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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

park and ride (explicit)

genre: smut

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: your fuckbuddy asks if the two of you can drive around a bit first, but he has a hard time keeping his hands to himself

word count: 4.8k

contains: explicit sexual content bb! idol verse, fuckbuddies, teasing while driving, semi-public sex (aka fuckin in a car), fingering, squirting, a smidge of size kink, also joon really likes your skirt

A/N: inspired by that ~mysterious extra day~ in america and joon posting Fast Car by Syd on his story (which, btw, TASTE) - this is also on AO3 if you'd rather read it over there!

For your own sanity, you try to stay busy. You go for a long run every morning to clear your mind. You delete Twitter from your phone and get two weeks ahead on your grad school assignments. You go out for drinks with friends and pepper them with questions about their own personal dramas.

But all the while that glimmer of hope in your chest remains, impossible to extinguish entirely. You know by now to keep your expectations low, very low. Just because he’s on this side of the world doesn’t mean he’ll have time to see you, and most of the time, he doesn’t. You figure there’s no point in obsessing over something that’s out of your control.

But this time is one of those rare occasions where the stars align and the universe decides to throw you a good turn, and you can’t help the smile that breaks across your face when he calls.

“I got an extra day. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“Hmm… yeah, I should be able to pencil you in,” you joke.

The celebrity part of it is still pretty bizarre, but you’ve done this enough now that it’s become its own weird little routine. Pulling up to a hotel where the nightly rate costs more than your monthly share of rent. Handing the valet the keys to your shitty Honda Civic. Checking in at the front desk and giving the alias the group is booked under, which changes every trip. Showing your ID so they can confirm you’re on the approved list of visitors. Having a special room key made that allows you access to their restricted hotel floor. Just all part of the process.

And that’s not even mentioning the one time you were personally escorted by a bodyguard to his room; you wondered on the elevator ride up how much time their security staff spends ushering fuckbuddies in and out. You’ve decided that maybe you don’t want to know the answer to that one.

So it’s a surprise when he asks on the phone, “Can you pick me up instead this time? We don’t have to go anywhere special, maybe just drive around a bit? I’m so sick of hotel rooms.”

“Is this all a ploy to stop me from raiding your minibar?”

He laughs softly. “Oh don’t get me wrong. I definitely still plan on taking you back to my room and…” He trails off, well aware that he doesn’t need to explicitly finish the sentence. “Well, you know. Just need some fresh air first, I think.”

You decide you’ve given him enough sass for one phone call and bite back the urge to argue that he’s not actually taking you anywhere, as you’re the only one with a license in this situationship.

“Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

~*~

Never in a million years would you have ever thought you’d have Kim Namjoon riding shotgun in your car, the seat pushed back as far as it can go to accommodate his long legs.

He’d slipped out of the front door of the hotel looking as nondescript as possible in a black hoodie and shorts, face hidden almost entirely by a black facemask and a bucket hat pulled down low over his eyes. You pause, hands still on the wheel, wondering if you should expect some kind of greeting. This is so far outside the realm of your normal interactions that you have no established protocol to follow.

“It’s good to see you, let’s get out of here.” He says softly, and you take that as your cue to shift gears and follow the road out of the hotel entrance.

Namjoon seems tense, you think as you pass through an intersection. He keeps switching between checking his phone, looking out the passenger-side window, then turning over his shoulder to look at the traffic behind you.

“Sorry,” he explains, “Not trying to be rude. Just being careful.” That’s when it finally registers in your mind that he’s making sure you’re not being followed, and the thought sends a shiver of fear up your spine. The fact that this is a regular part of life for him is so strange.

The city is fairly deserted tonight, and when you stop at the next red light you can see him visibly relax a little, unlooping his mask from around his ears and tucking it into his pocket along with his phone. He slips his hat off as well and tosses it in the backseat, pulling down the visor to make sure his hair looks good in the tiny mirror. You try to suppress a laugh; surely this man knows that he already rolls out of bed looking fine as hell, no adjustments necessary.

He flips the visor closed and catches you staring at him, and a thrum of desire runs through you. Has he managed to get hotter since the last time you saw him? You didn’t think that was possible.

“Come here,” he murmurs, leaning over to cup your jaw with one hand and bring you in for a kiss.

This is your favorite part of these reunions—remembering all the little things you’d forgotten since the last time. Like how big and warm his hands are, how hungrily he kisses you. It isn’t until an impatient horn blaring snaps you back to reality that you remember you were stopped at a red light, which is now very much green. Judging by the way the driver behind you is laying on the horn, it’s been green for a while.

“Fuck, oops.” You move to pull away but he keeps his hand on your jaw, holding you in place, your lips inches apart. His eyes are dark with pure want as he stares at your mouth.

“One more.” His lips are so soft; this kiss is sweeter than the first, less urgent. You barely notice as the driver behind you swerves into the other lane to pass your stopped car and speeds off through the intersection.

Namjoon brushes his thumb against your cheek and then removes his hand somewhat reluctantly. You can’t hold back your smile as you ease your foot off the brake, trying to focus on the road. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but when you see a green light while driving, it means you’re supposed to go.”

He leans back in the passenger seat, his hands clasped behind his head, dimples fully on display as he laughs. “There it is. I knew you’d get in a license joke eventually.”

“I held it in for as long as I could.”

“I bet you did.”

You realize he didn’t give you any directions on where to go, so you drive aimlessly through the city that you know so well. The lights at night are beautiful, even you can admit that, and though you typically hate the many intersections, it’s not so bad when you have someone to kiss you breathless each time you hit a red light.

During a particularly long stretch of greens, he taps his knuckles on the center console. You glance over to see his eyes roaming across the inside of your car, like he’s just realized where he is. “So this is your whip, huh?”

The fact that this dork is a professional rapper amazes you sometimes. “Top of the line 2008 Honda Civic.”

He touches a finger to a mystery stain on the vinyl of your dashboard that’s been there for at least a decade. “I could get you a better car than this.” He doesn’t say it in a bragging way, though he certainly could. Instead he just sounds sweet, and sincere. Like he wants you to have nice things.

You roll your eyes. “Save your money. There’s nothing wrong with this car.”

With a thoughtful hum, Namjoon rests his left hand just above your knee, and you reflexively spread your legs a little wider, keeping your eyes firmly on the road despite your quickening pulse. His thumb draws lazy circles on the outside of your thigh. “Well, now we know you’re not fucking me for my money.”

The truth escapes with a laugh before you can stop it. “No, I’m fucking you for your big dick.”

“Oh?” His hand climbs a little higher and arousal pools in your belly. You can already feel yourself getting wet. “Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.” Eyes on the road, you tell yourself. His hand is rubbing your thigh gently now. It takes all of your willpower not to look over at him.

“I like this skirt,” He says softly, and a blush creeps up your neck. You’ve always had a complex about being fashion-challenged, and having a fuckbuddy with personal stylists and access to the nicest clothes money can buy doesn’t help. You changed outfits about twenty times before you finally settled on this one, a black long-sleeve and a yellow plaid miniskirt.

You lose your train of thought entirely when he nudges his hand a little higher, slipping it under the fabric, and hooks his pinky finger around the lace edge of your panties. Your cunt clenches at the thought of his long fingers in you.

“Are you trying to make me crash this car?” You do your best to keep your voice even, though you’re certain he can tell your thighs are quivering.

His fingers trace along the line of your panties where your hip and thigh meet, lighting every last one of your nerve endings on fire. “No, but maybe we should… park somewhere.” The suggestion surprises you, but you’re not opposed. In fact, you’re hard pressed to think of a place where you wouldn’t be willing to fuck Kim Namjoon.

“Are you sure?” “If you want to.” He responds nonchalantly. His hand slides out from under your skirt, moving a few inches back down your thigh. “I’ll behave now. How’s school?”

You laugh incredulously—your panties are soaked and this tease wants to talk about grad school? “Oh no, you started this. Don’t you change the subject.”

You don’t even have to look over to know he’s smiling at your frustration, and you turn right at the next intersection and then immediately left into the parking lot of a shopping center. It’s several hours after closing, so the place is empty, but you still drive around the building to the large commuter lot behind it to ensure you’re properly hidden.

You pull into a space directly in front of the “Park and Ride” sign, and you smirk as you pull up the parking brake. The irony is not lost on you.

The moment where you each have to fumble to unbuckle your seatbelt is just awkward enough that you’re laughing when he pulls you back in for another kiss across the center console. Euphoric is the only way to describe the feeling of having him here. It’s proof that he’s not some dream you made up but somehow, impossibly real.

He leans the passenger seat as far back as it will go, shifting his body to one side as best as he can to offer you the seat. “Will you please come over here?”

It’s certainly not graceful as the two of you fumble to get comfortable in the cramped space of your front seat, but when is it ever with him? You’ve seen him shatter wine glasses, knock over bedside lamps and alarm clocks, and you still haven’t let him live down the time he once fully broke the wooden frame of a hotel bed. You like that he’s multifaceted; he can make you laugh and fuck you senseless.

You take his place lying back in the passenger seat and he crawls over you, kneeling on the edge of the seat and resuming the urgent kisses, his tongue now licking into your mouth. You only break apart to shed clothing, first your shirt, then his, and then your bra. (He looks extra smug for being able to undo it one-handed on the first try.)

He tosses it into the backseat with the rest of your clothes then pauses to take you in, eyes roaming over your body. He licks his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

Your nipples stiffen at his words and the cool night air; being half-exposed like this makes the reality of the situation set in. You’re technically fucking in public, and it’s turning you on a lot more than you anticipated.

You run your hands over his shoulders and across his chest and groan as he moves his lips down the slope of your neck. He’s just so big, especially in your small car—broad shoulders, long legs, and flexing muscles that make your core throb in anticipation. You’re dying for him to touch you, to fuck you, but he’s taking his sweet time.

As if sensing your impatience, he grabs both of your wrists in his hands, pinning them to either side of you while he kisses, bites, and licks along your neck and collarbones. You can’t contain the little noises he pulls out of you when he finds a particularly sensitive spot.

You try straining against his grip just to see what happens, but he’s so much stronger than you that he doesn’t budge. When you whine a little, you feel him smile against your skin.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.” He lets one of your hands free and brings his own to cup your left breast, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your nipple in just the right way that makes you arch up into his touch. Fuck, he’s good at that.

“You have me.” Namjoon says, like it’s obvious. “Be more specific.” He dips his head down to tease a circle around your nipple with his tongue, then just barely grazes the sensitive tip with his teeth and you moan.

Your head is spinning, and you can’t keep your voice from shaking as he gives the same attention to your right breast, his thumb continuing to work the left one.

“I need to f-feel you inside me,” you groan. “Please.” Your pussy aches from lack of attention.

“Whatever you like, baby.” He replies, shifting his position slightly to get a better angle. Your head falls back against the seat as his hand makes contact with your thigh, rubbing it just like he did when he was teasing you while you drove. Your breath catches when he slides both of his hands under your skirt, thumbs hooking your panties, and pulls them down in one swift motion. “Skirt stays on.” He says with a flash of his dimpled smile. “I like it.”

You maneuver to get your underwear all the way off in the limited amount of space and nearly knee him in the groin. The look of concern on his face at the close call makes you laugh out loud, which quickly turns into a moan when he presses two fingers into your dripping cunt. You’re breathless and still smiling, completely dazed from it all, as he pumps them in and out of you at a torturously slow pace.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” His thumb slides between your folds, collecting the wetness there. He gently circles over your clit and you gasp. You’re not gonna make it, you think. You’ll die right here in the passenger seat if he keeps touching you like this.

Instinctively you move to cover your flushed face with your forearm, embarrassed by how overwhelmed with pleasure you are, but he catches your wrist and pins it down again with his left hand, the other still working your pussy.

“Don’t hide,” he murmurs. “I want to watch you fall apart.” And then he picks up the pace.

You’re helpless to his touch, moaning and panting for air as you feel your orgasm already fast approaching and a warmth building in your core. He curls his fingers inside you, pressing hard against your front wall while his thumb rubs your clit in perfect time. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s doing with you, exactly how to work out the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had, and you know you’re headed for one now when your cunt starts to flutter around his hand.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice drips like honey. “Come for me.”

You cry out as your orgasm hits you, your back arching up off the seat. The pressure building in your core reaches its peak and you feel it burst as a wave of arousal rushes out of your cunt and splashes against his hand and your spread thighs. He groans at the sight. His fingers ride you through the aftershocks until you squirm from oversensitivity and he finally relents, releasing his grip on your wrist at the same time.

“Holy shit,” is all you can manage once you’ve come down from your climax, staring dumbly at the ceiling of your car in disbelief, trying to remember how to breathe. Your heart is racing. “That was… oh my god.”

“Still got it.” He says, clearly self-satisfied, and you laugh as he presses a gentle kiss to your collarbone. Namjoon always gets so proud of himself when he makes you squirt. “I think that might be a new record.”

You roll your eyes but you’re still grinning, enjoying the waves of your post-orgasm high. It’s been a long time since you came that hard. “Yeah, yeah, you’re very talented. Shut up and switch with me.”

Shifting positions is made harder by the fact that your legs threaten to give out when you put weight on them, but his hands slide up to your waist to steady you so you don’t fall over. Eventually he resumes his place in the passenger seat, and you kneel down in the small space in front of him, his legs on either side of you.

He lifts his hips up so you can tug his shorts down, and you’re torn between teasing him back as revenge and the overwhelming desire to take him in your mouth immediately. You can already feel your core starting to throb. There’s just something about Namjoon that makes you insatiable. You don’t think you could ever get enough of him.

You trail kisses up the inside of his thigh, biting every so often at the sensitive skin there, delighting in the way his breath hitches each time. Two can play at this game, you think as you press a hand to his stomach, just barely teasing a finger under the band of his boxer-briefs to scratch your nail lightly across his skin. His hips jerk in response and you smile.

You move your hand lower to palm him over his underwear, gripping firmly but keeping your pace slow to torment him. You weren’t just flattering him earlier—his dick is life-ruiningly big, the perfect combination of long and thick, and he’s fully erect under your touch. You want it so bad, your naked cunt is getting slick all over again at the thought.

But first, some retribution.

You still the movement of your hand and place a gentle kiss to the head of his dick through the fabric of his underwear, then gaze up at him innocently. His lips are parted slightly and he’s breathing hard, watching your every move. The way he looks at you like you’re the center of the universe makes your stomach flip.

It feels good to be in control. Keeping eye contact, you lick a slow stripe up the fabric of his boxers and feel the strong muscles in his thighs flex under your hand as he groans a little.

You drop your gaze to take the head of his still-clothed dick in your mouth, resuming the slow pump of one hand over his shaft.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon hisses.

You tug his boxers down his legs, too desperate to see him. His cock looks so good you can feel yourself salivating. The tip of it is already shiny, slick with a mixture of pre-cum and moisture from your teasing. You trace up the large vein on his shaft with the pad of your thumb. When you pause to rub small circles at the extra-sensitive spot right under his head, he lets out a strangled whine.

Encouraged by the sound, you wrap your hand firmly around him and he gasps. You can feel his cock pulse in your hand. You pump him ever-so slowly, working a new bead of precum out of the tip, then lightly run your tongue over him to lick it up.

His hips jerk again and he grunts your name, his voice hoarse.

You lean back on your heels, your hand still wrapped around him, and feign surprise. “Hmm? I’m sorry, did you say something?”

He’s clearly trying to keep the smirk of disbelief off his face, but a telltale dimple gives it away. “Oh my god, you’re so evil.”

You smile at the compliment and finally take him into your mouth; his moan of relief makes your pussy throb. You swallow down as much of his dick as you can and wrap your hand around the rest, bobbing and pumping in a steady motion. His hips start rutting against your mouth in time with your movements.

The way Namjoon is groaning unabashedly now makes your face hot. God, you need to fuck him. You look up and take him as far down your throat as you can, gagging slightly, and he must be able to read the desire in your eyes. He runs a hand through your hair, just barely tugging, and you relent, his dick sliding out of your mouth with a wet pop.

“Get up here,” he growls. You climb into his lap and straddle him, and he kisses you so fervently that your head spins.

His hands slide under your skirt to grab your ass and he pulls you closer. As he does, you realize how soaked you really are, your slit slipping easily along his length. You can barely keep from whimpering at how good it feels, and he’s not even inside you yet. His cock twitches and you shudder, unable to stop yourself from rolling your hips and grinding against him. You’re so turned on, you could come from this alone.

“Keep doing that, baby,” he encourages, and your eyes flutter open as he shifts slightly. He reaches for his discarded shorts, his other hand caressing your thigh as if to apologize for the interruption. After a bit of fumbling he produces a condom, reaching both arms around you to rip it open with shaking hands.

Leaning back, you brace yourself on his legs and lift your hips up so he can slide the latex down his length. Your thighs are trembling hard as his hands move back to your ass and help guide you into place.

It’s been so long, and you want this so badly. You’ve spent more than a few nights in bed with your hand between your legs, playing back the memory of how good he feels, how thoroughly he’s fucked you before. Even after all the anticipation, when you finally, finally sink down on his cock, it’s still somehow better than you remembered.

You have to take a moment to press your face into the crook of his neck as you get accustomed to the stretch of him inside you. His thumbs trace gentle circles along the globes of your ass and it’s enough to get your cunt to fully relax. You spread your knees a little wider and sink down another inch, gasping as he bottoms out in you. You feel impossibly, overwhelmingly full.

Namjoon smiles as you lift your head and bring one hand up, running your thumb along his jawline. He looks so good like this; his face is flushed and his eyes are dark with lust.

“I forgot how well you take my cock,” he says, giving your ass an approving squeeze. “Such a perfect fit.” The praise makes your pussy clench and he groans at the feeling.

His hands slide over your thighs and up to your hips. “Ride me, baby. Please.”

You can feel every inch of him as you brace your hands on his legs and start to rock your hips, and the sensation is so good you can barely form a coherent thought. Heat rises in your belly as you lift up and lean back slightly, and when you ease your hips down, the head of his dick grinds against your sweet spot.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, and you hear him grunt beneath you as you rock your hips in just the same way over and over and over. It feels so fucking good, you never want to stop. The filthy sounds of your slick cunt only bring you that much closer to your end.

Namjoon’s fingers dig into your skin and he thrusts up into you, matching your rhythm. The pleasure is so forceful now that your walls squeeze tightly around his length. “Just like that, baby, fuck.” He sounds absolutely wrecked. “You feel amazing.”

His thumb moves to press your clit under your skirt and you’re practically vibrating with overstimulation, already incredibly close to coming. Your legs shake so badly that you start to lose your rhythm and he takes control, fucking up into you with fast and powerful strokes. The way he pounds into your cunt feels so overwhelmingly good that your jaw drops open and you moan loudly. He only has to circle your clit one, two, three more times before it’s all over.

You can’t do anything but whimper and throw your head back as your orgasm overtakes you. Your arms threaten to give out and you collapse into his chest. The release of pressure is so intense that you see stars as wetness floods your pussy.

You pulse around him again and again and then Namjoon is coming too, groaning your name, his cock twitching inside you.

For several minutes, all you can do is lay against him, your body shuddering as you come down from the high. His hands press gently against the small of your back as reality slowly returns around you.

Your panting dissolves into soft gasps of laughter; you can’t believe that just happened. Fucking Kim Namjoon in your shitty Honda Civic, of all places. What a time to be alive. You nuzzle your nose against his neck and he turns his head to press a kiss to your hairline. “Welcome back,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Wow,” is all you can manage. You feel completely spent, blissed out.

“That was… crazy.” Namjoon sounds just as much at a loss for words as you are. “You’re so incredible.” He rubs small circles into your back and you sigh. You wish he could fuck you like this every day, but you don’t say that part out loud. You know it’s just the post-orgasm chemicals talking.

You turn your head to the side and laugh again as you realize the car windows are completely covered over with fog. He follows your gaze. “At least we don’t have to worry about whether anyone saw us.”

Feeling starts to come back to your limbs. Soreness is already blooming along the muscles in your thighs and your bent knees, but it was so worth it, you can't even be mad. “I think my legs are broken,” you say with a wince.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds so sincere at first that it makes you smile. “Guess you can blame it on this big dick, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but he’s thoroughly fucked the sass out of you, for now at least. You don’t even have it in you to tell him to shut up, so you pull his face to yours and kiss him instead. He sucks gently on your bottom lip and you think your heart might burst.

Once you finally break apart, you rest your head on his chest again. “Hotel time?”

Namjoon brings a hand up to stroke your hair. “Baby, I’ve got some bad news.”

You freeze, and your stomach drops, preparing for the worst. He’s always been a gentleman and let you stay the night, but he’s busier than ever these days, you know that. Maybe things are different now. You will yourself not to react to whatever he says next, post-orgasm chemicals be damned.

“The minibar in this hotel… it’s awful.”

“Oh, fuck you!” You laugh, pushing against his chest and sitting up to see his dimpled grin. He stretches, hands behind his head, his biceps flexing. He’s so handsome. You absolutely hate him and like him way too much all at once. “You have,” he reminds you. “And you will again soon. But I need some real food first.”

You are starving, you realize. You run a finger across his chest and put on your most seductive voice. “Hmm… how about I take you to In-N-Out? We’re gonna need some protein before round two.”

“Alright,” he shrugs. “But I’m paying.”

“Of course you are, sugar daddy.”

He laughs against your mouth as he kisses you.

A/N: thanks for reading!!! i ended up fulfilling a request for a short companion piece to this! if you want more quippy fuckbuddies goodness, check out five minutes! 💜

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #namjoon x y/n #park and ride

1K notes · View notes

bellesowl · 3 years

Text

kiss and make up

- multiple characters

⤷ atsumu, sakusa

genre: (an attempt at) angst to fluff ; established relationship, timeskip

synopsis: in which you have an almost relationship-ending argument

word count: 2.1k total - about 1k each

warnings: fighting (obv), being called a burden, the boys are kinda mean but they make up for it i swear

- a/n: tbh i was kinda getting sick of writing just fluff so i wanted to spice it up a lil! if this sucks i’m probably going to stick to fluff fics but i think it should be fine? this one also only has 2 characs cause idk how i would be at writing angst LMAO if this does well enough i’ll post the one i have written w kuroo and iwa <3 but i feel like this kinda sucks so oh well

- thank u @kybabi for beta-ing <3

- miya atsumu

you n atsumu have been together since high school which is why you’ve always been inseparable

you went to the same college & moved in together right after, but once he got his job with the jackals, he insisted that you didn’t work and focused on getting your master’s degree

you reluctantly agreed, if only to be able finish & earn your phd soon after

because atsumu is always busy, it’s kinda become commonplace for you to do the chores around the house- like doing the laundry or washing the dishes or cooking dinner for him

but it’s gotten to the point where he expects it

atsumu sighs, unlocking the door to your shared apartment. today’s practice was rough, it was a day of hard conditioning and bad sets and he wanted nothing more than a good meal and to cuddle. the first thing he noticed when he walked in was the mess. instant ramen bowls were scattered everywhere, empty coke cans and dirty napkins were all over the floor, and there you were, in the eye of the hurricane. the second thing he noticed was that there was no homecooked meal.

surprised, he walks into the dining room to see you, furiously typing away at your laptop with four different books surrounding you. you hear his footsteps and look up.

