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thetomorrowshow · 3 years

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a jig in plaited time

Happy holidays, @under-the-blue-moonlight ! I really enjoyed writing up some intrulogical content for you (and this may actually get additional chapters lol, I’m really happy with it).

Here is your @sanderssidesgiftxchange gift!

ships: Intrulogical, background Royality

cw: anxiety, intrusive thoughts, panic attack, mannequins, mentions of food

Why was Remus at the mall?

That was a simple question, with a just as simple answer. He was at the mall for a suit and tie, one he needed for his brother's wedding. It needed to be “salmon” or whatever, with a blue tie.

A much less simple answer was to the next question.

Why was Remus at the mall on Black Friday?

In all honesty, Remus hadn't known about Black Friday until he arrived. He hadn't really had a good feeling about it on the way here, but he'd paid no mind to his instincts. He didn't often have a good feeling about anything. There had been far too many cars for this time of morning on a weekday. What had really tipped him off, though, was the huge sign in the window of Nordstrom's.

'BLACK FRIDAY SALE!'

Even at that point he wasn't entirely sure what that meant. It became far more clear when he entered the building to find it absolutely packed. Well, there could be an upside to this. Maybe there would be a sale on the suit he needed.

Remus hadn't been this close to someone since he was in the womb, and he could not say that he was very comfortable with it. Remus didn't care much for close spaces and touching people, he hadn't since middle school. It just made him feel sort of icky.

As soon as possible, he ducked out of Nordstrom's, only to find that the rest of the mall was in a similar condition. JC Penney actually looked worse. Normally when Remus was feeling overwhelmed, he'd sidle into Hot Topic or somewhere else with obnoxiously loud music. By drowning his feelings in the noise, he generally was able to recollect himself. The mall was certainly loud, but not in a good way at all. Even if he tried to find someplace with music, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it with all these people.

Remus was stressed. But he needed this suit, seeing as his brother's wedding was literally tomorrow. Why did he leave it this late? Well, Remus knew he was nothing if not a master procrastinator. He also knew he couldn’t be the only one.

Remus waded his way through the crowd to a relatively people-free corner and wiggled his phone out of the pockets of his definitely too-small jeans (not that he'd admit they were too small out loud—his brother had told him they were on every occasion he wore them) and texted the wedding group chat.

Remus: hey im at the mall. anything yall need?

Robro: Why are you at the mall on black friday?

Patty-Cake: ooh can you get me a pair of sunglasses? Mine broke last week

Remus: sure. stuff for wedding?

Robro: idk. Let me ask mom

Remus shoved his phone back in his pocket, then extracted it again as it buzzed a moment later.

Robro: Yeah mom says get some classy decor or something

Ant: I don't think remus knows what classy means

Remus: shut up i got this

Toby: wait what's going on? It's like 10am why are you all awake

Robro: idk if you knew this tobes but I'm getting married tomorrow

Toby: shut up man

Ant: even Remy knows

Sleep: even i know loser

Remus: toby do u need help

Toby: I hate it heeere

Patty-Cake: Aw Toby that isn't very nice! And good morning everyone!

Robro: hello sunshine!! <3

Sleep: i need you both to not start that

Remus: get a room dorks

Okay, classy decor. Sunglasses for the groom. Pink suit. Blue tie. Probably some dress shoes. A wedding present. Dress socks too. Did Remus need to have a tie pin? He'd ask later. Napkins, definitely. No one ever had enough napkins at events. Did he need to have a pocket handkerchief?

Remus checked the list of what his suit needed that Roman had sent him a month or two ago. Yes, a blue pocket square. This was a lot.

Remus swallowed back his sudden panic and took a few deep breaths, jamming his still-buzzing phone back into his pocket. He could do this. Sunglasses first, there was a Sunglasses Hut within eyesight. All he had to do was fight through the crowd.

He reached the kiosk with few incidents and surveyed the sleek glasses for five minutes before seeing a pair that were shaped like a cartoon frog. Patton would love those. And if he didn't, then Remus just got a neat pair of sunglasses! He purchased the glasses and moved on to the next place to conquer.

By the time Remus was back at Nordstrom's, he was completely out of energy. Nordstrom's had two levels, and so much stuff, and so many people. He still had to get the suit and socks, and the wedding present. Maybe it seemed like he hadn't done much, but he had actually done a lot, considering how busy the mall was. He'd barely escaped a fistfight outside of the electronics store. The fact that he'd been able to get shoes and so-called 'classy decor' and napkins? Remus was pretty proud, all things considered.

Nordstrom's was even busier than when he left, which was certainly distressing. Remus couldn't even see any clothes. Was that a mannequin or a really tall lady? Was that the escalator, or a bunch of people climbing on top of each other?

What if I set off a bomb right here? Would the whole tower fall down, the ones on top not actually hurt until they hit the ground?

Remus shook off the intrusive thought. This was getting bad. It was already almost one—that meant that not only was he stressed, but he was getting hungry. His thoughts would continue to devolve until he got out of here and got some food.

I could eat that man! That would certainly clear the place out, and I'm sure he's delicious!

Remus groaned. He needed to sit down, but there were no seats free anywhere. He hefted his bags higher on his shoulders and forged on. He had to get this suit, or else the wedding would be ruined. The man in question (who was fairly attractive) bumped him, and Remus had to close his eyes to fight his brain. This was getting out of hand.

There was a little square cut out in the wall where a headless mannequin stood, no doubt showing off the latest in boys' fashion. Remus ducked between its legs and pushed his back up against the wall, knees drawn up close to his chest. He pulled out his phone with some difficulty.

Remus: hey so ro does my suit need a tie pin

Robro: Don't worry abt it, mom got matching tie pins for everyone

Sleep: ree babes are you buying ur suit now?

Remus: shut up

Sleep: on black friday?

Remus: no

Ant: did you even know it was black friday

Remus: ...

Toby: wait the wedding is tmrrw

Robro: Believe me tobias I'm aware

Remus: yah ik im not buying the whole suit just shoes

Robro: Good I almost had a heart attack, you almost certainly wouldn't be able to find one

Now truly panicking, Remus dropped his phone onto his stomach and buried his fists in his hair. How was he supposed to find a salmon suit and a blue tie, as well as nice socks? Plus a wedding present? Especially in this crowd, when he had no clue where to even look for a suit. And he still had to go to the party tonight, then the wedding tomorrow, and it was so loud. Everyone was yelling over each other, and Remus couldn't even hear his own thoughts—except the bad ones. Why did he have to put this off so long? He needed out, he wasn't going to be able to get any of the stuff, he was going to ruin the wedding, like he ruined everything—

“Hello, may I help you?”

Remus looked up—at least, as up as he could look, with a mannequin just above him—to see a bespectacled store clerk looking down at him. 'Logan', his nametag read.

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it again before a string of curses could come out. He really wasn't doing well. There was just too much, too much everything.

“Is there anything I can help you find?” Logan asked, his voice rumbling a bit—or maybe it was the thunder of people in the shop. Whatever it was, it made Remus's stomach drop a little.

“Um, uh, pink!” If Remus had any shame, he would have slapped his own face. As it was, he started trying to pantomime a suit while stuck in a tiny hollow in the wall. Logan watched kindly, his face not betraying the disgust he was probably feeling.

“Pink what? Shirt?” Logan guessed. Remus shook his head, running his hands down his legs. Pants too, pants too.

“Pink . . . coat? Shorts? Pants?”

Remus traced back over his arms, almost crying. Here he was, bothering this poor clerk with his stupid non-verbal self.

“A pink suit?”

Remus jumped for joy, hitting his head on the crotch of the mannequin, instantly shuddering at the thoughts that flooded into his head. Logan held out a hand, and Remus took it, allowing himself to be pulled out of the wall.

“I can direct you to the suit section, right this way.”

Remus let himself be led by Logan, who occasionally looked back to make sure he was still there. The man had a curly mop of dark hair, and was slightly shorter than he was—not that it was a problem. Or anything important. Remus wasn't looking for a date. He was inconveniencing a store clerk on Black Friday. Although, he did need a plus one for the wedding. . . .

No, it was out of the question. He didn't even know this man. Roman would be upset if he ruined the wedding even more by showing up with some rando who would probably jump in the wedding cake or spill food all over the nice tablecloths or turn out to be really ugly because he was just wearing a mask made of someone else's face.

“Here is where the suits are. Do you need anything else?”

Remus stared at him, his mouth opening and shutting a few times. He wanted to say something stupid, like yeah, I need those eyes in my life, or something far more obscene, but he was okay. He could do this. He could survive peopling.

Logan gave him a sympathetic smile. “I can help you find the right suit, if that's what you require.”

Before he could stop himself, Remus was nodding. He let Logan pull him past a crying couple and two arguing families to a rack of suit coats that were red.

“Will these suffice?” the clerk asked, gesturing at them. Remus frowned. They weren't pink. Was the man messing with him? Seeing his look, Logan checked the tag and groaned. “Apologies, I'm colorblind. I could have sworn these were pink. Hopefully the last customer who I pointed this way was not upset.”

That was a joke, right? Remus almost laughed, but knew if he did he would start crying. Logan led him through the crowd with seemingly unending patience, occasionally smiling gently at him. Remus felt his heartrate spike every time one of those smiles was sent his way, but for a reason completely unrelated to the overpowering noise and crowd.

Logan found him a probably very nice pink suit—Remus wasn't really looking at it. Then Logan was kind enough to let him into an employee restroom to try it on, seeing as the dressing rooms had a line that ran all the way to the front doors. It fit nicely, tight (though not as tight as his jeans) and sleek, accompanied with a blue tie that Logan had found while he was changing.

“That looks very sharp on you, sir,” Logan informed him, as Remus blushed.

“Remus,” he blurted out. Logan raised his eyebrows.

“After the character in Roman mythology?” asked Logan, his tone betraying something like excitement. Remus nodded, then looked down at the tie.

“We—didn't look at—at ties yet,” he stammered, trying to make his voice work. “Where—?”

“Ah, it happens to be one of mine,” Logan said. For the first time, he looked a little uncomfortable. “I keep one in my locker for emergencies, and I thought it would look nice on—it would look nice. With the suit.”

Remus finally found the courage to smile back. “Thanks, Specs. Uh, sorry for taking up so much of your time. I'll just buy this, it's dope.”

“Oh no, I do not at all mind assisting you,” Logan said quickly. “At least I don't have to deal with . . . whatever is going on.”

“You could assist me by being my date!”

Logan stared.

Remus clapped a hand over his mouth.

“. . . What?”

“Nothing, nothing nothing,” said Remus. “I just—um—you need to get your tie back right? And I—if you let me, of course—I could just wear it, save money and all that, and you could come and then take it home so that I don't steal it or whatever?” He scrunched his eyes up, turning away so as to catch no sight of Logan rejecting him. Why did he have to say that? The noise pressed down on him again; despite still being in the staff restroom, it was almost too loud to bear.

“Wear it . . . where?”

Remus would already be curled up on the floor were it not for the very un-purchased suit he was currently wearing. “Um, my brother's wedding tomorrow?” he chanced, hands clenched over his eyes.

The utter disbelief in Logan's voice was clear as a bell. “You are buying a suit . . . for a wedding . . . that is tomorrow. On Black Friday, of all days.”

Tears choked Remus's throat. “Y-yeah, I'm really bad at planning.” Why was he even asking this cute clerk out anyway? Just because Roman kept teasing him for not having a date to the wedding? Or did he actually have a crush on Logan?

He searched his feelings briefly, and found almost instantly that he for sure had a crush. Okay, that was a lot to deal with right now. They had just met! It was just . . . the way he smiled at him, the way he didn't abandon him even though he'd been having a panic attack for about an hour at this point, how gentle and kind he was. Not to mention how put-together he was. And his hair? That was just hot.

Now though, just seconds after realizing he liked Logan, the guy was going to reject him because he had run his stupid mouth. Remus cringed. The silence had gone on for far too long.

“Well, I expect you to pick me up an hour before the event begins. I do not currently have my own means of transportation. You are quite fortunate that I do not work tomorrow.”

Wait.

What?

“You—you really—?” Remus's voice broke. He jumped as Logan lay a warm hand over his own, which were still pressed into his eyes.

“Of course,” Logan said kindly. “I know very little about you, but I rather feel that—and no offense meant—you will be distressed at such a large event as a wedding. I would love to continue to assist you.” He coughed, then added, “Also, the streak in your hair is very attractive.”

Remus almost sighed in relief. This was okay. He let Logan pull his hands away from his face, then ran a sleeve over his eyes and nose. Logan froze.

“Well, now you have to buy that suit,” Logan said. As an aside, he muttered, “At least it looks good on you.”

“Aw, Lo, you think I look hot?” Remus asked shakily, managing a smile. “What about my jeans? Think I look good in tight clothes?”

Logan turned away, unfortunately letting go of Remus's hands, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Are you always this insufferable?”

Remus slung an arm around his shoulder. “Yep! And you're stuck with me for a whole date!”

Logan pushed his glasses up his nose. “If it doesn't work out, we can just pretend we never met, if you like. We will both move on with our lives. There is no obligation that comes with this date, we are both free to back out at any time.”

Remus quickly retracted his arm from Logan's shoulder, then nodded. That made sense. He did like Logan, and he didn't want to upset him. Shameless flirting was definitely on the table, though.

“When's your lunch break?” Remus asked, as casually as possible. Logan snorted.

“I only have a twenty minute lunch today, they don't want me to leave them without as much help as possible.” Logan went to open the door and exit the restroom, then glanced back. “One o'clock. I plan on getting a sandwich at the Subway in the hall outside of the store. It would be wonderful if someone would wait in line for me and order me an Italian BMT and a bag of potato chips, so that I am not late in returning.”

Remus grinned. Easy-peasy, and just like that he would get to spend some time with Logan before the wedding.

Logan made to leave, but Remus grabbed his arm. “One sec, hot stuff,” he said, butterflies racing through his stomach at Logan's blush, “not to bother you any more or anything, but do you have any suggestions for a wedding present?”

The utter disbelief on Logan's face completely wiped out any blush that had been there. “The wedding is tomorrow, Remus.”

Remus's breath caught. Logan said his name. It sounded so beautiful coming from him. If a heavenly chorus had been singing around him at that moment, it would have been dull compared to Logan saying his name.

Logan sighed. “Of course I have some ideas. Do you need anything else?”

Remus pulled himself together, then grabbed his phone from the pile of his clothes on the floor. He checked the list, ignoring the notifications from the group chat.

“Uh, yeah. A pocket square to match the tie, and some nice socks.”

“That's doable. Tell me about your brother and his partner while we find those items. Perhaps you and I can put together an ideal gift.” Logan stepped out of the restroom to give Remus privacy while he changed back into his clothes. Remus shucked the suit off as quickly as possible. All the intense stimulation had blurred into the background, Logan being the only buzz he needed to keep going.

Remus didn't often have a good feeling about anything, but this? Oh yeah, there was definitely something good here.

#sanders sides gift exchange #sanders sides #thomas sanders #ts sides #ts #remus sanders #ts remus #logan sanders #ts logan #sanders sides fic #remus is a disaster gay #he also has social anxiety which influences his intrusive thoughts #i wrote a couple of my own habits/mannerisms into him #like the fact that when he gets really anxious he plays loud music to drown it out!#it's such a calming thing that i rarely see people write about #and it feels sort of weird that he gets anxious when the surroundings are too loud #when he uses loud music to calm down #but that's just literally me #projection city: population me #also ash i sent you an ask forever ago trying to sound out if you wanted an au or canon-type fic #you said au!!#so here we are #if i end up writing more it'll probably be the wedding from logan's pov #anyway i hope this is something like what you wanted!#happiest of holidays to you!#and anyone else reading!#much love -mas

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simsadventures · 4 years

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My Bride Girl

Bucky Barnes x Huntress! Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to take the next step in your relationship. The only problem is- he gotta ask your two brothers for your hand. And, of course, actually ask you to marry him. Not the easiest tasks in the world.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, Avengers x Supernatural crossover, implied smut

Word Count: 2293

A/N: New part is here (*read in sing-song voice*). I’m sorry it took me so long, but there was a lot on my table. Hope you’ll enjoy this little something where the brothers are a little more in the front than in the previous parts. Let me know what you guys thought.

My Girl Miniseries Masterlist __ Masterlist

Part I Part II Part III

The whole idea suddenly seemed unnecessary and slightly insulting to Bucky. He was sitting in the bunker, his arms folded over his chest, patiently waiting till your brothers finished their research and they could fully concentrate on what Bucky wanted to ask them.

Bucky thought of asking for your hand many times in the 6 months you two have lived together. There were days that he thought that it was the fucking 21st century and that you were your own woman and he didn’t need permission to “own” you. He wouldn’t own you. You’d still be very much your own person, but if he were lucky enough, you’d decide to spend your independent life with him.

And then there were the other days. Those days he thought about his own upbringing and how it would have been unheard of, were he to propose to you without talking to either your father or your brother. He would have brought disgrace to both your families, and just the thought sent shivers down his spine. He didn’t want that. Not now, not ever.

But when he decided to actually go with the plan and talk to your two terrifying brothers, the notion of their scariness seemed to have vanished from his mind. He now knew them as two cool dudes who drank beer with him and talked monsters. But Bucky knew deep down that if anything happened to you, and it was, for some reason, his fault, both Dean and Sam would hunt him down and kill him. Slowly and painfully. Dean made that much clear when they last had this type of conversation.

So now, sitting in the bunker with you still in New York, unaware of this suicidal mission of Bucky’s, he grew slightly worried. What if the brothers didn’t want him in the family? What if they actually said no to him? What would he do next? He couldn’t not marry you, that notion was as unimaginable as breathing without oxygen. Nope. He couldn’t lose you, and definitely not because your brothers said so.

Bucky could feel himself spiralling, and wished you were there with him. You always knew when he was beginning to feel this way, and you had your ways of calming him down by a stroke on his hand or a gentle whisper to his ear. But he didn’t have you there, and he began to regret it.

Before he could have a full-blown panic attack, Sam and Dean came into the room. They were both smiling at him, and it made Bucky feel a little better about the whole situation.

“So, you said you wanted to talk, some shit with a mission or something?” Dean smiled friendly at Bucky.

Bucky shook his head and accepted the beer Dean was offering him.

“Nah, Earth’s safe for a little while, at least. There’s another thing that I kinda need to talk to you two about. It’s about Y/N,” Bucky said and could sense the change of atmosphere in the room. Both brothers sat up a little straighter, and their hands gripped the bottles just a tiny bit tighter.

“Yeah? And what about Y/N?” Sam asked cautiously.

“If you thinking about breaking up with her and came to ask if it was a good idea, so help me Chuck, Bucky,…” Dean didn’t finish the sentence, just staring at Bucky intently.

“What?” Bucky almost shrieked. “No, Christ no. That’s not it. Quite the opposite, actually. I came here to ask you for her hand. Not like, you own her, and now I want to own her kind of way. More like, I love her, and I know you two love her and I thought that I would love to have your blessing to go with it. Because your sister is amazing, and I cannot imagine my life without her in it, and I want to make it as official as possible,” Bucky breathed out, not really sure what reaction he should prepare himself for.

A long silence followed. Bucky could see the brothers sharing a long look, their eyes perching up and down. They obviously had one of their famous eye-conversation that Bucky heard so much about, and he would give anything to be in their heads at that moment.

“You promise to cherish and protect her? To love her even when she has one of those bitchy moods? To be with her no matter what the situation is?” Dean asked Bucky with a slight edge to his tone. Bucky couldn’t decipher what the tone was, but that wasn’t important. They weren’t saying no. Not an obvious one at least.

“Yes, yes, I promise all those things. I wish nothing more than to protect her and to love her the best I can. And although I know it might not be enough at times, I’ll try and be better for her. Because she deserves the world, and I intend on giving it to her,” Bucky said with a small smile on his lips, because he remembered your sweet smile and your pretty face, and he truly couldn’t wait to be by your side again.

The brothers shared a brief look again, and when they both looked at Bucky, he suddenly understood what the edge in Dean’s voice was before. It was the utter love your brothers had for you, and the feeling that you were all grown-up now, ready to start a whole new chapter on your own.

Sam and Dean stood up before they reached Bucky, who also stood up immediately. They brought him in a bear hug, patting his back and grinning like two idiots.

“Good, welcome to the family, Barnes. You’re not getting rid of us now,” Sam hollered, and Bucky had to laugh at the two of them. They were idiots, but truth be told, in those months that Bucky dated you, he grew to like and respect your brothers, so it brought him immense joy to know that they supported him.

Now, the “easier” part was ahead of him. He had to actually propose to you.

2 weeks later

You were getting ready for a dinner date with Bucky, trying to look your prettiest, because he told you to get all dolled up. You were excited because you loved getting ready for him- all pretty dresses and even prettier lingerie always made him all giddy and horny. You knew Bucky loved you without all the make-up and dresses on as well, but sometimes it was nice and even beneficial for your relationship to put a little extra care in.

You wore a black bandage dress with matching stilettos, while your make-up was on point with your favourite red lipstick applied perfectly, making your lips look juicy and all kissy-kissy. You just knew Bucky would groan at the sight of you, he always did when you dolled up for him.

There was a time when you had to attend one of Tony’s parties, and Bucky got so horny and bothered in your shared apartment, that you two arrived two hours late to the event. Needless to say, the lipstick on Bucky’s white-collar shirt was proof enough of what the two of you were doing.

When you heard the light knock on your bedroom door, you smiled at yourself to the mirror and revealed a perfectly looking Bucky behind the door.

“Well, look at yourself, Mr Handsome. I’m one lucky lady, aren’t I?” You smirked eyeing Bucky up and down like he was a candy. And, truth be told, he really was a fucking candy. Your favourite one, even.

Bucky just blushed a little before he noticed just how good you looked. You could see his pupils dilating ever so slightly before he grabbed you and kissed your cheek, mindful of your freshly applied lipstick.

“I wanna see it smeared all over your face by the end of the night, doll,” he growled into your ear, and before you could come up with something funny, he dragged you out of the room.

“Where are you taking me, Buck?” You asked with a smile, but the response never came. He just looked at you with mischief playing in his eyes and led you to the elevator. He pressed the button that led to the roof, and your frown increased. But you didn’t want to ruin the surprise he obviously prepared for you, so you stayed quiet, nibbling on your lower lip to relieve yourself of the slight anxiety you were feeling.

When the elevator finally stopped with a halt, you took a deep breath before you looked at Bucky. To your surprise, he was already watching you with a smile on his lips. He took your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it lightly while still maintaining an eye-contact with you.

It was your turn to blush, the tingling in your cheek heating up your whole face. You reciprocated the smile and followed Bucky to the roof.

You took a look around, and you could see why Bucky was so secretive, where he’d normally tell you all his plans without you even asking. The roof looked like something from a movie. There was a table in the middle, with a lit candle being the only source of light on the whole surface. It made it all a little more romantic.

Bucky led you to the table, letting you sit first before you grabbed his own chair to sit opposite of you. You could see a tray next to the table with various foods and beverages, but the most prominent was the bottle of champagne on ice.

“What is the occasion, love? We don’t usually drink champagne on a Friday night,” you said, trying to hide your nerves.

“Just wanted to have a nice dinner with my best girl, anything wrong with that?” Bucky asked with a laugh and poured you champagne, right after he put a slice of your favourite pizza on your plate.

You ate while chatting comfortably, laughing at stupid things just like you always did, but you could feel Bucky was nervous for some unknown reason. You tried to get it out of him a few times during the dinner, but he would always shake his head and tell you that it was nothing, that he wasn’t nervous at all.

You wanted to be your sarcastic self, but you surpassed these urges for the sake of the night. You could see he gave the whole dinner a lot of thought and you didn’t want to ruin it by your snarky comments. So you just nodded your head at him and let him be nervous on his own.

When you finished your desserts, you shared a moment of comfortable silence, before Bucky excused himself and ran somewhere behind you. You didn’t want to be too curious or sneaky, so you kept staring forward, enjoying the view at the whole city in front of you.

When you felt movement beside you, you turned your head only to find Bucky next to you. On one knee.

“What-what are you doing, Buck?” You asked, shaking.

“Shh, let me say it, doll. I love you more than anything in this world, Y/N. I knew from the moment I saw you were something else. You are the most badass woman I’ve ever met, you’re beautiful, smart, caring, and, for some reason that I still can’t figure out, you’re with me. And I can’t imagine a moment you won’t be next to me, so I thought I’d go for it. I want to spend the rest of our lives making sure you’re loved and cherished and that you’ve got everything you ever needed. You’re my everything, and I’ll make sure you know it. So, Y/N (Y/M/D) Y/L/N, would you do me the honour and become my wife?” Bucky said, tears welling up in his eyes.

You, however, were full-on crying by now. You never knew you could be this happy, especially with a man. You thought you were destined to end up alone because there wouldn’t be a man crazy enough to date a huntress. But here you were, with the love of your life on his knee, asking you to be his forever. There was only one answer on your mind.

“Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes. James Buchanan Barnes, I would love nothing more than being yours forever,” you said through the sobs escaping your lips.

Bucky laughed out loud and put the ring on your shaking fingers with his not-less shaky hands. He then jumped up to bring you in for a kiss, suddenly not caring that your lipstick would be everywhere.

You were pretty sure that the wetness on your cheeks were tears combined from the both of you, and the more your heart swelled. Bucky wanted it as much as you did. And you would really spend the rest of your lives together. Then a thought occurred to you. You pulled away from him, and Bucky had a questioning look on his face.

“Did you talk to my brothers?” You asked, doubt laced in your tone.

Bucky laughed and pecked your lips again. “Of course, wouldn’t dare not to ask them. Can you imagine the scene those two would cause if I didn’t come to them first?”

You laughed out loud and hugged Bucky closer. You were beyond with happiness. You kissed Bucky again, letting all those emotions you weren’t able to verbalise just yet seep through the kiss.

When you pulled away, you had a devilish smirk on your face, and Bucky swallowed heavily.

“So, want to smear that lipstick all over, future husband?”

