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jawabear · 3 years

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1 of 10 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Not my GIF (look at this man...)

A/N: so here’s that Bucky fic I’ve been talking about. This took me too long to write but I like it? I’m absolutely loving Falcon and The Winter Soldier! I’ve mentioned this before but Bucky Barnes is my all time favourite fictional character. This is set before the events of episode one but maybe like a week or so before. I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: fem!reader, tfatws spoilers, Bucky being awkward, nightmares, therapy, Bucky isn’t as smooth as he was in the 40s but he’s still cute

Summary: Bucky has ten contacts in his phone. One of which belongs the the girl he feels he has been searching for for 106 long years.

The times in which he found himself now were more than confusing. But that was the best way Bucky could think to describe them. For him though it seemed a lot worse than for others. For others, they had a gap of five years missing. For Bucky, he had far more than that.

From 1943 to 2023 there was a lot missing. He remembered it however. He remembered everything. The good, the bad, and the horrifying. What was meant by missing was that it wasn’t him who was living. He had missed out on living between those years. He had missed out on everything. And he knew, like the billions of others, he would never get those years back.

But now he was a civilian. Working to make amends from his past after being given a pardon. However, settling into his new easy life was proving far from that. It had been a few months now since the whole ordeal with saving the blipped half of humanity, Bucky included, and it had been a few months now since Steve went back in time and started a new life leaving him and Sam behind.

Sam. Right.

Sam was an avenger. More so than Bucky could ever be. So he was off doing his avenging work while Steve’s shield gathered dust in a wardrobe somewhere he was sure. Sam didn’t have it in him to take up the mantle of Captain America. He felt the shield belonged to someone else. It was Steve’s. It only ever could be.

More often than perhaps Bucky would like, he would get texts from Sam. Asking him how he was and telling him about missions he was going on. Bucky never replied. He didn’t know how to half the time and he didn’t want to.

He didn’t know how he was. He didn’t know if he was okay. He was forced to go see a therapist but all he did was lie to her.

“Have you had any nightmares recently?” She would ask him.

Bucky would think back to the night before their meeting and all the others as well. Each night he’d have to be faced with the horrors of his past. Every mission he carried out. Every person he carelessly killed.

“No” he would answer. And it wasn’t like he was wrong in his answer. The things he saw in his sleep were not nightmares they were memories. The nightmarish horrors he was were his reality, so when he said no in response to her question, he found it difficult to be accused of lying.

There were few things he could agree with her about. But the one thing he could see eye to eye with her about was the fact he was alone.

Sure, he had Sam. But only when Bucky wanted to acknowledge him which had not been often as of recently. And as his therapist so kindly pointed out he only had ten contacts on his phone. But in his defence, he still wasn’t used to the whole world of mobile communications and internet. So his phone was basically redundant to him. His mind was still in the 1940s where you’d find a date, what would now be classed as, the old fashioned way. By looking in person and talking. Not just texting or swiping left or right on an app.

Granted, Bucky did try his hand in online dating but it was far too much for him. It wasn’t only hard for him to figure out but also he saw too much of people he didn’t even know. The openness of the internet was something that was mind boggling to him. So that was thrown out of the window pretty quickly.

But what his therapist had failed to note was one name in his contacts. The name of his neighbour and quite possibly the one he wanted to end his loneliness with.

Back in his time, when he didn’t just have the looks of someone in their 20s, Bucky was in fact quite popular and good with the ladies. But the ladies, he found, of this new age were completely different to the ones of his time. Not that there was a problem, he just knew that he couldn’t used the same moves now as what he could back then.

He met (Y/N), his neighbour, as he was first moving in. After coming back, loosing Steve and getting a pardon, Bucky thought it be best to try and start a new. He did that by moving back to his old home of Brooklyn. His old apartment was obviously gone and with little money to his name he couldn’t afford the one that replaced it. It was far to big for him anyway. But he managed to find a smaller more affordable one and he much preferred it. If not only for the quieter location then the others in the building too.

(Y/N) was the first person he spoke too when back in Brooklyn. She was sweet and kind when introducing herself. She offered to help him move in but he really didn’t have that much stuff to use in making his new apartment more homely. And he had no food either. So (Y/N) did the neighbourly thing and invited him in for some food. A meal of sorts although she didn’t have much food either at the time. Even so, it was nice for him to be in company for once. And it was such warm company. They didn’t speak about much but he learnt a few things about her.

And now, on most Thursday evenings, he’ll find himself with her in her apartment eating a meal, sometimes she’ll cook, sometimes they’ll order take out, but he enjoys it regardless.

It was clear from the offset that she knew who he was. He frantically explained to her that he wasn’t what he used to be anymore and explained the terms of his pardon and how he’s making amends. But he needn’t have waste his breath on it. She didn’t seem to care about it. About who he used to be. She told him that she doesn’t live in peoples pasts and that she wanted to get to know him for who he is, not who he was. Those words meant a great deal to him. And from that moment on he had fallen for her.

Bucky sighed as he dragged himself up the stairs to his floor. He desperately wished there was some way of getting out of these therapy sessions. But he was tied to them. He couldn’t stop going to them even though he wanted too. But there, it wasn’t really like he had anything better to do. Nothing but either sitting at home in silence or walking around busy streets constantly looking over his shoulder. Those were his only other options.

As he walked to his apparent at the end of the hallway (Y/N)’s door opened and she walked out dressed for the outdoors, it was getting cold so it was smart of her to be wearing a warm coat. “(Y/N)” he called gently to her. She lifted her head after locking her door and gave him a warm smile.

“Hi James” She said, she always called him James rather than Bucky. He didn’t know why but he didn’t exactly mind. “How was your session today?” She had memorised the times at which he went to his therapy sessions. She probably knew he schedule better than he did.

Bucky shrugged “the usual” he told her making her laugh a little.

“That bad huh?”

“I guess” he said scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m heading to the store to get some food if you wanted to talk on the way? Don’t feel you have to”

“No, that sounds good” he tried to smile but it was a little awkward, but she didn’t seem to say anything and just motioned her head for him to follow.

The shop wasn’t too far away so it was a quick walk. Bucky wasn’t the talkative type, not really anyway. Especially not to someone he didn’t like. And Dr Raynor was someone who he didn’t like. He was sure that deep down she was a lovely person but he didn’t like the fact she was insistent in getting him to admit his feelings. Although that was her job.

It wasn’t long until they arrived at the store “so what happened?” (Y/N) asked as she picked up a basket.

“Just the usual...she asked me if I had a nightmare-“

“Did you?” Bucky didn’t answer and just looked away from her. “James, you know that it’s her job to help you. And it’s in your best interest to let her”

“I know...but at the same time...I don’t see the point. These things are mandatory. So if I don’t want to go then I don’t see it being helpful”

“I can understand that” her eyes flicking between two boxes of cereal as she inwardly decried in which one to get, but her indecisive nature got the better of her so she opted to get both. Her indecisiveness, Bucky thought, was incredibly cute. It linked in with her kindness, on their Thursday evening meals together it takes ages just to decide what to have. “But still,” she continued, Bucky following her like a lost puppy “like you said, it’s mandatory. And there are people who would love to be in your position. Getting therapy I mean. So you should at least make the most of it while you can”

“I mean...yeah. I guess. But...I don’t know I just...well it’s easier to talk to someone like you then it is to talk to her” (Y/N) smiled at little at this as she finished putting on the last few items before making her way to the till.

Neither of them said much else. Expect for (Y/N) making light conversation with the cashier as she paid although both (Y/N) and Bucky knew that the cashier really didn’t want to be there. Luckily it didn’t take long for (Y/N) to bag her items and pay for them before they were both leaving the store.

It had gotten colder outside then when they left originally. (Y/N) shivered and pulled her coat around her a little more before they both began walking back to their apartment building.

“So what is it about me that makes you find it easier to talk?” She asked, she brushed her hair from her face as a sudden gust of wind blew it out of place when she turned to look at him.

“Well...” he muttered shoving his hands into his pockets “for one, you don’t sit there with a passive aggressive notebook ready to write shit about me” this made her laugh a little, she always found it funny when he’d talk about this notebook Dr Raynor had. She didn’t really know why he hated it so much, and she knew she shouldn’t have found it funny but he never stopped her from laughing about it, in fact often times he would join in thereby encouraging her.

“Yes, that is something better I guess. Although, I’m sure I could find a notebook if you wanted” she teased.

“Oh god. Please don’t” He said holding back a smile.

“Anything else?” She asked him.

Bucky thought for a moment. There were many things about her that made it easier for him to talk to her, but he couldn’t list them all. For one, that would be embarrassing, and two he didn’t think he’d have the breath to do it. “Well-“

He was cut off when he saw (Y/N)’s smile fall and her pace began to slow right down to a stop. Bucky stopped and looked at her “everything okay?” He asked her, his voice full of concern.

She turned sharply to the side so she was facing the road “y-yeah..” she stuttered nervously “just...my ex is walking this way and I really don��t want him to see me”

Bucky felt a strange feeling inside him. He didn’t even know she had been in a relationship. It must’ve been a recent thing right? Unless it was a really bad break up in the past, or this guy had done something to her to prompt her being so on edge. Bucky turned to try and scope out this guy but he didn’t have a clue what he was looking for. So he reached over to her and pulled up her hood on her hoodie that she wore under her coat and pulled her into his side so that her face was hidden from view.

“Tell me when he’s gone” Bucky muttered to her. She nodded her head and let him walk her along the path, she kept her eye on the path ahead as best she could while still covering her face. But she was now more focused on two things, his arm around her and his wonderful smell. Never did she think she’d ever get this close to him. She never thought he’d let her, but here she was attached to his side with his arm wrapped around her, holding her protectively against him.

And his smell. It was just as comforting as she dreamed it would be. A mix of his cologne and what she could only describe as Him. All she wanted to do now was to just melt into his strong and warm embrace and just stay there forever.

In all her daydreaming she didn’t notice that her ex had long since walked by and they had reached the entrance to their apartment building and she didn’t tell him he could let go or that it was safe for her to walk properly.

Bucky came to a stop and slowly slipped his arm from her “I mean...I take it he’s gone now right?” He said a little nervously. (Y/N) stood up straight and pushed the hood from her head and nodded quickly, her cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“Yeah. Yes, right. Sorry. Yes. He’s gone. I um...I just wanted to make sure he didn’t suddenly turn around you know? That’s all” she said in an unconvincing tone. But Bucky himself was too flustered to actually care that she was flustered as well.

“Of course, that’s smart. Well we made it back” he said stepping up to the door and pushing it open for her. She nodded and thank you and quickly hopped inside the building, Bucky following after her.

The walk up the stairs was an awkward silence. They felt like teenagers after their first ever date. Who says something first? What do they even say? Luckily for them, this wasn’t a first date, and they weren’t teenagers. They were fully grown, mature adults. But that doesn’t mean adults can’t get flustered in the presence of their crush...right?

After what felt like hours, but was more like five painstaking minuets, they finally got to their floor and walked down the hall, both briefly forgetting that they lived right next to each other.

(Y/N) stopped at her door and placed her bag of food on the floor to fish out her keys from her pocket. “Uh...you want to come in?” She asked whilst fiddling around in her pocket to find the keys. “I know it’s not Thursday but we didn’t really talk as much as usual...” her voice seemed to trail off as she finally found her keys and put them in the key hole before unlocking the door. “You don’t have too..”

“I’d...like to...” he said in a soft voice with a gentle smile to try and put her at ease even though he too was freaking out inside. She smiled back and picked up her bag before walking inside her apartment, he did too.

They both made their way into her small kitchen and he made himself at home by sitting in his usual seat at her white kitchen table and she began to unpack the shopping “Do you want me to help?” He asked her as he went to stand up but she waved off his offer.

“No no, it’s fine. There’s only a few bits anyway” she told him as she began to pack each item away in its rightful place.

“So uh...” Bucky began quietly as he scraped his metal finger again the wood table. “This ex of yours...what’s the story there?”

Bucky was a little cautious of his words. He didn’t want to say anything to hurt or offend her but at the same time he wanted to know what about the guy made her so on edge earlier.

“Oh uh...” she muttered as she pulled two cups from her cupboard.

“You don’t need to tell me if you want want to. Sorry..”

“It’s fine” she assured him “nothing really happened I guess. It was just a bad break up. He didn’t really take it well and for a few weeks after that he just kept texting me and trying to call me. He came round to my place too to try and get me back. He never did know how to take no for an answer. But about a month ago he finally got the message and stopped all contact with me. Seeing him today...I was just worried that he’d try it all again”

“He sounds like a real asshole” Bucky said flatly making her laugh a little as she went about making some tea for the both of them. “But in his defence, if I lost a girl like you, I’d struggle with taking no for an answer as well”

(Y/N) let out a nervous laugh and almost dropped his tea cup from the shock of his comment but she was a little more used to his flirtatious nature that would sometimes make an appearance when they were in her apartment. After he told her about his boyish charms back in the 40s she noticed how he would often slip back into that era. It was cute to say the least.

She set down his tea in front of him and he flashed her a “thank you” smile before wrapping his fingers around it.

There was a brief silence in the room. She was greatly over thinking is earlier comment. But so was he. Maybe he shouldn’t have said it. He meant it though. But what if he had pushed the limit a little too far?

“What was the other reason?” She asked him, her finger nail scratching again the tea cup trying to avoid eye contact with him at all costs.

“Huh?” He questioned looking over the table to her.

“Earlier. You were going to give me another reason why I’m easier to talk to. What was it?”

Bucky’s muscles tensed as his fingers gripped the tea cup handle as he stared into the black tea she had made for him. “If I’m being honest...” he began slowly “I think...there are too many reasons why I find talking to you easier. But I guess one is that you don’t do it because you have to or it’s your job to. You do it out of kindness. And it’s...easier to talk to someone who’s listening because they want to. And yes, I get that Dr Raynor probably does want to help me but I also know that at the end of the day, it’s all for a pay check. But with you...you do it because you want to. Or at least...I think you want to”

“I do want to, James. I’ll always be around to ask if you’re okay. And to make you okay when you’re not. I care about you...”

“And...I care about you. Another reason I prefer talking to you is because...I like you...a lot. I just think you’re the most beautiful woman, and you have such a sweet and caring nature and a good heart that is wasted on me. But I can’t help but like you...” he couldn’t really believe he just said what he did. He wasn’t mean to tell her that. It was meant to stay a secret within him into the end of time. But there was a shift in atmosphere that just made it all slip out.

“You...you like me?” She asked, still not looking at him.

“Yeah...” he said. There was a little more confidence in his voice as he admitted his feelings towards her.

“I like you too..” she too held a little more confidence in her voice as she admitted her returned feelings. It felt...good. Especially since she knew he returned the feelings she had harboured for him since they met.

She stood abruptly and held her hand out to him. He looked at it and looked up at her again before taking her hand. She pulled him to his feet and a little close to her.

He smirked a little as he looked down at her “you want me to kiss you or something?” He said almost proudly.

“Yes..” she said “but first...I want to know something”

“What do you want to know?” He asked her. She squeezed his hand and dragged him out of her kitchen.

She lead him to her bedroom and noticed the worried expression on his face when he looked at her bed. This was what she wanted to know.

“You don’t have a bed in your apartment...” She told him quietly. (Y/N) turned her body so she was facing him completely, he cautiously lifted his hands to settle on her waist.

“I know...” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Bucky paused but he felt safe enough to give her an honest answer “I...I’m...scared. Of them”

“What is it about a bed that scares you?” She whispered, her fingers gently trailing down his cheeks. Bucky didn’t answer right away, for one he was to busy focusing of the beautiful touch of her hands, and for another, he didn’t really know the answer to her question. But he could take a guess.

“Because I...I don’t think I’ve slept in one since 1943. And I...after everything I’ve done...I don’t deserve to lie in such luxury...” his voice was quiet and barely audible, had it not been for the close proximity they were in, she probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“James...” she laid her forehead against his and he instinctively griped her waist a little tighter. The comfort and warmth she was bringing him was something he didn’t want to loose. She was someone he didn’t want to loose. He felt safer with no one but her. For once he actually felt...okay. But he felt he was holding her too tightly, but if he was she was wasn’t willing to tell him that.

“You know that you have no reason to be afraid. You are changing. You are becoming a good man. You do deserve to live in luxury, even if that starts with sleeping in a proper bed. Maybe it is scary for you...but...if you’ll allow me, I’ll help you face it”

“Please...” he whispered with a nod before pressing his lips to hers.

05/04/21

Taglist: @lunaserenade @phoenixhalliwell @slytherin4ever

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Sebastian Stan #tfatws #marvel #fluff #angst #fanfic

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maneskinrollercoaster · 3 years

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~ I Loved You For All This Time Apart ~

Pairing: Damiano David x Lea (fictional character)

Word count: 1759

Warnings: Slightly bit of swearing.

Summary: Lea makes a hard decision which has major consequences on her relationship.

The doors opened and she saw him. Damiano was standing in front of her while she walked past the gate from her plane. They haven’t seen each other for a long time. Three years passed since their breakup but they still didn’t stop loving each other.

Damiano was stubborn. When Lea told him that she wants to leave to England, he quickly protested, saying that she’s better living in Italy, in her home country, rather than being all alone in an unknown place without any family or friends.

He always wanted to impress everyone. When he was in the studio with Vic, Thomas and Ethan, everything had to be perfect. He didn’t leave the place without making sure that every sound and lyric were on point. Lea told him that he can’t overwork himself like that but he didn’t listen and stayed in the studio from dusk till dawn working his ass off till he fell asleep on the floor with papers in his tired hands.

Damiano never missed the opportunity to party. Whether it was celebrating their new albums or just a local festival, he never said no to going out with his friends. He drank a lot on the parties which made Lea angry. Once he got so drunk that Lea had to call a Taxi and literally crawl with him on her back to get him home. She was furious that night, which didn’t happen often and threatened him that they will break up if he won’t stop being so irresponsible.

She wasn’t a loud person though. She never got angry and never raised her voice. It was really hard to make her go out of control and she knew that sometimes she was too kind to everyone. Damiano always told her that she should stand up for herself more but she was too generous to see bad in people.

When she got irritated she usually closed herself in the bedroom and meditated to clear her mind. It helped her a lot and she never was the one to argue anyways. She always prefered to calm down and talk. Damiano loved how down to earth Lea was. Whenever they had a worse moment, she held his hands, stroking them gently and said: What’s bothering you, love? Let’s talk about it.

Those little moments felt like big steps until it all crashed.

One day Lea made the most important and the hardest decision. She bought a ticket to London and told Damiano that she’s leaving Italy. He tried to turn it into a joke at first but then he realized that she was serious.

What do you mean you’re leaving Italy? He asked her confused, giving her a look full of fear. He didn’t want to loose her. She was his soulmate and loosing her would mean loosing a part of him.

Baby, I want to travel, chase my dreams. There are so many opportunities waiting for me, I want to go and be happy. Her face lit up and passion in her voice made Damiano frown.

So you’re not happy with me, huh? He said and his eyes turned black. He was angry. How could she ever think of leaving him and moving to UK? Her place was next to him, in Italy.

Dami, it’s not about you. I just..

You just what? You want to leave me here alone and sacrifice everything we have! He screamed and Lea, not aware of his sudden outburst, shivered.

I’m not breaking up with you. But you have to understand, I can’t spend my whole life here, only looking at you succeed. As much as I love you and as much as I’m happy about your carrier, I want to do it for myself, I want to achieve something, be successful. I’m doing this to show myself that I’m worthy. She said and her eyes filled with tears.

Well then, I guess it’s over for us. I can’t do long distance. He said letting down his head.

So you don’t even want to try? You don’t want to put some effort and make our relationship work? Her cheeks were now wet from the tears. She looked at him full of sadness and disappointment.

You just chose.

Alright then, goodbye Damiano.

That’s when they’ve seen each other for the last time.

Since then Lea lived in London. The weather there wasn’t as amazing as in Italy but Lea found herself amazed with british culture. The people there were kind, saying thank you and I’m sorry with every occasion possible. They were helpful too. Whenever Lea entered a bookstore or coffee shop, people seemed to be willing to help with anything you’d ask them for. She felt like she could get friends with everyone there which didn’t make her feel so lonely. After a month of wandering around and gettin to know the country a little more, Lea joined a local designer house and started her career as a fashion designer and consultant. There she met Steph - her spirit guide as she used to say all the time. They started designing together and their work found its popularity around London soon after. Lea finally felt like it was her place and she for sure didn’t want to leave. Ever.

After three years she’s gotten an invitation for Alex’s wedding in Florence. Since he was like a brother to her she decided to visit her home country but soon after she got a call from him. Damiano called her at 2 am in the morning, waking her up and saying that they should meet once she arrives. At first she was shocked. They broke up on not such good terms but the truth was none of them stopped loving the other.

Damiano through all this time wrote songs about Lea. He knew that if he’d tried even a little then maybe their relationship would work. But he was a coward. He couldn’t stand a fact of long distance, being together but apart at the same time, so he decided to shut up and all his braveness vanished. His lyrics were deep and sad, all of them about being lonely, breakup and sadness. Vic, Thomas an Ethan tried to talk to him but he always shut them off, saying that he’s fine and that they shouldn’t worry. After a while he seemed to move on but when Alex called him with a wedding invitation, saying that Lea confirmed her attendance, his heart stopped. He decided to call her.

Damiano, its 2 am in the morning. What is so important you want to tell me at such a time? Lea answered her phone with a sleepy voice.

I heard you’re attending Alex’s wedding and i just.. wanted to call you to ask what are you getting them as a gift. Damiano lied which was obvious even to Lea.

For a gift? Are you out of your mind? You call me at 2 am just to ask me for a fucking gift? She said shocked at her own tone.

I uhm.. i think we should meet. You know, once you arrive. He said and brushed his hair with his palm.

We will meet at the wedding. She said harshly.

No Lea, i meant meet before the wedding. To talk.

What do you wanna talk about?

Us? He said, not being sure of her response.

Us? You want to talk about us Damiano? You said yourself you don’t want long distance and now after 3 years you want to talk about us? If it wasn’t Alex’s wedding, I’m sure you wouldn’t have called. Lea said and she was about to hang up but Damiano stopped her.

But I love you. Damiano’s words stuck in her mind making it repeat them over and over again. I’ve never stopped.

For good 5 minutes there was a silence that Lea didn’t want to break. Shock was an understatement. Of course, she hadn’t stopped loving him either but he said that out of the blue and she didn’t know exactly what to say.

I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.. Damiano started but was interrupted.

No, it’s okey. I just.. It’s not a conversation we should be having through the phone. She said quietly and soon after they ended their call.

And now he was standing in front of her. Dressed all in black, his hair longer than Lea has remembered and even more handsome than she saw him last time. She noticed that his jawline was more sharp and on his face she saw a slight beard.

Damiano also noticed some changes. Lea wasn’t wearing glasses like before, her hair were a lighter color than the brown hazelnut tone he loved so much but she looked really good.

Long time no see. Damiano said and a slight smile appeared on his face.

Yeah, long time indeed. She said squeezing tighter a handle of her suitcase.

They stood like this for what felt like forever when suddenly Lea felt Damiano’s arms wrapping around her tightly and pulling her closer for a warm hug. It truly felt like home. His scent of cologne mixed with cigarettes and his fingers gently stroking her back, his face buried in a crock of her neck and lips dangerously close to her skin. Lea felt his breath on her neck and sighed wrapping her arms around his torso, giving back the hug.

I missed you so much. Damiano whispered and Lea’s eyes started getting watery.

She missed him too but never wanted to admit it. Not after he decided to end this relationship because he didn’t have the courage to try and make it work from a distance.

Not long after she felt Damiano’s warm lips on hers. She didn’t expect it all and surprised but pleased with such sudden interaction she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. The kiss was sweet, full of love and missing each other but they both enjoyed it more than they both expected. After a while they pulled away, looking into each other’s eyes.

I know we have a lot to figure out and a lot to talk through but I’ve never stopped loving you. Please forgive me. Damiano said stroking Lea’s cheek with his thumb.

I loved you for all this time apart. Lea said and they both smiled at each other.

