he isn’t backing down. Not today. Not tonight. Not this time.

“No.”

“Why?” Greta hisses at him. Her illusion of a perfect world shivers around them, more empathic then she’d thought.

Slobo doesn’t back down. He’s not afraid. There’s very little she can do to him, or at least nothing really that he doesn’t want.

Greta swallows and tries not to think about where Slobo would rather-where he’d been. What she’d done to get him back.

“Misty…” he says in a soft voice so unlike his own. The nickname makes her flinch, and she knows that he used it on purpose. Maybe to anger her, to make her want to let him go. But she-she can’t. She can’t let go. Not of him too. The only person who helped her, who understood who she was at the end. Tim would never understand, no matter how he talked her down, he’d never really understand. He could play with the idea, he could sympathize, but he’d never know. Slobo did. “Let me go.”

“No.” The word is cracked. Greta clears her throat and the perfect world shudders around her once more before she summons her will. Before she puts her foot down and it glitches back into permanence. “No! You’re staying with me! Don’t you want to be with me?”

“I’m not supposed to be here, Kiddo.”

Greta shakes her head. She’s the Warden, she can decide where people go. And she needs him. She needs Slobo.

The Warden power, this ability to let the dead pass through her, it’s all she’s kept from her alive-again-ness. The mist state, the shape-shifting is all gone. But this, seeing the bed, letting them pass through—that’s all she has left.

And she can’t let him go.

“No.”

Slobo grimaces. He’s losing his patience, like he does every time they do this. Greta digs her feet into the grass beneath her.

“Let me fragging go, Greta!”

“No!”

“Greta-!”

“No!” She shouts, and covers her ears. Her world shakes. Falling apart around her, literally. The ground shivers and the sky blinks in and out and she feels something tear at her chest. Like her heart’s been ripped out. “NO! NO! NO! NO!”

Her heart is shoved back into her chest, and with a breath like ice her eyes fly open, and Greta finally, truly wakes.

~

The room at Elias’ is quiet. She can hear Cassie snore on the other side of the room. It must be really late (or early) if Cassie’s asleep—she went on night patrol. Greta sucks in heavy breaths. Her heart pounds in her ears, almost blocking out Cassie’s snore with their rush. She blinks water from her eyes and places her index and middle finger on her left wrist, trying to count her speeding pulse.

I’m okay. I’m alive. I’m okay. I’m alive.

Slobo’s alive. He’s safe.

In me.

A sharp buzz fills her ears in the silence of the night and Greta ignores it, focusing of the soft skin beneath her fingers. She counts the passing beats for every minute, watching the clock. Cassie has this horrible digital clock with blazing red numbers. It has one alarm which is the world’s most annoying EHNH EHNH EHNH EHNH in the world. It looks down on Greta maliciously from the shelf above her bed.

Four fourty-six AM.

It’ll be going off in two hours and fourteen minutes.

Then Greta will have a day of classes. A day of pretended to be normal. Pretending that nothing weird has ever happened to her. Another day of lying to her friends by omission. Another day of not telling them that she held Slobo under her heart.

Greta stands when her pulse slows to normal and walks to the shared bathroom.

At night the dorms in Elias’ School for Girls are silent. The school itself seems like the type of place where ghosts would roam for fun.

Tonight a ghost does roam. At least, someone who isn’t supposed to be alive, or maybe was supposed to live and didn’t.

Greta doesn’t bother putting on slippers. The floor of the hallway is a horribly ugly grey (or perhaps, purple at one time in the seventies) carpet, but the scratchy material grounds her as she walks to the bathroom. She can’t turn on any lights, so she uses her hands to guide her there, even though there isn’t anything in the hallway. The walls are a textured cream color she knows, but each door is wood. Her nails drag across the pine as she passes them.

Greta makes it to the communal bathroom and flicks on the light.

It turns on with the buzz of old florescents. Greta blinks against the painful brightness. She lets herself adjust.

She heads towards the sinks. Greta studies herself in the mirror. Her thin cheeks—she’s lost a lot of baby fat since coming back—look sunken in the horrible light. She’s grown taller, but only a little bit. Her blonde hair is held up in two small buns on the top of her head.

