#like the pretense of a normal relationship over the yeah we know our relationships fucked over the
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ok i like rushed through the whole orv webtoon way too fast so now i have thoughts going in like 5 different directions but ep121-123 drive me so fucking insane actually. every time i think about those two conversations i have to sit down
#orv#orv liveblog#like i feel like depictions of childhood abuse in fiction tend to depiction the relationship as some version of#'the one evil violent parent and the one good parent trying their best (it wasnt good enough)'#see: the twins parents from lc s2 is the obvious one but also like#going back to my roots lol but enji and rei todoroki? or hell even fire lord ozai and ursa#yknow theres this idea of like theres the one who was trying! and the one who fucked it all up#well yeah rei's the one who scarred her sons face but thats so obviously framed as like a trauma response outside of her control#like its not something youre reeaally meant to blame her for yknow#the WHOLE idea with kim dokja's conversation with yoo sangah is whether he's supposed to blame/forgive lee sookyung#wait ok those conversations drive me so insane like im feeling the alevel literature urge to fuckin close read quotes#that one line where he thinks like this is the vilest form of violence he can use against sangah goes by SO fast but it hit me SO hard#the idea of asking her to put herself in this nightmare situation she has no frame of reference for understanding or empathising with#and then asking her as someone who she rly cares about! to be the judge in this situation she cannot possibly fully grasp#and all of that being framed as an act of violence towards her. like asking her to do this knowing she cant possibly do it#but also 'did you want me to seem pleased to see you' 'a little (lie)' and 'do you think of me as a mother' 'a little (lie)'#like the pretense of a normal relationship over the yeah we know our relationships fucked over the#unfortunately we still talk and think in the same way and we understand each other way too well#ok wait but circling back to the original point. i saw this fucking incredible fanart on twitter that sort of goes into the like#how do you?? handle?? not knowing if youre supposed to blame your parent for something that they did that hurt you#like its this little animation thing thats all in kdj's internal monologue except for one line where its him saying#'im terrible. i deserved what she did to me'#and its like. yeah that would be easier huh. like the self loathing is easier to handle than the confusion and cognitive dissonance#full disclosure i saw that fanart literally a year ago before i knew jack shit about orv and the sentiment hit me SO HARD i just#havent been able to stop thinking about it for a whole year. like as soon as i finished 123 i immediately went to look for it in my archive#i checked the artist has a tumblr but that art is not on it and it bugs me so much i want them to know that they somehow like#managed to make art so painful it defeated both my non-orv reading self and my lifelong severe memory problems#i mean in comparison that line (that also went by alarmingly fast) about how without twsa back then like kdj would not be here today#like not so much to dig into just. Yikes#and him telling ysa all of this with that fucking smile on his face like thats the part that really gets to me just his *fucking expression
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Every Baby Needs a Daddy 4
Part 3
"And you said yes?", Robin said, her voice impressively even.
"I did", Steve said, phone on speaker as he got ready for work. "I figure, if he's going to have a sugar baby, might as well be me, right? I think this is the universe giving me a break."
"Okay, yeah, sure, until he takes you out and gets you involved in like drugs or something, or takes his anger out on you when he doesn't win a Grammy or something. Or worse, you're a mistress and his actual spouse comes for revenge. OR you actually get really involved with him, help him get even more famous, have very talented children, but then his drug running gets you arrested and when you get out of jail he acts like he doesn't know you and estranges your children!"
Steve paused in putting on his shoes, grinning. "You've been watching Empire."
"Terrence did Taraji so dirty Steve."
"But not enough to learn their characters' names. I need you to catch up so we can watch season 2 together." It hurt being away from her. Before, whenever one of them started obsessing over a show, they could literally sit down and put aside one of their days off to binge a bunch of episodes.
"Sorry, let's get back to you dating a rockstar? Steve? Steve."
"We're not dating. He's just gonna text me whenever he wants to fuck. That's it. He might buy me something nice from time to time." Steve grabbed his keys and went out the door, nearly stepping on something left on the floor in front of it.
"Okay, yeah, sure, but isn't this the reason you cut your parents out? Did they want this exact life for you?", Robin asked.
"No, this is totally different. For one thing, Eddie doesn't want commitment. He doesn't want kids out of me. And even if I attend events with him, I'm just arm candy, but you know, in a good way."
"There's a bad way to be arm candy?"
Steve thought back to the functions he had to go to when still under his parents' thumb. There was definitely a bad way to hang off someone's arm like a decoration. He looked to the little box in his hand. No note, but it had clearly been placed in front of his apartment.
He opened it and found an expensive looking watching inside. The face was a cool navy blue color. He didn't need a card to know who it was from.
"Eddie's different from the guys my parents wanted", Steve said. "And when it's over, I'll at least have something to show for it."
"Just don't be stupid about this, dingus. If this goes sideways, I won't be close by to save your ass."
"Noted", Steve said as he closed the box and continued on his way to work.
-------------------
The next time Eddie texted him, it was to go to lunch. It was a more casual setting than before, but still a pretty high end sushi restaurant.
"I must admit, I called you here under false pretenses, Steve", Eddie said as they sat in a booth.
Steve smiled at his serious tone. "I gathered, given our whole arrangement." Being taken out somewhere was typically a prelude for something intimate later, even in a normal relationship. When Eddie asked him out, Steve full expected sex. He wasn't complaining, last time had been very nice. He wondered how long until Eddie sent a simple 'u up?' booty call.
"I have to attend some fancy lunch meeting in a couple days and they're taking us to a sushi place", Eddie started to explain. "Problem is, I hate sushi."
"...Did you...are we here to train your taste buds or something?", Steve asked.
Eddie nodded. "These are some pretty important people and I can't sit there and tell them my favorite fish is whatever they use for fish sticks."
"Pretty sure it's cod."
"What? Nevermind. I just need to get one of everything and force myself to acquire a taste for it", Eddie said, eyes narrowing in focus at the menu.
Steve smiled. It was cute how serious he was being. He thought back to previous gatherings when some alpha would try and force a drink on him or when the hors d'oeuvres being served weren't to his liking.
"Want some advice?", he offered, continuing when Eddie nodded with his big Bambi eyes, "Instead of forcing yourself to like something, you should be able to say why you don't like something."
"Sounds like complaining", Eddie said, putting the menu down.
"No, you sound cultured", Steve clarified. "Watch." He cleared his throat and held up his glass of water. "Thank you for offering, but I only drink water from a natural spring. I prefer Canadian or Icelandic, but I'll take Swedish if you have it. Nothing from Switzerland though, it has this horrid mineral after taste to it." He set the glass down, adjusting under Eddie's wide eyed gaze.
"I don't know if that was bullshit or not but it sounded legit."
"It's legit what some girl said at a party once. I've never sourced where my water came from, but it works for just about anything. If you can articulate why you don't like something, it comes off better than just saying you don't like it."
"What kind of parties did you go to?", Eddie smirked.
Steve shrunk a little. "Just, you know, parties. So what's your experience with sushi?"
"Supermarket stuff", Eddie said simply.
"....You're kidding. How long have you been a rockstar?"
"I didn't realize this was an interview."
Steve tapped the table as he considered something. He looked to the other part of the restaurant. The bar where chefs were preparing the food. He almost asked Eddie a question directly, but remembered his role as a sugar baby. It wasn't his job to ask how much something would cost or even to ask Eddie to spend the money. All he needed to do was ask for what he wanted.
So he moved over to Eddie's side of the booth and leaned in close to his space. "I think you need something a little more...fresh."
"Fresh?", Eddie echoed as Steve led him to stand.
"And flavorful."
"Uh-huh."
"And satisfying", Steve whispered the last part before sitting down at the bar.
Eddie didn't know when Steve got him here but he did and he ordered something called 'omakase' and suddenly the chef's hands got really busy. He put a little filet of something on rice and then took a blow torch to it.
"I didn't know you could cook the fish..."
It was placed in front of him, but Eddie was still skeptical, which Steve noticed.
"'Omakase' means you're trusting the chef to pick out the best for you", he said. Then Steve took his chopsticks and picked up his piece. He ate it in one bite and Eddie subconsciously swallowed as he watched it pass his beautiful lips and then slide down that gorgeous throat. He wasn't even eating sexily, that was just how far gone he was.
Then Steve picked up Eddie's piece and held it to his lips. Eddie didn't even hesitate to open up and let it in. Tender rice, delicate fish, a total opposite to the sushi he'd experienced before. And it didn't stop there. The chef served cut after cut and each time, Steve asked him what he liked or didn't like.
Eddie was no slouch when it came to language. So he was able to come up with that on his own. He had just never considered respectfully refusing food and to do so with a haughty air deserving of a celebrity.
"Mmm, great choice on the shrimp", Eddie praised the chef. "Texture is superb. Sweet on the tongue too. Nice one, Tatsuro-san."
"Better than the crab?", Steve asked.
"I'm sorry, but nothin' beats an old fashioned crab boil for me. It's the only way I can eat crab."
"You've got opinions and you know how to voice them. I never imagined that be an issue for you, but I think you're ready now."
"Oh I've got opinions out the wazoo. I was just taught to never complain about food."
"Good boy", Tatsuro commented as he prepared something else.
"Very good", Steve agreed as an oyster on a half shell was put in front of him and Eddie.
Tatsuro winked at Eddie and he tried not to think about it as they finished up the course. He was absolutely not thinking about how oysters were an aphrodisiac, or how he'd had a great time, or how this felt like a date and not an outing with a hot piece. He wasn't doing a good job of being a sugar daddy, was he?
Time to fix that up right away. He paid for the meal, leaving a generous tip and led Steve out the restaurant, arm around his waist.
"You were extremely helpful. I can honestly say I like sushi now", he beamed. "And I think excellent service deserves a reward."
"You gonna give me a tip too?", Steve teased. And there was certainly a tip Eddie wanted to give him. Really the whole thing, but he had another idea in mind. And thankfully the appropriate place wasn't too far from here.
"You're buying me a suit?", Steve realized as they walked into a tailor's.
"I've got an eye for these kind of things. And you need something to match your new watch", Eddie said. He had a feeling Steve knew what to do, so he let him free.
Steve gave him a look and Eddie made a 'go on' motion. So Steve went, picking out different pieces for himself to assemble a new suit. There was a man awaiting any need of assistance and did so once Steve came out of the dressing room and stood in front of the mirrors.
Eddie was sitting before him, watching as Steve appraised his reflection and the tailor took some of his measurements. The suit was in silver, with a black shirt underneath. He finished of the look with a dark blue handkerchief in the chest pocket. It already looked great. Eddie knew he'd be breathtaking once it was bespoke. He ached to put his hands on him but public decency kept him from doing so.
"You look good enough to show off", Eddie praised.
"You look like you have somewhere in mind", Steve said, looking at the other man through the mirror.
"There's a shindig goin' down that I wouldn't mind having a date to."
Eddie put in the order for the suit to be done the day before the event. "Let's head back to my place."
This time, as they traveled, Steve was the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself. His hand stroked Eddie's thigh, getting close to where he wanted but never actually touching.
"What're you thinking about?", he asked when he noticed how hard Eddie was holding the wheel.
"Oysters. And you." And how he really should get a personal driver on hand.
Steve laughed softly and let a finger do circles on his crotch. "I think our chef was trying to be subtle. But I know what oysters are supposed to do."
"Oh?"
"And I don't need any culinary suggestion to get me in the mood." Honestly, he kind of felt like blowing Eddie now and probably would have chanced it if it wasn't still light out. "Can you be a good boy like he said?"
Eddie nodded.
"Good. Because we still have to take the elevator."
They didn't get as far as they did the first time they took this elevator but Eddie did attach himself to Steve's back and kissed at his neck. Once again, Steve could see their reflection in the wall. Eddie's eyes roamed his torso, wanting to go further but holding back. He only got bold enough to pinch a nipple through his shirt when the doors opened to their floor.
Steve only moved because of Eddie's prompting, finding it very easy to melt in his hold. They got about two steps out of the elevator before Eddie pushed him against the wall, kissing his lips and running his hands up under his shirt.
"Saw you lookin' at yourself in the elevator. Pretty baby likes how he looks?"
Steve's only response was to moan against his lips and rub against his leg. The closest camera was all the way at the end of the hall, though they'd be screwed if anyone opened up their door. He knew he looked good and liked looking good. And he'd seen the way Eddie's eyes were glued to him at the tailor's. That was a good feeling too.
Eddie took out his key card to open up his door and pulled Steve inside. They migrated to the couch, just needing to get horizontal. Steve lied underneath, Eddie's leg in between his again and providing friction as he rutted up against it. It was so hot, Eddie wanted to watch him get off just like this. If he got his pants off he could watch that sweet pussy drag-
Steve nearly jolted off the couch when a loud guitar riff sounded from Eddie's back pocket.
"Shit", Eddie hissed when he realized who was calling. He could ignore it, but he knew they'd just keep it up until they got to his door.
"You need to take that?", Steve asked, voice a little breathless.
"Just-just gimme a moment, it'll be quick." Eddie answered and Steve could be patient. He just couldn't be good and patient. He rubbed at Eddie's arm before taking his hand in his own. He brought it to his lips and swirled his tongue around his index finger, keeping his gaze down at first and then looking up at Eddie.
The man above him was speechless, up until whoever he was talking to shouted at him from the other end and got his attention again. Well, half of it anyway. The other half was on Steve sucking down two of his fingers now. Eddie groaned both in frustration and the beautiful man under him. Steve was only half following the conversation but it sounded like their time together might be cut short.
Eddie hung up with a sigh. "Baby...baby I gotta go."
"Right now?", Steve asked.
"Yeah but...but if you could, I mean you can stay here until I get done. It'll be quick, just a couple of hours tops. And I can take you out to dinner too."
"You want me to stay?"
Eddie's hair shook as he nodded. He stood up, glad he had a bit of time to calm his boner down. Then he saw Steve lying there on the couch, lips kissed wet and certain his lips farther down were just as glistening. He leaned over to cup him between the legs, feeling the warmth through his clothes.
"Don't forget who this belongs to", he growled when Steve whimpered.
"Okay." And because this man was sent from above, he whispered, "Daddy."
Eddie couldn't hold back then, kissing him hard, tongue marking his insides while rubbing Steve through his pants. He unzipped them, thinking he could just get him off quick when the ringtone sounded again. Pulling back was the hardest thing to do.
"Keep it nice and warm for me", Eddie said before fully removing himself.
"Hurry back."
And then Steve was alone. In a rockstar's hotel room. He thought about what a sugar baby might do when their daddy went off for what must be a very important but impromptu meeting, especially when it stopped such a heated moment. It became very obvious what he needed to do and so he headed straight for the bedroom.
Part 5
I need you to know that when I first envisioned this fic it was literally just supposed to be smut with connecting scenes but it somehow turned to "don't catch feelings" and "oops we're accidentally dating" the fic so here we are.
Tag Team
@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @marklee-blackmore @dragonmama76 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @chaosgremlinmunson @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @greatwerewolfbeliever @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi
#apo writes#stranger things#fanfiction#steddie#platonic stobin#omegaverse#a/b/o#next part is gonna be oohoohoo!
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All This Love (I'll Show You How It Feels)- Ambiguous Kam
Word count: 2.8k words
To ink @soryasongsaa !!! Happy late birthday! Have some kam fake dating shenanigans because it hit my brain and I couldn't not write it <3 it was fun as hell to write and I hope you enjoy it just as much
Also he/they keefe!!!
Warnings: swearing, and vaguely suggestive scene except it'd also just crack
•~•~•~•~•~•
Tam thought that it'd been a perfectly normal day. It had been a perfectly normal day. It was 11 p.m., he was in his room and had no reason to interact with anyone, so really, the day should have ended completely normal.
And then there was a knock on his window.
(Oh, of course when the window mesh was damaged, that's when all the nonsense happened.)
He grabbed some old, heavy as hell, textbook in one hand and opened the curtains with the other, then the window, ready to knock the intruder to the ground.
When he saw a glimpse of messy blond hair, he nearly smacked the intruder out of instinct, but barely managed to refrain.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked Keefe, who was casually sitting on the narrow ledge of Tam's window. "Give me a reason to not just shove you off."
Keefe guffawed. "Bangs Boy, is this a death threat?"
He rolled his eyes. "It's not a long fall."
(...he would know, he accidentally fell out one time when he was younger.)
He raised an eyebrow. "A favour."
"Ugh, fine, I have a favour. Can't let me be dramatic in peace."
They nodded. "A favour. Unless you want me to go to Linh instead-"
Tam yanked them by the arm and pulled them in. "Do not." Ignoring Keefe's yelp, he continued. "You want me to do some last minute assignment due tomorrow?"
They rolled their eyes. "I wish. I'd have just gone to Fitzy. Unfortunately, I can only ask this of you, because I'm in a much, much more dire-"
"Get on with it. You're interrupting my sleep."
They laughed. "Sleep? You were just gonna stay up until 2am playing a gacha game."
Keefe scowled briefly, then their features shifted into that really annoying expression they got when they were planning something. "Be my boyfriend."
Tam blinked. The expression on their face didn't change. The clock on his wall kept ticking.
"What?"
"Be my boyfriend," Keefe repeated, as if this wasn't the most inane thing they'd ever said, and they'd said some really inane things over the two years that Tam has known them for.
"I know what you said. But let me repeat myself. What."
Their expression schooled into something serious, and Tam decided he wasn't going to throw them out of his window.
"It's fake dating, not a real relationship," they said, "just to clarify."
Never mind. The window was back to being appealing.
"Why."
They shrugged. "To piss off my dad?"
Tam sighed. "Alright, fine, that's understandable. Why the hell are you asking me? You know Sophie would be down for pissing him off."
"I know. But Daddy Dearest himself said I should get a girlfriend."
Tam scrunched his face in disgust. "He actually told you that?"
"It was so awkward, I didn't even know how to snark my way out of what."
"Okay, fine. A boyfriend. Fitz?"
"And interrupt whatever weird Fitzphie pining is going on?" They scoffed. "Another reason I can't date Foster, by the way."
He nodded. "Dex?"
Their expression went serious again. "For... personal reasons, I can't. So really, that leaves you, Bangs Boy, as my final and only candidate." They sighed dramatically. "So. Be my boyfriend?"
He raised an eyebrow. "How does this work? Do I go to your dad's house and hold your hand? Kiss you on the cheek?"
They both grimaced at that. Yeah, no.
"Uhhh, it'd be nice if it were that simple. We gotta like, do a full pretense. Date at school and all that."
He narrowed his eyes. "You want the whole school to know we're dating?"
They nodded. "Yeah, and our friends should believe it too."
"Why the fuck do they have to believe it's real?"
They waved a hand. "They're shit at keeping secrets. You know this. Daddy Dearest is also great at sensing lies, so the less people to lie to him, the better."
This went from mildly annoying to getting on his nerves. "You're annoying."
This was insane. He had to pretend to date Keefe, and make it believable to his friends. He had to fool Linh. "I'm not kissing you."
They gagged. "Ew, hell no. Are you stupid? Who needs to flaunt kissing to prove they're a couple? Bangs Boy, you read too many romance novels."
"Shut up, or I won't date you."
"...you were going to agree this fast?"
"No," he lied.
Obviously he didn't actually want to date Keefe, but they clearly didn't want to do it either, seeing as he was a last (and only) resort. The fact that they actually came to him meant that this was at least kind of serious.
"How long is this supposed to last?"
"I'm gonna move out once I start college. Then give it another month or so, we can break up saying the distance was too much for us."
Tam had to say, for how impulsive and absolutely reckless this fake dating thing sounded, it sounded like they'd thought a lot of this through.
He weighed the pros and cons of this in his head.
Cons: he had to fake date Keefe. He'd have to swallow his pride and be a little affectionate towards them. He'd have to be believable. Keefe would make fun of him. Linh would tease the hell out of him. His parents wouldn't be the happiest with him when they found out.
Pros: He'd have to watch Keefe swallow their pride in order to be affectionate. And they were a very physically affectionate person. He'd get to make fun of them back. He could say he got a boyfriend before Linh could get herself a girlfriend (it was fake and they came to him but that didn't matter). His parents wouldn't actually do anything, might send a few judgemental looks, but he'd long learned to not care about those. He didn't even have to worry about the breakup story.
"How are we going to convince our friends we're in love?" Tam asked. "We hate each other."
To his utter surprise, their face turned red. "Um. There's a non-zero chance that at least one of our friends think I have a thing for you."
"What."
"Weird conversation in a groupchat for that gacha game Linh plays. Denying it made it worse."
"What."
"And since Marella and Biana play it too, they might actually be convinced too-"
"What."
"It is not my fault if I think a fictional character who happens to look like you is hot-"
Tam put a hand over their mouth. "Please," he said, his voice oddly strained to his ears, "shut up."
Keefe nodded, their face growing warm to the touch. Tam removed his hand, and Keefe scowled at him. "We never speak of this again."
Tam nodded sagely.
•~•~•~•~•~•
So that conversation had happened on Sunday night, and now it was Monday morning, and Tam had to go to school. It felt like a blessing now more than ever that they were in different grades, because it meant they only saw each other at lunch or at the school's strings ensemble.
When lunch came, Keefe was at the lunch table already, so he just sat beside him.
Linh raised an eyebrow, and sat opposite of him. "Strange."
Marella, who sat beside her shrugged. "If it means they won't play footsies again, I'll take it."
Tam glanced at Keefe, wondering if this was a good opportunity to say something, but the idea of a public announcement of dating was so weird. How do you even make that kind of announcement when neither of you showed interest in the other?
(Well, ignoring... what Keefe had said. That didn't count.)
He had no desire to kiss him on the lips, a cheek kiss was less weird but still way too excessive. Handholding was probably not a bad idea, but when it came to the two of them, it seemed too quick, too fast.
Keefe kicked his foot. Tam kicked it back. The angle was weird because they were sitting beside each other instead of on opposite sides, but clearly, that wasn't stopping Keefe.
"They're at it again," Biana said, from where she was sitting beside Keefe.
When Keefe's foot knocked into his again, Tam hooked his ankle around Keefe's. He glanced at him from his peripheral vision, and noted the almost wide-eyed look. It was such a minor action, but it seemed to have stunned him.
Linh hummed, looking straight at Tam, before her eyes flicked down as she leaned back, peeking under the table.
Tam hid his smile as he continued eating. Maybe this could be fun.
•~•~•~•~•~•
Well. Unlike Tam, who was going for subtlety with his under the table, before building up to something more, Keefe had no intention on that. Which, he really should have expected.
They'd been a little quiet during their group study session/hangout at the Vackers, but it wasn't until they'd slid a paper onto his notebook did he understand why.
Tam picked up the sheet of paper and looked at it. It was a sketch from a pencil, the lines smooth as it depicted a soft looking picture. A picture of Tam doing some of his work, a slight smile on his face, probably a relieved smile from when he'd managed to figure out an answer to a question earlier.
"This..." Tam began, lost on what to say.
"Felt like drawing you," they replied, as if that was a proper answer.