It didn’t matter for them that they were standing in each other’s embrace in the middle of the airport. What really mattered to them was that they found their way back to each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello everyone! I’m back and I just want to explain myself that I was on vacation in London so that’s the reason of my absence. Expect some London inspired content.

ALSOOO I JUST WANTED TO THANK FOR 100 FOLLOWERS! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH IT MEANS TO ME AND I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU! ❤️

That one is not as good but i hope you enjoy it! ❤️🥰

Requests opened.

Tag list: [ @teenyweenynightghost , @superchrystaldrug , @unitermoonshine ]

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craziestfangirl98 · 3 years

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My thoughts on Love, Victor season 2 cause I have too many feelings and I need to talk about it.

Disclaimer No. 1. This has massive Love, Victor season 2 spoilers so pleaseeeee leave if you have not watched it. Also if you do not want to engage with it.

Disclaimer No. 2: This is my opinion on the season so if you don't agree please leave. Don't come for me. I don't mind having proper discussions but I don't want unnecessary arguments so thanks.

There are a lot of unpopular opinions so as I said earlier if you don't want to be respectful, please leave.

I absolutely adoooooooored this season. I think it met its potential quite well and I liked how it panned out. I felt it was brilliantly done. I know a lot of people don't agree with me but I actually saw that it was gonna be an acquired liking but yeah.

THIS POST WILL BE GETTING TO THE MORE MAJOR PARTS OF THE SEASON. MEANING VICTOR, RAHIM, BENJI AND VENJI.

Let's start with individual breakdowns.

Right of the bat we see that this season is gonna deal with Victor with the rest of the world. The first season was very internal and dealt with his own stuff in his own head. We very minutely see his interaction with different people and how that internally affects him. This season was more of how the outward world dealt with him. His intersectionality of being a Queer POC that plays sport really adds to the discussions within the queer community and the sense of being outcasted within the community. I liked how he was able to talk to Andrew about the whole being 'the most non gay gay' and also not being 'gay enough'. It was really nice and I loved that interaction. I also liked the fact that they discussed the whole aspect of being stressed about the first time and such.

I liked the full cabin sequence in terms of his anxiety about having sex for the first time. That too with an experienced gay. It all just makes sense and makes me glad that it was addressed.

I loved him as the 'mentor' for Rahim and the fact that they could relate to each other about being POC with religious parents I think was the exact push needed for the discussions to move forward.

I think his conversation about his queer experience as a POC with Rahim was something I have been waiting for since the first season. He definitely should not have revealed Benji's secrets without talking to him and that was a mistake on his part and something that will affect Venji in a long while. But the fact that Rahim and Victor relied on each other was not surprising.

I am going to address the rest of the aspects of Victor with regards to his relationships with each of them after their individual breakdown.

Now moving forward to Benji.

I know its gonna be a hard truth but I think his character was the one that I liked the least. And this is specific to the fact that his motivations are hidden from us. He is not really open to talk to us (through victor). I had the same problem with him in the first season and was hoping he would be fleshed out more. We only see him as an extension to Victor and just his boyfriend. Even then, we barely see him communicating with Victor or anybody else all through the time. Also, that being said, I have seen a lot of people say he was OOC but I think he was actually not really OOC. The way he reacts to Victor's mom's reactions although they come from a place of wanting better for Victor, he doesn't really think twice about why Victor must not be reacting or doing so subtly. He feels very unsympathetic on many occasions and that is a pattern we see from season 1.

I'm not saying he didn't have any troubles of his. Cause he definitely did. We know that with the drunken driving episode and the AA meetings and the strip club story. They were all awful, but that doesn't excuse him from trying to understand where Victor is coming from. Maybe having a little more context and communication about him would make us understand him and his motivations better.

This season specifically, I actually found him to be very token-ish of a gay guy which is weird because it has two other gay characters (or 5 based on the multiple cameos).

Now getting to Rahim.

I LOVED HIM. He is, I think right behind Victor in my heart. I fell in love with him barely minutes into the episode. His coming out retelling was the most wholesome of all things. I loved the friendship Pilar and him shared. I'm surprised we didn't get a scene with Pilar teasing him about his crush on Victor but I think that was because the writers didn't want to make it obvious. I felt he had a character of his own that was explored more than just coming in between the main couple. The one episode where they skip school we found out more about him and it was intriguing to say the least.

He is a Muslim gay boy who likes to put nail polish and fashion and believes that his parents will not accept him. It is soo refreshing to see this theory get denied and the parents being completely okay with it. Next, Victor and him have an interesting relationship between the two. When victor needs his mind to be taken off of things or talk to, Rahim does just that and when Rahim needs some advice or just some support Victor does that.

NOW VENJI.....

I think this is again... a little unpopular right now, but... their relationship was not that great this season. And I.... kinda expected that to happen. That is for multiple reasons. They spent 50% of their time making out, 40% of it fighting and 10% communicating. Were they flawed? Absolutely and I get that. They had massive miscommunication problems. Trust issues and everything under the moon. It is to be expected especially cause they are teenagers and they are not mature enough. That being said, flaws are not when you are dismissive of your boyfriend's issues because he doesn't fit your ideal gay stereotype. Flaws are not when you say your boyfriend is too much for you to handle and say something like you are the only one taking care of them. That's manipulation. Flaws are not when you don't realise that the context your boyfriend comes from is very specific to himself and if you want to do better you need to be open to listen to where he is coming from instead of getting offended by him saying you are white when you don't get the specifics. You need to understand that by saying you are white, he is not dismissing your experience with alcohol addiction and with your father taking you to strip clubs and shit. He is just saying you don't get where I am coming from. The reason I say I saw it coming is because even in season 1 we see Benji go ahead with what he wants to do instead of thinking about the consequences. Case in point the kiss on Victor's birthday. Victor told Benji that his grandparents are homophobic and still he kisses Derek. Because it is fiction and a teen drama the consequences weren't dire and it came to be a growth point for Victor but just imagine if the consequences were different. If it ended up being something worse, what then. I feel this season we are especially able to see Benji out of the rose tinted glasses that Victor had last season.

That being said I admit that Victor was also not entirely good. He did breach Benji's trust. I don't see how they can go back from there. He didn't communicate from his side as well, but just think of it like this if someone says you are too much to handle would their partner actually be willing to communicate what's bothering them?

The things about Isabelle walking on sex. If it was my house anything remotely sexual, irrespective of the gender would have been met with shame and anger just as Isabelle did. They are 16. The little brother was right next door. In any way whether it is straight sex or gay sex it would still have been met this way I feel.

So yeah as much as they are supposed to be the main star couple of the show they lack in almost every aspect. So yeah...

Now coming to VICTOR X RAHIM

Straight off the bat, I don't know if I watched the same season that others did because I actually felt the chemistry between them was actually more than Venji had in scenes other than the make out ones.

Also, they come from similar backgrounds. They understand each other much better than any white dude could ever understand them. They actually talk and communicate.

Rahim and Victor on the other hand are both new to this whole being gay, out and proud thing and I feel they would understand each other better. I think a big problem people have with them is that the writers fall back on the love triangle trope and stuff but I like it in this instance. It made sense to me.

Why? Because they are teenagers. Also, the gay pool in schools are so small and people are bound to explore. Like Victor said, what are the odds that you end up with the first person you start dating?

Also, regarding the wedding. Benji said he would not come, so I don't think he has the right to question who he came with. It was completely innocent on Victor's part because he did invite Pilar first. I guess it is the whole first slow dance that was the betrayal and as much as their chemistry was palpable I feel Benji should have allowed to here him out. I don't know maybe you all feel different about it but I feel that is not a betrayal on Victor's part. What could have been a betrayal was the kiss. I know it is once again a repeat of the cheating stereotype and I had hoped that the showrunner's did it a bit differently but well it has happened. (But again the chemistry in that kiss!!!)

What do I want to happen next. I definitely ship Victor x Rahim more than Victor x Benji. I would love for it to be Rahim behind the door but it feels unlikely that the showrunners will actually do that so my hope is even if they get together, Benji and Victor realise just how much they don't fit with each other and break up amicably and then Victor x Rahim gets explored and slow burn happens.

I don't want Victor to be the only one apologising if Venji do get together again. For whatever small amount of time. I need them to communicate better.

So yeah..... this was long and what I thought of the main portions of Love, Victor. It's really ironic how people love everyone other than Victor in a story about him and care for all the stories other than him.

#love victor #love victor season 2 #rahim love victor #victor salazar #not gonna tag Benji cause I am not too forgiving on him #can you tell author loves rahim?#and victor #and especially loves them together?#Victor x Rahim #we need to come up with an appropriate ship name for them #Vichim? Rator? I don't know just something!#Anywho... Another one coming up sometime about the friends and family #kayblyeeee #first post in ages

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blitzturtles · 3 years

Text

Title: Get What You Need (Ao3)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): GioMis or Giorno & Mista (Platonic or Pre-Relationship)

Summary: “All of them,” Giorno breathes the words in a near rush of panic. His stomach turns at merely hearing the list. His resolve crumbles in an instant, and it’s only worsened when he makes the mistake of looking down at his hands, clasped together in his lap. He picks idly at the cuticle of one thumb with the nail of the other in a desperate attempt to keep himself calm. The more worked up he gets, the worse the cramps are, and they’re already rolling through him too often to be ignored.

Notes: Trigger Warnings: Dysphoria; Gio experiences quite a bit of it, and it's not very nice.

Guess who had a period from hell.

Trigger Warnings: Gender dysphoria! Giorno struggles with it quite a bit throughout the fic.

1. Bucci's also trans, 2. Polnareff is alive (so is everyone else for that matter.), and 3. Bruno being trans is not a secret/Mista isn't actually outing him here.

“I would like to rearrange a few meetings,” Giorno says, choosing his words carefully, so he can gauge Polnareff’s reaction.

Without missing a beat, Polnareff answers, “Of course. Which were you interested in moving? There’s the two after lunch, the one with Dura at three, and Abba-”

“All of them,” Giorno breathes the words in a near rush of panic. His stomach turns at merely hearing the list. His resolve crumbles in an instant, and it’s only worsened when he makes the mistake of looking down at his hands, clasped together in his lap. He picks idly at the cuticle of one thumb with the nail of the other in a desperate attempt to keep himself calm. The more worked up he gets, the worse the cramps are, and they’re already rolling through him too often to be ignored.

Polnareff looks momentarily surprised, but he schools his expression quickly and reaches underneath his chair to where he keeps a notebook safely tucked away. He pulls his pen from the spiral binding and looks to Giorno with sheer determination.

“Any-- preferences? On when I reschedule these to?”

“Two or three days from now at the earliest,” Giorno knows it’s risky. A bad idea at best and a great way to destroy several very fragile relationships at worst, but he’s reaching a breaking point. His eyes are already burning, and he can’t ignore the hopeless feeling gripping him any more than he can ignore the way blood continues to fill the pad he’s wearing. He’s too hyper-aware of both, and there’s nothing worse than showing weakness in front of a pack of dogs, most of whom were raised by the streets in some form or fashion. With the exception, of course, of the nepotistic sort, though Giorno doesn’t generally think much of them. They’re certainly not the threat that the others can be when left unchecked.

Polnareff, to his credit, only nods and makes a note of the request. He pauses a moment, clearly chewing something over in his mind, and it’s likely only their close relationship that allows him to ask, “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” which is a non-answer, but it’s the best Polnareff is getting from him when he feels like this: weak, vulnerable. Disgusting. Wrong. If he could tear the skin off his body, he would.

Polnareff nods again. There’s a lingering look in his good eye that Giorno thinks might be concern. Possibly displeasure at being blatantly left in the dark when it’s Polnareff’s job to be as informed as possible, though the man says nothing of it and simply wishes Giorno well before departing from the office altogether. He uses Chariot to open the door for him and wheels away without any actual protest.

It’s all Giorno can do to hold his breath until the moment the door clicks shut, and he deflates immediately over the edge of his desk. He slumps forward on the wood and tries hard to bite back the quiet, senseless sobs that bubble up in his chest. It’s ridiculous. The whole thing is ridiculous. He should be able to handle this, even if it has been awhile. He can’t fall apart the moment his period decides to rear its ugly head as one of the worst reminders of what he isn’t. What he fails to be. Yet here he is, crying over his desk like a child, though his sobs are silent. Even now, years later, he hasn’t shaken that habit.

______

Mista startles out of his light doze thanks to a text. He flails about uselessly, arms smacking into the side door of the car before he remembers where he is (and who he’s with, if the short-tempered, “Watch it!”, is anything to go by). It takes him another moment to figure out where he left his phone, and it’s only because of Five that he finds it at all.

“Thanks, buddy,” he says as he pulls the screen up for the last message he received. He blinks in surprise at the body of the first text.

Meetings are canceled.

Under any other circumstance, Mista would be hooping and hollering in delight. Meetings being canceled means that Mista doesn’t have to stand around pointlessly for hours while some morons try to talk circles around Giorno of all people, but there’s a gnawing worry that grows in his gut. Giorno doesn’t cancel meetings unless he’s physically unable to be there. Usually when a mission has carried over and kept them from home for too long. The next text does little to quail his anxiety.

You should check in on him anyway.

Mista doesn’t need to be told who ‘him’ is, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already planning on it once they get back to the mansion.

______

Giorno extracts himself from his desk after a few more minutes of self-pity. There’s only so much of it he can stand at any given time. More importantly, he doesn’t want anyone to happen by before he has a chance to compose himself, which is exactly what he does. He pulls a small mirror from his desk and grimaces at the red, puffy eyes that look back at him.

He’s part way through fixing his hair when another cramp hits. Sharp and agonizing with the way it pierces through his middle and spreads outwards, toward his hips. He doubles over with his arms hugging around his middle. It’s instinct more than anything. God knows it doesn’t help alleviate the pain any.

It takes him a solid sixty seconds before he can work up the courage to unravel. He half expects the next wave to roll through him the moment he does, but there’s a blessed lack of follow up. For the time being. He doesn’t expect that to last. It never does.

His chest aches with the effort that it takes to keep his breathing even. The binder isn’t helping, but he’s not about to try to wiggle out of it in his office. His only option is to get himself up and back to his bedroom, but that sounds like a momentous task on it’s own. Somehow he has to get there without being brought to his knees by cramps or hit with another wave of despair or-- well, being perceived at all. One look at his face will give him away. Maybe they won’t know why, but they’ll know that something is wrong, and that’s bad enough.

He finally manages to get his hair to a presentable level again when someone knocks on the door to his office, and his heart drops down to his stomach. He glances back at the mirror one more time before shoving it in his desk. His eyes are definitely still puffy, though some of the redness has dissipated.

“Giorno?” Mista asks, poking the door open slightly when Giorno doesn’t immediately respond. It’s only then that Giorno realizes that his voice is caught in his throat, and he gets a second, far more concerned call of his name for his hesitance.

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Too quickly. Mista might not read people as well as Bucciarati, but he’s still acutely aware of certain details (the ones that matter! Mista’s voice echoes in his head.)

“Uh,” Mista starts, a little lamely, but he quickly shakes off any reserves he has about being direct if his next words are anything to go by, “No offense, but you look like shit, so I’m pretty sure you’re not. Actually.”

Giorno falters slightly. He should have texted Mista after Polnareff left. Should have explained the situation in the vaguest possible terms. And definitely should have come up with an excuse. But he had done none of those things, and now he’s stuck with the repercussions of his own actions. Or inactions.

“It’s not important,” he tries. Pathetic as it is.

“You canceled all your meetings for today,” and Giorno supposes he set himself up for that. He hasn’t come up with an excuse yet, especially not one that adequately explains away his behavior.

Silence stretches between them. Giorno for lack of an answer, and Mista because he seems to expect Giorno to cave. To the Don’s great horror, he does just that.

“It really isn’t that big of a deal. I’m just--” only, before he can finish speaking, another cramp grabs hold and twists mercilessly until he’s gasping and leaning forward with both hands clenching at the edge of his desk. He closes his eyes, as if to shut out the pain, or possibly the reality of the situation as it registers in the back of his mind.

“Giorno!” Mista calls, loud and panicked. He lunges forward to close the gap between them, though he hesitates once he’s within touching distance. “Giorno?”

“I’m fine, just-- cramps,” Giorno confesses, grinding his teeth together as the next one rips through him. Equally as painful as the last and as impossible to ignore. He feels his cheeks burn the way his eyes are once again, and all he wants is to crawl under his desk and hide away from the world. It’s not often that he wishes he could be nobody again, but now is certainly one of those times.

“Cramps?” Mista asks with confusion evident in his voice, but then his eyes go wide. He scans Giorno over, as if that might give him the affirmative he needs. “Like Bucci’s?”

Giorno doesn’t actually know what that means, but he nods anyway. Close enough, and it means he doesn’t have to explain anything else.

“Okay, okay, shit--!” Mista sounds a bit more panicked now. More like how Giorno feels being flayed open like this in front of one of the people he actually cares about. Whose opinion actually means something to him. “God, he hasn’t had them in so long. Fuck, uh? Heat. Oh, and we should probably get you into something more comfortable. Have you taken anything?”

What?

Giorno’s mind skips and stutters into a complete stall. He’s not sure what Bucciarati has to do with anything, but he’s suddenly sure that the answer is more closely linked than he had originally thought.

“Gio?”

“Yes,” Giorno grinds out, because he did, though he’s nearing the end of the four hour period before he can take the next dose, and he’s tempted to swallow as much as he can fit into his fist. The damage is something he can deal with later. With his Stand, but he knows it won’t help. The efficacy of such medication is limited, but it hurts. It hurts, and he’s just outed himself to one of his closest friends with no warning. No preparation. Anxiety works its way up his throat, and he thinks, for a moment, that he might be sick.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” Mista says, bringing Giorno back out of his thoughts and back into reality. He tugs gently at Giorno’s upper arm.

Giorno lets himself be pulled up to his feet with a sort of numbness spreading through him. For all the panic that’s coursing through his veins, there is one, lucid thought: Mista isn’t upset. He’s taken the news and simply rolled with it like it means nothing. Like it doesn’t change anything, and Giorno doesn’t know how to handle that, so he just lets himself be pulled along. Out from behind his desk and toward the office entrance.

From there it’s a long, impossible trek to Giorno’s bedroom. One that requires breaks for the cramps that won’t let him off so easily. For a moment, he wishes it were a bullet tearing apart his insides. That, at least, he could do something about, but cramps are something else entirely. Using GE won’t get him anywhere. In fact, he’s pretty sure it’s made it worse in the past, when he’s tried out of pure desperation.

“I’m going to go grab a heating pad,” Mista starts once they reach Giorno’s bedroom, “You should get changed into something less-- tight. Got any stretchy pants?”

“My pajamas,” Giorno answers, more because it seems expected of him than because he’s actually paying attention.

“Perfect! I’ll be back in a minute.”

Giorno’s left standing there, a bit lost for what to do with himself, but the next shock of pain comes and fresh tears burn at the corners of his eyes, reminding him of the fact that he really doesn’t want to be in the middle of the hall, visibly crying for all to see. There’s a logical part of him that knows he wouldn’t be judged for it, but there’s a much louder part that reminds him that crying has never gotten him anywhere in life other than alone and miserable.

He turns the knob on his door and pushes it open after the agony subsides enough to allow him to move again. The first thing he does upon entering his room is seek out the pill bottle from earlier. A few minutes won’t make a difference, and he’s rapidly approaching the end of his rope. He can’t handle the pain on top of everything else.

Changing is a whole other problem. One that he hadn’t thought of as a problem until he’s standing there with his sleep clothes in hand and staring down at himself, realizing he’ll have to undress in order to redress (and is it really worth the effort? Worth seeing himself and his hips and his chest and--).

He peels out of his suit despite himself. He doesn’t want Mista to come back and push the subject. Then there’s the risk that Mista might not leave, which means Giorno will have to deal with an audience on top of having to suffer through his own self-hatred.

The binder stays on. Regardless of how uncomfortable and hot and painful he already is. He can’t handle the idea of taking it off right now, so he suffers for the little bit of mental peace that it brings him. The flattened chest makes up for the curve of his hips, though he finds himself flattening his hands over his waist anyway. Unable to stop himself from picking at every flaw when he’s already hormonal and all around having one of the worst days he’s had in awhile.

The knock at his door startles him into action, and he finishes getting dressed with a quick, “Hold on!”

A moment later has him opening the door to Mista’s grinning face.

“Found it,” Mista says as he holds up the box with a product image on it. Giorno doesn’t get a chance to observe more than the fact that it’s maroon before Mista drops it back down to his side and nods toward Giorno’s room.

Giorno steps out of the way to allow his (technically uninvited) guest in. Mista’s rambling on about something. Giorno isn’t sure what, though he catches ‘Bucciarati’ and ‘Trish’ in there somewhere, and there’s something about Abbacchio being unhelpful and half a dozen other things that fall on deaf ears.

“Oh, and you got changed, good,” Mista finishes with another one of his goofy smiles. The corners of his eyes pull oddly, giving away something else that he’s trying to hide under all the babbling and warmth. Worry persists, despite knowing the truth. Giorno can’t understand why. Cramps aren’t that big of a deal; even if he’s made them out to be in his own head.

“Yeah, it’s helping a little, thanks,” Giorno says when Mista looks at him with some sort of expectation in his eyes. Giorno’s usually better at reading people than this, but he feels like he’s moving in water. Too slow and with too much drag. He can’t keep up with the world around him, and it’s all overwhelming pressure and not enough time. Time to process, time to breathe. He loops back around to the fact that he came out to someone on the Team no more than ten minutes ago, yet Mista is unflinching and unconcerned. He hasn’t brought it back up, since he learned about it, in fact. Hell, he’s acting like all of this is completely normal, despite Giorno being almost completely certain that Mista is cis.

“Earth to Giorno,” Mista calls, voice soft with that same worry now seeping into his tone.

“Sorry,” Giorno says quickly, “I was--”

“Off in lala land?”

“Something like that,” though he thinks that sounds substantially more pleasant than all the thoughts racing through his mind.

Mista watches him for a long, uncomfortable moment. It’s times like these where Giorno gets reminded of just how much Mista likes to play dumb, when he’s anything but. He might not have the book smarts that Fugo has, but Mista is brilliant in so many other ways. Ways that are working against Giorno right now.

“You know, if you want to talk about it…”

“I-” Giorno cuts off and groans. He quickly takes a seat on the edge of his bed and sticks his head down between his knees, folding himself in half in an attempt to apply enough pressure to alleviate some of the pain.

“Oh, shit, here,” Mista moves to find an outlet and digs out the heating pad from its box. He hooks it up quickly and hands it to Giorno. The fabric of its exterior is surprisingly soft in Giorno’s hands, and he’s quick to tuck it between his abdomen and his thighs.

“Thank you,” he breathes out after several seconds pass and heat finally starts to spread across the pad.

“No problem,” Mista says quietly. More subdued than he typically is. He moves to sit on the bed beside Giorno and places a hesitant hand on his back, where he rubs gentle circles until he can feel some of the tension ease out of his Don’s muscles.

It’s quiet for a long while. Giorno basks in the relief the pad and pain killers offer. It’s the first time in over an hour that he’s been able to simply breathe through the worst of the cramps each time they hit. Though his chest continues to ache, the change is nonetheless a welcomed one. The sensation of heat spreading across his abdomen is enough of a distraction to keep him out of his own head. For a short while, at least.

“Earlier, you said something about Bucciarati,” Giorno starts, nervous and unsure of how to broach the topic.

“Oh yeah, Bucci used to get cramps real bad, too,” Mista says without hesitation. Without any hint whatsoever that he finds what he’s said to be unusual.

“Is he--?”

“Oh, shit,” Mista’s hand stills on his back, and Giorno gnaws suddenly at his lip, afraid he’s somehow messed with something he shouldn’t have. “Uh, technically that’s probably not my place to say? But he’s not exactly hiding it, Gio. He’s got scars and everything.”

Scars? Oh.

Oh.

