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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 4 months

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christmas lights and tension

part two of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

fluff, friendship, an attempt at humour, cringe of course, tension and bickering, meddling gyals, feelings good and bad, found family

wc: 2.9k | part one | part three

The night prior played on in your head the entire journey to work. You thought about the pathetic way she could still make your heart beat with just a look of her eyes into yours and how, even after all this time, a brief closeness still made the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. As though, they too, just wanted her nearer.

It was aggravating, the way you wanted her within your periphery despite the hate you’d accumulated with regards to the redhead in her time away. Since she left with little goodbye.

The festive ornaments Wanda had decorated the cafe door with dared to annoy you when you let the door shut heavily behind you and each motion you went through was carried out with more force than necessary. You loathe how easily Natasha had gotten beneath your skin. With just one evening leaving you in such a way, you dare to think what else was in store. The mere fact only sets your plan in stone - you have to avoid her as much as possible. She’ll be gone in a week, it’ll be a simple task to execute.

–

When Sam and Wanda arrived they only had to share a glance, darting their eyes towards where you huffed and puffed at each menial job you carried out. The annoyance bounced off you and they knew better than to drag you into a conversation.

They let you stew in your Romanoff-stained head, plastering on your best customer service grins before retreating to make their orders with an obvious and venomous taste left on your tongue.

Pietro, however, was the allegorical spanner in the works. The blonde hurried into the building when he knew you’d reached the afternoon lull, an expectant smile on his face for the gossip he was waiting to hear from your lips. Wanda had warned him, and she did so again with a muttered scolding beneath her breath. She’d told him all about it last night - of course. But he wanted your side of the ongoing feud (that had been significantly lacking ignition for longer than he’d prefer).

Despite what his sister may say, he will not deprive himself of hearing your angry retelling.

“So,” he began with a playful lilt to his vaguely accented voice. “Anything interesting happen last night?”

He merely laughed at the glare you shot his way, a trait you’d grown to despise after all of these years.

“I told you not to say anything,” Wanda sighed, slapping his hand away from the cookie he tried to help himself to. “She’s angry,” she finished with a stage whisper and a nowhere-near-subtle gesture to where you stood beside her,

“I’m not angry,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes that proved just the opposite.

“So you definitely didn’t almost break my favourite mug, huh?” Sam laughed, still milking the emotional wound of the morning. It wasn’t broken, which you had assured him multiple times, but the near fatality was enough for him to hold against you for the foreseeable.

“It’s an ugly mug, Sam,” you mumbled, letting a huff of a laugh break through your tough exterior at his overly dramatic gasp.

“Only an angry person would say such a hurtful thing,” he frowned.

“I’m not angry. I’m totally over it. One hundred percent, completely, over it.”

You couldn’t even convince yourself, let alone the lifelong friends who stared back at you incredulously. You could just about kick yourself with the effect she somehow has on you. You could practically suffocate in it.

“Right,” Pietro nodded, seemingly agreeing with the others to feign the slightest belief in your statement. “So last night was good?”

“It was great,” you nodded, possibly giving yourself whiplash with the intensity. “Right, Wanda?”

“Yes. Definitely,” she agreed. “Very, um, tension-free and comfortable.”

“Yeah. It’s not as though somebody I haven’t spoken to for years was just staring at me all night,” you grumbled.

“Someone you’re totally over.”

“Exactly. Someone who has no hold on me at all. In fact, I actually forgot about the time she blocked my number, moved away and just never talked to me again.”

“So the annual Christmas Eve party at the Romanoff’s is still good to go?” Sam chimed in.

“Oh - I actually have plans that day,” you stumbled out - completely blanking on the tradition you’ve all kept up since high school.

It was an unconventional family you’d all found yourselves a home within; what began as a friendship group sitting together at lunch turned into gatherings during the holidays. Melina and Alexei had become parental figures for a few of you; large gatherings were held for all holidays celebrated within the social circle you’d accumulated, and the time you’d all spend together only grew you ever closer.

When you were younger, the ‘adults’ would be forced into the kitchen whilst you had your own teenage gatherings in the living room. Yelena would sneak a bottle of vodka from her parent’s cupboard, Kate would supply pizza, and Kamala would always amuse you with the comic stories she’d write herself into. Maria had often fondly commented on her wish for you to just ‘go to a party and get the cops called on you for underage drinking’, but you were all happy with Monica bringing her telescope - her prized possession - to show you the stars. You’d all rather critique Sam’s baking endeavours and tease Carol about her weekly changing crushes on various cheerleaders. Watching Kate clumsily lose her balance in an attempt at a race against Pietro was your preferred way to spend a Friday night.

You and Wanda would giggle at your friends, at the way Kamala would have to be practically carried home by her parents. She’d feign tipsiness and you’d all pretend you didn’t know it was just from all the Pepsi she’d drink. And then you’d gossip. Your favourite pastime for all these years, it was the pair of you against the world. She’d try to convince you of the obvious crush Natasha harboured for you, analysing each and every time she’d looked your way to see if you’d laughed at one of her jokes. Telling you of the eyes that constantly tried to find yours across a room as though she noted down each interaction - knowing her, she probably did.

She’d told you for years that your feelings were mutual and just as you let yourself believe her, the girl that held your heart in the palm of her hand just took it with her to college. And then to New York. And now that she was here, you swear you could see it peeking out of her jean pocket.

“Melina’s apple pie is literally your favourite,” Wanda spoke with a poke of her elbow into your side, knowing your stubbornness could easily subside if she had anything to do about it.

“Just bring me a slice,” you grumbled.

“No. You’re coming,” she returned with a shake of her head that never failed to put you in your place. “Besides, you’re over the Romanoff phenomena, right?”

“Right.”

And just as though the universe is desperate to see you in a fugue of embarrassment the bell above the coffee shop door sounded, and the hinges you always mean to tend to creaked, as the subject of your aching resentment sauntered in. You caught a brief glance of the soft smile that pulled at her lips as she looked around before you ducked out of view, hitting Wanda’s leg when she looked down at you with a laugh.

“You’ve got a nice place here,” she spoke. You hate how much you still adore the rasp of her voice.

“Yeah,” Wanda answered, you saw her nod from where you sat. And hid; your cowardice seemingly ever present only when it comes to her. “We opened it a couple years ago.”

“She always said you’d open a shop here. I knew she’d do it.” You could hear the smile in her words and though Wanda is always on your team she couldn’t miss the fondness in Natasha’s eyes. The same glint from before; she made a mental note to tell you later. She does love romance after all, even if one half of the beloved couple is on her naughty list. She couldn’t completely let go of her matchmaking fantasies, even if she had to work with a friends-to enemies-to lovers debacle.

You rest your chin on your tucked-up knees as you remember the day she’d walked with you through town, sharing a cup of ice cream whilst you spoke about your dreams for the future. You’d pointed at an empty space with a ‘for rent’ sign plastered to the window and claimed it would be yours, that you’d let Wanda decorate and give Natasha free coffees. She’d laughed and told you she’d write her books in the back corner and name a character after you.

Neither of you mentioned the key elements of your desired futures. The presence of one another, sharing kisses and tender embraces.

“My mom sent me,” you heard her say. “Something about cookies to have while we decorate? Apparently you come over to help?”

“You’d know that if you ever came back, Nat.” Wanda hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, she almost felt bad at the way the redhead nervously cleared her throat at the unspoken accusation but she couldn’t just forget the way she’d treated you. It was impossible to forget the way you only let her see you cry.

“Yeah, I know,” she breathed. “It’s busy in New York, y’know? Deadlines and meetings,” she added, trailing off when she realised her excuses weren’t even good enough for herself. “I was hoping I’d bump into her actually, is she not here?”

“No, sorry,” Wanda lied seamlessly. “She had to go and chase up a delivery.”

“I guess I’ll see her tonight?”

“I’ll see if she can make it.”

–

She didn’t ‘see if you could make it’ at all. Each protest you made was debunked by persuasive words and puppy dog eyes she knew you couldn’t resist. You let any attempt she made of Natasha being a ‘changed woman’ glide right off of you, Wanda Maximoff’s belief in true love be damned.

So, you were forced into attending the annual get-together where Melina sugarcoated her forced labour with promises of eggnog. She only enlists you to help because she knows Alexei and Yelena are less use than a chocolate teapot when it comes to festive decorations.

You muttered beneath your breath as you dawdled your way to the front door, arms full with the box of cookies as requested (Sam’s own recipe), hoping to savour as much time as possible before you were thrust into close proximity with the woman you’d made it your mission to avoid. Wanda was orchestrating this on purpose, you’re sure.

Before you’d even had time to fish the key out of your jacket’s pocket, the face you hoped not to see was smiling at you with the door opened wide enough to let you in. You didn’t let yourself pay attention to the familiar scent of the perfume she still seems to wear.

“Hi, you made it,” Natasha smiled, taking the box from your hands, feeling the same pull as you when her fingers brushed against yours.

“Yeah, I couldn’t let Yelena go without her cookies, could I?” you smirked, laughing when the aforementioned woman hurried over to take them from her sister.

“Kate Bishop, I have acquired the goods,” she shouted through a mouthful of crumbs that you knew must’ve left a trail behind her on the carpet.

“Wanda wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Melina promised eggnog, of course I’m here,” you smiled, directing it towards the woman who approached you with a glass and a grin. She couldn’t help the twinge of hurt that washed through her at your obvious coolness towards her, how you hardly looked at her, though she couldn’t blame you for it.

You were soon roped into hanging stockings along the fireplace with yours and the Maximoff’s still given a place. In hindsight, you wish less of your energy was focused on being on the opposite side of the room to Natasha and more on the sly whisperings between the women in the corner.

It wouldn’t have been as much of a surprise when the two of you were given the task of fixing stringed lights on the porch. You could’ve wrestled Wanda to the ground at the way she laughed behind her hand at each subtle way you attempted to push the job into somebody else's lap. But their minds were made up and four pairs of eyes glinted with mischievous amusement when you begrudgingly made your way out into the cold Ohio evening.

The yellowed light that filtered onto you both from within the house made her skin glow, her milky complexion just like cream. The kind that’d entice the swipe of your tongue across your bottom lip, wanting just a taste, but wanting to steer clear of its addictive elixir even more. You didn’t let her catch sight of your eyes tracing the side of her face whilst she attempted to unbind the tangled mess of lights bundled in her hold; mapping the contours of her jaw and the sharp turn it took as it dipped down to her exposed neck. You still knew each sporadic freckle and you chased a glimpse of each one before you darted your eyes elsewhere.

It was confusing. How all those antipathetic emotions she stirred up within you, adding to the mixture with each passing year of being out of your life, were somehow joined by those old feelings flooding back. It all washed over you in a blearily muddled wave, filling each space it could find, bubbling and boiling, spitting out in ways that made you flinch.

How could one woman cause you such upheaval?

“Here,” she muttered, holding out the stringed lights that seemed to be in even worse condition than they had started with a scrunched up face of surrender. “I give up.”

You took them from her wordlessly, still hoping you could get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Things like this take time, Natasha,” you spoke. Your voice was quiet and directed downwards with your chin against your chest as you picked apart the mess she’d handed you. “You can’t just expect it to unravel all perfectly just because you want it to.”

“Why do I feel like that has a double meaning?”

You only shrugged in response, weaving the wires with care so not to damage them further, getting there slowly but surely.

“And here I was, hoping you’d talk to me tonight,” she murmured, scuffing her foot against the worn down wooden decking beneath her boot clad feet.

“I don’t have much to say.”

“Alright.”

“Things don’t always happen the way you want them to, that’s all,” you breathed. “You can’t just come here and have it all fall in your lap all perfectly neat. Life doesn’t work like that.”

“Right, so this definitely isn’t about the lights,” she laughed. It was humourless and the second you dared to spare in her direction showed you the grimace that washed over her lips for just a moment before it faded again.

“I don’t find any of this funny, Natasha. It’s a lot,” you sighed. “You being here after all of this time - after all that time I was just forgotten by you. You must be really dense if you’d expect me to just welcome you back with open arms.”

“I didn’t forget you,” she returned, brows furrowing at the way you truly believed that. “I could never just forget you.”

“Then why’d you leave me behind?”

Any words that lay across the length of her tongue wouldn’t garner the courage to venture past her lips. Her mouth opened and closed. Opened and closed again. Words were never easy when it came to you.

“I’m done,” you stated, doing all you could to push down the sting at her lack of reassurance. You felt foolish that, just for a moment,you’d thought that something heartfelt and profound would ease the ache. Sweet words spoken in her velvet-soft voice, saccharine enough to fix it all. You held out the neat and tangle-free length of string lights for clarification and she cleared her throat as she pulled her hands out of the front pockets of her jeans to take them from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The woman didn’t shy away from letting her sights linger on your body when she held the ladder still for you to climb. Still, she kept her hands away as much as she wanted to feel the solidity of you beneath them, only instructing you with words.

“Move them a little to the left, maybe?”

“I know how to hang lights, Natasha,” you grumbled, straining the muscles of your arms to reach above you.

“I’m sure you do but they’re uneven,” she bit back.

“Whatever you say.” You rolled your eyes out of her sight whilst she snuck a peek at the exposed skin of your back where your shirt lifted.

“Alright, now just hook them over the corner and we’re done,” she added, smirking at the dramatised groan you answered her with despite the tension in her jaw at the thick atmosphere between you.

“If I’d known you’d back seat decorate, I would’ve got you to do it all,” you scoffed when you could finally make your way down from the stepladder.

Neither of you acknowledged the hand she lay on your back, fingertips ghosting your cool skin with warmth that bit past the winter cold. Neither of you said anything about the way it stayed there. And you definitely didn’t admit to yourself that it left you willing its return when it drew away.

Wanda was going to have a field day with this.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #au: home for christmas

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petertingle-yipyip · 9 months

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WISH YOU WERE SOBER - MIGUEL O’HARA

Pairing: Platonic Miguel x Young Reader (father/daughter dynamic)

Word Count: 2,651

Summary: (Request) hi!! i have a platonic req for miguel x chaotic teen reader who has a bad relationship with her dad, just a man who lost his daughter and a girl who never had a proper father.. what could go wrong..(im a slut for found family)

Getting bit by a spider is less than ideal to begin with. But when you were bitten by a highly experimental spider that came from the labs your dad worked at, it was arguably worse. And then, when said spider bite results in you sticking to walls and being able to shoot webs from your wrists, it all becomes terrifying.

——————————

“Dad… Something’s not right.” You try to tell him while your notebook is stuck to your open hand. You shake it, only to hear the crumple and flap of papers hitting together. “Please.”

“Mhmm, mhmm.” He nods with his back to you, refusing to turn in his desk chair. “Yes, go ahead, kiddo.”

“Dad?”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Go wherever.”

“I’m not… I’m scared! Please!”

“Enough.” He says firmly, a hand hits the desk and you hear the slosh of liquid in a glass bottle. “Go.”

“You’re drinking?”

“It’s not your business. Go.”

——————————

A few years later and nothing changed. He hadn’t even noticed that you were never home at night. Your bruises and bloody lips never got acknowledged. Winces and groans as you walked around were unheard. He had constantly drank himself into stupors, rivaling the depth of a coma at one point.

Your heart constantly ached for the relationship you two had when you were younger, before your mother left. Her treatment stopped helping and she died in the hospital, a place you and your father could never go back to. After that, he told you he’d rather drive to Jersey for a hospital than ever walk back into Metro General.

As your relationship crumbled, so did your faith in people. If your father, the man who you owed half your genetics to and the man who raised you, couldn’t put his own child’s needs ahead of his own despair, how could anyone truly love one unconditionally?

“Hey!” A familiar voice called behind you as you were sitting on your rooftop. “It’s my favorite spider kid!”

It was your father’s birthday and - of course, he was passed out in a puddle of whiskey in the kitchen. You had turned him on his side and propped him against the cabinet to ensure he didn’t choke on his own vomit before you suited up and just… sat. Chin resting on knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped around and fingers locked together. Mask pushed up to your hairline as the cold night breeze blew through. You were too absorbed in your thoughts to realize your spider sense had been going off.

“Peter B.” You smiled quickly as you turned and saw the bright orange of the portal. “Shit. Did I miss an assignment?” You turned your wrist and saw nothing on your watch screen.

“No… Just knew what day it was.”

“Oh..”

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

You hummed slightly and let him pull you to your feet. Mayday offered you a grabby hand gesture that made you smile and she took that as approval so she shot a web to your chest and pulled herself into your arms. You laughed as you followed Peter, his daughter in your arms and babbling nonsense.

You two walked into the familiar HQ building, greeting various spider people on the way before Hobie and Pav replaced him. You huffed a sigh when you realized that it wasn’t just a coincidence that the entirety of your gang was taking turns walking with you.

They were keeping an eye on you.

You slipped away during Pav’s dramatic retelling of his latest date with Gayatri. He was gesturing wildly with his arms when you sidestepped and dropped down a few levels, catching yourself on the ledge and pulling yourself to sit underneath. After a few moments of sitting alone, you headed to the training center.

It didn’t take long for Hobie to find you there.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” You snapped.

“Right..” He nodded carefully, moving behind the heavy bag you were lightly punching. He held it in place and leaned around it to offer you a questioning expression. “That’s why you bailed on Pav, eh? Y’know he was crushed.”

“I’ll apologize later. Just leave it alone, Hob.”

“Squashed.” He shrugged and leaned away. He gave the bag a small shake and tapped it, telling you to keep hitting it. “But I gotta say, Y/N/N, it’s not hard to see you’re angry.”

“Oh I wonder why.” You said sarcastically as your fists began to make contact again.”

“If it’s about your pops, maybe you should-“

“I should what? Talk to him? You can’t talk to a man two thirds in on a bottle of whiskey. Help him? Like he helped me when my mom died, right? Because that’s what we do, right?”

Every sentence led to your fists hitting harder and harder, more direct contact that stung the skin.

“He doesn’t care about me. He abandoned me when I needed him… He’s probably a canon event for me anyway so the sooner he’s gone the better.”

“You don’t wanna be alone, Y/N.” Hobie offered gently.

Though the gentle tone only scraped your nerves and your fist went through the leather of the punching bag with enough force to push Hobie back.

“Says a lot about the person I’m becoming.” You shrugged and pulled your hand out.

The sand inside began spilling out and you sighed when the faint glow of the familiar AI appeared in front of you.

“Hello, Lyla.” You grumbled and kicked at the growing sand pile.

“Heart rate elevated. Adrenaline and cortisol are spiking and you busted a punching bag… I’m getting Miguel.” She said simply.

“Don’t get Miguel.” You groaned.

“I’m getting Miguel.”

“Lyla!”

“He’s expecting you.”

“Why would you-“

“Because you need to-“

“Why is everyone telling me what I need?” You shouted, throwing an arm to the side which swatted through the projection.

She appeared again at your shoulder with glasses disheveled.

“Case and point.” She nodded. “Go and talk to him. Now.”

“I hate it here sometimes.” You muttered and dropped to the floor, back to the door while you drew with a finger in the still growing sand pile.

As annoying as it could be at HQ, anything was better than home.

You were in the process of drawing your spider logo when you saw his looming shadow. You ignored him up until he sat next to you and you pulled your knees to your chest.

“She’s gonna come back.” Peter said gently and you felt Mayday’s hand patting your arm to a beat only she understood. “C’mon, kid. Say something.”

“Nothing to say.” You grumbled and shot webs at the ceiling so you could get away from the conversation attempt.

You slowly made your way to Miguel’s workspace. Your watch beeped as you went, probably messages from Lyla telling you to move your ass or one of your friends trying to check on you. You ignored the sounds and kept walking along the ceiling, hardly registering the directional change when you started walking on his wall.

“Siéntete.” He said simply as he pointed to the chair beside him without facing you.

“How’d you know it was me?” You asked simply.

“I’ve been tracking your watch. Sit.”

“I’m fine here, thanks.”

“I wasn’t asking, Y/N.”

“I don’t want to-“

Your complaint was cut short by the bright red webbing that looped around your torso. You cursed quietly as he yanked you to the platform and pushed you into the seat.

“Wasn’t so hard.” He smirked before he crossed his arms and leaned against the table behind him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” You huffed.

“You put a hole in the heaviest bag today and you swatted through Lyla.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Mhmm, right.” He nodded absently before sliding a video clip to present between you two. “So what’s this?”

…so the sooner he’s gone, the better.

“I’m just angry.” You shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“Hmm. And this?” He slid a secondary video underneath.

It was you, rolling your dad over and placing two bottles of water by his head. You picked up the tipped cup and cleaned up the spilled liquor. You tucked a small folded note under the bottles, stating a quick and simple happy birthday with a quick heart.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Someone was worried about you. I had a quick survey done of you in your universe.”

“Who was worried? Peter B? Is that why he showed up for me earlier?”

“Pavitr.” He corrected. “And you walked away from his date night story.”

“I didn’t-“ You groaned and threw your head back. “It had nothing to do with him!”

“It felt very personal to him.”

