#i was like just close it monica! just close the goddamn

[chimcharstar]

.

#speaking of this frickin woman was like #i am training this guy who has never before baked a thing and is really unsure of himself and vocally miserable #chatty #that she dumped on me #and as im doing a million things she fucking interrupts his slow ass #the fridge door is open! #hey you left the fridge door open! come all the way over here and close it! #i was like just close it monica! just close the goddamn #you need me to put down this shit come over there and close the fucking door youre right next to #your fifty year old ass cant close a fucking door #whats this rig in my way? just move it! #oh my god! #i apologized for being so sharp but she feels free to claw my eyes out at every inconvenience so idk why i did #monica hate posts #she may be a relatively nice person with her qualities #regardless i cannot fucking stand this aggravating woman #maybe if she didnt guilt me into overtime #give silent treatment #recommend colloidal silver #talk shit about me to managers and not even true shit #give directions with not a fuck what shes talking about #and nitpick my work when she runs and screams from doing even half that workload herself #i wouldnt fucking mind #i tell her whats what once and she has a fucking meltdown #oh no you made monica cry! thats because shes a crybaby #i literally was on my best behaviour i was so calm and respectful saying... dont manage me #this grown ass adult goes crying to my boss who thinks its not a big deal poor monica! why cant i just ignore her for two hours

[chaifootsteps]

Stargazer anon!

I gave a listen to the songs, and I am absolutely frustrated by Loser, Baby. Who in their right mind would tell an SA victim they're being whiny and not special? Who? Why would you even compare traumas? Doing that just makes the other person feel invalidated. That is Psych 101 stuff. It had the potential to be a cute ship, now Huskerdust's ruined for me. Viv really be teaching how to not write a yaoi ship and spotting red flags when making one.

Aside from that, Respectless and Whatever It Takes made me like Velvette and Carmilla. Zestial and Carmilla are pretty cool. The side characters are a 1000x better than the MCs. I'm even starting to dislike Al's presence - he's lost his mysterious appeal. But dear lord Val's accent is dreadfully inconsistent.

I hope you're doing well with all the bs that's happening with Viv and her stans. Honestly, without you I'd have never found out that Viv was actually rich and all the terrible crap she's done.

Btw, what's your favourite Studio Ghibli film? Mine's, unsurprisingly, Spirited Away though I also like Howl's Moving Castle and (if you count it as one) Nausicaa. The Pom Poko post hit hard, although the OG cast are doing way better at least. I noticed Vaggie just being in the bg, is there something with Monica? I don't think I know much of what happened with her.

- And what potential to be cute it had! We could have had these two guys bonding over how much their lives suck in general, but left Angel's rape victim status out of it, and I would have honestly been all over that. So close, Viv, so goddamn fucking close.

- Aww, thank you! That always helps to hear, honestly keeps me going.

- Monica's fine, she's besties with Viv and went with her to Japan on a tour of every abusive animal establishment they could fit into their itinerary.

- My favorite Ghibli film is My Neighbor Totoro! Here's my guy that I bought in Harajuku a decade ago with the intent to use him as a pillow on the plane ride home, trauma bonded with him, and he's still with me to this day -- a few chest spots down, but deeply loved.

#Anonymous #Stargazer Anon #viv stuff #actual blog post #image reply

[msclaritea]

saw your stupid post complaining a about queercoded Carol Danvers: bitch, MCU Carol has been read as queer since the moment they made a movie where she doesn't have a love interest, is best friends with a woman to the level she helped raising her kid. to the level the military gave her things to Maria instead of any Danvers. to the level Monica tells her she didn't get along with her parents so the Danbeaus became her family.

nothing screams lesbian louder than raising a kid with your single mom friend and be so important to the kid that she's bitter over you fucking up for thirty years.

nothing screams lesbians as much as leather jacket, ripped jeans, and flannel shirt.

this bitch has been gay from the moment they decided to make Carol Danvers sorta Mar-Vell protege instead of making Mar-Vell a dude and Carol just his love interest like the original version in the comics.

then they make her have a very clear marriage of convenience with the prince of the gayest planet of the MCU.

bonus that the fucking king of Asgard calls her Marv? makes a strap-on joke? those bitches fuck and fuck good.

not to count that oh, she's a fictional character? let this bitch be the biggest gay ever. if they're not gonna give us canonically queer characters from the comics like Loki, gimme Captain Carol "Raised a Kid With My Best Friend, Definitely Bangs the King Of Asgard and Is a Lesbian Car Mom" Danvers.

it's the internet, you don't get much space to be a incel, pathetic queerphobic bitch lol

WOW! I missed this particular load of b.s. Get a load of the sheer damage that the Queer Identity Cult has been doing to people and their common sense. Are you so warped, that you have never, ever heard of a person, male or female, not getting along with their family and going out, making their own?

Newsflash, HONEY! A shitload of kids from every background does that. I did that. My family sucked at a lot of things. The minute I was old enough, I moved to another state, made best friends with a crazy white chick, and was invited to move into the house, by HER mother. We had a blast..AND BOY, WERE WE BOY CRAZY. If I wasn't such a rolling stone, I'd still likely be there, helping her with her now grown son, and I know this, because over 30 years later, we are still close friends.

I can also imagine being missed by a child from another friend because I WAS missed by a loving goddaughter, as I bopped all over the place, for years and can easily imagine her being hurt, if something was wrong with her mother, and I did not contact them. That is how it works, even with the family that you choose. They have the right to be upset, if you fuck up.

I ALSO enjoyed wearing ripped jeans, flannel and leather jackets in school. It was called a phase, and I THINK I can blame it on Duran Duran, but I'll have to check my photo album.

I also had a preppy period that I CAN blame on Molly Ringwald. Everyone who wears flannel is not Gay, just like every girl with short hair is not a goddamn Lesbian.

You all have really screwed yourselves up by trying to command that every human being adhere to some kind of uniform to match their sexuality. It is beyond ignorant. One of you stupid fucks assumed that my sister was a Lesbian, just because she rocks a Halle Berry short. Another newsflash: My Sis? Loves DICK. Truly. She also has some pretty awesome male relationships in her life.

Also, how can Carole Danvers be BOTH canonically love interest to a man, in the comics, like you just said, if she's now suddenly, considered a Lesbian? You're also basically saying that every person who even sings, is Gay.

What I'm hearing you say is that women cannot possibly:

wear flannel and torn jeans

have chosen family

have fights with their father

go through sexual harassment or mysoginy

..even be missed by a child that they were close to..unless they are a Lesbian.

But hey, since you brought all of this up, let's talk about Nia DaCosta. It seems now that she was very determined to Queer code Carole Danvers in Captain Marvel. That got solidified real well by the sabotaging BULLSHIT pulled by little Miss Kamala Khan, herself. That was quite the interview she did, making sure that people knew Nia DaCosta had made the film Queer, "But it had to be cut out. Boo hoo! Trolls should attack the movie MORE!"

Message effing received. The whole thing was a fuck over. And ever since, you all have been trying to redeem the damage YOU have done. THERE IS NONE. You're disgusting.

#Captain Marvel trolls #Carole Danvers #Nia DaCosta #iman vellani #Sony Tool Sent To Sink Captain Marvel along with DaCosta and Samuel L Jackson #Tighten Your Ship Disney #Marvel #Everything and Everyone Is Not Queer #Gender Ideology Cult #WEF #Governor Pritzker #The Modern Comic Books Are Being Deliberately Messed With #LGBTQ STEREOTYPING

[blindluck]

i didn't wanna reply over there cus this ended up getting rly long but there's this post by @shitpostingperidot and @marvelsassbutts about carol and maria's GNR concert in 88 and my brainworms got to making up hc after hc now all i think about is how that could've been the first time they got together despite mutually pining and coparenting monica for like 4/5 years or so anywayyy

idk if there's like a screenshot frame of monica's sword file or smth that shows her birthday in exact terms so i might be going on abt nothing here but listen

mcu wiki says she was born around june/october of 1983

it also says carol and maria met in their first year of AF academy "shortly after turning 18", so that's either late 1983 or early 1984, bc carol's birthday is late 65

which means monica was already in the picture by then 🥺🥺

what i'm thinking is maria got pregnant at around 17/18 and her parents took care of monica for the first year or so when she enlisted bc why wouldn't they

but as soon as she lands the test pilot job and starts making bank they're like "i love you so much and i'm very proud of you now here's your child go be her mom"

this is like in their 2nd or 3rd year of flight school so it catches everyone by surprise, and ofc higher ups use it as excuse to subtly and passive-aggressively ground maria on paid vacations and maternity leaves

obviously she sees right through the fake benevolent facade and overcompensates by not only refusing benefits, but taking on even bigger workloads

which then obviously gets her drained and exhausted and ofc carol notices and worries

she's been trying to give maria space through the whole ordeal but there's a line between giving you space and watching you get put through the wringer without doing anything

so she finally corners maria like "hey i know this is fucked up but maybe you could find another way to stick it to them without slowly killing yourself in the process can u pls just give me a call when it's too much to handle i am begging on my knees"

("my best friend, who supported me as a mother and a pilot when no one else did")

maria does slow down a bit but she still hesitates to call for help, until one particular hard night she cracks and carol gets there at flying speed to do chores and dinner and take care of monica while maria (a single mom in her early 20s who is also an overworked test pilot) finally gets some goddamn rest

(after changing monica's diaper tho bc apparently carol can't help with that)

from then on carol pretty much moves in with them

maria starts slowing down and taking care of herself and getting her due leaves and relying more on her parents and friends and she loves monica so much and things are so overwhelmingly good right now...............except for this one small carol shaped situation

they've been roommates before, you see, and maria is very aware she's been in love with this goobster for a minute

but she's also a black single mom in the US air force she really doesn't have to make things harder on herself so she's been trying rly damn hard to keep carol at arm's length for both their sakes

carol too is very aware that she's in love with maria and probably has been since forever (she's not super in touch with her feelings to pinpoint when the gears shifted, plus thinking back on it she can't rmbr a time when she wasn't in love with her yknow)

but "maria has a kid she's straight" (wrong) and also carol is very insecure (canon) so she's afraid of rejection and doesn't wanna ruin the friendship and she'd rather have maria in her life as a friend instead of not at all

even if it breaks her to wake up literally next to the love of her life every single day and not spill her entire heart out

especially bc maria's mask slips sometimes, mostly when she's drunk (even if just a bit tipsy) or when they share a particularly emotional moment (quite often tbf, considering how close to dying the very nature of their job gets them on a regular basis)

fast forward to 1988

carol and maria pretty much live together and monica loves auntie carol to pieces and their hearts are both so close to exploding they might actually die for real at any given moment

now to finally tie back to where this whole thing started: carol brings home tickets to a GNR concert, maria stares at her dead in the eye like "bitch this is 500 miles away" and carol's like "oh..........................road trip? :D"

you'll never guess what happens there

one year later, carol's missing

presumed dead

#captain marvel #carol danvers #maria rambeau #danbeau #'hey whats up wyd how u been' #twirling hair around my finger #nth rly just binge reading marvel comics and hyperfixating on my comfort pilot wives #googled usaf 80s maternity leave to feed the brainworms #edit: didn't google very well APPARENTLY !

[fantasyinvader]

I keep thinking about it, but I believe that the romanticism angle really explains the weirdness of Fodlan's writing. Far more than the idea that Edelgard's path is simply supposed to represent ignorance. It's a bit more than that.

Take for instance how romanticism favours being in awe of nature rather than trying to demystify it through science. It might not seem like a fit, but consider that science helps us understand the world around us. We know why certain phenomena happen, which allows us to anticipate and prepare for it rather than simply being at nature's mercy. But for the Fodlan games, this takes a slightly different turn. It's more about the social environment of the continent, giving the player the knowledge needed to grasp why Fodlan is the way it is, what truely ails it.

For Edelgard's romanticism to be preserved, the game can't simply state the facts. It gives the player the information in order for them to figure it out for themselves if they can see under the surface. Claude undergoes this as well in Verdant Wind, as that route represents his own obtainment of enlightenment. But for the player to side with Edelgard, they must choose to take what she says as the truth. To disregard what can be objectively proven through examination, and instead focus on a subjective bias.

Subjectivity is another thing championed by romanticism. Another thing is ideals, which fits Edelgard pretty well. After all, her Hegemon form is treated as (in Houses and Cipher) as her taking her ideals to their logical end. She is referred to as a servant to them, willing to throw away even her own humanity to see them made manifest. For a lot of people, this is the important aspect of her character. She is willing to do bad things, but she's doing them for what she believes is the greater good.

But one of those things Edelgard is willing to in service to those ideals is lie. Lie and manipulate those around her, including her closest allies. We see this in Crimson Flower after the fall of Arianrhod, there's a line about it the game's main theme song song from her perspective, and she'll even admit she tried to sway Byleth should they fight. Hopes made it abundantly clear, she KNEW what the Agarthans were doing during White Clouds, she COULD have stopped them but she didn't simply because what they offered was simply too valuable for her to refuse. This also means she allowed Monica, a close ally of hers, to be kidnapped and have her body stolen from her while Edelgard turned a blind eye.

Edelgard is so infatuated with the idea that she's the heroine that she can't look at the evidence that says otherwise. It's not just the past she has this romanticized view of, it's also her war. That it'll be worth it because eventually the people who supposedly will benefit from her rule will outnumber her casualties. That by restoring the Empire under a strong leader (i.e. Herself), she'll be able to fix all of Fodlan's problems which she blames on the Church and Crests while ignoring how the privilege offered to the nobility simply for serving her gives them the foundations for holding onto their power for untold generations. If the people fail to rise up, it's not because of her system being at fault it's because they're simply too coddled and weak (ignoring that her rule is said to oppress the common folk by her right-hand man Hubert). She idolizes her father despite his stories making no goddamn sense, instead painting him as a tragic victim. She's living it a world that the game's creators deliberately crafted to say she was wrong. Yet she's so enamored by her ideals, ideals presented as being her master, she averts her eyes from reality time and time again.