Giorno feels his face flush, this time out of a different sort of embarrassment. Sure, he had seen the scars before, but they were light. Old and well healed, probably through the help of Sticky Fingers, and it’s not as though Bucciarati isn’t covered in dozens of others. Most of them silver from age, but there all the same. It had never once occurred to Giorno that the two on his chest, which peek out just a bit underneath the classic lingerie that Bucciarati always wears, are anything purposeful.

“I didn’t realize,” Giorno admits after a moment, when that little fact is probably very obvious and unnecessarily verbalized, but he doesn’t know what else to say to fill the silence. His own head is much louder. Full of racing thoughts and flashes of memories.

“Maybe you should talk to him about it sometime?” Particularly in moments like these; Mista spares his emotions by keeping that part to himself, but Giorno’s thinking it all the same.

To imagine that he’s been doing all of this in silence since meeting Bucciarati and his Team. To think that he could be so dense as to dismiss the signs that he isn’t alone. He only wishes he had realized sooner, even if he isn’t sure what it would have changed. He’s not sure he could have broached the subject then. He’s not sure he could do it now. Mista only found out because of circumstance.

Still. There’s someone just like him, and they live under the same roof. “I should,” he agrees, because he really should, hang-ups aside.

“Hey, you wanna try laying out? ‘Cause, no offense, man, but that looks super uncomfortable.” Mista asks after a beat of silence. He’s never one to let it go on for too long, and he’s rarely deterred by any uncomfortableness that might be lingering.

Giorno nods his head after a moment and slowly sits up. He moves his hands to hold the heating pad against his abdomen and breathes a small sigh of relief when the pain doesn’t immediately crowd in on him again. He carefully stretches himself out across the bed, despite how painfully aware of Mista’s presence he is. It’s weird to be laying out, so physically vulnerable, and it makes him acutely aware of all the things he wishes he could forget. (Is the outline of his binder visible? What about the shape of his hips? Does lying down like this make it that much more obvious how slight Giorno is?)

Once he’s lying back fully, he lets go of the pad, allowing it to rest on top of him on its own. The next wave of pain is far more manageable than the last several have been, and he merely winces in response.

“Those must suck, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“I really don’t,” Mista agrees, “Though Trish and Bucci make it out to be pretty shitty, so.”

“I think I prefer being stabbed.”

Mista winces at the thought, “For what it’s worth, I’d rather you weren’t.”

Giorno lets out a startled laugh, but he gets Mista’s point. He kind of wishes his bodyguard weren’t so prone to being shot with multiple bullets on a regular basis. Unfortunately for both of them, they can’t always get what they want.

The quiet that settles over them this time is much more peaceful. Giorno closes his eyes and relaxes into the mattress. It’s the best he’s felt all day. Physically, anyway. There’s plenty for him to work through otherwise, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now. Instead, he focuses on the lessening cramps until they’ve all but died off entirely. Exhaustion takes hold of him then. It’s still far too early in the day to sleep, but a nap is beginning to sound like a good idea.

Before he can think about drifting off fully, he cracks his eyes open to peek at Mista, “Thank you.”

Mista beams at him from where he’s gone and laid out next to Giorno, “Anytime, GioGio. Anytime.”

#giomis #misgio #giorno giovanna #guido mista #jjba #vento aureo #team bucci #jean pierre polnareff #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #jjba part 5 #part 5 #golden wind #blitzwrites #blitz

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ateezmakemeweep · 3 years

Text

richboy!yeosang (part 3)

word count: 6k

fluff, smut

(part 2) (miniseries masterlist)

except that.

that was probably the one thing you could’ve said to him that’d be really bad and panic-inducing; because out of all the things he was thinking, he would’ve never suspected that.

he thought maybe you wanted to change your major or quit your job, stressors that the average college student had and went through during their time as a young adult.

but you getting pregnant after years of being on birth control? he never would’ve guessed that.

and he supposes right now, as he gets his ass handed to him by seonghwa, he’s seeing that neither did you.

“no, no, let me get this right,” the man begins.

“she tells you after a month of being terrified that she’s carrying your child. you guys scream and yell at each other for a little bit, in typical yeosang fashion. she cries, tells you to fuck off and then you... actually do fuck off and come here?” seonghwa asks, leant against the doorframe as he watches yeosang’s unmoving body plopped face down on his couch.

“does that sound about right?”

he had figured yeosang was the late night food he ordered, ignoring the way his face was gonna puff in the morning and excitedly opening the door.

but then his best friend of over ten years came barreling in, lowly growling expletive after expletive before adding that, “oh and by the way, you’re gonna be an uncle.”

seonghwa thought he was kidding at first, staring at the boy sitting with his head in his hands before he looked up and saw all the tension and stress and... sadness, he thinks, in his friend’s eyes.

“what happened?” seonghwa asked, his voice soft and kind even though yeosang came tearing in there like a storm; it’s one of the reasons the boy came here, honestly, knowing that his friend would help him through any crisis.

and right now, he felt like he didn’t know what the fuck to do.

“i’m pregnant.”

he didn’t even register the words at first, distracted by your tear-stained face and watery, scared eyes, wanting to do anything in his power to stop them.

but then after a few seconds, it’s like his brain finally woke up and registered the two simple words that just left your mouth.

“what?”

“i’m pregnant, yeosang,” you mumble quietly, not being able to bask in the relief that comes over you because you’re still so scared.

you’re relieved that you told him and happy it’s not a dirty little secret anymore but you’re still terrified of what’s to come; especially when, after you say it, silence fills the apartment.

you can’t tell if it’s a good silence or a bad silence, you just know you could hear a fucking pin drop and that scares you even more.

“how are you.... when did you...” he stutters out, not being able to get his thoughts together.

you daringly peek your head up to see him shaking his and staring down at the floor with furrowed brows, finally meeting your gaze with confusion and utter shock in his eyes.

“you’re on the pill,” yeosang states obviously, like it wasn’t the first thing you, mingi and yunho said too. “how did that even happen?”

“i don’t know, that’s what i said,” you tell him, shaking your own head because it really is hard to believe this is happening to you, of all people; you’ve heard of this happening before but no one ever thinks it could happen to them, that they’d be the 1% (or 9%, as mingi suggested) that birth control fails on.

“did you forget to take it or something?” he asks, no malice in his tone but the words making you raise an eyebrow at him; he’s not seriously about to blame you for this?

“no, yeosang, i didn’t forget to take it,” you snap. “you know i’m careful and set an alarm. i’ve been on it for years.”

“babe, i didn’t mean it like that,” yeosang says, hearing the snippy tone in your voice and wincing at the look on your face.

he makes his way over from his spot on the couch to crouch below you, his hands resting on your kneecaps as you sit stiffly with your feet under you. the soft apologetic look on his face should soothe you but instead you find yourself slightly irritable.

“i’m just confused as to how this happened,” he says softly, his eyes roaming your face in a way that makes tears continue to sting yours. you don’t know if you’re mad or upset, you just feel like you wanna cry.

“well then that makes two of us,” you mumble, a sigh leaving yeosang’s mouth as he rests his head on your legs. his forehead is warm against your cold skin as you let out a sigh of your own, not wanting to snap at him during a moment like this.

you lace your fingers in his hair as the two of you just come to terms with everything, yeosang’s breathing a little more calm and even against your skin.

“so that’s why you were puking,” he realizes aloud, a humorless laugh leaving you as you nod your head in confirmation.

“yup. not a virus but morning sickness.”

your boyfriend has the slightest pout on his lips as he recalls how sick you felt those first few days, running his thumbs along your knee gently.

but then he remembers you started puking nearly a month ago, which was then followed by all your weird behavior he chopped up to you still feeling sick and stressed over work.

your abnormal distance, your lack of interest in sex, a far away look in your eye any time he was trying to talk to you; he feels a slight sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach before he even asks the question.

“when did you find this out?”

he doesn’t mean to blurt the question out so forcefully but he can tell he does, hears it in his own voice and sees your face snap down to him with a look of guilt.

that was the one thing he noticed about you right away, you weren’t able to lie. you were always such an easy read and it’s one of the reasons he took such an interest in you.

he knew what pissed you off and he knew what made you flustered; but in turn, he also always knows when you lie or when you feel uncomfortable and annoyed.

when he’s met with silence, he moves away from your lap and stands in front of you. he pulls you up and over to the couch so you can both sit side by side, his body turned to look at you carefully.

his gaze is intense and scrutinizing and it only makes you that more nervous to answer.

you’ll never forget when yunho said that’s what made him so intimidating. the way he could have the softest, sweetest eyes but then also pierce through your very soul and make you nearly fall to his feet.

“baby...” he tries again, bringing his hand to your face gently.

he turns so you can look at him and you see his eyes flash when he notices more tears have welled up, stomach sinking as fear and shame build.

“answer me, please,” he begs softly, trying to keep his emotions at bay but also hating to see you like this.

you press your lips together so you don’t let out a pathetic sob, your eyes roaming his face before you bite the bullet and begin telling him.

“when yunho came over that first week i was sick,” you start, remembering the boy only insisted on visiting because yeosang went back to school and work and didn’t want you being alone.

“then mingi came over and was the one who said it. i-i didn’t think it was possible but we went and got tests anyway and... they were all positive, yeosang. all fucking five of them and i didn’t know what to do. i was a wreck on this couch until you got home.”

“you should’ve told me right away, baby, what the fuck,” yeosang says, his voice strangely soft despite the louder volume and curses leaving him.

you feel comforted by the fact that even as you tell him this, he pulls you closer into his warm body and wraps his arms around you.

he hates thinking that for a month, you were terrified and dealing with this alone. keeping it from him when he thinks he could’ve made you feel better about this whole scary moment - it’d be better if you guys were afraid together.

“i was so scared and i didn’t know how you’d take it,” you mutter to him, not wanting to make him feel bad but also wanting to be honest. “i didn’t know if you’d be mad or surprised and you just seemed so stressed with work and stuff... i didn’t wanna make it worse.”

his heart sinks as he listens to your words, allowing yourself to be full of anxiety and stress just to spare him.

“my love...” his deep voice mumbles lowly, your stomach flipping at the warm affection in his tone. his hand cupping your face immediately makes your body relax against him, finally gaining the courage to look him in the eyes.

his gaze is less intense and scrutinizing, now full of love and affection and warmth that already makes you feel just a little bit better.

maybe keeping this a secret wasn’t that big of a deal, maybe he understands because he’s going through the same fears and anxieties you were at first.

“now, why would i be mad about you being pregnant?” he asks, a small smile on his face as he looks over you questioningly. “surprised? sure. but we just talked about it, baby.... i want a family with you. i mean... i was thinking a little bit later in life but if you’re so eager now...”

you narrow your eyes at his teasing and smack his arm lightly, almost wanting to whine about how calm and nonchalant he’s being about this.

how is he not absolutely terrified right now? how is he teasing and smiling and talking as if a tiny person isn’t gonna pop out in nine months and change your entire life?

“how could you possibly be this calm about it?” you ask him with an annoyed groan, leaning back on the couch to rest your pounding head on the armrest. “i spent weeks crying and sick to my stomach about it.”

“maybe because you were keeping it from me,” he mutters sarcastically, his hands resting next to your head as he looms above you.

you can only respond with your lips in the smallest of pouts, a smirk crossing his mouth before he meets yours in a chaste kiss.

it’s the most real and intense a kiss has felt between you two in weeks, his hand creeping over to hold your jaw tightly. you welcome his tongue eagerly, your own lapping against his before you two smile into the kiss.

“for real, though,” he mutters when he eventually pulls back, chests heaving from lack of air and a need to reconnect lips. “i know you’re scared and so i am. but it’ll be okay. i’m... kind of excited, actually.”

you smile softly at him, a tiny “really?” leaving your mouth that has him nodding and smiling proudly. you reach up to peck his cheek sweetly, the calmness that evaded you for weeks finally coming back to ground you.

“but don’t keep anything else from me, okay? i wanna be part of these things and know about this, babe.”

“okay,” you say breathily, his eyes so thoughtful and loving you can feel your heart swelling in your chest.

and it doesn’t even occur to you in that moment to mention the doctor visit you already had; you’re just so distracted by his positive reaction and the need to kiss him, finally allowing yourself to deepen it and give yourself over to him.

you missed him and his touch and his lips on you, straddling his lap as you giggle into the kiss.

it’s after a few minutes of silence, you both laying there with heaving chests and your clothes littered on the floor from nearly an hour of making up for lost time, that yeosang starts tracing shapes on your stomach.

lines and circles and even a heart that makes you bite back a smile. his own deep chuckle rings through the air a few seconds later, your head craning to the side to look at him.

“why are you laughing?” you ask, a smile pulling at your lips.

“i just... can’t believe this,” he says happily, his warm hands on your skin making your heart jump.

“and i think it’s pretty funny that fucking mingi was the one who came to this conclusion,” yeosang laughs out, his long, gentle fingers pressing down mindlessly. “like how’d he even know about...morning sickness and shit?”

“i don’t know to be honest,” you giggle out, thinking back to the boy’s meltdown in the doctor’s office.

and maybe because you were so happy and giddy about his reaction, his warm hands on you and the soft smile on his face and the bliss from multiple orgasms, you didn’t even think about your next words.

you were just so excited to share these things with him now, let him in on the past few weeks of what you were going through and wanted to be going through with him.

“you should’ve seen his face at the doctor, though, he looked horrified when he saw the sonogram machine. and then when they presumed he was the father, oh, my god, he nearly-”

“wait, wait, wait, what? the doctor?”

your face falls when you hear the immediate change in his voice, something mixed of hurt and disbelief as he sits up and looks at you in confusion.

“when did you go there?”

“i... well, two days after i took the tests. we just wanted to make sure the results were right,” you say quietly, voice small and soft as your stomach starts to churn. “a-and i wanted to make sure i was, you know, healthy and stuff.”

you remember the horror stories and scary incidences of ectopic pregnancies, aware and terrified of just how many things could go wrong - and mingi was quick to remind you himself as well.

“i mean i get that,” yeosang says, surprised by how hurt and upset he’s feeling now. “but like... when were you gonna tell me you already went? the first appointment seems kind of like a big deal, y/n. i wish you would’ve told me then.”

“i was scared, yeosang,” you attempt to justify again, knowing it was wrong to keep it from him but also feeling as if you have the right to be a little nervous and scared shitless. “i didn’t know how to handle it and you were stressed, like, that whole time, i didn’t wanna-”

“i’ll never be too stressed for you, what don’t you get by now, y/n?” he snaps, “have i not proved that to you?”

“of course you have but this is different, yeosang,” you tell him, joining as you sit up and look at him with wide eyes. he was fine about it a few seconds ago, why is this so different?

“this is me being pregnant and possibly changing our life forever. you said you wanted to be married first. you said not for a while. so i didn’t know how you were gonna-”

“i love you, y/n,” he laughs out, shaking his head half in disbelief.

how did you think he was gonna react? go crazy and tell you he didn’t want to be with you anymore? have a mental breakdown because he was a little stressed over his stupid boss and mundane work?

“do you not get how much i actually fucking love you? how could you think i was gonna react in any way but happy?”

“because i wasn’t happy,” you blurt out, his eyes widening and face dropping.

“i mean i wasn’t upset or angry about it but i was so fucking scared, yeosang,” you quickly correct. you want this baby and you want this life with him, you’re just... how did this go so wrong so fast?

“my body’s gonna change and our life is gonna change. i’ll probably have to take some time off from school and all of that scared me. and i thought it would scare you, too.”

“it does scare me but i know we’ll get through it, y/n. especially if we’re on the same page. the same way we’ve been on the same page for these past few years. we’ll be okay but you can’t keep shit from me. that’s how we got this far.”

“i didn’t mean it in a bad way,” you whisper, hearing that edge in his voice he always gets when he starts to get mad or dwell on something.

he was hurt by you keeping it from him but he’s even more hurt you did such a big first step without him.

“i didn’t know you’d wanna come to the appointment with me.”

“how could you think i’d not wanna be there, y/n?” he asks before his face darkens and a tick begins to form in his jaw. “and then you take another man, no less? mingi looked like the baby’s father.”

and it’s like once he says that, you can’t control the outburst of emotions that erupt out of you. him being upset, you understand, but being upset that mingi, your gay best friend who has a fiancé, went with you? when you were scared and freaking out and felt like you didn’t know what to do without him?

“are you fucking kidding me?”

his eyebrows shoot up at the bite in your words, his eyes flaring as they watch you stare him down.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you, i really am, yeosang, and that was wrong of me. but i went with mingi. my best friend, who was there for me when i was terrified.”

“you didn’t let me be there for you,” he bites back, hating that a fight is starting but both of you feeling far too angry and hurt right now. “why are you making it seem like i didn’t wanna be a part of it when you didn’t fucking tell me?”

“are you gonna keep throwing that in my face? i’ve told you over and over again i was scared, yeosang. i’m still fucking scared and i’m sorry i can’t be as calm as you about this but i didn’t know what to do.”

“it’s not about being calm, y/n, it’s about telling me things. were you not even gonna tell me you went? pretend as if our first time going together was your first check up?”

he feels like he’s being a little bit of a bitch about it at this point but he’s truthfully too hurt to care.

he thought he made it clear he wanted a life and a family with you. he was ready to go out and buy you a ring if you said you wanted to get married right now; so why didn’t you get he wanted to be there for you, no matter what?

he wants to be there during every step of the way, not just when things are easy and fun.

“i didn’t even think about it,” you snap, hurt and upset by his accusations. “i didn’t think you’d be this upset, yeosang. you weren’t upset five seconds ago when i told you i kept it from you for a month so why are you upset about this?”

he can’t hear how small and sad your voice is, only focused on your words and the way they make him feel even more upset and frustrated.

“because... that’s different, y/n. that’s something a father should be there for and that’s something that makes it real.’

“that’s exactly why it scared me,” you tell him, tears burning your eyes and your voice barely above a whisper. “and that’s why i needed someone there with me.”

“it should’ve been me there with you,” he growls lowly, possessiveness and anger creeping up on him before he can even think.

but he can only picture you scared and vulnerable as you hear the news about your baby, listening to the doctor congratulate you and holding mingi’s hand tightly because you’re scared to hear it from a real, human source.

“do you not think i know that?” you snap, voice raising as you jump up from your spot on the couch. “i already told you i’m sorry, yeosang. i don’t know why you’re not hearing that i’m fucking scared.”

you wanted him from the second you started taking the pregnancy tests, since the second the words pregnancy were even said. but you wanted him to be content and stress-free more, you wanted him to be okay hearing this news and not potentially destroy your relationship.

“and if you’re just gonna keep making me feel bad about it then how about you just fuck off. because i really don’t need this right now.”

he doesn’t have anything nice to say so he doesn’t say anything, watching as you attempt to wipe at your face discretely and take off toward your shared bedroom.

the sound of the door slamming echoes through the apartment, the knot in yeosang’s stomach only growing more as he gets up and stomps over to throw his shoes on, a similar sound echoing from the entrance of the apartment before silence fills the darkness.

seonghwa waits until yeosang looks up at him to walk over to the boy, plopping down on the chair across from him to shrug his shoulders.

“so... why’d you come here then?”

“i didn’t know where else to go.”

a smirk crosses the boy’s face as he shakes his head, letting out a sigh as he watches his friend carefully.

long gone were those high school feelings of envy and suppressed anger over the situation, able to see now, three years later, that yeosang was the one meant for you.

getting away from you two proved to work for him, distracting himself in a foreign country with foreign friends and foreign girls until he came back and saw how happy you two still were.

and all he really ever wanted was for you two to be happy - and he’s positive you two are gonna get past this by tomorrow morning. because he’s never seen a couple more perfect for each other, even despite your blowout fights.

“well, do you wanna know what i think?”

yeosang rolls his eyes up to look at his friend, the cocky grin and glint in his eyes already not sitting well with him.

“not really. i came here to vent and lay on your expensive couch.”

“you got me that couch, asshole.”

“exactly,” yeosang says, resting his head back on the cushion and almost regretting purchasing this for seonghwa’s housewarming present and not his own.

“anyway you dick,” seonghwa says, suppressing the chuckle threatening to leave him. “i think you’re a fucking idiot for leaving her and have to go back home.”

and just as yeosang opens his mouth to speak, unsure of what he’s gonna say but feeling the need to say something, seonghwa raises his pointer finger and cuts the boy off.

“you have to remember it’s gonna be her body and her life being impacted the most by this. i get why you’re upset that she went without you, i’d probably be hurt too, but it’s how she felt most comfortable at the time. you can’t get mad at her for that. it’s fucking scary, yeosang, and i’m surprised you’re not more terrified about it.”

yeosang listens to seonghwa’s words, letting them soak in his pounding head that’s now screaming at him for leaving you home alone in the first place.

he knows his friend is right and he knows he might’ve overreacted a little.

but he also thinks he’s a little more scared than he’s letting on, wanting to be strong and secure for you but also knowing firsthand how important being a good father is.

it took him long enough to figure out how to be a good boyfriend, he would hate if it took him that long to become a good father and mess up his child along the way.

but he thinks because he has you, the whole journey will be a lot easier.

“i’m scared but i love her,” yeosang says, the words so sweet and honest and soft, seonghwa’s surprised to hear them leave his friend so easily. “i’ve had every intention of marrying her and becoming the father of her kids. so it doesn’t seem that scary, i guess.”

seonghwa feels his heart pull in his chest at the mere fact this is the same friend who used to never let anyone in, would purposely isolate himself and self sabotage and thought being an asshole was easy because it pushed people away.

but he tried to push you away and it only seemed to bring you two together, a smile pulling on seonghwa’s lips before he bites down on them quickly.

“you fucking sap.”

yeosang’s head snaps up at his friend, an annoyed expression crossing his face before he grabs the pillow next to him and promptly whips it at his friend.

“shut up. that’s you and will always be you. little bitch.”

seonghwa snorts as he cranes his neck to the side, eyes roaming the dark night sky and high rises of the city. silence falls between the two boys as they sit with their thoughts, yeosang about you and wondering what you’re doing and seonghwa wondering where the fuck his food-

a knock on the door causes him to spring up, rushing over and sighing in relief when he’s greeted with his late night pancake order. yeosang nosily peeks his head over the couch, his interest heightening when he sees his friend carrying a to-go box of food.

“what’d you get?”

“none of your business,” seonghwa responds, placing the box on the table before disappearing into the kitchen.

yeosang rolls his eyes before making his way over to the table, his eyebrows knitting together before he lets out a humorless laugh. almost one of disbelief.

"of course, why wouldn't you be stealing the last free muffin," yeosang hums sarcastically, a smirk on his lips that has you snatching your hand away.

"you're mean," you whine, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him, "they were out of chocolate chip pancakes and i'll have you know i was willing to spend the $10."

"wow, $10," he says, tone dripping with sarcasm as he picks up the muffin and resists the urge to smile when a pout covers your face.

he remembers that day at the ski lodge feeling like it was longest one of his life, the night quickly falling before the power outage landed you in his room.

it’s when he confessed all of his tragic tales to you, something he hid from everyone and told you simply because a part of him was overwhelmed to.

it didn’t excuse how he treated you but he’d hoped you’d understand after hearing that why you should stay away from him.

why trying to see any good in him at that point in his life was ridiculous.

but you never stopped and he remembers to this day that’s when he allowed himself to fall for you, blew all his trauma and caution and doubts to the wind and tried to be worthy for someone like you.

but he also remembers seonghwa coming in and looking at him like he was about to beat the shit out of him that night, whisking you away before they started to fight over you in dramatic, movie night fashion.

it’s why he didn’t even hesitate to think back to that morning with you, the pout on your face and sad look in your eye about not being able to eat those $10 chocolate chip pancakes ingrained in his mind.

“can i still order room service?” he asked the front desk, the flustered voices on the other end of the phone letting out a frustrated groan before telling him yes; it probably wasn’t the nicest thing to do after an unexpected power outage shocked the staff, but he needed a one up on seonghwa at the time.

“can i have an order of chocolate chips pancakes then?”

“don’t even try it,” seonghwa growled at the boy, pushing him away before plopping down on the dining room chair.

yeosang let out a snort as he raised an eyebrow at the boy, looking from him to the food then back to him. without a second thought, and only a little bit of a distasteful sigh, seonghwa plopped a pancake on the lid for his friend and pushed it away from him.

