#i still enjoyed making it and wanted to record my thoughts for posterity though so that's why i didn't cancel this installment
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initial thoughts on DCAS episode 8
having just rewatched S1 with my sister (and even while genuinely, actually looking at the screen instead of putting the show on in the background while multitasking), it is so wild to see tomjake in this season as opposed to S1. like, Jake is more or less correct here: although Ellie's meddling and Tom's own dumb moments are also to blame, it was mostly his fault that the relationship fizzled out. how far they've come, to where Tom is the rash fool and Jake is the (mostly) rootable victim...
i KNEW homegirl would be idol hunting this episode.
absolutely baller comeback from Tess. i doubt they increased the prize money from $1mil to $3mil just for this exchange, but what a power move if they did.
if anyone (in the audience) truly believes that Tom has a real boyfriend at this point...
this was a weird ass way to phrase it but okay Emily pop off i guess.
ooh, time for Yul's psychological issues? 👀
wait, isn't Emily hired by the show, not Yul? how would Yul be able to fire someone under Kristal's employment? is this just Yul firing her from the unofficial job of watching over his image, or is it a soft confirmation that Emily has been hired directly by Yul('s manager) all along?
i'm so desperate for Fiore and Alec to like each other again that i'll be happy with literally any vaguely positive note they end on, as long as it's not hating each other. i still hope that All Stars will be able to acknowledge and expand upon their relationship a little more in upcoming episodes, but if this is the end, at least we know that Alec was trying to have her back one last time.
forgive me if i'm wrong, but, would going to space really trigger someone's fear of heights? like, the "heights" are on such a high scale and there are so many other things to be worried about that i feel like your brain wouldn't really process it as "gee i'm going really high up." still, it's always interesting to see how Kristal has more of an established relationship with her (S2) campers. it makes sense, but it does seem like she's not afraid to show her bias in that way.
damn, Trevor must get paid a LOT! even if the vehicle didn't actually take them to space, it's still a huge building with many rooms that can actually fly. makes me wonder how much the producers/hosts are getting paid. (i understand this was just a joke line but it is technically canon now)
this line was only mildly funny to me, but Ally's face is great. she really hasn't had to spend any notable time around Gabby before. get ready for it, girl, because you'll probably be on the same merge tribe sooner or later.
oh dang, he's directly asking Kristal out.
this was an interesting response, especially with Kristal's later agreement to go upon hearing that they had a pool table. Kristal could have either been letting him down gently, or have genuinely not realized that this is flirting. i think it's the latter. that leaves the door open for Kristal potentially reciprocating Derek's feelings later down the line... also, where the hell is Oliver?!
Tess proves that she can be the goth gf AND the gamer gf. step aside, Ally.
they've done SUCH a good job of making Yul continuously pay for his actions this season as opposed to S2; it makes me like him way more. the fact that Alec is the one handing out the punishments just makes it all the sweeter.
ALEC DRINKS HIS RESPECT WOMEN JUICE!! (is that an outdated meme/saying at this point?)
while Jake is still mostly at fault for this conflict, i do like how they're making sure that Ally isn't just an innocent victim, too. she's stooping down to Jake's level of childishness instead of being the bigger person and handling things maturely. it makes both of them and their conflict feel more well-rounded, even if it makes them more annoying as well, lol.
Trevor was right; this particular iteration of the space challenge, at least, is bad. the fact that the Cyan team (Aiden by extension) got literally no advantages or head starts from arriving to this room first means that the first half of the challenge didn't matter at all. even if there's the Survivor saying that "it all comes down to the puzzle," the physical challenges beforehand can at least give one team a head start at looking over the pieces. as it turns out, fucking around on the ship was just a waste of time. it diminished my enjoyment of the episode a little :( (sorry for being a downer)
glad we're revisiting Aiden and Riya's relationship a little more, probably in preparation for them reuniting at the merge. given that Jake and Riya both don't like Aiden, i wonder if they could gather their allies (Ashley, Alec, Yul, Grett) to fuel an Aiden elimination soon.
Emily has to be gay right (/j)
this staging is really great at quickly visualizing the dynamics on each team, and may be foreshadowing for future events. the Yellow Team has completely shut Riya out, with Yul not even being visible, but Alec is still smiling at her from inside. not leaving the door open for Riya will actually waste Yellow's time, but they're so eager to win the challenge that they've actually made things harder for themselves. Magenta leaves the door open for Jake, with Ashley's face expectant and unobstructed, while Ally has retreated inside. despite their disagreements, the Cyan team all waits for Aiden outside, not even opening their door until he gets back. the storyboard artists for DC are a talented group!
Jake, too, is making his case for the villains' alliance.
i liked this sort of rationale from Tess; it feels in character with how they're portraying her this season. i also hadn't considered it as a reason why they would be steadily ramping up Ellie's villainy even as a pre-merge boot. but like... she's totally right.
THEY'RE SO CUTE!!!!! thank god the writers didn't decide to destroy gabbellie this season. instead, it seems to be a basis to set up something even greater...
I'M SO GLAD THAT THIS IS THE DIRECTION THEY'RE TAKING GABBY'S CHARACTER!!! i thought it would be a really good idea, but i didn't know if the writers would wind up taking that path. but it looks like we may be getting our true "explosive girl" back now that Ellie is gone, and i couldn't be more excited. i just know it's going to lead to something buckwild.
... wait what do you mean Ellie isn't doing the patreon reads? is she going to be the real returning player?!
for a somewhat disappointing challenge (for the reasons i described earlier), i'm really happy with this elimination and the direction they're taking the season. some sort of merge or tribe swap has to be happening soon, right? that next episode trailer can't come soon enough!
#disventure camp#dcas#hopefully this is still entertaining for people even though it's several days late#i still enjoyed making it and wanted to record my thoughts for posterity though so that's why i didn't cancel this installment#disventure camp spoilers#dcas spoilers#dcas initial thoughts
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“Oh fuck oh FUCK” + Zukka please!
For this prompt game! (And also this one!) (And this one too lol)
Zuko isn’t sure what posses him to actually say yes when the last hotel calls back to regretfully confirm that there will be no vacancies tonight and the cute mechanic lets up the truly over-the-top flirting to half-shyly offer Zuko a place to stay that night—
“Well, not my house,” Sokka—not Hakoda, going by the wince when Zuko had called him that, even though that’s what’s embroidered over his pocket—says, tugging on his wolf tail, “It’s my dad’s house. But he’s away!” Sokka says, excited and quickly tacking on when he seems to hear himself, “He’s helping out my Gran Gran! So I’m house-sitting! And keeping this place going—”
He waves a hand around the auto shop, making Zuko intensely curious about what Sokka does if not this all the time. He looks good in those overalls...
Not that Zuko has the chance to ask.
“—and so don’t worry, there’s plenty of space. I’m not suggesting you stay in my room—or, well, actually it is my room, but from when I was a kid, not you know, my room. I don’t live there anymore—”
Zuko wonders where he does live, if it’s close to the band’s recording studio, or any of their homes, and Ty Lee is always renting apartments all over the place maybe Zuko could—
“—but it’s still a totally good room still, like quiet but not creepily so, you know? And you can stay there. Or not! Absolutely no pressure, like obviously if you want to keep calling hotels or I mean I guess we could make up the couch in the office, though I wouldn’t recommend it," Sokka adds, frowning at the couch in question. "You end up with this really weird crick in your—”
“Yes,” Zuko interrupts, "Yes, a place to say would be great," he says, putting Sokka out of his misery. Even though he’s been enjoying the rambling train of Sokka’s thoughts all day, and he really shouldn’t impose, and Zuko might feel comfortable after so many hours of Sokka trying to figure out Zuko’s car but he doesn’t actually know the guy, and—
Sokka breaks into a grin, wide and pleased and clearly delighted and Zuko’s stomach flips the way it’s been doing all day and right. Right. That. That’s why Zuko said yes, even though he knows it’s stupid, even though it would be easier to just ask for the guy’s number even if as a rule Zuko doesn’t give out his own. Even though Mai would take one look at Sokka and give Zuko one of those knowing looks of hers and he hates being so predictable but shit, this guy is such his type.
Which means he’s not disappointed when Sokka says, “Awesome, dude! We can grab burritos on the way back!”
Dude.
And burritos.
But Zuko’s not disappointed, he’s not. He’s…relieved. To have a place to stay tonight that’s not a dubious-looking couch, or the back of his own barely-fits-two-people car. And to not be recognized—not that he ever is—because the last thing he needs on top of his car breaking down in the middle of nowhere, meaning he’s absolutely going to miss his flight—shit, Uncle is going to be so disappointed…—is to be dealing with fans.
Pestering him for info about the rest of the Dangerous Ladies, or trying to sniff out rumors about the relationships they’re all convinced are happening within the band, or hating him for breaking Mai’s heart as if it wasn’t mutual and years ago anyway. and they’re still in the band so clearly it’s fine, Mai didn’t even write that song, and—
And it’s fine. Zuko doesn’t even know what he was worried about in the first place. For someone with a massive facial scar, he's proven shockingly unrecognizable without a flaming guitar in his hands. Which is fine. Exactly how he likes it.
So what if he almost never gets his own posters of magazine covers? So what if he's tucked off to the side or in the back of all the official merch and the band has a running collection of all the albums and magazine covers and t-shirts that inexplicably end up with a price sticker over his and only his face?
It’s better than getting mobbed every time he leaves the house like Azula and getting pelted with rumors like Ty Lee and having his every expression scrutinized like Mai. It's better than having every outfit analyzed and every tilt of his head breathlessly redescribed and every photo and appearance and sighting on the street turned into screenshots and phone backgrounds and gif sets and spank bank material, better than everyone he meets tripping to fall into his bed and—
Really. It’s better.
“Here it is, the humble abode!” Sokka gives Zuko an uncertain flash of a smile as holds open the door, like he thinks someone who drives a Porsche so tricked out Sokka had had to psych himself up to actually touch it is going to judge a well-loved ranch house, which…well. Maybe isn’t such a bad assumption.
Zuko hastily makes sure his expression is set into something attentive and interested, his June is talking face, as Azula calls it.
“You’ve got your kitchen here,” Sokka says, flicking on a light to show the worn, comfortable-looking space. “Glasses are over the sink, snacks are in the fridge and in the tall cabinet if you need anything. There’s some leftovers in the freezer you can reheat, too, if you want. Oven, microwave, all the good stuff, you just, you know. Hit the buttons, and—”
And Sokka is clearly back to nervous rambling, because Zuko doesn’t think he’s going to need to eat for the rest of the week after finishing that burrito. A fucking burrito. Ugh, if there’s ever a less sexy food, and then to eat so much of it nervously pacing Sokka that Zuko actually contemplated whether he could subtly unbutton his jeans in the car…
“…and the bedrooms are this way, and the bathroom—it’s shared, sorry,” Sokka adds, glancing back to give Zuko an apologetic look. Zuko hastily jerks his eyes up off Sokka’s ass. “Probably not what you’re used to, I know. But it’s just you and me, so it won’t be too bad!”
“It’s perfect,” Zuko says, trying for a smile and blinking when Sokka just coughs, a blush staining his cheeks as he quickly gets back to his tour.
“Extra blankets and stuff are here,” Sokka says, rapping on a closed door. “Towels, pillows, the works. There should be some extra shampoo and soap and stuff in there too, if you need it.”
“Sounds like you have everything covered,” Zuko says, hearing the awkward edge of his words but still trying to reach for some of the joking, playful easiness of earlier today. “Quite the full-service auto shop you’re running.”
“Uh…yeah.” Sokka freezes a little, eyes wide, which…great. Zuko isn’t surprised he missed the mark, but still. He thought he’s at least better these days than when Azula firmly told him he was no longer allowed to speak in interviews until he could be sure he wasn’t going to end up in another bloopers reel.
“Anyway!” Sokka finally says, shaking himself, his voice coming out suddenly squeaky, which— “Here’s your room, have a good night, make yourself comfy I’ll seeyoutomorrow!”
Zuko blinks again, nonplussed. Did Sokka just...run away? In his own home?
"That's that then," Zuko sighs ruefully—the flirting had been so outrageous that Zuko couldn’t quite believe it was actually real, so—giving the closed door Sokka had disappeared behind one last look before slipping into his room.
Which is very much a teenager’s room, holy—Zuko nearly laughs as he realizes why Sokka was so quick to make that clear. And a well-lived in one, at that, LEGOs on the shelves and cheap trophies for science fairs lined up across the dresser, half-faded posters and clipped-out pictures tacked over the walls and old art supplies still scattered over the desk.
It's cluttered and eclectic and...cute. Cute in the same way Sokka is cute, and he’d probably hate being called that which just makes Zuko want to do it even more, Zuko’s lips curled again into the little smile he feels like he's been wearing all day as he sprawls back on the neatly-made twin bed and immediately makes eye contact with himself.
On the ceiling.
Shirtless.
Life-sized.
Zuko’s mind immediately supplies the details—that Rolling Stones cover shoot for their third album, right before Zuko had turned twenty, when he was still somehow managing to keep up his martial arts training because who needed sleep, definitely not him. He and Ty Lee had been goofing off while Mai and Azula got their makeup finished, flexing their muscles and trying to out-flexible each other and the photographer had loved it and had them run with it, who could pose the most creatively with the most outrageously flexed muscles and —
Zuko slowly closes his mouth and rapidly reconsiders that whole ‘not recognized’ thing...
--
Sokka is giving his teeth the most thorough, most frustrated brush of his life—ugh, burritos. Why did he suggest burritos—when he nearly chokes on his toothpaste as he suddenly realizes that he just put Zuko Hua in his— “Oh fuck. Oh fuck.”
Oh…fuck.
Katara is never going to let him live this down.
He is so, so fucked.
#asks and answers#prompt games#Not me suddenly having inspiration that fit uhhh 3 months later lol#fic writing#my writing#Sokka#Zuko#Zukka#Zukka fic#Rockstar Zuko AU
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You and I
Peter Maximoff x Reader
CW : GN!Reader, kissy kissy moment & Peter teasing, nothing more
A/N : is there still xmen fans? probably not but I will singlehandedly write for Peter till I die. I originally had this posted and tumblr hates me.. D:
Masterlist
Peter was driving you mad. More than usual, that is. It had been a while since the two of you had become friends and it was building up to be something.. more.
“Y/N! I got you a drink!” Peter moved over your shoulder, settling said drink into your hand. The breezes of him running in didn’t scare you anymore, getting used to the sudden intrusions - and secretly enjoying them. You hummed as the boy settled next to you. His legs bounced in sync with how your pounding heart felt.
“Thanks, Pete.” You graced him with a smile, meeting his chestnut hues for a few seconds. You swore he grew more and more handsome every time you looked at him.
“Yeah, anytime. Whatcha workin on?”
Your hands skimmed through the work, noticing a missing page.
“Well, I was working on homework. I assume you already know that though.. Considering our science pages are missing.”
The only response you got was a short laugh and slap on the knee. Your eyes wandered to Peter’s formidable hands. You were violently aware of the small touches that he would leave across your flesh. He had to have been doing it on purpose - there was no other reason for the close contact.
You shook your head, diverting any dirty thoughts away as you continued to work on the paper. It had only been about two minutes before Peter sighed and jumped up.
“Y/N, we gotta do something. I’m gonna rot if we spend more time just staring at the wall.”
You had to agree that the silence and tension would eventually kill you both. You dropped your pencil on the table and looked over at the man.
“What do you suggest we do then, Pete?” You raised an eyebrow.
“Wait - You want to stop working? That was easier than I thought. Maybe we could.. Go listen to music? I got some new records.”
You stretched your tense limbs waving for Peter to lead the way. The two of you dodged the younger kids on the trek to get to his room. You had never been inside his room and were nervous. What if he was a mess like Scott or a clean freak like Jean? You were only mere moments from finding out..
—
“Come on in, Y/N.”
You eyed the postered walls and shelves of merch. The room smelled faintly of candy and laundry detergent. You couldn’t exactly place the feeling but it just fit Peter precisely. His warm eyes creased as he smiled.
“It’s nothing special but I tried to add my own spin.” He pulled a record out of the shelf, opening the player.
“No - it’s perfect. It suits you.” You sat down against the messy bed and closed your eyes. His scent enveloped and soothed you from the stresses of the day. Music drifted as the bed dipped and Peter sat dangerously close. You could recognize the song from the first few lyrics, the romantic notion making butterflies erupt in your stomach.
“You and I by Queen?” You questioned and felt his breath puff against your ear. You were suddenly aware of every flaw and shake you made as he hummed.
“Yeah. I’m surprised you know it! You like this kinda music?”
You turned to peek at his face, noses brushing together. It felt as if you were going to die if he didn’t kiss you in that moment. This had to be the final string that broke the tension between the two of you. He seemed content on staring at you which annoyed you even more. You had to say something to push him.
“Yes, I like the music. Reminds me of a guy I like.” Your eyes darted away from him, hands jittering with embarrassment.
Peter’s hand rubbed against your cheek, bringing your eyes back to him. You saw the rose tint that dusted his cheeks and cracked a smile. Maybe it wasn’t so embarrassing if you got to see him like this.
“What kinda guy is he? Any cool powers?” Peter couldn’t stop himself from laughing at his own sentence, awaiting your response. You acted as if you were deep in thought and left him to sit in silence for a moment. That would teach him for the teasing he has put you through for days on end.
“He’s cool but doesn’t know when to take hints. For having super speed he’s pretty slow..” You trailed off and he gasped.
“SLOW!? I’ll have you know he sounds like a very lovely gentleman.”
“If he was, he would kiss me already.”
Peter finally broke the wall between you two, warm lips meeting yours in an embrace. His tongue grazed your mouth as your palm traced against his firm chest. You gave him entrance and the kiss got more passionate with every growing second.
Peter’s hair tickled your face as he separated from you. He pulled you flush against him, head resting against his rapid heart.
“That was awesome. We should do that again.”
“As long as I’m yours you can do that as much as you like.”
“I thought that much was obvious. You’re stuck with me now.”
You snorted as your hands gripped at the cloth of his shirt.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Pete.”
#peter maximoff#peter maximoff x reader#peter maximoff x you#peter maximoff x y/n#x-men imagine#quicksilver#quicksilver x reader#xmen quicksilver#quicksilver x you#x-men fanfiction
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Breaking the Rules- Chapter 14
Surprise early posting! Been getting these out every couple of weeks, but this was short and sweet and got done quickly, so enjoy! Y/N needs some advice, so turns to Max- who else does she have?
As usual, minors DNI for content in other chapters, full tags can be found on AO3, along with the fic if you wanna read here.
Complete chapter index here.
Enjoy lovelies 💜✨✌️
Chapter 14- Lay It On The Line
“Yell-lo?”
“Hey Max, it’s me, how’s it going?”
“Scout! Great timing, I just got my phone set up this morning. Ya know, if I’d have known you were gonna miss me this much I wouldn’t have moved out so soon!”
“That’s rich! What was it, one full day before you came back to visit?”
“Ah, touché. Thanks again for dinner. I’d ask for that lasagna recipe, but me trying to make it wouldn't end well!”
“Aw, that’s ok Max. I’ll make double next time so you can take some home.”
“Awesome, you’re the best! So, er- how you doing?”
You weren’t ready to answer that question yet. Mainly because you weren’t really sure of the answer. After pacing restlessly in front of the phone all morning, you finally snatched it up and dialed Max’s new number without really thinking about what to say.
You did want to catch up with him, see how he was getting on in his new place, and you knew he was off work today. And, despite it only having been three days since he’d vacated the spare room, and only two since you’d last seen him, you missed him. You forgot how lonely and quiet the house could be during the day. No long walks with Samson, no lively (though somewhat incessant) conversation on every topic that came to mind. Max was just so easy to talk to, and you hoped his breezy conversation and effervescence might rub off on you. Still, you dodged answering his question with more of your own:
“I was just ringing to see if you got settled in ok. Are you and Samson liking the new place?”
“Oh sure, those four cardboard boxes were a real workout to unpack. You know I do appreciate Al letting me have some furniture from our old room. It feels… weird, having my own place. But it’s been great so far! But you didn’t answer my question, Scout. How’re you? You sound a little- down?”
Max really was sharper than he looked. Despite his disheveled appearance and hopeless track record on all the 'Jeopardy!’ episodes you’d watched together, he could always sniff out if something was wrong emotionally. Even with a few miles between you, it was like he could sense the disquiet down the phone cord.
Truth be told, there was another reason you’d rang Max. You wanted to talk about things, and you couldn’t do that with Al. Not right now. You’d looked deep into those soft blue eyes the other day, wanting to ask so many questions- and you’d crumbled, toppling like a house of cards when confronted with those steel blue eyes full of fear. Those unasked questions still hovered on the horizon, like an approaching black cloud, distant but inevitable. You needed a few more sunny days with Al yet, before that storm hit.
Not that Max would know any secret his brother was harboring (aside from some wonderfully embarrassing childhood stories), but he did know more than most: about who you were, that young woman from the missing posters and the newscasts that most people thought of as a runaway, or else dead and buried somewhere. Max at least knew of some of your anxieties and the emotional strain you’d been through. Even if what he thought you were hiding barely scratched the surface of the secrets between you and his brother, reaching far deeper than he could possibly imagine.
As long as you didn’t mention anything too specific, surely Max could offer you some solace from your worries about Al. And maybe from your own guilt too- the guilt of staying despite what Al had done, the fact that those things were so easily forgotten when you lost yourself in the intimate asylum that you and Al inhabited. No, if you talked in vague terms, Max might just see those worries as a rocky patch between you and Al- a lover’s tiff, not awful fears about those dark, arcane truths that even you hadn’t quite delved to the bottom of.
“I’m- I’m ok, Max. I just feel a little funny sometimes. I don’t really have many people to talk to about everything."
“Sure, sure, I get that. You’re meaning the things about you on the news, right? Your family history? I guess that kinda stuff must be tough to try and process?”
“I mean, it’s not just that, though. The situation with me and Al. People wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, ‘cause of the age gap? It’s no big d-”
“Not that. It’s- well, it’s all just a little fucked up. It’s sorta hard to explain when it’s all so- so wrong.”
“Wrong?”
Shit. Had you said too much? You tried to recollect what you’d said in the last couple minutes, analyzing whether any little phrase or wording might have Max questioning the sheer insanity and potential truth behind your relationship with his brother. Trying to replay the conversation in your mind, you must have zoned out when Max filled the silence that stretched across the coiled phone cord.
“Hey, um, Scout- this isn’t about those masks, is it?”
Your heart dropped in your chest. The cream phone nearly slipped out of your grasp and you felt your face blanch at Max’s bombshell. You’d been pacing with the phone, carving trodden circles in the shag carpet, but that question stopped you dead in your tracks. You were too winded to let out any response other than a shaky, whispered “What?”. As far as feigning ignorance went, it wasn’t wholly convincing, but Max could tell how much that revelation had shocked you, and began backpedaling immediately, racing to explain himself in his hasty, bumbling way.
“Oh, shit, please don’t be upset Scout! Look, I know I shouldn’t have been snooping and I’m sorry, ok- but it was when I had a job interview, I was running late and outta clean shirts, so I went to borrow one of Al’s and I couldn't ask you because you were in the shower-”
“Oh, god. Max…”
“But it’s ok, really! Please don’t be embarrassed. I mean, it’s just sex stuff, right? I don’t want you to think of it as ‘wrong’ just because it’s a little, um, what’s the word…. unorthodox?”
Max hadn’t equated those devilish masks with the Grabber. And why would he- who even knew that the Grabber, the shadowy specter that no longer haunted the streets of Denver, even wore such a disguise? The masks had never even appeared outside, Al only having chosen to sport those masks inside the house: the ghastly smile; the deep-set frown; the unreadable blank mouth; the horns that crowned each of those wicked expressions. As gruesome as they might have appeared to Max, he’d only linked them to the salacious games that you and Al reveled in. After all, you figured, they were stashed away with Al’s box of tricks, right beside the rope and handcuffs and other little toys Al had picked up over the months…
You were almost too relieved by Max’s assumptions to feel mortified by his discovery of some of your most intimate, shameful games. He wasn’t entirely wrong, after all- he just wouldn’t know the previous role the masks had played for Al’s dark persona. As you thought about the misunderstanding, you wondered if you could use it to your advantage. If you could speak to Max about your guilty conscience, but have him think it was about your unconventional love life rather than your unforgivable choices. Just like you’d planned, where talking in vague terms might still end up with Max consoling you, providing some relief to your sullied conscience.