And if that wasn't enough, they then grabbed his hand and brought it to their cheek. For a moment, he almost thought that they'd bring his hand to their lips, but fortunately, they did not do that. "Your hand's cold," they murmured, "but it feels nice."
"You are... very shameless."
He thought that they'd struggle more to be affectionate with him. Then again, they were always one to defy expectations.
"What?" Sophie asked, and not just her, but the rest of his friends were staring at them. "Since... when?"
"It's not unexpected," Linh said neutrally, looking at Tam. "The more surprising thing is that I didn't get to know beforehand. That being said, I also want to know how long."
"Last night," Tam replied. "Came to my window like they're in some romantic drama, then confessed their undying love for me. The absolute sap."
He hid his smile as he glanced at their briefly scowling face. And because they hated being outdone, they had to add, "Well, you should've seen the look on his face. The cute blush, the wide eyes, the way his voice lowered as he told me how he hated me but still couldn't help loving me."
He glared. It wasn't as chilled as it usually was, which was a testament as to how surprisingly calm he felt. If this had been even yesterday, there was a relatively high chance of this devolving into a fistfight.
•~•~•~•~•~•
During one of Tam's grocery shopping sessions, he'd been browsing through the snack aisle. He usually only came here every once in a while to stock up on some relatively low sugar cookies. As he walked down the aisle, he spotted a certain brand of cookies.
("Bangs Boy," Keefe whined over the phone, because for some reason, Tam decided to accept his call instead of denying it like he normally did. "I'm out of cookies and the store doesn't have more in stock."
"That sounds like a you problem," Tam told him.
"Such a mean boyfriend, you are. I've got the worst boyfriend."
"Sure, sure," he said absently, because he'd been paying more attention to the show that he'd been watching before he got the phone call.)
Without thinking, he grabbed a box and tossed it into the shopping basket. He paid for his stuff and shoved it into his backpack, then walked over to Keefe's house.
He probably could just enter the front door, but at this point it was almost 9:30 p.m. and he didn't feel like coming across Keefe's dad. There was an easy to climb tree, and it was definitely easier than getting to his own window.
The mesh was attached, but the window had been opened slightly, and Tam could hear the sound of a violin playing.
Now, he was no stranger to Keefe's playing, he heard it every time during their strings ensemble club meeting. He was even familiar with Keefe playing to only him. But there had always been an audience, and when there was an audience, there was always the need to play a certain way.
He couldn't see Keefe at this moment, but he could imagine the lack of tension in his posture, could imagine closed eyes as he immersed himself fully.
On your own, when there was no one to hear other than yourself, there was a lack of restraint, there was a vulnerability. He knew it from hearing Linh play cello, but hearing it from Keefe, it was...
The flash of a camera blinded him.
"You look like a creep, staring from my window," Keefe said.
"You play well," Tam blurted.
His mouth parted into a small gape, and Tam had expected a reply of 'obviously' or 'you finally admit it, Bangs Boy?' but he didn't say anything, eyes wide.
"Soo, why are you here?" Despite the words, he took down the mesh and let Tam in. "Surely it wasn't to act like a creepy stalker."
Tam pulled out the box of cookies and threw it at him, annoyed by the ease of which he caught it.
"Oh my god, a present?" Keefe gasped dramatically. "I've changed my mind. You're the best boyfriend!"
"Don't expect this to happen often. I just happened to be shopping."
Still though, Keefe was grinning, ice blue eyes gleaming, as he hastily opened the box and took out a pack. "Thanks, Bangs Boy!" There was a sense of genuine happiness, none of that smugness, none of that bravado, and it wasn't often that Tam was the one to make him that happy.
While Keefe was busy pleasantly eating his cookies, Tam snatched his phone out of his pocket.
"Hey, what the hell—hah, you don't know my password!"
Tam quickly entered his fingerprint—because he'd managed to sneak it on and was saving it for an important moment—and he opened the photos app.
Upon realizing this, Keefe tackled him. They both fell on to the bed.
"When the hell did you get your fingerprint on?"
"I'm not telling you."
They wrestled on the bed for the phone. Their hands fumbled as they aggressively grabbed at each other.
"Delete that picture."
"Hell no!"
They continued wrestling, as Tam managed to pin him down on the bed. It was only when Keefe stopped struggling when he realized the position that they were in.
And then the door opened.
"Keefe—" the sound of Cassius Sencen's voice cut off.
And if that wasn't horrifying enough...
"Oh, dad, can't you see you're interrupting something?" Then he cupped Tam's face in his hand.
Tam didn't dare look back to actually see Cassius's face, but there was an awkward silence and then he could hear footsteps leave.
"Keefe," Tam let out a breath. He was frozen in shock. "What the fuck what that?"
He grinned. "I was planning to pretend to kiss you in front of him anyway, this could not have gone better."
"Your dad thinks you and I are..."
"Tell me it isn't hilarious."
"It is. But I'm going to be horrified anyway because what the fuck. I'm leaving. Also, delete that picture or else I'm telling Sophie about your fictional crush."
"Hey—we agreed we'd never speak of that again!"
•~•~•~•~•~•
When Tam opened his locker at school, he was not expecting a crap on of drawings of him pasted on the walls by magnets, but somehow, he wasn't surprised.
"And you call me the creepy stalker," Tam said to Keefe.
"This is revenge for you getting your fingerprint on my phone."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you've been here before."
They sighed. "Yeah, you're right."
•~•~•~•~•~•
During lunch, Keefe had a physics test soon that they were now whining about.
"I should've dropped out," they wailed. "What if I ditch the test?"
"Hey," Tam said, leaning over to rest a hand on their head, ruffling their hair a little bit. "You'll be fine. You've done better with less studying."
Keefe relaxed into his touch, and he wondered when this became normal. Physical touch wasn't necessarily his thing, but he'd noticed that Keefe was very receptive to it. And he was more fine giving it, comparing to receiving. It even made Keefe less annoying when they got this comfortable.
This whole fake-dating thing was... kind of fun. He found he didn't mind if Keefe dragged him on random outings or showed up at his window at 11 p.m.
He didn't mind keeping up this pretense.
•~•~•~•~•~•
Kotlc taglist: @stellarune @my-swan-song @impostertamsong @subrosasteath
Want to be added/removed from the tag list? Just let me know!
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Oh, well, imagine - Andy Barber smut
The one where Andy gets tired of living a double life
Word count: 2K<
Warnings: smut, sugar relationship, infidelity (reader is the other woman), daddy kink, breeding kink, dubcon because Andy does stuff without getting reader’s consent beforehand, unprotected sex.
A/N: this was written for @donutloverxo‘s #sugary4kchallenge! I took the opportunity to write something in the same universe as my first Andy fic, I write sins not tragedies, but this could be read by itself. Congrats on 4k, sweetheart!
Y/N’s P.O.V.
The sound of the door being slammed startled me, almost making me drop the dishes I’d been washing. My eyebrows furrowed, confused and worried about what was going on. Only Andy had the key to the apartment, so I wasn’t curious as to who it was, just what had him behaving that way. In all the time we’d known each other, I’d never once seen him angry.
Still, when he appeared by the kitchen, it was clear that was the case. His chest heaved with the simple task of breathing, and when his eyes fell on me, they seemed darker. I almost felt scared - I probably would, if I didn’t trust him so much.
“Andy?” I asked, but he immediately shook his head.
“Not what you call me, princess.” Automatically, I stood up straighter, body electrified by the meaning behind his words. I knew what he wanted, even if it was clearly that more than desire. He needed this.
“Daddy.” He nodded once, clearly pleased at my acknowledgment. But there was still so much I needed to understand. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Instead of answering, he just kept staring at me long and hard, making me feel small and naked under his attention.
“Come here.”
My legs obeyed instantly, having been trained long enough to do exactly what he said without having to think about it. “Good girl.” The compliment was like some pavlovian buzzer to my poor cunt. I could feel the fabric of my underwear begin to uncomfortably stick to my lower lips, and I shifted from one leg to the other as I waited for further instructions.
“Daddy needs you tonight,” he finally began explaining, a single finger running under my jaw to make sure I’d keep our eyes connected. “Will you let me do whatever I want to you and this body?”
The perspective excited me, and I didn’t know if I was stupid for it, but I found myself nodding anyway. At the end of the day, I trusted Andy with my life. I knew he wouldn’t push me further than I could take it, and if he ever came close to it, I always had my safeword.
“Yes, Daddy.” He rewarded me with a kiss, but it wasn’t a soft one. His tongue invaded my mouth and before I could even realize what I was doing, I had to find a hold on his shirt, standing on my tippy toes just so I wouldn’t completely tip over.
“Are you excited to help daddy?” He asked, fingers already making quick work of my clothes as I trembled with excitement in his hold. He looked feverish, like he couldn’t hold back anymore, his mouth nipping and sucking and biting every inch of skin he could find.
“Yes, Daddy,” I repeated, forever his subservient servant, knowing that aiding him would bring me to pleasures I’d never known before we’d met. I watched as he licked his lips, taking in my naked body before his, the kitchen a mess of my discarded clothes and abandoned dinner, but instead of taking off his clothes, his hands went directly to his belt.
“Lay back on the floor.” It took me a full second to understand what he was saying, but thankfully he didn’t read it as hesitation. Instead, despite his eager state, he watched as I slowly lowered myself to the cold marble, stopping once I was on my knees to make sure of what he really wanted.
“Lay back,” he repeated, nodding towards me, and despite my confusion, I did as he said, gasping once my naked back met the icy stone. My nipples hardened against the air of the silent apartment and under his gaze, and I gasped when he knelt before me, hands reaching out for my thighs as he pulled me even closer.
“So, so beautiful,” he moaned, and I watched stunned as he lowered himself until he was eye-level with my navel, and I felt more than saw as his tongue stuck out and collected the wetness that was already threatening to drip from me. “And mine, all mine.”
The first time he’d said that, there was a conversation to be held right after we both came back from our highs. I needed to make sure that he remembered what this was, and he laughed when I tried to phrase it as sweetly as possible.
“I know this isn’t conventional,” he’d said, “but as long as it lasts, you’re mine. In and out of this apartment, but especially in this bed.” It didn’t take too long to realize that he was right.
I truly was his. My body responded to him in a way it’d never reacted to anyone else before. And I knew that whenever this little affair of ours came to an end, he would still forever own parts of me I’d never even realized I had before we met.
Andy’s P.O.V.
My mind was becoming hazier by the second. I needed to make sure she understood what was going to happen before I completely lost it. But first, I knew I’d hate myself if I didn’t take advantage of the delicious meal laid bare before me.
“Daddy!” She screamed, fingers curling around my strands as I lapped her up, rubbing my bearded jaw on the apex of her thighs. She was everything. I had never wanted anyone the way that I wanted her. And I knew that I never would again.
It was why I couldn’t lose her.
Connecting our eyes, I pushed two fingers inside of her and immediately curled them as I searched for that sweet spot I’d memorized so many months before, knowing I’d struck gold when she cried out for me again.
“Yeah, baby… I know you like that, sweet girl. So sweet for me, aren’t you?” I knew she wouldn’t be able to answer, and I didn’t mind. I could barely speak myself. The need to have her was just too strong, and so I kept licking her pussy and fucking it with my fingers until I felt her clench around my digits, not even waiting for her to calm down as I immediately raised to my knees and worked on releasing my member from its confines.
“Better get ready, princess… I won’t be able to stop until I’m done with you.” The lust in her hazy eyes was unmistakable, but just as I was about to plunge into her, warm hands found their way inside my shirt, holding my chest to stop me.
“Andy… the condom…” but I wasn’t having it.
“No,” I announced it, the finality in my voice clear as day as I pushed her arms down against the floor and penetrated her slowly, making sure to watch her jaw going slack as it always did at my first thrust.
When I saw that the initial shock had started to subdue and she was about to argue, I took her lips with mine, devouring her mouth the way I’d done with her pussy just seconds before. “I’m fucking you just like this, and you’re gonna take it.”
She wiggled underneath me, but it seemed more like she was going through the motions of showing that she didn’t want that than actually trying to make me stop.
It didn’t stop me. She would never be able to stop me. Not when I was in this mindset, not when I needed her so much. “I’m tired of wanting you,” I admitted. “I’m tired of wanting you, having you and then going back to wanting you again. I will never have my fill of you, I know that now. I need you.”
Her pussy clenched around me sporadically, her moans escaping her lips as she failed to speak when my hips grew quicker, my thrusts more forceful. “I need you more than sexually. I’m desperate for you, baby.”
And finally, she stopped squirming, her eyes suddenly widening in realization as my voice betrayed all of the emotions I was feeling. “I want to come home to you, Y/N. Only you.”
My confession earned her surrender. I felt her muscles relax underneath me, a sign of her acceptance of my new quest for ownership of her body, and so I could finally release her hands to run mine all over her skin.
“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” I whispered once the tempo became softer, but no less passionate. “I haven’t fucked her since we met.” I could see the shock in her expression, and I knew what she would argue.
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” I shook my head at her silliness, stroking her cheek after I kissed her one more time. I could see my future in her eyes, even if she didn’t allow herself to see hers in mine.
“I want to get you pregnant, Y/N.” And there it was. The truth and my heart, stripped of all pretense, exposed for her to see. And if I feared the rejection, the way her eyes softened before she pulled me to another kiss sealed our fate.
“I love you so fucking much.” And so we made passionate, desperate sex on the kitchen floor. I fucked her so hard, it didn’t take much to have her drooling for me. I drowned all of my worries and sorrows in her sweet pussy, making sure to worship every single inch of her body with my lips and tongue.
“I’m gonna keep you forever, princess,” I promised, heart aching just at the thought of ever losing her. “She won’t ever take you from me. Ever.” At the reminder of the reality of our situation, the fact that she was “the other one”, her body writhed underneath me, her struggle to fight back once again rising, but I wasn’t having any of it.
“Ever, baby,” I promised against her lips, silencing her cries with a deep, sloppy kiss that only ended when I needed to gather some air. “I can’t even think of having to live without you.”
The rhythm of our hips finding one another kept up, the sounds growing exponentially wetter with each second, with each drop of her arousal that collected on her lower lips, lubricating my member and aiding my goal to fill her up until it lathered the floor beneath us.
“You won my heart,” I confessed, making sure that she’d see the honesty deep in my eyes. “You left me no choice but to fall for you. Now I won’t live without you.” A desperate cry tore from deep within her, rekindling the passion with which I fucked her. Normally I was so sweet to her, so patient. But I knew she liked this as well. She liked to be fucked like a whore, even if she was as far removed from one as possible.
“Call my name, sweet girl.” It was a plea, a desperate need to blur the lines between what our relationship was and what I wanted it to become until they disappeared altogether. “Say you are mine. Say it.”
She was drooling now, and I knew how hard it was for her to find the words I needed her to say as she succumbed to bliss right there, on the kitchen floor, with me. Still, her scream penetrated my hazy mind, adding to the overwhelming tightness that squeezed me, begging for my cum, “I’m yours! I’m yours, Andy.”
The aftermath found us breathless, with flushed chest and flushed cheeks. I don’t think I’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful as the nervous but hopeful look with which she gazed at me. I knew what she needed to hear, and with a kiss on her forehead, I reassured her, “Let’s go to bed, princess. You won’t be sleeping alone tonight.”
And as we cuddled the night away, the unspoken became clear and clear. Not tonight, nor ever again.
#sugary4kchallenge#my fics#andy barber smut#smut#andy barber#sugar daddy au#andy barber x reader#andy barber reader#andy barber reader insert#andy barber reader inserts#andy barber one shot
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Chains of a family [B.W]
Bill Weasley x Grant! reader
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4
Summary: Molly thinks that Bill’s and the reader relationship is a mistake so she wants them apart from each other. Bill’s against his mother wishes and he find a way to drag the reader into the Weasley family officialy
Word count: 1.9K
Warnings: none
A/N: Hi! Part 4 of this thing lol. I’m so happy that you guys like this story. It’ll have like 20 chapters or so, i’m still deciding that so yeah, that’s pretty much the thing. Btw, from now on chapters will be more interestings... i hope so lol. Again, english not my mother language. Please let me know if something’s wrong. Aaaaaand if you want to be tagged in the next chapters tell me and i will add you! Enjoy!
Chapter 4: Arguments
The rest of the afternoon passed as normal as the days before your arrival. Arthur Weasley made sure of it. Even if Molly attacked you with her dagger gaze when you and Bill hugged each other after you were done with dessert.
You didn’t know what Mr. Weasley had talked about with his wife while you were taking a shower, however, you noticed the tension rising from their bodies after you sat down at the table next to Bill and saw an annoyance sign on Molly’s lips. Her temple was frowned, reminding you of your own mother's gestures. Those flaming eyes, cleft chin, and pinion lips. Both women contract their features too much when they were upset and in your distress, you knew that they must not be disturbed.
The last thing you wanted was to hurt a marriage as solid as the Weasley's. More than once you heard your mother talk about it with your nanny making a powerful emphasis on how Molly and Arthur were able to carry out their marriage even if their economic conditions were precarious and the war was on their heels. They were an envied couple. Few dared to expand the family as much as they did without money in their pockets and spreading their progeny like a plague. No one was surprised, not even your mother, not when her marriage to Evan Grant was merely for financial advantage. Now Arthur and Molly looked upset, too upset for your understanding and you just hoped they could get along soon.
You weren't sure you deserved the sacrifice Bill's father had made for you, yet a flame of hope lit up in your chest. If Mr. Weasley started to trust you that was a good sign for others to do as well, right?
The afternoon continued as normal, seeing how Bill's plans to distract you from the fervent harassment of his mother was marred by the twins intervention. They had just finished a new product for their store and needed a good taster to certify the quality of their merchandise. It was a bad idea, he told himself, because twins were just a disaster and you didn't know them well enough to deny their good-natured pretensions.
"Be kind!" He yelled at them as Fred and George pulled you into their. Bill exhaled, pleading that his brothers wouldn't bother his girlfriend more than his mother already had.
Before taking you home, he thought about the pros and cons of your stay in the burrow. His conclusion was based on the fact that his entire family welcomed Harry Potter with open arms, so you didn't have to be the exception. He knew the difference in conditions in which his theory developed, yet he put his trust in the good judgment of his family even if the Grants' past left much to be desired. Bill didn't talk much about you with his mother, in fact, your presence at home was the last of his worries, the real problem came at the time of joining the Order of the Phoenix, would you be willing to fight against your relatives even if that mean betraying your own blood? Bill hope you will
Coming downstairs, Bill found his mother storing the leftover food in the fridge while the dishes soaked in the sink. Then he watched her clean each plate with her bare hands, no magic. William knew his anger was real.
"Want some help with that?"
"I'd love to, honey, thank you," his mother answered without looking at him. Bill raised the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, dipping his hands into the tide of water and bubbles that flew across the kitchen. Molly was silent, drying the dishes and flying them to her place in the display case across the kitchen. Bill cleared his throat doubtfully "It never hurts to help, much less when I have so many things to do before the rest of the Order arrive"
"Don't worry, I'll help you with that too."
"Perfect"
"Mom, can we talk?"
"About what?
"You know what," Bill clicked his tongue, passing her the last plate from the sink to continue with the spoons. "(Y/N)..."
"Your father has scolded me enough about that girl, I don't need you to do it too"
"I wouldn't if you had a little consideration with her."
"More consideration?" Molly asked in a squeak. Bill shook his head. "I'm letting her stay at my home!"
"Our home, mom, ours," he corrected, drying his hands with a cloth. "This house also belongs to my dad, my brothers, and me. It's the burrow, a family property, not a secret club where some people can get in and others cannot."
"You know what I think of her"
"And you know I don't care." Molly looked scandalized at her son. She didn't understand what he had seen in someone like you or what you had given him to come out and defend you as he did "I don't ask you to love her, but at least you have to try...
"Have you ever wondered what will happen when she betrays us?"
"That's not gonna happen"
"You're very sure of that, William"
"I'm convinced, Mom. You don't know her like I do and, you know what? I see that wanting to talk to you was a mistake"
"Moody thinks like me," Molly stopped him when Bill was ready to go upstairs. The woman clung to the railing watching her son standing in the first step out of the kitchen "(Y/N) Grant is a danger to the Order"
"Really? Like Mundungus Fletcher? I beg your pardon, mom, but if there is anyone who represents a latent danger to the Order of the Phoenix, it's him and yet you have assigned him for the mission tonight"
Molly's lips parted and if it weren't for the fact that Bill knew her mother too well, he might think the woman was about to throw herself on the floor in a tantrum. Still, she clenched the bars tightly, her brow furrowed, and the redness on her cheeks washed over her forehead.
"William!" Don't talk to me like that!"
"I wouldn't if you had a little more respect for my girlfriend."
"Don't you understand? I care about you! For all of us!" She snarled angrily. "Having a Riddle in this house..."
"A Grant, mom, (Y/N) is a Grant and that's not the same." Bill descended his steps, approaching her mother, returning that angry look that she had inherited from him. It was a strange sensation. A dyad of emotions between joy and fear where the composed emotion was guilt. He had never exploded that way with his mother, but Molly hadn't behaved that way with anyone either "His grandfather is Lord Voldemort's half-brother and his brothers are all Death Eaters, what does it matter? (Y/N) is not. And when do we judge others by where they come from? If so, we could start with half of us. Being a Weasley is equivalent to being a blood traitor"
"William!"
Molly's face went from fury to shock to fury again. Bill's eyes were twinkling and Molly swore she had never seen any of her children this angry, or worse, this determined.
"What would you have done, Mom?" Bill questioned taking his mother by his arms in an attempt to make him feel her despair. Molly opened her eyes, scared. "When your family tell you not to accept dad? When your brothers object to your engagement, just 'cause the Weasleys have long been considered blood traitors?"
For the first time that day Molly's mind went blank, Bill guessed, rewinding the memories of how difficult it was for the Prewetts to accept the marriage. Bill pleaded silently, but pulled away from her when his mother gave no indication to be a little more respectful with you.
"We aren't like that. We don't separate people by where they come from, we hug them" Bill resumed his way towards the stairs, stopping a couple of steps up, turning to take a look at Molly's stunned figure "As you did with Hermione, Remus and Harry when you and Dad became his godparents after Sirius died. (Y/N) is no different"
"She will turn her back on us when the Order fight the Grants. That moment will come and you know it"
"Don't worry, i'll make sure that doesn't happen"
"She is not part of this family"
"That can be solved very easily," he said and the smile he wore gave her a terrible chill down her spine. "Because I'm going to ask her to be my wife."
Molly's gasp was the only thing Bill heard before climbing the stairs and heading to the twins' room. He always respected his mother a lot and even thinking of opposing to her wishes was inconceivable, but your well-being was something that was involved and Bill couldn't just let her mother control his life at her will. Maybe the mistake he made was not telling his parents the truth about you from the start or, in that case, mentioning that the woman he loved was the fucking niece of the strongest fucking dark wizard of all time.
Bill Weasley rubbed his face as he reached the twins' door. He no longer had to torment himself, it was done and the only thing pending at the moment was to get Harry out of his uncles' house, take him safely to the burrow and find the courage to do what he told his mother he would do.