“Look, whatever kind of intervention this is, I don’t need it or want it. Forgive me for having my mother’s kind heart.”

“Okay.”

The webbing around your torso disappeared and he cleared the video clips away. You frowned slightly when he gestured for you to go.

“That’s it?” Your brows furrowed and you kept the disappointment out of your voice.

“That’s it.” He shrugged. “You won’t listen to anyone trying to help and I can see exactly what’s going on and what you need. But what do I know, hmm?”

“Right… I’m just gonna..” You stood slowly and moved to the edge of the platform, freezing at his next sentence.

“When I was with Gabriella…” He said softly, so kindly you almost didn’t hear it.

But the mention of her name froze you in your tracks. He hardly ever talked about his daughter. Why would he tell you anything about such a sensitive subject? You figured you should listen.

“I made sure to know everything I could about her.. That’s what dads do, right? I knew what she liked and what she didn’t. I learned her friends’ names and faces. I even learned how to make these silly little paper origami animals…”

“Why are you telling me this?” You asked weakly. You almost felt awkward hearing such a sweet sentiment coming from your usually angry boss.

“Because it’s part of what you’re missing..”

That sentence made you turn to face him.

“You want a male authority figure that can tell you he knows that you like cheerios for breakfast, but if you don’t have any, you’ll toast half a bagel and put peanut butter.. Sometimes you’ll get a green apple with it.. You want to hear someone acknowledge that you get caffeine headaches but can’t drink more than a Cola in a day. The one time you tried an energy drink, your senses kicked up to a forty and you could hear colors for four hours.

“You used to play sports before you got bit but after, the contact from the ball irritated your skin so bad you had to quit. You told your team that you had developed a health condition and overworking your kidneys could kill you.

“The logo of your suit is the vague shape of the spider that bit you, which was a common California house spider. Usually they’re not a problem but thanks to Oscorp, it was a lot more aggressive than it should’ve been…. You use clips in your hair because a hair tie makes it too tight. And you sharpie’d those words on the inside of your sleeve because you couldn’t stop thinking of them when you made your suit.”

“I don’t like cheerios.” You said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes with a small smile. “Honey nut cheerios.”

“And I didn’t just quit because of that..”

“Cause you got a job.” Miguel continued. “Under the table, cash only, for a graveyard shift at an all night diner.”

“Did you know my brother and sister moved out? My younger brother moved in with either his girlfriend or his friends because he couldn’t be around my dad. And my older sister, I don’t even know where she is… They might not even be in New York anymore. But I still make sure they don’t have to get the call to ID my father’s body.”

“But you want him dead to pass your canon?”

“Well yeah, I…” You sighed and threw your hands to the side. “No.. I don’t know. It’s not easy to live in that apartment anymore.”

“I know… But you’re still here. You still have your suit and your abilities and you help people.”

“Couldn’t help my mom.” You shrugged. “Couldn’t help my siblings. Can’t help my dad… What kind of a spider person am I if I can’t even help the people I care about most?”

“Makes you human.”

“Why do you know all that anyway?” You asked instead, allowing his gentle tone soften some of the sharpness in your chest. “What does my story matter in the whole arachno-whatever?”

“Every spider’s story matters here.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and swallowed the taste of disappointment on your tongue.

“Aren’t people like.. predisposed to addiction based on genetics?” You changed the subject.

“Sometimes, why?”

“So I'll end up like him, most likely.”

“Y/N..”

“Can you fix it?”

“What?” His eyes went wide.

“You’re a geneticist, right? You can run my genes and figure out where the problem is. You can fix it.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Or.. him. You can fix my dad!”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?” You groaned.

“Because he’ll be dead by the end of the night!” He snapped and you felt your body run cold while regret crossed his features.

“What?” You spoke, barely above a whisper. “What do you- How- How do you know?”

He sighed to himself and rubbed his temple before he spoke slowly, putting extra caution into his word selection.

“When you told Hobie about it tonight, I had Lyla run the algorithm for your canon… His liver has been on the brink for a couple days and it looks like tonight’s the night it finally gives out.”

“Can I save him?” You asked tightly, eyes locked to the floor as the tears burned behind your eyes. “If I go home now and call the ambulance, can I?”

“You tell me how great the ambulance response in your neighborhood is.” He deadpanned and you sighed heavily, knowing he was right.

“I still wanna go home.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“He shouldn’t die alone.”

“You can’t change it… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so invested?” You looked up at him with a newfound anger burning behind your eyes, ignoring the tears falling down your cheeks. “What the hell does my life matter to you?”

“Because..” He sighed before he knelt in front of you. “I see so much of Gabriella in you, arañita.. And I can see you’re hurting.”

Your bottom lip quivered and the tears welled in your eyes. You hadn’t even realized that you wanted someone to notice things like your pain. You just wanted someone to pay attention to you and not feel like you were a background character in your own home, to feel like you were alone in the one place you were supposed to be safest.

“I’m just-“ You began, though your voice broke. “I’m so sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.”

“I know, mija.” He nodded. “But remember this.”

He turned your forearm so you’d see the words in your own sloppy, tiny handwriting.

“Keep your head up and don’t lose twice.” He read the words before he put hands on your shoulders. “You’re so strong, Y/N.”

“I’ll end up like him.” You said bitterly but your immediate sniffle iced any venom in your tone. “I’ll end up a pathetic loser that passes out in the kitchen… I’ll abandon the people that need me when they need me the most. I-“

He shook his head and pulled you in for a tight hug, cutting off what would’ve been the most self-degrading sentence you could’ve mustered.

“I won’t let that happen, mija.”

#miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara fic #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse fic #spiderverse #smatsv #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x teen!reader #father daughter fic #found family #spiderman fanfic #spiderman 2099 fic #spiderman 2099 #dad!miguel #dad!miguel ohara

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buckychristwrites · 10 months

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About You | Day 8 | j.t.

Summary: Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you're publicly feuding with.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Discussing tits?? Cussing. Enemies to lovers

A/N: Let me know what you think! :)

Masterlist | About You Masterlist | Main Blog

“Holy shit!”

Keeley’s face was horrified by the picture on your screen. It was your face the morning after the match. The bruising had spread from the bridge of your nose to your forehead and your cheeks. The swelling had been minimal, and you were lucky that you hadn’t gotten a black eye. You had still taken the day after the match off, however, for that reason, and because you desperately needed to get started on the article.

Though, it had been weird being away. That had been the first day in a week where you didn’t see or hear from Jamie. There were too many instances where you thought about texting or phoning him. But ultimately, you didn’t speak to him at all. Maybe that was why you were able to be so productive. You had gotten a decent chunk written, and had transferred the audio, video and picture files all onto your laptop and organised them.

But now you were back in action, face caked in makeup to hide the extensive bruises and anti-inflammatories taken to bring the swelling down. When you ran into Keeley in the car park, she had asked if you knew why Jamie had been pulled from the match. Roy, she had said, was so angry about it, despite the win they still claimed, that he just couldn’t tell her. So of course, you had to tell her what had happened.

“He really pummelled him though?” She asked. You nodded. She looked pleased. “Good for him. That prick sounds like he deserved it.” Retelling the story had brought back the feelings from the day prior, making you shake your head.

“I’ve never been defended like that before.”

You weren’t looking at her as you stared at the picture of yourself, but you could feel her studying your expression.

“Jamie’s amazing to have on your side once you have him,” She said in a quiet voice. When you looked at her again, you could see what she was thinking just by the look on her face. It felt like she was seeing right through you, reading your mind. Maybe she was.

“He is,” You finally said with a nod. She nodded back in understanding, biting back a smile.

You tried to distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach. The breeze felt nice, blowing just enough to cool you down from the sunny warmth without being considered too windy. It felt a little too bright outside, but maybe that was from the injury you were sporting. Your head had been incredibly sensitive, easily developing a headache at the drop of a hat.

“Quite a relationship the two of you have developed over the last week,” She remarked innocently before taking a sip of her coffee. You broke eye contact as you began to look around.

“It’s crazy what can be accomplished after yelling at each other in the car about our feelings,” You told her.

Keeley was never a stupid woman, and you never took her for one. You could dance around the topic as much as you wanted, but you could tell by the way she looked at you in this moment, that she knew everything about the conundrum going on in your head. For a brief second, you considered the idea of talking to her about it. Maybe she’d have some insight for you. She was, after all, the most qualified person you knew to give you advice when it came to player number 9 of AFC Richmond. You took a deep breath.

“Can I tell-”

“Are we workin’ out here today?”

The both of you jumped a kilometre in the air before whirling around. Jamie approached with a look of amusement on his face.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Jamie,” Keeley scolded with a hand dramatically over her heart. “You nearly gave me a fuckin’ heart attack.” He couldn’t help but grin mischievously while she continued to shake her head. Your heart was racing, and you knew it wasn’t just due to the fear you had felt moments before.

“Sorry,” He said, without an ounce of apology in his tone. When he glanced at you, he immediately looked away, the smile on his face seeming to fade away. “Erm, would I be able to talk to ya?” He asked, his eyes finding you again. You looked over at Keeley with a look that begged her to stay.

“Well, see you guys later!” She said. If you hadn’t been paying attention, you would’ve missed the wink she gave you before scurrying off and disappearing through the door.

“Right, erm.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking around as if something in the car park would help him. You watched him carefully. He looked so guilty, and sad.

“I just, erm…” He tried again, but trailed off. Finally, he inhaled, clapping his hands together. “We missed ya at practice yesterday.” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“I missed it too,” You said. Though you knew that’s not what you missed. “I just… I just needed a day for proper work and rest, I think.” He nodded in understanding.

“Your face looks much better than I thought it would,” He said, lifting a hand to point to where you got hit. You stared at his fingertips and remembered how they felt when cradling your head in that little room during the match. It was like your cheeks had the feeling burned into them, for they suddenly grew very warm. You felt embarrassed by how much you wish he would do it again.

“I’m wearing makeup,” You admitted before showing him the picture on your phone. His hand instantly went to face, running downward from his eyes to his chin before dropping back down to his side. His knuckles on that side were covered in bruises, and you had to actively tell yourself to look away.

“I should’ve been more worried about keepin’ you safe than lettin’ me anger get the best of me,” He said. “I know you said it wasn’t me who hit ya, but it still wouldn’t’ve happened if I hadn’t acted like a loon. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m just so sorry.”

You wracked your brain in a desperate attempt to say something, anything, that would make him feel better. But you knew it was all in vain. You knew, in that moment, he was hearing his dad in his head, calling him a fuck up and a monster, or whatever it was he was thinking. But it was all in his expression, as he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the pavement.

“You stood up for me,” You reminded him. “You were trying to protect me and keep me safe.” He nodded.

“I was worried ‘bout you bein’ upset by the way you rushed off after the match.”

It was true. When you had woken up back at Richmond that night, with Jamie’s arm around you and head using yours as a pillow, you were filled with a lovely feeling. The team were piling out at the time, clearly having seen the two of you already and no longer paying it any mind. You had woken him gently, allowing him to pull away from you on his own before you rose from your seat. A quick goodbye was exchanged before you left, trying and apparently failing, to appear nonchalant as you stepped off the coach and headed to your car.

“Then you didn’t come in the next day,” Jamie continued, shrugging his shoulders. “I just… I just wanted to make sure you and I are alright.”

You wanted to comfort him with more than just words. With a hug, or the squeeze of a hand. It didn’t feel like the right moment, and you weren’t sure how he would handle the gesture, so you decided against it. You were suddenly hyper aware of your hands at your sides, so you shoved them in your pocket.

“Of course we’re alright,” You said. “No other mate of mine would ever do what you did for me. You may have just gotten promoted to my best friend.” This seemed to placate him, for his face relaxed, now smiling slightly.

“You don’t have any friends who’d break a person’s teeth for ya?” He asked, astonished when you shook your head. “Sounds like ya need to get new mates, yeah?” You turned and started to walk towards the door, him following close behind.

“What makes a person a good friend to you?” You asked him as the fresh air turned into air conditioning. The hallway seemed more sparse than usual, but you wondered if that was because the two of you were now considered tardy.

“They just give a fuck about ya,” He explained, waving to the always excited security guard. “I used to think a good mate was just someone who I knew for a long time and could go to the club with.” He took a long moment to think. “But… now I know that the length of time doesn’t matter, it’s the quality of the person.”

As much as you felt bad about it, you were shocked by his answer.

“That was really thoughtful, Jamie,” You said, staring at him in awe. He straightened his posture.

“I can be thoughtful, sometimes.”

Upon entering the changing room, you were surrounded instantly by players, who all began talking at once and looking over you. You looked around between all of them, overwhelmed as you tried to pick out some of what they were saying.

“Is your nose okay?”

“We were worried when you didn’t come in yesterday!”

“Is it broken? It looks the same…”

“Gentlemen!” You announced, raising your hands up. They all stopped, the silence a huge contrast from a moment before. “My nose is fine, and not broken. It’s just very bruised and painful. I just needed to get some work done and rest my head yesterday, but I missed you all too.”

They all calmed, even looking happy at your words.

“Where’s the bruising?” Van Damme asked, looking closely at your face. “I don’t see any.” You pulled your face away.

“I’m wearing makeup, goofy.” He straightened, making an O shape with his mouth.

“Women are so magical with their makeup abilities,” Dani said in a dreamy tone. “Shapeshifters, they are.” Rolling your eyes with the biggest smile on your face, you turned around and returned to Jamie, who had been watching the whole exchange with an amused grin.

“They really like ya,” He informed you. In the middle of pulling your notepad from your pocket, you froze and looked at him.

“They were more than worried when you didn’t come yesterday, they were havin’ a strop about it.” He pulled his shirt off. You tried not to stare. “Kept askin’ me if you were in hospital or somethin’.” You looked around at the team, who were now getting changed and not paying you any mind. It hadn’t occurred to you that you hadn’t just turned things around with Jamie, you had also changed things with them, as well. When you had started coming around, just over a week ago, they were all standoffish towards you, sending glares at every chance and keeping their distance. Now, they seemed to care about you just as much as you cared about them.

The coaches entered, looking around at the team. Their eyes all fell on you at once, and you thought they would be indifferent. But they all seemed to look almost relieved at the sight of you. The moment was gone as quick as it started, as they began to address the team while you took your notes.

Back to business as usual.

It was an average day on the pitch. For the first hour, you watched as normal. But you began to feel yourself getting antsy, as it seemed to be something you had been watching the same thing over and over again. You thought about the things you’d need from the article. Plenty of pictures filled your phone of him playing, but maybe taking pictures of the stadium itself would be nice. There were lots of pictures and posters of him hanging out that had been proudly displayed by ownership. Maybe you could get a comment from someone who wasn’t a player.

Taking one last look at the pitch, you snuck off to the tunnel. You made an effort to not look back once more to see if your leaving was noticed. The prickle you felt on the back of your neck let you know that at least one person was watching you.

There was something so serene about the club when the hallways weren’t swimming with people. The history on the walls were so fascinating, and being able to have the chance to walk around and actually soak it in made you giddy. Meeting people and interviews were all well and good, but this was your favourite part of your job. The research, the learning, the things you got to see that the layperson did not. You looked at every picture of previous teams, looking for familiar faces and feeling excited when you actually found them.

When you got to the current team’s picture, you felt a surge of pride as you took a photo of it. This team had become so important to you in the last week, and you found yourself wondering if you would feel the same in a week, a month, even a year. Would they say hello if they saw you at an event? Would they reply to your comment amongst a sea of fan replies on Instagram? Would they even care to remember you once you're gone?

As per usual these days, your thoughts floated back to Jamie, the same questions still standing. You knew these feelings went far beyond friendship at this point. Would it even matter, in the end, after you went back to your normal job? You’re just you, and he is Jamie Tartt, footballer legend extraordinaire, the best of his generation. He had pieces done about him all the time by interviewers from around the world. Fans adored him, and would cry, yell and faint on the street over him. He met women and men who were, let’s face it, richer, more beautiful and more interesting than you ever could’ve dreamed of.

You were just a silly little journalist who caught a silly little crush on the mad famous footballer. The one who, incidentally, you had hated just a few months prior. What a world.

“Are you alright?”

You shrieked, whirling around to find Rebecca Welton standing there looking like an absolute bombshell while also looking positively fearful.

“I’m so sorry,” She said as you slapped a hand over your chest. “I just saw you standing there-”

“No no, it’s alright,” You said, finally catching your breath. The skin on your cheeks felt like it was melting off from how hot they were. “I just got lost in thought, is all. I’m okay. How are you, Rebecca?” She looked surprised, even hesitant, by your question.

“I’m well, thank you.”

The two of you just stood there for a long moment, looking around awkwardly. You put your phone in your pocket before folding your hands together in front of you. This was the first time you had seen or spoken to her since the first day. While you weren’t going out of your way to avoid her, it did make you feel better to not see her. The first impression you had gotten was that she didn’t really want you around, so you felt you were helping her out by keeping yourself scarce.

“The team seems to have warmed up to you,” She said, a little quickly. “Keeley says that Jamie and you have become… quite close?” You nodded.

“Shocking, I know,” You said with a laugh. “It was a surprise to everyone.” You wished deeply in that moment that she was easier to read. She was smiling, but she was the type of person where she could smile at you while also planning your murder and allocating the resources and money for it at the same time.

“I do hope that means that the negative articles about my players stop,” She said, still smiling. In this moment, you wished desperately that you were back on the pitch. Or maybe dead in an alley. Anywhere, really, would be better than this.

“Yes, I’ll find someone else to slander,” You said. Your heart dropped, stunned, when she actually laughed at this. The sound of it sucked the air from your lungs.

She began to walk away, but stopped, raising a finger before turning back to face you.

“Are you still going to the Gala?”

You looked back at her again.

“I am,” You told her. “Wouldn’t miss it!” She nodded, looking around the hallway before back at you.

“Have you decided on an outfit yet?” She asked. “It’s black tie.” You shook your head.

“I have some dresses in my closet. I’ll probably go with one of those.” This time, it was her turn to shake her head.

“Oh. No, no,” She said, waving you off. She looked you up and down, seeming to assess you. You could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “I’ll send you some ideas. You let me know which one you want, and I’ll have it sent to your apartment by morning.”

Your eyebrows knitted together, your mouth now agape.

“Rebecca, I can’t let you do that,” You said, the shock filling your voice. “I appre-” She waved you off again, which made you shut your mouth.

“I won’t hear a word otherwise,” She said before giving you a lovely smile. “Just let me know which one you think suits you best. Preferably by the end of the day.” She turned around and began to make her way down the hall, leaving you dumbfounded.

“Thank you!” You called after her. She didn’t speak, but instead she waved behind her. You continued to watch her.

“Do you already know where I live or something?”

When the team returned to the changing room, you were already on the bench in front of Jamie’s locker with your legs crossed atop the wood. You had returned to take pictures of the locker room, having gotten what you wanted from the rest of the stadium. Now, you sat on your phone, scrolling through the dresses that Rebecca had sent you.

“Where’d you disappear off to?” Jamie asked, leaning over your shoulder to see what you were looking at. He let out a low whistle. “What are those for?”

“The Gala,” You said, trying and failing to hold back your excitement. “Rebecca said she’d get me whatever dress I want. For free!” You huffed. “I can’t decide which one though.” Snatching your phone from your hands, he began to scroll through them himself.

“These are for you?” He asked quietly, looking at you before looking at the dresses. You eyed him nervously, about to ask him to give you his honest opinion when-

“What’s for you?” Sam asked, taking the phone from Jamie, who gave him an angry look. Sam studied the phone, about to open his mouth before Isaac took the phone from him, who then had it immediately stolen by Van Damme.

“This one is lovely,” Van Damme said as he started to show you which one he was referring to, but then Richard snatched it from him. When he looked through the options, he snorted.

“You are crazy!” He said to Van Damme. “The best one is this one!” Colin yanked the phone, although it was quite a fight this time as Richard had quite the grip on it.

“This one would really bring out her eyes though,” Colin retorted, showing Richard another one. Dani grabbed the phone and looked, giving you a precious smile.

“You would look lovely in all of these,” He said kindly. You blushed while Bumbercatch looked over Dani’s shoulder.

“You have to pick the best one, bruv,” Isaac grunted. “We already know she’d look lovely in all of them!” You peaked over at Jamie, who was a mix of annoyed and amused. Everyone began debating, voices louder and louder as time went on. You watched the entire thing without the smiling on your face faltering at any point.

The door to the coaches’ office burst open, and Roy and Coach Beard made their way out. Their presence did not calm a soul in the room.

“OI!” Roy shouted. Everyone froze to look at him. He looked around at everyone, being sure that every single person in the room got an individual glare before saying, “What the hell is going on here?”

Within ten minutes, the dresses had been printed out and taped to the whiteboard, your phone having thankfully been returned. Coach Beard was at the board with a pointer in his hand. Everyone was talking over each other.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, let’s talk this out like adults,” Beard exclaimed as the voices slowly came to a stop. “Now through door number one is this lovely ankle length dress with a straight cut neckline and spaghetti straps.” He paused for a second, presumably for the drama. “Elegant. One might even say… chic. A beautiful red for a black tie evening. Will definitely stand out.”