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abuttoncalledsmalls · 4 years

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Take A Giant Step - Chapter 8

Warnings: Alcohol, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Medication, Language, Mention of Death, and Panic Attack (sort of)

Pairings: Frankie Morales x f!OC

Word Count: 2.0K

A/N: Here is Chapter 8! If you would like to be tagged (or un-tagged) in upcoming chapters, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Shout out, as always, to the AMAZINGLY LOVELY @yespolkadotkitty for beta-ing this and for my banner! Please enjoy. <3

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

“Please print,” I mumbled to myself as I clicked the command screen on my computer. I was at the Gallaway working on last minute pre-production tasks for our next show Measure for Measure. By the first rehearsal I needed to have contracts drawn up for the entire company, designer budgets finalized, scripts obtained, and parking passes ready to go. Thankfully, it was Wednesday afternoon and I had until Friday to make sure everything was taken care of.

I was just the production manager this time around. It would be a lie if I didn’t say that I was relieved. I wouldn’t have to attend every single rehearsal, schedule said rehearsals, schedule fittings, and be accessible 24/7 for actors. I only needed to be physically present for production meetings and tech week. Which meant that I was able to take off that weekend and miss the first rehearsal that was scheduled for Sunday.

Frankie and I had planned to drive up to Jefferson State Park and go camping for the weekend. He wanted to take me camping - especially when he found out that I had never been before. The trip was all he could talk about for the past week and a half. His eyes lit up every single time he spoke about hitting the trails. He’d get a dreamy look on his face talking about building a campfire. The moment that he was the most excited for was us sleeping under the open night sky. Together. Whenever he talked about that particular topic, he made sure to wrap his arms around my middle, pull me in close, and whisper “under the stars together” in my ear. The opportunity to share one of his favorite hobbies with me made him absolutely glow.

As I was drifting off into a daydream where Frankie and I were sharing a sleeping bag, my phone’s text alert went off. I looked down to see that Jeff had sent me a message. It wasn’t unusual for him to send me text messages or emails from his office. He was a big proponent of energy conservation. In his mind that consisted of sending me texts instead of walking 20 feet to my office to talk. I opened the message and read “Please come into my office”.

Those five words seldomly were followed by good news. Especially from Jeffery Rogers. The last time he said that phrase, the two of us had to confront and terminate a box office associate for stealing from the cashbox. I rose from my chair and made the short trek to Jeff’s office. As I entered the space, he asked me to close the door in a soft voice. I did so and in the process noticed that his “emergency whiskey” bottle was out. Opened and obviously drunk from. This clearly was not a Gallaway related situation and not a good one.

“Hey Jeff. What’s up?” He looked up at me with puffy red eyes. It was evident that he had been crying.

“Do you remember my nephew, Jack?”

“Tall, skinny, and with a mass of wild curls? Yeah.”

“My mother just called to let me know that he passed away this morning. Lately he was having complications related to a seizure disorder he had. The issues were getting progressively worse and he was having to go into the hospital more frequently. He just couldn’t make it through this last time.” Jeff started to tear up again.

“Jeff, I am so sorry. How’s your family?”

“Really, Maggie? A twenty-two year old with his whole life in front of him died. How the fuck do you think they are?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. That was a stupid question.” I went over to hug him and he fell apart. He shared with me about the time that he first held his nephew. How he swore that Jack looked up and smiled at him. He then talked about how Jack was the best man at his wedding. As each memory came out, he cried harder. The only time I had seen Jeff in this much pain was during his divorce which took place the year before.

“The funeral is this weekend. I know that the first rehearsal for Measure is on Sunday. I also know that I need to be there and do the schmaltzy thing. I can’t miss this though. My sister and niece are devastated. We all are. We need to be together right now.” I nodded my head. He picked up the bottle and took a giant swig of whiskey.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll stick around this weekend. I’ll be on-call on Saturday in case anything goes wrong. On Sunday, I’ll give the whole Gallaway welcome speech and let them know about the gala. I’ll also stick around for the reading. Just concentrate on you and your family.”

“Thank you, Mags. I think it may be best if I left for the day.”

“I would agree. Go home and rest up. I’ll call an Uber for you.”

“One last thing - you could please not tell anyone about this? I don’t need people getting worried and asking questions.”

“You have my word.”

****

Once Jeff was picked up by his Uber, I pulled out my phone. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Frankie that I was going to have to cancel our trip. He was going to be so upset. On the other hand, he was a reasonable man. He would understand that things come up and sometimes plans have to change.

“Hey babe. What’s up?” I texted. He responded quickly.

“Not much. Thinking about you. You?”

“I’m gonna have to bow out of the camping trip this weekend.”

“What?”

“An emergency came up at work and I need to stay in town this weekend. I’m really sorry.”

My phone began to ring and I picked up. It was Frankie.

“We’ve had this planned for almost two weeks, Maggie. Can’t you get Jeff or Alexis to cover for you?”

“I wish I could, honey. That’s just not possible for this situation. Someone from staff needs to be there. Jeff is unavailable.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Frankie. You know that if I could get out of this, I would.” A brief silence took hold.

“Fine. You can’t go camping this weekend.” The disappointment dripped from his voice.

“I promise that I’ll make it up to you. We can go next weekend.”

“Okay. I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk with you later.”

He hung up. My instinct was to text him right back and to continue the conversation, but I didn’t. Whenever I let someone down, my compulsion was to fix it at that moment. That response had been hardwired into my brain since childhood. I felt that if I didn’t make things right at that exact moment then the person I let down would write me off forever. The very real fear that Frankie would be angry and leave me began to turn into a serpent of anxiety. I fished for my bottle of Xanax in my grey backpack. Opening the amber prescription bottle, I took one pill out, placed it on the back of my tongue, and washed it down with a drink of water.

****

I got home around four-thirty. I checked my phone for what felt like the seventeenth time to see if Frankie called or texted. He didn’t. I decided that I’d call him around seven. Every weeknight he would watch reruns of Cheers from seven to eight o’clock on the local CW station. I knew that he would be home then - sitting on his couch with an open beer, laughing at the shenanigans of Sam and Diane.

The next two and half hours were agonizing. I tried to read, but I couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of me. I was too wound up to nap and too unfocused to listen to the radio. The best thing I could think to do was to take a walk. I got changed into my black shorts and threw on an old grey shirt that read CAT HAIR IS LONELY PEOPLE GLITTER. I put on my sneakers, put in my earbuds, and headed off.

I walked around my subdivision for an hour. I would stop every now and then to look at my neighbors’ blooming flowers. After stealing a sniff or two, I would continue on my way. Although the beautiful and hot afternoon was helping ease some of my anxiety, Frankie was still on my mind. I hadn’t figured out what I was going to say to him exactly. The only thing I knew for certain that I was going to tell him was that I was sorry. That I didn’t mean to hurt him. I turned onto my street. As I got closer, I saw what I thought was Frankie’s truck in the parking lot. I walked over to the truck to inspect it. It was indeed Frankie’s, but it was empty. He wouldn’t just leave his truck in a random parking lot.

I pulled up his number on my phone and tapped it. The phone rang, but there was no pick up. I figured that I would return to my townhouse, take a shower, and then try to call him again. Walking up to my stoop, I was surprised to see Frankie sitting there. He was looking down at his hands.

“Hey.” He looked up and gave me a small smile.

I walked over to him. “Hi.”

“I just tried to call you. I saw your truck but no you. I got worried that someone may have taken it for a joyride.”

“No joyride. I didn’t want to talk on the phone. I wanted to see you.”

I felt my stomach drop. Was this it? Was he going to break-up with me? Why else would someone want to see me after I disappointed them?

I braced myself for his goodbye and started to tear up. “I’msosorryaboutthetrip!Ididn’tmeantomakeyouupset.Nowyou’regonnahatemeandleave.” I couldn’t contain my tears anymore. They came pouring out with my jumbled words. Frankie had a confused look on his face.

“Huh? Baby, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You’re my Maggie May. I’m not going anywhere. Where did you get an idea like that?” He pulled me onto his lap and kissed the side of my head. He held me close.

“Because I had to cancel the trip this weekend and you were upset. You sounded really bothered on the phone. I have to stay in town this weekend. There was a death in Jeff’s family. So I am stepping in and doing some things for him over the next few days while he goes back home. He asked me not to share what was going on. I’m really sorry and I promise that I’ll make it up to you. I know that you were really excited.”

Frankie nodded. “I was a little let down, but that’s no reason to throw away a relationship. Remember when you told me that you were in this for the long haul? I am too. I care about you too much to let you go without a fight.” He kissed me and gently rubbed his thumb over my cheek. “I came over because I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had.”

“Okay.”

“You have a backyard. It’s not the great outdoors, but we could set up the camping equipment out there. We’d still be able to grill, make s’mores, and sleep under the stars.”

“Together..?” I coyly asked.

“The only way I’d want it.”

“That sounds like the best way to spend a Friday night.” I gave him a long and tender kiss. Any and all fear that I had vanished instantly. I reveled in the security of our relationship as I ran my fingertips over his whiskers. When I arrived at one of the bare patches in his beard, I lightly grazed the area with the pad of my finger.

He let out a contented sigh. “We’re good then? I’m not upset with you, I’m not going anywhere, you can do your work thing, and we still get to spend time together.”

“Mmm-hmmm. Francisco?”

“Yeah?”

“I know Cheers starts in like an hour and a half. Could I persuade you though to stay for dinner? I’m thinking pizza with copious amounts of making out?”

“I’d love that.”

-----------------------------

TAGS:

@larakasser

@absurdthirst

@yespolkadotkitty

@fioccodineveautunnale

@wickedfrsgrl

@agirllovespasta

@ah-callie

#frankie catfish morales #frankie x oc #catfish x oc #Francisco Morales #Frankie Morales #Triple Frontier #catfish morales #catfish morales fic #frankie morales fanfic #francisco catfish morales #abuttoncalledsmalls #take a giant step #takeagiantstep

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1zashreena1 · 4 years

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Angst Fluff Whiplash -14

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: What does an apex predator do after confessing undying love? Princess is about to find out.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Non-descriptive sexytimes, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, This one is all feels and

I Am So NOT Sorry.

THE TIME HAS COME

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

"I don't know, Lisa. He won't tell me. Not until this weekend apparently? We're supposed to go shopping."

"Honestly, I'm scared. I mean, there's the whole how did he get a passport FOR me dilemma. Then the part where he knows I don't like surprises. And he said he was calling my sister!"

"Oh my God, she could tell him anything! Please don't tell him about the Backstreet Boys phase. I'm going to have a panic attack."

"Of course he would tease me about it for eternity!"

"What? Watch what words? What are you talking about?"

"Do not hang up this phone! Do you even love me?!? Lisa? …. Hello?"

You toss your phone down on the bed and heave a huge sigh. Your very own BFF, abandoning you like that. Luckily its your own phone and not the insane cell Diego got you because it bounces off the other side of the bed and smacks into the wall before admitting total defeat to gravity.

You stand there staring at your open suitcase. Your typical items are in there already. You don't need any toiletries. Or makeup, now. Or bras. Or underwear. Fucking hell, its like I already moved into the penthouse with him.

… Could I do that? He already basically asked for it. He keeps telling me to quit my job and let him spoil me for real. You wring your hands together while rubbing your lips against each other and being bombarded with intrusive thoughts. Yeah. Until he's done with me and then I have to start all over. At 35.

But its been almost a year now that you've been seeing Diego. What does that even mean, "seeing" him? You think about how the last few months have been so… easy. He practically lives in New York now, their territory split. He opted to control the East Coast and let his sister deal with the logistical nightmare of receiving the imports.

He has been a lot looser since then. Faster to laugh, quicker to goof around, less likely to do anything as hard as he used to do. The distance from Alicia has allowed him to really flourish in every aspect. And he's beautiful with it. The laugh lines and the soft brown eyes wreck you every time.

He says he wants to keep you. Take care of you. You finally believe that he loves you. He has made so many improvements in communication. Hell, he read books on how to be with someone on the spectrum. Do you understand it? Hell no. Are you going to take it and run? Fuck yeah dude. I love him and I want to keep him.

And now he wants to take you on a trip. A surprise destination. Out of the country with a mostly legal passport. You don't doubt that you'll be safe with him. Your parents were a little concerned when you told them since they've never even met him. And they saw him on the national news that time he got arrested by the Feds, so that really inspires confidence.

Your middle sister Lynne and niece Halley accidentally met him that one afternoon about a month back. And they have not shut up about it since. Diego this, Diego that, blah blah blah, paid the restaurant bill in cash, yadda yadda, took us all shopping to a Coach store and then got Halley some crazy new sold out Nikes. Diego had been delighted to be surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls enjoying his spoiling attentions. Just like always, Diego went to the max and charmed them silly.

It was like having an out of body experience to see Diego with them. You couldn't really fault them, he swept you off your feet with no problems. He was grinning and joking the whole time, making raunchy comments with your sister and encouraging your niece to be assertive (unnecessary according to her soccer coach and the 'Most Aggressive' trophy). He fit right in with them. Afterwards he had asked if that was what it was like to have normal siblings and your heart broke thinking about what his childhood had been like with his sister.

Which brought you back to the here and now. He had mentioned off hand that he was going to call your sister. Maybe you should text her. She might know something.

Maybe you should just pack your bag and trust him.

Your Diego Cell chirps and you dive for it on the nightstand. Is he okay? Please don't be hurt.

Its a pic of him. In the shower. With his own hand wrapped around himself. You choke on air and have to sit down.

I miss you Princess

Holy. Shit. Its been almost a year that you have had unrestricted access to that incredible body and your reaction is still the same. Before you can respond another text arrives:

SOON

The attached pic is just from squinty eyes up.

You burst out laughing at him. You love that he is secretly a nerd about internet stuff. His appearance would never give that away. Time to be ridiculous right back.

Don't make me lick your eyeball

You are a crazy person laughing to yourself alone in your bedroom.

You are so weird

Yet there you are, lusting after this weirdo

You shoot back.

… Am I the weirdo??

No. Still you.

I would threaten to bite it.. but you would like that

Well now you have to

Oh my God. You're fairly certain you could do anything to this man and he would think it was sexy. Its a novel experience.

Can we eat dinner at home tomorrow? I don't feel like wearing a real bra

You know the answer to that.

YES. NO MORE BRAS EVER AGAIN. BE FREE

… no panties?🙏🥺

You can see the hopeful puppy dog eyes clearly.

A for effort babe. One of these days you might get your wish lol

...Are you panty free right now?

Wow. He is really trying here.

I'm packing.

Your pic is a heap of tangled thongs dumped on top of Tiny Murder Panther.

💜🔥😛

He would find that hot. Fucking nympho.

Lemme finish this so I can go straight to the airport tomorrow

Fine. But I am pouting

You do not doubt that.

Don't care. Still love your stupid face

You cannot believe you just sent that.

Princess.

Mi amor.

Diego's good little girl.

You shudder with the praise. You can hear it in his voice, as if he were right here with you.

I love you

Dream of me?

Oh baby, if you only knew. You sigh wistfully.

Always, baby

---------------‐---------

The flight is uneventful, thankfully. Your maxidress with a built-in shelf bra is stupidly comfortable and you actually take a nap.

The plane has barely come to a stop and you already have on your silly lambswool lined Ugg flip flops. You had argued with Diego about these (Why would flip flops need a warm fuzzy lining??) but he had won by sticking one in your face and ordering you to feel. It didn't take a full second for you to snatch them both from him and cuddle them to your chest. His pleased smile full of dimples was worth all the subsequent teasing.

You slip on one of his previously stolen shirts in a metallic lilac color and roll up the sleeves so you have use of your hands. Bending at the waist, you flip your hair over and fluff it back up from the nap. What was that he had said? Oh yes: Wild and thick, just how I like it. The memory makes you bite your bottom lip and smile.

Bastian is waiting for you on the tarmac. He takes your bag and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. "Hey, sweetie. Nice shirt, is that new?" His knowing grin is infectious.

You nuzzle into the collar with a laugh. "Thanks! My boyfriend gave it to me."

Bastian chuckles as he opens the passenger door for you. "Oh, honey. That is not all he is going to give you." He closes the door while you roll your eyes smirkingly.

The ride to the penthouse is uneventful. Well, as uneventful as Friday evening rush hour traffic can be in New York.

Bastian waits until the song is over before lowering the stereo volume. "We're supposed to pick up dinner. Any requests?" He drums his fingers on the steering wheel while you sit at the red light.

You ponder the options. "What kind of a day has he had? Meetings? Tours? Disciplinary action?" You ask Bastian thoughtfully. Sometimes when Diego has a bad day he likes comfort food. Mostly a giant heap of rice and beans next to homemade tortillas, he isn't so picky about the variety of meat.

Bastian glances at you out of the corner of his eye before warily answering, "There was a… termination… at a construction site this afternoon that took longer than expected. That's why he didn't come to get you, he wanted to shower first."

You keep your eyes focused forward to look out of the windshield. "Okay. How about Jalisco's then?" Comfort food it is.

Bastian nods and adjusts course to obtain those tortillas.

‐--------------------

The instant the elevator doors ding open Diego pops up from the sectional and comes straight at you. Your giant sidestep to let Bastian pass is barely completed before Diego is slipping those big hands under his own pilfered shirt to crush your body to him. Your arms go around his neck like a reflex, like this is their natural resting place. He leans his forehead down onto yours and kisses you so very gently.

"Mmmm. Hi." You murmur softly into his beard. Those bottomless brown eyes look over your entire face before coming back to your own. His smile is huge, those dimples make your pulse trip. He blinks slowly down at you, just like the big cat you nicknamed him after.

"Princess. How was the trip?" He always asks you this. You still aren't sure if its just culturally specific manners or if he is requesting a review of the flight crew's performance. Either way, your answer is always the same.

You pull him back down so you can cuddle into his neck. "Its better now that I'm here." He rubs his cheek against your own and purrs directly into your ear in response. Your body's reaction is immediate and decisive. You shiver in his arms and your nipples peak to full attention.

Except this time is different. With only a bralette and the dress's shelf bra Diego can clearly feel what just happened in real time. His eyes are comically round as he peers down at your cleavage in pleasant wonder.

"Oh. I like this outfit." His hands rise up your back to crush you further into him. You chuckle and rub your chest on his firm pectoral muscles. He watches hungrily as your compressed decolletage rises higher yet from the added pressure. "New rule to match the bedroom pants bar, no bras in the penthouse. Fucking magnificent, bonita." He licks his lips after making this proclamation.

You throw your head back and laugh joyfully.

‐----------------------

As it always does the weekend passes too quickly. Its already 1:00pm on Saturday when you two finally come down from the bedroom.

Diego is delighted to hear that your time-off request was approved for the trip. You had told him not to worry about it, your boss always kept her word about this stuff.

That’s when he pulls a ridiculous pith hat out from under the couch. It looks like it came straight out of a Looney Tunes cartoon about a big game hunt on the African savannah. You lose your entire shit and laugh until you do that silent clapping seal move.

Diego keeps repeating, "Wait, stop laughing. Stooooop." But he isn't faring much better. You finally wipe the tears and calm down enough to take it from his limp fingers while he chortles a few last times.

"Baby. What. What the fuck. What fucking is this??" You plunk the hat on your own head and Diego collapses facedown into your lap to gigglesnort uproariously. "Stop. Stop laughing. Stoppit!" You smack the back of his head lightly until he comes up for air.

He closes his eyes and composes himself. You take the opportunity to plop the hat on his head.

"Oh my god, that is so sexy!" You declare in high dramatics.

He grabs your hands and leans in very close to explain. "You need this hat for our trip." Your eyes narrow in suspicion. "You will wear it for our safari quest…" he pauses for dramatic effect and your lips twitch in suppressed amusement. He leans closer yet and captures your stare. His face is hilarious, you can tell he is biting his cheek to keep from laughing. His eyebrows are drawn down in concentration but his eyes are widened in mock excitement. He sucks in a deep breath to exclaim, "To locate palm trees in the wild!"

He laughs as he puts the hat back on you.

You blink a few times in shock. Palm trees? You're going somewhere with palm trees? A tropical locale. Palm trees. Beaches. SWIMSUITS. Your sudden panic must show on your face because Diego's laughter dies off.

You blink furiously, but its too little too late. The tears burn as they well up in your eyes and spill down over your cheeks.

He reaches out to cup your face. "Princess?" His tone is an even mix of concern and fear. "Bicki? What?"

You shake your head 'no' and throw yourself into him. Diego catches you and hauls you into his lap. You curl up against his chest and sob quietly. He pets over your hair, open handed strokes so his fingers don't tangle in the curls, and soothes your back while you shake. Rubbing his nose against your temple, he kisses your cheek and whispers, "Do you want to write?" His gentle care only makes you worse. "...so that is no." He looks crestfallen. He buries his face in your hair and breathes heavily.

Your tears are slowing and your chest is finally beginning to loosen. "Dieg-" you hiccup, wrapping both hands around his forearm. You wheeze a few times before trying again. "I. I. Where? Where are we g-going?"

He sighs deeply before answering. "Nowhere. I won't take you somewhere you don't want to go. I should have known better. I-" He snaps his jaw shut so fast that his teeth click together.

Tilting your head back, you try to catch his eyes. Diego won't look at you. "H-hey, please." You cup his jaw and pull him down to you. He comes, but the motions are stilted. "Look. Please, baby. Let me s-see you."

When he finally meets your eyes it breaks your heart. That chocolate gaze is disappointed, hurt, frustrated even. You wiggle around until you're straddling his lap. He just holds his hands out of the way, not hindering you but certainly not helping either. Standing up on your knees to lean your forehead against his, you reach for his hands and bring them to your chest where you lace your fingers together.

"Baby. I want that." Your nose rubs against his as you speak. "I want to go everywhere with you. I never thought I would ever get a chance like this. To travel? To go somewhere tropical? To have someone who loves me enough to do this for me?" You're crying again. And so is Diego? A little??

He brings your joined hands up to tap your chin. His face is adorably conflicted when he speaks, "You… want to go?" You nod slowly. His eyebrows lower as he tries to make sense of this. "Then why do you cry? Are they, the uh, is that 'happy tears' ?"

Your hands shake in his. "Yeah. Happy tears. I just. I was overwhelmed. I'm sorry." He huffs out a sigh. You continue, "Its almost like the super intense emotions short circuit my responses and I guess my default is panic crying? I don't know."

Diego huffs at you again. "Please stop that. I'm going to have a heart attack." There is a hint of real annoyance in his voice but his lips curl up at the corners.

You free your right hand to reach up and brush his wet lashes. Why did something this little bring him to tears? "Baby, is everything okay?"

He leans into your hand, then turns to kiss your fingers. You giggle, you can't help it, his beard both tickles and delights you. He smirks at you, "It is now, Princess. You should get dressed so we can go."

But you're not done here yet. "Where are we going on the trip? A place name, not foliage that may or may not be present."

His Cheshire cat grin is intriguing and mildly worrisome. He gives you one word, "Xcalak." And then watches while you access your mental map and pinpoint the exact location.

It takes you a moment but you find it with a gasp. "Costa Maya? Like Caribbean-sea side of Mexico??" He nods and you immediately start in with 20 Questions. "Are there cenotes? Is the water really those unreal colors? Is the food amazing there? Can we see ruins?"

Diego cups your face to stop you. "Whatever you like, little girl." With a kiss to your nose and a smack to your ass he ushers you upstairs to get dressed.

-----------------------

The shopping is less traumatic than normal for you thanks to Diego making enthusiastic innuendo nonstop and feeding you between stores. You find sandals, and flip flops, and little slip-on sneakers. All kinds of flowy maxidresses and flouncy skirts paired with new tank tops in buttery soft fabrics. Cover-ups and kimonos and huge airy loose knit sweaters get rung up with linen pants and shorts you actually feel comfortable wearing.

But swimsuits? A disaster. Everything that fits your hips is way too big for your ribcage. Tankinis big enough to go around your middle are about a foot too wide around your chest. You try some maternity stuff… amazingly there isn't any chest support. That confuses both of you for almost 20 minutes while you discuss it over croissants and various iced beverages (coffee for him and some kind of hot chocolate slushie for you).

Then you look across the street and inspiration hits. One of the stores you order bras from is right there and has bra-sized swimwear in the display window. Diego turns to see what stole your undivided attention from him and slaps his hand down on the table in celebration.

You aren't sure which one of you is more excited to get into the store. But while you run around exclaiming at all the things that come in your size Diego stands in the doorway and gawks. When you circle back to check on him he just points to one display wall.

There is lacy, frilly, corseted lingerie. In. Your. Size.

He demands one of everything that fits you and isn't red, brown, or yellow. You don't even argue.

The store does alterations and makes very good recommendations. The sales clerk is impressed with Diego's input, she comments that he really does seem to know your body well. You flush with it, glad that he isn't close enough to hear that. You leave with three bags and seven personalized swim outfits under construction. One is ready to wear and you keep reaching into the bag to touch it in wonder.

Diego notices but just gives you a raised eyebrow.

"This is the first time I've ever felt good about how I look in swimwear." You confess quietly.

Diego wraps a massive arm around your shoulders and tucks you into his side while you continue down the sidewalk.

--------------------

Sunday is a mess as you try to make pancakes and Diego tries to remain physically attached to you like an excessively attractive barnacle. The pancakes are either burnt or still batter in the middle. Leftover carnitas and tortillas to the rescue. Diego teases you about the kitchen failure all day because this is the first time he has witnessed such a thing.

You doze on the couch under the pretense of "reading". Diego rotates through his laptop, cell, and the soccer match on ESPN+.

Until his phone rings.

You both tense up. Only one person calls him instead of texting. He takes the phone into the office to answer his sister. You wait on the couch to see which Diego you get back: silly tickle fight Diego, sad puppy dog eyes Diego that requires cuddles, or angry Diego that needs to fuck you through the nearest horizontal surface.

The elevator dings and Julio comes in with a tray of coffees. "Ay, Gordita. Buenas tardes. I got you the hibiscus thing you like." He greets you with a big smile, then looks around when he doesn't see Diego on the sectional with you.

Hopping up to help him carry stuff, you point to the office in indication of Diego's location. Julio makes a face, "Hermana perra?" and you simply nod. Julio takes Diego's iced coffee and bites the bullet for you. The door closes softly behind him.

You munch plantain chips and slurp hibiscus lemonade until they come out. Diego just looks tired when he comes back to you on the couch, coffee in hand. You open your arms in invitation and he plops next to you with a sigh. Cuddly Diego it is.

