#do NOT start shit with me on this post I'm not arguing about this in either direction. I don't know how much more clear I can be. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inkskinned · 1 year

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there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)

i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.

i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.

and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.

HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.

now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.

my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.

i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.

by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!

keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"

similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."

the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"

if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.

the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.

godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.

the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.

#this is objectively bad advice #don't listen to it protect yourself and do real work on yourself find one of the good posts i've made about this #but also. u know. if u want to have fun while u do the work of setting boundaries #.... it IS fun #i will say that my fear of him went SO down after i just started. fucking with him.#bc i used to get SO fucking upset #i'd spend WEEKS arguing with him. tearing my hair out. sick with anxiety and dread and anger about all of it #and now i just LITERALLY do not engage #instead i'm like '' haha :) mole people" and get the HELL out of any tense conversation #i kind of think some of these people are literally addicted to drama as a form of connection #they like the rush they get from arguing #but those arguments are incredibly damaging for me #so like..... i am in the process of literally rehabilitating this person to figure out how to find connection thru #NORMAL CONVERSATION #he doesn't get it yet #i also do talk to them like they're preschool kids lmafo . ''are you using a safe and kind voice right now?''#'' do you need a snackie? you sound a little upset. let's have some hummus and come back to playtime when we feel ready''

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wifelinkmtg · 8 months

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TUMBLR POST EDITOR WON'T LET ME TITLE THIS POST ANYMORE SO I GUESS THIS IS THE TITLE NOW. WEBBED SITE INNIT

So let's say you grew up in the nineties and that The Lion King was an important movie to you. Let's say that the character of Scar - snarling, ambitious, condescending, effeminate Scar - stirred feelings in you which you had no words for as a child. And then let's say, many years later, you're talking about it with a college friend, and you say something like, "oh man, I think Scar was some sort of gay awakening for me," and she fixes you with this level stare and says, "Scar was a fascist. What's the matter with you?"

The immediate feeling is not unlike missing a step: hang on, what's happening, what did I miss? You knew there were goose-stepping hyenas in "Be Prepared," but you didn't think it mattered that much. He's the bad guy, after all, and the movie's just pointing it out. Your friend says it's more than that: the visuals of the song are directly referencing the Nuremberg rallies. They're practically an homage to Riefenstahl. This was your sexual awakening? Is this why you're so into peaked caps and leather, then? Subliminal nazi kink, perhaps?

And then one of your other friends cuts in. "Hold up," he says, "let's think about what Scar actually did in the movie. He organized a group of racialized outcasts and led them against a predatory monarchy. Why are you so keen to defend their hereditary rule? Scar's the good guy here." The conversation immediately descends into a verbal slap fight about who the real bad guy is, whether Scar's regime was actually responsible for the ecological devastation of the Pride Lands, whether the hyenas actually count as "racialized" because James Earl Jones voiced Mufasa after all. Your Catholic friend starts saying some strange and frankly concerning shit about Natural Law. Someone brings The Lion King 2 into it. You leave the conversation feeling a little bit lost and a little bit anxious. What were we even talking about?

INTRODUCING: THE DITCH

There is a way of reading texts which I'm afraid is pervasive, which has as its most classical expression the smug obsession with trivia and minutiae you find in a certain vein of comic book fan. "Who was the first Green Lantern? What was his weakness? Do you even know the Green Lantern Oath?" It eschews the subjective in favor of definitively knowable fact. You can't argue with this guy that, say, Alan Scott shouldn't really count as the first Green Lantern because his whole deal is so radically different from the Hal Jordan/John Stewart/Guy Gardner Corps-era Lanterns, because this guy will simply say "but he's called Green Lantern. Says so right on the cover. Checkmate." This approach to reading a text is fundamentally 1) emotionally detached (there's a reason the joke goes, oh you like X band? name three of their songs - and not, which of their songs means the most to you? which of them came into your life at exactly the right moment to tell you exactly what you needed to hear just then?) and 2) defensive. It's a stance that is designed not to lose arguments. It says so right on the cover. Checkmate.

And then you get the guys who are like "well obviously Bruce Wayne could do far more as a billionaire to solve societal problems by using his tremendous wealth to address systemic issues instead of dressing up as a bat and punching mental patients in the head," and these guys have half a point but they're basically in the same ditch butting heads with the "well, actually" guys, and can we not simply extricate ourselves from the ditch entirely?

So, okay, let's return to our initial example. Scar is portrayed using Nazi iconography - the goose-stepping, the monumentality, the Nuremberg Lichtdom. He is also flamboyant and effete. He unifies and leads a group of downtrodden exiles to overthrow an absolute monarch. He's also a self-serving despot on whose rule Heaven Itself turns its back. You can't reconcile these things from within the ditch - or if you can, the attempt is likely to be ad-hoc supposition and duct tape.

Instead, let's ask ourselves what perspective The Lion King is coming from. What does it say is true about the world? What are its precepts, its axioms?

There is a natural hierarchical order to the world. This is just and righteous and the way of things, and attempts to overthrow this order will be punished severely by the world itself.

Fascism is what happens when evil men attempt to usurp this natural order with the aid of a group or groups of people who refuse to accept their place in the order.

There exists an alternative to defending and adhering to one's place in the natural order - it consists only of selfish spineless apathy.

Manliness is an essential quality of a just ruler. Unmanliness renders a person unfit for rule, and often resentful and dangerous as well.

And isn't that interesting, laid out like that? It renders the entire argument about the movie irrelevant (except for whatever your Catholic friend was on about, since his understanding of the world seems to line up with the above precepts weirdly well.) It's meaningless to argue about whether Scar was a secret hero or a fascist, when the movie doesn't understand fascism and has a damn-near alien view of what good and evil are.

There's always gonna be someone who, having read this far, wants to reply, "so, what? The Lion King is a bad movie and the people who made it were homophobes and also American monarchists, somehow? And anyone who likes it is also some sort of gay-bashing crypto-authoritarian?" To which I have to reply, man, c'mon, get out of the ditch. You're no good to anyone in there. Take my hand. I'm going to pull on three. One... two...

SO PHYREXIA [PAUSE FOR APPLAUSE, GROANS]

We're talking about everyone's favorite ichor-drooling surgery monsters again because there was a bit in my ~*~seminal~*~ essay Transformation, Horror, Eros, Phyrexia which seemed to give a number of readers quite a bit of trouble: namely, the idea that while Phyrexia is textually fascist, their aesthetic is incompatible with real-world fascism, and further, that this aesthetic incompatibility in some way outweighs the ways in which they act like a fascist nation in terms of how we think of them. I'll take responsibility here: I don't think that point is at all clear or well-argued in that essay. What I was trying to articulate was that the text of Magic: the Gathering very much wants Phyrexia to be supremely evil and dangerous fascists, because that makes for effective antagonists, but in the process of constructing that, it's accidentally encoded a whole bunch of fascinating presuppositions that end up working at cross-purposes with its apparent aim. That's... not that much clearer, is it? Hmm. Why don't I just show you what I mean?

Atraxa, Grand Unifier (art by Marta Nael)

In "Beneath Eyes Unblinking," one of the March of the Machine stories by K. Arsenault Rivera, there's a fascinating and I think revealing passage in which Atraxa (big-deal Phyrexianized angel and Elesh Norn's lieutenant) has a run-in with an art museum in New Capenna. The first thing I want to talk about is that, in this passage, Atraxa has no understanding of the concept of "beauty". A great deal of space in such a rushed storyline is devoted to her trying to puzzle out what beauty means and interrogating the minds of her recently-compleated Capennan aesthetes to try and understand it. In the end, she is unable to conceive of beauty except as "wrongness," as anathema.

So my first question is, why doesn't Atraxa have any idea of beauty? This is nonsense, right? We could point to a previous story, "A Garden of Flesh," by Lora Gray, in which Elesh Norn explicitly thinks in terms of beauty, but that's a little bit ditchbound, isn't it? The better argument is to simply look at Phyrexian bodies, at the Phyrexian landscape, all of which looks the way it does on purpose, all of which has been shaped in accordance with the very real aesthetic preferences of Phyrexians. How you could look at the Fair Basilica and not understand that Phyrexians most definitely have an idea of beauty, even if you personally disagree with it, is baffling. This is a lot like the canonical assertion that Phyrexians lack souls, which is both contradicted elsewhere in canon and essentially meaningless, given Magic's unwillingness or inability to articulate what a soul is in its setting, and as with this, it seems the goal is simply to dehumanize Phyrexians, to render them alien, even at the cost of incoherence or internal contradiction.

Atraxa's progress through the museum is fascinating. It evokes the 1937 Nazi exhibit on "degenerate art" in Munich, but not at all cleanly. The first exhibit, which is of representational art, she angrily destroys for being too individualistic (a point of dissonance with the European fascist movements of the 20th century, which formed in direct antagonism to communism.) The second exhibit, filled with abstract paintings and sculptures, she destroys even more angrily for having no conceivable use (this is much more in line with the Nazi idea of "degenerate art", so well done there.) The third exhibit is filled with war trophies and reconstructions from a failed Phyrexian invasion of Capenna many years prior, which she is angriest of all with (and fair enough, I suppose.) But then, after she's done completely trashing the place, she spots a number of angel statues on the cathedral across the plaza, and she goes apeshit. In a fugue of white-hot rage, she pulverizes the angel heads, and here is where I have to ask my second question:

Why angels? If you are trying to invoke fascist attitudes toward art, big statues of angels are precisely the wrong thing for your fascist analogues to hate. Fascists love monumental, heroic representations of superhuman perfection. It's practically their whole aesthetic deal. I understand that we're foreshadowing the imminent defeat of Phyrexia at the hands of legions of angels and a multiversal proliferation of angel juice, but that just leads to the exact same question: why angels? To the best of my knowledge, the Phyrexian weakness to New Capennan angel juice is something invented for this storyline. They have, after all, been happily compleating angels since 1997. We could talk about the in-universe justification for why Halo specifically is so potent, but I don't remember what that justification is, and also don't care. Let's not jump back in the ditch, please. The point is, someone decided that this time, Phyrexia would be defeated by an angelic host, and what does that mean? What is the text trying to say? What are its precepts and axioms?

Let me ask you a question: how many physically disabled angels are there in Magic: the Gathering? How about transsexual angels? How many angels are there, on all of the cards that have ever been printed for Magic: the Gathering, that are even just a bit ugly? Do you get it yet? Or do you need me to spell it out for you?

SPELLING IT OUT FOR YOU

There is a kind of body which is bad. It is bad because it has been significantly altered from its natural state, and it is bad because it is repellent to our aesthetic sensibilities.

The bad kind of body is contagious. It spreads through contact. Sometimes people we love are infected, and then they become the bad kind of body too.

There is a kind of body which is good. It is good because it is pleasing to our aesthetic sensibilities, and it is good because it is unaltered from its (super)natural state.

A happy ending is when all the good bodies destroy or drive into hiding all of the bad bodies. A happy ending is when the bad bodies of the people we love are forcibly returned to being the good kind of body.

Do you get it now?

ENDNOTES

It's worth noting that the ditch is very similar to the white American Evangelical hermeneutics of "the Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it," the defensive chapter-and-verse-or-it-didn't-happen approach to reading a text, what Fred Clark of slacktivist calls "concordance-ism". I don't think that's accidental. We stand underneath centuries of people reading the Bible very poorly - how could that not affect how we read things today? We are participants in history whether we like it or not.

I sincerely hope I haven't come across as condescending in this essay. Close reading is legitimately difficult! They teach college courses on this stuff! And while it is frustrating to have my close readings interrogated by people who... aren't doing that, like. I do get it. I find myself back in the ditch all the time. This stuff is hard. It is also, sorry, crucial if you intend to say something about a text that's worth saying.

I also hope I've communicated clearly here. Magic story is sufficiently incoherent that trying to develop a thesis about it often feels like trying to nail jello to the wall. If anyone has questions, please ask them! And thank you for reading. Next time, we'll probably do the new Eldraine set.

#phyrexia #not defining the ditch except by implication #thanks to all the very smart vorthoi on the flavor text discord server for helping me work through my thoughts on fascism and phyrexia #this is technically the march of the machine review also #or as much of one as i care to do

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comicaurora · 3 months

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I'm sorry that the terfs made their way onto your blog but it does feel good to see you support trans people. Thank you for that

Always.

I think, charitably, that the discourse going down on that post is an extrapolation and over-focus on one element of the point I was making: that for me, determining with certainty that I was cis was a rather fraught process. I was presented with many alternatives, but underlying their imposition on me was the oddly regressive idea that the things I liked, the principles I valued, the parts of myself I was proud of were not permitted of women. My whole life I got smacked with the background radiation that I couldn't like being strong because women aren't allowed to be stronger than men. I couldn't like being loud and boistrous because women aren't allowed to take up space. I couldn't be a math geek because women aren't smart. It was all deeply regressive misogyny from day one, but I started getting hit with it slathered in a fresh coat of paint - all those assumptions still held to be true, but now there was the out that I could do all those things if I just wasn't a woman.