“Uh, thanks Max. I guess that’s a part of it, you know? Like, sometimes I feel I’m doing the wrong thing, like I should stop.”
“Do you want to stop, or do you want to be there?”
“I want to be there, but-”
“Then that’s all there is. That’s your decision. Not anyone else’s, okay?”
“You’re right. But if other people knew, they’d judge me, or think I was sick or something.”
“Fuck other people, Scout! You can’t live your life doing what other people expect is the “right thing” to do. Otherwise I wouldn’t have slept with half the people I have!”
“Huh?”
“Come on Scout, you saw those photos. I… I like women and men, alright? There’s plenty of people around who think that’s wrong, but honestly I don’t give two shits about other people’s opinions in general. Neither should you.”
The silence was so palpable you could practically hear the electricity buzz down the telephone wire. You were floored by Max’s admission, even if it did make sense, given those photographs he’d mentioned. Perhaps he’d had the comforting distance of the phone line between you to tell you that fact. Regardless, a small part of you was touched that he’d trusted you with that admittance. But mostly, you just felt even more guilty now.
Max had made that heartfelt confession on a misgiving, thinking you were wracked with guilt about your own sexual activities, comparing it to his situation, and how people would always hate what they didn’t understand. But they weren’t similar; they weren’t even in the same fucking ballpark, because you’d had to once again skirt around the truth to talk to Max. It felt as if you’d tricked that information out of him. You weren’t really talking about sex, but how was Max to know that? Once again, Max broke the silence.
“You, uh, you still there Y/N?”
“Sorry, yeah. I’m here. I didn’t know that Max.”
“Well, I don’t advertise it to everyone, ya know? I thought it might help you- I don’t want to feel ashamed at doing something that small minded people think is wrong, when that’s just bullshit.”
“Thanks, Max, for telling me. For trusting me with it. Does Al know?”
“Nah- it’s never felt like the right time, and I’m not a hundred percent convinced he’d understand.”
“Oh, ok. I won’t tell him or anything, because it’s not my place to. But Al’s maybe not as… old school as you might think.”
“Yeah, no shit ya kinky fucks!”
“Jesus, Max!”
After that, Max swerved the conversation to lighter topics, even beginning to arrange his next visit to the house (which, thankfully, would be in just a few days- Max had Saturday off to spend with his two favorite people, he’d said). You suggested he bring groceries, and you’d teach him how to cook a few basic dishes, so easy even Max might not mess it up completely.
“Sounds good, Scout- but how do I know you’ll be home?”
You wondered if Max could hear your eyes rolling sarcastically on the other end of the phone. Of course you’d be in- when weren’t you? Even if Max still didn’t know the exact reasons why that was the case, when he joked about it, it somehow made it feel more normal, less weird and suspicious than it actually was. Strangely, you welcomed the lighthearted teasing about it, but of course had to meet his ribbing with some of your own:
“Don’t worry Max, I’ll be right here and waiting for you- unless you skip town on us before then.”
“Oof, guess I shoulda seen that one comin’”.
“Hey, you made fun of me for being a hermit, I can joke about you being flaky.”
“I guess we all have our flaws, huh? I’ll see ya soon, Scout. Miss you.”
“I miss you too, Max.”
I miss you too, Max. At least you’d told him one truthful thing.
The dial tone flatlined as Max hung up, and you slowly lowered the phone into its cradle on the side table, still pondering the advice Max had given you.
You felt simultaneously shittier and better after the phone call.
Shittier, because you’d wanted some reprieve from all the suspected mistruths surrounding Al, yet had only fallen deeper into your own deceptions with Max. Once again, Max was opening himself up, laying bare his vulnerabilities to assuage your own. He’d opened up about his own sexuality to quell your own doubts about being perceived as ‘weird’ or ‘wrong’ in other people’s eyes. And you’d allowed him to think that your situations were similar, your heart panging in your chest at another necessary lie. Like weeks ago, when he’d told you about the abuse suffered at his father’s hand, telling you about his past after assuming your own family had hurt you when he saw remnants of the scar carved below your collarbone. When you continued to use your damn doublespeak to avoid revealing too much of the real truths, it made you feel dirty. It made you feel like a bad friend, and Max didn’t deserve that in the least.
But some of what Max had said really had helped, despite him not knowing what had really been bothering you these last couple weeks. Regardless, his advice still seemed sage- it was your decision to stay, and you confirmed that you did want to. Those choices were given freely these days- though a ridiculous part of your brain actually wondered if it would be easier if they were taken away, like before. When Al had removed the choice, you didn’t have to make any impossible decisions. But that was madness, and you weren’t under the illusion that things had been better when you’d resided in the basement against your will.
Freedom meant making difficult decisions, then. You loved Al enough to make those tough choices. For now, he’d given you no cause not to believe him about the house across the street. That worry was only an itch in your brain, a tingle up your spine. No proof, no evidence that he was lying, even with his villainous distractions. After all, Al had always liked to concoct new games to keep things interesting. Perhaps it was time to initiate one of your own, if only to keep your mind from straying into dangerous territory again.
#the grabber#the grabber x reader#the grabber x you#the black phone#black phone fanfic#the black phone fanfic#albert shaw x reader#albert shaw#albert shaw x you
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Fanfic: So much Irondad fluff!🥰💕✨
Tony Stark is putting together a brand new queen sized bed in the bedroom that was previously referred to as a guest room. Now it will be the home of a smol spider child who was over at stark tower so often that Tony thought it was just easiest to give the kid his own room. Ok fuck it, the kid grew on him ok? So what if the genius wanted the kid over every other day, Peter seemed to enjoy the company just as much as him so it only made sense to make his place in the family that much more permanent.
“Alright FRIDAY, the kid’s now got a new bookshelf, desk, bed, TV and some video games to go with it. Anything else Peter could use for his new room?”
“Actually boss, there is one thing that might be beneficial to mini boss.“ the AI chimes happily.
“Yeah, what’s that?”
-
Peter bounds from the elevator into the luxury penthouse of his one and only mentor. Mr. Stark said that he had a surprise for him and Peter couldn’t be more excited.
“Mr. Stark!" Petter chirps as his father figure strolls into the room.
"Mr. Parker!" Tony teases in response.
"Hi Mr. Stark! You said you had something to show me?"
"That I do kid, follow me." Tony smiles, trying to contain his own excitement that arose from his child’s hyper energy. He leads his little mini me to the room next to his own and opens the door, gesturing for Peter to go through. "This is for you, the room I mean. I figured you’re here for the majority of the week anyways, so we may as well have a nice place for you to sleep. I decorated a little, but we can always change it or get you more things to make it your own."
Peter walks in timidly and turns in a slow circle to take in everything. The bedroom is large and painted a calming blue. The bed has avengers sheets and there are a few Ironman and Spiderman posters across the walls, much to Peter’s amusement. In addition, Mr. Stark had bought him new legos and games that he’d always seen at the stores but could never afford.
"Mr. Stark. . . . Just, wow." Peter breathes, "This is amazing, it’s too much though. Everything looks so expensive."
"Nonsense Peter, you forget I’m a billionaire. Plus I’m not returning anything and if you don’t take it then it will hurt my feelings so you better just enjoy it." Stark reasons gently.
"Thank you Mr. Stark. This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me."
Tony could see the kid start to get emotional so he tugs him into a hug which Peter enthusiastically returns.
"There is actually one more thing about this room that I wanted to show you, it was actually FRIDAY’s idea. Here, come over to the bed." Stark explains, and sat one the bead next to the headboard. "So whenever you feel the need you can push this button here and . . . tada!" He exclaims as a nightlight in the shape of the arc reactor lights up the middle of the headboard, glowing a soft, electric blue.
"Woah" Peter whispers in awe, his eyes widen as he steps closer and sits next to his mentor. "It’s wonderful Mr. Stark, it- . . . that sound. Is that-?"
"Yeah kiddo. FRIDAY recorded my heartbeat and uploaded it to a mini player in your night light. She said something about spider hearing and oxytocin lessening anxiety or whatever. Anyways, I hope it’s not too weird." He replies as he scratches the back of his head, eyes down at the floor to hide his blush.
"It’s perfect Mr. Stark." Peter beams up at the genius, his own cheeks tinted pink ever so slightly.
"I’m glad you like it kiddo." the older man murmurs as he pulled Peter into a tight hug once again and presses his head to his chest. "And just so you know, you can still always come to me in the middle of the night to hear the real thing if you want to. I’ll always be available for you baby. Whenever you need me, I’ve got you."
"Thank you dad. I love you." His son whispers into his shirt.
"I love you too Bambino."
#irondad fandom#irondad fanfiction#irondad#spiderson#irondad and spiderson#iron dad#tony stark#Peter Parker#tony stark and peter parker#cute#fluff#hugs
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Can you pleaseeee do “can you teach me?” and “you're gonna have to guide me through this'' with Jake for the first kiss prompts. If you’re still doing them😚
Sorry this took a hot minute!! Get ready for some fluffy Jake!!
(I couldn’t resist this pic for this!!!)
You stormed your way out of the living room where the party has been congregating. You couldn’t believe your best friend, or as of now, former best friend, would reveal something so embarrassing and personal in front of everyone.
“She’s never even kissed anyone!!” your friend Amber shrieked, more than tipsy as you’d been in conversation with a few other party-goers, laughing at a dirty joke. Your friend had thrown her arm around your shoulders, her entire weight on you, making you stagger under her as she asked why you were laughing, before blurting out your business.
You closed the door of what you thought was the bathroom and leaned against it, fighting the urge to cry.
“Uh, can I help you?” Your eyes snapped open, and they darted around the room, taking in posters, records and a full sized bed where a young man was laying, propped up by pillows, flipping through a magazine. He stared at you with a raised eyebrow, but amused smile on his face.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” you scrambled for the door handle. “I thought this was the bathroom, I just needed to get away from the party.”
“It’s cool.” the young man said with a nod. “You can chill here if you want. It sounds like it’s getting crazy out there.” He reached next to him, picking up a small glass of amber liquid and taking a sip.
“O-oh, thank you.” You wrung your hands together as you looked around again, this time not in a panic. “Yeah, it’s a little too loud for me.”
“Yeah, it’s hard to enjoy a party when someone has loudly revealed you’ve never been kissed and you’re in your mid-twenties.” your head snapped to him, seeing a smirk grace his features.
“You know what, fuck off.” you huffed. “It’s not that uncommon.”
“What did you do in high school?” you narrows your eyes. You were starting to recognize him now. Jake Kiszka. You’d met him through a your best friend’s social circle a few times, merely passing hellos at parties or gatherings. From what you knew, he liked to play the field, keeping his options open for the next pretty thing to walk through the door.
“I was busy. I was advanced placement and I played two sports on top of being in choir and the co-captain of the dance team. I had other things going on.”
“Sounds like it.” Jake hummed. He went back to thumbing through the pages of his magazine, and you fixed your eyes on a poster with a bands name in it, letting your eyes read through the tour dates for something to do. “You like them?”
“Never heard of ‘em.” You answered, glancing over at Jake. He nodded, accepting your answer as it was. “You play guitar, right?” you asked him, looking around.
“I dabble.” Jake answered your question with the same nonchalance you had given him. Looking him over, an idea popped into your head.
“Can you teach me?” you asked. Jake looked up at you, raising an eyebrow.
“Guitar?” he asked, continuing before you could respond. “I usually only do that on a third date but-“
“No, not guitar.” You cut him off, sitting on the corner of his bed. “Can you…teach me to kiss?” Jake stared at you in silence for a few moments.
“I-I guess I could…” he shut the magazine and set it on his nightstand. “Are you uh, are you sure you want to, though?”
“No time like the present.” you replied, rolling your shoulders back.
“No, I mean,” he scooted closer to you in the bed, taking your hand and making you look at him. “Are you sure you’re okay, that you want this to be your first kiss?”
“I know we’re practically strangers, but the fact you asked that makes me have some trust in you.” You nodded. “You’re gonna have to guide me through this.” Jake licked his bottom lip and chewed it briefly, making up his mind.
“Okay.” he shook his hair out of his face bringing his free hand up, and tucking a strand behind your ear. His eyes never left your face, studying every freckle, every pore as if he was committing it to memory. The mood between the two of you shifted, your stomach fluttered as he gently dragged his fingertips down your cheek, to your chin. “I can’t believe nobody has kissed you before. Your lips look so soft.”
“T-they do?” you asked, your voice just above a whisper. The corner of Jake’s mouth tugged into a soft smirk as he ran his thumb over you bottom lip.
“They do.” he nodded. “I bet you didn’t even realize how many guys would’ve fallen over themselves to kiss you all these years.” His face was inching closer to yours, and your breath was caught in your throat, making it impossible to respond to his improbable thought. “How many guys were too nervous to talk to you whenever they saw you, so pretty and perfect, like you’d ever give them a chance.”
“Jake-“
“Shh,” his lips grazed yours, effectively quieting your protest. Seconds passed that felt like hours before he pressed his lips against yours, simply keeping them there for a few moments, letting you take the lead when you pulled away slightly, but brought your lips back to his almost instantly. His hand moved back towards your ear, fingers massaging your scalp as he continued kissing you, guiding your lips with his until his tongue swept over your bottom lip. You opened your mouth timidly, feeling him smile against your lips and swiping again, this time the tip of his tongue meeting yours. He tasted like amber liquor and the ghost of a sweet mint toothpaste. You hoped that the taste of your strawberry wine cooler was equally as intoxicating to him as he was to you.
Jake pulled back, slowly keeping his face close, still cradling your head in his hand as he waited for some sort of response. All you could do was catch your breath, and he chuckled and smiled.
“I’ve thought about doing that since I first saw you at one of Amber’s parties.” he admitted, a soft look in his eyes.
“You have?” your cheeks tinged with a fiery blush. Jake smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, of course.” he nudged your nose with his. “You seemed so sweet and shy. I didn’t think you’d go for a guy like me.”
“There was only one way to find out.” you whispered, giving him a small smile. He grinned back, nodding. He let go of you, leaning back in his bed and looking up at you.
“So, how was your first kiss?” you bit your lip, thinking about how to explain it.
“It was…Jake, it was better than I’d ever imagined it.” you confessed with a slight, embarrassed laugh.
“You’re a natural.” Jake told you, giving you a wink. “Now you can proudly rejoin the party and tell everyone Amber was wrong.” Your smile fell a bit, and Jake noticed. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, I was wondering…” you started, looking at him. “I mean, that was only one kiss. I know you said I was a natural, but I could use some practice. Some conditioning.”
“Is that so?” Jake smirked, a playful twinkle in his eyes.
“It is.” you gave him a matching smirk. “Besides, you still have to ask me out, you know, now that you’ve admitted your yearning for me.”
“I never said I yearned!” Jake protested with a laugh, tossing a pillow at you. You caught it and tossed it back.
“You didn’t have to, it was in your eyes!” you giggled. Jake tossed the pillow to the side and lunged at you, grabbing your sides and tickling you, making you laugh. “Okay okay! I give in!” Jake immediately stopped tickling, grinning down at you from above. He brushed the hair out of your face, and looked over your face again, a twinge of something, apparently not yearning, in his eyes.
“Enough talking, let’s get to practicing.”
#writing prompt blurb#jake kiszka#jake kiszka x reader#greta van fleet fan fiction#greta van fleet imagine#greta van fleet#greta van fluff
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The Photographer female!oc x Tom Kaulitz. Chapter 1 -The Meeting- + Intro
The story of a girl falling for a guitarist.
Introducing Prue, played by Katie Douglas. Prue starts off 16, freshly away from home wanting to start a career in photography.
The band, Tokio hotel. The twins will be 18, Gustav 19 and Georg 21. They'll meet Prue and get pretty close with her. Accepting her as one of their own. Translations for them will be bold italic text.
Ever since leaving home Prue had started traveling, enjoying her time on the road. This particular day she found a festival. According to the posters a famous band and some small artists would be playing. It was a place where even artists like herself into painting and photography could share their work with others.
"Tokio Hotel?" She spoke to herself as she read one of the posters. She got her camera from her van before she headed into the festival. However on her way in she ran into a tall boy with dreads and brown eyes, his lip piercing stuck out to her as she stared for a moment before hearing the boy speak with a thick German accent.
"Take a picture it'll last longer" her eyes quickly dart to his. "I- wha- shit, sorry. I saw the piercing and it caught my eye"
The boy grinned at her "it catches many people's eyes. Especially fans." He raised a brow towards Prue and she just looked confused. "Fans?" She asked as she adjusted how she held her camera.
The boy was caught off guard, she didn't know who he was? "Don't worry about it. Nice to meet you though, I'm Tom." He offers to shake her hand and she hesitantly does so.
"Uh, likewise. I'm Prue" his hands were softer than expected, they felt quite nice despite having a couple blisters.
After the meeting Prue went to get a look at the artist's at the festival. They all had such good work. She felt like hers could never compare but she just smiled. 'I still have years to gain experience and get better, that's not a bad thing.' She thought to herself as she made her way around.
Prue even starts conversations with other artists. "Wow, so you use glass to make all these?" She asked one artist.
"How do you get this crisp look in your photos?" She asked another.
She continued on asking questions and made a couple friends at the festival until the concert was about to start. She was curious about the group, who wouldn't be? She heard some chatter, girls were swooning over the band, two boys in particular. But over all it seemed each of the band had their own fans.
The band was about to perform so she headed on over, she managed to get a front seat. Prue was curious to see if they were any good. She actually had her camera ready to record and take pictures. 'They're probably about looks and not music quality." She was pulled from her own mind when she heard "And now presenting, Tokio Hotel!"
The crowd went absolutely nuts. 'Wow they have a lot of fans...' she thought to herself as she turned to look at all the fans. She then turned back to the stage to see what all the hype was about.
Her eyes immediately darted to the stage where she recognized the boy she ran into. 'Holy shit that's Tom...HE'S FAMOUS!?' She thought to herself as her eyes were locked on him. She had run into the guitarist of a famous boy band and didn't even know till now.
Prue had zoned out watching the boy on stage, he was talented. This performance would make for some good photos. It wasn't until she locked eyes with Tom that she realized he had been staring back. Her eyes dart away quickly earning a smirk from Tom as he played with the band.
He noticed her camera and his eyes flickered to it, attempting to tell her to get some pictures. It took Prue a couple seconds to register what he was trying to do. 'SHIT RIGHT I'M A PHOTOGRAPHER!' She thought to herself as she grabbed her camera quickly.
Soon enough the girl was taking pictures, not just of Tom but of the whole band. The way they just go together was impressive to her. They looked nice on camera, she'd have to find a way to give them the photos she took.
After the concert she went to head to her van but she's caught off guard by her arm being grabbed. "Hey, let go of me!" She tried to yank away and even elbow the person but she's met with "Woah there princess, it's just your favorite muse." The boy joked as he grinned at her.
She quickly realized it was Tom and she rolled her eyes."Give a girl warning why don't ya. Also- why the hell didn't you tell me who you are?" She began rambling and Tom just stood looking down at her listening for a moment.
"Are you done yet?" He raised a brow towards the girl and watched as she realized. "I- yea. For now anyway." She spoke as she crossed her arms. "So, what do you want?"
Tom pointed at the camera "I wanna check out your work. Maybe even get lucky, who knows these days."
"Oh- right, the pictures I took" she grabbed her camera as she realized what he followed up with. Her face felt hot and burned red as she looked up at him. She was met with him raising his brows as he played with the lip piercing he had.
"Flustered?" He spoke as he carefully scoops the camera from her, she didn't protest him taking the camera but immediately denied being flustered. "What? No. I don't get flustered."
"Your cheeks say otherwise." He poked her cheek as he went through the camera. "These are really fucking good....are you self taught? You don't look older than me."
She swatted his hand away as she spoke. "Yea. It caught my interest and I kind of just...went with it."
"Do you make money from it?" He asked curiously as he continued going through the camera, impressed with her work.
"No..no one wants to hire a high school dropout. So it's just a hobby."
"Uh-huh." Tom spoke slowly before glancing at her. "Work for the band. I'll have to talk to them...but we need a good photographer. One who understands us and isn't older than dirt."
"I- what- no I couldn't ask that of yo-" she didn't even get to finish, Tom interrupted her.
"You aren't asking. I am. You fit the bill for what we need. Bonus is that you're cute."
Prue stood there staring at the boy, was she really about to agree to work for a famous band?
"So what do you say? Yes or no princess?"
It took some convincing but she eventually agreed. Tom carefully dragged her backstage with him. She felt eyes slowly turn to look at her, the band and their crew.
"I want you to meet someon-"
"Tom, I thought we agreed no bringing your girl toys backstage." The dark haired boy spoke and Tom rolled his eyes, handing the boy Prue's camera.
"Just look at the work she does." He pointed at Prue. "She's around our age and does work like that. We need a photographer and we don't have to worry about her being too weird."
The dark haired boy called the others over and they all started whispering in German back and forth. Prue just stood listening despite not knowing what they were saying.
Finally, Tom grinned and looked at her. "You're hired. Soooo meet Bill, Gustav and Georg."
Prue looks between them. "Nice to meet you... I'm Prue." The five started speaking and the boys warmed up quickly to her. Her and Tom had flirted back and forth the whole time before they headed to the hotel.
"I don't have a hotel room...or money to stay in one I usually stay in my van." She looked between the boys and Tom spoke up.
"Don't worry, you can stay with me." He smirked at her, having one thing in mind. Prue knew exactly what it was and truthfully didn't mind. He was cute, and she hasn't had the chance to be with anyone in that way since before she left home.
"Sounds like a plan." She grinned at him and motions for him to lead the way.
The other boys fake gag and Georg spoke. "Just try and be quiet." Tom laughs and quickly drags Prue to his room.
Prue happily follows Tom while the others head to their respective rooms.
She was swiftly pulled into a room, Tom closes the door quickly and carefully pushes her against it, immediately getting to business.
Tom started trailing kisses on her neck, up to her face where Prue connected their lips. The way his lips were soft and efficient, the metal of his piercing against her own lips. She lost herself in the boy, wrapping her arms around his neck as the two stumbled to the bed.
They got lost in each other's touch. They prioritized the other's pleasure making it rather enjoyable for the two. The two were loud but not in a way that was an inconvenience for others. Just loud enough for one another. Both experienced in their own ways they enjoyed their time till they were both finished.
Prue laid in bed with Tom, wrapped in the sheets as she let herself wind down. "We should probably get cleaned up." Prue spoke as she sat up. Usually girls were getting dressed and leaving by now. But Prue would actually be staying the night.
"Go get a shower, I'll go ahead and change the sheets and shower after you." He tosses her, her underwear and one of his shirts seeing as she didn't bring her bags in from her van.
"Thanks." She smiles slightly before slipping out of the bed to go shower. While she was in, Tom changed the sheets on the bed and grabbed an extra blanket in case she wanted or needed it.
By the time Tom was showered and out, Prue was already asleep on the bed. She fell asleep holding a scrapbook she was making. He carefully took the scrapbook, placing it safely on the bedside table before climbing into bed with Prue.
She migrated towards his warmth, he didn't mind he just carefully held her. It was nice having someone in his bed for the night. Just peacefully sleeping and seeking warmth. She looked so soft and fragile when she slept. He thought it was cute.
A thought crossed his mind.'What if I fall for her?' He shook his head knocking the idea out quickly. 'That would ruin everything if it got messy.' He thought to himself before finally drifting off to sleep, with Prue in his arms.
Through the night Prue clung to Tom. Sure she had some bad dreams but that wasn't why. She just liked the contact, not being alone. It was comforting, so why let go? Tom had also clung to her, they enjoyed each other's company despite being asleep. There was just something about not being alone at night.