“What if she doesn’t want to stand out?” Jamie called out.

“It’s a Charity Gala, Tartt. Every woman wants to stand out!” Isaac shouted.

Jamie rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath about how none of these blokes know you at all. You ignored the flutter in your tummy as you continued to watch the mayhem.

“Door numero dos!” Beard exclaimed, a little louder this time. “A pink mini dress with a frilly skirt, heart neckline and no straps.” You shrugged.

“I don’t know if I have the tits for that one?” You admitted. The room erupted, everyone yelling at you. You shrugged defensively, throwing your hands up. “I’m just saying!” They continued to pop off.

“You have beautiful tits!”

“It’s not the tits, it’s the heart of the girl who wears them!”

“Who made you feel so self conscious about your tits? I’ll fucking end them with my bare hands.”

“Oi!” Jamie stood up, raising his hands and looking at the team. “Stop fuckin’ talkin’ about her tits, yeah?” Everyone mumbled in agreement as Jamie slowly sank back into the seat. “Fuckin’ innappropriate that is. Borderline sexual harassment, in my opinion.”

“And last, but certainly not least,” Coach Beard continued. “We have a long, floor length black dress, slit down the skirt, with a straight neckline and no straps.”

“It’s too similar to the first one!” Sam pointed out, which the rest of them roared in disagreement.

“You just don’t understand fashion, Sam,” Colin said, ignoring Sam’s look of absolute disgust and shock towards the back of his head.

“But it’s better than the first one,” Richard pointed out. “The skirt slit makes it just-” He lifted his fingers to his mouth, kissing them before opening them again. “Chef’s kiss.”

“It has the elegance of the first one without being… aggressive with the redness,” Isaac remarked.

They continued to debate passionately. You looked at Jamie, who, for the first time since you had ever known him, remained perfectly silent, just listening.

“What do you think?” You asked him, in a quiet voice so only he could hear you. He looked over in surprise, eyebrows to his hairline.

“Me? You want my opinion?” He asked. You shrugged.

“I’m getting everyone else's, may as well chime in,” You said. You decided not to tell him that as much as you loved the chorus of loud opinions coming from the rest of the room, the one you wanted most was his. He stared at you, searching your eyes, before turning and looking at the dresses. A few moments passed before inhaled deeply and spoke again.

“The black one.” It was so confident of an answer. “Number three.”

“Why that one?” You asked, turning to look at it again.

“The first one makes you look like you’re going to your ex husband’s weddin’ and you’re tryin’ to make a point. The second one looks like somethin’ you’d wear to the premiere of a children’s movie.” He looked at you again, his eyes going up and down your body, before turning back to the board. “The black one just feels like you. It’s simple, but still se- still nice.” He nodded in confirmation. The two of you met eyes again and he swallowed. “The black one is perfect.”

Not waiting another second, you stood up.

“I’ve made my decision.”

They all looked at you expectantly. You paused for dramatic affect, and the longer you waited, the more impatient they all got. It was a little exhilarating.

“Number 3,” You declared. “I’m picking the black one.”

The room erupted once more, a mix of enthusiasm and disappointment. Before it could get too chaotic, Jamie stood.

“It’s her fuckin’ choice, yeah?” He yelled. “Either be happy for her or keep your mouth fuckin’ shut.” Despite the aggression in his words, you could see the twinkle in his eye, and when he met your eye, he winked before smiling at you.

It wasn’t until you went to sleep that night that the smile on your face faltered, but even in your sleep, there was still a slight whisper of one on your lips.

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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the-kr8tor · 6 months

Text

Parallel Cut

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is taller than r though) , TW violence, CW injury, CW food mention, suggestive content.

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CHAPTER 10 >>> EPILOGUE

You walk through aunt Janet's shop, eyes adjusting to the lights. The smell of the store wafts through your senses, the old carpet smell, rows and rows of fabric displayed on the shelves smelling of chemicals and dye. There's a faint smell of leather lingering in the air, reminding you of Hobie. Trainers squeak briefly on the floor, waking you up from your zombie like trance.

When did you even get here?

Your mind has been noisy since yesterday, you've mostly been on autopilot, muscle memory guiding you to your destination. Rubbing your tired eyes, barely sleeping last night, you had the urge to knock on Hobie's door to help soothe your screaming head. You feel a throbbing pain behind your eyes, temple aching in a stabbing headache.

You make your way towards the register, finding it empty, you ring the call bell.

"I'll be there in a second" Janet's voice answers. You have no energy to reply back.

Bouncing on the balls of your feet, fingers fiddling with your ring, its red beady eyes glaring at you, you turn it around so that it faces your palm. Clutching your hand into a tight fist, you're sure it leaves a spider shaped indent on your soft skin.

You already know you're not gonna take the offer so why are you feeling this way? Is it because you're afraid of telling Hobie? If you did, what would be his reaction to it? Whatever it is, you won't accept the job. You only have one Hobie, there'll always be another job, right?

Exhaling, you scratch off a bit of your nail polish, it falls on the floor like snowflakes. Janet finally makes an appearance, cane thumping against carpet, face lighting up when she sees you.

"And here I thought you wouldn't pick up your order" she chuckles, eyes staying on your leather jacket. "Nice jacket, wonder whose that is?" Janet gives you a teasing look, eyebrow raising knowingly.

Giving her a shy smile, you bite your lip. "He made the move– well it was a team effort for the both of us" chuckling, your eyes twinkle when talking about him.

Janet claps her hand, you jump slightly at the cracking sound. For an old woman she could clap really loud. She grins widely at you, smile lines prominent.

"Oh my days! Finally!" She clutches her pearls, "oh so proud of you, sweetheart. Tell me, How'd it go? Only if you're comfortable of course"

"Well he made this really dramatic entrance at the show, running late of course" Janet hangs on to every word, eyes flickering to your tired ones. "After he walked on the runway he just upped and kissed me" you say still in disbelief, happy that you've finally told someone else in person.

Telling Yuri and the others on the phone wasn't as satisfying as you thought it would be. Still, their happy screeches and between 'told you so's'– It left a very giddy look on your face while Hobie rolls his eyes at Yuri telling James he owes her money. Ned was yelling the entire time, chanting 'I did that!' On the speaker, so loud in fact you thought he was gonna break it.

You didn't even mean to tell them at first, but when you answered the phone, Hobie's phone at three am, voice hoarse, sleep still in your eyes with Hobie tangled around your body, telling you in his sleep deprived voice to drop the call, it's safe to say your eardrums almost burst out with (a very drunk) Ned's surprised screech followed by (an equally drunk) Yuri and James. There goes keeping it a secret for a while till you two get the hang of things.

Despite that, your past thoughts linger in the back of your head, hammering loudly, threatening to break down your defensive walls.

"But you don't look too happy" Janet pipes up after your retelling. She looks concerned, lips turning into a thin line. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm really happy" Voice quiet, surprised that she saw through the cracks. You're really happy but the offer has your very being torn in half. Occupying your thoughts, eating you inside.

"Honey, I have five children and eleven grandkids, trust me I can tell." She sighs, eyes softening. "You don't have to tell me, but if that boy did something–"

Shaking your head, you're prepared to defend Hobie with your life. "It's not him." With a wobbly breath, you ask her for advice. "Did you ever have to leave someone you love because it'll be better in the long run?"

"Depends, better for whom exactly?" She turns around, grabbing your order from the shelf behind her. "And why would it be better for them?" Bringing the rolls of fabric on the counter with a thump.

"Nevermind, it's nothing" you retract your previous words. Palm aching from how hard you're clenching your fists, giving her a tight lipped smile.

Janet nods, genuine concern on her face. "I don't want to push you, but if you still want my advice just ask." She rings up your purchase.

"Thank you" paying for the fabric, you walk away from the cashier. An idea pops up wherein you don't have to directly ask, because if you did, it would make it real.

"A friend of mine was offered a job" biting your lip, you're technically not lying to her since your classmate Hannah got offered the same thing as you.

Walking back to the counter, Janet listens intently. "And uh, she's worrying about leaving her friends because the job requires her to move away," you pause for a brief second. "Really far away. And she hasn't told them"

"Give your friend my congratulations then." She smiles at you, "Was it a good offer at least?"

"Yeah, they gave m–her a lot to consider. It's a great opportunity for her," with all the numerous visits at her shop, you've grown to trust Aunt Janet with her wisdom in life, not to mention you're quite similar to each other. You value her opinion.

"But she's anxious because she wants to stay with her friend?" You nod at her question, knowing exactly what she's implying. "Well, ask her what was her initial reaction to the news, that usually gives a lot of information on what she truly feels" remembering your excitement and happy first reaction, you try to cover it up in your mind.

"She really doesn't want to leave him behind" your eyes start watering at the thought.

"Does she love him?"

"A lot, she loves him so much it hurts sometimes." You inhale at the confession, feeling guilty that you're dumping it all on Janet.

She takes your clenched hand that's been shaking on the counter, unclenching it, your nails leave half moon indents on your palms.

"Just talk to him, tell him. He'll help her figure it out, better than this old woman can" Janet squeezes your hand. You nod, taking her advice.

"Thank you, I'll tell her that" smiling at aunt Janet, you blink away the tears pooling in your watery eyes.

"Do you want to have a cup of tea? My daughter just sent me a batch from India. I think you'll like it." Janet asks, determined to help ease your mind off of things.

"Okay, sure" accepting, she leads you behind the counter into the back of the store.

—

You wave to Janet goodbye, stomach full of tea and biscuits. Opening the door, you stop in your tracks.

Hobie leans on his bike, grinning widely as he sees you come out of the store. He gives you a look that sweeps you off your feet, feeling like you're back in school having a crush on your best friend. Your heart sings in his presence, a giddy smile on your lips, practically skipping over to him.

"Hi, what are you doing here?" Your smile turns into a frown when you spot a cut on his lip. "Holy shit! What happened? Who did this to you?" Anger settles in your chest. Hands carefully cupping his jaw, scanning for more injuries. You grit your teeth, winching at the thought of him getting hurt.

"It's nothing I can't handle, you should've seen the tosser who tried to take me on" He holds your wrist, calloused fingertips massaging the tensed muscle.

"Are you okay? Any pain?"

"I'm fine, I can barely feel it now" it's how he finds out about his enhanced healing, thanks to the ability, he healed it in no time. The injury looked much worse before coming to you. Still, he savors you doting on him, "Gromit, I'm fine, yeah? Don't worry"

You let out a breath you didn't notice you were holding. Hand sliding down to his neck, fingers fiddling with his necklace. "Are you sure? Let's just go home for today, then you can tell me who I need to beat up" pulling back, your eyebrows knitted together.

"Nah, c'mon. I feel better now that you're here" Hobie pats the seat of the motorcycle. Noticing that you haven't moved, he tilts his head, giving you his most convincing smile. "Gromit, love, cherry" He calls every nickname you have until there's a shy smile on your lips, he even calls your most embarrassing childhood nicknames, "little worm, pebbles, guppy" you hide behind your hand.

"Okay, enough" you laugh, embarrassed at the names, especially that you're on a semi busy street. Taking your hands away from your face to cup Hobie's mouth. He smiles underneath it.

"There she is" Hobie brings you closer, pulling you by the sleeve of his jacket.

"I hate you" you grin through it, eyes flicking down to his lips, worried that you might exacerbate his injury if you kiss him right there and then.

He chuckles deeply, "You love me though" Hobie shuts down your apprehensiveness, lips a breath away from yours.

Sighing, you act exasperated but your love struck smile betrays you. "Unfortunately, I do" you quip back, words stitched with fondness. Closing your eyes, he guides you into the kiss. Hands flying to the back of his neck, deepening it further.

The nagging feeling stays, whispering and taunting. You push it far back in your mind, it gnaws and claws, begging to be let out.

—

You whistle out at the breathtaking view in front of you, clutching the bag of fish and chips in your arms, Hobie helps you take off your helmet. The cliff overlooks the city's landscape, sunset turning everything around you in an orange glow. To your right is a dozen or so picnic tables, moss clings to the wood, still it stands tall. Behind is the woods, thick enough to get lost in, curved oak and pine looming like giants. Birds chirp in the background adding to the calm scenery.

"Do you take all your women here?" You ask teasingly half seriously.

"Only the ones I've pined for since childhood" he joins your side, shoving you with his hip lightly. Hobie takes the bag from your arm in exchange for his hand. Intertwining his fingers with yours as heat rises to your cold cheeks.

You and Hobie are the only ones in the place, save for a few birds and critters hanging around. Cold air nips at your neck, the sun making it warm enough to enjoy the weather.

Hand in hand, he guides you towards one of the tables. Sitting down, you inhale the fresh air. Hobie gives you your share of chips, you smile at him appreciatively.

"So, who do I have to beat up?" You ask, cracking your knuckles for added effect.

Hobie chortles, "hell, I'll even help you"

"What happened anyway?"

He sighs, frustrated. "We got blocked, they knocked down one of us for no reason. Things escalated" Hobie saves you from the violence. "Fuckin' Wilson Fisk still sits pretty up in his ivory tower" his frustration barks back. "Sorry" He exhales, unclenching his fists.

"Don't be, I should've been there. I'm the one who should be sorry" You take his hand, squeezing it three times.

"If you were there, you could've gotten hurt. Don't think I can handle that" The thought of you almost getting trampled back in the pit still weighs heavy in his mind. He brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a quick yet affectionate kiss over your skin. "Everyone's fairly okay, we got out early. We'll try again though"

"I'll be there next time, are you sure it's not hurting anymore? Once we get back home, I'll put some betadine over it" the thought of you on his lap, cooing and cleaning his wounds fills him with affection.

"I'm sure, love" Hobie exhales. "Let's eat, it's starting to get cold" you nod, still concerned for him. Hobie watches your eyes roam around the greenery. "D'you seriously not remember this place?" Sitting next to you, he sips at his drink, avoiding his cut lip.

"Why? have we been here before?"

"Yeah, school field trip. Our classes had the same schedule. This is where we ate lunch, remember now?"

"Oh, shit!" Recognition flashes on your face. "Where we got left behind by the bus!"

"Mm-hmm" He points at you with a mouthful of chips.

"We got left behind because you were too busy snogging what's her face behind a tree to remember the call time"

"No, I wasn't," he shakes his head. "You gotta get your memory checked, love"

"Nuh-uh, I remember it because it was what everyone was talking about"

"We got left behind by the bus because I was lookin' for you" his face turning serious.

"What?"

"I never snogged anyone here" he scoffs, "wankers were stirring up rumours 'bout me again." Hobie scoots closer to you, "I got back to the bus after going to the toilets. I watched your bus get filled up but I never saw you get on. So I came back out to look for you"

You nod, trying to recollect the memory.

He walks you back to that day. "I looked around, asked your classmates. No one saw you. I was starting to panic, thinkin' you got lost in the woods, tempted by a ghoul or somethin'" you snort at his joke. "Found you ten minutes later, crouched on the grass, drawing a fucking flower"

You hide your face in embarrassment, remembering exactly why you hid there. Memory brings you back to that day.

Hobie finally finds you, he feels like he can breathe again. Sitting quietly next to you, his eyes linger on the side of your face. Clutching your sketchbook and pencil in a tight knuckle grip.

You sat there in silence until you forgave yourself for loving him.

"Oh fuck" voice muffled by your hands. "We were stuck here for like three fucking hours because I was such a dramatic bitch!"

"Well, it was a pretty flower" he tries to make you feel better.

"That was not my best moment" you chuckle, "I remember running there because I heard about you kissing someone. Guess I've got a penchant for running away huh?"

"No matter, I'll keep trying to find you whenever you do," you smile sweetly at his words. "Or just catch you before you do"

"You're implying that there's going to be something for me to run away from" you joke, Hobie goes with your bit.

"I don't think there's any more crude rumours of me out there. Think you're good, love." You shake your head with a playful roll of your eyes, cleaning a crumb off his cheek. Hobie gives you a peck on your finger tip as a thank you.

A comfortable silence blankets you both, your mind takes the quiet to its advantage, it goes back to Janet's advice. Mrs. Williams' words echo around you, layered on top of Riley's offer. Heart beating fast, the plastic spoon snaps in half as you grip it too tightly.

Hobie's head turns towards the crunching sound, "you alright? Let me see, you might have splinters"

"I'm okay, just flimsy plastic"

"Here, you can share mine."

"Thanks"

Silence permeates the air once again.

"I need to tell you something" you and Hobie say at the same time.

"Age before beauty" He pokes your side with a chuckle.

You bite your lip, gaze lingering somewhere other than his face. Eyes moving at the gaps of sunlight on the trees. Maybe you shouldn't tell him, you're gonna stay with him anyway, what's the point? You find It painfully difficult.

Because if you did tell him, it would all feel sickenly real. A gut feeling fluttering restlessly, mind predicting the outcome of the conversation.

Hobie notices your apprehensiveness, he calls your name tenderly. Encouraging you to speak your mind.

"Do you remember that bloke back at the fashion show?" Bravery taking over with a shaky voice.

Humming in understanding, Hobie moves his leg over the bench, straddling it to look at you fully.

You fake a smile through it, "well he offered me a job"

"Bloody good on you, love!" He pats your arm, hand staying on it. "Well deserved!"

You smile bashfully at his reaction. "Thanks, but I'm not gonna take it" you bravely look at him, focusing on the slow knit of his brows.

"Why not? 's a good opportunity" his hand slides down your arm, landing on your thigh, unmoving, tethering you to him.

"It's just that– they want me to move to the US for it." Sighing, "so, I'm not taking it" you watch as Hobie's smile fades, the cogs in his head moving rapidly, jaw clenching, wrapping his mind to what you just said.

"Sorry, what was it you're gonna say?" Trying to change the topic, Hobie takes your hand in his.

Heart lodged in his throat, Hobie stays quiet for a minute, for you it seemed like forever. The only sounds are the leaves blowing in the cool air, birds happily chirping as if they're mocking you. Faint traffic beeps from below, it might as well be right next to you with how deafening the silence is. The food you ate sits weirdly in your stomach. You try to even out your breathing as Hobie finally opens his mouth to speak.

"I fell for you right here, did you know that?" He squeezes your hand. You did not expect for him to say that, shaking your head, your heart beats a thousand times per minute.

"You gave me a sandwich– made me one, actually" he continues as you listen on. "Because you know I wouldn't bring my own lunch. You cared for me when no one else did. Then you upped and disappeared that day and–" Hobie releases a shuddering breath. "I just panicked. Then that turned into relief when I finally found you."

Stray tears slide down your cheeks. "As I sat down next to you, realizing that I was panicking because I loved you. And was afraid you were already gone without knowing how much loved you were"

A sob breaks through when you see his watery eyes, something you would've never thought of ever seeing from the strongest person you know and love.

"Hobie–"

"Take it, take the offer" he says woefully.

You shake your head like a child throwing a tantrum. "No, I'm not leaving you," your voice breaking. "I can't"

"You've wanted this since–before you've even met me." Hobie chuckles humorlessly. "I don't want to hold you back" softly, he cups your face in both hands, afraid of what he'll do next. "Do you want it? I won't hold it against you, I want you to fulfill your dreams" even if I'm not a part of it.

You nod your head slowly, answering his question, soft hands holding his trembling ones tightly. "Please, just say the words and I'll stay." You sniff, acting brave. "Please say it!" Balling his shirt in your fists. You hope, wish that he changes his mind. That he would tell you to stay with him. But you know him better, Hobie's a lot of things, selfish isn't one of them.

He stares at your glimmering eyes, watching his own face contort into sorrow. Killing the part of him that wants you to stay.

"You need to go" sobs wracked your body when he utters the words. The ground would've swallowed you whole if not for his hold on you. But it'll be okay if it did as long as you fall with him.

It's love in its most painful form.

His heart breaks for what he's about to do. Hobie takes out his favour card from his pocket, punching out all the remaining logos. You can barely see through your tears while he does it, the card looks bare in his hands. Small circles of logos taken by a gust of wind. He calls your name softly with no malice or resentment in his voice.

Nothing remains on the piece of paper.

You want him to scream and curse at you, make him feel something else instead of sadness. Instead, Hobie hugs you through it, shoulders shaking, hands wrapped around you protectively. Your hands cling to his vest like it's your lifeline.

You hate that you broke his heart after filling it with love.

In between weeping, you mumble 'sorries' love overflowing for each other, cups filling to the bream.

"I'm sorry," you look at him through the tears, cheek on his broad chest, he shakes his head, rocking you slightly in his arms. You feel his racing heartbeat.

"Do you regret this?" Us? You ask tentatively, sniffling. You don't want him to resent you for stringing him along just to leave him right after.

"No, never. I'll do it all over again if I have to.'' He doesn't regret loving you or even confessing, the only thing he grieves over is that it took him too long to do so, he would've had more time with you.

He resents himself.