“hey baby! how was practice?” you ask with a smile

atsumu grunts in reply and gestures toward the kitchen, “so.. what’s for dinner babe?”

your eyes widen, “oh shoot! i’m sorry, i was so busy studying for this final that i forgot to cook. do you mind-“ you stop when you see him roll his eyes and head out.

“um, where are you going? you just got home?” you ask, following him.

“out. i have to get food somehow” he replies, “especially because my useless s/o can’t cook a goddamn meal for me” he mutters under his breath

you stop in shock because did he really just say that?

“i’m sorry, i don’t think i heard you right.” you start but he interrupts you

“i said, i have to go get food because someone is too busy to cook a goddamn meal. what do you even do anyways- well, besides spend my money? the least you can do is cook for me, god.” he finally turns to look at you but he feels his heart stop at the look on your face.

not wanting to escalate the situation any further, you try to calm him down, “tsum, hey, i’m sorry i forgot to cook okay? this is my last final before the year ends and i just can’t afford to fail it, so i’ve been studying all day. if you come back to the kitchen, i’ll make you something, okay?”

“i don’t want to eat your half assed attempt at a meal, y/n. the whole point is that you couldn’t get off your ass for an hour to cook when i make the money, i paid for the apartment, hell, i’m even paying for your school! is it really too much to ask for you to stop being such a burden and cook and clean everyday?” he fumed.

you gape at him, shocked that he would even say that. to hell with not escalating things

“at least i want to do something more with my life than hit balls around and retire at 35” you hiss, “and i do everything in this house! i do the laundry, i clean the bathroom, i cook - i do all the things you refuse to. and do i complain? no. i offered to get a job but you refused.”

you turn around to grab your laptop and your textbooks, “just- just do whatever the hell you want to, atsumu.” and with that you walk out the door.

atsumu’s heart drops when he realizes that you actually left. sure, you’ve had arguments here and there, but you’ve never left. he pulls out his phone to call you when he sees you’ve left yours on the counter. knowing there’s nothing to do but wait at this point, he begins to clean up and calls osamu over.

it’s already 3 am when you walk back into your apartment, and you blink multiple times when you open the door. it’s ... clean? you’re sure it was a mess when you left, so how would it be clean? you sigh, too tired to think about it more and walk into the kitchen. your eyes widen at the sight. not only is your favorite food on the stove, but there your boyfriend is, asleep on the dining table. you smile slightly, well that explains things.

“ ‘’mu, hey, wake up babe.” you kiss him lightly and shake him.

he grunts and sits up, “baby! i’m so so sorry for what i said. you are in no way, shape, or form a burden, i have no clue why i said that. today’s practice was just really tiring, but i know i shouldn’t have taken it out on you. just please-” he sighs, “just please don’t leave me again.”

your heart breaks your teary eyed boyfriend. “shh, of course baby. i’ll never leave you again okay?” you say, tugging on his arm, “cmon babe, let’s go to bed, okay?”

“mm okay my love.” he replies and practically pulls you into bed. “i love you, okay?”

“i love you too baby.” you reply

“to the moon and back?” he asks

“yeah, and to infinity and beyond.” you reply, your lack of sleep hitting you hard

“oh, i didn’t know i was dating buzz lightyear”

you let out a loud laugh and just like that you both fall into the same routine, love radiating off both of you in waves.

- sakusa kiyoomi

dating sakusa was,, challenging

it definitely took him a while to get comfortable with you

so you guys have been dating for a couple years now, and at this point he’s def clingy

however there still moments when he reverts to his old self

this just happened to be one of those times

“OUT! AND JUST LIKE THAT, EJP RAIJIN TAKES THE WIN AGAINST THE BLACK JACKALS!”

the stadium is silent before the ejp cheering section erupts in cheers. you stay silent, watching your team below. you watch as sakusa stills, still in disbelief. you make your way down, practically sprinting to your boyfriend.

he sees you on the sideline and makes his way over to you. you put on your biggest smile and attempt to make him feel better.

“you did great, kiyo! you’ll get them next time, yeah?” you beam, knowing how hard he’s been training to beat his cousin

he eyes you warily, not knowing what to say.

usually, sakusa gets pretty clingy after games, so you you move to give him a hug.

“don’t touch me” he barked, jerking away from you. “if you hadn’t been distracting me, we would’ve won.”

you stare at him, refusing to let the tears flow. you both turn when you hear a certain setter yelling at the opposing middle and you sigh.

“um, okay then. i’ll see you at home, yeah?” you ask

sakusa merely nods and makes his way over to his teammates. you look around to see if anyone saw what just happened and you lock eyes with your boyfriend’s cousin, who walks over.

“congrats on the win komori! you guys did so well!” you cheered

“thanks, y/n! and i’m sorry about kiyoomi. i’m sure you know he gets that way sometimes.” he explains

you smile and shake your head, saying that you’re used to it and you both bid your farewells. as you walk out of the stadium, you think back to how your boyfriend, the one person you loved with everything you had in you, utterly embarrassed you in front of his whole team. before you know it, silent tears start streaming down your face.

you enter your home and immediately rush to the bathroom. you draw yourself a bath and make some dinner while waiting. you assume that kiyoomi wouldn’t be home to have dinner with you anyways- and now that you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you had dinner together. after you finish your bath and eat your dinner, you decide to wait up for boyfriend and watch a couple episodes of your favorite show to pass the time.

kiyoomi walks into his apartment at around 1 am, completely and utterly exhausted. he kicks his shoes off and drops his bag on the floor. The rustling rouses you from sleep and you sit up.

“hey kiyo” you say with a yawn, “where’ve you been all night?”

sakusa ignores you in favor of getting ready for bed and you frown when he brushes past you.

“kiyo, babe, what’s wrong? you’ve been ignoring me all night and i-” you start but he interrupts you before you can finish.

“god, just shut up, y/n. can’t you tell i don’t want to talk to you right now? i’ve already had the worst day, i don’t need you making it any worse.” he snaps

"kiyoomi, look, i understand you’re upset but you shouldn’t take it out on me.” you reason, reaching out towards him, “listen, i’m here if you wanna-”

“i said, do not touch me.” he seethes. “you are so fucking clingy y/n, lord, let me breathe a little.”

with those words, you explode. “you know what, sakusa,” he flinches when he hears his last name come out of your mouth, “i think i have the right to want to spend some time with my boyfriend! i haven’t seen you in god knows how long- you leave before i wake up and i fall asleep in an empty bed. i’ve been working my ass off to get some time off to watch your stupid volleyball game and what do you do? you embarrass me in front of your whole team!”

you sigh, wiping away the tears that continue that continue to fall. “listen, i don’t want to fight right now. i’m going to go stay at a friend’s house for the night, alright? i’ll see you tomorrow” you say, grabbing your purse. “if you’re even home tomorrow,” you add under your breath.

sakusa is in shock. the moment he saw your tears start to spill, he felt an undeniable and unrelenting ache in his chest that only seemed to grow with every work that came out of your mouth. and when the door shut? sakusa fell on his knees, his heart dropping. he truly couldn’t believe he said that to you. now all he had to do was wait till you got home.

2:38 pm - you check the time on your phone before pulling out your keys. you hope you made the right move, choosing to come back home while kiyoomi was still at practice. you open the door and the sight causes your eyes to widen.

there, on the couch with your favorite flowers in hand, is your boyfriend. he hears the door open and stands up abruptly.

“y/n, my love, i am so sorry. i truly cannot express how horrible i feel, and i cannot begin to understand how you feel.” he takes a deep breath, seemingly holding back tears. “i- i do love you. i love you more than i’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life. i know i’m not the best at expressing it, but you mean the world to me- no, you are my world. without you, i don’t know what i would do. so please-” his voice cracks, “just, please give me another chance?”

you run towards your boyfriend, practically tackling him. “kiyo, baby, of course. i love you too, you know? you just can’t do that anymore, yeah? you shouldn’t feel like you have the right to embarrass me just because you had a bad day. and please, don’t call me clingy? i know i do stick to you like glue sometimes, but that’s just because i never see you anymore.” you reply.

“that will all change, darling.” he answers sincerely, “i’ll make more time for you, i swear. in fact, i’ll take the week off, how does that sound?” at the sight of your smile, he relaxes.

“that sounds wonderful, yoomi.” you answer

sakusa feels the weight that’s been dragging him down lift and he realizes the effect you have on him- you’re his breath of fresh air. he also realizes how utterly idiotic it was to push away the one person who could make him feel better.

it’s fine, he reasons, he’ll just never make that mistake again. he swears it.

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arcadejohn127-9 · 3 years

Note

Ahhh I love your writing sm!! Could I request how the brothers would react to an MC that's super doting and overly loving from the get-go?. Always insists on helping w cooking duty, brings the brothers coffee if they look busy, etc? pls & ty!

Tbh I don't really have a love language over than verbal but this speaks to me

In game I make my MC very much like this, overly positive and always wanting to help. Not because I have to, I could easily pick more honest or teasing options but when it comes to it. My first instinct/Response is those options because I like the idea of being helpful to people

It's only when people start using that for their advantage or make me help them out even though I'm busy or just don't want to do it. That's when there's an issue.

Lucifer:

"oh~ Luci! You still working?"

You peered over at him at his desk, peaking from the space between the wall and the stair railing

He looked up at you with a tired expression, frowning

"I am, what do you need?"

you trotted down the rest of the steps, walking over to him with a bright smile

A tray in hand with coffee and biscuits and apple slices

"I made these for you, I know it isn't much but you're always working so hard... perhaps I can help?"

Lucifer wasn't too surprised, you were always offering your help whenever you could but it still surprised him you were so quick to offer

He didn't know how you had all that energy to face the day and then do more for others but he always enjoyed your company

"be my guest."

You grabbed a mini stool and sat beside him, you'd read over papers with him, massaging his hand whenever you noticed it cramped

He shared the snacks you got him and even revealed the mini snack draw he had in his desk

He put a finger to his lips with a smile

"don't tell my brother's, this will be just between you and me."

He showed you what he had and you picked whatever caught your fancy, happily eating as you looked over the papers

Mammon:

He wasn't use to Someone being nice to him so when you came along and offered acts of service - he was blown away!

Even over time he wasn't really use to it

Speaking of you and your acts or service; you were whistling a happy tune

A thick wallet in your pocket, you headed straight to mammons room

It was as if he could smell the money, he rushed to your side and started eyeing the wallet

"Stop peeking - it's a gift."

He looked at you confused but was grinning

"oh? The great Mammon can't refuse a gift!"

You placed the wallet in his hand, he let out a yelp at the weight of it

It was completely loaded!!! It was stuffed with money!

He couldn't believe it - it had to be a trick! There was no way you were giving him this much money!

"Are ya playing with me? Ha ha human."

"no tricks, you've been struggling with your debt to the witch's so I thought I'd help, I heard you've been getting in trouble with Lucifer more because of it so I wanted to help!"

He didn't even realize he teared up, he jumped towards you and hugged you close

Nuzzling your faces together as he hugged you tight

"You-! YOU DAMN HUMAN- NO YOU ANGEL! YOU'RE THE BEST THING THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME!"

You patted his arm, laughing and it wasn't long before he was planning to spend a big splurge on you despite his issues with money already

Levithan:

He was shuffling into his room, headphones on and just starting to calm down

Today was hectic so he was happy to finally be back home

"Evening! Don't worry, I still used the secret password."

"HUH-?! THAT'S NOT- WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM?!"

He threw his headphones off, face bright red

He should of known you were up to something, you kept humming whenever you entered his room

Talking about cleaning up after himself but he kept forgetting due to getting distracted

"I noticed it's gotten really messy so I decided to clean it for you but before you say anything, I know you hate when it's cleaned because you don't know where anything so I've labelled where everything has been stored if it's changed places."

He was still upset, he REALLY hated it when things are changed without him knowing first

But he looked around the room and sure enough, things were still in the cupboards and places he stacked them in and the labels were correct

Everything was completely organized! All the piled up ramen was even gone!

He exhaled a long breathe calming himself down, he was happy - really really happy

"Thanks.... just - can we arrange something next time? But I do like what you did! It looks nice - it's much better now!"

"of course, I'll ask next time - also~ I got you some special ruri-chan themed chips in hopes to make you feel better."

He moves before he knows it, hugging you tight

"STAY WITH ME FOREVER!!!!"

He's definitely embarassed afterwards and gets you out of his room before he makes himself look more like a love sick fool

But don't worry, he texts you wanting to hang out later

Satan:

Satan has been locked in his room after having a big outburst earlier that day

He got overwhelmed from all the noises and threw a book at mammon

You waited awhile before going after him, wanting him to calm down and looked after mammons sore head

You grabbed the book he threw, making a nice calming tea and even made some Apple pie

When you knocked his door he freezed

"Who is it-?! Lucifer, I'm not in the mood for your scolding-"

"it's just me, I got you something!"

He opened the door for you, letting you inside

His room looked clean for once - you didn't doubt he continued his rage into his room and cleaned up to calm down

You offered him a smile, placing the tray on his bed

"I hope you like it, I made it myself."

He looked at the fresh apple pie, his stomach rumbling at the mere sight of it

"you did this...for me? Didn't I scare you?"

You hummed, sitting close to him

"yeah a little but everyone has their bad days, you having one doesn't change anything - though you do need to apologize to mammon."

He sat down by his bed, placing the tray on his lap

"you're right I do, thank you for not just seeing me as some angry creature....I didn't intend to blow up like that."

You patted his arm, still smiling

You two sat together, you read his book for him whilst he ate and drank

He was very bashful at how supportive you are but that was you, you've always been so quick to offer help or do things for people ever since you've arrived

You were good to him, he'll always appreciate that

Asmodeus:

His love language is affection and words

Yours is acts of service

It's perfect!

Though, when it was established you were quick to help and offer your service - prepare for MANY innuendos

He'll come skipping to you, draping himself off the nearest object and asking if you want to help him de-stress

Most of the time you just have spa days or lay around doing nothing

You decided to treat him today seeing as exams were stressing him out

"Asmo! Won't you help me? I have this lovely new-"

He's skidding as he appears in the doorway, ready to do whatever you want

But you just grinned, knowing your plan worked

You grabbed him and shoved him into a chair

Before he knew it; his hair was tied up and his jacket and scarf has disappeared

"oh? What's all this about? Does my love want some special care?"

"nope, I just want to look after you today~ you've been stressing over exams so much, I wanted to treat you like a prince."

He had the biggest grin on his face after that

And treated like a prince he was

You did his skin routine, brushed his hair and curled it

If he even mentioned being thirsty you were straight to getting him a nice refreshing drink

If you're able to - please carry him bridal style - he will love every second of it

"you treat me so well, I know I'm already a blessing to this demonic world but you're just pure light."

He's so love sick, an absolute fool in love

"nonsense, I'm just helping you like usual."

Which is true, you were always being helpful to him

Thats why he loved doing whatever he could for you

"Never leave the Devildom, I couldn't bare not seeing your beautiful face everyday."

You just laughed, massaging his face and gave him a quick kiss

Beezlebub:

Another person who does acts of service as a love language

Though, do forgive him if he forgets due to hunger - he'll immediately make it up to you

At this point he's become a subconscious challenge/game of service - always trying to one up each other

Currently, he was really anxious about his up coming game

It was the biggest one that R.A.D was having and was against a smaller school in the Devildom

The brothers all agreed to come watch him play and even made banners and levi brought glowsticks

You were no were to be seen

The weeks running up to the game you were always busy and whilst you still do some things for him here or there - you were mostly out of the house

But it was but a long lasting plan

You planned on supporting him the best way you could!

When he finally rolled onto the field he felt dread when he didn't spot you in the crowd

He couldn't stop frowning until he saw you, shaking pom poms and running with the cheersquad

That's right, you joined the cheer team to show your support for the lovely demon

"I WANT TO DEDICATE A CHEER TO OUR STAR PLAYER - BEEZLEBUB!!!"

He's so flustered and absolutely shining with joy under his helmet

As soon as he could he came running towards you and hugged you tight

"I was so worried I did something that made you drift away....you did this for me?"

"of course! I'm sorry I made you worried, I wanted to surprise you."

He had to take off his helmet after trying to nuzzle your face, you yelped when it bonked you

"This is the best thing anyone has done for me, thank you (Y/N)."

"you're welcome, now go win that game! Prove those losers that R.A.D is the best school around!"

It was no surprised that R.A.D won

The players all cheered and partied, inviting the band and cheerleaders to celebrate with them

But you decided to have a sleepover with Beelzebub, feeding him plenty of tasty foods as your own type of celebration

"Open wide."

You almost choked on the cake basically shoved in your mouth, laughing as frosting covered your nose and cheeks

You got your revenge but he happily licked what he could

This is the best celebration he could ever get

All because of you!

Belphegor:

Even if your love language wasn't acts or service, you definitely got in the habit of doing it with this guy

He was spoilt from always being carried and pampered by his twin

He could get away with sleeping anywhere as long as he got things done and good grades

But you were always the helpful human, giving him snacks or fluffing his pillows

He's joked about getting a bell so he could call you whenever he needed you

That never happened

"Belphie!! You awake? I got something for you."

He immediately popped his head up and waved to get your attention

You showed him the cup of hot mocha you've recently made; sweet and delicious and has an extra kick to help with keeping awake

"Smells delicious, you made this?"

"yep! Now drink up, we got plans today."

He happily drunk it, feeling more awake with every gulp

By the end of the Cup he was absolutely overjoyed from the taste

Though you almost groaned in frustration when he yawned, so happy that he got sleepy

"you have anymore~? I could drink loads of these- make me more, you know how to make them, I'm too sleepy - it's your fault I'm sleepy."

You flicked his head

Reminding him to not act like a brat

But you did make him more and throughout the day you'd give him a large cup

You needed to do studies and make sure belphegor kept his grades up - Lucifer's orders

But he was already a star pupil regardless so you weren't sure why you had to

But spending time with your favourite demon was never an issue, regardless of his attitude

"We need to do this more, I love it when you look after me."

"I know, now write your answer, I need proof you're working so I don't get strung up."

#obey me #obey me shall we date #gamingclubpresident #aracadejohn217 9 #obey me mammon #obey me mc #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #beelzebub obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me luficer #obey me imagine #obey me headcanon #obey me x you #obey me x mc #obey me x reader

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c-optimistic · 4 years

Note

for your happy prompts ask, perhaps kara is a documentary film maker who follows ceo lena around for a doc and ends up falling in love with her by learning a bunch of little things she finds out during filming? also p.s. i absolutely adore your writing even when it tugs at the heartstrings. thank you for writing what you do! it makes my day everytime i see an update or get an email

She wasn’t allowed to see Lena Luthor until she’d signed so many papers that, if stacked together, would be taller than she was. She wasn’t even allowed to touch her camera around Lena Luthor until the woman herself, CEO extraordinaire, had personally vetted Kara out.

“You know,” Kara said as casually as she could, finding herself nervously adjusting her glasses when Lena’s cold gaze fell on her, “I usually have a whole team with me when I do this.”

“And I agreed to this on the condition that only one nosy filmmaker follows me around, not a whole team.” Lena’s reply was like everything else Kara had learned about the CEO thus far: she was blunt, a little harsh, tone and eyes cold and emotionless. She gave nothing away, not in her walk, in her mannerisms, in the ridiculously healthy food she ate, in the way she spoke to her employees or board members. She was cool, detached, wickedly smart, and utterly composed. “And I must approve the final result,” she added, gesturing to the mountain of paperwork Kara signed.

(Kara sighed internally, a tiny part of her sure Lena was a robot.)

“But it’s everything, right?” Kara clarified. “A total look into your life, no holding back?”

“You may follow me around to your heart’s content,” Lena said, leaning back in her desk chair, studying Kara intently.

“May I ask, Ms. Luthor, what made you agree to this, when you’re usually so distrustful of the media?”

Lena gave Kara a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “What made you ask to do this when you know I distrust the media?”

Lena hadn’t answered, so Kara knew she didn’t have to either, but she felt it was important to establish some kind of rapport with the woman she’d be following around for the next few weeks. “I’m of the opinion that things are rarely as simple as they seem from the outside, that’s all.”

“Well,” Lena said, looking pleasantly surprised and offering Kara a grin (a real one, one that touched her eyes and transformed her face), “perhaps that’s why I agreed to you doing this.”

“You’re one of Ms. Luthor’s closest friends, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Since before your daughter was born?”

“Yup.”

“So would you say you know her quite well?”

“Sure.”

“Do you plan on answering any of my questions with more than one word?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. So, in one word I suppose, how would you describe Ms. Luthor to a stranger?”

“Flawless.”

The rules of her arrangement with Lena were rather simple. For the next several weeks, Lena consented to having Kara around from the moment she woke up to the moment she went to sleep. In return, Kara was not allowed in certain meetings at L-Corp, was not allowed to bring her camera with her at all when Lena went down to R&D, and if Lena asked for her to stop filming at any point, Kara was bound to immediately do so and erase any footage she may have inadvertently captured.

For the first two days of the arrangement, it was actually rather boring. Lena was awake before the crack of dawn, she didn’t acknowledge Kara’s presence as she made coffee and toast (though she did push a cup and a plate towards Kara), and then spent the next fifteen or so hours in her office, sifting through papers, answering phone calls and responding to emails, and forgetting meals. It wasn’t until the third day that Lena’s routine changed slightly.

She received a phone call at breakfast, and whoever it was caused a bright red blush to bloom on her cheeks. Kara zoomed in slightly on Lena’s face as she answered the call. “Now’s not really a good time, Sam,” she began, falling silent at whatever this Sam was saying on the other end. Lena’s eyes flitted over towards Kara, but to her surprise, she didn’t ask for Kara to shut off the camera. “That sounds terrible,” she said, sounding truly apologetic, something about her countenance changing. She seemed softer, more open, calmer than Kara had seen her yet. “And Ruby was so excited too.” Lena fell silent once more, nodding almost as if unaware of it. “I agree with her,” Lena suddenly laughed, still nodding, “it’s not fair at all. But there’s no way I’m not going to visit. Do you want me to bring anything?” Lena laughed again, and Kara wondered if her camera was capturing the change she was witnessing with her own eyes. “As if I could forget Ruby’s chocolate.” A pause. “Give her all my love.” Another pause, a tiny smile on Lena’s lips. “All right, I will. Bye.” As she hung up, she looked over at Kara, as if daring her to comment, everything about her shuttering at once.

