#(three months go by; during which she gives names to her pets and this stage is more of which route you wanna go down)

[aro-aizawa]

man for how really shitty 2012 was for inclusivity/shitty behaviour, some really great things were made regardless of that

[strawb3rryw00]

Late Night ♡ woo wonjae x female reader

warnings -> swearing

synopsis -> y/n works hard in her studio day and night and begins to worry her boyfriend who works right next door.

fluff and some suggestive shit.

also there’s a little bit of jay park x reader in here too

~♡~

4:25 am.

You let out a long sigh, slamming your computer shut after listening to your track. You had recently joined AOMG as their youngest member. You were a prodigy, having only been rapping for a year when Jay saw you performing at a small show just two years ago. No one in the company had a doubt in your skill, all of them praising you highly on the single you released after joining.

But you were a perfectionist. And you were determined to prove to everyone that your talent was undeniable. You were labeled as the hidden ace of AOMG by a magazine company after a special performance at one of Simon D’s concerts.

Your lyrical abilities and flow were unmatched by most artists in the game. You had a unique musical and physical style which caused you to have a large fan base, doubling in size when AOMG confirmed your relationship with Woo Wonjae, another artist under the label.

You were featured on his album, his fans becoming yours after hearing your talent paired with his.

But that only made you put more pressure on yourself.

You’ve locked yourself in your studio for days on end. Wanting to get your first full length album utterly perfect for your fans, the company, and yourself. You’ve gone days without sleeping or eating, earning the worry of your label mates.

Just three hours ago Jay was in your space lecturing you. He made sure to take care of every artist under him, checking up on them despite his busy schedule. While having two companies and multiple rappers and vocalists under his labels, you were the one he was always most worried about.

“Y/N man,” He spoke to you casually in english. “I love your drive and effort, but you need to go home sometime tonight.”

You frowned, pausing your song you had played. “But Jay,” You rolled up your sleeves and exposed your tattooed arms. “I’m just trying-“

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Jay cut you off, his tone a little harsh. He hated talking to you like that, but it’s what you needed. “Your friends? They snitch on you. Especially your little boy next door,” He referred to Wonjae, who was probably working away in his studio as well.

Since your boyfriend was also an artist, he understood your mindset and left you alone due to your request. Of course you guys still talked and spent time together, yet it was minimal during this time.

“I should not have to hear that you’re in here day and night. I gave you the full fucking luxury studio as a gift, thinking you’d take care of yourself. But youre basically living here. The shower is for occasional late nights y/n,” Jay furrowed his eyebrows at you, standing up and sighing. “I’ll force you to move to a smaller one, don’t think I wont.”

Jay opened his arms for you to stand up and hug him, which you did. He held you tightly, resting his head on yours and sighing again. “You stress me out. I better hear that you’ve gone home by tomorrow afternoon.” He says sternly, pulling away and looking at you.

“And you better fucking eat babe,” He always spoke to you in a friendly manner but it was never flirty. He genuinely cared for you and the other artists. And it was normal for you both to use babe in a casual manner. Despite his lecturing and the wide age gap, you both were very good friends.

“I will,” You smiled at him, pulling your phone out to find something to order.

He exits your studio and you sigh, sitting down on the couch you added. Your studio felt more like home than your apartment. You decorated it as such, even adding a cat tower for when you have your feline roomie with you, which is usually always because you don’t like leaving the ginger cat alone all the time.

After he left you went back to working diligently. You had finished three songs in the five months you’ve been working on the album. You didn’t have an actual deadline but you knew your fans were waiting. You had several features you wanted on this album as well. Hoody has been waiting for you to finish your part of this song so she can add her magical vocals to it. But you hadn’t quite found what you were missing from it.

Your phone lit up, a message from Jay on it. ‘I have your location ma’am’ The message read, earning a laugh from you.

‘lol’ you respond, setting your phone back down. You look at your lock screen and smile. It’s a picture of you and Woo that a fan took of you both performing on stage together. It was the first time you performed with him after it being confirmed you both were dating. In the picture you’re rapping to the crowd, squatted down a little and Wonjae is looking at you with the happiest look plastered on his face.

At the thought of your lover you decide it’s time to take a break. You get up and stretch, hearing your back pop, slipping back on your slides. You tend to stay in your socks while working, it’s more comfortable to you.

You walk out the studio and next door, smiling as you read your boyfriends name on the door. You walk in without knocking, knowing he never minds.

He’s in the booth, rapping his verse to Kunst, who looks at you with tired eyes. You stand behind his chair, resting your hands on his shoulders and giving them a slight squeeze while listening to your boyfriend.

You could listen to him rap all day. His deep voice was so beautiful in your ears. “Are you about to leave?” Kunst asks you. “Jay told us to make sure you leave.”

You shake your head. “Not yet.” You say, earning a sigh from the taller male.

Wonjae exits the booth, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. “Ahh finally taking a break mm?” His arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you close. You inhale his scent, closing your eyes in comfort. He doesn’t let you go, and holds you while talking to his friend.

“Imma head out, you did good.” Kunst gets his things together and pats you on the head before wishing you both farewell and leaving.

Wonjae kisses the top of your head and yawns. “Let’s eat baby,” He says softly. You nod and slide your hands under his shirt and run your fingers along his back, his favorite thing.

“I missed you,” You say into his chest, still with your eyes closed. He chuckles, his hand resting on the back of your neck while his fingers play with the few pieces of hair that fall from your bun.

“I missed you too, you been busy huh?” He pulls away slightly to look down at you. You meet his eyes and give him a tired smile which he returns.

“Yea you could say that.” He laughs at your answer which is music to your ears.

Now having been in his arms you don’t want to return to your studio for the day. You really did miss him but work is very important to you.

Wonjae sits down in the chair his friend was occupying previously and pulls you into his lap. Your legs hang over one arm while your back rests against the other. You lean into him, his arms sliding around you once more and pulling you closer. You tuck your head into his neck and relax to the sound of his deep breaths.

“It’s almost 6 am,” Wonjae hums, his fingers tracing the outlines of the tattoos on your exposed arm. “I’m tired.” He sighs. You know he’s hinting that you guys should leave, especially after Jay having said something.

“Me too,” You admit, placing a gentle kiss on his jaw and yawning. “Let’s go.” You add, reluctantly leaving his lap.

He stares at you a little shocked. “You’re finally listening huh? I’m impressed.” He stands up as well, laughing when you hit his arm.

“Go get your things jagi,” He waves you off.

After getting your things and your kitty, you lock up your studio and meet by his while he locks up as well. He smiles at you, sliding his bag on his shoulders and wrapping his arm around your shoulders while you both make your way to the parking garage.

“Let’s go get some early food and then go to my place yea?” Wonjae offers, guiding you to his car. “Ron can come with us and play with my babies,” He refers to your cat that you named after the ginger wizard.

You nod, getting in the passenger seat in his car and setting Ron on your lap. You inhale the comforting smell of his car, not having been in his car nor outside for a week now.

Wonjae drives down the empty road to a restaurant near his apartment that’s open early on weekdays. His hand rests just above your knee, his index finger reaching out to pet the cat on your lap. “No work talk today.” He says, looking at you as he parks. “You’re taking a break.” You smile, loving how he already knows how you are.

After you fill your stomachs, you’re on the way to his home. Even more tired now that you’ve ate. Once parked, he grabs his bag as well as yours and leads you into the building and up to his apartment. Unlocking the door, he rests his hand on your back to usher you in where you set Ron down while slipping your feet out of your shoes.

Ron immediately mingles with Wonjae’s three cats who make their way over to the two of you, the four of them following you to Wonjae’s room.

“Do you want to shower with me?” Wonjae asks softly, cupping your cheek into his hand and rubbing the pad of his thumb along the bone. You lean into his touch, kissing his palm. “Yes please.”

“Okay, I’ll go start it.” He rushes to the bathroom and you hear the water being started. You undress yourself, throwing the clothes in the basket he has in the corner of his room. Once you’re completely stripped you push open the bathroom door where you see Wonjae beginning to take off his clothes as well.

After sliding off his shirt he looks at you and smirks. “Mmm,” He hums, pulling you closer to him by your hips. “I missed looking at this.” He leans down and places a kiss on your neck, licking a stripe to your ear and flicking your lobe with the tip of his tongue. It sends a shiver down your spine, your eyes closing in bliss.

He knows your body like the back of his hand, he cherishes every piece of you. He looks at you, smiling. “I’ll fuck you later,” He kisses your lips, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

He finishes undressing and you both get into the shower. He hugs you under the warm water much like he did while you were in his studio but this time it’s much more intimate due to the skin to skin contact. Your breasts press against him, head tucked into his neck. The warm water cascades down your body, causing you to grow tired.

After you both wash up, you find yourself clad in his hoodie and sweats that are just a little big. Wonjae waits for you on the bed, the four cats finding their way to join him. He lays on his back, scrolling through his phone.

You crawl into the bed, snuggling into his side with your head resting on his shoulder. He immediately puts his phone down and rolls over on his side to wrap his arms around you too pull you closer. You feel him breathing in your scent, his legs pushing to get in between yours.

“Jay isn’t letting you back into the studio until tomorrow and I’m forcing you to lay with me all day .” Wonjae mumbles.

You laugh a little, feeling grateful to have such caring people in your life. “Your album can wait for a day. I’ve missed you.” He adds, pulling you even closer to him.

You both fall silent, your eyes closing. You’ve never felt more content and comfortable than how you do now. You feel one of the cats snuggle into your back and purr against you.

“Wonjae,” You began, earning a hum from the half asleep man. “I love you,”

His hand slides under your shirt and gently scratches your back. “I love you.” He says, resting his hand on the small of your back.

You find yourself slowly falling asleep. You know you’re going to be asleep for the whole day and you’re honestly looking forward to it. Especially with Wonjae and the cats.

He’s right, your album can wait.

~♡~

lol i had to write another for wonjae. it’s so hard for me to find fics for him so i jus been writing my own.

[ptergwen]

from one kid to another

w/c: 6.0k

warnings: mentions of drinking, lots of swearing, implied smut, and angst at times

summary: it was a mistake, a beautiful one that you didn’t make on your own

a/n: this genuinely is my favorite thing i’ve ever written :,) i say that a lot but this time i mean it, it’s really special i think and i so so so hope y’all do too <3 enjoy my loves

-

there’s only one thing in life that testing positive for is actually positive.

depending on the situation, obviously. yours isn’t ideal, or planned or a blessing or whatever people say. it’s a gigantic mistake that you didn’t realize you made until a minute ago.

you’d noticed something was wrong when your time of the month came and all you experienced was the symptoms. cramps, cravings, everything except your actual period. as everyone is pretty much taught to do, you ran to the closest drug store for a pregnancy test. what the hell else could it be? you messed around a few weeks ago, so there’s a possibility.

your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest the whole time you waited for the results. you’d thought of calling tom over for support, but there are a couple of reasons why you couldn’t do that. you realized you made the right decision when your timer for the test went off.

two red lines. you’re pregnant. you’re pregnant, and your best fucking friend is the father.

where do you go from here?

the test falls from your hand and hits the floor with a mocking clank. you slide down until your back is against the bathtub. well, you’re fucked. what an ironic word choice.

the fact that you aren’t ready in the slightest to be a parent when you’re still growing up yourself is one thing. it’s another that this could ruin the most important relationship you’ve ever had.

no, tom won’t be mad. he’s never once fought with or even raised his voice at you. in your times of need, he’s been the one to uplift you and kiss your puffy cheeks dry. no matter how he takes this, you know it won’t be out on you. he is half responsible.

but, with how you left things the last time you spoke, you’re not sure you’ll be able to get past it.

tom is alarmingly good at hiding how he truly feels. you always tease him that it’s because he’s a gemini. he’ll come back with shut up, i’m an actor and stick his nose in the air to give you the full image. in all seriousness, it does take a toll on how well he can communicate.

you’ve seen it in small ways, like when he brings you along for press days and uses unenthusiastic smiles to cover up his yawns. how he’ll be polite in a conversation with people he’d rather not speak to, then mumble about it once you’re home. he tries to put forward the “appealing” parts of himself even though he’s more than them.

tom’s biggest communication issue is that he’s been in love with you since year nine and hasn’t said a word about it. you’ve yet to figure that one out.

you two became friends while tom was starring in billy elliot. his schedule was so scattered between shows and school, so he struggled to balance both. he often had to stay late for extra help on the lessons. you’d also been there a few times. you worked better in the classroom, and he was grateful he didn’t have to be alone with the teacher.

most kids made fun of tom for his interest in theater, to his face and behind his back. not you. you thought it was just incredible that someone in your own classes worked at the west end. you’d told him on your way home one night.

he’d heard you before he saw you. “you’re tom, right?” you asked from behind him, the two of you making your way through the hall. the question sounded friendly, and it wasn’t every day kids were nice to him. tom stopped walking so you could catch up. “yes, and you are?” you gave him a small smile, books clutched to your chest. he instantly returned it.