He doesn't tell you anything and you don't ask. Everyone watches the match mindlessly. Diego snores softly in your lap while you pet his hair.

He rides to the airport with you but you forbid him from coming onto the plane with you. He is already making this harder than it has to be with his big brown eyes and clingy hands.

"Baby." You breathe into his hair while he snuggles into your neck in the backseat of the SUV. "Its only a week. We do this every week." You pet down his bicep and immediately regret it.

"I know." Diego huffs into your skin. "Why don't you just quit? Let me take care of everything." You go through this almost every week now, too. He nuzzles you, the sensation makes you reconsider his proposal. You pull his head up by a fistful of soft hair and look him in the eye. He blinks guilelessly at you.

"Number one: No. Number two: Stoppit." He laughs at your fond exasperation. "Okay. I'm gonna go. You stay on the ground."

"Fine." He whines. "But I am going to send you a dick pic the moment that plane takes off." He crosses his arms as if daring you to tell him no.

You cup his stupidly attractive face in your hands for a kiss. Okay, several kisses and 27 minutes later, you respond, "Send me one every day. Its my favorite dick." His startled laugh makes you feel very pleased with yourself.

He pulls you into his arms again to kiss you one last time. His beard scratches and you sigh into him. Finally that tongue retreats and he rests his forehead on yours. His voice is low and rough, his hands squeeze tight on your hip and thigh, "I love you, Princess."

Will that ever stop hurting? You close your eyes against the burn of tears but smile with happiness. "I love you, Diego." You pop the door handle before you open your eyes to see him watching you, jaw tense. You stick your tongue out and he breaks into a smirk. With a laugh, you slide out of SUV and walk to the plane, determined not to look back.

When you get up the stairs the pilot greets you, but his gaze shifts behind you. Turning around, you see Diego standing outside the SUV, arms crossed and trying to look so not soft. You smile and mouth Bye baby, he gives you a short little wave. You duck into the plane before you can start crying.

The wheels are not, in fact, off the ground when the phone chirps.

‐-----------------------

The trip is a few weeks out and there is some kind of emergency at the San Diego docks the next weekend. So. You don't get your Murder Panther fix.

And your coworkers notice. They spend all day Monday strolling past your cubicle, straining their necks to see if you're wearing new shoes or some fresh bling. Finally someone has the nerve to ask how your weekend was.

You find yourself blinking back tears. I miss him so much. This is ridiculous, he just texted you at like six this morning. But its not just the conversation you miss, now is it? You miss that big body crowding you into the corner of the couch. His soft curls under your hands. That beard on literally any inch of your skin. Draping yourself over shoulders wider than your hips and knowing that not only can he take your weight, he likes it.

He says he wants to keep you and you desperately want to keep him. Why do you fear this? Is it just his profession? The risk? Oh god, how do you even go about introducing him to your parents??? Diego can be all kinds of charming but he can be a real asshole, too.

And they know what he is: A criminal. For your boomer parents he is the living embodiment of Public Enemy Number One.

Grand Theft.

Money Laundering.

Arson.

Murder.

International Cocaine Trafficking.

HE IS A LITERAL DRUG LORD.

You lay your head down on your desk and try to keep it together.

Your Diego Cell chirps.

Your laughter bubbles up until it comes out of you without your consent. It turns hysterical and you realize you need to leave the office suite. Now.

In the bathroom you stare down at the phone as it lights up again with another message.

Miss my Princess💔👑

How? How is someone who can do all those illegal things so nauseatingly sweet to me?

And then it hits you. Illegal. You didn't use the word immoral. Illegal. You think back to how everyone you see working directly for him is well into adulthood. No children. There are a few women but they are not being sold by him, they are there by their own free will. And he has never laid a hand on any of them, they're just as comfortable around him as the men are. No sex trafficking. You saw someone give their resignation last month. The dude walked away with a suitcase of cash for a decade of trustworthy service. Its a better retirement plan than what I have.

Have you seen him assault people? Yes. You've seen him stab people. Carve off someone's ear because they weren't listening as assigned and it cost the Jimenez Cartel a shipment. You've seen him push an informant down an empty elevator shaft. Choke a man into unconsciousness with his bare hands when you were disrespected.

And you still love him. Not a single one of those incidents weighs on your conscience. Your morality is a dingy grey 12 year old men's undershirt that you should just throw away but you're definitely going to cut into rags to keep for cleaning when it comes to Diego.

The cell lights up again.

Mi amor 💞😍🍑🏝✈⏲👙

You don't know what's worse: His excessive and ridiculous usage of emojis or the fact that you understood.

Look what came

The attached pic is a few pieces of your new swimwear. They look gorgeous, you can't even tell where the alterations were done.

You have to try on all of them. And show me

Of course he wants his own personal show. You feel desire burning low in your belly. Its been a year and not once has he ever shied away from your stomach rolls or hinted at weight loss. He never questions the food you order. And while the two of you have chuckled about shapewear he has never mocked you for using it. Or seemed disappointed when you opted not to wear it. He tosses you around like its nothing and prefers for you to sleep on top of him. Its not that he loves you despite your weight, he loves it as part of you.

-------------------------

Its now Thursday and the desk drawer where you keep your purse at work is vibrating. He knows I'm at work. If he calls right back I'll answer him. You try to keep your Diego Cell out of sight at work or you'll never get anything done. Plus your coworkers are always dying to catch a peek of your infamous sugar daddy/boyfriend.

Yeah. Boyfriend. Keep practicing that. It feels good.

You finish the insurance call and hang up your headset when the vibrating starts again. Your next door cubicle neighbor pops around the divider to advise you to answer that before he comes down here and abducts you.

What deity should I pray to for that??

You snatch Diego Cell and march out to the hall. Poking the green button, you answer the call.

"Baby. You okay?"

"Princess! I… yeah. I'm not hurt."

He sounds odd. There is definitely something going on here.

"What's up? You need me?"

The silence stretches.

"Yes. Please?"

Diego sounds very uncomfortable. It causes you physical pain.

"Well, you have me. What is it?"

You can hear him swallow and in your mind you picture him looking away, hiding some soft emotion shining in his eyes.

"Baby?"

"Here. I am here. I just. I just wanted to hear you."

Something is very wrong with my Murder Panther, you think.

"Babe," your voice is soft, you're trying to ease him. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He huffs and you can hear him scrape a hand down over his face. "I know you are at work. And I should not have called. But."

His voice trembles, even over the phone you can hear it. He's afraid.

"Diego. If you need me, then you have me. Tell me, baby." You try to be reassuring but you also really need to know what is wrong.

"I would like to come down there." His declaration is overly formal. You wonder who he is trying to impress. Its certainly not me.

"You… want to come down here instead of me going up there this weekend?" You're trying to make sense out of any part of this conversation.

"I…. grrrrrrrrr." He growls in frustration. Between English being his second language and your sensory processing issues, this is not an uncommon occurrence. He sucks in a deep breath and charges forward in an emotional rush. "I know you're working, but I want to come down there because I miss seeing your face." Before you have a chance to answer he adds, "Pick me up? At the airport, after work? Please, Bicki." His voice cracks at the end and his inhalation is ragged. Your heart implodes.

"Diego. Baby. Of course. Of course I will. I can be there by six." You have a mental flash of how dirty your bathroom is, all the clothes you have laying around, and the vacuum you haven't touched in over a month. Diego needing me is more important.

"Good. Good. Yes, I. I will text you. When I land." His voice is raspier than ever, low and gravelly.

"Sure. I'll be there." I'll always be there.

"Okay. You… you should go." You can hear his determination. You can visualize him squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, taking on the Jimenez Cartel persona.

"Hey." He grunts in acknowledgement. "I love you." You blurt it out before you have a chance to talk yourself round in circles. You can hear voices in the background.

"And you. You as well." The call ends, but you know.

---------------

You're sitting in your car at the little regional airport second guessing the coffee you got when the phone chirps.

Here

Springing out of the car, you wave to the security guard as you trot past. "Hey Jim, I just have to grab someone real quick. That's okay, right?" You wave vaguely back toward your car parked in the fire lane. There are only four security guards who work here and they all know you at this point.

Jim laughs but waves you on. "Go get 'im, sweetie." Jim must be pushing 90 by now, he doesn't care about traffic laws.

You enter one of the two sets of automatic doors on this entire building and cross through the tiny lobby. There. You can see his dark hair and ridiculous shoulders over a completely unnecessary row of potted plants. He must hear your echoing footsteps because his head whips around in alarm, but his face relaxes into a wide smile. He lengthens his strides to come around the stupid plants, hands automatically reaching out for you.

"Diego." You laugh breathily and fling arms around his neck. He smells so good.

He crushes you to his chest and buries his face in your neck. "Printhesss." He murmurs into you, slurred because he refuses to remove his mouth from your skin.

Turning your head to kiss his cheek, you moan shamelessly for him. He surges back upward to capture your lips and kiss you with mild desperation. That devious tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth before curling up behind your top front teeth.

Your entire world narrows down to Diego. Chocolate. Tastes like the smoothest Belgian chocolate in existence. He smells perfect, clean but definitively male to you. His silky button-down is smooth under your hands, stretched taut over muscle. Those massive hands gather you closer, molding you to that big, solid body. His beard scratches your face in soft tickles when he alters the angle of the kiss just so.

"Goddamn." A woman's voice exclaiming somewhere behind you catapults you back into the here and now. Which is a dinky little regional airport in rural central Pennsylvania. You know, a very public location in a very prudish area of the country. Fuck.

You pull back and Diego's hands shoot up to the back of your head. Holding you in place, he leans his forehead against yours with a contented sigh. He rumbles softly to you, "Take me home."

You feel so silly seeing Diego in the passenger seat of your Corolla, he just seems so out of place. "You can adjust the seat however, nobody really sits there. I just put it all the way back to make sure you can get in without cracking your head." You sound nervous even to your own ears.

Diego turns to you with a response but his attention is captured by the cup holders in the center console, specifically the Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup. He points to it, then looks up at you with a slow grin. "Princess. Is this for me?"

You flush but can't stop the embarrassed little smile so you cover it with sass, "Well, it sure as hell ain't for me." You start the car and give Jim a little wave. He winks and gives you two thumbs up. Yeah, I'm aware that you saw that kiss too, old man. Everyone saw that shit.

When Diego reaches for the coffee his fingers brush your hip. The contact burns and you suddenly remember that you have not touched this beautiful man for well over two weeks. Apparently he remembers, too, because he wraps that huge hand around your thigh with rather a lot of force. Right hand slapping down to cover his, your heart rate jumps through the roof. Did I take my blood pressure pill this morning?

"Don't." You choke out.

He rumbles softly next to you, purring with conceited pleasure. "Did my Princess miss Diego?" He asks you with an incredibly pornographic voice.

"Oh, fuck you." Your answering groan is also obscene. So glad the windows are up.

His hoarse chuckle makes your thighs tremble. "You're Diego's good little girl, you will." He's right and you both know it. You would ride him right here in your own damn car if he demanded it. You have a problem.

He lets you redirect his hand to the coffee with only a little resistance. "Focus." You hiss.

"Me or you?" Diego quips.

"Yes." You declare.

Diego's guffaw is contagious and you don't even try to hold back.

Your apartment always seems like an adequate size until Diego is inside. No, bad Bicki. Do not say it like that. His presence just sort of… lounges about in a vaguely threatening but highly attractive manner. Much like the actual man on your couch. You tried to pick up dinner on the way but he just wanted to 'go home'. You are disgustingly happy that your place feels like home to him.

Diego had flopped on your couch immediately and hasn't moved since. Something is very definitely very wrong. There were bursts of your Murder Panther in the car, but he has been just subdued overall. He had turned your stereo up and smiled faintly, watching you sing along. He had also complained that the stereo in your car sucked (Agreed) and this was unacceptable. You're sure he'll do something ridiculously extravagant to remedy this.

You try to give him the remote, he takes it but doesn't do anything with it. You offer him food, both junk and something home-cooked, all you get is a shrug. You putter around for a while, picking things up and sighing before putting them down somewhere else. His dark eyes watch you, unfathomable.

Finally you disappear to the bedroom only to return in your pajamas. This he likes, perking up and blinking rapidly. "Okay, I know you brought something softer than those jeans, so get comfy so I can order shitty pizza and cuddle you."

His jaw drops in momentary shock. Then he scoffs, "I do not cu--"

You cut him off, "Yes, you do and yes, you're going to. Up. Now." This has to be hilarious. This short little woman in overly long pants barking orders at the massive man who heads an international drug cartel. Well, its either hilarious or fatal. I'm about to find out.

Diego looks around, as if someone else might secretly be here to witness him be a little bit submissive and moderately soft. He raises his chin in a tiny show of defiance. "Fine. But I am showering first." He glares with this proclamation, daring you to contradict him.

You throw your hands up in the air. Why the fuck would I have a problem with that?? His eyes follow your hands, like a cat when you try to point out a bit of food but all it does is rub your finger. You sigh, resigned to your fate. "Of course that's fine, Diego. You know where everything is, have at it."

You watch his butt as he walks away to the bathroom.

The pizza actually isn't shitty and Diego eats half of it by himself. When you offer him the cinnamon dessert sticks he shoots you a calculating look. You split the contents, pulling two sticks over to yourself and piling up the rest in front of him. His delighted grin is decidedly not calculated and you lose track of time watching him enjoy dessert.

He's beautiful like this. He wears a soft, silky t-shirt that is tight enough to help you get through the nights you spend alone. His hair is a riot of fluffy curls, free of product and clearly trying to break free of gravity, too. He hasn't shaved for at least a few days and that salt and pepper beard is filling in nicely. His face is unguarded, expression open, those laugh lines and dimples you love make frequent appearances.

After dinner you lay all over each other in some weird we-have-intimacy-issues approximation of cuddling. It works so you don't question it. He has his laptop and you have your tablet and together you have sporadic conversation. Its comfortable.

Until Diego asks you a seemingly innocuous question that you know is very nefarious:

"What color do you like in cars?"

Your eyes narrow so much that you have trouble seeing. "...Why." Your low tone might be frightening to anyone else.

He looks at you over the laptop screen, brown eyes innocently wide. "Just curious. Your car is green. Do you like any other colors?" He slowly pulls the laptop closer to himself to subtly cover the screen with his bulk.

"Diego." You slowly put down your tablet and start leaning toward him. He has nowhere to go, propped up in the corner of the chaise end of the sofa. "What. Are. You. Doing."

"Will you let me take care of you? Just in this one way right now?" He licks his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. Building desperation shows in his eyes and you can't fight that. You don't want to win this.

"Let me see, baby." Your sighed acquiescence has an instantaneous effect. Diego drops the tension from his shoulders and opens an arm to you in invitation. You crawl up him to cuddle into his chest, wedged on your side between all those muscles and the back of the sectional. From here you are stationed directly in front of the laptop screen.

He is looking at cars.

Armored cars.

Armored, bulletproof, explosive resistant cars.

What. The. Fuck.

"Diego, what the fuck is going on?!?" Your apprehensive demand sets him right back on edge. You can feel him go tense underneath you. The laptop gets shoved onto an empty cushion as you throw yourself over him. Tiny hands land on those broad shoulders with extreme force as you use all of your deadweight to trap him. Below you, Diego shakes but you can't tell if its from anger or anxiety because his eyes are scrunched closed tightly. "Tell me why I need a fucking bulletproof car!"

He surges up into your face to match your volume, "She knows! Mi hermana perra knows about you! Alicia found out about us!" You lurch back in shock, but the steel hands on your hips stop you from retreating. His voice is hoarse, louder than you've ever heard him, and its terrifying. Your fear must show because he releases his grip on you like it burns.

"WHAT?" The ramifications here could truly be lethal. Alicia has already tried to set Diego up to take the fall when they were arrested almost four months ago. You know she has scorned Diego's familiarity with his men in the past, that is why he handpicks them personally. To Alicia, everyone is disposable, even her own brother. Her only loyalty is to herself.

Diego's hands come up in an aborted reach for you. You're still too shocked to move. His face crumbles in agony and he blinks furiously, hands balling into fists. "Everything I have ever wanted she has ensured I never got. She, she manipulates me into destroying everything I touch. I will not let her hurt you! I refuse to allow her to break us, mi amor!!" His volume has steadily escalated until he is yelling.

He's afraid. He is afraid that he will lose me. The realization emboldens you enough to take his hands in your own, bring them to your chest, and press them close to your heart. You trust that he won't hurt you in his rage. You don't fear him, this dangerous, powerful, ruthless man that you love.

His hands open to slide up your shoulders, curl around your neck, and his thumbs glide over the pulse point under your ears. He brings your face to his own, his expression twisted up with fear and anger and possession and love.

"You are mine! And I will keep you!"

You realize everything that you have been debating with yourself, all of your pro versus con lists, your stupid little dry erase board covered in sticky notes with your fears, your scribbled timeline of events and possible future predictions, none of it matters. All you care about is the man in your arms. Diego is the most important thing in your life and you can't imagine a life without him. If you had to give up everything to keep him, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Your hands grip tightly around his wrists and you consciously straighten your spine. Expression hardening, your eyes open to meet his anguished gaze.

"I want black."

The armored 2020 Camry is delivered that Sunday. You thank him for finding something inconspicuous with an upgraded JBL sound system and he compliments your understated color choice of Black Sand Metallic. By the time you drop him off at the airport that evening you've managed to replace the new car smell with something better and you're thankful that the leather seats just wipe clean. Monday morning in the parking lot at work, however, is a literal ordeal.

---------------------

The next two weeks feel like they’re seven months long. You clock out at noon on Thursday to a chorus of your coworkers making vaguely lewd remarks and howling with laughter about your vacation. 'Two whole weeks on a beach in Mexico with an absolutely loaded hottie' is what they've been repeating gleefully all week.

You turn around and walk backwards to give them finger guns, "Yes," then you reach down to adjust your pants, "And YES." Their squeals are contagious and you're still laughing when you burst out the front doors to drive home.

You turn the volume waaaay too high in the car so that your teeth vibrate and it feels like you're having heart palpitations. I love this fucking car and I love that man.

There is a rental Tahoe parked in the grass next to the huge gravel driveway at your farmhouse, but he left the second assigned parking space next to your Corolla open so you can park The Beast (as you have affectionately named your new ride) appropriately while away. When you get out of the car you glance up instinctively, Diego is standing outside your front door on the small third floor balcony laughing.

"Are you deaf yet, Princess?" He hollers down in amusement.

You flip him off with the middle finger that wears the gemstone ring he gave you while yelling back, "WHAAAAT??"

His laughter fades as he disappears inside, leaving the door wide open to let out all the cold air. Were you raised in a barn?? Close the door, the electric bill-- You cut off your own thoughts when you suddenly remember that you haven't been paying that electric bill for the last six months. Nevermind.

Before you can start up the stairs, Sara, your first floor neighbor, appears on the porch with their toddler. "Hey stranger!" Sara waves with a big smile and the kid does the same but with some kind of unidentifiable kitchen utensil in hand. "That is your boyfriend, right? He had a key so I didn't think it was your ex but I wanted to make sure. I mean, from what I just saw it is your boyfriend. Also, holy shit, that's your boyfriend?"

If she says the word 'boyfriend' one more time I'm going to spontaneously combust.

"Uh yeah, definitely not my ex. Sorry, I forget that you guys haven't really seen him before, I meant to tell you he was coming." You can feel your face burning and it isn't from the August sun. Sara fans her own face with a hand while mouthing 'he's hot' like you're somehow unaware. You forge on before she can start gushing aloud. "We're actually leaving on a trip tonight so I'll be gone for the next two weeks."

Now Sara drops the kid and scrambles over to whisper fiercely to you, "Oh my god, seriously? Where are you going? Wait, this is the same guy you've been going to see in New York, right? How long has it been, like a year? Is he taking you on a trip for your anniversary? I don't even know his name. Oh my god, that is so sweet!"

Okay, down girl. You're not sure who you're trying to will into being chill, Sara or yourself.

"Um, we're going to Mexico. And yeah, he's the guy in New York. It's just a vacation." You don't even touch the relationship questions with a ten foot pole. You glance up but Diego is still inside, Thank fuck.

Sara hops a little in excitement. "I'm sooo jealous!" She squeals. "You have to take a ton of pictures! I need to see! Oh my god, I bet you guys are such a cute couple!" You nod and start backing away, trying to wave goodbye so you can climb the stairs and then climb Diego. "Ooh ooh, wait, what's his name?" Sara hisses conspiratorially. "Does he speak Mexican? Is he Mexican!?!"

You suddenly remember why you tried to move away from this area. Repeatedly. "Yeah, he's Mexican and yes, he speaks Spanish." You sigh. Sara nods but continues staring at you expectantly. Fine. "His name is Diego."

Sara makes a stupid face like this is a rom-com movie. I cannot take anymore, you must shut the fuck up. "Okay, okay. I won't hold you up. But seriously, we can have a 'pics and wine' girls' night when you come back!" She waves maniacally before snatching up the kid and skipping back inside.

I can't think of anything I would like less. Oh hell no.

You climb the stairs in record time before she can come back outside and start talking again.

Bastian, Julio, and a third man you don't know are in your living room. You do not care and your vague wave shows it. You can hear Julio's warm 'Gordita!' greeting as you spin around and march to the bedroom.

Diego is standing at your bed, tucking TMP into your small duffel, when you burst through the doorway and continue at full speed directly into him. He laughs breathlessly but holds steady against your weight. "Princess. Are you ready?"

You take overflowing fistfuls of his shirt, bury your face in his chest, suck in a huge lungful of air, and shriek at full volume.

"Uhhh...that is a yes, si?" He mutters uncertainly above you.

You rear back to look up at him with a smile so wide it hurts.

"Oh good." His hands come to your shoulders while those beautiful brown eyes sparkle. The dimples and laugh lines come out as he absorbs your infectious excitement. Your hands shoot up to his hair to yank him down so you can crash your mouths together with bruising force.

The effect is immediate. He moans loudly and crushes you against him. You dig nails into his neck and you lick your way into his mouth, his hands snake down to your ass to hold tight. Your left leg comes up as you try to wrap it around his hips. With a pained groan he rips those lips off of yours and pulls back. Undeterred, you move on to assaulting his now bared throat, moaning like porn come to life.

"Princess," he gasps, "You have to sto-- uhhh, yes, bonita. Your fucking tongue." You're too busy licking his adam's apple to pay attention to words right now. "Nooo, mi amor, please, lo siento, stopstopstop." You get in one last nip of his collarbone as he pulls your head back via a handful of ringlets. His pupils are blown wide and he's panting hard. You stare longingly at his delectable mouth while making pitiful whines.

"Please, baby, pleeeease. You're all I've thought about for days. I need you!" You try shameless begging, you're certainly not lying. Petting over his shoulders and down that solidly muscled chest, you shudder and try to pull yourself back to him.

He closes his eyes with a grimace. "Flight! Fuck you on the flight!" He croaks, then yanks your hair harder than you like. The pain clears the fog just enough for you to blink back to awareness. You nod jerkily and step back. "Have to leave now to get there before dark." He explains in a rushed huff. You blink as you remember how time works.

"Right. Yeah, right. Okay. Okay." Straightening to attention you yank off the cardigan you wore for the air conditioning at work, leaving you in a tank top and ready to be productive. Focus on not-dick.

Diego shoves your favorite notepad in your face so you can see your packing list and not him. The distraction works. He has checked off every item in each categorized list but left the strike through action for your completion. You lower the notepad until you can make eye contact with him and intensely whisper, "You know I fuckin' love you, right?"

He laughs so hard he has to sit down on the bed.

You go through every bag, touching each item and crossing it off your list one at a time. He did it. Everything but you.

"You know I don't need TMP, right?"

"Why?" He squints up at you from where he lounges across your bed.

Your face heats up and you clear your throat. "Well, its, I'm. I have, uh, you. So I don't need anything else." The realization of how true that is in every sense gives both of you pause.

Diego surges upright to cup your face and bonk your foreheads together just a little too hard. You giggle and he huffs.

"Mi amor…" he sighs for you, eyes closing in pleasure. You 'mmmmm' in response. Then his eyes snap open and he growls an order, "Get changed so we can go!" And punctuates it with a stinging slap to your ass.

----------------------------

You spend the flight with your face pressed to the window, vibrating in excitement, except for a brief intermission of seven orgasms in the bathroom.

The unknown third man is Joey, Bastian's boyfriend. Joey is even quieter than Bastian and just as cute. They're not overly demonstrative but clearly comfortable moving around each other. Joey works in "Packaging" and does an admirable job of ignoring his cartel drug lord boss being snuggly. Julio naps.

The customs agent at the Cancun airport looks you up and down with wide eyes but stamps your passport with no questions. Its a five hour drive to Xcalak but Diego is adamant it can be done in three. You give him an eyebrow question which he dismisses with a vague wave, "They paved the road all the way to the southern border last year."

Uhh, they what now? You understand soon enough. The drive drastically changes outside of Cancun. The scenery is both beautiful and heartbreaking. There are occasional mansions with armed guards, high fences, and SUVs like your own current ride. Mostly though, its shacks and people on foot or riding bicycles, weaving to avoid stray dogs and huge iguanas. Could I handle this as my daily reality?

The first time the road sidles right up to the ocean you have a small meltdown.

"Is that what I think it is?" Your soft whisper is accompanied by a shaking hand pointing to the left. Diego, crammed into the middle of the backseat between yourself and Julio so you could have an unobstructed view, indicates an order for Bastian to pull over. He reaches across you and pops open your door. You slide out with his hand on your lower back and take about a dozen steps to the lapping water. Diego appears to your right, watching you intently.

"Its gre-e-e-en!" Your stuttering squeal is accompanied by happy tears and you fling yourself into Diego with joy. He laughs at you, but hugs you back just as tightly.

----------------------------

The first week passes in a blur of amazing food, warm green sea, fruity drinks, and shirtless wet Diego. And so many orgasms that you can't keep count. Diego is all over you non-stop, more than he ever has been before (Astonishingly). Its incredible and you feel like the only person in the world. If he's not molesting you then he is at least touching you; keeping you in his lap, holding your hand, cuddling and petting and snuggling like a man obsessed.

You love it. You love him. You love this life.