And it's not just Edelgard either. Since the game romanticized her as well, her fans follow in her footsteps. They'll claim that she's right in spite of the evidence, that her actions aren't that bad or deny entirely, that her route is the only path that will lead to a happy ending. They'll try to present her in the most appealing of ways, while misrepresenting those who stand against her. It's too the point that they'll claim a fanfiction is essential to understanding the story as well as her character, in addition to how the writer understands those things better than the game's actual creators. Said writer is known to start creating takes when Edelgard does things that go against his “reading” of her.

Over the years, I've talked about the Buddhist symbolism of the game. Despite how Hopes furthered this, people try to claim it's been debunked as you're not supposed to be able to lose Nirvana. But if that wasn't the full purpose, it makes more sense. The player chooses romanticism over their enlightenment, embracing ignorance to side with Edelgard. They already put Edelgard above the rest of their students to unlock Crimson Flower, foregoing a week of teaching them in order to accompany Edelgard at her request.

But everything ties into this. The Buddhist symbolism saying rejecting Edelgard is the path to enlightenment, the Christian symbolism connecting her to demonic forces and the idea she's a false messiah figure, the tarot symbolism painting her as a corrupting influence or that her form of enlightenment has been corrupted, the allusions to King Lear and the idea that we shouldn't just favor the ones who praise you the most... individually, any one of these would work, but when you put them all together they compliment each other. The point to one bigger idea than simply enlightenment and our choice as a player.

Do we seek enlightenment, even if the path isn't all sunshine and rainbows, or do we instead embrace romanticism and blind ourselves to the truth? The fact that Silver Snow, Verdant Wind and Azure Moon all have endings that point to there being real change as a result of the former, while the latter leads to endings that hint at the tyranny the game's creators said Edelgard's route leads to, really push the idea that the former is the favoured path. After all, this is a franchise that has, in the past, said that it's not what you preach that's important. The methods you use ARE the message, and Edelgard's message is not a pretty one.

The fact so many people choose romanticism over enlightenment, though, that’s pretty disheartening. Houses was made for players to immerse themselves in the setting, only for people to see it at a surface level.

[chaos-and-recover]

1, 7, 25, 43, 50, 84, 92, 121, and 135 for the book asks!

Oooh some of these are gonna be hard!

a book that is close to your heart

The Angel Riots by Ibi Kaslik

This book came into my life by accident when I stumbled across it in the library and was intrigued by the plot summary. I love it so much. This is not the last time it's gonna appear here lol.

7. a book you did not finish

I started Infinite Jest once a long time ago and just... drifted away from it. I don't even think I know where my copy is anymore. Oops.

25. a book by your favourite author

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

Another one of my favourite books in the world. I also absolutely adore his Familiar series but cannot in good conscious recommend that since he got 5 volumes in (of a planned 27) and is now on hiatus because those books were expensive as hell to publish and just weren't selling enough.

43. a book that you have read more than three times

The Angel Riots. I revisit it at least every year or two? It's just so good. On the surface it's about the life of a band on tour but it's actually about a group of deeply dysfunctional people running from various things and has some incredibly beautiful prose. It'll also make you fall in love with Montreal even if you've never been there.

50. a book that made you cry a LOT

The Winners by Fredrik Backman.

It's the third book in a trilogy so it's the culmination of a lot of things that are set up in the first two and I bawled like a baby for the last like... 100 pages.

84. your favourite dystopian read

Y'know, I don't really read that much dystopian fiction tbh but the other day I was thinking about The Crystal Drop by Monica Hughes, which I loved as a kid. It's not so dystopian as it is... sci-fi/spec fic? But in a terrible future (in the distant, distant year of... 2011) during an apocalyptic drought and there is one part involving their dog that haunts me to this day, a solid 25 years later.

92. a book about a redeemable villain

Gonna go a little out of left field here and go with the Walking Dead comics, because Negan is truly one of the greatest villains but is so goddamn likeable by the end.

121. a book that makes you nostalgic

Naomi & Ely's No-Kiss List by Rachel Cohn & David Levithan

It's YA and seems quite young but it also makes me nostalgic for a very specific period of teenagehood. I think it's because I was already well into my 20s when I read it and I was like "Ah yes I remember when I thought these were real problems :)" I don't know, I just really like this book and it deserved a WAY better movie than it got.

135. recommend any book you like!

I am TELLING you if you can find a copy of The Angel Riots, find it and read it. I need to read it again too. It's not even that long!

Thank you!

#book recs #books #ask #answered

[bonesandthebees]

hi !! it is sd anon i know i’ve been gone for a While and also i would like it made known i keep trying to respond and then i get so incredibly distracted

ANYWAYS i am. in ohio rn. screaming. so like, i’m doing an internship in ohio and i’m here for the summer

for the first fucking time, i’m not in my city. and Everyone is about to converge there. i am Upset. at the same time also no? but i’m getting like fomo from not being in LA!!! i wanted to go to vidcon but the 24$ an hour in tempted me to ohio

i miss my city i miss socal i will be back for the july fourth weekend but. still. i am missing tommy meeting CHARLI. what even. i’m missing Everything. it’s okay though!!! i’m having such a good time here i went to a gay club for the first time and made out with some random person! tried tequila and gagged!

had some very good cocktails! won at my first ever game of top golf! found out my fifth grade best friend is in the city for the summer too so i’m going to go see her literally constantly! i’m going to an open mic poetry night tonight! i’m super close w one of the other interns and i am also somehow friends w his gf who has now tipsy asked to kiss me (their relationship is a bit open) And told me she wants me to be a bridesmaid in their wedding! also i went to pride w this intern and then we both realized we are Not parade people and left to get food and i got a bunch of drunk compliments from random people on the street!! i have so many things to tell you bee. i watched the other intern throw a chair in the pool and try to sit on it. one of the other interns got so drunk at a spanish club and we found out she was a Runner. she tried to climb the patio fence to get to the uber and eventually got carried out to the car by security !

how are you????? you graduated yes? how does it Feel

HI SD ANON!!! sorry this took me so long to answer I wanted to have a moment to properly read your message. but omg ohio?? that's so far goddamn. also trust me you probably dodged a bullet not going to vidcon. so many people got covid from it because literally no one was masking. (I also have covid rn but I didn't go to vidcon, I just went to santa monica pier one day and thought I'd be fine to not wear a mask since it was outdoors. hahaha I was wrong and I am suffering) (also $24 an hour fuck yes get that bread)

and DAMN CONGRATS ON GETTING GAME!! I've been to a lesbian bar several times and I've never made out with anyone there :/ you get more bitches than I do good for you sjkdfkldsf

(also, tequila gets easier to drink the more you try it. now i'm at a point where i genuinely like the taste of it in cocktails)

holy shit you're literally living out some college coming of age movie out there. tbh it sounds like you're having an amazing time and i'm so happy for you sd anon!!! what kind of internship are you even out there for?? that's so cool and I hope you keep having the time of your life because it sounds like this is just a really cool summer!!

I'm alright! currently have covid rn which sucks ass, and yes I kind of graduated—did the whole ceremony hullabaloo. but I do have to take summer classes to actually finish out my degree requirements so those just started, and currently I am too sick to actually pay attention to my lectures so we're off to a great start. hoping to go on a road trip with my friend up to san fran in a few weeks (after I've recovered of course) so we'll see how that goes!! otherwise i'm just lowkey panicking trying to figure out what i want to do for work after my summer classes end bc I really have no clue atm. i'll figure it out but i'm sick rn so i'm just not gonna worry about it lmaooo

#ask #sd anon

[indianfartysummers]

I swear to fucking God, Monica, you goddamn run your goddamn cocksucker like you want to fucking do like you are one to fucking do you goddamn lying slut do not even do not even to be honest with you no honey I have been able to do micro cuts this whole goddamn time no I’m gonna be honest with you that was a little bit of a gash what I did last night, but Honey Honey no you don’t even fucking know that’s the sad is fucking part is that like sometimes I don’t know

Because I just know that there are a couple of people that I care about an awful lot and then I’m confronted with a math problem of helping a person who seems very very close to me and energy but then it’s like I’m also getting all of these messages that Lois is trying to use me for essence or some thing and we don’t do that Lois like that’s not yours and it’s not yours to preach to me about like I’m a goddamn two year old either just because I don’t talk to you motherfuckers about things doesn’t mean that I don’t have actual fucking thought how the fuck would you feel? How the goddamn fuck would you feel hooker?

[thisischaostragic]

rage dissertation on multiverse of madness

oh also i hate Multiverse of Madness. i know a lot of MCU Wanda fans like that movie because she's powerful but i just, like, think it's very fucked up that the writing relied exclusively on WandaVision to establish her as sympathetic.

it relied on WandaVision to give her any dimension and then also IGNORED EVERYTHING about the last episode except the fucking 30 second post credit scene???? who the fuck in the MoM writers room took "I don't need you to tell me who I am" and "I don't understand this power, but I will" and was like mmmmm yes, let's write a film so flimsy that it leaves us with two options at the end of it:

Wanda left Westview feeling guilty and actively seeking out understanding, control, internal redemption, etc. and decided, nah, let's tear shit up! and honestly I'd be less pissed about this one if they gave her solid reasoning, but they went in the 'hysterical woman has fake kids and wants to destroy the world to get them back,' which lands a LOT worse without a character like Monica there reinforcing that they're real and when they constantly foil her with Stephen wanting Christine back when that was, like, a breakup with a living woman who is still friends with him but just doesn't want to date him??? and then, for the whole movie Wanda dodges questions about like, 'what happens to the other you' and then is so overwhelmingly guilty at the end that she sacrifices herself??? AGAIN???? which leads me to believe that they intended and/or are gonna go with:

Wanda left Westview feeling bad and wanting to do better etc., and then got so corrupted by the Darkhold that she lost grasp on herself and MoM Wanda was mostly acting out Chthon's will. this is actually INFURIATING to me because they made such a goddamn point in WandaVision about not having her be possessed? like she did terrible things AND it was ambiguous whether or not she knew about it BUT she was the power source and it was ultimately her responsibility. whether or not you feel like she's redeemable after WandaVision, it's so clear that the whole ordeal was about coming into her own power without being controlled by anyone else.

In short, MoM either:

made Wanda one-dimensionally tragic and pretty evil in a way that's fairly inconsistent with the kinds of terrible stuff she did in WandaVision, OR

once again stripped her of her autonomy

there's only so many times they can half-ass a villain arc for her and quite frankly i think they've maxxed out and really backed themselves into a corner where close to total redemption is the only option that makes any narrative sense, because she keeps fucking up and feeling TERRIBLE about it, even at her coldest, which does not a good villain make. like, she so clearly doesn't stand by her actions????

like, it wasn't.... it wasn't fun watching a character i really like do a bunch of stuff that very clearly is gonna haunt her?? she already has enough of that??? especially when it's a character with fans who like her because they felt seen and understood (which IMO is fairly uncommon in the MCU outside of WandaVision and Ms. Marvel), being like, oh, cool, traumatized woman DOES equate to bad is actually such a painful fucking take to see male writers pitch again and again and again.

also maybe an unpopular opinion but I think her powers are actually more impressive in WandaVision? she... made vibranium and living children???? from NOTHING???? and MoM had her shooting fucking magic lasers.

[wilhelmfink]

norman fucking rockwell

7/13 - 1:13pm

goddamn man child... you fucked me so good that I almost said I love you.

Right now, or later today, I imagine you'll be sitting on your plane on the runway, staring at the New York skyline across the water, thinking about how I'm over there somewhere, and you fucked it.

Or maybe not. Maybe I have no idea what you're thinking.

I'm just the girl who you told you'd visit for a night. That actually, as it turns out, you would have time to come visit in the city. That maybe you'd let me take you to Ray's, that maybe we'd eat burgers together, maybe you'd see the apartment you talked about fucking me all over for months.

you're fun and you're wild... but you don't know the half of the shit that you put me through.

I had been counting down the days until you were on my side of the country since February. Since before I even knew the date. I just knew you'd be here eventually, and I dreamed of how we'd spend our time together.

I picked up on your less than interested attitude, your worsening depression, and I thought, obviously it'll all get better once he's here. Once he's with me.

but I can't change that, and I can't change your mood.

How could you be so close to me, and not even make the slightest effort.

It hurts to know you were just talking. Making plans, telling me what we could do, what you missed about the city, how you'd bend me over and choke me as soon as we were alone, just for you to crumble. Of course you never told your parents you were planning to come into the city. Of course they made plans on the days you told me you'd be here, because why would you be anywhere else? And why the fuck would I go out of my way to see someone who, as it turns out, doesn't give a flying fuck about me?

but you're just a man, it's just what you do... your head in your hands as you color me blue.

I can't help but partly blame myself. But along with lying to you, I was lying to myself, too. You take up such a big part of my heart and my head, and for what?

I hope you had a great time in Jersey. Who am I to want to disrupt your reunion with your family? To make your life any harder than it already is?

So I'll just disappear. One of your shoulders to cry on simply vanishing with the wind. Are you even thinking about me on that plane? Do you think of me when you look at the city I begged you to come to for months? Do you think of me when you miss her? I've always been there for you. Why, I don't know. Because I've always wanted you in one way or another, and you always want the things you can't have the most.

It sucks because no matter how hard I've tried to convince myself otherwise, and convince you otherwise, you know you could have me if you only asked.

So you know there's a playlist about you. You know I'm heartbroken. You know I'm upset. You know I'm not speaking to you. And what are you doing about it? Nothing.

you act like a kid even though you stand six foot two.

It's not on you, I guess. You made it clear from the start what we were.

But then I think about all the times I sat in your lap while you worked, kissing and biting each other in between every sentence. All the conversations we had wrapped in each other's arms in your bed. My nails in your back and my head in your neck, pulling away and locking eyes with you just as Billie Eilish crooned "i love you"... we both gave a half-hearted, oh-fuck, breathy-semi-laugh before our lips met again. The hours spent alone, driving around Los Angeles, taking me to your favorite burger spot, picnicking in Beverly Hills, walking to the edge of Santa Monica Pier, hand in hand, kissing me as the sun went down. Burning through a $300 dinner in Venice Beach, conversation as endless as the cocktails we ordered, blowing you on the drive home, parking in the shadows as I climbed on top of you in the drivers seat somewhere in the hills above Encino. Singing every word to Inside as you drove me to LAX, watching you wipe away a tear as you drove off after kissing me goodbye. Talking every single day for two months straight, until it stopped.