Concluding that the underlying bioessentialist premise was wrong was very important. Absolutely none of those statements were true, and were only ever maintained by cultural saturation, goalpost-readjustment when they were actively disproven, and the occasional bout of lying with statistics to pretend they weren't just Shit All The Way Down. The core premise that certain things were only permitted of or possible for men was bullshit, and I didn't need to surrender the gender I liked best in order to play in the spaces I wanted to. I could simply exist the way I was already existing. I didn't need anything else.

The misinterpretation is the assumption that this being true of me means this is everybody's relationship with gender. I turned out to be cis, so for me, feeling that holding onto my assigned gender wasn't allowed was distressing - just another invocation of the same bioessentialist bullshit I'd been dealing with since the preschool playground. This is because misgendering is fundamentally denying that a person has the right to express themself the way they want. When aimed at me, it says I'm not performing traditional femininity well enough to deserve my pronouns. The same disrespect is the root of misgendering when aimed at trans people. "Perform your gender to my satisfaction or I will confiscate it."

The problem is, bioessentialism is 100% ingrained into the terf playbook, which is why, for instance, all their shitty talking points about trans athletes eventually boil down to "no woman can ever defeat a man in any contest because we are simply naturally weak and stupid and there is nothing we can do about it" and quite frankly nothing disgusts me more than the defeatist acceptance of the very lie that feminism is dedicated to overcoming. Instead of accepting that the paradigm of bioessentialism is a false dichotomy right from the jump, they embrace and weaponize it against the people whose existence proves the dichotomy is a lie. If gender essentialism is fundamentally false, then it is nobody's fucking business what anybody does with their gender. If the lines don't exist, nobody needs to enforce them. And yet there the terfs go, hunting down people whose lives are none of their business and trying to argue that they represent some great and terrible evil, some downfall of society made flesh, something that makes it totally correct and normal for them to spend so much time thinking about strangers' genitalia. They want this to be a noble crusade so badly they won't even examine what flag they're flying.

I love and support the trans people in my life and will always, always stand on the side of your right to exist, but alongside that, terf rhetoric especially disgusts and infuriates me because it is, at its heart, utter cowardice. The world told them they were weak and stupid and inferior and they fucking believed it. And now they think Fighting The Good Fight For Women means turning around and using the same paradigmatic weapon that hurt them to hurt the people whose existence outside the binary proves the weapon is a lie. They're the same shithead schoolyard bullies who made me believe my entire existence was foundationally wrong for years of my life and I will never, ever side with them or the shitty, cowardly rhetoric that contributed to the loneliest years of my life.

Figure out who you are and do it on purpose. Find the real source of the misery in your life and try fighting that instead of the other crabs in the bucket. Trans rights.

#asks #not aurora

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cheriladycl01 · 4 months

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Feel the Heat - Grid x F Driver! Reader

Plot: All the moments that Y/N has just absolutely lost her shit.

Warnings: Lots of swearing, mentions of sexism (undertones) which I do not condone at all, its just for the plot and what i see some celebrities are burdened with in the limelight.

Credit to martha-dobie for the GIF

Moment 1:

"So Y/N how do you feel about the 10 second time penalty?" Martin asks you in the post race interview. You were now starting P20 in the race tomorrow and it wasn't even your fault.

"Yeah superb the FIA did a really good job determining who was at fault!" you grit out with a strained smile on your face.

"Oh really? Because your team seem to be arguing against the decision as we speak, they've been very vocal about it"

"Yeah it was sarcastic of course I'm not happy, any other driver who did that would have been let off... but I don't? My team have clips of Hamilton, Ricciardo, Leclerc, Stroll, Gasly and Norris all doing it and getting away with it. So why not me?" you ask before storming off. You didn't want to do media anymore and your PR manager could tell.

"Y/N we are trying to get that penalty lifted so that you start P4 tomorrow. I don't know what else to say, the team are trying" she says rubbing your shoulders, but the scowl on your face says otherwise.

"It's not fucking right though Cathy!" you exclaim kicking the side of the Red Bull hospitality wall.

"I know, i know. And they are working on it!" she exclaims trying to calm you down.

"They wont change their decision now though, the other teams will get pissed that they've gone back on their word..." you seethe.

"Fucks sake" you scream.

"I'm going" you grunt out, before storming through the AlphaTauri garage and grab your bag that you'd brought to the track. Everyone could see how hacked off you were, even once you put the sunglasses on and your team cap to cover the look currently on your face.

"Y/N are you okay?" Yuki your team mate asks, as he too exists the paddock behind you. You tried to ignore him, not wanting to turn round and snap at one of the most genuine and sweetest people here.

"Okay, you don't want to talk and that's fine, but please let me drive. Angry Y/N is scary driving" he advises, trying to beeline ahead of you so that he could get to the drivers door before you.

"Sorry Yuki, yeah you should drive" you manage to get out slowing down your own pace so that the poor male didn't have to run so he was ahead of you.

Aftermath:

You proceeded to not have the time penalty knocked, and you started the race in P20, however you managed to climb all the way up to P5 in a victorious come back race.

Your team were celebrating the come back and you were beyond happy in the interviews.

Moment 2:

"Y/N over here! Can you sign this?" another voice shouts at you, you were in the airport and your manager said that he would be there for you and your girlfriend when you got off the plane with security.

However no-one was there to collect you apart from fans who somehow worked out what flight you were on.

Slowly more and more people were flooding around you both and your girlfriend. Your girlfriend was a smaller streamer and therefore wasn't used to the Paparazzi.

"Guys can we back up a little, just to keep us all safe" you tried being nice to get the fans to back up a little further to make sure your girlfriend was safe.

However, as you went round with the sharpie, more and more people were pushing and you were so out of it from the pushing and pulling, the cameras in your face and things being thrusted at you that the tight grip that was once on your forearm was gone.

"Emma?" you shouted your girlfriends name, now noticing you couldn't see her.

"Emma!" you shouted in an angrier tone, people still not backing up and giving you space.

"Right, I've tried to be nice, everyone please leave. NOW!" you say sternly, and for the first time not only the fans but airport staff notice the commotion and security help you out of the circled crowd around you.

You immediately went to twitter.

'Please, if you are a fan and you see a celebrity in a public space with no security... DONT bring attention to them and DONT mob them. That was the scariest moment of my life in Heathrow Airport just now. Have some fucking respect for your idols'

You shut your phone off, your face still angry most definitely being caught by the paps. They also caught as you ran up to your girlfriend pulling her into a hug, checking over her making sure she's okay, before your hands travel up to her cheek and pull her into a kiss.

"I'm so sorry baby" you apologize as soft tears start to fall down her face.

Aftermath:

Your girlfriend had ended up breaking up with you the week after the race, the pressure of everything getting to her. You cried to Charles and Pierre for an entire weekend as your 3 year long relationship had just come to a close because of your fans not having respect for personal space and boundaries.

You were fuming and had written many tweets and Instagram story's explaining why you guys broke up and how utterly heartbroken you were, however you wanted Emma to be happy and that this is what was for the best.

For months, you were cold and off with any media duties and PR had to tell every interviewer not to bring the breakup up in the questions or they'd cut the interview.

Moment 3:

"Well, Lando... you've been here for six years now and you still haven't got your first win yet... do you feel like your going to be the next Nico Hulkenberg or Kevin Magnussen?" An interviewer asks looking down at his notepad.

"Erm" Lando says unsurely looking down.

"What the actual fuck" you spit, looking at the interviewer that asked him.

"Y/N you have input on this matter?"

"Go fuck yourself. Get yourself in a F1 car and see if you can even fucking start it. Lando has worked hard for what he has achieved so far, in and no hate to Mclaren, but a midfield car. How dare you sit there and ask him that question. Kevin and Nico have also worked hard for where they are, even just being in F1 is a phenomenal achievement considering there are only 20 seats in the world. So to answer your question, no Lando is Lando Norris and that's fucking iconic enough as it is, with or without a win. Have a good fucking rest of the panel" you rant, before standing up with so much force that your seat goes crashing back, a bang sounding throughout the room making the interviewer flinch.

Aftermath:

Everyone actually sat there for a minute reviewing how you'd just stormed out of media duties and slammed the interviewer six feet under.

"So Y/N no longer will be participating into todays panel. So Martin i believe you had a question for Lewis?" the director advised but the rest of the vibes for the interview weren't there as everyone agreed with your previous statements.

Moment 4:

"Y/N are you okay?" your race engineer asks.

"FUCK! FUCKS SAKE. WHAT A PRICK" you screech.

"Copy that. But are you okay?" they asks once again.

"No I'm not fucking okay. Tell Leclerc when i see him, I'm going to shove his wheel so far into his mouth " *cut off*

"Did you guys just fucking mute me?" you scream, but after not hearing anything you jump out the car handing the wheel to one of the pit teams that had come out to collect your battered car.

You kicked at the gravel, yelling at one of the crew asking if they saw how Leclerc had literally gone into you and used you as his crash barrier, yet he was still able to the continue the race pitting for minor wing damage.

Aftermath:

You had yelled at Charles after the race, who completely admitted to you that he was at fault and he was sorry to be the cause of your DNF. He went on to say in the interviews that he was sorry to you that he'd caused such a collision.

Moment 5:

"WOMEN SHOULDNT BE IN MOTORSPORT" you hear from the stand behind you as your signing a little boys hat that he had offered you asking for a picture and a signature.

However, something metallic not only hit you but hit the little boy that was stood to your left. He immediately raised his hand to his head, holding the bit that the can had hit before bursting into tears.

In a moment of shock you spin round looking for the men that had thrown the empty beer cans at you through the fencing.

"Oiii you two get the fuck down here now!" you point at the two laughing gents, who still at being called out.

"Don't ever pull shit like that again or I'll get you permanently banned from every sporting event you could possibly attend" you say looking up at them. They looked at you in shock.

"Oh, I'm sorry if its not the consequences of your actions ..." you laugh.

"But ..."

"No, you hurt a little boy! And me... So I'll be letting bar staff know to no longer serve you" you say before turning away and talking to security.

They ended up finding the little boy and his father. You came up to them with a gift bag each and upgraded paddock passes. They hugged you thanking you for the opportunity and saying it was too much.

You made sure the little boy was okay, carrying him on your hip touring him through the paddock, introducing him and his dad to the other drivers and then showing him around the garage. You let him sit in your car while you took a picture of him and his dad. A mechanic then took a picture of the three of you.

Aftermath:

The media went crazy seeing you stick up for the little boy and his day around the paddock with you. People knew you were sweet despite how short tempered you could be and these interactions proved it.

The little boy and his father ended up actually becoming closer friends of yours and would often be seen in the paddock or when they had general tickets people would wave as they recognized them.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

healing

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 5,445

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of past trauma (starcourt), slight sexual innuendos??

a/n: hi! remember when i made you do a poll for my 1k celebration? and one bed with billy won? well this is that fic! i'm sorry it took so long to get here, but school was kicking the ever loving shit out of me. anyways, i really hope you like it. it's a little different than other fics i've written, but i think that's a good thing. just for context, this is post the end of season three, with billy and hopper being okay and jopper being in full swing. i think that's all i wanted to say. thanks again for 1k followers. that's still so wild to me. i love you. and billy loves you too <333

————

November 1985

“No.”

“What do you mean no? You just fought an interdimensional being, don’t you want a vacation?”

Lucas wipes both hands down his face, flopping down on the arm of the couch beside where Max sits with El between her knees, tying off one of the two braids she’s trying to make.

“Max, can you help me? Please?” Lucas has been arguing about this for fifteen minutes.

She rolls her eyes, but looks up from her work nonetheless. “Billy.”

The man in question crosses his arms, locking eyes with the redhead. “Maxine.”

Max finishes Eleven’s braid and she hops up to join Will where he’s working on a puzzle. Joyce brought it home from work a few days ago, and it’s been spread out on a card table in the corner of the living room since then. Will couldn’t watch The Golden Girls with Joyce from the kitchen table.

“Just come with us, Billy. We all know you hate it here. It’ll give you a chance to get away for a little while.”

Except that’s not totally the truth. He doesn’t hate it here. Not with you around.

“There’s a pool.” Will looks up, a little shyly, from the puzzle, fingers flipping around a single piece. “At the place Robin found.”

Billy nods, and it’s enough to make Will smile at the acknowledgment.

It’d been Steve’s idea, after everything that happened in July. He thought everyone going on a trip together might be a good idea. Go a little ways out from home, calm down.

You and Billy started going to school, though Billy is still working. He found a job at a record store across the street from Melvald’s that opened after the mall went to shit. It definitely wasn’t his first choice, but it works. And he’s slowly fixing up the Camaro.

Steve had offered to pay for the repairs in full, considering he did most of the damage when he rammed the side of it, but Billy couldn’t handle that. So far Max has only convinced him to let Steve cover the really expensive parts. It hurts Billy more than he’d care to admit—having Steve Harrington give him money.

But he can’t lie, going somewhere away from Hawkins, even just for a couple days, sounds really nice. It’s the group part that’s bothering him. He’s still not used to everyone wanting him to tag along, but apparently major trauma brings people together.

There’s the slamming of car doors, and footsteps running up the driveway before the door swings open, Robin bursting in with a stack of movies in her arms. She’s followed by Dustin and then Steve, bags and keys being tossed every which way.