Would you agree to marry him? He hoped so and if not, he wouldn't pressure you. You were young - even a little younger than him - and it would be understandable if you refused to tie your life to someone else's from one moment to the other. The war progressed every day and if you were going to do it, you would do it as soon as possible.
Loud laughings brought him out of his thoughts to observe you and his brothers sitting on the floor, right in the center of both beds, laughing at each other and touching your faces. From the doorway Bill can't see the full painted room, however George's face showed a rather abstract mural full of bright colors when he felt the presence of his older brother. Fred did the same showing his face in the same situation and then you turned to Bill, still laughing and your face smeared with paint. It seemed the twins had created a paint bomb in millimeter pills, that explode when you put a little bit of pressure. You tried to clean yourself with the sleeve of your sweater but you spread the paint even more. Fred and George laughed and so did Bill.
His heart swelled with love as he saw that at least someone in his family - besides him and his father - had hope in you. God, he may have even cried with happiness.
Bill never understood how a sunshine as beautiful as you was never accepted in your entire life.
Tags:
@purple-vodka-99
@vampirestrawberries
Thanks for the 100 followers!❤
#bill weasley#bill weasley imagine#bill weasley x reader#harry potter imagine#harry potter cast#Harry Potter imagines#domhnall gleeson imagine#domhnall gleeson x reader#domhnall gleeson#weasleys#fred weasley imagines
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And here is the second part hehe, this was a lil hard to write and I definitely included my thoughts on it in the fic but I really did not know how else to do that because that ending scene was *stuck* in my mind. Anyway I hope you enjoy all the same :) ~Punzo👻
Eventually, we went back to the shoot and the rest of the day went normal, with a lot more flirting between me and Karl than usual. I ended up coming with Karl and Nick to the house after the day was over. We had originally planned to do so anyway but after what happened it felt different. We had yet to talk about our relationship, we decided that considering we were both open to poly and had feelings for Nick, it would be best to see how anything with him would play out. I felt a little bad that we had virtually agreed to tag-team flirt with him, but if he was in the same situation as us feelings-wise, it would work out. They were gonna stream later tonight so we decided to game in the meantime.
We headed to the gaming room (Karl said he has this right? I think so lol)and while Karl set up the system and grabbed the controllers, Nick and I sat down. I hummed and pressed my arm against him, and then just ended up leaning on him completely. In any other situation, I wouldn't have leaned on him, but I had talked to Nick for a long time about his boundaries, making sure I knew what ones I couldn't cross. He understood that both I and Karls' love language was touch so he was very chill about it all.
Karl came over and handed us our controllers, before sitting on the other side of Nick and leaning on him, although far less than I had. We played normally for a while, having fun and occasionally pushing whoever we were mad at. After a few rounds, Karl reached across Nick to push me but then he drummed his fingers on my leg. I looked over at him since he often did that to get my attention and he flicked his eyes back and forth between me and Nick. I rose my eyes and tilted my head down as if to confirm my thoughts and he gently nodded his head. I nodded one back and then focused on the game, that Nick was now winning because Karl and I had stopped paying attention. I chewed my lip, trying to think of something to do. Flirting was easier when there was something that prompted it. Nick won and I threw my head back in a groan.
"Nick why are you so good at this game?! It's such a dumb game to have skill in!" Nick let out a loud and joyous laugh and I turned my head to look at him. I couldn't help but smile at his reaction and after a moment of bragging, he turned to meet my eyes. After a moment of looking at me, he blinked and got just barely redder.
"Why are you smiling like that? You just lost." I let out a breath of amusement and sat up fully, still looking at him. I quickly glance at Karl to raise an eyebrow in challenge to him, as if to say to watch me, before returning my stare to Nick.
"You just look cute happy. I don't really care that I lost." My words ended with a giggle and I knew my smile had turned a little sheepish. His mouth opened briefly before he closed it with a building blush. Karl's giggle joined in with mine and Nick turned to look at him with a glare. Karl covered his smile with his hand for a moment before he pulled it away and casually put it on Nick's leg.
"She's right, you're so adorable." Nick stammered and both me and Karl giggled again. Nick looked between us like he was trying to decide who to get mad at before Karl leaned his head on the top of his chest, raising an eyebrow at me as I had done before. Challenge accepted, Karl. I lifted my leg closest to Nick under the pretense I was getting closer to Karl, leaning my head towards him as I giggled, but when I finished moving my legs were surrounding one of Nick's, and being so close to Karl, Nick was unable to see my face so I gave him a smug smirk. Karl gave me a shocked look but I simply winked at him and pulled back to see a flustered Nick.
"Wh-What are you guys doing?" I curled my lips together to keep from smiling too wide, I didn't want him to feel like we were teasing him. Karl sat up and slowly started shifting and I rose my eyebrows in a bit of shock when I realized what he was going to do.
"Well, it depends on what you want us to be doing. Cause we could just be messing with you, or..." The entire time Karl spoke he was moving and he ended in a mirror position to mine. The blush on Nick's face made me feel a little better about what was happening but I would feel really bad if he was uncomfortable. Having two people flirt with you and sit in your lap is probably a little overwhelming when you don't expect it. I was praying that even if he didn't like us back we weren't breaking any boundaries, I probably wouldn't have talked to him for the rest of the time he was here if that was the case.
"Or? Oh, oh." I knew my smile had slid completely off my face, and I felt my face heat up the longer he sat in silence. He was looking between us when he spoke but his eyes slowly trailed up to my face, and I couldn't stand the intensity so I looked down. When his head turned I glanced over at Karl to see he was worrying his bottom lip, looking off to the right. "Both of you? Like, together?" I pinched my eyes shut at his uncertain tone but nodded my head. "And if I say yes, all three of us?"
"Yeah." I deflated into Karl's side at his single nervous word and he sunk into me immediately. I gently opened my eyes and looked up at Nick. I almost couldn't believe how fast my and Karls' confidence faded, but confessing was so much harder than just hinting at it. He had also pulled his lip between his teeth staring between the two of us like he was lost. He looked back to Karl, and then me and when he met my eyes he softened. Gently he placed his hands on one side of our waists and a smile and blush slowly crawled across his face.
"This is the perfect solution to my problem of having crushes for both of you." I knew both Karl and I lit up and I easily slumped forward in relief, burying my face into his neck. He let out a laugh as Karl's arms slipped around us both and he buried his face in Nick's neck as well.
"Best fucking day ever." Both of the boys laughed at my words and I was quick to do the same.
YESSSSSSSS!! THE TAG TEAM FLIRTING! THE CUDDILING! THE NERVOUS CONFESSION! IT’S AMAZING! WONDERFUL PUNZO! AMAZING!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHARING!
Part one here haha
#mcyt#mcyt imagine#mcyt x reader#karl jacobs#karl jacobs imagine#karl jacobs x reader#sapnap#sapnap imagine#sapnap x reader#karlnap#karlnap imagine#karlnap x reader#ray writings
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Hi! :) Could you please do prompt 11 for Rivusa? 💜💜 I wish you a wonderful day!
11: Secret Relationship
Rival gang AU /// Content warning: mildly smutty
The abandoned car factory wasn’t the most romantic place. It was certainly not where Musa had ever expected to be having rendez-vous’ with her lover. The place, even though it’d been deserted for close to twenty years now, smelled like a strange mixture of leather, chemicals and dust. Occasionally, the ghost smell of burning metal would tickle her nose, but those were rare. Besides, she spent most of her time coiled into Riven’s side, enveloped by the fresh, woodsy scent of his aftershave or the sweetness of his sweat.
She walked through the building to the backroom where they spent most of what little, precious time they had together. Always Monday nights, sometimes Wednesdays if they were lucky. She hated sneaking around, but it was necessary. If her father, the president of Magix’s Fallen Angels, found out his daughter was fucking – and in love with – the VP of their rival gang, The Dragon Riders, a war would break out between the two that would likely leave more dead bodies than she wanted to be responsible for.
No matter how hard she tried to keep quiet, her footsteps seemed to echo through the building. Every time they met up, she became paranoid. Musa was careful – more careful than she’d ever been about anything. She made sure to leave in the middle of the night once her father was asleep; made sure to always park her car a block away instead of in front of their house so that if he woke up he wouldn’t see her leave; made sure that no one was watching her as she got in her car; made sure that no cars followed her when she got off the ramp that led to the near-deserted stretch of road where the factory was; and made sure to park her car inside the old employee indoor garage who’s door that Riven had managed to fix so they could open and close it. All that effort – so much more effort than she ever thought she’d put into seeing a guy – just for a few hours by his side. And it was, in her opinion, more than worth it.
The door to the office where they spent their time was already open when she got there. Unlike the rest of the factory that was littered with trash, dirt and discarded production equipment, this office was in decent shape. It helped that Riven had taken the time to clean it when he had come across the area. There was a desk that faced towards the right wall, a torn black leather office chair, shelving and filing cabinets; all from the factory days, and all in surprisingly good condition. Riven had bought a loveseat for the corner of the office for them to cuddle up on a while back – that was the sole addition to the room. She would have preferred a bed so they could lie down, but there just wasn’t enough space.
Musa paused by the office door. Riven, leaning against the front of the desk with his phone in hand, still hadn’t noticed her arrival – she must not have been as loud as she thought – so she took a moment to drink him in. He was tall – significantly taller than her – with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He always looked the same: dark wash jeans, a plain t-shirt and his leather jacket, the very one that told her she shouldn’t be near him. His maroon hair was slicked back – partially by stylistic choice, but also because he had a habit of running his hand through his hair whenever he was thinking about something or uncomfortable – and he still had a scar along his cheekbone from a fight he’d been in two weeks earlier. She knew that under his clothes, adorning a body worthy of a god, were more scars and bruises from that fight and others past, and two gunshot wounds: one in his right shoulder and one just above his left hip bone.
“Waiting for someone?” she asked when she realised she’d been staring at him far longer than was normal. Riven’s hand instinctively reached for the gun he kept tucked into the back of his jeans but stopped when he registered her voice. He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled brightly. His smile sent a bolt of lightning through Musa, awakening something deep in her. She returned his smile as she approached him, pulling off her own leather jacket. He mirrored her movements, tossing his jacket onto the desk where it landed on top of hers.
His lips were on hers within seconds, hungry and desperate. His hands wasted no time in making their way to her hips and pulling her as close to him as physically possible. Her own hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly with every moan that escaped her lips. Riven backed her up against the wall, pressing himself into her. “You’re late” he whispered, removing his lips from hers to trail kisses down her neck.
“Sorry” she managed between gentle moans and pleased sighs. “Dad went to bed a bit later than usual.”
“Doesn’t matter. You're here.” His lips returned to hers, drowning her in desire. One of his hands wandered down from her shoulders to her chest, where his thumb brushed over her nipple lightly, sending a shiver through her, and down to the hem of her shirt. There was no pretense of modesty, no playfulness in the way Riven pulled the shirt off her. He knew what he wanted, and she was more than happy to give it to him. She hadn’t bothered to put a bra on in her rush to get out of the house, and Riven smirked when he noticed. He ducked down to suck at her nipple, and Musa arched her back to make it easier for him.
Her hands ran along his back, digging into him with her nails, until they found the edge of his shirt and yanked it over his head in one swift movement. Her eyes drifted down to his perfectly sculpted abs as she ran her hand across them, feeling every groove and bump. She let her hands slide lower, giddiness and anticipation building with every second, until one was cupping and teasing his bulge and the other was fiddling with his pant button.
Musa could feel his eyes on her, and when she lifted her own to meet them, she found him watching her with a softness that made her feel like goo. “What?” she laughed, her voice coming out much breathier than she’d expected. Riven shook his head, pulling his eyes away from hers and whispering an almost inaudible nothing. When they’d first started doing this – whatever this was – Musa would get upset when he would do that. She thought he was hiding something from her. It had been two years since then, and she knew better now. Nothing didn’t mean nothing; it meant I’m happy or you’re perfect or, her favourite, I love you.
***
Riven pulled her onto the loveseat beside him and draped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, feeling it rise and fall in time with his chest and heavy breaths. Her finger trailed along his sweat-slicked chest, drawing figure eights. A smile was plastered on his face and his eyes were still glazed over from his orgasm. He was beautiful.
“I’ve been looking at Melody” he told her after a few minutes. She could feel his fingers ghosting over the angel wings tattooed on her back. He traced the wings every time they were together, and every time she wished they weren’t there. Those wings represented a stupid, made up barrier keeping her from him, and she’d grown to despise them.
“Oh?” Musa raised her eyebrow as she tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes were focused on the dark office, but looked faraway from where they were. She loved his eyes. They were a deep shade of violet that swirled and danced every emotion he felt. He was her ticket into his soul and, now that she could figure them out, she never had to wonder if he truly loved her again. Until the day when those eyes wouldn’t look at her like she was the sun, she knew he was hers just as much, if not more, than she was his.
“You told me you’ve always wanted to see the realm your mom was from. And I looked into it, there is no Dragon charter out there. You’ll have to confirm about the Angels, but I couldn’t find anything.”
Musa sat upright, resting her palm flat against his chest. She searched his eyes for any hint of dishonesty or humour, but found none. “Really?” They’d talked about leaving Magix – getting away from the gang life and starting over somewhere – more times than she could count. Everywhere had been an idea: Solaria, Eraklyon, Andros, Melody, Zenith, Dalona, Oppositus. That’s all they’d ever been, though, ideas.
“Yeah. I don’t know what my future holds, but if it doesn’t include you – all of you, not just secret meetings in the middle of the night in some shitty abandoned factory – I don’t want it.” Riven dropped his head onto the back of the couch and let it flop sideways to look at her. His hand caressed her cheek with a tenderness that she knew he reserved for her. Her hand lowered from his chest to trace the dragon’s tail that coiled up his right leg, ending in a majestic magenta, blue and black dragon on his back. “I like Melody.”
“Good” he smiled. “I’ve looked at real estate and I have enough money saved up that we can get a nice place of our own. We couldn’t get anything big enough for a family in the city, but the suburbs are still really affordable.”
“The suburbs? Are we the suburban type?” she laughed. “I mean, I’ll have to learn to bake pies. And what the fuck does a PTA do?”
“Do you think we’ll have to get a minivan?” he added, laughing at the snort that escaped her lips.
“Of course. How else are we gonna get the kids to soccer practice?”
“Fine, but I refuse to wear beige or polos. And I still want at least one bike.”
“And I won’t wear dresses or curl my hair. Plus I demand that you keep at least one jacket. You look too hot in leather to give it up entirely.” Musa eyed the leather jackets crumpled on top of the desk. “Preferably one without a dragon on it.”
“We’re gonna scandalise the neighbours with our tattoos, leather jackets and motorcycles.”
“That’s fine. We’ll probably be the coolest parents in the neighbourhood.”
They fantasized about their life after escaping until Musa’s alarm went off at 4:15, breaking them out of the dream bubble they created and forcing them to return to their real lives. They got dressed as slowly as possible, dragging out the time until they’d have to be apart again. Then, the lovers walked hand in hand through the factory to the garage.
When they reached their vehicles, Riven pulled her into a passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, reciprocating the tightness of his around her waist. After pulling away before the kiss became too heavy, Riven laid his forehead against hers. “One month” he whispered. She looked up at him through the messy fringe on her forehead. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was drawn tight. “That’s the goal. We leave in one month.”
“Wait, really?” Musa pulled her head away from his as she batted her eyelashes in confusion. She never thought he’d actually want to leave Magix. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah, are you not?” Riven furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his jaw. She could feel his fists clenching on her back, and the doubt and hurt that sparked in his breathtaking eyes tore Musa to shreds, made her feel like she’d just stabbed the man she loved. “I’m in. I just never thought you would actually want to. I mean, the Dragons are your family.”
“And the Angels are yours, but we can make our own family. One free of drugs and turf wars.”
“Just pies, minivans and nosy, scandalised neighbours. Sounds perfect.”
“Anywhere that you are is perfect” he whispered, pulling her back in and placing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. They stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing in each other's scent and memorising every feature so they wouldn’t forget them in the week until they could see each other again. Riven’s alarm went off, alerting them that it was 4:45 and they had to leave now. He pulled her into one last kissed, far sweeter than any they’d shared in their two years together. It was full of promise and hope, something they’d never had before.
“I love you Musa.” It was so rare to hear him say the words I love you that Musa cherished every single one. In their two years, he’d said it exactly twelve times. The first was a year ago when it had slipped out after they’d had sex. Not exactly romantic, but still very cute. “I love you too Riven.”
They shared one more quick peck before Musa watched him take a seat on his bike and ride away. She got in her car and let out an elated sigh and took off, already counting down the days. All she had to do now was sit tight and not let anything slip. It couldn’t be that hard; she’d already kept this secret for twenty-seven months. What was one more? She just had to make it through this one month without her excitement bubbling over and he would be all hers.
#winx club#winx#winx musa#winx riven#musa x riven#riven x musa#rivusa#prompt#AU#alternate universe#oneshot#lowkey want to make this not a oneshot though#rival gang musa x riven is something i didnt know i wanted this badly until now#winx fanfic#fanfiction
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and then they were married (it's a funny story)
Buck is looking at him like he is particularly like he is clearly missing the point, the same Christopher does when he doesn’t understand some obvious conclusion he has reached. It makes him smile, just for a second, before it disappears when Buck speaks again.
“She says we are already married.”
Eddie is really not strong enough for this.
or Buck goes a little bit crazy with birthday planning, but Eddie loves him too much to care.
“Edmundo, if you are not down here in five seconds I’m leaving without you!”
“You need to calm down.”
“We are going to be late!”
As a matter of fact, Eddie knows they are not going to be late. It’s only a 15 minute drive from the station to Christopher’s school on the worst days of traffic and they are not supposed to be there until 11 am.
It’s 10:20.
But he is not going to go against Buck, at least not right now when he seems into some birthday planning panic for the millionth time this week. It’s cute and yeah, it does make him want to grab his shirt and make out with him for two hours straight, but it’s also getting on his nerves a little bit. Eddie has to remind himself this is the first time his best friend is planning Christopher’s party at school and it’s just the desire for it to be perfect for his son that makes him be so on edge. Later, when all of this is over, he is gonna make sure to laugh at him for months, but right now he just needs to help him get everything as it’s supposed to be.
There is also this tiny, tiny , hope that once Christopher is in sight, Buck will chill out. Maybe just a fraction; he will take whatever he can get.
Once they arrive at his son’s school ( their son , he corrects. Eddie is inside his mind, he can phrase it whatever the hell he wants, thank you very much), they are greeted by Christopher’s teacher and together, they take all of the supplies out of the car and into the little space they use for birthday celebrations and, between decorations and food, he feels like they are on a mission. His mind barely has space to store how soothing it feels to have Buck by his side, chatting away with the teacher and moving beside him like they were two parts of the same whole.
“It’s really wonderful to see how both of you are so involved with Christopher’s school life. Some parents don’t really make the time.” Even when the teacher is still looking at Buck, Eddie knows it’s a clear comment for the two of them.
He turns around from the glasses he is adjusting to give the teacher a smile, but he stops short when he sees Buck’s cheeks painted with a pretty pink and he can’t just look away. It’s not the first time he’s seen the other man blush, but it stops his heart every time, especially when they’re standing so close. Still, he feels the need to say something, mostly because he knows they are not alone.
He walks forward to where Buck and the teacher had been working on, pressing a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, but keeping his eyes on the teacher.
“We do our best.” Out the corner of his eye, he sees Buck’s grin grow a bit, nodding along with his words. But before Buck can say something, Eddie finishes his original thought “This party is all Buck. He’s been working on it for weeks, that’s why everything looks so good.”
And it’s not that he hasn’t told Buck before how much this means to him, because he has and he is pretty sure Christopher has been giving him even more hugs than normal, but he wants everyone to know how thankful he is for the other man’s presence and everything he does. There is not a day when he is not reminded of the luck he had to love a man like him and that by some miracle, he loves him back in some way.
Eddie and the teacher go back to their easy conversation, but he feels Buck’s eyes on him the entire time and when he looks at him, there is something deep in the blue that he can’t quite place. It’s nothing bad, but it does make him feel tense all of sudden and he is pretty sure that the only reason he is able to shrug it off it’s because it’s time for the kids to have their celebration.
As expected, everything goes smoothly.
Christopher has the time of his life surrounded by his friends, and Eddie and Buck work around them with bright smiles and easy laughs. When it’s time to sing Happy Birthday, the little ones surprise them by singing in English and Spanish, and Eddie has to look away for a second, because that is just too fucking cute. After they clean the place and give all the teachers their thanks, the ride home is filled with Christopher’s recollections of the day and for a long while, Eddie completely forgets about the look.
It comes back when it’s just the two of them alone, with the kid sleeping in his room.
Buck is seated on the couch when he comes back from putting Christopher to sleep and Eddie really wants to stay on the entrance to watch him from afar, but there is a concerned feeling in the way Buck’s eyebrows are knit together and that is enough to convince him to get closer and sit beside him. The blonde seems to be so in his head that he doesn’t turn his attention to Eddie and his eyes only focus on him when Eddie puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Is something wrong?” He worries something has happened in the party and he is already going through the whole thing in his head to see what could have been when Buck shakes his head.
“There is something I want to talk to you about.” His voice is serious, but Eddie can feel Buck’s body relax under his touch, especially when Eddie starts to rub circles with his fingers. It’s nothing new for him to comfort Buck this way, because he has learned with time that Buck feels more confident talking about his feelings when he is being physically reassured . So he waits for Buck to gather his thoughts, knowing that whatever he’s thinking about is important.
“Today, when we were talking with the teacher. You … You had this … proud look on your face and I just …”
Eddie’s hand doesn’t stop moving, but he does hold his breath, unable to help himself. It’s basically taking everything he’s got in him not to run away from this conversation, mostly because he knows this could go horribly wrong. Yet he doesn’t, because there is no version of reality where he doesn’t prioritize Buck’s feelings above his own.
Their eyes find each other, and Buck’s smile is almost shy when he speaks again.
“Maddie’s been saying some things. About us.”
And here we go. There is no way back from this, is it?
“Things?” He has to ask, because maybe the God above is merciful and Buck is talking about something completely different from what Eddie is imagining.
“She doesn’t think we are dating.” Intense blue eyes stare at him expectantly, and Eddie realizes that should mean something to him, but, yeah? They aren’t dating?
“... OK?”
Buck is looking at him like he is particularly like he is clearly missing the point, the same Christopher does when he doesn’t understand some obvious conclusion he has reached. It makes him smile, just for a second, before it disappears when Buck speaks again.
“She says we are already married.”
Eddie is really not strong enough for this.
He feels like he’s in some sort of a dream, like he is looking at the conversation he is having with Buck from the outside, and while he sees Buck’s mouth move, it’s like his brain has just shut off. Probably to preserve itself.
“And I know she was just being nosy but today at the party, I just…” There is a pause and the blue is far from his reach when Buck looks down “I’m sure this is how a marriage is supposed to feel.”