“y/n. i heard you’re in billy elliot?” you laughed at your understatement, then corrected yourself. “that you are billy elliot, i mean. that’s so cool.” “oh, i am. thank you,” he chuckled back, a full grin taking over his face. you were both walking again, you by tom’s side. “i was hoping to come see you soon.” your voice got quieter as you told him, like you were nervous.

tom never had much luck with girls, not at this point in his life. this was an opportunity to change that. at the very least, to make a new friend. he offered something you said yes to without a beat of hesitation. “what if i got you the tickets?”

from then on, you began talking during class and not only when it ended. tom really knew how to keep the conversation going, telling story after story that left you laughing so much your teacher would shush you. you’d eventually moved to hangouts at either of your houses. harrison came into the mix at some point, the three of you forming your own group.

the difference between tom and harrison was that while harrison linked with other girls, tom was only interested in you. he’d gotten a crush on you pretty fast, if he was being honest. it might have been your shared sense of humor or the way you said his name.

thomas, when he was being cheeky. tommy, which took the place of a pet name. even regular tom. that might have been his favorite. he loved how it rolled off your tongue. he loved, and still loves, you.

you’d gone to all of tom’s performances you possibly could, the ones for school theater included. you also gave him the push to take his talents to hollywood. tom was afraid he wasn’t cut out for the big screen, that he needed more practice and experience first. you told him that if this was what he wanted to do, he had to start somewhere. why wait?

tom then landed his first movie role in the impossible at the age of fifteen. he’d received tons of praise and almost gotten nominated for an academy award, all because you convinced him to audition. you played a huge part in keeping him grounded when he was between films, and caught him up on whatever schoolwork he’d missed.

you practically zoomed to tom’s house when he was announced as the next spider-man. you’d been constantly refreshing every social media platform marvel was on since tom became a finalist for the part. that process was probably the most difficult experience he’s ever gone through. you’d know, having heard all about it from tom.

the two of you celebrated along with the rest of tom’s family that night. you kept giving him little proud of you squeezes on his shoulder or knee. tom is eternally indebted to you for being the most supportive of everything he does.

he of course sends the support right back. although he went down the movie star path, acting wasn’t for you. you’d gone off to university and studied hard as hell and aced all your shit. tom quizzed you on material whenever you needed. he wanted to help you somehow, and this was all you’d let him do.

he’d offered to pay off your loans and any other expenses necessary because he had the money to do that now. you refused every single time, not trying to become dependent on him. he admired your drive, yet hated it at the same time. everything you’d done for him, it was his turn to be the caretaker. it should’ve been.

whenever tom wrapped filming for the holidays and came back home, you were always preparing for final exams. he kept you company, content with simply being in your presence. you typed away on your keyboard and read over notes until your eyes burned. tom occasionally brought you snacks, tea, asked how you were and what he could do.

sometimes, he would have to cut your study time short. he’d say it wasn’t healthy or you were overdoing it and to come relax with him for a bit. other times, tom let you be. he didn’t want to get in the way of your already stressful assignments. those were the nights you’d fall asleep in front of your laptop. drool on your chin, hunched over at your desk.

tom made sure to tuck you in, press a light kiss to whatever part of your face wasn’t covered in spit, then let himself out. he knew where your spare key was, so he used that. you’d wake up to a “Fell asleep studying again. Rest today x” text the next morning.

when it came time for you to graduate, tom was on the first flight there. it was during another round of reshoots for chaos walking. he respectfully told doug that he’d have to work around his schedule or replace him, which couldn’t be done so late into filming. tom didn’t care that it made him seem like a prick. he was getting to you no matter what he had to do.

he’d earned plenty of stares and whispers from people as he took his seat in the crowd. he was a proper celebrity now, so he expected it. his solution was to ignore everything and chat with your family about how proud they were of you, tom the most. he saw you go from a kid attempting algebra equations to an adult at her uni graduation. you’ve really grown up together.

it was why he teared up hearing them call your name, seeing you beam as you walked across the stage. your mom grabbed his hand and nodded at him, like she could tell exactly what was going through his head.

you ran right up to tom after the ceremony was over, leaping into his arms. he let out a couple of chuckles as he spun you around. “i didn’t think you’d make it,” you’d admitted, happy yet sad tears in your eyes. tom put you down so he could pull you in for a real hug. “i’ll always be wherever you are, y/n,” he said into your ear, rocking you while you gripped at his suit collar.

flash forward to a year later, your career is finally taking off, tom’s is flourishing like it has been for years, and you’re pregnant with his child. you’re trying to recall the series of events that led you to this moment.

you were both drunk, blackout drunk because the only reason you remember sleeping together is that you woke up naked in the same bed. harrison’s bed.

he threw a housewarming party for himself, having recently moved out of tom’s and the other boys’ place. the three of them, sam, and you were all in attendance, along with a lot of others you hadn’t met.

neither you nor tom could figure out where he knew all those people from. he’d clinged to you two for the most part, more so you now with tom usually away. they could have been from work. harrison is breaking into the business himself, small roles here and there. tom actually met him in your school’s theater program, then he introduced him to you, ten years ago already.

sam entertained himself by making concoctions with the snacks harrison set out. harry got together a playlist for the party. harrison and tuwaine struck up a conversation with some of harrison’s actor friends. that left you and tom alone, out of stuff to do, and with one way to fix it.

“drink?” tom had asked you, a smirk playing on his lips. “love one,” you hummed back and set off for the kitchen. the two of you raided harrison’s liquor cabinet, grabbing his biggest bottle of wine. he’d dumbly pointed it out during the house tour he gave you before the other guests arrived.

you were about to search for glasses, but tom’s fingers threaded through yours. he gently tugged you away and nodded behind him. “let’s bring this upstairs. seems much more fun there,” he’d murmured over the music, a grin breaking across your face.

tom is big on clubbing and socializing, however, you aren’t. he comes up with ways to get you out of these events, just in case.

“we can break in harrison’s bed for him,” you said as a completely harmless joke, no intentions of that becoming your reality later on. spoiler alert: it did. “and how are we gonna do that?” tom quirked a suggestive eyebrow and breathed out a laugh as you dragged him towards the stairs. despite yourself, you’d giggled at his words.

not one drink in either of you yet, and you were stumbling and cracking up as you ran upstairs. you’d pulled tom by your still attached hands into what you remembered as harrison’s room. tom shut the door, locked it, saying under his breath that would be a “convenient investment” for him to make as well.

he took out a bottle opener that he must have put in his pocket at some point and got to work on your wine, you getting comfortable on the new mattress. the two of you passed it to the other after every sip, tom licking the taste of your lip gloss off his own lips every so often.

the equivalent of three drinks in, you were making out. both of you were just tipsy at this point, tom holding you by your hips as you lied down, your legs around his waist. god, he could’ve done this sober. he’d dreamed about kissing you, really kissing you since he was fourteen. you’d always felt like you two had something more. ah, there it was.

halfway through the bottle got you past the next two bases, and you were ready for the fourth and ultimate one by the time you shook the last few drops onto the tip of your tongue. tom groaned at the sight of that, drawing your half naked body in closer to his.

you two had forgotten to use protection in each of your drunken states. without a doubt, you both would’ve agreed to a condom had your minds not been everywhere but where they should have.

you’d woken up first the morning after, panic immediately coursing through your veins thicker than blood. a fully nude and sleeping tom had you in his embrace, arms secured around your middle, facing you. you gasped when you made the connection, loudly enough to wake tom up. his long eyelashes tickled your face, a confused pout on his lips. uh... um...

“did we fucking...” you trailed off, no words to describe whatever unfolded. “fuck?” tom finished for you. a very blunt explanation, but true nevertheless. “looks like it,” he rasped, pout changing into a smile. your face fell at the vague memories of how you spent your night.

you definitely wanted to do it. just, he’s your best friend, who’s seen you at your least sexy moments over the years. when you were sick, had breakdowns from stress, you name literally anything, tom was there. it took one bottle of cheap wine for him to forget that?

the real answer was no. tom is entirely in love with you, for a decade at that. you were beginning to discover you feel the same, only you had no idea he already loves you. you’d assumed this was meant to be merely a hookup. from the frown your face held, he’d thought you were regretting it. oh, were you both so wrong.

“um... we don’t have to talk about it,” tom told you halfheartedly, under the impression that’s what you preferred. you physically felt yourself get weaker in tom’s strong arms. he’s not interested. “yeah, that’s probably for the best. i...” you were lying. his heart shrunk, shriveled up inside his chest. she doesn’t love me like that.

“you have to go. aren’t you behind on some emails?” tom hoped you didn’t hear his voice strain from the tears pushing at his eyes. “right. almost forgot, thanks.” you’d plastered on a smile, slipping out of his grasp. a tear rolled down his cheek, so he wiped it away before you noticed. you’d already gotten out of the bed and begun picking your clothes up off the floor.

“i’ll drive you home, then.” he rolled on to his other side, you thought so he could give you privacy to change. it was that, and also because he was crying. he couldn’t hold it in. tom is naturally an emotional person. imagine finding out the love you’ve had almost half your life is unreciprocated. it’s soul crushing.

you two found harrison snoring and on top of tuwaine as you left the house. no silly remarks or shared glances for the first time in ten years. tom couldn’t muster anything up, and you felt numb.

the drive was painful. you’d said your goodbyes after tom pulled up to the curb, which held an odd weight to them. once you were out of the car, a sob wracked through him, banging on the steering wheel and not giving a shit about the loud horn going off. you collapsed face first onto your bed. hours passed by while you stared at nothing and contemplated everything.

since it happened, you haven’t spoken much. small talk over text every few days or so, both of you pretending things are normal for the other’s sake. about a month later, today, is when you found out you’re pregnant.

there’s no use wallowing in any of this. you need to figure out your next move, one that should probably involve tom. first, you want to talk to someone else. you want other opinions and a voice in your head that isn’t your own. harrison gets a text from you saying to come over now, the now in all caps. he does.

you let him in after the second knock, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. however torn you are, you must look it. shirt balled in your fists, lip quivering. he keeps his eyes on yours as he steps inside, pushing the door shut behind him. this is all becoming too real. “y/n, are you okay?”

you’re about to cry in three, two...

“haz, i fucked up,” you choke out, tears unable to stay at bay. he takes you into his arms for a hug. half your face is hidden in his shoulder, hands clutching at his back. he lets you cry it out, holding you until your heavy breathing steadies. “what’s happened?” harrison asks quietly, both of you leaving the hug.

“if- if i tell you, you can’t freak out. you can’t tell anyone else, either,” you instruct, searching his eyes for certainty that he won’t under any circumstances. “i won’t, y/n/n,” he assures you and puts an encouraging hand on your arm. your heart pounding abnormally fast, you spit it out. your first time saying it aloud. “i’m pregnant.”

harrison flinches and doesn’t even try to conceal it. he takes his hand off of you, worry swimming across his features. he blinks at you, unsure of what to say. you’d react the same way, maybe worse, so you don’t blame him. a discussion you, him, and tom had a couple years back replays in his mind.

the three of you were talking about your futures, seeing as you were close to living them. when tom asked you two where you stood on having your own families, you didn’t hesitate to answer. “nope, the factory is closed for a long ass time.” until you were in your thirties, you aimed to focus on yourself. harrison distinctly remembered because of how you phrased it.

“you’re... you... wow,” is all he replies with. you head over to the couch, more tears welling up in your eyes. do the pregnancy hormones act up this early? harrison follows you over and sits down next to you with an awkward clearing of his throat. “do you want to be pregnant?” he has to ask because he’s not sure if he should congratulate you or what.

“i don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice airy. your eyes are fixed on the wall in front of you. you haven’t given yourself time to think about it. there are so many reasons you don’t, and a single one you do. “do you, um, know who the dad is?” harrison glances over at you. “yeah.” your voice cracks. you’re both afraid for him to ask what he does next.

he shifts so he’s sitting up. “can i know?” a sniffle passing through you, you finally look at him. “it’s tom,” you say it before you lose the nerve to. harrison’s face doesn’t change this time. he isn’t surprised you and tom went there. he’d seen your friendship growing into more the older you all got. what he can’t believe is where it took you.

his best friend pregnant, and his other best friend responsible for it.

“when did you...” “at your party,” you explain, bringing your legs up so they’re criss cross on the couch. “i thought you were gone a little too long.” he says that to try cheering you up. you appreciate the effort, but it doesn’t work. you’re not in a joking mood. he’ll stick to the main issue. “so, have you told him?”

“clearly not,” you scoff, not at him but at what you two have gotten yourselves into. “y/n... i think you should tell him,” harrison sighs out, then adds, “whether you keep it or not.” “why? that would ruin everything, it already has.” you’re getting angry now, which plunges you into angry crying, voice unsteady as you go on.

“the last time i saw tom was that night, and i guess it meant more to me than it did to him because we haven’t talked about it at all. he didn’t want to.” you swipe the back of your hand across your eyes, gaze stern compared to harrison’s soft one.

he drapes an arm around your shoulders, you curling into him with another sniffle. he doesn’t say anything for a minute, then he tries again. “i know you, y/n, and i know tom. you’ll kill yourselves not talking about this.” he’s right, no shit he is. avoiding telling tom how you feel, and your pregnancy on top of that, it’s eating you up inside. it’s swallowing you whole.