Billy doesn’t see you for a moment and starts to worry maybe you aren’t coming. He’s already supplying excuses for having to go home, but Steve left the door ajar, and after a moment, there you are.

You look sleepy, footsteps the quietest of everyone else as you carefully push the Byers’ door shut behind you. He watches as you accept a hug from Eleven, overhears her ask, “how did your test go?”

He’s happy to hear you tell her it went well. It’s only after you’ve looked at her and Will’s puzzle and snapped a few more corner pieces in that you make a beeline for the open spot on the couch beside Billy.

When you’ve settled, your knee bumps against his. “Hey.”

He looks at you, a little grin playing at the corners of his mouth. His arms are still crossed, thumb playing with the pendant resting on his chest. A chest surprisingly covered by a sweater, though the sleeves are pushed up.

“Hey. Glad your test is over?”

That sound of his voice makes you smile, and he’s never been so grateful for something, even if it’s just an expression. “Yeah.”

You glance down at the new tattoo on his arm, a dark colored snake wrapping around the skin covering his elbow. You run your thumb across the tail that flicks across his forearm, and Billy relaxes into your touch.

“You have work today?”

Billy shakes his head. You’re glad he had the day off. And you’d tell him so if it weren’t for the sudden bombardment.

Lucas is suddenly standing in front of you, having returned from the kitchen where you think he and Dustin may have been cleaning out Joyce’s fridge.

“Holy shit, thank god you’re here. I need you to convince Billy to go on vacation.”

You glance at Max, assuming she’s already tried. She looks rather annoyed. “Lucas, would you sit down?”

The boy looks at Max, and she glares at him. Clearly he knows better and sits down next to her.

“Billy doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do,” you finally say.

The man in question turns to face you. You have to lean your head back some because of how close he is.

“Are you going?” he asks, voice quiet and thick with something you don’t know that you’re supposed to notice.

“Y-yeah. I was gonna. Robin only went on about it to me for an hour over the phone last night. I just think it might be nice to get away for a little while.” Billy doesn’t break eye contact with you, and while it makes you a little nervous, it tells you he’s listening.

“And I can watch Max for you if you really don’t want to go. Just make sure she doesn’t kill Lucas or anything.” Max snorts at your response, though Lucas looks at her in panic, already calculating how best to prevent that sort of situation.

Your gaze softens and you fight the urge to reach out and run your thumb across Billy’s cheek.

Please come with us. I want you to go. I want you there, you think. But it’s not what you say. You don’t know how badly he needs to hear it.

“You really don’t have to go, Billy. Not if you don’t want to.”

“But there is enough space, man.” Steve stands behind the couch, handing El a scrunchie he retrieved from her bag. His voice is calm, informative. “If you decide to go. There’s plenty of room, and we’d be happy if you did.”

Billy could make some smartass remark. But he won’t. He knows that Steve is being honest, and that he’s not trying to be a dick. It seems that witnessing the guy who beat the shit out of you almost die not even a year after he moved to town really brings you together.

Billy gives an acknowledging nod. “I’d be very happy if you did,” Eleven says. She loves having Jonathan as an older brother, really she does, but Billy lets her play with his hair. And in her books, that really ups the scale.

He smiles at her, and El considers that a win.

You notice him shift next to you, and then he’s leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “Come with me?” He cocks his head in the direction of the door.

He gets up, assuming you’ll follow him. You always do.

When you’ve shut the door, you move to the porch swing. It’s your favorite spot out here, and Joyce says it makes her happy to see someone use it. She used to sit there with Will in the mornings after Jonathan left for school and read to him. She did the same with Jonathan, but he was a much more fidgety kid, wanting to find something else to do.

Billy lights a cigarette, and you watch where he fidgets with the ring on his middle finger.

He’s standing a little ways away from you so as to not breathe the smoke directly in your vicinity, but you wish so badly that he was closer. You like having him close. The weight of his body next to you, the warmth, how solid his arm feels when it’s pressed to yours or when he slides down on the couch some and it's more so pressed to your side.

“Which part of it are you worried about?” you ask him.

He shrugs. “You really think they want me there? You think Max wants me around?” “Billy, I know she does. And I know that voice in your head is telling you that it’s a pity invite, but it’s not. And, besides…” you trail off, but he’s not having that. He needs you to reassure him.

“Besides what?”

You look up at him. “I want you to go. And yeah, I’ll be sad if you don’t go, but that shouldn’t sway your decision either.” You push your feet against the concrete porch a little harder, and the swing responds to the movement. You move quicker, now feeling very pleased with yourself.

Billy almost laughs at the child-like look on your face, but you look so at home on the swing that he holds it in. A grin escapes nonetheless.

“Say that again.” He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray either Hopper or Joyce have left outside. He’s watching you again.

“What?” He’s not gonna let you go all shy on him now. He needed to hear that. He needs to hear it.

“You know what.”

“I want you to go.”

“Then it’s settled. Need to get out of this shithole anyways.”

————

The place Steve found is about two hours from Hawkins, with three bedrooms, a shockingly luxurious pull-out couch, and bigger common areas than you’ve ever laid eyes on. Excluding the ones in Steve’s house. In short, the rental is like Hopper’s cabin, if Hopper’s cabin were updated and substantially larger. It feels like the kind of place rich people have to take weekend trips. You’d rather not find out how much Steve is paying for the lot of you to stay there.

Robin takes you on a grand tour while everyone else explores the backyard. Dustin is already determined to climb a tree. One of the rooms has two sets of bunk beds, dedicated to the four boys. “To ensure no cootie-spreading,” Robin proclaims.

She and Steve will share the couch, with Max and Eleven in the smaller bedroom.

Robin stops at the end of the hallway. “Which leaves…”

You and Billy.

You and Billy Hargrove.

Sharing a room.

Sharing a bed.

Speaking of, the man in question brushes past you, setting his bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. Robin takes that as her queue to leave and gives you a thumbs up on the way out. You hope she can feel your death stare on the back of her head, and she knows it, being quick to run down the hall.

“So we’re roomies, huh?” Billy says, gathering his hair at the base of his neck. You hadn’t even realized he had a tie on him, and it takes him finishing off a lazy bun to realize it’s a blue scrunchie. You have to bite your lip to keep from saying anything.

“I can sleep with Max and El, if you want. Or–”

That crease between Billy’s brows forms. “Why would you do that?”

You’ve gone all warm. You’d have to sleep in bed with him. And you sit next to him all the time, but this is different. Isn’t it?

Maybe it’s not so weird. You’re just friends. It’s like a sleepover, right?

“I don’t know, you might not want to sleep together or something.”

He cocks a brow, but you catch the double meaning of your words just in time. “You know what I mean, Billy.”

He sits on the end of the bed, and reaches out for you. You move towards him slowly, but the moment you’re within his grasp, Billy spreads his legs and grabs your waist, slotting your body between them.

“You can go if you really want to. If you think I’ve got cooties or somethin’ and you don’t wanna share a bed with me.”

You snort, and Billy drinks in the sound, knowing he’s the one that made you laugh.

“I don’t think you’ve got cooties.”

You realize in that moment that his hands haven’t left their spot on your waist, never straying anywhere else. The weight of them on you is enough to keep you focused on him, and he seems to acknowledge that.

“Then what is it?” he asks, in that low drawl you fear could get out any answer he wanted from you.

You hesitate, but say it anyway. “You don’t think it’ll be weird? Sleeping in the same bed?”

Billy fights the urge to rest his forehead against your stomach. He wants to tell you he’s wished you were in his bed on more than one occasion. Sometimes he just wishes you were there so it wouldn’t feel so cold, so he’d have someone to pull him out of his thoughts before they eat him alive altogether.

“No, I don’t think it’ll be weird.”

You nod your head, and try to move back from him.

Billy whines. “Uh uh. Nope.”

You go to put your hands on your hips, and they graze Billy’s on the way. He grabs hold of them. “You don’t want to have a sleepover with me?”

Billy’s looking up at you with those watery blue eyes, and you know this is a battle you’ll never win.

“Really?”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, and your eyes fall to his neck when he tosses his head back.

“Yeah, baby.”

Baby.

It feels like every cell in your body has been sent into overdrive, like you can’t compute a single coherent thought. All because Billy called you “baby”.

And if he’s being honest with himself, he feels the same way. He hadn’t meant to say it. It’s just that he calls you “baby” in his head all the time, and it just…happened.

“I’d love to have a sleepover with you, Hargrove.”

“Mhm. Thought so.”

This time he lets the laugh out, and it’s a beautiful sound. The kind of sound you’d commit unspeakable acts to hear again. And this time, he does let his forehead drop to rest on your stomach. It surprises you, but you’re not mad about it.

“Oh, fuck off,” you say, and you can feel his chuckle against your skin.

When he quits, you find yourself just standing there, find your hands moving around his back. He’s always so warm. You rub your hands up and down his back, the denim of his jacket rough on your fingertips.

You feel him shift, feel his change in position, the hard press of his chin against you. Billy is looking up at you, and you know he’s hoping you’ll return his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, and you hate to think of what you must look like from this angle. Clearly he doesn’t mind.

You push a curl behind his ear, a shockingly perfect ringlet that’s too short to be contained like the rest of them.

Billy would be taken aback by the gesture if it weren’t for the fact that you always go this easy on him. Like you know he’s healing, in more ways than one.

“We can’t stay here forever, you know. I wanna go look around.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I’m sure it’s riveting.” He lets you go anyway, following you down the hall to the rest of the cabin.

————

Your back rests on the base of an oversized chair, one that’s surprisingly comfy, your body in between Robin’s legs. She’s sitting next to Steve, watching you moderate El, Lucas, and Will play Twister. Dustin’s already out.

“Right hand blue.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“Sinclair, have you never played this game before?”

Lucas scoffs, trying to reach the blue on the other side of the mat without toppling into Will. Max went with Billy to the store, but they should be back soon. You have a sick feeling they’re taking advantage of having been given Steve’s debit card.

“Yes, I’ve played the game before. If you’re so good, why don’t you get down here and show us how it’s done, Harrington?”

“Yeah, Harrington, why don’t you show us how flexible you are?” Billy’s voice makes you look up from where you’ve been mindlessly twisting the spinner on the board around with the tip of your finger.

He stands just inside the living room, holding the door open with his leg. He kicks it shut once Max has made it in. She heaves the paper bags she’d been holding up and onto the counter. Steve rises to help unpack them. You follow on instinct, handing the spinner to Robin instead, and Dustin is quick to take Steve’s spot before Mike can.

Billy won’t let you take anything from him, but he will let you help figure out what the hell to do with all of it. “Do I even want to know how much you both spent?” you ask.

He gives you that fucking smile, and you know you don’t. “Max said she wanted to have a spa night–whatever that means–with El, so we sort of split up. I’m sure Steve’ll live.”

“For your information, Lucas,” Steve continues, clearly not ready to let the quips towards his limberness go, “I was the captain of the swim team.”

“What’s that got to do with being flexible, dingus?” Robin directs the two remaining players, the young boy in question having just busted his ass.

“Swimming is an art form, Rob. You gotta learn to respect it.”

You choke on a laugh, and Billy is quick to rub your back while he chuckles into your shoulder.

“Something funny over there?” Steve questions.

You straighten, trying to wipe the smile from your face though it’s to no avail. “Nope, Steven. I’m sure you’re just incredibly stretchy. Like Mr. Fantastic.”

His brow furrows. “Mr. Fantastic?”

Dustin snorts, elbow deep in a bag of chips, and you quickly realize that you probably shouldn’t have given him an opening, but you don’t exactly regret it either.

The lot of you spend the rest of the night in this fashion, playing games, eating way too much food, taking turns smacking the top of the television so your movie will keep playing.

It feels like home. It feels safe. You wish it always felt this way.

————

You’d just finished brushing your teeth when you hear the bedroom door click shut, hear footsteps you can tell are in search of you.

You peek your head out of the bathroom and Billy grins at the sight of you in pajamas, a smear of moisturizer on your forehead you’ve yet to rub in.

He squeezes in the small room, about the same size as his at home, to join you. There’s something about this moment, the domesticity of it, that makes your heart swell. It feels like something you could get used to, getting ready for bed with him. Neither of you have to say anything, you just do your own thing, but having him be there, having his presence–it’s more than enough for you.

When you climb into bed, you try and read for a while, the sounds of Billy washing his face comforting you. You find it easy to read even when he does get in with you, the mattress sinking underneath his weight, the sheets rustling as he moves around experimentally, trying to get comfortable in a bed that isn’t his own.

You feel odd though, reading when he’s right there, so it isn’t long before you close the book and slide further into the covers with him. Billy’s quick to turn on his side, wanting to see you like this.

He watches you yank the blankets up to your chin, looking at him over a blur of fluffy white comforter. “It’s fuckin’ freezin’ in here,” you tell him.

“C’mere then.”

You burrow further into your pillow, fearing you know exactly what he’s going to suggest. “Huh?”

“You’re cold. You always whine about me being warm or somethin’ and I’m telling you to come here.”

“Billy.”

“Stop.” He lifts the covers up some, untucking you from them, and he wraps his arm around your back, tugging you into his side.