“only because i’m gonna be an uncle.”

“maybe a godfather, who knows,” yeosang mutters, a smile breaking out across seonghwa’s face before he promptly shovels a pancake in his mouth.

the two sit in silence for a few moments, sounds of chewing and disgusted looks being thrown back and forth before seonghwa swallows and begins to speak.

“for real, though, it’s cool you guys are gonna be parents. you’ll be a good dad, yeosang.”

the boy looks up at his friend and sees nothing but honesty in his eyes, stabbing his fork through another piece of pancake before popping one in his mouth.

“you think?”

he thinks this is why he came here, too; because without even him verbalizing it directly, his friend somehow knew one of the silent worries he was having.

“i do,” seonghwa nods, a small smile on his face as he looks at his friend. “kind of early and surprising but i don’t think that matters. you and y/n are good for each other. you’ll figure it out.”

yeosang smiles at his friend warmly, popping another piece of food into his mouth and swallowing.

“and if you somehow fuck up again with her,” seonghwa adds, yeosang looking back up to see a shit eating smirk across his friends face. “i could always step in for old times sake. raise the baby as my own. i think that’d be pretty-”

“shut the fuck up.”

a deep chuckle bubbles out of seonghwa at his friend’s words, covering his face and shouting the boy’s name when a few seconds later, utensils are hurled right across the table.

the apartment is as dark and quiet as it was when he left, kicking his shoes off to the side before quickly making his way toward the bedroom.

he pushes the door open quietly, met with the sounds your breathing as you lie asleep in bed. he leans his head against the doorframe as he watches your sleeping form got a moment, his stomach sinking the whole time he walked back home.

he felt bad about the fight and it’s hitting him even more at this very moment, walking over to crouch beside you and move a messy piece of hair out of your face.

he frowns upon seeing your pouted lips and puffy face, his finger swiping under your cheek where dried tears are; he can tell you probably cried yourself to sleep.

leaning forward, he presses a feather light kiss to your skin, licking over his dry lips as his stinging eyes roam your face.

he doesn’t know how long he just kneels there and watches you, his hand running through your hair as regret and shame bubble in the pit of his stomach.

it’s a strange contrast to the overwhelming feeling of warmth in his chest, heart soaring at the fact you both have gotten this far together. that you’ll now be expecting a child, half you and half him, and start a little family that he only began to picture when he met you.

he wasn’t even sure if he wanted kids until you came along, the idea of you and only you carrying his child; watching you with them and making him love you even more.

“yeosang?” you mumble sleepily, your eyes blinking open slowly in a daze.

you felt a presence next to you and hands in your hair, waking up panicked for less than a second before you saw your boyfriend’s familiar outline in the darkness.

“hi, baby.”

his voice is deep and thick with emotion, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you sit up to look at him.

you don’t know if you’re more alarmed by the tone of his voice or the look on his face, still dazed from sleep so you’re not exactly remembering what happened hours ago.

you recall laying down with your face in the pillow, quiet cries wracking your body, before promptly passing out into a dreamless sleep.

but now you’re blinking at him with such confusion and such a soft, sleepy look, messy hair and sleep marks on your puffy face, that it make tears sting the back of his eyes.

he can’t believe he left you here alone.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry and i know you’re scared.”

your eyes widen slightly as he sits up and pulls you into him despretely, your face in his chest before his arms wrap around you and hold you tight; it’s almost too tight, making it hard to breathe in his warm body, but you wouldn’t dare a say a word.

because the more aware you become of your surroundings, the more you remember from earlier in the night. you cursing at him and not being sensitive enough, finding his concerns ridiculous but also realizing, he just wanted to be there for you.

he wanted to be there for you every step of the way and you can’t blame him for being a little hurt.

but he also can’t be mad for you being scared and not knowing how to react right away, dealing with more than just the simple fact of telling him.

“i know you’re scared and i know it’ll be hard for you but we’ll do it together... okay? we’ll get through it, baby, and i’ll be there for you the whole time. i just don’t wanna fight with you.”

“me either,” you mumble against his chest, tears swarming in your own eyes when you pull back and see his eyes are glossy, too. “it wasn’t fair to you and i should’ve told you sooner. i... i shouldn’t have been scared to tell you.”

“i get why you didn’t though,” he hums lowly, remembering how much he complained to you those few weeks about being stressed from work. “i get your life is gonna change more than mine and i’m sorry i didn’t-”

you interrupt his words by pressing your lips to his, worming your way into his lap as he meets your kiss with a fervor. your mouths part and his tongue teases at your mouth, just passing that line of sweet and chaste.

“it’s okay,” you mumble when you pull back, a small smile on your face as you look at him and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “we’re okay now.”

a smile crosses yeosang’s face as he nods, pulling you into him again as he presses his lips against your forehead.

he closes his eyes as he takes in a few calming breaths, feeling your warm skin under his lips and your body close to his; you guys are okay and he didn’t mess anything up.

you’ll still have to take it day by day but he knows you guys are gonna be okay.

you hear him mumble a quiet “i love you,” against your head and you smile softly as you pull back, responding with a softly spoken “i love you,” before you lean back and plop yourself back down on the warm space you previously occupied.

it didn’t feel right sleeping here without him. the bed felt far too big and far too cold and far too empty.

“can you sleep with me now?” you whine softly, a pout on your face as you stretch your arms out to him. “i missed you.”

and it’s the fact that you missed him even though he made you cry that makes him hold back tears again, throwing himself down on bed and pulling you over so you can rest on his chest.

you cuddle yourself closer to him with a content sigh, intertwining your arms and legs as you lay your head over his chest.

“i don’t know how we used to fight all the time,” yeosang mumbles after a few seconds of silence, his hand in yours as his thumb softly caresses your skin. “i fucking hated it.”

“i know,” you chuckle out lightly, your eyes closed as you bury your face in his chest. “you’re soft now, though. i thought you were gonna cry or something.”

a deep chuckle leaves him before he lets out something between a growl and scoff, your loud giggles filling the room when he reaches over and grabs at your ticklish waist.

it’s the same giggles that fill the living room the next day when all the boys come over, san, jongho, and wooyoung nearly falling over in shock when you tell them the news.

“you’re....pregnant? like... with a baby?” wooyoung asks, poking at your stomach roughly like it’s some foreign object.

“no, with a chicken,” yeosang snaps, pushing his friend back to halt him from touching you. “what kind of stupid fucking question is that?”

“i don’t know! i’m just shocked, okay!”

a smile crosses your face as you hear the front door open, your eyes shifting to see seonghwa, mingi and yunho walking into the apartment. your smile widens upon seeing the boys, the two tallest ones bouncing over happily.

mingi catches yeosang’s eyes and raises an eyebrow when he sees the boy throw him a dirty look, the dark-haired boy scoffing as they stare each other down.

“you still mad the doctor thought i was the daddy?” mingi growls lowly, a snort leaving you and yunho’s mouth as yeosang pushes at the taller boy and throws you a blank look.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you tell him, accidentally letting it slip on your daily morning phone call with the boy.

but it doesn’t stop mingi and yeosang from bickering further, your own form sauntering over to seonghwa and greeting him with a smile.

“hi.”

“hey,” seonghwa smiles, handsome as ever as he congratulates you softly.

you weren’t surprised when yeosang told you he went there last night, the friendship between the boys something you’ve watched blossom into something remarkable.

it took you a while to get over the guilt of almost destroying it but now it all seemed like a distant memory. you and seonghwa had an unspoken love for one another but it wasn’t like the teenage, puppy type love you once had for one another.

it was more so one of a mutual respect. a genuine friendship where neither you, seonghwa or yeosang felt awkward or threatened by.

but it’s upon listening to seonghwa talk softly to you that you notice a red mark on his face, your eyes squinting and hand reaching up to poke at a deep scratch across his face.

“seonghwa, oh my god,” you interrupt, yeosang’s head snapping to you before a guilty (but unapologetic) expression overcomes him. “what happened to your face?”

part 4

tag list: @mirror-juliet @toffee-hwa @valhoez @miatsubaki23 @mydaintydaisy @treasure-hwa @khjssss [couldn’t tag :( ]

#completely forgot to post this yesterday jfdkvkfvk #sorry!! on that cliffhanger too :/#yeosang #yeosang angst #yeosang fluff #ateez #ateez angst #ateez fluff #yeosang scenarios #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #yeosang imagines

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

Text

I was gonna put the Spy Kids quote here but then I’d probably get an ask if they or Sharkboy & Lavagirl are pulp heroes.

Okay, jokes aside I can’t put it into words just how much I appreciate the feedback and reception I get from you guys, never in a million years did I think I would ever get the notes I get or the amount of asks I receive. I can’t believe I’m nearing 200 followers as is, that’s insane to me. I am eternally grateful that this place lets me finally put out my essays somewhere people will read them and that you guys actually humor my ramblings, and frankly I don’t think I’m ever going to find an outlet like this elsewhere. Please don’t hesitate to send questions.

But I’m gonna have to start rapid firing a couple of those 50 questions so they don’t pile up more, and for these “Is X a Pulp Hero”, I’m gonna start off by pointing that I made a chart specifically to address this question, to try and at least give the cat I let out of the bag a structure to work with so it doesn’t destroy the furniture (not that it ever stopped my cat). Although again, the chart is just a basic attempt to put this on working order, sometimes it really is just a particular vibe that a character or property gives off.

Anyhow, on a case by case basis:

Santa Claus: Not a pulp hero, waaay older than those, but has appeared in pulp stories (I mean, it’s Santa). There have been pulp stories that featured Santa, there’s a murderous Santa Claus in the canadian pulp Guy Vercheres, the Jimmieboy short stories had him meet Santa, and The Shadow’s killed at least one criminal dressed like Santa as well as posed for a holiday picture with the real one in Edd Cartier’s final drawing before he passed away, which is as official as a crossover could possibly get.

Samurai Jack: Maybe. The most directly pulp thing Genndy Tartakosvky’s done yet is Primal, that is just 100% cartoon pulp, the Conan/Lost World stuff bleeds through the screen. Samurai Jack is kinda near that ballpark but that’s because Samurai Jack has a zillion influences and pop culture references, most of it seems taken straight from comics. Pulp stuff is in there but that’s because pulps run in the blood of everything, and it doesn’t make everything pulp. The whole premise of Samurai Jack is designed for the contrast between an old-fashioned samurai coming to face and adapting to whatever wacky future nonsense and pop culture archetypes Aku’s throwing at him that week because that’s what they felt like doing for the episode. There’s gangsters and Lupin and Star Wars and historical fantasy and robot violence and...shit, it really is pulp, come to think of it. Still not gonna say a definitive Yes to Jack being a Pulp Hero but the vibe is definitely there and maybe that’s all that really counts.

The Belmonts: Maybe. There’s definitely Simon, because Simon is Conan. Julius Belmont also gives off a strong old-school adventurer vibe. The others are a lot more distant but they are definitely a lot closer to that ballpark than most videogame heroes, characters like Richter and Alucard wouldn’t look that out of place fighting monsters next to The Spider or Elric. Again, there’s not many actual connections to pulp properties or periods, but the whole point of Castlevania is that you get to cartwheel through graveyards and whip your way through exploding skeletons and Frankensteins so you can give Dracula a wedgie. So I’m gonna actually say a Yes to this one.

Scrooge McDuck: Yes. He’s in the chart already, and really I probably could have placed him in the True Neutral section considering Scrooge was created in the 1900s-1950s time period and was pretty explicitly modeled after a pulp magazine kind of adventurer.

The Joestars: No. I don’t consider Joseph a Pulp Hero in the first place, it’s really more Battle Tendency having an Indiana Jones globetrotting vibe than Joseph himself, I put the characters in the Radical Pulp Anarchy section as extreme examples to show how far you can conceivably stretch the term based on superficial connections. But I don’t get neither much of a pulp vibe from any of the Jojo parts besides Part 2, and pulp material has never been within Araki’s influences, and I obsessively catalogued all of them in my Jojo phase. You could maybe make an argument for Jonathan since he’s the old-school adventurer of the bunch, and maybe Jotaro since he’s both the wandering warrior type as well as Clint Eastwood in a school uniform, but at this point you gotta separate what’s “genre” and what’s “pulp”, and they can intersect without being the same thing.

Fast and the Furious: No. Pretty hard no, actually. I don’t think there’s even much of an argument there other than I guess they both have a reputation for being trashy low-class entertainment, but that kinda goes for way too many things to ever be placed under an umbrella term. The terms “high class” and “low class” don’t even really see much usage anymore in media discussion, they died and it’s a good thing we killed them.

Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys: The Stratemeyer Syndicate was pretty specifically centered around hardback publications of juvenile adventure series, which means they could not be considered pulp characters in their time despite being from the 1930s, and in fact were pretty specifically defined as being the opposite of the pulp publishers of the period. Still, that distinction hardly matters much once people started talking about serial and radio and comic characters as pulp heroes, and currently a lot of what it takes for a character to be considered a pulp hero is just being from any kind of 1930s fiction. I wouldn’t include them in any listings but, you do you.

Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction: I mean, it’s kinda the big thing you get when you even look up the terms “pulp” or “pulp fiction”, by sheer osmosis it’s replaced the things those terms were created to define in pop culture popularity. It’s been forever since I watched it and I don’t particularly have any interest in watching any Tarantino movie, but I guess the fact that this is a movie with several different stories interconnected on crime drama and doomed love affairs and philosophical hogwash and bantering men of action is very much structured like a typical pulp magazine, which usually consisted on an anthology format that I suspect is what the movie may have been homaging. Either that, or it’s just named Pulp Fiction because it’s sleazy and gorey and shamelessly excessive and those are terms that are very much associated with the pulps, for better or worse.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #jojo tag #jjba #scrooge mcduck #santa claus #samurai jack #tf2

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nerdified · 3 years

Text

Procedural Notes: Patient #3 (FKA Hugo Jensen)

NOTE: [At the time of this audio recording, Mr. Hugo Jensen (NKA Norville Nerdlinger) has just begun the process, and is restrained. The identity of the speaker is unknown. This transcript is reproduced here in order to assist with identification of this man, who has since disappeared, absconding with an undisclosed amount of the process agonist. Efforts to locate him have, to date, been fruitless. If anyone knows anything about this man or his whereabouts, please report the information to Central Command.]

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

Quiet, now. It’s no use struggling.

I’m not going to hurt you. Quite the opposite.

I see that look in your eyes, like you don’t think I could hurt you. You’re probably right. I’m not much of a fighter. But I know what you think of me, and other guys like me. I’ve been listening to you on the phone, you know. Hacked your telecommunications. What was it that you called me, on that call with the client yesterday?

Oh, yes, I remember. A walking pocket protector. I’ll admit, that was a new one for me. I’ve had “pencil-neck” and “four-eyes” and the good old-fashioned “nerd” lobbed at me before, but “walking pocket-protector”… Heck, it’s got a little poetry to it!

Shh. I know, it feels strange. It’s a little unsettling, at first, I’ll agree. But you’ll get used to it. It’ll go easier for you if you just relax and quit fighting it. In time, you’ll even begin to like it.

I’m sorry about the gag. Unfortunately, it’s just the beginning of the process, so I have to leave it in for…twenty-three more minutes, at least, if my calculations are correct.

Ha! Who am I kidding – my calculations are always correct.

I can see from your eyes that you hate my guts right now. That, too, will change.

You see, what’s about to happen to you isn’t out of the ordinary, or even very noteworthy. As far as I can tell, it happens to a lot of guys, especially those that zip through their twenties and then hit that speed bump called thirty, bank accounts empty and career opportunities shot. Those of us who didn’t win the genetic lottery couldn’t get by just on our looks and our charisma, like you did.

I remember how it felt when I was in high school, and guys like you were all A+ students and perfect jocks, too… gosh, it’s enough to make me swear.

But no. You couldn’t leave well enough alone. You couldn’t just be a jock, be good at sports, and leave the academics to the rest of us. We didn’t ask for much, you know. We just wanted to be left alone in our science labs, and in our tutorials, in our lives.

There's no escaping guys like you. You’re everywhere, and you’re spreading. For a time, we ignored it. Figured it was some kind of anomaly. But it wasn’t – it was a trend. And despite the fact that we didn’t see it coming, we are now prepared for its end.

Like I mentioned – it won’t surprise most people to see you change. Maybe a few of your close friends will worry about you. Express some concern. But by that point, you’ll already have accepted your new self. You’ll be able to say “This is just who I am,” and it’ll be their choice how to proceed. That’s a side benefit, by the way, of the process. You get to find out who your real friends are – and, spoiler alert: they’re not exactly big football fans.

You have to be prepared for some major shake-up in your life, though. The good thing about the process is that it won’t faze you in the slightest. Everything will be gee-whiz gosh-darn super-duper spiffy keen neat-o, if anyone asks, and for you, it will be.

Now, I know those terms are a little outdated. We’ve had to make a bit of an adjustment to the process in your case. The earlier version wasn’t quite strong enough for you, so we’ve had to over-compensate in a few directions. You won’t just be a little bit nerdy, you know, a couple of odd quirks, some new hobbies. For example, Derek – well, that’s his dead name, he goes by Derwood now – Derwood can sometimes get by in normal society. He even kept a few of his old friends. He’s just more into things like superhero movies, and he’s left behind all knowledge or passion for sports. I think I even saw him reading a comic book the other day, come to think of it.

But that’s not going to be you. Oh, sure, you might develop a taste for superhero movies, but if you do, it won’t just be a passing interest. You’ll become a rabid fan. I believe…obsessive…is the operative word, in fact. Yes, you see, that earlier version of the process would have worn off, and you’d have been back to your old self in no time, which would wreak havoc on your psyche, not to mention put our entire operation in jeopardy. We can’t have that.

It looks like some time has passed, but not quite enough for me to remove the gag yet. Do you feel your perfect white teeth shifting around in your gums, almost impatiently? Nod once for yes.

You don’t have to nod at all, not if you don’t want to. I don’t need you to confirm for me what I can already see happening in your eyes. Speaking of your eyes – how’s your vision? I can see you starting to squint every now and then. Trying to see past that blur? Don’t worry. I’ve already got your glasses, right here, for when it gets too bad for you to see. Talk about your Coke-bottle lenses - my calculations again predict that you’ll settle somewhere around…hm…negative six diopters, which is even worse than mine.

To put it simply: you won’t even be able to read the big E on the eye chart without your glasses on.

I know, you’ve never been to the optometrist in your life. You never needed to. And don’t think about getting contact lenses, either. I mean, go ahead and try, if you really want to embarrass yourself.

Oh, I can see it now: timid, nerdy little guy like you, shuffling into the doctor’s office – you say you want to get contact lenses, and they get you in the back for a fitting. They show you how to do it, you know, hold your eyelids apart and then just plop the lens on there. But you have to do it three times before they’ll let you leave with them, and you won’t even be able to get one in, because you’ll keep blinking it out. I wish I could be there to see it, honestly – you, all frustrated, trying to swear, but only able to say things like “Fudge!” and “Gosh darn it!”

It’ll be so beautiful. I’m getting teary just thinking about it.

I’m glad you’re starting to settle down a bit. Let me know when you need your glasses. Maybe while we wait, I’ll get started on your hair. That trendy fade has got to go, and so does that scruff on your face. At the start, you’ll have to shave a lot, but as the process continues, you’ll start producing more of a 5-alpha reductase enzyme. This will convert your testosterone into dihydrotestosterone, or DHT, which will actually miniaturize your follicles. Kind of like using a shrink ray on them! Oh, and there will be no taking of inhibitors, like finasteride or anything like that – our process contains a potent agonist, with an affinity of 0.25 to 0.5 nM for the human androgen receptor.

It’s all very scientific, I assure you. And with the miniaturization of your follicles, your sebaceous glands will begin to over-produce sebum, which results in – you guessed it! Acne. Pimples. Zits. I know you’ve never had to deal with that before, so I’m just preparing you for it now. Pizza-face, I think the popular nickname is. Get ready for a lot of that.

Let’s see…what else can I tell you.... Gosh, this is kind of like the orientation for a new job, isn’t it? Ah, yes. I know. Speaking of jobs...

Yeah, this is the tough part. It’s all very natural, I assure you. Just like with your friends, your co-workers will come to see you in a different way. I know you have quite a few cutthroat underlings who would eat one another alive to get your corner office, and the moment they sense you’re not as much of a threat as you used to be, they’ll swarm.

I give it two weeks, tops, until you’re gone. If you choose that road. Or you could make it much easier on yourself and resign. You won’t be financially ruined – not with all that new information surging through your brain – you’ll be an asset to the right company, the right department. Maybe IT will take you. Or accounting. Maybe you won’t work corporate. Maybe you’ll work retail.

God, that’s cruel even for me. I wouldn’t wish retail on anyone, even a jerk like you. But there’s no telling what could happen. For all I know, once the process has completed, you could end up one of those Geek Squad guys at Best Buy! Have you seen the uniform they have to wear? It’s company-mandated dress code. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? White, short-sleeve, button-down shirt. Black polyester clip-on necktie; black, pleated trousers; black lace-up shoes…and white socks. Yes, white socks, kept completely spotless and bright. All this is enforced, too, with routine inspections, to make sure you’re being compliant!

You see, there’s really an infinity of possibilities for you. If anything, this is a new chance for you – a fresh start. I know it feels scary, all this change. But change is the only constant. Everything is always in flux. Heck, every seven years, your entire body regenerates – every cell is new and different, so why shouldn’t your personality and identity change, too?

It’s logical, isn’t it? Nod once for yes.

Good! You’re starting to come around, aren’t you? Like I said, it won’t be so bad if you just accept it. If you don’t fight it. That sudden urge to position your tongue up behind your teeth when you say ess. Eth. Eth. How your voice keeps breaking, and in the most unfortunate ways, and at the most unfortunate times – all of this is being etched into your muscle memory as I speak to you.

There isn’t much longer now until I can remove your gag, and I can see that the physical alterations are beginning. Too bad all that hard work at the gym all these years is so easily eroded by our process, but then, those muscles were mostly for show, weren’t they? Well, no longer. It isn’t exactly sarcopenia, but it’s close. You’ll be at least one and a half, possibly two, standard deviations below the relevant population mean, and no amount of exercise will restore your former abilities.

Yes, the ropes are looser now, because you’re much smaller. Rapid onset muscle deterioration. You could struggle out of them. Maybe you could even escape. You could try. But there’s no way you’d make it very far without your glasses. Who would believe you, anyway? What would you even say?

Like I said, you might as well give in. It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. And you’ll have me. I’ll be with you for the whole beginning process, so you can acclimate to your newly nerdy life. You won’t be able to continue living in that luxe apartment you’ve got – no, you’ll be moving into a nice little basement apartment I’ve got fixed up for you, in the suburbs outside the city. The landlords have just got it refurbished, with some nice wood paneling, and there’s a spare twin bed that should be just your size! There’s also tons of room on the walls to put up all your posters. You won’t need much room for anything else, really. You definitely won’t be needing that enormous closet of tailored, fitted button-down shirts, or all those sneakers, definitely not those expensive Under Armour boxer-briefs. What a waste. No, the new you is way more frugal with his money, seeing as he’s paid so little of it. The new you doesn’t even think that much about clothes, or fashion.

This must be a lot to handle. Maybe I should have a little mercy on you.

Tell you what. I’ll let you choose your underwear. How’s that, pal? That make you feel any better? Nod once for yes.

See, I’m not that bad. That’s right. So, here. You can choose…Hanes, or Fruit of the Loom?

Oh, I see. You thought I meant what kind of underwear. Haha, no. You’ll be wearing tighty-whities from now on. Sorry, them’s the rules. Besides, you won’t need much support…down there, if you catch my drift!

Don’t look so horrified. You won’t even notice that it’s gone. Mostly. You’ll still have some length, just, you know, not a lot. You won’t be able to call it a “cock” or a “dick” ever again, either. Oh, look how cute – you’re blushing just hearing me say it! You might call it something else, like your ding-a-ling, or your wiener.