“what if he doesn’t want to be a dad? or- or i’m a shit mum?” you croak out, your doubts getting the best of you. “i can barely take care of myself. what am i supposed to do with a baby?” you’re leaning forward with your hands pressing into your temples. harrison’s hand moves to your upper back. “i- i don’t think i should have them. i... we can’t,” you conclude.

“tom loves kids,” he gives you a gentle reminder. “why would his own be the exception?” another good point, yet you still have rebuttles. “right, he’s a godfather and he’s really good with them and all that, but i’m not the right person, and it’s a terrible time,” you tell him all at once, in a rush to get your words out before harrison’s sway you.

“he’s never around, i’m doing my own stuff. we’re not meant for this.” you lift your head out of your hands and sit back on the couch. harrison returns his hands to his lap. he’s frowning at you, which you see from the corner of your eye. “i’m not going to force you to have the baby. just saying you have options.”

yeah, really shitty ones.

“either way, talk to tom.” harrison says this more like a demand so you’ll take his advice into actual consideration. “at least about the hookup.” your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes watering for the nth time already.

you have no choice because he’s right again. you’ll never move on from what happened unless you and tom address it.

the next morning, you do what harrison told you to and invite tom over. he replied saying he was on his way maybe a minute later. he’s nervous to see you because yeah, but more so looking forward since it’s been so long. you’re so nauseous you barely have room for nerves. it’s morning sickness with a hint anxiety.

it feels almost normal when he first gets here, no how’ve you been and what are you up to these days? being as close as you and tom are, you’re not capable of such a dry conversation. personally, you still feel uneasy while he recounts a golfing incident him and harry got into the other day. you know something he doesn’t.

“when i tell you we flew, we flew,” tom makes a pushing forward motion with both hands. “right into the tree. i think harry, like, dented part of his face.” he lets out a breathy laugh, you forcing out one of your own. you’d be more interested without the fact that you’re expecting a child, his child, at the back of your mind.

tom exhales, shifting to face you on your couch. it’s funny how different things were when you and harrison sat in these same spots yesterday. so much has and is about to change.

“they had to send another golf cart to come get us. it was wild.” “it sounds wild,” you hollowly agree. he can tell you’re not too invested in hearing about harry’s terrible driving skills, so he changes the subject. “anyway, harrison told me he came over last night?” your stomach drops, heat coming over your whole body.

“did... did he say why?” you murmur with a look of urgency in your eyes. tom shrugs a shoulder, and casually. there’s no way he knows. “no, was he supposed to?” his tone stays playful, which you can thankfully tell. that puts you more at ease. “no. no, never mind. i would’ve asked you to come, but...” you’re searching through your catalog of excuses.

thank god tom says something else because you can’t find a good one. “it’s alright. i actually, um, had a work call.” a small smile spreads across his face, a proud one. intrigued, you raise both eyebrows. “what’d you talk about?” tom twiddles with his fingers in his lap. “i’ve been offered an audition for this really amazing film. everything works out, it’ll be huge for me.”

you’re smiling back this time, putting a hand over one of his. “woah, that’s incredible. i’m so happy for you, tom.” you lock your fingers with his from the back of his hand. he looks down at them, humbly shaking his head. “when is it?” “a few weeks from today. it films in brazil...”

oh. you can’t tell him now. it’s not worth him missing out on a milestone in his career for a baby you’re not sure you should have. that would be so unfair of you to ask. what are you going to do, not support his dreams for the first time in a literal decade? and, you’d call yourself his best friend through it all?

you guess this also means the way you feel about tom is one sided. he’s okay with leaving you after the most intimate moment you two have ever shared. you’ll dance around it the rest of your lives. better yet, act like the night never even happened. that’s not so easy to do when you’ve got a permanent reminder of it.

the thought makes you sick to your stomach. so sick, you could...

while tom is talking more about what the audition entails, you suddenly bolt up from the couch. you run for the bathroom, a hand cupped over your mouth. his face twists up in confusion from your disappearance. tom calls, “y/n/n?” out to you, but you can’t respond because your head is in the toilet. he rushes in when he hears you retching.

he gets onto the floor with you. you’re bent over, puking your guts out, back in another place where your life changed forever less than twenty four hours ago. tom pulls your hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail with one hand, his other on your back. that’s all you have in you. you stay over the toilet just to be sure.

saliva drips from your mouth, making you cough roughly, the sound echoing. tom moves so he’s next to you, keeping his hand in your hair and not caring one bit about the smell because he loves you and he’s utterly concerned about what he witnessed.

“love, are you sick?” he coos, searching for your eyes. they water from the intensity of everything. “morning sickness,” you answer without thinking first. shit. shit, shit, shit. it came out of you like more vomit, word vomit. there’s no going back now.

tom lets go of your hair with his eyes still on yours. his hand on your back then leaves you, fingers trailing down your body as they go. “morning sickness,” he repeats, putting it together. “you’re pregnant?” guilt taking over your features, you sit across from tom. you’re once again leaning against the bathtub, him against the counter.

“this isn’t how i wanted you to find out,” you admit and bring your knees up to your chest. “i took a test yesterday. it was positive.” your arms wrap around your legs, you now tearing up because tom figured it out. a shaky breath passes his lips. “i haven’t gone to my doctor or anything yet, but i-“

“are you keeping the baby?” tom cuts in. not to judge you for your choice, to find out what the fuck is going on before he travels across the world. you tighten your arms around yourself, grabbing your wrist. “i haven’t decided.” he gives you an understanding nod and reaches out for you. you dodge him. he might not want to do that after what you say next.

“tom, i... there’s more,” you whimper out. “yeah. i’m... i’m listening,” tom croaks, unable to hold in his infinite amount of emotions for a multitude of reasons. he’s losing you a second time. more tears spill from your eyes as you break the news, the news that will destroy what he’s been working towards his entire life.

“the baby is yours.” his face relaxes, looking almost relieved when you confess it. “when we slept together, uh,” you’re sure it’s obvious enough that you don’t have to go over the details. he’s tearing up himself. you reluctantly continue. “if you still want to audition, i get it. we don’t have to do this.”

“fuck the audition. fuck the whole movie. all of my movies, really,” tom surprises you by blurting out. he moves in until your legs are touching. “i’m staying. even if you don’t have the baby, i have to be here.” you watch in disbelief as he wipes away what are actually happy tears. “really? i was scared you’d resent me for it, or hate me even,” you mumble to him.

“y/n, what? why would i ever do that?” tom places a hand on your cheek, touch gentle and filled with love. you part your legs so he can be closer to you. he takes the space between them, thumb brushing over your skin. “i didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of this. i thought that night was only a hookup for you.” your voice wobbles under his gaze.

“no, are you kidding? i thought that’s what you thought.” he’s smiling now, eyes twinkling along with it. what he’s been meaning to tell you since you were only kids finally comes out. “i’ve loved you as long as i’ve known you, y/n. i always imagined myself doing this with you.” his words draw a quiet laugh from you, a happy one. “i know we were drunk, but i meant it all.”

the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, they make you cry all over again. you’re getting used to it.

“i love you, tom,” you lean into him with a sniffle and a grin, his forehead now resting on yours, using his thumb to catch one of your tears. “i really do.” “i love you forever. i always have,” tom speaks lowly, breath fanning across your face. your hands grab at his shoulders. “so, you’ll stay? you’ll do this with me?” he reminds you of what he said before, this time a promise.

“forever.”

-

you ended up having the baby, and tom held your hand through the entire labor. nikki was holding his other hand, your mom holding your other hand. harrison had originally been in the room as well. when you started to push, he got freaked out and had to leave. your support system remained strong either way.

despite his repulsion of your daughter’s birth, you and tom decided to make harrison her godfather. he eventually became the godfather of your other two children also, which you had a few years later.

tom took a paternity leave from the industry so he could be with you and jamie. he’d also used his time off to propose to you, something else he fantasized about since year eleven in school. it wasn’t anything too grand because the whole world was already buzzing about you two, and a big gesture felt too impersonal with everything you’d been through together.

he did it in the form of passing a note, something you often did in class to avoid being scolded by your teacher for talking. the note came with a pencil to check off either the yes or no box, “will you marry me?” written above them. anyone else would have found it so unromantic, but you giggled as you checked off yes before your lips crashed into his smiling ones.

you were married shortly after the proposal, jamie as your flower girl and all your friends and family in attendance.

to do what he loved and stay with the people he loved, tom created his own version of hollywood in london. he took it upon himself to assemble a team and make a production company. harry behind the camera, harrison and tuwaine in the films, and tom either starring alongside them or directing. they give so many young actors tons of opportunities.

you eventually went back to work, too. it was like you’d never left, coworkers offering endless hugs and going over what you missed, not that you struggled getting into it. tom was there to celebrate every promotion, every compliment from your boss, every part of your life. jamie was also there, then liam and lucy.

all three of them are running around the house right now, putting on shoes and collecting their supplies for school. you take a sip of the orange juice liam didn’t finish with a lighthearted eye roll. tom chuckles as he passes you in the kitchen, getting the kids’ lunchboxes for them to minimize the chaos.

“you have that pitch meeting today, right?” he slips his hands through the lunchbox handles and walks over to you. “mhm,” you hum, mouth full with juice. his lips press to your temple, giving your waist a one handed squeeze. “you’ll smash it. always do.” “thanks, tommy.” putting down the cup, you reach up to button whatever parts of his shirt he didn’t have time to.

“aren’t you doing a casting? for the new script they sent?” you wonder aloud and smooth down the cotton material. “me and harry. should be interesting,” he remarks, you giving him a quick kiss back on his chin. they tend to have their artistic differences. “good luck with that. you do drop off, i’ll do pick up?” you pat one of the lunchboxes around his arms.

“deal.” tom goes in for a kiss on your lips, then a chorus of dad, we have to go led by jamie rings through the house. with a knowing smile, you push at his chest. “see you later. love you.” “love you, holland,” he bites back a grin of his own. his last name, now yours, suits you perfectly.

[anayaahwrites]

KOT Ficlet #5 (Momoya Natsu/ Yoshinaga Atsumu)

When the lights start flashing like a photo booth (And the stars exploding, we'll be fireproof.)

Warning: Themes of underage drinking and implied sexual content.

Natsu roughly based on this art by @sasukeslove

A small AU on MomoYoshi's first meeting:

...

Natsu is six when he learns about Angels.

He’s perched on mama’s lap, carrying a new storybook with tiny hands and slowly pronouncing all the words. Her proud smile encourages him to read the larger words too, the ones he’d avoid out of embarrassment—something about a pro-fe-cky and a pro-mice that He exists up there somewhere, over the pillowy clouds watching down on them.

Mama tucks him in that night and tells Natsu to close his eyes and pray because Angels only come to good boys.

He’s ten when it all sounds like bullshit to him.

Over the years, Mom’s rosy smile had withered into a fatigued sigh, a cry for help to the God that never answers no matter how much they pray. Dad was more a guest than a resident. He came around once in a while to eat lunch—with a taut smile plastered eerily over his smooth features—and swiftly vanish to not return in that week .

They’ve stopped waiting for him and Natsu stops asking questions.

He’s thirteen when he meets Sei, a child around his age, except so much more charming and calm and composed for someone that carried half the same set of genes Natsu had. He learns of his father’s betrayal and is honestly shocked at his own lack of surprise. Still, he questions his God and why why why would He let mom’s heart shatter like that?

Sei is quick to laugh and tell him that God doesn’t exist and mom is just a victim to their monster of a father.

So he goes home that day to his outraged mother, hair coloured like glittery Christmas tinsel and sapphire lenses replacing his usual shade of honey brown. She snaps at the sight, yelling at him till her throat closes up, till nothing but a harsh sob escapes her and he lets her. They both had to cope somehow.

By the fall of his fourteenth year, he gets pierced four times and stops talking to his mother almost completely.

To hell with dad. To hell with God.

Natsu is fifteen, and he doesn’t care about anything anymore.

He’s fifteen and quickly realising from his daily job as a guitarist in the club that girls aren't attractive no matter how much they flock around him. He still humours them sometimes, a touch here, a kiss there since the pay is good enough for him to add some extra service on his part.

Mom plies herself with work as often as possible, to douse her misery in the decayed scent of piled papers and clunking keyboards. She leaves Natsu to deal with everything else on his own like the obedient son he is, letting him go like dad left her.

Natsu is alright, though. He’s done this far longer than she knows.

He stops reaching out to her, stops talking to someone up in the skies, settling instead to live a tranquil life in the shadows, under the dependable shade of music. He hates people. He hates the world.

Natsu is basking in the warmth of another uneventful day in the club, when in walks a boy out of fucking nowhere and his entire world tips on its axis.

The boy takes shaky, wary steps as if he were balancing on a trapeze. Dark black bangs like thick black rain spill over the side of his face, half covering wide brown eyes. Splotches of pink and porcelain white stick out where his sweater ends and skin begins. He’s small and delicate and beautiful, Natsu’s heart skips a beat. Or two. Or maybe three.

And why should he lie? Natsu has seen beautiful, quite a few varieties of it too. But this…this was different. This was unreal.

The boy looks around nervously before he catches something and there’s a spark in those hazel eyes, sharp and electric, a smile tugging at his lips.