Suddenly you’re pressed against him, having slid across the sheets easier than you’d have imagined.

He’s let go of you, his arm hovering over your back. “You want me to hold you or no?”

“Yeah.”

Billy lets his arm drop against your side, his fingers splaying out over your back. He rubs his hand up and down your spine, hoping it’ll warm you up. “This okay?”

“Yes.”

He nods. You’re looking at him like he’s something special.

Billy realizes, in that moment, that that’s how you’ve always looked at him. Even before.

He also realizes that your hands are tucked under your chin and your legs are curled up and into you like you’re afraid of making any contact with him.

“You can loosen up, you know. It’s just me.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, and he can feel it against the skin of his neck.

“It’s okay, I promise. You can touch me.” Billy has this feeling that you’re afraid of hurting him. He’s sure you’ve noticed that he’s wearing a shirt to bed, something he never did before. And he thinks that you’re worried he’ll break.

“You’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t have said so otherwise.”

He watches you unfold your hands and stretch your arm over him, hooking it around his hip. You want to rub up and down his side, but you’re nervous.

It’s just me.

“Do they hurt at all?”

Your thumb skates up a little further, and you don’t have to tell him what you mean.

“Not all the time,” he says, voice low and thick with drowsiness. “At first, yeah, like hell. Now it’s just sometimes. They can feel a little tight, or just bug me. Depends, I guess.”

You nod, feeling brave enough now to slide your hand up a little further. Your touch is light, barely there. You close your eyes, trying not to think about when it happened. How he’d screamed.

He can tell when you’ve calmed down some, because your arm relaxes and you hug him a little more firmly. You scoot in a little closer, close enough that your noses would touch if you tried to make them.

“Goodnight, Billy.”

He makes the move, dragging the tip of his nose across your forehead. He kisses the top of your head, and you grin so wide you feel like a kid in a candy shop.

“Goodnight, baby.”

————

When you wake up, you almost don’t want to disturb him, but you know you should get out of bed.

Billy is sprawled out on his stomach, having separated from you at some point during the night. His tank top is rucked up from the tossing and turning of sleep, and you look away when you catch a glimpse of pink skin. It doesn’t feel like your place to look.

You wander out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind you. You make it down the hall, and find that Robin seems to be the only other one awake. You should’ve guessed. She told you once before that her body doesn’t seem to let her sleep in.

Steve is still passed out on the pull-out couch, completely covered by the blankets. The only sign of him is a tuft of messy hair against the light colored pillow case his head rests on.

Robin waves at you from her perch at the kitchen counter, a bowl of cereal in front of her. “Want some?” she whispers, pushing the box in your direction.

You fill up your own bowl, having a feeling that Robin is about to ramble.

“Sleep okay?” she asks.

“Mhm. You?”

“Fine. Though, y’know, Steve is a horrific bed hog. Seriously, he was half on top of me the whole night. I might have to bunk with Max and El.”

You laugh, and Robin takes that as her queue to ask what she’s been pondering since she woke up.

“Was it okay? Sleeping with Billy? Well, not like that. Well, I’m assuming not like that, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I just meant like actually sleeping? Please stop me.”

You grin at her. “Please breathe, Rob.” She does, over exaggerating her inhales. “And it was fine.”

“Okay, good. I was kind of worried you’d be frustrated with my matchmaking tendencies. I just really want you two to be happy. And he seems so calm when he’s with you, and I realize I’ve just told you that I’ve been pushing you two together and I–”

You wipe milk from your chin, having almost spit out your cereal. “Robin, sweetheart, it’s okay, I promise. I know about your matchmaking tendencies. But I think we’re just friends, right?”

“Just friends, my ass.” You hadn’t even seen Steve get up, but he’s reaching for the fridge and pulling out a carton of chocolate milk. He really can’t say anything about Dustin’s eating habits when he has the exact same diet.

“Oh my god.”

“Listen, I’m just saying, there’s been something going on between you two since before the world went to shit. I don’t know why you two tiptoe around each other like it’s not obvious that you’re in love.”

“Steve!” you exclaim. “Seriously, what the hell? I’ve been up for like twenty minutes and you two are schooling me on my love life?”

“Or lack thereof,” Robin says.

“Okay, damn. You know what, I’m going back to bed.”

Steve pushes your bowl back towards you when you attempt to get up. “No, you’re not. I’m just saying, there’s no sense in avoiding this. You both clearly feel a lot for each other, and I don’t see any reason to avoid it when you could be together.”

He’s being vulnerable with you, his big brown eyes boring into yours and trying to convey how serious he’s being.

“Just think about it, okay? There’s no harm in talking about how you feel with him. And don’t say that you don’t feel anything, because that’s a goddamn lie.”

————

Billy’s had his swim trunks on all day, but he hasn’t done more than sit in the shade by the pool while everyone else makes a mess and plays ridiculous games in the water.

It’s killing him to watch you in there from time to time, swimming around or sitting in the shallow end. You told him once that swimming calms you down.

It’s not until after dinner, when everyone has moved inside for the most part, though there seems to be the plotting of a water balloon fight out front, that he’s brave enough to head for the pool.

You follow him out there, see him contemplating the water.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Billy drops the cigarette he’d been smoking, snubbing it out. “Thought about going for a swim,” he tells you.

“That sounds nice.”

“Mhm.”

“I can go back inside, if you want.”

Billy turns to face you. “No. No, I want you to stay.” He wants you to see. He can’t explain why, but he does.

“Okay.”

He takes a shaky breath, hoping you don’t catch it. You do. You always do.

“I just…wasn’t ready for everyone to see.”

“I understand, Billy.”

You know what he’s really saying. He wasn’t ready for everyone to see. But he’s ready for you to see.

“I can get in first, if that helps. And I won’t look if you don’t want me to,” you say.

“That helps, yeah. And you can look. It’s okay.”

He watches you wade in, watches the way your swimsuit changes color as you tread water.

Billy takes another deep breath, and he’s pulling his shirt off. He’s quick though, diving straight into the deep end, knowing he needs to get it over with.

When he comes up, his hair is sticking to his forehead, and he flips it out of the way, giving you a glimpse of the broad pink scar on his chest.

He meets you halfway, and you think he’s in a serious mood until he’s splashing you like a child.

“You motherfucker!”

You get him back, and he’s laughing.

Billy is laughing and he looks so pretty in the last of the day’s sunlight, beads of water sliding over his collarbones and down his arms, and you feel like you could die. Like seeing him this way is enough. You don’t need anything else.

You try to return a particularly aggressive splash, but he catches your waist, pulling you up and over his shoulder.

“Billy!”

“What?” His voice is teasing. He tosses the rest of the way over, your laughter fading out into the water.

You come up, a brilliant smile on his face. Billy’s sure if you stood close enough you’d be able to hear his heart beating.

When you’ve both gone quiet, your eyes drop to the scars on his sides, the way they stretch across his skin, mean and twisting. Some spots are darker than others, and while it hurts you to look at them, you know it must hurt him even more. But he looks just as beautiful as before, if not increasingly so.

“See something you like?” Billy says it on instinct. To hide the fact that he’s worried you don’t really like it. That maybe you think he’s gross looking. But he knows that’s all in his head. He fucking knows it.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Billy Hargrove.”

You say it with such surety, such admiration, that he can’t even begin to doubt that you mean it.

He smiles at you. It’s boyish. You’d do anything to see a million more of them.

He moves towards you, the sky having darkened enough that the outside lights have come on, the lights in the pool too. All that remains of the sun is a slash of deep orange, though the night quickly pushes it away.

Billy’s got you backed up against the wall of the pool now. His hands find your sides.

It’s overwhelming, having him this close. You can feel his breath on your face, see the rise and fall of his chest, the freckles on his cheeks.

When he kisses you, you think your heart stops. His mouth is warm against yours, and he tastes a little like chlorine, but you don’t care. Your hands find his face, and you’re smiling so hard that he pulls away because he wants to see. You don’t let him for long though, pulling him back, wanting more. He laughs into your mouth, and your chest aches with this feeling.

Eventually you do let go, and when you hold his eye contact, he knows what you’re going to say. He needs to tell you first, though.

“I’m in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” you respond.

He tosses his head back in a laugh, and you press a sweet kiss to his throat.

“I’m in love with you too, Billy.”

“Damn right you are.”

You snort against his chest, lowering slightly to kiss his scar. His breath catches. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you.

“About fucking time!” Steve’s shouting and Robin is yelling, and Max would be making barf sounds if she wasn’t so pleased with seeing her brother so happy.

“So much for that,” Billy says.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

————

“I’m regretting this, Billy.”

“Stop whining.”

Billy wraps his arms tighter around your back, pressing a kiss to your jaw in hopes that you’ll let him keep doing this.

“Get off.”

“No.”

“Get off, please.”

“Make me.”

There’s the sound of a slap, your hand having met his ass.

He raises his head from where he’d buried it in your chest, looking at you drowsily. “You just spanked me.”

And you’d do it again.

“Didn’t work, did it?”

“No. Shut up and take it.”

By that he means continue letting him lay on top of you, his entire body pressed to yours. It doesn’t matter to him that there’s an entire bed, one that’s made for two people.

You settle for playing with his hair, something he seems to enjoy, and you’d mess with him about the fact that he’s essentially purring if it weren’t for him looking so content.

He might be heavy, but having Billy Hargrove sleep on top of you isn’t exactly something you just give up.

He’s never had this before.

Hell, you’ve never had this before.

And he thinks it’s healing him. More than the salve he puts on his scars, or the physical therapy, or fixing up the Camaro.

You’re healing him. You.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

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wlntrsldler · 2 months

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poisoned mercury | end up here

a/n: i'm going FERALLLLLLL over this chapter. enjoy poisoned mercury's debut album hehe.

iv. end up here by 5sos

series masterlist | previous | next

“your band name doesn’t even make any sense,” you argued, eyes narrowing at the boy in front of you.

luke crashed your secret spot, again, and refused to let you smoke in silence until you gave him a detailed explanation of how your day went. he knew you didn’t smoke every day, only on days that were particularly hard. he noticed that your bad days always had something to do with your dad, but it didn’t feel like the right moment to bring that up.

anyway, you got fed up with his badgering and that stupid smirk on his face because he knew you were about to crack, and decided that if he was going to act like a toddler, you would too. hence, why you were now bringing up his band name.

luke took offense to that because he thought the band name was cool. he was the one to suggest it. he crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to let his hurt show on his face, “what do you mean? poisoned mercury is a sick name.”

“mercury is already poisonous. your band name is like redundant or some shit.”

“then why did so many people in history ingest it?” luke asked, recalling the one thing he remembered from his high school history class before he dropped out. he took a drag from his cigarette, turning his body a bit so the wind didn’t blow the smoke directly in your face.

“they fucking died, castellan,” you replied, deadpan.

“oh,” he blinked, staring off, “i didn’t know that.”

you rolled your eyes, a habit that you’ve picked up whenever you were with him and sat back down on the bench. luke joined you, silent as he thought about what you just said. he really needed to stop zoning out during lessons, but since he was already out of high school, he guessed it didn’t matter anymore.

as much as you hate to admit it, luke castellan was growing on you. sure, he got on your nerves like nobody else– the boy just doesn’t quit– but, he wasn’t half as bad as you originally thought. not that you’d ever tell him that though.

when you got back to the cabin last week after helping with concert prep, the cabin was spotless. there were no empty red bull cans in sight, the table tops were free of crumbs, floor vacuumed and mopped, and there was even a candle burning on the counter. you approached your bedroom door to find a post-it on the handle. luke’s messy writing was smudged around the corners, but you could still make out what it said.

“five star,

i snitched on the boys and my mom will have a stern talk with them about their cleanliness. can’t promise that people will stop talking about me, but i can promise you won’t have to live in the dojo casa house mojo or whatever it was.

ps i’m using the spot tomorrow, just thought i should let you know. maybe we can set up a calendar for reservations.

luke :)”

the cabin hasn’t been as messy since. whatever may castellan told the boys worked like a charm. there was still the occasional trash, but nothing crazy. it smelled better in the cabin too, still like a boy, but it smelled like expensive cologne more than anything. cedarwood and pine.

and thankfully, the luke castellan hype train was starting to run out of steam, with many people finally realizing that he was also just a human being and the surprising revelation that luke castellan was not entertaining anyone during his time at camp helped with it as well. you still heard whispers about him here and there, but you were glad the topic of conversation was beginning to switch to something else.

you and luke walked to the gym and back home every morning together. he and the boys sat with you and clarisse during meals. they tagged along for music lessons and spoke to the kids, which they really appreciated. they helped the older campers with writing music, luke particularly. you’d been around a few musicians in your life and many of them only kissed ass when your dad was around, but poisoned mercury was different. they were passionate about their music. that was clear.

after a conversation with clarisse, where she managed to convince you that not all musicians are like your ex, you began to let loose a little bit. you hung out with the boys more, partly as an excuse so clarisse could hang out with chris without causing too much suspicion, and found that you actually enjoyed their company. and luke castellan? well, he wasn’t half bad. that doesn’t mean he got off easy though.

you took a hit of your vape, facing him, “are you done interrogating me?”