“Who was that?” Kara asked, not really expecting an answer. To her surprise, however, Lena’s eyes flitted to the camera and she let out a soft, resigned sigh.

“That was my CFO, Sam Arias,” she answered, her tone a complete 180 from what she was using on the phone. She studied Kara for a moment and must have read something on her face, because her shoulders deflated and she motioned towards her phone. “Sam is my best friend. Her daughter, Ruby, is my goddaughter. We were supposed to go to the animal shelter today.” Lena smiled softly, almost as if unaware of it. “She’s finally convinced Sam she’s responsible enough for a pet. It’s actually—” Lena stopped suddenly, her eyes shifting to the camera once more, any warmth that had managed to leak out dissipating at once. “In any case, she’s sick. So we’ll have to reschedule.” She waved her hand towards the camera. “Can you turn that off, please?”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Kara said quickly, making a show of turning the Camcorder off and setting it aside. “Is something wrong?”

Lena shook her head, leaning against her kitchen counter as she eyed Kara with something like curiosity. “You know, I’ve seen all of your other work,” she said after a moment, frowning at Kara like she was a puzzle she couldn’t figure out.

(Had she? Seen all of Kara’s work? A part of Kara was curious as to how, after all, most of her stuff was tucked away in a closet back in Midvale, waiting to be opened up and viewed during Christmas, when Alex would laugh at the films she’d made in high school about how the boys’ sports teams were unfairly given more attention than the girls’. The others were projects for her degree and one or two failed attempts to get a real production company to take the risk on her.

In fact, if not for Cat Grant’s decision as ‘The Queen of All Media’ to get involved in filmmaking, funding a project from a no-name creator, Kara wasn’t even sure she’d have the film she was making now.)

“Oh,” she said inarticulately, not quite sure how to word what she was really thinking. How rich did you have to be to be able to bribe anyone into giving you anything?

Lena nodded carefully, her face a perfect mask. If not for the way her eyes followed Kara’s every movement, Kara would’ve even thought that Lena was bored. “You’re very fond of certain themes. Hope. Love. Endless optimism in the best of humanity.” She said it like it was a bad thing. And it was suddenly Kara’s turn to lean forward on the opposite end of the counter, feeling her head tilt to the side questioningly.

“Is that what you got from my films?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Lena seemed wary of the question, standing up straight and crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Isn’t that what you intended?”

“You know,” Kara said slowly, “I don’t actually believe in all that creator’s intent nonsense. I think we search for parts of ourselves when we consume art. So if that’s what you got from my films, that says more about you than it does about me.”

If anything, this seemed to offend Lena. “So you’d deny having any sort of intent with your work? What about making something with meaning?”

Kara laughed, shaking her head. “That’s not what I mean, and besides, who says art has to mean anything?”

“Of course art means something,” Lena argued, narrowing her eyes at Kara. “What’s the point of doing it if it doesn’t mean anything?”

Kara shrugged easily, giving Lena a small smile. “I disagree. I think art says something. But meaning is up to the people who consume it.” She picked up her camera and pointed it at Lena without turning it on. “Doesn’t matter what I intended to say with my films, you got meaning from it. So I’d say there was a point in making it, don’t you think?”

Lena eyed her for a moment, apparently not liking that Kara wasn’t giving her an answer, wasn’t telling her what she was trying to say with her work. But then, after several long seconds, she relented, letting out a chuckle and shaking her head. “Well, fine,” she said, her smile touching her eyes. “As long as you don’t try to say anything silly like hope, love, or endless optimism in the best of humanity with this film.”

“I’m afraid I can’t change who you are, Ms. Luthor,” Kara said softly, turning her camera on and effectively cutting off any response Lena may have had.

(And when she looks at the footage weeks later, she’ll freeze that frame, breath catching at the look on Lena’s face: the softness of her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the pleasantly confused crinkle between her brows.)

“Do you spend a lot of time with your godmother?”

“Oh yeah, loads! She’s great.”

“What sort of things do you do with her?”

“I mean, normal stuff? She takes me to get ice cream all the time. The other day, she rented that new horror movie that came out and watched it with me when I stayed over. My mom went nuts when she found out.”

“So you like her?”

“No, of course not. I love Lena. She’s my aunt, you know? She’s family.”

“And if you had the chance, what would you want the world to know about her?”

“That she cares, so much. And that she’s funny and super smart and helps me with homework and after my mom she’s the very best person I know.”

The visit to Luthor Children’s Hospital was, as far as Kara was aware, unplanned and in fact gave Jess a great deal of anxiety. For her part, Kara was mostly frustrated and annoyed, wondering if this film was worth it at all. Because Lena Luthor seemed to be asking Kara to turn off the camera more and more, especially when her day deviated at all and she was forced to leave her office.

(Walks in the park, lunches with her goddaughter, a touching moment with the child of one of her employees...all locked away somewhere in Kara’s memory, but destined to remain there instead of on film, where it should be.)

She huffed a little bit as she leaned against the wall, watching Lena walk quickly towards the group of nurses and doctors. She didn’t say anything when Jess joined her, a contemplative look on her face. “She always does this,” Jess told Kara after a long silence, rolling her eyes fondly. “She’ll cancel meetings last minute because she heard one of the kids in the hemoc ward has finished treatment or that they’re out of toys to give to the new patients.”

“Why isn’t there any press if she does this often?” Kara asked, turning to Jess but watching Lena out of the corner of her eye. She was talking to one of the doctors now, looking comically out of place with her designer clothes while surrounded by colorful artwork by kids that littered the walls of the Children’s Hospital.

Jess fixed Kara with an unimpressed look. “You’ve met her, right?” she asked rhetorically. “She goes out of her way to hide these visits. She says that she has to keep it under wraps because she wants to keep it about the kids and not her. But I think the truth is she’s just worried people would mistreat the kids and their families for allowing a ‘Luthor’ within ten feet of them.”

“Oh,” Kara said dumbly, a little stunned by the new information, and feeling guilty for her thoughts earlier. “That’s...awful.”

“I’m not telling you this for nothing, you know,” Jess continued, frowning at Kara. “She’s been avoiding lots of her usual charitable work since you’ve been around. The whole point of this was to get everyone else to see the real Lena Luthor, but she’s ruining it by being humble and noble.”

(Kara wanted to groan, roll her eyes, or better yet go over to Lena herself and shake her until she understood what Kara’s job was.

How was she supposed to make a documentary about Lena Luthor if Lena Luthor was so determined to hide herself away from the world?)

“What would you have me do?” she asked, not voicing her frustration, though it seeped into her tone anyway. “We have a deal, and she doesn’t want me to film these things.”

Jess shook her head, looking terribly unimpressed by the answer. “Don’t you have artistic integrity? Would you allow anyone else to boss you around and tell you what you could and couldn’t film?”

Kara looked over at Lena, who was now smiling at a young boy who had ambled up to her with his mother and infusion pump stand in tow. She watched as Lena actually dropped to her knees to talk to the boy, nodding vigorously at whatever he was saying. After a long moment, she turned back to Jess and shook her head. “No,” she said finally. “I guess I wouldn’t.”

And after Jess had given her another significant look before walking off, Kara raised her camera and began to film.

“Mr. Spheer, you’re an ex of Lena Luthor’s, right?”

“Ah, I see this documentary is quite personal. Are you sure that Lena is okay with this sort of thing going into her movie?”

“Well, it’s my movie. But she’s free to ask me to take things out.”

“Fascinating. Yes, I am Lena’s ex. I was quite brokenhearted when she broke it off to move to National City.”

“Oh, she broke it off?”

“So curious, Ms. Danvers. Perhaps you’re interested in something beyond a mere film?”

“W-what? No, that’s—please be serious, Mr. Spheer—”

“It’s Jack to you, my dear. What else do you need to know about Lena? Her favorite flowers are plumerias, her favorite food is—”

“—oh that’s really not necessary. If we could just focus on who Lena is as a person. A friend. A former girlfriend?”

“Hmm, yes. Well, just imagine your perfect woman, Ms. Danvers.”

“Oh, um, I—”

“—exactly, you see Lena. That’s an universal experience, I’m afraid. Lena is simply...too good for this world.”

“So you’d say the treatment she gets by the public is unfair?”

“It’s unfair how much people attack pineapple on pizza, Ms. Danvers. The way they speak of Lena without knowing her? That’s a pure travesty.”

They were about ten days into filming when Kara saw Lena relax for the first time.

She was using the word ‘relax’ rather loosely, of course. Lena didn’t do what Kara did after a long week—put on a pair of sweatpants, order loads of junk food, and watch so much Netflix that it eventually felt the need to ask her if she was still watching. In fact, Lena’s idea of relaxing was more work. Just, fun work.

She was dressed in jeans and a blue shirt, knees pulled up to her chest as she sat at her desk, mumbling under her breath as she did whatever she was doing. (She hadn’t bothered to explain to Kara, had just sighed and acquiesced to the presence of the camera in her home office.) Perched precariously at the tip of her nose were a thick black pair of glasses, her hair falling to her shoulders in gentle waves.

She looked different. Softer, somehow. Gone was all the trappings of a badass CEO, and all that was left was a clever (and beautiful) young woman, working on the things she loved in her spare time.

Kara zoomed in slightly, focusing on Lena’s face, on the furrow between her brows, her lips twisted in concentration. There was something there, something different, and Kara just wanted to—

“Is that camera heavy?” Lena asked, looking up suddenly, a curious expression on her face. She was good at that, the polite looks, gently asking for more information. Tiny eyebrow raises, nearly imperceptible softening of her eyes, lips quirked the slightest bit, all intended to disarm her quarry, making them drop their guard long enough that they give everything held close to their chest away.

“Not really,” Kara answered, grinning at Lena. This made the other woman blink in surprise, clearly not the response she was looking for, that expression on her face shifting suddenly, becoming more calculating. “I work out,” Kara went on to explain, shrugging easily, careful not to jostle the camera. “Besides, it’s not that heavy, I think about five pounds.”

“What kind of camera do you use?”

“Oh, it’s a Panasonic AG-HVX—” she cut herself off. “It’s not that interesting.” Kara adjusted her glasses and made sure Lena’s face was still in focus. Somehow, this made Lena’s tiny smile reappear. She stood up and circled her desk, and Kara was forced to back away to maintain focus.

“You love filming, don’t you?” Lena asked, and Kara blinked, not quite sure where she was going with this.

“Ms. Luthor, as I’m sure you’re aware, this film is about you.”

If she thought this would in any way cow Lena, she was wrong. Lena just grinned, looking like she’d somehow won something.

“Do you know what I don’t understand?” she said with faux casualness, crossing her arms and tapping a finger against her elbow. “Why would you, someone Cat Grant speaks so highly of, be willing to agree to this assignment? Something most people wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole.”

Kara frowned, not thinking as she responded. “It wasn’t assigned, Ms. Luthor. I pitched the idea. I wanted to do this.” Lena’s words sank in a moment later. “Wait. Cat Grant spoke highly of me?”

“Why?” Lena asked, no longer smiling.

Kara blinked at the change in tone. “Why what?” she asked, genuinely confused. This was, apparently, the wrong answer, because Lena chose that moment to begin pacing in front of her desk, looking more than a little bothered.

“I don’t get it,” she said as she paced. “I tried to figure it out, looked into you, into your work. I thought maybe you were doing this to build fame, but I’ve seen your work and even without a movie about the last Luthor, I have no doubt you’ll be very popular—”

“Oh, that’s nice of you, thank y—”

“—then I thought maybe you have a vendetta against my family and just want me to look bad,” Lena continued, barreling over Kara’s words and ignoring her entirely, “but the only connection between you and my family is your cousin, Clark Kent, and he’s the journalist who broke the story on my brother, so if anything I should dislike you—”

“That’s not exactly...Clark and I aren’t—”

“—so I really need you to explain it to me. Why did you want to make this film?” She paused her brisk pacing as she asked the question, meeting Kara’s eyes with a fierce look, one Kara was infinitely glad she was capturing on film. Because this, this glint in Lena’s eyes, was why Kara wanted to do this.

“Do you remember the speech you gave when you came to National City?” Kara asked, and judging from the way Lena’s eyebrows rose in response, she was rather thrown by the question. “Because I do. I watched it maybe a few dozen times. All those horrible questions, all the absolute certainty that you were like your brother, and you kept your head up and you promised to prove them all wrong, to make up for what he did.” Kara sighed, shutting off the camera and setting it aside gently. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I was...interested. I wanted to see more.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did I meet your expectations? Disappoint you? What?”

Kara smiled, unable to help it. “Does my opinion on you really matter?”

“Do you always answer a question with another question?” Lena shot back, eyes narrowing.

Kara’s smile just widened and she began to gather her things, preparing to leave for the night. Impressively, Lena didn’t question her further, just watched her then followed her to the door, looking rather cross. Pausing briefly to adjust her glasses and the strap of her bag, Kara turned suddenly and met Lena’s eyes. “You exceeded them. My expectations, that is,” Kara added when Lena offered only a quizzical look in response.

For a moment, Lena didn’t react, then that same look from her office—the softness of her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the pleasantly confused crinkle between her brows—overtook her expression, and she let out a laugh.

“Well, good then.”

“You went to boarding school with Ms. Luthor?”

“I don’t think that’s public knowledge, how do you know that?”

“Um, Ms. Arias told me about you. She mentioned your relationship with Ms. Luthor is unique.”

“Well, Sam would know, wouldn’t she?”

“Ms. Rojas, if you don’t want to speak to me, you don’t have to.”

“It’s fine. Look, Lena and I have been estranged for a while now. I...I did something to break her trust.”

“So would you say that Ms. Luthor is difficult to get along with?”

“No, I’d say that Lena values things like honesty and trust, and—you know that Austen novel? With the man who says that once you lose his good opinion, it’s gone forever?”

“Pride and Prejudice?”

“Exactly. Lena is like that.”

“Ms. Luthor is like Mr. Darcy?”

“No, she’s classic. No matter what’s going on, she’ll endure.”

“So...you were the one difficult to get along with?”

“Have you ever thought about taking your work to a whole new level, Kara? How do you feel about virtual reality?”

“Oh, um, I don’t have particular thoughts? But I’d love to know yours about Ms. Luthor. For the film.”

“She won’t believe this, or that I’m saying it coercion free, but Lena is...a visionary. More than that, she’s just a decent person. Which is more than most of us can say, don’t you think?”

After their conversation, Lena opened up dramatically.

(Well, dramatically was a stretch, but considering how closed off she’d been before, the difference was rather drastic.)

Kara filmed Lena’s visit to an animal shelter, capturing the way her fingers gently ran over the fur of the dog that immediately trotted over to her, placing its head in her lap. Lena had then explained that she went to shelters often, just to volunteer, as she was unable to adopt for fear of not having time to give the dog the attention it deserved.

Later that week, Lena let Kara stay later than usual, putting on some music as she got to cooking, going as far as to teach Kara the basics of the dish, laughing when Kara admitted that her skill in the kitchen was limited to making sandwiches. At one point she grabbed the camera and set it aside, dragging Kara into the kitchen, giving instructions and lessons as she swayed her hips to the music.

(It was silly, it was lighthearted, it was fun, and Kara couldn’t help it.

She forgot she was there to make a film.)

And as the days and weeks dragged on, when Lena showed off her skills at the piano—apologetically explaining she hadn’t had time to really play in months—or when she told Kara about her very ‘nerdy’ stamp collection or even when Lena seemed to ignore there was a camera between them and she began to talk about her day and her hopes for the weekend, Kara forgot that it was a job. She forgot that she was supposed to be making something, paying attention to more than Lena’s smile or the way her eyes lit up whenever she mentioned work she was particularly passionate about.

Somewhere along the way, Kara cared more about the opportunity to spend time with Lena than she did the film itself.

More worryingly, that realization didn’t even bother her.

“Why filmmaking?” Lena asked one morning, pushing coffee and toast towards Kara with a tiny smile. The camera was still in its bag, untouched since Kara had arrived nearly an hour earlier. “Why not journalism like your cousin?”

“My cousin and I,” Kara began awkwardly, adjusting her glasses, “well, our relationship is a little strained, I guess.” She didn’t need the slight tilt of Lena’s head to know that Lena wanted her to keep going, to explain further. She let out a soft chuckle and rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “Um, so my parents died when I was twelve. And Clark sort of...left me? I went to live with the Danvers instead, and they bought me a camera for my birthday.” Kara grinned at the very memory, still able to feel its weight in her hand, the eyepiece against her eye. “It was one of those old camcorders, do you remember? The ones with the tapes? I drove them nuts, filming literally everything. I don’t think they ever saw my face for the first few months I was with them, it was constantly behind the camera.” She didn’t explain why she wanted to document every moment with her new family, but judging from the way Lena’s eyes softened, she understood anyway. “From there it became serious. I started making films. School projects, etc. Now I’m here.”

“Why documentaries? Why not something like...oh, I don’t know, action movies?” Lena prodded, looking curious, looking interested, looking like the answer mattered.

Kara just shrugged, suddenly not able to look Lena in the eye. “I guess there’s a part of me that wanted to take after Clark.”

“How long have you been working for Ms. Luthor?”

“Um, this December will make seven years.”

“As her assistant, you have remarkable access to her. What’s she like?”

“Driven, ambitious, works way too hard. I don’t think she’s ever taken a holiday or even a break...but um, maybe don’t say that in the film.”

“Artistic integrity, remember? She works hard, that’s clear. But what about personally? Her relationship with you and the other employees? What kind of boss is she?”

“She cares a lot. A few years ago, before Lex Luthor, well. You know. Before all that, LuthorCorp was facing serious losses. Mr. Luthor wanted to just get rid of entire departments, but Ms. Luthor said the research was vital, and more than that, the researchers were important. She convinced her brother to keep them on—she won’t admit it, but it was more than being persuasive. She paid for it out of her own pocket.”

“So you’d say she’s charitable?”

“No, she’s passionate. And she fights for the things she believes in. Ms. Luthor likes to say that charity implies pity, and she doesn’t do anything out of pity. She just does what’s right by people.”

“Some would disagree, they’d argue that LuthorCorp, and by extension its new iteration, L-Corp, don’t care about people, but about profits. Do you think that’s a fair assessment of the company you’ve devoted seven years to?”

“Look. I get it, people are suspicious of L-Corp because it used to be LuthorCorp. But it’s not just a name change. When Lena took over, she gutted her company. There’s not a single program left from Mr. Luthor’s time as CEO. L-Corp is all Ms. Luthor.”

“So if L-Corp is Ms. Luthor, who is Ms. Luthor?”

“She’s a woman who’s been hurt all her life, Kara Danvers, and whose only goal is to keep as many people as she can from hurting too. Sometimes I just wish she realized she doesn’t deserve to be hurt anymore either.”

“Oh.”

“Also, I don’t care about your artistic integrity, that last bit does not go in the film.”

One afternoon, when Kara was dangerously close to dozing off on the couch in Lena’s office—camera turned off and set aside, not really needing more footage of Lena working at her desk—Lena suddenly jumped to her feet, an excited gleam in her eyes.

“They’ve done it,” she said, the smile forming on her lips so wide that Kara found herself smiling back.

“Done what?” Kara asked, fairly sure this would lead to Lena’s refrain of ‘that’s company business and I’m afraid you’re not privy to that information’ but instead, Lena looked at her appraisingly, then rolled her eyes.

“If I allow you to bring your camera in R&D, do you swear not to film my ongoing projects?”

“You’re going to let me film in R&D?” Kara said excitedly, jumping to her feet and grabbing her camera.

“Kara, do you swear?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Ms. Luthor. I absolutely swear.”

And the next thing Kara knew, she was filming in the one place she’d been told was off-limits, capturing the lab and Lena talking to her researchers animatedly about the advancement they’d made in gene therapy, not entirely surprised when Lena shoved the scientists towards Kara and urged them to brag about their achievement—while also warning them to be as vague as possible—and then sank into the background, clearly thrilled to have her scientists as the center of attention.

And later, when Lena decided to actually take a lunch hour as a ‘reward’ for the great strides L-Corp had made, she took Kara along, bought three different appetizers, and smiled her wide smile before she said, “It’s Lena, by the way. Just Lena.”

Mouth still bulging with the three potstickers she’d practically inhaled, Kara couldn’t manage much more than a nod, but later—when she was alone—she tried saying the name aloud, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Mrs. Luthor—”

“It’s doctor, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Dr. Luthor. You adopted Ms. Luthor when she was four, is that correct?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for this nonsense. I consented to this interview only to say one thing: Lena was always the more clever of my children, but she’s foolish and soft, and this silly film is yet another example of that.”

“You agreed to meet with me to just say...that. Okay. That’s um. Fine.”

As the weeks dragged on, Kara had little reason to continue filming. Her deadline with Cat Grant was fast approaching, and she had more than enough footage. All that really remained was editing, of putting the final pieces together. But she found herself filming anyway.

Every day, she’d make her way to Lena’s apartment, making flimsy excuses about how certain footage was no good, or had been corrupted, and that she needed retakes of Lena doing ordinary things (like reading the paper, cooking dinner, or talking about her day). She knew that Lena could tell her excuses were just that, but mercifully, Lena didn’t seem to want to call her out on it, merely gave soft reminders not to stay up so late every night to edit (the ‘you could just as easily stop wasting your time here and be editing during normal hours’ going unsaid).

(Jess had rolled her eyes when Kara came by L-Corp and Lena mentioned offhandedly that Kara somehow hadn’t gotten a shot of Lena entering her building in all the time she’d shadowed the CEO, and wasn’t that odd?)

But what Kara knew, what made her stretch out these moments as long as she possibly could, was that once the final product popped into existence, once she showed Lena and got her okay to send off to Cat Grant, that was it.

No more Lena.

And that terrified her.

(So she gathered more footage, fruitlessly hoping that the final product would never be ready, dragging her feet at every step.

She edited, studying Lena’s every expression, tried to pinpoint the exact moment she’d started to fall for the not-so-detached CEO extraordinaire, and wished it didn’t all have to come to an end.)

Two days after Kara had sent Lena the finished film, she got a curt email from the CEO herself with only three words: come see me.

Jess gave no indication about how her boss was feeling when Kara arrived, merely stared evenly at Kara and gestured with her head for her to just go on in. When Kara tried to ask her, Jess shook her head, pointed at the door to Lena’s office, and made a shooing gesture.