Natsu follows his gaze. On the stage lies his own guitar—a pre-performance habit for people to know he was next. He took great pride because this itself garnered more clusters than anyone in the entire house.

Natsu smiles. So he was a fan.

He downs the customary shot of vodka, waving at the people before hopping on stage and wrapping the sling around his neck. He scours the audience for a familiar face and it doesn’t take a lot, to spot a splatter of ink black in the crowd, batting eager eyelids at him. The smaller boy realises the attention on him and glances behind to confirm his suspicion.

By the time he swings around, eyes blown wide in a stare, Natsu plays the first chord.

In an instant, his expression shifts to a mix of awe and interest, a silent worship and a loud cheer compiled in one small, thin body. He claps more than anyone else in the room, beaming like a floodlight by the time Natsu finishes.

It was nothing strange. He played among cheers every day but none felt as satisfying with this voice hooting and clearly standing out from his regular gang of squealing girls. He throws his head back laughing back stage when no one is there to see.

By the time Natsu gets out on the floor again, a little more thrilled for the night and dressed in something less flashy, he’s gone. He screws his lips in displeasure and asks his friend to make him something stronger than the usual.

This happens more nights than not, and it was frustrating him.

The moment Angel boy—as he’s dubbed him, steps in through the door, Natsu traces his every move and quickly registers a pattern. He only comes around on days the club was the busiest—specifically during Natsu’s performance, talks to no one and leaves before he has the chance to even ask a name.

Not that Natsu was interested in him or anything. He was just curious, is all—why this boy looked like a starved pet every time he saw him on stage and if he really smelled like soft winter blankets and warm fireplaces, all angelic and pure.

Okay, so maybe he was a little interested.

Months pass like that.

The mid-November chill comes with its blistering snowstorms and the club is jam packed—winters were some of their busiest months—and Natsu’s up to perform. Instead of preparing, he watches the door resolutely from the bar, tapping impatiently at the table.

As routine, it barely opens a crack, and he sees a sliver of ebony snaking it’s way through the crowd. The boy stands on his tippy-toes which don’t give him much of a view, so he does these tiny jumps—that are so adorable, for a second Natsu forgets his own name—and scowls when he notices no guitar on stage.

He checks the time, the stage and then scans the crowd. The anticipation throbs through Natsu as he follows his eyes cross the room in slow motion, dragging dragging until they eventually land on him. Everything stills—the thundering music, the singing and all he can hear is the low thump of veins against his skin.

It’s over in a flash.

“That your Angel boy?” The bartender gestures at the figure turning tail and running, drying the pad on his prized work station. He skillfully pours two coloured liquids into an oddly shaped glass and passes it over the counter to him.

Natsu hums, swirling the absinthe stained drink in hand, eyeing the smaller boy gasp as a couple slams against the door, clearly piss drunk with her suspended over his thighs and gyrating her hips into the man.

“Hey, chief.”

“Hm?”

“You think I can get off early tonight?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Like now.” Natsu answers, never letting his gaze falter from the head full of black hair slowly receding through the crowd, horrified.

The man guffaws, lifting a glass of water—since he can’t drink on duty—and clinking it with Natsu’s.

“Must be fuckin’ Christmas if you’re taking interest in anyone, so I’ll let this one pass. Don’t scare him off now. He already looks like a trembling lamb.”

Natsu knocks back the contents, swallowing the liquid till it numbs his entire mouth and smirks.

“I’ll try.”

So he follows the boy. Hands are immediately all over him from faces he recognises in passing—a girl he once kissed, someone that made him cake, but he pushes them off.

His boy of interest forces the hood of his shirt up all the way, and glances behind him once before increasing his pace. Maybe the lights are really getting to him and maybe Natsu is a little tipsy when he reaches out to grab his hand.

The boy flips around to lock eyes frantically, as if a ghost had seized him.

“Hey.” Natsu musters his sweetest smile.

“Hi..” The boy replies.

And oh, his voice. It’s sugary sweet and so so soft like—like actual rolls of smooth and silky cotton had woven them. He blushes fiercely under Natsu’s relentless gaze and stares where their hands were connected in a tight grip as if it burned holes through him.

Natsu frowns. “Don’t run.”

The boy’s gaze shoots up, and he’s pulling away.

“I-I’m sorry I really h-have to go—”

“It’s my birthday.” Goddamn, he must be really wasted to admit that. Now that he thinks about it, what did he just drink?

Twentieth November, the day he was born and incidentally also the day he found his father’s tongue down another woman’s throat, holding a child over his shoulder.

“Oh,” The boy stops, pursing his lips and letting the hood go all the way down before flashing easily one of the most ethereal smiles Natsu has ever seen.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” he replies awkwardly. “It’s not going really well.”

“No?”

Natsu nods. “It’s nothing different.”

“You want it to be special?”

The buzz in his nerves practically screamed a yes to that—he wanted something to remember, to bury the horrible memories he associated with this day, for the days he wished he was never born in the first place. He wanted to fit it all in this one boy in one night, this angel he didn’t even know, to free him from himself.

Natsu tightens his grip. “Dance with me?”

Oh boy, the alcohol was talking.

Angel boy looks at Natsu with wide doe eyes, peers back at their hands and gulps. Natsu frowns and releases his hold. He was drunk, probably a little more than he’d admit to, but he didn’t want to pressurize anyone—not when this boy already looked so out of his element, a beige hoodie and skinny jeans in a club full of scantily clad folk.

But he reverses the roles, grabbing Natsu by the fingers so delicately, he releases a soft hum of satisfaction. He rubs fingers between his own, feeling the brush of calloused fingertips on them. It reminds him of mom’s soft chest rising and falling when she slept beside him because he was her ‘perfect little angel’ and made him feel safe.

He misses it. Misses being safe. Misses being loved.

“Okay,” the boy mumbles, peering from under his natural hood of hair with a light smile. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

Natsu doesn’t really know what he’s doing anymore. The lights blink and they’re suddenly in stop motion. It tricks his brain into thinking of them as pictures trapped some place in his brain forever. So he stares and stares and captures the blush spreading like wildfire across the boy’s face, a smile widening in tandem with the soft beats.

They’re two faces among a thousand on a random winter night. The music isn’t his type nor is his attire anything to be proud of. But this boy. Holy heavens, if he isn’t the prettiest thing ever then the stars should be ashamed because damn, he’d beat them even on a bad day.

His hair sways—a steady swing of left right left right and a pleasant smile sits snug on his features like that’s where they belonged, that’s where they had always belonged and Natsu closes his eyes when their hands meet again.

This is perfect.

It’s when the music stills that they transition to a slower lull of movement, and the blaze of liquor in his blood emboldens him into yanking the boy a little closer. He lets him fall with a small plop on his chest and laughs when he rubs his nose, scowling.

“Why do you never wait back?” He asks, exhaling at the warmth the boy’s presence brings. Natsu puts his hand around his waist and he swears, it was like he wasn’t human, like someone had sculpted him out of clay, moulded to near perfection. And maybe he’s treading into dangerous waters, but his mouth had a mind of its own and there’s nothing he could do to stop it.

“I always look for you after I’m done but you’re never here.”

Pair of hazelnut eyes sheepishly peer at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just.… not good at socializing.”

“So you say,” Natsu laughs, “But you’re doing better than me.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

“You have to be kidding me you’re so cool—and and so beautiful I really cannot—since the beginning I haven’t been able to take my eyes off—”

He squeaks when he's dragged closer by the small of his back. Their eyes meet. Natsu sees flashes of every happy moment of his life mirrored in them; His first recital, mom’s naturally loud laugh, the first time he played the guitar. They reach into Natsu’s soul and drag out his joy like the reel of a kite.

“I thought you were an angel,” he chuckles so close, he feels the boy shiver against his cheek. “I still do. Everyone here calls you Angel boy. Score a drink from them with that name sometime. I’m sure they’ll oblige you.”

“Angel? I—” He breathes a giggle, twisting silver strands with his fingers. “If there’s any angel here, it’s you.”

But this is fake, he wants to say. It’s fake, artificial, made of desperation because he never wants to look into the mirror and see his father’s face staring back at him. He won’t be him. He won’t.

“Atsumu,” he says. “My name is Atsumu.”

“Atsumu.” Natsu repeats in his head till it rolls naturally over his tongue. Like Atsu meaning heat and summer and everything bright and cheery.

Natsu purposefully lingers near his ear, to breathe his name in the air, smiling, content.

“ ‘Tsumu. It’s cute,” he hums. “You’re cute.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Definitely.” He chuckles.

Atsumu whispers, low and uneasy. “C-can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm.” At this point, his voice gave him a greater high than the drink he had downed fifteen minutes ago. Or was it an hour? He couldn’t really tell and decided very quickly he didn’t care, anyway.

“Why don’t you.. come to school?”

Natsu’s eyes open a crack to glimpse at the boy who trembles softly under him, as if he were admitting to a crime.

“I—” he continues in alarm, “I swear I’m not a stalker I just—Oh my god please don’t misunderstand me—”

“Calm down.” Natsu shushes, smiling apologetically at the few people around him that had been torn out of their aggressive make-out session as if they weren’t the ones that needed a room. God, if he sees another dick hanging out, he’ll have to bust out the chainsaw in the basement and go wild.

“So,” he leads them to a quieter corner with very few people and lesser eyes their way. “School,” he waves a hand dismissively, “It’s boring. Lots of people. Annoying questions. You know the drill.”

“Right,” he gulps. “Right so, I’m uhh—in your class I don’t think you noticed and I’m from an instrument club and someone asked us a question. Something about erotic sounds—wait that sounds bad—not erotic erotic but.…Ah, I’m bad at explaining.”

Natsu doesn’t keep back the dreamy giggle that leaves him, swaying lightly to the music. He’s exactly as he imagined—hell, even his name was spot on—all warm and giggly and fluttery.

“I’m still listening,” Natsu smiles. “Go on.”

Atsumu scrunches his nose and continues. “So one of my club seniors—he comes of a little rough but he’s really nice—went to one of my other seniors house who I think he really likes, and her mother told him it’s—I’m sorry am I too confusing?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Okay, so basically, her mother says it’s the pause in between his words and actions. The space that is just…there. And so I was writing about it—because I write everything—and Oka-kun saw my book.”

Natsu scowls. “Oka is annoying like that.”

The boy giggles this time. “Funny. He said you’d say that.”

“It’d be nice if he attempted to change it, then.”

“And so he told me you play music, where you work and that maybe you could do something good for once—I didn’t say that he did—So…” He moves his hand vaguely around them. “Here I am.”

Natsu hums against his head, bringing him to a slower pace as the song changes.

“I’ll have to thank him for that.”

“You’re not..angry?” He says through furrowed brows. “Oka-kun said you would be if you found out.”

He’s certain if Oka showed up here uninvited, Natsu would promptly kick him out. Because Oka is annoying. Atsumu however….

“So? Did you get your answer?” He asks instead.

The smaller boy makes a face, pulling all his features in to make his button nose stand out more than it already does and pout.

Natsu laughs. He’s been doing a lot of that today. Laughing.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Don’t get me wrong! Your performances are splendid and I really can’t get enough of them but the answer…I still haven’t reached a conclusion.”

Natsu plays with the fingers in his hand, shuffling to let them sink into the gap between his. Atsumu stares and responds by shyly tucking his fingers in.

“Want me to help you?” He whispers, tapping the side of Atsumu’s waist with his other hand.

“Can you?” He whispers back.

Can he? Yes. Should he? Probably not.

But what use is logic anyway, when a boy the embodiment of a sunny summer day amid a bitter winter stood enclosed in his arms?

Yeah. To hell with logic.

Natsu sways his hips, raking his free hand through Atsumu’s hair. He releases a pleased sigh when the tiny fingers between his tighten as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality, which was good. Natsu felt the same, like his sanity was slowly slipping through open fingers.

“Spaces…exist everywhere. In words, in voices, in time…” He draws their joined hands to his mouth, dragging wet lips over porcelain skin. Atsumu shudders, breathing in sharp, shallow exhales.

“These hands..there’s a space in between them too if you look carefully. We’re so close,” fingers tighten around his shirt. “But still never close enough.

He runs a palm down the boy’s face that angles and angles till plush, red lips are within kissing distance. They part and blow warm clouds of air that taste mint and chocolate in his mouth. Natsu smiles. “Space is where there is distance. Space is where there is intimacy. Space is where there is friction. And this exciting gap that keeps us wanting to be closer till not even an atom could squeeze in—” he leans in closer, “—is erotic.”

He backs away while he has the physical capacity to do so, before the alcohol overrides every decision in his head and they end up a tangled mess of limbs in some random hotel room, but Atsumu having none of it.

He pulls Natsu to himself, clutching the pleats of his shirt and tugging him down to his lips. Teeth knock loudly against each other and Natsu hisses lightly, parting to lick the tingle in the tip of his incisor away.

“S-sorry!” Atsumu covers his embarrassment behind shaky hands. Natsu wraps thin fingers under his chin, reeling him in slow and steady and closes the distance. It’s soft, like a snowflake on a tree, virgin snow settling on frozen water and ironically, melts him. It boils and freezes, ignites his soul into a firework of bursting flames. He’s touching, feeling, pulling until every inhale feels like fire in his lungs.