Tom was the first to wake up in the morning. He didn't move in fear of waking Prue up but he started to feel her stir. He watched for a moment making sure she was ok.
When she finally woke up she was met with Tom looking at and holding her. "Morning sunshine. Sleep well?" She let out a groggy groan as she sat up.
"What time is it?" She spoke as she rubbed her eyes. "Around 9. Why? In a hurry to leave?"
She couldn't help but chuckle "no. However it is way to fucking early for this bullshit."
"I have to agree but we have stuff to do today." He spoke as he got up to get dressed. "You'll probably have to go grab some clothes from your van."
"Yea, good point." She chuckled as she got up. "I'll be right back." She grinned before running to her van where she just grabbed her bags before she ran back.
The two got dressed and Prue quickly brushed her hair and threw on some mascara. "So what exactly do we have to do today?"
"You'll see." Tom spoke as he soon began leading her to the others. Prue didn't like she wasn't being told what they were doing but she trusted Tom, so she went along.
"TA-DA!" All four members of the band spoke and Prue stared blankly at them.
"The beach...?" She was confused. What did they have to do at the beach that was so important?
|| Authors Note: I'm trying to make these decently long so there's actually content. Also I will try and keep it PG-13 for now. I won't write smut even though they sleep together, Prue is a minor. This fic will also span over 5 years so you'll see each character grow. In some later chapters other members of the band will be included more as well. They're just as important. This will also eventually involve pregnancy, specifically teen pregnancy. But it's not a drop and go. You'll see them evolve as parents and the child won't be their whole personality. I plan to just build on them. Ty for reading! ||
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ENTRY XVI
Something new, something else
This week has been a wild one,
It’s been really good, too good, one might say, but I’ve taken it in stride, because next week is going to be quite challenging to say the least. But an update on the last entry, I did the activity solo however it suddenly shifted into a recorded video format so I got off pretty easy. But…I still decided to do it in the only way I knew how, as silly and as stupid as I could do it. And funnily enough, I was proud of it. I slept at midnight just so I could finish it, and let me tell you I always sleep at around 11pm but this was the first time that I did something that kept me up the whole night.
I was happy.
As a saying goes, “You can spell fun out of suffering, but you can’t get suffering from fun,” and I enjoyed making it, flaws and all. Sure, I made a few editing mistakes, and probably a few too many horrible jokes for the time allotted but I didn’t care! Could I have added more scientific details? Probably, but I didn’t hesitate, this work was wholly me. It’s been some time since I made something for me, and not for someone else’s sake, not for a group, or some people that I don’t care about and have to impress, no…just me.
I…lost myself in a moment.
I know, I’m probably just high from the risk and the danger of doing it the way that I did, but I did anyway because I didn’t want to regret not ever doing it at all. It’s as though for a moment, I cast aside all my doubtful thoughts, all the concerns, and my critiques for something genuine. Will I get a bad grade? Highly likely, went over the time limit, and didn’t really delve into the topic but just this once, it was worth it.
---
I guess I was wrong.
…?
You were right about me. I work better when I don’t think at all.
That statement? Please, you were thinking all the way through it all. It was your mind that got us through it.
W-what?
HAHAHAHAHA! There’s a difference between thinking and worrying. You’re always so afraid of stepping on someone’s shoes that you don’t take a step at all. All you needed was a push, to stop worrying, and just lose yourself!
I-I…thank you.
Just remember, if you just keep going, being true to who you are and what you want, that’s the moment when you’re alive.
Even if it means letting go of…
Especially then, pride is the only thing holding you back! Who cares about what's right and proper? Who cares about our reputation?
That's a bit extreme but a part of me agrees with your madness.
Madness huh? Well you still have some time, we’ll get through it! There’s no point in thinking about the future, it just distracts you from what you should be doing. The present is ours to make.
You sound like a cat poster.
And you sound like a poor sad-sac that’s been forced to watch too many meta jokes to actually take a genuine piece of advice.
…That one actually hurt.
Eh, get over it.
---
It’s funny,
How trying something new made me think that I was insane. But in truth, I realize now that the old adage of, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a new result,” holds some truth. I’ve been stuck here forcing myself to love a course that only hurt me, and I’m sticking with it, but I’m done hating myself or this path I chose. Everyone makes a mistake, and sometimes these mistakes define a really significant part of our lives, but I’m done learning from them, I’m done regretting everything that I’ve ever done. The lessons that I've learned I'll keep in my heart, and everything else, I'll move on from. I'll just be myself, not the genius person that I thought I was, but just a simple person trying to find my place in this world. That's all I've ever been, and that's all I've ever needed to be.
A crack in the door’s been open
My eyes are now beholden
To a place where I can break
I now know, what’s at stake
Tomorrow might not wait
So today is my fate.
Oh, and I got a crush this week too.
Yeah, she’s a student at my university though a different college and course, so that meets the first criteria, as I really don’t want to end up with someone in the sciences, believe me that’s just going to end up in disaster. I’m really getting sick of hearing science facts and stuff like that, so just that point is a plus in my book. She has black hair, the ideal body proportions, and glasses, need I say more?
Oh, but Somi, you just like her for her glasses?
You say, well she’s very friendly, and she actually approached me first so there! Well, we actually met during a PE class, and ironically enough PE is my favorite subject this semester, the professor is an actual queen. Like if this professor told me to jump off a cliff, I’d do it, no hesitation. My brain at this point is really useless, but my body is a temple. Not much muscle, but I like to exercise, and another good point is that we don’t dance at all, we do yoga, a few workouts, and even eat healthy food. But this isn’t exactly the essay on why I love PE, though I can write one if I’m tempted to [immediately take note for another entry]. But this girl always talks to me after every class, we chat a bit, and sometimes we occasionally ask the other if they’re free after the class, but due to conflicting schedules we can’t exactly walk home together.
So, Somi, why don’t you just ask her out?
Nope. I’m only physically attracted to her at this time, I’ll compliment her once (breaking one of the pre-established rules, eh, whatever) but that’s it. I can’t afford to get a relationship at this point of my life, I…I would want to…someday. But it just isn’t the right time, I’ll be graduating soon, and I don’t want to have another long-distance relationship, I can’t do that anymore. If she wants to pursue a relationship with me, then I’d say all of what I just said to her, like I definitely wouldn’t mind, anyone would be a lucky guy to ask her out, but there’s just a lot of baggage. And besides, when I’m with her I wear a façade, being a nice person, but deep down, we all know I’m not. Still though it’d be nice to have a friend outside of the main group I keep getting attached to in the sciences.
Speaking of which,
These two people in my…workmates group, who I’ve been shipping for several months, were actually together this entire time. And they just told me a few days ago, and they kept telling me that it was obvious and that I wasn’t smart for figuring it out on my own because almost everyone knew. THEN WHY THE HECK ARE YOU ASKING ME TO KEEP IT A SECRET?! Ahem, my annoyances aside, “I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT I WAS RIGHT! MY SHIPPING RADAR STILL WORKS.” I won’t interfere with it though, just a few teasing side glances, maybe a ‘Kyaaaaaah!” (I really like romance, okay?) Here and there, because I know that bad things happen when people mess with other people’s relationships, I’ll be side character B (the one without a face) in this scenario. I’m a bit jealous though, not of the two people, but of the relationship itself, they’ve thought of a way to stay together after graduation, and I'm here with a bit of a funk. I guess love is far stronger than what I expected it could be.
Oh well,
~The single’s life for me~
~The single’s life for me~
~The single’s life for me~
I don’t know the rest of the lines of that song though.
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Invisible
Warnings: Angst, Insecurity & Self-doubt, Language
Summary: The reader stays with Tom and his friends during quarantine. To protect her from media and fans, the reader can’t been seen in any social media posts. It leads to her feeling more and more lonely and isolated until she can’t take it anymore.
Words: 2.6k
Pairings: Tom Holland x reader
A/N: I wrote this when Tom hosted the marvel pub quiz, but completely forgot to post it!
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"That's it. Thank you for joining and taking part in the quiz! I hope you had as much fun as we did and don't forget to post your answers using the hashtag massive marvel pub quiz so we can find your answers easier. Stay safe and healthy. Bye guys!"
You watched as Tom's face disappeared and the live stream ended.
But the excitement that you had felt when you had first heared of the idea of a marvel quiz was gone. Now you just felt empty. And alone.
You knew that you were overreacting, after all Tom and the others were just a few rooms away, but you couldn't help and feel left out. Again.
You weren't invited to join the live stream in the first place so why join them know?
You knew that Tom only wanted to protect you and himself by keeping you out of the public's eye. If they found out that a female in his age was spending the time during quarantine at his house, they would go wild. You could already imagine the headlines that would follow.
After all Tom had exerperienced how far his ‘fans’ and the media would go when a photo of him and Olivia had gone viral.
Only a few blurry images and both Tom and Olivia had been attacked for weeks, even so far that the girl had to make her instagram private, yet the hate comments never stopped.
And Tom knew that he would never risk the chance of you having to read through pages of hate comments of people that didn't even know you. Because if they did, they knew they could never hate you.
You were kind and loving and you cared a little too deeply.
Tom still remembered when you had called him crying, because you didn't feel confident enough to go out after some girls in your class had made it their mission to target all your insecurities and make mean comments whenever you passed them.
He still remembered the anger and hate he felt inside of him when he listened to your sobbing and how the girl's words had gotten to you, to the point you even believed them.
So when you had moved in with him and the boys, he had decided to keep you out of everything that could reveal to the world that you were living with them. You had agreed without a second doubt, because in that moment it seemed the only rational and responsible thing to do.
Now you weren't so sure anymore, because it hurt so much to be invisible every day. You had gotten used to the fact that you could only watch their instagram stories, live streams and tik toks without being able to join them. But what hurt you even more were the little things.
"Hey y/n, could you leave the room for a sec? You are always in the background of the video!"
A second often turned into hours and soon you found yourself retreating to your room more and more to avoid having to leave and get hurt again.
Yesterday you had decided to do a little game night and you felt so carefree that you came to the conclusion that you were being ridiculous and should rather enjoy the time with them instead of obsessing over your feelings. But then you had laughed over something that had been said and Tom has sighed, dropping his phone.
"Great, now I have to delete that, because you were laughing in the background", he stated, clearly frustrated and you felt heat rushing to your cheeks.
"I'm sorry", you mumbled but it sounded more like a question than a sincere apologzy, because really, what where you even apologizing for? Harrsion had leaned over to get a better look at Tom's phone. "That would have been a great post, mate!"
You adverted your eyes, starring at the table and analysing the natural pattern of the wood to try and distract yourself from the embarassment and the tears that had filled your eyes. "I know right", Tom sighed again and you crounched down in your seat even more.
"I will do that again now so you have to be completely quiet now y/n, got it?
You wanted to scream at them, because you weren't dumb and yet they were treating you like a child that had misbehaved and was now lectured. But you only gulped and nodded, fearing that if you said something, your voice would break and reveal how hurt you really felt.
While they recorded the story again, you listened to their loud laughter as you fought back the tears.
Eventually you excued yourself, mumbling something about having a headache, but you doubted that they even noticed.
Now you could hear them laugh again and even though Tom's laugh was one of your favorite sounds, it now cut deeper into your heart like a knife.
You were still staring at your phone screen where you saw photos of answer sheets already popping up. You had gotten around 20 answers right, but you didn't feel proud.
When Tom had told you about the marvel quiz you had been beyond excited. Since you could remember you loved the marvel movies. Your rooms had been filled with posters and other merchandise and your friends only rolled their eyes when you suggested to watch a marvel movie during your movie nights.
You had build your knowdlege over the years and loved to challenge Tom, who thought of himself as a big marvel fan as well, regarding who knew more about the marvel cinematic universe.
So when he came up with the idea of a marvel live quiz, you insisted to take part and therefore hear the questions for the first time during the stream so you had the same chance as everyone else.
But as soon as Harry and Harrison had joined the live stream your enthusiasm had faded. They were having so much fun and you were sitting in your room, all on your own. The familiar feeling of loneliness and self doubt had accompained you the rest of the live stream and now that it had ended you just wanted to crawl under the covers and weep into your pillow.
Maybe you were clingy and needy and overthinking again, but you couldn't help the overwhelming sadness and you began to doubt if staying with Tom was a mistake and if your friendship meant more to you than the others.
Maybe you should pack your things tomorrow and tell Tom that you needed to go home. He would understand if you claimed to miss the comfort of being at your home but then again, you would be even more lonely.
Frustrated you threw your phone on the nightstand and quickly changed into your pajamas before crawling into bed.
In the darkness of the room the disappointment felt even more overwhelming and you grabbed onto your pillow for comfort.
A knock made you freeze and your heart started pouding in your chest. You prayed that the person would leave you alone and go away if you pretended to be asleep so you stayed silent.
"Y/n?"
It was Tom's voice.
"We want to watch a movie. Wanna join us?"
You knew that he wouldn't go away until the got an answer so you dismissed your plan and braced yourself to speak.
"No, I am tired, but thanks." You hoped that Tom didn't notice how nervous you sounded and after an agonizing moment of silence you could hear him mutter an "okay" and walk away.
Did you imagine it or did he sound disapppointed? Now feeling guilty too, you covered your face in your hands in frustration.
Why did everything have to go wrong?
And wait...did you still have your make-up on?
You let out a sound of frustration when you realized that you had to get up again to wipe off your make-up. You had applied it because you wanted to feel your best during the quiz you had been so excited for, but now it meant walking all the way to the bathroom.
Which meant leaving your room again.
You slowly opened your door, peeking out to check if the corridors were empty. You proceeded to tiptoe to the bathroom and closed the door behind you while relief flooded you. You really didn't want to meet anyone now, not when you felt like breaking into tears every second.
When you looked into the mirror and began to wash your make-up off, you allowed yourself to let the tears flow. A few sobs escaped your mouth, but the bathroom was far enough from the living room so they wouldn't be able to hear you.
Without the make-up on, you felt a little more relaxed and you couldn't wait to get into bed again.
But when you reached your room without running into anyone on the way, you were more than surprised to see that once you had closed the door and turned around, you weren't alone.
Tom was sitting on your bed, looking up at you when you entered the room.
You could conclude from the frown that covered his face that you looked as horrible as you felt. Your eyes were probably still puffy and red from the crying and your hair was in a messy bun.
"Tom?", you stuttered, too shocked to come up with something that would save you from this conversation. "What are you doing here?", you added, hating how weak your voice sounded.
His frown grew even deeper and he mustered your apperance, hurt visible in his eyes.
"You were so excited for the quiz so when you didn't leave your room I grew worried", he explained while you akwardly stood next to the door, leaving as much space between the two of you as possible.
"Oh that- I just didn't feel good so I decided to sleep early today", you tried to brush it off, but you knew that Tom would not fall for it.
"Why have you been crying?"
His question was acommpanied by a stern gaze and you couldn't help feeling guilty and ashamed.
"I- I wasn't", you stuttered, but it didn't even sound believable to your own ears. Tom raised his eyebrow, but when he saw how uncomfortable you looked his features softened.
"Hey, you can talk to me, you know that right? Whatever it is, you can tell me and we can figure this out together." His voice was so gentle and caring that tears filled your eyes again and you silently cursed yourself for being so emotional.
You didn't want to cry in front of Tom. It would not be the first time and when it had happened he had always managed to make you feel better and put a smile on your face again, but you also knew the shame that would follow afterwards.
You didn't want him to think that you were too sensitive.
But the tears weren't only a result of your hurt, no, anger was building inside of you at his words. "Really Tom, really?", you snapped and he flinched in surprise.
"Are you sure you want me to talk to you? Maybe someone is filming an instagram story and I could be heard in the background so I should just say nothing at all. Or even better, why don't I just leave the room so there is a lesser chance that I could ruin your precious masterpieces by just existing."
Tom's eyes had widened at your outburst and you actually felt bad for a second, but then you remembered the many occasions he had made you feel like you weren't good enough and the anger came back.
"You know what? I think it would be best if I just went home. I am done being treated like an outsider and being blamed for everything I do!"
Tom had jumped up from the bed and was crossing the distance between the two of you with large steps, but you raised your hands before he could come closer to you.
"Y/n I am so sorry", he stumbled over his words, desperately trying to find the right words. "I didn't realize- I never would have..." Frustrated he ran a hand through his hair.
"Listen, I screwed up! I didn't realize that my behaviour- that I was hurting you and I am so sorry! I just wanted to protect you and now I am the one making you feel this way. Fuck, I am so sorry!"
His words seemed geniune and your heart ached to step forward and pull him into a hug, but you knew that you could not forget so easily.
"I didn't think that this was so important to you. Why didn't you say anything?" He was rubbing the back of his head, seemingly tensed.
"I don't care much about not being in the stories Tom. But it really hurt whenever I am send away so you can film together or when I am told to shut up so I can't be heard while you all have fun together”, you explained, trying to keep your vice even.
“I just feel like I am a burden to you and if you don't want to spend time with me that's fine I guess but I would appreciate for you to tell me that so I can stop trying and just go home."
"No, no, no it's not like that I swear!” Tom seemed desperate again, articulating with his hands to underline his words.
“I miss spending time with you, I really do and it was stupid of me to let myself being dragged into this whole instagram thing!
You know I am normally not the person to care much about posting, but I thought now that everyone is stuck at home, I could make my fans happy and distract them from the situation by sharing more of my life. I should have never put them before you and I am truly sorry!” You could see the regret clearly in his eyes as he took in a deep breath.
“Please don't go."
You were biting your lip as you were trying your best to stay calm and not break into tears. You had imagined confronting Tom and letting all your anger and hurt out, but now that he stood in front of you with his eyes full of hurt and regret and his pleading words for you to stay, your anger vanished.
"Are you sure?", you asked him in uncertainty, because you knew you couldn't bare if nothing would change. But Tom desperately nodded. "I am. Tomorrow I am going to post a photo to let my fans now that I am taking a break from social media!"
He looked so determined, so sure, that a warm feeling filled you. "You would do that?"
"Of course! I want to make it up to you and besides I was not lying when I said that I miss spending time with you”, he stated, stepping a little closer to you when you didn’t protest anymore.
“You were so distant the last days and I didn't know what to do, so I thought that I should give you space. Seems like that is the last thing I should have done", he sayed with a sheepish smile covering his face.
"Sorry for being so caught up in myself. I should have said something earlier too", you admitted, a small smile forming on your lips, when you felt the burden fall off your shoulders.
"Hug?", Tom suggested and you didn't have to think twice about it.
When he wrapped his strong arms around you, you realized that going back to your place would have been a mistake. Because at some point your home hadn't been a place anymore. Instead it had become a person and you didn't plan on letting go any time soon.
----
Tags:
PERMANENT: @fairytalesforever @hamartocado @capkilljoy @choke-me-sweet-pea @sleepinginthegarden7 @thenoddingbunny-blog @ttalisa
TOM HOLLAND: @mbsgr @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @fairydustparker @its-the-unknownspideywrites @tomhollanders2013 @hollandsmiss @100kindsofblake @popluckbih @quaksonhehe
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#tom holland#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland oneshot#tom holland angst#tom holland x reader#reader x tom holland#marvel#marvel oneshot#marvel x reader#mcu#angst#tom holland x reader angst#fluff#tom holland fluff#My writing
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fundraisers
bucky finds love where he least expects it
word count: 1.9k
masterlist
a/n: hi bffs i am back w my usual fluff ,, i hope u all enjoy !! let me know what u all think ! a fundraiser? more like raising buckys heart rate ! (I’m funny please laugh)
“it’ll be fun! It’s for a fundraiser and my friend is counting on us” Sam spoke, “and plus when was the last time you went to an arcade?” He questioned and bucky rolled his eyes.
“I’m 106 i don’t go to arcades” bucky grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and looking to the side. Sam rolled his eyes, walking over and sitting down next to his friend.
“Cmon buck y/n will kill me if you don’t show up, she already promised who know how many people that we’d show up” sam frowned and bucky looked at him angrily.
“fine whatever” bucky agreed reluctantly, “but I’m leaving after the first hour” he added quickly and sam smiled at him, knowing he would end up staying the whole time.
“you’ll get along just fine” Sam smiled, “the easiest thing you can do in life is fall in love with y/n y/l/n” bucky rolled his eyes. Fat chance.
“When is it anyway” bucky asked, sam gave him a toothy grin before replying, “tonight at 6! See you there at 5!” He spoke quickly, rushing out of the super soldier’s apartment before he could suffer the consequences.
Bucky groaned, his hands flying to his face before he checked the time, he had three hours before he had to head out.
You were giddy, it was your first fundraiser for your new nonprofit, posters spread around the arcade in hopes of reaching your goal. You expected a larger crowd tonight, the buzz of Captain America and The Winter Soldier making a guest appearance made your heart race.
You smiled as you saw bucky walk in at 5:30, you checked yourself out in the mirror next to you before walking towards him with a smile.
“Mr. Barnes! hi I’m y/n” you grinned, holding out your hand. He shook it lightly before giving you a tight smile, looking around for Sam.
“uh, wheres sam? He said he would be here by now” he asked you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head.
“he’ll probably get here at like 5:30, he’s always late” you smiled and bucky laughed a little, the sound making your smile widen.
“I’ll let you go change into your suit, the restrooms are right over there” you smiled and bucky nodded, heading towards the restrooms, bag in hand with his suit.
Before you knew it people were filing in, Sam running out just in the nick of time to stand next to bucky.
As everyone met and took pictures with the two avengers you made small talk with some business people, giving out information about your fundraiser and graciously accepting donations left and right. You skipped over to the giant whiteboard near the prizes, smiling widely throughout the night as you colored in the box closer to the goal. Bucky smiled at how excited you were, he admired how passionate you seemed about your project.
The night progressed and you finished making rounds with most of the visitors, many people taking interest in how to help and spreading the word online. You finally let yourself relax, heading over to Sam and bucky who had already changed back to regular clothes and were sitting by the restaurant area.
“how’d it go?” You smiled at sam, ordering a water quickly.
“it was good, lots of people” he spoke, “my cheeks hurt from smiling, can’t imagine how hard it was for this guy” he teased bucky, nudging him with his elbow. Bucky frowned at sam, sitting up a bit straighter.
“i smile all the time” bucky spoke gruffly, “I’m a happy guys I’ll have you know” he turned his attention to you, smiling for a second.
“i never said you weren’t happy” sam shot back and you smiled as the two friends bickered.
“You implied it!” Bucky frowned and you laughed.
“okay notes break it up” you sighed, smiling as you finished your bottle of water. “any one wanna get their ass handed to them in air hockey?”
Sams eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, you groaned. Bucky looked at him confused, squinting his eyes a little.
“no way” sam replied and you pouted.
“why not?” You frowned, bucky was quiet as he observed the two of you.
“you’re a whole different person when you play!” Sam continued to shake his head, eating some of the fries bucky ordered, earning him a small angry ‘hey’ from the metal armed man.
“oh they can’t be that bad surely” bucky smiled at you, the frown on your face quickly replaced with a grin as you grabbed his metal hand and dragged him towards the air hockey table.
“oh god” sam mumbled, getting up from his seat and following the two of you through the crowd.
“you know how to play?” you asked bucky and he nodded. You handed him a paddle, and grabbed the puck, slipping in some coins and smiling brightly.
“for the record i am on Buckys team, simply out of spite” Sam spoke loudly, still eating Buckys fries.
“you’re eating all my fries!” Bucky grumbled and Sam rolled his eyes, shoving another handful of fries into his mouth.
“ready?” You asked and bucky nodded, you hit the puck gently, easing into the game. Bucky stuck it quickly, a smirk on his face as it smoothly went in. Your mouth dropped open as he scored.
“from what Sam said i thought you were better than that doll” bucky smirked, you felt butterflies in your stomach but you shoved them down, determined to beat him.
“was gonna go easy on you considering you might break your back trying to get the puck” you shot back, sams mouth wide open at your comment. Bucky smirked, you were witty and cute?
You took the puck and placed it down, hitting it quickly and bouncing it off the walls of the table, bucky strikes it quickly, you managed to hit it back before he scored and landed it cleanly in the goal. You smiled in satisfaction.