She squints at herself, at her chest more importantly. She can feel him in there. Pounding against her rib-cage. Begging her to let him go.

Greta presses her hand there, but it never connects.

Greta blinks and looks down. It’s like she’s seeing herself from outside herself for a moment. Like she’s touching someone else, or this is a movie. Because when she looks down, she doesn’t feel anything, even though her hands rests just on her chest.

Greta takes a deep breath to stop herself from panicking, but when she does, her hand goes right through her breasts, all the way up to the wrist.

Then, Greta begins to hyperventilate.

She turns away from the mirror and tries to run back to her own room, but with her first step her right foot sinks through the floor all the way up to her knee. There’s thump! and pain shoots up her leg, as if she’d just jumped off of a swing and landed wrong on her foot. Or knee.

Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.

Greta screams. “CASSIE!”

Greta tries to take another step—to crawl—against the cold, disgusting bathroom floor. White tiles with black grout growing between them, but her other leg loses substance too and she sinks down to her hips.

“CASSIE! CASSIE!” she shrieks.

But Cassie is so far away. She’s not going to wake up.

She’s not going to wake up.

Greta feels Slobo beneath her chest, laughing as she sinks down to her waist. Her legs kick and dangle. She’s not sure if they’re through the floor, or not because she can’t feel anything.

Greta just screams now. For anyone. For Superman. For Robin. For Cissie or Traya. Anyone. She needs help!

“HELP! HELP! PLEASE! PLEASE! I’M SINKING! I NEED HELP!” she screams. She shouts for Boston Brand or the Spectre but no one comes.

She sinks another inch. Her hand is starting to become transparent, Greta can see her bones through it.

Tears spring to her eyes. She tries to use her other hand to drag herself forward, nails digging into the black mold between the tiles of the bathroom floor. She continues screaming.

Greta sinks another inch.

You deserve this, she thinks. She died alone the first time, why shouldn’t she now? Beneath her ribs, Slobo pounds in his cage.

“HELP!”

She tries to drag herself onto her side. She flounders back and forth. She’s so scared that she doesn’t even notice until Ellen shouts: “Oh god! Greta! Are you okay?”

Greta looks up at Ellen. Ellen, nice Ellen. The girl who gave Traya her Liberty Bell hat.

“Help! Please!” Greta begs through hiccuping sob.

“Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod, okay. I’m gonna-I’m gonna pull you out. Everything’s gonna be okay,” Ellen says, more for herself than Greta. She reaches out and grabs Greta’s hand.

Greta almost cries from the contact. The feel of Ellen’s soft hands against her. On her palm is a small, smudged, ink heart. She still smells like her Dior perfume. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Ellen tries to pull, bracing her feet against the floor. She heaves, grunting loudly, then she flies backward.

Greta’s other hand has become incorporeal.

Greta screams.

Ellen throws herself on the floor, trying to grasp but every time her hands touch some part of Greta they go right through.

Greta sinks another inch.

“Stop! STOP!” she shouts because Ellen’s only making it worse. “Get Cassie!”

“Cassie. Right. Okay. Cassie.” Ellen books it out of the bathroom. By now other girls have started to wake up. They moan and grumble, trying to figure out what the commotion is all about, and Ellen almost runs over two or three on her way out.

“Greta?” One girl she has math with asks.

“What’s going on?”

“Who’s screaming?”

“CASSIE!” Greta shouts. “GET CASSIE!” Because how can she explain to them what’s going on, how can she explain-she feels herself drop, and she throws out her elbows and catches herself on them. Pain shatters up her arms and she cries out, not from fear this time.

“Help her!” Someone shouts, and someone dives for her, trying to pull her out like Ellen had and Greta reaches up for them, with just enough time to watch the girl’s hand slide right through hers, and then Greta falls and screams.

Solidify. She begs herself as she sees the girls in the floor above fall away. The floor which isn’t more than six inches thick flies by. It’s full of cobwebs and a bug climbs into Greta’s mouth while she screams. She chokes and spits it out.