On Saturday he lets you lead him through the tiny town, your Spanish improving by leaps and bounds as you try to navigate the streets and alleys and shops. The four years of high school Spanish actually prove useful as you manage to complete a purchase all by yourself. Your playful mock smugness evaporates under the blazing desire in his eyes.

He drags you back to the casita in a much shorter and more direct route than you took upon earlier departure. You're marched directly to the bed and he puts one massive hand in the middle of your chest to gently push you down onto your back. There is something different about this, something important in his eyes. Your voice is high and soft, "Diego?"

He climbs up between your legs and leans down to kiss you senseless. It goes on forever; soft lips, scratchy beard, silky tongue, and nothing but the taste of Diego. Your moans and sighs are mixed together, there are moments when you can't tell who is making what noise. His hands are shaking as he strokes every inch of newly bared and sunburnt sensitive skin while undressing you.

It takes repeated attempts, but you finally get him naked, too. The sight never fails to take your breath away. All that soft, and now freshly tanned, skin is like velvet to your touch. You're mesmerized by his muscles flexing and then evening out as he moves above you. He finally gets your linen pants untangled off your left foot and flings them across the room with unnecessary force. Your soft peals of laughter light up his face and it brings tears to your eyes. You reach a hand out to him, "Diego. Baby."

He comes up over you, threading fingers into your hair, kissing you slowly and thoroughly. You can feel him against you, fire hot and mouth wateringly hard, but he makes no move to take you. Your eyes open in hazy confusion as the kiss ends. Diego is watching your face, blinking back tears.

He is holding your head still, hands like steel. Whatever this is, he needs it. And you want to give him everything he needs. Forever.

You're captured by his eyes, bottomless, soulful, and hungry. His raspy voice is soft and trembling with desire. "I love you, Bicki. I want everything. Forever, Princess?"

Your chest compresses and your heart implodes. Scalding tears escape when you blink and you're nodding before you even know it. "Yes, Diego. Yes, baby, I'm yours."

Your back arches off the bed as he comes home and brings you with him.

-----------------------

You wake up crushed under Diego. The sun is still up so you might be able to talk him into going out for dinner. You rub your cheek on the huge bicep doubling as your pillow and Diego sighs directly into your ear from where he is spooned up behind you. Oh yeah, we should have done this waaaay sooner.

He nuzzles your neck just to incite squirmy giggles and you don't even fight it. "I have something for you, Princess. Stay here." He pulls away and you whine about the loss of your pillow. His low chuckle burns you alive with want. "Stay like that. Do not move." You obey while you listen to him rummage around behind you.

He comes around to your side of the bed, still completely and unabashedly nude. Hell. Fucking. Yes. You love it. He hands your glasses over and you slide them on to take in the now high definition view of naked Murder Panther. The view disappears as he kneels down next to the bed so you're on eye level. His expression is very peculiar.

His hands slowly come up to reveal a small box of black velvet. Time slows to a halt as he opens the box and presents it to you.

Inside is a ring. Gleaming in platinum and sparkling with three tastefully large princess cut diamonds.

Its an engagement ring.

Diego is proposing.

He swallows hard and rumbles gruffly, "Now remember, you already said y--"

You cut him off with a shriek. "YES! YESYESYES!!"

In the time it takes him to blink twice with surprise you're on him. Arms around his neck, you throw yourself into his lap. He topples backwards and you ride him to the floor, already bawling hysterically.

He stares up at you in shock as you nod furiously and cry all over him. "Princess. You… you are certain?" If this were any other time you would be howling with laughter at his huge eyes and lax jaw.

Your answer is stuttery but determined. "Y-y-yeah. Put it-t-t-t on me already!"

He laughs in delight at your order and the imperious presentation of your shaking left hand. The ring glides on easily, a perfect fit. It gleams up at you blindingly. After a moment of admiration you lace your fingers with his and sigh at the union. His other hand comes up to roughly brush away your tears. "I know you do not like labels so much… but, you will be my, my married... Person. Thing?"

You stroke his bearded cheek in return, thumb lingering on that dimple. With a hard gulp you dive in head first. Fuck it.

"Yes, Diego. I will be your wife."

----------------------

The next time you wake it is dark out. You reach for a phone on the nightstand to your left and jump when you find one with a loud crack. Diego pops upright behind you, instantly on high alert. "Princess?" He hisses while covering your body with his own.

You gigglesnort, then meekly answer him, "I forgot about the ring and whacked a phone. Everything's okay, baby."

He sighs so deeply that his breath ruffles your hair. "Jesus fucking christ, woman. You are a menace." He flops down on top of you and snuggles back into your warmth.

You reach back with your left hand and grope blindly for his face. He licks your fingers as soon as they're in reach and you stuff them into his mouth as retaliation. He just sucks languidly.

"Mmmmmm, I'm your menace, baby. And I have to pee." He nips your fingers but rolls over to free you. You slide out of the bed and stretch your arms high while arching your back. Diego groans painfully. "What?"

Diego rises to all fours on the bed while the sheet slithers off of him. "You forget that other people can see without glasses, huh?" You cock your head and realize that you have a shadow.

It's a full moon. And I just stretched naked in front of a sliding glass door. "Oh. Huh. I guess I do forget. Oops. I'll be sure to keep that in mind now." Your seemingly tame answer is directly contradicted by the exaggerated roll of your hips that makes your butt bounce when you walk off.

"Fucking menace, woman." Diego growls as you push the bathroom door shut with a trill of laughter.

You never do go back to bed but you do wind up on the beach in front of the casita to watch the sunrise. Julio finds you both snuggled together late the next morning, still asleep on the covered daybed under the palms while the rising tide comes ever closer. At least Julio has the decency to cover your bare ass with a beach towel.

-----------------------------------

By the time you think to check your phone gallery you have… 1,792 pictures. WHAT THE FUCK.

You scroll through the pics, there are a lot you do not remember taking. Was I that drunk or did Diego take some of these? One is a close up of your ass from below wearing a string bikini, I knew I wasn't that drunk. The next pic is Diego asleep on a lounge chair, one arm curled up above his head, muscles glistening in the sun, and swim trunks so low on his hips that it's almost obscene. Immediately following that is the same pic but with your own face photobombing about three inches away from the camera and giving a thumbs up with your left hand so your engagement ring is prominently visible. Oh yeah, I remember that one.

There are videos, too. The first one is Diego making lewd comments while you twerk in the ocean for about ten seconds. Okay, that's par for the course with us. Next is you successfully backflipping off of Diego's shoulders into the green water to everyone freaking out. Shit, even I'm impressed with myself. After that is video of you gagging through a dish of octopus at some restaurant. Both of you are clearly visible in the shot so Julio must have had the phone. Betrayal.

There are tens of dozens of the two of you in various poses and outfits, both disgustingly happy and blatantly in love. There's even a role reversal shot of Diego sprawled across your lap, one enormous arm wrapped around your neck and his knees over your own arm while you grimace and he laughs hysterically. The table to your right is covered in empty bottles and mostly finished drinks. An entire subsection depicts you asleep like you have a stalker. You count no less than 29 of you two trying on increasingly ridiculous hats in random stores.

You can't even keep count of all the close ups of a smoldering Murder Panther. You feel no guilt. Aren't you supposed to be ridiculously attracted to your fiancé??

Fiancé.

You have a fiancé. Your fiancé is Diego. You are engaged to Diego Rafael Jimenez.

I have to explain this ring to everyone. They'll have questions about him. People will want pictures. How do I explain what he does?? Oh my god, there's no closet here. I have to… find somewhere. And I can't I can't. Its-

Your head jerks upright when something touches your hair. Its Diego. Kneeling on the floor in front of you, he has unfurled a sheet over you to block out everything, and he waits there, watching you. Before you realize it your hands are reaching for his shoulders, just the feel of him, warm and solid under your hands, calms you.

Slowly, his right hand comes up to cover your left. "No closet, Princess." His huge fingers grip yours tightly. You nod a little. He just watches you, eyes guarded.

"Ask. Go ahead." You mutter. You can tell from his posture that he is uneasy, apprehensive.

He locks eyes with you and his gaze is intense. He curls all of his fingers around your left ring finger. "Still yes?"

The fear in his eyes breaks your heart. Your voice is shaky but determined, "No. You can't get rid of me. I'm your problem now, baby." His expression would make a meeker woman cower in fear, you laugh weakly.

He settles down on the tile floor in front of you, with the sheet over both of you. Its like four in the afternoon and I am sharing a blanket fort with my cartel boss fiancé while on vacation in Mexico. What even is my life? His elbows are on his knees, chin in hand. He studies you for a minute, you stare right back. He raises one eyebrow and you sigh in capitulation.

"I don't know how to just be happy. I suck at it." You shrug but reach for his face. Diego nuzzles into your hand while you stroke your thumb over his beard.

"Habby isz nawt a berb." He slurs into your palm with a soft kiss.

The epiphany is like a cinder block to the brain.

He's right. I don't have to 'do' anything. I'm happy right now. I've been happy every time I'm with him. And no one had to exert any effort.

People can define themselves. People can define their relationships. Why can't they define their own normal? I can make my own rules. Especially with someone like Diego as my partner.

His one eyebrow slowly rises as he watches your thoughts play out across your face. "You back?" He asks with a hidden smirk, you know its there from the way his eyes crinkle with laugh lines.

"Yup!" Is your decisive answer. Diego licks your palm. "I got better places you can lick, baby." You answer his smirk with a waggling eyebrow.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of play wrestling and inappropriate noises.

-----------------------

You do, in fact, go on a safari. Of sorts. Tours of ruins and jungle and cenotes, lots of side quests because the both of you are easily distracted by pretty colors. You probably added another thousand pictures of various palm trees to your gallery. The hat makes multiple appearances.

Diego has to ship a crate home to New York because he bought you too many souvenirs. You laugh and tease him when he wants to pick out things for your middle sister and niece, until you hear his logic.

"They were nice to me." He murmurs with a little half-shrug, "It was like being in a real family for a little bit." He studies the bins of painted shells on display in the little store with way too much focus.

You spend a moment deliberating before you decide to reach out and touch his elbow.

"Hey," your soft voice brings his gaze your way momentarily before he goes back to ceramic turtle magnets. You take his hand with your own right and rest your left hand on his chest. Diego looks down where your ring glints in the light, then up to your face. "You know you're going to be part of that 'real' family, right?"

Diego's boyish little smile is heartbreakingly adorable.

---------------------------------

The flight home is much shorter than you want it to be and you spend most of it asleep on Diego. At one point you wake up to see Bastian and Joey cuddled up together napping. When you look up from where your head is resting in Diego's lap he is already looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You whisper softly. You stifle a yawn and blink repeatedly.

Diego strokes one big hand over your hair and grips your jaw firmly. With a huge toothy grin he answers, "Mine."

"Uh huh. How many times you need me to say yes, baby?" You smirk up at him with an arched brow. He seems to be reveling in hearing you readily admit your commitment to him.

He considers your question carefully while his other hand trails down the front of your body under a blanket. I don't remember having a blanket earlier. Finally, Diego settles on "Every day. At least seven times. Seven is a good number, right Princess?"

Your body jerks as his fingers press between your thighs with steady determination. Your eyes flick over to Bastian and Joey, still out cold. You make a show of wiggling around to get comfortable, and, surprisingly, that involves spreading your legs. "Yessss." You hiss up at him.

Julio reclines his seat and exaggeratedly covers his face with a new hat.

Seven is a very good number.

------------------------------------------

Your first day back to work is a circus. You don't think twice about your normal greeting as you enter the office suite. You swipe your badge with your right hand and pop the door, then wave 'hi' to everyone. Like usual. With your left hand.

There is an excessive amount of squealing that makes you second guess going into a female dominated field. The whole day is a wash because you have a steady stream of people passing through your cubicle. You're glad you had the forethought to curate a photo album of appropriate images to show your coworkers despite Diego's repeated attempts to sneak a dick pic in there somewhere. You most definitely included the glistening swim trunks lounge chair picture. Squealing intensifies.

Everyone comments on the hat and you're forced to tell the story of the hat. How you once told Diego that you wanted to see palm trees, 'But like, in the wild.' And Diego had laughed so hard that he fell off the bed only to pop back up wheezing about a 'Palm Tree Safari' until you smacked him in the face with a pillow. Your coworkers think it is just disgustingly adorable that he never let you live that down.

Your coworkers have questions:

When is the wedding?

Where are you having it?

What kind of dress do you want?

What are your colors?

Are you going to do flowers?

What about the cake?

Who is your maid of honor?

How did your family take the news?

What about his family?

Are you going to New York?

Will you take his name?

Oh shit. I forgot about the whole 'wedding' part of this.

#damnit diego #murder panther #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #zash writes #all the feels #so gross #soft murder panther #melty princess

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

A Dash of Morticia

PART THIRTY-SEVEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of anxiety/panic attacks please read with caution, yelling, mentions of familial abuse, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5K

Summary: After an argument with Jess, Ella storms out of the apartment.

A/N: The descriptions of panic attacks in this chapter and in this fic are based on research and my own experiences. Everyone is different. If you need to talk, I am always here. I just felt Gilmore Girls always kind of ignored Jess’s trauma, and the after-effects it would have had on him.

A few stray streaks of blue paint had dried on her forearms, but Ella was eager to get home and had done a haphazard job of washing up after class. She had sent the kids home with their final projects, the extra time at the end of the day used for free painting time. It was bittersweet to say goodbye to the kids she had spent all three months with, exploring all different mediums through the summer art program at the college. But she was glad to be only two weeks away from the beginning of her final year of grad school. The end of her time as a student was so close, she could almost taste it. Still, though, she found it hard to believe at some point her life wouldn’t be dictated by study guides and test scores.

Her keys stuck slightly in the lock, as they always did, as she entered the apartment. The clock read half past six already; Ella had been too caught up clearing out her room at the college to leave anywhere near on time. The walk home had been calming, the sky just beginning to turn a pinkish orange hue. Her heart was light as she set her keys on the counter and bag on the coat rack. Jess sat on the couch with the third draft of his book in his hands, a crease of concentration between his brows and a red pen in his hand. He hadn’t looked up at the sound of her coming in, but she wasn’t surprised. Lately, he had been totally absorbed in his work.

Over the course of the summer, she had watched his nerves growing over the new project. Though she did her best, she found it hard to understand why. He had already sent preliminary published copies out to certain vendors, and most responses were enthusiastic. The more she found him startling awake in the middle of the night, or snapping at herself or their friends over the smallest things, or growing quiet at things he would normally have spoken to her for hours about, the more she suspected his behavior had little to do with the book. Even when he wasn’t working on his writing, he was stand-offish. Distant. It was though he was somewhere else. A place which made his hands shake and his eyes dart around anxiously.

She chewed at her thumb nail as she approached the couch. The longer she felt out of the sync with him, the more frustrated she grew. If it had been anybody else, she would have told him off months ago. But she knew she needed to be patient. Each time she felt the old, familiar anger rise in her throat, she reminded herself of where they had come from and the way he always listened. But she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit her faith in his ability to recognize what had been going on with him for more than just the past few months was wavering.

Letting out a small sigh, she plopped down on the couch next to him and ran her nail-bitten fingers through the ends of his hair, her hand on the back of his neck.

“Hey, cutie,” she said quietly.

Still, he didn’t look over at her. But he let a small smile cross his lips. “Hey.”

“We got Thai last week, so do you wanna get Chinese or Mexican tonight?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not that hungry.”

Ella furrowed her brows and scoffed in disbelief. “But we always get takeout on Friday. It’s universal law!”

“Well, you pick,” he said, underlining something on the page.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she took a long pause and a deep breath. “Jess, just take a break. You’ll make yourself nauseous reading it over and over again.”

“You’re one to talk,” he shot back distractedly.

“At least look at me,” she continued, insistent.

He heaved a sigh and finally tore his eyes away from the words. He smacked his lips together and raised his eyebrows expectantly as he faced her. “I’m looking at you.”

Ella took a look back at him. She just couldn’t help it as she rolled her eyes and stood up from the couch. “God, you’re such a dick sometimes.”

“Great, so I guess we’re fighting now?” he asked, tossing the manuscript on the coffee table in annoyance.

Ella turned back to him before she could make it to the bedroom, crossing her arms over her floral t-shirt. She huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I guess if that’s what it takes to get you to talk to me.”

“Okay, Norma Desmond, since apparently we’re acting like we don’t talk to each other every day, what do you wanna talk about?” He shot her a thin, sardonic smile. “You wanna talk about how you’re allowed to get invested in your work but for some reason I’m not?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. For a moment, she thought about apologizing and letting it go. But, then, she realized she didn’t know what she would be apologizing for. The gnawing hunger in her stomach after a long day of work did nothing to help her mood, either. She’d come home excited, ready for some dinner and to celebrate her last day of summer camp. And Jess had played the part of the storm cloud over her head once again. She’d had enough of it.

“Y’know what?” she wagered.

“What?”

“You don’t get to do this,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t get to act like you wouldn’t feel the same way if I was doing this. If I was barely saying a word and being a jackass to everyone and having nightmares almost every single night!”

Jess ran a hand over his mouth and rose from his seat. “Oh, I don’t get to, huh?”

“No, you don’t!” she said, voice raised. “This thing of ours is a two-way street! You can’t shut me out like this!”

He sighed. “Eleanor-”

“Stop it, Jess. Just stop bullshitting me. Just tell me what’s really going on.”

“Look, I’m sorry if this book thing is bothering you, but I-”

“It’s not about the book!” she yelled, cutting him off and throwing her hands at her side in anger. “I know publishing a book takes time, okay? Hell, I’ve edited the book twice already! But something is up with you! Something’s been up with you for months! Just spit it the fuck out!”

“Nothing is up with me!” he countered, matching her volume. His brow was heavy with agitation. “I’m just trying to get the damn book published! What can’t you understand about that?!”

She shook her head again. “I am so sick of you making excuses, Jess! Just tell me! If you tell me, I can help you, alright?”

Something passed across his face and Ella could practically see the walls go up around his heart. “You are so much like Luke sometimes.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, exhausted and dejected.

“Maybe I don’t have a problem, maybe you have a problem,” he said, crossing his own arms defiantly. “Maybe all of this is just so you can ignore how upset you are about what happened at Adam’s graduation.”

Ella almost took a physical step back, surprised at the accusation. “I’m not upset about that.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “Have you called your brother since then? Or Lane? Or anyone in Stars Hollow? Or have you just been too busy here trying to create problems to solve instead of the ones you already have? I mean, just look at your hands! You’ve barely got any nails left!”

“Stop trying to change the fucking subject!” she spat out, a bite growing in her voice. “What the hell are you so afraid of? Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong so we can figure it out?”

“I’m not a project!” Jess shouted. “You can’t fix me, Eleanor!”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Jess! I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong...I’m trying to get you to talk to me before I wake up one morning and you’re gone!”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They stood across from each other, the coffee table in between. Outside, the light continued to wane. Jess’s face flushed in embarrassment and anger.

“That was five years ago! I was a kid! My dad showed up after-”

“I know!” she shrieked. “I know! Believe me, I know! You were upset, so that made it okay for you to leave me without saying a fucking word, I know!”

“That’s not what I said!” Jess matched her volume, breathing hard.

“You didn’t have to!” she shot back. “And maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about it if you weren’t pulling your Holden Caulfield bullshit again, but you are! This is just like it was then! But, guess what? I’ve been trying so hard, but I can’t deal with it anymore! I’m not doing it again!”

His eyes darkened and a frown deepened on his face as she stormed towards the door. “Where are you going?!”

“I don’t know! Maybe to California!” she growled, tugging on her converse and throwing her bag over her shoulder again. “When you’re ready to grow the fuck up and be honest with me, then call me! If not, then just leave me the fuck alone! You’ve been getting pretty good at that recently!”

The door shut with a hard slam! behind her before Jess had a chance to respond. As soon as she was out of sight, his chest became tight. Out of breath, he felt his heart beating hard against his ribs. He almost ran after her, but he chose to relish in his anger at her instead. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he struggled to decide what to do with himself. After a moment, he looked down off the balcony and saw her car was gone. Satisfied at the low chance of running into her on the way out, he grabbed his keys and stomped out of the apartment, a five-dollar bill burning a hole in his pocket. A pack of cigarettes from the corner store was the only concrete thing on his mind.

. . .

Thumbing through Mabel’s copy of A Streetcar Named Desire, Ella tried to quiet the restless buzzing of her nerves. Almost two whole days without a call. Not that she’d expected him to come grovelling to her, begging for forgiveness. But she hadn’t expected to stay at Mabel’s the entire weekend. The air was balmy and the sky was full of thunderheads, but no raindrops had yet fallen. There was the constant threat of a summer thunderstorm, but it hadn’t yet come. She was sprawled across the light pink couch, doing her best to concentrate on the words in front of her.

Outside the window, she caught a flash of lightning out of the corner of her eye. A rumble rolled through the air, vibrating the ground. Ella sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment and staring up over at the vintage French ad hung up behind the couch. The apartment was beautiful; decked out in feminie floral patterns and extravagant accents. Mabel had welcomed Ella with open arms, even after Ella insisted she would just find a motel or something. Or perhaps go back to her and Jess’s apartment. But the idea of stepping foot through the door without Jess calling her made her blood boil. She could no longer feign ignorance, especially when she knew something was wrong. Tough love. That’s what she told herself. He just needed a dose of it, along with a bit of his own medicine.

His words echoed in her head. It was true, she hadn’t called anyone in Stars Hollow since the graduation. She didn’t care to. The thought of ever visiting the town again made her stomach do a flip, as did the thought of seeing her father once more. She had hardly had time to decipher what her actual feelings were, between the summer camp job and her worry over Jess. She only knew they were unpleasant, and she didn’t much care to dwell on them. Was it worth it to think about it more? Was she just projecting? Certainly she wasn’t. Something was up with Jess. It had been for a while and there was no denying it. But she couldn’t shake the pit of guilt in her stomach. Part of her knew he was right; at least somewhat. It would all have been better if she had been able to talk it out with Jess, if they were able to press pause on the fight somehow and just be best friends. But they couldn’t. It was the hardest part of being away from him, and it made her feel even more bitter.

Everything would be so much easier if he didn’t loom so large in her heart. She would care less about her constant, sinking worry about him leaving. About him realizing he wasn’t happy and taking off for somewhere new without a word. Or any other consequence of whatever his recent problem had been. His inability to open up to her as he once had. An amorphous, nondescript fear which was recently always whispering in the back of her mind. Having the time to ruminate on her thoughts for such long periods of alone time, with Mabel off at work, seemed to only be making her feel more conflicted. And Ella was aware actors sometimes had erratic hours, but Mabel had been at Sunday night rehearsal for five hours.

Her sketchbook had not seen such angry, horrifying drawings in a significant number of months. At times, the thought that this was the fight which would break them up crept into her mind. Surely he would be able to find someone less quarrelsome, who would be more patient for him. She wasn’t it.

The sound of her cell phone broke through her train of furious and fearful thoughts. She jumped slightly, startled at the noise. She put the book aside without saving the page; it was no use trying to read. Her heart jumped into her throat for a moment, wondering if Jess had somehow managed to call her just as she was thinking about him. But when she made it to the kitchen table and looked at the screen, she deflated. It was Matthew.

“Hello?” she answered, hand on one hip of her faded blue dress, borrowed from Mabel. Mabel was taller than her, and the dress hung loosely on her frame. The only clothes she’d brought with her were the ones on her back as she left the apartment, now stale and stuffed into her purse.

“Ella? Are you still at Mabel’s?” Matthew asked, voice with a slight, frantic edge.

She furrowed her brows. “Yeah? Why?”

“Look, Jess said you guys are fighting. So, I don’t know and I...can you get over here?” Matthew said, struggling to get the words out.

Ella felt her nerves beginning to course through her veins. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed through the receiver. “We were at Truncheon having a few drinks. Everything was normal. But then Jess started getting really upset and now he’s saying he can’t breathe and he’s shaking like crazy. But he won’t let us take him to the ER or anything, and-”

“Okay, just hang on. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Try to get him to drink some water and tell him I’m coming,” Ella instructed him, phone between her ear and her shoulder as she slipped her shoes on and grabbed her bag.

“Is he okay? He said he was fine, but-”

“Yes, Matthew. He’s fine. Just don’t panic and keep him calm until I get there,” she continued hastily, locking Mabel’s door and shutting it behind her. She’d have to shoot Mabel a text as soon as she got off the phone. She was just starting to pick up on the slight slur in Matthew’s words. He could handle his alcohol much better than Chris or Jess could, but she still felt herself doubting whether Matthew was capable of helping Jess through a panic attack at all if both of them were plastered.

“I’ll try,” Matthew said, noncommittal, before bidding her goodbye and hanging up.

Her face was set in determination as she rushed down the stairs of the apartment building, texting as she went. As she hurried out the front door and tried not to let her car keys slip through her fingers, she felt the first drops of rain finally falling.

. . .

The drizzle had turned to a downpour by the time Ella made it to Truncheon, nearly tripping on the sidewalk in her worn converse as she ran from her car to the front door. She was met with the aged, familiar smell of the main room as she entered, immediately heading for the stairs. Her steps were heavy and she was damp and out of breath when she made it to the door of the apartment. She didn’t bother knocking. Instantly, she saw both Chris and Matthew huddled together across the living room, casting nervous glances at Jess, who sat on the couch with his hand on his chest. Several empty green beer bottles sat on the coffee table, glowing lowly in the yellowish light of the lamps. A full glass of water, untouched, also sat on the table directly in front of Jess. Ella shook her head softly and clicked her tongue in concern, throwing her bag down by the door and going to Jess.

His eyes were glassy, and she saw a couple tear tracks shining on his stubbly cheeks. The words tumbled from his mouth in short, panting bursts. “Elle...you...we’re fighting...don’t-”

“Hey, Mariano, don’t worry about it, okay?” she said, offering him a small smile. She sat down on the couch next to him, so close their knees were almost brushing each other. She kept her tone and face even as she looked over her shoulder at Chris and Matthew. “How long has he been like this?”

Chris blinked at her hard a couple of times before processing her question. He squinted down at his watch. “About twenty minutes. Maybe more.”