1-1
“glad to know you can score” bucky teased, hitting the puck, both of you focused on the game as you spoke.
“glad to know you won’t get a heart attack trying to keep up, old man” Sam watched from the side, eating the fries and enjoying the entertainment.
“i keep up quite well sweetheart” bucky replied, hitting the puck sharply and scoring, your eyes met and he smirked. You narrowed your eyes at him, grabbing the puck and hitting it quickly, he bounced it off the wall and you struck back without hesitation, the two of you going back and forth before you stuck the puck softly, catching him off guard before hitting it again and scoring.
“we’ll see about that james” your tone was sharp, bucky was taken back at the venom in your voice, looking at Sam with wide eyes.
“i warned you” the man chuckled, eating the last couple fries.
Bucky turned back to the game, both of you fiercely trying to score on the other.
“cmon thought you were a super soldier? cant use that extra strength to beat me?” You teased as you scored, bucky rolling his eyes at your tone.
“want me to put it to good use?” Buckys voice got deeper and you gulped a little, your Kees growing weak. He smirked and placed the puck on the table, your eyes unfocused as you thought of the tone of his voice. He scored easily, winning at you. “cats got your tongue?”
Your competitive nature got the best of you, anger rising in your chest as you saw the score, 9-8. You need two points to win, no way he was gonna beat you.
You set the puck down on the table, hitting it as soon as bucky tried to score again, not giving him time to move, a smile on your face as you heard it slide into the goal.
9-9
Bucky was silent as he set the puck down again, hitting it quickly, you were quick to react, bouncing it off the wall and into his own paddle. As bucky tried to move back to block the puck, he accidentally hit the puck with his paddle, causing it to slide into the goal and score on himself.
“i thought you could keep up?” You whined, pouting a bit before smirking at him proudly. Bucky bit his lip as the machine announced your win. You smiled at him as he set the paddle on the table, winking at him before turning around and telling Sam you were gonna go to the restroom.
Bucky was left in awe as you walked away, his mouth slightly agape. Sam smirked at the man, patting his shoulder as they walked to their table again.
“you like them dont you” Sam smiled and bucky looked at him like he was crazy.
“wha- me? No! i just met them!” Bucky protested and Sam rolled his eyes.
“as if you guys weren’t flirting that whole game?” Sam laughed and bucky shook his head.
“isn’t that how they talk to you when you guys play?” Sam widened his eyes and shook his head.
“oh god no i wish, last time they called me a bird brain!” Sam frowned and bucky laughed, “and then they said, ‘had known you were gonna play like this, i would’ve stayed home, it’s the same as playing with a fish’”
Bucky couldn’t stop the fit of laughter as Sam frowned at all the things you told him during the game, smiling slightly as he remembered the way you apologized after, hugging him and kissing his cheek and offering to buy him all the food he wanted.
“what’s so funny?” You asked, a smile on your face as you slid into the seat next to sam.
“just telling bucky all the things you say when we play” sam spoke and your face turned red.
“I’m really sorry, i hope i didn’t hurt your feelings or anything” you smiled softly and bucky shook his head.
“oh no I’m fine i get it” he smiled at you and you nodded, stomach in knots as you thought back to his words. Your throat went dry and you looked at him, quickly glancing to your hands. It didn’t go unnoticed by bucky though.
“actually, that super strength comment kinda hurt” he frowned slightly, trying his best to look genuinely hurt. You looked at him with wide eyes, frowning at his words.
“really? I’m sorry i didn’t mean it i swear, I’ll do anything to make it up to you” you spoke quickly, guilt washing over you.
“going on a date would make me feel so much better” bucky smiled and your mouth dropped, a smile on your face as you realized he was just messing with you.
You crossed your arms over chest as Sam smirked at bucky, proudly looking at him.
“if you wanted to ask me out you could’ve just said so sergeant” you smiled and bucky shrugged his shoulders.
“where’s the fun in that doll face” the two of you kept eye contact or a while, you wanted to just lean over the table and kiss him, bucky wanted nothing more than to crash his lips onto yours. Sam wanted more fries.
“is that a yes then?” Bucky asked and you were quiet for a moment before speaking up.
“maybe it is” you quipped, “depends” you smiled, making Sam shake his head as he realized where this was gonna go.
“depends on what?” Bucky questioned, cocking his head to the side as the smile on your face grew.
“how good are you at basketball?” You questioned, already getting up to head to the game, hand slipping into Bucky’s and pulling him behind you.
You were gonna be the death of him, but he didn’t mind it one bit.
#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes drabble#bucky barnes headcanon#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes#soft bucky barnes#flirty bucky barnes#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky fanfic
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oh my gosh i loved soft so much!!!
if i could perhaps request a remus lupin fluff, maybe with similar vibes to the sirius one you wrote ! young!remus x fem!reader
maybe after the full moon he convinces madam prince to let him leave the hospital wing early, and he goes up to y/n (ravenclaw)‘s room, ending similarly to your one before if that’s possible :) very soft !! thank you so much my love!
Remus Lupin X Ravenclaw!Reader
A/N: thank you for your request babe! You’re the first :) I’m really sorry this took so long, I’ve been in a slump :( Also thank you for requesting Remus because his birthday was this month and I cried all day :,) love him so much my sweet boy!! Also also thank you for requesting ravenclaw reader because that is all i know how to write :) kisses to you i adore you thank you :* Also also also I Might write one similar to this and Soft about James potter just to complete the trio :) Requests are open for The Marauders right now, though I’m willing to write someone else if you want just ask :)
Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff dude call your dentist, a few physical descriptions? Glasses and longish hair and pajamas, reader being the absolute softest love of my life, sad Remus being anxious, reader is head girl bc that’s what I am when I shift so its all I know sorry, use of she/her pronouns, use of the nickname bunny bc I’m obsessed, this long speech about soulmates, food and eating mention, pretty freaking long sorry I got carried away I just love remus so much
Word count: 2801
enjoy :)
Remus was tired.
Madam Pomfrey had told him it would be a good idea to stay in the hospital wing at least one more night, to assure he get the rest he so desperately needed. Despite loving and caring about Madam Pomfrey, Remus was beginning to become claustrophobic in the tiny bed he was ridden to whilst staying there. He asked kindly, quietly, if she would be so kind as to give him the potions he should need and let him go to his own bed. She had made him promise to come to her immediately if anything were to happen, and with a less than convincing smile and a sarcastically cheery “Of course I’d come to you Pomfrey, you’re only the best,” she let him go.
The walk to his dorm was slow. He was having no physical pain, apart from the dulled ache in his bones, yet he felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, and his bag was a thousand more. He trudged through the hall, hoping no one was in the dorm right now. It was unlikely, at almost noon on a Saturday he doubted his friends would be inside their room still. Remus loved his friends, more than he loved most things, but the thought of seeing them now was nerve wracking. He wasn’t in the right mindset to listen to them talk about a new prank plan, or a new sneaking out plan, or how lovely Lily’s eyes are, or how good their last shag was. Remus loved his friends, but he needed quiet. He needed a good book, a chocolate bar and a cozy sweater.
The dorm was empty when he got there. He felt guilty for feeling relieved, for feeling part of the weight leave his shoulders because his friends were absent, but he also knew they would understand. They were good people, good friends who cared about him and his problems. Remus had been working on his guilt, telling himself that these people caring about him was a good thing that he shouldn’t feel bad about putting them through the things he does, that they do it because they love him and whatever issues he comes with. He hadn’t believed it yet, but he kept saying it.
He flopped face down onto his bed, dropping his bag to the floor and wincing when he remembered his book was in there. His bed felt nice compared to the cot in the hospital wing, a soft knit blanket James’ mom made him for christmas and cozy pillows she bought all the boys for their birthdays. Remus loved James’ mom, loved how she included him in their family events, loved how after Sirius moved in with the Potter’s she called Remus her son too. He had spent lots of holidays with them, sleeping in a guest room that just happened to have photos of all of Remus’ friends and posters of music he liked, a seemingly homemade bookshelf with James and Sirius’ initials carved in it. Sirius said when he first moved into the Potter’s his room was magically decorated too, and that Remus shouldn’t think too hard about how or why it happened. He knew it was his friends, brothers seemed like more of an appropriate title at this point, but he didn’t say anything for their sake. It was a sweet gesture, it made Remus cry a bit the first summer he spent there, so he let them have it.
Getting out of bed was a tough feat, but he needed a shower. He opened his trunk, grabbed his biggest sweater and favorite sweats, and headed for the shower. Remus loved showering. It was one of his favorite parts of the day. The warmth, the scent of his soap flooding the entire room, the steam dulling his senses down. It was calming, never failed to relieve his shoulders of some of what they were carrying. He relished the moments alone, relished in the sound of the water hitting the tile, the water hitting his skin, and even though he loved his friends, he relished the privacy. He didn’t get much of that anymore.
He towel dried his hair, making it messier than usual. He waited to put his sweater on, walking around in just his sweats, waiting for his skin to lose it’s pink hue from the heat of the water. He laid back onto his bed, facing the ceiling this time, and made an extensive to do list in his head. He missed 2 days of school because of the full moon, and getting caught up was something he wanted to do before laying in bed and reading all day like he planned. He also decided he should probably eat something of sustenance, other than chocolate bars and the terrible oatmeal Pomfrey served for breakfast. A trip to the kitchens was due, perhaps before studying so he could get some brain food. He also wanted to ask Professor McGonnagal about changing his prefect rounds. Telling third years to stop snogging in the halls after curfew gets tiring after a while. When he had his plan, he stood up off the bed. He put his sweater on and put his hands through his hair a few times to tame the mess. He picked his bag up, taking out some things and putting in some others. He decided he would do homework at his desk in the room, go and get some food and come right back. Nodding to himself and his plan, he put his shoes on and left the dorm.
He had a bit more of a light step after his shower, feeling as if he washed most of his stress off. The trip to the kitchens was routine at this point. Sneaking in was muscle memory, after doing it for so long. It was a little difficult without James’ cloak, but he survived just fine. He made himself toast, spreading jam across the bread, and looked through the cabinets for some hot chocolate. He sat on the counter to eat, criss cross, right next to the sink. He thought about the elves that worked in the kitchen, how much they did. The ones who cleaned Hogwarts too, they did a lot for him, probably more than he was even aware of. It was a different kind of affection, unknown, prescribed almost. It was nice to think about.
He stopped at the library on his way back to his room, wanting to get an extra book as a source for his herbology essay. He stopped to talk to Madam Pince, asked her about a book he had heard Sirius talk about, and went to find it and his herbology book. He found them quite quickly, Remus has come to know the library like the back of his hand. He put them both in his bag after checking out, and went to head back to his dorm, and then he heard James and some friends yelling across the hall. A guilt filled Remus again, he loved James, loved him like family, but he didn’t feel like he could handle the attention, the loud voices. As James got closer, Remus felt stuck again. The claustrophobic feeling that caused him to beg Pomfrey to let him leave the hospital wing a day early. He walked quietly, tiptoed across the hall, and when he was sure he had gone unseen he went the opposite direction of the Gryffindor dorms.
He ended up at the Ravenclaw tower door. His feet taking him here was inevitable really. He usually ended up here on a rough day. Today wasn’t too bad, he’d be the first to admit. It wasn’t great though.
“What has hands, but cannot hold anything?” Out of all the things Remus loved about the Ravenclaw tower, the Eagle spouting riddles at him when he just wants in is not one of them. He shifted his weight between his legs, picked at his nails for a minute, his bottom lip next. Terrible anxious habits that he cannot help, he looked at his watch for the time. Half past two.
“A clock.” The door opened slowly, revealing the Ravenclaw common room to him slowly. Bookshelves to the ceiling, constellations on the ceiling, soft piano music playing on a charmed record player, Remus loved it here. He usually would relish longer, stare at the stars, browse the books, try to figure out what song is playing, but he was still breathing shallow from his near death encounter with James across the hall. He wrung his hands, cracking his knuckles and twisting his fingertips as he walked up the staircase to the girls dorms. The charm for the Ravenclaw girls dorm stairs fell quickly from his lips, almost half way up by the time he completed it. He knew the way to the head girl's room by heart, down the hall straight until the last left door. He stood there for a moment, toe to wood, hand itching to knock.
Remus suddenly felt insecure. He knew she would be happy to see him, her smile would be just as soft as he needs and she would say the perfect words, just like she always did. When he finally knocked the door opened very quickly, opening to a shy smile, and the top of a head.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Her smile was small, and her voice was barely above a whisper. She had a warmth about her, the way she looked at him, it warmed up his whole body. She opened the door wide enough for him to step in and shut it right behind him. She was wearing an old t-shirt, some band that her cousin liked and grew out of, blue pajama shorts, and socks with little rabbits all over them that Sirius bought her for christmas last year when she visited the Potter’s. Her hair was down, messy as if she were laying on it, and her glasses were crooked. She looked pretty, in a realistic way. The kind of pretty that makes Remus want to make her a cup of hot chocolate, lay in her bed, and stare at her for hours.
“Pomfrey wrote me a note that you left early, ‘was waiting for you t’come see me.” Remus stared at her, her soft smile making his resolve break easily. This always happened, he went to her broken and she was perfect and helped him fix himself. She always knew just what to say, as if she could read his mind. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could.
“Jus’ felt bad today, ‘s all bun.” His voice was quieter than he intended. He wanted to tell her everything, the claustrophobia he had been feeling all day, the dread that swallowed him when he saw James. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for this becoming a routine, showing up to her dorm needing her glue to put him back together. Remus swallowed, bouncing on the heels of his feet, and blew air out of his cheeks. “I ate though, made some toast, and I took my potion from Pomfrey before I showered, so I don’t hurt.” He smiled softly as he said it. Full moons were hard, and Remus often neglected to take care of himself after them. Telling her he had made a point to care for himself meant everything.
“‘S a good start isn’t it? Maybe we could read a bit? Got that book you wanted me to read, thought maybe you’d want to read it with me?” There were few good things in Remus’ life. He had been dealt a poor hand from an early age. But this, his girl, smiling at him so tenderly, made it all better. This made it all worth every ounce of pain he had ever felt.
“Can we cuddle, bunny? ‘M quite tired.” Remus pouted, looking at her with the absolute worst case of puppy dog eyes she had ever seen. She had to bite her lip to stifle her giggle, she got to love the most cutest boy in the whole world. (Y/N) grabbed Remus’ hands and pulled him to her bed. She made him sit down while she went to grab the book, and when she returned she noticed he had taken his sweater off. Remus always liked skin on skin contact, once Sirius had told him no matter how much his love language is quality time, it would always be squashed by his need for physical touch. For a while Sirius’ comment made Remus insecure, like he was clingy and annoying, overbearing. But after a long conversation (and a few tears as well) he learned that she loved him, loved holding and touching him, that it made her feel the same way it made him feel. Safe, connected, warm, and loved.
“Y’wanna lay on me, sweet boy?” Remus broke out of his daydream, nodding his head enthusiastically. She didn’t bother hiding her giggle this time, jumping onto the bed and patting her belly. Remus wrapped his arms around her waist, shoving his nose as deep into her shirt as physically possible. Her hands wound around his shoulders, rubbing his shoulder blades and mid back. The absolute bliss Remus felt was indescribable, if this was a dream he never wanted to wake up.
Remus sat up slightly, resting his chin on (Y/N)’s stomach, looking at her with complete adoration. He stared for a while, tracing her features with his eyes. Her hands were running through his hair now, scratching the back of his neck and softly pulling the strands on the top. She ran her fingers across his cheeks lightly, mumbling, “‘S goin’ on in that big brain of yours, sweetness?”
“Do you believe in soulmates?”
He could see her brain working out an answer. Her eyes squinted very slightly, her mouth parted and she ran her fingers down his jaw as she spoke.
“I don’t know. I think it’s silly to think just one person is made perfect for you. I think Sirius was made perfect for you and James, but I don’t think you lads’ll get married. If there were to be soulmates there would be a thousand different kinds. You could be soulmates with the person you marry, and your best friend. And the bloke you sit across from on the train, and the waitress at your favorite restaurant. There is too much love in the world to just limit yourself to one person,” She paused, looking at Remus, dragging her finger down the bridge of his nose and booping the tip, “But if I had to choose one person to give all my love to, one person to be my every kind of soulmate, well I just think I’d pick you, Mr. Remus John.” She ended with a pretty smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead as she started to run her hands through his hair once more.
Remus was speechless. His eyes were teary, his mouth was opening and closing as his brain screamed at him to just say anything at all, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stare. He grabbed her wrists, holding them against his face, kissing them while he thought of exactly what to say. It was a long while until he said something, just looking into her eyes with such awe.
“I’d pick you, too, to give all my love to. Already have, honestly.” His face split into a wide, boyish grin. Bad day forgotten, he felt nothing but love and warmth in this moment. No guilt, no insecurity, no weight. If you asked him, he’d probably say he could fly with how light he felt now.
“Well I’d sure hope so, otherwise it would be quite awkward to have you shirtless in my bed.” Her teasing made him giggle in disbelief, how one person could be so perfect he would never understand. How that same person could love him, choose to care for him and show him love, was an anomaly to him.
“Now kiss me so I can read to you. I need you well rested as my soulmate.” Remus had never moved so fast. Jumping level to her face, kissing all over her cheeks and lips, making exaggerated kissing noises as she squirmed under him. Her giggles and squeals loudly filled the room, floating around Remus as his hands gripped her waist. He kissed each cheek one more time, leaning his head up to look in her eyes, which were closed from when she was laughing. This was another moment, where Remus forgot all things that weren’t in this space with him. The only thing in the world was her smiling under him, and him feeling utterly delighted to exist, and a few more kisses, too.
#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin one shot#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin#sirius black#james potter
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Worth It
~Notes: Oof, I know I have so many prompts in my inbox and I appreciate them so much! But I wanted to write something after dinner in dedication and a gift to the lovely Remus-John-Lupin!!!!!!!<3<3<3 I love you RJ and I appreciate you and your friendship so fucking much, so this is just a strange little gift from me to you in thanks for how kind you’ve always been to me since I joined this crazy fandom, ILY and you’re my favorite slag!!!!
.-
Sirius silently reminds himself that he in fact likes Lily, he thinks she’s a total knock out and is happy that his brother is finally getting to date the girl of his dreams. He likes her damn it,! And one does not commit battery to folks that they like.
Assured that his pure irritation won’t bleed through his words, Sirius tries again in his most charming of inflections. “All I want is his number.”
“No,” she repeats, casually steadfast while poking at her salad— Not even bothering to flick her gaze up at an increasingly irate Sirius.
“Why are you being so fucking difficult!”
“Why are you still bitching about this,” she counters, finally giving him her undivided attention, even if it’s her glaring at him like she’d like to skewer Sirius on a stick.
“Hey guys, let’s chill.” James tries to mediate, laughing awkwardly between the pair of them, hand raised in concession and glasses going a bit skewed.
They promptly ignore him.
“I like him. What is so difficult to understand Evans? Aren’t you like supposed to be some brainiac or some shit?”
“It’s been like two months Black,” she says pointedly, grip on her fork tightening while her mouth curls unpleasantly. “That’s way past your ordinary infatuations, so why the hell do you still even care.”
Sirius bares his teeth, pinning her with a glower that once made an old school yard bully of Regulus’s actually piss his pants. So of course Lily doesn’t even flinch. “He’s cute.”
“You’re a dog.”
“You’re being a total ass.”
“And you’re a bastard.”
“But you love me though.”
“Just barely.”
“So you’ll give me Remus’s number?”
“Dream on.” she says with a lofty sniff and haughty flip of the hair, discarding her barely eaten lunch before swaggering over to where a group of her friends from the STEM club are sat, including Alice Flores and Dorcas Meadowes.
“Guess you’re back to square one Pads.” James says, unhelpful as fuck, so Sirius only flips him off before snatching back his calculus homework from a pitiful looking Peter.
“Fuck this.”
.-
Sirius thinks of himself as a reasonable sort of guy.
He isn’t one for holding grudges or obsessing over perceived slights. He’s brilliant whether he’s playing linebacker on the field or taking a exam in class.
For fuck’s sake, Sirius can be plumped down in any and all social situations without warning, and can have the room eating out the palm of his hand within the first five minutes.
In layman’s terms, he’s decent and driven and downright charismatic. Mix this all together, and well Sirius thinks he’s a pretty fantastic fucking package— if he does say so himself. He can have his pick of the lot, truly. Especially when walking down the halls flocked by his best friend turned second brother on one end and little Petey, who’s a great hype man, on the other. So its only poetic justice that the one person who’s been able to swallow up all his attention is the one person who doesn’t even give him a second glance most days.
And that’s fucking ridiculous.
This is ridiculous! He is fucking ridiculous! No, record scratch. Remus fucking Lupin is the most ridiculous part of this all!
Remus lupin with his delightfully disheveled hair the color of gold and his crooked grin that’s everything darling in the world, and his big doe eyes that sometimes flare with green specs when he’s especially passionate in class or when he’s chatting with Lily in the halls. Remus lupin who’s only just moved here to Murray Hill from a small town in southern Illinois and who toppled Sirius’s world upside-down while he was at it.
The first time they met was completely on accident.
It was the week before classes began, and Sirius had only just come back from his family trip to their villa in Rome, and he was only meant to meet James at the coffee shop that Lily was working at now. They were suppose to head to the city and go out drinking to celebrate the start of their senior year. Sirius was suppose to find a nice, college aged girl to fuck because he’s given up on the boring lot that infests Hogwarts these days. It was suppose to be easy and fun and he was suppose to stay stringless and unattached as ever.
But that didn’t happen.
Instead, Sirius walked into the Howling Moon and was met by the sight of the most lovely, most gorgeous boy he’s ever met. Hand to God, it felt like one of those slow motion moments in a Romantic Comedy when the disgruntled, wayward lead first sets their eyes on that love interest— the one to out shine all others, the one who turns everything inside out and makes it all glitter gold.
“Hey there,” Remus had grinned like the fucking sun, slipping the pen from his ear and hand poised over the cups lining the counter. “What can I get ya?”
“Oh, erm— Yeah. Just a caramel macchiato, iced.”Sirius’s ordinarily smooth baritone almost fucking cracked while ordering, and Remus’s beautiful eyes had glittered.
“Would’ve taken you for a dark roast sort of guy.” He said, and Sirius swears that it was playful and flirtatious and a little mischievous too.
Sirius was in love.
“I’ve been known to partake in sweets, you know, if they catch my eye,” he replied, eyes lingering meaningfully up and down Remus’s slighter frame.
“What a come on,” Remus had laughed, head thrown back to show off his long neck and Sirius was so fucking gobsmacked at how it quite literally sounded like all the most splendid instruments woven together.
He had ducked his head, so unordinary bashful but so beyond pleased. “What can I say beautiful, you bring it out of me.”
“”Cute.” Remus had chuckled, cheeks going a fetching red and scribbling down the order. “Definitely one of the more interesting one liners I’ve gotten today.”
Sirius ignored the flare of jealousy over that, considering that he hasn’t gotten to even kiss him yet, and he should probably take this slow if he doesn’t want to screw it up. “Has anyone of those bastards mentioned how your eyes put the brownies on sale to shame?”
“No one as hot as you if I’m being honest,” Remus retorted, ringing him up and sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip. And fuck, Sirius knew he was in trouble from then on.
They had talked for over half an hour about nothing at all in that tiny bistro while Remus was busy exchanging the coffee pots for a fresh batch and rearranging the baked goods, and it was amazing.
Sirius has always been someone who couldn’t sit still, who had to be fluttering all over the place to feel like he was actually headed somewhere, like he was getting something finished. But for the first time in too long, just sitting there, still and silent and besotted while Remus chatted about his hometown and moving half way across the country and his eccentric mother— Well Sirius felt completely balanced, completely calm. He felt like just as long as Remus was their chatting with him and smiling in that beguiling way of his, that Sirius could actually breathe without pressure. Like he knew what it meant to have a center.
So of course, right when he decided that he was going to snatch him up— to ask him out on a date before anyone else from their shitty class filled with degenerates and dick heads could— Lily of all people had swaggered in, and gave him a caustic sort of glower that plainly said, keep the fuck away.