Solidify, solidify, solidify! She begs herself, trying to clench her body like she did when she was mist. When she was not-dead. Before all of this.

She falls to the ground with a thump! The crash sends pain up her left leg (which she lands on). Greta screams. She can hear the heavy thudding of tens of feet above her as they run down to the floor she’s on now.

But she’s solid.

She’s solid.

Her chest feels like it’s going to be torn open, ribs bent out and backwards.

Greta vomits onto the floor. She coughs, trying to bring something in. Trying to get in some air. Something to prove that she’s alive. That she’s human.

But she feels herself fluctuate. Glitch. Like a light that has trouble turning on.

Solidify! Solidify!

“Greta?!” The voice is familiar. Cassie. Someone woke up Cassie. “Greta?! What’s going on? Are you okay?! GRETA!”

Greta had thought that this was over. She’d thought-

Come on, Kid, you aren’t that stupid, are you? A voice so close to Slobo’s whispers in her ears as Cassie brings her into her arms. Cassie’s warm hands touch and touch and touch. Greta sinks into the sensation. She never wants Cassie to let go. Not as Cassie’s callused fingers rub roughly over her cheeks, and lips, and forehead.

Who ever heard of getting just the good part of their powers back?

But I’m alive. Mr. Side made me alive.

Did he?

Greta’s heart thuds in her chest.

“Greta? Can you hear me?” Cassie’s voice breaks through her fog. Greta blinks at her.

“What?”

“Greta? Are you okay?”

Greta stares at her hands. At her legs. It’s all solid now. If she hadn’t just fallen through a floor she’d think that she had imagined it all.

“I’m-I’m fine now. I-I think.”

Cassie lowers her voice so that only Greta can hear. “We should tell the League. That can’t be a normal side effect. Maybe he did something to you. No one really understands Omega Beams as it is, maybe he…” but Greta isn’t listening anymore.

Did he?

“Greta?” she’s brought back to now when Cassie snaps her fingers rudely in front of Greta’s face. Greta blinks at her. Something wet is on her face, something warm. Greta can’t breathe through her nose.

Greta gasps and grabs at her nose, trying to stifle the bleeding. She didn’t used to get spontaneous nose bleeds either. Was this a byproduct of turning incorporeal? Or was it something else?

Cassie rips off some of her shirt and hands it to Greta to staunch the bleeding.

“Greta?” Cassie asks, worriedly.

“I… I think I’m fine now,” Greta mumbles through the rag. Her throat feels burnt on the inside from screaming. Scratched and raw.

“Are-are you sure?”

“Y-yeah.”

But Cassie doesn’t seem to believe her. Greta doesn’t blame her, if she were Cassie she wouldn’t believe herself either.

“You think you can come back to bed? Or should I call an emergency meeting now?”

“I think… I think I can go back to bed,” Greta says.

Not like you knew when the first attack of phantom-ness came, Slobo’s voice whispers in her ear. She swats at it absently. Cassie watches her warily.

Greta flushes. “Fly,” she murmurs.

Cassie must buy it because she puts on arm securely on Greta’s shoulder and leads her back upstairs to the dorms.

No one really understands Omega Beams, Cassie had said.

Did he? Slobo had asked.

Maybe Greta is getting what was coming to her, for hurting so many people when she went evil.

Cassie ushers Greta back upstairs, where on order of the staff, most of the girls have gone back to bed for the next hour or so that they’ll be able to.

Greta is in bed, staring at Cassie’s insidious clock. Cassie’s back asleep, snoring already—patrol must have wiped her out. Now that the nosebleed is gone, it’s as if nothing ever happened. As if she never sunk through the floor. As if she didn’t lose control of her body.

Greta closes her eyes, and tries to sleep.

Let me go, Greta, Slobo says, but without any of his usual fire.

I can’t. She can’t lose anyone else.

She can’t.

Greta tries to pull herself back to her perfect world. When she closes her eyes and lets herself sink into herself, into her body, into her mind, into the world between, she sees the cold and the nothing, and nothing else.

Except Slobo, who floats in front of her.

“Please don’t go,” she asks him. After what just happened, she can’t lose him. She can’t let go. She just can’t.