"I'll wait for you" he blurts out through the tears.

"Please, don't. You don't have to"

"I've waited for you for as long as I could remember and I'll wait for decades more if I have to." He wipes your cheeks, you savour him with every touch. Hobie asks the dreaded question, "when are you leaving?" Whispering it to you so that the world doesn't know. Just you and him on that park bench, bodies in a tight embrace, love pouring out from every pore.

"In two months" you answer with a frown, tears still flowing freely.

"It'll be the best two months of your life then" he captures your lips in a solemn kiss, memorizing every detail, engraving it into his brain.

—

Hobie kept his promise, those two months were the best you've ever had. You and Hobie did everything you've ever wanted together. Moved in with him on that houseboat you've briefly called your home.

Bodies joined together on his sheets you've mended, love and laughter lit up the entire house. With every caress and whispered confessions sends you two reeling over the edge.

Still, your parting looms over your heads. Tears wiped away as soon as they started, reminding you that you won't be truly apart when your very souls have been intertwined since the beginning.

With tearful eyes and sad smiles you part with the love of your life. Promises of late night calls and hand written letters falling on both your lips. Kisses lingering, touch fading as you fly off to your new life.

Hobie takes your photo with him on every patrol, tucked safely inside his leather vest, fingers gliding over the seams you've stitched together.

You look at the polaroid of you and Hobie before bed as you end your call with him, his voice anchoring you. Looking at the moon on your small window brings you comfort that the same one watches over him.

He wakes up alone, sun beaming down on his face, smiling fondly, the thought of the same sun bearing down on you fills the hole in his heart. Reminders of you stays in his home, *your home. Throw pillows on his lumpy couch, your slippers in the bathroom, mug sitting next to his. He leaves it where you last put them, waiting for you.

You endure.

Slowly but surely you grow accustomed to your new life, getting used to the empty space beside you. You meet like minded friends, they help you get out of your shell.

You find yourself, the same one you've lost years ago.

Both of you try to make time for each other even with the time difference and busy schedules. You write letters sprayed with your perfume, a piece of fabric from your newest design is taped inside, words filled with adoration and content. Hobie replies immediately back, with blood stained knuckles he writes quickly. He leaves a dried flower inside the envelope, his letters always ending with the same three words.

After a rough battle, Hobie finds himself recruited to some society full of people with abilities like him. He doesn't seem so lonely anymore. A heavy weight lifted off his shoulders.

You see Spider-Man on TV one day, smiling as the reporter tells the audience that Wilson Fisk is finally out of power thanks to the spandex and leather clad hero. Even with the grainy footage, you recognize Spider-Man's vest.

You dream of each other, dreams getting blurry every night until it's foggy and muddy, turning into a dreamless sleep.

Hobie sees your familiar face, a version of you at least, he doesn't run to her or talk, just watches with a faint smile on his lips. Glad that you're happy in every dimension. He harbours no sadness or even guilt, just love. He'd always miss you but his happiness for you would always win over the emotion.

With each sunrise he wakes up to, satisfaction flowing through him, knowing he chose well. One day he looks next to him without sadness blooming in his chest, just a fond smile under his mask.

He's proud of you and you're proud of him. Sometimes that's enough.

Your love for each other never waned, it stood dormant in your hearts, waiting and yearning for the day you finally reunite.

Until you thread the needle again.

A/N: AHHH!! IT'S FINALLY DONE! From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading, and interacting with my lil story! And thank you for sticking around this long ❤️

Until next time, lovelies (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

(Please read the epilogue when it comes out ily)

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eyesanddragons · 6 months

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Albatross, Animus Dragons and Preventable Tragedies

(Also Known as: This tragedy was not inevitable, let's talk about responsibility)

(CWs: Murder, Abuse)

So, Legends Darkstalker as a book has a lot of thoughts about fate and inevitability. Clearsight and Darkstalker try and fail to create an ideal future for the both of them, Fathom is scared that he can't prevent his animus magic from destroying is soul, and the readers know how all of this is going to end since Legends Darkstalker is a prequel to Arc 2.

In the midst of all this talk about inevitability and fate we have...Albatross. Someone who we've known about since Arc 1 and know how his story ends. He causes the Royal Seawing Massacre, his magic allegedly "driving him insane." What's interesting about Albatross is that when you really look at his life, this historical version of it falls short in many ways. The retelling of his life leave out important context, and notably, scrub any idea that someone or multiple someones might have caused him to act like this.

It's Albatross' fault in the end, it's his fault for losing control, his fault for being "insane."

But if we take an actual look at the story in Legends Darkstalker you find that this really isn't the case.

Albatross found out he was an animus in a very...unpleasant way. He enchanted a shell to bite the claws off his sister, Sapphire. This event was deeply traumatic and would stick with Albatross for his entire life. You might be wondering why Albatross didn't fix Sapphire's claws considering his powers and I'll get to one of the reasons in a bit since it's very important to what I'm trying to say, but @/kinkajouwof breaks it down over here.

In short, most likely the reason why Albatross didn't fix it at the start is due to uncertainty if he really Could do it and because Albatross and Sapphire were terrified.

The reason more important to my point though is that Lagoon Actively Benefited from this fear. When Lagoon became Queen she would hold this action over Albatross whenever he was unwilling to do things to guilt him into following what she wanted him to do.

"This is a waste of time, Lagoon," he said. "Nobody ever tested me, but we figured out quickly enough what I could do. If any of them have a shred of power, surely they would of known by now. Or it will become obvious, sooner or later." "I'd prefer sooner," the queen said silkily. "If we find another animus in the tribe, that would make us twice as powerful, which would be quite useful given how the Mudwings and Rainwings have been behaving lately. And the earlier we find her, the sooner you can start to train her, and the sooner I can start to use her." "Besides," she added in a lower voice, so Fathom had to strain to hear her, "I think we would all prefer to discover our next animus in a less...dramatic fashion than you were discovered. Don't you?" Albatross flinched, just slightly. He cast a skeptical eye across the young. "My power is more than enough for whatever you need. I've given you everything you've asked for, haven't I? And I don't want an apprentice."

Afterwards Lagoon commands Albatross to start the test but you can see what I mean. Lagoon actively threatens Albatross and Exploits Him, and wants to find Other Animus Dragons to Exploit. He is not just a Subject to Lagoon, he is an Object to Lagoon. Non-sexual objectification.

She plans to do the same thing to another animus, Lagoon's rule was built on Exploiting the powers of the people she could Control. She wants to find them young so she could mold them into the tools she wanted them to be earlier. She wants to condition them to treat themselves as objects Now.

This treatment comes to a head during the banquet. Where Lagoon once again holds what happened to Sapphire over his head, while also threatening to Replace Him.

"Here is our first animus," Queen Lagoon said to the Skywings, who seemed to have figured that out themselves, judging by the looks of terror on their faces. "My brother, Albatross. We were just talking this morning about what his next project should be. I'm thinking big this time. Something that makes me invulnerable, perhaps. Or something that kills any dragon who might be a threat to me." Beyond Albatross, over the couches, Splash stiffened, and Fathom saw her crush one of the hibiscus blossoms between her claws. He glanced around and saw his father put a wing around Manta, who had gone pale. "Yes," Albatross said. "Although you recall I wasn't exactly enthused about any of those ideas." "Then it's lucky you're not my only animus dragon," Queen Lagoon said coldly. Fathom felt a shiver all the way down to the tip of his tail. If she asked him to do a spell like that, would he? Would he obey his queen and put his own mother in danger? Or disobey her, and perhaps put everyone he cared about in even worse danger? What would she do to Indigo If I ever said no to her? Albatross stopped right in front of the queen, snout-to-snout with her. Fathom couldn't read his face. He looked as though he'd been carved from stone, any emotions chipped away. "Do you think you're done?" Queen Lagoon said to him softly. "Do you think you'll ever be done atoning for what you did to Sapphire? It's not going to end Albatross. You'll always be mine."

This is a bit of a blunder on Lagoon's part since Albatross Kills her! She's revealed that she is Never going to let him go, that no matter how hard he works he's never going to escape. No matter what he does he will be an Object to her. Fight, Flight or Freeze, stay here and be worked to death killing hundreds of people or Escape Now.

And Albatross...chose Fight.

Note that Albatross literally says right here that he doesn't Want to make Lagoon Invulnerable, he doesn't Want to give her the power to kill people.

When he starts killing other people it's not because he became ax-crazy. He killed the Queen, no matter how horrible and cruel she was their all going to defend her...and they've never thought about him. They've never cared for him. To them he was also an Object.

So...he kills them too.

Now I'm not saying He should of killed all those people, murder is bad actually. But this is a Consequence of Lagoon and the rest of Seawing society's actions. This is the direct, real, bloody consequence of treating a person like an object designed to serve their every whim.

This wasn't something he was doomed to be, this is something that has a tangible cause and effect. The system and the way it treated him is What Caused This.

Except, none of the Seawings who survived Want to face that. They don't Want to accept responsibility for that. Why should they accept the responsibility and guilt of having lead one of their own to believe that murder was the only way to escape a truly horrific and abusive situation...when they have a perfectly convenient scapegoat. Remember...Albatross is an object. Lagoon died, not because she perpetuating a horrible abusive situation that her society allowed her to do due to the absolute power she was given, but because she handled Albatross Improperly. Animus magic is just a dangerous thing, and the people who can use it are dangerous tools. This isn't Their Fault for treating a person like an object, it's the fault of improper usage of a tool.

It's a more convenient story for everyone...except for Fathom who proceeds to be treated horribly and drown himself in guilt and shame for being Dangerous.

Seawing Society caused something horrible and instead of trying to fix it, turned their backs and pretended they did nothing wrong. When we see Anemone their doing the Exact Same Thing to her. She is an object, a weapon of war, and she will be treated as such. Anemone believes she's doomed to become evil and almost Kills her family out of the belief that she is doomed to become a mass murderer.

Albatross' Massacre was preventable, and that's what makes it tragic.

#wof #wings of fire #wof albatross #wof anemone #wof meta #been a hot minute!#I get really frustrated whenever people treat Albatross as doomed to be evil #he really isnt

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yourlocalsmutwriter · 6 months

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A dramatic overture - Bada Lee x reader

You were a bit of an unusual ballet dancer. To put it plainly, you were a bit of a fuckup sometimes. But wasn't everyone? Apparently not, according to your overbearing mother. And your choreographer, the infamous Bada Lee. How you landed in her troupe was a mystery.

Not only was she an insanely talented leader, she had been a phenomenal dancer beforehand. Other girls like Lusher and Tater flourished under her guidance. You, on the other hand still needed some work.

And that is exactly what you did. Day and night you practiced tirelessly. After all, ballet was an art, and weren't all the greats tortured and starving? You were eating still, the only pleasure you allowed yourself. The rest was wake up, go to dance, go home, and then repeat the cycle again and again. But your efforts paid off in the end.

And you had perfected your routine just in time for your audition. You were doing Swan Lake, a staple in the community for dancers and the audience as well. And of course, Bada wanted to put her twist on it. So at the end of the season there would be a special ''modern'' retelling of the plot, with all original choreography from her. You were excited. As stereotypical it was, you loved Swan Lake. It was the ballet that made you want to be a dancer in the first place. And Odile was your dream role ever since you were a child. So you tried to brush off your insecurity and worked for it.

You had been to the studio at such late hours that your parents started to suspect you had a boyfriend. You didn't have the heart to tell them that a boyfriend was the last thing they would ever have to worry about it. So you brushed it off and insted went in during your allocated dinner hours. And since you absolutely hated breakfast and really anthing early in the morning, you were down to one meal a day. It's not like you planned it and it wasn't affecting you that badly. At least thats what you thought at first. But by hour 4 of practice, you were exausted. You did a turn and felt your body go limp. You tried to break your fall in, but you still slammed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Your fall must have been serious because Bada rushed in. You didn't even know she was in the studio then. You prepared fora lecture and her berating you on your stupidity and carelesness. But instead she let you lean on her and get to her office. There, you sat on a comfortable plush chair as she brought you a sports drink and an icepack. You were too tired to think about where her personal fridge was located and just how big it was. As your pain got lighter, you could focus more on what she was saying.

''And please, be careful. I see you work hard. But don't neglect yourself too much. The most important thing to focus on is your health. And as for the role, don't worry, there's plenty of roles, plenty of other shows.''

While she was right, you were stubborn. But you did not have a death wish, so you scaled back your practices by only 15 minutes, but it's the thought that counts. And also you started packing sandwiches. And little by little, it came time for auditions. Surprisingly, Odile was still popular, so you were up against the stars of your group. Still, they relied on their already existing talent and hadn't really bothered to memorize new techniques. And you had worked hard, building a completely new persona for your dancing. And that did not go unnoticed by Bada. So her decision was easy. Almost as easy as the way you cried tears of joy upon seeing the cast list. You had it. The role was yours. The pain was over.

Little did you know, the pain was just beginning. Now it was just a lot. while Odile was a background character most of the time, there was still her solo. And you dreaded it. Not only the dancing but also dancing with a man. It's not like you had anything against men. In fact, you were on good terms with most of the male members of the troupe. You just couldn't feel the necessary passion and attraction needed to dance with them. And you couldn't fake that love, even on stage for just a few minutes. But you managed. Bada had some minor critiques, which you corrected. And so the first cour of your performances began. Your choreographer had you do a limited summer run with the original production. Then, in the quieter ballet months you'd train again for her version of Swan Lake.

You were excited to play Odile twice. But little did you know, in Bada's version the cast would be all female. And you found out that last.

While you were on your last regular performance, she pulled you aside and told you there would be some changes to the cast list. She watched your face pale for a few seconds before adding that your spot would not change. And you swore she added a wink at the end, just to torment you.

Maybe it was worry. Maybe it was a stomach bug from all the supermarket sandwiches. But you were too sick to make it to rehearsal. You called your choreographer and almost tearfully apologized over and over again. Yet, Bada reassured you. Your role was not in the first acts anyway, so she'd focus on them now. But little did you know, she was simultaneously holding auditions. And she made sure to take down the new cast list before you return.

It was worth the hassle and the looks of bewilderment from the other dancers. Because she essentially saw you go through every stage of gay panic in the span of 5 minutes.

You walked in the studio, seeing her. She queued up the pas de deux music and walked over to the oposite side of the room. She stood on the blocking of your partner's position and motioned for you to take your place. When you were still frozen on your spot, she began explaining.

''We're in Bada's version now. And seeing how abysmall your chemistry was with the male leads, I made some changes.'' she said.

''If I was so bad, why didn't you say something. Why didn't you recast me.'' you questioned.

''You're a good dancer. And besides, it was just Swan Lake. I cannot be revolutional, I don't want to claim I can rewrite the story better. But making my cast all female of my own show, that's another thing. A modern retelling of a classic. With a strong message on how love isn't dictated by the gender binary. These tickets will sell like fresh bread.'' she explained

''And you're coming out of retirement to do this.'' you added, getting it now.

''Jackpot.''

''So you're doing this to get money.''

''I'm doing this for art. And to keep your fees from raising. Costume, set decor, rent on the studio, I'm guessing you don't want to pay that. Unless you do, then get in position.''

Her movements were so fluid. Additionally, she could lift you with ease. The thing is, every time she touched you, it felt like electricity was running through you. So you couldn't really focus and fumbled. Bada was a bit annoyed, but then she started over. Still, you were rattled. Why did this make you feel this way? Bada was attractive. But why would her appearance affect you so much? And now? So you continued to dance, pushing away the thoughts for some time. And it worked for a bit. You two managed to complete the routine. And did it again a few times again, to solidify it.

And then you did it perfectly. You would never use that word lightly, but it was true. It was a million times better than with your male partners. So you were confident that you would nail it.

''Okay, you have the energy now. Let's start learning the routine.'' Bada said.

You were confused. You knew your choreography, and you were wondering if there was a light misstep on your part. And then, Bada started a completely new dance. You wondered when she had the time to choreograph this. It was a completely different way of moving, looking more like a street style. You had never danced like this. But clearly, Bada had. She was so good, even better than with ballet. Was this on purpose? Or was it just her trying to showcase a skill? But why throw you under the bus? You could talk to her about it. Ask her to pull back on some moves, but still add that Bada flare. But you didn't do that. You just tried to copy her moves. You were a professional, so you could pick it up. And it's not like you picked up ballet in one go.

So you tried again. And again. And again. At first, Bada was guiding you very closely, being next to you, correcting your posture with her hands. After a few hours of that, she gets tired of this and sits down, just giving you oral feedback. That frustrated you. And the fact that she kept forcing you to practice over and over again. And at the end of the day, you were just tired and ended up just going home, with no progress on your end. The thing is, you tried again and again. You ended up having a sleepless night in order to get something done. And even though you were dancing like there was no tomorrow, there was little progress.

But you just kept at it. Rehearsing. Going home and dancing there. By the time you went to sleep, it was time to get up again. On days when you weren't training you'd just sleep and eat, calling it a day. You were becoming slovenly. Makeup and brushing your hair were becoming luxuries and so were laundry and showers. And the worst part is, you weren't improving. Street dancing was just not your thing. But it was everyone else's thing. Bada and the whole group could do it. Except you. You were the outcast again. And for no reason. It's not like you were bad at performing in your signature style. What pissed you off the most was surprisingly Bada. She was the incompetent one, not you. She couldn't lead you properly. You hoped she would help and you were called to her office at the end of the day. But instead, you got chewed up. Midway through her rant, someone stormed in, talking to her about a defaced poster and how it was going viral, but not in a good way. She excused herself and promised she'd be back soon. But 5 minutes past. Then 10. Then 15. And the whole time Bada's phone was buzzing with notifications. It was driving you insane. So you reached out to put it on silent mode. But something caught your eye. All the notifs were from a groupchat called TEAM BEBE and the picture was that of the troupe. So you looked at the messages and everyone was talking about you. Lusher, Tatter, even Cheche, they were all bad mouthing you. Making fun of you for the things, that were beyond your control. You had had enough so you just stormed out of there.

So you did the only thing you could think of. You dressed for revenge. First, you went to a salon to reverse the damage to your hair. Then you actually took time and booked a morning makeup session at the MAC counter, making sure to add a striking red lip. To top it all off, you decided to get some new clothes for the rehearsals. A few sexy and black pieces later, you had wiped out your salary. But none of that mattered.

While your transformation was already almost unbelievable, you knew it wasn't enough to shine to dazzle your so-called teammates. But the first person with a target on their back was Bada herself. After all, she was the one that got you into this mess in the first place. So you knew just how to make her regret it. But your plan wasn't exactly foolproof. And you were about to find that out.

First, you joined Bada in your usual practice room. It was surreal to see yourself reflected in so many mirrors while looking like this. You brushed it off. You began the routine and messed up horrendously, this time on purpose. You kept butchering it again and again until Bada stood up begrudgingly to help you. As soon as she got close enough, you pushed her back, watching her topple to the ground, her spine contorting into a graceful, sweeping curve. She was beautiful, even when falling. You wasted no time in straddling her waist, fully prepared to fight her. By then, she was fighting back too, trying to knee you, making you enclose your legs against her thigh. Bada pushes you back, but her hands meet your chest. And you fucking moan. She just raises an eyebrow and looks at you. Then she moves her hands to your hips, making you rock back and forth.

''If a good fuck is all you need to dance correctly, I'll give it to you princess,'' she said. You were about to protest, but she flexed her thigh and you were a goner. You let her take control completely. Bada made you grind your hips on her, to hump her leg like a horny pet. She snapped off the buttons of your leotard, so your bare pussy was rubbing against her. Your wetness was all over her black pants.

''Bada, I'm going to cum.'' with that your mentor bounced her leg up and down. You leaned towards her and kissed her as your orgasm took over you. She helped you ride it out and watched as you rolled over on the floor, panting and tired. Bada watched you for a minute and then said.

''Oh, my darling, I'm just getting started with you, so you better get up.''

Taglist: @withoctober

#street woman fighter 2 #swf2 #bada x reader #bada lee #bada lee x reader #swf2 x reader #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x y/n #bada lee x oc #bada lee smut #black swan #thigh riding

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bearsintreesofficial · 8 months

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a recreation of a sonic fanfiction i wrote when i was 10

ok y'all, some context is needed.

we have a song called cassiopeia coming out tonight. i made a tiktok that said if the sound for cassiopeia is used 100 times, i'll publish the sonic fanfiction i wrote when i was 10 that i joke about a lot but have never shared. anyway, this happened in an hour. i am shocked. i did not expect it to happen so quickly, if at all. i begin my search.

well, it turns out i can't publish it because the places it was published no longer exist, and 10 y/o me didn't back it up (although i thought i had). bummer. an early internet relic gone.

either way, the plot details are seared into my memory because honestly? for some reason, that small act of creativity was a core memory in my life. so while i can't share it, i can retell it, because it's silly and pretty accurately captures what it's like to be 10 and obsessed with a piece of popular media. so here goes.

enjoy, and stream our new single cassiopeia tonight.