Ordinarily Sirius would’ve completely ignored her warning, would’ve unashamedly and excitedly chased after the cutest fucking boy he’s ever laid his eyes on with an absurd sort of zeal. But he under estimated just how much sway Lily was able to cater with Remus in the few weeks they worked with one another before he had met him. So instead of starting off the year with a brand new, insanely pretty boyfriend wrapped around one arm, Sirius has just spent the past nine weeks pining like a fucking love sick loser. Like he was starring in some cheesy John Hughes movie from the damn 80s!
And this will not do, this is not all right, not okay at all.
Sirius needs to figure out a way to get close to Remus, and outside of Lily’s overbearing claws. Something that only Remus likes, that Sirius can partake in to prove himself worthy.
As he promenades down the hall towards his free period, Sirius creates a mental check list of the things he knows Remus enjoys.
Remus enjoys poetry, and Sirius knows that he’s part of the school’s award winning Forensics team. But they meet during the football practices so Sirius couldn’t even try to impress him in that arena until the spring. He also knows that Remus likes history, that he’s going to end up majoring in classics in University, but Sirius really doubts his ability to memorize the Iliad in the matter of a few hours— He’s good, but not that good.
“Jesus fuck is this hard,” he mutters nastily to himself, tugging at the ends of his dark hair before ramming straight into a display outside the southern wing of their preparatory school’s building.
He winces, not so much for the throbbing in his toes, but because of Marlene’s snappish attitude when he makes it so that the table shakes.
“Keep your head out your ass Black,” she scolds before going back to filing her nails. And Sirius is about to snipe right back at her— That is until he catches on the bright poster adorned with small rainbows and the words, GSA FOOD DRIVE spelt out in large lettering.
And oh!
“Eureka!”
“Pardon?” Marlene asks, nose wrinkled indelicately as she eyes him like he’s about to puke on her brand new Doc Martens again like last weekend. Holy shit, she should really get over it by now.
But Sirius is smart enough and tactful enough not to mention his thoughts on the matter, only smiles down at her with pure elation. “Marls, what if I said I had a brilliant idea to help our lovely GSA.”
“I’d accuse you to only doing it to try and get in Lupin’s pants since he’s our new VP.”
Sirius grapples for his chest, feigning indignant. “You pain me my old friend.”
Marlene snorts. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“That’s neither here nor there.”
“So are your chances with Lupin.”
“You’re a sick fuck McKinnon.”
“What do you want from me you gnat.”
“Let me help with the fundraiser.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll tell Lily to get Meadowes to notice you?”
Marlene glares at him now. “We’ve been fucking for like a month you prick.”
“Oh— Erm, then for some of that good old Bi unity?”
Marlene suddenly looks so very shrewd and Sirius hates how every fucking woman in his life could eat him whole for breakfast. “Absolutely not.”
“Fine, what the fuck do you want.”
“You cover Fabian’s costs for the goods when we go to that rave for 2KBABY in January.”
“Eh, didn’t you guys use to fuck?”
“Yes. But I don’t see the connection?”
“He won’t even give you a discount on the good shit?”
“Oh he does,” she leers, blue eyes glinting wickedly in the hallway light. “But I’d rather see you pay full price for’m.”
Sirius glares down at her, and repeats himself. “You. Are. A. Sick. Fuck.”
Marlene just lies back in her seat and returns to manicuring her nails. “Well if cheekbones isn’t worth the bother?”
“Fine,” Sirius all but growls out. “But we do this my way.”
“Scout’s honor handsome,” she absolutely beams, and Sirius reminds himself that this is all for Remus and that’s worth it at the end of the day.
.-
It’s a week later, right before Thanksgiving break hits, and Sirius is sat in front of the cafeteria, smirking at the line of mostly pink faced girls and a few others amongst their midst, who have all queued up in front of him. A dollar in each of their hands, though he does see that a few have fives and even tens or more, and he doesn’t know how to subtly tell them that all he’s promising is a quick peck of his lips, and absolutely no other groping— including of his legendary ass or admittedly perfect abs.
“You’re just really enjoying yourself, aren’t you.” James hisses besides him after the latest girl— a blonde sophomore who’s decked out in Lulu Lemon for their only non uniform day of the week— scurries off. “Just a ego trip.”
“Jealous Jamie darling?” Sirius boasts, tipping back on his chair while Marlene collects the cash from the next five in line so that they can clammer closer towards him.
“I can’t believe all of them want to kiss you,” Peter marvels, round eyes completely in aw.
“I can’t believe you think this is how to get Remus’s attention,” Lily interjects huffily, lips set in a moody pout while perched on James’s lap to Sirius’s left.
“I bet you would’ve been in line if you weren’t dating Jamie here.” Sirius counters, smug as all get out, and laughing when all Lily deigns as a adequate response is her middle finger.
Sirius is on cloud nine. He can’t believe he didn’t think of this sooner! Remus loves all this shit, from the club to the charity. This is perfect! This basically guarantees that he’ll finally get a good smooch on him. And once their lips finally touch, Remus will surely feel the swarm of butterflies in his gut just like in those Harleyquin romance novels his cousin Narcissa would always read with a dreamy look on her face during their various Family vacations.
“You’re not gonna get him this way.”
“He’s not gonna know what hit’m Evans,” Sirius retorts, completely self assured.
.-
One should never bet against Lily Marie Evans.
Sirius knows this now. But he still hates it with the passion of a thousand burning suns.
By the end of the lunch hour, Sirius’s earned over sixty bucks to the GSA’s fundraiser fund, and absolutely zero potential boyfriends who look like golden angels and make Sirius’s knees weak.
“I told you,” Lily says in that sing-song sort of voice that is so not appreciated right now. “Remus is not the type to kiss you in front of a huge crowd and after like a bunch of others. That’s not his style.”
Sirius is moody as all get out, and he’s irritated that he’s just wasted five dozen perfectly fine kisses on folks who aren’t Remus, so he doesn’t bother to hide his irritation when he gripes back at her, “Then tell me what the fuck is his style.”
Miraculously, that actually proved enough to get Lily to slow down her stroll, and cock her head curiously at him. “You actually care.”
“What the fuck have I been trying to tell you Evans!” He nearly shouts.
“I just thought— You know. That it was a game.”
Sirius’s face goes stoney, and he juts his chin away from her. “It’s not always a fucking game, all right. It’s not a game with him— I like him. I like Remus.”
“Oh,” Lily says very quietly, her face pulled in a thousand different directions before settling on something akin to solemn. “You should go to the music room for your free period today.”
Sirius quirks a brow at her, frowning while he asks, “Why?”
“Just trust me S,” she says, reaching over her hand to squeeze his forearm.
Sirius watches her walk off, hand in hand with James, and he feels a strange twisting to his heart when he imagines a very similar image— only with him and Remus and punctuated by plenty of kisses to the cheek, and jawline and lips too.
.-
The music room is towards the back of the school, in a separate building along with the theatre and main auditorium.
The early autumnal chill lashes against Sirius’s face while he makes the track to the room, continuously chanting to himself that he actually trusts Lily and this is gonna be worth it if there’s a merciful God up there.
Once Sirius clammers in doors, he rubs his cold hands together, and shakes out his hair.
The first thing he hears is the soft strumming of a guitar, and finds himself in front of the music room after following its melodic toon.
Through the window he can spot the form of Remus bent over the instrument, his thick curls getting in his eyes and his steady hands plucking a few chords as he sits cross legged atop the piano.
Sirius feels his heart lodging in his throat at the sight of him, so beautiful and perfect and warm looking in that scarlet sweater. And he knows in his bones that this is some sort of unspoken blessing that Lily’s given him, so with a deep breath, Sirius opens the door and strolls in.
Remus starts slightly, going flushed once his eyes catch on Sirius’s own.
“Oh Sirius,” he greets, the corners of his mouth tipping into a smile that doesn’t ring true. “You pulled away from the haram?”
“That’s a bit much? Calling them a haram,” Sirius says cooly, hitching up besides him and swinging his long legs. “I just did it to help you.”
“Oh— Yeah,” Remus nods. “The GSA appreciates all the help we can get.” His words are quiet, and he’s rinsing a hand through his curls, so Sirius can tell that he’s a bit nervous. And it’s impossibly cute, but also not on. He doubts that he’ll ever get his kiss if Remus won’t even look at him in the eyes.
Gingerly, Sirius sets the pad of his pointer finger beneath Remus’s chin, lifting his gaze upwards. “Not the GSA— Though I appreciate the club’s work and your part in that.”
“Oh,” Remus says again, lips pursed and his throat pulsing when he swallows down. “Then—“
“I did it for you Remus,” Sirius repeats heatedly. “I did it because I’ve been mad for you since ever meeting you in August, and I can’t get your fucking face or name or lips or ass out of my head. And I thought that if maybe I pulled a dumb stunt like that, you would actually kiss me along with the lot of those idiots who can’t even hold a candle to you.”
“M—My ass?” Remus questions, voice going pitchy and face bright with emotion.
Sirius laughs, booming and bombastic. “You have the best ass I’ve ever seen Remus Lupin and it’s really obscene.”
Remus shoulder checks him, looking down and then back up through his lashes at Sirius and it’s a sight Sirius wish he can keep with him for the rest of his days.
“So you thought I’d want our first kiss to happen after you’ve just made out with half the school?”
Sirius grimaces, bending down so that their lips are only inches apart. “Listen, I can be a complete dumb ass on occasion.”
“Don’t forget arrogant.”
“Okay, fair.”
“And brash too.”
“Right.”
“Also you tend—“
Sirius places a soft hand over Remus’s supple lips, glaring teasingly at the other boy, who’s grinning like the cat who’s caught the canary, his eyes teeming with laughter.
Remus Lupin is going to be the death of him, Sirius knows it.
“Listen Lupin, I’d like a shred of self respect here, so I can actually muster up the courage to ask you out on a proper date already.”
Remus perks at that, so Sirius moves his grasp.
“You wanna ask me out?”
“Depends…. You wanna continue that little rant until I’m blue balled and gutless.”
“Hmm,” Remus inches closer, setting his hand over Sirius’s on the piano. “Nah, I think I’d rather do this.”
He leans forwards and Sirius barely has enough time to gather his bearings when he feels Remus’s mouth over his own and it’s literally every starlit promise and sugar burnt secret and sunlit afternoon all rolled into one. And Sirius feels his heart thud an uneven staccato when he grabs for either end of Remus’s waistline and plunges his tongue into his own and he lets himself get lost in the overwhelming feeling of it all.
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Detected
Prompt 2 coffee shop AU | meet the family
Marijon series
All fic masterlist
Marinette had to practically yell to not get Alya to follow her to the coffee shop. Since Jon was not from Paris she had suggested 3 locations with a description of their feel and allowed him to pick which one sounded best. It was actually her favorite because it felt so cozy. She loved to sit there are draw if she wasn’t able or in the mood to do so outside. Even though she didn’t tell Alya where they were going she knew Alya might still try to follow them to watch her on the date, actually she wasn’t sure if it was a date or just a way for him to get close to her and learn more about her without being suspicious.
He was already waiting when she got there. She wasn’t late, but she did arrive right on time. He matched his pace so they both arrived at the counter at the same time. He told the cashier that they would be ordering together and did not even give her a chance of fighting him on it. She had wondered if he would insist on paying but she had made sure she had enough money to cover it if he hadn’t. She didn’t like making a fuss over who was paying either way. They kept their conversation very mild while they were still at the counter waiting for their drinks, but once they were seated they turned more serious.
“So, are you actually planning on dating me even though we live on different continents and across an ocean, or are you just trying to find out more about me to determine if I am evil?” Marinette asked.
“I think you ending up where you did makes the likelihood of you being evil fairly expected. So I definitely intend to learn how you managed that. As for dating you, I think I could handle evil. My closest friend is often called Demon Spawn and we still manage to get along.” Jon said.
“You would be wasting your time trying to find out how I got there. I already told you the truth of why I was there and I can’t say more. It really was an accident.”
“Well, I’m not just going to take your word for it. There really is no way for you to have gotten in there without help and I will find who you are working with.”
“You can try. But there is nothing more to learn that relates to you. I didn’t even know you existed.”
“See that is criminal. I am very well known. I’m on a poster. I’ll make sure to send you one.”
“I guess it is comforting that you are expecting that to be possible. So I’m not just to disappear.”
“Of course not. If you turn out to be a threat then you would be properly imprisoned. In which case you would probably already be thinking of me and you might as well enjoy looking at me.”
“Is the super for super egotistical? You sure are impressed with yourself.”
“Don’t worry. I’m impressed with you too. Your school record is phenomenal. You seem to impress a lot of professional adults, including my parents who thought you did excellent work for your presentation yesterday. Not to mention you are very attractive.”
Marinette couldn’t quite manage an appropriate response to that she stumbled over and attempt as her face heated up. She apparently couldn’t deal with any hot guy telling her how attractive he thought she was even if he believed he would have to stop her from evil doing.
They didn’t stay for much longer. There wasn’t much else to say. She was surprised that he walked her back to the bakery after. But since he mentioned that he was hungry she invited him inside to get something from the bakery. When they saw the sight that greeted them in the bakery she was certain that he wished just as much as her that they had went separate ways instead of going in the bakery But there were both sets of parents seated at a table that they clearly had been at for a bit all cheering when the teens entered together.
They insisted that they join them at the table and tell them all about how it went. Marinette said they were getting pastries first. Marinette tried to not roll her eyes as her parents made her stay there and meet Jon's parents even though they had met yesterday at the school. Both teens stood there uncomfortably while their parents went on and on about how cute they were and how they grew up so fast. Marinette took charge to step on when her mom started trying to talk her first crush story.
"Maman! Please. No one wants to hear that. Tell something else while we go get pastries."
"Okay. It is a really great story though. Maybe once this all isn't so new," Sabine said, gesturing at them.
"Of course. I'm can hardly wait until things are in a spot where you can mock me."
Marinette walked off dramatical with that. She grabbed Jon and tugged him away. They took their time selecting pastries and when their parents were distracted again Marinette shoved him out the back and they kept moving until they were far away from their parents.
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A/N: Woooo a long one! The idea has been on a stick note for three months and it’s finally here 🤧 It was a very fun one to write! I hope you enjoy it & let me know your thoughts! Ahh! 💥🥰💗
Summary: You’re a ghostwriter for a famous singer and Shawn is head over heels in love with the singer who he thinks writes her own music…But little does he know it’s you.
MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂
Warnings: Few swear words
WC: 13.7K // Angst & Fluff
--
You sat on the edge of your seat, legs crossed, as you stared intently at the “famed” singer-songwriter who was reading over your lyrics. She shuffled papers back and forth either humming in distaste when she didn’t like a particular lyric, or slamming a lyric sheet down on the table for a song she wanted to keep.
This was the third album cycle you had done this for her––writing songs and pitching them for her to sing. All while you sat in the background and collected royalties off the copyright you owned.
When you were sixteen, you wrote a song that circulated around a publishing company, and she––Zilla––did whatever she could to have the song be put on hold for her. She was a newer artist, but you heard whispers that she bought out Kacey Musgraves in order to record your song.
It started with one song as a work for hire, which grew to an EP where you had copyright ownership, and then to a full album…Which led you to sign a contract with her management team as her ghostwriter.
You remember it clear as day––you in their office, with your own entertainment lawyer, as Zilla and her manager slid an NDA across the table. You remember the manager trying their best to not outright say that Zilla wasn’t talented in songwriting––She just spends so much time making sure her vocals are perfect that she doesn’t have time to write and everyone wants personal songs nowadays.
Zilla’s real name was Willow––but in order to keep the artist name the same as the songwriting credits––she picked a stage name. So, her stage name was just Zilla, and your songwriting credit would be listed as Zilla Greene.
While the public knew that Zilla was a stage name for Willow, they thought that she also wrote her own songs under the pseudonym Zilla Greene…But nobody knew how far from the truth that was.
The sound of papers slamming down on a wooden table snapped you out from your daydream, “None of these work,” Zilla leaned back on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, “I want to change my sound.”
You had spent months crafting the songs in front of her. Carefully crafted rhyme schemes, imagery that was similar to the second album you wrote for her that won her three Grammys, it had an even mix of upbeat songs and ballads…And she didn’t want any of them.
Your mouth dropped, “But what––You want––Why?”
Zilla shrugged her shoulders and picked at her nails, “The last album was so…Pop,” she cringed, “Too colorful. I need to change it up––Keep listeners on their toes––I’m seeing this album aesthetic as more black and white.”
You picked up your little notebook and scribbled down aesthetics and moods she wanted to match. With each sentence she rattled off, you wrote down key words––songs that connect in a story, feeling lost, black and white, heartbreak––a bit of your soul crumbled as you saw the songs you worked so hard on lay abandoned on the table without a second thought.
“Give me an album that gives me a perfect score on Pitchfork.”
The pen you frivolously scribbled down ideas on dropped from your hand, “That’s––I can’t control Pitchfork!”
Zilla rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Then you better write a damn good album.”
“But you––Red!” You shouted out to grab her attention as you saw her packing up her bag, “That’s a nine. Literally one point away from a perfect score.”
Hiking her back over her shoulder, Zilla flicked her perfect loose curls over her shoulder, “Red was a good debut album, 1989 was a good Grammy album, I need something great.”
And with that, the “famed” singer-songwriter walked out of the room. The clacks of her heels were as loud as the sound of your heart shattering as you continued to stare at the songs on the table…That’ll never have the chance to see the daylight.
---
It was a new day and the sun shining through your half-opened window as the thin white curtains softly blew with the breeze. You were sat crossed legged on the floor in a little corner of your apartment that you claimed as your “writing room.” It wasn’t much of a room––because you literally sat on the floor––but it was where you wrote the best.
You sat in the corner, right under the window, on a small pink and teal woven rug, with a few throw pillows, and lyric sheets scattered all over the floor.
How were you supposed to create a whole new album when you had a perfect album already written?
With your head buried in your hands, you were at standstill, never having writer's block hit you this hard. You had songs already written––An album that was hopefully a 7 on Pitchfork’s scale––but it wasn’t good enough for her.
Nothing seemed to be good enough for her.
Your phone dinged with an email and you read the preview that it was just a Google Alert for Zilla. You ignored the notification, not wanting to think about how angry you already were at her…even though you were currently writing for her.
A melody slowly came into your mind as you started humming into a voice note. But it was quickly cut off short when you heard the stomps of Mia––your roommate––come running from the kitchen to where you were.
“Did you see this interview?”
You raised an eyebrow at her and directed your eyes to the strewn papers on the floor, “I’m a little busy?”
She waved you off and couldn’t stop smiling, “Shawn Mendes is like in love with you.”
The phone dropped from your hands, and you cringed because you knew that was going to sound horrendous when you played back the voice note. But that wasn’t what was on your mind.
“What?!”
Mia nodded at your shocked reaction, but then backed up with her explanation, “Well, not you––Zilla,” she made a little throw up noise, “But he loves your songwriting.”
“How––”
Mia shoved her phone into your face and you saw a paused YouTube video. In the video you saw Shawn Mendes sitting on a chair, holding a white poster board, as he was in the middle of ripping a paper off. He was doing a Wired Autocomplete Interview. You skeptically looked up at Mia, and she gestured with her hands for you to hit play.
So you hit play and immediately cringed at the sound of his nails coming in contact with the poster board as he ripped off the blocking.
“Did Shawn Mendes write a song on Zilla’s last album?” Shawn let out a small laugh as he shook his head, “I wish she would write a song for me.” His smile only seemed to grow as he continued talking about her, “She posted an acoustic clip of this new song she was working on––I’m hoping it’s on her new album.”
You felt a flutter of butterflies swarm your stomach because you knew exactly what song he was talking about. It was the chorus to a song called Cardigan, the first song that Zilla hadn’t turned down for the new album.
The video Zilla posted on her Instagram was dimly lit as she sat on the ground with her guitar. And while she frustrated you to no end…You couldn’t deny that she had a beautiful voice.
And apparently Shawn Mendes thought so too.
“Ever since her self-titled EP, I’ve been obsessed with her,” at Shawn’s words you looked up at Mia who mirrored your smile, “There’s just something so personal about her songs and I…” he looked down at his shoes before looking back up at the camera, “I’m fangirling, but I really admire her songwriting. I hope to write with her one day.”
He went to rip off the next question, but you paused the video, not wanting to hear the scraping sound again.
With the phone slightly shaking in your hands, you slowly picked your head up to look at Mia with a wide smile, “Oh my God.”
Mia nodded excitedly and jumped around in a circle, “Shawn Mendes likes––no loves––your songwriting! He’s so in love with you––He wants to write songs with you––He––”
You started to feel an overwhelming sense of pride as a jolt of joy was sent from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Shawn Mendes––an artist that you admired for his work ethic––admitted to fangirling over your songwriting.
You were about to get up and dance around with Mia because it felt like a celebration, but with one look at the lyric sheets scattered on the floor…Your excitement slowly diminished. Because all of these songs––all of your feelings, your poetry, your deepest regrets and highest of loves––were going to her.
Zilla got the credit for your art.
People told Zilla that she inspired them to write songs.
And Shawn admired what he thought was Zilla’s songwriting.
You picked up the pen and twirled it around your fingers, clenching your jaw, as you casted a regretful look at the songs on the floor…They were your pride and joy, even the ones you didn’t like very much, because each song took a little bit of your soul and was then shared with the world.
“He’s in love with Zilla’s writing,” you sucked in a deep breath, “Not mine.”
----
Instead of your safe writing spot at your apartment, you were in the studio for a change. Since the only people who knew about Zilla’s secret were you, Mia, your lawyer, her manager, and Zilla herself…The record label still booked sessions for Zilla to write. So you found yourself in the studio a few times a month whenever it came time to write her a new album.
“How’s the album?”
You had been writing for hours and felt so exhausted that you should’ve been surprised when you didn’t hear a door open. But you were absolutely dreading this album writing process, you were creating emotions––trying to draw from real experience––but nothing was working.
You stretched your arms over your head, squinting an eye when you heard your back crack, and looked up at Zilla with tired eyes, “I have a few songs.”
Her mouth dropped, not liking the progress you were making, “A few?”
“It’s been two and a half months since you said you wanted a whole genre switch,” You snapped at her, “You’re going from pop to some sort of folk alternative––”
Zilla scoffed, “You did this before. Red was country and 1989 was pop. This shouldn’t be a problem.”
The two of you were in a glaring match as you set your pen down, “You demanded a seventeen song album––Do you know how hard that is with the soft deadline Columbia gave you?”
“You had songs written before––”
“Then why didn’t you take those songs?” It was a genuine question, but also a question you knew the answer to. And you were right when she spurted something off about wanting to change up her sound.
“People love me because I’m not predictable,” Zilla walked over to where you were sitting and picked up a lyric sheet, humming in approval before letting it slowly fall to the ground, “And the songs you wrote before weren’t good enough.”
“What do you mean––”
“It’s just writing a few songs,” Zilla huffed out, “I don’t see how you can’t do that between now and the soft release date.”
You closed your eyes and let your head fall on the back of the couch cushion. You brought your hands up to rub the inside corners of your eyes, “You want a heartbreak album––I’m not in that headspace and you also need to record the songs.”
You opened your eyes and immediately glared, “Do you remember how Rob Stringer nearly flipped because I still had to finish writing Clean but you lied and said it was just the backing vocals that needed to be done?”
As much as Zilla wanted to refute you, she knew she had no place, because what you said was absolutely true. That was not a fun phone call to be a part of with the C.E.O. of Sony Music––even if you were on mute.
“It won him Album of the Year at the Grammys,” Zilla said in an unsympathetic voice, “And this album is going to be better than that.”
You let out a very loud and exasperated sigh, “That won’t cut it this time around! At least I had some inspiration for that album, because I have none––”
“You’re crazy,” Zilla narrowed her eyes, “Just find a random person and have them break your heart.” You had your mouth open for a rebuttal to tell her that that’s not how songwriting worked, but she picked a piece of lint off her sweater, “You’re pretty…enough.”