Okay, okay, I can tell you’re getting embarrassed, you’ve gone all red and blotchy in your cheeks. We don’t have to talk about the … “no-no place” anymore, little buddy.

All right. Here’s your glasses. I’ll just set them on your nose, for you…there. Wow, they sure do make your eyes look tiny!

I can tell you’re getting near to the end of the process, and I’m curious to see how big your two front teeth have gotten. From that bump in your upper lip…gosh, it looks like you might be giving Bugs Bunny a run for his money!

You’ve really been behaving better, so I’ll bring you a mirror, okay? So you can see for yourself. I must say, it’s already quite the improvement. I wasn’t expecting your hair to turn so red, or get so curly. Maybe if you can’t get a job at Best Buy, you could run away and join the circus as a clown!

I’m just horsing around with you, pal. Don’t pass out on me. You promise not to scream? I hate it when they scream. Nod once for yes.

You’re a little excited, aren’t you? It’s okay. You can tell me. I bet you get a little more excitable than you used to. Maybe you even get a little clumsy, with the loss of all that hand-eye coordination. Trip over your own two feet and go sprawling.

But who knows. There’s so much potential.

And you’re just the beginning, too. Let’s just say that my proposal for introducing you to the process wasn’t well-received by Central. What do they know? They have this power, and they don’t use it. Well, you snooze, you lose, by golly! If you have a gift, you use it, otherwise it goes to waste.

Anyway. Enough of the supervillain speech. You don’t need to know anything more. It’ll probably be wiped out in the massive crush of nerdy trivia about Star Trek and Star Wars that’s going to download into your brain soon, anyway.

So, this is it. Are you ready to see? Nod once for yes, and I’ll pull the cloth off this mirror here.

Alrighty, dweeb, you asked for it. Here goes.

Say salutations to the new you!

[END TRANSCRIPT]

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luvlyrv · 3 years

Text

My Model | Yeri x f!Reader College!au

Genre: College AU, fluff

Summary: Yeri needs a model for her final project. You need some money. With the time you spend working for Yeri, something starts to bubble up in your heart.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Ah, school's already started again. What a bummer. It's almost 2AM and my sleep schedule is still very much fucked. Whatever, I'm feeling kind of down in the dumps so I wanted to write something cute. I also am considering writing a mafia!au series for Irene, please tell me if you'd like that or not! Otherwise, just enjoy this writing please :) even though I feel like the quality is significantly worse than my other writings. OH AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! AHH ALSO IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING YERI POSTED ON IG.

Date: 1/6/2021

It all started when you spent Saturday evening venting out all your stress to your close friend, Sooyoung.

"I'm sorry, I know we're supposed to be relaxing together right now but it's the only thing on my mind! I mean, they laid me off work last second and it's not like I have another job lined up and waiting for me. I wasn't even a bad employee! They were just trying to cut costs!" You tiredly half-shouted to Sooyoung.

She sat on the other end of the couch, body bundled up in your blankets while nodding. She patiently listened to your worries and complaints. After you had said what was on your mind, you both decided to binge some awful zombie movies.

* *

You were quickly redoing some of your notes when you heard a faint vibration coming from your phone. You picked up your phone, checking the notification from Sooyoung that just appeared.

"heyyy, i know this isn't an actual long-term job that ur looking for but i have a friend who could use some help rn! she'll pay!"

You feel a spark of excitement as you begin to type back a reply.

"Yes!! Anything helps. I don't care what it is I'll do it."

"are u free tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"her name is yeri and she just needs a model for her to create some outfits and shoot pictures of. meet her tomorrow at xxxx at three?"

"Tell her sure thing :)"

With that you returned to studying with a small smile on your face with a little bit of your worries melting away.

* *

You rock back and forth on your heels, nervous to meet a stranger. You knock on Yeri's door only to be met back with a faint clatter and muffled footsteps. A short while later you hear some muttering as the door finally opens.

"Hello!"

While you were curiously scanning the area around her dorm room, the sudden sound of her voice made you shift your focus to the now open door and the girl standing in front of you. You felt your body stiffen as you made eye-contact.

"Ah, uhm, hello! Hi, you must be Yeri, right?" You manage to say aloud.

"Yeah, and you must be Y/N! Nice to meet you. You can come in." She says as she steps aside to make room for you.

You enter her room, only to be greeted by materials being strewn across nearly every piece of furniture possible. A clean mirror was in the middle of her room and a sewing machine sat off by the side.

"I'm a fashion major if you couldn't tell already." Yeri half-joked with a smile gracing her lips.

You smile back at her. "Yeah I assumed so from what Sooyoung described yesterday. How much are you paying again?"

"Well, I assume you took this job because you're a desperate broke college student. I am also a desperate broke college student. I'll give you around $25 after every session. I can't pay much but I'll try. I mean, you're giving me your time after all."

You nod at her answer. "Sessions? Am I going to have to come over multiple times?"

"Yeah, I have to create three different outfits. I'll just get your measurements today. After that you'll have to come over and model and make sure that they fit well and so I'll know if I have to do any revisions. So, mind if I start taking measurements now?"

"I wouldn't mind at all."

Yeri pulls out a measuring tape and begins to measure your body. She makes sure your posture is correct, placing a hand on your back, sending miniscule shivers down your spine. She moves around your body carefully making sure everything is accurate all while giving you the faintest touches around your body. You felt bad. There wasn't anything unprofessional about this situation at all, yet you couldn't help but to feel your face heat up a little. Yeri was a pretty girl and you just couldn't help but to melt around pretty girls. You found it a bit adorable to see her so focused on her task at hand.

All too quickly Yeri announced that she was done taking your measurements.

"Is that going to be all for today then?"

"I guess, I'll start working on the outfits now that I know your sizes." Yeri is already going to her sewing machine, her hand reaching out to a sketchbook you didn't realize was there before. "Oh! By the way, we should exchange numbers so I can tell you when we should meet up again." She says while looking back at you.

You pull out your phone and walk closer to her, the both of you exchanging contact details.

"Thanks for today, Y/N. I'll pay you next time you come. I'm sure you'll love the way these outfits look on you too!"

You make your way out of her room and shut the door behind you for her.

* *

Time has passed and you've already been to Yeri's place a couple times. Each time feeling a little bit more suffocating under Yeri's overwhelming presence. The way her eyes would look at you, carefully judging the details of the clothing she put hours of hard work in. The way she'd always thank you for your time. You couldn't help but want to know her more.

Despite wanting to get closer with her though, you never seemed to text her for any reason besides modelling for her. Sooyoung kept encouraging to just talk to her casually. You tried to follow her advice, tried to convince yourself that it wouldn't be the end of the world if Yeri didn't want to text you back, but every time you began to write a hello or considered sending her something you chickened out.

Today was another day where you would visit Yeri. You enter her room, basking in the warmth of Yeri's now familiar and welcoming smile.

Wearing the third and final outfit of Yeri's project you shyly spoke out, "Well, do you think this one needs anymore revisions?"

You watch as Yeri once again eyes you up and down. Yet, something felt different this time. Or perhaps you were making things up in your head. You watch as she turns her head back up to you with shining eyes.

"I think you look wonderful."

You purse your lips as you feel your heart beating way too fast.

"Honestly, this is my best work yet! God, I'm a genius. Hey, one day Y/N I'm gonna become a top designer and you'll be my model again. Got it?"

You crack open a smile along with Yeri at the sight of her enthusiasm. Although you didn't really feel close with her, let alone as close as you wish the both of you could be, over the past couple of weeks it felt like the two of you had warmed up to each other.

"I really appreciate the offer." You tell her with sincerity in your voice. It seemed like there would be no more revisions though, and no more revisions meant no more modelling for Yeri. With that your happy mood seemed to be ruined as you sighed and spoke out. "Well, I guess I'll change and be on my way then. Thank you so much for allowing me to work with you, Yeri."

After all this time, you failed to get to really know Yeri. You felt upset at the fact that it felt like you just wasted a chance to do something. Even though you'd still have her number after today, it was a near guarantee you'd still be too chicken to ever message her something. Disappointment began to build up in your mind as you made your way towards a room to change clothes. All of a sudden you heard Yeri's voice calling out to you.

"Y/N, if you really want to thank me, why not go on a coffee date with me sometime?"

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amarantine-amirite · 3 years

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It's Not Up To You

I never once had any peace or rest. There was a persistent threat that resources and places would vanish without a trace. Even though I never got my ass handed to me daily, I could never anticipate when I would be able to catch my breath.

I had to adapt. I had to be able to alter my expectations faster than the circumstances would change. It forced me to abandon having a set image of what I want in my mind. It took away my ability to visualize. I had to anticipate resources disappearing in the future, so I had a hard time with long-term planning.

Going into the week, I had it all figured out. I had found an iron-clad way for me to have my cake and eat it too. It may not have been ideal, but at least I still had the resources available.

My mother planned to drive me to my piano concert. Because she had a stressful day at work yesterday, she went to the bar. She neither came home nor returned any of my calls, so I assumed she was either crazy hungover or still passed out. I now had to hitch a ride with Jackie and her sister, Henrietta.

Henrietta drove like she had lead feet. “Uh, Ettie,” Jackie asked, “you just blew through a traffic light at”

“Don’t tell me how fast I’m going; I need to know where I am!” she snapped.

“Can we at least stop and get lunch?” I asked. I last ate at 7:00 AM. Bad things happen when I try to function on an empty stomach. My temper gets worse. My impulse control goes to Hell. I bounce off the walls.

“Hell, no!” Henrietta snarled, “If we stop to eat, we’ll get stuck in a traffic snarl!”

“OK, what’s your problem?” I whined. I had no idea why Henrietta got so upset.

Henrietta sighed angrily. “Do you wanna know why I’m so fucking pissed off?" she barked, "Those fuckers moved up my fucking interview by a fucking week. I was supposed to get married today! All that money I spent on the venue, the photographer, the catering; that’s money I’m never going to see again!”

I don’t know how Henrietta could say that without bursting into tears. “And what about Jasper? He’s going to think I broke off the wedding because I don’t have feelings for him anymore. I’m worried. He doesn’t handle rejection well. What if he tries to kill himself again?”

What happened next felt like being in the desert and coming upon an oasis, only to discover it’s a mirage. When we arrived at our destination, everything went up in smoke. Before we left, Henrietta told me that she would drop us off first, then head to the interview. She looked at us and said, “Nobody's leaving until I finish my interview. Understand?”

I nodded. Inside, I wanted to smack her. Hard.

Today has been nothing but hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait. I fucking hate being jerked around like this. The constant stop-and-start made me feel like someone drained of my life force. I can’t deal with it anymore.

Jackie and I came up with a plan. The plan was simple, like Henrietta’s would-be husband, Jasper. Unlike Jasper, the plan stood a chance of working. When they let her in to do the interview, Jackie and I would duck out and go to my piano concert. We’d come back when I finished my set, and that’d be that.

Problem. We made a huge tactical error.

It’s a long story. At the beginning of the school year, the cheerleaders thought it would be funny to nominate Anna Rose, the head of the chess club, for prom queen as a joke. Anna didn’t know about this, but the principal did. On Halloween night, we got something really scary in our inboxes: an official email with the school's letterhead saying that due to “bullying", prom would be permanently cancelled until measurable snowfall in July. A lot of the anxieties that kids channel into what they’re going to do at their prom got redirected elsewhere.

The kids at school got offended. By everything. Like, a lot.

Remember how I said that school has been so hard for me because I have no idea what to expect? Well, this piano concert thing was a perfect example. I had to make a list of not just one song, but for possible songs that I could play at this concert. I need to be ready to switch out songs in case the band teacher changed his mind. He always did stuff like that. One day, you could pick whatever song you wanted for school concerts, and the next, they would say that it had to come from a pre-approved list. So that meant I had no idea what song I was going to play. When people asked me, the best I could say was, "I’ve got a lineup." Lineup was not a good choice of words; a better choice of words would have been revolving door .

This brings us to our mistake: the same reason that I had to keep a revolving door of songs in my mind for the concert was also the same reason why we should have called the hotel where the concert was to be held ahead of time to double-check to see if the school had not cancelled it. We did not do that.

That brings us to right now. We are smack dab in the middle of what appears to be a campus recruitment event. Everyone in the room except for us is wearing cheap suits that fit somebody else, nobody looks familiar, and the atmosphere consists of a general air of anxiety and lack of preparedness.

Five minutes after we arrived, a woman wearing a pantsuit that made her look like a pool table, pineapple earrings, and a name tag that read “Megan Mulroney“ approached us. “Excuse me, ladies," she said, “are you students at The Fletcher School?”

“No, we go to Arthur Vandelay high school," Jackie said, “I’m here with Margaret because she’s got a piano concert to go to.”

I stood up and looked at Megan. “So is that in the Gold room, because I got a copy of the flyer here and it says Hall B, and I don’t know where that is, and…”

Megan cut us off. “I don't know what you’re talking about,” she said.

I handed Megan the flyer. “I’m talking about this.”

She didn’t look at the flyer. She gave it right back to me. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but that’s a piece of blank paper."

“It’s not blank!” I chirped.

“Yes, it is; and I don’t appreciate you wasting my time like this.“

“We’re not wasting your time.”

“Well then, why am I dealing with two overdressed high school idiots when I have new grads to check in for a networking event?” she said, doing her best impression of a bratty 12-year-old.

“Why are you so stubborn?”

Megan shrugged at us and rolled her eyes in a cocky fashion. “I'm not stubborn all the time. I'm only stubborn when I’m right.”

Big red flag. If someone says I'm only stubborn when I'm right , it means they're putting up a front, either because they don't want to but they're wrong or they're trying to bullshit you.

She continued to puff herself out. “Listen, you’re not special. What happens to you happens to other people, too.”

“Not helpful,” I said as I rolled my eyes.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, sorry you feel that way.”

“What does that even mean?” I blurted.

She ignored us. Rather than explain what was going on, she instead attempted to have phone sex with Idris Elba and got the wrong number.

It didn’t stop there. One look out the window told me we’d have to get someone else to pick us up, as Henrietta got arrested. I’m guessing she found out that the job she applied for was posted as an April Fool’s Day joke and she either trashed the office or beat the crap out of the hiring manager. Based on the black eye, I think it was the second thing.

Terrific. Now we have no plan, no ride home, and no idea what the fuck is supposed to happen next.

I’m devastated. I feel gutted. But beyond that, I'm spooked.

This isn't something you'd consider typically scary. It felt like that last photo taken before a disaster. This looming sense that something catastrophic is coming down the pike continues to hang over me.

@writers-are-writers

#writing #writers on tumblr #writers #short fiction #short story #bjork #creative writing

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chooseyouovereveryone · 3 years

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Brittana Analysis Part 2: Musical Choices (Smaller Parts in Songs)

Continuing on the Brittana Music Analysis. Part 1 focuses on all of their main songs, but thought it would be good to also mention some of the smaller ones too, their parts in group numbers etc.

So here goes:

Do You Wanna Touch and Touch a Touch a Touch a Touch Me refers to their sexual relationship, back in the days when Santana would only label it as so, and no feelings were allowed.

My Cup, the whole damn song. No explanation needed.

Light Up The World is one of the most meaningful smaller parts for me, because the lyrics are just perfect for them. Santana singing "you and me keep on dancing in the dark, it's been tearing me apart, never knowing what we are etc." is absolutely the Brittana relationship at that point in the series from her perspective. Then we have Brittany singing all about "throw your doubts away", while Artie takes the other line, showing the love triangle dynamic between the three of them. Since this is an original song, I head canon that Santana wrote this part of the song.

Run The World (Girls) is mainly a Brittany solo in line with her presidential campaign, but it's interesting to me that they have Santana sing the "you'll do anything for me" line. Since this song is about Brittany, it's likely Santana is meaning that about her, in that she's acknowledging Brittany will do anything for her. A nice touch because I already touched on in the previous post how Songbird shows Santana implying she'd give Brittany the world. It seems they are both mutual in that aspect.

Rumour Has It/Someone Like You sang in the aftermath of Santana finding out she's been outed, with Brittany and Santana both sharing such a powerful moment together in this song. The transition from Santana singing about finding a girl to her spinning around to look at this girl she's found is such a pivotal moment for them and really well done imo. You can clearly see Santana's fear during this performance, Brittany's too (she too is about to be consequentially outed but I feel her fear is more for Santana than for her own sake), but that moment they share is almost like Santana draws the strength from Brittany. The world is about to find out her secret, but in the same breath her "dreams came true" (as it says in the lyrics) and she's happy with Brittany, so maybe (just maybe) it will all be okay in the end. And guess what Santana? It was.

Constant Craving is mainly about Santana's journey to acceptance, but notice how Santana looks at Brittany when she sings "even through the darkest phase, be it thick or thin, always someone marches brave, here beneath my skin", as if Brittany's own bravery during those hard times gave Santana strength and courage. It's also plausible to say that Brittany was a "constant craving" for Santana.

The First Time implies that Santana felt deeper feelings from the first time she hooked up with Brittany, even though she couldn't accept that at the time. This is later backed up when she admits in 4x04 that she had feelings in Sophomore Year so right back in S1 when they potentially started sleeping together (if not before). While it's obvious what Santana is reflecting on since she sings about "the first time ever I lay with you", it's uncertain whether the flashback scene is from the first time they met or their first hook up, but regardless we see that instant attraction and spark between them from both the scene and the lyrics.

Take My Breath Away and Love You Like A Love Song; the prom songs. Take My Breath Away is pretty self explanatory because the whole song is a love song, and Santana makes sure to sing part of this to Brittany and they share a moment together. Love You Like A Love Song is even more poignant because it's a Santana solo, so it's likely she picked the song. She picked a song all about her girlfriend, but she made sure to pick a current song. That way, in true private Santana fashion, she could pass it off as it just being a crowd pleasing song that everyone loves at the moment. But she does make sure to turn to Brittany and sing to her "constantly, girl you play through my mind like a symphony". Hello lyric change from boy to girl as well, which Brittana always do in their songs with/about each other.

So Emotional while being a duet that symbolises the Pezberry friendship, both Santana and Rachel are singing to their respective partners. They both run over to them for the "I get so emotional baby" part, and although they turn to point at each other for the "every time I think of you" bit, I feel this was just for performance purposes. It's more realistic for Santana to be singing that about Britt, and likewise Rachel with Finn. Santana also points at Brittany for the "I keep your photograph beside my bed" and although we don't know if Santana actually does have a photo of Britt beside her bed, we know that Brittany definitely has one of Santana.

You Get What You Give is naturally an emotional number for them since Santana is having to leave Brittany behind when she should have been graduating with her. Santana runs over to Brittany for the "don't let go" part which could relate to their relationship and not letting go of that despite the obstacles and distance they are ultimately about to face. The "one dance left" part is also significant.

The Scientist has two meanings for me when it comes to Santana's lines when she's singing "Nobody said it was easy etc." in that nobody said that long distance relationships were easy, as well as nobody said that breaking up with Brittany was the easiest choice either. The mature choice, but not the easy one.

There Are Worse Things I Could Do is something Santana merely has to sing in character as Rizzo, but it's clear that she is thinking about Brittany when she sings "but to cry in front of you, that's the worst thing I could do". This off the back of Brittany telling Santana to think of something really emotional to get in character aka. them not being together anymore. It references how Santana could be the one putting on a tough front (Brittany being the one to be more expressive with her feelings in telling Santana how much she misses her and how she wants them to get back together), but deep down her feelings are evident. She clearly misses and loves Brittany, she's just trying her hardest not to show it, because once she gives in that to vulnerability she knows there's no way back.

Toxic the unholy trinity version was rehashed since it was a past performance of theirs, but contextually I do think about the fact they picked that particular number since it was a group song rather than them redoing a performance that just the three of them did. Since Santana is most probably the one who picks the song with it being her idea, it's telling to me that she picks to do a sexually charged routine with the lyrics "I'm addicted to you" etc. It's almost like she wanted to do this sort of routine with Brittany, but uses the guise of Quinn to make it more subtle. As it's also a song about falling for someone dangerously and "it's getting late to give you up", it foreshadows the temptation Santana encounters later when Brittany kisses her and lays everything on the line, even though Santana has a girlfriend. We later see she chooses Brittany, so this could link to the song.

Problem, well the "every time you touch me, and say you love me" line that they sing to each other is pretty self explanatory, but Brittany also sings "cause even though I shouldn't want it, I gotta have it, I want you" which could relate back to their earlier days when Brittany was the one chasing Santana, but could also have a double meaning of Brittany referring to Santana being the one who used to tell her she shouldn't want it, and almost teasing her with that. The playful manner in which they dance to this line, and the wink from Brittany, could be them showing us how far they've come in that the fear of "I shouldn't want it" was very much real for them both at one point, and now no longer is.

Home I think is really poignant for them because that whole performance takes them back to the beginning in their relationship in terms of Santana being homecoming royalty with Puck, and having to revisit all of that. I talk more about it here and how all their S6 scenes paralleled earlier scenes. In this song they sing "man oh man you're my best friend", which links to that whole "going back to the start thing" in showing how it all began, since best friends is how they started out. It's also how they've always remained throughout their relationship and even during their break up, and something they've always said to each other first and foremost, and I believe at times they said this when they weren't brave enough to say I love you (Santana in 2x22) or when they were restricted in saying it (4x13 when they clearly still loved each other but Brittany was with Sam).

You Learn/You've Got A Friend is actually one of my fav Glee performances, and I think the Brittana moment in this is super sweet and underrated. I always love how as soon as Santana walks in, Brittany gets straight up to join her and stand by her side. She can't get to her fast enough. Lyrically, their lines fit this because Santana sings "close your eyes and think of me, and soon I will be there" on her own, and it's almost as if Brittany was sitting and thinking about her since they are apart, but as she thought of her, Santana appeared. They then begin singing together about brightening up even the darkest nights for each other, something that I'm sure they've both done a lot of. The way they sing that line when they are reunited (not that I think they were apart for very long haha) is almost as if being around each other brightens up everything. The whole song is obviously about living, loving and learning, something they've definitely had experience of all 3 of, and they make reference to that in their gestures throughout the song.

At Last is one that I'm going to talk about since they picked it as their wedding song. It's also one that doesn't need much analysis. It was a very fitting song for them, because even though they got married young, their relationship was still very "at last", this is where we are. It took them so long to get there. Santana's denial, the love triangle with Artie, the grey area of not labelling things even though they were already acting like they were dating, the pain of Santana's outing, the long-distance, the break up, Sam, MIT, Dani, Santana being scared to get back with Brittany at first. But it's kinda like what Brittany says in their vows, she would have suffered it all just for the tiny chance of marrying Santana, and undoubtedly Santana would "1000 times yes" do the same. "At last the lonely days were gone", and they got their happy ending. I also really like the lyric "And life is like a song" because it could relate back to Songbird "and the songbirds are singing like they know the score". This on makes my heart happy, it was the perfect choice for them ❤️

Hey Ya! & last but not least I couldn't not talk about their other wedding song choice, Hey Ya! This is a pretty typical song to play at weddings, gets everyone up dancing, it's feel good etc. That's probably the reason that Brittany and Santana picked it (also fitting with what I said about them keeping private mushy moments to themselves and picking a more up beat first dance song that everyone can join in for the actual wedding). But the writers obviously picked it as a nod to Heather and Naya with it being their final episode, and to humour the Heya fandom.

& that's a wrap :) Might have missed some, but off the top of my head this is what I've got!

#brittana #brittany and santana #glee brittany #glee brittana #brittany pierce #brittanypierce #brittany s.pierce #santana and brittany #glee santana #santana lopez #santanalopez #brittana analysis #brittanalysis #glee songs #brittana songs #glee analysis

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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love in a major key

title: love in a major key pairing: xiao dejun/reader genre: guitarist!au/tutor!au/first love!au summary: looking at him is a paradigm. his fingers constantly pluck at the strings in the guitar, one of his small smiles enough to create music in her heart. the caress of his calloused fingertips is a dream, one that she refrains from, until he actually believes in her talent. a guitar lover like dejun knows better than to teach the art of music to a tone deaf individual, but there is no way he can stop himself after stealing a glance at those dulcet eyes. type: fluff/romance word count: 11,569 ⚠️ disclaimer: this is part of the love diaries, my valentine’s day project with wayv, if you want to read the rest of the members’ stories, you can click here and find the masterlist for it.