“It’s odd to see you without a camera,” Lena said when Kara sat down across from her, trying to keep her hands from fidgeting.

“It’s odd to be in here without a camera.” Kara took a deep breath. “Did you watch it?” she blurted, unable to keep it in. “What did you think?”

“You’re really fond of certain themes,” Lena said, then she raised her eyebrow. “You also filmed quite a bit when I had asked you not to.”

“Artistic integrity?” Kara tried, and Lena...laughed.

“I don’t know if I agree with the way you portrayed me,” she said slowly as her amusement faded. “You took a lot of liberties.”

“I was very faithful to the subject of the film, Lena.”

“What do you think you were trying to say?” Lena asked, waving off Kara’s comment.

“What meaning did you get from it?”

Lena studied her for a moment, as if she was trying to read Kara’s mind. “I’m not some selfless genius, Kara.”

“Is that what you think the film is saying?” Kara asked her, not rising to the obvious bait. “Like I said, Lena. I was very faithful to the subject of the film.” For a long moment, Lena didn’t respond, and Kara felt the worry she’d managed to push away since sending the film to Lena creep back in. “Does this mean you don’t approve of the film?”

“Hmm?” Lena said, distracted. “No, I’ve already sent it along to Cat Grant, giving my okay. Even though you broke our agreement, I can’t deny the final result was very favorable to me.”

“I wouldn’t have made something that wasn’t completely true,” Kara said, somewhat hotly, most of her irritation bleeding away with the knowledge that Cat Grant was in possession of the final product, that the rest was up to her.

Lena smiled, eyes soft, and she nodded her head almost incredulously. “No, you wouldn’t. I know that.” She cleared her throat, seeming a bit nervous. “But I was thinking. I’ve been missing our talks about your work, and I know you don’t like talking about what you’ve made, but perhaps you’d make an exception for me. Would you be willing to give me a private showing of your film? Give me all the insider secrets? I know your subject quite well, it would be a fun exercise.”

Kara’s heart slammed to a stop, the jump-started at the sight of Lena’s amused eyes, that tiny curve of her lips. “A private showing, huh?” Kara mumbled, feeling a little dazed. “I still won’t tell you what I was trying to say.”

“That’s completely fair.”

“But I suppose I could give you some insight on my thoughts.”

“Only if you wanted.”

“It may have to be more than one session,” Kara said, trying and failing to stop the spread of her smile. “There’s a lot of footage you know.”

“So it’s a date?” Lena asked, and Kara couldn’t help her eager nod.

“It’s definitely a date.”

#thank you so much!#supercorp #fanfic

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engagemachine · 2 years

Text

I miss you guys so much. I feel like we don't chat anymore!! I have been remiss in responding to comments on my posts and I do apologize for that. I don't want to be that person that forgets to respond. I did mean to go back to some of those posts, but they got a bit lost in my notifications, and now it feels too late.

How are you guys?! February is here already. I am very much anticipating spring. I am ready for the sunshine, longer days/more daylight hours, and for the flowers and trees to come back into bloom. Everything always looks a bit dreary in the winter; I try to find the beauty in it, but I am a Green girl through and through. I want to see things alive and blossoming. I miss seeing the sunlight dappling the pavement through the trees. I miss warm, humid nights and summer sunsets.

Work has been incredibly busy. Usually at night I do have some downtime and will spend that time restocking our med room, making sure our PPE is well-stocked within the halls, or I'll clean up the supply room, but lately I haven't had time. I typically have four or five Covid-positive patients in one night, while the other one or two patients are negative. For a brief (brief!) time, it seemed like Covid was petering out, or at least, my Covid patients weren't that sick... now I'm starting to treat very sick patients again, although generally they are still doing a lot better than they were during the Delta variant, which was an absolute nightmare. I saw so much death during that month of August and September of last year... I still don't think I have fully recovered from that. I read an article the other day talking about how many younger nurses (such as myself) are being exposed to more death than most seasoned nurses have seen within their entire career; that is so startling to think about. It has definitely taken a toll on me, and so many other healthcare workers. Sometimes I don't find out a patient has died until a couple of weeks later, or when we'll look them up in the system to see how they're doing after they've been transferred to the ICU, and then we read the note stating that the family has agreed to hospice, or they're about to pull the plug because there's nothing else that can be done.

My last couple of shifts have been potent reminders of why I do what I do. I've done a lot of hand-holding, a lot of sweeping-hair-off-the-forehead and back rubs while I tell my patients I love them and they're doing such a good job. I'm really proud of the care I administer, but sometimes the doubt sets in, and that's heavy. Sometimes I feel like I don't do enough, but sometimes there is nothing more I can do, and I know that, too.

I've been trying to go back to my regular hours (the kinds of hours I was working before I went back to school) but it's been hard. I really believe my body (and my mind) is trying to tell me I need to come off of nightshift, but I've gotten so comfortable with my job and my team, so the idea of anything else is kind of unthinkable, even though I know I probably could be getting paid better if I made the jump to another hospital. The staffing (as always) has also been incredibly challenging, and our hospital is trying to make it the new norm to strap us with a nurse to patient ratio of 1 to 7, which is insane. I take care of six patients at one time, but it is generally agreed that 5 is what's more comfortable for a nurse on the kind of floor that I work on; a nurse to patient ratio of 1:5 is mandated in California, for example... and I desperately wish that was mandated across the board for all the other forty-nine states. Nurses and nursing staff are suffering emotionally and physically from the intense workload, and it is also extremely challenging to take good, quality care of six patients at one time, let alone seven.

It is also very, very hard working nights, and I know that mentally I would greatly benefit from having a more established routine, which is nearly impossible to maintain when working nights. I try to group my night shifts together so that I can spend the rest of the week trying to "reset" my internal clock, so that I am not sleeping during the day and up all night, but that is so hard to do, and I am exhausted all of the time. That has honestly taken a toll on my body and mind probably more than anything else I've gone through in these past couple of years.

I am not the same person that I was since I made the switch to nightshift, and I really, desperately miss and long for my old self. I've been thinking about that a lot, lately. I feel like I keep moving farther and farther away from the person I used to be, this person that I used to love, and that's a very hard thing to have to reckon with and come to terms with. I guess I fear I don't even really know who I am anymore, or I fear that I do not even know what I want. Sometimes it is hard to be passionate about the things I used to be passionate about, because the energy simply isn't there. I know something needs to change.

It is also hard not to get sucked into this cycle of negativity perpetuated by the news, and the events taking place in our world today. I think, perhaps, another reason why I find myself long for my "old" self is because she didn't know the perils of the world today. Things were "simpler" back then, or maybe I was just operating under a certain level of naivety. But I do know one thing: I did not live and operate beneath the weight of so much fear.

I really hope you all are well. I wanted to journal about some other things going on in my life, but I ended up just info-dumping about work, and this post is already quite long. I love and miss you all. I am thinking of you always, and I thank you for all the lovely messages and kind thoughts you have shared with me recently. All my love.

#text

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alonfic · 3 years

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forget the world

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader genre: established relationship au | fluff wc: 1,763 description: despite all the obstacles life has to throw at you, there’s comfort in knowing that home actually feels like home for once; also, that you have your boyfriend Shouto’s arms to take refuge in. author’s note: i honestly just wanted well-regulated, temperate cuddles with shouto. also backrubs. yes <3

Today is an unbearably long day.

It’s one of those days that goes beyond words and replays in the back of your mind, with needless postulations of what-if’s nagging you as you walk through the paradoxical door. Somehow the reminder that this is both a familiar and unfamiliar entryway slips your mind in favor of exhaustion and starvation for your boyfriend’s touch.

If you were paying any attention to that realization, you would’ve been a little proud of yourself from graduating from the first-time cohabiting couple anxiety to finally accepting this new territory. But you don’t.

You don’t rejoice in the fact or relish in it so much as you douse yourself in scalding hot water to baptize yourself from the work grime, because all you can think about is Todoroki and what it’ll be like to settle into his arms. His perfectly well-regulated and temperate arms that you’ve sworn he’s perfected to your respective likings over the two-year long course of your relationship.

Just the prospect is enough for you to saunter back into the room, despite your hair still being a little damp. Another small win you don’t think too much about is how you hardly have to attempt to navigate the dark room without help from any light; it’s a step up from a few weeks ago when you were constantly bumping into the bedside table.

A part of you then wonders if he’s still awake, though when you really think about it, you’re almost certain that he would be asleep by now. Considering it’s much later than your usual arrival time, you would be surprised if he was still awake.

When you hear him stir before you’ve even touched the corner of the comforter, you’re shaken from your thoughts.

“How was your day?” he asks, with his voice a touch closer to sleep than usual. It’s not rare for him to be so tired, being third ranked Pro Hero and all. He’s a busy man, so you’re still a little surprised that he’s been awake every night since you’ve started living there. Tonight, especially.

“It was long,” you mumble. Your next words are all intermingled together from how your jaw hardly wants to keep working anymore. “M’tired.”

Even in the faint wash of moonlight spilling in from the half-open blinds, you can see that his eyes are closed. He still looks as handsome as when you first met him, probably even more so now. This time he looks more relaxed, save for the slight crease in his brow that gives you the impression that he seems to be a little more awake after hearing your response.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, while raising the corner of the comforter, “was work crazy for you again?”

You accept his invitation; while he remains on his back, you settle partially atop his chest, your left leg almost immediately entangled with his, and part of your right side still touching your side of the bed. It’s second nature to wrap your arms around his waist and find ease in the way his heart flutters, like a tether, keeping you from completely losing your mind. But what damn near throws you over the edge is the way his arms wrap around you, as if to keep you from falling apart entirely. For once, you feel whole.

You don’t realize there’s a tremble in your voice until you try to answer his question, and the moment you hear it, you try to nod in its place.

“Hey,” he rubs your back with what you’ve identified as his left hand, the slight warmth being a dead giveaway. “What’s wrong, love?”

It’s no surprise that life has been rough for you as of late. Between moving in together for the first time, recovering from a particularly nasty cold, juggling graduate school applications, and thrusting yourself back into work, most of the overwork is from your shitty manager and another part of it being your pride; it’s all an unfortunate combination that has left even Todoroki disgruntled. But because of the moving newness, you can tell he’s been trying to help your transition to the best of his ability. And you hate that all you can think about is work and school, and how the future is so painfully uncertain, while your present is right here.

“M’sorry, Shouto,” you say, with tears prickling the corners of your eyes, after regurgitating the same spiel of how hectic and understaffed work was, all while your boss got to sit upstairs without a care in the world because that’s how crappy he is. Of course, you don’t want Todoroki to see you crying, least of all over this, but one of his fingers catches your chin and you can feel his thumb wipe away a stray tear.

“Oh baby…” He pulls you in closer and squeezes. His other hand is still on your back, now rubbing circles. It’s a nice attempt to soothe away the anxieties and overwhelm, something only he’s ever been able to pull off with you on a handful of occasions.

“What are you sorry about? You have no reason to be sorry.” His tone is so matter-of-fact you almost want to laugh. You actually do when he mentions how it’s your boss who should be sorry for overworking you. “What? It’s true.”

You can’t help but crack a small smile after a while. How cute could your man possibly get? His earnestness has always had a way with you; it hasn’t once wavered in all your time together, and that kind of consistency is something you never thought you needed until you met him, moments like this remind you how lucky you are.

“You always seem to know how to make me feel better, you know.”

“Yeah?” You can see the corners of his lips turned upward, and it compels your smile to grow a little more.

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad,” he says, meeting your eyes, though his smile doesn’t waver. You love being privy to the sight; his smile is another thing you love so ardently about him. “I’ve been trying. I’m sorry that the last couple of weeks haven’t been the easiest and that this place doesn’t feel like home for you, yet.”

You want to protest, of course, though there is some truth to his words. It has been hard. Probably harder than it should’ve been, but with work, getting sick, and application, you felt like you were playing in an entirely different game. You didn’t think life would be so hectic when it’s been only easy with Todoroki, but you know he’s been trying.

Despite his previous routine of instantly falling asleep before you moved in, you have noticed him making an effort to stay awake long enough to at least bid you a good night or ask about your day. It’s an endearing gesture that warms your heart, one that you know is a direct by-product to the move and his attempt at getting you to feel more comfortable in the new space.

Another thing he’s done (that you appreciate immensely) is letting you redecorate the space—this is one that Uraraka hasn’t stopped gushing over because she’s been fighting with Midoriya over their decór for ages. The bedroom—in all its grandeur and spaciousness—and really the entire apartment had already been equipped with modern furnishings from the beginning of Todoroki’s lease on the place. He hadn’t felt any inclination to change anything, up until you started living with him, and then he offered to let you personalize the place in whatever way you saw fit. For you, that looked like incorporating more photos of the two of you as well as you two with friends, and a few knick-knacks here and there on the now-filled bookshelves.

They’re small reassurances that he is happy you’re here, that even if work is shitty and school applications are a pain in the ass, he at least wants you comfortable in your now-shared place.

“It’s okay,” he says, like he’s mentioned many times before, not that he’s all that bothered anyway, because still, he wants to reassure you. “And it’s also okay if this doesn’t feel like our place yet.”

“But it does.” And you mean it.

While the thought hadn’t fully hit you as soon as you walked through the door at first, it seemed to materialize right this moment. The last thing you want to do is make Todoroki feel like you’re still some foreign invader in your shared home. Yeah, it’s been a huge change to go from a couple who slept at each other’s places to reconvening in one space where all your things congregate together, but it’s a change of pace in your life you feel the most at ease with. Most especially, if it means coming home to him.

“Really?” He sounds genuinely surprised, and you feel the sheepishness rising back up again.

“Yeah, if anything, this has been the most apparent thing to me today. All I could was, I want to go home, to you, and be in your arms because today was so shitty. Today didn’t feel like I was just going back to your place anymore. It felt—feels—like our place. Our home.”

“I like that a lot. The sound of our home.”

“Me too.”

“Is there anything else bugging you?” he asks, wanting to be sure. The gesture makes your heart swell, how thoughtful he can be, how hard he tries to fight for some semblance of peace out in the world, and of course, your home.

You think about it. You really do. If there’s anything worth wasting your energy on, but you don’t want to disrupt this moment. You don’t want to keep giving your workplace—temporary as it is—any more of your time when you’re here. And anyway, any inkling of what could have been the culprit seems to dissipate the longer you remain in Todoroki’s arms.

“No, I’m okay. I can forget all the momentarily shitty things when I’m here with you. That’s usually the easiest part. The best part too.”

You can make out his smile, beautiful and so his, before he presses his lips to your forehead. If there’s anywhere you would rather be, it’s here.

“I love you,” he exhales, squeezing you once more. He continues to rub circles into your back, sometimes alternating between patterns; always, adding a touch of warmth to combat the particularly chilly air.

You squeeze back, relishing in it all. “I love you too.”

And for once, everything else drifts away. Just you and him.

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jcmorrigan · 3 years

Note

Somehow, I can imagine Vinny, Al and Victor ""adopting"" Taylor so...👀

I’m just going to do this one off the top of my head and see what happens

-Taylor was accepted into RMU, but oh no! They don’t have enough money to cover the dorms. Their parents are just “It’s too bad you don’t have any friends in G4 to stay with″ and Taylor realizes...oh no...I have friends in G4.

-They didn’t want to admit how much they actually hoped Revenge House would accept them when they called. Taylor will tell anyone who asks that they called for the sole purpose of getting shot down and ruling this out.

-Vincent: “I see. Well - “ Albert: “YES” Victor: “I’ll fix up the guest bedroom” Vincent: “...I guess you’re staying with us then”

-There are a few house rules. Don’t go in the basement (there are cyborgs in there). Don’t roam the house after curfew (that’s when we let the cyborgs out). Don’t feed Winston (Taylor isn’t sure if this one is a joke or an actual warning).

-Otherwise they get a pretty nice bedroom, soft bed, quality blankets. Not soundproof and they can hear the screams and weird metallic noises from the rooms two floors down, but hey, they won’t complain.

-At first, the guys pretty much leave Taylor to their own devices. That’s the nice thing about them being a legal adult: they don’t actually have to be good or attentive parents

-Victor and Albert are the two who pay them the most attention. Victor actually carries on conversation like a normal person. Well, mostly. He still always kind of sounds like he’s gathering information to use for nefarious purposes, but Taylor’s used to that by now. Also being called “my dear Taylor” was offputting at first but now they see it’s a genuine term of affection.

-Albert is...an interesting guardian. He��s always approaching Taylor to talk about non sequiturs, usually morbid, and Taylor has gotten used to this and kind of enjoys it. “Speaking purely in hypotheticals, what do you think tastes better: the spleen or the lungs?” “Spleen. Why are you even asking me this? That one’s obvious.”

-But weirdly Albert is in exchange the one who actively cares the most for Taylor. He makes sure they’re stocked up on supplies, and by that I mean Taylor enters their designated bathroom to find no fewer than twenty toothbrushes, all different colors, bound with a ribbon and a note that says “Pick your favorite! ~AK”

-Also instead of taking them shopping for new college wardrobe, Taylor is awoken at 6 a.m. by a phone call from Albert. “I’m at Hot Topic and they have an assortment of androgynous leather accessories. What’s your size?”

-Vincent and Taylor don’t interact much, at first. But they develop a relationship based on their lack of relationship. They both enjoy the value of comfortable silence. They can be in the same room doing separate things and know they don’t have to bother with greeting one another outside of a quick nod or 0.2 seconds of eye contact.

-Right away, though, they all make it clear that Taylor gets free food. The trio does their usual routine of making extremely high-quality luxury food and just lets Taylor chill out doing nothing until the dinner bell rings. The catch is that some of these things, they weren’t sure were food before this, but hey, turns out they don’t hate sashimi.

-Classes start. Every day when Taylor gets home and brings their books and assignments of the day to the dining room to study, Albert and Victor flock around them. Albert: “How was school? Did you make any lasting memories? Do you have an ARCHNEMESIS yet?” Victor: “Does Professor Browne still have a stick up his ass, metaphorically speaking? Has anyone of your preferred gender asked you out yet?”

-Until dinner time, the dining room is Taylor’s study sanctuary.

-They know better than to bring friends home, however. Not a single college pal who’s entered Revenge House has left with at all a good feeling. Some of them have considered calling the cops because there’s no way these people aren’t going to murder Taylor in the dead of night (sillies...Taylor’s the one person they WON’T murder in the dead of night)

-And as for dates? Unfortunately, the few times Taylor has been asked out, they’ll keep it secret and arrange a meetup at a neutral location and show up at the restaurant only to, halfway through the date, realize that they can spot distinct flashes of pink, red, and black positioned around the restaurant like the Bermuda Triangle and greeeaaat, their guardians followed them to spy on the date.

-Which isn’t always bad because one time somebody actually tried to take advantage of Taylor in the alley out back of the restaurant and before any articles of clothing could be forcibly removed, the offender practically explodes from the impact of being shot by Victor, punched by Vincent, and stabbed by Albert at the same time (the bullet almost clipped Albert but it was worth it)

-Taylor’s never sure how to introduce these people. Parents? Guardians? Friends? Roommates? Usually, it ends up something like “This is my...this is...this is Vincent. He’s Vincent. That’s it.”

-They go out as a “family” unit sometimes, usually to dinner or something where they can all just have conversation. There’s usually going to be some rando who walks past the guys and goes “Your daughter is adorable!” and Albert pulls out a rather long and wicked knife while saying “Their preferred pronouns are they/them, and I HIGHLY suggest you respect that.” Victor and Vincent glare on in the background.

-Taylor is torn because they like having guardians who respect their gender identity but also some of these people are just making honest mistakes

-Victor: “I just want to warn you that when you engage with other college students, you may be pressured to try smoking, drinking, and other narcotics. In a strange environment, any of these may be laced with poison or spiked with different drugs. Here in Vincent’s mansion, our stashes are always pure, so if there’s anything you want, just ask us and we will get you a safe supply.” (Though “safe cigarettes” and “safe hard liquor” are oxymorons to a 19 y/o but Victor is trying. Taylor doesn’t even want any of those things)

-Sometimes, though........Taylor has to be the parent figure to these three

-They might end up trying to drink away their sorrows, falling asleep in a vomit-covered living room. Taylor will clean up any obvious mess and get them some pillows.

-Taylor: “So, did you ever want to...talk to me any more about the childhood stuff that was bothering you?” Albert: “...Yes”

-One night, though, they make a big breakthrough. They find evidence for the Myers revenge scheme and confront Vincent with it.

-Vincent tells them everything. Not without getting a little emotional.

-Taylor’s just like “Oh.”

-Somehow this turns into a hug.

-The guys FORBID Taylor from getting directly involved with Myers. That said...they do act a consultation role sometimes.

-Eventually they meet some of the basement cyborgs. Also they’ve gotten pretty friendly with the Dream Eaters. If all the guys are out of the house and Winston is doing his usual hermit thing, Taylor will be “babysat” by a group of awkward yet well-meaning monsters. (The Dream Eaters have been instructed to keep the cyborgs from eating Taylor, though, and they’ve had to actually step in several times. The Dream Eaters also like the taste of human flesh but Albert said this one is NOT FOOD so they respect that.)

-Those days when the guys come home dragging a corpse/an unconscious person, and Taylor catches them, and the guys stare at them like deer in headlights until they say “I never saw this. Carry on.”

-At some point, though, Taylor decides they want a little more, so they suggest “Do you guys wanna go to the mall and catch a movie?”

-Cue a mall trip that involves Vincent criticizing all the secondhand clothing, Victor flirting with the cashiers at every boutique, and nobody knows exactly what Albert is up to but there’s blood leaking from the dressing room so let’s not ask.

-They go to see a fall blockbuster that Taylor really enjoys and the three guys are having varying degrees of enjoyment toward. If it’s got deep themes, Vincent will be happy. If it’s got romance, Victor will be happy. If it’s horror, Albert will be happy. If it’s a superhero film, NOBODY BUT TAYLOR IS HAPPY (so they kind of like taking the guys to Marvel stuff to annoy them on purpose)

-They talk the guys into accompanying them on other Taylor-style adventures. Like bowling. Bowling was either the best or the worst idea they had, because it turned into a four-person DEATH MATCH. (Figuratively, this time. Maybe literally next time.)

-Vincent draws a HARD LINE IN THE SAND at pizza, though. He will not even look at a pizza, let alone eat one or enter a pizza establishment.

-After some months, Taylor and Vincent are conversing more, but it’s usually Taylor asking questions about how the legal system works because Vincent can explain it better than anyone else and in a way that doesn’t fly over Taylor’s head.