You squeezed your eyes tight as you felt yourself begin to seethe at her. You started to feel a slight pain in your jaw with how hard your teeth were clenched together, but your eyes were still shut as you tried to simmer your anger, as your voice came out dangerously low, “Out.”
“You can’t kick me out!” Zilla laughed and you opened your eyes to look at the woman who had no respect for your artistry…Even though you were the one to give her a career in the first place, “I’m paying for your studio time.”
“No, technically,” you glared over her shoulder at the door, “Columbia is paying for the studio.”
Zilla huffed as she crossed her stiff arms over her chest, “No need to get so angry––”
You felt yourself becoming more angry at her presence. Her presence was driving you insane and you knew that she was being a nuisance on purpose––poking you like a bear until she got her desired reaction out of you.
“Out!”
She looked at you with shock written all over her face. You were never one to raise your voice at anyone, and you always bent over backwards to comply with whatever Zilla wanted. But not now. You only felt angry and crazy in her presence, and those feelings only intensified in you when she pointed out how crazy and angry you were acting.
Zilla left––you don’t know if it was after you screamed at her or if she stayed for a few moments longer––because for the first time in writing this album for her…You felt inspiration for a song hit.
You heard the light piano keys first, humming the pitch in your head, as the light sound of finger picking on a guitar creeped into the back of your mind. Fresh off your argument with Zilla, the chorus of the song came first. You channeled your anger into inspiration as your hand gripped the pen until your knuckles hurt.
You don’t know how long you were writing the song for, but it was almost finished––I’m taking my time––Oh, how you wished you could take your time with this album––Taking my time––Well, maybe you will take your time with this album and get her in trouble with all of her deadlines, even though it would technically be breaking your contract too––Because you took everything from me.
She took your songs away from you.
“Oh, Sorry I––I might be in the wrong room?”
You dropped your pen and slammed your writing journal closed because no one was supposed to be in this room. With eyes wide, your heart stopped, because there were papers all around the room of potential songs for Zilla’s album.
Lifting your wrist to look at your watch, you saw that you were eleven minutes past your allotted amount of time Columbia reserved. Immediately, you scrambled to get off the couch as fast as possible, crunching your lyric sheets in the process.
You shook your head, still not looking up at the person because you wanted to make sure all of the songs were in your possession, “You’re probably in the right room. I––I’ve stayed past my time just a little and I––This is most likely definitely your room––”
“Wasn’t Zilla in here before?”
You froze and gripped the song sheet that you were currently stuffing in your bag.
Shit.
Slowly, you took a deep breath, and looked up at the person who had the room reserved after you. And your already wide eyes doubled in size when you saw that it was Shawn Mendes standing in front of you. The guy you saw on Mia’s cracked iPhone screen a few months ago––fangirling over songs you wrote.
His knuckles were white as he gripped his guitar case––in what you assumed to be excited nerves––as his head darted around the small studio space, hoping to catch a glimpse of the singer-songwriter.
“Oh, yeah she––She was done like forty minutes ago,” you spewed out a lie, “And then she let me use her remaining time.”
Shawn’s shoulders sunk in disappointment, and his smile faltered just a tad, undoubtedly disappointed that he missed his chance to meet a songwriter he admired. But little did he know that songwriter he actually admired was standing right in front of him.
You never wanted to be in the spotlight, never liked having attention on you, and it’s part of the reason why you agreed to work as Zilla’s ghostwriter. But with how her career took off, her songs––your stories––were gaining much more recognition than you ever thought. And it was times like these that you wished you could tell someone––other than your roommate––that they were your songs.
“So…” Shawn rocked on his feet a few times, quickly breaking eye contact with you to look at the remaining papers on the ground, “Are you friends with her?”
You nodded your head as you bent down to pick up the remaining songs, stuffing them deep in your bag, “We’re like––Uh––Yeah, pretty good friends.”
How else were you supposed to describe your business relationship with her? In the beginning, you hoped it would be more of a collaborative experience––Zilla telling you stories about her that you could write into songs––but that wasn’t the case.
She didn’t want to do any work besides reap the benefits of traveling the world and having millions of people adore her.
He ran his free hand through his curls, following your every move of cleaning up your mess, “Do you sing?”
His question caught you off guard, “Pardon?”
Shawn let out a small laugh and gestured to the recording studio the two of you were in, “Are you a musician?”
You immediately shook your head, “Oh no, I’m––I write.”
“Ah, a songwriter,” Shawn softly smiled in appreciation as he went to set his guitar down by the other couch in the room, “Without people like you, us singers would be useless.”
“You write your own stuff. Not many people do that anymore,” you rolled your eyes at his compliment, “That’s a redeeming quality.”
Shawn shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, I…I do write my own stuff. With some help obviously, but it’s rare to find that nowadays.” You nodded in understanding as the two of you stood in silence. He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans as a smile lit up his face, “Except for Zilla. Now she…Wow,” he whistled low, “She’s a once in a lifetime artist.”
You felt your throat tighten up.
“Yeah, that’s…” You let out a fake laugh as you bit the inside of your cheek, “That’s one way to put it.”
Shawn eagerly nodded as he continued to talk about your least favorite topic, “Her words––Her experiences––It’s all so personal. Sometimes I feel like I’m eavesdropping or reading her diary,” He plopped down on a black rolling chair and his smile grew wider, “Now she’s someone I respect.”
And while you knew he was complimenting your work, he didn’t know it. The person who he thought he respected so much was in the music industry for all the wrong reasons. The person he thought so highly sent you a text on the day she got her first Billboard number one––a song that you wrote––and demanded a new song in a few weeks time all while she popped open a bottle of champagne on her Instagram.
You nodded your head, knowing that if you said something, it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.
“I’ll let you get to work,” you picked up your journal from the couch cushion and slipped it in your bag, “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
You turned to walk out the door but Shawn’s voice called you back, “Hey––You, um…I think this is yours?”
Turning around, you saw Shawn looking down at a familiar white piece of paper with words scratched out and arrows changing up verses, “This is…This is really good…” he looked up at you, “I didn’t catch your name?”
“Y/n,” you rushed out as you snatched the paper out of his hold.
Shawn nodded his head and stood up from the chair, leaning over your shoulder to continue reading the lyrics, “Centennial park…” he scratched his chin, “Nashville?”
You folded the paper in half, shielding your story from his eyes, as you lied, “Different park.”
Still stuck on the song, your mouth dropped as Shawn yanked the piece of paper out of your hands, opening it back up to skim over, “Maybe in the bridge––The last line…” you reached out to grab your paper from him, but he held it over his head, tilting his head back so he could still read the lyrics, “Change string to thread? Change up the lyrics like you did with the chords.”
Once he got his thought out, he lowered the piece of music and you grabbed it back, glaring at him as you stuffed it deep into your bag, “These aren’t mine,” you said bitterly, because while they were your words, they would eventually belong to Zilla, “They’re Zilla’s. So I’ll let her know.”
Shawn’s eyes bugged out of his head, mouth wide open in shock, “You––You have her lyric sheets?!” His eyes quickly darted down to your bag. You pulled your bag closer to your side out of protection, “The things I would do to have whatever job you have. I mean––To be able to read her songs before they’re out? That’s––I will literally trade places for a day with you.”
You let out a weak laugh, wishing that you got out of the studio on time, “I’m sure your job pays much better than being her…assistant.”
Shawn’s eyes glistened with excitement, “You’re her friend, assistant, and you get to read her songs?” Shawn ducked his head as he let out a chuckle, “I’d do anything to be you for a day.”
You pulled your eyebrows together, but tried to keep your face neutral, “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” But his smile only widened as he daydreamed about being so close to someone you thought was cousins with the devil, “I should really get going.”
Shawn nodded in understanding but called your name out, “Y/n––I don’t know if this is too forward, but…I mean––You don’t have to do it––But could you give Zilla my number?” He didn’t get a chance to look at how everything about your appearance dropped.
You were stunned as your mouth hung open, your eyes drooped in sadness, shoulders deflated…But he couldn’t visibly see the weight that you felt like was dropped in your stomach. He picked up a pen you left on the table and scribbled his number on a sticky note and you couldn’t remember a time where you felt so defeated.
He tore the sticky note off the pad and handed it over to you as he blushed, “I’d really love to write with her.”
You’d love to write with me, your brain screamed at you. But outing yourself as Zilla’s writer wasn’t worth all the lawsuits you would face.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and numbly nodded, “I’m sure she’d love to write with you too.”
----
Two and a half weeks later you found yourself writing in the same studio. And while you normally felt cooped up when in the studio, it was better at being at your apartment. Ever since you told Mia about your run in with Shawn it was the only thing she talked about.
She told you that it was the perfect time to tell the truth about your career––bring that witch down once and for all––were her exact words. But you didn’t want to deal with the mess of breaking an NDA.
So the next time you saw Zilla, you told her about your run in, and unenthusiastically handed her the sticky note with his number. Her smile was as wide as his when you told him you worked with Zilla. And while Zilla portrayed herself as a down-to-earth singer who transcended all genres of music…She was nothing but the opposite.
And from your brief run in with Shawn, you knew he was completely opposite of Zilla in every way, shape, and form.
The sound of your phone ringing brought you out of your songwriting process, without looking at caller I.D., you answered, “Hi, this is––”
“Y/n.”
You sucked in a breath when you heard her voice, “I have half of the album written. I’ll send you the songs and then you can record them,” You doodled in the margin of your journal, “So that way we don’t get in trouble again––”
“No, stop––Shawn is on his way to the studio.”
You let out a bitter laugh, your grip around the pen tightening as it scratched a hole in the paper, “I’m sure the fans will be happy to see pictures––
“No. Shut up for a minute,” at her strict tone you straightened your posture, not liking the way she was talking to you, “He’s coming to you. Where you are.”
You were about to make a quip about how she should talk to you with a little more respect, but when you heard the news of Shawn, your mind went from lyrical songwriting to ultimate panic.
“What?!”
“And I’m like an hour away from you,” you heard a car horn beep on the other end, “God, I hate L.A.––But he––He wants to write songs with me––”
“But you don’t write your own songs.”
“Don’t I fucking know,” she sneered through the phone.
A victorious small smile crept on your face, “Then why did you agree?”
“We had lunch and I told him I had a studio time slotted and he just texted me that he’s ten minutes away,” Zilla said all in one breath as she honked her horn twice, “because he wanted to surprise me.”
“Not much of a surprise if he’s texting you.”
She honked her horn again, “Y/n.”
“Sorry, sorry…I just,” you looked around at the mess you created in the studio. There were your usual papers strewn around, empty coffee cups, some takeaway food containers on the table that you were too lazy to throw out, “I’ve been here for like seven hours and there’s no way it’ll be clean before he comes.”
“Well do something––”
“Y/n?”
At the sound of your name being said gently in the same room as you, instead of it being yelled at through a phone, you quickly hung up on Zilla and threw your phone to the other end of the couch. You snapped your head up, and like the first time you saw him, he had his guitar case clutched in his hand, knuckles white.
“Shawn,” You said his name carefully as you looked wearily at him, “Hey.”
He slowly nodded his head, “Is…” and you cringed when you saw him looking around the mess you created in the studio, “…Is Zilla here?”
“Oh she––she just––” you had to think of something quick, “Had to pick something up at the pharmacy and it’s a bit out of the way––and she––so she called me and wanted me to uh––keep watch.”
Shawn looked at you, letting out a confused laugh, as he tilted his head, “Keep watch in a highly secure recording studio where the rooms lock?”
You nodded your head, keeping up with your lie, “She’s very very protective of her work space.”
Again, he nodded his head as he took another look around the messy studio, “I can…see that.” He shrugged his shoulders at the mess and took a seat on the ground.
You gathered up some of the papers that were on the couch around you, and on the table, and on the floor, “She had to go across town so she’ll be some time,” you shuffled the papers together until they all lined up. You set them aside and flipped to a clean page in your notebook, “So like––Make yourself at home.”
In the midst of gathering your stuff up to leave, he called you back in, “Y/n,” you lifted your head up to see an amused smirk on his face, “Leaving your watch position in her studio?”
Your eyes widened, “Well, uh––You’re here now so like––I think it’ll be fine if you’re here, and if you have stuff to work on, I don’t want to get in the way––”
Shawn shook his head, “Stay.”
As if you were trapped under a spell, you set your bag down on the couch and sat on the ground across from him. You sat with your legs criss-crossed as he opened the lid to his guitar case, “So…” you started off slow as you watched him carefully pull out his guitar.
Once he got in a comfortable sitting position with his guitar, you saw him pluck some strings and adjust the tuning pegs. There was one string that sounded off and you couldn’t hide your cringe.
“That B is flat. It needs to be higher.”
Shawn moved on to tune the E string, “I think it sounds fine.”
Even though he was looking down at his guitar, you still shook your head, “Get your tuner. It’s flat.”
Shawn let out a playful sigh and picked his head up to look for his tuner. Once he found it in the case, he clipped it on the head of the guitar, “If it’s not perfect, I buy you a coffee,” he smiled at you, “And if it is perfect, you buy me a coffee.”
You only offered him a smile as your response, already knowing that he would be the one buying you coffee. And when he got everything set up, plucked the string again, he looked at the tuner and frowned. He started twisting the peg as he continued to pick at the string until the B string sounded like music to your ears.
Shawn lifted his head up, a small smile toying at the edges of his mouth, as he looked at you through his eyelashes, “Do we have perfect pitch over here?”
You smiled and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to brag because you did have perfect pitch, “I like a cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso.”
Shawn laughed at your response and rested his arm along the body of the guitar, “Working on anything exciting?”
You saw him eye the small stack of papers to your left, “Um…” self-consciously, you moved the papers further behind you so they were out of eyesight for him, “No…Not really.” Shawn gave you a look saying that he didn’t believe you, but you flipped the question to him, “What about you? Getting some inspiration for new songs?”
On the outside, you wiggled your eyebrows in a suggestive manner, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of joking. But on the inside, you felt your heart squeeze and your lungs collapse.
And it crushed you even more when he ducked his head and blushed, “I’m sure she’s told you plenty.” You laughed, pretending like you knew he was talking about, but Zilla hadn’t told you anything.
“She’s just so…Not what I expected,” a part of your spirits lifted, hoping he had seen her for who she truly was, but that was diminished when you noticed the far off dreamlike look in his eyes, “I think it makes me like her even more.”
You breathed out a silent laugh, twisting your hands together, “She’s a tricky one. Always…always surprising people.”
Shawn nodded his head and slowly strummed the guitar, “I think I like being surprised.”
This time, you threw your head back in genuine laughter, but when you saw his confused stare, you coughed in the crook of your elbow, “Stick with her if you like to be kept on your toes.”
Shawn tried to conceal his smile, but you knew he was already enamored with Zilla, too far gone to be swayed by anything you could say, “I’ll take that advice.” The two of you sat in another silence, as he softly strummed some chords on his guitar.
“Enough about her,” Shawn offered you a friendly smile, “I’m having trouble with something––Partly why I wanted to see her in the studio––” he leaned over to his backpack to grab out his sheet music and handed it to you, “See, I wanna do this,” he tried playing a chord, “But it’s not––I want it to sound different.”
You snorted and laid the sheet of paper on your knee, “That’s a good way to describe something you want changed.” Shawn glared at you, and you rolled your eyes, “How about…Have you tried an arpeggio?”
“You definitely went to music school.”
You waved off his comment, “I’m sure you know what it is––just maybe not it’s technical name,” you pushed yourself off from the ground and walked over to grab your guitar. Having already tuned it when you got in the studio, you sat down and situated the guitar on your lap.
“It’s like; do, do, do, do, do…” You tried humming, but when his face was still confused you started to play one of the most recognizable guitar riffs, “House Of The Rising Sun, the opening is an arpeggio,” you continued to hum along with the notes as you saw everything click in understanding in Shawn’s head.
You continued to play the opening chords on loop, “It’s a broken chord. So that way you can hear the individual notes,” you explained, “Say on piano, you would play an arpeggio by just playing each individual key, and it’s the same on a guitar. So when you play it slower,” you slowed down your strumming, “You can hear them more individually.”
Shawn nodded his head in awe of his little music lesson.
“They’re usually played in either ascending or descending order,” you picked up the pace of your strumming, before placing your hand flat on the strings, over the sound hole, to stop playing completely, “They’re also pretty common if you play them in a triad.”
Again, Shawn only nodded, enchanted by the sound of guitar.
“How much do you charge for music lessons?”
You let out a loud laugh and set your guitar over to the side, “I think you’re probably good in that department, but just buy me coffee then we’ll call it even.”
Shawn eagerly nodded his head, “I’m holding you to that––So like, with an arpeggio, is it always obvious that it’s there? Or do you have to listen to it really really closely?”
“I mean…” you tilted your head to the side, trying to find wording for the answer, “I think they’re more common than people realize? It’s a bit technical, because you're consecutively picking notes on different strings, but if you listen really closely, you’ll pick up on the broken chords.”
Shawn nodded, eyes seeming to be unfocused on something behind you, “Broken chords…” he mumbled under his breath a few times.
Feeling a little unsettled with him staring off into space, you cleared your throat, and that did the trick to snap him back to reality.
He smiled and then nodded his head toward the lyric sheet he handed you, “And these lyrics…I can’t––” He leaned over and slid the lyrics across the floor so that they were placed in between you two, “Something’s off.”
You nodded your head, biting your bottom lip in concentration, trying to figure out the root of the problem. Because while the lyrics were good, and you were able to hear the melody he had written down in your head, there was something off about them.
“Your rhyme scheme,” you mumbled, eyes still concentrated on the lyric sheet, “It’s a bit all over the place. So I would just narrow that down, figure out if you’re doing an arpeggio or not, and you should be golden.”
When you looked up, you saw Shawn look at you with the same admiration he had in his eyes during your first conversation when he said how much he respected Zilla’s songwriting.
You broke eye contact with him and scratched the back of your ear, “But only if you want––I don’t––Zilla is probably the person you should ask about this––”
Shawn shook his head, “She keeps blowing me off whenever I ask for her opinion,” and when you brought your gaze back up to him, he looked unsure of himself, “I know I’m not up to her level, and she’s…nice, but she always seems too busy to write.”
The insecure downcast of his eyes, and shrunken up body language, was a look you knew all too well. He didn’t think he was good enough to write songs with her. And what killed you was that he thought that way because she kept giving out false hope to him. It angered you because if only he knew that he was actually writing songs with the person he admired, he would have a different perspective on everything.
You let out a sigh, knowing exactly how rejected he must feel, and slid the song sheet back over to him, “For a cup of coffee I’ll give you music lessons.”
Everything about Shawn’s demeanor switched like a light. His posture straightened out, eyes beamed with joy, and his smile looked to be a little too wide after just offering him music lessons, “Please.”
You shyly nodded your head, feeling heat raise up to your cheeks, as you pulled down your phone from the couch and handed it over to him, “You can put your number in and then we can find a time.”
“I really appreciate this,” Shawn said as he swiftly typed away on your phone, “I can’t even––”
“Shawn?”
The voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, but you regained your neutral composure before Shawn had the chance to notice any change. You looked up to see Zilla in the doorway, glaring down at the two of you––with your guitars out and a music sheet in between you. Shawn quickly handed your phone back to you, his full attention captured by Zilla.
“Hey, Z,” Shawn waved at her, still sitting, “Y/n was just helping me write––”
“Was she?” She gave you a pointed look that was meant to be a silent yell at you to not help him whatsoever because it could blow both of your covers.
You nodded your head, standing up with your guitar, putting as much distance between you and Shawn, “I only helped a little. I told him you were the one he should go to.”
And with that answer, you still received a glare from her because of course she was useless in helping him with anything music related. You could never win with her.
He handed his lyric sheet out toward Zilla, “If you want, you can look at what I have––”
“Actually,” Zilla cut him off with a smile, “I thought we could get some lunch.”
Shawn looked down and tapped the screen on his phone, the light illuminating a small portion of his face, as he looked up with eyebrows scrunched together, “It’s five fifteen?”
Zilla clapped her hands together, “Early dinner then.”
When you looked over at Shawn, you could see that he was disappointed that Zilla––once again––brushed off his attempt to write. With a slump of his shoulders, you heard a barely audible exhale of annoyance come from him, as he packed up his guitar with a nod.
Once his guitar was packed away, he stood up and offered you an apologetic smile.
“Come on,” Zilla reached out her hand for Shawn to take, “There’s this really good sushi restaurant we can go to before it gets too crowded.”
And even though you could tell that all he wanted to do was sit down and write songs, when he looked at her, his smile was genuine. He melted right at her touch and his eyes softened.
His eyes flooded with admiration for her because he thought she was the one who wrote the music she sang. He looked at her like she was his inspiration to keep writing better music. He’s looking at her the way he should be looking at you, your mind screamed.
His eyes only added insult to the injury that started the day you signed your contract agreeing to be her ghostwriter.
“I’ll see ya for a music lesson later, Y/n.” Shawn smiled over his shoulder as Zilla dragged him out of the door.
Before Shawn looked back at Zilla, she shot you a smirk, as if she was claiming Shawn in victory. And in a sense, she had won whatever contest she made up in her head.
She won by becoming a household name, she won by not doing any of the grunt work of composing music, she won by having people do the work for her, and she won the heart of the second most famous pop singer-songwriter in the world because he thought she wrote all her own songs.
And just like that, with the slam of the door, you were left exactly in a position you found yourself in plenty of times before. You were left alone in a studio, with all of your songs, while Zilla pranced around with the newest person who caught her attention.
But this time, instead of both of you not caring about what the other one did, you could feel yourself being exiled from any part of her life that revolved around Shawn. And you knew she did it purposefully. She was threatened that your songwriting could easily sway Shawn away from her. She was threatened because she knew she couldn’t give Shawn exactly what he wanted; a partner to write songs with.
And just like every other time Zilla left you aggravated with too many feelings, you began to write a song.
----
You took your sunglasses off and squitend your eyes as you scanned the outside patio of the coffee shop. You were about to take your phone out, but when you saw Shawn stand up from the table and excitedly wave his hands above his head, you smiled and weaved through tables.
When you approached the table, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and your smile widened as you brought your arms around his waist.
“My favorite music teacher,” Shawn hummed as he pulled away from the hug.
You were a little disappointed he cut the hug off short, but you had to keep in mind that he was somewhat kind of seeing Zilla. You tried to get her to define her relationship with Shawn, but she would just wave you off and say it was nothing serious or kept asking if you were jealous.
While you might’ve been a little jealous whenever you saw a low quality paparazzi picture of them out in L.A, knowing that Zilla kept lying to Shawn about her songwriting “ability” always made you sleep with a smile on your face.
Just like the past month and a half when you met Shawn for coffee for one of your “music lessons,” he was always there first. And like every other time before, he had your cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso––at the spot across from him.
Not wanting to waste any time, Shawn eagerly took out his songwriting journal and flipped open to a random page. He slid the journal over to you and a laugh escaped your lips every time you saw how chaotic his journal looked.
He had different color post-it notes sticking up from the top, corners of pages that were worn down because of how frequently he dog-eared them, and the occasional loose leaf paper that was folded up and stuck between two pages.
Taking a sip of your coffee, you leaned closer to his journal, trying to decipher the messy script that was his handwriting.
You leaned back in the chair, nodding as you took another sip of coffee, “I like it.”
“Just like?” Shawn wrinkled his nose.
Shrugging your shoulders you took another look at the lyrics, “I mean…It’s a compliment?”
Shawn let out a sigh and buried his head into his hands for a moment before looking up at you with a pout, “Something’s not right.” He leaned over the table a bit and pointed at the second verse, “I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t right.”
“I like it.”
Shawn crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair, “No, there’s something you’re not telling me,” he glared at you, “You ripped apart my song last week and now you’re too quiet.”
You took another sip of your coffee to cover up the fact that you did think something was wrong with it. But like he said before, with the way you tore his song up last week, you felt a little bad. You didn’t want to make him feel like he wasn’t a good songwriter, because he had a way with words that you found yourself learning from.
He didn’t have quite as many songwriting awards as you, but you knew he wasn’t too far off.