Slobo stares at her for a moment. He doesn’t say what they’re both thinking. Maybe your powers are coming back because you’re keeping me anchored here. Because you can’t give me up.

Instead, he just says, “behind you.”

Greta frowns, and turns.

Billy.

He looks exactly like he did in Bedlam’s world. Teenaged, long hair, square jaw.

It’s just a dream, she tells herself, you can wake up. It’s just a dream.

Billy smiles at her, something so unlike him it throws her for a loop. “Hey there, little sis,” he says. He grins, and something colder than the frost of the nothing runs through her, “want to see a magic trick?”

He raises his hands and-

poof!

Greta’s gone.

#yjfanweek2020 #diana writes young justice #diana writes yj #greta hayes #cassie sandsmark #slobo #billy hayes #angst #youngjusticefanweek #youngjusticeweek2020

[yridenergyridenergy]

Hello there! If you have some time to spare; I would be very interested in hearing your opinion in each album of Dir en grey so far.. or what they make you feel like etc etc.. If you got the time ;)

The Insulated World

If you try karaoke with this album, you quickly notice that the MAJORITY of the lines are structured long and you always run out of breath. Like you are spent and out of oxygen or life after each. It's tasking on the abdos, painful no matter whether the song is constituted of screaming or is a 'ballad'. Whether it is by screaming the end to expulse the last bit of breath or transitioning from one sentence to the other for as long as there is still air in your lungs, Kyo orchestrated these lyrics in a manner that demonstrates his meaning, which will bring him to the brink of death and that he wishes to use all ounces of his existence to transmit. "Until my very last breath". With this album, it helped that I worked on posting the lyrics and stuff to incorporate them into my understanding from the start. So, there is no escaping that this is the "I hate myself" album. But this loop of ending the last song the same way as the beginning of the first song – I scream therefore I live – is genius. Globally, the tone isn't one void of hope.

Another particularity with this album, I think, is the "spitting" going on. The 'dare' sounding like 'zare'  in Ningen wo Kaburu for instance isn't just a Kyoto accent: you can hear the lack of restraint, the raw and unfiltered loathing that can't warrant one second spared to collect the saliva properly in the mouth. But it's not screamed as much, everything has been very reflected.

Musically, I have found myself detecting melodies that are extremely familiar to ARCHE and Dum Spiro Spero ever since their release. That was usually on the first couple of listening sessions though, so I would have difficulty pointing them out now, but it feels like the raw sound is not as unique as it used to be. Perhaps just the band thinking about giving themselves a break on stage by thinking about how difficult things could be to play and keep in mind if they want to move around or interact with the fans.

 THE MARROW OF A BONE

Some sorrow, but an orgy of frustration. No care for how long, just short bursts of anger stringed one after the other. That being said, there are some interesting guitar melodies among everything using that dirty, somber tuning, even though Shinya's track does not demonstrate his independent streak. Overall, listening to this album, I develop a vision of dwindling, swirling pieces of flesh exposing a head that exploded open out of sheer intellectual anger? Perhaps because of the majorly English lyrics which, coming from a Japanese, means that there was more effort put into them to reach a wider range of recipients. There was too much contained but not just in the heart – like the person tried to contain it and reason with those feelings, however it became overbearing and transcended all restraints of the mind.

 UROBOROS

Before even realizing that that was the intended world view featured in the ultra deluxe release whatever, from the first few songs I was really imagining a desolated landscape. A very somber one. Throughout the album, it feels like you navigate from one area to the other in this world, encountering deserts but also destroyed cities and even living beings, like demons. And yet, at the end there is a twist of hope, it seems. Overall, UROBOROS sounds so sophisticated, the melodies are starting to be elegant while dirty and low. But, I hadn't noticed before, you can discern some melodies following the lyrics very closely like in all of the rest of the music produced in the world. Still, this album really has Shinya shining with his truly unique, genius drumming. If you don't know what I am talking about, watch him or an amateur drummer playing GLASS SKIN. To finish, is it just me or does this album's guitar riffs sound very "piratey"? In addition to the dry, post-catastrophic land, there is some personality in the guitars that my mind associates to pirates for some reason... Well, UROBOROS is very beautiful and goodness, I love Tue Madsen's mixing.