“for now, yeah,” he smiled as you shook your head. “are you coming to the concert tonight?”

“well, i did help organize it.”

“a simple yes would’ve sufficed, five star,” luke teased, relighting his cigarette. it was burning unevenly and luke was never one to waste his cigarettes. “you gonna watch us play?”

“don’t have a choice. dad wants me there the whole time.”

“you can act a little excited,” luke ran a hand through his curls, “we are pretty good, you know.”

“i know,” you hummed. the sun was beginning to set and there was a slight breeze in the air. goosebumps formed on your skin, the t-shirt and denim shorts you wore didn’t offer much comfort. you shivered, “i have listened to your music.”

“are you cold?”

your teeth chattered, but you shook your head, “i’m fine.”

luke took off his hoodie, tossing it in your direction, “take it.”

“no,” you tossed it back to him, “told you i’m good.”

always so stubborn, luke thought.

“if you catch a cold, that’s not on me,” he placed the hoodie on the bench between the two of you. “which songs have you listened to?”

“kilby girl, of course. it played on the radio so much when you guys first dropped it,” you said, remembering the days where you and your hometown friends would blast it in the car. it reminded you of high school, reckless decisions, life-long memories, and the thrill of knowing you were going to be playing the sport you’d worked so hard to excel in at a d1 level in the fall. you looked at him, sincerity in your eyes, “i really like family line. it might be my favorite.”

luke’s eyebrows shot up. not many people talked about family line. it was probably their least streamed song. they never performed the song on tour because it was difficult for luke to sing it. it was a personal song to him. it was inspired by his relationship with his father, or lack thereof.

when poisoned mercury first got signed to olympus records, luke sent a message to his dad on facebook. luke hadn’t tried to contact him since he was ten, not since his father returned his letter to him unopened, no response but a “return to sender” stamp plastered over the envelope. but after the small congratulatory party his mom set up for the band after they signed, luke felt like a little kid again, a kid who wanted to share the great news with his dad, so he found his dad on facebook, made an account, and sent him a message.

he didn’t get a reply, which was expected, but it felt good for a second to pretend that he had a father to tell his good news to. luke thought he didn’t care about whether or not his dad was proud of him, but when his message went from “sent” to “read” a few days later, he was brought back to those moments in his life when he cried and wondered why he wasn’t enough to make his dad stay. he wrote family line in one sitting, on his bed in his bedroom in connecticut, looking at the little league medals on his wall that seemed to mock him.

he originally didn’t want it on the album because he felt like it didn’t fit the vibe of the rest of the songs and that it was too real, too vulnerable for a debut album, but then he played it for his mom and she loved it. she cried when she first heard it and luke knew that even if people didn’t like the song, he was going to put it out for his mom.

“huh,” he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, “wasn’t expecting that one. thought you’d be more of a crash my car type of girl.”

“i like that too,” you shrugged, “but family line. that song. i don’t think i have the words to describe it.”

“thanks, five star,” luke looked down at his feet, taking a puff from his dying cigarette. “that’s my mom’s favorite, too.”

“did you write it?”

luke nodded, looking to face you. there was a new expression on your face, one that you’d never used with him before. it was a mix of disbelief and awe. he tried not to get offended that you didn’t think he could write something like family line, but he couldn’t blame you. he didn’t really portray the type of person who would be able to be that raw and vulnerable on a song. “me and trav write the lyrics for our songs, mostly. chris and connor help too, but the bulk of the lyrics are me.”

“you need to stop doing that.”

he cocked his head to the side, crushing the cigarette butt on the hardware of the bench, “doing what?”

“surprising me,” you shook your head, “i don’t like it.”

“i don’t know what to tell you,” he chuckled, leaning back on the bench. he looked out into the lake, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains, “i have layers. you just gotta give me a chance.”

“how do you do it?” you sat criss cross on the bench, leaning against the arm rest. “how do you write like that?”

you’d always been curious about music, even if you weren’t good at it. your dad was never one to answer your questions, especially because you were interested in lyrics more than anything, and that wasn’t his forte.

luke mimicked your actions, “i dunno. personal experience, i guess?”

you frowned, thinking about the lyrics of family line. luke never talked about his dad, but spoke highly of his mom. was family line based on his own life? if it was, his dad was an asshole.

you relented to the cold, grabbing the hoodie that he left in between the two of you. you ignored the triumphant smile on his face when you draped the sweater over your bare legs, shielding them from the wind chills.

he continued, “sometimes things happen to me that get me worked up and i have to write a song about it. sometimes, it’s based on my imagination. it depends.”

you wanted to ask him about his dad, but you didn’t know if he considered you guys friends yet. it’s not like you made it easy for him anyway. you could deal with the banters and annoyance, but you didn’t want to push him to talk about something he wasn’t ready to. you could be a dick, but you weren’t cruel.

you changed the subject, “okay, let’s play a game.”

“21 questions?” luke bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh. he waggled his eyebrows, dodging your arm that reached out to smack him.

“you’re gross,” you gagged, knowing the implications of the game, “no, i’m gonna ask about the songs on your album and you tell me if it’s real life or from your imagination.”

“alright, go for it five star,” he beamed, propping his elbows on his crossed knees. he loved talking about music with anyone. he could go on and on for hours.

“18.”

“real,” luke snorted, remembering the first time travis pitched the idea for the song to the band, “but not my experience. it was trav. he met this girl at one of our gigs in new york, right after we got signed, and he was obsessed. she was a freshman at nyu and she kept telling him he was too young for her, even though she was just less than a year older. trav was hooked.”

you could picture it. it was definitely something travis would do. “okay, another one of my favorites. only angel?”

“not real,” luke shook his head, a slight blush creeping up on his face. “if you tell anyone, five star, i will vehemently deny it, but i had a crush on jade west from victorious and i wrote it about her.”

there was something about jade west that made luke like a love-sick puppy. ignoring the fact that she was hot, her attitude was something that luke was attracted to. she had a tough exterior and acted like she didn’t care about people, but she had her moments where she was soft and kind to the people she cared about the most. luke liked that. the idea that someone could be sensitive but only to the people they deemed worthy.

he’d spent so much of his life trying to be worthy, in whatever way the stage of his life defined it, and he craved it– a pat on the back, an approval, a confirmation that he was worthy of it.

you threw your head back laughing, surprised by his ridiculous confession. the sound of your laughter rang across the woods, making luke smile. your voice echoed throughout the trees and he his senses were surrounded by you. it hit luke like a truck.

he sucked in a breath, taking out his phone. he jolted from his seat for more than one reason. “shit, five star. we gotta go.”

you took out your phone too, checking the time. your eyes widened as you got up from your seat. you threw his hoodie over to him, “fuck, we’re late.”

the two of you raced out of the woods, arriving to the concert venue with flushed faces and rapid breaths. you could feel clarisse’s knowing eyes on you as you got ready for the concert. you tried your best to ignore it. you were going to deal with that later.

–

“and for the final event, i know you guys are looking forward to this one,” your dad laughed into the mic. the sun was long gone and there were disco lights illuminating the stage. a smoke machine was on either corner, making it difficult to see the bottom half of the stage. you and clarisse stood in the front row, listening to the deafening cheers of the campers. “ladies and gents, welcome poisoned mercury!”

the screams got louder which you didn’t even know was possible. travis entered the stage first, sticking his tongue out as he expertly twirled his drumsticks around his fingers. connor came in next, smiling and waving at the crowd as he plugged his guitar into the amp. chris walked in with his bass strapped around his neck, eyes immediately finding clarisse and sending her a shy smile. you nudged her teasingly, enjoying the way she blushed under the lights.

then luke castellan walked in. he ditched his hoodie and t-shirt and walked in with a white tank top on, messing with the curls on his head. he tugged on the silver necklace around his neck as his eyes scanned the crowd. he threw a wink to the group of the older girls in the back, turning to travis to let out a laugh at their reaction. the lights on the boys were blinding and a thin layer of sweat already began to form on their skin despite the bite to the air.

luke took center stage, picking up his guitar. he leaned over directly in front of you, fingers pretending to mess with the wires connecting his guitar to the speakers, “hey, five star.”

he straightened his back before you could reply. clarisse’s eyes darted between you and the boy, now nudging you like you did to her earlier. you rolled your eyes, smiling at the rest of the boys as luke began talking on the mic.

“what’s up, camp half blood?” luke screamed into the mic. the crowd roared. “we’re poisoned mercury and we are so happy to be with you guys here this summer. before we close out this awesome concert, i wanna introduce our lovely band.”

“on drums, we have the one and only, travis stoll!” luke turned around to applaud travis as he did a little drum solo, head banging as he hit the drums. he turned to connor, “on lead guitar, we have the amazing connor stoll!”

connor strummed his guitar, leaning over on the left side to soak in the applause of the crowd. the girls beside you swooned as he unleashed one of his award-winning smiles.

luke faced chris, “and on bass, we have my very best friend in the entire world, my 4lifer, chris rodriguez!” clarisse cheered loudly for chris as he played a tune on his bass, mouthing, “love you, brother,” to luke as he played. the crowd quited for a second as luke addressed them again, “and my name is luke castellan. we’re poisoned mercury!”

you turned around to look at the crowd. the size of the crowd tripled when the boys got on stage. everyone had a smile on their face, excited to hear them play.

“the song we’ll be singing for you guys today is from our debut album,” luke adjusted his mic on the stand. he got closer to it, lips touching the metal, “this is only angel.”

you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at their song choice. this was not the song they were supposed to sing. they’d been rehearsing kilby girl for the past week. luke saw your reaction, laughing along with you.

the instrumentals began and you nearly missed the beat drop because of the cheers from the crowd. as the song progressed, the boys were one with the music. you watched luke sing, working the crowd like a pro. his skin glistened under the spotlight, beads of sweat tricking down the side of his face. he approached chris when the chorus started, dragging his mic stand with him. he swung his guitar around so it rested on his back as he sang the lyrics. his curls were sticking to his forehead, eyebrows raised in glee as he performed.

you couldn’t take your eyes off the lead singer, not even when the rest of the band had their own solos in the song. your eyes were glued on luke; how his adam’s apple was on full display as he threw his head back, getting lost in the music, how his arms flexed as he wrapped the mic cord around his fist, how his thin tank top stuck to his body and how it raised when he lifted his arm up to bring the mic closer to his lips. you saw the outline of his abdomen and his v-line.

but what really got you was his face. he looked at peace on stage, a wide smile on his face, full lips pink and glossy as he licked them in between verses. he looked incredible up there, like that was where he belonged. he was born to be on stage like this.

“fuck,” you mumbled, applauding at the end of their song. luke’s eyes found yours as he sang the last bit of the song, smiling at you. you hoped clarisse couldn’t hear you talk to yourself. you looked down at your feet, tugging nervously on the collar of your shirt, “i get it now.”

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke pjo #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

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h4ndwr1tten · 10 months

Text

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?

characters — nanami kento x reader

note — this took me a long ass time to write. if it seems familiar to any other works, i requested something with the same plot on someone else's blog lololol. THIS IS PART 1 AS IT'S A LITTLE LENGTHY!!! dividers by benkeibear.

(am i posting this on nanami's birthday? yes.)

cw — not proof read, established relationship, kinda ooc nanami? like one mention of sex, pregnancy, strong language, arguing, crying, accusations of cheating, hurt/no comfort.

synopsis — the test results are positive and you aren't ready. when you try to hide this from your boyfriend of 5 years, he assumes the worst.

part 1 | part 2

this wasn't supposed to happen. it shouldn't have happened. you both took every precaution possible to prevent an outcome neither of you were prepared for — from condoms, to birth control, to plan b. it had kept you safe for as long as you started having sex. you never found yourself worried about carrying a life in you for 9 months.

so why now does the test read positive?

it felt like the world stopped moving. you didn't even know if you were still breathing. your heart had fallen into the pit of your stomach, your eyes wide and full of disbelief. you couldn't believe it. it couldn't have been correct. the 99% accurate claim on the kit had to be lying. there was no way it could've been true.

it took some time, but you were able to tear your gaze away from the test. you looked up to the ceiling, blinking away the hot tears you could feel building up. you took a few deep breaths and tried to swallow down the lump in your throat, your fingers trembling around the test.

you've thought about having kids before. you did want them, just not now. you were unprepared for this. how do you raise a kid when you aren't ready, when you aren't even married?

then it hit you — nanami's involved in this too.

the realization made you feel 10x worse. if you weren't ready for a child, you could only imagine how he would feel about this. his life was going so well right now. he was happy with his career and his salary, he was content with the apartment you both shared, and he was even more happy to be with you. he had his whole life and future planned out. he knew when he would retire and even what he'll do in life after he retires. nanami saw you in his future, you were always there when he would think of it. but would you still be there if he found out you were currently pregnant with his child?

you two had never fully talked about having kids together. you both were confident that you would spend the rest of your lives together. you've discussed marriage, homes, and briefly, kids. it was never a deep conversation — you only ever talked about having them and how many there would be. but never about having them earlier than expected.

gosh, you felt like shit. utter, absolute shit. you felt even worse for nanami. you felt like you were going to ruin his life plans. you felt like this would be the downfall of your relationship. and if it was, who knew if you would ever recover.