With a sigh you offered him a weak smile, “You’re too vague.” And with your first point of criticism, Shawn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took out a smaller journal and began to write down what you said, “You’ve already had songs that have touched on feeling lonely, and you’re really specific in the first verse, but too general with the second verse…” you trailed off your sentence and pointed at some scribbles on the paper, looking up at him, “Why’d you cross this out?”
Shawn stopped his scribbling to see what you pointed at, and when he saw the lyric, his cheeks turned red and he let his curls shield his embarrassed face, “It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “What should I change it to?”
You shook your head, “Nuh-uh,” you gave him an encouraging smile, “What did you write?”
He shook his head and looked down at the table, “I don’t like it.”
Under the table, you lightly brought your foot up to tap his shin. You didn’t stop nudging his leg with your foot until you saw a small smile grace his lips when he shyly looked up at you, “I’m wondering.”
Shawn rolled his eyes at your poor pun and retaliated by nudging his foot against yours in order for you to stop teasing him, “It’s…” he shook his head, “It’s too embarrassing.”
“I’m sure it’s really not as bad as you think,” you smiled at him again, “If you tell me what the lyric was, I’ll tell you what I think you should do music composition wise at the end.”
He narrowed his eyes at you and stepped on your foot, “You’re evil.”
You let out a small laugh as you rounded your hands around the hot coffee, “I see your three starts next to it, I know that’s your little ‘I need help’ symbol.”
Shawn flipped you off and it only caused the small amount of butterflies in your stomach to grow even more.
With a deep breath, he looked down at his hands and started picking at a loose piece of skin, “I wonder…” He peered up to see your anxious gaze, but then diverted his stare back down to his hands as he tore up the paper napkin in front of him, “When I cry into my hands, I’m conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man.”
You were in the middle of lifting your coffee mug up for another sip, but when you heard the rest of the lyric your hands froze mid-air. You felt rooted to your seat as you stared at his face that still hadn’t looked up from tearing little pieces off the napkin.
How did he think that that lyric was not good enough? That was something that you wished you wrote.
It was so vulnerable and honest and most of all, it was true to who he was. In songwriting, no matter how personal a person thinks their experience is to them, there will always be hundreds upon thousands of people who will resonate with your story.
That was something you learned and used to your advantage.
On Red, you fought hard for one particular breakup song to stay on the album that Zilla thought was too personal. She kept saying––No one will care about leaving a scarf at his sister's house…No one will connect with dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light…And absolutely no one has had anyone ever call them up again just to “break them like a promise.”
But you fought hard and it was the song that solidified Zilla as this generation's greatest lyricist. And it was also the song she performed on the Grammy’s when her debut album was nominated for Album of the Year.
Nervously, Shawn peaked up and saw the neutral expression on your face as you sat frozen. He ran a hand through his hair and reached a hand across the table to pull his journal back, “See? You think it’s stupid. I––That’s why I crossed it off. It’s too vulnerable and if people heard me say that?” He let out a somber chuckle, “They would think of me as less of a man.”
You pulled his journal back toward you and snatched the pen he had laying next to his other notebook, “That’s…Shawn that’s an incredible lyric.”
You re-wrote the lyric on top of where it was originally scratched out, “There’s so much strength in vulnerability. Not enough people––especially male artist’s––are comfortable with their vulnerability. It’s refreshing and amazing and what you wrote––That lyric…”
When you looked up from re-writing the lyric down in his journal, you saw that he was trying to contain his growing smile by biting his bottom lip. And this time under the table, when you brought your foot up to his, you gave it a single tap in reassurance, “It might be my favorite lyric ever.”
His voice cracked, “Really?”
You nodded your head, “It fits so well with the theme of self-discovery and being honest with yourself,” his smile widened with every compliment you offered him. You leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over your chest with a proud smile on your face, “I think you knocked it out of the park with that one.”
Shawn ducked his head again and went back to ripping small pieces off the napkin, “That…That means a lot coming from you.”
You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt an electric current jolt through your veins, “If that lyric doesn’t make the song I won’t listen to the album.”
With a laugh so loud that it caused a few coffee shop patrons to look at your table, you let a smile overtake your face as you admired how the corners of Shawn’s eyes crinkled in joy.
“I’ll keep that promise,” Shawn scratched the bridge of his nose as he came down from his laughter, “So…” He briefly looked down at his songwriting journal with a smirk before looking back into your eyes, “What should I do with the end?”
You noticed a new flame of confidence in his eyes as he pushed his journal toward you more. You let out a laugh as you looked at him with your eyebrows raised in excitement, “I’m thinking of a choir and horns…”
----
As your “music lessons” with Shawn continued for the next few months, so did your writing for Zilla’s next album. And unfortunately, Zilla and Shawn also continued to see each other. And while it was always a punch in the gut whenever Zilla brought it up, your conversations with Shawn were solely on writing and experimenting with different synthesizers for his new album.
With your contract that essentially hid you from the public, it was so refreshing to be able to collaborate with someone instead of writing by yourself. Even though you mainly just helped Shawn with a bit of writing and composing some music, it was an experience that gave you new inspiration.
You always thought you worked best alone, but collaborating with Shawn opened your eyes to everything you were missing out on.
It was all fun until Shawn approached you saying that he wanted to give you credit on his upcoming album. That was when reality hit you because there was an exclusivity clause in your contract with Zilla stating that you could only write for her. You tried to politely decline Shawn’s offer, but every time you saw him he brought it up.
It wasn’t until you told him you would stop your music lessons with him if he kept asking you.
The times after that, you could tell he wanted to bring it up, he was fair in wanting to give credit where credit was due, but you told him not to worry about it. Someone had been taking credit for your songs for years.
And soon enough the end of July came around and the album you wrote––Zilla’s album––folklore, was released to the world.
The public’s reaction to this album was more than you could’ve imagined. It started off as an album with no inspiration, just meaningless stories, but it morphed into an album that you held close to your heart. It had your true feelings, real experiences––that might’ve been exaggerated just a little––but it was still an album based on personal experiences.
And while it only got an eight on Pitchfork––two points off from a perfect album––Rolling Stones gave it a 4.5 out of 5 rating with possibly the most beautiful review Rob Sheffield ever wrote about your songwriting. You made sure to hound Zilla to send him a thank you basket.
It might’ve been your favorite album you’ve ever written, and while you sipped on a glass of red wine at the album release party, all you had to do was look over to see Shawn’s laughing face to know why it was your favorite album.
He was still clueless that you wrote the album.
He still didn’t get any of the signs you gave about being the true songwriter. It was always you writing with Shawn while Zilla pulled him away to go out to an expensive restaurant. And while he still looked at Zilla like she was the most inspiring songwriter of today’s generation…He was starting to look at you the same way.
The inspiration behind the album came from everywhere. It was mostly centered around your frustrations with Zilla and how most of your regrets lied with signing that contract at sixteen. No matter how hard you tried, it still felt like you wasted most of your potential writing for her instead of yourself.
But then Shawn came into the studio that one day. He came in and your perspective changed.
You took another sip of red wine as the opening chords of the 1 started to play around the small venue ZIlla rented out to celebrate the release. Bitterly, you took another sip of wine, as you looked at the boy who inspired the song and threw an arm around the person you despised most in the world.
If one thing had been different…If you were the person who rightfully got credit for your work…Maybe it would’ve been you he threw an arm around and pulled in close to his chest.
Your wine glass was still half full, but you tossed your head back to finish it off. And when you brought the glass down, you saw Shawn turn his head toward you and offer you a wave.
You tightly smiled back at him and whirled around to the bar to get yourself another glass of wine.
You took full advantage of the open bar Zilla provided and another glass of red wine was placed in your hands. And as you tasted the alcohol hit the back of your throat, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of them.
If only all of your wishes came true.
----
“And we’re back!” James Corden cheerily smiled at the camera before turning to face the three guests sitting on the couch.
You were backstage watching with Shawn as the crowd clapped at the “return” from the commercial break. While you never went with Zilla to any of her interviews, you started tagging along to them to fit your “assistant for Zilla” cover story you told Shawn.
And with folklore released just a few weeks ago, you had accompanied Zilla on more than enough of the press tour. You were back in L.A., which eased your spirits a little, but it didn’t ease the bubble of animosity that you felt toward Zilla every time she talked about her experience writing folklore.
“So, Zilla,” James started off, “Congrats on the new album––folklore.” Everyone cheered and a smile lit up her face as James continued to praise her songwriting, “I’ve got to say, it’s probably my favorite album of yours. It’s so different than anything you’ve ever written before.”
Zilla crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knees, “It was…It was a totally different experience writing this album, and when inspiration hits you just have to get it all out…”
As Zilla went on about her fake inspiration for the album, you tuned her out. You could care less about what she thought the songs meant, but when you heard James bring up a little segment he wanted to do with Zilla, you felt your heart jump to your throat.
James deviously smiled, “As one of the greatest songwriters of our generation––Oh, stop blushing you know you are––I think we should play a little game.”
Zilla let out a small laugh, “Oh?”
Even though you couldn’t stand her, you knew when she was nervous. Her foot started to bounce and she ran a hand through her hair as she quickly looked down at the ground.
And before James explained his little game, you felt someone rush past you with an acoustic guitar in their hands. You felt your stomach churn with anxiety because Zilla had already performed on the show, and she was the only musical guest on the show.
The crew member rushed on stage to hand the guitar to James and then quickly ran off. Your eyes widened and you felt your breath come out short.
“We here at the Late Late Show are obsessed with folklore––and even more obsessed with your songwriting.”
Oh no.
James handed the guitar to Zilla who took it with shaky hands, “And we challenge you to write a mini-song. Right here,” The crowd cheered, “Right now.”
Oh no.
Your jaw dropped the same time as Zilla’s and she whipped her head to look backstage at you with petrified eyes.
“Oh, James…” Zilla nervously laughed as one of her hands gripped the neck of the guitar, “You can’t just write a song in that amount of time.”
One of the guests spoke up from the couch, “But earlier you said that it only took you seven minutes to write the chorus of hoax.”
But there was a small little detail that everyone was missing. It didn’t take Zilla seven minutes to write the chorus to that song…It took you seven minutes to write it.
Zilla glared at the guest, “It needed some tweaking after––”
James let out a loud laugh and waved her off, “Oh stop being modest,” he then turned in his seat to face the audience and speak into the camera, “After the break we’ll have a brand new little song from singer-songwriter, Zilla!”
The crowd erupted in cheers while both you and Zilla stood frozen in place. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think Zilla would be in this position. Before every single interview or T.V. appearance, Zilla had her manager carefully pre-screen all of the questions and segments she would be part of to make sure nothing like this happened.
“This is exciting,” Shawn bounced on his feet, and for a moment, you forgot that he was standing next to you, “She always changes topics whenever I try to talk songwriting with her.”
This was definitely not an ideal situation for either her or you.
“That’s…” you looked around to see the audience excitedly talking amongst each other. You heard one girl in the front row say how she couldn’t believe she was going to witness the Zilla write something in front of her. You were beginning to feel increasingly hot with ever second that passed, “That’s one way to put it.”
“And we’re back!”
Zilla’s head whirled around again to look at you, but you turned your head to the side to try and find the nearest trash can in case you threw up.
“Zilla…” James started off with a smirk, “You just sat here looking off to the side…I’m hoping you heard the music in your head.”
The audience laughed, Shawn laughed, and Zilla just sat there in silence.
“Well, go on then,” James gestured to the guitar, “Play us what you wrote.”
At least Zilla knew how to play the guitar, and she started off strumming a random chord as she let out a shaky breath before singing.
“Oh…You make me feel like the sky…So…Blue,” you visibly cringed at her lyrics and were reminded as to why you were hired. But as she continued to sing, you started to feel more and more nauseous, “Oh…I wish you made me feel like…The sun, so bright and…Yellow.”
Everyone was silent.
You couldn’t keep your eyes off her as she still had her eyes shut tight. You knew exactly how she was feeling; embarrassed, nauseous, and utterly humiliated. You took a peak at Shawn and saw that his mouth tugged down in a frown, lips slightly parted, with his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.
James’s stare was blank before he let out a forced chuckle, side-eyeing the audience, before he turned his attention back to Zilla, “Nice warm up, but now, let the magic flow and sing us the real song.”
Zilla opened her eyes and took in a deep breath, “That––I told you––You can’t push inspiration.”
James nodded his head, eyes wide in surprise at how Zilla snapped at him. Zilla was always poised, always charming everyone in the room, and never had she ever snapped at anyone in public before. Her jaw was clenched and you saw her shoulders tense up.
“I––I get that,” James tried his best to de-escalate the situation, “But you––your songwriting––You’ve always been so vocal about how you can write so fast, even without inspiration––”
You were surprised Zilla hadn’t snapped the neck of the guitar in half with how strong her grip was on it. She glared at James, “Well, I’m just not feeling it today––”
“I could’ve written something better,” the guest next to her laughed, which caused the audience to laugh along with them, as they continued their teasing, “Might need to take away your songwriting achievements––”
Zilla snapped her head to her right, turning her anger away from James, to the unknown actor who sat next to her, “I hired the best songwriter in in the business. She writes only the best for me––”
“––Because what you just sang was horrific.” They finished off their sentence.
For the third time tonight, you froze. All of the second-hand embarrassment you felt when she sang disappeared and was replaced with absolutely nothing. You had no thoughts––You just felt empty. You only had a feeling of absolute devastation, paired with a slight ringing in your ear, as your throat closed up.
You thought that her revelation couldn’t be heard by the actor talking over her. You thought that no one caught her slip up. But with the stunned look James had on his face, a few audible gasps of confusion from the audience, and Shawn stiffening up next to you…You knew that she blew her own cover because she didn’t know how to keep her cool.
James cleared his throat, “Your…Songwriter? You have someone else write songs for you?”
Zilla’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as she realized her mistake, and her face lost color, “Well, no––Of course not––It’s me––I’m my own songwriter––”
The other guest to Zilla’s left let out a snort, “There’s no way you wrote exile––”
“And we’ll be back after the break!” James interrupted the trio on the couch before Zilla completely lost her head.
Right as the studio lights lit up more of the room, Zilla tore off her mic and stormed off the stage. Her hands were balled tight into fists as you could visibly see her face turn a darker shade of red with each stomp she took toward you. You felt your heartbeat stop as you noticed her fiery glare was tunnel visioned toward you.
“She––You write her songs?”
Oh, shit.
For a moment, you forgot that Shawn was standing next to you because all you were focused on was the death glare Zilla continued to shoot your way as she walked toward you. You had been at the end of many of her glares, but nothing compared to how she looked at you now. Everything she had built her career on was crumbling and you knew she was going to blame you.
You rapidly shook your head, and when you looked up at Shawn, all you saw was betrayal and sadness, “No––Of course not––How’d you ever come to that conclusion––”
“You’re always in the studio when she’s supposed to be there,” Shawn cut you off, “She never wants to talk about songwriting while you––we’ve––been writing songs together,” his eyes widened as you saw something click in his mind, “Invisible String…” His voice tapered off as he mentioned the song, “You––You said you were just holding onto it for her.”
As you felt your heart plummet down your throat and into your stomach, you continued to shake your head, “I was just holding it on for her––It’s not––I––”
“I gave you a suggestion to change a lyric and it…You changed it,” his eyes that were full of despair suddenly narrowed at you.
Your voice cracked as he took a step away from you, “Shawn––”
He shook his head, “You lied––”
“This is all your fault,” Zilla shouted at you as she took hold of your elbow, spinning you away from Shawn to face her wrath, “If you could’ve––”
“How is this my fault?!”
Zilla shook with anger as you saw fire in her eyes, “It’s just––You,” she stomped her foot as she continued to throw her tantrum, “It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t been so caught up in writing with Shawn you would’ve been more focused on me. Because newsflash,” she took a step forward, “You still work for me.”
“You––Y/n? So she is your ghostwriter?”
Zilla’s eyes widened because she forgot that Shawn was also backstage with you. And she basically just confirmed everything she tried so hard to deny when she was on stage.
You were long forgotten as Zilla turned to face Shawn. She tried to take hold of his hands, but he shook her off and took a step back, “It’s––We have a partnership––We both write–––”
“You take credit for the songs that Y/n writes,” Shawn said it more as a statement than a question, but his voice was still one of disbelief.
Zilla’s face crumbled. She knew the only hold she had on Shawn was that he thought she wrote all her own music, “Shawn––”
“Zilla,” her manager came rushing toward her with panic written all over their face, “This––This is bad. We need to do some serious damage control––”
“The show––It’s pre-recorded,” Zilla hastily said, “Can’t we––Is there any way we can pay them to edit it out?”
Her manager grimaced as they shook their head, “Someone had their phone out, recorded the whole thing, and posted it to Twitter.” Zilla let out a noise that was a mix between a cry and whine, “Billboard already has a whole article written. TMZ is having a field day…” Her manager rubbed their temples, “It’s really not looking good.”
This time, Zilla did let out a soft cry as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. Everything she built her career on––The authenticity of songwriting––It was over.
“And you,” her manager gave you a disinterested look, “You should probably leave. If people saw you two together they might think––”
“Loud and clear,” you grumbled at them, not feeling the least bit sorry that Zilla had a meltdown on television and that it was all on video. This was the Zilla you knew. This was the “famed” singer-songwriter you had to deal with for years. She was rude, nasty, and the most self-centered musician in the industry.
With a deep breath, you were about to turn around and leave, but if this was how they were treating you after everything you gave up for her, you wanted to make one thing clear, “Don’t ever come to me asking for another song again.” You angrily breathed out, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer as I expect that she,” you glared at Zilla, “Violated some term in the contract by admitting to having a ghostwriter.”
You whirled around, hoping that would be the last time you saw Zilla until you had to meet again to officially terminate your contract. When your back was facing her––all you heard was her crying––but you couldn’t find the one person who deserved an apology.
Shawn was gone.
----
Two months after the public meltdown Zilla had on James Corden, people were still trying to figure out who the ghostwriter was. But unlike the day you signed the contract at sixteen, there was an extra person who knew that you were Zilla’s ghostwriter. Shawn was added to the list of you, your roommate, your entertainment lawyer, Zilla’s manager, and Zilla herself that knew your secret identity.
Zilla had come out with a tearful apology less than twenty-four hours after multiple music publications came out calling her a fraud. And the next time that you saw her in person was with your entertainment lawyer to terminate the contract. When the contract was labeled “null and void” it felt like the chains Zilla had around your wrist were broken.
And ever since Zilla confirmed she’d been working with a ghostwriter in her tearful YouTube apology video, the internet had not stopped searching. In her video she said, “out of respect to the writer I worked so closely with over the years, I’m not revealing their identity.”
It was a low blow. Because everything about that sentence was a lie. The two of you never worked close together on any songs and you knew she had little to no respect for you. She made that clear during the years you worked for her.
Even after everything…You still liked the anonymity that came with the deal. Especially now, if you were to come out as her ghostwriter, you would have the attention of the world. And while you wanted credit for your work, you didn’t know if you were ready to be put on that stage yet.
But the thing that killed you the most was not being able to explain everything to Shawn.
He hadn’t responded to any of the messages you left him. You felt a pang of pain in your chest whenever you pulled up your messages with him and read back through your texts. You listened to the voice notes he sent you a three in the morning when he was struck with inspiration and you mourned the ridiculous selfies he sent you.
You had taken up a hobby of cooking complicated recipes, that needed your full attention, to keep yourself from hyperfocusing on the regret you felt by not explaining the situation to Shawn sooner. As you put the beef wellington in the oven, coming to a painful understanding that you would probably never hear from Shawn again, your phone dinged on the counter.
Two months after not hearing from him…He sent you a text. It was simple, and to a stranger looking in on your friendship, they wouldn’t know what it meant. But you understood it loud and clear.
Music lesson in twenty?
You yelled out to Mia––telling her to keep an eye out on the oven––as you grabbed your keys and dashed out the door. After you buckled up, you sent him a response––of course––and broke about every traffic law in the book as you raced to the coffee shop you always had your “music lessons” at.
Your park job was pitiful, but it didn’t matter, because you made it to the coffee shop in a record thirteen minutes with only one person on your mind. Automatically, your feet carried you through the coffee shop and to the back patio. You were about to sit at an empty table when you saw that your music partner was already sitting at one.
He was slumped down on the chair, arms tightly crossed over his chest, and even though he was wearing sunglasses you knew that he saw you enter. But unlike all the other times you had your music lessons, he didn’t jump up and wave his hands above his head.
Like routine, you weaved through the tables until you got to him.
You stood in front of him for the first time since the James Corden incident, and even though you could feel the irritation he felt toward you…You noticed two cups of coffee on the table. He had his usual black drip coffee and there was a cappuccino.
“Light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso,” Shawn mumbled.
You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t say anything. You promptly sat down and circled your hands around the mug. Because even though it was October, you still felt cold in California.
The two of you sat in silence for a few moments longer; Shawn was still slumped in his chair while you sat with perfect posture, wanting to be ready for anything that came your way.
It was a silence that came when two people understand each other.
You let out a sigh as you looked at the latte art this particular coffee shop was known for, before you looked up at him with wide apologetic eyes, “I––I know saying sorry isn’t enough of an apology.” Shawn stayed slumped as he nodded his head. You saw your reflection in his sunglasses and gulped, “And not telling you because I was contractually obligated to keep quiet about being her ghostwriter…” you let out a pathetic laugh, “Just sounds shallow and shitty.”
“Why’d you do it?”
Why did you do it?
Truthfully, you didn’t think you had it in you to captivate the attention of record labels and you didn’t think you were interesting enough for a fanbase. Your plan was to hopefully get a publishing deal, write songs for that specific music publishing house, and have various artists cut your songs for their albums. But then you caught Zilla’s attention. And just like how she was with everything else in her life, she was selfish and wanted your talent all to herself.
Wanting to stall before you answered, you picked up the cappuccino and took a sip, but even beneath his sunglasses, you could feel his hard stare on you.
You sighed, “I––I didn’t like the idea of being in front of people. I was sixteen, didn’t want to be pulled away from home, and I felt like I was better suited for writing and not performing.”
You tapped your fingers on the side of the ceramic mug, “And before I knew it…Zilla heard one of my demos floating around a publishing company, liked it enough to cut it, and then it turned into signing a contract with her to be her ghostwriter.”
Shawn shook his head as he leaned forward, taking off his sunglasses, tired eyes staring straight into yours as he rested his elbows on the table, “Why’d you let her pretend that she wrote your songs?”
Shawn briefly covered his face with his hands, before looking at you with a pained expression, “As a songwriter, I can’t…Just thinking about someone else claiming my feelings as their own?” The look he gave you made you want to hide in a cave for the rest of your life, “Why did you do that?”
You sucked in a breath and shrugged your shoulders, “I––I’m not sure.”
He nodded his head, not because he understood your answer, but in understanding that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you.
“How’d you do it?” He stared straight into your eyes, not backing down until he got this answer out of you, “I looked at the songwriting credits and they were all under her name. I searched every performing rights organization database and saw that she––you––whoever––was with B.M.I. And I called the people I knew there and they said that they didn’t have anyone by your name.”
He let out a defeated sigh, “The only person they had registered for her songs,” the fact that he couldn’t even say Zilla’s name had you smiling just a tad, “Was a Zilla Greene.”
You nodded with a sad smile, “That’s me.”
Shawn tilted his head and scrunched his eyebrows together, “No, that’s not––Zilla Greene––That’s Zilla, not you––”
You shook your head and held up a hand to him, he quickly stopped talking and let you explain, “When Zilla approached me to be her ghostwriter, it was her manager’s idea to have Zilla––whose real name is Willow––perform under a stage name that synced up with a pseudonym for me.” Shawn slowly nodded his head, “So that way if anyone were to look at the songwriting credits and search her up on a database,” you gave him a pointed look, “It would just look like it was still her stage name. First name, last name, and all.”
Shawn let out a small laugh of disbelief, “I can’t believe you pulled it off for years.”
You shared his laugh and took a sip of your coffee, feeling a small sense of dread in your stomach, “And it would’ve kept going on if she didn’t practically admit it on James Corden.”
The atmosphere went back to feeling tense.