-Sometimes, though...Taylor gets sick. The first time, they didn’t actually expect any of the guys to do anything about it. But Vincent drops off hot meals without a word and leaves, and rude as he is, the food’s always DELICIOUS and particular faves of Taylor’s. Victor is the “Text me if you need anything, sweetie” guy who will drop everything if Taylor needs an ice pack or a barf bin. Albert will sit in the room at a safe distance to talk to Taylor about random things and make sure they don’t get lonely. Also, Taylor will have weirdly no nightmares whatsoever, and they know Albert has something to do with this.

-Sometimes...Taylor is sad. All three of the guys will sit around them, encouraging them to talk about everything that’s bothersome. Brief hugs will be exchanged (Victor’s are a bit too tight since, y’know, metal arms, but that’s fine by Taylor). And then if there was a particular entity that caused the sadness, well, that entity might end up dead in a pool of blood in a back alley later.

-There’s also a contract on the table stating that if Taylor is ever incarcerated, then Vincent, Victor, and Albert will break them out of jail at the earliest convenience. Taylor isn’t sure when this will ever have to be used but they’re glad it’s there.

-They make an even more amazing meal than usual for Taylor’s birthday and spend way, WAY too much on gifts. Some of which aren’t even things Taylor wanted (”It’s...a baseball bat with barbed wire around it. Uh...just what I always wanted? Thanks, Albert.”)

#vincent edgeworth #victor blake #albert krueger #taylor lee #blakeworther #ask to tag for content #somehow i REBLOGGED this instead of tagging it the first time #i blame tumblr

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issaxcharlie · 4 years

Text

You are the music in me

Pairing: Alive! Luke Patterson x Julie Molina

Request: SICK FIC JUKE: “Juke live together (but not dating yet) with Alex and Reggie all in apartment, both Julie and Luke wake up sick as dogs (flu/strep up to you) and force stay home from classes,sick by Alex. While being alone basically all day they finally admitted they like each other more than friends and get together when they start feeling better few days later.”

THANK YOU FOR YOUR REQUEST ANON🤍

This is not how Julie and Luke saw each other spending the weekend. They took care of Alex for a whole week together and just when the drummer began to feel better, his friends fell to the flu. To stop the chain of illness, Julie decided that it was best for Reggie and Alex to stay in Willie's instead of the apartment the four friends share until she and Luke recovered, but two stubborn patients taking care of each other is a somewhat chaotic combination.

"I can't take those pills, they are huge!" The guitarist has his arms crossed, his lips completely closed in a grimace almost impossible to undo.

"Luke, I've seen you eat two meatball sandwiches at the same time, I’m pretty sure one pill is not going to kill you."

He was about to continue fighting when Julie turns to cough. Every minute that passes she looks weaker and probably what she needs the least is to be carrying with his tantrums. So he takes the pills from her and passes them after maybe 15 tries and 3 possible chokes. Julie laughs slightly with each attempt, satisfied that at least he is trying for her.

Once they both finally finish taking all of their meds, Luke uses what little strength he has left to carry her in bridal style to her room. Julie tries to resist but her lack of strenght is way too much.

"Let yourself be taken care of, Molina." He whispers in her ear as he draws her closer to him. When they finally get to the room Luke gently lays her down on the bed and covers her in blankets to the best of his ability.

He feels bad for her. Because yes, he was there during Alex's illness, but the truth is that he didn't do much. The only reason he got sick is because he shares a room with him. On the other hand, Julie was faithfully taking care of her friend, taking his temperature, reminding him at the correct time about his medicines to the point of setting alarms at 4 in the morning just to make sure he got up to take them, made him hot meals and tea, she was the perfect nurse.

And what does she have instead? Him. The one who hates taking pills, doesn’t know how to take the temperature, much less what time the medicines are due, and he definitely doesn't know how to cook much more than a sandwich.

But something the aspiring musician does know how to do and sure as hell will do for her is giving her all the cuddles she might need (and probably want).

Luke walks to the other side of the bed and sits on the empty side, bringing burrito Julie into his arms, her resting her head on his chest.

He takes a few seconds to enjoy the situation. Yes, it is not at all what they expected to do today, on Saturdays they usually write all morning and rehearse all afternoon to go to some small club to play at night. The band was completely their priority on weekends as they had to study and work to support themselves, so the guitarist couldn't remember a Saturday where they stayed like this, doing nothing but enjoying each other.

Luke had become so immersed in that routine that he had simply sunk to the bottom those feelings that usually shine bright as the sun when they write or sing together or in rare moments like this one when he has her all for him, their hearts beating as one.

Realizing that he liked Julie was as easy as discovering his passion for music. When is her, everyday situations like hearing her rave happily about something that happened during the day feels like listening to his favorite song at full volume. And there’s the other side of it, those special moments like performing on a stage together. The sensations he gets are on a league of their own, their chemistry growing and enveloping in this mesmerizing explosion of energy. She’s this beautiful bright star that for some strange miracle, he is blessed to admire closely without burning.

The love and admiration he feels for her is so big that it terrifies him. In his experience, these types of sensations are not free. His passion for music completely cost him the relationship with his parents, not even the effort of continuing in school has made them give his dream of being a musician a chance.

What will it cost him to chase Julie in a romantic way? Their friendship? The band? What if things don't turn out as he would like and they end up fighting and separating the one thing that has cost them so much to build? Sleepless nights, hunger, blood, sweat, raising this dream has not been easy, could he really dare to risk it in this way? Could he be so selfish?

He often forces himself to think he couldn’t, but at that moment, Julie Molina swings her body to the side so she can look at him head on. Her big, beautiful dark eyes fixed on his.

“You aren’t usually quiet for more than 5 minutes, are you alright? Does something hurt? Do you want me to check your temperature?" With some effort, she manages to free the arm that is not resting on the bed and gently touches Luke's forehead, making sure he is okay.

He can't help but grin in response. She’s just so perfect. She shares the same passion as him, she fully understands the magical feeling of being on stage and it provokes on her the same excitement and adrenaline. She is sweet and cares about everyone, even loves his friends as much as he does. She is determined, smart, funny, beautiful. A lot of times he can't even understand how someone so perfect exists. And she not only exists, but is there next to him, wrapped in his arms.

“I- I’m fine, everything is fine, I promise. Focus on resting that angelic voice of yours.” She blushes as if that is not an already well established fact. He can’t help but look adoringly in response. He just loves to make her blush, being able to cause those reactions in her so easily.

You're right, I can't risk being replaced by one of the many groupies that have been after you lately." He can’t help a cocky grin, she blushes even more and decides to sink her head into his chest.

He takes advantage and hugs her even closer to him, bringing his head closer to her face to whisper in her ear.

"I could never replace you." He feels her expression changing in his chest, probably a smile. Her small hand squeezing his back in response.

“Liar.”

“Are you jealous, Molina? Because that’s hot.” She lets out a nervous laugh and Luke pulls her away just enough to be face to face.

“I’m not jealous.” She murmurs trying to sound sure, the image of those girls way too close to Luke at last weekend’s gig clouding her vision.

“Good, because you don’t have a reason to be.”

The singer looks down, she understood the opposite of what the guitarist was trying to say.

“H- Hey, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” With one of his fingers he carefully lifts her chin so he can see her eyes again.

There's a part of Luke that tells him to take a moment to think about what to say. The logical and sinic part. The one who knows that what he is going to do is going to cost him.

But the other party, the one who has been in love with Julie Molina for 2 years, is already tired of waiting and ready to take a leap of faith. And today that his mind is tired and weak, heart conquers logic.

Neither has spoken aloud about their special relationship, but they know something is there. It is a wordless fact between the two. And maybe it's time to add words to the melody.

“I meant you really don’t have to because all I hear, is you. I have tried to find peace in my soul with hundreds and hundreds of melodies, Julie. And it wasn't until I heard your voice that I found the right one.

Why would I even want to think of anyone else when I have so much more than I could have imagined across the hall every day? It’s always you. You, making sure I eat when I’m in my obsessive writer mode. You, stroking my hair when you think I fell asleep. You, spying me with your beautiful eyes between classes to make sure I’m actually on school. You, watching musicals with me till 5 am on Saturdays even thought we had one hell of a difficult day and a tired night just because you love to see my reactions. You, worried about me feeling bad when you are clearly sicker. It’s always you, Julie.”

In a moment of bravery, Julie brushes her lips against Luke's, waiting for him to make the final decision, which he doesn't take two seconds to make by capturing her lips on his, savoring finally being able to know what it feels like to kiss Julie Molina.

That it tasted like honey was not something that surprised him after seeing her eat several tablespoons of honey with lemon before bringing her to rest.

“Luke, remember when we watched High School Musical 2?” She grins, clearly happy with what just happened.

“Yeah, like a month ago.” he seems surprised with the random question but smiles to encourage her.

“Well, I mentally dedicated you ‘you are the music in me.’ Huh, It feels good to get it off my chest.”

He laughs. Anyone else would be offended or at least scared that the other person won't talk about what just happened, but they have a different connection. Music is the one who unites their souls and for she to tell him something as powerful as ‘you are the music in me’ is almost as strong as an I love you, maybe even stronger. Practically her subtle, awkward and wholesome way of saying he’s her person too.

And that’s more than perfect for him. She doesn’t need to say a speech, much less now that she is not feeling well. The love she shows him in a thousand ways every day is more than enough.

He knows that when they both improve and logic regains territory they will have a lot to discuss about their new relationship, but the most important step has already been taken. For now, all he has to worry about is that the tea turns out drinkable enough and keeping her warm enough with cuddles and kisses on the forehead... maybe some more on the lips too.

THANK YOU FOR READING✨✨

#luke patterson fanfiction #juke #juke imagine #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfic #jatp juke #jatp luke #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie one shot #charlie gillespie x reader #jatp imagine #jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke x julie #julie x luke #julie molina #luke patterson fic #luke patterson oneshot #luke patterson

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years

Text

Standards of Performance, Chapter 4: Misjudgments and Saviors

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Sorry it's later than normal! I procrastinated the fuck out of the last half of this chapter and just got it finished. This chapter was originally going to include way more than just the interrogation, but the word count got away from me. Not a ton of Hotch in this chapter, but fear not, you will be fed next week ;) Also dark!Hotch hits different, you cannot change my mind. I hope you enjoy, thank you to everyone who takes the time to follow me, share my fic, and send me such kind messages. It means the world! <3

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 4, Misjudgments and Saviors

Chapter Summary: The team interrogates Ellory Matthews and discovers that just because a killer is easy to catch, doesn't mean he's easy to predict.

Words: 2929

Rating: Explicit, 18+ (REMINDER: I don’t use chapter warnings to avoid spoilers. Assume violence, smut, etc. are possible in all chapters. Check AO3 for more exact tags <3)

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

You threw on your work clothes and clambered into the back of the SUV in the dark, silent hotel parking lot. Morgan and Hotch were sitting up front, Morgan looking as exhausted as you felt and clutching a steaming cup of coffee like it was his lifeline, Hotch looking as startlingly unfazed as ever.

You caught a glance of the car’s clock up front between them and shook your head. Two in the morning - not an optimal time to interrogate anyone, much less try to force a confession out of a man desperate to avoid the consequences of a triple murder. If you were lucky, he’d fold quickly and the bulk of the paperwork could be pushed off until tomorrow when you’d all had more than a few hours of sleep.

After a blessedly brief drive (Hotch had a habit of ignoring speed limits, even in non-emergencies) and arriving at the police precinct, the three of you stood in the windowed room looking into where Matthews was being held. A police officer - you forgot his name, but he was one of the same ones who briefed you when you’d first arrived - gave you the rundown of his arrest.

“He was back on campus,” the cop said. “We stopped checking everyone in who entered through the gates after 10, so he must have waited until after then. Campus police were on a patrol when they heard screaming. He tried to grab a girl walking home from the library and got his ass pepper sprayed.”

You suppressed a snort at that. For someone who’d gone to such over-the-top measures to subvert the authorities after murdering three women at once, he was continuing to prove your initial theory, unprofessional though it was - he was an idiot.

Hotch thanked and dismissed the officer, who left after shooting one more glance of barely-suppressed disgust through the one-way window. Just the three of you now, you stepped forward, looking at your subject.

The first thing you noticed was his youth - he was young, around your age, which shocked you despite already knowing that information. He was big, too; not overly fit, but he certainly looked strong enough to have had the upper hand on nearly any female victim he chose. His face, inflamed and dripping with tears from the effects of the pepper spray, was his defining feature in that it wasn’t particularly defining at all. The structure was mildly unattractive - too-big nose, downturned eyes - and the symmetry just off enough that the absence of a stellar personality to compensate would render him nearly invisible to the opposite sex. That, you supposed, combined with a predisposition towards instability and a repeated lack of success with women, had created the perfect storm of obsessiveness and delusion that produced the three (almost four)-time rapist and murderer that sat on the other side of the glass.

“We need a confession,” Hotch said, breaking you out of your internal analysis, “but we also need to know if he’s done this before. Garcia put together a list of missing women that fit the victimology here as well as in Arizona and Nevada. Considering he dumped bodies there, we can assume he has some degree of comfort with those areas.”

Morgan grabbed the aforementioned list from Hotch and shook his head. “There’s dozens of names on this list.”

Hotch nodded in acknowledgement. “I know. That’s why I’d like to get closure for as many of the families as possible. But first, let’s focus on the three we know about.” He turned to you. “Morgan and I will go in first. We may have some success with intimidation from male authority figures, but I don’t see us piquing enough interest to get a confession. Normally, I’d send Prentiss or JJ in a situation like this, but I have full faith you can handle it.”

He paused, inspecting your face, no doubt gauging your reaction. “How do you feel about interacting with him?”

You felt sick, to tell the truth, knowing you were an exact match for his preferences. More than that, you felt woefully unprepared to conduct your second-ever interrogation under the scrutiny of two of the BAU’s experienced agents, including your boss. Especially your boss, whose gravelly voice and piercing eyes seemed to be occupying much more of your mental real estate than you were comfortable with.

You reassured him that you’d be fine, though, because looking like you were scared of interviewing a serial killer cast doubt on your ability to actually, you know, do your job . And if you watched Morgan and Hotch enter the interrogation room while really hoping that Hotch was underestimating their ability to crack him, well, no one needed to know.

Morgan swung the folding chair around, sitting with his arms propped on the backrest, directly across from Matthews. Matthews’ gaze, however, was glued to Hotch, who was standing with his arms crossed diagonally behind Morgan. You couldn’t see Hotch’s face, as his back was to you, but you knew what it looked like - jaw taut, lips pressed tight, frown even more pronounced than usual. Intimidating to anyone he came across, probably even more so if you were someone he was about to interrogate on suspicion of murder.

They made their introductions and began.

“Listen, Ellory, I’m gonna be straight with you here,” Morgan said, leaning forward. “This is not looking good for you, my man. We got you on attempted kidnapping at the same school three murdered girls attended. We have friends of these victims say they talked about a creepy teaching assistant in their classes. You’ve got piles of criminal psychology textbooks hidden in your house with notes that match what happened to these girls exactly. Put this in front of a jury, you’re getting convicted no question. At this point, it’s a matter of whether or not you wanna work with us and make this a little easier on you. You feel me?”

Matthews mumbled something indistinct, looking at his feet.

“Speak up,” Hotch commanded. You’d seen this before, what Morgan jokingly called the “good cop, bad drill sergeant” routine, but it always amazed you how easily they slipped into the roles.

Matthews looked up then, defiant. “They’re not mine.”

Morgan scoffed. “What aren’t? The books? C’mon man, they were under your mattress. In your house. No one’s buying that.”

“Well, it’s true,” Matthews mumbled, looking back down at his hands. “Don’t know how they got there.”

“And the girl?” Morgan asked, obviously unconvinced. “How you wanna explain you trying to kidnap a girl who fits the exact profile of three other girls who got kidnapped and killed in the same week?”

He whipped his head up at that, furious. “I wasn’t kidnapping her. She needed a ride. It was late.”

Hotch spoke up, his tone cutting. “Then why did she taze you?”

“She didn- look, she was confused, okay? I don’t know.”

“Sounds to me like she was pretty fuckin’ ungrateful,” Morgan offered. You cringed. You knew what he was playing at, but it was hard to hear nonetheless.

He continued, “Pretty girl like her, it wasn’t safe walking around that late, right? And you try to be a gentleman, try to help, and she freaks out and attacks you. That’d piss me off too, man.”

“Yeah. I guess,” Matthew responded, eyes flicking between Morgan and Hotch, seemingly unsure.

“Don’t worry about him,” Morgan said. “He’s just here cuz he has to be. Listen. We’re on the same page here. I’m you, I’m nice to these girls, I offer them rides, I treat ‘em like a gentleman. They turn around and act stuck-up, like they’re too good for me, right? That makes me mad.”

He paused, waiting for Matthews’ reaction. Matthews nodded, hesitant.

“So, what? Maybe I see them after they graduate or leave the college and confront them or something; tell them off for being such assholes to me when I was their TA. Maybe it gets heated, I gotta defend myself, someone gets hurt. Now, that’s not my fault, right?”

Matthews nodded again, more enthusiastic this time.

“Is that what happened to those girls, Ellory?” Hotch asked.

The room fell silent, waiting on his response. You leaned forward, nose almost pressed against the glass, praying it would really be this easy.

Matthews opened and closed his mouth, unsure. Morgan had worked him up, you could tell - his face was red, his hands balled up into fists on the table. He took a deep breath…

…and shook his head.

You cursed, stepping away from the glass. You heard Hotch and Morgan exit the interrogation room and come in behind you. You turned to face them.

“I thought you had him for sure,” you groaned to Morgan.

“Me too,” he replied, “but we got close. She going in next?” he asked Hotch.

Hotch looked at you. “He’s close to cracking. Act like he’d be doing you a huge favor by confessing, like you’d be in his debt. He wants to feel powerful, important. Convince him he can be.”

Catering to a man’s ego was a skill you’d fine-tuned after years of studying under, working with, and existing alongside them. Most men you’d had to flatter didn’t inspire quite so much disgust, however.

Just pretend he’s another idiot at a bar.

You straightened your cardigan and nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Remember,” Hotch said, “we’re right here. If you get too uncomfortable, just leave. This is a lot to ask of you so early in your position; I won’t blame you if it doesn’t go to plan.”

You nodded again and tried your best to smile. “Gotta learn sometime though, right?”

Morgan held out his fist to bump, and you obliged. “That’s my girl,” he said. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Hotch looked much less enthusiastic, but opened and held the door for you anyways. You took a deep breath and entered, plastering what you hoped was a convincing smile on your face. Matthews looked up, surprised, and returned your smile. He looked so normal in that moment, it was hard for you to reconcile that this was the same man who stalked, raped, and murdered three women and led authorities on a purposeless goose chase to divert suspicion.

Taking a seat directly across the table from him, you introduced yourself. “I’m the new intern at the BAU. I asked my boss if I could come talk to you. I just don’t feel like they really understood you, ya know?” You grinned, hoping the flattery would stick.

It appeared to, as Matthews leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice, as if he was confiding in you. “I know how guys like that are. They think they’re the shit. Women always fall for that, though.” He looked at you intensely, and you started to realize very quickly why his victims had found him unsettling. “You don’t fall for that, right? That alpha male stuff?”

You forced out a laugh. “No, I prefer more sensitive guys. Ones that you can have a conversation with.”

“Are we having a conversation?”

“Wh-what? I’m sorry?”

“Are we having a conversation?” he repeated, still holding intense eye contact.

“Well, yes, I would say so,” you replied. “On that note, um, I wanted to be honest with you. It would really mean a lot to me if the families of -” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “- the three girls we’ve been talking to you about could get closure.”

“How do you mean?” asked Matthews, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“I just mean, they don’t know what happened to them, you know? And if we could tell them that whatever happened to them, it was a misunderstanding, and the person who did it feels bad, I think that would help a lot.”

Matthews’ beady, swollen eye twitched at that. “Feels bad?”

Oh, fuck.

“Sorry, I don’t know if bad is the right word, just that they didn’t want that to happen. For them to die.”

He paused. Seemed to make a decision.

"Who said I didn't want them to die?"

You had misjudged him - in that moment, you knew that. You had assumed the fatal ends to the encounters with his victims were born out of shame. That he felt remorse. That he didn’t want to mutilate and discard their bodies, and that the purposeful distractions from his true psychological profile had been a desperate attempt of an unintelligent man to throw the police off his trail. He was a creep, he was a stalker, he was obsessive and dangerous, and he was unintelligent. But he was also a sadist.

Realizing how pathetically unprepared you were to deal with this new diagnosis, you pushed back from the table and moved to stand - slowly, like you were trying to avoid startling a wild animal. Trying. But it all happened so fast.

Matthews shot up from his seat the instant you did - uncuffed, because he wasn’t supposed to be a threat, not like this - and grabbed you by the neck, dragging you across the table, scraping your legs against the hard metal edges. You screamed for help (really just screamed Hotch’s name over and over) until he had you too tight and you couldn’t anymore. Your hair was in your face, obscuring your vision, but you heard the door crash open seconds after he moved. He wrenched you closer to him, trapping you in the crook of one elbow, cutting off your breathing. More than cutting off your breathing, he was squeezing, much harder than he needed to simply choke you, and amidst the haze of your hair in your face and the blood rushing in your ears and the muffled sounds of Hotch and Morgan yelling, you had the wild thought that he might actually detach your head from your shoulders.

They can’t shoot, you thought, your last clear notion before your mind started to go fuzzy. He had you too close; the space was too small. A loud crash, presumably the table being launched against a wall, cut through the pounding in your head. You felt a sharp jerk - Matthews trying to move away - a sickening, dull crack, and the vice holding your throat was released. You dropped forward onto your hands and knees, hacking desperately, tears streaming onto the ground.

Morgan grabbed you by the shoulders and sat you up. “You ok? Hey, look at me, you ok? Can you breathe? Breathe for me, ok, come on.”

Coughing out a raspy, “Yes,” you pushed your hair out of your eyes and wiped your sleeve through the snot and mascara streaking your face. You looked to your left, trying to see what happened to Matthews, and nearly stopped breathing again.

He was dead, collapsed into a pile on the floor like sodden laundry. There was no blood, no apparent evidence of what happened, until you looked to his head and saw how grossly contorted his neck was. You looked up at Hotch in shock, who was standing over the body, hair askew, breathing heavily.

He broke his fucking neck.

Morgan could’ve done it, of course, but by the way Hotch looked up and met your eyes, you knew that wasn’t the case.