Ella nodded, facing Jess again. She could smell the scent of beer wafting off of him. It was the drunkest she had seen him in a long time. “Okay, that means the worst is probably over. And you’ll be fine in just a few minutes.”

He shook his head, hands trembling violently. Chills rolled through his body, making him shake more. The palms of his hands were slick with sweat. His chest was tight and painful, and there was a wild fear in the back of his mind that he was having a heart attack. He had never had a panic attack which felt so intense before. Intoxication certainly wasn’t helping. When it first started, he had truly wondered if he was about to die.

“I…” he began, swallowing harshly, “I told them...not to call you...I-I don’t…”

“Cutie, don’t worry, okay?” she repeated, soothing and slow. “Can I touch you?”

“Y-yeah,” he replied after a moment, shaking so bad his teeth were nearly chattering.

Her kind smile grew a little as she cupped his face with her hands, wiping his tears with the pads of her thumbs. “Hey, just listen to me. Everything is fine. You are wasted. And you’re having a panic attack. But everything’s okay. You are okay. All you have to do is breathe, Jess.”

“I can’t-”

Before he could continue, she shifted her hands from his face to his wrists. Gently, she brought his hands to her chest and began breathing, long and slow, just as she had at the courthouse months earlier. He began to mimic the rise and fall of her chest as soon as he recognized her movements.

“Breathe with me, honey,” she said. Then, she began counting in fives as she inhaled and exhaled. She could feel Jess’s tremors with his hands in her grasp.

About five minutes of breathing, and the fire in his lungs finally began to burn out. He was still having trouble catching himself and his breath, but the tears had stopped. He did his best to choke out even words.

“I’m fine, Elle,” he said.

“You sure?” she asked, releasing his wrists.

His gaze was wavering, but he nodded and sniffled, running a hand over his mouth. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Good. You did so good, James Dean,” she murmured, leaning in with her hands on either side of his face again, pressing a long kiss to his forehead. She smoothed circles over his back as he turned forwards again, finally taking a few sips of water. From their spot across the room, Matthew and Chris still looked unsure, nervous. Ella shot them another smile. “Everything’s fine, guys. Thank you for calling me.”

“And here’s hoping you’re both too drunk to remember this tomorrow,” Jess muttered, downing the rest of his water and staring down at the carpet with a flush of embarrassment reddening his cheeks.

Matthew only shrugged sheepishly.

“Oh, I definitely am,” Chris said, nodding. His eyes were bloodshot against his pale skin, and he had a goofy grin on his lips.

Ella rolled her eyes. “Shocker.”

Breathing a sigh, Jess rubbed drunkenly at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

After another moment of slightly awkward silence, she rose from her seat and held a hand out to Jess. “Let’s go home.”

Jess bit at his bottom lip, his mind swimming. “Really?”

“Really.”

. . .

In the morning, rain was still pattering steadily on the roof of the apartment building. Drops raced down the window in the bedroom, glistening with muddled gray light from the cloudy sky. The constant shower warmed Ella’s ears, mixing with the whisper of her name, as she crawled out of her dreamy sleep. For a moment, her heart sank into her stomach. She wondered briefly if Jess was waking her up because of another nightmare, another panic attack. But her fear dissipated as she cracked her eyes open, blinking a few times, and saw Jess sitting upright on the side of the bed, facing her.

He didn’t look particularly rested, but his brown eyes were clear with sobriety, if red. She could see the slightly greenish tint of his skin. The severity of his hangover didn’t surprise her. After practically dragging him up the stairs, he’d collapsed on the bed before she could shove any pills down his throat. The best she could do was prop him on his side, pillows in a protective wall behind his back as he snored. The recovery position. She remembered it from the times he’d put her to bed.

“Hey,” he said quietly as she finally awoke.

She cleared her throat, sitting up against the headboard. “Hi.”

Licking his lips, Jess brought one nervous hand out from behind his back. In it, he held a bouquet of dark purple tulips. Slowly, she took them, raising a doubtful eyebrow. It was still pretty early, and she wondered if the sun had even been up whenever he’d gone out to buy them for her.

“There’s thirteen,” Jess said as she inspected the flowers. “For good luck.”

She laughed half-heartedly. “Thank you,” she said, taking one last look at them before placing them on the nightstand beside her. “Pretty Nora Ephron. Even for you.”

“Look,” Jess began, glancing away from her with shame. Her voice didn’t have any anger, but also held no amusement. She sounded tired in a way that struck him and made even more guilt weigh on his shoulders. “I’m really sorry. About all of it. I know I’ve been kind of a wackjob. I’ve been freaking out and having those nightmares and-”

“That’s not anything you need to be sorry for,” Ella interjected, tone firm but not unpleasant. Her face was stoic as she waited for him to continue, raking her fingers through her hair.

He swallowed thickly, then went on. “And I’ve been shutting you out and...I’m sorry I didn’t call. I started to about a million times, but I just...I didn’t want you...to be disappointed in me. Though I know you already are. I wasn’t ready to...have to hear it.”

She felt slightly taken aback. Such naked, plain speech seemed like a rarity for Jess. Usually, his inner world was cloaked in metaphor and wit as a makeshift mask. But, in the gloomy light of the morning, she was seeing him just as he was. And, this time, he was actively deciding to show her.

“Jess, I’m not…” she paused for a moment to take a deep breath and collect her words, “I’m not disappointed in you. Not even a little bit. I’m just...I’m so worried about you. And it’s fucking...it’s just so fucking difficult to have to sit back and watch you...put yourself through something you don’t have to be going through alone.”

“I know,” he said solemnly, nodding.

“And I know I push you. I mean, I’ve pretty much always pushed everyone. I’m sorry I’m not patient enough with you sometimes,” she said, biting at the inside of her cheek. “But, seriously, Mariano, I feel like I kept quiet as long as I could on this one.”

Jess let a small, fond smirk pass over his lips. “I know, Stevens. It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to...sometimes it’s just hard for me to actually listen when you’re telling me something I don’t wanna hear.”

She matched his smile. “Well, that’s because you’re a jackass.”

He shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

Ella chuckled in response, smoothing her hands over the gray quilt which still covered her lower half. “As valiant of an effort as the flowers and the apology were, Jess, I’m still more interested in what’s wrong. Whatever it is...it’s okay. Just...please tell me.”

Nodding again, Jess ran a hand over his mouth. He brought his legs up from the side of the bed and sat cross-legged in front of her, their knees only inches apart. “Ever since Doula was born...I just can’t stop thinking about my mom and...everything that happened in New York. I mean, when Liz was pregnant it wasn’t great. But since we met Doula? Since I actually got to see her...it’s just been so much worse. When I think about her having to...fight with a stepdad, or get left with some stranger across the hall, or wander the library alone all day while Liz goes off to work or God knows where else…”

Ella placed a hand on the knee of his jeans as he paused. He bit down hard on his lip again. He didn’t feel as though he deserved that kind of affection from her after what had happened over the past few days. But he swallowed down the nerves which rose in his throat and continued.

“I just keep remembering and thinking about it and...I can’t get it to stop sometimes. And now I’m even remembering in my sleep...I’m remembering so clearly. It’s like...there’s never gonna be an end. I’m never gonna actually get away from it all,” he explained sheepishly, fighting the lump in his throat and the way the tips of his ears burned.

“Hey, James Dean,” she said, and he finally looked up to meet her eyes again. “You did get away from it. You did. I know it doesn’t feel like that sometimes, but you did. No matter how bad you’re feeling, you’re safe now. We’re both safe now.”

He scoffed out a doubtful, tearful laugh, but managed to keep himself together. Sometimes, the simplest reminders hit him the hardest, shocked him the most.

“And we can figure this out, okay?” Ella continued earnestly. “I know you still don’t have insurance, but this is a big city. There’s bound to be some kind of free service somewhere. And even if we can’t find anything right away, I’m always here. You can talk to me. Whatever it is. Whenever it is. I’m not gonna be as good as an actual counselor, but I’ll do my best until we can find you one. I’ll do some research.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, Jess,” she said sternly. “I need you to hear me on this. I want you to talk to me. Nothing you could say would disappoint me, or anything like that. I mean, I know you got attacked by a swan. What could be more embarrassing than that?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little, though he couldn’t hide his amusement. “My God, every chance you can get...”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s just too easy sometimes.”

“Says the girl who once took a bite out of a decorative apple.”

“Says the boy who took a whole month to figure out how to pull a coin out of my ear,” she retorted.

Then, with a moment of giggles exchanged between them, Jess’s expression shifted back to one of sincerity. “I’m sorry, Elle.”

“It’s okay,” she replied easily. “I’m sorry, too. I know it’s not like it was in high school. I know you’re not gonna leave. I trust you. Sometimes...I just get so caught up and I don’t...sometimes I forget who we are now and I go back to being the little girl whose mom died overnight and whose dad never calls.”

Jess tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear with an affectionate gaze. “But, hey, she turned out to be the next Georgia O’Keefe. With a dash of Morticia Addams.”

Ella shrugged. “Her boyfriend exaggerates, but she’s trying.”

“Thank you,” he said after a comfortable beat of silence. “For last night and...pretty much everything else since the day we met.”

She snorted a laugh at his hyperbole, rolling her eyes. “Don’t mention it.”

#jess mariano #jess #mariano #gilmore girls #gilmore #gilmore girls fanfiction #jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano x oc fanfiction #jess mariano x oc #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls oc #jess mariano au

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omoi-no-hoka · 4 years

Text

Rural Life and Mental Health in Japan as a Gaijin

Heads up: This is a very long, personal post about mental health and the stresses of living in rural Japan as a foreigner. If it’s not what you’re looking for in this blog, please feel free not to read it. If you can’t tell by the gif above, this isn’t going to be a very positive post because I’m not in a very positive mood.

------------------------------

It’s been just shy of five and a half years since I moved to Hokkaido, the northernmost island/prefecture in Japan. In many ways, it’s similar to the American Midwest, which is the region I’m originally from. It’s big on agriculture, it’s got lots of nature and rural areas, winters are long and nasty, and the people have a warmth that make up for the cold snow and ice outside. Heck, even a lot of the flora and fauna are the same.

I think of my current city as my “Japanese hometown” because it was where I stayed during my first trip to Japan and it’s where my hostparents from that time are. I love it here like I love my country bumpkin village of 2,800 back in the states.

But after a little over two years of living and working in this city, I think I need out. I am...tired of it in many ways.

特別扱い Tokubetsu Atsukai, “Special Treatment”

Prior to living in this city, I lived in Sapporo, which has a population of 2 million. There, no one batted an eye at a foreigner walking the streets. A lot of them were surprised that i could use Japanese, but a good few people were used to gaijin that could use nihongo and read kanji.

But in my current city, I have experienced all of the following things, some of which on a daily basis.

DISCLAIMER: I have also had a LOT of very positive experiences with the people of this city. Most of my experiences have been positive or neutral, but a good 40% have been as described below.

Everywhere I go, I am openly stared at. Gawked at, at times. (I am your standard-looking, standard-dressed, slightly overweight white girl. No visible tattoos, piercings, vibrant hair color, or otherwise attention-grabbing aspects about me other than the fact that i am clearly not Japanese.)

I am often spoken to like I am mentally disabled, or if I am with a Japanese person, they will refuse to speak to me and instead speak to my Japanese companion.

I have entered restaurants on my own and had waitstaff make a big “X” with their arms and say “No English” immediately upon seeing my non-Japanese face.

I have had waiting taxi drivers drive off instead of allow a troublesome foreigner into their car.

I have sat down alone at a bar and had the Japanese people beside me openly gossip about me with the assumption that I could not understand them.

When searching for apartments when I moved to this city, I was denied 75% of my picks because they have a “no gaijin” rule. Despite the fact that I can speak and read, that I have a good job and valid visa, and that I have already lived here 3 years without a single late rent payment or complaint against me.

I have built up casual relationships with employees at grocery stores, etc. I frequent, and they have asked me for my contact info because, in their own words, “I’ve always wanted a gaijin for a friend!” In Japan, every girl wants a token gaijin friend instead of a token gay friend.

I have gone on dates with Japanese men who clearly just wanted a white girl to hang on their arm like a piece of swag and insist on taking me to a pasta place because “You must prefer western food to Japanese food” or insisting that I dye my hair blonder to look more foreign.

I am just...so very tired of this 特別扱い (special treatment).

I don’t want to call it 差別 (prejudice) because, the majority of the time, Japanese people think they are doing me a kindness by speaking slowly and simply, or by telling me as soon as possible that they cannot help me in English, etc. While a couple of the above experiences are straight up racism (I’m looking at you, asshole taxi drivers and landlords), most of them are a misguided form of “omotenashi,” a.k.a. Japanese hospitality.

So I try very hard not to let it get to me, because I know that they don’t wish ill upon me. But I’ve worked so goddamn hard to learn this language and speak it well, and it is so frustrating for the people around me to assume that I can’t do what has been my freaking life goal. Or having people assume I can’t understand slightly difficult words and dumb down their language (Even colleagues I’ve worked with for two years now!). In the middle of a conversation they’ll say things like, “It’s hard to deal with that level of animosity--oh wait, omoi-no-hoka-san, sorry, ‘animosity’ means ‘dislike.’”

They mean it in a helpful way, but it just comes across as very condescending and I end up thinking, Oh, so they think my Japanese proficiency is so low i can’t understand that word. Which sends me into doubt over whether my language skills are actually that deficient, or whether I am speaking in a way that makes myself look at bad at Japanese.

The Effects of 特別扱い (Special Treatment)

It’s been gradual, but over the past two years, I have found myself withdrawing from the outside world. I got bad at replying to friend’s messages. I started making excuses to avoid meeting up and hanging out. I would buy all the groceries i needed to last me through the weekend on Friday after work and not emerge until Monday morning to go back to work. Even though I really love the outdoors and used to spend entire days just riding my bike along the river trails here.

...But in the past few months I’ve become unable to answer even close friends’ phone calls and messages. And I’ve even had a hard time phoning my parents, which is crazy because ever since I left home for uni I’ve called my mom on a daily basis. When I think about stepping outside of my apartment, no matter the reason or destination, I am gripped by a dread so strong I nearly throw up. I have gone a couple weekends without food because it would require me leaving my apartment to buy some, or paying for very expensive delivery which also means interacting with whoever is bringing me that food.

I’ve had a stressful summer and fall at work, and that undoubtedly has contributed to my current anxiety overload. But things have settled down at work for the past month now, and not only have I been given an award that only 2% of employees get globally, recently I have been in talks to take on what is very nearly a dream position for me within the company that is a BIG step up career-wise. I have great bosses who recognize my efforts, who listen to what I have to say, and do what they can to help when I tell them I’m in over my head.

But I have had several days where I have woken up, gotten ready for work, and just frozen at my apartment door, too sick at the thought of going outside. And yet, I can’t stand the thought of calling in sick because I feel chronic, self-imposed guilt when I take a day off, no matter the reason. So I call in to work and tell them I have a stomachache and will be in once it’s gone, (which isn’t an absolute lie), and then drag myself into work within a couple hours.

And once I enter the office, do the obligatory bow and apology for being late and causing inconveniences, the dread and anxiety vanish and I am fine until it is time for me to go outside to return home.

This makes me think that work is not a main stressor right now. It doesn’t matter if I’m going to the convenience store or the grocery store or work or anywhere. I think the constant being stared at everywhere I go has gradually accumulated to become a nasty form of social anxiety. I used to have panic attacks in middle school and high school due to home life, but since removing myself from that environment they’ve gone away. I’ve always been a socially-reserved person who shies away from the spotlight, and despite telling myself a thousand times, “Let them look at you--you’re just being you and they’re being them and that’s OKAY,” I just can’t brush it off. I have very, very seriously considered dyeing my hair from its natural brown to black in an effort to blend in, if only slightly. Which is laughable, but that’s just how much it bothers me to stand out.

But the event that really sounded the alarm for me was when my best friend of 10 years, a Japanese girl whom I met by chance my freshman year of uni, who was my roommate for 4 years of uni, who let me sleep on her living room floor here in Japan for 3 months until my work visa came through, who has been with me through thick and thin, sent me a message asking when she could drop off a souvenir for me and

I couldn’t bring myself to reply to her text.

That was when I very clearly knew that I was too deep in this funk to get myself out on my own, and I had to figure out how to get help.

Frankly, despite having struggled with panic attacks and anxiety in the past, I have never sought professional help. Until now, I never felt that my symptoms were so bad that they warranted medication. But the fact that i can’t contact my mother or my best friend, that I would rather not eat anything for two days instead of go outside, means that snorting essential oils and rubbing rose quartz against my temples or whatever isn’t going to be enough.

Mental Health Views in Japan

It’s not exactly a secret that the approach to mental health in Japan is “sweep it under the rug.” You do not talk about it. You may go to a doctor and receive medication, but you do not get counseling, because that involves talking about it. You do not tell your friends. You do not tell your family. You DEFINITELY do not tell your coworkers.

I saw my boss, T, fall into a very similar spiral to my own this summer. Stomach aches in the morning, coming in late, making excuses to get out of outings outside of work, not replying to messages, not sleeping well. And then one day he just vanished. Didn’t show up one Monday.

T wouldn’t respond to our messages so we had to contact his mother to get a hold of him. And once she had confirmed that she had spoken to him and scolded him for being “selfish” by skipping work, my coworkers were satisfied because, in their words, “Now that we know he’s still alive, we don’t have to worry.”

Honestly, that was one of the most fucked up reactions to any situation I have ever seen. I was shocked, because these coworkers truly cared for him, but their mutual reaction to this was to just...let him languish.

T announced to a select number of supervisors/colleagues that he had been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder and would be stepping down from his position. He said that he had been diagnosed years ago, but had not disclosed it because he knew that he would never be promoted if anyone knew.

And that’s one of the big reasons that no one wants to talk about their mental illness here. In Japan, having a mental illness is a shameful thing. It shows that you’re weak, that you can’t keep up with everyone else, that you are flawed in a way that will adversely affect those around you at one point or another.

But my company really is a great company and the people in charge are progressive. T has a lot of great skills and experience, and they didn’t want to let him go. So they told him that they would find someone to fill his current role, but once he had rested and gotten better, they wanted him to come back and do a position that he used to do, one that he really shined in and enjoyed. And that is where he’s at now, and he’s doing much better for it.

So, having seen all of this unfold mere months ago, I grappled with how much I should tell my employers. The talk of this new and big position in Tokyo was underway, yet I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle it unless I got better.

So I bit the bullet, and on the night that I couldn’t respond to my best friend’s text, I sent my boss a message, explaining my symptoms, how long they’d been going on, what I thought the causes were, and that I wanted to take the morning off to see a doctor about it sometime that week.

And I was really shocked by his reply.

This boss is the guy that filled T’s position, and i didn’t know him that well yet. As it turns out, he used to be a counselor before he joined this company. He told me that I could go to the doctor whenever I wanted, but that he also wanted to talk in person about this the next day.

The next day he called me into the conference room with one other manager, a guy I really trust and like. When T vanished, shit really hit the fan at the office and it was basically this manager and me keeping us afloat for the first couple weeks, so we’ve got a lot of camaraderie going. They asked me to talk more about what was going on, why I was feeling all this anxiety, etc.

And it was during this conversation that I saw the division between the traditional Japanese views of mental health and modern views of mental health.

When I explained to them both why I wanted to see a doctor and try medication, their reactions were mixed. My boss, the former counselor, said that if I thought it was best, trying out medication for a few weeks was a good idea.

The manager looked doubtful and said, “But do you really think that going to a doctor and getting pills from him will fix everything? If you’re diagnosed, what will your colleagues think? I thought you wanted that promotion.”

In that moment i felt intense fear and regret, as well as hurt. T had said that he had withheld his diagnosis for this very reason. A part of me had wanted to think it was paranoia on his part, but now I realized that he had been right to keep it a secret. This manager, whom I knew very well and trusted deeply, clearly was of the opinion that a diagnosis/medication = evidence of weakness.

So I ended up lying and telling them, “I’ll go to the doctor just to get some sleeping pills.” (I’ve been waking up every hour on the hour for a couple months now.) Sleeping pills aren’t frowned upon in Japan and the manager was pleased with this decision.

And after that manager left, I told my boss the truth, that i would be getting anti-anxiety meds as well because I really thought it was necessary, and that I would appreciate him not disclosing it unless he was required to, which he agreed to.

Seeing a Psychiatrist in Japan

So now i had to find a psychiatrist and make an appointment. A Google search provided me horrors. Below is an excerpt of a Google review of a certain mental health clinic in my city, and the record of the exchange between the doctor and reviewer (patient). I’m not going to translate it all because it’s long, but these are some highlights of the doctor’s words directly to the patient.

“You can’t sleep? I can’t sleep either. What, do you want some pills for it?”

“You can’t expect me to believe what a patient says.”

(After he made the patient cry) “You are being so difficult. Could you stop crying?”

He gives her medication, has silent nurses send her out to the waiting room where she continues to cry, and the doctor comes to the waiting room and says, “Could you hurry up and pay and leave?”

Having read this, I was filled with absolute fear. Maybe I was better off trying to fix this on my own after all.

But I kept searching, and I also learned that my city hall has a 心の相談窓口 (Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi), “Mind Consultation.” You can call them to learn information about what sorts of mental health facilities/options are available in your area. A very kind lady there informed me that it takes about 2-3 months to get in to any psychiatrist in this city, most of them do not take new patients, and that counseling is almost non-existent. Unless I was a harm to myself or others, I would have to wait. However, there was one general hospital in the city that had one psychiatrist staffed. This hospital has no reservation system whatsoever (very common in Japan) and takes a set number of patients in the morning and evening. I could try my luck to get in and see her.

So that was what i did, and I was able to see her on the first morning I went! I think the Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi lady made it sound harder to get into so I wouldn’t feel let down if it didn’t work out the first time I went.

Having read the horror story above, I had a lot of trepidation stepping into the exam room with her and two nurse secretaries. I had expected it to be a very clinical, dry exchange of symptoms and a sufficient prescription with a token お大事に。

And, more than anything, I had feared that she would say something like, “Maybe you should just go home to your own country where you wouldn’t stand out.”

But she asked me a wide range of questions, with none of them focusing on the fact that I was a gaijin: what my symptoms were, how long they’d been going on, what I had going on in my life, what work was like, past history of anxiety, etc., and she and the nurses all truly listened to what i had to say. It was clear that she cared about the underlying causes and me as a person.

She told me that it sounded like I was experiencing a buildup of stress and anxiety and that she wanted me to try a low dose of anti-anxiety meds and sleeping pills for a week and then come back for another discussion.

That was 3 weeks ago. I’ve since been in the process of working with her to find the right combination of medication. Fun fact: they prescribe you Rohypnol (roofies) for sleeping meds in Japan if they deem your insomnia is serious enough. So. That is interesting.

Where I Am Now

I am keeping my boss informed of my condition and he is still very supportive. He seems to have informed his bosses of my tribulations to some extent, because they have gone out of their way to check in on me and see how I’m doing, which is very kind of them. Of course, they also know that i went above and beyond the call of duty for several months in a row until recently, and they could simply be asking because of that. Either way, I am touched that they would think of me, as I am a lowly translator for a lesser project and they are quite a ways up on the corporate ladder.

I am still in talks about taking on a very exciting position in Tokyo HQ, despite one of those bosses likely being aware of my situation to some extent. I used to dread the thought of Tokyo because I am a country girl who needs to see green, but recently I’ve come to the tough decision that I need to leave my beloved Japanese hometown, just like i left my American one. I love them, but I do not belong in them. I have visited the Tokyo HQ quite a few times, and there are a ton of foreigners in the area so I don’t stand out at all. I think that as long as I can live reasonably close enough to a park, I can satisfy my needs for nature while lessening my social anxiety.

I am having good days and bad days where it is still hard for me to leave the house. But I am having more good days than bad now. And today I was finally able to send a text message back to my best friend. Which really doesn’t seem like a lot, but it is a lot to me. My friend is supportive and understanding, which means the world to me.

I’m getting back to being me. 💗

p.s.: The gif at the top of this is from the anime Mushishi, which I think illustrates various mental illnesses and their effects in a very metaphoric way.

#personal #mental health #stress #anxiety #social anxiety #expatlife #japan #life in japan #rural japan #mental health awareness #expat in japan #mental health recovery #mental health support in japan #love yourself #you can overcome this

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mfingenius · 4 years

Note

Hi! I love your fic about the Sex Tape of Captive Prince, could you write a continuation, please? I have many questions, like, why Govart did that to Laurent and Damen?

WThis is happening at the same time as the other part, but from Laurent’s pov...

::::::::

Laurent leaves school early. He can’t stand the way people keep looking at him, how Damen keeps trying to talk to him. He can’t do it, he can’t. Damen is the first person he’s ever dated, the only person he’s ever fallen in love with. He doesn’t want to face the fact that Damen filmed him and sent it out.

“Can I come in?” Auguste must’ve left early, too, because he shouldn’t have been home yet.

Laurent nods uselessly. He’s sitting on his bed, hands on his lap, staring at nothing. He hasn’t moved in a really long time.

“You okay?” Auguste asks.

Laurent doesn’t respond.

“I love you,” Auguste offers, and Laurent’s suddenly crying, sobbing, heartbroken and anxious and still a helpless child. Auguste wraps him in a hug, and Laurent’s safe, even if he’s not okay, because Auguste will love him through anything, and that’s as much as Laurent needs. “It’s alright. I love you so much Laurent. It’s going to be alright.

Despite thinking that he can never show his face again, he does. He shows up at school the next day, and then the next one after that. He’s dying of shame, cheeks red and nearly always on the verge of crying, but at least he doesn’t have to talk to Damen.

He avoids him at any and all costs, even stops going to Auguste’s class just so he doesn’t have to face him again. The fact that everyone’s seen - and heard - him having sex is constantly on his mind, and it makes him feel... used. Dirty, even though having sex is not something to be ashamed of.

“He didn’t do it,” Nicaise tells him, when he catches Laurent staring at Damen again. It’s been three days since their sex tape first got sent out, and everyone’s still talking about it.

Laurent hasn’t talked to anyone, hasn’t said a word. He’d cried for an embarrassingly long time in Auguste’s arms, and then in Nicaise’s. For all him and Nicaise insult each other, they’re friends, real friends, and Nicaise had let him cry on his shoulder for as long as he needed. He’d punched one of the football players in the face after he’d made a comment about how good Laurent is at ‘taking it’.