I knew in my gut why it happened. It took you months to tell me. But I just had to swallow the hurt I refused to feel and keep moving.

Now, as I sit here in the eye of a hurricane of the same mistakes, I know exactly how you felt, all those months ago.

I'm still trying to rationalize how you must have felt something, even though I look back and see it all clear as day. You did exactly what I'm doing with him.

I'm doing it all with him. And he's lovely. Deserves nothing but the best.

Why wait for the best when I could have you?

I don't know what's happening. I know, unfortunately, that I miss you. I can't believe our once chance to fucking see each other, probably for the rest of the year, came and went and you didn't even bat an eye. Did you ever care?

So now, we'll sit here in silence. We'll see how long it takes for you to make the first move. We'll see how long it takes for you to get so bored that you crawl back to me for a healthy serving of validation. Will it be when you're finally alone again at the airport? When you're staring at the walls of your new, unfamiliar home that you've been dreading? When Lindsey has Vince, Kreiger has their partners, and you have no one except a girl to pine after in NorCal?

I don't know if there's any coming back from this. You don't even know.

Your head in your hands as you color me blue.

#Spotify

[restapesta]

hii emina!! #14 for valentine’s day 💌 (for the february ask meme) <33

Tami couldn't help but feel fucking jealous. Offended too, for that matter.

Lip forgot fucking Valentine's Day—Valentine's day—and now Tami was forced to sit in the kitchen with the gathered-around Gallagher & Co, watching how Ian and Mickey annoyingly proved the fact that she could do so much better than fucking Lip.

For fuck's sake, he didn't remember goddamn Valentine's day. It wouldn't have been a big deal had he not almost forgotten their anniversary, too. Tami got that shit was stressful these days—that Lip wasn't all that happy with his delivery-boy job and their 'temporary' stay at the Gallagher house with his abundance of siblings, but seriously. That didn't mean she had to sit around stoically on fucking celebrate-your-love day, knowing she had been forgotten, while simultaneously watching the it couple of their family making kissy faces at each other.

Maybe they weren't making kissy faces, exactly—Tami would pay to see Mickey do anything in that realm, really—but did they have to be so obnoxiously in love? All while Tami was mourning her own loss of a Valentine?

She wasn't a teenager anymore, goddamn it, but she deserved nice things, at least once or twice a year. Some fucking day where she could feel special and completely in love, despite living with ten other people and kind of, sort of being in debt.

Tami was in love with Lip. She was fairly certain he was in love with her too, but did he have to forego this one thing from his memory? Did he have to invite Mickey and Ian over for a family dinner to rub salt into the wound?

Tami was fucking fine with Ian and Mickey on most days—it wasn't even as if she saw them all too often now that they had moved out (she even sort of missed them)—and their displays of affection were more sweet to her than anything.

It was cute seeing Ian pull Mickey into a kiss randomly before he went off to work at the warehouse. Or Mickey wrapping his hands around Ian's waist while they cooked dinner together, prolonging the creation of the simplest of meals, like boxed mac-and-cheese, just so they could hang around each other domestically, a little bit longer.

Nobody minded it all too much when they did those small things, and they were pretty much used to the constant sex-talk, however inappropriate and explicit. Somehow even the never-ending bickering stopped bothering them so much.

But god-fucking-damn-it, why did they have to rub it in her face now?

Ugh, fine, we get it, you're celebrating Valentine's day like a normal couple, being all lovey-dovey and shit. We get it.

They probably spent the entire day being sickly sweet and in love, like fucking teenagers. So gross.

Why the actual fuck did Lip forget?

Tami shot daggers Ian and Mickey's way, watching as they, in the middle of the Gallagher cluster-fuck—they were having dinner like usual, a cacophony of noises filling the slightly-renovated space up, something Tami had already gotten used to—talked lowly amongst each other, slight smiles on their faces.

They were so happy about fucking nothing as they sipped on respective beers, matching rings glinting on their fingers, now blinding to Tami's eyes when they had only been pretty before.

When would Lip propose?

Nope, nope, nope. Back to the current married couple, Tami thought.

They pulled apart, their heads no longer huddled together in some secret, husband talk. Ian placed bread onto Mickey's plate, reaching across for the salt, murmuring something about, Mickey liking everything unbelievably salty like a crazy person.

Fuck off, Gallagher. At least I don't like spicy shit.

Well, I don't think you should be surprised I like spicy things. I married you, didn't I?

A beat as they stared at each other lovingly—yuck, ew, disgusting—and then came Mickey's reply.

Sap.

Her eyes narrowed impossibly as she watched them steal fucking glances when the other one wasn't looking. Fucking glances, like teenagers who just discovered their crush liked them back and were about to have their first fucking kiss.

Ugh, why did they have to be so goddamn in love all the time?

Tami even remembered meeting Mickey for the first time, thinking how there was no way in fucking hell he and Ian were together. No way they were anything more than, what, fuck-buddies?

She also remembered the look Mickey wore once Ian entered the room, in all his beautiful glory, his entire face just lighting up like a fucking street lamp when the sun goes down. Eyes crinkling at the corners, an upturn of his mouth, a goddamn gleam appearing in his features.

Tami couldn't believe that the guy who literally just got out of prison was staring openly at his—boyfriend?—with so much intensity and love. The moment Tami had slipped out of view, she saw them share a kiss, all smiley, and shit.

She couldn't believe it then, but she could believe it now.

Why were they so in love?

How could somebody be so in love?

Tami had fallen in love a couple of times. She'd had unrequited crushes and first boyfriends, and older men who appeased to her daddy issues—still, she'd never quite had what Ian and Mickey had. Not that she thought anybody did.

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she interrupted whatever conversation the two men in question were landing. They were talking still, bodies practically pressed together as they got unnaturally close at the dining table.

Tami was curious. She wanted to know.

She wanted to know how. How in the holy hell did somebody fall in love so fucking hard that they never let each other go? That they went through every single fucking obstacle they stumbled upon, still walking out alive in the end?

With Lip and their relationship, it was just good until it wasn't and until Tami was a second away from picking up their child and walking away, no matter how good of a father to her child her boyfriend was, and how much she actually loved him.

With Debbie and Sandy, it was being attached by the hip, together in all ways, until all of a fucking sudden, Sandy was gone. Gone from their lives as she had never even been there, replaced by somebody completely insane.

There was Carl, who Tami had never even seen in a committed relationship.

She didn't even want to mention fucking Frank and Monica if the stories Lip had told her were any true.

So, Tami asked.

"Can you guys tell me something," Her tone was only slightly accusing, the bitterness seeping through as she found herself going through a third bottle of Old Style. Even Lip raised his eyes up from the food and over to look at Tami as she addressed everyone's favorite gay couple.

"How in the holy fuck do you manage it?"

Ian and Mickey shared a glance—a fucking glance like they were reading each other's minds—before Ian raised an eyebrow.

"Manage what?"

"Being this seemingly perfect couple."

Lip nudged her foot in question just as Mickey snorted, placing the beer away from his lips so he could properly laugh. Ian rolled his eyes at it.

"We're not fucking perfect," was Mickey's simple answer.

Tami shook her head. "No. No, listen. I get that you're not perfect but I just don't get how. How do you just have this relationship?"

Ian seemed confused. "And what do you think this relationship is?"

"Do you guys even hear yourselves ninety percent of the fucking time?"

Debbie snorted at that. All eyes went to her. "Course they don't. They probably wouldn't be doing them if they did."

"What are we doing?" Mickey asked, and Tami scoffed when she noticed him moving his chair slightly away so he wasn't practically sitting in Ian's lap.

"Why are you asking this shit?" Lip whispered from beside her, apprehension in his gaze. Tami hoped he was slightly offended.

She was really fucking offended.

So, she continued, downing her beer in almost one go.

"I'm talking about how you're joined at the hip."

Ian shook his head. "No, we're not."

Liam made an 'eh' motion with his hands, chiming in, "You live together, you work together. You probably spent the entire day together."

Tami nodded at the boy in agreement. "How do you not get, like, bored of each other?"

They briefly shared another look before Ian shrugged. "I like hanging around him. Mickey's fun company."

Tami groaned, not realizing how they managed to just be so casual about things that didn't make sense to her.

"See?" She said. "I'd probably die if I had to spend more than a couple of hours with the same person, let alone my entire fucking day."

"We get annoyed with each other," Ian defended. "We fight, like, all the time."

Mickey shot him a glare. "Not all the time. Just when you're being an annoying bitch."

"Of when you're being an annoying bitch, Mr. Know-it-all."

"Fuck you, I do know it all."

Ian took a sip of his beer. "Uh-uh. Mr. Milkovich, knows everything about everything."

"Well, I gotta know shit if I wanna put up with your ass the rest of my life."

Ian's face softened suddenly from the playful bickering, sending Mickey a soft smile.

"What are you smiling at, dork?"

Ian's happy expression didn't falter. "You said the rest of your life."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Duh? Thought we were married?"

"Just," Ian shrugged. "Makes me happy to hear it."

Then they smiled at each other all soft, and Tami just barely suppressed a gag. She felt like she'd just been dumped and was forced to attend some love rally.

How to feel single 101.

"Do you, like, not see my point here?"

Mickey looked towards her, eyes narrowing slightly. "Why do you care so much, right now? It's not that big of a deal that Ian's a complete and utter sap," He shot a playful look in Ian's direction. "We're married and we've been together for a fucking while. We're allowed to act..."

Mickey hesitated.

"We're allowed to be in love without worrying whether or not we'll be judged for it or fucking get told to stop." He cast his eyes downward. "We've had enough of that shit already."

It wasn't silent for long, but Mickey's words rang loud in Tami's ears.

She didn't know a lot about Ian and Mickey during the first years of their relationship—she had only met them after fucking ten years of being together, after all—but she knew enough to be able to say with confidence that it couldn't have been easy. And knowing that, she could easily tell how she was being somewhat of a nagging bitch.

"Don't worry," Tami said softly. "I'm not judging you. Just," She sighed loudly before continuing, "admiring the way you're just completely enamored with each other. It makes you wonder, you know? What you could have."

The two seemed somewhat eased with that, smiles appearing on their faces as they looked at each other, like they knew that what Tami was giving them was a compliment, not judgment. But then, Tami's words set in.

All eyes went to Lip.

Tami's own widened.

"I did not mean it like that!" She defended immediately, shifting so she could look at Lip who was more than hurt by the look in his eye. Tami spoke to him as she said, "It's just that, today's fucking Valentine's day, and—"

"Today's Valentine's day?"

It was Ian who asked out of the blue, and she turned to look at him, wondering what he was talking about. He was looking at Mickey who seemed just as confused.

Of course it was Valentine's day. Tami had been bitter the entire day because it was fucking Valentine's day.

"It is?" Mickey said, eyes going warily towards Ian.

"So, we just, uh, forgot about it?"

Mickey nodded, a weird look on his face like he had forgotten their anniversary or some shit. "I guess so."

Tami was just about to open her mouth. Just about to ask if they really didn't spend the day being lovey-dovey with each other since it was Valentine's day, but rather because every day was obviously Valentine's day for them, when Lip spoke.

"Today's the thirteenth, Tami, for fuck's sake. Valentine's day is tomorrow." He smiled at her, seemingly catching onto why she had been so inquisitive in the first place. "Don't worry, I didn't forget."

Tami's mouth fell open and she only managed a simple 'oh'. Lip seemed content. Not at all caught by surprise at her statement. Maybe he really hadn't forgotten.

"Well, uh," She stammered out, heat crawling up her neck. "Good."

Lip smiled at her.

Ian's voice interrupted their staring contest.

"Wait, so you forgot Valentine's day?" He asked Mickey, an incredulous look on his face.

"Um, excuse me bitch, you forgot it, too!"

Ian scoffed. "So, you're telling me we'd wake up tomorrow and what, just continue on like always?"

"Well, you shoulda had something planned then, Ian!"

"Me? Why me?"

Mickey made a 'duh' face. "You fucking forgot it, too. Why would it be me?"

"Well, I'm sorry for having a million things going on right now."

"What million things, Ian? I'm literally with you every second of the day. What things?"

"Well," He started in a tone that didn't bode anything well. "you see, some of us—"

"Oh no, you fucking won't with that sentence."

Tami watched as the it couple fought over forgetting Valentine's day.

She laughed at the sight of them, bickering and shouting, not really angry but enjoying the fight.

They'd still be sappy as fuck the next day. They'd still be lovey-dovey, making kissy faces at each other.

This was what she meant.

They were best friends. Lovers. Partners. Always by each other's sides.

Tami looked over towards Lip.

Maybe she had one too.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless us #fanfic #fic rec #ian x mickey #ah yes the beauty of nor knowing what to wrote whatsoever #pov outsider my beloved #outsider pov #hope you liked it :) #ask and answer #emina answers #thank you for the ask twisha <3 #*ficlet

[bumblesimagines]

Green Thumb

Part 24

Request: Yes or No

Lil short

~

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, call Bucky." You gripped the steering wheel, driving back to the city. You definitely couldn't leave Bucky alone. He'd either have a breakdown or burn the city to the ground.

"Calling Bucky... Call failed. Should I call Sam Wilson?"

"Oh, fuck, Sam.. Uhm, try Bucky again and then Sam. If Sam doesn't answer, call Sarah." You replied, swallowing as the city came into view. You hoped Monica would be able to handle whatever Wanda did. She was powerful but easy to talk to.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, could you make the car go faster? My boyfriend might go on a killing spree and I don't have money to bail him out." You felt the car speed up, breathing out a thanks. The car slowed down upon entering the city, maneuvering through traffic before parking outside of the apartment building. You quickly got out of the car and entered, heading up to your shared apartment. You entered the apartment, hearing the tv echoing through the apartment.

"Babe? Baby?" You called out, checking the kitchen, bedroom, and livingroom. All the rooms were empty. You ran a hand through your hair, standing infront of the tv as John Walker, the new Captain America, spoke about being Captain America. You sighed, taking a seat on the couch. You rubbed your forehead, closing your eyes. You opened them when you heard the sound of paper crumbling, lifting your foot and seeing a sticky note. You picked it up, reading the writing on it.