Eddie can’t be the first person in the world to truly wonder how Buck lives with his heart so out in the open.
Because this, right now? This is Evan Buckley showing him absolutely everything he feels, honest and raw, and Eddie doesn’t understand how he does it, even after everything that he has had to go through. He knows Buck well enough to know that this is really the first time that he had weighed their relationship like this, and that his first instinct was to reach for Eddie. Like he didn’t see any other way than to be completely honest with how he was feeling. No pretense or lies, no pinning or internal drama; just him and his feelings out in the open.
Eddie owes him honesty, if nothing else, , even when it breaks his own heart.
“Buck,” His voice is patient, and he is really trying to not sound like his whole world is one step away from slipping through his fingers, but he doesn’t know how well he manages that. “You are supposed to be in love with the person you marry.”
He doesn’t say it because he thinks he is stupid or because he is somehow dismissing what Buck is feeling. Eddie knows his heart, how big and bright it is and he has to make sure that Buck doesn’t think he owns him anything. That it doesn’t have to mean anything.
It’s clearly the wrong thing to say.
“I’m not a child, Eddie, I know that.” Buck moves away from his hand, indignation written clearly all over his beautiful face. But instead of standing up or storming out the door, he just sits impossibly closer on the couch, and there is a defiant attitude that was definitely not there a moment before. “Are you really gonna say to my face that you don’t love me?”
This can’t be happening. Has he always known?
“No, I …” And fuck, no, he can’t . “This is not about me” Because it’s not. It’s not about his heart; that has belonged to Buck for months, since the first time he saw him. It’s not about how he has never felt more at ease than with Buck by his side, or happier than when he gets to share Christopher’s life with him. It’s not about him .
But then Buck’s hands move to his neck and he doesn’t have the strength to make it about anything other than his own treacherous heart. He is smiling too now, which only proves his point that he is too far gone to ever go back.
“... You can’t be that dense, Eddie Diaz” Before Eddie can reply that yes, he for sure can, his best friend is moving forward and pressing his lips against his.
Two things happen at once: He kisses Buck back, and Eddie realizes that absolutely every second of his life that he hasn’t been kissing Buck has been a waste of his fucking time.
It feels so natural, so right, that the only thing Eddie can do when they part lightly is look absolutely dumbstruck. And fucked.
And so completely in love.
He still has half a mind to find his voice. “I guess we are a little married.”
“A little? Really ?”
Eddie has to laugh at that because yeah, he is pretty sure too that is more than a little, but he wouldn’t change a damn thing.
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Codename Cupid: Chapter 5
Previous: Codename First Heartbreak
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X OFC/PI, Mentions of Kim Seokjin X OFC
Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Light Strangers to Lovers AU
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: Swearing, Legal Alcohol Consumption
Summary: The search for Kim Seokjin begins, and our PI makes an unexpected acquaintance.
Searching for Seokjin
Present Day
I’ll admit, the heartbreak Euna endured at the hands of Kim Seokjin felt a little too real, a little too personal, a little too familiar. Reading the chapters in her manifesto that detailed the love she had for him, reminded me of listening to Kacey Musgrave’s first album and asking, to no one in particular, who hurt you?
Whether or not he realized it, their five-month triste had set in motion the ways in which Euna moved through her relationships with men. It was clear that their college love story created deep seated insecurity, one that caused her to shy away from dating. Shy away, and then lean in fully and totally in a manner that would make Charles Manson go “whoa step back”. But that’s a story for later, because Seokjin never felt the extend of Euna’s love. No, that was reserved for Min Yoongi. But again, a story for another time.
Kim Seokjin, being first on the list, was the first man I wanted to track down. He had practically no social media presence, no LinkedIn or job profiles, no known address. All Euna had to go off of was he worked at some bank in New York, but that was after graduation. Five years later, she didn’t know if he’d still be there.
“Hi, I am calling for a Mr. Kim,” I say into my phone.
“Which Mr. Kim would you be referencing?” The receptionist asks.
“Kim Seokjin,” I respond.
“Hmm, I do not have a Kim Seokjin in the directory,” She says.
“Do you happen to have a forwarding number or address?” I ask.
“No, unfortunately not. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No, thank you,” I hang up and gently set my phone on my desk. Of course, he didn’t still work there, what promising young man would stay at a mid-tier firm when he had the potential for such greatness, as Euna described?
I pick up my phone and dial my favorite number.
“If this is to ask me to search something for you illegally, the answer is no,” My sister says, not bothering to begin our chat with any formality.
“C, you know I have full access to the state database,” I remind her, twirling in my chair.
“Then what’s your question?” She demands.
“I need a national search,” I inform her.
“No,” C says.
“Come on, please?” I ask.
“No,” She says again.
“You know you’re the golden child, mom and dad already love you more, so can you help me out?” I plead.
“You get one chance a year to use the ‘mom and dad’ card,” She reminds me.
“Sis, this is an extenuating circumstance,” I tell her.
“Lies,” She responds.
“I’ll pay you,” I offer.
“You do know the NSA taps these phones?” She whispers, knowing full well I do.
I laugh a little too hard, “Then why are you absolutely dragging me?”
“I can’t,” She tells me, voice returning to normal volume.
“Fine.” I say, fingers moving swiftly over the keypad of my phone.
“Why do you insist on putting me on speaker?” She groans.
“It’s easier, I have many things to do,” I remind her.
“Sure, you do, like find the pennies you lost in the couch. Still enough for rent, right?”
“You can be such a bitch, you know that?” I snap.
“You still coming out with us on Friday?” She changes subjects fluidly.
“Well, I wasn’t-
“You are coming, when’s the last time you, you know, hooked up?” She asks delicately.
“I thought we were being tapped?” I laugh callously.
“No no, that’s what you’re not doing,” She reciprocates.
“You’re the worst, and I hate you,” I tell her.
“Wear something revealing,” She suggests.
“Don’t slut shame me,” I say.
“You’re insufferable,” She responds.
“Love you, mean it,” I tell her.
“Love you, mean it,” She replies.
If I know my sister, and I do, better than she realizes, tonight at the club she’ll have the information I need, the information to help me find not only Kim Seokjin, but the lot of them.
~~~~~
Dressing in what my sister would ultimately call a boring, going to work outfit, I hopped into the Uber. I knew better than to drive, the full extent of the evening outlined in detail in a message from C. She always planned elaborate nights out, which resulted in black outs, drunk hook ups and dirty dancing. C wanted the nights to remain perfect blurred memories, fuzzy in our minds, growing more and more hazy as the years progressed. She knows well enough to schedule them quarterly, if not twice a year max, maintaining their elusiveness. She invites only the best of the best, her favorite people, and being the single younger sister, I am the pet project of all her married friends. It’s fucking excruciating. I would rather be shaving my legs dry than spend a drunken night with her friends who all remember me as the braces wearing tween they met me as.
Tonight, will be no different.
I enter the club, no cover, and slip my bomber jacket off as I walk towards the bar. My sister sits on a stool, laughing uproariously at her girlfriends, shoulders exposed as she downs what I’m assuming is a Lemon Drop. Spotting me, she waves.
“You’re here!” She yells and eyes me up and down. “So glad you tried.”
“I put make up on,” I tell her, blinking my eyes slowly enough that she can see the shadow and attempt at eyeliner. “I’m even wearing foundation.”
“Wow, and what tween did you learn that from?” She asks, flagging down the bartender.
I don’t dignify her question with a response, in turn favoring the bartender. He stares at me expectantly, “Tequila, shaken,” I turn to count the party, “Ten shots.”
He nods before grabbing what I assume is the cheapest tequila from the shelf.
“For you?” Elise asks.
“For all of us,” I say winking. The bartender sets the shots down before asking if I want to close my tab. I nod, handing him my card without thinking.
“Really? Two shots and you’re done for the night?” C asks me.
“No, I just won’t be paying for them,” I reply laughing. Together we down our shots before turning to the dance floor. It’s a mess of sweating bodies, the neon lights illuminating fractions of everyone’s face, a nose here, an ear there, lips entangled over the beat of a Dua Lipa song. Clothing, soaked to the bone, clinging relentlessly onto everyone’s skin as they sweat through the music, liquor moving their limbs in wild gestures, inhibitions down, booties dropping. It’s euphoria and chaos, pleasure and sin.
I fucking love it.
My sister and I, though very different, have always had a shared love of dancing. Music bumping through speakers, full volume never being enough, in our blood. A part of us from our father, uniting our waring personas across decades, across the globe, and tonight, across the floor. Is there anything as blissful as dancing, hips swaying, arms overhead, lungs burning as we shout the lyrics. Heavenly.
I retreat from the dance floor to the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender to notice my presence.
“You look so happy out there,” A man says from behind me. I turn, surprised to see someone seated on the stool behind me. I truly almost sat on him.
“Oh, hi, yeah, thanks,” I reply, smiling softly.
“Do you think you could spare me a dance?” He asks, blush coating his cheeks.
“Tell me this,” I say, eyes absorbing his Bambi like orbs, “How many fingers does Yoda have?”
“Depends, which movie you’re talking about,” He smiles, and I swear I’ve been shot in the heart. No one should be this stunning in a dimly lit club, which means he’s going to be breathtaking in the light of day.
“So how many?” I repeat.
“Three in one film, two in another,” His nose scrunches.
“Are you a nerd or just really into bar trivia?” I ask.
“A bit of both,” He’s still smiling, and I’m wounded again.
“Good to know,” I laugh lightly.
“Can I buy you a drink?” He offers.
“I thought you wanted a dance,” I remind him, winking.
“Can I have both?” He asks, left eyebrow raising.
“Depends,” I say smirking.
“On?”
“What are you drinking?” I ask.
“Is this your game? Ask me questions to extrapolate information so you can decide if you’re interested?” He doesn’t mean to blast me, but he does.
“Oo, you do read me so well,” I wink, a poor attempt at keeping any pretense or posture intact. “Tequila shot, shaken, lemon wedge, no salt.”
He orders two shots and looks me over.
“You’re gorgeous,” He says, sincerity in his eyes.
“You are too,” I reply, eliciting a laugh from him.
“Are you usually this forthcoming?”
“Absolutely not, when you get to know me, you’ll see how closed off I truly am,” I thank the bartender before grabbing my shot. “To strangers in bars,”
“And lovers amongst the stars,” He replies.
“Shakespeare?” I smile again before tossing my shot back. “How’s about that dance?”
“On one condition,” He stands, towering over me, his black hair moving like a curtain in front of his eyes.
“What could that possibly be?” I ask, hand already reaching for his.
“Tell me your name,” He uses his new hold on my hand to pull me close to him, chests pressing against one another’s.
I stand on my tiptoes, pressing my already flushed cheek against his. “Y/N,” I say, lips grazing his decorated ear.
He turns slightly, ensuring my cheek remains against his. “Jungkook,” His voice is husky, deep and resonating. It shivers through my body, the heat from him mixing with the anticipation building. Pulling away, he smiles again, “Let’s dance.”
Next: Codename Another Shot at Love Pt. 1
#jeon jungkook#BTS#BTS fanfic#Jeon Jungkook fanfic#Jeon Jungkook drabble#Jeon Jungkook story#BTS drabble#BTS secret agent#codename cupid#code name cupid#spy au#government agent au#angst#fluff#strangers to lovers#siblings#kim seokjin#Kim Seokjin fanfic#thebtswritersclub#ficswithluv#btsgoldnet#bangtanarmynet
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Summary: Baz takes Simon to see the stars, but they end up doing a lot more speaking than stargazing.
"Simon Snow’s schoolboy fixation has finally found some real-world truth - I’m plotting. Although, this time I’m not focused on bringing about the Chosen One’s destruction. I just want to make him smile."
Inspired by Carry On Sparks, Week 4 - Plot @carryonsparks (Even though this is literally 3 weeks late. I write so slowly!)
TW - There is a brief mention of what happened in the forest in Carry On, so suicidal intentions are mentioned. It's nothing graphic or anything like that, but I thought it would be best to mention it!
Words: 9,221
Baz
Simon Snow’s schoolboy fixation has finally found some real-world truth - I’m plotting. Although, this time I’m not focused on bringing about the Chosen One’s destruction. I just want to make him smile.
Two years ago today, back at Watford, Simon showed me the stars. It’s a day neither of us will ever forget. In all of our, admittedly, limited conversations about our relationship, he’s always maintained that, that was the day he felt something shift (Even if he didn’t fully realise it at the time). There, somewhere between our stiff beds and the infinity of space, something happened that changed us. That remade us. And I think it’s finally time that I repay the favour.
Unfortunately, though, I’m unable to just conjure up the universe with a flick of my wrist like he did (I’ve tried numerous times, to no avail), so I’ve had to concede to taking a more normal approach to replicating the magic of that night. I'm taking him on a date. Somewhere where the stars can shine down on him.
In all our time together, we’ve never actually managed a traditional date (What with all the mess at Watford, the absolute catastrophe that was our “Great American road trip”, and all of our recent avoidance), so really, it’s long overdue.
Only ... I'm not entirely sure that he'll actually be willing to go with me; given our current situation. But I suppose there’s little harm in asking - Things can’t really get much worse than they already are, and as they say … ‘Fortune favours the bold’.
“Snow,” I call, prodding at his thigh. “I need you to get up.”
He’s flopped, utterly lifeless, on the sofa again - His threadbare pyjamas stained and crumpled, and a ghastly stack of unwashed glasses and plates littering the floor around him, where his tail lays, limply.
It hurts to look at him like this; so far from himself. But that’s how it is most days. Simon Snow: the boy who was promised the world - promised glory and gold - and left with nothing, lying vacant and depressed in his living room. Some days are better, of course; but most aren’t.
After America, I had hoped that things may be a little easier for him. That maybe some of his regained zest would stay with him. But nothing substantial changed. Without the sun, and the space, and the danger, he fell right back into it, all too easily.
Bunce and I do our best to help him, of course - Offering our companionship, or dragging him outside with us for some fresh air (I’d even considered spelling him with a ‘Cheer up, buttercup’ a few times). But realistically, there is little that we can do. He’s traumatised. He’s hurting. And all the magic and good intentions in the world can’t soothe his pain (As much as I wish they could).
I try not to beat myself up over it, but it’s hard sometimes. I know I do all that I can, but my best efforts just aren’t good enough. They don’t make him happy. They don’t take away his hurt. I don’t know how to help him. So … I’m as good as useless to him now.
Hauling himself over, he scowls at me. His eyes flat and ringed with red - The light behind them having dimmed, long ago.
“For fuck’s sakes, Baz!” He gruffs. “Can’t you just leave me alone? I’m trying to sleep.”
He gets snappy like this, sometimes - When he's let himself stew in his feelings for too long. But it's alright. He always apologises afterwards, when the haze has cleared. And I’m not exactly above losing my temper, either - So I have no real reason to complain.
“I know, and I’m sorry but … I wanted to do something with you. Something time dependent. It’s already nine PM, and I really can't wait much longer, love."
“Yeah well, you’re the one who woke me up at seven AM, to go and buy you blood from the fucking New Forest, when there’s a perfectly good butcher down the road! You know don’t mind getting you what you need, but that was seriously taking the piss! So forgive me for being a little sleepy!"
I gulp, guilt prickling in my stomach.
I knew he was mad about that, but I’d hoped that he’d have forgiven me by now - Considering that I'd already let him take my car, and supplied him with a, frankly, outrageous amount of chocolate, as a sorry. Because while it is true that I sent him on a three and a half hour round trip back to Hampshire (under the false pretense that the blood there tastes better because it’s ‘free range’), I really didn’t do it to be a prat. I only did it to get him out of the house for a while, so that I could whip up a batch of his beloved sour cherry scones, without causing suspicion. And while there were probably less infuriating methods of Simon Snow removal, I really couldn’t think of any at the time - So I had to make do.
I just hope that when all is revealed he can find it in himself to forgive me.
“I know,” I sigh. “And I do appreciate it. I didn’t mean to take advantage, it just … really is better.”
Dropping his shoulders, his face twists with remorse as he reaches upwards, pawing at his neck roughly. For Crowley’s sakes, now I’ve gone and made him feel worse! Just brilliant.
“Okay,” he mumbles. “I’m just … tired. Sorry. I didn’t mean to -”
“It’s alright, I understand. I’m sorry too - For waking you up. But … if it’s alright with you, I’d still like to take you out tonight. I've got somewhere special in mind.”
“Why?” he asks, suspicious. “What’s so special about tonight?”
"You don't get any clues, Snow," I chide. "That'll only spoil the surprise. But, if you come with me, then I can show you. It'll be just us two, so you don't have to worry about getting dressed up, or anything like that. And ... you don't have to come at all, if you're not feeling up to it. But you may end up liking it, if you do.”
Gnawing at his lip, he tugs at the hem of his shirt, awkwardly.
“No. I just - I haven’t - I need to, like … get ready. I haven’t … showered. Or done my teeth."
As painful as it is to admit, that doesn’t really surprise me. He struggles to take care of himself, sometimes. I don’t know if it’s just because he forgets, or the effort feels too insurmountable, or … what? All I know is that he does. (I’m convinced that if Bunce and I didn’t keep him so well loaded with takeaways that he'd forget to eat half of the time). So, with a wordless shrug of agreement, I slide myself down onto the sofa besides him to wait (Clearly he’s rubbing off on me).
————————————————————————————
“Is this it?” he asks, as we pull into the carpark.
He’s been jittery the whole ride here - His leg bouncing nervously, and his bottom lip ruddied where he’s been chewing at it. Like he thinks that this is all some elaborate ruse.
“Well no,” I say, smirking over at him, as I undo my seatbelt. “This is a carpark, Snow. I had something a little nicer than this in mind, don’t you worry. I just need to go and set it up, first.”
“Set it up?”
“Don’t fret, you numpty. You can trust me. It’s nothing sinister.”
Chuckling quietly, I reach forwards - Pressing my hand against his knee, in what I hope is a reassuring gesture.
“Alright,” he murmurs, wriggling out of my touch, curtly (He still isn’t sure about me touching him sometimes - Says it makes him feel trapped). “Be quick then”.
I’m as quickly as I can manage (Although I definitely spend slightly too long fussing with my decorations). And soon enough, I’m pulling a blindfolded Snow behind me, our hands slotted together, loosely, as we stumble across the grass. The rough warmth of his skin against mine sending my heart aflutter.
“Baz,” he coughs, his voice creeping with uncertainty. “Seriously, where are you taking me?”
“We’re in St James Park, Snow. We’ve been here before. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
“But … It’s late. What if we get mugged or something?”
“If someone tries to mug us, then I’m sure you’ll scare them off with a cocktail stick sword, or something. And if worst comes to worst, you pack a mean punch. Either way, you’ll save us,” I shrug.
Puffing out a slight laugh, he presses our palms a little closer together.
“So … cocktail sticks. We’re having a picnic then?”
“Hush, you,” I scold, miffed. “No more guessing. We’re almost there, so just wait and see, you impatient brute."
Pulling us to a stop, I falter. Looking at it with fresh eyes, it’s a lot. It’s an awful lot.
Besides a large willow on the edge of the lake, I’ve created a wonderful spread for us - All of his favourite foods sat in a wicker basket, in the centre of Bunce’s picnic blanket.
For aesthetic appeal, I’ve surrounded our space with an assortment of candles, held firmly in place with a ‘Stay Put’ (Since I imagine that setting ourselves alight would probably kill the mood). And I’ve spelled the raindrops, still clinging to the damp grass reeds, iridescent with a ‘Twinkle in their eye’. The glow of the flames dancing, ethereally, in their newly mirrored surface, so that the ground comes alive with a million watery fireflies.
But I want this. I want us to have this. So there’s really no benefit to backing down now.
“Alright,” I drawl, reluctantly dropping his hand, and taking a few steps away from him. “You can look now.”
Urgently, he reaches upwards, tugging the makeshift blindfold from his eyes, and taking it all in. His face transforming into some shade of panicked horror, immediately. Merlin and Morgana. Curse my flare for the dramatics! It’s definitely too much.
“Baz. Wh - What is all of this?” he stammers.
Tense, I twirl a lock of hair between my fingers, in a hopeless attempt to focus on anything other than what a massive cock up this whole evening has been.
“Well … I wanted to show you the stars.”
“The stars?”
“Yes, Snow,” I bite. “The stars. You know, the little twinkly things in the sky.”
I shouldn’t do that - The being rude to him. But for some reason it still seems to be my default defense setting.
“I know - I know what a star is. I mean … why?”
“Two years ago, today. Back at Watford. 'Twinkle, twinkle little star' … Ring any bells?”
“Oh,” he breathes.
“Yes. ‘Oh’,” I copy, my voice softening significantly. “I just - I wanted to repay the favour. I know that we had the truck in America. And, I know that this isn’t quite the same as the original. But … it’s the best I could do. We aren’t all supernovas, you know.”
“Yeah … No. I mean … it’s nice. I just - I don’t know.”
It isn’t at all convincing, but I do my best to let his slither of praise ground me.
Hesitantly, I step forwards, holding out my hand to him, in offering. He doesn’t take it this time, so I let it flop, grimly, to my side.
“Simon, we can go home if you’d prefer,” I try. “It was just an idea. Nothing an 'As you were' can’t fix.”
He gawks at me like I’ve sprouted another head (Which is ironic considering that he’s the one with the dragon appendages).
“No. I want to look at the stars,” he rejects, jutting his jaw out, determinedly. “I just don’t really … deserve it. I didn’t even, like … realise. I mean, how do you even know the date of that?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. “If you seriously don’t think you’re worthy of cheap finger foods and Fanta, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to revive some of my more creative Watford insults, because that is idiotic. You do deserve it. This and more.”
Staring down at the ground, as if ashamed, he tugs his lips upwards into a weak smile.
“And I only remembered the date because, at the time, I thought that, that was all we would ever get. That it was the closest we’d ever be to what I really wanted. So … I clung to every detail. It’s horrifically embarrassing, really. And painfully sappy. But … there we are. I didn’t expect you to remember, though. So please don't worry that you didn’t,” I reassure.
We’re slightly better at this now - The talking.
We had a huge fight in the toilets at Heathrow after America (Since there really was no point in pretending that I didn’t know what he was trying to do on that beach), that basically boiled down to ‘You never tell me things’ ‘Well, you never tell me, either’. So, we’ve been working on being a little more open with our communication, since then. I try to be honest and tell him how I feel (However humiliating it may be), and he does the same.
It’s clunky and unnatural, and it doesn’t always work (Obviously). But we’re trying. So it’s a start.
We haven’t gotten onto any of the more ‘heavy’ stuff just yet - The state of our relationship, the Mage, how afraid I am, how sad he is. Mostly we’ve just started fessing up to small things from our past - Like how lovelorn I was at Watford, or why he ditched his therapist. But, it’s only been a month. We stick to the past, right now, because the present is too painful (And I don’t really want to hear him say we have no future). But there’s hope. There’s a spark. There’s effort. So maybe one day we’ll get there.
“Okay,” he agrees, his voice noticeably strained. “Then … let’s do it. I want to stay.”
I grin, despite myself, and gesture towards the blanket.