The dull thud of a man’s fingertips against the wood of a desk create insufferable patterns in her head. It goes along with his voice: one, two, three, four—and it starts again, repetitive with the chords that she tries to play. Her fingers ache, fingertips going numb at the pressure she puts on the fingerboard. The sound of her favorite song becomes background noise, a reminder of the nights she spent practicing it just for this moment. Sweat pools at the back of her neck, the junction between her thumb and index finger growing painfully noticeable, and she still has to listen to the thudding.

One.

Two.

Three.

“You’re missing the tempo,” When she looks up from her guitar, her eyes briefly settle on her guitar teacher. Chubby cheeks tightened in a disappointed half-smile, tapping his fingers ever harsher against the desk. She tries to nod along to the beat, get lost in the amount of sounds surrounding the room. The accompanying guitar, way more perfect in technique than she will ever be, the sound of someone laughing in the near distance and then, even more tapping. At this point, she feels like her guitar teacher is digging straight through her skull with that noise. “And you lost it.”

Four.

The guitar weights on her hands, burning her skin with its mere touch, a reminder of the happiness she felt when it was gifted to her for her birthday, and now it simply reminds her of how incapable she is of connecting to music. By the time she puts the guitar to the side, sighing deeply at her own attempt of doing her favorite song justice, she feels like she is one step closer to giving up. When she’s young, the praise she would get for being a quick learner had, perhaps, engraved in her brain that the only way of being good at something is excelling at it from the very beginning. Guitar lessons are not the case of such success for her, as it seems.

On the other hand, there are people like the man that sits by her side, legs parted comfortably with the guitar on his lap. One with musical notes, watched by him like flares in the air, naturally painting the room with the simple caress of his fingertips against the freeboard. The guitar and Dejun became friends earlier in his life, she thinks she has heard from her guitar teacher, and she can’t imagine him any other way. This is his world, musical and deep, intelligent in its own way; not hers.

His eyes are daggers, crafted with fire and stone, brown with a wooden grip, enough to pierce through anyone’s soul. Soft are not the rest of his features, jaw sharp with his usual stoic expression, tight when he is exceptionally concentrated; she would get surprised if she ever sees him without a frown, if talking to him ever sounded less scary. Deep within her, her mind acknowledges that one of the few reasons why she keeps going to guitar lessons has the name and shape of Xiao Dejun. His gifted fingers drawing perfect patterns to create a melodic tune, a reminder of whom she could be if she tried hard enough, but also music to her stressed mindset whenever she is surrounded by that insufferable guitar teacher of hers.

And, there is also the fact that Dejun is outrageously cute, brown hair parted in the middle, denim jacket already a part of him, lips so soft she’d find herself looking at them, if only she didn’t have to look down at what she is doing with her guitar.

“Shit, you almost had it!” It would be more believable if only her guitar teacher was not looking down at his phone, scrolling through god-knows-what as he speaks to her. Ji, as he likes to call himself, is one of the most well-known guitar players around the country; so much so that it is impressive that he is even giving guitar lessons, for the amount of parties he ends up getting invited to for the sake of playing a potpourri of songs is impressive. Something about him is arrogant, tipping on the edge of annoyance, a perfectionist with judgement carved in his name. “...But that ear of yours is not going to help you play the guitar, darling. You need to listen. Practice a lot more, you’re not practicing.”

Maybe, she should listen to her heart when it tells her that this is not for her, that the music world is nice to look at from afar—glamorous, shining, even merging with excitement and attractiveness, but it is not for her. She lowers her head, merely nodding instead of complaining that she does practice, the strings of her guitar creating shadows on her fingers, calloused beyond reparation even when she buys as many hand-creams as she can. Music is pain, she had read somewhere once, but it never had to be this painful, tearing at the pride she used to have, at the dream that would have her smiling when she first touched her guitar—

“Hey,” The sound of a plastic chair dragging obnoxiously against the floor could have never done enough to take away the beauty in Dejun’s voice. He rarely talks to her, if she is being sincere, much too preoccupied in attending his guitar lessons to practice and in his music major to ever pay attention to any of the other, less knowledgeable students, but there have been certain occasions where they just had to talk to each other. Greetings, brief conversation starters about their love for music, and times in which they have to wait for Ji to arrive and it leaves them in awkward silence that needs to be filled. “You did great.” Dejun pulls the hood of his sweater down, still wearing that thick denim jacket. The heat is unbearable for her, but Dejun seems to give up in the name of fashion.

Instead, she rolls her eyes, leaning back on the uncomfortable plastic chair. “Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.” Dejun pushes, looking around the room to see that Ji is working on another student. A heavy metal enthusiast that thinks highly of herself for ‘having different tastes in music’. Music is more of a division, a war in between who is better and who is worse.

“Don’t even try,” Though, in any other occasion, she would have thanked him with a smile, but she’s not feeling it, much more when she has to speak over the music. “Even Ji’s help is worthless with me. I’m as tone deaf as a tone deaf person can get.” The term had come to light for her in the very first few months of her guitar lessons, a year before that. Ji had said so with a sigh, implying that there was nothing else they could do, but she kept going. Now, she is starting to regret it. “But thanks.”

Dejun rests his arms around his guitar, his lover for his loneliest moments. “Hey, you’ve come a long way. Your position in the chords is amazing, and your C major is executed perfectly.”

“That’s easy, though.” She complains, not wanting to give herself hope of getting better. Success is immediate, she had led herself to believe.

A smile quirks up on his features, too dulcet to be his. Dejun is one of those people that takes himself too seriously, she discovered during the first month she shared with him, and it exudes in his personality. Some people call it haughtiness, but she believes Dejun knows better than to be silly. “What you just said shows growth. If something becomes easy for you after it was hard, it means you’ve improved.” The words are heavy, much too knowledgeable and optimistic for her broken mind. Not to be misunderstood, Dejun is the farthest opposite of a light of sunshine at a first glance, but the caring side of him peaks through all the cold demeanor.

“...I guess.” She shrugs, biting on the inside of her cheek out of nervousness. Dejun is close, and he seems not to be bothered by it, but the room is much hotter now that he is nearer. “Still doesn’t help me with being tone-deaf.”

“That’s something you can improve.”

“Dejun, it’s been more than a year. I think I can’t—”

“We have to give it a different approach, maybe. The technique you’re using for learning may not be the best for you.” One would not think that Dejun is the optimistic kind, that his kindness bleeds through his words whenever he wants them to. He’s a paradigm, eyes too deep to find a grounding moment in them, for the world is tremendously filled with opportunities, reflected in his irises. “I could help you with the rhythm and tempo, if you want.” He adds. “I can tell you Ji is not the most patient of people...or the sweetest...or tactful with his words, but you don’t have to let him get to you.” It must have been noticeable through her gaze, the hatred she feels for Ji for ruining something for her. Music, her favorite songs, the enjoyment of being free through tunes and tones. Or maybe, Dejun just looks at her expressions closely. “I believe in you.”

She raises her eyebrows at that, scoffing in a way to push her nervousness away. “Dejun, that’s so sweet, but I think I’m a lost case.”

The man straightens his back, practicing an arpeggio on his guitar as he speaks. “Give me your saturday mornings and I’ll turn you into a guitarist.”

She chuckles at his words, shaking her head before picking up her phone. “If you think you can do it...sure.”

The truth falls on the fact that she doesn’t think Dejun will be able to change much.

🎸

Busy bodies bumping against one another go unnoticed in the morning, for they are nonexistent. In the far distance, the sound of doors sliding open catch her attention, too faint to be from any customer. Her feet glide skillfully against the squeaky clean flooring, holding her gig bag up on her shoulder. Any type of horror soundtrack could pretty much be in the background, and it would fit, given that Dejun thought it would have been a nice idea to organize his schedule to have their classes at eight in the morning on a Saturday. Two weeks ago it sounded like an excellent idea; right now, she is looking for the emergency exits just in case a headless murderer tries to turn this into the next Oscar winning horror film.

Step after step leads her down the stairs, holding her phone up to her face just to write a text to Dejun. The action makes her anxious, thinking that Dejun is probably too busy working or opening the shop to even care, but by the time she sends it, she hears the sound of a phone going off in the near distance.

Surely, the mall is kind of empty, but it’s not empty enough to have her listening to the ringtone of Dejun’s phone inside the guitar shop.

What she has learned about Dejun is that his eyes, tired or not, are his most powerful feature. Those and his strong eyebrows are enough to battle the concept of perfection. For that early morning, he is wearing a black hoodie—it needs to be ironed, and Dejun should probably show the top of his head a bit more, proud of his messy straight locks, but that is what makes him...him. Dejun likes layers after layers, a trait that radiates on his personality.

Layers after layers of him that no one really gets to take off, because Dejun knows better. People are thirsty for power, and it shows through their relationships. The concept of naturally built friendships and relationships is forgotten, or will be in the next few years.

“Were you waiting for me?”

A tint of pink rushes to Dejun’s cheeks, patchy on his skin and the blame is probably on the hoodie he is wearing, but she likes to believe it is embarrassment. Shyness, even. “I—I guess,” Dejun says seriously, cleaning his throat soon after. “I have been waiting for a bit.”

“Sorry,” She chuckles, pointing around the empty mall with her index finger. “I got too distracted with this vibe of me being in a horror film.”

Dejun’s eyes wrinkle with the weight of his smile, drawing lines on the edge of his eyes, softening the scowl of his eyebrows. She would be lying if she said she had not watched Dejun from far away before, in hopes that the man she has known for more than a year finally does something to establish a connection in between the two. It never happened, until now, but she is convinced Dejun is just trying to be nice. “Sorry to disappoint, the mall is not haunted.” He adds. “But it is scary—”

If she had been looking at Dejun for a second longer, she would have completely missed the sight of one of her classmates. The idea of an awkward conversation leading to possible silence is already not a thrilling idea, but this is Mei she is seeing. Mei, the same girl that looks over everyone’s shoulders while completing a test; the same woman that never does her homework but still manages to pass her classes; the one girl that stole her lunch when she left her backpack alone for a miniscule second.

Mei is a nightmare.

Without thinking straight, she grabs Dejun by the collar of his hoodie, pulling their bodies towards the nearest spot to hide in. It so happens that a hallway is by their side, leading to one of the many bathrooms in the spacious mall. Dejun serves her as a wall, protection at its finest when he stands in front of her, making sure to hold her breath so Mei won’t even be able to perceive her.

“What—?”

“Shh.” She shushes him, looking up at him to share a glance with the man. Instead of giving him an explanation just now, she mouths ‘just a second’ before standing on her tiptoes, trying to see if Mei is gone. Much to her delight, Mei is long gone and away from her sight—and her lunch—. However, once she stands back on the heels of his feet, she is welcomed by the closeness in between the two and the look of absolute confusion that masks Dejun’s face. Her hands are gripping too tightly, to the point their chests are pressed together, breathing controlled by what the other does. “Sorry, I saw a girl from my semester that I really don’t like.”

“You were hiding from someone?” Dejun questions, looking down at her palms just to see her spreading them to let go of him. The man sighs, a brief smile appearing on his face. “You’re not as good as I imagined, then.”

“I am good,” She argues, following after Dejun to go to the guitar shop—not without looking around to see if Mei really is gone—. “Just selective on who I am good to.”

The young man seems surprised by her words, the grin on his face practically plastered on him. “You’re far too good to Ji.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, I would have snapped so long ago.” With the way he says it, it falls upon her that Ji is the most selective of all. What he looks for is perfection, and in his eyes, she is far from that. Nonetheless, she tries to concentrate on Dejun, because seeing him pissed is probably not a rare occurrence. Eyebrows made to be in a frown, eyes soft yet enigmatic. “But that’s your charm, I guess. I’ve known you for a year and I’ve seen just how patient you are. That’s a nice trait to have.”

Whilst he pushes the glass doors of the guitar shop open, she scoffs rather loudly. In such a small place, she gets to see a wide variety of drums and guitars, even bass guitars of all shapes and colors. Gibson. Fender. Yamaha. All beautiful to look at, but difficult to touch. “You think I’m patient?” Dejun closes the door behind them, sending a wave to one of his coworkers before opening yet another door for her. Somewhere in there, she swears she sees a set of drums signed by Ringo Starr.

“You have to be.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Being tone-deaf is difficult, and you have improved so much. That is either because you work hard, or because you have the patience to sit down and practice.” He doesn’t realize that is a compliment to her, his back turned to the woman when he introduces her to the ‘classroom’ in which they were going to practice, when it reality it looks like a storage room. If Dejun wants to live his rockstar fantasy, she’ll let him be. “Welcome to my classroom, by the way. You’re my first student that is not a kid, or my relative, or annoying.”

Resting her gig bag in front of her body, she inspects the room. Far too small, to the point she smells Dejun’s deodorant and cologne, Good, old, classy, a little bit musky as well. Her eyes settle on the written words in a whiteboard, what seems to be a set of chords, and his collection of boost pedals. In the middle of the room, there is his infamous Gibson, his lover, one with him until the day of his death. “Thank you so much for offering to tutor me, too.” She starts. “I appreciate it.”

Dejun’s eyes gleam with something when he looks at her, mischief mixed with thankfulness, lingering with that relaxed vibe he gives. “What makes you think I’ll be a good teacher?”

“You’re going to be a thousand times better than Ji, I can tell you that much.”

“True.”

The man takes the gig bag from her hands, unzipping it open before taking her guitar out. His fingers caress the fabric of her guitar strap, passing it over her head, her shoulders until it rested sideways on her. The look of absolute pride on his eyes is different, even enough to make her feel shy when she holds on to her guitar, watching as he nods his head softly.

“Ready to turn into Hendrix?”

Once again, Dejun has so much confidence that it brings a huff up her lungs, out of her mouth. “If you can do that, I’ll be so thankful—”

“Trust me,” He says. “I can do that and so much more.”

And it is all a matter of faith.

🎸

If Dejun was ever to be described as a crafted creation, he would have to come with two things: his jackets and his notebook, too close to his being to ever be away from him.

Five weeks after the start of her classes with him and she has yet to see him without the infamous, torn at the edges, beige notebook. This time around, with the heat of summer clinging to their skins, she is far more concentrated on the complexity of Xiao Dejun. His legs lock behind him whilst his weight leans against the small desk in the storage room—or classroom, in his words—, His hair is pushed back by the hand that rests on his forehead, fingers splayed on the back of his phone when he presses it to his ear, ordering breakfast for the two hungry people in the room. He holds himself with such elegance, such poise that he hypnotizes her, weighting the possibilities of ever seeing the raw, sensitive side of Dejun. The one that hides behind music in hopes of outlining his difficulties with lyrics and rhymes.

Flirting a complexity, and though she wants to do such thing with Dejun in hopes of getting a blush from him and a date to look forward to, the only thing that ever flirts with her is the notebook he keeps twisting in between his fingertips. He writes in it, for the strokes he gives with his pencil are far too precise to be a picture or a drawing, but the contents are unknown to her. The notebook mocks her, because there are a hundred notebooks that look exactly the same, but none of them belong to Xiao Dejun, the same man that she has wanted to flirt with for the past year and she has never been able to thanks to the fear of rejection.

“Mhm, a croissant special. What are inside those croissants?”She should not peek inside the notebook, perfectly placed away from Dejun’s hands, but the curiousness is there. Dust in the tip of his eyelashes, coating her with the need of getting to know more about him. He may talk about subjects such as music, friendships and family life with her, but she wants to get to know the alive side of Xiao Dejun. The part where he talks about his love for the people surrounding him, the hate he has for his past friendships, what he dreams about and the goals he pushed away in the past.

Is that too much to ask? For him to show her a layer of him, when he has already seen her with every expression? Delighted, when he compliments her. Saddened, when Ji tells her that she can do better. Angered, when she doesn’t get a song on the first go. Happy, when she recognizes the chords in a song just from one listen. The smile on her face is everlasting with him, but it is as though she falls deeper into the ocean beneath his eyes. Not because of water, but because of their depth.

So the irrational part of her wins, bites at her curiosity and traces her skin along the expanse of the notebook. Dejun has written his name in the front, neat and small in one of the corners, and she runs the tip of her fingers over it. It looks old, as if Dejun has grown inside that book, from a kid to a young man. When she lets her fingers wrap on the edge of the notebook to open it, the swooshing sound that reaches her ear is almost surprising, looking up to be met by Dejun’s frown when he looks at her.

“Don’t do that!” He whines, but the moment he tries to reach her, his feet collide one against the other, almost making him slip, a yelp leaving his lips instead. “A—Ah, yes, I think that will be fine.” He speaks on the phone, cheeks tinting crimson thanks to his reactions. His fingers are wrapped around her wrist, half of his body leaning on the desk while he speaks on the phone. “How long until it is ready?” A pause. “Ten minutes? Alright, I’ll be there.” When he hangs up on the caller, both his hands wrap around her wrists, bringing them up chest-level. “You’re a sneaky one, aren’t you?” A short laugh leaves his lips, because he is definitely in an uncomfortable position and also because of the irony of the situation.

“I just wanted to see your notebook.”

“And that’s exactly what I don’t want you to do.”

She bawls her hands in fists, pushing her body off the desk and bringing Dejun with her. He stands in front of her, eyes filled with embarrassment and worry. Shyness is something she wanted to get out of him, but this is not the version she expected. “Why? You’re always writing stuff there. I thought it was just your songwriting notebook, but if it’s a diary...I’ll let it be?” The confusion in her voice is clear, making Dejun sigh as he looks up to seek for an answer.

Contrary to what one would believe, Dejun is easily annoyed, but not exactly an explosive person. He doesn’t bask on his anger for long, if he ever gets to that point of madness, really. “It’s not a diary.”

“So...”

When he looks down, his hands grip softly on her skin, moving her arms from side to side with that whiny tone on his voice. “Just don’t ask, don’t ask.” He repeats, childishly scrunching his face up. This is one of the sides of him people rarely get to see, foreshadowed by his usual frown. “...It’s embarrassing.”

She can’t help but laugh at his antics, the man joining with a pained smile of his own. “Why would songwriting be embarrassing?”

“It’s not the songwriting that makes me embarrassed. It’s what I write about.” He complains, letting go of her wrists to leave them with a pure tingling sensation. Dejun’s touch is a reminder of all the good in the world, like butterflies that fleet in the most precious of spring days. “So please, never open this notebook.” The request falls on deaf ears when he takes her by the shoulders to push her towards her guitar. “Now, play me that song from the top—”

“What do you even write there?!” They have known each other for over a year, and been working together against her tone-deafness for more than five weeks, practically in the peak of being called a month. “Songs about those anime girls from your videogames or something?”

The loud cackle he gives her brings a smile to her face, much more when she gets to see it from up close. Dejun always does the same routine of wrapping the guitar around her shoulders, securely put in place before he does anything else. “Valid assumption, but still not true.”

“How am I supposed to know when you didn’t let me look inside the notebook—?”

Pressing two of his fingers to her forehead, he shakes his head while laughing. “You’re never going to know.”

“Dejun!”

And when he mimics her tone but with her name instead, she knows Dejun has that stubborn side that leads him to be both the best man and a complete mystery.

She’ll get to know him fully one day, that is certain.

🎸

The pouring rain is the first thing that welcomes her when she gets off the bus.

The week is the absolute opposite of nice, with textbooks waiting for her in the depths of her apartment, with the most important parts highlighted just for when she gets home—the entire chapter, basically—and of course, it could only be worsened when she had to get an earful from Ji earlier this week, only to be defended by Dejun himself, the only reason why she keeps liking music as much as she does. Relaxation should come from playing the guitar, leaving the minor key songs for days exactly like this. For when she is feeling weakened, with her limbs barely lifting from the floor as she slouches. Right now, she is cursing the world for forgetting her umbrella at her apartment, dry and comfortable, just like how she should be.

“What are you doing? Don’t stand there!” Then, there comes the sunshine hidden behind an eclipse, a man like Dejun. The rain stops momentarily for her, feeling the warmth of his body pressed to the side of her body. Just over two months of talking to this man for the entirety of her weeks simply to meet him on Saturdays and share their knowledge of music, is enough for her to miss the sound of his voice when he is not there. When she looks over her shoulder, she sees Dejun’s arms sprawled on top of them, his hair sticking to his face, gray hoodie drenched by the rain.

“Sorry,” Soon after, she starts walking, matching her pace with Dejun’s. Now, tempos are easier to follow. One. Two. Three. Four. Even his steps match the rhythm of songs, always bleeding musical knowledge. She must look just as ruined by the rain as him, but not equally as captivating. When she looks up at what’s covering them, droplets of rain falling in thickness upon her shoulders, she realizes Dejun is using his favorite denim jacket to protect them from the tremendous weather. “Hey, you also didn’t bring an umbrella!”

“I never check the weather. Sue me.”

She smiles. Whilst her umbrella must be perfectly put in place, warm and candid, she feels warmth when she is with Dejun. Something within him must have broken at the sight of her, replacing his fashionable frowns for something sweeter, tastier to the sight. “Neither do I.” She says, gripping Dejun’s arm in between her fingers. “I think we should run.”

He sighs at that. “I’m wearing the boots my dad gave me for my birthday, I don’t think I should be running and risking splashing them with water.”

Nudging his side, she smiles at his words. “Okay, old man, we’ll walk very slowly.”

His fingers reach for her ear, gripping it softly and pulling it to tease her. “Be respectful.”

“I am!”

“You used to be,” He corrects her, raising his eyebrows at her antics. “Then something happened in this brain of yours and something changed.”

Something about him is playful that morning, long gone are his yawns and his focused eyes when listening to music, when hearing her technique. Instead, she takes the opportunity to cling to this eventful side of Dejun, pushing him softly until he stands away from the denim jacket that they are now holding together, seeking for that last bit of warmth that is left. Half of his face is hit by water, a gasp leaving his lips as he repeats the action.

Three seconds is all it takes before they start to continuously push one another.

“You’re a demon!” Dejun adds in between laughter, pushing the door of the mall open with his back as he looks at her. She rejoices in the sight of him, so happy that it could very much become the picture that accompanies the term in the dictionary. The sound of the drops of rain falling from the clothes and hitting the floor is the harmony to their laughter, clinging to the jacket that now is held in between the two.

“You were the one that told me something was wrong with my brain!” She argues, watching as Dejun runs his fingers through his dark hair, the locks staying behind and leaving his joyful face out for the world to enjoy.

“I just said you were disrespectful, and you proved it.”

“Damn it,” She says, snapping her fingers before walking beside Dejun, probably going towards a scolding session from Dejun’s coworker. The rain on the weak, wood-based flooring is definitely something he won’t be happy about. “Guess you were right.” The shrug she gives him has Dejun smiling, inspecting her face like he wants to remember the notes her lips give out. Something about him is softer, his lips or his eyes, when the clashing waves of his mind suddenly turn into a lake, portrayed through a gaze that could be the daydream of a romantic.

“Huh, I guess I was.” Though the meaning of the sentence goes undercover for her, hidden in the depth of the mind of a man she falls for every single time. On Mondays, she thinks she can forget him—Dejun is just a dream, just a paradox or an enigma she wants to solve, and then a text is enough to make him seem human. “You’re lucky you’re cute, though.”

Some people say that compliments freeze the world, but those words from him are enough to make time seem too fast for her liking, warming the weather from the bottom of her heart to the edge of her skin. “Am I?” She asks, voice too soft and breathy to even sound like her, but Dejun smiles, looking down before nodding his head. “Th—”

A sneeze interrupts her.

It doesn’t come from Dejun’s soft, rosy lips. Instead, it obnoxiously settles on her throat, leaving her nose tingling with an uncomfortable sensation. Another one comes soon after, her hands clasping her chest in order to stop it, because this is the cinematic moment she has been waiting for since she has met Dejun and it can’t be interrupted in such a way.

His eyes widen, taking her by the shoulders and basically dragging her inside the guitar shop as he rambles: “Oh, god, let me get you some warm clothes and help you out before you get sick.” Maybe, she is already halfway there, but she can’t tell him such thing, shaking her head in an attempt of saving the moment.