“Closer,” Atsumu murmurs, throwing nimble hands over his shoulder and locking their lips together like puzzle pieces on a gameboard. “Make the space go away.”

It’s chaotic, and it’s magical. Like every star in the galaxy twinkled around them tonight, like every blossoming flower settled wherever Atsumu touched him. He’s drunk on vodka, drunk on happiness, drunk on love.

Closer. Natsu pushes a knee in between his thighs. His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head.

Closer. The hands in his air pull him in for another searing kiss, pressing for entry, to delve deeper, deeper into themselves. Atsumu nibbles lightly on his lip and Natsu lets him bruise him for tonight. To wreck him, destroy him.

Closer.

They settle for a slower casual rhythm when they part to breathe. He keeps them moving on the floor, smiling against a pair of swollen lips.

“School suddenly sounds much more interesting.” He says.

Atsumu squints incredulously. “We can’t do this at school.”

“No?”

“No!”

Natsu shrugs, pecking the tip of the boy’s nose. “Shame.”

“Then you’ll come?” Atsumu bumps his forehead against Natsu’s. “I’ll really see you tomorrow?”

“If you can walk home straight after tonight, then sure.”

Atsumu gasps and slaps him across the back, blushing as they leave the club, hand in hand, away into the wintery night.

Natsu turns sixteen—a little drunk, a lot happy—but he’s sixteen and he can pinpoint this as the day he falls in love even years later.

And every other birthday is insignificant but so much better, spent at home, in the arms of the boy that saved him in just one night, all those years ago.

Mom only ever asks where he’s going and who he’s moving in with while he packs his bags to leave. She frowns when he answers with the widest smile on his face, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“An Angel.”

Ignore the sloppy writing haha. I'm writing this while travelling back home after a god awful six hour exam.

It felt too plotless to post on my ao3 kdkcd—

If you look at the colouring of Natsu I based it on (go give @sasukeslove all the real love), I imagine the art as the morning after when Oka's annoying Natsu and Atsumu walks in through the door (≧▽≦)

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Here is the first one

Second :D

And last..he's looking at you 👀💦

ALRIGHT you know WHAT—

There’s…a lot going on here. So much so, that I have decided to create

CONTEXT

for these three images that is

COMPLETELY FAKE

because I think it’ll be a fun writing exercise. kind of a cringe move on my part, but consider: i have fun making up ridiculous lies about characters who don’t exist in real life.

(which is how I’m treating these, by the way. yes, they are pictures of kaneko nobuaki, but for my purposes, they are NOT actually him. they are distinct fictional characters who are not real.)

so if you’re feeling adventurous skip below the cut and watch me break it down:

Image 1: Accidental “Date” Makes Cousin’s Wedding Less Terrible Than Originally Expected

The year is 1999. Your cousin (who you are not particularly close to) is getting married…on a cruise ship. Your mother insists you attend. You insist upon spending 90% of your time sipping margaritas on the deck and flipping through the latest issue of Marie Claire while trying desperately not to think about the fact that you are surrounded by nothing but open ocean.

One of the (very drunk) bridesmaids tries to toss you a beach ball because you have been, and I quote: like, a total bummer this whole time. She misses. It hits the person next to you in the face. Great. Awesome. You think: well now who’s being, like, a total bummer?

Luckily the person who got hit in the face laughs the entire thing off. He says your friends seem…’lively.’ You say that’s pretty rich coming from a guy who looks like a rejected member of ‘The Clash.’ He insists that he left them, not the other way around.

You slip into conversation. You tell him that you’re here for a wedding. He offers his condolences. You accept them. He says he actually likes weddings—something about two people making a life-changing commitment speaks to him on a soul-level. That and the open bar, of course.

You suggest he crash the wedding. He says he’s not sure if he can make it—there’s a shuffleboard tournament that evening that he would just hate to miss, plus the latest issue of Soap Opera Digest is waiting on his bedside table just begging to be opened. You say that’s perfectly understandable, but, if he suddenly finds himself caught up on the latest All My Children gossip, he can meet you back here at four.

Surprise, surprise: he shows up. He’s wearing the same shirt he was before, but buttoned up this time—and with one of the most hideous neckties you’ve ever seen, which he apparently borrowed from the kind old man next door. Instead of complimenting his attire (because it is truly un-compliment-able), you take the opportunity to mention that this is a Titanic-themed wedding. He says that having a Titanic-themed wedding on a cruise ship is “kind of fucked up” and you solemnly agree.

Everyone is very surprised and pleased to see that you’ve brought a date—even the bride, who tells you that you’re “just like Jack and Rose.” You agree, much to her delight…until you say that, if the ship goes down, you also won’t share the door and let him freeze to death in the icy water. He insists he’d be the guy who jumps off the ship and hits his leg on the propellor—that’s his favorite part of the whole movie, and it’d be an honor to re-enact the scene.

The wedding is…a wedding. Vows, toasts, pictures—and you’re sipping champagne through the entire thing. The two of you spend the evening getting completely wasted and telling everyone a different story about just who your ‘mystery date’ is. Highlights include: the captain’s unruly son whose been tasked with following in his father’s sea-faring footsteps; professional cave-diver who discovered a new species of slug and is spending his reward money on a nice vacation; head of marketing who gives all those clever names to the nail polishes at OPI; the guy who folds everyone’s towels into animal shapes.

You end up where you started: on neighboring lounge chairs, with a margarita, and talking to this stranger who has recently crossed into “acquaintance” territory. You chat about how “My Heart Will Go On” is actually a good song, and he promises not to tell anyone that you said that. He also says that this is the best Titanic-themed cruise ship wedding he’s ever been to, and he can’t wait until somebody decides to do Jaws.

Eventually, you both stagger back to your rooms with promises of seeing each other at breakfast. Unfortunately, you have the worst hangover of your life the next morning and even the thought of ‘breakfast’ makes you want to roll over and die, so you don’t manage to stumble out of bed until it’s time to disembark.

You see him at port, and you each offer each other a little wave before going your separate ways. Six weeks later, you get a Polaroid of the two of you together, sitting at the bar and laughing at something that must have been very, very hilarious.

You don’t remember most of what happened that night, but you remember it was not as terrible as it could have been.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 2: Extremely Weird Guy On The Street Has You Questioning Your Sanity

It’s 6:00 in the morning—a truly terrible time to be awake, but a necessary evil. Your flight leaves at 10, and since it’s an international thing, you want to make sure you get there in plenty of time to get to your gate (and maybe sample all the fancy perfumes you can’t afford at one of those high-end stores that are always in airports.)

The streets are mostly empty, save for a few random pedestrians and a handful of passed-out salarymen snoozing on the curb. The sky a rainy gray-blue as the sun tries to rise behind the springtime cloud cover—it’s no doubt going to be another dismal day, as is common during this time of year. Hopefully there’s not too much turbulence on your flight…

You stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the little walking man signal to show up on the light across the way. You’re soon joined by another person—a man in a soft-looking jacket who supplies you with a small “good morning” bob of his head. You respond in kind, throwing in a small smile for good measure. It’s nice that he too understands that it’s entirely too early to be having any kind of conversation, even if it is just a simple verbal greeting between strangers on a street corner.

The light changes, and you both begin your trek across the street. Your fellow walker is faster than you—or, more likely, has longer legs and, ergo, a longer stride than your own—and is nearly halfway across by the time you get your wheeled suitcase over the curb. He seems decent enough. You hope he’s going somewhere nice.

It’s then that you make the mistake of looking up. It would have been much better if you had just continued watching the white painted lines on the road and thinking about how it reminds you of piano keys—and how you hated the six months of piano lessons your parents forced you to take in the first grade.

But no. You noticed someone walking towards you, and you just had to look up.

The first thing you notice is a rainbow tie-dye shirt. The second thing you notice is that the rainbow tie-dye shirt is on a very cheerful looking gentleman, who seemed to be bobbing his head in time with a song only he could hear.

The third thing you notice—and this one’s the real kicker—is the large blue-and-green reptile sitting on his shoulder. It’s bulging eyes are hooded in pleasure as it’s red-pink tongue darts out to eat the green something—maybe a grape or a small piece of melon?—from the rainbow tie-dye man’s hand. It is nothing short of a spectacle, honestly, and you feel a piece of your sanity evaporate.

The rainbow tie-dye man continues on, uncaring of your confused stare at his strange pet. You even turn around to make sure that you weren’t somehow hallucinating, and sure enough, there is definitely some kind of creature draped over this stranger’s shoulder. It’s tail even sways in time with the man’s steps, which is both cute and confusing.

Because it would not do to stand in the middle of the street all day, considering the existence of rainbow tie-dye man and his exotic pet, you do the only thing you can do: turn back around and continue on your journey. You need a coffee. Maybe with an extra shot of espresso, after witnessing whatever the hell that was. Something to set you right again.

“Was that…?”

The other man—the soft-coat long-stride one—is speaking low enough as to not draw attention, but loud enough for you to hear as you make your way towards the sidewalk. His expression reads ‘concerned, but trying not to show it’ which you suppose is the polite and mature way of handling the situation.

“…an iguana? Yeah,” you answer him, “I saw it too.”

The man’s brow furrows. His mouth puckers into a small frown as he considers…well, something.

“…Okay, then,” he concludes, shrugging his shoulders, “Hell of a way to start the day.”

“Yeah.”

And you both continue on your way. He turns left at the next intersection, you turn right—but even though your paths may now be different, you will forever share an unbreakable bond over the fantastical sight you’ve witnessed today.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Image 3: Near Death Experience At Open Mic Night

You are not a poet.

Well, not professionally, anyways. You’ve been known to dabble in the written word, often scribbling little snippets of rhyme in a notebook over your lunch break or tapping a verse or two into the notes app on your phone. It a kind of outlet, you suppose—a way to keep the creative energy that bubbles inside of you from boiling over.

It’s also worth mentioning that you are not a confident public speaker. Not since that unfortunate incident in the third grade where you forgot the single line you had in the school play and ran off stage, tears streaming down your face and—actually, no, you’re not going to think about that right now. Or ever again, hopefully.

So when your (tipsy) coworkers decide that it’s a good idea to push you onto the stage at the local dive bar’s open mic night—while shouting at you to “read the one about the night-blooming jasmine”—you freeze up. There are at least seven strangers staring at you, expectation rising with every passing second of your inaction. It’s nerve-wracking in the way that the third-grade incident was not, and you gulp against the nervousness that rises in your throat.

Shaking hands scroll frantically through your phone, looking for the requested poem—and after a few agonizing moments, you manage to find it. Your voice cracks rather embarrassingly as you begin to read, trying your damndest to get the words out right so you can slink back to the bar and drown the rest of the night in Chardonnay.

Everything is going well—or, at least, as well as can be expected—until you notice that the room is suddenly feeling very hot. That’s the last coherent thought you have before the room goes dark and everything falls silent.

Next thing you know, you’re staring at the ceiling. A man who you do not know is leaning over you, and his mouth is moving—oh, he’s probably trying to say something to you, but it’s very difficult to tell what he’s saying over the throbbing pain in the back of your head.

You ask him if you’re dead. It’s a possibility after all, that you’ve somehow died and landed yourself in some kind of special public-speaking hell. That’s what this feels like, anyways.

The man says no, you are not dead. You say ‘dammit’ in response. He tries to hold back laughter, offering to help you up by extending his hand. You take it and—ouch, ugh, ew, going from laying to standing is not a fun experience.

You thank him (albeit awkwardly) for helping you up, and he insists that ‘it’s cool.’ Passing out in front of an audience is not even remotely cool, but you nod and thank him again, anyways.

Before you’re able to converse with the helpful stranger any further, your coworkers have come to collect you. You are whisked away by someone from accounting, who offers to escort you home—an offer you gladly accept, very excited to leave the site of your failure behind you.

Safe to say, you never go back to that particular bar again.

[hockeyisit]

Double Date?

Summary: Amelia meets Mitch and Steph 

Word Count: 1949

Master List

Unedited

“Hey babe,” I heard Auston call from the kitchen. I was currently cuddled on the couch with Felix as I waited for Auston to bring me my soup.

“Yeah?” I called out turning to look towards the kitchen. He started walking over to me with two bowls in his hand.

“Mitch and Steph want to go on a double date,” he said once he handed me my bowl and took a seat on the couch. I raised my eyebrow at him before having some of my soup. I moaned in delight.

“Is this your mom’s recipe?” I asked him as I eagerly took another spoonful. He nodded his head with a grin while taking a spoonful of his own.

“It’s good! Do we want to get out of this date, or is this something we want to do?” I continued on after he didn’t speak up. He thought about it for a second.

“I want you to meet them,” he said nudging my arm. I smiled at him before taking another spoonful.

“Alright, so when is this double date?” I asked leaning back into the couch. Auston turned to me with a big grin before grabbing his phone.

“Does tomorrow after the game work?” he asked as he clicked through his messages. I nodded my head as I grabbed the remote to put on Love Island.

----

The next morning I was sitting at the kitchen island of my apartment watching my roommate Macy make us pancakes.

“You’re really going to meet Mitch Marner today,” she said as she flipped the pancake. I shrugged my shoulders as I clicked through my phone.