“After you, Snow.”
————————————————————————————
“Holy shit,” he laughs, holding a hand out in front of his smile in an attempt to hide the mush of scone in his mouth. It doesn’t work, but I don’t really care (I’m disturbed). “They taste just like Watford’s. How the hell did you make these? Or did you steal them from Prichard?”
Biting down a smile, I arch my eyebrow up at him. Bright and smiling, he tries to copy me - Both of his eyebrows jumping upwards, clumsily. And I wish that I could tell him how amazing it is to hear him laugh again, but I don’t want to risk upsetting him. He’d probably just take it to mean that I only like him when he’s happier, which is just objectively untrue. I’d like him however he is.
“Oh please, petty theft is below a Pitch,” I breeze.
“Then how?”
“I bribed her with enough Champagne to bring down a Dragon, and she gave me the recipe. It was really very simple, Snow. I’m surprised you didn’t manage it yourself”
“What? Seriously?” he beams, the corners of his eyes crinkling, charmingly. “How much did it take? I offered her, like, half of my Goblin Gold for it, and she still wouldn’t budge!”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. My bank probably thinks that I have a severe drinking problem now, but no matter. It’s worth it to see you smile.”
Darting his eyes downwards, his face flushes with heat.
“Penny would spell you silent if she heard you saying such sickly things, you know,” he complains, scrunching up his nose in disgust.
It’s all fake, though. I know he doesn't really mean it. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he loves it when I’m soft with him. One whispered 'Love' or 'Simon' is enough to make him melt, even now. It used to be enough to get him to kiss me too, but not anymore (Practically nothing is). Although I don’t really care - It’s still incredibly endearing.
“Oh I don’t doubt it. But, look … Bunce isn’t here. I’ve managed to lure you up here all alone, so I’m free to be as saccharine as I please, I'm afraid."
“Whatever,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re so weird.”
“Ah yes - Being nice to my boyfriend. Truly, I am a freak,” I tease. “Just … lay down, you nightmare.”
“Lay down?”
“Yes. It’s a very simple instruction, Snow” I deadpan, flopping myself back down onto the blanket, with a puff of laughter.
“Yeah but … why?”
“Because ... unless everything has gone loopy, the stars that I brought you out here to see are above you. So lie down and look. I’m not going to jump you, don’t worry.”
“Alright,” he says, carefully resting himself down on the blanket. “If you say so.”
————————————————————————————
He’s tucked up against me now, staring up at the stars, happily - His head resting, heavily, against my outstretched arm, and his right leg draped over mine. It’s a little uncomfortable, to be honest, but I daren’t tell him. He’d only move away, and I so desperately want him to stay.
Pointing up at a the sky above us, I draw his attention to a particular cluster of stars, and can't help but wonder whether they're the same ones that filled our room, or hung above us in America - Or if even they have changed, too.
“That one is Aries,” I explain. “The Ram constellation.”
“I don’t see anything,” he whines, pouting out his lips, childishly.
Rolling my eyes, I grab a hold of his hand and pull out his ring finger, directing it’s point to trace the stars’ outline.
“That’s just a random line.”
“Nope. It’s a Ram ... Although, I will admit that the resemblance is a little tenuous.”
He turns to me, smiling brightly, and my heart clenches at the sight of him, so close and carefree.
“It’s a line, and you know it,” he chuckles. “How do you even know so much about stars, anyway? They all look the same to me.”
“We have a couple of astronomy books back in our home library. My mother liked to stargaze,” I say, waving dismissively. “And … they remind me of you, so I like learning about them.”
“They remind you of me?”
“Yes. All of your moles are like constellations. I’ve always thought so. And, obviously, that night with the stars only reinforced the link.” God, I’m disgustingly sappy. How can he bear it?
“I see,” he sings, snuggling his head down against my chest. “Well … thank you for showing me.”
We lay together for a while, like that - His head moving with each rise and fall of my chest, and my shirt scrunched up in his fists. We don’t talk about all that much - just chatter about university and the new Nordic bakery Simon found just off of the Golden Square - but it’s nice. It’s normal. It’s us.
Smoothing a hand down his waist, I take a deep breath, readying myself for what’s next.
“Simon -” I start, my voice barely a whisper (Talking at full volume amongst the fragile calm that has settled between us feels far too disruptive).
“Hmm,” he hums, the vibration of his voice tickling against my skin.
“I need to tell you something. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”
Instantly, I feel his body stiffen, every muscle pulled taut with tension.
“It’s nothing bad,” I reassure. “Or … I don’t think so, anyway.”
“What then?” he asks, looking up at me, his brow knotted with nerves.
“I just … I Love you.”
And with those three words, he pulls himself away from me, once again. Yanking his arms backwards, and wrapping them around himself in a defensive self-hug, as he shifts away.
“Simon?” I call, uncertain. “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer; just yanks at his curls and shakes his head no. Fucking Hell. I’ve really messed up now.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … ruin things. I just wanted you to know. Please don’t - it’s alright.”
“No, Baz,” he trembles.
“No, what?”
“It’s not - I just - I don’t -”
Stumbling over his words, he jabs the heels of his palm into his eye sockets, in frustration. And I cringe, involuntarily, at the sight of it. It must hurt.
“Just … take your time, love,” I ease.
He sniffs, pitifully, then, and I think he may be crying. I’m on the verge, too - My throat thick with regret, and my eyes stinging, warningly - but I hold it in. Just. Crying would only make this worse, and it really doesn’t need to get any worse. I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have forced my love upon him.
Hanging his head forwards, he gives himself a moment to recollect his faculties - His breath thick and shaking.
I wait, silently - Counting the stars above me in an attempt to ease my mind. Knowing that he’ll speak when he can - When he finds the words.
And sure enough, picking at the grass beneath him, he finally does - Sobbing and broken though they may be: “I just … don’t understand how you can anymore?”
“Understand how I can what?”
“How you can, like … love me.”
My heart clenches at the sound of him, so earnest and afraid. Of course. Even after everything we’ve been through - Even after all I’ve told him - he still can’t see that I do. Still can’t believe that I do. And it’s my fault, I know. I haven’t managed to tell him properly before now. Not in a way that he believed. Not in a way that he could let in and hold onto. I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve just dropped my pride and told him outright and simple, rather than messing about with poetics. I should’ve told him months ago. Years ago! I’ve known for long enough. All I needed to do was let him hear it. But I didn’t. And now it’s too late.
Helplessly, I reach out, cupping the softness of his jaw with my hand, and turning him to face me. He resists, slightly, but lets me do it. He refuses to meet my eyes, though - Staring down at the floor, blankly, a teardrop hanging from the tip of his nose.
“Simon, listen to me. I’ve loved you for years. There’s plenty of reasons why I can, and do … I love your kindness. I love your morality. I love your bravery. I love your stubbornness. I love your fierceness. I love your smile. I love your heart. I love your mind. I love getting to spend time with you. I love how when we sleep, you always leave a light on for me because you know, even though I’m too proud to admit it, that I don’t like the dark. Or how … you always leave me a bit of your food for me to try -”
He’s staring at me intensely now, his eyes squinted and scanning across my face.
“- I could wax poetic about all the parts of you that I cherish forever, if need be. But, to keep it simple, I love everything about you. Even if you don’t … necessarily understand it, it’s the truth. You just need to believe me. You need to trust me. I loved you then, and I love you now. Nothing has changed, in that respect.”
“I’m a disaster,” he mumbles, looking away, his brow furrowed, and deep, frowning creases forming besides his mouth.
“I’ll give you that,” I smile, hoping to lift the mood. “But I love disasters.”
“Baz,” he huffs, planting his head in his hands. “I’m being serious.”
“Hey, look at me -” He doesn’t. “- So am I. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
“But, I - I mean, I can’t even do it back, properly. It’s not that I don’t - Don’t, like, you know. I just … I can’t do this properly. I thought, at the start, that maybe I could. But I can’t. We’ve been together for ages now, and all I’ve done in that time is be an absolutely terrible boyfriend to you! Even by my standards.”
“Well, you did try to warn me,” I joke, shuffling slightly closer to him. “But … you’re not a terrible boyfriend, Simon. Don’t be unfair to yourself. This is good. You are good. And … after all, I’m the one who sent you on a pointless trip to the New Forest this morning. So, I reckon, if anyone is a terrible boyfriend right now, it’s me.”
“But you - I mean, you deserve better,” he whispers. “I’m not enough for you, anymore. I don’t think I ever was, really. You’re … you, and I’m just me.”
“You’re more than good enough for me, you halfwit,” I scold, softening my tone “Simon, you’re everything I want.”
“No, but … look around us. You did all of this, and I … I haven’t done anything.”
“Oh, hush! You’ve done plenty. You’ve given me more than I ever could’ve hoped for. Even if you don’t see it.”
“But that’s the point!” he groans, yanking at his curls. “You should want more than that! What little I do, isn’t good enough. You’re just clinging onto when things were alright! But they’re not anymore, don’t you see?!”
I stare at him blankly, trying to figure him out. Why he can’t just accept what I’m saying, I’ll never know.
“Look … I’ll admit that things between us have been a little difficult, as of late. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, or that somehow you’re not ‘good enough’ for me. I want you however you are. And sure, I'd love if things were a little easier - For you, and for me. But there’s no rush.”
“Things have been 'difficult' for months now, Baz!” he cries, his voice bitter and defeated. “I’m so sick of lying to myself, and pretending that I’m going to get my happy ending. My head went wrong long ago! At this point it’s best if we just cut our losses, and accept that I’m unfixable.”
I clench my eyes shut, pained. The utter hopelessness in his voice, a bitter pill to swallow.
“You’re not 'unfixable', Simon. You don’t even need to be 'fixed'. Just … Listen to me,” I plead. “I understand why we are where we are, and I don’t mind. We just need to … work through it. What happened to you - I mean, Merlin, it’s your whole life! The Mage was despicable. He used you. He abused you. He stole your entire childhood, without even a second of thought over what it might do to you! But … what happened at White Chapel was awful. You shouldn't have had to watch that. But, it's so much more than that - Than him. It's everything. All the instability of your early years. The Humdrum. All the killing and the fighting. Whatever happened to you and Bunce at the end of term. How the Coven just … ditched you. Christ, even me, Snow! I mean, I wasn’t exactly compassionate towards you at Watford, was I? I tormented you. I just … everything that happened - That kind of trauma doesn’t just vanish overnight. It takes time. And I know that you’ve been told that a million times before, and you’re probably fed up of hearing it, but it’s true. It’s fine that you’re not … fine, right now. I don’t expect you to be. I don’t need you to be.”
Turning away, he shakes his head.
“But it's not,” he protests, his voice whining. “I’m no good to you like this. I’m no good to anyone, anymore. I’m not some superhero. I’m not some supernova. I’m just … nothing. I’m a burden - To you and Penny. All you do is go to uni and babysit me! And, we still haven’t … I mean, I can hardly ever even be kissed without getting all weird! What kind of fucked up boyfriend am I?”
“There’s more to life than snogging, Snow,” I chastise. “I enjoy your company, whether we’re doing … those sorts of things, or not. I’m not babysitting you, I’m spending time with you. And you’re not a burden. Needing help doesn’t make you some kind of problem. You’re our friend. You’re my - We want to help you.”
“Yeah, but … I just want to be normal again. I just want it to all be simple. This is - I’ve ruined this.”
“Not true,” I argue. “This isn’t ruined. You just … keep focussing on what we don’t have, rather than what we do.”
Reaching across the blanket, I grab a hold of his hand - Tracing my fingertips over the rough calluses there.
“This-” I enunciate, squeezing his palm for emphasis. “Is a lot more than we had two years ago. Nothing is ruined, it’s just, perhaps, not exactly what we’d expected.”
“Yeah but … it’s a lot less than we had when we first left Watford. I used to be able to … do it all properly. I don’t know what happened. I thought - I mean, it’s not your fault. I don’t know why I can’t just … do it.”
“I know -” I sigh.
Because he does have a point. Simon never really liked to be touched first - To feel pressured. But it used to be manageable. We could hug. We could kiss. Sometimes we’d even end up snogging on the sofa, for the better part of an hour. And as long as he was in control for the majority of the time, he could surrender himself to luxuriating in my affections, occasionally.
Nowadays though, even a chaste kiss on the cheek feels incredibly risky, so I rarely try to initiate anything. It’s better to let him decide when we can or can’t. There’s no need for me to be greedy about it.
And while I cannot deny that I miss it - being able to be close to him, in that way - I don’t mind. Not really. My whole life has been a practise in maintaining control over ‘powerful’ urges (Both Snow and non-Snow related), so I’ve had plenty of of experience in holding myself back. Screw the erotic gropefest that teenage me had always envisioned! As long as he’s comfortable, and he still wants this, then I’m happy to give or withhold whatever he needs. Being a little touch starved won’t kill me, but losing him probably would.
“- I understand that it’s frustrating, really I do. But … sometimes you have to take five steps backwards for each step forwards. And I appreciate that it hurts, but as long as you keep on walking, you’ll get where you need to be, eventually. If we carry on trying (And I mean really, actively trying), then I’m sure things will get a little easier for us soon, love. But you need to give it time. You need to give yourself time … That’s just the arduous nature of progress, I’m afraid.”
Sticking out his tongue in a fake vomiting gesture, he laughs - A little hushed and wet, but genuinely amused, nonetheless.
“Fucking hell! Don’t be so grim, Baz. You sound like a therapist!”
“Yes, well … there is a reason people pay to go and see therapists, you know.”
Rolling his eyes, he shoves his hands into my chest, jokingly.
“Yeah, and there’s a reason I stopped going to mine, smart-arse. Too much of that sort of crap!”
“I know, I know,” I laugh, wearily - Not trusting this brief flickering of emotional relief. “I don’t mean to be all preachy - God knows you probably won’t listen, anyway! But, as disgustingly cliche as it may be, it’s true.”
He pauses, sucking in a shaking breath.
“I know, but - I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t everything, Baz!” he explains, utterly exhausted. “I mean you just - And I didn't … you know, do it back. I ruined it.”
“You didn’t ruin it, it’s fine. You don’t have to say it back, Simon. That wasn’t the point. I just wanted you to know. I wasn’t counting on reciprocation. I don’t need that from you, it’s alright.”
“It’s not ‘alright’, Baz!” he snaps. “None of this is alright! Just … stop saying that! You always say that!
“But it is alright,” I assert, leaning towards him slightly. “I’m only saying it because I mean it! I didn’t intend to make you feel … obligated. I seriously didn’t expect you to say it back, or for it to be some huge ‘thing’. I’ve just … never managed to tell you, properly, and after America -” After seeing him lying there on the ground, lifeless and beaten, his wings twisted and covered in blood. As good as dead. “- I just needed for you to know. Everything is perfectly fine, I promise. I don’t care that you didn’t - I’m not upset by how you responded, Snow.”
“Well you bloody well should expect me to say it back! You should care! That’s the whole point! You’re supposed to want things from me. You’re supposed to expect things from me. You’re not just supposed to sit there and take whatever bullshit I give you, and keep on telling me that everything is fine and dandy, Baz!”
“I do ‘want’ things from you, Snow,” I sigh. “I just want them to be on your terms, when you’re ready. There’s nothing wrong with being accommodating. And … I’m only telling you it’s fine because it is! Just because something is somewhat positive, doesn’t make it a lie - You only think that it does. And, I’m sorry but … you’re wrong. I don’t mind that you aren’t ready to say it back - Whether it’s because you’re unsure of how you feel, or you don’t want to, or you just can’t. I want you to say it when you want to - Not before. I wanted to say it now, so I did. If you don’t, then don’t. Simple!”
He growls at that, just like he used to do when I’d insult him. Except this time I really don’t understand that objection.
“But - even if that’s true, it isn’t just that!”
“Then what?” I ask, exasperated.
I don’t mean to lose my temper with him, and I don’t really think I am (Not quite yet), but … I’m tired of arguing with him over even the smallest things. Everything I do is wrong. If I’m kind, he doesn’t believe me or accuses me of ‘babying’ him. If I snap, he takes whatever cruel thing that comes out of my mouth as my ‘true’ thoughts. If I hide my wants away, he has a problem with it. If I tell him, I’m pressuring him. All I do is lose. And while I know that I’m the one to blame, for being unable to figure out how to best be what he needs, I just wish that it would stop. I just wish that we could fix it. But we can’t. We don’t know how.
“Well, like … I see the look in your eyes when I pull away, or I shove you off, or I snap at you, or when I just … lay there. It’s like - You’re so sad, but you never say! And … I know that it’s my fault, but I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it, and I don’t know why! I don’t want to do it. I just - I just want to be normal again. And I want you to stop lying and saying everything is fine, when it clearly isn’t.”
“Snow, I’m not lying to you! I’m telling you that it’s fine because it genuinely is! How many times do I have to go over this? I don’t understand the problem.”
“The problem is that I just - I don’t believe you,” he huffs.
“But why not? I wouldn’t lie to you. I just … wouldn’t.”
“Because … it just - it means nothing to me, anymore, Baz! You got beaten down so many times in America, and all you did was keep on telling me that everything was fine, and reassuring me, and swearing that you were happy, when anybody who was paying attention could tell that you weren’t! So … how am I supposed to believe you when you tell me it’s alright now? How do I know you’re not just telling me what you think I want to hear, because you’re too afraid of me to tell me the truth?”
“I’m not afraid of you, Snow,” I drone. “I could drain you dry in a half a second, if I wanted to.”
And of course my insistence on being a petulant little git doesn’t help the situation at all - Only adding fuel to the, already, engorged fire. But it’s too late to take it back, now - So I let my little dig steep in the space between us. Rotten and unnecessary.
“Not like that,” he groans. “You know I don’t mean it like that! Don’t be such a dick! I just mean, like … it’s like you’re afraid of hurting me. You think that I can’t take the truth, so you keep on hiding it away from me, but you’re wrong. I can take the truth! I want the truth! I’m not - I’m not made of butterfly wings, and it pisses me off when you treat me like I am!”
“I don’t mean to … treat you differently,” I explain, taken aback. “I just don’t want to … pressure you, or make some idiotic mistake that’ll mess things up. But when I tell you things are fine, I’m not doing it to spare your feelings, I’m doing it because I mean it! All I’m doing is telling you the truth. I mean, what would you rather me do, Simon? You haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m perfectly fine, so what else is there? What, I mean - Do you want me to get mad at you over nothing? Because I'm telling you right now, I won't do it."
We’re both heated now - jaws clenched and words spat. And it’s just like old times, but it aches. It aches so bad. There’s no rivalry here, no facade, and no game. It’s just us - Fighting because we don’t know what else to do. And it’s so painfully real - so painfully vulnerable - that it near shatters my heart.
Tonight was supposed to be a relief, not a rematch. But here we are, once again - Right where neither of us wants to be.
“At least then I’d know you’re not being fake, just to protect me, or whatever it is you think you’re doing!”
And with that, he jumps up, and stomps over to the edge of the lake - Sitting himself down in the mud, away from me. End of conversation. End of argument. But there's no point backing down now. If we're going to do this, then we may as well do it properly, and get this whole catastrophe over with ASAP. So I trail after him, helplessly.
Dropping myself down besides him, the words come tumbling out before I can stop them - So desperate and broken. My mask well and truly dissolved.
“Simon, I’m not like that, anymore. You know that. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“No, Baz,” he whines. “I shouldn’t have - I know that you don’t want that. Neither do I. I just mean that … you’re allowed to, like, complain. You’re allowed to fight back. You’re allowed to tell me when I’m being a prat - Or when I’ve hurt you. None of that would make you a bad person. None of that would put us back where we were. All it would mean is that I know what you’re feeling. What you’re really feeling. I want to know. Even if you think I don’t.”
“You know what I’m feeling,” I plead. “I keep on telling you.”
He shakes his head in disagreement, apparently unconvinced.
“Only sometimes. And half the time you ‘telling me’ is just you saying you’re fine when you’re not. I know it is. You’re hard to read, but even you slip sometimes,, and I can tell that I’ve hurt you, or that something is bothering you, but you just … don’t say.”
“No, but … even if things aren’t necessarily great, I’m still fine. I’m still okay. I’m still happy. I’m not lying to you, Simon. What would be the point?”
“I don’t - I mean, I don’t think you are ‘lying’, exactly. I just - I don’t mean to make it sound like I’m calling you a liar. I know you wouldn’t … do that. But I think, maybe, you honestly do think you’re fine (Which is why you say that you are), when you’re not really.”
“What?” I ask, glancing over at him. “I’m not sure that I understand what you mean. Can you - Can you explain?”
“I don’t know, Baz,” he winces. “I just - I’ve been speaking to Penny … about you.”
Shifting himself forwards, slightly, he stares, expressionless, in front of him - His gaze a thousand miles from where we are. And I wait for him to elaborate, but it doesn’t come.
“Okay,” I drawl. “And what did Bunce have to say exactly?”
“Um, well … I, like, tried to explain to her what I think you’re doing - You know, when she pulled me out for one of her ‘chats’. And I mean, don’t worry - I didn’t tell her any detail about your personal business, or anything. I just wanted her to help me understand. And … she said that you sound like you’re in … denial.”
“‘Denial’,” I repeat, confused (And, perhaps, a little defensive). “In denial about what?”
“How you are,” he explains. “I just mean … I think she has a point. I don’t think you’re, like … normal.”
Finally, he looks over at me, and I raise an eyebrow in question - Unsure of what to say.
“Shit. Not like that,” he moans. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I’m just - I’m not good with my words. I just mean that ... while, you may be better on the outside, I think that inside, you’re just as bad as me.”
I pause for a moment, unsteady, trying to find my words. But, unhelpfully, the only one that my brain seems to be capable of supplying right now is ‘Fine’. Maybe they do have a point, after all.
“Snow,” I huff. “You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t want you to. I’m perfectly normal … mentally.”
“But you would say that! I really don’t think that you are, though. You’ve never been fine. Not the whole time I’ve known you, Baz.”
“That’s not true,” I insist. “I. Am. Fine.”
He looks at me like it’s a lie; but it’s not. I mean it. And while I will concede that perhaps I’ve had a few moments of … concern, compared to him I’m golden. He’s the priority right now, not me. Because despite whatever may have happened in the past, I’m fine now. I can cope. Whereas he … well, I’m not sure that he can.
“Then what was that night in the forest about? Hm?” He challenges.
I steel, suddenly - His words suffocating my body.
We both know what was happening in the forest that night, but we’ve never actually spoken about it properly (There was no need to - I coped). I was overwhelmed and I acted a little … rashly. A moment of weakness - Nothing more, nothing less. It’s not like I’d ever try to do it again.
“That was a blip,” I dismiss.
He scoffs - Dull and unamused. “You can hardly call that a ‘blip’, Baz. I mean ... what if I wasn’t there. What would you have done? -”
I don’t answer him, because I can’t. I don’t know for sure what I would have done. Maybe I would’ve … gone through with it. But maybe I would’ve snapped out of it - I always had before.
Mercifully, though, he spares me the discomfort of having to reply.