“I’m alright, Dejun—”

“Are you sure?” He asks, ignoring the sound of his co-worker complaining when he turns around to look at her. “I—”

Sneeze.

Huh, this doesn’t sound like she is ‘alright’.

The next hour is spent with Dejun dragging some cloth on her hair, making sure that it is fresh and dry. The lightness of the old band t-shirt she is wearing, along with a pair of jeans Dejun went out to buy at the mall, really does not make her feel better. Her heart is palpitating, wondering if Dejun thinks of her as adorable as he claimed earlier when she is like this, sneezing her heart out in a terrific tune.

For now, she tries to concentrate on the feel of his fingers drying her hair, silence and muffled apologies joining in a dance, for this is yet another side of Xiao Dejun. The caring but unknowing side of him.

🎸

When someone becomes a college student, it is a norm to have stacks of textbooks somewhere and anywhere, a shirt waiting for them in their couch in case they are late to class, a bag of snacks in the depths of their room for when that midnight, pre-test anxiousness hits and of course, how could she forget the necessary TV device, creator of all procrastination habits, the sweetest form of relaxation?

Well, Dejun’s apartment has all those things...multiplied by a hundred.

Truthfully, they have been friends for a while and she should have expected Dejun to be the messily organized type; in his own torn bedroom, he finds everything he needs and more, but it exudes the energy of every college student, compressed in the walls of a shared apartment. Even so, the man rests his legs on top of the coffee table, but also on top of one of his roommate’s textbooks—Yangyang, it’s his name, pretty sweet guy over all, but incredibly annoying in Dejun’s words. His guitar is resting on top of legs, leaned back on his couch so relaxedly one would never think Dejun has five tests to study for.

“Composing a song is easy,” The man flaunts as he plays an unknown song on his beloved acoustic guitar, closing his eyes for a brief moment to concentrate on the sound. Meanwhile, she should really be concentrating on the black notebook Dejun gave her as a gift, or her actual guitar, but Dejun’s eyelashes are too pretty, little satin stripes that connect to her favorite part of his face. They open at the time she thinks that, too. “You just have to think of something inspiring. An idea, a concept, even a person.”

“That’s the hard part, though.” She points out, lifting her fingers up to her guitar to play a tune of her own. Soft and barely audible, but uncertain in projection. “How does one write about all these things without making them sound cringe-worthy?”

Shaking his head at the reminder of something, Dejun hums at her words. “An artist always cringes at what they’ve done.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Certainly.”

She puckers her lips up at that, reaching for her notebook and looking through the empty pages. “...I have a question...” With Dejun, there comes the power of positivism and maybe, she is too far down dreamland to wake up. She believes that, behind his peaceful expression, the slightest possibility of having something in between them shines in its absence. Easy is to claim that she wants it to happen, to get a taste of Dejun’s lips, to hear the rhythm of his breathing when she lays her head on his chest. “Do you cringe at what you have written on your notebook?” The question has Dejun choking on his own saliva, her hand reaching over to pat him in the back.

“I get shy about it, but I wouldn’t necessarily say I cringe.”

Fluttering her eyelashes in a way of pushing him to even let her take a peek inside his songwriting notebook, she gives up when she realizes the only thing Dejun gives her is a smile. “...I really want to see what you’ve written there!”

But he continues with his stubborn ways. “Just the typical songs about youth and all that. Nothing serious.”

Mocking the tone of his voice when he says ‘nothing serious’, she takes her guitar in between her hands once again before starting over with the same tune she had tried to play earlier, but more certain this time. “Well, then,” Lifting her chin up in the air, she would never notice just how far she has gone. Now, she doesn’t have to look at the guitar the entire time to play a song and she is able to hold a conversation while playing. “I’m going to write songs in that notebook and I’m not letting you see them.”

The guitar tutor actually shrugs his shoulders and it should be offensive, and it downright is. “I don’t mind.”

“Aren’t you curious of what I write?”

Dejun turns in the couch so they are facing each other, their guitars standing in between their bodies. “I am,” He confesses, eyes a complete conundrum, but that is the magic of him, the reason why she keeps coming back in hopes of understanding what his gaze reads. “But I respect your privacy, unlike other people.” His fingers get away from his guitar to grab at her cheeks, pulling them softly and pinching them in a mocking manner. The serious expression on her face is enough of an answer for him.

“Ha-ha. I was just curious!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“I’m not a cat. That’s enough of an excuse.”

“Oh my God, look how cute you two are. Now kiss!”

The sound of someone cooing immediately has the two pulling away from each other, burning on the face out of complete embarrassment. By the entrance of the apartment is the insufferable roommate Dejun has to share apartment with, Yangyang, with his hair hidden under a snapback and his fingers gripping the edge of his backpack. What he said is a reminder of how her friendship with Dejun has that ground of shyness, one that comes from the fact that she crushes on him and she is too scared of opening up to him to a point of no return. What if one day, simply because of her slurry mouth, she ends up confessing to him?

It would be a nightmare.

Instead, Dejun picks up the nearest cushion to throw it at Yangyang’s face, mumbling something along the lines of ‘shut up’, but the youngest is far too in his own world to care. “So, this is the girl you’ve been having your Saturday escapades with the past two months.” She tries to concentrate on her guitar, but she stopped playing a long time ago. Instead, she watches as Dejun rolls his eyes, terribly attractive in the way the annoyance beams through his gaze. “Look at you two—”

“Yangyang, is there anything you need?”

The roommate’s fingers wrap around Dejun’s foot, bringing it down the coffee table as he speaks: “One, don’t do that. This table is so cheap it could be made out of cardboard, for all I know.” The comment has her laughing, making the young man turn to look at her. Plump lips, straight nose and a set of expressive eyes, Yangyang is most definitely a face to remember, and a person with an annoyance level high enough to get an award. “Two, I need my math book. I have a test tomorrow.”

Dejun lifts his eyebrows at that. “You could have studied earlier.”

But Yangyang chuckles, joyful and in the name of youth. “Sure, Mom. I will next time.” But the sarcasm on his tone drips when he moves away from the living room, pointing at her with his finger. “What’s your name again? Dejun told me but I forgot.” She repeats it, a smile growing on his face. “Good, nice to meet ya.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“...But add Xiao to that last name. It’ll save you time,” With a waltz on his step, Yangyang rushes to his room just in time to lock himself after Dejun follows after him, knocking on his door once and trying to twist the doorknob to no avail. Worst of all, Yangyang is laughing loudly from the other side of the room.

“I don’t deserve such disrespect, you know?” Dejun sighs, turning around to look at her before hissing. “I’m so sorry for that—”

“No, it’s nothing, Dejun. He was only joking.” She tells him, only to hear the sound of Yangyang’s voice from his room once again.

“See? She gets my jokes!”

Well, Dejun was not wrong when he said his roommate is annoying.

The good thing is that he gifts her, and absentmindedly so, another eye-roll from Dejun. It damn right is impossible for someone to look that beautiful when doing something so miniscule, but maybe she is just that into Dejun, from the sound of his voice to the depths of his personality, to the jokes that no one gets but he laughs to. That is just the magic of Xiao Dejun.

🎸

Dejun is the blurred lines of a badly printed book, leaving her on edge, in the need to know more, but it only falls down to guessing what that line has to say. Sometimes, she feels like he really has shown her all of him and most specifically, she feels it when Dejun goes out of their Saturday classes to hang out with her outside that schedule, even risking a few hours to study simply to hang out with her. This is one of those occasions,

The avid way he speaks about the movie they just watched is as exciting as his way of eating the leftover pieces of popcorn, making her laugh at his overly enraged banter because ‘the movie just didn’t meet his expectations’. She agrees wholeheartedly, the movie was as bad as it could get, but bad movies are—in the majority of situations—just a source of laughter. This is their case, because a comment about the movie from her has Dejun throwing his head back with laughter, the sound melodious as they reach one of the many balconies at the mall. Their home, really, they have spent a big chunk of the last few months there, getting to know each other, opening up to the idea of a friendship.

He is the first one to lean against the railing, taking the box of popcorn in between his hands as he eats. The wind blows on his hair, parting the dark strands and letting her see his relaxed face as he stares at the city nearby. “I’m buying you dinner in a sec. What are you feeling?” His fingers pop another popcorn inside his mouth, and she reaches over to grab a bit more to try the buttery treat.

“Sushi sounds nice.” She tells him, standing by his side and looking at him. Not that he would notice, he is far too thrilled by the city lights. “But I’m paying half.”

“Deal.” He knows better than to argue, pushing his fingers in between the leftovers of popcorn to look for the ones that are the most buttery. Something is bothering him now, and it’s not exactly the movie, she knows it because Dejun’s frown plasters over his relaxed face—a mix of both a good moment and a bad one. When he turns to look at her, he opens his mouth to say: “Come on, open up.” And she does, welcoming the popcorn he gives her before he releases yet another sigh.

“Did the movie disappoint you that much?”

“Your commentary made it better.” Dejun confesses, leaving a smile on her face but he is unable to return it, his lips barely quirking up when he speaks. “I have something to tell you, though.”

Juvenile is the sight of his face, washed in disdain and bothersome fear. She touches his shoulder, telling that anything he tells her, she’ll be open to listen and that is enough to make him feel better. He would never be able to see what she sees in him; the depth that keeps pulling her back, the passion that he feels for music and how it merges in his life; the sweetness of his antics; the positivism of him and his listening skills. He would never see himself like she sees him, but she is there to prove that he is one of the best people she has met in her entire life, a gush of fresh air in the middle of copy-paste individuals.

“I won’t judge you. Just tell me anything.”

“I am trying out for an exchange program at my university.” The words weight, in proximity or in possibility, but they are an anchor in her chest, weighting her heart down with pride but at the same time fear. Fear of losing him, of not meaning the same to him, of simply having all those memories they made go completely forgotten by the man. Dejun looks over to her, sighing deeply when she doesn’t say a word. “You probably don’t care, but I wanted to tell you. You have been such a close friend lately, and I want you to know I’ll probably be leaving for a semester or two.” He bites down on his bottom lip, a thin layer of oil covering it. “And I’ll miss you.”

Dejun is a star, even when he doesn’t notice it, he shines on his own and will shine even brighter around a group of people who don’t know him. She knows what it’s like to be a student, for she is one, as well, and she recognizes how hard it is to get into an exchange program, so watching that star get away from her only fills her with pride. “What? Dejun...that is so cool!” She announces, though the fear of going forgotten once he leaves settles on her chest. “I’m so proud—uh, congratulations! Did you get into any of them yet?”

“I’m waiting for a response for a few of them, but I think I’m getting in.” His smile is shaky when he speaks and she clicks her tongue.

“Where are you trying to go to?”

His infamous eyes look up for a few seconds before lifting one of his hands up. “Japan, England or Canada. One of those three.” The thought of the excitement that must be bubbling inside Dejun’s chest is enough to have her clapping her hands, nodding her head to what he is saying.”I really hope I get in.”

“Oh, you will.”

“How are you so sure?”

“You’re Xiao Dejun!” The tone of her voice means business, basically giving a piece of her mind. “You’re one of the best students in the music major, I’m sure there is not a single university that would miss a chance like that.” His cheeks flush with heat, rosy just how she likes them, and that brings a swell of gratification to her chest. “Sure, I will miss you, but...I will also be very proud. You deserve it.”

He doesn’t know a lot of things and now the clock is mocking her, telling her to hurry up before Dejun goes anywhere else and her feelings die down in the back of her throat, an unreleased note for a singer to copy. Above everything, the fear of rejection is palpable, pulsing on her heart to speed through the beat. Part of her wants to take her chances and confess to Dejun, but the other part encourages being a coward. The second part wins, once again, when instead of giving him a hug to get a feel of him, trap him in a memory even for the slightest bit, she congratulates him further, for Dejun is made to be successful, made to be a star.

🎸

“Is this the name of the high school you went to? I just want to make sure before I send this e-mail.”

Jolting awake, Dejun’s weight almost falls on the floor if it was not for his grip on the sides of the computer chair. His eyes scan the room, lost for a brief moment, because this is definitely his room but he doesn’t recall ever inviting her over. Then, it downs upon him, his mind floating around the white walls that surround him—she is there because she is helping him send applications to different universities. His fingers go through his silky hair, moving his chair over to where she is to look over her shoulder, checking what she had written on his laptop.

In her defense, Dejun seemed incredibly tired from exams and she simply wants a distraction after working on a project for the entirety of two weeks, so helping him sounded delightful. Not better than the feeling of his chest pressed to her back, chin almost resting on her shoulder as his eyes scan over the e-mail. His eyes are surrounded by darkness, given that Dejun has had to study for both exams at his classes and the entering exams for other universities. His skin is a bit dry, one or two pimples appearing out of stress and of course, he completely forgot to wear cologne, for he is in his home. He is speaking in is normal tone, unaware that Yangyang is sleeping, or careless about it.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Dejun’s rough voice says before she hits the ‘send’ button, tearing her gaze away from her crush to concentrate on the task at hand. Absentmindedly, Dejun rests his cheek against her shoulder, dizzily talking through his sleep. “I’m so sleepy. I didn’t even know I fell asleep.” But she knew, of course. Dejun fell asleep only fifteen minutes before, taking up a fetal position in the uncomfortable office chair and he didn’t fall because life is always on his side, along with fate. A yawn escapes him, lifting his gaze to look at her through half-opened eyes. “Do you want me to take you home? It’s probably late and all...” Another yawn leaves his lips and it gets to her, yawning as well.

“Take a nap and then, take me home.” She indicates, cracking her fingers after writing for so long. “I don’t want you falling asleep behind the steering wheel.” Her heart softens at the sight of Dejun, pulling away from her to hum softly.

“But you wake me up, okay?”

“How long should I let you nap for?”

As he drags himself closer to the bed, fluffing out his pillows as he rests over his stomach, he whispers with his cheek pressed to the fabric of his pillow. “Thirty minutes.” Though, she can’t help but smile at his sleepy state, standing up from the chair she is seated on to take the blanket by Dejun’s feel, pulling it up his body to cover him from the cold. Her fingers make sure the blanket is clasped perfectly around his shoulders, her eyes making out the figure of Dejun’s fingers hiding under his pillow.

It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.

The night is boring without the sound of Dejun doing something, and she keeps looking through the pictures of the universities Dejun has tried for, praying silently for him to get, at the very least, one acceptance letter from one of them. It is when she reaches over for her lukewarm cup of coffee that she feels something else beneath her hands, looking to the side to see the ever-captivating, extremely interesting notebook that Dejun always carries around. The same one he would die for if he had to, the one he doesn’t even let her touch.

But hey, it’s there, blinking at her, telling her to read it, to just take a little peek inside now that Dejun is asleep, and the emotion is too much to push it to the back of her head, tracing the outline of the notebook and opening it to see the first few pages.

At first, she doesn’t know why Dejun is so embarrassed. They are simple songs, about youth and love, about whatever crosses his head, but soon after, the pages get newer, not so over-lined and instead, she is met with songs oddly specific, speaking about colors in a person’s eyes and the quirk of a smile. It is when she gets to a certain page, tainted with a heart at the corner, badly drawn by her friend, that she notices the title of the song is her name, though in parenthesis he had written to ‘change the name soon’.

He never did.

One would think the song talks about friendship, that is what she wants to believe, but the chords are in major keys—happy, bubbly, excited, and the lyrics are a prophecy of love. Then, she realizes Dejun is equally as shy as her, scared of the ‘what if’s’ of life, of not being loved in return and she has to close the notebook in a hassle just not to scream.

So...that’s why he didn’t want her to look at it.

But, that was months ago, so Dejun has had to feel this way for even more than a month. Once she turns over her shoulder to look at him, peacefully sleeping with his eyes half-open, she wishes she could read his mind, see what it is that is stopping him from saying those things out loud, but she can’t. Dejun is her enigma, and there is nothing she could do to change that.

🎸

“Huh, I don’t think I have this Nirvana record...”

Keeping a secret from Dejun is difficult, because he sees through everything and anything about her, she kind of expects him to, as well, for telling him that she has seen the notebook he always hides, but not only that, the contents inside of it. Instead, she tries to concentrate on being as natural as possible, for Dejun will leaving in a month from now, directly to another continent and away from her, and the least she wants is to lose him now, just for her prying ways and her curious mind.

Searching through the stacks of albums in the record store at the mall, everything is a blur for her. Everything but him. She has been looking at Dejun, hoping to engrave every single one of his habits in her head for when she misses him once he is gone, but another look is another wish to kiss him out of the plenty she already has, the bursting need to tell him the truth wanting to rip through her. If he feels such a way and she feels just as strongly about him, then why did she have to wait? Why didn’t she sort it out by telling him ‘before you go, I want you to know I really feel like I have fallen for you’?

Dejun bites his bottom lip in uncertainty, picking up two albums before sighing. “Should I pick a Foo Fighters album or the Nirvana one? I’m torn.” Normally, she would have taken this chance to make her money worth it, even when she said that she was going to pay for anything Dejun picked, giving her opinion on what he should buy, but this time around, she is far too entranced in him. In the happiness he shows, wearing that damned denim jacket, holding two vinyl albums up to his face.

“Uh-huh.” She adds thoughtlessly, not even trying to mask the dumb smile that she has on her face.

“Are you even listening to me?” Dejun asks, putting the records down to frown at her, though the small grin he gave her said otherwise.

“Uh-huh.”

“How old are you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Looking around the record store, half-empty at this time of the morning, he takes a few steps forward to take her by the shoulders and shake her gently, earning a bigger smile from her. In his eyes, this must be the weirdest day of his life, or it is the weirdest day already. “You’re acting weird, and you never say ‘uh-huh’ to anything I say. Are you sure you’re alright?” Dejun’s eyes are filled with interest, watching as she rests her hands on top of his biceps, gripping to ground herself in her ecstatic train of thought.

“I am okay,” She mumbles, looking up and down his features, but letting her gaze rest on his lips. How could she go one more day without wanting to kiss those lips? “I really liked the song.” Her smile drops when she says those words, because she really wasn’t trying to out herself in what she did. Dejun is equally as confused, if not more, She lets go of him, licking the side of her mouth to stop it from running any more words.

“What song?” He asks, and when she tries to get away from him, Dejun grabs her by the wrists, pulling her closer to his chest. “What song did you like?”

It is now or never, she thinks when she glances at Dejun, so powerful in his own way. Something about him screams to tell the truth, a reminder that everything good in the world hides behind those eyes, emotionalism that he has only shown her. The least she wants is to break his heart, and he’ll be angered when she finally tells him that— “I looked through your songwriting notebook and saw the song you wrote for me.”

All the color drains from Dejun’s face, who now has finally had it. “I told you not to look! L—Listen, that’s invasion of privacy and I don’t like it.”

“I know it was wrong of me! I just...You were asleep, and I was curious and I thought I would find nothing interesting.”

“Well, you found...that.”

Sighing deeply, she takes her backpack off, taking her own songwriting notebook out to open it in front of Dejun’s eyes. At first, he is too betrayed to even look at her, so she softly speaks up. “Dejun, I am so sorry, but everything will be better if you look at this.”

His eyebrows furrow with anger, rolling his eyes to look at her notebook. Indeed, in the open pages he doesn’t see a song, per say, but he sees his name written in all types of fonts, followed by hearts, stars, whatever else she is doodling when she should be writing songs. “What—?”

“I can’t write songs for the life of me. It’s too hard, still. But you do, and this is my way of matching...that talent of yours.” She finally lowers her notebook, shy under his studious gaze when she looks anywhere but at him. Something in the atmosphere reminds her of flowers, soft yet enchanting, a memory of love, and it makes her feel stupid. So, this is what Dejun meant when he said all artists have their moments of cringe. “Ah...you said all artists do cringe-worthy stuff, and this is my try on that, I guess.”

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, Dejun mumbles something along the lines of ‘shut up’ before grasping her jaw. Her eyes study his features, everything sharp about him, fierce and scary to anyone who doesn’t know him, how his eyes stare at her like she is the last person on Earth and he is looking for the humble moment of optimism that everything is going to turn out alright at the end. Dejun is the sickness, the vaccine; the reason behind her smile and the twisting feeling in her stomach because she is nervous.

Nervous until he kisses her, the same pair of lips she has fallen for the last year or so. The lines of a song he never sang to her show through the kiss he gives her, his body relaxed against the wall, her notebook tightly pressed in between the two when she rests her hands on his waist, wanting to feel more of him. What is she but a woman that wants for him to fall into her, to catch him in her arms. That certain stare is not there when she opens her eyes softly to look at him, for he is far too concentrated on kissing her, so she closes them again, because there is nothing to worry, nothing to hold on to when she has it all.

The sound of someone arranging vinyls beside them is not what makes them stop, but the sound of the worker’s voice—rough and rock-ish—when they say: “No making out in our shop.”

With a boyish chuckle, Dejun pulls away, warming her heart with the small kiss he gives to her forehead, a reminder of what just happened. “Never look through my stuff again, understood?”

“I will never.”

🎸

One day, visiting Dejun at the guitar shop is no longer a reason for her to learn the guitar, but their brief moment where they become the only people in the world, and she loves it.

The promise of a good time is always there with Dejun, for he is not a walking headache in any possible way. These days, she sees him smile more, even though he is studying harder and they barely get to see each other with their exams colliding annoyingly with each other’s schedules. It is on those perfect Saturday mornings that she gets to see him, half-asleep and ready to play the guitar. Today, he is playing a song she doesn’t recognize—her ears have gotten exponentially better in the past few months, enough for her to recognize notes—. All majors, in this case.

Two more weeks until he leaves, the blinking light of her phone mocks her for checking the day and feeling her heart stop at the reminder of Dejun leaving for an entire year before she gets to see him again. Part of her tells her to let it be; Dejun is going to be in a new campus, meeting new people, forgetting that he ever felt this happy with someone, that he ever wrote songs about the tone-deaf girl he met well over a year ago, closer to two years. But the egotistic, the needy part of her wants to have him for herself even when they are far away, being able to pride on the fact that Dejun may have fallen for her. Not that he has said it, the two silently know what the other is feeling by now.

He is at peace, playing the guitar while he rests his cheek against the wall, half asleep in the cramped room. She wonders if he is dreaming of what he has achieved, if he knows the difference between dreams and reality now that he has it all. His eyes close momentarily, basking in the sound of his guitar and if it wasn’t for the sound, she would guess he was asleep.

“Dejun?” The man simply hums at the sound of her voice, stopping his motions to open his eyes and look at her. Those eyes, that stare, all about him screams for her to do something. Dejun will never be hers, but his own, yet she wants to be able to tug him to her arms whenever she wants, kiss all the worries away from him and reassure him he’s fully capable of anything he puts his mind into. No, she needs to be the one at the airport when he arrives a year from now, making him feel like he is back home. “I want to ask you something.”

In the realm of this comfortable ‘thing’ they have, Dejun nods his head, putting his guitar away and dragging his seat closer to her to wrap his arms around her waist. “Okay, ask me anything.”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” The sound of her voice is uncertain, the heat of the room making her feel like she can barely breathe, and maybe she is holding her breath, too. Dejun is surprised, it shows through the gleam in his brown eyes and how his eyebrows raise to the point they may become one with his hairline. “I mean...sure, you’re leaving, but I would love to date you, even if it’s from far away—”

“You’re up for a long distance relationship?”

“Of course!” She confronts him, widening her eyes as if what he just said was nonsensical. “Dejun, I’ve fallen for you, and no type of distance is ever going to be able to change that.”

His lips quirk up at that, taking her hands in between his fingers to kiss on her knuckles, interlocking their calloused fingertips to feel the warmth of her skin. “You’ve fallen for me?”

“I have,” She whispers, rubbing her lips together out of nervousness. “Have...you?”

“I have.” Dejun confirms, a laugh leaving his lips when he kisses her hands once again, pecking them quickly to demonstrate his excitement. Actually, all sleepiness seems to be drained from his body when he stands up to give her one of those big, childish kisses he gives her when he is far too excited. “Let’s date, then.” The certainty in his voice has her giggling, hiding her face in his neck to stop the shyness that seeps through her.