SCENE OPENS

the fanfiction was about a page long. the story opens with me - in school, as i did most every day of my life up to that point. in the story, sonic/tails/knuckles live in the human world, and essentially function as superheroes. there's no explanation for it, they just are there keeping the earth safe and such. we are also friends. there is no explanation or backstory for that either.

with the setting established, we're straight into the action; an alien pod crash lands in our school playground after school. me and my friend are the only kids left. where are the teachers? who knows. as is evident, worldbuilding was not my strong point.

anyway, in this alien pod is...an alien. it was a spider that looked a lot like the facehuggers from the alien film franchise, because i'd seen a clip of that as a kid and it freaked the hell out of me. i call sonic (where did i get a mobile phone from?) and let him know something Serious is going down. sonic and tails arrive - knuckles is too busy trying to get the master emerald back from doctor robotnik in this instance.

my friend and i take a back seat and let sonic and tails deal with the weird alien thing. they deal with one, but as soon as they get rid of it 10 other capsules drop in the area. sonic and tails can't take them all, so me and my friend join in to help take them out. i didn't really account for how, but we're fighting all back to back and it's very epic. (sonic x was the prevailing sonic show at the time, and it was y'know - very dramatic. so this was like a scene from that.) tails even brings in the tornado two, his personal plane, to run rings around them. after we finish the final facehugger alien off, a final alien pod descends. but out of this pod emerges...

shadow the hedgehog.

the aliens had been sent by him, and he was here to take sonic down. this was all part of his master plan.

the piece then ended, because i suppose i was going to follow it up at some point. but alas, that did not happen.

moral(s) of the story:

archive the silly stuff you wrote when you were a kid, it'll be fun to look back on later.

stream our new song, cassiopeia. it has nothing to do with any of this, but i think it's neat regardless.

thank you.

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emelinstriker · 1 year

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Macaque ♡ Private Play

I can't help but imagine Macaque using his Shadow Play skills to get money- now imagine the reader, his lovely spouse, being a regular of his shows and boom :D

Pre-Shadow Play episode btw cuz he do kinda be needing that lamp still

The pain of having to write this level of wholesome fluff when you've never been in an actual romantic relationship yourself- So I had a lot more fun telling the tale at the end and making it all more dramatic- omegalul

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

It was yet another night at the theater, and a certain shadow monkey was doing his usual routine of retelling tales that he knew of from his own perspective and memories. Nothing out of the ordinary happened of course. He didn't get many people to see his performance, as usual, due to his plays' times and because of people not usually being interested in the concept of shadow plays as they preferred movies.

Such a shame, really, they were missing out on a great show! At least that's what you thought everytime you would see only a portion of the audience seats having been filled. Your husband did such an amazing show and you would be awestruck each and every time at the visuals he was able to create. Not to mention, his soothing voice was a nice bonus no matter which tale he told. He even used his powers to spice up your private wedding a few years back, using his shadows to calm you down from your nervous high, as well as putting on a shadow play for the few guests you had.

Once the play you were currently watching was over, you and the other people in the audience clapped, delighted at the performance. Some even stood up while the demon man on the stage bowed at the applause.

It didn't take long for the last people to leave the room while you simply sat in your reserved VIP seat as usual. And it didn't take long for your shadow to become a portal for the hooded monkey either as he emerged from it, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

"Hey there, sugarplum, how was work?", he said while nuzzling the crook of your neck. He was still in his human disguise, so unfortunately you were unable to appreciate his fluffy fur. But that didn't make you appreciate him any less as you leaned back into his hold.

You actually showed him your workplace before, which is a rather small thrift shop. Macaque needed some human clothing because the red and black cloak he's using during his plays would not suffice in certain areas of the city. Him in a hooded cloak, being all dark and mysterious, would most certainly garner unwanted attention from demons and humans alike. That's when you showed him some stylization options. Everything you showed him was extremely casual and he loved it.

"It was alright. Not much happened today, besides one customer who didn't understand how a warranty works", you muttered. The monkey let out a low chuckle as you could feel his chest's vibration on your back, leaning further into you. "Anyway, once you're free we can go take a stroll. There's this new 24-hour shop we haven't been to yet." Finally, you decided to turn a bit to give him a quick peck on the lips, making him smirk.

"Well, you're in luck. This one just so happened to be my last play for the night. Just gotta clockout at the counter and we're off", he said as he removed his disguise with his ability, revealing his demon form. He was still wearing his hooded cloak however, nuzzling you with his fur now.

And as he said, he clocked out at the counter... Or rather a shadow clone did while he himself carried you bridal-style outside the theater and onto the dark streets. He didn't let go of you until you were in the darkness of an alleyway, embraced by the shadows. You knew he specifically did this to make you feel safer. Because something he told you early on into your relationship: 'You're a lot safer in the shadows. So don't be afraid of them, especially when I'm here.'

The two of you walked hand-in-hand down the alley, talking about whatever else happened at each of your respective workplaces. Apparently the theater had a major fangirl come in who couldn't stop squealing at Macaque's voice, overall mysterious demeanor, as well as shadow abilities.

You laughed a bit at the image of a random girl in the back of the audience having a fangirl meltdown. "She did stay behind after the play to ask me for my number. Of course I said no and showed her my ring, but can you believe that?" He rolled his eyes at the memory.

"Yes, I can believe that would've happened eventually. After all," you started as you made your shoulder bump into his in an affectionate manner, "you do have an irresistible charm on the character you're putting up while in disguise."

You could've sworn his tail wagged underneath his cloak from the faint movement of fabric your eyes were able to catch behind him, giving you an amused smile. He pouted at your word choice.

"Just while in disguise? Damn, guess I'll need to step up my game as amazing husband to top that character", he chuckled before pulling down his hood. "How about I top the 'mysterious storyteller' right now with a tale I know you'll love?"

You simply stared at him in awe before excitedly nodding your head to give him the 'go'. In response, he let go of your hand and pulled out his lantern from underneath his cloak, twirling it in a fluent motion before it abruptly stopped and lit up in all its purple glory. He then winked as he handed it to you for safekeeping before taking a few steps back towards the opposing wall.

Macaque used both his hands and body to make the shadows behind him move in the usual shadow play fashion you knew from his public plays. Despite being fully aware of his abilities, knowing he doesn't need to do such thing to create those visuals, you appreciated his need to be a bit more dramatic than necessary. It simply added a bit more flare to the experience and made it a lot more enjoyable. But this time he actually incorporated his tail into the play too.

He started out with his eyes closed and his hands behind his back, using his smooth voice to his advantage, "Welcome my loveliest viewer, to a shadow play. The likes of which have never been seen." The simian's eyes opened as he threw a loving glance at you before raising his hand to the night sky. His arm's shadow formed a monkey man behind him. You knew that was him from his previous plays.

"The tale follows up on a warrior's story told not so long ago... There was a lonely warrior, wandering the most darkest corners of an unknown town. Cast aside by his former source of light, the hero, he sought out to find another source to feel whole once more", he started as his shadow now depicted himself and Sun Wukong. The Monkey King seemed to vanish as if turned to dust before being blown away by the wind. Macaque's expression held a sliver of hatred, but was quickly replaced with a gentle smile as another memory resurfaced.

"One day while roaming the town in the dead of night, a thunderstorm approached. Desperate to find shelter, he came across a different kind of light. A light so powerful, its source did not seem to mind sharing it with everyone they met." His eyes dilated a bit as he turned to face you, seeing you hold onto his lantern with extra care, making sure not to block its light. You didn't even notice your own lovestruck smile until he smiled back. "That light was a generous and kind mortal human, who offered him their home to shield him from the cold and damp. They even offered him silent comfort from the sounds outside as lightning continued to strike."

The shadows now depicted a human holding their hands over the warrior's ears, making both gaze at one another in close proximity. Then it switched to a scene with both holding hands while looking at what could only be described as sunrise.

"As the storm faded into the night, so did the moon. The sun started to awaken as its rays made the warrior realize that this human was his new source of light. And yet he told himself he had to leave, for he did not feel worthy of their compassion." The shadow of the warrior let go of the light's hands, but then was quickly stopped by the light refusing to let go of one hand, lightly tugging him back towards them.

"However, the light proved him otherwise. They did not agree with his mindset and instead asked him to stay longer." The human now pulled the warrior closer to them before giving him a hug. Macaque couldn't help but let out a little chuckle as he recalled the memory. "And eventually, the warrior seemed to have been put under a spell so strong it sent him into a spiraling trance. One that would bind him to the light for the future to come." Your husband then slightly leaned closer in your direction with his signature grin. "It was a spell of love."

The scene shifted once more to show both of them kissing while sitting on a bench under a tree, one familiar one you recognized with ease. "Over the coming months, their love for one another grew, and so did the shadow's courage to propose marriage to his beloved light. He came up with a plan to meet up under the tree's branches once again, and he expressed his devotion to the loving light of his life..."

Suddenly, the lantern became dimmer by the second as he approached your now blushing form with his arms crossed, clearly hearing your heartbeat. "I believe you already know how this story ends."

And as the lantern's light faded away, you launched yourself forward to capture him in your embrace, giving him a passionate kiss on the lips. You were still holding onto the lantern with one hand behind his back. He wrapped his arms around you in return and leaned more into you. Once you pulled away for air, you gave him a bright smile as a few tears formed in your eyes from the joy you felt. Despite the dark that surrounded you two, the simian was able to see your happy response to his small, private play. Macaque knew how to pick his words far too well.

"You dork... I love you, Mac", your mumbled voice said as you nuzzled your face into his chest. His lips made contact with the top of your head as he pulled you closer to him, letting out what sounded like a low purr.

"I love you too, sugarplum."

> Link to Masterlist <

#lmk x reader #macaque x reader #six eared macaque #lego monkie kid #shadow play #fluff #dear god this is so sweet i might have diabetes #the fact that i can even write this while still being aroace is funny tho #srsly i should be in bed rn it's past midnight

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yourheartonfireblog · 8 months

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So, I've been thinking about The Locked Tomb as a whole, particularly about how Tamsyn Muir pulls off the trick of making a dramatic tone and perspective switch with every book, yet it still feels cohesive as a story and a series.

Something that just clicked for me after a reread of Harrow the Ninth is noticing that a motif obviously present in HtN is actually running through all the books, in a way that supports this constant resetting at the beginning of every novel. And that is Alternate Universes. As in, like, the fanfiction concept of AUs.

Massive spoilers ahead for the first three books of The Locked Tomb:

Probably the biggest link between the books is the structure. All three books of The Locked Tomb roughly follow the same narrative pattern; the narrator/protagonist starts the story hopelessly outclassed and the least informed person in the situation in which she finds herself. At first she is passive or blocked from action, but there's a realization/revelation that she is not as helpless as initially thought. She builds in power and action (and this is rewarded with exposition dumps to catch her and the reader up on what is actually happening). The final act is a fight to the death and as she is dying the narrator makes a sacrifice of her own body in a way that manages to preserve at least part of her consciousness outside herself.

(The secondary narrative in Nona the Ninth -John's confession- loosely follows this pattern too. Except of course John makes a different decision in the final act of his story.)

More than just the structure, each story is a variation on the same themes. Some of them are obvious. Power and how people use it/ abuse it. The narrator's relationship to their own body and how it becomes an expression of trauma.

But another less obvious theme, right from the first chapter of Gideon, is the narrators all have some connection to an Alternate Universe version of themselves/ their lives.

I'll admit this theory is weakest in GtN. But I don't think it's a coincidence that Gideon's entire life plan is inspired by military-themed porn mags - a smut AU, if you will. She's also the only one of the narrators who regularly indulges in daydreams that give her the strength to fight and struggle forward. Also not, I believe, a coincidence.

In HtN things start getting more on the nose - unlike Gideon, Harrow has magic. Rather than accept reality, Harrow uses her power to lobotimize herself into creating and living in an alternate reality, while retelling an alternate version of the prior book. This of course is the book with the infamous role swap/ Regency ball / barista AU sequence, just in case you didn't get what's going on.

But NtN is equally about AUs - Nona is the story where the universe conspires to give Harrow and Gideon the alternate universe of the life they both wanted. Gideon (or at least her body) does turns out to be the daughter of the emperor and the crown prince of the universe. Harrow (or at least her body) gets a found family who love her and a brain that is 100% free of the horrible truth of her abominable origin. We spend most book wondering just who is in that body, Harrow or Gideon, and that's part of the point. The trauma is so deep Harrow and Gideon are unrecognizable as people if their slate is wiped. So of course Nona turns out to be a secret third option.

More to the point, NtN is the book where we learn that the Nine Houses are, in fact, John's shitty self-insert AU. Harrow had a little power a and lobotimized herself, John had more and lobotimized all of humanity he could get his hands on, remaking them into this bizarre and baroque universe centered around worshipping him as a god-emperor. The planet of New Rho, outside John's direct control, is bursting with life and chaos and mess and humanity that is missing entirely from the glimpses we get of John's universe. It's no wonder the other survivors call everyone in the Nine Houses zombies - they are, in fact, brainwiped slaves to John's whims whomever he will pick up, put down, resurrect, and murder exactly as he thinks is best.

I'm very excited for Alecto the Ninth and how this is going to play out now that we've met all three of the people in this relationship, and everyone is in the same place in the right body.

#tlt #tlt spoilers #tlt analysis #harrowhark nonagesimus #harrow the ninth #gideon the ninth #gideon nav #nona the ninth #john gaius

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imagine-knb · 7 months

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The GoM have been busy for a while (it could be basketball, school, or something else). They finally check messages from their s/o. They've missed so many and the last one is asking if they want to break up so they can focus on basketball. How do they save their relationship?

Apologies are healthy ʅ(°ヮ°)ʃ Admin Neon

Kuroko

“Please let me make it up to you.” – he spends quite a bit of time texting you back, saying he’d like to meet you at your place to discuss what’s going on between the two of you

when he arrives at your door, Kuroko has a small bundle of your favorite flowers – he’s a gentleman, so of course he’s going to remember which sets are your favorite

spends a long time listening to all of your complaints and all of your retellings of times you’d felt alone because of him; when you finally finish, he’s misty eyed and apologetic

tries his best to make gaps in his schedule that he can dedicate to you, but sometimes messes up and double books himself – he always cancels the other thing to spend that time with you instead

Kise

absolutely the most dramatic about it when he sees you asking to break up – sends you a hundred texts, all of them some form of ‘why would you ask that?’, ‘no! never! not in a million years!’, ‘i love you, i don’t wanna break up!’

when you eventually call him to stop all his mass texts, he’s already crying on the other end of the line – had this been Teiko!Kise, he probably wouldn’t have cared and dropped you, but he’s not like that anymore; he’s grown, he’s matured, and he knows what love feels like now

is the type of boyfriend to say he will do anything to make it up to you and then actually tries his damned best to do it

you want to go on a date right after school tomorrow? sure, Kasamatsu’s going to beat his ass when he’s caught skipping practice, but it’ll be worth it

Aomine

it was a long day and he had not checked his phone all day, so by the time he saw your text, it was already midnight

he would never admit it, but Aomine had been watching too many romcoms recently, so he thought it was a great plan to just go over to your house right now and throw pebbles at your window

Aomine doesn’t care that you looked kind of miffed at the fact he’d woken you in the middle of the night – he tried to ignore the guilt he felt when he saw that it looked like you’d fell asleep crying

“I don’t want to break up with you.” – his voice was too loud for how quiet the night was – “Get down here and let me in. I’m spending the night here with you.”

Midorima

when he sees your text message, there is a small part of him that does wonder if he would be a little more stress free if he were single – he feels ashamed that the thought had even crossed his mind; he’d rather suffer unlucky days for all eternity than break up with you

calls you and asks you how he can fix this – is genuinely surprised when you seem mad that he has to ask, but deep down he knows you are right

with a heavy sigh, he switches tactics and asks if he could come over to your place – “I want to see you. I want to hold you.”

he uses the long walk over to your house to think of all the ways he would make it up to you, starting with all the ways he could show you how much you meant to him

Murasakibara

he texts you once – a simple ‘what do you mean ____-chin?’ – and doesn’t message anymore after that because he’s waiting for your response

is honestly not aware of what could be the problem, so he doesn’t think to message you again or call you, so the next time you guys interact is when he sees you in person at school

when he tries to act normally with you and you give him a bit of a cold shoulder, he finally starts to realize he’d done something to really piss you off

will keep trying to pull you into a hug and when you finally relent, he’ll murmur into your hair – “Just tell me what I’m doing wrong. I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

Akashi

first thing he is going to do after reading your text message is pause whatever he’s doing to call you – doesn’t matter if it’s practice, doesn’t matter if it’s dinner; he’s going to pause it and he’s going to call you

if you don’t answer, he leaves you a voicemail; if you do answer, he asks if the two of you could talk in person later that night

he does not elaborate any further – he honestly doesn’t think he has to – so he may have accidentally freaked you out with thoughts that he might want to breakup

Akashi is honestly shocked when you arrive already in tears because of your conclusion, but he quickly corrects your wrong assumptions and promises to block off more time for just the two of you in his busy schedule – “Let’s have some time together right now.”

#divider by @skylightlantern #gom #kuroko #kise #aomine #midorima #murasakibara #akashi #knb x reader

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stevesworld96 · 8 months

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look at me now (part two)

--- steve harrington x fem!reader

steve visits you before the vecna fight.

childhood friends to strangers to lovers. this is a more realistic look at developing a relationship with steve, set in canon while you know nothing about the monsters, or the nightmares, or all of his scars.

a fic about knowing steve before, during, and after the events of the upside down. including all the ways your friendship with him grows, wilts, then grows again - to blossom into something he probably doesn’t deserve.

tags: fem reader, no use of y/n, childhood friends, kissing, cliches, a lot of emotions, depression and suffering etc, mentions of death and injuries, steve retells canon events and deaths, codependent steve and robin, steve is so so so so so so so sad. hawkins doesn't get destroyed after the vecna fight - everything else follows canon

please read both parts, i worked so hard on this fic and i'm really proud of it :)

part one!!!

word count: 9280

Steve didn't call you the next morning.

You waited until noon. By that time morning was officially over, and your phone still hadn’t rang.

It was hard not to be upset about it after what happened the night before. You were just about to kiss him, and he knew it. Maybe after a night of sleep, he woke up regretting it.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t call.

If you didn’t talk to him, you would go mad with assumptions. If you thought about it long enough, you’d break your own heart.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. Steve could be forgetful. It’s possible that it slipped his mind, or Robin was still feeling unwell.

But if there was some other reason, you needed to hear it as soon as possible.

Before your evening shift at Roses you stopped by Family Video. You visited him there often, so he wouldn’t be amiss seeing you - hopefully.

When you walked into the video store, the sound of the bell had four heads snapping in your direction. You searched for the eyes you came here to see, and you didn’t notice the rogue tape on the floor that caught your foot. Robin, Dustin, Max, and Steve watched you trip, and you stuttered back to steady feet.

The two kids were behind the counter at the computer. There was a mess on the floor. Everyone was staring at you like you had turned into something terrifying after walking inside.

The three of them started whispering to Steve, Robin being the loudest. You caught, “go make her leave,” and, “why is she here?”

And you didn’t understand, and Steve was shuffling toward you like a fast-paced robot, and something felt seriously off.

Still, you smiled at him, something forced. “Hey.”

“Hey. Look - we - we’re closing early today, so…”

He was trying to walk you toward the door. You wanted to know why.

“Oh, well - I just wanted to come see you before work. You didn’t call like you said you would.”

“I know, I know.” He looked over his shoulder at the group behind him. They all made different faces and shooing motions. “You need to go, alright? You can’t be here right now.”

“Steve?”

You had made it to the door and he opened it for you. And he was giving you no sympathy in the way he looked at you, his features hard as stone.

“Did I - is this about last night?”

“No. It’s nothing to do with you, okay?” You didn’t believe him, and he didn’t try convincing you. Instead he pushed you through the threshold. “Just go. Go to work, I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Why are you doing this? Just tell me, Steve, seriously. I can handle it.”

The way he sighed was dramatic, closing his eyes and hanging his head, but it was real. Annoyance and frustration, that’s what it was - two things he never directed at you. At least, not anymore.

“Please. Just listen to me, for once. Please just go. I can’t talk to you right now.”

You didn’t have a choice, really. The other option was standing there and arguing with him, and you had a feeling he didn’t have a fight in him.

So you left. You heard the door close as soon as you turned your back.

He didn’t even watch you go.

The closer you got to your car, the more your throat burned. It was all a literal blur, with tears creating clouds in your vision.

Visiting him had done the exact opposite of your goal. It made things worse, somehow, even though everything was fine five minutes ago.

What the hell had happened between last night and right now? What could you have done?

Did Steve change his mind that fast?

You thought about last night and the way that you felt. Your hands shaking, heart beating, mind racing - it was the same now, but with a pit in your stomach and tear tracks on your face.

It didn’t seem fair. He didn’t have to be so cold.

Why were they all being so cold?