'Meet me at this address -Bucky'

You frowned, standing up and typing in the address into your phone. You left the apartment, heading to your car. You got in, having F.R.I.D.A.Y drive to the location.

"Why would Bucky go there?"

"I believe Sam Wilson is working with the military there." You sighed softly at F.R.I.D.A.Ys' words. You hadn't seen Sam since Wanda had disappeared. You arrived at the airport, getting out and seeing Bucky.

"When I call you, answer it." You walked towards him. Bucky gave a small smile, extending his arms and wrapping them around you.

"Sorry, tiger. I need to have some words with Sam."

"About?"

"The Captain America wannabe." Bucky muttered bitterly, frowning as his gaze hardened. You placed a hand on his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Bucky.. Don't blame Sam for this. He probably didn't even know." You pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Bucky sighed, shoulders slumping slightly.

"I know.. But, he gave up the shield. Steve gave it to him and now some guy who never even met Steve is calling himself Captain America." Bucky shook his head, fist clenching. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, leaning in and planting a kiss on his neck.

"We can talk to him together but I can't stay around. If you need me, I can stay but-"

"No, no." Bucky offered a small smile. "Wanda needs you."

"Seems like everyone needs me." You smiled gently, taking his hand. Bucky returned the smile before turning and entering the building. You looked over the airplanes, humming softly. Your gaze landed on Sam, a smile appearing on your face.

"You shouldn't have given up the shield."

"Babe." You breathed out, looking at Bucky. He walked forward, approaching Sam. Sam shook his head.

"It's nice to see you too, Buck. How you been, (Y/N)?" Sam looked at him, ignoring the small irritated look Bucky kept giving him. You smiled, hugging him.

"Decent.. I've missed you and Sarah." You replied softly, stepping back. Sam nodded, walking forward. You looked at the young man following Sam.

"Joaquín Torres." He gave a small shy smile, extending his hand. You shook it, chuckling at the soft blush that spread across his cheeks. A slight look of panic crossed over his features. You turned to look at Bucky who gave him a death stare.

"He's in a mood, ignore him." You patted Joaquíns' arm.

"This outrage is gonna have to wait, Buck." Sam said, glancing at his friend. Bucky looked at him in disbelief.

"You didn't know this was gonna happen?"

"No, of course I didn't! You think it didn't break my heart to see them march him out there and declare him as the new Captain America?" Sam questioned. You walked faster, falling into step with them.

"This isn't what Steve wanted." Bucky told him, frowning. Sam sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

"What do you want me to do? Call America and tell them I changed my mind?" Sam looked at Bucky with raised brows. He patted Buckys' back.

"Great reunion, buddy. (Y/N), visit whenever you want, don't wait for me." Sam said, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

"You had no right to give up that shield."

"This is what you're not gonna do. You're not gonna come here in your over-extended life and tell me about my rights. It's over, Bucky. Besides, I have bigger things to deal with." Sam faced Bucky. Bucky scoffed, brows furrowing slightly.

"What could be bigger than this?" He asked softly. Sam sighed, taking out his phone and clicking on a photo. He showed it to you and Bucky.

"This guy. He's leading rebel organizations all over the eastern Europe and he's strong... Too strong." Sam stared at you and Bucky, frowning. Bucky tore his gaze away from the photo to glance at you.

"Like.. Inhuman strong?" You asked.

"Yeah."

"And?" Bucky tilted his head as he watched Sam. Sam put his phone back in his pocket.

"He's been connected to this online group called The Flag-Smashers." Sam explained.

"Shitty name." You mumbled, earning a nod of agreement from Bucky. Sam cracked an amused smile.

"Redwing found him in a building so that's where I'm going." Sam shrugged lightly, going to step away.

"Well, I don't trust Redwing." Bucky called, following him. Sam stopped and looked at him again with slightly raised brows.

"You don't have to trust Redwing but I'm gonna go see if he's right cause I wanna find out if he's part of the big three." Sam replied. You furrowed your brows, tilting your head.

"Big three?" You repeated. Sam nodded, glancing between you and Bucky.

"What big three?"

"The big three. Androids, aliens, and wizards."

"That's not a thing." Bucky pointed out, staring at Sam in confusion. Sam scoffed.

"It most definitely is."

"No, it's not."

"Everytime we fight, we fight one of the three." You hummed in agreement, nodding.

"Who we fighting now? Gandalf?" Bucky asked, earning a surprised look from Sam.

"How do you know about Gandalf? How does he know about Gandalf?" Sam looked at you. You licked your lips, giving a slow shrug.

"I have no idea what you two are talking about." You replied. You couldn't help.but smile at their bickering. It was nice to have them back together. You knew Bucky hadn't responded to Sams' texts for multiple reasons but the main one was because he didn't know what to say to him.

"I read The Hobbit... In 1937 when it first came out." Bucky answered Sams question, a bit of smugness in his voice.

"So, you get my point."

"No, I don't. There are no wizards!"

"Doctor Strange? Wanda?" Sam raised his brows as he stared at Bucky.

"Sorcerers."

"A sorcerer is a wizard without a hat." Sam grinned, looking proud of himself. You chuckled softly.

"That's not the point. These guys aren't magical. They use brute force just like you, the incredibly annoying guy with a staring problem."

"That staring problem was what caught this guys' attention." Bucky motioned towards you. You bit back a smile, nodding.

"Yeah, kind of true." You giggled. You looked at Bucky, licking your lips.

"I should go. Please, don't get into trouble! I don't want a phone call from your therapist telling me you got arrested, alright?" You raised your brows at Bucky. Bucky nodded, leaning and kissing your temple.

"I promise I won't get arrested.."

"That's a goddamn lie." Sam muttered, walking towards a plane with Bucky following. You watched them walk away, hearing them faintly continue to bicker. You let out a deep sigh, turning around.

"And now onto Wanda."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x male!reader #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x male reader #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #avengers #avengers x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x male reader #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x male reader #Joaquín torres #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier x reader #tfatws x reader

[tenderlyrenjun]

The One with the Halloween Party

summary: your best friend has a halloween party but all you want to do is make out with your secret fuck buddy

↛ ↛ ↛ best friend’s younger brother!Yanyang x older reader

↛ ↛ female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, suggestive, halloween party, sneaky relationship, secret make out sessions in a closet, inspired by Monica and Chandler from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. (the one where phoebe hates pbs), the next part is going to be spicier (smut)

↛ word count: 7,6k; previously titled: “The One with the Best [Sex] I’ve Ever Had”

preview > part one > part two

It becomes exceedingly apparent that Ten never replaced the strike plate – the gold one, in the closet door by the front entrance of his apartment. He has been living here for two years and still has not replaced the locking mechanism. And you only really take notice because you feel it. The door opens way too easily. You are not even sure why you turn the handle, since the door opens so easily, so goddamn easily. Then, on top of that, the strike plate scratches your nose when you peek out the coatroom. You have to send prayers, begging for no one to hear you creak open the door or hear the squeak from your throat. And the spotlight effect theory, that Yangyang rambled on last week before his social psych midterm, comforts you somewhat, reminding you that all those cliché Halloween costumes in the living room are probably not attune to your indecency as you think they are. Maybe a quickie during Ten’s overcrowded Halloween party (although it was not this packed last year) was not the best decision. Especially, since your own cheerleading skirt, equally cliché, slips down your waist for the first time tonight, rather than riding up like it did minutes before. And you tiptoe back into the closet again, half-bent over to stop your outfit from completely falling off while pressing a hand to close the door as silently as possible. The thought of accidentally exposing yourself in front of all your friends is so embarrassing that your face heats up nearly enough to brighten the room, like a candle or 80s built house.

Right into Yangyang’s bare chest.

“Ow,” you mutter, palm protectively flying to your forehead. It did not hurt – bumping into him, but hopefully, covering some parts of your face understate the extent of this mortifying rendezvous. You take a baby step backward, then knock into the door and the tongue rattles, making you stiffen, making you freeze for a second. Yangyang puts his hands on your upper arms, rubbing them warm, as you look over your shoulder to verify that the door is still, in fact, closed. Both you and Yangyang are honestly incredibly lucky that no one caught you two, so when you confirm the locked door, your arms droop and you lull closer to Yangyang. Your eyes open after a second, and you jolt up again, realizing just how naked he is and how naked he is going to stay. You drag your nails down his pecs and ball your fingers into loose fists before completely breaking off him.

“Back up,” you whisper-shout, as if this command is part of some grand scheme.

Yangyang smirks, his smile curling wider. “I’m not the one touching someone’s rock hard abs.”

You want your glare to push him back, like your command, between all the jackets and superhero capes, but you get provoked by his cockiness. He was so much quieter and pliable when you first met. Now, you are the quiet, pliable one, or at least you are in this situation. Yet you bite at him – with your words, not your lips like his evil grin implies that he wants. “You wish.”

“That’s not what you said last night.” Yangyang approaches you, gauging your reaction until his breath ghosts over yours. And not seeing any actual restraint, he kisses the corner of your mouth teasingly, like it could start another round. Then he lowers his lips to your ear and whispers, “Or five minutes ago.” You wonder if he can feel your eye roll because he tries to change it from annoyed to turned on, sucking on the vein behind your ear.

And for that reason, you put a hand on his chest again, this time lower, on his stomach, specifically on his abs. His smirk broadens and his lips part again, aggravatingly making that clicking sound with his tongue, so you push on him. “Just –“ You pull your hand back to your face again, noticing the lack of change in warmth between his stomach and your face; maybe he is as embarrassed as you are, or turned on all over again. The latter is worse, probably, hopefully, not really. He looks really good and you just want to … You shake your head. “Wait a minute after I leave so this –“ You gesture between yourselves, touching his stomach again, then jerking away again. “- doesn’t look suspicious.”

Yangyang grabs your waist, sympathetically, although not entirely agreeing with your request. He tugs your bottoms over you ass and you expect him to retract immediately after, including the baby step that you asked for, but he only stops you from moving, keeping you locked in place – in place next to him. You roll your eyes again, unhooking his hands. Before you can completely detach, he interlocks your fingers and pushes you against the door, kissing you warmly.

Your head knocks into the door, loudly you think, and you stiffen again. Until his left hand travels behind your knee, up your thighs, and his lips open over yours, his tongue sliding next to yours. You stand on your toes, back curving into his embrace, off the extremely wiggly door, your arms hugging him closer as he pulls you up, pulls your clothes up. His right hand slides down your spine, thumbing at your waistband. This entire embrace is another persuasion, you note, and it usually works, like those mornings before AB Psych, but you two are in a closet, at a party, barely blocked by an unfastened doors that you are actually not sure is soundproof. So, you come down onto your heels and bring your hands to his chest again.

“Mmm mmm.” You shake your head off him. He trails you forward but you end the embrace, tightening your hands over the lapels, to close it, to close off his dumb attractive abs this time. “We have to get back.”

Yangyang pokes your personal bubble again, sliding his chest onto yours, and your arms stretch behind his neck, the closeness giving you some pressure on your boobs. He looks at you for a second, pupils scanning your eyes before he bends his neck on your, opening his mouth during an open mouth kiss.

“We’ve only been gone for a minute,” he seduces you, simultaneously sliding his tongue between your lips to prod at yours.

You slide your hands onto his face, comfortably holding his jaw in place as you look into his eyes, reinforcing your reasoning. “Try twenty.” You sigh, letting go of him. “I feel like such a bad guest. I haven’t even greeted the host yet.”

“Ten will be fine,” Yangyang reassures you, pushing past your fingertips to kiss you again. “Meanwhile –“ He kisses you deeply and you exhale, basically melting all over again. If he did not support you, you might have fallen onto the ground. God, he has some effect on you, and you cannot entirely describe it. “- I am not fine. You could greet me a little more enthusiastically.”

“I’m pretty sure you finished being so enthusiastic, a minute ago,” you scold. You square your hands over his shoulders and gently lean him off you, successfully separating him in the process, then reach for the doorknob. “We’re playing a risky game here, with the door unlocked.”

Yangyang slants forward, fusing you with the door. Your arm bends behind you, at your side, as he envelopes you, so he relaxes you again, taking down your elbow. You look at him with wide, pouting eyes, like that iPhone emoji. He can keep persuading you, effectively, and you will stay with him, but …

“Mmm mm,” you protest, pulling away. You hit your head on the door, hoping that it was not loud enough for someone to hear. “We – I really have to get going.”

Yangyang sighs, ceding, “Alright, fine.”

He beckons you out, looking away, flicking his wrist. And you wonder if he is actually complying. You look from him to the door, stuttering back to him. This would be the time for him to persuade you into staying again, and his gaze is devastating enough to convince you, but you really have to enter the party. As you grip the doorknob again, Yangyang hugs your back, clasping his hands like a belt over your skirt, and you can feel him pout into your shoulder, chin descending further into your skin. You placate him with a brief kiss to his knuckles – something chaste and fleeting, nothing like the fluttering in your heart. And since you cannot see his expression, you wonder if he actually enjoys these small acts of intimacy, of if he cringes; if he does cringe, then he is really good at hiding it, because you cannot perceive anything from him. Although, the moments in bed, in the most intimate hours, when the pads of his thumbs press into your lower back, you think that he feels it too.

Unfortunately, he cannot do that right now. And you head out the door first, straightening your direction over to the bar like a new arrival, or like someone who did not come to their best friend’s party just to make out with said best friend’s younger brother, or closest thing to a younger brother as he can get.

It only takes a few seconds for Yangyang to consider your goodbye, before completely rejecting it, then he groans into the empty closet, throwing his gaze at the ceiling. After, he pokes his head out the door, looking left and right like crossing the street, until the coast is clear for him to leave. When he rejoins the party, he instinctively searches for you among the cliques of cliché Halloween costumes. And he finds you, easily if he might add, at the bar, chatting with Jacob, probably about your matching basketball uniforms. Well, you wear a Trailblazer’s outfit and him a Jazz one – natural rivals but neither of you take it serious enough to start an argument in a semi-public setting.