 VULGAR

This album is ominous but exudes confidence. There is something daring about the individuality of the songs that is fully assumed and goes in your face. The music is more repetitive than in most Dir en grey albums, but the heavy riffs are catchy and there is a plurality of sounds regardless. With this album, I get reminded that Kyo's voice is rather unique in the Japanese music scene for not being as low as the average singer. I love the UGHs throughout the album. It's very lyrics-heavy, each song is an individual story for sure.

 Six Ugly

Again, the music can be repetitive but there are some very good beats and sound experimentation. In general, this mini-album gives me the sense of a renegade teen expressing madness both as frustration but also as some delusion. It's slightly on the crazy side hah. The way it ends is representative: a scream followed shortly by a laugh.

 GAUZE

As much as I was approaching this album now with some resentment due to those people on Twitter who hold it as the sole album worth mentioning in all of Dir en grey's history, damn this was a very, very solid debut album (MISSA tends to be overlooked hah). It feels like a train,  both as a continuous, relentless ride but also a train hitting you head on. The music can get very repetitive at times, but there are such good riffs too. The tone of the singing throughout most of the album is "revendicateur" (no real equivalence in English), respectful but very powerful regardless. There are already very interesting experimentations with the voice at this early stage.

 MISSA

How did Shinya even go from such standard, non-varied drumming skills to his genius and unique performance of these days... Still, much better than a lot of other stuff I hear on today's radio or from the past, and especially from ANY other visual kei/J-rock band of that era. I listened to Aoi Tsuki all the time before hah. There is something insolent about the sound of the guitars in this album. The repetitiveness and the lyrics that are dragged on make this a more contemplative work.

 (As far as semi-albums go... Do you consider The Unraveling one? AH don't get me started on this one, my love is absolute! 改-KAI- is just remixes though...)

 Kisou

Like I am witnessing a very particular ceremony. There is demonic mixed with frustration and sadness. There are some highly powerful atmospheres in the songs on this album, like Bottom of the death valley, Gyakujou Tannou Keloid Milk and Karasu. It's vicious, it keeps me transfixed. The transitional tunes (shinsou) are so nice to have, they really transport you from one mood to another.

 Withering to death.

Ah this is when I discovered Dir en grey. THE FINAL had been enough to trigger the rest of this past decade+. This whole album grips my heart and elevates it, deepening the trend of exuding all that's inside. And hey, having watched these songs live a few times, they definitely have that 'dancey' vibe. There is a remarkable trace of maturity in this album from all members and every song is very unique. Ending with Kodou too... All in all, a very relatable work, like everything that followed.

 ARCHE

Du Shinya génial tout craché. This album wholly demonstrates Shinya's talent, the rolling and so diverse drums. Overall throughout this album, the bass and drum tracks are very, very appreciable. And the guitars pave some amazing, fantasist sonorities. ARCHE, to me, is desolation but, primordially, HOPE. It feels like the sadness is acknowledged but the energy of this album possesses me, courses through my veins and what unfolds is an encouragement to take control and turn your gaze forward. When a closed one passed away, "What now?" from Chain Repulsion and other segments of the songs on this album surfaced in my mind. When the dearest soul in my life passed away, in the end, this album is what I turned to in order to assimilate the situation, pour it out and still leave with a sliver of hope.

My initial thoughts about ARCHE when it came out was that the songs were universes that were cut short prior to being fully fleshed out. Almost a "coït interrompu". Now, I deeply appreciate them as they are, but indeed each tune is a world of its own, so immensely unique. There is something very stubborn about some of the songs too, like "I won't let you ignore what happened, I'll make sure of that". Seize the reins.

 Dum Spiro Spero

I get the image of one horribly gigantic and tenebrous snake sliding across the ground, fangs bared but discrete, prowling. There is something difficult to seize about these songs, like they are up there on a pedestal trying to lure me in with fantasy golden linings... Otherwise, I am quite biased by a review I had read, which described this album as the opening of the gates of hell, letting loose all that it had imprisoned. I really agree with this depiction. The sounds on this album are very bewitching, it's as if there was magic involved and many of the songs sport twists and turns, as though to pull the listener into various tunnels up and down in something that you are not too sure you want to partake in.