“So, are you…” Shawn lifted his head and looked at the people sitting around them, before he leaned into the middle of the table, whispering, “Still her ghostwriter?”
You let out a small laugh as you shook your head, “She technically broke our contract so, no,” you genuinely smiled for the first time when talking about Zilla, “I don’t write for her anymore.”
Shawn took a sip of his coffee before he mirrored your smile, “All this time…” He looked at you with a hint of remorse, “Whenever I told you how much I wanted to write with Zilla,” he smiled sadly, “I was actually writing with her.”
You nodded your head, “Don’t feel bad,” you waved him off, “I knew the whole time that it was me you wanted to write with.”
Shawn rolled his eyes and lightly nudged his foot against your leg under the table. At the gesture, you didn’t try to hide the blinding smile that overtook your face.
“I was literally fangirling over you in front of you,” he briefly looked down at the table, letting out a chuckle, before looking back up at you with soft eyes, “And I didn’t even know it.”
You smirked, “Don’t worry, it still boosted my ego all the more.”
Shawn let out a loud laugh as he flipped you off just when you were about to take another sip of the drink he bought for you.
“So…” Shawn started off slow, briefly breaking eye contact with you, “I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with it yet, but I…I’d be honored if I could credit you as a songwriter on my next album.”
After years of being brushed under the rug, years of someone taking advantage of your feelings for their own monetary benefit, having Shawn saying he would be honored to credit you––actually you––for your work…You felt yourself get choked up at the thought.
You sniffled, trying to hold back the small tears of joy you felt behind your eyes in, “I would really appreciate that.”
Shawn’s smile was wide as he nodded once at you, before he leaned over to reach for something under the table.
He pushed his songwriting journal over towards you and opened it up to a page with music notes. You looked down and his messy note placement as you heard the composition in your head.
“So, I’ve been practicing arpeggios,” you looked up from the journal to see a sheepish smile on his face, “And while the sound of broken chords sound really cool,” and again, under the table, he brushed his foot on top of yours, “I’d like it better if the chords were together.”
You smiled as you felt a familiar warm feeling in the pit of your stomach cause a shiver to run through your whole body.
“Together,” you repeated his words that most definitely held a double meaning, “I think I’d like if the chords were together, too.”
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The Troubadour
Requested: no
A/N: This has to be my longest piece ever! I hope it was worth the wait and that you enjoyed it. There could be a few mistakes in there both in English and Italian, sorry in advance. I loved writing this, it wasn’t exactly what I wanted but I am a perfectionist and I have rewritten this about 5 times. I just needed to post it now!
Pairing: OC!Diana Bianchi & Damiano David
Words: 3k
Warning(s): swearing, drinking, smoking (I mean it’s the 70s…), smoking weed, my Italian (I have been studying this beautiful language for three years now but people make mistakes)
West Hollywood, California // Mid-January 1972
Red eyes.
Sweaty foreheads.
That is all Diana would see when they screamed at her. “CAN I GET TWO BEERS AND A COKE PLEASE?!”
Working behind the bar was not her dream job. Diana remembered it like it was yesterday, she and her friend Tami had gone to The Troubadour to celebrate the weekend when she saw a “help wanted” poster. It was a godsend. Diana applied there and then and not long after she found herself behind the bar, handing out drinks to people who looked like they were having the best time of their lives. Another plus side was the fact that she could attend the concerts of all the artists and bands for free.
Obviously, there were also downsides to this job. For example, Diana couldn’t go out and live her teenage years. She isn’t allowed to drink (too much) on the job and the hours aren’t exactly great. The pay is okay though and the tips are even better. Half of the people don’t even know how much they are giving and walk off like they didn’t just hand you 20 for an eight dollar drink. She doesn’t complain much about her job but she does feel left behind sometimes. Like when Tami or her other friend chat about some weird adventure they had the night before and who they met or kissed.
Diana felt like she missed out on a lot of things but she had no other choice.
Her parents had kicked her out when she was 15. Diana moved in with her grandmother and lived with her for a while until she passed away. She has been living alone in her grandmother’s old apartment ever since. A few friends had moved in with her but then moved out again when they had found a better place to live. So it was just Diana paying the rent for the place.
“CAN I GET A RUM AND COKE?!” Diana gets snapped out of her thoughts. Shit, what did he want?! She thinks to herself as she stares at the intoxicated man.
“SORRY?!” She shouts back over the loud music. At least she had another reason for not hearing the man.
“RUM AND COKE!” That is all the man yells before turning his band to her so he could face the stage. Some weird indie band is playing tonight. Diana wasn’t really into it and honestly couldn’t wait until her boss would send her home for the night. She puts in a little less rum, the man will probably not even taste the difference.
The band had stopped playing somewhere around two a.m. However not all the guests had left around 2.30 which is something Diana hated the most. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her job but after so many hours standing on her feet, she wanted nothing more than to clean up, go home and get into her warm bed.
“Diana, can you come here for a minute?” her boss asked. What was that tone, was he going to fire her?! “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.” Pfew. Diana walked behind him into his office.
“What can I help you with, Doug?” She asked as she sat down in the very comfortable chair across from him. Doug Weston had somewhat become her parent over the last few years that she had worked here. He was always so kind to her and could always ask him for help if she needed him.
“I want to get more bands from across the sea. I want interesting people and not just the same bands playing over and over again. New talent that no one has heard of before but will become known because of this place. Inspire new talent, you know?” He was rambling on with his sales pitch as if you had any input, it was his place after all. “And seeing that you can speak more languages than I have ever could, I was wondering if you could write small pieces for newspapers in Europe that will inspire these artists to come here and get all the fame and fortune they want.”
“Sure, Doug. You know I would do anything to help this place… and you of course”, Diana said while a wide grin spread on her face. She felt like she was moving up when in reality it wasn’t a new job position. She would do anything to not have the same indie bands playing almost every night. Diana would never have imagined that she would change the lives of four individuals barely six months later, and change her own life along with it.
Rome, Italy // Mid-March 1972
“The Troubadour. The place where artists and bands from all over the world can make it or break it in the United States. It all depends on the crowd. If they love you, you can come back for an entire week! If not you will receive the money for that evening but sadly you won’t be allowed back. It’s always packed with record executives so you could get a sweet record deal out of this experience. Do you have what it takes? Sign up and good luck to everyone competing in the battle of the bands! – D. B.” Damiano finishes reading. “Ragazzi, I honestly cannot wait till we get to play there! It’s going to be veramente stupendo!”
“Bene Damiano, calm yourself. It’s less than five months away. We still have to play in this dump to even afford to go. We barely have enough money for a motel, we don’t even have the plane tickets yet!” Classic Victoria, always worrying as if she is the mother of the group.
“Calmati Victoria, noi staremo bene”, Ethan jumps in. “Let’s get back to practising before we start another fight, sì?” The rest nods their head and pick up their instruments.
“I was thinking, should we start with I wanna be your slave oppuro no? Is it too much?” Damiano suggest.
“Oh, and for outfits, I have a few ideas?!” Thomas adds like a little kid who is excited for Christmas day.
“Positivo, let’s look at those after practice”, Damiano says. Not even ten minutes later they had many up a little setlist. It was a battle of the bands so they had to at least practice 4-5 songs to play against other bands. Then if they were allowed to come back they had to prepare yet another 6 songs on top of those 5 they had already played. They could do it, they had enough songs in their database but were they going to sing their Italian songs or did they have to translate them? The members of Måneskin weren’t sure yet. Luckily for them, they had four months to think about it.
West Hollywood, California // Mid-July 1972
Diana hadn’t even woken up yet, but on the other side of the city, Måneskin had arrived at the airport.
“Finalmente ci siamo. Ce l’abbiamo fatta!” Thomas exclaims. Damiano chuckles and throws an arm around Thomas’s shoulders.
“Slow down, loverboy. We have not made it yet. We landed yes, but we have a long way to go from here to that stage tonight.”
“How every grown-up of you, Damiano”, Victoria teases. “I bet with Ethan that you would follow the first American girl that you saw in this airport and that we wouldn’t see you until much later.”
“Ha ha, molto divertente, Victoria. Sei una persona così divertente.” They continue their bickering whilst Ethan collects all of their suitcases.
“Addiamo?” He finally asks the group, they all agree and make their way through the busy airport to the designated taxi area. During this, they complain about how crowded it is and how much the air smells. It is nothing like their own country but you have to take chances if you want to become famous like their dream.
Later that day
Doug had told Diana to come into work later than she usually would. It was going to be a busy night and he’d rather have her work during the performances than during the day and wear her out. So here she was around six-thirty instead of two o’clock. It felt so weird because usually when she arrives there is no line out front and now there was one to the end of the block. She passed all the people waiting in line, hearing them complain and moan as she walks up to Mario, the bouncer. He doesn’t even need to see her worker-id, as she walks in he wishes her good luck with tonight. She liked Mario, he was working here before she came and even then he had told her if she ever needed anything him and his wife had an extra bed for her. Honestly, the sweetest guy… also the toughest guy you will ever meet.
As Diana walked to the changing area to hang her coat and bag, she ran into a few participants of tonight’s show. She greeted most of them but they were too busy with themselves, the fame they hadn’t even earned yet was already rising to their heads. Before she could make her way to the bar, Doug called her over.
“Diana, come here for a second. I want to introduce you to a few people.” Classic Doug, always introducing everybody to everybody. If he believed you could make it, he would introduce you to all his workers. However, the bands did not know this, the workers would treat them a little extra. “They are from Italy as well!” As if Diana herself had moved for their, it was actually her grandparents. She could speak a little Italian but other than her last name, there was nothing Italian about her.
Doug briefly introduced the members of Måneskin to Diana, who couldn’t keep her eyes off a certain member. To be quite honest she had not remembered everyone’s names and she stumbled to get her name out of her mouth. All because she was already head over heels with this handsome, tall, young Italian man.
After a couple of introduction, Diana was finally behind her bar, her safe space. Meeting Damiano had made her weak in her knees, she had never had a reaction like this before.
She didn’t really pay attention to the competitors and focused on serving the people but when it was Måneskin’s turn, she started to lose focus on her work.
During most of their setlist, Damiano kept glancing over to Diana and winking at her. Or at least that’s what it felt like for Diana. However, after a rather sexy song (let’s be real most of them are) he kissed one of his male bandmates on the mouth. Now Diana is not one to judge people on who they love. She reasons that everyone should love who they want to love and receive love because of it. It wasn’t that she hated it, it kind of turned her on, but she was very confused. Had she read the signs wrong? Were there even any signs to begin with? At times like these she wanted to ask Tami for help yet she was afraid that if Tami came and tried to help her that somehow Tami’s charm would work on Damiano and Diana would still end up with nothing. No, she had to do this on her own, she decided.
After the battle of the bands was over, a few stayed behind to talk with record labels about future arrangements. Diana started cleaning up, and washing and drying a few glasses, secretly listening in on a few conversations.
“I liked what I saw out there. Let your agent call me and we will discuss your expansion in the United States.” Well, that sounded very good. Diana turned around to see who the band was that this man was talking to, but when she turned around she looked right into Damiano’s eyes.
“I have been trying to get your attention all night”, he says shyly.
“Really? I thought so but I wasn’t sure”, Diana responds. Damiano raises his hand and scratches behind his head.
“I was wondering, you know. If maybe- ugh. Perchè è cosi difficile?” He mutters, not looking Diana in the eyes.
“Provalo in Italiano?” she suggests and Damiano’s eyes shoot up to meet hers.
“Cazzo. Parli Italiano?” He looks even more nervous now.
“Si, parlo Italiano.” He laughs at her answer.
“Vuoi uscire domani sera?” Diana nods her head, she honestly cannot stop smiling.
“I’d love to go out with you. Do you want me to pick you up at the hotel? That would be easier than you trying to find my house.”
“Yeah, sure. We’re staying at the Millwood Motel, it’s not too far from the airport.”
“Ah yes, I know that place. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He leans over and kisses her cheek before leaving her to finish her work.
That night Diana barely slept. Did Damiano know any places here to take her to? Did she have to come up with a place? What if he was some weird guy? What if he was a murderer?! She sure was happy now that she didn’t give him her address.
The following day she woke up around noon. She went to the kitchen and grabbed her Cona coffee maker, if she was to get through the day, she was going to need a big cup of coffee. She put water and coffee ground on the lower half of the pot and put it on the stove. She hated having to watch the coffee boil and couldn’t wait for better times when you would just have to push a button to get your coffee.
Seeing that she woke up around noon, it didn’t take long before Diana met up with Damiano. She asked him if he had anything specific in mind. Surprisingly, he did. He explained that he and his bandmates did a little sightseeing and they walked past a roller skating rink. Damiano always wanted to try that and he thought this would be perfect for their little date.
Diana absolutely loved the idea and couldn’t wait till they got there.
Both of them were sad that the night had ended so quickly or so they thought. It was in fact 1 a.m. and they had already spend ten hours together. Diana brought Damiano back to the motel with her car and of course he couldn’t leave without planting a kiss on her lips. They kissed for a while before finally letting each other go.
“We’ll be leaving soon”, Damiano said and looked at their intertwined hands in his lap.
“Already? You just got here two days ago”, Diana complained. She just met him and now he is leaving already? She wasn’t prepared for that. She knew he was leaving at some point, he had to he didn’t live in the US, but still she had hoped for a little more time together.
“Maybe we’ll come back soon. We have a meeting with our agent and that record label guy tomorrow.”
“Could we meet up after? We should catch dinner together, I have another day off”, she suggested. Damiano agreed, kissed her one more time before leaving her car and making his way to his motel room.
The next day
Diana waited for Damiano in front of a large building. She was enjoying the sun on her face when she felt two arms coming from behind and hugging her on her stomach.
“Ciao, amore mio. Sei adorabile oggi”, Damiano said into her ear before kissing the side of her face.
“Ciao, you don’t look to bad yourself”, she said as she turned around. She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him on his lips, his mates cheering them on in the background. “How did it go in there?” With that question Damiano’s face broke out in a wide grin. “What?”
“Amore, we’re staying here in the US. We got a record deal, we will be here for the entire year!” he shouts and all five of them jump in celebration. “I was going to tell you at dinner, but I just couldn’t wait anymore. We can be together, amore.” Diana broke out in tears, nodding her head, for she had never met a man who she loved more than Damiano. Her Italian lover boy.
#damiano#damiano david x reader#damiano maneskin#damiano x reader#damiano david#victoria de angelis#victoria#victoria maneskin#victoria de angelis x reader#victoria x reader#ethan#ethan maneskin#ethan torchio#ethan torchio x reader#ethan x reader#thomas#thomas raggi#thomas maneskin#thomas raggi x reader#thomas x reader#maneksin#måneskin#maneskin imagine#blurb#70s!maneskin#70s!måneskin#70s!damiano
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please. i can’t do this alone.
Titans 3.01
thoughts! thoughts! thoughts! some red hot thoughts!
SPOILERS ahead.
1. one episode in, and this season already looks set to give me everything i want. its abandonment of plot and storytelling conventions as it goes from one point to the next at breakneck speed; its cheerful bastardisation of iconic storylines from the comics; the ‘as-you-know-bob’ clunky exposition on one end and extremely restrained, subtle explorations of complex character dynamics on the other; endless shots of neon bleeding into black and blue corridors, shadows and silhouettes; my delight in seeing it celebrate and deconstruct the dark nolan-y batman aesthetic at the same time; my bafflement that it’s so fucking goddamn obsessed with the batfam when it’s supposed to be about the TITANS; kory just... saving every overburdened, clunky scene that she’s in by her sparkling charisma. just... *chef’s kiss*. muah. my show is back, in all its glory.
MY SHOW IS BACK, Y’ALL!
1.5. i mean... this show is so artful and weird and not afraid to go absolutely bonkers in exploring its characters’ psyche, but can just about barely stage a passable comic book fight when every tom dick and harry and their new streaming services can deliver ones that are far more exciting. i love this show with every atom of my body.
(there’s something to be said about rooting for the underdog as well. a pleasure in finding something to love about what other people dismiss. but! enough navel gazing! i have fictional characters’ navels to look at! metaphorically! and maybe literally!)
2. i expected jason’s death to come about pretty early in the season as soon as i heard rumours that red hood was showing up, but for it to happen in the first five minutes of the first episode... that’s a record.
(well. “happen.” still don’t know what exactly went down there.)
2.25. GOD. jason is such a tortured and tragic character in this show, used and passed around by people with alleged good intentions, never really fitting in anywhere. he’s veritably bleeding vulnerability and the need to belong, the need to be known, and yet the tragedy is that his death proves that nobody in his life knew anything about him at all; that they only saw the flimsy walls he put up to protect his soft core, and thought that that was all there was. that they say they loved him, but blame him for his own death.
dick is flabbergasted that jason can read, though we know from last season, from what jason revealed to rose, that he has a love for plays and music. barbara is quick to dismiss his actions as ‘impulsive’. bruce has no idea that his supposed son was building his own little chemistry lab right under his nose, and beyond that, no idea that jason needed structure, stability and validation beyond being left alone in a huge house with a treasure trove of dangerous weapons. kory thought his decision to fight the joker was from not learning and growing when the guy tried to kill himself last season and nobody apart from dick even tried to talk to him about it! did you consider that he might still be suicidal? especially after the titans admitted to having “given up” on him because he was just “too hard”?
2.5. the one thing that’s been consistent across all three seasons (so far) of the show is the unreliable narrator trope. there’s a reason why the characters’ dismissals of jason’s actions as impulsive is so repetitive; why jason’s death is a mystery dick feels compelled to solve. it’s a flailing attempt to know his brother much too late--but with red hood, maybe he gets a second chance, just like he got one with the titans. this is what jason’s arc has been building up to. this is ‘death in the family’ but more fucked up in some ways. it didn’t linger on the death because the death wasn’t the point. the joker isn’t the point. everything that came before it is.
this way it will also make perfect sense that the red hood’s main enemy becomes the titans rather than batman.
2.75. goodness knows what’s going on with jason’s little chemistry project. at first i thought he was immunising himself to joker gas or something, but maybe it’s what passes for lazarus pit juice in this universe?
anyway, it’s pretty impressive that jason learnt all of that from a college chemistry textbook. STOP BRINGING UP THAT HE READ SOMETHING, DICK--
2.8. i’m glad that dick doesn’t immediately sink into self-loathing and guilt and tries to investigate jason’s death while also acknowledging how he failed him. it’s like he actually learned something from the last two years!
anyway. more about dick later.
3. oh how i love titans!bruce. a lot of characters had a lot of Opinions on his reaction to jason’s death in this episode, but again, i ask you to consider that they’re unreliable narrators, and this universe’s bruce is a product of how it shaped him. bruce wayne has become a phantom to himself--an artifice borne out of vigorous discipline and crushing self-denial.
bruce has been batman for a very long time, and without a robin for much longer. (dick must be... in his early thirties? so he was robin for about, say, 10-12 years according to the timeline of the show. that still makes bruce pretty old when he took on his first robin.) things have... calcified (possibly parts of his brain). the personal cost and the collateral from the mission he’s taken up for most of his life is too much to countenance; it has to be a war, and war requires sacrifice.
on some level bruce knows that’s a lie. he’s so goddamned alone. what’s he going to do? sit down and cry? who’s going to listen to him now? oh, is he going to just stop being batman? who’s going to stop gotham from consuming herself then? he’ll just have to forge ahead, do better next time, maybe he’ll be firmer with them, or kinder with them, or notice more things, or train them harder, or spend more time--
3.25. don’t get me wrong: titans!bruce is an asshole and a half. his roster of potential robins was honestly bone-chilling. the fact that there’s a twisted root of compassion makes it more disturbing.
3.5. alfred’s dead! it must’ve been pretty recent, because i could’ve sworn that dick tried to call alfred in the very first episode of season 1, or at least considered calling him...
what a devastating double-blow for bruce then, losing his father-figure and his, uh.... son-figure so close together.
4. i don’t know about barbara yet. i mean, i like her, but she had so much clunky expository dialogue to deliver this episode, and for an episode that was named after her, she only showed up halfway through it. but i like the weight of history behind her interactions with both bruce and dick and her compassion to bruce before he cruelly crossed a line. i also like the implication that she and dick have been in touch recently, and that she didn’t immediately try to guilt-trip dick about some perceived abandonment. it’d be too repetitive.
4.5. there’s also a sense that she ran interference for dick a lot whenever there was something Too Big and Emotional for him to confront directly, and i like and appreciate that character beat.
5. dick, my man! it really does feel like a substantial length of time has passed between the end of s2 and the beginning of s3... kory’s got a new costume, they’ve become celebrities in SF, working missions together, and dick’s actually smiling! genuinely enjoying his work and having fun with it for possibly the first time in the entire series! it’s really a far cry from the fractured, dysfunctional mess that they were at the end of the last season.
i just hope this doesn’t mean that they’ve magically reached a resolution off-screen to all of their fucked-upness from last season, and that the repercussions--for gar in particular--are actually addressed on screen.
5.25. i mentioned this briefly above, but it really is so refreshing that dick doesn’t wallow in guilt and self-loathing after jason’s death; he acknowledges his and the titans’ failure, is able to admit to barbara honestly that he’s not doing great, and is actively trying to reach out to bruce to make sure he’s ok, is trying to investigate what made jason seek out the joker on his own, and is probably the only person not immediately buying that it was jason’s recklessness that got him killed. i love that dick is finally beginning to trust his instincts or just employ them at all after years of guilt and paranoia and self-loathing. we love some positive character growth!
5.5. another thing i love? the bruce-dick interactions on this show. every scene they’re in together is so fraught with tension, both of them holding themselves back, their emotions on a whipcord-tight leash. dick wants to reach out to bruce, is even somewhat familiar with this brand of denial in the wake of grief, but wants barbara to make the first move because he genuinely does not know how to get bruce to open up. his instincts are right, and wonderful, and genuine, but his expression has been smothered by years of trauma, emotional and physical self-discipline, and what i suspect is poorly treated mental illness.
it takes a lot for him to finally explode at bruce at the end of the episode--in a way he hasn’t done even when his only opinion of bruce was ‘fuck him’--and it’s all the more startling for how subdued he’s been through the episode, how much he’s been holding back his emotions for bruce’s sake. love it.
5.75. it sort of hurts my heart to see the flying graysons poster in jason’s room. there are a few implications:
a) jason settled into dick’s old room despite living in a giant mansion with dozens of other rooms he could’ve used
b) he didn’t take down dick’s poster--not when he moved in and was idolising him, not when he moved out of the titans and was sort of hating him. i wonder if the reminder of what dick was before robin--that he was forged out of unspeakable tragedy--gave jason the connection to dick that he so desperately wanted in real life
c) dick moved right back into the room and slept on the bed that was now jason’s. grief can be so quiet and piecemeal sometimes.
6. i spy the beginnings of actual arcs for both gar and kory! i just hope that with the move to gotham their stories don’t fall to the wayside...
6.5. i’ve known tim drake for less than ten minutes but if anything were to happen to him i’d kill everybody
7. this review has gone on for too long and i am tiRED. however, before i leave: i miss some of the dedication-to-aesthetic that titans season 1 used to have. remember how the first few episodes didn’t really feel like a superhero show but something out of gothic horror? there was something gorgeous and raw about that, about open landscapes and the road and creepy buildings looming up at the end of it. moving to titans tower in s2 really ruined a lot of that for me, given its ripped-from-architectural-digest aesthetic, all smooth and clean and artificial.
i hope that we really explore gotham’s hellscape in interesting and innovative ways instead of camping out in the batcave all the time and indulging in the show’s unending love for long corridors, neon backlights and silhouettes.
8.....
9. wait, fuck, HOW CAN I FORGET ABOUT HOT PSYCHIATRIST GUY (TM)??? NONE of you prepared me for his return! NONE OF YOU! i gasped! i got up and did a happy dance!
listen, titans writers, if you’ve had a peek at my titans s3 wishlist, please go ahead and give the other items on the list a go too, thankyouverymuch.
#titans#titans spoilers#meta#jason todd#dick grayson#bruce wayne#barbara gordon#a tragic jalebi#a byronic cupcake
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