your phone buzzed with a notification, pulling you back to reality. you didn't realize tears had fallen until one slipped from your chin and landed on the hand gripping the test. you stood from where you sat on the closed toilet and checked your phone. it was a text from nanami.

i'll be home soon, my love. do you want me to bring anything home?

he was so caring. always considering you, always putting you first. you couldn't help but feel even more guilty.

hi ken. could you get some takeout pls? i'm sorry, i'm not in the mood to be cooking rn.

of course. want anything specific? are you feeling alright?

i'm fine. you can choose tonight :)

alright then. i'll be home soon, i love you ❤️

i love you too 💕

you shut your phone off and placed it back on the counter, screen facing down. you felt horrible — he was always thinking of your needs before his. would this end now that your carrying his child? certainly he wouldn't want to have to worry about another person in his life at the moment. you wouldn't want him to worry.

you stood from the toilet seat, about to leave the restroom when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. your face was bright pink and red, your eyes also red but not super puffy and swollen. some people might think it was allergies, but not nanami. nanami wasn't some people — he knew you better than anyone, perhaps even yourself. he could see right through you, read you like a book. you began to worry what he would say if the pigment in your face didn't fade in time, if he would ask if you had been crying.

what would you say if he did ask? he knows you so well, it's nearly impossible to lie to the man. you could say you were rewatching your favorite show and got emotional, or reading another chapter or more of the book he bought you the other day. but nanami isn't dumb. he would catch on before you could even finish your excuse, he'd know something's up.

you sighed, inhaling and exhaling deeply. you didn't know how this was going to play out. you didn't know how to act or what to say to nanami when he came home. you were just hoping for the best.

the lock on the door clicked once, twice, and then the door opened. you had been in your shared bedroom, watching some corny rom-com to ease your mind. you had hidden any evidence of the pregnancy test. you threw away the box and instructions, then threw out the trash bag you tossed them in. you kept the test, however, and hid it in your purse that was now laying on your bed. nanami wasn't one to snoop. if he wanted to check something of yours, he would ask permission. and if you didn't grant it, he would respect your boundaries like he always does.

"my love?" you heard nanami's voice echo throughout the apartment. normally, you would've been waiting by the door for him and greeted him excitedly, but for obvious reasons, you weren't.

leaving the bedroom and walking to nanami, who was walking in the hallway and you assumed he was looking for you, you gave him a small smile.

"hi ken," you said quietly, wrapping your arms around his waist instead of his neck where you usually do. you stood up on your toes to reach his lips, kissing them gently and not for long. when you pulled back, nanami leaned down for another, a longer one. were you ever going to get these kisses again if he found out you were carrying his child?

for real this time, you both pulled away. you still smiled softly up at nanami, but he was observing you closely, worry swimming in his honey brown eyes.

three things were running through his mind right now: why were your cheeks and eyes tinted a bright red, as if you had been crying? why didn't you seem as eager to see him after work like usual, wrap your arms over his shoulders and around his neck, and kiss him for more than a second? something was wrong. did he do something? did you know what food he bought and were you not pleased by it? were you feeling sick?

"ken?" you asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. "are you alright?"

"are you alright?" he returned, worry still plastered throughout his face.

you then looked confused, though you weren't, slowly nodding your head, "yeah... why?"

nanami stayed quiet for a second. maybe you were just tired, maybe he was overthinking this. but that idea didn't sit right with him. it was like his gut was telling him that something was up with you. but he didn't know what.

not wanting to push you, he answered, "nothing. i missed you though. let's go eat?"

throughout dinner, nanami noticed how quiet you were. if it were any other day, you would have been telling him about your day, the latest gossip, about the episode you watched or the chapter you read. you were barely even touching your food too. you occasionally took small bites, but most of the time, you were just poking it with your fork.

while he was putting the dishes away, you grabbed yourself a glass of water. that's when nanami asked you, "love, are you sure you're alright?"

"yeah, i'm fine. why do you ask that?" you replied unsurely, looking down at your water.

"i'm sorry. you just seem... off." nanami washed his hands, looking you up and down carefully.

that was another strange thing he noticed. you hadn't looked in his eyes when you told him you were fine. you always make eye contact with him. you're never afraid to and you're not one to break it so quickly, much less avoid it.

he was beginning to question whether you were really fine.

you had just finished getting ready for bed, teeth and hair brushed, skin care routine done. nanami had finished getting ready before you, so he was waiting for you by the bed. but instead of reading a book or even scrolling through his phone, his eyes were glued to you in worry. you could tell he was becoming suspicious of you, and you wished you hadn't made your troubles so obvious. your head was beginning to ache and you were desperately hoping that nanami wouldn't ask any questions.

those hopes were left unsatisfied.

"my love, are you sure you're okay?" nanami asked for what felt like the hundredth time today.

you sighed deeply. "yes, kento, i'm fine," emphasizing the fine. "my head just hurts right now. have you seen the tylenol?" you added, hoping that it would be enough to stop his questioning.

"no, do you want me to check your bag?"

you felt stupid for having kept an small extra bottle of tylenol in your bag. nanami reached over to your side of the bed, grabbing your purse. he had pulled the zipper open when you realized what was about to happen.

"no!" you yelped, practically sprinting to the bed and snatching the bag away from him. you checked to see if the bag had been open enough to see the test, which it hadn't, and some relief washed over you. but then you realized how much worse you had made your current situation with nanami.

fuck. i fucked up. i'm fucked.

nanami's brows were furrowed together, his face painted with a mix of frustration, confusion, and concern. he looked you up and down over and over again, gaze switching from you to your bag repeatedly.

"okay, y/n, seriously. what the hell is going on with you? first, i come home and you don't seem as excited as you tend to be. then your face is all red like you had been crying. then you—you barely talk to me, hell, even look at me throughout dinner! you touched your food like, what, 5 times? and then when i try to look through your bag to help you, you panic and snatch it away from me?"

kento's ramble had you silent. you didn't know how what to say, what stupid excuse you could use, how to explain your behavior. you only avoided his gaze and stared down at your bag. the thick, suffocating silence lasted for a moment longer, then nanami finally spoke again.

"y/n, are you..."

he paused and took a deep breath, as if to prepare himself for what he was about to say.

"are you cheating on me, y/n...?"

you were dumbfounded. in absolute, utter shock. how could nanami, the person who you believed to have the most trust in you, think that you would be unfaithful to him? yes, you realized how skeptical your behavior was. but for him to come to the assumption that you'd cheat on him? it stung a little—a lot, actually.

"what? no... no, of course not, kento! how could you say that?" you retorted, finally looking him in the eyes.

"gee, i don't know, maybe 'cause you can barely even look at me and you're very obviously hiding something!" his voice raising more with each word spoken.

you had no argument to counter what he had just laid out to you because he was right. you couldn't look at him for more than 5 seconds and you were hiding something. you eyed the floor beneath you, opening and shutting your mouth as you tried to think of something to say. nothing ever came out though.

a heavy sigh cut through your thoughts. you looked up from the floor and saw nanami shaking his head, running his hand down his face. he was so disappointed, you could feel his hurt radiating off of him.

"i'm going to sleep," he muttered, reaching for the lamp and dimming it. lying down, nanami shuffled into a more comfortable position, facing away from your side of the bed, and pulling the covers up to his shoulders.

"ken—"

"night, y/n."

you didn't know what you were going to say anyways. tears slid down your cheeks and the least you could do for nanami was keep quiet and let him rest. you realized that you wanted to apologize. apologize for the way you had been behaving towards him this entire evening, for making him doubt your faithfulness to him.

you slid into bed next to him, facing away from him as well. your body shook with the sobs you fought hard to keep in, nose stuffy and pillow quickly becoming soaked. you thought that the positive pregnancy test would have been the downfall of this relationship—now you wonder, will this argument turn these past 5 years into a mere memory?

m. list

#this has been in my drafts forever #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami x you #nanami angst #nanami kento angst #hurt/no comfort #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami kento #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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inkskinned · 1 year

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im gonna start a fight; and, at the same time, i need you to take this in the most good-faith way possible, but:

videos that involve body-checking and intentionally (and uncritically) show a mealplan of an unhealthy number of calories are just a revamped version of pro-ana food diaries.

and yeah, i know there's arguments. i address some of them under the cut. but at the end of the day, we're just coming back to romanticizing mental illness; we've just found a better platform for it.

this is already something we've done. we knew it was wrong and tried to stop it. and tbh. it just wasn't enough.

there are people who argue "well, what if you have an eating disorder, you can't help it if you don't eat!" except that as someone with an ED; we are not infants. we know what we're doing. part of having an ED is that you are like, maybe too self-aware. even if we can't help our own food choices, we don't need to fucking romanticize the disorder - something we've been warning you about since 2013. there are hours of setup, filming, and editing that go into these videos. they do not happen to fall into place randomly. there is a reason they are pieced together to be beautiful, bright, inspiring.

there's this woman who pretty much only posts daily plans under a normal amount of calories, and everyone defends her saying but it's better than nothing! and i'm like. except she opens those with images of her showing off her body and provides no context in the video or caption that suggests that she believes what she's doing is unhealthy. she has hundreds of thousands of followers on a platform designed for young kids and teens. i refuse to believe that by accident her content just happens to be cheery advice on "healthy" versions of starving.

for any other symptom of mental illness, we would be incredibly enraged by this kind of placid acceptance of a "tips and tricks" fast-start guide. imagine if people posted pink & pretty videos saying "best places to cut yourself" as if it was a fucking storytime. we, as a society, are so fucking fatphobic that we would rather accept blatantly harmful displays of self harm than admit that we are obsessed with a hyper-thin body type.

i am not suggesting someone never talks about their disorder. i talk about mine. actually, it's a plot point in my book.

here's the difference: i recognize it's a fucking mental illness. i am very careful to never mention a specific weight, eating pattern, or calorie plan. i always make sure to position it as something that ruined my fucking life. i do not put cheery music in the background and hearts and sparkles over my worst moments. i do not film it in bright light. i do not start each passage with an image of a thin body followed by "here's how to look like her."

eating disorders should not be framed as aspirational. and the problem is that society worships the "after" image, so long as you don't get too sick. there is a reason so many people who quit being "influencers" will later admit - i wasn't eating well that whole time; an obsession with food was completely destroying my life.

we let any uncredited, uncertified person write the most backwards, fucked up shit about how to get the body you desire! because the underlying, secret belief is: well, at least they're thin! and the real thing that fucking gets me each time - they make fucking money off of it. their irresponsibility and societal harm literally pays off for them.

"why do you care so much." "don't like it don't look." "so what if people experiment with new ways of thinking of food?"

thank you for asking. we're about to get extremely personal. it's because when i was 18 i discovered "thinspiration"/"thinspo." and it absolutely influenced, shaped, and codified my pre-existing eating disorder. i went from having some troubling habits and traits to being incredibly unwell within what felt like a matter of days. there were actual pages designed to train me on how to have an ED correctly. it was all so suddenly easy. i was sick; and the nature of the illness meant - i wanted to be sicker.

it takes an average of 7 years for a person to fully recover. i know this personally - even now, 10 years from the worst of it, i still fucking struggle. i am so much happier now and i eat what i want and i literally don't think about food at all (19 year old me would shudder) and yet - i still fucking know the calories of plain toast with butter.

an eating disorder is one of the deadliest types of mental illness. over 1 in 4 people with an ED will attempt suicide.

and i'm sorry. i just do not see the exchange rate of "high rate of engagement" versus "the value of a human life."

#and there's something else in there about like ....#tbh once i got over something like 1k followers #i stopped being specific about my ED for a REASON.#yes on ur personal locked blog that u use like a diary go ahead etc #but we are OBVIOUSLY not talking about that. we're talking about the sheer NUMBER of people i could be talking about #in that one paragraph. that you and i probably were thinking about 2 different influencers #bc they get to say that they're just posting FITNESS and if it's FITNESS it's OKAY and im like #jesus christ lord almighty #every person in recovery from an ED: this is incredibly dangerous holy shit do you know how much this would have triggered me #each of these ppl: how dare you!!!!!!!!! i am only harming those who WANT to engage with my content!!!!!#their followers: leave them alone !!! they can't help that they make an hours-long choice to frame their disorder as if it was #fucking cottagecore !!!!#like girlie this person needs THERAPY #again! i didn't even have that large of a following before i IMMEDIATELY deleted any specific mention of calories food etc #bc i recognize responsibility and i didnt EVER want to even ACCIDENTALLY encourage this #and im not even GETTING PAID FOR THIS!!!#aND THEY ARE!!!#something something something they know this content makes them money #they don't give a SHIT about u babe

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niningtori · 2 months

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to know him is to love him, and i do | chapter one: do you not love me? like at all?

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, kang taehyun x you

summary: you love beomgyu more than anything. you just wish he loved you, too. or you finally break up with beomgyu and move on, but as for him? maybe he's starting to realize too little too late.

genre: romance, angst, angst with a happy ending (?)

word count: 2.1k

notes: hi friends! ... r u mad at me? be honest (*´ｪ｀*) i'm sorry i've been gone for so long, but i've had the worst writer's block with my other story. i decided to just post this because i couldn't get the idea of toxic!beomgyu out of my head. don't worry, he will suffer. anyway, i hope you like it!! if not, please don't hurt my feelings i beg.