They gathered you up and wrapped you in a jacket. You saw paramedics almost immediately who cleared you medically (“No permanent tracheal damage, just expect bruising and soreness.”), met with internal investigators who questioned you about the incident, spoke to the rest of the team on a video call, spent 20 minutes on the phone with Garcia trying to reassure her between coughing fits that you were all alright, and finally, you were cleared to leave. The whole time, though, you were paying less and less attention to what was going on around you and more time thinking about the way Hotch looked when you looked him in the face.

You knew he had to have killed before; working this job for as long as he did made that a certainty. What you didn’t expect to see on his face was a complete lack of remorse. Disgust, even. He looked down at Matthews like he was scum, his lip curled and his jaw set. It was only when you made eye contact that you saw the slightest bit of emotion, of panic, before they whisked you away.

Morgan interrupted your cyclical musing. “You need someone to stay with you?”

Right, he was dropping you off at your hotel room.

“No, thank you Morgan,” you whispered, throat feeling more raw by the minute. “I’ll be okay.”

Morgan looked unconvinced but refrained from debating you. “Alright, but you know to call if you need anything, right?”

You nodded and managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

____________

Later that day, you took a commercial flight back, alone. Morgan and Hotch were staying for a few more days to finish closing the case, but they insisted you go home and rest. You were too drained to argue.

When you closed your eyes to sleep that night, in your own apartment, you expected to see Matthews, jeering at you from across the table. You expected to feel his arms wrap around your throat, to smell his stench, to wake up in a cold sweat thinking he was standing over you, ready to attack you again.

None of those things happened. In fact, when you closed your eyes, Matthews wasn’t the man you saw at all.

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danideservedbetter · 3 years

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Day 7, 8, 9, and 10 / Elaboration

Hey y’all! I said yesterday I would elaborate a little more on what my doctor’s visit yesterday told me, and here I am to do just that! I meant to yesterday, honestly, but by the time I got home my medicine had worn off and that wasn’t looking very likely 😅😅 But regardless!!! Here is what my results look like and honestly? These things probably have been affecting my sleeping disorder to a degree I’d previously disregarded without detailed info I’ve gotten from these tests.

Full write up under the cut!

—I got two major tests done, blood work and a genetics test. Back in my hometown the nurses couldn’t even figure out how to open the damn swab, but technology here managed to map out my entire DNA sequence which is utterly NUTS to me.

—My body is deficient in almost every important vitamin known to mankind, which makes sense because my diet is not… the best 😅 So, I started on several (SEVERAL) supplements to start out.

—I say start out because it’s very likely that I’ll be taking vitamin C and some liver enzyme through an IV once a month. A younger me might’ve thought something like this was scary, but at this point I’m so desperate to be healthy that getting nutrients drip fed into my system for them to work quicker sounds just fine to me.

—Other than that it’s normal lifestyle stuff. Eat more fruits and vegetables (I’ve been eating olives by the can for like days and I intend to buy fresh fruit packets for breakfast whenever I can afford them) as well as staying more active— which I DEFINITELY have been since I moved closer to New Orleans, in Louisiana proper where my dad lives.

But enough of the boring medicinal stuff. I’m sure you guys are much more interested in the whys— is there a reason my hypersomnia is so bad? Is there a deeper explanation than “lack of vitamins bad and you should feel bad”?

Well, yeah. YES. The genetics test revealed a metric fuckton to say the least 😂😂😂 but the most important was what kinds of diseases I’m predisposed to or how my body can process certain types of hormones/enzymes/proteins. Things like why caffeine won’t work for me (my body processes it very fast but not very thoroughly) or my metabolism being the strongest recorded genotype (which is why it’s been so hard to gain weight). Below, I’ll go into detail about stuff my new general doctor’s in-office geneticist (I still can’t believe that’s a thing I’m typing) has revealed about my disorder.

Naturally, this is specific to me because of my parents and our family lines. Maybe if you see info pertinent to yourself, looking into genetic mapping may be a good idea for you?

We are pretty confident that I have Idiopathic Hypersomnia. The reason for this is that a tiny link has been found between individuals who contracted mononucleosis in their childhood and adolescence and individuals who fell within the sleep cycles indicating IH. Now, IH will be genetic sometimes, but considering I’ve tracked my disorder to starting around 14, the same year I contracted Mono, the coincidence definitely doesn’t seem like… well, a coincidence. My blood test shows that I do in fact have the antibodies in my system, and they’re doing something… odd.

The geneticist found some “active” antibodies. Well, not some, really 😅 Basically, she’s surmised that these antibodies have a hair-trigger response and can react to any given environmental factor (stress, hunger, etc.) to the point where they activate as if they think they’re **fighting off a virus that’s been out of my system for ten years.** Of course this takes up an inordinate amount of energy, which is her hypothesis as to why my hypersomnia is so random and varies in intensity. The goal for this summer is flushing these antibodies out of my system.

My previous neurologist tried out a couple stimulants and then shit insurance prevented me from trying any others. So I’m stuck on something traditionally prescribed for adhd. A narcotic. *However* since my body is severely dysfunctional in general, the way I describe it is I basically have to induce a high to stay awake and function normally. We want to eventually get me off of these kinds of drugs, of course, since prolonged exposure weakens their effects and they’re highly addictive.

Another in credibly interesting thing we found is that I'm lacking in three major hormones. However, it's not because I don't produce them. I've never identified with symptoms of depression (anxiety, certainly, but not depression) yet for most of my life my childhood general practitioner insisted I had it. Well, the geneticist found that while I'm lacking in serotonin, dopamine, and melatonin, which yes are the two major mood enhancers and then the hormone that induces sleep, it's not because I can't produce them. It's because my neural transmitters are so damaged from a less-than-good diet and years of exhaustion that they simply can't process them. Just as the antibodies can have a hair-trigger response to environmental factors, so too can these processors. Simple things like a good meal, my high from my stimulants, or even micro dopamine shots from getting things done can activate the transmitters. Another thing on the docket for the summer is fixing these permanently with treatments of vitamins and supplements.

My stimulants have caused appetite issues, unfortunately, and that plus Covid at the beginning of this year caused me to get down to my lowest recorded weight ever, 94 pounds, which I haven't weighed since before I hit my final growth spurt way back in middle school. My dad does physical labor (he's a contractor who frames houses in the humid heat of the Deep South lol) so he's used to feeling tired. When he caught Covid, he said that he'd never felt as tired, drained, or out of it in his entire life. He never gets sick and hardly goes to the doctor and NEVER takes off work because of health, but in his last few weeks before full recovery he had to take off early multiple times. He was floored when he described the brain fog and exhaustion and I told him that I had no idea I even had Covid, because I just thought it was my disorder acting up. It was only when my grandmother started feeling tired that we got tested and we tested positive.

All that said, we think that there's hope for a future for me. She said that while there's no cure for IH, the cause that I have may can be mitigated by changes in exercise, diet, routine, and medication,to the point where I may mitigate symptoms of my disorder entirely. I'm still setting up appointments with a new neurologist here in the city, though, because technology is of course more advanced here.

And again, taking all of this into consideration, while it was looking likelier by the day, we've both agreed that I'll be here in the city 'til New Years. Which means no school this semester, but if I can go back in spring at more than 20% functionality and maybe succeed, I'm perfectly fine having to remain on break.

However, another good update: I weigh 103 pounds! I'm steadily gaining weight-- which means the other medication, the one for my appetite, is working as it should and as long as I stay on-track I should reach my goal of 120 by the end of the year as well.

So, yeah! That's what it's looking like. I have another appointment to go more in depth with the results tomorrow, but for now I'm planning out my week since I decided to let myself rest all last week. I'd love to finish helping out for our current podfic, ACTUALLY start the damn 100 Theme Challenge (LOL), finish betaing something that's been on hold for months, properly reconnect with our discord, catch up on all the media I fell behind on, clean my damn room, and establish a budget for this week on what I can buy. A more specific plan for today will follow, but til then, I hope this gives everyone some insight on what I'm looking at and how I'm gonna try to fix it.

Xoxo

Dani

#idiopathic hypersomnia #TW: weight #TW: anxiety/depression mention #health post #genetics

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365days365movies · 3 years

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May 7, 2021: TRON (1982)

Starting to leave lo-fi sci-fi with this one.

Can I just say, I am VERY excited for this one. Mostly because it’s hard to get more ‘80s than this movie, specifically in terms of computers. I’ll explain. Y’know Jurassic Park? Yeah, the same movie I’ve brought up far, FAR too many times this month. Is...is that my favorite sci-fi movie? Shit, it might be? I’ve read the books, I’ve seen the movie COUNTLESS times...I’m pretty sure it is! Huh. Go figure. Anyway, where was I?

Oh, right! Remember the most irritating character in the movie? This is, in my opinion, older sister Lex Murphy. In the book, for the record, she’s a VERY different character. She’s the youngest sibling amongst the two, and she’s a sports nerd who hates dinosaurs. And she’s also the most annoying character in the book, so at least they kept that consistent. However, you may be saying to yourself: “Jesus, this dude really loves Jurassic Park. Even in the intro for Tron, he’s talking about it. Why the hell does he keep bringing it up?”

Well, allow me to explain. When I was 9 years old, I was super into two things: dinosaurs and reading. You may think that I wasn’t very popular in school as a result. And the truth won’t surprise you. Anyway, on January 3rd, 2001, it was a cold morning in the supermarket when

...OK, lemme get to the point. IT’S A UNIX SYSTEM!

See, this moment when Lex hacks into the computer to reactivate the locks (a task given to Tim in the book, but whatever) does two things. One, it makes Lex relevant in a film and story where she’s almost entirely unneeded. And two, it established something in the minds of movie-watchers everywhere: a completely misguided idea of what computer programming is.

And this is just one of MANY examples of Hollywood weirdly representing computers to the public. This was kind of a trend throughout the ‘80s and ‘90s, as computers were beginning to become available to the public. Examples are:

WarGames (1983), dir. John Badham

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), dir. James Cameron

Revenge of the Nerds (1984), dir. Jeff Kanew

Weird Science (1985), dir, John Hughes

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), dir. Russo Bros

That last one isn’t a great example, and it’s not even within the right time period. I just love Arnim Zola, and he NEEDS TO RETURN to the MCU. Goddamn it, I want this guy back, complete with his full robot body! COME ON FIEGE, LOOK AT THIS GUY! That last one may or may not be my fanart for the character with my own design NEVERTHEGODDAMNLESS!

Look, all you gotta do is connect the various machinations of Arnim Zola to the foundations of AIM, which is easy given their link in the comics. Zola and his fellow Paperclip scientists helped fund Aldrich Killian’s AIM, and the project to give Zola his sick-ass robot body eventually wound up being a part of the project that would create the hovering robotic chair used by this guy.

THIS IS ALL I’VE EVER WANTED PLEASE

...Ahem.

Anyway, the weird-ass ways that Hollywood’s represented computers, hacking, and all other associated things can be traced back to 1982, when the first film to use mostly computer generated imagery for its setting was created. This was, of course, Disney’s TRON. And while I haven’t seen it before...I’ve see its sequel in theaters?

On a related note, Tron Legacy might be a mediocre film with a mediocre soundtrack, but GODDAMN DO IT LOVE THE FUCKING VISUALS. It’s genuinely my favorite aesthetic. That whole “outlined in light” thing? Goooooooh, BABY, how I love it.

Style over substance, but OH THE FUCKING STYLE

Anyway, despite that, I’m looking forward to seeing where the whole thing came from. I dig that style, too. Is there a name for those aesthetics? Let me know, so I can devote my life to it forever. Anyway, shall we get started?

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

So, we start this movie off with a BANG, jumping into an arcade where two kids are playing none other than Lightcycle, and jumping into said Lightcycles to meet one of the drivers, Sark (David Warner). A sadistic program, he takes great pleasure in executing programs in Lightcycle races.

One of these programs, in fact, is being brought into imprisonment now, to be set against Sark in a race. The program, Crom (Peter Jurasik), speaks with fellow prisoner Ram (Dan Shor), where we get some idea of the lore of this place. Many programs believe in “the Users”, god-like figures who they believe created them and tell them what to do. However, the mysterious Master Control Program is rounding up the programs that believe in Users, taking over their functions or executing them. Diggin’ the lore so far.

In the real world, we meet Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges), a computer programmer commanding his own program, Clu (also Bridges), and...look, I’m not sure what they’re doing, but OHHH. IT’S A UNIX SYSTEM, BABY. The beautiful bullshit that this movie uses to denote computer activity and programming, it’s...MMMMMMMMMCHEF’SKISS, it’s so FUCKING GOOD!

Anyway, Clu’s apparently being sent to find some information, but he’s caught by Master Control. Jeff Bridges shows off some pretty over-the-top acting, but it’s charming as hell. Clu’s interrogated by Master Control Program (also Warner), and killed, or “derezzed”. This frustrates Flynn, but why?

Well, we get a clue from MCPs concentration with Ed Dillinger (David Warner), who arrives at his office in the COOLEST FUCKING HELICOPTER I HAVE EVER SEEN. I will never make enough money to have this helicopter, but maybe one day I can do it to a car, holy shit. Anyway, Dillinger lands and enters the ENCOM building, where he speaks with his computer table, which contains MCP.

Is this a thing with computer programmers? Do they, like, physically talk to their programs, and the programs talk back? Is this a thing that happens? Are the conversations interesting? Are IT people literally computer-whisperers? I gotta talk to my friends in computer sciences and IT about this.

Apparently, Flynn’s been snooping around their servers for a specific file, and they’re trying to stop him from getting that file. Meanwhile, in an office in the building, a man named Alan Bradley (Bruce Boxleitner) is blocked out of the system in an attempt to flush out Flynn’s location. Bradley’s summoned to the office for what seems like a routine interview, but is actually more of an investigation. Doesn’t go anywhere.

On a side note, by the way, it would appear that MCP is somewhat in control of Dillinger. Although, how and why is unknown. In any case, he’s attempting to amass power. Additionally, the fact that he’s directly speaking to one of the Users is...interesting. And on a second side note, Bradley is preparing something, a security program called “Tron”. That might come up later.

MEANWHILE, elsewhere in the building, a group of scientists are conducting an experiment to digitize solid matter and transport it into computers. It succeeds with an orange, much to their delight and celebration. One of these scientists is Lora Baines (Cindy Morgan), Flynn’s ex-girlfriend and Alan’s current girlfriend. They go to the arcade to reconvene with Flynn, much to Alan’s irritation.

Flynn not only owns the place, he’s also a game whiz, brilliant computer programmer, and recently fired ex-employee of ENCOM. He’s also been sneaking into the ENCOM system, and he details exactly why he’s moving against them. While working for ENCOM, he had started writing programs for some very complex video games, which could’ve have made him quite a bit of money. But Dillinger stole his files, and uses it to climb up the ranks to Senior Executive of ENCOM, while Flynn lounges in relative poverty. He’s planning on getting into the system to get evidence of Dillinger’s wrongdoing.

The trio plots to take down Dillinger and get the evidence together, breaking into ENCOM that night. Meanwhile, Dillinger’s meeting with Walter Gibbs (Barnard Hughes), a co-founder of the company, and one of the other scientists who made the digitizing machine. Dillinger says YOUR TIME IS OVER OLD MAN, and brushes off his concerns about he’s handing the company.

He’s not the only one with issues, as MCP decides to take over FOR Dillinger. Apparently, Dillinger’s talents are stealing data and creating Cybernet/HAL 9000. Good job, buddy. But that may end, when Alan goes to finish and install his program, Tron, which will hopefully take MCP down. Meanwhile, Lora and Flynn go to the basement with the digitizing machine. At the computer terminal, MCP decides to stop Flynn by...well, you know where this is headed.

Yup! Flynn’s brought into the computer by Lora’s machine, and is digitized and put into the game grid. And since we’ll be spending a lot of time there, I think I need to acknowledge something: I really love how this movie looks. The CGI is rudimentary, but it’s used surprisingly well. Consider that this is also made in an era where this is the kind of imagery that computers could literally generate at the time, and you’ve got a pretty great movie in-context.

Flynn, now in those spiffy program duds, is sent by the MCP to compete in the Game Grid, under Sark’s supervision and tutelage. He’s thrown into the brig with the other imprisoned programs, where he learns more about this world. Once brought into the throes of the Game Grid, he’s told that those who believe in the Users are to be trained poorly, ensuring their inevitable death. Meanwhile, those who renounce their belief will be spared. And of all the programs who still believe in the Users, there is none quite as powerful...as Tron (Bruce Boxleitner again).

We see Tron’s badass skills in Ultimate Frisbee. And OK, it’s not Ultimate Frisbee, but you throw discs that contain all of your essence and all of the things you’ve learned in your time there. You basically pour your entire essence and being into the disc as you throw it. So, really, it is Ultimate Frisbee, according to that one dude who’s REALLY into Ultimate Frisbee.

Flynn is commanded to play one of these games, and he winds fairly easily. However, when he defeats his opponent, he’s almost about to die. However, Flynn refuses to finish him off, leading Sark to do so instead. And Sark is tempted to kill Flynn as well, but he holds off at the last moment.

Flynn finally gets to meet Tron, where he feigns being a program that knows of his User, Alan. Of course, Tron looks exactly like Alan, which is why Flynn blurts out his name. But as they’re discussing this, Flynn, Tron, and fellow prisoner Ram are sent to compete in the Lightcycles. And, yes, I’m now looking for a game like this on my phone, because GODDAMN to I love Lightcycles. Can’t WAIT for the Disney World ride, oh my GOOOOD.

So, our guys get in the Lightcycles, and they outmaneuver Sark’s guys. They’re actually able to escape the arena and the Game Grid, making it outside the citadel. They encounter a, uh, bitstream, and soak up some energy before moving on. On the way, though, they’re nearly killed by Sark’s guys in tanks, and Tron is separated from Flynn an the unconscious Ram.

Flynn and Ram finds a place to rest and hide, and Flynn discovers that, as a User, he actually has the ability to somewhat manipulate the reality within the computer, and he makes a version of MCPs ships, the Recognizers, which resemble the villains in Flynn’s game that Dillinger stole. Now realizing that Flynn is a user, Ram asks him to help Tron, before dying and disappearing into pure code. Whoof.

Tron, meanwhile, ends up finding an input/output program named Yori (Cindy Morgan), who helps him in his escape. She takes him through the city, where we see some interesting designs for control programs, almost like a Hunger Games Panem sort of deal.

Flynn has trouble driving his ship, as he meets a “bit”, a small bit of data that only answers in yes or no. He, too, ends up in the city, and you start to notice that this film has a really heavy influence in our cyberpunk concepts and fashions today. Honestly, I really dig this whole thing. Kevin uses his programming powers to disguise himself as one of Sark’s guards, while Yori and Tron find their way through the main citadel of the guards.

They make their way through to the access tower, where they ask the program Dumont (Barnard Hughes again) to let them access the interface that will allow them to speak with the Users, specifically Alan. Reluctantly, Dumont agrees to let Tron through, where he goes to the access port. Which, for the record, looks awesome. He goes to speak with Alan, and he does that one pose. Y’know, the famous Tron pose that’s on the poster?

Yeah, that’s the good stuff. Anyway, he gets information written onto his disc that’ll allow him to kill MCP. Neat. And unfortunately, that’s exactly when Sark and his guys show up, taking Dumont away as Tron and Yori escape. Yori gets them onto a Solar Sailer, a device that will transport them to the central computer. Tron fends off some of Sark’s guys with video game noise kicks, and the Solar Sailer arrives to take them away.

Sark chases after them, but the pair manage to outrun his very cool-looking ship. MCP threatens to destroy Sark for his failure, but he promises that he’ll be able to get them. On the ship, Tron looks down at the side to see Flynn hanging on. Turns out that he was one of the guards that attacked the two. Tron pulls him up onto the ship, and Flynn reveals that he is, in fact, a user. He also reveals that Users aren’t exactly the gods that programs believe them to be.

Anyway, how’s Dumont doing?

Ah.

Well, the Recognizers find Tron, Yori, and Flynn, and chase after them on the light beam the Solar Sailer is on. However, with his User powers, Flynn manages to get the Sailer onto a different beam, while pulses on the original beam destroy the Recognizers.

Doesn’t end up mattering much, though, as Sark finally catches up and intercepts the group. The Solar Sailer is destroyed, and Yori and Flynn are thrown in the brig with Dumont, who’s still alive! Can’t say quite as much for Tron, apparently. But, again, I can only assume that Ton is still alive. We’ll see, though. Sark denies Flynn’s identity as a User for some reason (I mean, MCP told you who he was, but OK), and he sentences them all to death. Outside the ship, of course, is Tron, who’s hiding and waiting for the right time to strike. And that is when we finally see him.

Glorious. Absolutely goddamn glorious. MCP is taking the remaining programs that believe in Users, Dumont included, and incorporating them into his mass. Meanwhile, Sark has found Tron, and the two are fighting with a classic game of Ultimate Frisbee. Tron nearly defeats Sark entirely, but MCP revives him, and gives him the power to take out Tron. He grows gigantic, and it looks genuinely really convincing.

Flynn prepares to take out MCP once and for all, and kisses Yori just beforehand, which is weird as shit. He jumps into the program, and controls it just long enough for Tron to throw his disc at it and land the finishing blow. And with that, MCP is ended, and the threat of take over is gone! The I/O towers light up, and the Video Warriors have won! Don’t ask me what that means, I study birds.

And with ALL OF THAT DONE, Flynn gets the proof he needs from a print-out that, to be honest, I feel like he could’ve just typed up himself. It doesn’t look like that much. But, still, MCP is gone, Dillinger’s screwed, and Flynn now gets a cool-looking helicopter of his own, as the new CEO of ENCOM. And from there, he will become a deadbeat dad that abandons his kid to live in computers forever. Or something like that, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Tron Legacy.

And that’s Tron, a goofy movie of its time, but one that’s a lot of fun all the same. And with some effects that, to be honest...I actually really liked! But more on that...IN THE REVIEW! See you there!

#tron #tron 1982 #steven lisberger #jeff bridges #bruce boxleitner #david warner #cindy morgan #barnard hughes #science fiction may #sci-fi may #user365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #useranimusvox #userbrittany

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roselen-mylady · 4 years

Text

In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader ° part eight

Summary: Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life. They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected.

Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occurred she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

After the rather unsuccessful trial, Y/n asked Nat to help her find the showers, figuring the routine act of showering couldn't hurt in easing her busy mind. Y/n dropped the bag off in a room Nat told her was free to use and once grabbing a new set of clothes, they headed off making friendly chatter as they went. But Nat was quieter than usual, an unconscious frown settling in her lips.

"Wow, if I had known the showers here were so nice I wouldn't have insisted on going home after training." Y/n marveled at the spotless shower room, ogling at the appeasing design.