Maybe you had walked in on some important meeting. Max could have been telling them a secret, or Dustin could have been indulging an embarrassing story - or Steve could have been telling them what you had done last night.

That’s what he meant when he said he didn’t want to fuck things up. Because he knew how you felt - because you weren’t hiding it at all - and he didn’t feel the same.

And that’s why he didn’t call - because he was afraid to tell you.

Because everything would change. Again.

You felt it already in the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the same as it used to be.

And maybe it would only get worse.

...

Sundays were always the same. That was the only thought that got you through the mess of the day before.

No matter what happened throughout the week, there was always a reliable refuge on Sunday.

But Dustin’s bike wasn’t in its usual place on the edge of Steve’s yard. And Steve’s car wasn’t in his driveway.

You were too shy to call, even though you knew he wasn’t home to pick up. Part of you wanted to call Family Video in case he’d taken a shift - just to hear his voice - but you couldn’t bear it. If you embarrassed yourself in front of him again, you’d never live it down.

The worst part was knowing this could be all in your head. You could be putting yourself through emotional hell for nothing.

But you had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

Monday morning there was still no sign of Steve.

It was like there was something pent up inside of you that you could never get out - is this how he felt when you spent a week avoiding him? Confused, and lonely, and hurt?

All you wanted to do was go back in time and stop yourself from ruining everything.

Tuesday night brought a simmering heat that you wanted to boil over. The sadness ebbed, giving you a break from your self loathing and doubt, making room for a burning anger. One so hot it brought you to tears.

It was all so unfair. He spent so long convincing you he cared, only to show you unequivocally that he didn’t.

And you never should have let him back in, and you definitely shouldn’t have gotten close enough for your heart to break.

You tossed and turned for days, blaming yourself then him, never able to make up your mind.

More and more, it seemed like nothing mattered. There had to be something he wasn’t telling you. You couldn’t change anything, even if you kept crying or hoping or overthinking. You had given up hope that he would simply turn up at your door.

Of course, you still wished he would.

It was Wednesday evening when you finally got what you wanted.

The sun had just barely set, bathing that spring day in a light navy that was destined to get darker. That’s when a knock echoed from your door and you found Steve’s apologetic eyes behind it.

As you looked at him, the emotions you felt through the week rewinded. Acceptance, dread, anger - denial, shame, sadness - it all ran through like rushing water, leaving you with a pounding heart and unsteady hands.

Your lips parted for no words to pass through them. He was getting uncomfortable under your stare so you dropped it to the floor and rebuilt your resolve.

“What are you doing here?”

“I really needed to see you.”

His voice wasn’t soft. It was almost demanding, the way he said it. Urgent.

“Can I come in?”

You didn’t reply; you turned and walked inside, expecting him to follow. Heavy footfall echoed in your hallway stalking you to your kitchen.

You kept your back to him because you didn’t have the energy for a face-off. You’d rather pretend to look interested in the newspaper that sat on the counter in front of you.

“What’s up?” you asked, playing nonchalant.

“I really don’t have a lot of time,” he said. You heard him tapping the marble kitchen island countertop.

“Okay…”

“I know you’re mad. I know I forgot to call, and I’ve been gone, but I can’t explain anything. Not right now, maybe… not ever.”

“Then… why are you here?” A genuine question.

“Because -”

A crack in his voice brought silence that was louder than a crowded room; one where you could hear his deep breathing stutter.

He was probably trying to find the right thing to say. Something that would make you forgive him instantly - words sweeter than a bouquet of flowers and an apology letter. You already decided you weren’t going to fall for it.

“Because I needed to see you. That’s it.”

“Steve.”

“Can you look at me? Please?” And it wasn’t urgency this time, but desperation.

You turned to face him but your gaze stuck to the floor. He planted himself on steel toed combat boots that you had never seen him wear before.

“I know you’re pissed off and I know it’s unfair, but can you pretend to not be? For two minutes? Because I - I didn’t come here to fix it. But I had to see you while I had time.”

It had you sneaking up his frame, curiosity taking the place of boldness as you put together the pieces of what he was wearing.

He looked dressed for war, or to go play pretend army man.

Dark green cargo pants that would have been too big without the tight belt tying them to his waist.

Some kind of kevlar vest was over the brown leather of a jacket with patches all down the arms, all of them representing something American militaristic.

Dirt coated fists, up to his wrists and you were sure passed. On his face from his ears to under his eyes, his forehead down to his neck.

His neck, a nasty welt wrapped all the way around it twice. Dark red in its obvious freshness, splotchy in a need to be cared for, cleaned, disinfected. It looked like he had gotten into something bad, and there were no clues for who had given him such an ugly injury.

You stared, and your nails cut your palms, and you spoke too loud when you said, “What did you do?”

He knew what you were referring to, looking down as if he could see it. You watched as his lips tried to form words of defense that never came.

“Did you - did you -”

“No.”

“Steve.”

“If I told you what happened, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Tell me.”

“Next time I’m here, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

You hadn’t noticed you had stepped closer to him until you had his eyes in yours, looking at you like he meant every word.

“You’re scaring me, Steve.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry.”

He checked his watch, then sighed.

He stuttered over his words like he didn’t know what he was saying. “We - Robin and some others, we’re - we’re - we’re going out of town tonight. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ll let you know, okay? I’ll call you.”

“I don’t understand -”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, honey, I’m sorry.” He rubbed at his eyes for a second, like he could buff out the stress in them. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Your concern only grew as he took a small step backwards.

“Steve, you - can’t you just stay here with me? Why do you have to go?”

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry, okay?” It sounded like he was trying to soothe himself rather than you. “I’ll be back.”

You called his name, trying to stop him, but he turned from you.

“I won’t forget to call you this time, okay?”

You took those steps toward him, you reached out to grab him, but he walked out of your reach. When he got to the doorway, he stopped. He stood still for just a moment, and then he was turning again.

He looked like he had made a decision, and then he was coming back to you.

And when he was in reach, you took hold of him. You pulled him in and he was all around you, hugging the life out of you, trying to squeeze all the worry out of you.

You pulled away just enough to look at him. His jaw fit in the palm of your hand like you were his mold. You held him as gently as you could, and you pulled him in, and you didn’t stop pulling until his lips hit yours.

It was a kiss that should have happened days ago - maybe a long time before that. One that was brand new but still familiar; you could smell his cologne underneath leather, you felt his hands on your waist squeezing tight.

You kissed him only just, and you felt overwhelmed with how much emotion you were trying to pour into it.

When you pulled away, big hands held the sides of your face and brought you back. Your neck craned so he could kiss you how he wanted to for a second time; a messy mesh that made things feel okay, just for that moment.

And it didn’t last long enough, because nothing so good ever did. When he broke it off he dropped his hold on you and walked away, slowly and then too fast. And that was it, and he was gone, and you wanted to chase after him but you were stuck where you stood.

It wasn’t fair.

I needed to see you, he had said, but he couldn’t even give a reason. You had no idea how selfish he was being.

You wouldn’t even look at him. And when you did, it was like you were scared of him. And you were angry, and he couldn’t fix a fucking thing - not when the weight of this town was on his shoulders.

He wiped the taste of you off his lips and pulled on the winnebago’s door until it creaked open.

Because I may never see you again, is what he wanted to say. He wanted to give you a reason. He wanted to rip himself apart, there in your kitchen; show you the fresh wounds and the healed scars and the blood stains. He wanted to fall and cry and forget, without feeling bad for hoping you’d catch him.

He walked into that god awful RV, sat in the driver’s seat, and started driving without so much as a second thought.

And he was scared even though he couldn’t be. It was like his heart skipped a beat - he felt it falling out of his chest, into his stomach. A flash of cold crept up his spine until his hands were ice. Open wounds on his back, chest, arms all throbbed, drumming a beat that was fiercely alive. A reminder he appreciated.

A deep breath was all it took, and every punch he had ever thrown played in his mind. Every swing, strike, and scream. All of them landing back on him.

He’d do it all again, tonight, because he had to. He didn’t sign up for it. And it wasn’t fucking fair. But he made his choice, and this was it.

And this time, Steve didn’t know who would come out of it alive.

So maybe it was selfish to ask the group if he could make a pitstop at your house when there was something bigger looming. And maybe it was unfair, because nobody else got to say their just in case goodbyes.

But he wouldn’t feel bad. He couldn’t, because every time he closed his eyes he was being dragged underwater, he felt that bat’s tail tightening around his throat, he heard the sound of teeth digging into his own flesh.

It was that jolt of helplessness, all over again, ten times worse.

It was nobody coming to help him.

It was being left for dead, to rot in the stomach of monsters he couldn’t fight off.

He could hear his own last words.

And he saw Robin at your front door telling you what happened with no explanation. You asking questions that would never be answered - being angry at him forever, because he didn’t call like he said he would. He saw you living without him - himself dying without you.

But he opens his eyes, and he’s still here. Driving down a winding road to some place that might be the death of him and all his friends. And he’s still breathing, and he feels you holding him like he’s worth more than the dirt and blood he’s covered in, and it’s enough. It has to be.

…

You wondered if your lips would ever stop buzzing - if the butterflies in your stomach would finally die. Neither happened by morning, and you were sure you were cursed to feel them forever.

There was no sense to be made out of the conversation you had with Steve the night before. The army gear he wore was confusing enough - the wounds he had and the words he spoke had your mind going haywire.

And you could do nothing but wait, and ask yourself the same questions. You spent your time finding distractions and not thinking too hard.

One day turned into two, and missing him never got comfortable. Concern sat in your chest like a rock. You couldn’t even look in the direction of his house without a chill going up your spine, and you had to sleep with the radio on to keep your mind from racing.

You couldn’t think. You didn’t want to.

Because - what if he wasn’t coming back?

You didn’t know, but you really wished he would have taken you with him to wherever he was going. If he was running away, he should have known you’d want to go, too.

Two days turned into four.

You weren’t okay until you saw him again.

It was his car pulling up in front of your house. You were out checking the mailbox when you heard the sound of an engine; you glanced over your shoulder, not expecting it to be his car, but when you realized, it felt like you had been run over by it.

Mail landed on the grass as your slipper caught the curb. His door opened and you were there, already on him, bouncing on your toes to wrap yourself around his neck. He caught you.

“Where the fuck have you been?” You breathed the words out. “Oh my god.”

“I’m sorry,” but he didn’t sound it. He sounded happier than ever.

It was purely opposite to how he spoke to you days ago. The grim in his words was gone, as was the grime. He was clean, and he had slept, and he was right there in your arms.

“Sorry doesn’t fix it,” you said. You didn’t notice you were crying until you saw tears dripping into his sweater. “You aren’t leaving again.”

He wobbled around until you were pressed up against his car door, your hug becoming even tighter.

“I’m sorry. I’m not leaving, I promise.”

“Never,” you said, and he laughed. “What happened, Steve? Are you going to tell me?”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, and you found him with his eyes shut tight.

“No.”

The wound on his neck was more of a bruise, now, dark reds and purples painting his skin like a necklace. You wondered how long it would be there - if there’d always be a scar. Time would tell.

He continued, “No - not right now. I don’t want to talk about it,” and you pulled him back into you, hugging him tight. “Not yet.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” you said, offering the patience he was asking you for. “I don’t care. Just don’t scare me like that again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m so happy. Missed you so fucking much, you have no idea.”

You wondered if you could stand right there in the street hugging him forever. In his arms, til the end of time, letting cars drive by and the seasons change around you, nothing ever pulling you apart. Never having anything between you again.

“Stay with me tonight,” you said. It was quiet, and it was a desperate beg. “Please. Can you?”

“I don’t know...”

He was pulling back and you didn’t want him to, but the way his big hand held your face had you reeling.

“I’ll stay as long as I can.”

“Just one night?”

He was pushing your hair back like he wanted it out of the way - like he needed it out of your face so he could get a better look at you. And his eyes roamed over you like it was the first time he’d ever seen you.

“I want to. I have to check on Dustin, later, and Nance - and Max, in the morning.”

You shoved your face back into his shoulder. He was here, but he wasn’t here to stay. And he had no answers for your questions. And, maybe, he wasn’t going to kiss you again.

Is that why you had a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach? Is that what you were so afraid of?

You didn’t understand what he was going through, and he wasn’t helping you to.

Maybe you didn’t have to know, or it wasn’t your place, but you ached with a need to help him. Curiosity ate at you, and the weary way he spoke kept feeding it.

But there was nothing you could do. You had started getting used to that feeling.

So, “Okay,” you said. Because you couldn’t push, you couldn’t ask. It was easier for him if you didn’t argue, and that’s what he needed. Something easy.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re pouting.”

“I’m not.”

He laughed, something real and cute, and it had a smile starting to stretch on your face.

“I know you are. I know you.” He was speaking right into your ear; his quiet voice was the only thing you could hear. His voice was the same as always, stoking the flames in your heart and smothering the ones in your stomach. “Let me see.”

“I’m not pouting,” and you pulled your smiling face from where it was hidden. You pulled out of his hold, catching both his hands in yours. “Are you gonna come in?”

“I was thinking about it,” he said. So you led him inside.

…

And you hoped beyond it all that the week would be nothing but a blip in time, but it didn’t seem like things would go back to normal any time soon.

If Steve was distant before, he was miles away now.

He was trying, but there was always something he wasn’t saying. You had no idea how to get it out of him even after spending every day with him.

You didn’t see Robin again until you had already gotten used to the April showers, and she offered nothing more than meek smiles and one word answers during your hang out.

You hadn’t seen Dustin at all. Erica, either. Sundays had become like any other day.

Steve hadn’t mentioned the girl, but he talked about Dustin sometimes. Every few days he’d say he was going to check on him - for a reason you didn’t know.

Max was in the hospital. Steve didn’t say the reason or how she was doing. But you knew that on the days he visited her, he left home early and got back real late. You gave him his space on those days.

And then it was May, and nothing had changed, and you had gotten used to it.

...

The nights were starting to get warmer, and Steve was grateful for it. He could sit out on his patio all night, with nothing but a hoodie and half a pack to get him to too late.

He’d made a habit out of it without noticing. Out of staying up until three every night. Out of losing count of the stars in the sky. Out of chain smoking until he couldn’t hold his eyes open.

He used to be scared of the dark. When he was a kid, it was the only fear he could fathom. And, recently, it terrified him.

Now, he looked over his backyard, into the stretch of forest beyond it, and he didn’t feel a thing. If there was something hiding in the shadows, something he should be afraid of, it’d have to show itself first.

He wasn’t wasting any more time being afraid of story book monsters that might exist, because he knows what fear is now. He’s looked it in its eye, and he’s felt it punching him in the face, and he’s heard it screaming his name for help.

If it was dark all the time, Steve wouldn’t mind one bit.

And then his patio door was sliding open, and he felt his heart in his throat.

Maybe he wasn’t as tough as he thought.

“Hey.”

Your voice cut through the pounding.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”

“No, it’s okay.” He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and shoved it up his sleeve, feeling a need to hide them from you - even though he had one tucked behind his ear that he was sure you could see.

“What are you doing out here?”

You sat with him, crouching down and getting as comfortable as you could on the wooden porch. He watched you fold your arms into yourself.

“Getting some peace and quiet,” he said. “No jacket?”

“Didn’t think you’d be outside,” you said. “Should I go get one?”

He was already getting up before you could finish asking. He brought you a jacket and a blanket, and got himself a Coke. Better than beer, he figured.

You grabbed all three from him. “How’d you know I was thirsty?”

All he did was grin at you. He slid the door shut behind him, and then sat down against it, across from you. You were sitting too close for him to stretch his legs out; he kept them bent, his arms slung over his knees.

Now that you were here, his thoughts weren’t the loudest thing in his head. You had always been like that - too noisy to let the quiet smother him. Most times, he appreciated that.

It wasn’t helping now, though. Your tapping on the ground and the tune you hummed weren’t drowning out a thing.

He couldn’t stop fucking thinking.

You passed him the soda can, and he held it lazily between his bent knees.

He didn’t even want it. He wasn’t thirsty. Really, he only wanted to light the cigarette you hadn’t spotted yet.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He stared at the chipped paint under his feet. His teeth gnawed at the inside of his cheek, over and over at the same spot until it was bleeding. And, god, it was a familiar taste. One that made him sick.

He tossed his head back and it hit the glass with a thud. He looked at you, once, and then passed you. At the rippling water in the pool.

He stared at it. Stared and stared and stared, until he had to say something.

“Do you remember when Will Byers went missing?”

He wanted to see the reaction on your face, but he couldn’t look away from the water. He could see that night, the party, and what happened afterward.

“Yeah… our junior year, right?”

He gave a barely there nod.

“It was Will, and then it was Barb.”

He looked to his lap, but he was still seeing that fucking night. He saw the blood in Barb’s hand, and he heard the hurt in her voice, and he remembered not caring at all.

“Fuck. It’s all so fucked up.”

He didn’t care when he should’ve, and now it’s useless. It doesn’t matter if he cares or not, but he wants to rip his fucking heart out, anyway. He wants to go back in time and do it all over again, even if it would lead to a disaster. Even if it would change everything or nothing.

And he shouldn’t be so upset about it, because it doesn’t make a difference. Not anymore. He could be as careless as he wants, now, because no one is around to be hurt by it.

“Why are you thinking about that, Steve?”

“Because that’s when all this shit started.”

He spoke without thinking, words falling out of his mouth like a running faucet, because he didn’t have the energy to keep a secret anymore.

It started with Barb, but it didn’t end with her. Or with Billy. Or Hopper, or Chrissy - and, maybe, not with Eddie.

And how many others had been taken in between?

His throat felt tight; he coughed through it. He sat the Coke between his feet, and realized his lighter was there, too.

He brought a palm to his eyes. “You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you. It’s - it’s fucking unbelievable, but it’s all true.”

“Steve.”

“It’s stupid.”

“You can tell me.”

He was getting overwhelmed. His breaths started to stagger on top of each other, making it hard to catch even one. Tears welled in his eyes as he squeezed them shut. It was all too much - he needed to get it out.

Because nothing between you and him would ever be normal if he never stopped hiding this from you. What, was he going to hide his scars from you forever? Or never explain why he didn’t sleep at night? Would all of his weapons be excused away as decorations?

No - he wanted to let you in.

“It’s all so fucking stupid.”

He was laughing, and you must have thought he was fucking crazy.

“Barb - she was here that night.”

“What?”

“This is the last place she was seen. And I just acted like it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t care, even when I found out she was missing.”

And he felt like an open fucking wound; the still healing rips on his torso leaking blood, too much for his shirt to absorb. His head throbbing, his eye swollen shut. Iron in his mouth, on his fists, pooling around him. Something wrapped around his throat. Bile filling it. He hadn’t healed. His injuries were all still there.

“And I show up to Jonathan Byers’ house, and I knock on his door, and I knew - I fucking knew something was wrong. Like, seriously wrong. And I forced Nancy to let me in, and I didn’t run when they told me to. And I should have just fucking listened.”

He thought about Barb, Billy, Chrissy, Jason, Eddie. All of them, victims to the thing he’s had nightmares about for years, and he can’t stop his first thought: I’m just glad it wasn’t me.

But it’s the thought that comes after that he keeps getting hung up on: Should it have been?

“I don’t know what they said about Will. I don’t know what excuse they made up, or what you think happened - if he was lost in the forest, or - or if he ran away, but none of it is true. He disappeared. He wasn’t here anymore. He was gone - literally, gone. In another dimension. Literally.”

Steve couldn’t know if you were understanding - if you were even capable of believing something so unreal. But you had to. You had to know. He’d been carrying around this secret, and it was the biggest thing in his life.

Because he wanted to. Because he loved you. He wants you to love him - to understand who you’re loving.

“Whatever you think about all the shit that happens in Hawkins… they say it’s a curse, or whatever, but - you don’t know the half of it. You don’t know any of it. It’s not a curse. It’s just a coincidence. If it didn’t happen in Hawkins, it would have happened somewhere else.”

You still hadn’t said anything. You just sat there, staring at your hands in your lap. Steve wasn’t sure if he appreciated the silence or not, but he wasn’t used to it.

“Will went missing. And a girl showed up. Eleven. El. You’ve seen her with Mike, or Max. You know her. You know Hawkins Lab? That’s where she grew up. She’s not just some girl, she’s - she’s someone’s science experiment. She’s got psychic powers. I’m not kidding.”

“What?”

There it was - the tilt in your voice that told him you didn’t believe a damn thing, and he didn’t blame you.

And he laughed.

“I swear.”

“Psychic powers, like…?”

He grabbed the Coke and took a long drink over a smile. He was looking at you like this was something casual.

“I’ve seen her lift a car with her mind,” and he shrugged with it. The can rang on the floor; you picked it up and took a drink.

You said nothing, and Steve felt like he was retelling a movie plot rather than his own life. It wasn’t a good feeling.

“I don’t know what they were doing in the lab, but they - I don’t know. They opened a gate into another dimension. One just like Hawkins, but fucked up beyond belief. The Upside Down. That’s where Will went. It’s where Barb died. It’s where all your nightmares go to turn into spit soaked monsters, probably.”