“It’s not that big of a deal he’s just Auston’s friend. I’m more nervous to meet his girlfriend,” I told her as I closed my phone playing with my fingers. She scoffed before moving the pancakes to a plate.

“You only say that because you’re a Blackhawks fan,” she said. I shrugged my shoulders knowing it was true.

“You should try to stay at Auston’s tonight because Ryan’s coming over tonight,” she continued as she handed me a plate. Grimacing I nodded my head. When Ryan came over it was best to be out of the house, I learned that the hard way.

“Will you help me decide what to wear?” I asked as I reached for the syrup. She nodded her head before the two of us dug into our food. When we finished I cleaned the dishes since she cooked and I made my way to my room to work on some things that were going to be due soon. Around 7 pm I got a text from Auston asking me about going to the bars with Mitch and Steph. I told him that I was still on board before making my way to Macys room to freak out.

“Calm down Amelia. Everything will be fine just wear something that makes you look hot,” she started pushing me to my room. I walked over to my closet before turning back to her with wide eyes.

“I have nothing,” I exclaimed dramatically as I fell onto my bed. She laughed before walking over to my closet. She pulled out a cute black top and some blue jeans before throwing them at me.

“Wear this. You always look hot in this outfit. It shows off you boobs” she said as she sat down on my bed. I scoffed before starting to change. Once I had everything on I picked up my phone to check the score. 3-4 going into the third. Auston had scored two goals. I was really hoping for a win so I wouldn’t have to deal with two sad hockey players at the bar. I looked up from my phone to check myself out in the mirror. I did indeed look hot.

“Yess! Look at you,” Macy exclaimed loudly. I looked over to her with a grin before we both made our way out to the living room. I turned the game on as she made herself a drink. We both watched the rest of the game in silence. The Leafs ended up pulling a last-minute win causing us to cheer before coming engrossed with our phones.

Hearing Auston’s voice on the TV I look up. He was talking in a pregame interview and he looked so amazing. He was so sweaty that even his hair was wet which was slightly gross. His natural beauty was shining so hard though that I couldn’t take my eyes away until the interview was over. A few minutes later my phone was vibrating. I quickly answered the phone before holding it up to my ear.

“Hello?” I asked into the phone.

“Why do you always sound so surprised when I call you?” I heard Auston’s voice through the phone. I blushed as I pulled my legs up to the couch.

“I don’t get many calls,” I said.

“Well get used to me calling. Anyway I am going to come pick you up. Does that work?” he asked fondly.

“Yeah I’m ready,” I said through a grin.

“Good be there soon,” he assured before hanging up.

I played on my phone for a bit before the doorbell went off. I quickly hopped up to get the door. When I opened it I was greeted by Auston dressed in a suit. Feeling a little undressed I turned around quickly to hide my embarrassment. He followed in behind as I reached down for my black heals. Auston noticed my cold greeting and waved to my roommate.

“Hey Macy,” he said.

“Hey,” she called back. As I reached for my keys. I turned back to Auston reaching for his arm. I needed his comfort.

“I’ll see you later Macy,” I said as I pushed us towards the door. The second I locked the door Auston had his hands on my waist.

“You look so good babe,” he said pressing a kiss to my forehead. I felt myself relax, he always knew what to say. I leaned up and kissed him gently before pulling away.

“Have you seen yourself in that suit?” I teased. He laughed before we pulled apart and made our way to his car.

----

“Amelia this is Steph and Mitch,” Auston said as he pointed to the two of them. Steph looked like an absolute goddess making me feel like I didn’t belong and Mitch looked like a total frat dude. I gulped as I gripped Auston’s hand a little tighter before giving the two of them a bright smile.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” I said as I went to reach my hand out to them. Steph pushed my hand to the side before pulling me into a hug.

“I have been so excited to meet you,” she squealed into my ear before pulling away, only for me to be pulled into a hug by Mitch next. Once he pulled away I turned to Auston with wide eyes. He laughed as he pulled me into his side.

“Let’s get a table,” he suggested. We all agreed and then were seated at a hightop. The server came over to take our order. Steph and Mitch ordered for themselves getting a burger each before she turned to us. Auston gestured for me to order first.

“Can I have the Cheeseburger with a glass of water,” I said closing my menu and handing it to her. Auston glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. What I mouthed at him. He looked away towards the server.

“The same as her but can we get two double shots of tequila,” he said as he closed his menu to hand to her. I gawked at him before turning back towards her. She wordlessly nodded her head before walking away.

I pinched Auston’s thigh before looking over to Steph and Mitch. I knew that Auston considered Mitch to be one of his best friends and I really just wanted the two of them to like me.

“You guys pulled off a nice win,” I said loudly for the table to hear once nobody made an effort to start talking. Immediately everyone at the table started smiling. We talked about the game until our food arrived and then Steph and I started a conversation of our own. Mostly about where we went to school and the careers that we were both in now. I truly wasn’t expecting to like Steph when I had looked her up on Instagram but now I was shocked by how much we had in common. We all ended up getting a few more rounds of drinks before calling it a night. As we left the bar Steph pulled me into a tight hug.

“We have to go to a game together,” she said excitedly as she pulled away from our hug. I smiled at her sweetly as I nodded my head.

“Yeah. Give me your number,” I pulled my phone out and gave it to her. She typed in her name and number before sending herself a text. She then handed her phone to me and grabbed Mitch’s awaiting hand.

“It was nice to meet you,” Mitch said as he pulled me into the best hug he could manage without letting Steph’s hand go.

“Yeah. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around again,” I giggled with Steph as we caught one another’s eye.

“I think my girlfriend is going to leave me for yours,” Auston joked as he wrapped his arms around me from behind. Everyone laughed at that before we went our separate ways to our cars. Once we were both buckled and driving Auston spoke up.

“Did you want to come back to mine?” I blushed before slouching down in the seat.

“Yeah. If you want me to,” I said. He reached his hand over to place it on my thigh.

“I always want you to come over,” he mumbled. I grinned before grabbing his hand off my thigh to hold.

When we pulled up to his apartment we took the elevator up before opening the door. Felix immediately attacked us as we entered. I reached down to pet the soft puppy.

“Hi baby. How have you been? You been a good boy?” I spoke with my best puppy voice. Felix barked happily and started to paw at Auston for his attention. He reached down and gave him a few cuddles before leading me towards the bedroom.

He handed me some comfier clothes before going into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I followed him and grabbed my toothbrush from the holder. Once we were both done brushing our teeth we walked over to the bed. Once we were cuddled up with my head on his chest and his arms around me I let out a content sigh. He made me so happy. I knew that at some point during the night I would end up as the little spoon because Auston couldn’t sleep without something between his legs but I didn’t mind.

“They liked you,” Auston whispered as he rested his head against mine. I tightened my arms around his waist.

“I liked them,” I told him softly. His hand that was on my back squeezed me to him.

“I love you,” Auston said gently. My whole body tensed up. Auston noticed and loosened his hold on me. We had met three months ago and had only been dating for one. I knew that I felt strongly about him but I was nowhere at that stage yet.

“I will someday,” I told him truthfully as I forced myself to relax back into his touch. He gripped me again and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“Someday,” he said with a grin. I fell asleep that night with someday on my thoughts.

[hisunshiine]

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭

♡ 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘫𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬

♡ 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴

♡ 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

♡ 𝘸𝘤: 3343

an: commissioned story

Walking up the stairs to your best friends’ apartment, you hang your cape over your shoulder, defeated. Waiting patiently as Namjoon unlocked the front door, Jungkook shuffled side to side, just as upset as you, the evidence written across his face. His signature bunny smile, nowhere to be found, was replaced with a pout fixed on his face as he followed you into the apartment while Namjoon struggled to get the key back out of the golden deadbolt lock.

The sound of shoes being slipped off filled the silence along with jangling keys and the low murmur of curses followed by a soft exclamation of joy as Namjoon shut the door.

“I’m sorry babe. I didn’t know  it was cancelled. I didn’t check my email before we left...”

You tossed your purple cape over the couch and got comfy in your favorite spot.  Tucked into the left corner of the couch, your sheer pantyhose legs crossed, you dropped your head onto the back rest of the couch and attempted to look at Namjoon still in the entryway. Dressed up as Thor, his arms flexed nicely as you watched him put his shoes on the rack by the door, grown out blond hair falling in his face.

“Joonie, it’s fine. I don’t blame you. I’m just sad we didn’t get to show off our hard work.” You gesture at your outfit, Raven from Teen Titans, and shrugged. Left in just the black long sleeved leotard and hosiery, you sigh. 

“Poor Kookie here has been doing pushups and crunches for the past two weeks so that he could pull off a gladiator from 300.”  You turned your gaze to Jungkook, perched on the barstool next to the kitchen counter, elbow braced on the table to hold his head up as he sulked. “Nice job by the way, you got a lot of looks when we were walking up to the convention center.”

He laughed, shameless as always when showing off his beautifully built frame.

“Hey, I think the woman with the baby stroller really enjoyed the view.”

“I would hope so, she damn near tripped over her own child breaking her neck to stare.”

You lean up as Namjoon makes his way over to the couch, your eyes following the way his well-built body moves in the ludicrously tight Thor outfit. 

“What can we do to make it up to you? We rarely get a day off like this, all together.”

He was right. Adulting had made the time spent with your best friends almost nonexistent. Attempts to hang out, all three of you, rarely went off without a hitch; with Namjoon receiving calls from the office about accounts in progress, or Jungkook having to go in to work with the local sports team as their trainer during both on and off seasons, and you working your 9 to 5. It was stressful.

“Honestly, just spending time with you guys is all I need.” 

Namjoon lifted your legs to sit next to you, placing them in his lap as Jungkook jumped up and grabbed a dusty, small box off the living room bookshelf. An old deck of Uno cards that you all used to stay up late and play in college is tossed onto the coffee table while Jungkook’s feet carried him to the kitchen, where he grabbed a few beers.

“For old time’s sake?”

——————

Uno had turned into Strip Uno quickly, once you all were a few beers deep. The opaque green glass bottles were set off to the side of the coffee table as the three of you sat around, tipsy and half naked, laughing at each other. 

Jungkook had been the first one to lose an article of clothing, his Leonidas style crown tossed on the other side of the couch with Namjoon’s discarded cape. Namjoon followed suit with his costume shirt being next to disappear from his body. The males’ losing streak ended when you were the unlucky one to lose a large item, your black leotard. It wasn’t long before Jungkook, who had already been shirtless, had lost his roman gladiator skort, and Namjoon’s pants made it onto the clothing pile, leaving the three of you sitting comfortably in half-nakedness.

“God, I can’t believe we used to really trade girls back and forth, hyung.” Jungkook was laughing as he remembered some of their crazier antics, which you knew all about as their best friend. You’d even walked into some compromising situations once or twice, and saw exactly what each of them was working with below the belt.

“I can, man, we were insatiable. Fuck, we still are Kook, don’t act like just because we’re working now crazy shit still doesn’t happen.”

Namjoon’s eyes were low, the alcohol in his system making him feel nice.

“You’re right,” Jungkook giggled, face red from intoxication, “just way less often. It’s been what? 4 months or so? We need to throw a party or something.”

“You guys are just as bad as you were in college.” You say, leaning back into the couch behind you. None of you had moved from the floor where you had sat around the table to play Uno.

“Oh, right. I forgot that you were our ‘goody two shoes’ girl. Never did anything wrong...” Namjoon tried to roll his eyes, but the half-moon shape barely showed the whites of his eyes.

“That’s not true… I was just way better at being discreet. It wasn’t the campus’ business who I let between my legs.” 

“We played ‘never have I ever’ so many times, though… You never did anything bad.” Jungkook pouted at you, thinking you were lying to him. In reality, you lied back then. It wasn’t anyone’s business and you weren’t going to expose others’ sex lives just for some drinking game.

“I did, I just didn’t put a finger down,” you laughed. “I still drank what I was supposed to, I just didn’t want to be questioned about my threesomes and shit.”

Namjoon couldn’t believe what he heard. You, his precious best female friend, had a threesome before. The air in the room shifts, the tension palpable in the room.

“No, not my YN. You’re the good one.” Namjoon stated jokingly, though you could sense he was still serious.

“I need the details, YN.” Jungkook stared at you, eyes steady as he pinned you with his gaze.

His look is full of desire, and you can see him move ever so slightly as if he was uncomfortable. Jungkook’s hand moves to cover his hardening cock, but not before you can see that it was exactly what was making him so uncomfortable in his boxer briefs. 

“It was nothing wild, Koo. We were drunk, it was college, one of them, the girl, said that getting eaten out feels better by a woman, the other said no way and said he was the best ever to do it, so I volunteered to test out their theory and draw an end to the pissing contest.” 

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered how much fun it was. The memory turned you on slightly; you can feel your arousal drip onto your thong.

“So who was better?”

“She was, definitely.”

Namjoon shakes his head and Jungkook leans back, incredulous. Both had leaned in towards you as you told the short story, falling on every word that you said.

“Pfft! No way, I could totally out-do the chick.”

“Same. He didn’t know what he was doing, clearly.”