Yangyang waits for you to leave the bar and meet up with Ten, interrupting his conversation to say hello. He nicks a capri sun from the fridge, then joins you right after with a bright smile on his face, middle fingers pressing into your lower back like a greeting wave. The act might have been offensive, had you been in a club and he a stranger, but he knows you, he likes you. And he smiles even wider when you relax into his hand. Nevertheless, Ten stands three feet away, putting the two of you on edge, and your spine straightens in the most attentive way possible, like you are a military subordinate or something, even though you are dressed as a basketball cheerleader from the U.S. state where you spent a winter semester abroad during freshman year, before Yangyang joined your university. So, to make the conversation more natural, Yangyang high-fives Ten, while you take his juice box away and open it for him. He stares at you, smile faltering, suddenly feeling smaller as you take care of him and Ten resumes whatever the hell you two had been talking about until he entered the conversation.

“Oh, come on,” Ten whines, hitting your arm after you hand Yangyang the capri sun. You glare at him sharply, then make sure Yangyang is okay, rubbing his arm comfortingly. He wants it to mean more, because he does not know what you want from him, but now is not the time, not when you are trying to keep everything on the DL. “I want to meet the guy who is the best sex you’ve ever had.”

Yangyang mimics your body language, though peppier as he smirks. “Really?” he asks Ten. “That’s what you heard?” He turns to you, tilting his head teasingly. “That’s really what you said?”

You baby-step out of the trio, slightly further from Yangyang specifically until you knock into Winwin behind. Your conversation partners giggle at you as you throw a small apology over your shoulder, then you glare at them upon returning to the group. You exhale slowly, giving yourself time to think before speaking, and redirect your annoyance at Yangyang more than Ten. “I might have.”

“Why didn’t you invite him to the party, huh?” Ten asks, bumping shoulders, wiggling suggestively. He raises his eyebrows, glancing at Yangyang to rope him into the teasing too and he falls into it because your mystery boyfriend is already here. Yangyang stops dancing when Ten’s expression changes, softens and reminisces. “I get the whole ‘respecting his privacy thing, but, like, I really want to meet the guy who helped you get over Renjun.”

The name drop causes Yangyang to shoot his eyebrows to the moon. His neck snaps at you faster than Kun’s when he jokingly accepted a marriage proposal. He watches you widen your eyes at Ten and smack him loudly. Maybe not everyone knew that, he thinks; he certainly did not know that, and he has known Renjun longer than you or Ten have. While you and Ten stare each other off, irritated and shocked, respectfully, Yangyang loudly slurps the last of his capri sun.

Yangyang tries to break the tension by pointing to the wall adjacent from you all, at Renjun. “He’s taking five shots of Smirnoff with Jeno right now, while Jaemin holds lemons at the ready.”

“Big deal,” Ten waves him off while keeping eye contact with you. Yangyang stares at his face, looking him up and down, then decides to take a baby step in front of your leg, almost protectively. He cannot gauge where Ten stands, where the conversation is going, but he knows that he will be there for you, just in case. “I did that when I was 17.”

You smack Ten, with the arm opposite of Yangyang, using the other one to pull Yangyang back into an equilateral triangle. “Don’t normalize underage drinking.” Yangyang almost rolls his eyes at that; who are you even saying that too?

“Hey!” Ten counters. “No one is underage at my party.” He holds your hand and pulls you into his side, into a scalene triangle, while covering your mouth. “Shhh, you can’t say that out loud. I invited Mr. I’m-A-Lawyer-Now, and besides, -“ You pull out of his arms and stand slightly in front of Yangyang. “-I just happened to invite the babies, too. Like Yangyang.” Ten turns to the devil in disguise and pinches his cheeks. “Baby.”

Yangyang single-handedly unbuttons his shirt again, like an act of defiance. “I am not a baby!”

Ten drops his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow. “You respond to baby,” he retorts, “And you’re drinking a juice box.”

“I had a bottle of soju earlier!”

“Oh? Just one?”

Yangyang folds the aluminum capri sun into his pocket, hopefully discreetly, and scrunches his nose at Ten. He feels you gently draw him back at your side, via his wrist, and expects you to defend him, but you just tease him further:

“Pics or it didn’t happen.”

Yangyang straightens up, his jaw dropping, then he crinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out at you. He accepts it though, not changing the topic, because he sees the way your posture shifts when everyone moves away from the romantic department.

Although, he might want to talk to you about it sometime.

Ten grounds him back to the conversation, patting his hair – the same spot you place kisses when the two of you cuddle and he is the small spoon, so Yangyang ducks away, slapping Ten’s hand out of the air. The whole hair touching thing reminds him that you are never really vulnerable enough with him, to let him hold you like baby. He wants to try it, especially since Ten keeps babying him in front of you, but he is not sure if you even like it.

“Yeah,” you agree, your voice low. You poke Yangyang’s side then cross your arms over your cropped jersey. “You’re so cute.”

Yangyang circles his neck towards you, smiling reassuringly, or at least he thinks so. His gaze wanders from your eyes to your fingers, which are coiled around your upper arm, so he starts taking off his jacket, pulling off the cuffs behind his back. But he stops after feeling your hand on his bicep. He glances at your hand, then stares at your eyes before pouting:

“I don’t want to be cute.”

He stops stripping but still decides to keep you warm, with another back hug, this time enveloping you into his jacket while he rests his chin on your head, even tiptoeing just to commit to the hug. When you squirm, shaking your shoulders to hit his pecs, he just hangs on slightly tighter until you stop. And after you relax, resuming natural conversation with Ten about anything other than your former crush, he smiles, coming back down to his heels and leaning on your shoulder. The new position tempts him to kiss your neck, and he almost does, but then he feels Ten’s eyes look at him, so he cannot even press a small peck at your jugular like he does sometimes when he catches you at the café by the physics building – the one that only Jaemin goes to, out of all his friends; the one where neither of you get spotted by your friends so it seems like a date, not that either of you have ever called it that. Nope. He avoids kissing your neck and just brushes his nose along your skin. It does not come off as platonic, he recognizes, but Ten does not ask any questions and Yangyang slowly phases out of the conversation to meet up with Hendery who walked through the front door as a pink bunny rabbit.

Yangyang slipping out of the trio feels so sudden, you think after feeling his hands unbuckle around your waist.

Maybe he does not feel important in the conversation anymore. So, you lock your elbows into your sides, clasping your own hands over your stomach to make him stay put. You knock your head onto his collarbone, prompting him to say something, but he does not, only resting his chin on your shoulder. Hopefully, he is smiling; you like his smile. His cheek pokes you at your neck, similar to how he almost kissed you in front of Ten just minutes ago. Then, he pushes his hand in front of you, to wave at Hendery, opposite the room, and your smile quirks down, somewhat embarrassed, as you trace his direction to the pink, fluffy ears bopping along to last year’s Travis Scott song. Ten copies you, twisting hesitantly behind himself. Meanwhile, Yangyang grows a little bolder, hunching forward onto his tiptoes to kiss your cheek silently, before dashing off with his friends.

Too stunned, eyes wide, mouth smaller, you miss the way Ten turns around, his smile wide with a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue. It goes away though, when he sees your face, so after making eye contact, you are met with an ominous stare. It is also curious, but the ominousness throws you for a loop. Then he raises his brow slightly, and you smack him, simultaneously asking what he wants.

“Nothing, nothing,” he laughs, crossing his arms over his pilot costume. He relaxes once you show no intent to hit him again, then he locks his hands behind his back, leaning toward your face mischievously. And when his nose almost pokes your eye out, you jump back into WInwin again, glare prompting him to ask stupid questions. “I simply want to know what all that was about.”

“What?” you bite at him, annoyed, following your second apology of the night to Winwin. And instead of meeting his eye (to give yourself more time to think of an excuse, no matter how flimsy), you flatten down the bottom of your top, where a iron-on patch of Dillard’s number disrupts the obnoxious Portland ‘P’ – you wonder if anyone connects your costume and Yangyang’s favorite basketball team, because no one says anything. Except, Ten is saying something right now, continuing the silent taunting into your personal bubble, getting almost as close as Yangyang was just a minute ago. So, you poke him away, on his forehead. “You want to know why I keep running into Winwin?” Ten rolls his eyes. Your voice does not feign innocence as well as you want.

“That was all you,” he deflects, eye contact maintained but he points at your vodka party drink, implying that you might have had a bit too much tonight. You swallow the alcohol faster, defiantly, and hold your breath, exhaling longer while you pause, holding the empty cup still above your dry tongue. “No, yeah, but, uh, no, that whole thing with Yangyang.” Ten bumps your arm with his elbow, coming to your side so that both of you can watch the man in question from across the room. “Huh?” he teases lightly. “Are you entertaining him? [Because] You two seem really … close.”

“I’m close with you,” you retort, touching his shoulder, into the crook of his neck, with your head. Then you stand back up, reflexively smiling when Yangyang laughs at a new TikTok dance that Hendery shows him. He even looks back at you, waving once your eyes meet. You throw him a thumbs up, and you swear that his smile gets brighter. It probably was not because of you though, because he starts giggling louder and dancing alongside Hendery right after. “We’re all –“ You turn to Ten, smile still blanketed under your nose, then you frown. “- friends; what’s that look for?”

“Nothing!” He imitates innocence better than you do, baring his palms for dramatic effect. You face him frontally, examining his devilishly handsome face for a crack. And he gives it to you: “It’s just that we’ve known each other for eight years and you never let me cuddle you like that.” He pokes your hip, where Yangyang was attached. “You’re closer with someone you just met.”

“You introduced us. In March!”

Ten waves a hand lazily. “Minor details. Besides –“ He blocks Yangyang from your view, not that it really mattered because you are trying to have a conversation with Ten. But it helps you maintain eye contact. “- you seem really comfortable with him being naked on you.”

You open and close your mouth in one short breath, swirling the empty red solo cup at your side, nervously. He has a point; you know he has a point – you are very comfortable with Yangyang being naked on top of you. Wait, he said on you. Either way, Ten is right. You do not want to admit it because that implies feelings, something that you are definitely not willing to talk about at the moment, especially this moment, but he is right. The question is if he needs to know.

“Did you hear about Yangyang and the anatomy student from Renjun’s class? They’re also close.”

You deadpan. As it turns out, he does not need to know. You are not dating, anyways, so …

“It’s my business, because…?”

“It’s not,” Ten agrees, shrugging. He looks off, turning his head toward Johnny, dressed as the Kellogg Tiger, before looking at you again. “Just thought you’d like to know.” He shrugs again. “If you didn’t already.”

“Uhh, okay,” you confirm, as nonchalantly as possible. You mirror his body language, standing straighter. Ten says nothing, not noticing the way your body stiffens, or at least, you hope so. “So you’re telling to what?” Get you jealous? “Give him advice?”

“Nah, we both know that he’s fully capable on his own.”

“Please,” you scoff. “He’s a baby who lives in a frat apartment with seven other dudes and buys food at the café by the physics department to avoid washing a knife.” Well, he charmed you, so how can you criticize his flirting abilities? You shrug – maybe, he was just that horny. He has always been a typical teenage boy. Although, he turned 20 a couple weeks ago.

“Huh.”

“What?” You come down from the high that somewhat roasted your sex partner … fuck buddy? friend with benefits? He is something to you - a little more than a friend but you do not think he would willingly be your boyfriend. Your voice sounds less excited now, and you run your hand through your hair, pulling slightly harder at the ends.

“Nothing,” Ten shrugs again. He twitches at you, briefly spinning his hips. “It’s just that Yangyang mentioned you go to that café too.”

“Yeah,” you drawl, like it is obvious. Ten smirks, knowingly, you think, so you crush him, “Jaemin, too.” You lift your eyes to the ceiling for a second, like it would give you an out. “And Kun on Tuesdays after 5.”

Ten scrunches his face, now facing you again. “Oh, we both know that Kun goes to the kiosk in the chemistry building for the cute barista with a good taste in music.”

You mockingly smile at him, squinting above your nose. He does not get the satisfaction of an equally annoyed laugh – probably because you might crack, your voice might crack and accidentally give something away. It’s not that you don’t want anyone to know that you are sleeping with Yangyang – you don’t, but not because it is embarrassing. You just do not particularly want to hear the two cents everyone seemingly needs to donate, like a commercial tax, especially with their baby Yangyang.

“Why did Hendery even dress up as a bunny? A pink bunny. Is he puling a Chandler?”

“No,” Ten shakes his head. This is the third conversation change you have made, and surely, he caught on by now. “Only Jisung and Winwin are watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S. with Chenle; I think that Hendery just like the costume.” Ten points at Johnny, flashing a wave, then glances at you. “I’m gonna head over there. I haven’t seen Johnny since he left for a Paris project.”

“Yeah, no,” you gesticulate, nodding, “go ahead. I’ll meet you later, or something.”

“We’ll catch coffee on Monday.” Ten’s voice shrinks as he moves away. “After office hours!” He turns around one more time, emphasizing his words louder, “At the physics café!”

Yangyang, along with a couple other people, snaps his neck at Ten walking away from you, especially after hearing the bit about the physics café because, no offence to Ten, but that is his place. With you. The café on 17th is his rendezvous point with you. He likes the whole secret aspect of your relationship – it is so sexy; you are so sexy. It is just … the face that everything is secret prevents him from explicitly opposing Ten’s suggestion. And before he knows it, Yangyang makes his way toward you, waving goodbye to his psych friends.

He already knows where you are, because sometimes he would glance over at you when someone made a joke, just to see you laugh, to laugh with you. Occasionally, you would be smiling brightly, at whatever Ten said, and look to him. So, all he has to do is turn right and find his annoyed cheerleader, to annoy you even more.

The music is louder by the kitchen exit, where you are, curled against the wall with an empty red solo cup, blue light from your phone glowing across your face. Yangyang takes the opportunity to scare you, hiding behind a couple groups until he reaches you, creeping slowly. Then he strikes, poking your obliques.

“Boo!”

“Ah!”

You jump against the wall, clutching all your belongings closer while he laughs at you.

“Aw, did I scare you?”