“What?” Laurent shifts his eyes to him.

“He didn’t do it.” Nicaise says. “The giant animal. He’s too pathetically in love with you to do anything of the sort.”

Laurent’s heart clenches in hope. He wants, more than anything else, for Damen to not have done this, because that way he’s at least not been betrayed by the person he loves.

“It was his bedroom,” He says finally, stabbing the salad on his plate with a fork. He’s not eating it, but he can at least take out some feeling on it. “Who else could’ve filmed it?”

“Frat houses aren’t exactly the epitome of privacy.” Nicaise sounds skeptic. “And it’s not like Damianos is a prude, alright. He has other sex tapes. He asked all of his previous partners, or they asked him. He would’ve talked to you.”

And really, Laurent doesn’t want to think about Damen’s exes. He knows he has his long - long - past, and he doesn’t mind; it used to make him a little self-conscious, his lack of experience, but Damen has never made him felt bad about it.

“How would you even know that?” He asks. He didn’t know that; he hasn’t asked, either, and it’s not like he and Damen talk about his past experience unless Laurent explicitly brings it up, but he still feels the spark of jealousy.

“I know things,” Nicaise shrugs. When Laurent gives him a look he rolls his eyes. “Lykaios wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

Laurent hums lightly, shoulders dropping. Nicaise rolls his eyes again.

“Laurent,” he says, in a tone of voice that makes Laurent look at him. “He didn’t do it. Do you want to keep being miserable thinking he did, or do you want to find out who actually did?”

Laurent looks back at Damen again - Damen, who’s trying desperately to catch his eyes, who looks so fucking sad anytime Laurent finds another way to slip away again, Damen who holds Laurent close and whispers sweet things in his ear when he has an anxiety attack that seem to somehow calm him right down.

“I want to find out who did it,” He says finally.

“Alright,” Nicaise shrugs. “Let’s go.”

They talk to a lot of people. Laurent and Nicaise aren’t widely liked, but they’ve enough people willing to tell them things not to need to be liked. Laurent knows most of everything about everyone, and he always, always has the last word. It’ll be no different now.

Most of the information is useless. They get bits and pieces, of people who wanted to get back at Laurent - unsurprising - some who don’t like Damen - very, very few - and some who are just shitty enough to do it without reason.

Laurent’s about to give up when someone mentions it.

“Your brother,” Pallas tells him. He feels guilty for being the one to play the video, even if it wasn’t on purpose, so he’s been ranting for some time now. “Something happened, Friday before the party. I don’t know what, but when Govart got to practice that day he was furious. Kept talking about how he was going to get back at Auguste, how he had no right-”

“What?” Laurent asks sharply. No one had mentioned that. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Pallas says, apologetic. “But he was furious. Then this happened, and yesterday during practice he was whistling.”

It’s not evidence, not really, but it’s enough for Laurent.

“Thank you, Pallas.” He says, and he walks away.

Auguste is a good teacher. A good, good professor, Laurent knows. He finds out things about his students - a lot of things, because everyone trusts him to tell him anything - and he never uses it against them. Laurent knows that - in more than one occasion - he’s found students with drugs, or stealing, or doing a multitude of other things they’re not supposed to, and he never reports it like he’s supposed to. He helps them.

Auguste must’ve found something on Govart. And if he confiscated it, if he didn’t report it, it must be at their house.

Laurent is not one to enjoy to break into Auguste’s privacy - he loves his brother more than anyone, and trusts him to tell him anything he needs to know - but he doesn’t want to tell Auguste what he’s looking for. It’ll make Auguste feel guilty.

He searches his brother’s bedroom, doesn’t take long to find what is undeniably Govart’s.

Laurent stares.

“They’re not mine,” Govart snarls. “I didn’t - someone put them there-”

“Sir, cooperate and this will go easier on all of us.” The cop that is handcuffing Govart’s hands behind his back is frowning. Laurent had heard, of course, that if you wanted a little extra kick, you could get it from Govart. The amount of drugs he’d found in the house - and then the cops had found in his locker after an ‘anonymous tip’ - were something unreal.

“Get off me,” Govart snarls again, struggles against the handcuffs, but the only thing he’s doing is attracting more attention to his arrest. They’re in the middle of the hall, and Laurent is staring openly, smirk small on his lips.

“Sir, calm down.” The cop tells him. “Or I’ll have to use force.”

Govart curses and argues the entire time, but he lets himself be led away from his locker. Laurent watches with great satisfaction.

“Have you gotten rid of the camera?” Laurent asks.

Damen stands from the bed so fast it must be dizzying. The moment his eyes land on Laurent, his entire demeanor changes, face hopeful and open. “Laurent.”

Laurent is trying to pretend he’s fine, but he has his arms wrapped around himself, and being in Damen’s room - knowing Govart was able to put a camera there and not get caught - makes him feel vaguely sick.

“I didn’t do it,” Damen says immediately, with an undertone of urgency that makes Laurent’s heart clench. “I never would’ve - I don’t - I never would’ve done anything like that to anyone, least of all you, I love you so much sweetheart-”

“I know,” Laurent says quietly. “I love you, too.”

And he does, more than anything or anyone else. This time spent apart has only shown him how much he wants to be with Damen, by his side, them, together, against anything or anyone else, it doesn’t matter. It’s them.

“You know?” Damen asks.

Laurent nods and takes a step closer cautiously, uncertainly. He doesn’t know if Damen will be angry at him for not speaking to him, for doing this on his own. Part of him tells him he’s being unreasonable - Damen’s rarely angry with him - but another part tells him he’s ridiculous to have suspected of him in the first place.

“I - thought it was you, at first,” He admits lightly, mouth twisting, guilt and regret in his tone. “I thought that maybe - that that was the whole point of it.” The terrifying thought that Damen had only been dating him as a conquest, only to fuck him, show his friends, and then leave him, had been eating away at him. “Nicaise told me to pull my head out of my ass and see how stupidly in love you with me you were.”

“So I - I watched it again.” It had been sickening, to watch it again. Something he loved, something he enjoyed, something so private being exposed to the rest of the school and twisted into something that it wasn’t. “I recognized - the clothes I was wearing, at the beginning. It was from Friday’s party, so it could’ve been literally anyone who put the camera in your room. “Nicaise helped me narrow it down.”

“You know who it was, then?” Damen asks, fists already clenching. Every muscle in his body is clenched tight, and, in any other context, Laurent would’ve been pushing him into bed now.

“Govart,”

“Fuck,” Damen breathes. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“No need,” Laurent says. “I got him expelled.”

It had been quick work, after he’d been arrested. Gods forbid their university was involved in drug dealing.

“You did?” Damen sounds surprised and unsurprised both at the same time. “Fuck, you’re amazing. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too.” Laurent smiles lightly. He shifts uncertainly, and then speaks again. “Can you - hold me? I just - I want to-”

He doesn’t know how to put it into words.

“Of course,” Damen says. “Here?”

And they could go to Laurent’s apartment, but Laurent doesn’t want to be scared of Damen’s room forever. He nods lightly, and so Damen sits on the bed with his legs spread, letting Laurent settle between them. Laurent curls into his chest, and Damen wraps one hand around his waist posessively and the other one around knees, so that he’s wrapped around him. Laurent exhales, relieved.

----------------------------------------

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fatherlyssa · 4 years

Text

The Past.

summary: old feelings and relationships are reunited between y/n and ethan.

"Y/n, you have to come! It'll be so much fun." Cam whined over the phone as you pulled it away from your ear. You placed the phone on speaker and sat it on your bed, continuing to do your laundry.

"Cameron," Your voice trailed off as you held the shirt up in front of you. It was one of his t-shirts. One that you didn't have the heart to throw away or give back to him. You owned it for so long and wore it so often there was holes forming around the neck. The him happened to be Cameron's brother. "I don't think it would be a good idea."

You thought back to the last time you saw him. The cardboard box in your hand was full of everything of his that was at your house. Items ranging from his hairbrush, mouthwash, toothbrush, clothes, pictures, and a couple of movies. You didn't want anything that was going to remind you of him in the slightest.

His reasoning behind the breakup was simply, "I don't love you anymore. Not like I did."

The words replayed in your mind everyday. Everytime you looked in the mirror. Everytime you passed a Sonic because that's where you two ended up every Friday night. A cookie-dough master blast in your hands and a brownie blizzard in his.

How can you just love someone one day and not the next? It never added up in your mind. But you were never raised to beg for anyone to stay in your life that didn't want to be there. So, you let him go. You left his house that day and never saw him again.

The downside of the entire thing was his siblings were your best-friends. Cameron remained one of your closest friends, but Grayson drifted away. It was understandable. Where Grayson was, Ethan followed.

"Look, as far as I know. He's not even going to come. You know how him and Grayson are with alcohol."

Cameron was having a get together at her new house. She had a pool with a jacuzzi made into it and it had a slide going down into it also. It was very nice to say the least. The party wasn't for anything in particular. It was for her to say, "Hey, I have a pool!", and that's okay.

You and Cameron were of legal drinking age so you didn't turn down a beer or seltzer, but Grayson and Ethan's morals stood strong. Usually.

The thought of being able to lay out by the pool while just hanging with some people your own age didn't sound bad at all. It sounded relaxing and that was exactly what you needed after the stressful work week you had before.

"Okay, fine. I'll come, but-"

Before you could finish your statement, Cameron was shouting excitedly about how much you were both going to have. She told you what time to come and then hung up abruptly.

You were going to tell her that if he showed up, you were leaving. No if's, and's or but's about it.

DAY OF THE PARTY

You looked over your outfit in the full body mirror you had set up in the corner of your room. You had lost a little weight within the last five months. Your appetite just wasn't there like it used to be. Nor did you ever have time for with work and all the overtime hours.

The top of the bikini was strapless and was open in the middle, exposing the valley of your breast to the world. The bottoms were just a plain black cheeky style. The bikini was more revealing than what you would normally wear, but it gave you a new found confidence. The confidence that said you didn't cared if showed up at this point.

But, soon it washed away as you put your blue jean shorts and thin white t-shirt on. You were back to your old reserved self.

The drive to Cameron's house took you no longer than fifteen minutes. The closer you got the more your anxiety rose. Several cars were parked in the long driveway and a few on the grass along the curb. You decided to park on the curb, not wanting to get trapped in the driveway if something were to happen.

"Y/n!" Cameron spotted you as soon as you walked through the front door. She was already sporting a bright yellow one piece that made her look super tan and slim. "Here. Your favorite." She reached her hand into a red cooler that was in the kitchen and handed me a mango White Claw.

"Thanks, I'm gonna need about ten more." You laughed with her as you popped the top and took a couple of sips.

She began introducing you to couple of her college friends. A few of them you had already met from other get-togethers and a few were new. By the time she had walked around and talked to everyone with her arm around your shoulder, you had finished your drink.

You were never one to sit around and babysit a drink. You had tried in the past, but it never worked out.

After excusing yourself from the crowd of people in the backyard, you walked into the kitchen. It looked as if everyone had moved the party outside. The sun was shining brightly and a few people had already gathered in the pool also.

"Oh! Excuse me.." As you stood up from where you were bending down by the cooler, the back of your body collided with someone else's.

"No worries." your breath caught in your throat as you turned around to face him.

His hair was gone. He had buzzed it. You knew of this because you watched the video. Seeing it in person now, you realized it suited him well. His shoulders seemed more broad than they were before. He had definitely been working out.

You shook your head and pulled your eyes away from him. Without another word added to the conversation you walked away. Part of you wished you wouldn't have apologized to him, but your good nature and manners would have never let that happen.

"Come get in the pool, Y/n!" Your eyes landed on the blonde haired boy with dark brown eyes. Introduced to you as Bryce about ten minutes ago.

"I will in a minute!" You told him with a smile as you opened your new drink. It was a lemon flavored white claw. Why would I grab this?

Your mind was still racing from the prior happenings. Should you leave? If you leave right now he'll know it was because of him. He'll think he has some sort of upper hand on your emotions still. You have to let him know you don't care. Even though you still do.

You took a seat in one of the lounge chairs that were placed around the pool and continued sipping your drink, watching everyone around you have fun. While you were stuck in your shell of anxiety.

When you were younger, early teens probably, you used to get anxiety attacks quite frequently. They came at random times even when you thought you were okay. After a year of them happening you were taken to the doctor and put on a certain medication. The attacks went away.

About a year ago, when you were happy and full of life you stopped taking them. You didn't need them. The people in your life at the time had taught you how to not worry about things so much and to just go with the flow.

Now, as you sat on the lounge chair you felt like you were a mile away from everyone else. You could them all talking, but you couldn't understand what they were saying. It was happening again. And you hadn't had one in so long, you didn't think you could remember how to handle it.

You stood to your feet, cupping your hands around your face to try and focus on what was in front of you. You could feel your breathing begin to get uneven as you stepped into the house.

Your feet led you to the bathroom on the bottom floor, your back sliding down the wall with your knees pressing to your chest.

Focus, Y/n. You're fine.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" It was him. He noticed your absence from the party. He was the first of your friends to witness one of these episodes. And he was the first person in your life who took their time and helped you through the episode.

Before you could respond the door opened and he knew what was happening. He closed and locked the door behind him, sitting down directly in front of you.

"Shh," You didn't know you were making any noises. "You're okay. Everything's fine." His words sent a calming effect over your body.

Even if he was the one who caused the attack, he still somehow was managing to stop it.

"Look at me." His voice wasn't harsh. It was easy and smooth. You had no choice but to follow his orders. His eyes were still the same. Still had the same shine to them. "Breathe with me."

Your chest rose and fell with his. Your hands still cupped your own face. It was a thing you did that you noticed seemed to help you. It blocked out everything that didn't matter.

"Your hair looks pretty." He said, his finger reaching up to twirl a piece of it around his finger.

He had noticed the highlights you got. Most of them had faded and blended in with your natural hair color, but he still took notice.

"Thanks. So does yours." You giggles at the fact that he really didn't have any at that moment. He took the sarcasm like a champ, flicking an imaginary ponytail over his shoulder in the process.

Silence overtook the bathroom. It was comfortable and not awkward. Who would have thought sitting in a bathroom with your ex-boyfriend would be anything but relaxing?

"Why haven't you been taking your medicine?"

Here came the parenting Ethan. When you were together, you didn't need to take them. He was your medicine. He made you forget your problems.

"I forgot." It wasn't a lie. You really did forgot about it. Most of the time you were too busy to sit and wonder or overthink things that would lead to these episodes.

The silence flooded back and all you could hear was each of your breathing. At this point neither of you knew what to say. Was there anything that needed to be said?

Ethan moves abruptly and stood to his feet in front of you. You stared up at him as he outstretched both of his hands down to you. You were hesitant at first, but slowly let your hands slip into his. They had the same warm feeling. The warm feeling that made you feel safe.

As you brushed your shorts off and pushed some of your hair behind your ears Ethan spoke up.

“Hey, Y/n?” You peered up at him, your eyebrows furrowing together a bit.

In an instant his lips were pressed against yours. The kiss shocked you, leaving you stunned and pushed against the bathroom wall. Almost as if you had just gained your consciousness, you let your lips move against his.

It was rough and needy. It was something both of you needed.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, letting one of your hands cradle the back of his neck while the other one fell further down his back holding his body tightly to yours. His rough fingertips pressed into the bottom of your thighs and he picked you up, turning the two of you around so you now sat on the sink counter.

His lips pulled away from yours only to reattach themselves to your neck. A small moan fell from your lips as soon as he sucked on the one spot he knew drove you crazy.

“Ethan,” His name fell from your lips smoothly, “Wait, stop.” You forced the words out of your mouth.

As much as you didn’t want the actions to stop, you knew they needed to. This was wrong. You two were supposed to be broken up. But here you sat on a bathroom counter with your legs wrapped around his waist and his lips pressed against your neck.

“Why?” He stopped the magic he was doing on your neck and moved to look you in your eyes once again. “Don’t you miss this? Us?” His eyes held hope and lust. Which are the two worst emotions to mix together. Because nothing good ever comes from either.

“Ethan. Of course I do. You did this. You ruined us. You walked away from this.” You scooted your way off the counter and began to leave the bathroom.

Only to be stopped by a hand grabbing yours.

“I know I did. I did that because I knew I wasn’t good enough for you. I’ll never be your knight in shining armor that comes to save the day. You deserve someone who doesn’t forget your anniversary and brings you flowers. I knew I could never be that person for you.” His voice cracked at the end. Your gaze began to get blurry as you focused on his t-shirt.

“You don’t get to decide whether you’re good enough for me, Ethan. I get to decide that. You were perfect. I don’t need flowers. I can’t take care of myself What makes you thing I can take care of a plant?” You chuckled as you wrapped your arms around yourself to almost try and hold yourself together.

He silently stared at you for a second until he spoke up again.

“Do you still love me?” It was a whisper. Almost like he was dreading an answer in return.

“Never stopped.”

You didn’t want to be stuck in the tiny room with him any longer. You could feel the bubble growing in your throat and that was you needed was for him to see you breakdown. Twice in one day.

You didn’t bother telling Cameron goodbye or any of your new friends. You headed straight to your car and left. Never looking back to see if he followed or if he chased you down like the do in movies. Because you knew if you did, your hopes would crushed looking at the empty road.

#ethan dolan #grayson dolan #dolan twins

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beetlebitchywitch · 4 years

Text

Dissonant Notes, Part 2

Welp, here she is. Part 2 to the super soft Dewey fic I wrote waaaaaay too long ago. Will there be a Part 3? Maybe? We’ll see how this goes...

Part 1

The minute you got back to your apartment after work, you flew into a whirlwind. You tossed discarded shirts into your hamper, dusted the coffee table, fluffed your throw pillows, and completed just about any other unnecessary chore you could think of to keep your mind off the fact that Dewey was coming over tonight.

You saw him in the halls just after the bell rang, and for the first time in the history of your friendship with Dewey, you had difficulty stringing words together. God, you’re a fucking teacher and yet you feel like you’re in middle school again, your cheeks flushed and hands just barely trembling.

“Hey, Dewey, you got a minute?” you asked, your heart pounding away in your chest.

“Of course, Ms. L/N, what’s up?” he asked, fixing you with a steady gaze and a barely-there smirk. You were surrounded by students rushing to their buses or their parent’s cars, yet you couldn’t look away from him and the way he was looking at you.

“Um, about tonight. I was thinking I could cook us dinner? It’s the least I could do for you being willing to help me with my musical ability...or lack thereof, rather,” you joked awkwardly. His smirk only grew, his knowing look agitating the butterflied that have recently made their residence in your stomach.

“Text me your address and I’ll be there.” And with a simple wink, he was gone. You watched him walk down the hall and out the door, not once looking back in your direction.

...You were so fucked.

You had a little over an hour until Dewey arrived, so you set to work preparing a modest meal for the two of you. Given your overabundance of fresh produce, you decided to go with a stir fry, throwing every appropriate vegetable you could find into a large wok. You slowly fell into a groove, which cooking always helped you to do. You could simply zone out as you prepared the rice, chopped up some chicken, seasoned your vegetables, and threw it all together into something that looked and smelled delicious. You looked down at your work with pride...until, of course, the panic set in.

God, you don’t even know if he liked stir fry! What if he was a vegetarian? What if he’s allergic to something you used? Oh God, your first...get together, because date feels presumptuous, with Dewey and you might just up and kill him! He was so put together and smooth this afternoon and here you were, putting together a meal that could poison him and sweating at the mere thought of being in the same room alone with him because you were so-

Before the voices in your brain could take you over, there was a loud knock on your door. Fuck. Fuck. No turning back now.

You took a deep breath and made your way to the door, attempting to compose yourself before you opened it to reveal a smiling Dewey.

“Hey Y/N!” he said cheerily, still in his work clothes with his guitar case in hand. “Sorry I’m a little late, I got a bit lost trying to find your place.”

“That’s alright! Come on in,” you said shyly, stepping back to give him room to enter your apartment. Frankly, you hadn’t even noticed he was late; anxiety tended to distract you from things like that. “I, uh, I made a stir fry with chicken and rice! I really should’ve asked what you’d like to eat, so I’m sorry if you don’t like it-”

“Y/N,” he said fondly, “it’s alright, it smells really good. I’m used to cold pizza and stale fries on Friday nights, so this is a nice change of pace.”

You returned his smile and walked him into the kitchen, dishing out servings of the meal for each of you. He took his plate happily, deeply inhaling the savory smell with a soft smile. God, he was adorable. You led him to the living room and plopped down on your couch, looking up at him expectantly. He slid down next to you, leaving a less-than-desirable gap between you as you readily dug into your food.

“Y/N, this is really good,” he mumbled, his mouth stuffed full as he chewed. “I’m gonna start paying you to bring me lunch to school.”

“No can do, sadly. If I do it for you, then everyone’s gonna start wanting me to cook for them, and then I’m not gonna have any after-school time for you to try and teach me how not to suck at music,” you laughed, trailing the end of your fork nervously around your plate.

“Come on, it can be our little secret,” he teased with a wink. You simply avoided his gaze and continued to eat, feeling like the blazing heat in his eyes might set you ablaze if you looked at them.

“I’ll think about it,” you conceded quietly. “Hey, aren’t you a little uncomfortable in your work clothes? My bathroom’s down the hall if you brought anything to change into.” Dewey’s eyebrow quirked, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“Trying to get me out of my clothes already, huh? Come on, Y/N, we haven’t even finished eating yet!” he said slyly. You scoffed, trying to play off the heat rising to fill your cheeks by launching yourself off of the couch and stealing his near-empty plate, ignoring his complaining as you placed his dish in the fridge.

“Oh come on, you deserved that,” you joked, closing the fridge behind you with finality. “You can have your food back when you learn to behave.”

“Oh, and you’re gonna teach me, are you?” he asked, mischief dripping from every word. God, you wanted to kiss that smirk off his stupid face, damn him.

“Last I recall, you’re the one that’s supposed to be doing the teaching,” you pointed out, grabbing his guitar case from the end table next to the couch. “That is what you’re here for, remember?”

“Y-yeah, right,” he stammered, the bravado in his voice making way for a shaky shyness. “Let’s get to work, then! Could I, uh...I think I could help you better if I was sitting sort of behind you?”

It took everything in you not to flash him the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable. His “Mr. Smooth” persona was gone, replaced with a blushing, stuttering mess that suddenly made you feel much better about your inability to speak around him- clearly, your feelings were not one sided, but you chose to let that discussion come about naturally. Resisting the urge to tease him, you sat yourself between his legs on the couch, leaning back into his chest slightly as he placed his guitar into your lap. He began walking you through the most basic chords he could teach you, his arms wrapping around you to help guide your fingers to their proper positions. He was perfectly warm, and his hands were gentle, with rough fingertips calloused from years of guitar playing. The hard skin pressed wonderfully into your hands as he guided you, explaining each chord in as much detail as he could. You couldn’t have paid attention to what he was saying if he tried- his breath was rushing hotly over your skin, sending shivers down your spine that you’re sure he could feel. He was soft and warm and wonderful and you’re not sure you could take it much longer.

“D-Dew,” you murmured, feeling him still behind you. You’re sure you’d just cut off some explanation of the importance of the G chord, but honestly, you weren’t quite sure. “If you want me to be able to pay attention, you’re gonna want me to move.”

He remained still for a moment, his breath coming steadily as it puffed onto the bare skin of your shoulder. You held your own breath, eyes sliding shut as you waited for his response.

“I...I don’t want you to move.”

Those hushed words sent heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. Slowly, you turned slightly in his arms, finally getting a good look at his face- his cheeks were flushed, his lips just barely touching and his eyes were trained solely on you. You placed his guitar to the side, giving his arms room to curl around you as you stared into his eyes.

“...Show me.”

Your murmured words snapped him out of his reverie, and with a small sigh he pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours. Your hands drifted up to wrap around his neck, kissing him back as sweetly as you could manage. His hands rested on your hips, grounding you to the moment, this beautiful moment you finally got to share with him.

When he pulled away, he took a whine with him, your body involuntarily voicing its disagreement. He chuckled, lifting one hand to rest it on your cheek.

“Sorry it took a fucking guitar lesson to get me to finally kiss you,” he murmured, his signature smirk returning to his lips. You chuckled, leaning into the warmth of his touch.

“Oh, that was your plan all along, was it?” you joked. “I should’ve guessed, you were quite the smooth operator this afternoon.”

“Oh, in the hallway? Yeah, I kinda walked out to my car after that and screamed into my steering wheel, so...” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I wanted to...impress you, I guess? Though when it came down to it, I couldn’t keep it up for very long.” You snickered, turning your head to press a delicate kiss into the center of his palm.

“You impressed me a long time ago, Mr. Finn,” you said with a soft smile. “Truth is, I was so worried about impressing you that I could barely think straight. Guess we both worried for nothing, hmm?” He chuckled, letting his thumb stroke over your cheek.

“I mean, your guitar skills could still use a little work, but-”

“Oh, you’re one to talk! My chord progression was smoother than you by the end of tonight!”

“Oh no, why must you hurt me this way? Attacking my flawless flirting technique with music?!”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“No, yup, OK, that works too.”

He pulled you snugly into his arms once more, pressing sweet kiss after sweet kiss against your lips. You’d talk about what it all really meant later- for now, you were content to enjoy this moment with the man you cared about the most.

I feel like I could do a Part 3, but I’ll gauge it by reader interest I suppose? Let me know what you guys think!

#school of rock #school of rock broadway #dewey finn #dewey finn hc #dewey finn headcanon #dewey finn x reader #dewey finn/reader #dewey finn fic #dewey finn fanfic #dewey finn fanfiction #alex brightman #school of rock fluff #fluff

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vitanes · 5 years

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say it’s okay when it’s not

chapter 10: two slow dancers

Lucas tries to pull himself up after the accident, has conversations that make him breathe easier and receives an unexpected confession.

(a/n: internalised homophobia, suicidal ideation)

They were expelled. Lucas was sitting down on a chair next to the principal’s office, his body trembling when his father came out of the office and told him that. He also said Lucas could press charges against them, but at this point, Lucas’ brain had shut off. In all honesty, it stopped properly working the moment he had been attacked and Lucas wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to think normally again.