You shifted your body to get more comfortable, sitting with your knees bent and spread open in an L shape as you leaned back against the seat of the couch. You may have been curvy, but you were comfortable around Jungkook and Namjoon as they had known you for so long and seen you in various stages of undress, sobriety, and moods.

“I mean, we can always test it out.” You gesture your arm out at the 2 of them, resting your forearm on the knee that is bent up to the sky.

It’s silent, deadly, as they stare at you. Jungkook’s eyes roam your body that is on display for him, instinctively licking his lips. Namjoon, who was still leaned towards you, gives a smirk that has you… excited.

“Baby, you couldn’t handle me.”

“Awe, Joonie, it’s cute that you think so.”

“I’d be better at it anyways.” Jungkook chimed in. That cocky confidence oozing over him as he mimics your pose, though leaning back on his palm, arm extended to share part of his weight.

“Mmm.. I don’t know Kookie, I think Namjoon has been at it a little longer than you, plus, no offense, but he has fuller lips...” You turn away from Jungkook’s pout toward Namjoon, who’s still got that damn smirk on his face.

He moved forward, practically stalking on his hands and knees as he brings himself into your personal space. You watch the way his chest and arms flex, mouth practically drooling at the sight.

“You've been sizing me up, baby?” His voice is low, deeper as he let his hunger for you show. His hand slides along your hip, fingers curling gently around you. “You think about how good it would feel, my tongue between your legs?”

He’s surprised that you didn’t pull away. When you reached up and grabbed a handful of his blond locks and tugged, you reveled in the low groan he let out, eyes fixated on his quivering Adam’s apple as the sinful sound reverberated throughout the apartment.

“Damn—” your eyes snapped to Jungkook, whose pupils had dilated as he watched the interaction between you and his hyung. His mouth hung open; he hadn’t realized he had verbalized his thoughts.

“Everything okay, bun?” you asked, using Jungkook’s pet name that you loved to use when teasing him.

He cleared his throat, his hand stroking gently at his clothed cock, trying to ease the ache.

“Yeah—please, continue.”

You realized he was addressing Namjoon when you felt his parted lips skim across your neck, soft and wet as his tongue joined. Latching on gently, you rolled your head back allowing him more access as you yourself were now the one affected, moaning breathily as his solid frame hovered over you, pressing you back into the couch. You tightened your grip on his hair, and he bit your neck a little harder in response. 

Eyes fluttered closed, you felt a second set of hands on you, palms sliding along the pantyhose that still covered your legs. 

“I know you’ve thought about this...” Jungkook’s lips moved along your tummy as he talked, small kisses along the waistband of your hosiery. “Can practically feel how badly you want this.” 

His fingers dipped into your band and began to tug them down, freeing your thighs from their confines. You arched your back, unable to not react as he mouthed loudly at your clothed core, his tongue flicking against the cotton to trace the outline of your needy clit as he groaned with the inhale of your arousal.

Namjoon on the other hand was quieter, mouth busy sucking light bruises to your skin as his large hands palmed your ample breasts. As he kissed down your neck and collar bone, he pulled one mound from your bra, laving his tongue around your aroused nipple to pull sounds out of you. 

So enthralled in the feel of Namjoon, you don’t notice that Jungkook has you stripped bare, not until he’s nudged your thighs apart and settled himself between, a trail of wet kisses along your inner thigh almost unnoticed due to the amount of pleasure you’re feeling—that is until his lips latched onto your clit, a combined sucking motion with a flicking tongue, made your free hand dive into his mess of dark strands, directing his ministrations.

“Fuck, Jungkook, d-don’t stop.”

Namjoon moved to be behind you, replacing the couch as your backing as Jungkook circled his arms around your thighs and pulled you down closer to his feasting mouth. Namjoon began to kiss at your neck, hands resumed their massaging of your chest, nipples rolling between his fingers as you held Jungkook’s head so you could roll your hips, fucking yourself on his tongue. 

Feeling it build, the delightful coiling in your abdomen snaps when Jungkook enters you with a thrust of his two fingers and strokes roughly along your walls, brushing the rough patch of bundled nerves. You cry out, head thrown back onto Namjoon’s shoulder as you buck, hips rolling as you ride out your high on Jungkook’s face.

“Definitely think that I was better than that girl, huh, angel?”

You nod, never one to lie about how good or bad someone is sexually. 

“You let me have the control to fuck your face, it was amazing.” You tell him, your chest rapidly moving as you attempted to regulate your breathing.

“My turn.”

You feel more than see Namjoon switch places with Jungkook, maneuvering your body to a more comfortable position. Jungkook’s cock, hard and erect, is now pressed between your back and his abs when you leaned back onto him.

“Oh, he left you such a mess, baby.” Namjoon licks a stripe along your swollen clit, lapping at the juices. You’re still sensitive, but he pushed your thighs apart so his large hands could hold you in place as he slowly teased at your folds until you felt yourself leaning into it, wanting more instead of squirming away. 

“Right there Joonie—shit, that feels—oh!” 

Namjoon’s thumb rubbed wet circles on your swollen nub as his tongue explored every inch of you, teasing and tasting. Jungkook held you tight in his embrace, preventing you from running now that you could feel your second orgasm building. 

To make your judgement fair, Jungkook’s lips and hands touched your body where he could reach, knowing that Namjoon’s ministrations had added to your heightened senses when it had been him gracing the spot between your thighs. 

Namjoon’s nose pressed against your clit as he open-mouth kissed your heat, devouring as much as he could of your release before you replaced what he had cleaned up. You could feel the growing orgasm spreading through your veins, the thrum of your beating heart loud in your ears until Namjoon inserted his fingers. The squelching sound as your walls sucked his first two fingers into you caused both men to groan, the vibrations of the one feasting leading you to arch your back into Jungkook’s chest. Toes curling, your mouth is open as you try and catch your breath, but Namjoon did the same move as Jungkook and you squirmed as it consumed you, a crackling of electricity taking over your senses.

Sitting up, Namjoon grinned over your shoulder, knowing that the move his younger roommate taught him all those years ago never fails.

“I would say that makes it 1 for Jungkook, 1 for Namjoon, as we now hold the title ‘better than the girl who rocked your world’, right JK? Our good girl is finally enjoying being bad.”

Namjoon’s chin and lips were slicked with your cum, and you nodded, still a little fucked out as you came down.

“Damn, I wonder what prize we should get?”

Lifting an eyebrow, you sat up off Jungkook's chest, propelling yourself forward until you were on your hands and knees, eye level with Namjoon’s obvious hard-on. Licking your lips, his eyes followed the movement. He watched your every move as you leaned down, opened your mouth slowly, and lowered your tongue to the fabric covering his erection. You hear Jungkook inhale at the view you provide, sopping cunt on display.

“Mmph.. shit, baby.” Namjoon’s cock twitches as your mouth, hot and wet, teases his most sensitive area, and when he lifts his hips slightly, chasing as you pull away, you decide to show him exactly how much you enjoy being bad.

Your hands have pulled his boxer briefs down and the bulbous tip has entered your mouth before he was able to see the glint in your eye. Taking him into your mouth fully, he let out a sound you never thought you’d hear from him, a loud moan higher than his usual tone and accompanied with movement from his hips as he thrust up. Spit from your mouth dripped down his shaft as you pulled back. 

You heard Jungkook mutter a curse as your hips swayed seductively in his face, and you removed your lips off of Namjoon with a wet pop sound, replacing your mouth with your hand as you stroked his length. Turning your head to peek over your shoulder, you follow Jungkook’s gaze, smirking.

“Hey Bun, you gonna stare at it all night, or are you going to fill me up?”

You giggled as he scrambled up onto his knees, his hands tugging at his underwear to free himself from the restraining fabric. You grasp Namjoon’s thighs before you lower yourself again, the thrust of Jungkook entering you from behind pushing you farther onto Namjoon’s cock. The moan vibrates along his shaft, and Namjoon’s toes curl as you swallow around him, tongue tracing the thick vein.

“Fuck, you’re so wet...” Jungkook’s voice, melodious as he vocalizes with each thrust, causes you to clench involuntarily as he splits you. The burn from the stretch feels good, so good, and you push back onto him, fucking yourself as his hands hold onto your curves. 

“Her mouth… Jungkook, her mouth is—” you hollow your cheeks as you vacillate up and down, and Namjoon can no longer form words. His hands cup your face as he watches you worship him, oblivious to the words of praise Jungkook is saying.

“YN, fuck baby, your pussy is squeezing me so tight… You take my cock so well, better than I dreamed of.”

The spit that had gathered in your mouth dripped down and as you massaged Namjoon’s balls, the spit added to his pleasure. You felt them constrict in your hands, his cock twitching as your first warning.

“Baby, I—” you nod, knowing what he wants to say, and the action made him squeeze his whiskey colored eyes shut before he came, ropes of hot cum filling your mouth. Once he opened his eyes again, you made eye contact, pulling off of him and opening your mouth so Namjoon could see the translucent coating on your tongue before you swallowed it. 

“Shit.” 

His dilated pupils watched as you continued to use Jungkook to massage your g-spot, impaling yourself on him while you used a free hand to massage at your clit. Your third orgasm was a little harder to come by, not without a little help, so you told Jungkook what you needed.

“Choke me.”

You couldn’t see the way his doe eyes grew unimaginably wider as he maneuvered his right hand to grip your throat and apply just the right amount of pressure, allowing you to ascend towards climax. You fucked him harder, ass slapping against his thighs harshly.  He released your throat, both hands firmly grasping your hips. A slap to your ass from Jungkook’s hand spurred your words.

“Cum in me Kookie, fill me like Joon did—”

“Ah, fuck, I’m cumm—”

When your walls fluttered, Jungkook groaned and immersed himself as deep into your dripping core as he could so he could fill you as you gushed your arousal around him, juices mingling as you collapsed onto the carpet, Jungkook’s softening dick slipping from inside you as he moved to lay next to you.

Panting, you rolled onto your back, head on Namjoon’s thigh as you waited for your breathing to settle. Jungkook was already smiling and looking none the worse for wear, physically. He moved to lay his head on your tummy, an arm thrown over your body while Namjoon’s hand smoothed the hair away from your face.

“I think that’s… 2 for me,” you say, “and 1 for each of you.” 

Both men look at you in awe as you finish speaking, “...so what were you saying earlier about me being your ‘good girl’?”

♡ 

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Your Good Time | Explicit | 3070 words

Louis nodded along with what the guy was saying, apparently his arousal taking over his brain to mouth filter as he said, “Who would want to hide a fit bloke like you? That guys an idiot.” Louis scoffed, dramatizing the word ‘idiot’, giving the guy a sly smirk. The guy leaned an arm against the bar, turned his body to Louis and fixed him with a curious look before he held out a hand.

“M’Harry.”

Louis and Harry meet in a bar when Harry's date is an ass. Inspired by Temporary Fix by One Direction.

2) I Push You To The Limits | Explicit | 3846 words

Louis is a brat who likes seeing his boyfriend get jealous and possessive over him.

3) Overkill | Explicit | 4354 words

Louis was never going to get over how fucking attractive Harry was. How glorious his big, tall, curvy body was. The feeling of Harry behind him, hot and heavy, trapped on the tube after they’d been somewhere during rush hour. His thick hands, full of pretty rings sometimes, handing Louis a cup of coffee, then getting one for himself.

4) Too Nervous to be Lovers | Mature | 6445 words

Louis doesn't want to spend quarantine with Harry, his straight roommate, who doesn't even acknowledge his existence.

5) Fratboy In Love | Mature | 6830 words

Harry Styles was a frat boy who loved to sleep around and flirt with boys and girls. Louis was a good uni student who loved to stay in and study and wasn't much of a partier.

Insert his best friend Niall who talks him into going. Louis gets drunk and ends up sleeping with harry. The next day he leaves before Harry wakes and tries to avoid him at all costs. Thinking Harry wouldn't care since Louis was just another conquest. But what if Harry did care. And actually have a crush on Louis. Read and find out

6) My Sunflower | Mature | 7057 words

Louis would rather be sunbathing at the beach with his friends, not slaving his spring break away in his father’s flower shop.

7) Waiting | Explicit | 8023 words

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

8) Shine Light Upon Your Ground | Explicit | 8506 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/H, which the reader can picture as Harry or Henry Cavill.

Louis sighs again and fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, twisting the charms around and petting the fake diamonds.

“How much for a night?” A deep voice suddenly asks him. The man who approaches him is already pulling out his wallet and flicking through a bundle of bills. Louis, who had been sitting at the bar completely innocent and minding his own business, lets out an offended, strangled sound.

“Excuse me?” He demands, straightening up in his seat. The hem of his dress creeps further up his thigh but he pays it no mind.

9) Glistening Under The Sun (You're My Honey Soaked Love) | Mature | 8996 words

“Oh Petal,” he picks her up nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek as she nibbles on the lavender, “How lucky are we? I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, the only thing we have to be sad about is that soon I won’t be able to hold you like this,”

10) Connected To The Heart | Explicit | 9059 words

Note: This is an coda scene for this fic.

“Your stage cue is way too close for you to be wearing that look you’re wearing,” Louis informs him. He can’t stop himself from looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, the silk of Harry’s dress shirt brushing against the backs of his knuckles.