Nat let herself be removed from her thoughts, a small smile escaping as she stepped further into the room. Like most gym showers they were separated by small stalls, a clouded door cutting off the occupant from view. It was well lit and simplistic, the only noticeable decoration outside of the marbled tiles being the Avengers logo.

"Yeah, the showers are pretty nice. There’s towels and toiletries in any of those cabinets over there.” Nat explained, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the row of neat and out of the way cabinets. Y/n nodded quietly, looking around as Nat moved to sit on one of the benches in the center of the room.

Y/n tried to ignore the tension that seemed to build around Nat. Her eyes focused on the floor not even noticing as Y/n walked past her making her way to the cabinet. A familiar sense of worry crept into her bones as she shot another glance at Nat.

Even the towels were pleasing to the eye, all stacked in beautiful rolls on the shelf. Y/n grabbed one, pondering if being one of the heroes was really such a bad thing. A painful feeling bubbled in her chest at the thought and she shut the cabinet with a silent exhale. The responsibilities that came with being a hero certainly weren't worth nice towels. But maybe her friends were.

"You know in Steve's defense, he tried to tell them to wait for you." Nat vouched, looking up from her hands as Y/n moved to the showers. Y/n scoffed a little, relieved that Nat was talking again. She switched on the water, grateful for the sound it created to fill the silence between their statements.

"Yeah, well, for Steve that was a pathetic attempt. He could talk someone into robbing a bank if he wanted to, you know." Y/n replied, sending Nat a jesting look. She received a half hearted laugh from Nat as the door closed behind her.

She tugged off her clothes letting them pile onto the floor before tossing them onto the bench next to her clean set. Both were silent for a moment or two as Y/n stepped into the water, telling herself she was only a little jealous of the water pressure. The warmth that flushed against her skin was soothing and a soft breath slipped past her lips as she allowed herself to relax.

However, her relief didn't last much longer than a couple of fleeting seconds before Nat spoke up again, her tone establishing a more serious mood. "Why do you still belittle yourself?" Her voice rang out clear as a bell, making sure Y/n couldn't pretend she didn't hear.

Y/n's bare shoulders slumped and she inhaled deeply, pushing forward her palms to the falling water. Apparently her past hadn't been as concealed as she hoped.

"What do you mean?" Y/n questioned, trying her best to keep an innocent feel to her words. But Nat wasn't having any of her games.

"Your whole, 'I'm just a psychiatrist' thing. I'm surprised Steve hasn't figured out that it's not true." Nat remarked. Y/n knew it was an accusation but the way in which Nat spoke was calm like she was making an observation.

"He hasn't had reason to suspect otherwise. I thought the same about you but I was wrong, I guess." Y/n confessed, any defensiveness toward being exposed washing away with the sweat on her body. It was only a matter of time before one of the Avengers found out and she was glad it was just Nat.

A strained laugh echoed through the room and Y/n could practically see Nat's offended expression. "I used to be a spy and assassin, you really think I didn't find out everything about you when Steve brought you here the first time?" She questioned. Y/n hummed in response, grabbing the shampoo bottle next to her towel.

"I was going to tell Steve too but, ever the gentleman, he wanted to respect your privacy." Nat explained. She shifted her legs, letting them cross as her eyes landed on the signature 'A' on the wall.

"And you didn't?"

Nat dropped her gaze to her folded hands, picking at her fingers more out of habit than distress. "I couldn't. When you started to come around, we were receiving the backlash of the snap. There were hundreds more death threats than ever before, which I didn't even think was possible. I couldn't take the chance of Steve getting hurt because he's too trusting."

Y/n remained silent, understanding Nat's actions. Though it irked her that the secret of her history was no longer her own, she reasoned with her irrational side to let it go.

"Imagine my surprise when I found out you'd actually been scouted by S.H.I.E.L.D for years." Nat continued. The slick feeling lingered in Y/n's hair as she struggled to get the conditioner to wash out, her focus deviating from the routine toward Nat.

"Why did you never accept? They'd been hunting you down since you were 13." The question sounded desperate and hurt as if the refusal was directed at Nat herself.

Y/n sighed wringing out her hair and shutting off the water. "You don't know everything." She mumbled. "I did accept." She tucked the towel around herself before stepping out, meeting Nat's confused gaze. "S.H.I.E.L.D had been trying to get me to join since they had found out about me and once I was 14, I ran away and joined." She continued.

A darkness settled in her eyes and she directed her eyes away from Nat, instead glaring at the floor. "Why didn't you stay?" Nat asked, her voice more tender once noticing the pain in Y/n's expression.

"I realized S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't what I thought it was." A sick feeling settled in Nat's core as she quickly put a timeline together.

HYDRA.

Nat stayed silent even as Y/n moved to sit next to her. "Look, I'm sorry for not telling you. Believe it or not I have trust issues too. But by the time I got to know you guys, I thought telling you the truth would do more harm than good." Y/n admitted, lifting her eyes to meet Nat's.

"It's okay." Nat offered her support, glancing over at Y/n. The brisk air nipped at her damp skin making her almost shiver when droplets fell from her hair and ran down her back. "I just wish you'd stop pretending you don't belong here."

"I don't belong here." Y/n fought, her brows furrowing in frustration. "I'm not a hero. I'm not an Avenger. Everything I said back there was true." She insisted, trying to cling to the life she'd created for herself.

"But you worked for S.H.I.E.L.D." Nat tried to emphasize as though it would change Y/n's mind. She shook her head looking away from Nat. She should've never stayed.

"I don't want to talk about it, Nat." Y/n pleaded. The desperation in her tone overpowered any need to question further and Nat nodded, putting a gentle hand on her friend's forearm.

"Alright, we don't have to talk about it." Her words trailed on and Y/n dreaded what she sensed Nat wanted to say. "But you have to tell Steve. The longer you wait, the more it'll hurt him." She warned.

Y/n dragged herself up to her feet offering a reluctant nod. She knew telling Steve would either change nothing or everything about their relationship and she feared the moment when she would have to find out which.

"I will. But you can't say anything to him about this until I do. This stays between us." Y/n urged. Nat gave a small nod of agreement but Y/n could tell she would go back on her word if it meant keeping Steve safe.

Though it hurt a little that Nat believed she'd hurt Steve, she understood her weariness. Her past had been the one thing Y/n had protected for so long and Nat wasn't sure how she would react to having to share it. But what Nat didn't know was that Steve and her came first to Y/n even before herself.

"So, what exactly did they recruit you for? It didn't say in the report." Nat asked cautiously, trying to ease some of the tension between them. Y/n felt a hint of a smile creep onto her face, figuring Fury must've had some kind of contingency plan to protect her even after his death.

"Well, I'm kind of a certified genius." Y/n answered, slightly amused by her explanation and the look of surprise it earned. "Graduated early and stayed at SHIELD for a year as their personal genius." Y/n elaborated looking back at Nat with an offended gawk. "What did you think I was recruited for?"

"I'm not sure." Nat replied, trying to apply this new piece of information to her memories with Y/n. All this time she was a genius? It didn't seem real with some of the stupid things she'd done.

"After my time with S.H.I.E.L.D I joined a high school for some normalcy until I transferred to college. Thankfully I'd be moved around enough classes to avoid suspicion. You must've seen all the classes on my record." Y/n explained, tugging on a t-shirt.

Nat's brow furrowed and she scoffed, letting her shoulders slump in disbelief. "I thought you were just indecisive." Nat let out a breathless laugh. Y/n chuckled, pulling her jeans up and opening the door. Bringing her belongings out with her, she sat next to Nat to slip on her shoes.

"Maybe that played into it. Everything was too easy for me but psychology kept my attention." Y/n turned to Nat, studying her thoughtful gaze. "Come on, I'm sure Steve is looking for us." She nudged her friend's arm, drawing her to her feet.

"You know, for being ex-S.H.I.E.L.D, I thought you'd be easier to train." Nat teased earning a harsh glare from Y/n.

"They wanted me for my brain, I only had to pass basic training." Y/n defended, jabbing her elbow into Nat's side. The woman laughed in reply, enjoying the pout that had settled on Y/n's lips.

•••

As if the universe decided to have pity on them, Tony changed his mind, arriving at the compound with what he affectionately called a Time-Space GPS. Bruce seemed almost relieved now that Tony had joined, knowing the whole operation no longer rested on him.

Or so he thought. Surely, he must've noticed Y/n adjusting his calculations and making suggestions that he would've never thought of. Maybe he just wanted to respect her secret? She gazed at said man with a suspicious glint in her eyes, not even noticing as Tony turned to her.

"Hey, Doc. What are you doing here?" Tony asked suddenly, turning to Y/n's strangely familiar face. Her eyes flicked toward him, her face flushing in embarrassment as she readied herself for his disapproval.

"I-I..." She stammered timidly under the gaze of her idol. Something in his eyes seemed knowing, a look that Nat gave her only minutes before and she began to crack with fear of her past being out in the open. It was out of character for her to be so anxious and Steve quickly stepped in sensing her unease.

"She's with me." He said, his tone firm as Tony turned to him. Tony raised an eyebrow at this, confused by Steve's defensiveness. She was at risk being there but Steve didn't seem to care.

Y/n had already gone this far with them and that made her a part of the team in his book. She may not have had superpowers or been in battles like they had but she was a hero for years by simply helping those their failure had hurt. She did what they had hoped to do but in the end never really did. She made the world better.

"Alright…and since when did we bring civilians into this?" Tony argued. Y/n could hear a bit of concern in his tone and her brows furrowed wondering why on Earth he'd care if she got caught in the crossfire. She was a nobody to him.

"Since now." Steve fought. Tony sighed knowing fighting with Steve was pointless. He had spent years resenting the man and he didn't have the energy to fight him anymore.

"Okay, awesome." Tony said sarcastically. Y/n watched as he held his hand next to his mouth leaning over to her. "Blink twice if you're being held here against your will." He whispered, loud enough for Steve to hear.

Y/n's nerves dissipated and a soft smile came to her face as Steve frowned. She turned to Tony shaking her head, her suppressed laugh bringing his own smile forward.

"I like you." She told him. He looked at her with an amused glimmer in his eye as he put an arm around her shoulders. He didn't know why but there was something familiar about her, a joy from his presence that only came from one that admired him.

"Y'know what, I kinda like you too." He said gently, trying to figure out why he seemed to recognize the feeling. "Well, let's at least get you some kind of gear since you're gonna be stuck with us. Jeez, are we just gonna send her out there with a little clipboard? You guys are insane." Tony taunted, pulling himself away and turning a playful glare to Steve.

"I wasn't planning on sending her into a fight." Steve tried to defend, not picking up on Tony's joke. Tony's mood changed with Steve's and he sighed, starting to lead Y/n off to the lab.

"Yeah, well, I learned the hard way that anyone who's involved with us always ends up in the fight." Tony told him, not waiting around for a response. Y/n gave Steve a tender look as she followed Tony, her heart aching at the sight of Steve's guilty expression. As much as he hated to admit it Tony wasn't wrong.

Was he doing the right thing?

"What school did you go to?" Tony asked suddenly. She opened her mouth to question why he was asking but he beat her to it with a short shrug. "I saw the work you did. Lemme guess, some kind of tech school?" He inferred.

She nodded slowly, trying to hide the stupid grin on her face at his subtle compliment. If only he'd known. They entered the lab and she stopped walking as Tony paced forward, trying to find some bracelets like Natasha had once used.

"Midtown. I was really interested in making new technology." She explained. The mention of the school made him pause an intense feeling of grief washing over him as Peter came to his mind. He sighed trying to force the memories away. He was doing this for Peter and everyone else.

"Why'd you stop?" He asked. Y/n shook her head, coming to stand next to the table to his right.

"I guess other opportunities came around." She replied hoping he wouldn't question further. "But after that didn't pan out I went to college, learned anything and everything I could. I wanted to do it all and couldn't stick to one topic. Don't get me wrong, I still love science, hell, I even have the old arc reactor and repulsors I made back in the day. Just psychology was the only thing that could meet my ambition." She sighed, leaning against the table.

Tony was silent for a moment realizing why he took such a liking to her. She reminded him of Peter. He sighed knowing he was going to do something stupid as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small earpiece.

"Were they any good?" He asked. She laughed giving a little nod as she thought of all the cuts and bruises she got from using them.

"Well, I could fly a few yards in the air and I'm sure those poor soda cans had seen better days but they weren't exactly Iron Man quality." She confessed. He nodded, putting out his hand to her. Her eyes fell on the piece, her brow creasing in confusion.

"Come on, before I change my mind." He urged. She quickly took it, studying the earpiece as he looked away. Tony never really had handled touching moments like those well. It had something to do with his own self hatred, he just couldn't understand why someone would look up to him.

"What is it?" She asked curiously, tracing over the small button behind the ear hook. He moved to lean against the table beside her, using his finger to point out the button.

"Uh, a gift for my wife but she didn't much care for the color. It's just a prototype anyways but it should work the same. Put it on and press that." He instructed watching as she pushed off the table and took a couple steps in front of him. She slipped on the earpiece, pressing the button like he told her.

Bits of metal began to expand from the piece and it flushed over her body covering her from head to toe. A display lit up in front of her and she gasped as a voice greeted her, introducing itself as F.R.I.D.A.Y and welcoming Y/n. She quickly retracted the helmet staring at Tony with wide eyes, completely speechless. He smirked, trying not to show how entertained he was by her awestruck expression.

"I don't understand…" Y/n said quietly. She was overjoyed to be given a suit, something she had spent most of her teenage years trying to recreate, by her hero nonetheless. But also confused. Why would he give her something so valuable?

"How old are you?" Tony asked. Y/n's mouth hung open trying to find the relevance of the question before looking away.

"24, almost 25." She answered slowly. Tony nodded. She was still so young yet so smart for someone who hadn't even reached thirty. Yet, she still had the ignorance that came with innocence. She hadn't seen what most of those on the team had and he wished to protect that like he had intended for Morgan.

"I lost a kid because of Thanos. Though it wasn't just Thanos's fault I guess, we were too busy fighting one another to get our heads out of our asses and pay attention to the real threat." He crossed his arms, staring at the wall.

"I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how that must've felt." She said. He offered her a half hearted chuckle looking up at her.

"You really are a psychiatrist." He said, trying to mask the sorrow that filled his heart and gaze. But Y/n had seen enough people to know exactly what diverting looked like. Tony had been right about her not experiencing horrible things and she knew she'd never understand what they felt. The only trauma she'd experienced was the loss of her family but it was nothing compared to half the universe's blood on your hands.

But while she didn't experience it first hand, she did through the people she'd become close to. She saw not only every tragedy that affected them but every reaction to it. She saw the brightest in them but also the dark that no one should ever have to see. She saw the aftermath of what they did and had experienced. And in that way she was just as wise.

"He would've been around your age. He was like you, bright and hopeful. He was going to be better than me, better than any of us." Tony said softly and Y/n listened carefully. It was strange seeing the man that once appeared godlike in her eyes to have flaws or breakdowns for that matter but she had to remind herself he was human too.

"Well, maybe after all of this, you can give him this suit instead." She suggested. He looked up to her, his expression insecure but his eyes grateful as he chuckled.

"Keep it. Black never really was his style anyways." Tony remarked. Y/n smiled and he smiled back, realizing just how much he had changed her life by doing that. He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact before pushing off the table and walking off.

"Well, we better get to work. I promised the old soulmate I'd be back for dinner." He joked. Y/n nodded watching as he went before turning back to the suit.

It shaped to her frame as if it was fitted for her which was strange for a metal suit. Judging by the way it had moved she figured it had been nanotech, similar to the suit Tony had worn in the New York fight in 2018. It was surprisingly easy to maneuver in and she instantly figured out the concept of the display, getting acquainted with the A.I. F.R.I.D.A.Y.

She didn't understand why Tony's wife wouldn't just adore the suit even though it was a prototype. The color was amazingly detailed, mostly black with silver accents in the grooves of the metal. She supposed having Tony Stark as a husband meant being able to make specific requests as to high tech.

Y/n grinned idiotically, letting the suit retract back into the earpiece before going out to meet the others.

Could she be one of them?

•••

"That's Thor?" Y/n whispered harshly to Rhodey as the hobo looking man sipped his beer. His prominent beer gut moved with him and his sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as Y/n stared in distaste.

"Supposed to be." Rhodey answered shortly. Y/n remembered Thor being the object of every woman's fantasies but the years had not been kind to him and she figured it was no longer the case.

"I'm gonna go check in with Big Guy. Ask Tony how long this thing's gonna take." Rhodey announced, jerking his thumb back to the time machine behind them. Y/n nodded absently, catching sight of Tony as Rhodey walked away.

"Hey, Tony! I told Rocket that we need to add more paneling the exterior of this thing or it's going to fall apart but he doesn't think so. You'd think fixing spacecraft and all he'd understand the importance of paneling!" She explained, shouting the last part back at Rocket with a glare. "But whatever." She sighed sarcastically, turning back to Tony with an annoyed expression

Tony came toward her, carrying a bit of tubing over his shoulder as he carefully walked around Thor. He rolled his eyes at both him and her statement, calling over to Rocket.

"What's the thickness of that exterior?" He questioned. Rocket looked at him from his hanging position giving a nonchalant shrug.

"Quarter inch. Your girl over here is just paranoid." Rocket argued, making Y/n cross her arms. Tony shook his head, walking over to him and setting down the tubing.

"You might wanna listen to her, Ratchet. That's like half an inch short of what we need." Tony said. Y/n hummed in agreement, not caring about the annoyed look she earned from the angry raccoon.

"It's Rocket. Take it easy, you two aren't the only geniuses on Earth." Rocket fought before returning to his task. Tony scoffed, turning to look at Y/n whose face was flushed at the comment.

"Hey, Couch Doctor. You want me to help you start on the paneling?" He questioned. She waved her hand dismissively, looking around for the metal sheets they would need.

"Nah, it's ok. I'll handle it. I was the one that mentioned it anyways." She volunteered, tugging off her Midtown sweatshirt and tossing it over a stack of materials they'd been using. Her arms were now exposed in the tank top she wore, allowing Tony to catch sight of her countdown.

"Well, that's interesting." He commented. Y/n followed his gaze to her wrist. Her face flushed from uncovering her rare countdown but she tried to brush it off but grabbing some welding tools. Thankfully, it was only them and the raccoon, making her relax slightly.

"Yeah, wish I could explain it but I'm at a loss." She mumbled. Tony couldn't bring his gaze from her wrist as she gathered the welding unit and protective gear. He tried not to make it obvious while he calculated the numbers but Y/n caught his stare giving him a quizzical look.

"That's almost 90 years ago. Isn't that around Cap's time?" He asked. Y/n paused, her gaze dropping to her countdown. She'd made her own calculations before, piecing together that her countdown would put her 88 years in the future.

However, she'd never thought about it the opposite way. There was no reason to.

Tony felt a little at fault for her sorrow and he quickly changed the subject, trying to take her mind off it.

"I mean there can't be too many hundred year-old men in the world." He mumbled. She shook away the thought, doing her best to disregard any theroies. It made more sense that her countdown was looking into the future rather than the past, as odd as that sounded.

Trying hard to force away the thought of her soulmate, she began welding some of the plating onto the machine. It was a difficult subject for her yet it had been brought up twice in the matter of a day.

"So, I gave you a suit. Now I gotta give you a name." He announced suddenly. She stopped her hand lifting the welding helmet to rest atop her head.

"A name?" She repeated, raising a brow. He nodded, putting out his hands in a playful gesture.

"Yeah, I mean a hero name. Y'know like Iron Man or Captain America, the whole deal." He explained quickly. She was reluctant but figured a simple name couldn't hurt and she finally smiled looking over at him.

"What'd you have in mind?" She asked him, watching as he stared at the ground thoughtfully.

"Um, Iron Girl?" He suggested.

"Wow, I could tell you put a lot of thought into that." Y/n mused. He chuckled coming to stand next to her, leaning against the machine.

"You're right that's a little sexist. Uh, Iron Star?" He tried. Y/n provided a small shrug in response, reaching up to pull down the welding helmet.

"I think I'll just stick with Y/n." She laughed. He groaned letting his hands fall against his thighs.

"Come on, Iron Star's pretty cool." He argued, rather proud of his brainstorming. Y/n shook her head, sending him an amused glance through the visor.

"If you say so, Stark."

•••

"Do you think it'll work?" Nat questioned gently. Y/n leaned further into the couch under Nat's intent stare, sipping the water bottle she'd been given.

"Well, with Tony's help I think we have a chance. His algorithm sure as hell makes more sense than mine." Y/n sighed. Sweat had collected on her brow and she wiped at it with the back of her hand as she closed her eyes.

She silently wondered how she missed something like that before. Asking about soulmates was an unspoken ban. It was risky after the snap just as risky as asking about someone's family. She'd never thought to ask because Y/n kept it covered and Nat had just assumed she'd lost her soulmate to the snap.

They'd been working for hours and Y/n requested a break, not sure how much longer she could handle Tony and Rocket bickering over loud music. Nat had come to keep her company but also out of her own curiosity about Y/n's past. From Y/n's position she got a clear few of her countdown something she'd realized she had never seen before. Had her numbers always been so odd?

Nat shifted uncomfortably on the couch opposite to Y/n, thinking about all those who had disappeared that fateful day. She'd been there when they all vanished and she vividly remembered the dread that set in after watching such a horrific display.

Suddenly, Steve's need for Y/n made perfect sense to her.

The way Steve's fingers numbly fell into the pile that was once his lifelong friend. The words of shock that slipped through his lips in the form of a whisper. Collapsing onto the ground with the most devastated expression she had ever seen.

He lost Bucky and so many of his other friends. His new family. He'd lost everything But he had Y/n.

And now that he had someone left to fight for he couldn't let her go. Not with hope hanging in the air.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." Nat looked up, forcing a smile as Y/n took another sip of her water.

"Just thinking about what's going to happen when we get everyone back." She lied. Y/n swallowed quickly, pointing a playful finger at Nat.

"I don't know about you but I'm going to take a nap as soon as this is over. Tony's horrible sleeping schedule is rubbing off on me." Y/n laughed. Nat's smile became more genuine as she watched Y/n tap her earpiece letting just the helmet unfold around her head.

"But first I gotta fix up these protocols a bit. I have no idea what 'Last Ditch Effort Protocol' entails but I really don't wanna find out." Y/n's voice came out sort of muffled and mechanical like Tony's was as Iron Man.

"Probably something flamboyant." Nat replied. Y/n nodded, her hands swiping at the air before her nonchalantly.

"Yeah, no one's quite as extra as Tony Stark."