Yangyang envelopes you into a hug, ignoring the way you glare at him. And he relaxes, when you do, feeling you squeeze his waist and sigh. You will never admit it, but the two of you know that this is how your dynamic works – he annoys you, then you cuddle him. And he has so many ways to annoy you. Like, next, he pulls a 180 – both coming behind you and switching up the mood to grind under your hips.

“What are you doing?” he whispers in your ear, fast, grabbing your waist to guide you over his pelvis. He gets dangerously near your cheek, excusing it as a way for you to hear him better, since you two stand adjacent to the speakers, where the music is above talking decibel. His eye catches onto Lucas’s, and he winks, hands tightening above your skirt, because, despite all the teasing, this is not actually how he wants your entanglement to get out. “Wanna head upstairs? I just found a new TIkTok challenge you can practice on me, like the WAP one.”

“What are you doing?” you retort, laying your fingers on his bare chest – he likes that you keep touching him, not so much when you push him away. He wonders if you know that. Like, he chose his outfit for tonight because, well, he looks good, but also because he figured that you would think he looks good, too. It seems like you do, considering that your hand always finds ways back to his abs. So, he grows more confident, nipping at your ear while you push him against the wall, further away. Your eyes flutter, lashes blinking rapidly as he holds you closer, left hand toying with the hem of your shirt. He has this trick that you always react to, and he wants to do it now, while no one pays attention to either of you (larger parties afford far more privacy than smaller ones). You lean your head on his warm shoulder, then he presses his palm into your spine until you are chest to chest with him, impossible to get closer. Your breath sounds louder, as the music transitions to Goodbye feat. Lyse [slow version], and he wonders if he can elicit a moan from you, in the same frequency as the song’s growl. His right hand travels between your thighs, until you stop him, slapping his hand and holding him still. “We’re in public.”

Yangyang spins you around, showing off his own point of view as a counter argument: no one is paying attention. The whole thing bumps your connected hips into the wall, and his arm belts over your lower waist, driving you to essentially demi plie over his thigh that sneaks through your legs. At the sudden movement, you gasp, death gripping over his arm. He does not mind very much, only the red solo cup tapping rhythmically between the wall and his elbow. You barely get time to relax completely before he drops lower, just enough for him to look up at you. And he takes note of the sexual tension essentially radiating off the two of you, so he alleviates it, giving the illusion that there is only dancing going on right now. Though, you baby-step forward, to give him more space. His smile falters, twitching down, and he is thankful that you seem oblivious to it, because you comply with his action, letting your skirt flower spread over his leg and the smile return to his face. Yangyang guides your swaying left and right, grazing over his abs.

“I’m offering to go upstairs,” he answers definitively, still whispering in your ear. “More privacy.” His hands travel up again, skin getting lightly scratched by your top’s texture. Your nails might do a better job, if he remembers correctly. God, he wants you to take up his offer. “You didn’t have a problem with it an hour ago,” he points out, while dropping his gaze to your neck, once again tempted to mark you. He pulls away some of the baby strands that fell out of your hairdo, then locks eyes as he traces your ear shape. “Do you have a problem with it now?”

“No,” you answer him quickly, shaking your head for even more emphasis. You turn around fully and scan his eyes before shaking your head again. “I don’t have a problem.”

Yangyang smiles wider, instinctively bowing forward. Your ambiguous answer tells him more than he asked. He almost reveals something in return: that he enjoys kissing you, because he would totally do it right now, but you keep stopping him. He is all for consent, honestly; it just gets really confusing with you. Even now, he initiates a small, intimate touch while this moment afford you two some privacy, breathing open mouthed kisses onto the vein behind your neck, slightly illusioned in the dark lights as just talking to you. All the boundaries do no really define what he can, or cannot, do in public. Like, apparently, you two can have sex in a closet right before his best friend’s party – a best friend shared between you two, but there are rules about how close he can stand next to you. Both situations still involve secrecy. Although, one is far more sexier than the other. But he wants the whole damn thing – to hold you in public, and private, to kiss the part of your trapezius muscle that he likes so much, to be able to say that he knows places too, like the physics café where he doesn’t want Ten to take you because he takes you on dates there!

Then, you sigh.

Why are you sighing? It feels like that should be his response.

You clasp your hands behind his neck, evidently hesitating to reveal something – he knows because you fiddle with his collar a few times before moving onto the ends of his hair.

“It’s just …” You pause, so he tries to make his gaze unwavering, to hold you securely. “It’s just that a certain classmate might have a problem.” He furrows his eyebrows, bending onto his knees to ask for clarification. “You know … a certain classmate.”

Yangyang narrows his eyes, lost in translation. He slides up the wall and squeezes your waist, thinking, trying to figure you out.

“Oh!” he catches on. “Oh, I don’t think Hyunjin would have a problem with us.” He moves his hand to your shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. “I don’t really see how anyone in any of our classes would have a problem with us, much less, like, know about us.” He cocks his head to the side sympathetically, lips brushing along your cheek to ear. “I don’t have a problem with us.” He drapes his arms around your sides. “Just FYI.”

“Me neither.”

He smiles wider. You two are on the same page about something. He almost kisses you right then and there, but settles for brushing his nose on yours, simultaneously taking a step backward, closer to the wall so that no one sees the obnoxiously domestic display of affection. Actually, it might be weird for Hendery, Xiaojun, or one of his psych friends to see him act so … boyfriend-like, so romantic. He doesn’t think that anyone would anticipate that kind of behavior from him, and he is honestly too sure if you see him like that. He would try it though, you know, because he is curious and he would like to be your boyfriend.

“Did Ten tell you about Hyunjin?” Yangyang asks, prodding slowly.

You nod, equally slow, eyes falling down. “He didn’t mention any names, -“ Yangyang feels something in his chest drop. He put a name to the idea, and now he watches your eyelashes flutter and the lump in your throat shake, as you try not to say the name. “- but yeah.” He hugs you, bending your arms around his stomach so that he jackets you in his empty shirt. You have said that he has a natural body warmth, and hopefully it is comforting right now, because …

“It’s not really his business who I talk to.”

Yangyang almost apologizes for creating an environment that fosters mistrust or makes room for insecurities. Except, (1) that sounds like a note he would write in his case study’s conclusion for class, and (2) how the hell is he even supposed to say that? He tries to show that this – whatever it is – is exclusive. Like, now, he just holds you tightly, during a Halloween party, only slightly out of view from his friends. He almost apologizes, and it is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back, pursing his lips as you open your mouth.

“It’s not my business either,” you reason, stepping back. His embrace slackens, like rock climbing because he catches you, not letting you fall off him, even though you wiggle out a little bit, pushing him back into the wall. “Because we’re not dating.”

“No,” Yangyang partially agrees, standing straighter, supported by the wood. “We’re not, but we’re …” He wants to tell you about the exclusivity, that he considers the two of you to be exclusive. Some part of him thinks that you hold the same thought. And he cocks his head to the side, rolling his tongue behind his teeth. “We’re good friends. And, you know, we’re like, yeah. So, it’s your business too.” He rubs your shoulder again. “Wanna go upstairs and talk about it?”

Yangyang smacks your ass for attention, trying to make the situation fluffier, simultaneously gesturing to the second floor with his hair. This is not really the time nor place to dissect your relationship, and he would totally put it under the microscope. Just, maybe, at another time. You seem to agree, walking away first, holding his hand to guide him up the secretive stairs.

And despite this being his idea, Yangyang stops before the first step, waiting for you to march a couple feet taller than him. His eyes linger at the lowest hem of your skirt, until you plant one foot in front of the other, on two separate levels. You look over your shoulder and roll your eyes. He expected it, quickly meeting your gaze innocently. Then he smacks you ass again, as if he were not just looking up your skirt a second ago. You glare at him, but he slaps your ass again and races upstairs.

“You’re so annoying,” you comment after him, still running to meet him at the top.

Yangyang smiles. Yeah, but you love him. He opens the nearest bedroom door, beelining to the bed where he manspreads across the full-sized mattress. You walk into the room quickly after him, turning around to close the door. Your skirt swings chastely around your thighs, and he cannot take his eyes away from it, wishing for you to swing them around his hips.

“Wanna be annoying with me?”

You roll your head, clicking your tongue, after finding him sitting relaxed on the comforter with suggestive eyebrows. “Yeah, I guess.”

Yangyang lifts his arms to catch you when you dive between his shirt, the lower part of your body thrusting on top his as you prowl beside his torso. He leans back, hands anchoring himself to your face. You push him deeper into the mattress, and he feels your nails airily redraw each indent on his carefully contoured abdomen. He smirks, asking if you like what you feel, and tilts his chin up to give you better access to his mouth. You tell him to shut up by biting his lower lip, though you match his expression, shaking your head as you decline into him. Yangyang cannot maintain his position any longer, almost breaking a sweat when you unbuckle his very thin belt and tap into the metal button barely holding his pants together. He whines, briefly breaking the kiss, then he flips you over, bending one of your legs up to fit his in between.

“I don’t want you to just guess,” Yangyang whispers. He slowly retreats his palm from under your shirt to the spot on your stomach where your shirt lifted up; he wants your verbal consent before doing anything else, and he waits for it. The kiss gets longer as you sigh into it, lazily hooking an arm around his neck. So, he stops. And then brushes your hair behind your ear, just hovering over you with tender eyes. “I don’t want you to just guess.”

“I’m not guessing,” you reassure him. You play with his hair, the way he likes, toying the strands on the top of his head then combing through the rest until reaching his neck. He looks at you innocently again, in case you crack. But you don’t. He restarts the kiss, sliding his hand under all the layers covering your torso.

Yangyang helps you out of your shirt, watching the way your chest bounces without support, so he gives you more, adding his lips like a low-set suction. “You’re so pretty,” he confesses, kissing into your sternum after you arch it up at him. And he wants to know your reaction, so as he presses an open mouth kiss into the side of your boob, he looks up at you, your lips parted by a silent moan. “You are so, so pretty like this.”

Unlike you, Yangyang moans audibly.

He feels you curl your fingers into his waistband, touching his tip outside his underwear. With his eyes closed, he drops on his back and feels you move around his lower thighs, teetering above them lightly. You meet him between the velvety sheets, giggling with him as your hair tickles his face. He opens his eyes, combing the loose strands behind your face again, finishing the act of endearment with his knuckles stroking your cheek. Sometimes he lets himself fall into these more romantic displays of affections.

Yangyang grips your ass, under your cheerleading skirt. When he remembers that you have his favorite player’s jersey patched onto your crop top, he pulls his chin up, nipping at your bottom lip. You draw him in further, towering over him until he drags you down with him, mixing between the sheets, laughing again. He really loves hearing your voice, and he loves it even more that he can make you have a fun time, make you grin so vocally during the moments that matter. So, he tries it again, slipping under your underwear too, massaging your skin.

“Mmm,” you moan.

Yangyang feels you slither his shirt off his shoulders, your nails grazing around his biceps as he tilts up to kiss you over and over again. Then, abruptly, you sit back, on your knees, around his hips, alert at attention. The new position allows him to mark your neck, one hand sliding through your waist band, over your ass, to have you grind down on him. His lips nibble at your collarbone, tongue breezing along as he waits for your reaction.

“Wait, wait.”

He stops, looking at you from under his eyelashes. A minute passes, and you don’t give any more restraints, so he resumes taking off your underwear. He keeps the same consistent eye contact because you remain alert above him, but you close your eyes and lean your head closer to him. He pulls his arm completely out of his sleeve so that he can hug you firmly against his body. Your chest grazes his, and he moans.

“Shh,” you silence him, kissing him quiet, hands still on his shoulder, “Do you hear that?”

“No, mm.” Yangyang breaks the kiss. “What are you –“

“Shh!”

You move your hands onto his pectoral muscles, his shirt near completely off his body, as you turn your head at the door. His head stutters in the same direction, stopping every half millisecond to return back to your face and make sure that you are okay. Then, he hears it: Xiaojun stumbling into the walls, jiggling the doorknob.

Yangyang stiffens. “Did you lock the door?”

A bit of light from the hallway cracks into the room, along with intoxicated hushing and giggling.

“Shit, no,” you answer, obviously, then start to pick your clothes off the bed and stand up. After a moment of hesitation, Yangyang follows you, buttoning up the middle of his shirt and meeting you in the center of the room, shielding your exposed chest as you clip on your bra.

Yangyang looks at the door when it creaks louder, eyes caught by a headlight. Before he knows it, you shove him into a closet. Neither of you are getting the opportunity to be annoying together because Xiaojun drunkenly stumbles into your space, moaning after his own date. Yangyang rolls his eyes and feels you slide into his shirt with him, scratching his back with your spangled top. He knows that there is no other option, since you two do not want to expose your relationship, especially like this, but he would rather not ruin his relationship with one of his best friends due to indecency – either of theirs. Thankfully, he gets an out, after Xiaojun hides under the blanket.

When you two make it downstairs, Yangyang bursts into laughter, yours following too until he gives you a long chaste kiss, screening you behind the wall to maintain that secrecy he did not want Xiaojun to break.

Although, Yangyang pulls away, brushing your hair behind your ear again, hand holding your waist to prevent you from leaving. You stare at him, at the domestic moment of tenderness, then fall into his chest again. And that is when he realizes it: he doesn’t really want to be a secret.

#yangyang #wayv #liu yangyang #nct #nct smut #wayv smut #yangyang x reader #yangyang imagines #yangyang fluff #yangyang angst #wayv angst #wayv fluff #wayv imagines #nct fluff #nct angst #nct imagines #/mine

[andguesswhat]

The fool on the hill - Chapter 8

This is a thankless chapter but it still had to be written. So here we go...

I’m fine

*

And then everything was overshadowed by a ominous virus. 

It was on the news and in their minds. 

They talked about it, discussed it, tried to evaluate it with each new piece of information they got, tried to classify it, they weighed all scenarios, they talked about every goddamn disaster movie that came to their minds. 

They were worried. About their families, their friends, themselves.

And finally it was certain they had to stop fliming and take a break. 

The crew was sent home. 

Owen went back to Santa Monica. And Tom could understand. Owen wanted to be there for his kids and needed to see his brothers. 

Tom himself decided to stay in Atlanta. He liked being here and somehow he felt safer than being in busy, overcrowded London. 