He lost consciousness due to all of the stress and pain so he only knows what happened from bits and pieces he was able to grasp when people recalled the event. As it turned out, Alexia and Daphne were walking down the hall when they saw what was happening. They quickly contacted the rest. Imane went to get the principal while the others came to Lucas’ rescue. His friends dragged the bullies away from him, landed a few punches themselves and soon enough the whole thing was resolved.

While Lucas was regaining his senses in the nurse’s office, his father was called in and by the time he was let out, his father was ready to share the news and drive him to the flat.

Lucas has been unresponsive ever since he woke up. He hasn’t said a word to any of his friends nor to his father. Under normal circumstances, he’d probably be baffled. He hasn’t seen his old man in months, their last conversations were messy. And yet, Lucas couldn’t find it in himself to care hard enough to even look at him.

He mechanically left the car once they pulled up by the building and didn’t look back at all before walking in.

He’s been broken to pieces and in the grand scheme of things, the issues with his father simply don’t matter.

***

Lucas hasn’t been able to feel anything but pain and indifference for the past few days. He isn’t sure what caused the latter, but he’s certain it’s the only thing keeping him sane, away from exploding so he’ll take it over anything else. He hasn’t been able to eat, he’s been barely getting out of bed and all he’s been doing is sleep a lot. When he sleeps it doesn’t hurt as much. And people say that sleep is good for healing, so perhaps it’s not that bad.

His ribs, abdomen, various parts of his body are ugly purple and he can’t roll over without hissing in pain.

As much as he tends to overthink, this time his mind is blank and hollow. Full of white noise. And maybe that’s good, too. Maybe that’s what he needs right now. The only kind of peace his brain is able to offer him. If he doesn’t think, he can’t keep reliving that nightmare and it’s the best alternative even if it leaves a mere ghost of him present. Either sleeping or staring up at the ceiling with insistent buzzing at the back of his head.

Maybe it’s his phone. Or someone talking to him without him noticing them.

He closes his eyes and doesn’t dream at all.

***

A few things happen. Lucas eats something, takes a shower, snaps out of his daze and has a breakdown over seeing all of the bruises over his skin.

He gets back to his bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping and limbs shaking.

He isn’t sure he can face the world ever again. He’s too terrified, too weak, too vulnerable.

He’s gay and that makes him a target.

There are more people who will want to hurt him, he knows that. Each and every person from his school who didn’t do anything while he was being attacked. A whole bunch of students who wouldn’t care if he had been kicked until he wouldn’t be able to wake up.

He doesn’t want it to happen. He doesn’t want to die because of it, God, he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be ambushed and treated this way again. That’s why he can’t leave the flat. It’s too dangerous.

The world is too cruel out there and Lucas has never been much of a fighter to handle it. But he’s been a survivor and he’ll do what survivors do best – stay in safety, alive. Be hidden, unharmed.

***

At some point, Lucas does what he shouldn’t. He checks his social media.

The moment he stumbles across all of the posts he’s been tagged in since Friday, he can’t breathe properly. There are very few sympathising with him, but the majority of what he sees makes his gut churn. So many people just make fun of it, as if it was nothing. He sees a blurry picture of the boys landing kicks on him and the caption says me vs my responsibilities. There are more of these and Lucas just can’t get his head around the fact his tragedy has been made into a meme.

Videos have been posted as well. With much hesitation, Lucas plays one. He hears people cheering, the way boots contact with his body and wailing. His own. The other videos aren’t any better. Only snippets, a few seconds but it’s enough to make Lucas’s heart beat faster. He’s cold with sweat, body shaking.

There is one clip showing the moment his friends entered. It’s messy, the quality is shit, but Lucas recognises them anyway. Basile is sent flying when he tries to pull one of the bullies away. Arthur jumps on the back of the tallest one, strangling him and yelling obscenities. Yann socks another one in the eye and gets a hit in return that makes him stagger backward, but he doesn’t seem defeated. Eliott runs into the last one and they both end up on the floor, fighting. The video cuts at the moment the principal arrives. Lucas’ wasn’t imagining things when he saw Imane before blacking out because she’s there, too. Trying to get to Lucas.

Something in Lucas’ chest squeezes and he watches the video two more times before moving on. He feels guilty. They were hurt because of him, maybe had to face some consequences for getting into a fight. They’ve got bruises on their skin.

Lucas is nothing but a burden to them. First with rent money, now this. He couldn’t even defend himself. All he did was lie down and be kicked, begging someone to help him. How can he be so weak?

The more he scrolls down the page, the more he realises it’s just a joke for others. He and his friends suffered injuries and people laugh at it.

Lucas clutches the phone in his palm, sniffing. He doesn’t think he can watch more of it. Seeing the way he was attacked like that has caused him so much anxiety he’s almost overflowing. He can feel every hit again when he moves his hand over his chest and lower, his fingers pressing against the bruises. The skin is tender and the harder he presses, the more he can’t take a proper breath. But he can’t stop his fingertips from dancing over the area, making him gasps with each touch. He is in pain, but he can’t stop himself. Can’t stop after what he’s seen. He must prove to himself the videos are real, that it happened and it’s not just a figment of his imagination. Not something that can be easily turned into a joke. That he was genuinely screaming for help, not acting for someone’s entertainment. But no matter how deep he digs his fingers into the raw flesh, he can’t shake off the feeling that he was only a puppet. A part of the show that has now become a meme.

Someone knocks and he jumps between the sheets, his hand stopping in the middle of his ribs. He looks towards the door, letting out a shuddering exhale.

“Lucas, can I come in?” It’s Mika’s raspy and quiet voice. He sounds off and Lucas briefly wonders why. Right after that, he thinks whether he should say yes. He hasn’t shown himself to any of them in a couple of days. And he isn’t sure he’s ready for it. So he stays quiet.

Much to no one’s surprise, Mika takes it as confirmation and opens the door. In the last second, before Mika steps in, Lucas removes his hand from under his shirt. He wouldn’t know how to explain himself.

Mika sits at the edge of Lucas’ bed and the way his gaze is boring into Lucas’ face is so intense Lucas can’t bring himself to meet Mika’s eyes.

“I can’t watch you doing this to yourself,” Mika says, his voice quiet. “You’ve been crying again,” he adds, reaching out his hand. He uses his thumb to wipe under Lucas’ eyes and it’s then that he realises his cheeks are wet. “Let me be there for you. Tell me what’s going on.” He retreats his hand.

“Haven’t you heard?” Lucas asks and his voice sounds so foreign to his own ears, he needs a moment to grasp the fact he said it.

“I want to hear it from you. I– you deserve to have a voice. I haven’t seen anything, I haven’t asked other people who seemed to know. I knew something was going on. But I’m not going to let someone take it away from you. So I stayed away from everything that could give me answers. It’s your thing to tell,” Mika says, his expression serious and Lucas believes him. He’s completely sincere and considering his lack of reaction Lucas was expecting when the pictures were leaked or when Lucas was hit with that ball, he knows Mika is telling the truth.

Lucas bites down on his bottom lip. “But you know,” he says as a statement and there’s so much sadness painted over Mika’s face in that moment, Lucas doesn’t need any other response.

Mika looks down at his lap. “It’s hard not to connect the dots when I see so much of myself in you,” he whispers, his voice sounding distant. He glances back at Lucas. “But maybe I’m wrong. I want to be wrong, have you tell me you’ve become a streetfighter,” he adds sheepishly.

Lucas tries to smile, but considering how Mika’s face falls he thinks he didn’t do a good job. He blinks a few times to will the tears away. He isn’t sure he can say everything without breaking down, but at this point, will he have enough power ever to do that?

Probably not, so the best way to tell his story is from the beginning.

“The reason I didn’t have money for rent was… was because I had to pay someone who caught me kissing a person I shouldn’t have and took pictures of us. But I ran out of money and they leaked the pictures. People have been giving me hell, but the guys from my PE class took it to the extreme. And here I am,” Lucas says and realises that even when he was telling the truth, he was using words so vague, that normally someone would find the whole thing confusing. One look at Mika, though, and Lucas knows he’s been understood.

He doesn’t have to say it out loud in order to be heard. Not when it comes to Mika.

Mika sighs loudly and moves closer. “I wish I had known earlier. I’d have helped you more. What happened to the blackmailer?” Lucas shrugs. He hasn’t heard from them in a long time. “The bullies?”

“They were expelled.”

“What about you?” Mika finally asks and the question is so loaded, Lucas feels like he’s been punched in the face once again. What about him? He’s beaten, lost, broken. He’s got no place in the world, he can’t look at himself and the worst of it all? Sometimes he thinks he deserved what happened to him. He knows he shouldn’t have thoughts like that, but every now and then the small voice in the back of his head, the one that always spits out hatred, will say that they should have hit him harder. “I can hear you thinking but I can’t hear you talking,” Mika says after a few minutes of silence.

And Lucas looks at him then, so earnest to help, so worried. Maybe he’d understand if Lucas told him?

“I feel awful. I don’t want to leave this place because I’m scared. And guilty for dragging my friends into this, but at the same time I think that maybe those guys were right to do this,” he says in one breath, his left hand curled up into a fist.

“Oh, Lucas… don’t. Please, don’t,” Mika says, placing his hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “Under no circumstances would they ever be right to hurt you for being you. And you haven’t dragged anyone into this. Friends help each other. Lucas, hey, look at me.” He puts a finger under Lucas’ chin and tilts his head up. Lucas’ eyes sting from unshed tears.

“What if I hate being me? Being this way?” he asks and Mika scowls at him.

“Tell me, what’s making the way you love someone worse than the way, for example, Manon does? Our sexuality isn’t wrong or dirty, how we feel isn’t any different. And honestly? Sometimes we love more deeply because we have a different understanding of things. Because we’ve been deprived of love in our lives. The way you are is beautiful and in no way, someone beating you up for that could be justified. We are already hated by society, you can’t let them convince you they’re right. You can’t let them win,” Mika says and the way his voice trembles by then end tells Lucas he’s fought enough battles to know what he’s saying.

“But if I was normal everything would be so much easier. No one would hurt me, think I’m gross, I wouldn’t be rejected. I’d have a chance in life.”

Something dark flashes across Mika’s face. “Does that mean you think I don’t have a chance in life? Or other gay people for that matter?” It’s the first time one of them used that word in the whole conversation and Lucas flinches.

“No, I–“

“We are normal, you, me. I know you have so much internalised crap in yourself it’s not easy to overcome, but I really wish you could realise that. We go to school or work, we fall sick and in love, we eat, we fuck, we have families. We’re sad, happy, we pay bills. We have to fight a little harder for everything, but we aren’t some weirdos. There are other groups of people that share the same struggles, you know? And sure, we’re the rejected ones, but when that happens we create our own homes, safe places. There are plenty of things people consider gross, but that can’t define you. You have to live your life for yourself. Don’t let the big white cis straight guy dictate how you should be.” Mika pulls away, his face full determination all over. And a part of Lucas feels inspired, wants to agree. It’s overshadowed by everything that’s been ingrained in his mind throughout the years but even if it’s merely a planted seed, an inkling, it’s an accomplishment.

Lucas wipes his face with his sleeve. “What should I do, though?” he asks in a weak voice.

Mika hums thoughtfully. “You can’t hide. You aren’t in a place where it’s easy for you to accept things, but you can’t hide. You can’t be easy prey. You have to fight back. There’s no way for you to go back into the closet anymore. So you need to embrace it. And even if you don’t believe it now, you know what they say, right?” Mika smiles at him encouragingly, a new fire in his eyes. Oh, how Lucas wishes he could feel the same.

“I don’t,” he breathes out.

“Fake it until you make it. Own it. Be unbearable. If they spit into your eye, you spit back. You don’t let that experience weaken you, but make you stronger. Report them. When they talk shit, talk back. Kiss the boy you like.” It all seems easier said than done. Lucas isn’t sure he could stand up for himself, especially that all other times he was paralysed by fear. But Mika is right with one thing, he can’t go back into the closet. The way he was outed was merciless and didn’t give him a way to deny anything. He needs to find an alternative.

“I don’t like any boy,” he says, remembering that part of Mika’s speech.

Mika looks at him, perplexed. “You don’t?” Lucas shakes his head and Mika blinks in confusion before waving his hand dismissively. “That’s beyond the point. What I mean is that you don’t let them crush you. I’m not telling you everything will get great, no. But don’t make it easy for them.”

There’s a lot of truth in what Mika’s told him so far. A lot Lucas still can’t take to his heart, yet. But maybe one day he’ll be able to feel the same way. One thing that surely reached him is that despite never being a fighter, nothing can stop him from pretending.

Mika can be many things; nosy, loud, all over the place, but the way he cares and gives Lucas will to live outweighs anything else. He’s family, a family that won’t leave Lucas alone with everything that’s been going on. And even if Lucas doesn’t love himself, Mika will love him twice as much. He couldn’t have wished for more.

***

Lucas hasn’t gone to school but decided to leave the flat nevertheless. To clear his mind, maybe, or just get away from these taunting four walls. It’s been a few days since he breathed some fresh air and it could help him figure some stuff out. Do things he’s been postponing for weeks.

He asked Yann to meet up with him, by the lake. He thinks that after days of silence and everything that happened, it was the right moment to talk. And Yann is his person. No matter how much love other people offer to him, no matter how magnetic his connection with Eliott is, Lucas can’t deny the fact Yann is his home and the first one he wants to see.

It’s windy outside and Lucas thinks it may start raining any time. That’s good. There aren’t many people in the park. That way Lucas won’t feel crowded.

He came early, much earlier than the time they set up. To come up with what to say, to have a moment to brace himself before seeing Yann.

To make a phonecall he couldn’t bring himself to make in the flat.

It takes three signals for his mom to pick up.

“Hello? Lucas?” she asks. Even hearing these two words makes Lucas realise how different her voice is from the last time he heard her. How much more life there is in her. His throat closes up and he can’t speak for a moment. He expects his mom to hang up, think he dialed her by accident and simply press the ending-call button. But the call is still on once he finds his breathing again, his mother patiently waiting for him on the other side.

“Hi, mom,” he finally croaks out. His leg starts involuntarily bouncing.

“Hey, honey,” she replies, her voice filled with warmth. Lucas threads his fingers through his hair, making it messy. He should have texted her, it would have been easier.

“Is it okay to call?” he asks, looking around himself as if someone was going to jump out from behind the bush and told him off for calling his mom.

“Of course. It’s been so long since I heard from you,” she says, but there’s no accusation in her voice. Lucas would be angry if he was her. Not calm or understanding.

“How are you?” he asks, bringing his hand up to his face and brushing his thumb over his bottom lip.

“I’m quite well. I’ve been into knitting lately. Helps me relax. We finally found the right medication. I’ve been going to church. You know, the usual,” she says, laughing a little. She’s so different from how he remembers her. Last time he saw her, she was barely present, she was shaky and her skin looked almost translucent. “I’ve missed you,” she admits quietly. “Your dad doesn’t talk with me much so I couldn’t find out anything from him.”

Lucas pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and grits his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he says and he means it. He abandoned her for months, left her alone in the facility, fully aware his father didn’t give a fuck. He ran away from her when she needed him the most.

“Don’t be. You had the right to live. And I’m your parent, not the other way around. The situation was too much for each one of us. But don’t blame yourself, okay? I’m happy you called. That’s what matters to me. How have you been?” She’s composed for both of them and that’s what keeps Lucas grounded. He has no idea what he’d do if he had to be the comforting one again. Especially given his current situation. He really needs her right now.

“So much has happened, mom. Bad things. I’m not sure I can tell you through the phone,” he mumbles. Yann is going to come soon, he doesn’t have enough time to say half the things he wants to.

“We could meet,” she says and the breath in Lucas’ throat hitches. “Of course only if you want to. I don’t want to put any pressure on you. I know it could be too fast or–“

“No, no. We can,” Lucas cuts in. His mom sounded panicked for a second, like she overstepped the boundaries and Lucas doesn’t want her to feel that way. Not when she’s been trying so hard to reach out to him. “But there’s one condition,” he says, his voice cracking.

“Which is?” she asks hopefully. Lucas takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“If you promise you won’t hate me, I’ll meet with you.”

“Why would I hate you?” There’s confusion in her words.

He takes a deep breath and counts to ten before speaking again.

“I’m– I’m gay,” he whispers, checking once again if there’s no one else nearby. It’s the first time he said it out loud like that. His heart is pounding in his chest and his palms are sweaty. He can’t believe that in the end his voice barely broke and he was able to utter it. It feels unreal.

His mother stays quiet for a few seconds and it feels like forever before he hears her voice again.

“Lucas, you are my child. I love you no matter what. Nothing can change it. All I want for you is to be happy. I could never hate you, especially not for something like this,” she says solemnly and Lucas lets out a watery exhale.

“Really?”

“Really,” she assures him.

“But God…”

“God makes no mistakes and even if he made them, it wouldn’t be you. He loves you as much as I do, if not more,” his mom replies and Lucas snorts through his stuffed nose.

“Okay, so we can meet. But not in church,” he says and hears his mom laugh. He missed her laugh.

“Fine, but I’m not meeting you in the facility, either.”

“We will figure something out.” She hums and they stay quiet for a few seconds before Lucas registers Yann approaching the bench he’s been sitting on and sits up straighter. “I have to go, but I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says and hangs up just as Yann sits next to him, nudging Lucas’ knee with his leg in the process.

“Hey, man. Who were you talking to?”

“My mom.”

Yann smiles slightly under his nose. “How’d it go?”

“We’re going to meet up,” Lucas replies, his eyes glued to the cut and bruise on Yann’s cheekbone. “You got hurt,” he changes the topic, frowning. He watched the clip where the boys appeared too many times not to know where this injury is from.

Yann clicks his tongue. “Not a big deal. You’ve got it worse.”

“Still. You got hurt,” Lucas mutters stubbornly, reaching his hand out. He brushes his fingers over Yann’s cheek and sees a muscle in his jaw ticking under his touch. “I’m so sorry.” He lets his eyes fall down.

“Shut up,” Yann replies, grabbing Lucas’ wrist and bringing his hand to his chest. “I’d do it again, thousand times. The same with the guys. When I saw you lying there,” he wraps his fingers around Lucas’ palm and squeezes, “for a second I thought I lost you. They were kicking you and you weren’t moving. I don’t care about the bruise. I care about you, about the fact all those people who gathered around you did nothing, about those bullies getting away with that. Which they won’t.” He turns towards Lucas. “I don’t know if you pressed charges against them, but we all did so. We went to the police, we showed our injuries and the videos people posted online. You promised we weren’t going to let it go if something else happened, so we aren’t.”

Yann drops Lucas’ hand and it falls into his lap. Yann scrubs a hand over his face.

They stay quiet, the only noise being the wind blowing around them, moving the branches and making waves in the lake. Lucas keeps staring at Yann while Yann is looking straight ahead, squinting his eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this worried. And this applies to all of us. But. Lucas, you’re my best friend. You’re like a brother to me. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I hadn’t stopped them. And I know you’d do the same for me.” Lucas knows this, too. If there was someone causing Yann harm, he’d be an unstoppable force. That’s just their thing. They are protective of each other. Lucas wouldn’t mind getting a few hits if it meant Yann would be safe. So he understands what he means. But it’s not easy to ignore the guilt building up in him, anyway.

Yann got hurt because of him, that fact stands and Lucas can do nothing about it. He hates feeling so helpless. That must be what Yann was going through when he didn’t know what was going on with Lucas for all those weeks.

“Stop being sorry, stop overthinking it. If anyone should be sorry, it’s the assholes who attacked you.” Yann looks at Lucas and jerks his chin up. “How are you holding up?”

Lucas looks to the side, wets his lips with tongue and says, “Could be better.”

Yann hums. “Have you talked with any of the guys or girls?”

Lucas shakes his head. “You’re the first one,” he mumbles and Yann looks bashful for a second before composing himself.

“They all miss you and worry about you. So when you come back to school be prepared for that. Let them have it, okay? I know it may be annoying but you haven’t seen yourself.”

“I don’t know when I’ll come back. I’m scared. And at this point I’m not sure I’ll pass the year with how much I skipped,” he says, scratching the side of his neck.

“Take your time. And don’t worry, I’m sure you will pass. Don’t give up. And if someone makes things difficult for you again, we will wipe the floor with them.”

Lucas glares at Yann, but there’s no malice in it. Once he’s ready, he will get back to school and he’s going to endure his friends’ protectiveness, he will try to face the troubles that are yet to come and rebuild himself from scratch.

“Thank you. I have no idea what I’d do if not you,” Lucas admits and Yann bumps him in the shoulder with his fist.

“Stop saying that or I’ll cry,” he mutters under his breath. The corners of his lips are twitching up and Lucas can’t help but smile as well.

He throws his arm over Yann’s shoulder and brings him closer.

***

Lucas is taking a nap when he’s woken up by someone loudly calling for him. That someone is Mika and Lucas leaves his bed and room only to tell him off. He’s tired and knowing Mika, it’s probably something very trivial.

While stomping towards the place Mika is screaming from, Lucas doesn’t even open his eyes, fully prepared to go back to sleep in a few minutes. He’s in his rumpled t-shirt that’s slipping off his shoulder, briefs and his feet are bare. The floor is cold and Lucas is going to murder Mika for wanting something from him.

When Lucas eventually reaches Mika, he realises they’re standing by the open door and tilts his head to the side.

“Wouldn’t you look who’s just visited us?” Mika says, wiggling his eyebrows and Lucas looks to the open door, confused. His eyes widen momentarily when he sees Eliott standing on their doorstep, looking bashful and holding up two pizza boxes.

Lucas catches his reflection in the mirror placed by the clothing hanger and is mortified by how his puffy his whole face is and every single strand of his hair is facing in the different direction. He can feel warmth climbing up his neck and reaching his face.

“I hope it’s okay to come. If not I can leave the pizzas and go,” Eliott says, looking nervous. Lucas opens his mouth to say that he’d really appreciate it, no matter how much of a prick he’d be, but Mika beats him to it.

“Nonsense, come in,” he ushers Eliott in and takes one of the boxes from him. “It’s for us, right?” Mika asks, eagerly eyeing the box.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

Mika looks meaningfully at Lucas, his lips stretched in a wide grin. “God, you’re perfect,” he says to Eliott. “Have fun!” Mika exclaims, taking his box to the living room where, going by the excited noises coming from the room, the rest of Lucas’ flatmates are.

So Lucas is left with Eliott alone, looking like death, in only an old t-shirt and boxer briefs. They are both looking everywhere but at each other and after some time it gets unbearable.

“I really can go. I don’t want to bother you,” Eliott says, shoving the pizza into Lucas’ arms. For some reason Lucas shoves the box back and they end up pushing the box between each other for a minute or so before they realise how ridiculous the situation is.

“No, come in. I have to say I wasn’t prepared, but it’s fine. Although, I’m tired of talking about what happened. So can we not?”

Eliott smiles at him and nods, his hair jumping with the movement. “Sure. We can just chill.” He shrugs. Only then does Lucas notice a tiny bruise on Eliott’s jawline and his bottom lip being split. Eliott must see him looking because he raises one of his eyebrows. “We aren’t talking about it, are we?” he teases and pushes the box against Lucas again, this time letting go of it completely. Lucas barely manages to catch it. He tries to ignore the pang of guilt when he moves towards his room.

Eliott is right behind him and that makes Lucas very much aware how underdressed he is. It’s frustrating in a way. He doesn’t want to flesh Eliott accidentally. That would only make things awkward.

Lucas locks the door to his bedroom behind them and puts the pizza on the floor. He opens one of his drawers and takes out a pair of sweatpants. While he’s pulling them on, Eliott makes himself comfortable next to the box. Lucas joins him soon enough.

“Pizza again?” he asks, opening the box. Eliott shrugs one shoulder in response.

They start eating, without exchanging many words between the bites. Before they know it, the pizza is eaten and their stomachs full. It’s silent and Lucas finds it pleasant. He likes moments like that with Eliott. He doesn’t feel pressured to say anything. It makes him appreciate what happens in this exact second. The company and the atmosphere.

Lucas slides down to the floor with an ‘oof’ and scrunches his face up. Too much movement and his body aches. He’s missing out on his healing sleep.

“What have you been up to?” Eliott asks, poking him in the shin with his foot.

“Sleeping, being sad. I called my mom. We’re meeting up next week,” he says, looking towards Eliott.

“Oh, that’s nice. I mean the last part,” he replies, rubbing the tip of his nose with his fingers. His cheeks are dusted pink. It’s probably the light.

“I told her that I’m. You know.” Lucas looks meaningfully at Eliott and gets a nod in return. “She said she loved me no matter what,” Lucas mutters, his voice airy.

“I’m happy. You deserve that.” Eliott sounds genuine, but there’s also something nervous about him. Like his head is somewhere else. Lucas cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Everything alright?” he asks and Eliott chuckles.

“Yeah. It’s nothing. Really.” He waves Lucas off. “Can I put on some music?”

“Go ahead.”

Of course, he plays dubstep. What else.

“Oh, I forgot how exquisite your taste is,” Lucas says in amusement. Eliott places a hand to his chest.

“How could you?” he asks, dramatically wiping a fake tear from under his eye.

“I thought that maybe I dreamed it.”

“I doubt your brain is capable of coming up with such excellence,” Eliott says, standing up. He shakes some invisible dust off his clothes and moves the pizza box to the side with his foot. He extends his hand towards Lucas and looks at him solemnly. “May I have this dance?”

Lucas eyes him and the palm quizzically, but eventually grabs it and lets himself be hauled up until he’s chest to chest with Eliott.

“I’m not going to start jumping to your renovation sounds,” Lucas tells him, looking him straight in the eyes. Not realising their proximity yet.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to,” Eliott says. He’s still holding Lucas’ left hand and his fingers brush the knuckles of Lucas’ right hand gently before he grabs it and puts it on his shoulder. He places his own palm on Lucas’ waist and brings their entangled hands up.

They start swaying and Lucas looks at Eliott like he’s grown a second hand.

“Are we slow dancing? To fucking dubstep?” he asks in disbelief. Eliott ducks his head.

“Yes, we are,” he replies simply and pulls Lucas closer, until they are flush against each other. Lucas yelps, but doesn’t say anything else, too baffled by what’s happening.