So, this is what a major key would feel like if it was an emotion. Bubbly, happy, enamored by life. She only wishes a minor key never becomes part of their relationship.

🎸

Time-zones are a headache, she discovers on the first week after Dejun is gone and eleven months later, the ache of her eyes when she hears her phone softly going off is still annoying.

Leaning her head back, her fingertips press down on the taut skin of her eyes, wanting to get rid of the pain before patting her bedside table to unlock her phone before her roommate goes off with another complaint about her midnight calls. But, much to her surprise, this is not a call, instead, it is a message that Dejun has sent her. The morning sounds like more of an inviting time to read anything he has to say, but she misses him too much to even ignore him, ghosting her touch over the notification before pressing down on it, watching the screen-cap of a video he just sent her.

And he’s there, with his hair bleached blonde and those infamous rounded glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. His denim jacket is gone, for it is hidden in the depths of her closet, coated in his scent and memories she would be damned to forget about (sometimes, she can still remember the feeling of the rain on top of their skins), and instead, Dejun is wearing black clothing. It takes her a second to reach for her earphones, plugging them inside her phone before getting underneath her sheets, as if to have more privacy with her boyfriend.

Still, her boyfriend.

She barely got two weeks of having a physically-there boyfriend, so she still gets giddy at the word.

The first thing she sees—and hears—is Dejun fixing the screen of his phone so it is facing properly, sighing when he gets the angle he desires. “Hey, sweetheart.” Long ago, she would have thought Dejun is the epitome of seriousness, but the giggle he gives is enough of an indication that she was wrong. His palm rests against his forehead, cringing at the sound of his voice when he leans back on his seat. With his arms crossed over his chest, he continues. “It’s super late for you, but I just got out of my classes and I wanted to remind you that we have one more month before we see each other.” He pauses for a moment, frowning at his train of thought. “We’ve been dating for almost a year and still, I haven’t taken you out on a date. Fuck—” He chuckles at what he just said and she can’t help but grin.

Burning with the need to see him, tipping at the edge of impatience, she wishes for the day they meet again to come sooner, just so she can fall in love with him yet another time.no

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leemotionalwreck · 3 years

Text

Of Black Chats and Fallen Angels (chapter 2)

Read it here on AO3!

Chapter 1 | You are here | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

*********************************************

Tikki rolled her eyes for what had to be the millionth time that afternoon as Marinette flopped back on her bed. She had spent every moment-- from the moment Adrien drove away to the second she shut her trap door-- ranting about ‘how could he possibly think offering me an umbrella could win me over’ and ‘why was he looking at me with that stupid smile on his face’ and on and on and on. As much as Tikki adored her holder, she could be exhausting with her overthinking and lack of, for lack of a better term, ‘chill’.

“Marinette,” Tikki chided.

Marinette hadn’t heard a thing as she walked over to a project she had started earlier that week. It was white nylon off-the-shoulder number with numerous belts and buttons that shouldn’t have worked as well as they did together, with a hem that stopped mid-thigh. She fussed over the neckline and Tikki worried that she would pick up a needle. Or worse-- decide to change something.

“Marinette… ” Tikki warned.

Nothing good ever came from a ranting, angry, Marinette; especially when said Marinette decided to start sewing. Tikki had witnessed far too many meltdowns just hours after an angry sewing session and decided it was best (and safest for the sanity of all involved) if working on any project, school, or otherwise was best reserved for a time when her holder was more stable.

Much to Tikki’s relief, Marinette walked away from the dress, fiddling with the ends of her hair instead.

“-And don’t even get me started on the way he showed off his stupid limo.” The girl huffed as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I mean who even does that!? Ugh, and the way he-”

“MARINETTE!” Tikki interjected.

“Huh?” She said as if Tikki calling her name had brought her out of some sort of trance.

“You’ve gotta stop overthinking this,” Tikki sighed. “I know you don’t like him, but isn’t there a possibility that he was just trying to be helpful? People do that type of stuff, you know.”

She shot Tikki an exasperated look. “Then explain the whole gum incident.”

How? Tikki thought as she brought her tiny hands up to her face. How can she possibly be the most intelligent while also being the densest holder I’ve had in a millennium?

Tikki took a deep breath as she prepared to explain the situation for the millionth time. Marinette was going owe her so many cookies later

*********

Marinette was confused as hell, but that was nothing new. What was new was the source of her confusion. Oftentimes, when Marinette had a hunch or a gut feeling, she listened and that was it-- but this was different.

There was something unusual about Adrien Agreste. That was what Marinette knew. She also knew that she should not, and didn’t, trust Adrien Agreste. She knew that she had no real reason not to trust Adrien Agreste, as he had done nothing to her.

Marinette knew that she was, at the very least, physically attracted to Adrien Agreste.

Well, she didn’t know it-- not yet at least. And maybe that was why she had been ranting to Tikki for the past three hours-- getting an extensive lecture/explanation in return. Being a teenage superhero who fought evil purple butterflies with a punning leather catboy for a partner, there had to be some shred of normalcy in her life. If obsessing over the minute details of a five-minute interaction with a guy she didn’t like was her normal, then so be it. Besides, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

“Marinette” Tikki sounded like she wanted to drown herself in cookie batter. “I’m going to find something to eat. I’ll get back to you when you’ve calmed down a little”

Or that’s what she thought until something outside her window caught her eye--

An akuma.

Damnit. Marinette knew she wasn’t exactly in the best headspace for fighting, but it wasn’t like she could coordinate certain dates with Hawkmoth. She chuckled aloud as a mental image of her, Chat, and Hawkmoth meeting at a round table popped into her head.

“Ahem” came a noise from across the room.

Marinette looked over at Tikki and nodded, transforming. She couldn’t help but wish for the absurd scenario as she soared above the buildings of Paris.

*********

“What’s the damage so far?” Ladybug asked as she landed right in sync on top of a building next to a running Chat Noir.

The past few months Chat Noir had been around, everything felt lighter. While Hawkmoth had most definitely been getting more intense, it seemed as if it didn’t matter as long as her partner was around. He was able to sense what needed to be done without asking or meticulously planning ahead, along with the fact that he was good with the press. While not as important, Ladybug treasured the fact that she didn’t have to worry about answering questions that required vague answers.

They had become best friends as well. Despite not knowing the other’s identity, they knew each other inside and out. Ladybug couldn’t help but smile as she thought about the countless nights they had spent perched atop the Eiffel Tower, discussing everything from school to Hawkmoths identity to how different their lives would have been having never met. Or if one of them had been someone else.

But there was something strange about him that she couldn’t figure out. Sure, there was the standard strangeness you would expect from a punning leather catboy, but there was something else as well. She saw it in the way he seemed to float a second longer than he should have whenever he was using his staff, or in the way his gaze lingered on shimmering patches of stars in the sky. How she had sometimes seen him whispering to the sun or moon… almost like a prayer.

Ladybug eventually noticed that she and Chat had stopped running; he was calling her name, concerned.

“You there M’lady?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Yeah, sorry. So what are we looking at today?”

“Chemist from PSL Research University,” Chat began. “A coworker refused to take proper precautions before testing, which ended up hurting a couple of other chemists and about 4 interns.”

Ladybug sighed. “These are the worst kind.”

Chat nodded. “Right reason, wrong reaction.”

“Let’s get this over with?”

“Ready when you are bugaboo.”

*********

“Goddamnit,” Chat seethed as he and Ladybug ran into the sewers for a third transformation.

Ladybug grumbled from around the corner. “I’m starting to lose sympathy for this guy.” She fed Tikki, and a pink light flashed just a second after Chat’s. “Ready to go?”

“Just a minute.” He said before she got the chance to come around.

She fiddled with her yo-yo while she tried her best to think of a plan. So far, they had tried the lab coat, safety goggles, and ID. What more was there?

The akuma’s design was simple enough. A pitch-black lab coat and neon yellow safety goggles-- really, Hawkmoth?-- along with their ID and a belt that held several different colored vials. Their hair stood up in an Einstein-like fashion, wild locks jutting out from all sections of their head, along with some sort of chemical that fizzed everywhere they stepped. How was that even possible?

Ladybug grimaced as she heard The Alchemist shouting from outside. “Grow a pair and show your damn faces! Why can’t Paris’ so-called heroes protect their city?” They were silent for a moment and Ladybug knew Hawkmoth must have been speaking to the victim. “Forget you both. I’ll get your miraculous and take care of this place myself. They don’t need you.”

The akuma-- or The Alchemist, as they named themselves-- had spent the better part of two hours spraying people with a liquid that kept them safe… while also making them invincible. Why the hell anyone, even an akuma, thought that would be a good idea was beyond her.

With their newfound invincibility, people lost all inhibitions.

In her three years of being Ladybug, the heroine had never seen havoc wreaked upon Paris like this. The streets were pure chaos as it seemed that the city’s lowest and most evil had come out of hiding. Looting, rioting, and arson could be seen anywhere you looked. She knew the screams from that night would haunt her forever, and she was sure she had seen a dead body or two somewhere. There had to be some other factor here. How could the city she had worked so hard to protect possibly be this self-destructive?

Marinette was afraid and stressed beyond belief. They had never faced anything as intense as this, what if they couldn’t fix it, what if Hawkmoth finally--

Wait…

Momentarily pulling herself out of her thoughts, Ladybug heard a murmuring from around the corner. It was Chat Noir, but what was he doing?

“All I’m asking is that you help us out,” Chat muttered. “Just this once, then I’ll leave you alone, I swear.”

Was he--

Was he praying?

“Thank’s in advance I guess. If not, screw you.”

Before Ladybug got the chance to say anything, Chat came around the corner with a grim look on his face.

“Let’s get this over with,” He said.

And they did.

After three transformations, plans A through S, and several words Master Fu definitely wouldn’t have approved of, The Alchemist had finally been de-evilized. Once they left the sewers, Ladybug called upon her lucky charm once again and received a canister of liquid nitrogen and a test tube. Scooping a small amount of the fizzing chemical and freezing it, the substance froze in the form of a butterfly, then smashing it and fixing the damaged caused. Ladybug took a shaky breath before making her way towards Chat and the victim.

Horrified at the destruction his abilities had caused, the victim, Dr. Marcel Roux, apologized-- close to tears. Calming him down took a while, but after reassurance, they managed to find him a safe ride home.

Despite the ladybugs fixing everything, Ladybug and Chat Noir both had a sinking feeling that some people weren’t returning home that night.

*********

Wishing both him and the driver a good night, she and Chat sat atop the Eifel Tower, exhausted. Being home was most likely the smartest and safest option, but after what they had seen that night neither of them wanted to be alone with their thoughts that night.

“Chat,” she began.

“Hmm,” came a noise. Ladybug turned to him to see that he was against one of the support beams. The moonlight hit his face, and Ladybug wondered how someone could look that angelic any time of day.

“You never told me you were religious.”

His eyes snapped open and his gaze was locked with hers. “What do you mean?”

“Earlier,” she began. “While we were in the sewers, I heard you praying. Kind of a rude one but a prayer still.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself religious. I don’t go to church or practice any religion, and I definitely don’t have any sort of relationship with the man upstairs,” Ladybug noticed that he seemed to give the sky some sort of look. Almost imperceptible, but he looked as if he was angry. “But I figure when you’re that low, a little wish can’t hurt.”

She hummed in response, then yawned as she looked over the city.

“I had no idea they were capable of something like that,” she said.

Her partner gave a grim chuckle in response. “Give someone enough power, they’ll do plenty of shit you weren’t expecting.”

Marinette knew he had a point, but there was a nagging feeling in her gut that something really wasn’t right. Of course she didn’t know the people of Paris that well. She had only been a hero for a short time, but to go from hopeful and faithful to complete anarchists was drastic and unlikely.

Chat glanced over at her, seeing the gears in her mind turning and the worry on her face. He reached over and placed a hand on her knee.

“Tonight was weird, yeah. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified too. It's horrifying seeing the city we fight so hard to protect turn on itself like that--"

"You're really not helping, you know."

"That's ‘cause you didn't let me finish," She snorted and gestured for him to continue. "Sure, all that's true, but we have each other, and that's honestly all that matters."

She rolled her eyes at him as she stood, leaning on his staff for support. "You suck at pep talks."

He grinned and squatted back down to her level. "My point is, bugaboo, that no matter what happens, I’ll be here to get through it with you. The world could be ending, and it would be ok as long as you're next to me."

She knew she was blushing and turned away as he chuckled.

"I should get home, Chat." She smiled at his wounded dog expression. "Some of us have curfews you know."

Chat Noir grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Until we meet again My Lady." He turned away from her and vaulted off the Eifel. She watched him freefall and he spun in mid-air to face her, winking and giving her a two-finger salute.

He eventually disappeared behind buildings in the distance. Ladybug swung away, grinning stupidly at her partners' antics. While Chat had done his best to reassure her, doubt seeped into her mind. It didn't seem normal for the people of Paris to have that sort of reaction.

What also wasn’t normal was the pair of glowing red eyes watching her from down below as she made her way home.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #of black chats and fallen angels

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

Headcanons Part Two!!!

My last headcanon post was all about Billy and Steve, but they won’t be the only ones showing up in my stories, so here’s some hcs for a few of the most recurring characters!

Starting with Max!!

My preferred middle name for Max is Nicole, because Maxine Nicole sounds pretty, but can double as being intimidating if someone was yelling at her. Also, she’s named after her aunt Nicole just because I can see Susan being like that.

Most important thing to know about Max in my writing is that she is ALWAYS autistic. I might not specify depending on the content of the story, but she is never ever ever meant to be allistic. I imagine her as being on a moderate support needs level, meaning for those who don’t know the term that she has highs and lows! There’s days where she can pass as allsitic and days where she can’t, and she maybe doesn’t need a lot of assistance in everyday life, but she still needs lots of stimming and has meltdowns and stuff!

Related to this fact is that in the 80s, autism was not a very common diagnosis at all, and so I don’t think she’d really have a word for it other than like, that just being the way she is. Because no one will give her the official diagnosis, Neil thinks she’s faking, so she gets told to stop stimming, isn’t treated fairly during a meltdown, told to “act normal” etc, etc, and she needs a lot of therapy in the future for it.

Her favorite ways to stim are rocking on her heels, humming, listening to loud noises (like sirens/car engines/lawn mowers, NOT things like music/Susan doing the dishes, those do the opposite) and dancing!

Her least favorite sensory things are raindrops touching her skin, her hair brushing her shoulders or her face, overwhelming smells (cologne, candles, food on the stove) and furniture that’s too firm! (like a memory foam mattress or a leather couch)

The first time she feels truly seen in the way she is is when Fraggle Rock starts airing in ‘82. Susan tells her to watch it because she thinks Max is still a baby no matter how old she is, but the minute she lays eyes on Wembley Fraggle she knows he’s like her. He stims vocally and with his hands, his friends don’t understand him, he’s empathetic, bad at choosing, gullible, and in every way just so much like her! Her and Billy have an inside joke where, if she’s putting something off or can’t make a decision, he’ll tell her to stop her Wemblin’ and sometimes he calls her Wembles without thinking!

There isn’t a lot of personalized furniture in the Hargrove-Mayfield, so I think it’s safe to say that she doesn’t really have any comfort items lying around. No favorite blankets or stuffed animals or toys of any kind, and I think because of that she clings to people. That’s why she is so insistent on getting in with the party, and why was so excited about having a brother in Runaway Max, because she relies on comfort people instead of objects.

She’s not very good at putting a name to her relationships. Like, she doesn’t really know how to describe how she feels about somebody, she just knows if she likes them or not. If she feels happy and sage with someone, that’s all that matters, she doesn’t feel the need to classify them beyond that. But she’s also aware that others don’t feel that way! And she feels pretty special when Lucas calls her his girlfriend!

In the future, there can be a lot of different outcomes for her.

If Billy stays dead, I can see Max ending up two ways, either staying in Hawkins because that’s where her brother is dead and buried and trying to move on in her own way, or leaving Hawkins entirely, just cutting ties completely with everyone and everything there to move away from the trauma that’s there, except for every year on B’s birthday when she comes back to visit.

If Billy lives though, I think there’s again two outcomes for her. One where she feels guilty about not noticing the mindflayer and her and Billy’s relationship gets a little strained, because they don’t cope well when they’re trying to pin the blame, or one where she is just grateful her brother isn’t dead and decides to live life to the fullest after that.

In any scenario, she would obviously get the happy ending she deserves, she just has to get there a totally different way.

And also, regardless of what path she takes, I think she’d make for an excellent writer in her future career. She’s smart, she’s got lots of story to tell and draw inspiration from, and it just seems right for her, because it isn’t super constricting and it’s a job most people who do it love!

Now onto Robin!

Her middle name is Leora!

For some reason I have this idea in my head that she doesn’t live with her parents anymore. Not that she got kicked out or anything, just that she moved out pretty early on.

I also think she isn’t from Hawkins. I like the idea that her family moved there just before high school from either Ohio or Maryland, not sure which.

In band, I think she’s a flute. She just gives me flute vibes but I got kicked out of the band so maybe I could be wrong.

It’s canon that she’s goth, wearing her spiky leather bracelet with her work uniform and all, but I think she also sometimes goes in the totally opposite fashion direction, like, sometimes she’s just feeling the patterns and fabrics and colors of the sixties and seventies her mom gave her.

One of her favorite things to do with her friends is go shopping! Not like, around malls, in part because other than Starcourt, the closest mall to Hawkins is forty five minutes away, but she likes to go out with her group and visit all the local thrift shops and cafés and stuff like that.

And she’s super crafty! She has embroidery hoops, beads, jewelry making kits, all of it scattered everywhere!

She has like, the tips of her hair bleached, they sort of look like highlights in a way, so I think it was her that convinced Steve to get his highlights done too.

Matter of fact, I think she teaches Steve a lot of things about himself without either of them realizing. She’s just so, not-superficial I guess, that it starts to rub off of him.

In my head she’s just always got like, a suuuuuper good read on people even if they just met, like, she just sees straight through everybody ever, and that’s why she even gives Steve a chance despite knowing how he treated her in school.

Her Scoops! shorts are pretty big while Steve’s are tight as heck, so I hc that those are his shorts. The uniform used to be a skimpy sailor skirt, but she’s seventeen and not particularly keen on being creeped on by older men when she gets hired there, so she refuses to wear it. She gets in trouble on the first day for wearing jeans, and Steve feels bad about it so he gives her the extra pair of shorts from his uniform!

Robin totally bottles up everything from Starcourt until she can’t anymore. Like, Steve is very open about his struggles with what happened under the mall because he wants help and he’s done it alone before, but she feels like she should be strong, grateful that they survived, and just, move on and forget about it. It doesn’t work and she ends up crashing hard. Like she goes from silently suffering to getting panic attacks all the time, and falling in a super deep depression rut. Obviously her friends are very supportive and provide her with the help she needs, and with time (lots and lots of time) she gets better!

Heather!

Her middle name is Ernestine! It was her grandma's name!

I head canon that she is a lesbian and I ship her and Robin!

She calls Billy William all the time because she was raised to be formal and respectful, and Billy just doesn’t feel or sound right when she says it. Even though she insists her name is Heather and she doesn’t need a nickname, Billy calls her Hetty or H!

She wears clip on earrings! Her parents refuse to let her get her ears pierced because they say she needs to respect her image and all that, but she always felt like she was missing some accessories, and found out from one of her friends about clip ons, which they allow!

Even though she has popular girl vibes, I don’t think she was in high school. Just sort of a floater, and she liked it that way! She’s way too sweet to be in with Steve’s crowd, but had some things in common with pretty much everyone else. Once she’s graduated she sort of falls into that popular category around Hawkins because she’s rich and older now, but she’s still the same old Heather.

Heather is a super good baker and cook! Her mother always had her helping in the kitchen while her dad was staying late at work, and eventually she got really good! Sometimes she’ll just randomly bring her friends like, a load of banana bread or a hot dish because it makes everyone happy!

She's a very affectionate person! If she hasn’t seen her friends for a while she’ll kiss them all over, and everytime you see her you have to hug her (unless you don’t want to, she’s equally as understanding as she is lovey!)

I reject canon! Heather is not dead! I know it’s very unlikely but I think the clones in the upside down were like fail saves, and the real versions are all still alive somewhere!

In the case that this is true, when everything gets fixed I don’t think her memories of what happened to her would be intact, and I think that would be super traumatic for her. Almost worse than how she would be feeling if she knew.

In the future she wants to be in the entertainment industry! I can totally see her becoming a country singer or a soap opera actress or both!

Robin becomes a librarian at the same school that Steve works at when he becomes a teacher! She also does art commissions on the side. Sculpting, painting, charcoals, all of it, she’s good at all of it!

And last but not least, Tommy!!

My hc for Tommy’s middle name is Byrd. It was like a super common name at one point and then just sort of plummeted, and I like to think his parents thought they were being original choosing that one. All of his friends call him Tommy Bird to make fun of him, but he secretly doesn’t hate it.

Tommy and Steve didn’t really become friends until middle school! Hawkins has two elementary schools based on which region you live in, and because they live in like, opposite ends of town they go to different ones. But the first day of middle school when the two schools merge, they’re out for recess, Steve sees Tommy alone and approaches him, and they become instant besties!

Tommy is very insecure about his popularity. Steve is cool with letting his slip because he has other things to worry about, but Tommy doesn’t. His grades are alright and his home life is decent, and he’s not involved in upside down business, so when Steve ditches him and people start to lose interest in him, he gets extremely upset. It consumes him sort of, the fear that nobody likes him anymore. That ends up being why him and Carol break it off for good.

Another reason he thinks a reputation is so important is because he used to be picked on before being friends with Steve. When he was little he had giant glasses and dressed kinda lame, and he internalized that a lot. He’s scared that without Steve they’ll go back to that.

All of that is why he clings onto Billy so tight. Like, his best friend for the past six or seven years just walked out without looking back, and he’s terrified that he’s going to be bullied again. So when big tough guy Billy Hargrove rolls into town he’s like I have to be friends with this dude right now or I’ll die.

I ship him with Steve! A lot! But also I like the thought of Tommy and Steve and Billy, platonically and shippy-y!

As for where he’s from, I don’t think Tommy is Hawkins born and raised. He grew up down south, maybe Georgia, or Tennessee?, but then his uncle over in Indiana starts a snake oil business with his dad and they have to move.

I think he’s very much a lightweight. Alcohol isn’t really his thing because his dad was an alcoholic and it scares him that he’ll be like that, so he never really tried it and his tolerance is super low. He always designates himself the driver, only he doesn’t have a car of his own, he’s not allowed to until he’s on his way to college, so he always drives other people’s cars to their houses and walks home.

I don’t know if Tommy is able to avoid the upside down beyond st2. Maybe him and Billy try to keep in contact once school lets out, but he notices somethings off with him because he’s flayed. This could result in him also being flayed, depending on the situation, or if not he might get involved later, because he starts putting the pieces together after Starcourt.

Tommy owning up and joining Steve in monster hunting quests! Heck yeah!

If there is no involvement with all that mess though, I’d say it takes a few years out of high school for him to finally admit to being wrong. Like, he always maintained that he was right to be mad at Steve for driving away and right to be basically just a bully like he was, but once he’s older, mid twenties maybe, he realizes that wasn’t the way to be and calls a bunch of people up to apologize to them.

He goes to beauty school and becomes a hair stylist and makeup artist on television sets!

As for other background characters, like other party members or adults, I don’t have a whole lot of specific ideas that aren’t already canon! In the future if I write anything where they are more central characters that might change, but as of right now I don’t really have any headcanons for them!

#max mayfield #robin buckley #heather holloway #tommy h #nonsense from ej #headcanon #obviously I have a bunch more in my head when I write but this is just the basic stuff I wanted to throw out there #it’s also kinda a mess because I’ve been trying to get this list organized before I post my next fic #which I already said a couple of days ago would be up in a few and it will #I’m working on it I just have a heck ton to do right now #anywho pardon all the projecting I did here #and sorry if this is formatted super weird I’m posting this from mobile

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