Part nine

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worldwidebt7 · 4 years

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Hell[L]ing || 04

§ — Pairing: Chimera!Taehyung x Empath!Reader (with mentions of Reader x Other Members)

§ — Genre: SciFi AU, fluff, angst, smut, horror

§ — Wordcount: 3,416 § — Rating: M § — Warnings: None. Kookie being the sweet helpful bun that he is.

§ — A/N: So, banged this entire chapter out in a day and a half because, well, QUARANTINE. I should have been working on my commissions or my Webtoon contest entry, but I had an itch to get the next chapter of this out because it’s about to get GOOD. Oh, and there’s a decent amount of Jungkookie in this chapter~ Enjoy!

Summary: You moved out into the wilderness to live a calm, peaceful life. Your abilities made it impossible to live in crowded places, so even if you wanted to you couldn’t return. But when something happens outside the realm of even your normalcy, you start to think that maybe having everyone else’s emotions bearing down on you isn’t such a bad alternative to being trapped with your own.

Today, it was raining. If you had the ability to have the sky open up and rain on you every day, you would do it in a heartbeat— you loved the rain. It was the only time where you felt fractionally normal around other people. The constant interference of energy caused by rainfall created something like a static that made it easier to drown out invasive outside emotions. You could have a conversation with someone and not get barreled over by wave after wave of their feelings. Plus, you couldn’t resist opening the windows of your home to let the sweet, clean air left behind a recent rain shower wash away any stagnant atmosphere that may have accumulated within its walls.

Beyond that it was raining, it was also, suddenly, surprisingly, pleasantly, Friday. After the short, but no less exhausting, encounter with your neighbor, Seokjin, and his sickly roommate, Taehyung, the rest of the week passed by with little excitement. Namjoon had given you the look—one you were expecting to get, but nerve-wracking nonetheless— once he found out that you had yet to write basically the first 75 pages of your novel, though at this point he was not surprised if the lack of spike in his aura suggested anything. He had given you until Thursday to write at least an outline of events so he could have a better understanding of how the heroine falls into the unfortunate situation she finds herself in. Thankfully, you had been able to accomplish this task, and was even able to send in dialog samples. Namjoon, for now, had been placated.

The other thing about Friday, or this Friday in particular, was that it was the third Friday of the month signaling your bi-weekly visit from your favorite grocery delivery boy, Jungkook. He would be arriving a little after 4pm, as he kept your delivery to the end of his route. Good thing too; the two of you have recently gotten close and your chattering would often cause tardiness to Jungkook’s other appointments. Not to mention you lived fairly far out of the way for your delivery boy who drove nearly 45 minutes just to drop off six measly bags of filled with the food items you had texted him the previous day.

Honestly the boy was too helpful for his own good. There was one Friday where he had popped by with your things when you off-handedly mentioned how the ice-maker in your freezer wasn’t working properly and making too much ice. The angel that is your delivery boy spent the next 20 minutes with your irritating ice-maker, chipping away at the ice that had frozen over the rotator and fixing the setting all so you wouldn’t have to go with your original plan which involved defrosting your freezer, losing your frozen goods, and cleaning up a cold, wet mess afterwards. He had not complained once. Not about the ice, not about having to use a screwdriver as a pick, not even when his fingers had become so cold that you could feel the pain— literally.

This was one of many examples of his unbridled kindness, and one of the many reasons you were always excited to see the boy. As you straightened your house and rearranged your pantry to fit the incoming foodstuff, the rain continued to strike the outside of your house, mixing in well with the low-fi hip-hop you had playing in the background on your stereo system. It almost made you sleepy, but your relaxed state wasn’t enough to deter the building anticipation towards your future visitor.

When you were pleased with your pantry, you backed away and closed the door, just in time it seemed, as there was a quiet knock at your door. You sighed happily— you hadn’t felt the boy coming at all, bless the rain and its emotion-jamming effects. Ah, wait, the rain…

You zipped over to the door, realizing a bit sluggishly that Jungkook would be standing outside in the rain with all of your groceries until you opened it for him, as he was always the model citizen and wouldn’t enter without your knowledge. Clad in only socks, you slide across the hardwood flooring and straight into the door, hitting it against your shoulder with a slight ‘thud’, before regaining your footing and flinging open the front door. On the other side was a wet, mop-headed delivery boy, looking rather shocked at the speed in which you had approached the door and more than likely hearing the impact your body made with it.

“Sorry, sorry!” You said, picking up the reusable bags that he had lugged from his car and sat on your front step. Before you could grab a third bag, his hands shot out to stop you, fingers grazing your arm and allowing you to finally get a clear read on his emotions— he was like the air after the rain: sweet, clean, and refreshing.

“Noona, you don’t have to do that, I got those.” He said, picking up the other four bags, two in each hand, before following you into the house and, albeit with some trouble, kicked off his boots. Jungkook really had no wicked bone in his body, not one. He never had a second agenda, never said something he didn’t mean, never held a grudge; and his emotions reinforced all of these facts regularly. It was no wonder you liked being around him— you never needed your abilities to tell you what he was really feeling or thinking. He was an open book for you, and he did so with the knowledge of what you were capable of.

“Thanks for coming all the way out here for me, I really appreciate it.” You chimed, setting the bags down on the counter, Jungkook following suit. He gave a light-hearted shrug before ruffling some of the water out of his own hair.

“It’s okay, you are paying me after all,” A small huff escaped your lips at his comment as you placed your new gallon of milk into the refrigerator. Humor spilled into the air as you became accustomed to his energy despite the rain and he stifled a laugh at your reaction. “I’m only joking— well, no, you are paying me— you know I like hanging out with you!” You cracked a smile, not even able to continue to pretend to be mad at him.

“Yeah, yeah… took you long enough to talk to me though!” Teasing him had quickly become one of your favorite past-times. He was so easily embarrassed, and the way he always touched his ears when he was especially bashful entered dangerous territories for your heart. Precious boy.

“Yeah, well, I’m not, I didn’t, UGH. You know what I’m trying to say!” You sputtered out a laugh, not even the least surprised that you did, in fact, know what he was trying to say. He had confided in you shortly after communication had been established that he got nervous around new people, most specifically women. You weren’t sure why, he was a kind, bright, good-looking young man, and he had never produced much of a reason for it either. That’s just how he was. Perhaps he didn’t want to overstep any barriers and make people uncomfortable? Though now that you knew him, being uncomfortable with Jungkook was entirely impossible. And at his pink cheeks and pout, you caved, throwing a grape at him just to make him flinch.

“Alright punk, I forgive you.” You said before popping a different grape into your mouth. The dark-locked boy rubbed his chest where the grape had bounced off, feigning offence, the continuous stream of humor flowing off of him enough for you to know that he was enjoying your banter.

“Thanks, noona, really appreciate it, almost a year later!” He crinkled his nose at you as if he were irritated before tumbling into a fit of laughter, where you joined him merrily. Precious boy.

“So, what have you been up to? How’s school?” Routine questions, but you honestly wanted to know. He looked thoughtful for a moment, clearly trying to think of any recent changes in his life. You raised an eyebrow as you closed the door to your fridge once you finished putting away the chilled goods. As expected, he shrugged.

“The usual.” He began helping you by unloading the canned goods onto the counter top. “My film class is getting pretty interesting though.” Folding the tote bag the groceries were in, he placed it on one of your bar stools and then looked at you. “What about you? Anything interesting happen lately? Any more birds fly into your window?” You rolled your eyes at his teasing— living out here by yourself, you rarely had anything substantial to share with your friend. This time, however…

“Well, I’ve got new neighbors…” You revealed, picking up a few of the canned goods. Jungkook raised his eyebrow, following your lead and collecting a couple of cans to help you on your way to the pantry.

“Oh yeah?” You hummed, nodding your head as you placed your cans on the shelf.

“Mmhm. A tall guy with purple hair and his roommate that’s apparently always sick.” You elaborated, not mentioning names for now. “They’re… nice.” At your hesitation, you felt a slight buzz of uneasiness from the man beside you. You looked at him, knowing he was aware that you felt his change. “What?”

“Just nice?” His brows furrowed slightly as he looked at you like he was trying to read your energy, which you believed with little doubt he could. You spent too much time by yourself anymore and you long had forgotten how to properly dress your expressions for social interactions. You let out a breathy chuckle at his concern.

“Yes, nice.” You reiterated, plucking the cans from his arms. He gave you an unimpressed look that was garnished with a pout. With a sigh, you indulged him. “I can’t get a good read on either of them…” Your confession only left him more confused.

“You mean your empath stuff, right?” A nod of affirmation. “Why can’t you read them? I thought you didn’t know how to turn it off?” You hummed thoughtfully, taking the last can from him.

“It’s not that I can’t read them, it’s just that…” You turned from the pantry after placing the last can on the shelf and ran a hand through your hair. “The one dude is always freaking out— panic, panic, panic— all the time! I’m afraid that he’s going to give himself a heart attack! But beyond that, I have a gut feeling telling me that he’s a good person, even when he deliberately lies to me.” Arms crossed, Jungkook looked at you pointedly.

“So… a good liar?” He asked, trying to understand your instincts. You shrugged with a groan.

“Maybe? I don’t know, I really do think he’s… good.” You stepped back over to the counter to grab your new paper towel rolls and plastic wrap to be set in their proper locations. Jungkook slid onto a bar stool and leaned against the counter.

“Okay, not really sure what that means, but…” You glared at him, and he grinned at you, obviously trying to hold back laughter. “What about the other one?” At that, you paused. How were you supposed to explain ‘the other one’? Caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t bother putting way the items in your hand, rather opting to just set them on the counter again.

“Well, uh…” You trailed off, not entirely sure if he would believe you seeing as the last time you tried to explain something improbable with Yoongi didn’t go as you had hoped. However, looking at the wide-eyed boy in front of you, everything about his aura was open and trusting and you knew that if you told him, he would believe you. “His emotions come in ‘blips’.”

“’Blips’?” He repeated— not in a condescending way, but rather as if he were trying to place the definition of the word. You nodded, less than prepared to explain yourself.”

“Yeah, I can’t feel his emotions all the time, they go away and reappear like radar blips. But they’re always super intense.” Resting your forearms on the counter, you let the edge press into your ribs a bit as you leaned forward. Even without your abilities, you could tell that Jungkook was trying to think of an answer, anything that could be the cause. You almost smiled at his thoughtfulness— there was nothing to suggest he didn’t believe you.

“Well,” he started, breaking you out of your trance. “You said he was sick all the time, right? Maybe that could affect your readings?” You had thought about that possibility as well— you had never been knowingly near a significantly ill person, so you couldn’t say that it wasn’t conceivable; though saying that was the only issue would be erroneous. Still, seeing as this was the only reasonable explanation you had come up with, you chose to put your faith in it.

“Maybe,” You agreed, nodding. You didn’t bring up the midnight visitor or the crawly feeling of being watched the last week or so, knowing the kind boy in your kitchen would likely throw a fit trying to figure out a way to help you. To be honest, you kind of wish he would, though that was only in your own selfish interests. Since you hadn’t had any real incidents besides that one, you decided not to worry the boy.

Unfortunately, Jungkook’s visit this time around had to be cut short, as he had other responsibilities to attend to in the evening. You gave him sass of course, stating that you couldn’t believe that he had something more important to do than keeping you company. He laughed and apologized, though a small twinge of guilt in the air made you realize that he knew the hidden meaning in your friendly repartee.

You were lonely.

You were also aware that he knew you’d be able to feel the minute change in his emotional state even with the rain, but neither of you commented on it before you ushered him out the door so he could drive home while it was still light out. He bid farewell before sprinting to his car to avoid getting completely drenched and you waved from inside the doorway, flinching when he peels out of your driveway like he was Brian O'Conner from the ‘Fast & Furious’ franchise.

Sighing, you stood in your doorway for a bit longer, listening to the rain and watching the reflections in the puddles dance. This was the part you hated most— the emptiness that follows the end of social interaction. You were used to being alone, and the longer you were alone the more used to it you became. However, the small instances when you were able to talk to another person, be near them, smile and laugh with them… they reminded you that humans were codependent on each other. You needed other people. As much as you were physically pained to be near them, you needed them. As you spent more time in isolation from the world, the more you yearned to be normal.

The sound of a blunt object hitting the glass of your window wall had you spinning on you heel out of reflex. As Jungkook had teased you earlier, it was common for birds to fly into the large window panes. More often than not, they were fine and they flew off. But every once in a while, they injured themselves, and you took it upon yourself to assess their injuries and making them comfortable if need be.

So, imagine your surprise when there wasn’t a small, winged creature on your back patio, but rather a tall, soaked, handsome boy with his palm pressed against your French doors. You blinked a few times for good measure, hoping this was just an illusion and that you weren’t currently looking at your sickly neighbor with the weird readings standing in the rain outside your house. When you realized he was just going to continue to stand there looking into your house until you greeted him, you quickly shut your front door and hastily made your way over to let him in.

As you got close, you realized there was a buzzing in the air, like it was vibrating, again in blips like radar. You recognized this as anxiety or nervousness and quickly deduced that it was coming from your neighbor. You paused before opening the door— you didn’t know this man; you’d barely met him more than once and only heard him speak a single time, and it wasn’t even to you. Plus, you still couldn’t shake the unnerving feeling you got whenever he was within your range; there was too much similar between how you felt about the boy in front of you and the thing you saw that night. Were you really about to let him into your house?

Almost like he could feel your hesitation, his hand slipped from the door and he looked at the ground dejectedly. A hole appeared in you doubt at this innocent act, and a quick, shooting pain pierced your chest. You couldn’t tell if it was your own guilt setting in or his emotions afflicting you, but you opened the door without another lingering moment to think about how bad of an idea this was.

‘He’s sick and shouldn’t be in the rain,’ You told yourself as you now stood in front of this near-stranger without the protective barrier of your glass door. You swallowed, your own nerves now wreaking havoc on your body, though the dark-haired boy in front of you look more shocked and more nervous than you did. In fact, if you didn’t get him to calm down soon, his nerves would probably cause you to throw up. And the fact that his emotions only appeared like explosions in the atmosphere around you wasn’t helping. Still, the way he looked down at his feet rather than at you, just…

“H-hello…?” You greeted; your uncertainty evident in your shaken speech. He made the smallest movement, like he was flinching at the sound of your voice and you almost wanted to backtrack. Good lord he was skittish. “What, uh, what are you doing here? I-I mean, can I help you?” Fumbling over your words wasn’t new for you, but for some reason you were especially aware of your tongue’s missteps at the moment.

He stood there for a moment, contemplating you surmised, before peeking up at you through his wet bangs. You made eye contact and— sweet heavens— you forgot about the alluring abyss that was his gaze. It only lasted for a moment before he looked at his feet again, which, you finally noticed, were completely bare.

“You said…” Now it was your turn to be startled; only now remembering how deep and velvet-like his voice was, even with how soft-spoken he currently was. “…that I could come….” He shifted, his nervousness beating around you like drums as you let his words sink in. You said he could come… you said he could come? When did you—

“Oh, um, well my house isn’t too far from yours…He’s welcome to stop by from time-to-time if he’s able… It’d be no problem… It’d be nice to have company every once-in-a-while.”

You suddenly remembered that, yes, you had invited him to visit you during your interaction Monday afternoon. At the time, you had your reasons, reasons that you couldn’t remember for the life of you at the moment. What on earth possessed you to tell a stranger it was fine to wander over to your house just because you were neighbors?!

And yet, the way his large body looked so small in front of you, like he was pleading with you to let him in…

“I-I did…” You relaxed your face enough to smile at him, your nerves still eating at you and a headache starting to set in from the intensity of his. You stepped aside to let him in, to which his head shot up and his eyes widened— you suppose he didn’t think you would actually let him in, but the sudden, yet agreeable change in his emotional blips was enough to tell you that he was relieved, pleased even, as he stepped in from the rain. “I should probably get you a towel, huh?”

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nurseofren · 3 years

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TW: body dysmorphia, body talk, binge eating, disordered eating, my mother, fatphobia, depression, weight mention

It runs deep and it starts so early.

I feel I should write this without generalizing, as I think body dysmorphia/binge eating/eating disorders are very personal and individual experiences, so I don’t want to group anyone into this.

So I guess I’ll start off with why I felt the need to get this out of my head: eating.

Eating hasn’t been an experience focused around nourishing my body in a long time. Eating is something very touchy for me. It has been even more so this past year. And I’ll get into that.

But I’ll just describe it as how it feels right now. It’s like this big secret. It’s something shameful. It’s something to hide. Because no matter the portion size, it feels like I’m doing something wrong.

“You are all of that?”

“Do you feel sick? You didn’t take that much food.”

As someone who detrimentally tried to please everyone, who tries to read the room and scope out the correct action, it’s been very confusing.

I have to bring up my mother. Because as much as I wish one issue didn’t involve her, I’m finding that’s true very little of the time.

She cooks for the family. Always has. And I was scorned for not eating something. Even if I didn’t like it, it would always end in “you are a stubborn child. You are a picky eater. You’ll eat what I make or you can make a peanut butter sandwich. I just suck, don’t I? Why do I even bother?”

So it’s confusing as a grown woman living with her parents — a situation I’m working toward changing soon, hoping for next Fall — to be told that i don’t have to clear my plate. And then I can not eat something and I’ll still get the aforementioned comments, but it’s not forced on me like it was when I was young.

It’s these learned behaviors that were expected of me at a young age that fester and leave me vulnerable to fits of BD, BE.

And then there’s another level to it.

“No we’re not getting [fast food establishment], none of us (i. e. my family who is fat) need that anyway”

“You only need a super small piece, it’s so rich”

“Those clothes weren’t made for big girls”

*justification of eating a meal because a prior meal was skipped*

“Those shorts look a little tight”

“Big girls shouldn’t do cheerleading, it’s embarrassing”

“No we’re not getting dessert! None of us need it, anyway!”

My mother is fat. I’m fat. I grew up fat with a fat mother. But I grew up fat with a fat mother who hates herself. Who called herself ugly and depreciated herself every chance she got. I grew up in a house where it was expected to cover your body, to wear baggy clothes, to buy clothes because they fit and not because you liked them.

And I could go on a full tangent on how this runs even deeper. How my mother views herself as a lost cause, who deems herself unlovable or unworthy of being loved because of her body — and how, ultimately, I never learned how to take care of myself because she never took care of herself.

Calling women high maintenance because they got their nails done, because they scheduled hair appointments, because they bought shoes and clothes they loved more than once bi-annually. And as a kid, I obviously wanted to believe my mother.

So I saw these women with pretty painted nails, and I saw them with their daughters who were my age, I saw these pretty girls with the nice nails and the skill in makeup, and I thought I was above them. But really I was just so buried under the self hatred of someone else that I didn’t see that those people did those things because they cared what they looked like, that they saw it was important to take care of themselves in a way that let them feel good.

And I was jealous. I was jealous because my mother never taught me how to paint my nails. Angry that I wasn’t worth the time for her to learn how to braid. Jealous of these other girls who tanned and were always polished. And then there was always me, biting my nails off every week in the shower because I didn’t know how to trim my nails.

But anyway, see I knew I’d tangent off w that topic, I have a very interesting relationship with my own body. Now.

I truthfully didn’t start really actively taking care of myself until early this year. I’d go months without shaving. I had no skin care routine. I would go days without brushing my teeth (which honestly is my very prominent sign of depression, when I stop brushing at all when I have nowhere to go and I’m still working on changing that).

In short, my outward appearance was very much for someone who loved me. And I never had one, so I didn’t see the point in keeping up with these routines. Why should I take care of my body if nobody is caring for it?

And last year I’d lost some weight by changing my diet, so people complimented that. And it just cemented to me that people only care about you when you’re smaller. People only positively notice you when you are skinny or slimming down.

So. I gained that weight back. I accidentally weighed myself at work last week and had it confirmed. I’m at my heaviest in probably two years. And I don’t feel shame for the number, or even the appearance of my body, but what really grates against me is eating.

There’s two sides to the nagging — the one that tells me to eat because I’m too far gone and it’ll be impossible to lose 120 pounds and find the elusive happiness that supposedly comes with that. And then there’s the side that angrily screams at me while I’m thinking of food, while I’m hungry, while I’m getting food, while I’m eating food, that just mentally beats me to a pulp.

“Maybe you’re a virgin who’s never been loved because you’re such a disgusting pig”

“If you don’t eat that, you’ll lose weight faster”

“If you start today, you could be at the BMI approved weight this time next year.”

“Just take a nap, you can’t be hungry while you sleep”

“Just eat smaller portions so you can shrink your stomach and decrease your appetite”

It’s just so exhausting. Having food be a salve, but having food also be the root of the issue.

Existing as a fat person in friend groups where they stand around and call their BMI approved bodies fat and disgusting. Hearing people fear fatness on a daily basis. Working with a preceptor who was grossly interested when my large patient wanted to weigh himself, like she was so involved in the situation because she viewed his size as shameful. Hearing her and another skinny friend go through photos of their high school classmates and act so disgusted and say “she blew up. She got big” about someone they graduated with.

It’s just all of these things. And then I accidentally take a video of my body when I’m taking risqué pics (😅😉) and looking at myself and…. Loving my body so much.

Knowing I’m at my heaviest in a while, and seeing my belly and curves and legit loving them. And seeing my body as this beautiful thing. This soft, cozy being worthy of love and affection and attention.

And then I hear these things. Everything mentioned above and I’m just “I’m not supposed to love my body because I am fat and there is no love for the fat girl”.

And there’s always been this forefront of a thought that I can be loved….. once I lose the weight. I can be loved…. after I’m below a size 12. I’m allowed to be shown affection and kindness….. when I’m thin.

It’s always been there. I never expected attention because I never deemed myself worthy of it. I still don’t most days. I’ve grown comfortable moving in the background of others’ lives because i am not a positive presence in my fat body.

No matter how kind. No matter how funny. No matter how smart. I am simultaneously too much and never enough for society. So I do not deserve those things thin people get without thought. Obviously.

So it’s all very heavy (hahahaha). I love my body, I really do, but I don’t deem it worthy of affection or desire. I complicate eating because obviously I’m fat and don’t need regular nourishment as the current fat existing on my body will be my sustenance because that’s how science works.

I’m trying to work on it. I’m trying to deem myself worthy of good things. Of food, of exercise not centered around changing my body, of clothes I’ve forever been told is “not for big girls”.

I’m trying. I am. But that’s where I am. Hopefully, if anyone has made it this far, I’ve made sense and perhaps made life a little less lonely for some people.

#admin #I think it’s worth the read if you think you’re up for it mentally #she’s a lil long but I’ve been sitting on this for a while.

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