"i told you it was nothing. why are you freaking out?"

"she was fucking you with her eyes, beomgyu!" you exclaim in frustration.

"and that's my fault how?"

"it's not your fault, but i'm sick of you entertaining women, let alone your actual fucking ex, while i'm standing right next to you!" his ex is just another fish in the barrel, or at least that's what he says, but the thought that they were intimate together at one point still makes you feel sick. truthfully, your boyfriend is handsome, so you've spent the better part of the past 10 months warding off the women who circle him like vultures. you wouldn't mind as much as you do if he seemed at all interested in helping you do so, especially when faced with his ex that you suspect he still has feelings for, but he does not. quite the opposite, actually. it's like he thrives off of the attention and god it hurts.

"i'm not entertaining anybody. i told her i have a girlfriend now," he, well, you would say argues, but it's said so nonchalantly it doesn't warrant the term.

"a girlfriend you proceeded to ignore while she hung off of your shoulders and laughed all night! i just don't understand how you don't understand how much it hurts my feelings. i'm a human too! how would you feel if my ex, who was very clearly interested in me, hung around me right in front of you?" and it's like you're explaining empathy to a child.

"me? i wouldn't give a fuck because it's not that serious," he replies with a slightly irritated shake of his head.

it's always like this. always. you're always the one who cares more between the two of you. you were the one who asked him out in the first place. you were the one who initiated your first kiss. your first fight. hell, even your first reconciliation. you're not stupid, you know he doesn't feel quite the same way you do, but he has to feel something, right? otherwise, why would he say yes to you when he's rejected so many other women? your brain hurts trying to wrap your head around it all.

"you're missing the point! if you were me, you would—" you begin frustratedly, but you cut yourself off. "you know what? i don't even have the energy to explain this to you. i don't understand why i have to explain basic human emotion to you and i really don't understand why i have to beg and plead for you to care about how i feel!" you all but shriek.

"you don't have to do shit, just leave if you're that fucking unhappy," he spits out angrily, which is the first real emotion — besides mild annoyance — you've seen out of him this entire conversation. he gets impatient when you're like this, which usually results in you relenting, but not tonight. you're far too hurt to let go so easily.

"you're right! i am unhappy! i just — why don't you care that i'm unhappy? what can i do to make you give a fuck about me?" you have a brave face on but you can feel your eyes getting hot and your voice trembling ever so slightly.

"you could try not being so damn needy, maybe that'd help."

your eyes redden even further and your lips unintentionally twist themselves into a sour frown. you hate it when he calls you needy because you do need a lot from him, it feels like. his time. his care. his attention and affection. yet you never seem to get it.

"do you not love me? like at all?" you ask. all of the venom in your tone has been sucked out mercilessly and you sound more helpless than angry.

"do you not realize how fucking crazy you sound?" he scoffs as if he can't fathom why you'd be upset. as if he's not watching you break down in real time.

"why won't you give me a straight answer?" you question, voice softer than it was before.

he does nothing but scowl and you know beomgyu well enough to know that he's avoiding your question. that's enough of an answer as it stands, really. he doesn't care. never has. probably never will.

"then why'd you even say yes to dating me?" you truly don't understand. you thought you were different. you thought he saw something in you he didn't see in his harem of other suitors, and trust that there were many.

"i dunno. i was just bored, i guess," he answers with a shrug and your world as you know it collapses. the man you love sees you as nothing more than a way to kill time. he's picking you up right now just to toss you away when the next shiny toy presents itself. and so far, you've let him drag you around because you love him. that's how much you love him. but looking at him now, at how unbothered he is, you wonder if you've even got anything left to give.

"i really do love you," you manage to squeeze out with a bitter smile. your poor heart is on display for the naked eye to see and it seems like he really couldn't care less, but that won't stop you from asking. "does that mean anything at all to you?"

"well, i'm sorry you feel that way," he says simply, "but that's not my fucking problem."

your heart sinks to your stomach and you feel like you're going to throw up. in this moment, as you watch the love of your life dismiss you like you're a fucking dog begging for scraps of food, you feel an overwhelming sense of clarity as you realize he doesn't love you. he doesn't even like you. he probably hates you, actually. like a mental montage, every moment in which he showed you that exact sentiment plays all at once in your head.

all those times you let him choose everything from movies to dinner because the idea of a compromise was inconceivable. all of those occasions, special and otherwise, where you were supposed to go out on a date, but he'd bail without a word and you'd forgive him with no apology. when you'd offer him your share of dessert because he ate all of his and you knew he wanted more, and he'd take it without so much as a thank you. how you'd sit and listen to him tell stories about how amazing his friends were, but he'd never even ask about your day. when those same friends would jokingly call you the perfect girlfriend and you thought it was an indication of how good your relationship was, but in reality, it was a way to tease him because the thought of actually being with you was so abhorrent and ridiculous that it must be a joke. all those times you told him you loved him and he'd just smile and kiss you deeper. memories like these flood your brain with a vengeance so cruel it makes your head ache, and in a way, you realize it's ridiculous to be surprised when there was so much proof of his feelings in the first place.

"oh. okay," you say with what you hope is a soft and unbothered laugh, but comes out more as a choked one. "i guess there's nothing left to say. i'll get my shit and go."

you hesitate for a few excruciatingly awkward moments before collecting yourself enough to start gathering your things, which are scattered haphazardly around his apartment from his bedroom to his bathroom. it's like a walk of shame, almost, and you feel even shittier when he plops down on the couch with a long suffering sigh as he begins to massage the bridge of his nose. you feel so small in this moment — like a petulant child who just got done throwing an unsuccessful tantrum — and you're now soaking in the sobering aftermath and sitting with the thought that he just watched you have a meltdown like he was watching a monkey putting on a show. how much more is he going to humiliate you? enough is enough, you think, so before you can actually finish collecting all of your belongings, you're scurrying out of the apartment. before you go, you glance back at him one last time. "beomgyu?" you ask tentatively, tears clouding your eyes.

"yeah?" he replies with a sigh. this is it, you think.

"i don't want to see you ever again," you say firmly. before he can reply, if he ever intended to in the first place, you slam the door.

there's a lot to love about beomgyu. for one, he's handsome, which is obvious, but he has a certain allure you could never help but be drawn in by. he's always been a charming man, but even more so when he's talking to a woman he's interested in. as interested as he could be, that is. he's funny and comically pompous when he wants to be, but still somehow down to earth despite it all.

he's been described as a mood-maker, and while he grew to resent that term, you thought it was at least partially true, if only in the context of your relationship. when he's sad, you're devastated. when he's happy, you're over the fucking moon. his feelings are your whole world. or were, you guess, since all that's over now.

it wasn't all bad all the time, you think. there were times where you thought he really might reciprocate even a fraction of what you felt for him, and most of the time, that was enough. you could work with that. love looks different for everyone, you would reason. maybe he just had a funny way of showing it.

there were days where you'd laugh together and end the night lying in each other's arms while you'd cradle him like he was the most precious thing in the whole world because, to you, he really was. he was normally so boisterous when with his friends, but while he would never admit it to anyone else, he'd tell you about some of his insecurities while you gently combed your fingers through his long, silky hair. he'd speak of regrets and longing for people to take him more seriously. he'd never say it, but he wanted people to see you like you saw him. the real him. you'd let him cry while your hands cupped his cheeks and you'd shush him while he fiddled mindlessly with your hair like a child. you'd kiss his the tip of his reddened nose until he laughed instead of cried. times like those, you'd really think you were someone special to him. but now you realize you were wrong. you were just an outlet for him, and anyone willing to be an emotional dumping ground would do the trick too.

after a few weeks of moping, your sadness has begun to morph into anger and resentment. you spent nearly a year of your life trying to make an emotionally stunted man care about you, and that's not even counting the years of pining over him before you finally worked up the courage to ask him out. it was difficult to see it in the moment, but after being away from him for so long, it's crystal clear that he was honestly just an asshole who didn't really like you. nothing more, nothing less. maybe he'd find someone to change for someday, maybe he'd even work things out with his ex, but for whatever reason, you weren't her. that's just the way it goes, you guess. what really bothers you are the "what if's" of the situation. what if you were prettier, or smarter, or kinder. would he have seen you for who you really are? would he have grown to appreciate you if you had given him more to appreciate?

either way, there's no use crying over spilled milk now. you won't be going back to him any time soon and he certainly won't come crawling back to you. you'll continue to think of him less and less until your time together fades into a distant (and unpleasant) memory. you smile at the thought.

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perdidosbucky-yyo · 4 days

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𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛

Pairing: Exotic Dancer!Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader (no mention of gender or ethnicity)

Summary: Hi, you've reached [your name]. I can't come to the phone right now, please leave a message after the beep!

w/c: 3.7k

warnings: cheating (on reader), lots of cursing, smoking, heavy drinking, weed smoking, body image issues (I'm sorry), this is a smutty fic (but there’s no smut), dry humping. Please let me know if I missed anything <3

a/n: This is the first fic I've posted in years lmao, I'm a bit rusty, but omfg I enjoyed writing this so much, it's very self-indulgent hehe I hope you love it just as much as I do.

this is not beta'd, any and all mistakes are my own.

Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply encouraged🥺

7:51 PM

“Baby please, You know I’m an idiot…she means nothing” Jake whined through the phone.

As of 5 hours ago, he became your ex but kept on calling you, each call pleading for your forgiveness and saying the same stupid excuse “I felt you pulling away, what was I supp-”

Before you could interrupt him yourself, your best friend and roommate took your phone “Listen closely you little shit, if you don’t stop calling I’ll personally chop off your balls, fry’em up and feed them to your mother in a fucking salad… it’s Wanda by the way” she huffs as she hands you back the phone, “Colorful” you grimace.

Shoving you inside the car, with you and Wanda on the back, Bruce behind the wheel and Tony as co-pilot, “Why do you even answer his calls?” Tony asks while Wanda lights up a Marlboro, and gives you a drag “Because I want to tell him to go fuck himself… I- I just can’t seem to find the right words”, “That seems right” Wanda quips and you roll your eyes, “Don’t worry you’ll find the words when the time’s right” Bruce adds, “Dr. Banner is right, tonight is all about getting shit-faced” Tony adds.

You all clap and turn up the volume to the perfect song “I don’t wanna hear, I don’t wanna know” Wanda sings, the wind on her face, while Bruce shouts “WE LOVE YOU MADONNA”.

They were right, fuck Jack, tonight you wanted to let go, you weren’t one for parties or clubbing but you couldn’t stay at home feeling sorry for yourself, partying with your friends seemed like the perfect distraction “LET’S FUCKING GO” you shouted at the top of your lungs.

9:05 PM

“The Hush-Hush Hideaway?” you laughed as you finished your first beer after two cherry vodka shots, sounds like a place where 50 year olds would come to have an affair, “Alright, alright before you keep on talking trash, there is more eye to meet” Tony argues, to that Wanda snorts “are you seriously drunk right now? after three piña coladas?”, Bruce laughs “they’re stronger than they look” Tony defends himself as he stands up, signaling you all to head to the dance floor.

You honestly loved the place, the lighting was incredible, the atmosphere was hot pink with hints of dark red and deep purple, the ceiling was decorated with hundreds of disco balls shining down on you, the bar had tables so crystalline and so red, it looked like solidified blood, each one surrounded by the comfiest leather couches. There was also the dance floor which you were dancing on now, it had the perfect stage for dancers or any kind of show, the whole place had the perfect mix of chic and urban.

10:39 PM

“This round’s on me” Tony shouts over the loud music as he hands you what would probably be your 5th drink, stumbling around as you danced to a song that suddenly became your favorite, as you downed the liquid gold you took Tony’s hand and started giving him a lap dance of some sorts which made everyone laugh along with you.

And then everything went pitch black, for 5 seconds the music was over, lights were out, for a moment you thought you passed out but then a huge white light shone straight into the middle of the stage, “Girls Gays and Theys!” a deep voice over the microphone started, “is this a gay bar?” Bruce genuinely chimed in, making you giggle.

“Tonight we encourage you to let that wild side of yours out! Please give a warm welcome to The White Wolf” the voice cheered with excitement and the crowd roared and cheered back, “he must be really good looking” you sassed, and in that moment, red ropes descended.

Not a second later a man dressed in a kevlar suit swirled down as if swimming in the red fabric, wrapping himself in a cocoon in the air so the next second he rolled down to the stage, the top of his leathery suit gone, leaving his gorgeous toned abdomen exposed making the crowd go wild. The lights enhanced his beautiful body. “D-does he have glitter on?!” Tony shouted in awe, everyone absolutely going crazy over this tall, brown-haired, thick oh so fucking thick specimen.

On the other hand, you were finding breathing a difficult task, especially because his eyes were trained on yours, maybe it was the several drinks in your system or the empowering song that heightened everything, but his stare was intense, the ice blue of his eyes chilled your spine and for a moment you thought he was going to stop the show, come down and rip your clothes off… yeah you definitely felt tipsy now.