“- And even if it was a ‘blip’ (Which it isn’t), what about the night I found you in the catacombs? Or all the nightmares? Or all your family stuff? Or how stressed you get about school - How hard you push yourself? Or the whole vampire thing? Or everything that happened with … Lamb?”
I cut him off before he can continue (Since I really don’t need a list of all things I’ve been weak enough to let my hurt show over). “I’ve told you there was nothing with Lamb. He convinced me that he could help. And I was playing a part, just like I was supposed to - I didn’t mean to make it sound like …”
“I know,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean like that. I know that. I just meant - I mean, I could tell that you were beating yourself up over it - over what he’d done - but … you were only trying to help us find Agatha. You couldn’t have known.”
“Okay.”
“But … that wasn’t my point. Specifics don’t really matter. My point was that … you’re not ‘fine’. And I know that … I’m not either. But, I just wish that you didn’t feel like you have to pretend to be perfect and unbothered all the time, because of me. You should be able to get help, too. You should be able to … feel whatever it is that you’re feeling, without panicking about someone else seeing.”
“So … you’re saying that, really, we’re just as bad as one another?”
“Sort of. I mean … it’s not, like, a contest, or something. I just meant that, maybe, we’re both not exactly one hundred percent.”
I laugh, bitterly. “We match.”
“We match,” he echoes, nodding his head.
“But even if what you’re saying has some merit -”
“Which it does!” he interrupts.
Glaring over at him, I roll my eyes, but don’t object.
“- Which maybe it does. I don’t understand why you’re bringing it up now. How I am is irrelevant to my little ... confession. And it doesn’t affect my ability to be honest with you?”
“Okay,” he breathes. “Just … let me try to explain, then.”
“Okay,” I nod. “Go ahead, Snow. I’m listening.”
“I’m bringing it up now because … I don’t want you to hide yourself away from me, anymore. It’s getting us nowhere. I just want - I mean, I want you to try and … not to do that. If you want something, ask. If I’ve upset you, say. If I’m being unreasonable, let me know. Don’t just … sit there and take it because you think it’s the noble thing to do, Baz. Please. I know that I … do the same sort of thing sometimes, but I don’t want you to, as well. I just - I don’t know how to tell what’s real or what’s just something you’re doing to try and be kind - Or to, like, protect yourself, I guess?”
I gawp over at him, chest heaving unsteadily.
He definitely has a point. I’ve been walking on eggshells around him for months. Carefully skirting around all that I want - all that I feel - in an attempt to stop it from consuming me. From consuming us. Convinced that it would destroy us both - Everything inside of me far too large, and hungry, and frightening, to handle.
“I just think that, if I know that you’re being … open with me, then it will be easier for me to believe you. To … believe all the nice things that you say or do, rather than questioning why you’re doing them. Whether it’s ‘cause you want to, or ‘cause you think it’s because that’s what I need from you in the moment, or ‘cause now’s the only ‘safe’ time to do it. I know … you’re not lying when you say you’re okay, but I think maybe you’re oversimplifying things, or, like, hiding the bad bits of how you feel. I just … if you say instead, it might help us. You won’t have to be so … frightened. And I might find it easier to accept what you say at face value, you know? I don’t know … maybe it’s stupid.”
Exhaling, he stares down at the floor, gnawing at his bottom lip, anxiously - His words heavy on my mind.
And, swallowing my pride, I speak - My voice crackling with emotion: “It’s not stupid. It makes sense, I - understand where you’re coming from. And, given that, I promise that I’ll ... try to be a little more forthcoming about how I’m feeling - More accurately descriptive. Even if it isn’t, necessarily, what I think you might want to hear.”
“Really?” he asks, disbelieving.
“Really.”
“Good,” he says, lips sparking upwards into a faint smile at my offer.
“But … I’m somewhat apprehensive about it?” I break.
“‘Apprehensive’? Why?”
“Because I don’t want to end up accidentally pushing you further away from me. You’re already so … far, sometimes. Talking about how I feel really isn’t essential for me. I’ve always managed perfectly well without doing it, before -” He scrunches up his face, clearly objecting, but he let’s me continue uninterrupted, this time. “- I don’t mind being … cautious. I like being cautious. If I just blurt out every single thing I’m thinking or feeling, you may … get the wrong idea. And it’s not that everything I think about us is negative, or anything like that, it’s just … occasionally a little bleak. You already doubt that I’m committed to this - that I still want this - and I'm do everything I can to prove it to you, but I’m not sure that the message has gotten through to you. I want to stay. I want you to stay. I want us to be … together. And, I’m afraid that, if I’m entirely open, I may scare you away. That you’ll mistake my … desperation, for dissatisfaction or unhappiness, and think that I don’t want you. When I do."
He nods, understanding.
“The absolute last thing that I want to do, is to mess this up,” I continue. “And, I’m not entirely sure that what you’re asking for won’t end up doing that. I just … want you to be sure that this is really what you want, before we go ahead and commit to it.”
“I know,” he whispers, sliding closer to me and grabbing hold of my hands. “I don’t want any of that bad stuff to happen, either, but I’m sure that this is what I want. I want to try it. Avoiding how you feel isn’t helping either of us, but ... maybe this will.”
“You avoid things, too,” I argue. “I understand that you don’t want to seek professional help at this point, and that’s your prerogative - But you still refuse to talk to Bunce and I about how you’re feeling. How is that any different to what I’m doing? Surely that isn’t helping us, either?”
As the words pour out of my mouth, my stomach pangs with shame. I don’t know why I’m, seemingly, so keen on shifting the blame over to him. We were working towards a resolution, and none of this is his fault (I’ve never thought that it was his fault). But maybe I’m just too cowardly to admit that my attempts to help have only hindered us. Maybe I just don’t want to bear the viscous twisting of guilt alone. Or maybe I’m just an arsehole (It wouldn’t surprise me. As much as I try to be a ‘good’ person, I so frequently miss the mark. It’s a wonder somebody as righteous as Simon can even tolerate my presence, to be honest, yet alone enjoy it).
He doesn’t rise to the bait, though - Just sighs tiredly, and thunks his head down onto the edge of my shoulder.
“I know I do. And you’re right … that doesn’t help us, either. But - I promise to try and stop, if you do. I want to get better, Baz,” he chokes. “I want us to get better.”
Lulling my head over, I look at him - His Adam’s Apple bobbing, showily, and his boring blue eyes brimmed with tears. And, utterly overcome, I press a quick kiss to his hairline - Chaste and feather-light.
“I want that too,” I admit, mumbling against him. “So we can do it together. I’ll do my best to be open with you about the more … difficult things, and you do your best to reciprocate. Sounds simple enough.”
It really doesn’t, if I’m honest. It sounds about as much fun as pulling teeth. But if this is what he wants - if this is what he needs - then who am I to argue? Trying something is better than trying nothing, after all.
“With our track record, probably not,” he chuckles. “We really aren’t very good at this.”
“True,” I breath. “But I’ve always loved a challenge, Snow. Why’d you think I went after the one guy I couldn’t have?”
“Because you couldn’t help it,” he softens, pressing closer - The heat of his face against my chest, welcome in the dwindling temperature of night. “You’ve told me that much.”
“I know. But, Snow… if we’re going to do this, then I need you understand that whatever I say - whatever I think - I still like you as you are, right now. I still like us as we are, right now. I’d rather work with you through a rough patch, than lose you all together. I wouldn’t - I really wouldn’t be happy anywhere else. I choose you, Simon - However ‘you’ may be. Good or bad. Through thick and thin. Okay?”
“Okay. I’ll … try to remember. And - I’m sorry … about today. I didn’t mean to mess it all up. I wanted to say it back, I just … panicked. I didn’t mean to - I never mean to ruin things. To ruin us. I really do want to be able to, like, love you properly … ‘Cause I do … love you. I - I love you, Baz.”
Endlessly pleased, I take his face into my fands, and turn him around gently - Meeting his eyes face-to-face. My heart soaring gleefully within my chest at the sight of him - His cheeks flushed and a sweetly shy smile spread across his face. Because there it is - Finally. It’s all out in the open now.
I love him and he loves me.
“You see that is more than ‘proper’ enough for me, Snow,” I beam, impossibly light. “So don’t go giving up on us yet. There will be plenty of time for us to figure out all of our … mess, later. But, I think that we’ve done more than enough talking for one day. So just … forget about all of that right now, and stay with me here. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agrees, his voice wobbling, slightly. “You - Do you wanna’ show me the stars again, then? I’ve forgotten which constellation is which, already.”
“Of course you have,” I laugh. “You’re a hopeless study, I’ve always said so. But yes - It would be my pleasure to reeducate you.”
And so, taking his shoulders in my hands, I roll us over so that he’s flat on his back - Holding myself up above him, and resting our foreheads together. Simon breaking into a smile, beneath me - Wide and bright and shining. And he’s a little bit of a mess - fat streaks of tears still staining his face, and his hair pulled into a wild matte - but it’s everything that I’d wanted. Everything that I’d hoped.
Simon Snow is beautiful when he’s happy.
“Just … one more thing.”
“Anything,” I smile, smoothing his hair backwards.
“Say it again.”
“Say what again?”
“Basil ... you know what,” he coos.
And I do, so I give it to him without hesitation (We’ve already had more than enough of that):
“I love you, Simon Snow. Now and always.”
And he smiles … and smiles … and smiles.
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It’s Too Cliche (I Won’t Say It) | Kamjie
Summary: With all Vanessa has been through, the prospect of taking his sexual relationship with Kameron further is daunting, and Kameron finds himself saddled with the same sense of anxiety and doubt. Addressing their feelings is hard, and yet...
Rating: T
Word Count: 1245
A/N: this is unbeta'd (because i just couldn't wait) and a little messy, but it felt like my civic duty to contribute a proper kamjie fic
AO3 Link
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“Okay, here we are!” Kameron beamed brightly. He had carefully been guiding Vanessa into his dressing room with his hands over the shorter male’s eyes. It hadn’t been the easiest task, especially with the constant commentary he had been subjected to.
Vanessa blinked rapidly when he regained his vision. No more than a second after that, a broad grin spread across his face. “Aw, you really pulled this shit together for me?”
The dressing room was decked out with shimmery balloons and fresh flowers, a brightly colored Happy Birthday banner stretched across the far wall and a sheet cake with ‘Happy Birthday Vanjie’ iced on it sat at the vanity alongside a card and gift bag.
“Well...Yvie helped, but yeah, it was mostly me.” Kameron beamed - the look of excitement and surprise on Vanessa’s face that he saw in the reflection of the mirror was exactly what he’d hoped for.
“Shit, that was real sweet of you,” Vanessa turned to face him, running his fingers through his hair. “C’mere, boo,” he beckoned him over so he could wrap his arms around him and catch him in a deep kiss that he held for as long as his body would allow.
Kameron tenderly stroked his thumb across Vanessa’s cheek when they came up for air. “Well, I don’t do this for every guy I hook up with on the regular,” he admitted with a dry laugh.
The two of them had been dancing around the actual nature of their relationship for a little while now. It had started on the first day of the tour - they had gotten drunk, made out, and fallen asleep in the same bed, but it opened the door for what followed - hooking up whenever they got the opportunity. And it was all for fun - they went into it with no expectations, no pretenses, just two queens having a good time on the road.
But nothing was ever that simple. Of course not, that was just too unrealistic. There were probably plenty of people that were capable of regularly sleeping with a friend without catching feelings, but Vanessa in particular had always been especially poor at that skill, and Kameron had never fared much better.
On top of that, neither of them were willing to outright confront their feelings. They would joke about it from time to time, never in front of the other queens, though. Although there was suspicion about the two of them, discretion was key.
“I don’t want it looking like I got a bad habit,” Vanessa had confided to Plastique shortly after a rendezvous (The fourth? Fifth? They had already lost track by then). “Everyone and they mama knew what Brooke and I was up to last time around. I’m not tryna have this type of reputation, you know? No one needs to be known as the queen that keeps fucking her sisters.”
Plastique tilted his head. “There are worse reputations to have, don’t you think?” He reached over and squeezed his hand. “And besides, this is progress. Remember when you came to me crying, worried that you’d never get over Brooke? You’re opening your heart up again and I’m proud of you, even if you do very clearly have a type.”
Vanessa laughed, but the raucous joy that often weaved through it was noticeably absent. For once, this truly wasn’t about Brooke Lynn, but he couldn’t even celebrate that fact because he still hadn’t learned how to give his poor heart a break, despite his efforts. “Kameron don’t deserve to be wrapped up in my drama neither.”
“You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for how everything went down.”
“Easier said than done.”
Kameron had been struggling with his feelings as well, though he had taken longer to even tell Jeremy about the relationship. It had been a haphazard confession while they were out for breakfast, of all places. “I’m fucking Vanjie,” he’d blurted out shortly after their food had arrived.
“Congrats?” He furrowed his brows, shoving a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. “He’s hot, why do you seem so stressed about it?”
“He is hot, but it’s…” he gestured vaguely. “I don't want to say it’s more than sex, but in a way, it’s starting to feel like it. When I look at him, I’m not just thinking about taking his clothes off. He’s got these kind eyes and he radiates warmth and… why are you laughing?”
Jeremy cleared his throat when he stopped laughing. “You sound like a sixteen year old girl. So, you got a crush. It happens. At least you’ve got good taste,” he offered a reassuring smile before taking a sip of coffee. “What’s the issue, then?”
Kameron shrugged and poked his fork around his plate. “You know if word got out about us, shit would hit the fan. Some people are still very passionate about the idea of ‘branjie’ still being a thing,” it wasn’t that he couldn’t handle some fans that crossed the line - that came with the territory. “I’m worried about him. He’s been through enough with being in a public relationship, what if me wanting him is just another burden?”
“Look, I admire your compassion,” he started. “But if this was such a big deal, you guys wouldn’t be fucking in the first place. Maybe you should talk to him. Worst case is he says he’s not interested and you move past it, right?”
His friend made it sound so simple, but it was immeasurably more complicated as far as he was concerned. “Yeah, I guess so,” he decided it wasn’t worth the potential lecture to try to counter him anyway.
All of that led to their current circumstances - together in Vanessa’s dressing room with more birthday decorations than he’d had since he celebrated his 21st. They could pretend otherwise all they wanted, but the only way it could’ve been more of a romantic gesture was if Kameron had thrown in a dozen red roses and a hand-written sonnet.
Perhaps that was what led Vanessa to rip the bandage off. “We ain’t just kai-kaiing friends, are we?” He continued before Kameron could respond. “You don’t gotta say shit, we both know it’s true,” he started to pace back and forth as he spoke. “I know you know this could get messy if word got out, and that being with me has all that baggage. But I’ve been thinking and, like, that’s life, you know? So if you--”
Vanessa was stopped in his tracks when Kameron grabbed him just below each shoulder and kissed him firmly. Normally, he would be indignant about being cut off mid sentence, but he’d be damned if that kiss wasn’t exactly what he needed at that moment. He melted right into the kiss, resting his hands on Kameron’s waist as his eyes fluttered shut.
It felt right, it felt right in a way nothing had in quite some time. It was tender and natural and left both of them wondering why they had been so afraid of it, why they had been so stubborn.
“Where do we go from here?” Kameron finally asked.
“We finish the tour, go do our thing, try to meet in the middle when we can,” even he couldn’t make it sound simple. “Then you gonna be in Vegas for a while, least I’ll know where to find you. Think it’s worth a shot?”
Kameron held him close and kissed his forehead. “Yeah,” he smiled. “It’s worth a shot.”
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It's Too Cliche (I Won't Say It) (Kamjie) - Joley
A/N: this is unbeta’d and a little messy, but it felt like my civic duty to contribute a proper kamjie fic (AO3 Link)
“Okay, here we are!” Kameron beamed brightly. He had carefully been guiding Vanessa into his dressing room with his hands over the shorter male’s eyes. It hadn’t been the easiest task, especially with the constant commentary he had been subjected to.
Vanessa blinked rapidly when he regained his vision. No more than a second after that, a broad grin spread across his face. “Aw, you really pulled this shit together for me?”
The dressing room was decked out with shimmery balloons and fresh flowers, a brightly colored Happy Birthday banner stretched across the far wall and a sheet cake with ‘Happy Birthday Vanjie’ iced on it sat at the vanity alongside a card and gift bag.
“Well…Yvie helped, but yeah, it was mostly me.” Kameron beamed - the look of excitement and surprise on Vanessa’s face that he saw in the reflection of the mirror was exactly what he’d hoped for.
“Shit, that was real sweet of you,” Vanessa turned to face him, running his fingers through his hair. “C’mere, boo,” he beckoned him over so he could wrap his arms around him and catch him in a deep kiss that he held for as long as his body would allow.
Kameron tenderly stroked his thumb across Vanessa’s cheek when they came up for air. “Well, I don’t do this for every guy I hook up with on the regular,” he admitted with a dry laugh.
The two of them had been dancing around the actual nature of their relationship for a little while now. It had started on the first day of the tour - they had gotten drunk, made out, and fallen asleep in the same bed, but it opened the door for what followed - hooking up whenever they got the opportunity. And it was all for fun - they went into it with no expectations, no pretenses, just two queens having a good time on the road.
But nothing was ever that simple. Of course not, that was just too unrealistic. There were probably plenty of people that were capable of regularly sleeping with a friend without catching feelings, but Vanessa in particular had always been especially poor at that skill, and Kameron had never fared much better.
On top of that, neither of them were willing to outright confront their feelings. They would joke about it from time to time, never in front of the other queens, though. Although there was suspicion about the two of them, discretion was key.
“I don’t want it looking like I got a bad habit,” Vanessa had confided to Plastique shortly after a rendezvous (The fourth? Fifth? They had already lost track by then). “Everyone and they mama knew what Brooke and I was up to last time around. I’m not tryna have this type of reputation, you know? No one needs to be known as the queen that keeps fucking her sisters.”
Plastique tilted his head. “There are worse reputations to have, don’t you think?” He reached over and squeezed his hand. “And besides, this is progress. Remember when you came to me crying, worried that you’d never get over Brooke? You’re opening your heart up again and I’m proud of you, even if you do very clearly have a type.”
Vanessa laughed, but the raucous joy that often weaved through it was noticeably absent. For once, this truly wasn’t about Brooke Lynn, but he couldn’t even celebrate that fact because he still hadn’t learned how to give his poor heart a break, despite his efforts. “Kameron don’t deserve to be wrapped up in my drama neither.”
“You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for how everything went down.”
“Easier said than done.”
Kameron had been struggling with his feelings as well, though he had taken longer to even tell Jeremy about the relationship. It had been a haphazard confession while they were out for breakfast, of all places. “I’m fucking Vanjie,” he’d blurted out shortly after their food had arrived.
“Congrats?” He furrowed his brows, shoving a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. “He’s hot, why do you seem so stressed about it?”
“He is hot, but it’s…” he gestured vaguely. “I don’t want to say it’s more than sex, but in a way, it’s starting to feel like it. When I look at him, I’m not just thinking about taking his clothes off. He’s got these kind eyes and he radiates warmth and… why are you laughing?”
Jeremy cleared his throat when he stopped laughing. “You sound like a sixteen year old girl. So, you got a crush. It happens. At least you’ve got good taste,” he offered a reassuring smile before taking a sip of coffee. “What’s the issue, then?”
Kameron shrugged and poked his fork around his plate. “You know if word got out about us, shit would hit the fan. Some people are still very passionate about the idea of ‘branjie’ still being a thing,” it wasn’t that he couldn’t handle some fans that crossed the line - that came with the territory. “I’m worried about him. He’s been through enough with being in a public relationship, what if me wanting him is just another burden?”
“Look, I admire your compassion,” he started. “But if this was such a big deal, you guys wouldn’t be fucking in the first place. Maybe you should talk to him. Worst case is he says he’s not interested and you move past it, right?”
His friend made it sound so simple, but it was immeasurably more complicated as far as he was concerned. “Yeah, I guess so,” he decided it wasn’t worth the potential lecture to try to counter him anyway.
All of that led to their current circumstances - together in Vanessa’s dressing room with more birthday decorations than he’d had since he celebrated his 21st. They could pretend otherwise all they wanted, but the only way it could’ve been more of a romantic gesture was if Kameron had thrown in a dozen red roses and a hand-written sonnet.
Perhaps that was what led Vanessa to rip the bandage off. “We ain’t just kai-kaiing friends, are we?” He continued before Kameron could respond. “You don’t gotta say shit, we both know it’s true,” he started to pace back and forth as he spoke. “I know you know this could get messy if word got out, and that being with me has all that baggage. But I’ve been thinking and, like, that’s life, you know? So if you–”
Vanessa was stopped in his tracks when Kameron grabbed him just below each shoulder and kissed him firmly. Normally, he would be indignant about being cut off mid sentence, but he’d be damned if that kiss wasn’t exactly what he needed at that moment. He melted right into the kiss, resting his hands on Kameron’s waist as his eyes fluttered shut.
It felt right, it felt right in a way nothing had in quite some time. It was tender and natural and left both of them wondering why they had been so afraid of it, why they had been so stubborn.
“Where do we go from here?” Kameron finally asked.
“We finish the tour, go do our thing, try to meet in the middle when we can,” even he couldn’t make it sound simple. “Then you gonna be in Vegas for a while, least I’ll know where to find you. Think it’s worth a shot?”
Kameron held him close and kissed his forehead. “Yeah,” he smiled. “It’s worth a shot.”
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Oh, that’s what the dress thing is about.
You know, I think it’s really fucking annoying when Democrats don’t stand by their alleged convictions. When they refuse to stand by “defund the police” and instead use “tough on crime” language. When they refuse to stand by the vision of a less militaristic America and talk about wanting America to be “strong”. I think it’s annoying when they refuse to challenge the idea that the stock market doing well is the same as average people having secure, well-paying jobs, and I think it’s annoying when they buy into the idea that people should have to earn necessities through working for them, rather than things like food and shelter and health care and education being inherent rights. I think it’s annoying when they play up their Christianity to avoid offending religious conservatives, when they talk about how abortion should be “rare” to avoid offending conservatives, when they engage in the pretense that racism is primarily a result of poor rural whites getting left behind (granted, poor rural people getting left behind is a very real problem, it’s just… not why Trump got the election in 2016. Nor is that problem fixable by backing off on things like queer rights and immigrant rights. Anyways.)
So when a Democrat does the opposite of that and makes a clear, unambiguous, and indeed controversial statement about what they’re for? That’s a good thing.
AOC can’t win for losing. She’s simultaneously dismissed for being from a working class background (“go back to being a bartender”) and also demonized whenever she wears clothes that are typical of and appropriate for someone in her position. It’s bullshit and regressive, and it’s hard to imagine it’s not connected to her being a woman of color.