Lucas lets Eliott lead them around, following his steps. They move slowly enough for him not to step all over Eliott’s feet or lose breath. His ribs aren’t aching as much and at some point, he’s lulled by the rhythm so much he rests his chin on Eliott’s shoulder. He gets even closer to him, but he doesn’t make anything out of it. Surprisingly enough, he’s content. And relaxed. The dubstep is only a background noise, he’s pretty sure Eliott has his own melody playing in his mind and he makes Lucas follow it.

Lucas closes his eyes and sighs out loud.

Eliott intertwines their fingers and Lucas can feel his breath ghosting over his neck. “I have to tell you something,” Eliott murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“It’s probably obvious by now, but I want to say it anyway,” he pauses and exhales loudly, making goosebumps break out over Lucas’ skin. “I like you. I’ve liked you ever since I saw you. I know my timing is awful. I know that we haven’t been friends for long, but I wanted to be honest with you,” Eliott admits, his voice strained.

Lucas opens his eyes. He can feel his heart speeding up. He misses a step.

“I know I’m putting a lot on you. I don’t… I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t want things to change between us. There’s so much shit going on. So don’t say anything, okay? I just wanted to let you know.” Eliott’s grip on Lucas’ hand tightens for a moment and Lucas can feel how despite sounding calm, he’s trembling.

Lucas is still shocked by the confession, but they are friends first and foremost. Eliott is distressed. So Lucas pushes closer against him and starts rubbing circles with his thumb over his shoulder. He hopes it’s comforting.

“Is it still okay? Us, doing that?” Lucas doesn’t see a reason why it wouldn’t be. He nods. “Can we stay like this a little longer?” Eliott asks in a small voice.

Lucas squeezes his hand.

“Yeah.”

#elu #elu fic #elu fanfic #skam france #skam france fic #skam france fanfic #lucas x eliott #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury

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frangipanidownunder · 4 years

Note

Are you up for every even number on unusual asks?

Here are all the even number answers, now listed 1 to 50. Thanks for the asks, lovely.

is your room messy or clean? All rooms in our house are messy but clean. I put things away and then everyone else leaves stuff all over the place, but it’s clean.

do you like your name? why? Not really. My full name is Victoria, which is nice now, but was considered ‘posh’ back when I went to school I’ve always gone by Vicky, which seems old-fashioned these days.

describe your personality in 3 words or less Complicated, witty, serious.

what kind of car do you drive? color? A blue Hyundai i30.

how would you describe your style? Comfortably plain.

what size bed do you have? Queen with a floofy pillowtop mattress that I love.

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? Either Lyme Regis in England or Narooma in NSW. They are my spiritual homes.

favorite makeup brand(s) I don’t wear makeup but if I have to buy it, I’d probably go for Body Shop.

favorite tv show? The X Files!

how tall are you? 160cm or 5ft2in

do you go to the gym? I drop my eldest boy off outside the gym, does that count?

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? A few coins. My two youngest kids nicked all my notes over the weekend.

how many pillows do you sleep with? One and even then it often gets chucked out during the night.

how many friends do you have? Not many. I left my besties behind when I moved to Oz. I have some special colleagues who make me go out and do girlie things which I grump about but secretly love.

whats your favorite candle scent? I have a sensitivity to smell so I’m always cautious, but I love plain candlewax and the smell of burning matches. Otherwise, vanilla is usually ok.

3 favorite girl names Outside of my daughter’s name, probably Isobel, Imogen and Alexia

favorite actress? Doris Day (still cry when I think about her now).

favorite movie? Calamity Jane. My comfort flick and mood lifter.

money or brains? Brains enough to make a decent living.

how many times have you been to the hospital? For myself, a few operations for a fingernail accident when I was young, tonsillectomy at 27 and four babies. With the kids, febrile convulsions (terrifying) asthma attacks (terrifying), cuts to knees, heads, feet and hands (bloody but not so bad).

do you take any medications daily? No, I use an eczema lotion and eye lubricant every day though

what is your biggest fear? Losing any of my kids and what will happen to our eldest boys (on the spectrum/anxiety)

whats your go to hair style? I wash it every day, floof it with a bit of mousse and leave it to dry in the style, then brush it and that’s it. I haven’t used a hairdryer in years.

who is your role model? People who live their lives honestly, with integrity and are kind.

what was the last text you sent? To Mr F: ‘parked opposite the sausage thing between a red and silver ute’

what is your dream car? 1969 Mercedes Sports convertible in red with chrome details.

do you go to college? I did, and then I did a Cert IV back in 2011 and hated having to work/parent/study at the same time.

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? We live in the country and love it, despite the snakes, fire risk and lack of good shopping.

do you have freckles? A few, but not Gillian Anderson level

how many pictures do you have on your phone? Not sure how you count, but probably more than a thousand.

do you still watch cartoons? I love kids movies, does that count? Ice Age and Shrek are in my top ten movies of all time.

Favorite dipping sauce? Mayonnaise, plain and simple.

have you ever won a spelling bee? They weren’t a thing in the UK when I grew up, but I was always a good speller.

can you draw? Nope. Terrible. I wish I could.

what was the last concert you saw? Amy Shark, back in May.

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Neither? I don’t drink coffee or eat doughnuts (unless I can get to the UK and enjoy a jam one from Sainsbury’s). None of the coffee or doughnut shops make decent tea, so they’re out.

what is your crush’s first and last initial? JD (that’s Mr F).

what color looks best on you? I can wear bright colours well - jewel tones, and I love wearing dark red.

do you sleep with your door open or closed? Closed. Our kids stay up later than we do, lol.

what is your biggest pet peeve? SLOW WALKERS OMG, GET A FUCKING MOVE ON YOU MORONS.

favorite ice cream flavor? Vanilla. I have plain tastes.

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? Chocolate.

what is your phone background? David Duchovny at his Melbourne concert last year. Forearm porn.

do you like it when people play with your hair? Yes! But nobody does it now.

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? Both.

have you ever been drunk? Yep. But not often. I hate being out of control and hangovers.

favorite lyrics right now We’re going to see Middle Kids on Sunday and I love their track Salt Eyes. This is the opening verse which is sung with such aloofness: Friday night, drank a Cab Sav/ At your stupid party, no one danced/ T-shirts, obsolete DVDs/ All these novels I bet you'll never read/ Seemed fine

day or night? Day. I’m an early bird and fall asleep before 9pm, generally.

favorite month? Probably January because although it’s hot and dry, the days are long, Christmas is over, it’s mine and my daughter’s birthday month and we go on holiday.

who was the last person you cried in front of? Everybody on the whale watching cruise when we saw the blue whale mama and bub last month.

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bbbarneswrites · 5 years

Text

Future’s Now

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: For every time Bucky thought of his past, you made him think of his future. Genre: Romance/fluff Rating: T Warnings: Swearings, mental health issues 4,314 words

Notes: Hello! It’s been a very long time since I posted something...and for that I’m sorry. My writing skills seem to be drying out each day and even when I want to write, I just can’t put anything together. This piece started last year and I finally got myself to finish it! It’s not my best but it’s something. I’m hoping to be posting another piece soon until next week. Meanwhile I hope you enjoy this one. Feedback’s always welcome! Happy reading! <3

As soon Bucky steps into the bar, he’s welcomed with the warm temperature of the crowd and its noise, the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. Choosing that place most definitely isn’t his smartest choice, he admits, but the Winter Soldier knows how to blend in anywhere like no one else.

(Plus, this is as near as he can get to his apartment so he can’t exactly complain).

The small dancefloor is packed with people, mostly young and drunk and way too happy when compared to his shit mood but that doesn’t stop him from taking the farthest seat at the bar’s counter, his brown locks falling against his face as soon as he places his order for the strongest drink in the menu. That’s all he needs for now–a drink (that won’t make him drunk, much to his dismay) and a few hours away from the Tower and its residents, including his long lost best-friend.

After completing his fourth mission in about a week and a half, Bucky can’t help but feel annoyed and useless as his teammates keep pestering him about his well-being. Always hearing something among the lines of coping and therapy and health, he pushes all those concerns away because those are things that doesn’t matter now.

Not to his redemption, anyway. Because neither of those things will ever erase whatever shit he’s done over and over for decades in a row.

But this is his easy way out.

It should be easy enough. To spend a night somewhere around people who don’t give a fuck about him or his health. People who might hate him for what he’s done. People who’d rather have their drinks than to pay attention to what’s surrounding them. He just needs a night where he can be a nobody instead of a super soldier in a team of super human beings. And so, that’s the last thing on his mind as he takes sip after sip from his bitter drink–getting recognized.

That doesn’t happen until he takes a note on you standing right beside him, having taken the duty of ordering another round of drinks for your friends. Even though Bucky isn’t in the party looking for something or someone, he has eyes and he can’t deny you’re beautiful. And it’s funny how you’re the first girl to really catch his eye during his first hour spent at the bar.

Your hair frames your face just perfectly and the little make-up you’re wearing it’s enough to do its job and highlight your features. Your outfit isn’t the boldest one he’s seen around but it still makes him squirm a little on his seat, his eyes incapable of not flickering over the expense of your legs exposed by a black skirt, t-shirt tucked under the waistband.

You are beautiful and he can’t deny that.

But his mistake is to think you’re just another face in the crowd.

“You know, if your mugshot hadn’t been plastered in the news for months in a row, you’d give a nice NYU senior.” You say smartly, lips holding back a grin and eyes brimming with amusement while all Bucky can seem to do is stare dumbly, like a fish out of water. “A hipster-like senior, maybe? Really into arts and acting if you squint.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but his mere raise of eyebrows is enough of an answer for you, given that you huff out a little laugh and turn your attention back to the bartender, now lining up six little cups of tequila in front of you.

Putting two and two together and now everything makes sense–the young crowd, the pop music and the insistent drinking. It’s a fucking student party and he’s right in the middle of it. Choosing that place most definitely isn’t his smartest choice, Bucky admits, but he’s surprised to acknowledge that he doesn’t want to leave. Not now, anyway.

“Guess you’d be surprised to know I was an art student back in the day.” Bucky finally breaks his silence, unable to hold back a little grin as he watches you raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Not all history books put that up, huh?”

You chuckle incredulously, eyes firmly set on his imposing frame as he just shakes his head with a deep breath and turns his attention back to the glass hanging from his fingers, holding back back a grin of his own. Bittersweet is the right word for the feeling beaming in his chest, as he misses the days where he could just talk to a girl like a normal guy but dreads the problematic person he’s become after all these years.

Bucky wonders if you’d still give him the time of your day if you knew only half of what he’s done as the soldier.

“Yeah, not all books do that. It’s a shame, really, if you ask me.” You sigh dramatically, placing a hand on your chest until Bucky is snickering in reply and you’re laughing at his sassy reaction. “Okay, so if you really were an art student, what’s your deal when it comes to it? Paintings? Performances?”

Bucky takes a sip of his drink, his lips curving in a small grin as he watches your antecipation over his answer–raised eyebrows, elbows resting on the counter, the tequila shots momentarily forgotten as you stare at him.

For someone who just wanted to get lost in a crowd less than ten minutes ago, he’s very well enjoying being the center of your interest and attention so far, much to his surprise. Oh, life, and the way it always come back to bite him in the ass and make him swallow his own words.

“Just sketching, mostly.” He answers with a small shrug, his eyes falling to the dirty wooden counter. Once you hum encouragingly, curious eyes still upon his bulky frame, Bucky continues. “Just got in art school for Steve. Wouldn’t let his sorry ass miss a chance just ‘cause he’d get beat up by bullies.”

When Bucky dares to glance up to you again, your eyes are somewhat sorrowful but there’s still a little hint of playfulness that you take up with an amused smile, making you look suddenly mischievous just like that.

He decides right then that he likes the sight, and it makes him think that if this was any other kind of life or universe (where he isn’t as fucked up as he is now), he’d do something about it.

“College kids are a bit more level-headed, you know. Or are supposed to be.” You tease, throwing him a cheeky wink as your fingers reach for one of the little tequila cups lined up in front of you. “Not all of us drink our problems to oblivion like I’m doing now. Or beat up other kids. Just sometimes.”

As you shrug and down the shot in one go with a grimace, Bucky can’t help but smirk.

Maybe he was hoping to be recognized, deep down in his consciousness. Maybe he was hoping to have someone to spit drunk but bitter truths to his face about his past. Maybe he was hoping for someone who wouldn’t coddle him, just take things as messy as they are. Maybe he was fooling himself into thinking that he didn’t want to meet someone in that night. But he’s pleasantly surprised to know all of that really is happening–just not in the way he’d been expecting.

Turns out, you don’t need to spit bitter truths to make him feel like a random guy in bar. Not an Avenger, not a recovering soldier, not a ruthless assassin. You only need to be you, talking to him as if he’s a nice NYU senior, really into art and acting, if one squint. Funny.

“Drinkin’ to oblivion sounds like a smart choice.” Bucky tips his glass between his gloved vibranium fingers but lets out a short laugh in the way. Your eyes follow the movement of his lips and he can’t help but grin, chest flaring in mild smugness with your reaction. “Can’t exactly do that with the super soldier thing and all.”

Just as Bucky takes the last sip of his drink, you raise a hand for the bartender and his cup gets filled up to the brim again. Words muffled by the rock song blasting through the room, the order is placed on your tab, just like you request it. And then, your fingers are expertly lifting up the little tequila cups together, a grin on your face as you turn to the side and rest your hip against the counter.

You are beautiful and he can’t deny that.

“Bucky Barnes.” You start, a smile on your face as you lean closer to him and lock your eyes with his. When Bucky nods in a silent urge, you swipe your tongue over your lips, feeling nothing but gleeful as he follows the movement. “Find me. And then I can maybe pose for one of those sketches of yours.”

And he does find you.

(Or FRIDAY does for him, that is).

He remembers the time where things like these were usual to him–the suits, dancing, parties and all that.

Bucky used to be that guy who liked going out, seeing and knowing people. He liked to dance, to get his best suit out of the wardrobe for a night out. He liked to have a good time with someone by his side, to feel comfortable and confident in his own skin. He liked to be a free spirit, not caring about people’s judgement over his actions and his life choices. But fast foward to this day and age, from the second the invitation is sent to his name to the actual gala party day, Bucky completely dreads the entire situation altogether.

The one thing he’s completely sure of is that he hates Tony Stark and his pompous events.

Bucky Barnes is now a former assassin with a troubled past and issues that can go down to his bones. Not exactly a perfect poster boy or a favorite between the Avengers. His day-to-day consists of occasional anxiety attacks, isolation and guilt trips. Sleepless nights, bad dreams and whatever else a man like him is supposed to have.

And still, the so dreaded night is nothing but pleasant.

He drinks and laughs and dances and it’s a nice change from the times where he used to stick to the corners of the ballroom with people tiptoeing around him.

It’s a nice change to have someone who treats him as a whole, like he’s not made of glass or a ticking bomb that may explode at any second. Bucky might hate the parties and dislike the attention but he won’t snap because of it. Strange enough, the damn night grants him a pleasing sense of nostalgia as it makes him think of the Sergeant in a less bitter way than he’s accustomed to.

Twirling you around on the dancefloor, drinking just for the fun of it, enjoying the company of his teammates. Doing so suddenly doesn’t feel so foreign as he thought it would be.

Despite it all, Bucky can’t deny he likes this much better–both of you sitting in the corner of an old diner, waiting on your orders as the stereo plays catchy 80s songs and you pretend to sing along. Every person who passes by your booth gives a double take because you look anything but ordinary in that moment.

Between his jet black suit and your flowy mint green gown (a Dior, courtesy of Tony Stark himself, as a thank you for convincing Bucky to attend the gala), it’s clear that neither of you really belong to that place, at least not while sporting the very much expensive looking attires that will be returned in a few hours.

The burgers and fries and milkshares combo arrive in no time and after a suspicious glance from the waitress and a change of genre on the stereo (now playing a Ariana Grande song (that he’s surprised to know), you’re falling into mindless conversation between one salty fry or two.

“I need to know something really important about you.” You start, pointing one of your fries towards him in a rather threatening way, though he can clearly see you’re playing just by the mischief in your eyes. “Do you believe in astrology? Horoscopes and all that? Think wisely about this.”

With the milkshake straw between his lips, Bucky mulls over your question.

Back in the day, his life was simpler but way too busy for him to be thinking about something as seemingly silly as astrology. His sisters had magazines about it though and sometimes read bits and pieces to him, only to be always shrugged by the older brother. The traits they veemently claimed he had as a Pisces man, now don’t make much sense so maybe Bucky isn’t that sure about his astros anymore.

“I know I’m a Pisces but that’s all about it.” He finally answers, huffing out a laugh and offering a playful apologetic shrug when you glance at him in pretend hurt. “Just never put much thought into it. Can’t blame me, I was born in 1917. Why?”

In a ploy that is clearly meant to rile him up, because there’s definitely a hint of curiosity laced to his voice despite the nonchalant answer, you mirror his shrug and take your time on sipping your vanilla milkshake.

And Bucky knows he’s supposed to feel something but not this–at least, not yet.

Under the pink-ish lights of the diner, his mind is all over the place with just how pretty and just unapologetic you look in the moment. The straps of your dress are very thin, but just enough to expose your collarbones and skin, a simple necklace that hangs a little star closing around your the base of your neck. Despite the long night, your make-up is pretty much intact though a few strands of your hair are out of place. It’s right then, Bucky realizes he never wants to miss this sight–or rather you, again.

(Getting out of his comfort zone scares him a whole lot, yes, but feeling this infatuated with someone this damn quickly feels even scarier, if he’s being honest).

“Pisces are very compassionate people, you know.” You break his momentary misery, smiling cheekily despite the straw still hanging between your lips. “Very intuitive, loyal and kind. They can be a little unpredictable with their feelings, though. I can definitely see the pisces in you.”

An unfamiliar warmth spreads through Bucky’s neck and despite the unexpected blush, a rather grim laugh escapes from his lips, anyway.

He doesn’t mean to be this bitter but supposes it’s probably in his nature now, especially after the shitshow that has been his life since HYDRA. The one thing that Bucky can’t deny is the fact that even with his deep layers of grief, your sweet words are easily breaking all the way through his heavy heart.

So much that he feels soft, light as ever. He’s not made of glass or a ticking bomb that may explode at any second–he’s just Bucky.

“I think you see way too much in me, baby doll.” Bucky huffs, looking adorably sheepish as you offer him an unimpressed glance. “Just sayin’, I’ve been called a lot of things but compassionate and kind aren’t one of them.”

Stopping midway through a bite of a french fry, your face quickly shifts from tenderness to indignation.

By being who he is, Bucky doesn’t need somebody to pick up his fights. He’s stubborn as all hell, and Steve is one to testify to that. It’s hard to accept help from someone when you’ve got an historic as dirty and shady as his, he doesn’t think anybody in their right mind should be meddling in his business. It’s not a smart thing to do–being somehow associated with a former rogue assassin.

And it’s true, Bucky Barnes definitely is a protective fucker, so he goes out of his way to protect his people from his own actions. Still, he can’t help but feel his chest flare over your own protective reaction towards him.

“That’s because people are stupid, Bucky Barnes.” You huff, voice sounding nothing but firm though there’s still a hint of empathy laced to it, one that makes Bucky smile softly. “They see what they want to see. Most of us close our eyes to the truth because it’s convenient, easier to judge.”

Silence falls between you as Bucky mulls over your words.

Over the years, there’s been a fair share of excuses for all the crimes he committed as HYDRA’s puppet–he was just a small piece of a bigger game, not in control of his mind, a victim just like other prisoners and experiments. When it comes down to it, Bucky knows it’s different, too personal when it comes to him. So he doesn’t fail to remember that it was his hand that pulled the trigger every time, his face that people last saw before their death.

He lives with the memories, sleeps upon them, and he doesn’t blame people for hating him.

That doesn’t mean the fact sits well in his heart, that he doesn’t seek redemption through his actions, that he doesn’t care about what his family thinks about him. About what you think about him. And despite knowing who you are and what you stand for, Bucky would be liar by denying the hint of fear creeping up the corners of his mind.

“Did you?” He mumbles, watching you frown in mild confusion for a second before a sigh escapes from his lips. “Did you ever judge me for what I did? Before you knew me?”

With your expression changing once again, this time from confusion to pure and unashamed affection, Bucky doesn’t expect your next move.

It takes a second for you to get up from your seat, the skirt of your dress swaying as you squeeze the way into his side of the booth. Bucky almost thinks that’s the end of it until you’ve got the lapels of his Valentino suit in a fist, pulling him to you so quickly that he barely processes your lips crashing into his.

When Bucky feels you smile against his lips, arms sliding up to close around his neck, he breaks out of his stupor to pull your body closer to him–hands on your hips, just slightly lifting you so it’s enough to bring you to his lap between the tight fit of the corner table. And while both of you know it’s highly inappropriate to be doing this in the middle of a diner so late into the night, discretion is thrown into the wind as soon you melt into the kiss.

A change of song makes you break apart from his lips with a laugh and Bucky bets it’s from a girlband he can’t quite remember the name.

Tightening your arms around his neck, he can’t help but smile by feeling your face buried against his skin, soon enough with your lips lightly pressing little kisses over the collar of his button-up. It’s right there that Bucky realizes–even though you haven’t said a word, he’s got the answer in the best way possible.

Your eyes were always open for his truth.

Sitting half asleep in the kitchen island of your little apartment in Queens, a lukewarm mug of tea between his fingers, Bucky can’t help but replay the twisted images of his nightmare over and over again.

It’s been over a year since the last time he’s even had one but the familiar heavy feeling settles back inside his chest like it never really left.

Irony seems like a right take on his situation–years and years spent with HYDRA having his body and mind harmed to no end, added to the many more he’s spend on the run until he was put back under and deprogrammed, to then become dust in Wakanda. He’s gone through hell and back but yet, he’s surprised to be visited by the ghosts of his past.

Over a year ago, he couldn’t care less about his nightmares.

They were his own–a sick, twisted way of coping and redeeming himself for his time with HYDRA. Sometimes if felt like a reassurance, a reminder that it was never him, never his own volition, only HYDRA. But even then, they were never like this one. It was always his victims, glimpses of bloodied places, hints of pain, blurried memories and faces that belong solely to the puppet he once was. It was never about Steve, his family, the Avengers, never about someone too close to his heart.

(Funny to see how his mind has betrayed him. Life is right there making him swallow his words once again).

Bucky can’t shake the image of your body strapped to the chair.

At first, there’s no comfort to seeing you safe and sound once he finally wakes up. It only makes him anxious, the possibility that his nightmare could eventually become a reality crushing his chest. It makes him angry, because out of all people in his life and all bullshit he’s been through, his subconscious chooses you to haunt him. It makes him painfully aware that anything can go south in his life, no matter how comfortable he feels.

But right now, Bucky’s heart can’t help but feel lighter as he watches you step into the kitchen in your baby blue pajamas and fuzzy socks, looking cozy and sleepy and just very you.

Knowing him inside and out, you silently walk over, arms reaching out around his waist and just lightly squeezing closer to your chest. Your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades and his own hands covering your own over his stomach, Bucky easily feels like he’s safe again.

“Whatever’s going through your head right now, you know it’s not true. Right?” You mumble, voice muffled with the fabric of his t-shirt, though he can still feel the warmth of your breath and your hair tickling the nape of his neck. “Unless you’re thinking about us adopting a pet. I’m all up for that, just so you know.”

Though it’s small, an unexpected smile makes its way to Bucky’s lips. To match, his cheeks burn to a rosy tone over the mere thought of an earlier discussion–a dog or a cat, Bucky, so we can finally be a family. And now, he doesn’t voice his sudden agreement, but he’s most definitely taking you to the shelter soon in the morning.

Gently prying your hands from him, a little noise of distaste coming from you that makes him really laugh, Bucky turns around on his seat and then there’s you standing between his legs.

“So no breakfast in bed tomorrow morning then? Goddamn, doll.” He huffs, eyebrows drawn together in pretend annoyance until you’re playfully slapping his thigh. “Breakfast in bed. Got it.”

The sound of your laugh echoing through the apartment and the sweet sight you make after such a hellish hour is enough to send him reeling back to a simpler time.

Where he could enjoy a night with his best-friend, win a fight or two as a welterweight boxer, provide what he could for his family, meet a nice dame that he’d eventually give out his mother’s ring, passing on the Barnes legacy with a kid or two, or whatever else a man from his time is supposed to do. And though Bucky hadn’t let himself think of that for a long time, he can’t help but to do so with you.

His life is anything but simple but his life with you can be just that and more.

“I’m not opposed to breakfast in bed, I’ll say. Nutella pancakes.” You wink, a tender smile curling your lips as your hand reaches out to cup his jaw. Beard harsh against your palm, you brush a thumb over his lower lip. “Are you okay enough for breakfast in bed tomorrow morning?”

Lips pressing a tiny kiss to your finger, arms reaching out to your hips and forehead meeting yours as he leans closer, Bucky nods.

“Just if you’ll have me for breakfast in bed tomorrow morning.” He chuckles quietly, sighing as your hand falls to his neck, fingertips into his hair. “I’m good, baby girl. Promise.”

Life and the way it always come back to bite him in the ass and make him swallow his own words. All it takes is a tug down from your hands until your lips are meeting his and Bucky is just melting away. It’s sweet, soft, and it makes all of his worries fade just as quickly as they fogged up his mind. You feel warm, welcoming and familiar–just like home is supposed to feel like, whether if it’s now or seventy years back in the past.

“Okay then, Mr. James Barnes.” You mumble, lips still brushing over his after the broken kiss. Eyes still closed, his lips curl up in a small smile when you squeeze his neck. “Tomorrow, we’ll have breakfast in bed with nutella pancakes. And then, we’ll make it a day out to visit a few thrift stores I’ve been meaning to go. Got it?”

Thrift stores like his baby sister would drag him to and that he’d usually hate with all his might.

Though the idea doesn’t sound so bad now–it’s a hint from his past with a twist of his future that makes Bucky realize that despite of all the ghosts glooming over him, he’s still standing tall, still hopeful for the life twenty-one year old Bucky Barnes planned out.

And so, with another kiss pressed to your lips, he promises to fullfil his own wish.

“I got it.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #mcu #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction

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