He pulled down his cigarette and rolled it back and forth between his fingers, digging his thumb’s nail into the filter. It was some old menthol crush, the last of its pack that he’d bummed at a party a few weeks back. He hated the way it stung the back of his throat, hated the taste it left in his mouth even more. The Marlboro Reds burned a hole in his hoodie sleeve where they were still hidden. Those smoked better - they were fresher, smoother.

“Dustin comes up with these insane sounding names for all the shit that comes out of that place. Demogorgans. Demodogs.” He had to chuckle and roll his eyes at himself. “The Mind Flayer. That’s what wrecked Starcourt.”

“The mall?”

Steve nodded.

“You said it was a fire.”

“I lied.”

“Then what was it?”

He put the menthol between his lips. He hated the mint, but he always cracked the capsule, anyway. Someone told him it was bad luck not to.

He stared at you, and he wrapped his teeth around the cigarette filter. His jaw tensed with a bite. It popped, and he grabbed his lighter, and he didn’t look away from you.

And then he got into it. He told you about Dustin hearing Russian being spoken over his radio. And how he learned how smart Robin really is, when she translated the words and then understood the secret message they were relaying. He explained how they’d gotten Erica to sneak into the air vents, and how that led to all four of them sneaking into a storage room that turned into a sinking elevator.

He told you about the Russians, about how they were opening their own gate. He told you about getting kidnapped by them, and all the ways they had made those few hours hell.

He didn’t spare the details, because he was tired of downplaying it all. And in that bunker, he thought he was dead. He shouldn’t have to tiptoe around that.

And he told you about the drug they’d given him and Robin, and how he would be dead if it wasn’t for Dustin and Erica, and how fucking scared he was even after he got out.

And they got out, and then he was driving a car straight into Billy fucking Hargrove, and then all of them were fighting something that looked bigger than the entire sky.

And he doesn’t know how he remembers it all so clearly.

“And then it was over… and I called you.” He still hadn’t lit his smoke - it’d been hanging from his lips the whole time he spoke.

You stared at him like you were trying to find his missing pieces. Glass coated your eyes and worry wormed its way between your brows, and Steve hated it. He wasn’t telling you any of this so you’d feel bad. He didn’t want you crying for him, or at all.

He laughed only just. “And you had no idea what you were picking me up from.”

You breathed in a loose sniffle. “No shit.”

Scratch, rip, hit -

Scratch, rip, hiss.

A flame lit up his face as tobacco started to burn. Nasty numbing mint chilled his throat as he puffed out his chest, and he held in a cough on the exhale.

He held the lighter loose in the air, between his raised knees.

“Do you believe me?”

“I don’t believe you could make any of that up.”

“I’m sorry I never told you.” Mumbled words were barely heard over the scratch, rip, hit as he played with the Bic like a toy. And he didn’t sound all too sorry - he sounded tired.

Wind ripped through the night and carried smoke and ash with it.

“What about spring break?”

He looked up at you. “What?”

“Spring break,” you said again. You looked down from his eyes to his neck, where shadows of a bruised scar remained. “Something else happened, didn’t it?”

Somehow, in the reminiscing of fights past, he’d forgotten about everything most recent. That was the only way he could forget about it - by thinking about all the shit that came before.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, redundant answers easier to give than an explanation. Listening to the scratch, rip, hiss, watching a flickering flame, breathing in more smoke.

He let go of fidgeting with the lighter to pull the cigarette from his mouth. He exhaled smoke then hit it again; he held the hit so long that what he breathed out was thin.

And as he ashed his cigarette, he decided he didn’t want to get into it. He didn’t want to replay those events like a story. So, again, he said, “Yeah.”

“What happened?” It wasn’t a push - Steve appreciated the concern you had.

“Same as always. It was a fight. It’s… it’s supposed to be over now. Really over.”

He remembered it like it was yesterday: setting Vecna aflame that caught all of The Upside Down with it. The whole place burned, from its vines to its crumbled buildings to the monsters in the sky. The gates closed themselves like they had never been open.

And it was over, even if it was too late.

“The Upside Down is gone. It should be. Hopefully. But… I was lucky to get out. Some of us didn’t.” He shrugged, like it was casual. He stared at the cherry on the cigarette, burning bright orange.

And he couldn’t keep talking, even though he knew what part came next. He knew what words he had to say. But he couldn’t.

It seemed you caught on enough, because you said them for him. “Max?”

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt, holding back tears he’d already cried before.

“She’s been in a coma since,” he said. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“But you’ve seen her?”

His response came hesitant. “I’ve tried,” and he wanted to leave it at that, so no cries came after, but his mouth kept talking. “Robin goes in. I can’t even make myself get out of the damn car.”

All he felt was shame, but he swallowed it.

“You heard about Chrissy Cunningham?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t Eddie Munson who killed her.” You nodded - Steve figured you understood what he meant enough to spare the details. “Eddie - god, Eddie would’ve died for her. He would’ve died for anybody. He died for this fucking town.”

Another pull from the smoke that was almost gone. Breathe in, breathe out.

“He was a dumbass. A freak - a fucking idiot.” He wished Eddie was listening to him - Steve wanted him to hear all the insults he was throwing his way, because they were all true. It was stupid the way Eddie died. He shouldn’t have.

“And Dustin’s been a mess ever since, and there’s nothing I can do. Robin’s a bigger wreck than she used to be. No one’s handling it.”

“How are you handling it?”

And Steve didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t sure he had one.

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t lying - he was fine. Somewhere between good and bad, coping through flashbacks and nightmares. He wasn’t lost in it. He was dealing.

“Steve…”

The last drag from his barely there cigarette burned hot, and he savored the pull until his lungs were full. He didn’t empty them until he stood up, and he looked around for the ashtray.

His words were smoke. “Do you want to go in? It’s late.”

He found it on the table, stubbed out the cigarette, and then he stuffed the hidden pack into his pocket.

You repeated his name behind him, and he ignored you. And then your hand was on his back, and you were pulling him in before he could hear you coming.

It was a tight hug he had to fight out of just so he could turn and reciprocate. His arms around your shoulders were just as tight as yours around his waist.

“I’m sorry.” It was a whisper he didn’t even know he was breathing out, until he was repeating it into your hairline. “I had to tell you. I needed you to know. I’m sorry.”

Your response was muddy, spoken into his shoulder. He laughed and pulled back enough to look at you.

“What?”

“Don’t say sorry.” You wore a grumpy look, your words were demanding, and Steve laughed some more. “Why are you laughing? Stop.”

“Because you’re funny.” His thumb smoothed out the worry between your brows and put them back where they belonged. “And really cute.”

You pressed your cheek into his chest. “I’m being serious. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah. Me too, believe me.”

A kiss on your forehead had you squeezing him tighter, and he ignored how tender the injuries on his back and stomach were. They were just barely forming scars, but the way you hugged him had him feeling like they weren’t even there. It made him feel special. He felt better.

So he kissed your skin again and willed himself to tamper the thoughts of when he was kissing your lips instead. “Let’s go in, honey.” He pulled you loose from him.

It seemed like you had a realization, then; your eyes went wide and you looked at him like you couldn’t stop. “That’s why you came to see me that night - because…”

You trailed off, maybe not knowing what to say, and Steve wasn’t sure where to pick up. He could tell you the suffocating truth, or a less embarrassing lie.

Something in between, “Because I needed to.”

“I didn’t know it was that serious,” you said. “I mean - I knew there was something really wrong, but… I didn’t know - I didn’t think that could be our first and last kiss - I didn’t know you could’ve died.”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you. You weren’t supposed to think that.” He felt bad, but he didn’t regret the visit. “And, technically - it was our first and second kiss.”

You breathed a laugh as your forehead fell into the crook of his neck. “I hate your technicalities.”

He laughed, too, and the joy helped distract him from the anxiety running through him.

He thought about that kiss every day - about how he made sure to do it twice, all because he wasn’t going to die without getting to kiss you a second time. Once wasn’t enough, so he took the second without any time passing.

But he wouldn’t tell you any of that. He was scared to know how you’d feel about it.

That’s why he hasn’t brought it up until now. Until you said something first.

He pulled away from you again, really meaning to bring you inside this time because he hated having you out so late. But he froze when he saw tears on your lash line, looking like crystals clinging to your eyelashes.

He swore he felt his heart break. “Sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t cry - hey, don’t cry for me, alright? I’m right here, honey, hey.”

He crouched down to be eye level with you and he sat on the table behind him. He cradled your face - you tried pulling away, but he wouldn’t let you.

“If you would’ve told me the truth, I never would have let you go.” You spoke so sadly.

“I know. I know, honey, but you don’t have to think about it anymore - it’s okay. There’s nothing to cry about.”

Tears were still falling, and you were still mumbling through them. “I would’ve kissed you more if I knew you might not come back.”

And he needed you to stop crying. He’d do anything - he’d confess all his feelings right there, if that’s what it took.

“I was always coming back. I’m right here, you got me, look at me.”

You shook your head but did what he said; he was wiping your tears with his sleeve, chuckling through the ache in his chest.

“You think I was gonna kiss you then go get myself killed? No shot. What’d you think I was living for, huh?”

“That’s not funny, Steve.” But you were smiling.

“I’m not trying to be.” He was smiling, too. “I mean it. Nothing would keep me from coming back to you, alright? I’m right here - you can keep me forever, I’ll kiss you as much as you want, just stop crying.”

“I can’t help it.” You wiped your nose and squeezed your eyes closed, and it looked like your breathing was steadier. “Do you mean it?”

“Which part?”

“I can keep you forever?”

“Of course.”

And he watched your cheeks swell into a smile you tried to hide. “And you’ll kiss me?”

He had no idea how to be charming or sly underneath your gaze, so he wasn’t. Instead, he was a stuttering, shy, lovesick fool.

“I - I mean, yeah - yeah, if you… want me to, I guess - I mean, I definitely want to, so - it’s up to you?”

He didn’t even care if he sounded like an idiot, because that’s exactly what he was. And you knew it.

“Obviously I want you to, Steve.”

His thumb pressed into your cheek. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Obviously, huh?”

He was obsessed with your smile, addicted to feeling it grow into his palm.

“I’ve only been sending signals for months, but you haven’t caught any of them.”

“Oh, I’ve caught them, alright - was just waiting for the right moment.”

“Like right now?”

And, just like the first time, you kissed him. It was as soft as it could possibly be. Two smiles meeting after too long apart, his hands on your face, yours on his chest.

He pulled away, then brought you back to him, tilting your chin so he could kiss you for real. He moved his lips and yours followed his lead.

Your fingers crawled up and up until they were sneaking behind his neck, getting lost in his hair. He tugged you closer - your body was flush against his.

He felt you everywhere; you stood between his legs, your chest and his were rising and falling with each other.

Behind his closed eyes, he was in another world. He saw you pulling him in close, he felt your hand tightening around his, he heard your voice calling out his name.

He heard himself telling you every secret he’d ever kept. He saw the house he’d build for you, and the bed he’d sleep in with you, and the ring he’d give you. He saw it all.

It was heart racing.

It was wanting to be with you forever.

It was you wanting to be with him, too.

And then you pulled away.

And he opened his eyes.

And you were right there in front of him, smiling just for him to see, and he felt like melting into a puddle.

“You’ll kiss me as much as I want, right? Is that what you said?”

God, he wanted to squeeze you like a stuffed animal - you drove him crazy. Absolutely batshit insane.

He pulled you back in with both hands on your face and kissed you something awful - pressing against you hard, making sure to leave your lips glossy when he pulled back to laugh.

“Just like that, as much as you want.”

“Never again.”

It was funny when you tugged away from him. Both of you were laughing, but he couldn’t take it. You weren’t getting far.

“Don’t leave, it’s what you wanted!”

He chased behind and it was quick when he caught you, right at the patio door. He turned you around and pressed you into the glass, and he kissed you again like he couldn’t help it - because he couldn’t.

The way you kissed was new, and he already loved it, but he ached to know you. To know just how to get you to open up for him, to learn how to kiss you exactly as you liked.

He would figure it out - he wouldn’t stop until he did. And he’d make do for the moment, leading the way through your shyness, not letting anything stop him.

Your lips parted after enough convincing, and with your open mouth against his it was impossible for him to hold back the noise he made. A groan, or a growl, he wasn’t sure - but it had you whining back to him as he tasted your tongue.

It was hot but it was slow, and there was nothing Steve wouldn’t give for it to last forever. Despite that, he broke first.

“As much as you want,” he told you, speaking low, words scratched with something rough. “God, I’d kiss you forever if you let me, baby - however you wanted me to.”

“Forever?”

“As long as you’ll let me,” he grinned. “As long as you’ll keep me.”

“I’ve already had you around for a while…”

“Not like this,” he insisted. “At least let me get good at kissing you before you throw me out on the curb.”

“You’re already good,” you said, kissing his jaw.

He hummed, teasing. “Let me get better, then. Gotta get up to par with you, honey.”

“What can I say? I’ve had a lot of kissing practice, babe.”

He rolled his eyes, acting dramatic. “Oh, I bet you have, babe.”

“Like you haven’t had your practice, too, honey.”

“Okay - let’s stop bringing up the past, alright?” He tugged the glass door open behind you, then pushed you through it. Laughter filled his house as the door shut behind him.

“You started it!”

“I literally didn’t! You brought up your hours of practice!”

“I never said it was hours!”

“I’m filling in the blanks!”

“Oh my god.” You were making quick steps to the stairs - he followed like a lost dog.

“Is this our first fight?”

You were halfway up the staircase when you turned and looked down to him, still stood at the bottom. The lighting around you was dim and your grin was blinding him. “Only if you don’t let me sleep over tonight.” Your hands were on your hips, your eyes were drawing him in. “And this isn’t our first fight. Our first fight was over a Snickers bar.”

“And I don’t think we ever made up, now that I think about it.”

He took the stairs two at a time to get to you, and he gave you his smuggest grin.

“Really? We’re still fighting over it?”

“Til the end of time,” he stated. “But I can look past our differences just for tonight.”

“That gives me time to make it up to you.”

...

Did you know everything about Steve Harrington?

You thought you did. You spent years believing it.

You knew more about him than the average person, sure - but how could you have been so smug? How could you act like such a know it all?

You learn new things about him every day, now. Even when you thought there was nothing left that you didn’t know.

As it turns out, you knew next to nothing about him. And you liked it that way. It made doing life with him that much more exciting.

You sat with him now in the passenger seat of his car. The morning sun cast everything in gold, making the day feel brand new. You watched as he tapped his finger on the steering wheel, making a terrible beat.

He kept shaking his head back and forth, and you only just realized that you had noticed him doing it before. It was a nervous tick. It never stood out to you until now - something new.

“Are you okay?”

He seemed to freeze at the sound of your voice, as if he had forgotten you were even there.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

You took his hand and brought it up to your lips.

He continued, “I don’t know if I can do this,” and he looked out the window rather than at you.

You squeezed his hand tight. “I know you can, baby. You did it last week.”

“It was fucking hard.”

“It’ll be easier this time. Why won’t you look at me, babe?”

He did; his eyes were down turned and sad.

You kissed his hand again. “You don’t have to force yourself, Steve. If it’s really too hard -”

“I have to. I know I do.”

You gave him a sad smile, then sat up and across the console to kiss his cheek. He leaned into it, and you lingered there. “You’ll be proud of yourself. I’ll be proud of you.”

“I know.”

You turned his face toward yours, and he was nothing but stressed. “Are you sure you’re okay, Steve? It’s okay if you can’t push yourself today.”

He sighed loud, and you knew he was trying to be overdramatic. “I’m okay, honey. I just… get like this.”

You giggled, “I know.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I know, babe,” and you pressed your lips against his quick. “You’re okay. I’ll be out here the whole time waiting, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

You handed him the bouquet of flowers and bag of snacks from your lap. “Lucas is expecting you.” You passed him a stack of old books, ones Steve had picked from your collection that he thought Lucas and Max would enjoy.

He took them, and then he kissed you again, just for the sake of it. “Thank you.”

He opened his door, and as he stepped out of the car, you found three words on the tip of your tongue threatening to fall out of your mouth - and you slapped a hand over your lips when you realized what they were.

When he shut the door and you were out of the danger zone, you breathed a deep sigh of relief.

You were nervous because of him.

That was new, too.

You watched through the windshield as he walked toward the hospital doors, and you said those three words to yourself, and tucked that new discovery into your back pocket.

It was all new horizons with Steve, from there on out.

He was brand new to you, and you absolutely loved him for it.

part one!

thank u for reading. kiss

#if anyone sees this haiii :3 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #fluff #angst #my writing

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just-late-roman-republic-things · 22 days

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The "Caesar maybe sleeps with King Nicomedes" and "Caesar gets captured by pirates" stories feel almost like they're responding to each other:

Both take place near the start of his career, perhaps even in the same year.

Both are dramatic and likely embellished (though connected to real events), to the point of feeling like fiction.

Both stories have probably been molded, through rumors and retellings, with the purpose of telling us what sort of person Caesar is. Convenient for propaganda purposes, either positive or negative.

Both have parallels to the stories about Caesar's interactions with Sulla, as if reinforcing those themes.

If you want to portray Caesar as fearless, responsible, a natural leader, and one who keeps his promises, you'll find that both in the pirate story and in his refusal to divorce Cornelia at Sulla's insistence.

But if you want to portray Caesar as a loose cannon, unmanly, with monarchist leanings and easily corrupted by the allure of power - you'll find that in the Nicomedes story, and also in how Sulla criticized Caesar for dressing too flashy, while Caesar supposedly called Sulla a fool for stepping down from the dictatorship.

And all of these stories can make it easy to overlook that, up until his conquest of Gaul, Caesar just wasn't very important in Roman politics. His aedileship, though splashy, probably wasn't unusual by aedile standards; and his consulship was controversial, but he was still third fiddle to Pompey and Crassus, and the first triumvirate's legal initiatives and electoral candidates lost as often as they won.

There were politically relevant stories from Caesar's early career, like prosecuting Dolabella for extortion and his participation in the siege of Mytilene. But we don't hear about those as often, because pirates and sex scandals are more fun.

I'm sure the man himself had a big personality, but it's difficult to tell fact from legend. Much of it is doubtless Caesar's own spin: he would've liked you to think he was never scared of those pirates. And much of it is slander from his enemies (Caesar did not get involved in seven different conspiracies to overthrow the republic before he even became consul, Suetonius).

These two particular tales, Nicomedes and the pirates, stand out to me. They feel like different threads of propaganda where you can practically feel the storytellers' opposing motives, to lionize Caesar or humiliate him. In the version of the pirate story where Caesar slit the pirates' throats before crucifying them (as a "mercy," sparing them torture), I have to wonder if that's a later addition from after 49 BCE, when Caesar was making much of his mercy toward defeated enemies.

But I think we can get some sense of his personality, in between these distorted threads. He was charming, flashy, very extroverted, and had a high opinion of himself. And he was always prepared to act on his own, contradict authority, and use unorthodox (even illegal) methods to get what he wanted. As for what he wanted, I think Sallust put it best: "a great command, an army, a new war where his virtus [excellence, strength] could shine."

But whether all that was normal aristocratic ambition, and Caesar would've just been another (very successful) politician if not for the split with Pompey in 50 BCE; or if, like Cato thought, you think he was only ever out for himself, republic be damned - I think the historians are still arguing that one, and perhaps they always will.

#btw you can find the pirate and nicomedes stories in suetonius and plutarch's biographies of caesar toward the start #sallust's sketch of caesar is in bellum catilinae near the end #you may have gathered that i have pretty complicated thoughts on caesar myself #but setting morality aside? he's always entertaining #julius caesar #historiography #jlrrt essays

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loveandleases · 2 months

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(Happy Valentine's Day~ I hope everyone has a good day be that alone or with someone. Thought I would do a nice little snippet of one of the Valentine's Day of MC's past. It's a bit long but either way hope you enjoy.) Shifting around in your desk chair, you reach a hand out to graze along the soft petals of roses sitting on your desk. It had been the third set of flowers that came for you today. The first were in your chair when you arrived this morning, the second set waiting for you in your locker in the break room. The third set, the ones you’re currently admiring, were waiting for you when you got out of your meeting.

You had to admit, they were quite beautiful. Each dozen a different color than the one prior. The first a soft yellow, with a card wishing you a good morning. The second a nice orange, another card with well wishes for the day. This set, a nice lavender shade, though the card had yet to arrive.

A soft smile on your face, that is until you feel hands cover your eyes. Your body stiffens, wondering if it’s the sender of what is getting to be your little flower garden. Then slowly your senses begin to adjust allowing you to pick up a familiar scent. A scent you’ve grown familiar with. Warm vanilla. Making it easy for you to put a face to the voice that then whispers into your ear.

“If it isn’t the second most popular person in the office.”

Reaching up you grab her soft delicate hands and move them down, finally opening your eyes. “Were you that bored without me here, Kara?”