Well, like almost everybody else he thought that yes, this virus was horrible but it would only take a few weeks and then they could go back to working.  

So Tom went for jogs, went for walks with Bobby, he read, he talked to friends and his family on the phone, he watched movies, he cooked and he read some more… 

But the virus was still there.

And like almost everybody else Tom somehow got used to it. So his worrying thoughts about this pandemic got less and made room for more conventional thoughts… or at least thoughts about Owen.   

Yes, Owen… of course, about Owen. 

Their contact had been more or less non-existing. 

Sure, Tom had texted Owen and asked him if he was alright. But Owen more or less had just replied with “Yeah I’m fine. How are you?” 

Okay, he did write a bit more but still… It wasn’t enough for Tom. He felt demoted to being a colleague, an acquaintance like others, whereas his longing for Owen had gotten even worse. 

He missed him. He missed him sooo sooo much. 

Missed talking to him, laughing with him… and just being near him. 

And far too often his thoughts went to their encounter on that hill. 

He on top of Owen, their hard-ons pressed together, Owen grabbing his ass, pulling up his leg… 

Sometimes Tom even got a hard-on just thinking about that and he would grab a cushion to groan his frustration into. He didn’t want to be the one getting desperate.  

So when he jerked off under the shower he tried to think about 1000 different hot guys but not Owen. Because thinking about Owen was just too pathetic. 

And it hurt so much when Tom slowly had to realize that they apparently weren’t on the same level. 

Because when they were… Owen would call him, right?

He knew Owen wasn’t the guy to text long messages. 

But he could have called, right?

They could flirt on the phone, send each other naughty pics… 

Okay, Tom hadn’t called him either. He didn’t dare because he was afraid to interrupt something. Maybe Owen was with his kids. 

At some point Tom got worried if Owen was really okay, if his mood got worse and he didn’t want to tell Tom, so he wrote him again. But again everything he got was “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for caring. I hope, you are fine, too.” I was just damn frustrating. 

The weeks went by and Tom got more and more moody. 

He always thought of himself as a guy that had no problems being alone. He actually liked being alone. Having his space, not having to make arrangements with anyone, not having to take anyone into consideration. He always could do what he wanted, when he wanted. 

But now in this pandemic with almost zero contact to others… while others were with their families…. it buggered him badly. (And maybe, just maybe, he had gotten a little too comfortable having Owen around.)

When he ran, he wished Owen would run by his side. When he finished a book, he wanted to tell Owen about it and ask what he had been reading, when he cooked he wanted to cook for two. 

But who was he to complain?

The world was in turmoil…

But he was healthy.

He had Bobby to keep him company.

He was fine. 

*

And then.. 

… he wasn’t fine anymore. 

“He… fucking... grabbed… my ass!” he growled into the phone.

Zawe laughed. “Yeah, you already told me…”

“Yeah… I’m sorry... But why, why isn’t he calling? … Or texting?” Anything actually!

For a couple of days now Zawe had to listen to his whining about fucking mean Owen that wouldn’t call him, wouldn’t send him flirty messages (or dirty pics, but he didn’t say that to Zawe, he had to maintain at least a little dignity). 

“And how is this supposed to work anyway? Am I supposed to make him unhappy so we can be together?” He was really upset. 

“You know that it doesn’t work like this,“ Zawe tried to calm him down. “He just has to get used to liking you. And you know that.”

Tom sighed. “Yeah…” Yes, he knew. 

Still…! 

He was so … frustrated.  “I think he is getting used to forgetting about me.” He didn’t even care that he sounded like a pouting teenager in love. 

“Maybe you just have to tell him, you were Rear of the Year. Maybe this gets his attention… ” Zawe burst out laughing. 

Tom just groaned. 

He knew Zawe just wanted to cheer him up. But it didn’t work.  

“I can’t remember telling you that!” he growled. “Who told you?”

Zawe apparently didn’t want to expose the traitor right away so she said, “Who said that I don’t follow this award?” But Tom wasn’t even close to comment on that. 

“Okay,” Zawe capitulated. “It was Josie…”

“I’ll keep that in mind…” Tom tried to answer mockingly but it sounded all wrong. 

“I wonder… Did you get a trophy for that?” Zawe’s voice was still way too cheerful. He wished he could joke with her but he just wasn’t in the mood for it. 

“Don’t make it more ridiculous than it is,” he said with a sigh. There were things in his past he didn’t want to be reminded of. 

At least Zawe apparently gave up trying to lighten his mood.  

“How about I come and visit you?” she asked after a pause. Her voice sounded kind of worried so Tom had the urge to refute that. 

“I’m fine. You don’t have to come.”

“Yeah, I still want to. I want to see you, want to talk to you, face to face... I’ll book a flight for this weekend.”

Tom loved the idea of having Zawe here with him but this was still… “You don’t have to do this. It’s a long flight… There is still a risk you get infected… I’m fine-“

“Thomas William Hiddleston,” Zawe interrupted him firmly, “if you want a baby with me, you have to respect my decisions. And that is one of them. I’m coming to Atlanta this weekend.”

And Tom had to admit Zawe’s decision was worth gold. 

The minute she arrived everything was way easier to handle. 

She stayed for a couple of weeks and they had a wonderful time. It was so relaxed and comfortable that on their last evening together, as they lay on the couch watching a movie, after another day full of relaxed conversations and good cooking, Tom wondered why the hell they couldn’t be in love with each other. Everything would be so much easier, wouldn’t it? 

But love was never easy. It always hurt. Before and after and sometimes in between. 

*

Somehow time passed and in September they were finally able to continue filming. 

Owen called him a few days before and Tom didn’t know what to feel. On the one hand he was tremendously excited and his heart wanted to beat faster. But on the other hand, he was disillusioned and sad that Owen apparently didn’t have as much feelings for him as Tom had for him.  

But Owen probably didn’t realize any of that anyway, because he was constantly talking. He had big news to tell: Luke would also be shooting in Atlanta and they already got a place where they both could stay. Tom was happy for Owen but he was afraid that this would change too much between them. He doubted that they would still spend so much time together when Luke was around.

“Man, it’s so good to hear your voice! I’ve missed it,” he heard Owen drawl on the other side of the phone, all cheerful. 

Tom rolled his eyes and tried not to sound too reproachful when he said, “You could have had that earlier if you had called me.” …once.

“I knooow, I’m sorry,” Owen replied and his tone hadn’t lost a milligram of his cheerfulness. “But we see each other on Monday, right?! Can’t wait to see you!” 

Tom sighed. It felt so good to hear Owen. He didn't want to, but he knew he couldn’t stay mad at him for long. 

And for what anyway?

Either you love someone or you don’t. He couldn’t make Owen fall in love with him if he wasn’t. Even if he wished he could.

So for the next days Tom tried to push his longing aside and was just happy that he was going to see Owen again.  And he didn’t even had to wait until Monday. On Sunday Owen called again to invite Tom over to their place to have dinner. 

Their embrace was long and warm, and it felt good. And even though Tom was sad deep down, his smile was genuine. He loved seeing Owen, seeing him laugh, hearing his drawl… he had missed him so much.

He was surprised that actually everything felt like there hadn’t been horrible six months in between, everything felt like it used to be. Well, before their incident on the hill that was.

But it was a really nice evening; Tom could not say it otherwise. Luke was lovely. And Owen seemed proud of his brother being here and that Tom could finally meet him.

They talked, they laughed and Tom tried to ignore the occasional twinge in his heart whenever he would look at Owen for a second too long. Wishing secretly he would lie with him on the sofa, counting his eyelashes.

“He was so proud that I finally got to meet you,” Luke winked at him, when Owen went into the kitchen to get some drinks. “He has so much respect for you.”

Tom tried to smile.

It was nice to hear that and to know that it was the other way around then he had thought… that it was important to Owen to introduce him to Luke.

But deep down, it hurt.

Because it seemed that sometimes everything wasn’t enough to make someone fall in love with you.

When they hugged to say goodbye for the night, Owen looked at Tom attentively …

“Everything okay with you?”

Tom pressed his lips together before he answered.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Oh wait! I forgot…” Owen jumped back in and came back with a slightly tattered book in his hand that he handed to Tom.

“This is the one book I was talking to you about. The other one is apparently on Maui.” He grinned. “So you have to come and visit me there to get it.”

And even if Tom didn’t want to, he grinned back. “Thanks.”

He was moved that Owen had remembered.

“Sure… Good to see you, man” Owen’s smile was soft now and Tom hated himself for falling for him so easily again. He wished he wouldn’t get his hopes up again but he was afraid it was already too late for that.

“Glad you’re back…” he finally managed to say. “See you tomorrow on set.”

And with that he turned and disappeared into the night.

Yeah, he was fine.

At least he would be, somehow.

*

#tom hiddleston/owen wilson #hiddlewow #widdlewow #rpf #the fool on the hill #chapter 8 #widdlewow fanfiction

[unbridgeabledistances]

here is a part 2 of my valentine’s day one-shot from the other day!! part 3 of them actually celebrating is coming fri, but wanted to make it a lil countdown:) also big creds to @udontfuckangie for their post about ian getting mickey stargazer lilies for valentines bc it… truly made me feel so many things and i had to write this

--

Ian didn’t really remember ever celebrating Valentine’s Day for real— not like everyone else in middle school or high school, like when Lip was off buying flowers for girls or Mandy was trying to get the guy she liked to ask her out— but he definitely remembered celebrating it as a kid, when he’d have to scrounge up some shoebox from under his bed and bring it to his overcrowded classroom to cover with colorful construction paper and make shitty valentines to swap with his friends. Those were the days when Frank was around some, and so was Monica— he remembered one year, when he was maybe 5 or 6, when Monica was there and he had come home with a thin pink slip of paper from his teacher saying that he needed to bring in valentines for his class. Monica had whisked him down the street to the dollar store where they’d ransacked the rickety shelves of all the art supplies they could carry, and then they sat at the kitchen table for hours gluing glitter to cut-out hearts.

So maybe that’s why Ian’s heart had melted last Sunday, when Franny had mentioned that she needed to buy valentines for her class at school— Ian knew it was stupid, or whatever, but he knew how far a few solid childhood memories could go in this neighborhood, how those types of moments were the stuff you lived on for years afterwards when things got harder and darker. So while he’d been caught up in so much shit lately, for a couple of hours on that Sunday afternoon all Ian wanted was for Franny to soak up that feeling like a sponge—to make memories with her like the good ones that he’d had with Monica, the ones that stood out and burned in his chest like a hot branding iron when he remembered them.

And then a yawning, sleep-soft Mickey had stumbled into the kitchen, and the three of them were nestled beside each other at the table doing fucking arts and crafts; and for some reason it made Ian’s blood run hotter than usual, and got him thinking about how fuck it, he wanted to give Mickey a Valentine’s Day this year— not in the weird, heteronormative bullshit way, but in the way that he could just kind of… show Mickey how much he meant to him, how Mickey still made his heart feel like it was going to explode out of his ribcage even after the years they’d been together. This was the longest time that he and Mickey had ever been together consecutively, the longest time they’d slept side by side before something dark curled its fingers around them and pulled them apart, and he wanted to do something to acknowledge that— something to start their forever, as fucking cheesy as that sounded.

Of course, Mickey had no concept of Valentine’s Day or any of that shit, which made the whole thing all the more perfect— Ian wanted to catch him off guard, wanted to pull them both out of the funk that had been hovering over them for the months after the wedding, when everything turned brittle and stale once the bills started to pile up. They were better now—or at least they were trying to be— but it still meant something that half of their time being married had been spent navigating a fucking global pandemic and squabbling with each other and barely making ends meet.

So now it was the day before Valentine’s Day, and Ian was standing on a busy Chicago street corner in the bitter cold, watching the bundled passersby briskly walk by to scramble inside and stave off the chill. Ian hadn’t been to this neighborhood since his days working at the club, or maybe once or twice when he was hanging out with people from the youth center; the pristine glass storefronts with minimalist displays nearly blinded Ian’s eyes after the past ten months of being accustomed to the crumbling paint-chipped architecture of the South Side. But he was here on a mission; in front of him stood the high-end, boujee as fuck florist’s shop, one of the top-rated ones in the city according to the quick search he’d plugged into his phone.

Ian normally didn’t give a shit about stuff like this— to him, a flower was a flower, and a chair for a wedding was just a goddamn chair— but he knew Mickey, for some reason this sappy shit was a whole lot more important to him, no matter how hard Mickey tried to hide it. All the symbols and the fanfare meant something to Mickey—it meant that they’d made it, that they got to have a normal fucking life together, beyond both of their wildest dreams. So if Ian had to brave a stupid, gentrifying flower shop on a chilly Friday afternoon to make Mickey happy, then that was what he was going to do.

A soft bell tinkled as Ian entered the shop, immediately surrounded by the nearly-bare shelves of minimalist bouquets. The store was incredibly cramped and narrow, with overly-peppy music playing low, and was packed tight with wire-rimmed glasses wearing, re-usable bag toting hipsters standing in a line all the way to the counter. Shit. This line was going to take all day—and who the fuck knew if they even had what Ian was looking for? A looming pang of desperation started to churn in the pit of his stomach as he lurked by the doorway. Fuck it, he had to do this.

Before Ian really processed what he was doing he was quickly darting past the line, getting a series of dirty looks from everyone he shuffled by.

“S’cuse me, coming through, floral emergency.”

Finally, he reached the counter, sliding in beside some girl in her mid-twenties with a punk haircut. “Uh, sorry, can I just ask if they have what I’m looking for real quick?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “If you’re desperate enough to cut the fucking line, I’d say you’re worse off than I am. Men are fucking clueless.”

Ian nearly grimaced, but tried to twist his face into a soft, grateful smile. “Thank you.” He turned to the cashier at the counter, a dude with a man bun and a floral button-up shirt who looked pretty amused by this whole situation.

“It’s the day before Valentine’s Day, honey. Everyone here is in a floral emergency.” The cashier sighed, looking Ian up and down appraisingly. “What’re you looking for?”