AOC isn’t some profound traitor to the cause or whatever. She’s not a demon. She’s not our savior either. She’s a human being like the rest of us with strengths and weaknesses who is attempting to make a certain type of change through the political process. People who are in favor of making that sort of change through those sorts of methods tend to like her and talk her up and that’s good and appropriate and consistent with their worldview. (And…while there are limits to the political process, there are also matters of life and death significance that happen though it whether you are engaging with it or not. There is a difference between someone like AOC being in the House and someone like, idk, whatever conservative is trying to pass the worst fucking laws right now.) People who are cynical about the method do best to give her as little attention as possible and focus on other things — union organizing, protesting, mutual aid, guerilla gardening, sharing info about where to get textbooks for free, figuring out how to show Bezos’ debit card number in Times Square, whatever.
(Obviously I am not advocating doing anything illegal because that would be breaking the law, and breaking the law would be breaking the law. Ahem.)
Realistically most people aren’t radical, and it is as irrational to expect progressives to be radicals as it is for progressives to expect radicals to have the same politics as them.
If you’re following a lot of people who aren’t personal friends and also don’t share your worldview, you’ve got a call to make over whether it’s worth putting up with them expressing opinions based on a different worldview. If there’s someone you have a good relationship with that has a different opinion on the effectiveness of the political process than you, or who thinks it’s ineffective but is stanning AOC anyways because sometimes people are inconsistent, maybe have a direct one on one conversation about that. But there’s really no reason for people on the left to get mad that AOC is making a political statement that at least approximately corresponds to our priorities.
(And there is no way to criticize someone who is making a political statement while doing a normal politician thing that she was going to do in any case, for, you know, wearing an expensive dress or whatever, without it coming across as you’re actually criticizing the statement.)
Sometimes people come to radical politics by a slide from liberal to progressive to radical. (I would have thought that was the only way, but from what some people say on tumblr I guess some people go straight from being raised conservative to radical with no in between? And some people do get raised radical. Anyways.) I think when people slide in the other direction, which can happen, it’s because of things like lack of community support and perceived ineffectiveness. Yelling at progressives isn’t really going to change those issues. Focusing on making the left strong and interconnected and effective is.
“Strong,” just shoot me now. Sigh.
There are some big differences between liberals/progressives and radicals/leftists. I think the core one is liberals/progressives tend to basically trust the system. I think it is actually really important for people with radical politics who were raised trusting the system, myself included, to intentionally unlearn that trust. Maybe for some people that involves a period of demonizing politicians to overwrite a basic tendency to trust the politicians that are on “your side”, idk, maybe this is somehow helpful for someone. For me I think it’s more effective though to take a mellower approach, and go back to core values. AOC is advocating wealth redistribution, and that is a value I share. I also have values that are not anywhere near the Overton window: open borders, land back, police and prison abolition, abolishment of corporations and nation states and capitalism and very specifically the United States as an imperial power, and I’m not sure how many of those AOC is in favor of on a personal level (I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s for open borders anyways), but definitely there is only so far the political process is going to be able to go in moving towards those goals. So regardless of what I think of her as a person or politician, there are some things that she’s not going to be with me on, and that’s ok. Most people aren’t. I can focus on the ones that are, and with the rest I can either focus on other values that we share or I can let them go their own way when they’re not actively standing in opposition to what I’m for. It’s ok.
It’s important to not swing back and forth between “this politician is amazing and the best and is going to change everything for the better” and “this politician is the literal worst” (when they’re actually better/less bad than most.) It’s important to see differences. There is a narrow range of what a given politician is likely to be able to do, and they act within those ranges and can only be sensibly evaluated within those ranges. If you want to go “but fuck all politicians though” that’s fine, there’s something to be said for seeing politicians as a class whose interests don’t align with the interests of people with less power — like landlords, like cops, like bosses. But if that’s your take there’s still no real reason to single out one specific politician who happens to be 1. a woman of color and 2. for that class, about as non-shitty as they come.
I mean, you can fundamentally not like bosses and still notice when a boss who’s a woman of color gets a lot more hate directed at her than the white male bosses, and find that kinda weird and concerning and probably reflective of how people saying those things treat women of color who aren’t in positions of relative power. Same for politicians.
Like yeah “we’re not going to girlboss our way out of this one” sure, but also…how relatively powerful women get treated and how powerless women get treated is not entirely unrelated. And if I can’t dance I don’t want to be a part of your revolution. (=misogyny (and racism and the intersection thereof) within leftism is still a problem actually.)
Anyways: you’ll notice I almost never post about politicians including AOC on here. I’m certainly not going to start stanning her. I don’t think that’s constructive. Democracy, to the extent that it’s a useful concept, isn’t about which horse you back. It’s about organizing and coming together and coalition building and taking to the streets and an awful lot of phone calls and mailing parties and meetings and talking and listening and research and attempting to translate legal text into something that makes sense and figuring out how to phrase things persuasively and supportive infrastructure like local newspapers and hashtags and days of action and petitions and saving your elected officials’ phone numbers in your contacts and showing up. (And so much fucking fundraising, endless fucking fundraising.) It’s often more about stanning laws and policy concepts (“green new deal”, “Medicare for all” etc) than stanning politicians. People who focus on politicians do not know how to do democracy IMO.
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Blutendes Herz IV
XF fanfiction
Blutendes Herz (Bleeding Heart) is not really a consecutive story but the chapters build upon one another somehow.
Part I can be read here, part II here. Here you will get to part III.
Author's Note: When I was done writing this, I realized that the ending was difficult for shippers to swallow (and I consider myself one) although I tried to give it a positive connotation. So I decided to do with the ending what I did with the opening and I wrote two different possible plots. Therefore, if this closure scenario upsets you, stay tuned for one more installment to come. It will take a different path at the fork our protagonists come across below the cut.
You're sitting on the couch together with your favorite human being. She's pouring you a third cup of tea.
"Thanks for bringing me my favorite tea, Mulder, but you don't have to find excuses every time you come here. Next time, just give me a call when you're in the area and drop by without any of these stupid pretenses."
You scratch the Mexican blanket, the Casablanca DVD, and the funny little porcelain fox she once bought at a garage sale off your mental list. "I hate coming with empty hands, Scully," you reply, not telling her that deep down you're afraid that just you alone is not enough to make your visit worthwhile. That's why you always bring her something she'd left at the house when she moved out.
Just when you started to relax a little, you hear a distinct knock at the door. Your pulse instantly accelerates because of the foreboding sound, whereas she seems to be a picture of calm. "Sounds like Mark. What does he want? When has it become out of style for a man to give a woman a chance to dress properly and freshen up her makeup before he shows up at her doorstep?" she whines, tying her robe tighter. She combs through her hair and rubs her cheeks. You want to tell her that she looks perfect the way she is, that she doesn't need makeup or perfectly styled hair to be beautiful, but you only give her a short, apologetic shrug and sink deeper into the couch cushions, wondering what excuse he might have to drop by at her place just like that.
"Sorry for coming unannounced, my love, but I missed you so much and a man can only wait so long. Impossibly another whole day."
Alright, no pretenses from his side. He's painfully frank about why he's here and his open infatuation is like a cold fist squeezing your heart.
Before Scully is able to reply something, he licks the words off her tongue with a juicy kiss. He shoves her backward into the living-room, his lips glued on hers, maneuvering her to the couch you're sitting on. He obviously plans to engage her in a veritable makeout session, maybe even more, because he clearly wants to plant her flat out on the comfortable piece of furniture. Unfortunately, your long legs are in the way. You try to pull your feet back, but there's not enough space, so you can't prevent him from stumbling over them.
"What the..." he hisses. It takes him a moment to assess what has just happened, but then his facial features morph from utter surprise into boundless fury in a matter of nanoseconds. "You? What the hell are you doing here?" he bellows at you, clearly not pleased at all to see you.
As there is no real justification for you to be here other than that you, like him, simply wanted to see her, and you doubt he would be amused by this one, all you can come up with is the same excuse you gave her earlier.
"I brought Scully a box of tea she forgot at our house." If this feeble attempt to explain your being here wasn't so damn embarrassing, you might have burst into laughter at how ridiculous you sound. But you don't feel like laughing, and neither does he.
"What? You brought her tea? A year after she left you? Are you kidding me?" His voice has become louder with every word. In the end, he's yelling at you.
"Mark," the receiver of the tea intervenes, "would you calm down, please. There's no need to shout like this."
"Who knows how many times I've seen him here? Four, five? And how often has he been here without me even knowing? Huh, Dana?"
"You're not seriously expecting me to give you an account of who I meet with when you're not around, are you?" Her eyes indicate quite clearly that his boring questions are pissing her off. You've never seen her eyebrows melt into her hairline like this, and you've been at the receiving end of her indignation countless times. You're an expert, actually, on what she looks like when she's mad.
Mark is unwavering tough in his current state of anger. "You're entertaining other men in your pajamas when I'm not here, Dana, and it's supposed to leave me cold? Really?"
Your breath is halted. Of course, he doesn't know that Scully in a robe was so common to you even before you became romantically involved that it really is no big deal. Actually, you haven't really noticed she was in her pajamas when you got here until she said she would go change quickly and you told her not to be silly. You saw each other in hospital gowns, nightwear, undergarments, naked more than any other working duo on the planet, so seeing your former spouse in a pair of flannel PJs underneath a thick white terry cloth robe isn't inappropriate one bit. For you, that is. His attitude varies slightly from yours.
"What are you implying here, Mark?" Scully asks tight-lipped, although it's pretty obvious. Regardless that he is miles off target with his suspicions, you feel a pleasant twitch in your groin. An unexpected, yet very pleasant one.
"He's more to you than just a friend, right?"
There, he speaks it out. His voice is weirdly distorted when he draws imaginable quotation marks into the air pronouncing the word 'friend'.
CLOSURE A - Shippers Beware There Be Sea Serpents In These Waters!
It takes you a moment until you fully comprehend what his innuendo is an expression of but then you get it. He fears he's losing her. He really believes you're on a mission to take her away from him, which you aren't, regardless what your best member just told you. All you want at this stage is to be allowed to share her company once in a while, to make her a part of your life again after you had abandoned her so wantonly. Your motives might change someday in the future, but you're true when you're saying that for now, all you want is to have your camaraderie back.
"Mark, let me explain my-" you therefore start but are instantly silenced by him.
"Oh, shut the fuck up, Mulder! I haven't asked you, have I? Can I please have a word with my girlfriend without you butting in?"
"Don't do this, Mark," you hear Scully whisper and you offer to go. This is shifting slowly but surely into a serious relationship argument between the two of them. You're a thorn in his side and the reason for him being mad at her, you should vanish as quickly as possible to let them settle this.
"No, Mulder, you stay. We've got nothing to hide. You're my guest and we were having tea, and I don't see any reason why you should leave." She can be stubborn if she wants to make a point.
"You're choosing him over me?" The shock and disbelief in his voice are unmistakable. "Now, that says it all!"
"That says nothing at all! Mulder and I were having tea, nothing more and nothing less. And by the way, you came here unannounced just like he did, only that he was here first. So what makes you believe you are any more entitled to stay than he is?"
"Because I am your boyfriend for starters?"
You can tell he's risking his neck with his careless talk. You know how much Scully hates chauvinistic predominance such as this. You're a bit surprised by this intense eruption of jealousy and possessiveness on Mark's part. Until now, he's always been so laid-back when you were around.
"Are you saying that your being here is more legitimate than Mulder's because we sleep together? Is that where this is going?"
"Yes, exactly," he sputters, obviously quicker than he intended to because as soon as the last syllable has left his mouth, his face contorts into a painful grimace. "No! No, of course, not! All I'm saying is...what I'm trying to say, is...ugh!"
"What? You weren't shy blurting out what was on the tip of your tongue a moment ago, why are you being so reserved all of a sudden?"
Boy, is she pissed. She's eyeing him defiantly, unwilling to yield even a millimeter. Her voice is calm, frighteningly so, but you know this posture of hers: feet hip-width apart, straightened knees, arms crossed in front of her chest, head slightly tilted, chin lifted. Every muscle in her tiny body is strained. She's like a rattlesnake ready to jump at her prey.
Her body language isn't failing to take effect, he realizes he overreacted. "Dammit, Dana," he says in a much softer voice now, completely bereft of the sharpness it bore a few moments ago, "I was simply taken off guard by the two of you cozily spending the afternoon together on your couch. I'm sorry I lashed out at you like this, I had no right to do that. Apologies to you too, Mulder. It was a bit over the top."
You stop him with a shake of your hand. "It's okay. Already forgiven and forgotten."
Scully is also appeased. She resolves her rigid body posture, closes the gap between them and ruffles his hair as if he were a little boy. "That wasn't a bit over the top, Mark, it was completely out of proportion. What has gotten into you?"
"For a second I pictured the two of you having something going on behind my back. I mean, you're in your robe, Dana! I simply saw red," he admits meekly, his raw honesty disarming.
"That's ridiculous, Mark. I would never do something like this."
"Yeah, I know. Now that my pulse is back to normal, I know." He shows her his grim face.
"Men," she sighs, "why do you always have to be so territorial?"
"It's in our genes, Scully," you defend your gender and him along with it, "when we've found our girl, we bite away everyone who comes near her."
"Oh, so you approve of such a behavior?"
"I would've probably reacted the same way."
Definitely. Maybe even worse.
"So you're saying this pathetic urge to stake one's claim is something men can't do anything against, that it's a natural reaction?"
She looks at both of you, waiting for an answer. "In a way, yes," you eventually say and Mark nods his assent with some determination.
Scully rolls her eyes, then pinches the bridge of her nose, a distressed sigh escaping her chest. "I don't believe this," she whispers to herself. "You two hobby biologists realize that I'm a trained medical doctor and very proficient when it comes to the nature of human instincts and impulses?"
"But you're a woman, baby," Mark pipes up, "you don't know what we men feel when a rival steps into our line of vision."
"Mulder is not a rival. How often do I have to tell you, Mark?"
"I get that now, Dana, but that doesn't change the fact that I thought he could be." He's wearing a contrite face, appealing to her with puppy eyes which are in no way less powerful than yours. Maybe, it's a typical male thing, to apply that small boy pattern when trying to soften a woman's heart. "C'mere," he breathes, his voice velvety and silky now. He holds his hand out to her, but she's ignoring it, maybe because she's still a little annoyed by his impulsive reaction. He is not deterred, though. He steps closer, really close, so close she can no longer overlook him. He lifts her chin with a finger to make her eyes meet his, then explains, "my exaggerated reaction is simply a sign of how much I'm in love with you. I'm willing to compete with every guy who dares to lay an eye on you. I don't even care if he carries a gun."
You're not licensed to carry a gun anymore, and as long as you're on psychiatric drugs to fight your depression, you won't be. Too bad, actually. You'd like to see if he'd walk the pompous talk with your Glock pointed at his head. You're somewhat certain those syrupy words speaking of his claim of owning her must annoy her, but to your complete bewilderment instead of rolling her eyes and quirking an eyebrow she smiles at him. You stare at her how her body relaxes into his, how her cheek melts into his hand. She casts her eyes down like a teenage girl being sweet-talked by her first beau. He's definitely struck the right chord with her.
What you see simultaneously amazes and disgusts you. The way she's at peace with herself is wonderful. She seems so content and relaxed. It's just him, Mark, who destroys the picture for you.
You clear your throat and make her jump away from him with it. She puts a hand to her chest and gasps. She'd obviously forgotten you're still in the room. "Sorry," you mumble. You could say that you didn't mean to startle her like this, that your sole intention was to protect yourself from having to see them interact so intimately, but you don't, of course. The time has definitely come for you to leave them alone for whatever they are up to - caressing, kissing, make-up sex.
You swallow down the bile which is rising up your food pipe. It leaves an acid trail behind. You take your eyes off of them by pretending to look at the watch on your wrist. "Oh, is it that late already? I forgot that I have an appointment with my tax accountant," you lie. "Gotta go."
"Oh, okay," is all she replies. "I walk you out."
Sure thing, now she lets you go. She doesn't even tell you to say hi to Mrs. Sanderson, your neighbor, who has been filing both your tax declarations for years. She's simply not with you at the moment, she's focussing on him - her boyfriend, her lover, her whatever - who's still holding her hand. Somehow you wished she would tell you to stay once again, but of course, she doesn't. She wants to be alone with him. If you ever felt like the fifth wheel, it has to be now.
"It's okay, Scully. I show myself out."
You don't look back when you close the door to her apartment behind you. You lean against the wall in the hallway and take a few deep breaths to steady your pulse. You hear them talk to each other inside, the walls are not very thick apparently. Their voices are getting louder for a moment when they pass the front door and then quieter again. You hear the hardwood creak under their feet. Are they on their way to the bedroom? Probably. You hear a girlish giggle and then the closing of a door, the bedroom door. Then there's only silence, and you're thankful for it. It turns the cinema in your head off and lets you take inventory of your emotions.
What are you feeling right now, Fox Mulder? If you leave your hurt pride aside that she's chosen him over you in there, what are you feeling?
To your utter bewilderment, you're doing okay. Your heart is still beating and is not shattered into a million pieces. You're breathing normally and not hyperventilating. You're not sinking to the floor because your legs give way but are standing upright, albeit steadied by the wall behind you. You might be able to survive this, you acknowledge. You might be able to live with the fact that your Scully is with another man. How is that possible? Dr. Summers really must be one hell of a therapist.
You let your feet carry you away. Away from this place, away from her, away from your faint hopes for a revival of the romance between you. But it's okay. You feel capable of dealing with this, of accepting the reality as it is. You will have to find another common ground with her, that will be your new project.
EPILOGUE
"Mr. Mulder," the postman waives at you, "good to see you again. It's been a while."
You've just exited your car to open the gate to your property. You're about to drive downtown to see your therapist. You've been in need of a few extra sessions to deal with the recent developments in your life. Rob, the postman, is filing through the mail in the back of his van to sort out yours. With a few letters in his hand and a small parcel, he comes over to you.
"Here, this is for you, sir."
"Same junk as ever?" you ask.
"This one here looks special. Handwritten address."
He hands you your bulk of mail with said letter on top. You take it and weigh it in your hand. It's been a while since you've received mail like this. The last time it was a birth announcement of a distant cousin's third child. Same thick, sophisticated paper, same calligraphic handwritten address.
You swallow. You recognize the handwriting. It's elegant but unfussy, just like the person it belongs to. You've been expecting this but still, it hits you. It's final now. You will have to talk to Doctor Summers about it today.
"Good news, I hope," Rob says, trying to get some small talk going, but you're not in the mood, although he really is a nice guy.
You point at your wristwatch. "I have to get going, Rob. Excuse me, please. I have an appointment in the city."
"Sure. Just hop into your car and let me close the gate behind you."
"Thank you, and have a good day."
"You too, Mr. Mulder."
You doubt it will be a good day.
You throw the envelope on the passenger seat so carelessly that it skitters down into the messy footwell. You didn't mean to treat it like this, so you bent forward to look for it between all the junk. When you feel the firm paper under your paws, you pull it out and inspect it. Your muddy running shoes have left some of the dirt you'd brought in after your last run on the front. You blow it off and place the envelope on the seat again, with more care this time.
You put the car in drive and hit the road, determined to make to Dr. Summers' practice without any further delay. You concentrate on the road and the car in front of you, trying to take your mind off the envelope, but you can't. It's as if it's whispering to you. 'Open me,' it says, 'you want to, don't you?' So, after another mile or so you pull over, put the car in park, grab the letter and hastily rip the envelope open, tearing right through the curvy letters of your address. You even tear off a corner of the card inside along with it. Well, who cares, you're not going to stick it to your fridge like you did with the birth announcement. You still don't know what you did that for anyway, you never liked that particular cousin very much.
You unfold the card but close your eyes to protect yourself from the words. You hear your therapist's voice in your inner ear. 'Fox,' - she insists to call you by your first name, which is okay for you in her case - 'no denying! Look at what is and deal with it.' So you open your eyes and stare at the letters for a few long moments without blinking until the words blur in front of your burning eyes.
Dana Katherine Scully & Mark Spencer Finlay
Joyfully Invite You to Celebrate Their Marriage
Saturday the Twenty Seventh of December Two Thousand and Fourteen
at Five o'Clock in the Afternoon
at The Atrium at Meadowlark Botanical Gardens
Join us for Cocktails and an Evening of Dining and Dancing
You lean your head against the backrest and swallow. A car passes by at maximum speed and the draft in its wake shakes yours. She told you about the Botanical Gardens and how she would love to hold the reception there. You redirect your eyes to the card in your lap, you know there's more.
Moultrie Courthouse, room 1013, 11 a.m. sharp! is scribbled across the announcement in a stiff, angular hand. Further below, as if written in an afterthought, you recognize the cursive and neat letters you are so familiar with. Thank you so much for doing this for me. Part of me will always belong to you. Love, D.
When she first asked you, you wondered why she was being so cruel. It took you a moment until you understood that she can't do this without you. She needs you to set her free, to release her from what binds her to you. So you agreed to be a witness to her marriage and she fell into your arms and cried. The moment reminded you of when you had agreed to donate sperm for her to become pregnant. Like back then, you were unable to deny her request but also uncertain of what it would do to you. All you instantly knew was that you'd lost her. Not entirely, no, she would still be a part of your life as your friend, your doctor, and - it still makes your heart heavy every time you think of it - as the mother of your child, but you lost her heart in the way it had belonged to you for the past twenty years.
You startle when a tear splashes on the card and smears the blue ink of her words. You thought you'd made your peace with this, but a contradictory mix of emotions settles in your chest.
You're happy for her, you really are. Over the last months, since you rekindled after your separation, you've seen her thrive like a flower that has eventually been watered again after weeks of drought. The rosy color of her cheeks had come back, her hair was shiny again and her eyes were sparkling. She laughed a lot, really laughed, no wry smiles or soft chuckles but wholehearted laughter. You even caught her giggling like a schoolgirl. You know that giggle, you used to elicit it from her in bed a long time ago, in another life. She'd been exuberating carefree easiness and elation with every fiber of her being since she started dating him. She even put on a few pounds with the many times she was taken out to dinner. It made her even more beautiful, something you hadn't believed was even possible.
So, you're happy for her. All you ever wanted for her was to have a life full of normalcy, stability and, most of all, light. Mark Spencer Finlay is able to give her exactly that: light. With him, there's no everpresent darkness, no oppressive silence, no leaden weltschmerz. You remember how she once begged you to take her away from the darkness as far as possible. You'd helped to find a missing FBI agent and your involvement in the gruesome case had threatened to pull the both of you down into the abyss again. You took her to a Carribean island and you spent three wonderful months there, but deep down you knew you would fail her, that the black shadows would follow you. And they did, more fiercely than ever before. So you are happy for her. Really and truly.
But.
Your throat tightens suddenly and your heart starts pounding in your chest. She's going to marry another man! Fuck!
She even told you she'd be taking his name. Jesus, Dana Katherine Finlay!? This person sounds like a stranger to you, like a completely different woman. Will you still be allowed to call her Scully?
You startle once again when your cell is buzzing in your pocket. Since when are you so thin-skinned and jumpy? A look at the caller ID tells you it's her. You take the call, although you're not sure you're in a condition to talk to her.
"Yes?"
"Mulder, it's me." I knew that you could tell her, but you smile instead. At least some things never change. "Where are you?"