 MACABRE

Honestly I am relieved when I remember that this came right after GAUZE, not Kisou. Macabre's content is definitely very raw and overall, the sounds are very constant. It feels like a storyteller album, where things are expressed and you are entranced, but as far as relating to the stories being told... Weird things are going on sometimes hah. What is sure is that, no matter the range of emotions, they are powerful. There is little restraint to this intensity and madness. What it starts, it ends. And this album gave us the likes of Wake, a fist in and of itself.  

 And yet, throughout these two decades, there is an unmistakable constant of five men producing unique rhythms that aren't bound by even one another and yet come together as one to form a plethora of the most genuine expressions of pain, sadness, anger and, still, hope. Which is why I say that my favourite album is all of them.

I would be very interested in reading other fans’ impressions of each album too, and curious to know if anybody agrees with my thoughts on them. Let’s open a discussion!

#thanks for the trip #anon #ask #albums #opinion #Dir en grey #京 #Kyo #Die #Shinya #Toshiya #Kaoru #薫

[modern-sybil]

Leonard of Song Lyrics from One Specific Playlist I made myself in 2012

For each of you it is the song I can see you walking down a deserted street in the city on a windy February day to.

(click the lyric to go to the youtube link)

1. Hold on, what's the rush, what's the rush we're not done are we

Cause I don't need to change this atmosphere we've made if You can stay one more hour, can you stay one more hour

2. October's got those orange eyes

    But somehow I still lost sight     When you lifted the lid off of my pumpkin head     And kissed me goodnight

3. Come sail your ships around me And burn your bridges down. We make a little history baby Every time you come around. Come loose your dogs upon me And let your hair hang down. You are a little mystery to me Every time you come around.

4. All around me are familiar faces Worn out places, worn out faces Bright and early for their daily races Going nowhere, going nowhere

5. Sweet Delilah, come inside And won't you mend my broken bones The more that I get tossed aside The more I beg you not to go I'm building up a wall And I cant get over it

6. In the morning I'll make you breakfast In the evening I'll warm the bed And I'll always be happy to kiss you Promise I'll never get sad

7. It's like forgetting the words to your favorite song You can't believe it You were always singing along It was so easy and the words so sweet You can't remember You try to feel the beat

8.  The sun is coming down on me Could fate be so unkind?

Pain takes my heart's place The love we made remains

9. I can make you satisfied in Everything you do All your secret wishes could right Now be coming true And be forever with my poison arms

10. They never leave her while she sings She make them feel safe

She says, 'I can sing this song so blue That you will cry in spite of you Little wet tears on your baby's shoulder

11. Close your eyes and lose the feeling that's been sinking Close your eyes and count to three Close your eyes, rewind, I know just what you're thinking Close your eyes and think of me

12. Three o'clock I'm on my way on the road to somewhere Little clouds like wounds that blow away Listening to the radio like a friend that guides me Playing out every song we used to know

13. Every drop that I bleed Is a gift you give me Let me spend my skin on you Kiss me, whisper, make me new

14. So we lay in the dark, We've got nothing to say Just the beating of hearts, Like two drums in the grey I don't know what we're doing I don't know what we've done But the fire is coming So I think we should run

15.This is the correlation of salvation and love Don't drop your arms Don't drop your arms, I'll guard your heart With quiet words, I'll lead you in

16. She wore that dress like it was a Saturday Pretty as a summer rose picked in the morning And he held her hand like it was a mystery One he couldn't quite believe Just walking with him

17. A girl with a bird she found in the snow Then flew up her gown and that’s how she knows That God made her eyes for crying at birth Then left the ground to circle the Earth

18. Hey darling, I hope you're good tonight And I know you don't feel right when I'm leaving Yeah, I want it but no, I don't need it Tell me something sweet to get me by 'Cause I can't come back home 'til they're singin'

The Playlist In Question

#sapphosaic #leonard