This man knew the power he held, not only was he drop-dead gorgeous, he had autonomy of every nerve and every muscle on his body, your heart and pussy were practically pulsing as you watched him dance. The magic was broken when you felt your phone ring in your pocket, taking it out, you saw it was Jake calling AGAIN, you knew your friends would tell you not to pick up, but part of you wanted to hear him out and scream at him, you didn’t know which one you were going to do.

Leaving the dance floor and heading to the bathrooms where you hoped it’d be quieter, you swipe to the green bubble “Please please forgive me” is the first thing the man says, making you sigh in frustration “S-top stop saying you’re sorry” but it’s like talking to a wall, you’re not even sure he heard you because he just keeps on whining.

??:??

You don’t know how much time you spent listening to him in the bathroom but eventually, you give up and hang up on him, splashing some fresh water in your neck you exit the room and bump into a rock-hard wall, but then unexpectedly the wall starts talking and you think maybe it’s not a wall.

“it was rude to bail” a grave voice rumbles in your ear through all of the noise, looking up you see it’s the white wolf, making you almost choke on air, but you were quick enough to react and raise an eyebrow in response “sorry?”.

Without even noticing, the man had cornered you into a wall “Don’t apologize, you can make it up to me” he said with a wild smile, “oh he’s good” you thought, then he looked at you as if he read your mind, “you look like someone in desperate need to have some fun… let me give you a hand” he whispered, his confidence made you forget he was a stranger, and oddly enough it felt like you knew him perfectly, the thought of spending your night with him made you shudder.

Taking out what looked like a big fat blunt from one of his pockets, he dragged the little bundle of joy from your exposed thighs, up your arms, slowly passing through your neck, and finally grazing your soft lips, his eyes never once leaving yours, he leaned in and the smell of cedarwood with a touch of french vanilla made your eyes roll.

Man, you’re really not keeping your cool, but he’s too beautiful for you to care, you might as well pucker your lips, but then he backs away, taking your hand and leading you to the backdoor between the kitchens. The sound of music and people dancing start to disappear until it’s muffled, “are we allowed in here?” you laugh as he lights up the joint and takes a big gulp, your heart pounds with excitement, this is exactly what you needed.

Your inner demons whispered that he really wasn’t interested in you, he looked like he was sculptured by frigging Michelangelo, he’d never want to be with someone as big as you, plus you felt sweaty from dancing most of the night, but honestly, it was more about the nerves you felt around him, but just as easy as the negative thoughts came, he batted them away with a single kiss to your cheek, near enough to the corner of your lips “lost you there for a sec” he teased.

As he handed you the joint, you took it with hesitance, “I usually don’t take marihuana from strangers, you got a name or does everyone call you the white wolf?” you teased, carefully eyeing him, realizing that he was still shirtless unconsciously making you bite your lip.

A lazy smile spread on his face “Waddaya mean you don’t know me? Pfft I’m your latest conquest”, it threw you off but he looked so sincere it made the butterflies in your stomach dance, “I’m Bucky” he laughed, he was so at ease with that pretty smile you couldn’t do anything but swoon.

Taking a drag of the blunt you breathe out the smoke through your nose as you offer him your name in return, not wasting a second he repeats it, slowly, maybe he was high but it seemed as though he enjoyed the sound of your name on his tongue, he savored it, your legs pressed against each other and you had to take another drag so not to seem desperate as you were for him.

He might be a stranger but deep down you felt unbelievable attraction, in less than 10 minutes of knowing him he made you feel powerful, and free, like maybe in a past life or somethin’ he was your soulmate… Pfft, you wanted to crack up at your own thoughts, somehow Bucky knew and started laughing, slowly leaning into you and crashing his lips with yours, it was sloppy but fuck you’d never been kissed like that, it was passionate, you felt wanted, right then and there you were ready and willing to let him swoop you off your feet.

12:59 AM

Bucky was showing you his best moves, his calloused hands gripped and groped your body as you both swayed your hips against each other perfectly in sync.

He was so smooth, the fogginess of the joint rumbled through your body, each touch, every one of his strokes felt like a wave, you were floating in a sea of music and his scent, nothing was wrong with the world, nothing could harm you because he was right behind you, worshipping you, telling you how he loved the feel of every roll and every curve, you couldn’t help but smile and he couldn’t help but kiss that beautiful smile.

Not long after your friends found you and you introduced them to the dancer who blew their minds, some of his friends joined you, and not long after you were the life of the party, shots and blunts came pouring, and just like you wanted you became one with bucky, you didn’t know where you began or where he ended, pain and misery were a strange and unknown concept tonight.

1:55 AM

Wanda had to drag you away from Bucky to chat with you a bit, she couldn’t hide that grin even if she tried “Dude I don’t even recognize you right now” you laugh with her knowing very well what she means, squeezing her wrist you stop the urge to squeal, “I don’t know how this happened but fuck he’s just so pretty I wanna cry” you both giggle, understanding the Rachel Green reference.

Turning to see Bucky you caught him already watching you, it looked like he was chatting with his friends but he wouldn’t look away from you, you realized he was waiting for you, and honestly you were eager to return to his embrace and intoxicating scent “Fuck Jack, you have men waiting in line” Wanda practically shouts as she pushes you back to the dance floor.

2:12 AM

After a while your social battery was low and you needed a break, so now you leaned against the wall in the back alley of the bar, a cigarette lit, resting on your fingertips as you recalled the events that brought you here tonight.

You didn’t blame Wanda for reminding you of Jake and what he did, after all, she was just hyping you, but now your mind was plagued, you memorized with detail how you found them, as some sort of self-punishment, why? you didn’t know, after years of therapy, you were still trying to unlearn self-deprecating thoughts that your family and society shoved in your face.

Jake cheating on you with a leggy blonde who was quite literally a Victoria's Secret model was a kick to your stomach, it made you realize that maybe every bad thought you had about yourself was true, and that was terrifying…

Realizing that the cigarette burned itself out, you stepped on it, but before you could come back inside Bucky opened the door and grinned “There you are, was worried I spooked ya”, to that you chuckled, somehow the laws of social battery didn’t apply to the handsome trapeze dancer “Never”.

Stepping outside and standing next to you, he takes your hand and starts playing with your fingers “What’s got my sweet doll so down?”, you expected the pet name to make you cringe but instead swooned. Lighting another cigarette you take a drag and blow it on his face, and he just bites the smoke, making you giggle, after a beat of silence you show him your heart.

“About… 11 hours ago, my boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, cheated on me” you sigh, trying with all your might not to shed a single fucking tear, Jake didn’t deserve them, “Gimme his address” he deadpans, a look so deadly in his eyes, that spark was almost snuffed, but just as quickly his attitude changed, “I’ll kill 'im with my bare hands, I’LL FUCKING KILL ’IM” he shouts with foux determination, making wild animal noises that are making you laugh so hard you can’t breathe “you’re not funny” you say out of breath.

His thumb cleans away a single runaway tear, his touch is so gentle at first you’re not even sure he’s holding you, he’s so close you feel his breath on your cheek and his nose caressing your skin oh so lightly, “you’re dreaming”, you think incredulously.

In a second his touch becomes rough as he grips your face with both his hands, holding you still so you can’t look anywhere but his eyes, “he’s a fucking moron” he spits out, almost insulted, “and I don’t mean a jerk or plain stupid, I mean he’s missing some fucking brain cells to let go of someone so insanely beautiful as you”.

Your heart’s pounding in your ears, you’re about to explain but he cuts you off “And I don’t even need to know him, to be sure of what I’m telling you right now” he scoffs, “Hell, I don’t even have to know you to be sure, in the very short time I’ve known you, you’ve been everything” bucky almost can’t believe he’s saying this to you, suddenly the tension is palpable and neither of you can breathe…

“You’re driving me insane” is the last thing he says before pushing you against the wall, with a grunt he grips your waist and your lips crash with his, in a fight for dominance your tongues swirl, it’s as if Jake or any other man never existed, washed away by the ocean that is Bucky.

You loved how vocal he was being, he moaned into the kiss as you practically humped him, he bit your swollen lips as a warning to slow down but it only turned you on more. You could feel your hardened nipples rub against his chest, and it drove both of you nuts, with all his strength he pulled away, leaving you dizzy and pulling him for more, he’s never wanted anyone the way he wants you but he would never have sex with someone so drunk, even if that person begged as nicely as you were right now.

He laughs as you start leaving hot open kisses throughout his neck and jaw purring like a cat, “Bucky please” you mewled, asking him for more, his hand flew to grasp your hair in a tight grip, nibbling on your skin as he reached your ear “We aren’t doing anything except kissing the fuck out of each other doll” he whispered.

You made for a grab to his groin but he was able to take your hand and hold it above your head “I want you nice and sober when I get you to cream on my cock”, he groans as you make a final attempt to lure him in, but you know he’s right, so you huff in defeat, a pout on display to make your feelings known, “baby doll what’s wrong? you look flushed” he teases as you gasp in faux offense.

3:45 AM

The bar kicked everyone out but you still had some party left in you and apparently, so did Bucky because he’s already got you piggyback riding him to his car, you said goodbye to your friends assuring them you trusted Bucky, his place was less than 10 minutes away and you’d send them your location.

Once you got to the car Bucky stopped in his tracks, “we’re drunk and high as hell” he stated, and like a bucket of iced water you realized he was right “Accurate statement” you snort, carefully dropping you on the ground he swiftly turned to face you “so we should… perhaps, maybe take a cab” he goofs around as he steals small kisses form you “or we can walk? your place’s near right?” you reply, everyone was already gone to ask for a ride but he liked the idea of having some alone time with you, so, he picked you up and placed you on his back “To the Batcave!” he runs as you hold onto him as tight as you could.

4:05 AM

You peacefully walked on the side of the street as cars passed by, one thing that you loved about walking at night was the lack of noise, the night wasn’t completely quiet, you could still hear the cars in the distance, people coming in and out of bars or whatever, the breeze was the perfect temperature and the city lights of New York were shone beautifully.

Hand in hand you walked with your latest conquest as he so eloquently put it, conversation flowing, “I got cheated on once, it fucking sucks” You both laughed at the obvious statement “I thought we were going steady and she got bored” he shrugged, “it was a while ago, but it definitely messed with my head” he whispered as he squeezed your hand, it brought him comfort and you as well.

“You know what’s fucking hilarious though? I was planning on breaking up with him…ok don’t judge me” you laughed, “but I just stayed with him because it was easier to stay in a mediocre relationship than actually fight for my happiness…plus he had a hot tub” you felt stupid for saying it, but he didn’t judge you, his face remained the same, attentive.

Bucky took your hand and kissed each one of your knuckles “I got a really nice bathtub” he murmured into your skin with a smirk, your heart fluttered to what he implied so you jumped and kissed his cheek, holding onto his arm for dear life, content with how the day turned out.

4:38 AM

After smoking yet another joint together you were now straddling your dancer’s lap on his bathtub “It really is a nice bathtub” You grinned between kisses and he laughed, his hands roaming your soft skin under your clothes, you were heaven on earth he kept thinking, he was about to kiss you again but was interrupted by your phone ringing, which made both of you sigh in frustration.

You knew who it was, Jake had been calling over and over for the last 20 minutes and Bucky had enough of the bastard, “Answer him” he ordered, to which you raised an eyebrow “I- can’t I- seriously?” you say almost shocked “You know what you wanna say to him, so say it” he encouraged with a soft smile.

Without thinking twice you pick up, “Finally! what took you so long to pick up?” Jake barks, you have the phone on speaker so Bucky could listen, and he already hated how the jerk talked to you, making him grip your waist with possessiveness.

“What do you want?” you ask almost uninterested, “Baby please forgive me” he cries as if you could ever believe anything he said to you, “I’m so so fucking sorry, what else do you want me to say?!”, to that you let out an unamused laugh “just stop fucking saying you’re sorry, time to put on your big boy pants and take responsibility” you snark, which oddly, turns on bucky beyond belief.

Like a magnet, his lips start leaving love bites on your neck, making you gulp, “Babe let’s be honest, in a month you’ll be begging me to get back together, we both know you need someone to take care of you, you can’t be alone, you need me” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and then you really were done with his bullshit.

“Listen closely you fucktard, stop saying you’re sorry, stop begging me to forgive you, you were a waste of my time and the only reason I didn’t break up with you sooner was because it was convenient for me to stay with your sorry ass” you bark.

You could keep going but now Bucky was humming against your pulse, finding it incredibly hot how you stood up for yourself, he peppered you with hot open kisses that made your mind even fuzzier than the weed, “And I can take care of myself ass” you hiss in delight, it was meant to be an insult but Bucky was making you feel so good…

“Fucking drop that call”, bucky growled into your neck loud enough to be heard over the phone, then sunk his teeth into your soft skin, making you moan, unintentionally into the phone, before dropping it and gripping Bucky’s hair for support as you rubbed against the bulge on his pants “Fuck I can’t wait to make you mine” he moaned, dreaming of all the possibilities, of everything he wanted to do with and to you.

Despite the chills you felt down your spine, despite feeling exactly the same way, you laugh, “Honey… do you think it’s gonna be that easy?” you coo, drunk in power, you devour his perfect pink lips.

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