She scoffs, before looking down into your eyes. Furrowing her brows, an expression that doesn’t suit her delicate features at all. You watch as her gaze drifts , realizing then that you’re still holding her hands.

Pursing her lips Kara yanks them away, almost as if the simple contact burnt her. Her cheeks slightly redder than they were before. Must be the heat, at least that’s what you thought.

“I was getting tired of picking up all the slack. Do you know how many nights I had to stay late? I thought you were supposed to be back last Friday?”

It’s hard not to grin at her, as she folds her arm and gives you a very forced pout. Kara was never one to stay late at the office, unless you were involved.

“Sorry, flight got delayed. By that point Keegan just gave me the rest of the weekend off. Has it been busy?”

“No more than usual, that’s not the point. I’m going to visit my parents this week. I was hoping I would see your before I leave. I can’t leave in good conscience without knowing the second best office worker is here.”

She starts to fiddle with her bracelet, her fingers grazing along the little rose charm.

“Those are some really big words Ms. Clarke. Some would say you’re vying for my spot.”

She shakes her head, looking around the office with its fluorescent lighting and stark white walls. Then to the flowers that adorn your desk. The most colorful thing in such a dull space, well aside from you. “I hope you like them.”

Your gaze follows hers, and nod without a second thought. “How could I not? Beautiful aren’t they?”

You don’t hear the sigh she lets out, or see the smile she sends your way, as you grab a stack of papers to take into the copying room. Kara follows suit, mentioning the recent visitors to the office, the amount of filing she had to do all by her lonesome. Some would say Kara could be dramatic, especially in her retelling of stories. Though you had to admit that was something you always enjoyed about her.

“So, did anything happen?”

“When?” You begin pressing along the screen of the copying machine, content when it actually works. Whirring as it begins to cycle through the papers, and print them out.

“On your vacation.” Kara flips through the extra sheets of paper on the counter top. Little did you know, the only thing she was paying attention to was you. Not the corrections on the files, the whirring of the machine or the warmth of the room.

The only thing she was focused on was the way your eyes crinkle as you smile at her. The way your fingers tap along the screen of the machine, ensuring it prints just enough. The levels of the ink to your liking. The way you rubbed the side of your neck, still trying to fight the stiffness from sitting at your desk for so long.

Shaking your head, leaning a hip against the counter as the papers continue to print, you look at her. Unsure of what shes thinking when she looks at you.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, why?”

She swallows, licking her full lips before grinning at you. “I thought Chris would have asked…”

Her voice cracks, she then begins to cough. To cover what she almost let slip.

“Ask wha-”

“If you wanted to have lunch before I go back home over the weekend. It’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it. I guess you two were just too busy.” She winks at you grabbing the copies before you could manage. Nice save Kara.

“Come on, if we were busy doing...that, why would I tell you?”

Kara rolls her eyes, walking backwards out of the office.

“Kara wai-”

“Ouch!”

You can’t help but stifle a laugh, as Kara turns to see who she ran into. Ignoring the papers that had fallen out of her hands and now litter the floor. “Chris?”

“Hey sis. Really need to watch where you’re going. What if I got hurt? What would you do without me around to save you?”

Kara was about to retort, when she noticed a bouquet of white roses in Chris’s hands. “Where did you-”

“Wait, more flowers? Chris you shouldn’t have. I told you I wasn’t mad about you not coming on the vacation with me.”

Chris side steps Kara and leans in to kiss your cheek.

Kara glances to Chris, then to you holding the flowers so dearly, admiring the beauty of the soft white petals. She folds her arms across her chest and leans against the door frame. “Mom would be proud.” Kara simply says, though part of her realizes it’s said with some contempt. The reason behind that can be thought of on another day.

“Let me go put these in water and we can go for lunch.”

Chris walks towards Kara, leaning against the wall watching MC as they walk happily to place the flowers with the other three bouquets.

“Really beautiful flowers. I honestly had no idea it was even Valentines Day I was just coming to ask them for lunch.” They smile to themselves, pleased with their good luck. Not only did they forget it was Valentine’s Day but in MC’s eyes Chris was more thoughtful than ever. The bouquets were not only a sign of a happy day, but also of an apology for not going on the vacation for the weekend. Yeah no dog house for them.

“How did you get them?” Kara asks, her eyes scanning Chris.

“Ran into Isaac outside. Said they had a delivery, I asked who for. Imagine my surprise when they said MC. Bet I can guess who they’re from.” Chris turns to Kara, a smug expression on their face. They don’t bother to hide their disgust when the name falls from their lips. Cam. “Cameron.” Chris clicked their tongue.

She doesn’t bother to correct Chris. Even if she did try Chris wouldn’t believe her. They always seem to think the worst of Cam. Regardless of what anyone else says. Chris had always been jealous of their relationship. So much so that it seemed they never considered that someone else may feel something for MC.

She doesn't bother to hide the look on her face when she sees Chris lead MC out of the office, or the feeling inside her gut. One she isn’t quite familiar with, one she isn’t willing to admit.

Kara takes the card out of her pocket and throws it into the bin. The handwritten words to be forgotten, not to see the light of day. Not to sit along the other handwritten cards she so painstakingly filled out earlier in the day. Along with the flowers she had chosen.

A card that simply reads, Happy Valentines Day. With Love, Kara.

#loveandleases #love and leases #kara #valentine's day #snippet #mc isn't the only one to spend it with a lovely woman!#divider by cafekitsune #uh oh chris makes an appearance

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yagirlwrites · 4 months

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(Not) My Baby (4)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Synopsis: Y/N makes a decision with the help of her friends but Rafe isn't going to like it.

A/N: Not me posting this at 1am on a Thursday lmao! Y'all it's finally here! Part 4! I have been in such a massive slump and had huge writers block for many months. Honestly don't know how I wrote this tbh🤣 That being said I'm not super happy about my writing here but I'm posting it because y'all deserve to get it immediately, you've waited long enough! Hope you enjoy this part! Love you all❤️

Series Masterlist

My work is my own; it's not to be copied, transferred or translated. Reblogs, comments, feedback are always welcome and appreciated❤️

Happy reading! 🥰

(Not) My Baby (Part 4)

"So what are you gonna do?" Y/N sighed at her friend's question. She knew it was wishful thinking that they might finish breakfast before Stella brought up the issue. To be fair to her, she hadn't mentioned it all night and Y/N managed to actually get some sleep because of it.

But now it was time to face the music and deal with her problem. Fuck.

"What are we talking about?" Lena's voice came from the doorway, the girl looking like she had been through the wringer. The girls at the table almost giggled at her messy appearance, given her usual insistance on being put together at all times.

"Well, hello to you too. Couldn't be bothered sending a text that you'd be home late? Again?" Lena blushed at Stella's words, knowing she was right and she had messed up. Yet again.

Since her and Kelce started dating she had become more and more forgetful of their rule - always let each other know where you're staying the night. They had a few rules in their roomate agreement, this one being the most important one. Hell, she invented the rule herself. And yet, here she was, constantly breaking it.

She knew Stella wasn't really mad, but it still made her feel embarrased. How she let a guy distract her like that so often, she didn't understand.

"Yeah... Sorry." She let out a sheepish smile and Stella rolled her eyes, motioning her to join them at the table.

"While you were getting busy with your man, we have been in a crisis!" Lena's eyes widened, slightly concerned, slightly suspicious.

"Expand." Y/N's head met the table and let out a muffled groan. Lena looked at the girl in confusion.

"What happened??" Stella folded her hands, getting ready for a dramatic retelling. Y/N remained face planted on the table while Stella caught Lena up to the latest drama.

Many 'he did whats' and 'oh my god's' later, interrupted by both Stella's and Lena's laughter at the sandwich incident, Lena was finally in the know about the Rafe situation. And boy was she loving it.

"I fucking knew he was into you! I knew it-"

"Can you please not?" Y/N had gotten up from the table and planted herself on the couch mid-story, not wanting to deal with any of it so early in the morning. Or ever. Preferably she would deal with it never. She just wanted to go back to bed and sleep for several weeks. She was exhausted.

Lena and Stella gave eachother knowing looks but said nothing further about it. Instead they plopped down on the couch either side of her and Y/N knew the ordeal was far from over. They wouldn't let her keep ignoring it. Sometimes she hated having friends who knew her too well.

"So what are you gonna do?" This time it was Lena posing the dreaded question.

"I don't know." It was an honest answer. The only one she had. But she knew her friend would not be satisfied with it.

"Well what do you think?" Y/N closed her eyes, trying to mentally prepare for everything that was about to unfold.

"I don't know...." She sounded tired. And Stella felt a pang of hurt on her friend's behalf.

Lena, however was not going to accept that as an aswer. She was a doer, she always thought three moves ahead and prepared for everything. 'I don't know' was not in her vocabulary. Usually that was someting Y/N loved about her, but at this moment she resented it.

"Well lets figure it out." Lena started. "It is a good opportunity."

"I know that." Y/N begrudgingly admited.

"So what's holding you back?" Y/N looked at Lena as if she was stupid for posing the question. Lena was not bothered.

"Don't say it's cause you don't like him because I know that's not really the reason. You're pragmatic, you know this is a good chance to network. So I'll ask again. What's holding you back?"

While Lena was right about her being pragmatic, she just didn't understand how big of a factor her dislike for Rafe was in her dillema. Whereas Lena couldn't fathom why she'd let something silly like that get in the way of a good opportunity to make connections, she felt sick to her stomach at the thought. The mere idea of being on his arm while he flaunted her was making her flushed with anger. She knew she couldn't explain it to her friends though, so she didn't even try.

"I don't know. I just hate the idea of giving him what he wants and seeing his smug face-"

"You're getting something out of it too." Lena, annoyingly pointed out.

"Not as much as him." At Y/N's words, Lena finally grinned.

"There it is." Lena's words made Y/N look at her in confusion.

"What?"

"What's holding you back. You think its an unfair deal. He's getting more out of it than you are." Lena explained.

Y/N's brow furrowed in thought. Stella was quiet the entire time, knowing not to interrupt the two girls when they're debating something. She learned long ago it was a bad idea. It was best to let them figure it out and not get involved.

Y/N realized Lena was right. She was feeling resentment because she felt like she would be giving him a lot more than she'd be getting in return and it made her real mad.

"Yeah... I guess so." Lena nodded.

"Good."

"Good?" Y/N asked, exasperated.

"Yes, good. Now we know the problem. Now we can solve it." Lena said as if it was the simples thing in the world.

"Oh it's that simple?" Y/N's sarcasm was felt but ignored as Lena continued.

"So what do you want?" Y/N looked at her confused, again.

"What do I want?" She repeated.

"So what do you want that he can give you?" Lena asked again. Y/N frowned.

"Yes. He's getting the better end of the deal. So even the odds." She was explaining it as if it was obvious. Y/N didn't think so.

"I don't want anything from him."

"Don't be stubborn." Lena interrupted. "There's always something you can get from someone. It's just a matter of figuring out what you want."

"I don't want anything from him!" Y/N repeated, a bite in her voice.

"Now you're just being childish."

"Let's not get nasty." Stella finally piped up, seeing that this was not going in the right direction.

"How am I being childish?" Y/N bit out.

"You're letting your feelings cloud your judgement. Stop letting your dislike of him lead the converstation." Lena spoke evenly, making sure not to push Y/N further than she had. They could both be stubborn and they knew it. Lena didn't want to fight. She was just trying to help her friend. The problem was she wasn't always the best at showing it.

"Okay, lets take a step back." Stella interjected. Hands up in what she hoped was a calming gesture.

"I think what Lena is trying to say is that you might be holding yourself back from something that could benefit you because you're letting your feelings for Rafe get in the way of seeing the bigger picture."

"I don't have feelings for Rafe." She quipped back.

"You know what I meant, Peach." Stella's use of her nickname softened Y/N's features some. She was realizing Rafe was now causing her to fight with her friends. The thought infuriated her. No way.

Y/N sighed and closed her eyes, trying to clear her head. They were right. When it came to Rafe, he always managed to unhinge her and anger would lead her actions. But she was smarter than that. She wouldn't let him get in the way of her friendships. And she wasn't going to let him being a dick be the reason why she misses on a good opportunity. One that could do her a lot of good in the future.

That's when it hit her.

When she opened her eyes her friends were looking at her with bathed breaths, anxious for her next move.

"There is something." Lena smiled.

"But he'll never go for it." Y/N was doubting herself. It was crazy.

"Babe, he's in a position where he can't refuse you. He's got a lot to gain from this but he also has a hell of a lot more to lose if you say no." Lena reasoned.

"She's right. I'm pretty sure you could get a kindey out of him if you wanted to." Stella joked and the girls laughed.

"That's a bit much, Pumpkin." Stella beamed at her friends words.

"All we're saying is, he won't be able to refuse you. He's desperate. He needs you." Lena explained.

"Okay." The girls grinned, Stella jumping up in excitement.

"So what is it?!" Y/N smirked. Oh it was a good one and he was going to hate it so much. The thought made her giddy.

--------

It had been days since the sandwich shop. Since he poured all his shame out to her and asked her to help him. Since he embarrased himself thoroughly and put his fate in her hands.

It has been days of radio silence. He was getting antsier every second, feeling like he might crawl out of his skin in suspence. Truth was, he had no idea what was going to happen. She really didn't like him and she could refuse to help him so easily, leaving him the deep deep hole he dug for himself. She didn't owe him anything. He wasn't great to her in the past and he regreted it. Had regreted it for a long time. He tried making things up with her for months but she was so unreceptive to his efforts, and then she pushed his buttons and he'd lose himself all over again.

And now he was at her mercy. She could embarrass him by telling the whole world about what he had done. Or she could just ignore him, letting him stew in his misery. Leaving him stranded and giving his father the perfect opportuinity to cut him off for good. Disown him even. He was losing his mind.

It has been days and everyone around him could feel his sour mood. He was twitchy, easily irritable, incapable of focusing on anything and constantly fiddling with his phone. Constantly writing and deleting texts, to what they assumed was the same mystery person.

None of his friends knew what the hell was going on with him but none dared ask, knowing it would most likely end with him shutting them out further. He was moodier than usual, which they didn't think possible.

Kelce and Topper knew the only person who could ever affect him like that was his father. Or Y/N. Both in very different ways, of course, but in simmilar intensity.

His friends never knew what it was that him and Y/N had going on, never understood the odd relationship. They knew they'd get punched if they brought it up though, they learned it the hard way.

His father was a whole other story. They both knew, for the most part, how Ward Cameron treated his son. Having grown up with Rafe, they'd seen enough of their fraught dynamic to understand there were serious issues there. Their friend never confided in them fully though, preferring not to talk about his father at all. But every once in a while he'd get that glazed over look in his eyes, the dark cloud around him palpable. They knew then that something had happened involving his father.

This time was different though. He wasn't depressed, he wasn't angry from an argument with his dad. He also wasn't buzzing with nerves and excitement from a row with Y/N. It was unusal and unnerving and the entire appartment was enveloped in the odd energy.

So when Kelce had insisted he needed a night out Topper agreed. Kelce had demanded he needed to unwind and that after football practice he expected his two best friends to take him out for drinks and help him get his head straight. They agreed, Topper knowing Klece's plans had nothing to do with his own well being - and Rafe because Kelce rarely ever expressed that he was having issues, usually the most chill out of the group. It made him feel too guilty to reject him. Even though he'd rather do anything but go out tonight.

But there he was, waiting for Kelce to finish up his practice so they can go to the bar where he fully intended to excuse himself after an hour. The sun was just beginning to set as he fiddled with his phone in his hands, willing it to do something, snap him out of his misery. The orange and pinkish hues enveloped the sky as he heard someone approach him in the parking lot. He was leaning on his car as he looked behind him and nearly dropped his phone in shock.

There she was. She was standing right in front of him, the last rays of sun casting a halo around her. She took his breath away.

For a moment he stood there gaping at her, not quite able to process that she was actually here after days of no contact, after days of him wishing she'd call or text or even email him, give him anyhing to go by.

She cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. He snapped out of his daze and took an unconscious step forward. She eyed him warily. He looked rough. As if he hadn't slept.

A sliver of guilt crossed through her but she quickly crushed that down. This whole situation is his fault and she had every right to take even more time, than just a few days, to get back to him. She reminded herself to keep her head in the game, to not get distracted.

"Hey." She spoke first.

"Hey." He sounded breathy, unsure.

"Can we talk?" He nodded, nervous to what she was there to say. He wasn't sure how she found him but guessed she probably talked to Lena. Lena would know he was waiting for Kelce.

"I've thought about your proposition." He gulped, bracing himself for the worst.

"Yeah?" He wished she would just rip off the band-aid and reject him instead of dragging it out.

"I've realized you'd be getting a lot more out of it than me -"

"What do you want?" He interrupted her, cringing inwardly at the sharp glare he was met with. But he couldn't wait another second.

"For future notice, I want you to not interrupt me again." He almost rolled his eyes, almost.

"Noted. What do you want?" He sounded nervous and she almost smiled. Almost.

She looked to he right, taking her time to apreciate his vehicle, letting him stew for a few more agonizing moments while he waited for her answer.

He looked at her, impatient, ready to jump out of his skin, shake her, fall to his knees, beg her to just say it.

Her eyes met his again and she smiled. It was a beautiful sight, but he quickly realized the smile was one of mischief. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. She glanced back at his car. Then back to him. Then back to the car. Then back to him. She gave him a pointed look, raising her eyebrows.

He looked on in confusion and she rolled her eyes at his ignorance.

"The car." She finally spoke. His heart was hammering in his chest from the suspense.

"Huh?"

She looked back at the car and he followed her eyes finally realizing what it was she was saying.

"No way." He spoke before he could even process his words. She nodded her head.

"Okay." She shrugged, swiflty turned around and started walking away. No look back, no explanation, no chance to barter. Panic rose in his chest.

"Wait!" She stopped in her tracks but didn't bother turning around. His mind was running a thousand miles an hour. This couldn't be what she was asking of him? Surely she wasn't that crazy? Surely she didn't expect him to give her his car.

His car. A black, 1967 Ford Mustang, complete with white stripes. A picture of sleek elegance and power, with the classic leather interior and and an upgraded motor, the rev of which caused goosebumps to rise on his skin every time he turned on the key. His pride and joy. The first thing he ever bought for himself. His father protested, of course he did. He would have preferred a more modern vehicle, something that showed status. Not an old muscle car. But Rafe was adamant and as soon as he turned eighteen and got access to his trust fund, he found Clarence and never looked back.

She was his most trusted companion, which is why it was hitting hard that Y/N wanted to take her from him. Couldn't she have picked anything else?

"You seriously want me to just give you my car?" His voice was incredulous. She turned around and calmly walked back to him, as if she had all the time in the world.

"Of course not. I'm not that cruel. Or crazy." She smirked while he looked at her in confusion. What was she getting at?

"I don't expect you to give it to me. Not forever anyway." He blinked at her, still confused.

"I want free use of your car for... In the name of fairness, let's say I'd get to keep it for as long as this charade lasts." His heart was slowing down some, glad she wasn't insisting on actually taking his car from him.

"So... when was it you told your family we were dating, again?" He gulped, redness on his neck and cheeks visible.

"Three months ago" he almost whispered. Her eye twitched but she forced herself to stay calm. The prick.

"And how long did you tell them we've been together?" He gupled again. This was more and more emabrrassing with every minute.

"Three months." She swallowed down her anger that was rising again at his bullshit.

"So let's say six months backlog... and however long this continues. That's how long I get to keep the car. That sound fair to you?"

He wanted to say no. To argue. To call her crazy and beg her to pick something, anything else. But by the look in her eyes he knew it would be pointless and only serve to further his embarrassement. She was determined. This is what she wants. And he has no choice but to give it to her. He has no fucking choice and she knows it.

"Fine. But-" she interrupts him before he can finish his sentence.

"Gas included." He nearly choked on his saliva at her words. She was pushing him to his limits. She wanted him to pay for her gas too, while she drove his car around flaunting it in his face. The redness on his face was now also from anger. She was enjoying this.

"Fine. Fine!" She smiled.

"But that's it!" He continued. "I agree to this and we have a deal? You'll do it? No second guessing, no going back on it. You'll do it?"

He was looking at her with such desparation it tugged at her heart. This really was important to him.

"Yeah. Yeah I'll do it." She nodded along with her words.

He felt like crying. It was as if a ton of weight was lifted off his shoulders. He was still upset about Clarence. Obviously he was. But mostly he was relieved and happy that he wouldn't have to be embarrassed in front of his family. That she was going to do it. She was going to help him. He wanted to hug her in thanks or yell at her for manipulating him. He wanted to pass out from all the stress - of the situation, of the past few days, of suspence.

"So when's this wedding?" She dreaded asking because if there's anything this situation had taught her is that Rafe always can and will piss her off more than she thought possible. Every single time.

He was nervous again. He sighed and Y/N knew she wasn't going to like the words that came out of his mouth.

"Two weeks." He finally said.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

----

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