Funny how with the invention of the mobile phone the first question asked nowadays is always about the whereabouts of the party called. "In the car."
"Don't answer the phone when you're driving," she admonishes you.
"I'm not driving."
You've pulled over to cry over her wedding invitation.
"Good. Where are you going?"
"My therapist."
"Oh, okay...Uhm, did you get the, uh...the invitation?"
"Yes. I'm holding it in my hand as we speak."
"Are you still okay with it?"
"Define okay."
You hear her inhale deeply before she asks tentatively, "are you still okay with being my witness?"
"Scully, I said I would be your witness to your marriage, so I'm going to be your witness. I won't say that I'm looking forward to watching you marry another man, but I will be there delivering my promise."
"Thank you," she breathes into your ear through the phone and the relief you notice in her voice touches you.
You don't know what more to say and neither does she, so there's silence between you. It should be awkward actually, silence on the phone always is, but not between you.
"Mulder?" she finally resumes the conversation.
"Yes, Scully?"
"Are we going to get through this?"
"What do you mean?"
"Am I going to lose you as my touchstone because of this?"
"Will you still need me as a touchstone?"
"Of course!"
"I take it your husband would like to play that part in your life."
"Mulder, my relationship with Mark is totally different from what we have...had...have. Argh! What we have! And he understands."
"Does he? Are you sure? He's a man, Scully, and men don't like to share their wives with other men."
"I'm nobody's possession. I haven't been yours and I'm not going to be his. We've talked about this, Mulder. I love him for where he's brought me to in my current life. He's pulled me from a place I didn't want to be anymore."
"A place I dragged you to."
"A place I decided to follow you to, but couldn't bear living in anymore at a certain point. But that doesn't mean that I don't cherish having been there with you. My love for you will never die, Mulder. Never. It may have changed, maybe it has regressed into something similar to what I felt for you at the beginning, but it's still there."
"And what were they exactly, Scully, those feelings at the beginning?"
"Connection. Trust. Loyalty. Passion for the same cause. An overwhelming urge to search for the truth with you."
"Folie á Deux?"
She laughs. "Yes, Mulder. A madness shared by two. Nothing else describes our relationship better, don't you think?"
She may be right. Only that you can't think of spending your life with anyone else but her, but then again, she had made your life better, worthier living, whereas you had only darkened hers. She'd given you twenty of the richest years of her life, you have no right to ask for more.
"Mulder?"
"Hmm?"
"Will you go on being my beloved spooky friend?"
"Am I really someone you want in your life, Scully? An unstable, unhinged, unsociable madman?"
"It's your friendship that I want, but only if you want mine too."
You hear her holding her breath in anticipation of your answer. You could tell her that you take whatever you get from her, that the worst that could happen to you would be her walking away from you completely, but you spare her the desperate ring it would have.
"I'd have to look for a new physician and explain my unusual medical history to them."
"Is that all you want me to be? Your physician you see once a year for your medical checkup?"
She didn't get that you were joking. Maybe you sounded a bit too serious. "It was a joke, Scully."
"Oh," she whispers and you hear her stifling a sob.
"Listen, Scully, I will be everything you allow me to be. I will be your friend, your touchstone if needed, your annual patient, maybe even your spooky FBI partner again one day. I will be a witness to your marriage and promise you to keep my mouth shut when the pastor asks if anyone had reasons why the two of you should not be married."
"Mulder, that's an overused dramatic plot device in movies I've never actually heard at one of the several weddings I attended in my life. Besides, there won't be a pastor. We'll be at a courthouse, the ceremony will be held by a judge. We will sign a marriage license and that's it."
"Sounds romantic." You haven't seen Rational Scully for a while, but she sure knows how to keep the mood from getting too sugar-sweet, or god forbids, romantic. "Now don't tell me there won't be a garter auction," you say, trying to sound shocked.
"A garter auction? Are you out of your mind?"
"May I toss rice?"
"To symbolize fertility? At our age? No, thanks!"
"It's also a symbol of prosperity, so I've been told."
"You know how much I rely on superstition when it comes to leading my life, don't you?"
"Sure. So you won't care whose hand is on top when you cut the wedding cake either, right?"
"If you think you'll get a picture of me feeding Mark a slice of a sugar-sweet, multi-tier, buttercream wedding cake, you're mistaken. There will be a variety of miniature cupcakes for dessert and that's it."
If you didn't know her so well, you'd be of the impression that she eliminated everything from the list which makes a wedding memorable. "Will I see you in a wedding dress, at least?"
"The groom is not supposed to know!"
"I'm not the groom."
"Oh...right."
What a delicious Freudian slip! Your heart jumps for joy. In the flow of your banter, she obviously forgot for a second that she will marry someone else and not you.
"I will wear be wearing a wedding dress, yes. Not a white one with all the frills, that would be ridiculous at my age," - of course, a fairytale prince's bride has never been on Rational Scully's bucket list of life dreams - "but I did buy something special for the occasion."
"I can't wait to see it. I bet you will look absolutely stunning."
"I hope Mark will like it."
Now it's your chance to say something nice. "He will love it, of that I'm sure. Even if you showed up in rags, he would be blown away by you. He's a man, Scully, he's in love with you and you will be his bride. Men are simple creatures."
"You're sweet, Mulder. Thank you."
"You're welcome. It will be a wonderful day and don't worry, I will be fine. I will sign your marriage license, I will catch the bouquet, in my humorous speech I will recount some of the weird things we've seen-"
"Don't you dare!"
"-I will have a couple of dry martinis with your mother-in-law and I will end up dancing all night with a hot chick in her mid-twenties."
She laughs. "Just be careful not to overexert yourself, you're far beyond your mid-twenties, Mulder!"
"I age well."
She laughs again. What an enchanting sound. It's worth every effort on your part to make this new thing between the two of you work.
"Hey, Scully. I've got to go. My appointment is to start in about ten minutes. See you at the courthouse on the twenty-seventh. I promise to be on time."
"You better be, unless you want to look for a new physician after all."
Now it's your turn to laugh. "Take care, Scully!"
"You too, Mulder. Drive safely and try to stay within the speed limit. Bye for now."
You end the call with a smile on your face and the certainty that if there's one thing that will never change between you it's the light and easy banter you're both so good at. In this respect, she will always be Scully to you, never Mrs. Mark Finlay.
You hope she tosses you the bouquet.
END
#xf fanfic#sorry shippers#msr in a way#mulder is okay#scully deserves happiness#mark finlay is some lucky guy
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Sweet Comedic Relief
this is a continuation of practice makes perfect. it was edited by @fireloom the reason for this story was that i wanted to show the twins still being the twins even after they start their relationship. with all that said i hope you enjoy the story and feel free to leave a review if you saw something you liked.
It was a normal afternoon for the pines twins. With school being the way it was, Dipper had taken to simply doing his work at school. Then helping Mabel with hers when they got home. The girl wasn’t stupid by any means. She just liked the pretense of study breaks being making out sessions.
She could just ask but where was the fun in that?
“Sorry Mabel, I can’t help you tonight. I’ve got some research to do for the school paper. Can you believe that they still don’t believe in ghosts? Some educators, right?” He said, ending his statement with an exasperated tone directed at the public school system.
“Oh. That’s fine, Dipper,” she said as Dipper walked away.
She narrowed her eyes. Dipper had just made a powerful enemy. No one took away her makeout time with her bro bro.
No. One.
Operation Sweet Relief was a go.
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The plan was simple.
One: Dipper would open his door.
Two: the water would fall out of the bucket, soaking him.
Three: she’d be a good sister and get him out of those clothes...
Four: Profit.
Now she only had to wait. She snuck out to the end of the hallway and went down a few of the stairs so her head was hidden. She tried to keep from laughing.
“So, what are we doing?” Asked Dipper, whispering beside her.
“I’m gonna soak Dipper with this bucket of water,” she responded, not looking away.
“How do ya know he’s in there?” Dipper asked.
“Heard him moving around in there.”
“That was waddles.”
“Oh?” asked Mabel, looking beside her [Make the joker here more clear]
“Yeah I went to get a snack,” he said.
[or do it here]
“What ya get?” she asked, curious.
“Chocolate pudding. Want some?”
“Yeah! I love chocolate. Thanks,” she said, happily letting Dipper give her a spoon full. Dipper deserved a reward. She leaned in and gave him a kiss which he returned but before they could continue he stopped her.
“Hey. You should probably get Waddles then,” he said. “Don’t want him in the room with what we’re about to do.” he finished with a smirk .
“ON IT!” Shouted Mabel, running over to open the door and let Waddles out. “Waddles! I need you to go in the living room for a bit. Mom and dad need som-” suddenly... she was soaking wet. The bucket had fallen right on top of her. It’s moments like these that Mabel wished we wasn’t so damn good at setting traps...
“Wow Mabel! You are WET!” Dipper called, laughing at his joke as he walked past her and shooing waddles out of the room before closing the door on her.
“WELL AT LEAST DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT YA JERK, I WAS PROMISED SEXY TIMES!”
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Okay well that didn’t work... What now?
A snare!
This one would work. She’d just capture Dipper and then take what she wanted from him after that’s done.
Solved.
No problem!
Mabel, once again, hid, watching as Dipper walked through the door to the kitchen.
Dipper screamed from the kitchen and Mabel ran through the door.
“AH HA!” She yelled, her triumph evident and her reward at hand. “NOW YOU SEE THE POWER OF MABE-AHHHHHHHHHH!” she screamed as the snare wrapped around her leg, hanging her upside down before Dipper’s crotch walked into view.
“The power of who?” asked Big Dipper.
“Oh no! My big, strong brother is standing in front of me. Oh what terrible fate will befall me?”
“I’ll be merciful and let you go,” said Dipper.
“You don’t have to!” Mabel responded. “I do deserve to be punished!”
“Nah, it’s fine.”
“You sure? I mean, when else are you gonna get this chance?”
“Mabel, I’m cutting you down,” said Dipper, simply.
“NO DIPPER PLEASE!”
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Mabel sat down and pouted on the floor. She could just ask, but then he wouldn’t let her hear the end of it! she could just hear it now...
“Mabel, you didn’t have to make elaborate traps.”
“Mabel, we literally could have just made out.”
“Mabel that last one was a fire hazard! Remember what happened at our last school? I can’t use the memory gun again. It took forever to get it working that one time and I refuse to kill our principal with the shrink ray flashlight.”
THAT’S IT, THE FLASHLIGHT!
Mabel dug a small hole outside, taking the turf off the lawn so she could put it back later. Then she placed an empty can of soda in the small hole so it was just barely fitting. Then she shone the flashlight on it, expanding the can and forcing the dirt away into a perfectly shaped pit. While not deep and frankly easy to climb out of, it would stop Dipper from getting away. Final step: she shrunk the can and covered the hole with the grass turf she had moved before. It looked exactly the same as it always did, but now, when she lured Dipper outside with the promise of Mabel booty, he would fall into the pit and she could have sexy times with her bro bro!
Genius!
“Oh Dipper!” She called, sweetly, using her most seductive voice. She heard him moving around. She quickly took off her sweater and laid in her most seductive pose. It was hot out, sure, but she was hotter and Dipper would gladly give up the air conditioned inside to look at her sweater puppies without their coverings.
When Dipper came running outside though, she damn near lost her self control! The boy was shirtless and dang did he look good! Was that some muscle?
Why yes, Mabel... I think it is.
“Hey Mabel, looks like we had the same idea,” Dipper said with that really cute smile. “What ya say we go inside and...” His voice got low and sultry, “play around a bit.”
Mabel got up and sprinted for her brother. She was just about to launch into her tackle when the ground gave out underneath her. She fell into the pit. Right into her own trap... AGAIN! Over the edge, looking down was Dipper.
“Well if you wanted me to get into your holes that bad, next time just ask,” Dipper laughed at his own joke as Mabel started climbing out.
He had walked inside so Mabel chased after him. the thirteen year old girl had had enough. She was gonna rock her bro bro’s world or so help her!
Dipper took off his shorts as he walked into the bathroom. “You know, Mabel, you’re a pretty dirty girl,” he said, giving her a kiss that had her nearly forget about why she was mad. “But that’s the part I love about you.” she smiled. So did he.
“Still, before we get into bed I think you need to wash up.” she groaned. She just wanted to fuck her bro bro! couldn’t anything be easy? “Hey none of that,” he said in a stern voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” he said, helping her strip. Now they were both down to their birthday suits. He turned on the water and stepped in, Mabel just after. She could barely contain her glee. Dipper held her against the wall and kissed her as the warm water dripped off of them and things were perfect.
“You know you’re gonna have to fill in that hole before mom and dad get back,” he said with a smile.
“Funny enough, I was about to say the same thing,” she replied with a nip at Dippers chin. “Well bro bro? You gonna fill the hole?” her smile went wide as she felt her brother do just that. This was her favorite part of their sibling fights now.
All in all, operation Sweet Relief was a HUGE success.
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Dipper walked out of the house at three in the morning with a shovel. This was not uncommon for the boy and while the neighborhood was abuzz with gossip as to what he could be doing at night with a shovel, most simply enjoyed the rumors and moved on with their lives.
Tonight though, they knew what the boy was doing.
They knew because they could hear the young boy muttering to himself as he filled the hole in the front yard that his sister had dug for some reason. What he was muttering was hotly contested. Some said he was doing a spell, others said he was simply cursing Mabel or singing a song. If they could actually hear what was being said they would know the only things Dipper said were all along the lines of:
“Freaking Mabel and her stupid sex traps...”
Still, these things were said with a smile. After all, his plan to get Mabel so riled up that they would have sex again was a complete success.
He could have simply asked.
But where was the fun in that?
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922.
5k Survey XL
2051. Are more people depressed because they are alone, or are more people alone because they are depressed?
>> Heh, 5k Survey Xtra-Large. Anyway, you can be surrounded by people -- people you love and who love you, even -- and be depressed. Depression does not fucking care about your actual life situation or anything else but keeping you in its mind-altering grasp for as long as it possibly can.
2052. Have you ever gotten a mug, t-shirt, key chain, etc. that was personalized with your picture?
>> Nope.
2053. What was the last thing that you experienced for the first time?
>> This drink from Cafe Boba that I took one sip of and instantly hated. It was supposed to be jasmine green tea with lychee, which sounded like a pleasant, refreshing drink with maybe a bit of sweetness (to counteract my very savoury and rather fatty lunch). It actually tasted like a goddamn syrup dispenser. I was pissed.
2054. If you were going to die tomorrow and you were leaving a postcard for someone to read after you were gone what would it say?
>> I wouldn’t do that.
2055. If you were about to be executed what would your last request be?
>> How would I know? I can’t imagine being in this situation at all.
2056. What kinds of people do you find intimidating?
>> I don’t really find people intimidating. I’ve been on the receiving end of that impression many times and knowing how strange and irrational it seems to hear that from people made it kind of hard for me to experience the feeling myself, I guess. People are just people.
2057. How much conviction do you have in your feelings and beliefs?
>> I don’t really care about having conviction, so not a lot, I guess. I just think what I think until/unless the time comes for me to change my mind.
2058. In your house where is the:
crazy glue? I’m not sure we have any right now, but if so, it’s probably in the right-most drawer on the east side of our kitchen.
flashlight? We don’t have one of those either. We use the flashlight feature on our phones.
2059. Out of everyone you know who has the most personality?
>> I don’t know how to quantify this.
2060. If you could go back in time to experience a musical movement or era, which one would you choose to live through?
>> ---
2061. Do you suffocate people with your love?
>> I am on the direct opposite end of the spectrum from this.
2062. Do you feel your life is charmed?
>> I don’t know what this means.
2063. What character do you identify the most with from Winnie the Pooh?
>> Eeyore. But also Rabbit, lol.
2064. When do you do your best thinking?
>> I’m not sure.
2065. What motivates you?
>> I’m also not sure of this. Motivation is very hard for me to muster.
2066. Look back at all the people you’ve dated. Has there been a pattern?
>> Sparrow and I were talking about “types” in dating the other day because of a conversation she had at work, and I concluded that the reason there’s been no real pattern in my dating history is because... most of the time when I dated someone, it’s because he asked me out. I just went along with it because I... assumed that’s what you do, I guess. Like, if I wasn’t immediately repulsed by a person, then I was like “yeah, sure, okay”. So it’s not like I was actively picking these people to date as much as they picked me and I wasn’t opposed to it. The first person I remember pursuing is Hallie, and that was such a bass-ackwards and awful choice that I’m surprised I got it right the very next time around (Sparrow).
2067. Things change but what will always remain the same for you?
>> The fact of things changing.
2068. Is divorce something you would ever consider or do you feel that marriage is permanently binding?
>> I mean, of course I would consider it, if I had to. Nothing is permanently binding except the eventuality of death.
2069. What’s the strangest movie you ever saw?
>> Oh, there’s a few. Antichrist comes to mind, of course, but also Enter the Void and Beyond the Black Rainbow, neither of which I finished because they were way too esoteric for me. I find Antichrist, and Mandy and mother! and such, to be just the right kind of strange for me and I gravitate to those kinds of movies hard.
2070. If you could go into virtual reality and set up your life there to be perfect and it would seem real but not be real would you trade your life now for the virtual life?
>> I’d really rather not get involved with that at all.
2071. Does it seem like life is more difficult for you than for anyone else?
>> When I’m depressed, sure. That’s part of the self-focused, excessively negative worldview shit. But normally, I understand that that’s not a logical way to think.
2072. What are you grateful for?
>> You know, stuff. I’m not going to make a list right now.
2073. What was a choice that you didn’t want to make but you had to?
>> I can’t think of one right now.
2074. Have you ever had dental surgery?
>> I had a tooth pulled, does that count as surgery... I’m not sure where the line is.
2075. At what point exactly are you grown up?
>> There is no “grown up”, it’s all just... some kind of complex illusion that people create to determine when they should stop watching cartoons or whatever. ...I mean, maybe I’m being a bit harsh, but I’m sick of the whole concept because it just never meant anything to me and even in my thirties I don’t get it.
2076. If there was a weight loss procedure that would destroy your ability to taste food so you wouldn’t be tempted by junk food, would you have it done?
>> I stopped at “if there was a weight loss procedure”. Just fuck off with that.
2077. What is one thing that happened that you never expected?
>> Like, in general? A majority of the stuff that’s happened to me, dude.
2078. If you called one of your friends and they said “It’s nothing personal but I don’t want to talk to anyone right now,” would you take it personally?
>> First of all, bold of you to think I call people. But okay, say I messaged someone or something. I would take it a little personally at first, like it’d sting, but ultimately I’d respect that boundary and hope that it just means they’re focused on something in their life right now and don’t have the time/energy, but will probably come talk some other time. I’ve zero problem with that and don’t mind waiting, I just... often have the impression that I have no value to other people so I automatically assume they’re never going to talk to me again, lol.
2079. What is your favorite girl’s name?
>> ---
2080. Do you ever feel guilty for being more fortunate then others?
>> I sometimes experience something that reminds me of the concept of survivor’s guilt -- I made it out of being broke and homeless in NYC like so many other young, non-white, queer people, though not through any real work of my own (unless you count maintaining a long-distance relationship for a few years as work, which, okay, yeah), and there are so many people that just... will end up falling through the cracks, or getting into progressively more fucked-up situations, or dying, or whatever. And that sucks. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve to have made it out, or whether I’m doing enough to be worthy of it, although I know that’s a really fallacious way to think.
2081. If you had to wear a shirt with one word on it for a year, what word would you choose?
>> Like, if I was a cartoon character, what would my shirt be? I’m not sure, but it’d probably be something a little ridiculous.
2082. What is evian spelled backwards?
>> I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you.
2083. You drop 10 pounds of feathers and a ten pound bowling ball off the top of the same building. Which will hit the ground first?
>> I don’t know. I guess it would depend if the 10lb of feathers was all in a single container or just... freely falling feathers, wouldn’t it?
2084. Even though you may never get what you want, are you happy because you’re trying?
>> I’m not happy because I’m trying, I’m trying because the only other choice is to stop trying at all and that’s... no longer acceptable to me, I guess.
2085. If you started a petition what would it be about?
>> I wouldn’t.
2086. When was the last time you asked someone to do something and they said no?
>> I don’t remember.
2087. Do bad things happen to you on friday the 13th?
>> Not that I’ve paid any specific attention to. I imagine bad things can happen on that day with the same or similar likelihood as any other day, but I wouldn’t focus on the fact that it’s Friday the thirteenth.
2088. What’s your favorite:
Madonna song? Again, just picking a song I like at random. Like a Prayer.
John Lennon song?
Michael Jackson song?
Doors song? The End.
Rolling Stones song? Gimme Shelter.
David Bowie song? (Fuck, like... half of his fucking oeuvre???) Space Oddity.
Elvis song? If I Can Dream.
2089. If you had started a relationship with someone and they said that it would be best if no one knew about it just to see how it goes, would you be offended?
>> I wouldn’t be offended, I would just hear alarm bells in my head. Definitely not a situation I’d like to be in, period.
2090. Do you know any self defense?
>> No. I’ve picked up random tips over the years, but that’s all. Nothing I’ve really practiced, per se.
How about CPR?
>> No. I more-or-less know how it goes, but I’m not certified or anything.
2091. If you had to look into a mirror and see your naked soul stripped of all delusions and pretenses (Never ending Story style)could you handle it?
>> Damn, I don’t even remember that part from Neverending Story, really gotta rewatch that, huh. Hopefully it’s still on HBO but it might be gone by now, I think it was on the “last chance to watch this” list recently. Anyway, I don’t know if I could handle that or not. Not sure what it would even feel or look like.
2092. Are you a genius?
>> No.
2093. How did you find out that Santa Clause wasn’t real?
>> I was never taught about him in the first place.
2094. Which is your favorite tarot card?
>> Either Death or The Sun. Or The Hermit, that’s always a good one. Oooh, the Magician’s good too... this is tough. I love tarot.
2095. Does the internet separate people or connect them?
>> I guess it does a fair amount of both, depending.
2096. Have you ever written a letter to a soldier?
>> No.
2097. Does pain and fear make you feel alive?
>> Er... I mean, that’s... I’m not sure how to answer that. Pain and fear often make me feel like I want to stop being alive, to be honest...
2098. Are you:
good looking? Not answering that.
thin? Eh. Not so much.
happy? Sometimes.
successful? At what?
confident? Not particularlyl.
2099. Are you deciseive or wishy washy?
>> It depends on what kind of decision I’m making and how much energy I have to make that kind of decision.
2100. Do you feel pop stars should be morally responsible to set a good example for their fans?
>> I don’t think so, no. I think at some point, young people have to learn to discern what kind of behaviour they’re going to emulate and what kind of behaviour they don’t want to emulate, and seeing people behave in a variety of ways and figuring out how they feel about those behaviours helps with that discernment. Besides, celebrities are people, not fucking... archetypes, or heroic figures, or something. The fact that we treat this certain subset of human being like they should be something “greater” than human is more than a little weird to me (although I do recognise it’s probably something we’ve been doing in various forms or another for centuries, if not longer).
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