“Uh. I think they’re called… stargazer lilies? The ones that bloom at a specific time, or something? We were supposed to have them at my wedding, but then the venue got burnt down by my husband’s homophobic father, so we kind of had to pull the whole wedding thing together on short notice— it’s kind of a long story, but I really, really need to get these flowers for Valentine’s Day.” Ian leaned in close over the counter, hoping he didn’t look too desperate. “It’s our first one together and it’s been a fucking shitty year and it would just— it would mean a lot.”

Ian finally exhaled, and hoped by some miracle that this cashier, or someone in the fucking universe, would take pity on him.

The cashier pulled his glasses down to the bridge of his nose, tapping away at the iPad on the counter before glancing up. “Hmm. I’m sorry honey, you’re fresh out of luck. Those lilies bloom in the summer mostly, and no one around here really has them. You could maybe check one of the little flower shops down the street, they do special orders and stuff this time of year—but I’ll be honest, I don’t know if you’re gonna get these flowers by tomorrow.”

Ian felt disappointment bubble up inside him. Of fucking course there were none of these obscure flowers in Chicago the day before Valentine’s Day— he’d had this grand idea of giving Mickey a perfect Valentine’s Day, of starting off on the right foot, and he still put this shit off until the last minute and couldn’t give Mickey what he deserved. Mickey would’ve never made this mistake.

Ian cleared his throat. “Shit. Well, uh, thanks anyways.”

He turned, heading for the door and getting ready to be assaulted by the bitter cold again. Okay, there were a couple flower marts down the street, he could try that— but he had a sinking feeling that the results would be the same, that he’d be left empty-handed tomorrow with nothing to give.

Okay. Focus. I’ve gotta plan a bunch of shit for Valentine’s Day by tomorrow.

What would Mickey do?

**

The flat drone of the dial tone made Mickey’s head buzz, the same dull vibration he’d heard dozens of times that week. Finally, he heard the click of someone answering.

“Hello, this is Sizzlers, how may I help you?”

“Hi, it’s, uh, it’s Mickey Milkovich. Again. I’m just checking in one more time to make sure we’re all good for tomorrow?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, like the hostess was taking a moment to compose herself. “Yes, Mr. Milkovich. Since this is the… seventh time you’ve checked in in the past week, I believe, everything has definitely been arranged as you requested.”

Mickey cleared his throat. “Uh, good. Thanks. We’ll be there for our reservation at 8.”

He clicked his phone off and flung it down onto the bed. It had been nearly a week since he’d decided he was going to try to give Ian some kind of Valentine’s Day like the normal fucking couple Ian wanted to be, but he had to admit, this shit was hard work; he had to think of the perfect place he wanted them to go, had to call and make a reservation and arrange everything perfectly— and then there was the matter of deciding what to get Ian, because apparently married people also got each other fucking gifts on Valentine’s Day, which sounded like overkill to him. He’d been scrolling through Buzzfeed “Valentine’s Day Gift” lists for the better part of the afternoon, and even snuck some of Debbie’s chick magazines into the bathroom to sift through articles like “Ten Things to Get Your Man for Valentine’s Day” or “Best V-Day Gifts for Newlyweds.” Finally, after fucking days of plans stirring in the back of his mind, Mickey finally thought he had all of the pieces together; the reservation was made, the timing was set, and he’d even stopped by some fancy fucking chocolate shop on the other side of town on the way home from the Alibi earlier that afternoon.

Everything was planned—now there was just one thing left to do.

Mickey grabbed the crumpled piece of paper he’d set on the bedside table, the one he’d been staring at all week. Fuck it. He grabbed a discarded pen from the windowsill, from the collection of pencils that Ian kept next to his notebooks.

Mickey sighed as he put the pen to the paper. Now comes the hard part.

part 1 is here! and part 3 is here!

#this has been such a fun lil distraction this week!!! #actual cute fluffy content coming friday lol #<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian and mickey

[willykappymarnsmatts]

Angels Like You (Can't Fly Down Here With Me)(A. Matthews/M. Marner)(Chapter 2)

As soon as Mitch closes and locks the door to his apartment, he slumps against it, dropping his bag to the floor in the process. His cheeks are scratchy and dry from the tears that had been falling for like half an hour, but at least he’s finally stopped crying. He pulls his phone out of his sweatpants pocket and glances at the notifications. There’s only a snapchat from Dylan Strome and an Instagram message from Kasperi, probably from before his practice started. Nothing from Monica, which hurts more than he thought it would. He clicks his phone off, and puts it on the tile floor next to him. He leans his head back but misjudges how far he’s sitting from the door and ends up banging the back of his head against it. “Fuck,” he mutters, shutting his eyes closed. He isn’t about to start crying again, and definitely not about bumping his goddamn head.

His stomach rumbles, but he doesn’t want to get up from the cool tile floor. His entire body aches like somebody just cross-checked him onto his face. Not even Zeus, his dog, is there to cheer him up, since he’s visiting with Mitch’s brother for the week. Usually Mitch would call Monica after practice, but after her surprise showing up in the locker room, he doubts that will ever happen again. Maybe he could call Auston, but after the whole teary-hug-thing, he doesn’t know if that’s the best idea ever. Auston would just not stop asking if he’s okay, rather than pretending like nothing happened, which is honestly all that Mitch needs right now. It hurts too much to even think about it.

He has to go get wasted.

Even though it's not even six p.m.

So he scrolls through his phone to find Willy’s number and sends a quick text.

Drinks?

The ‘typing’ dots show up almost right away, and a second later a message pops up.

Mitch it’s 4:30

And?

Yeah ur right

I’ll be at ur place in 15

Mitch nods at his phone and slowly gets up from the floor. He thinks about texting Fred and Mo and maybe Zach, but he’s not really in the mood for a big party thing. He just wants to get drunk with one of his best friends.

So he goes into his room and pulls off his shirt to change into something a bit nicer when his phone dings with another text from Will.

Auston coming?

No and don’t ask him

I just wanna hang u and me

He does feel kind of bad about not asking him, because when do they ever go out without each other, but Mitch knows Auston well enough to know that he won’t let Mitch breathe if he were to come. Instead of overthinking it, Mitch grabs his keys and goes to wait outside his apartment building for Will’s car.

He’s outside for a couple of minutes before Will gets there, and when he pulls up Mitch jumps up and runs the couple of meters to his black car. “William,” Mitch states when he opens the passenger-side door.

“Mitchell. Where are we heading?” He taps the steering wheel lightly and runs his hand through his blonde hair. He is really pretty, Mitch has to admit but he’s definitely not his type, the whole ‘I’m beautiful and I know it’ thing a bit too obvious.

If he were gay, that is. He’s not. Definitely not.

“The usual place.” Mitch replies, and Will nods and puts the car in gear. It’s silent for the first few minutes, Will focusing on getting through the Toronto traffic, Mitch staring blankly at his phone. He opens Instagram, but the first picture on his feed is from Monica’s account, so he quickly unfollows her and shuts off his phone, dropping it onto his lap when he’s done.

“So,” Will starts, unsure of how Mitch will take the question he’s about to ask.

“If you’re going to start with ‘how are you doing with the breakup, Mitch?’ don’t even bother. I don’t wanna talk about it right now.” Mitch puts on a deep voice and waves his hands in the air in an attempt to mock Will, and it’s obvious he’s only half-joking. Will doesnt take it personally, though, telling himself that his friend is going through a lot.

“Um, first of all, that is not how I sound, and second of all, I was going to ask what’s going on with you and Auston? Usually the three of us go out, and after this afternoon…” he trails off.

“Nothings going on with me and Auston,” Mitch says slowly, unsure of what exactly Will is getting at. “What are you even talking about? I didn’t ask him to come because I knew he’d be weird about it and not let me live.” Will just nods, looking straight ahead. He turns his blinker on and Mitch starts again. “What are you talking about?” “Nothing. I just assumed something might have happened, that’s all.” Mitch gives him a look and Will lets out a breathy laugh. “Seriously! That’s all.” Mitch nods at him cautiously and the conversation kind of trails off. They talk hockey for a couple minutes, but it’s painfully obvious that the two are waiting to get at least one drink down to talk about their relationship, or, in Mitch’s case, ex-relationship, problems.

Will makes another turn into the parking lot of a small bar you wouldn't notice if you didn’t know exactly where it was. The two walk into the bar and realize it’s busier than they would have thought it would be at 5 in the afternoon, but what difference does it make at this point. They’re already there, so Mitch finds a booth while Will goes to the bar to order them beers. Mitch pulls out his phone and sees a text from Auston that reads it was sent five minutes ago.

how r u mitch? everything ok? :(

Mitch has a weird sinking feeling in his stomach when he reads the text, but he tells himself he shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s not like he did anything wrong. He ignores the text and forces a smile he knows looks fake when Will comes back to the table, a beer in each hand. He sets one down in front of Mitch and the two sit in silence for a second. “Spill. Everything.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck happened, Willy. I knew something was coming, because she always gets kind of distant and stops responding to my texts and calls before she pulls some drastic bullshit like this, but I didn’t think she’d make me choose between my two favourite people on the planet.” He looks up suddenly, as if the words are falling out of his mouth faster than he can process them. “No offence, you’re obviously also my favorite person, it’s just...” Will just shakes his head, smiles a bit and waves him off, taking a sip of his drink. Mitch does the same, and Will takes it as a chance for him to talk.

“Did you ever actually love her, Mitch? Like, I know you always said she’s so great and makes you so happy, but when you really think about it, was there ever even one full day where you were completely and utterly happy with her?”

He pauses and racks his brain for something, anything, literally one fucking memory of the two of them together when Mitch wasn’t berated for something he did wrong, or when she wasn’t on her phone the entire time they were together, or that time she ditched him for her friends on their six month anniversary where Mitch had planned a dinner at a fancy restaurant and they would walk through downtown Toronto in the evening and watch the sunrise on the beach. He was devastated that day, and suddenly the sadness he was feeling turns to anger and guilt. Anger at her, for everything she put him through while somehow convincing him it was love, and guilt, for all the times he ignored his friends while they told him how bad she was for her. He feels like he’s about to start crying again, and he knows he will if he looks up at his friend, so staring at the table, he says, “I can’t.”

Will nods, cocking his head to the side. “It’s okay, Marns. And it’s okay that you’re still hurting over her, because trust me, even though now you realize it was never real, it’s gonna hurt like hell. You have to let it, otherwise it’ll never get better.” “I’ve been through a breakup before, William,” Mitch snaps, but he’s smiling.

“I know, I just want you to know that I’m here for you. And so is Auston.” He doesn’t realize what he’s implying until it’s out of his mouth, but he’s almost 100% sure Mitch missed it too. Just to be safe, he adds, “And the rest of the team, too, obviously.”

Mitch nods and downs half his beer, then looks at Will. “Honestly it doesn’t even hurt now that I realize that. I’m just really fucking angry.”

“So you know what you should do?”

“Hm?” Mitch tips the glass of beer back to finish it off and sets it back on the table, never breaking eye-contact with Willy.

“When you get home, you pack a box of her shit together and fucking set fire to it. Burn everything. Pictures, souvenirs, ticket stubs, everything. It’s what I did when I broke up with my high school girlfriend, and it’s honestly really freeing.”

Mitch nods, kind of unsure about the idea of setting their relationship up in flames. Will reads him easily though, so he laughs and continues. “Or, you could put her shit in a box and tell her to come pick it up, otherwise it's going in the trash.” The two of them smile and Mitch nods.

“That sounds like a much better option. And still freeing.” There’s a lull in conversation, and honestly Mitch doesn’t have much more to say about his predicament other than long, angry rants, so he decides to prompt Willy. “So, you and Kas…”

“Oh my God my turn! Okay so he called me last night, right,” he leans forward and props his elbows up on the table, and Mitch smiles and leans his head in his hands.

The two of them spend the next few hours in their booth, Mitch downing beer after beer, Will stopping after one because he’s going to be the one to have to drive them both home. Close to eight pm, Will realizes how long the two of them have been sitting there, as well as just how drunk Mitch is. He’s slurring his words and isn’t really focusing on Will, looking around the room unfocused while he attempts to keep up with the conversation. He smiles to himself and tells Mitch it’s time to get home.

“No,” he states like a five year old. “I don’t wanna go home.”

“Yes, you do, bud. We have a game tomorrow night, and you don’t wanna be too tired and hungover to play, do you?”

Mitch shakes his head while Will stands, stuffs his phone into his pocket, and pulls out his keys. He waits for Mitch to stand, then wraps his arm around his waist to help him to the door. He could probably walk on his own, but he doesn’t want to take that chance in a crowded bar with a guy who is heavier as dead weight than he looks like he’d be.

The drive home is silent until Mitch picks up his phone and quickly realizes he can’t read what’s on the screen. “I’m drunk,” he announces, and Will laughs. “Can you read it?” he attempts to hand his phone to Will, then realizes shit, he’s driving, and pulls it back to himself.

“After, Mitch,” and he nods exaggeratedly in response. They pull up to Mitch’s apartment, and getting him up to his floor is slightly easier than Will imagined it would be. He does have to help him into bed, though, and doesn’t bother undressing him. He pulls the covers back for Mitch and sits him down on the mattress. He takes the phone from him while he lies down and glances at the screen. There's five text messages from Auston, all spaced out over the three hours they’d been out.

if u need to talk, u know im here

mitch?

ur probably busy or smtg… text when u get a chance

did i make things weird tdy? im sry if i did

call me mitch plz

“Jesus,” Will mutters under his breath and unlocks Mitch’s phone to respond. Mitch gave him his passcode a long time ago, so he knows he won’t care.

Hey its Will

Everything is fine, Mitch is super drunk, that's all

Dw about him

oh

u guys went out?

Will knows how bad it looks that the two of them went without Auston, but he should be able to understand.

He needed some one-on-one w someone not as close to him I think

It def wasn't a party, we drowned in our emotions, man

alright i get it

shit, can u plz delete the messages from before?

including these actually

Ofc np

“Night, Mitch,” Will whispers, although he already realizes Mitch is passed out. He sets his phone on the night table next to him and makes sure to lock the apartment door behind him. Mitch honestly cannot be more blind about his literal soulmate being madly in love with him, but he thinks he has a plan to help him figure it out now.

U should pick him up tmrw for the game. He's gonna be hungover af and moody

ofc, was planning on it anyways :)

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