“Twenty minutes,” Harry agrees. His breath is minty from the gum he was chewing earlier, fresh and warm. “Twenty minutes can be a long time, baby.”

This time, Louis has to force himself to roll his eyes. “Not nearly long enough for the way you always want to fuck me.”

11) Fuck U Betta | Explicit | 11438 words

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

12) Kiss Me In Your Chevrolet | Explicit | 11569 words

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest.

"Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself.

Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

13) Pull The Trigger | Explicit | 12007 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #16 on this list.

Louis has never been alright with killing. Will that change when he learns what it's like to be the one holding the gun?

14) Open All Night | Explicit | 12537 words

It’s six in the morning when Harry finally makes it back home.

Harry's a bartender, Louis' got a nice ass and a shit taste in men. They make it work.

15) Among Other Things | Explicit | 16073 words

“Harry, it’s 7:45, oh my god, my class starts at 8:15,” and Louis wants to cry. Harry’s busy under the bed trying to find the tiny silver key but Louis knows that fate just hates him and he needs to find a way to get up. “Harry, I—fuck,” Louis whines. Harry stands up in a rush.

“I can’t seem to find them. It. The key.”

Or, Louis’ the teacher of Harry Styles’ daughter. Their paths shouldn’t cross like this. This meaning Louis showing up to school handcuffed to a headboard.

16) A Bullet And It's Gun | Explicit | 18156 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #13 on this list. 

Louis’ parents arrange his marriage with Harry. He’s fully ready to accept that he’s going to be a sad and lonely person for the rest of his life. But then Harry starts proving himself as more than just an asocial man with money.

17) By Such Slight Ligaments | Explicit | 26764 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

A late night visit to a patient sets off a series of events that will turn Louis' world upside down.

... Here there be monsters.

18) At Your Fingertips | Explicit | 27384 words

He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

19) Forgot My Roots Now Watch Me Bloom | Explicit | 28334 words

Lonely transit worker Louis pulls his longtime crush, Peter, from the path of an oncoming train. At the hospital, doctors report that he's in a coma, and a misplaced comment from Louis causes Peter's family to assume that he is his fiancée. When Louis doesn't correct them, they take him into their home and confidence. Things get even more complicated when he finds himself falling for Peter's brother, Harry. Loosely based on the movie "While You Were Sleeping".

20) Push You Out, Pull You Back In | Explicit | 31544 words

Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

21) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

22) Lidocaine And Palm Trees | Explicit | 44653 words

Heat, fake tans and lots of traffic.

Harry never expected to earn his living this way when he moved to LA.

Louis didn't think he could ever be the same after his divorce.

A lighthearted story about two guys trying to find themselves in the vibrant, sprawling city of Los Angeles, with a side of technical porn industry stuff.

23) Sleeping On Our Problems | Explicit | 67369 words

Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

24) Truth Would Be | Explicit | 91869 words

“You want me? I’m not a… a thing to be owned!” Louis stuttered, still very angry and confused.

“Hmmm…” The alpha tapped his lips as if he was contemplating something. “Last time I checked, the debt was paid off and the only thing I had asked in return was… you. So technically I do own you.”

“You are crazy…” Louis muttered as he began to back towards the door. Harry’s impossibly green eyes turned a shade darker, but his tone was still teasing and light when he said, “Maybe I am…”

The I-paid-off-all-your-debt-so-you-are-mine AU in which Omega Louis wants to be left alone by Alpha Harry but it's super complicated when he starts to not hate the alpha all that much.

25) Collision | Not Rated | 224594 words

Note: This fic was finished in 2018, but two new epilogue chapters have been added.

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[bumbershots]

SUCK IT AND SEE

Author’s note: HELLO! This is my (very very late) part for the amazing Playlist fic challenge that @harrystylescherry put together. The song I chose is Suck it and see by the Arctic Monkeys. I had it ready back in April but I didn’t love it to be honest, but I do now, so hopefully you will too. In all honesty I loved it a little bit too much so this can be taken as the prologue for a new series, I will be posting the details for it next week :) enjoy!

Summary: Harry reflects on his decision to “Suck it and see” when it comes to his relationship with Selena. He decides that no matter how things turn out… good or bad it's worth the experience and gives him the opportunity to always be the person she needs him to be.

Word count: 2.3K

Trigger warning: mention of depression.

The Wellington is slowly filling up, Harry is done tuning his guitar, his eyes quickly scan the usual clientele. A sigh escapes his lips before he takes another sip of the pint he ordered. He needs to calm down.

It’s a quiet Tuesday night, so the usual elderly gentlemen and a few students occupy the place eating fish and chips and drinking as they argue about football, their families or their jobs. Harry sits by the small stage that is set across the bar, fiddling with the strings of his favourite instrument.

The door has opened at least seventy times, and every single one of them has the nineteen year old craning his neck to see if it’s Selena. But his stomach clenches after finding out, once more, that it’s not her.

“Mate it’s half past ten,” he hears Sarah’s voice from behind and he sighs again before nodding in acceptance and defeat.

“Let’s do it then.” Harry rises and stands close to his assigned microphone while the other two band members also join them in the small platform.

After a year of playing in the most shitty and not so shitty places all over London, the band was offered a chance at a small record company. Tonight was the last show they performed at this place, soon they would be chasing bigger venues and dreams.

With that in mind the bass player, Yuri, steps up to his own microphone to speak. “It’s time for some music.” His sweet voice claims the regulars attention, just as Sarah counts to four hitting her drumsticks together and Mitch plays the opening chord for the first song of the night.

Three years ago, when the band was just a thought drifting around Harry’s mind, he would daydream about this moment, the last show because they’ve finally made it. Their usual fans would gather near the stage for a better glimpse and sing along the familiar tunes. He would finally master a solo and when it was all over, his eyes would meet a pair of familiar ones watching from the bar, she would be equally smiley, a proud look on her face as she claps and cheers louder than anyone.

In the last two months, that mental image has permanently settled on his brain. Harry Styles wanted success for his band more than anything, but not more than seeing her at the end of it all. Which is why after the set comes to an end, he refuses to look up. He knows she’s not there.

Had she come in at some point during their performance, he would’ve noticed, even with all the ruckus done by the now considerable crowd in the pub. If Selena had set foot on the place, Harry would’ve known.

“Thank you for everything, you’ve been amazing tonight and every night before,” Yuri‘s words pull him back from the trance, but he keeps his gaze away from the bar, he settles for the back of the bass player’s head as he speaks for the last time. “This isn’t the last you hear from The Cherry Blossoms!”

There’s a lot of cheering and applause and Harry is suddenly mad about not finding it satisfying enough. He knows he will hate himself for it, but before walking off the stage, he looks over at the bar.

She’s not perched on a stool like the first time they played in here, sipping on some soda because of her lack of tolerance to alcohol. She’s not skipping over to hug him. Where is she? Harry wonders what could possibly be more important than this.

I will be there of course. I’m your biggest fan, after all. She so smugly declared on their last phone call, a week ago.

The urge to call her is too much, but Harry knows that if for some reason, she doesn’t pick up the phone. He will finally lose it. Instead he joins his band mates for a celebratory drink.

Listening to Yuri gush about Sarah’s drumming and complimenting Mitch on his skills as well, lifts Harry’s spirits a bit. If only for the next hour, he’s going to enjoy and bask into their triumph. And he’s so sure that there’s a perfect explanation for her absence, that he does end up having a good time. He ignores the heavy feeling in his chest, a reminder of the power that girl holds on him.

◇

A sleepy Selena Lara mumbles nonsense, slowly waking up and becoming aware of an annoying ringtone blasting through the small flat, it stops for a minute until it goes off again and now she definitely knows the mobile belongs to her.

“Hello,” she greets so earnestly, despite the sleepy rasp in her voice, that Harry can perfectly picture the slow process that is her waking up.

He hears some rustling on her end and it plays like a movie before his eyes. The way she sits up, rubs her eyes and keeps them closed for about five minutes. Harry always gets out of bed before her, and it’s always him watching —watching her come awake, little by little, slow but sure. Harry wishes to be a witness of it more often, everyday if possible. Even if sometimes Selena takes a really long shower, or if some days she only mumbles some words before snuggling herself onto the sofa and falling right back asleep. Harry doesn’t mind, never will.

But he ignores the warm feeling he gets just by thinking about her.

“Where were you last night?” he says instead.

“What?”

“Last night, when the band played its last gig at The Wellington. You didn’t attend.”

“You thought I was going to be there?” Selena flops back onto her side, taking the duvet with her until she’s cocooned once again. “Harry I love you, but you know I couldn’t possibly afford a flight back home.”

“Why?”

She sighs, this conversation was bound to take place between them at some point. “The program at Bunka is… intense, to say the least. I almost failed a class so there is not a chance for a scholarship, I need to find another job if I want to be able to pay for tuition.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” They both know why. If Harry had known that she wouldn’t be there, he would have refused to even set foot at the pub.

“I was embarrassed.” Selena admits with a light shrug she knows he can’t see. “I know I don’t have a valid reason to be, I have proper housing, food, and a job. But I just feel so frustrated at this school.” She mumbles something at the end that he can’t understand, but it sounds a lot like her doubting her own talent.

After eight years of friendship, Harry knows pretty much everything about Selena and vice versa. They trust each other, with all they have. Which is why he’s hurt after hearing about this just now.

“How long have you felt this way?” He asks, not sure if the answer is something he will like.

“About four months.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Harry considers the merits of lecturing Selena, but he would never kick her when she’s down. Also he’s aware that Selena knows she should trust him with things like that, they’ve never been too shy to share their feelings with each other. It’s what brought them into this situation anyway.

It started two years ago, the last summer Selena spent in England, right before she moved to Japan and studied fashion design. It started with them going to that party, separating as usual, agreeing on a reasonable hour to meet at the door and leave together. It started with Selena wearing a skirt that made Harry want to do all kinds of things for her. It started with Harry offering to leave earlier and placing his hand on the small of her back all the way back home. It started with Selena kissing him in the dark and instead of a beginning it felt a lot like crossing the finish line of a marathon.

It kept going even after that summer, because Harry insisted on calling her all sorts of pet names and giving her kisses on the cab ride to the airport. It kept going because Selena got a Skype account and sent Harry an invite. And it is surprising to anyone and no one really that it lasted two years already.

The only problem is that they hadn’t talked about it. The I love you Harry whispered after that first night together and the I knew it! Selena triumphantly acclaimed before bursting out one of her unattractive laughs. To this day remains the only talk they had, Harry doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Shit,” Selena mumbles after checking the time, “I have to get ready for work.” She wants to say something to appease him, anything. Harry is waiting for the words to come out of her pretty mouth.

Selena is good with words, knows a lot of them in English, Spanish, French and Japanese. She was popular for speaking up against unfairness at school, and was running a monthly column at an online magazine. But she doesn’t have any right now. Selena doesn’t want to tell him how much she hates the program, how stupid it makes her feel, how she longs for the day she can finally be done and never look back on it. Selena doesn’t complain. She doesn’t get frustrated. She doesn’t quit. Ever.

“But we’ll Skype tomorrow, alright?” It’s better than nothing so Harry takes it.

“Of course, have a good day baby.”

Selena ends the call and groans. She doesn’t want to overthink about her relationship Harry, it’s the only good thing she has right now. With a shake of her head and a proper stretch of her limbs, she gets out of bed.

But it occurs to her in the middle of a three hour lecture, that she might have been cruel with Harry. He asked if she would attend the gig and she said yes, as if there weren’t thousands of kilometres between them. She knows he will never talk about this, and that she was already forgiven by him. She thinks about the fees his mobile carrier is charging him with all those calls he makes every week. She feels bad about not being able to love him the way he needs to be loved.

Because when it all started she never thought of it lasting past that summer when they made promises hard to keep. But Harry, always kind and attentive Harry, didn’t let her slip away. He gave her space to recharge when she needed it and she always came back feeling guilty about it, because she always enjoys the time apart. He always sent a care package at the beginning of the month with her favourite sweets. He praised all of her designs, no matter how much she insisted they were not even that good. You know nothing about fashion he would say with a roll of his eyes and Selena would smile, forever fond of his antics, forever fond of him and him alone.

It occurred to Selena that she always sort of had a crush on Harry —a crush everyone knew about. But even that didn’t stop her from being cruel to Harry, even that wouldn’t force her to answer his Skype call the next day or the one after that. She remembers how Harry claimed to be the more infatuated one with whatever they were doing. One of their last nights together, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and breathed against the crook of her neck just how many times he’d dreamt about being with her like that.

Selena warned him, knowing that train of thought might lead to a conversation she didn’t want to have, not then. But he laughed and his hot breath against her skin made her dizzy. Sorry, but you’ve got such a pretty face I’m sure it’s going to break me a little. What else is there?

What else is there, Selena thinks now, as she closes her laptop after ignoring all of Harry’s Skype calls. She turns off her phone too, because she knows his MO well enough and that is his next resource. It’s the first time she does it and it feels cruel again. She wonders how much more of this will Harry endure, how long until he stops trying to reach her and finally realises that it’s not worth it. That she doesn’t want him to comfort her, that she is not going to talk about how tired of everything in her life she is. Selena can’t give up, not after everything her family is expecting her to achieve.

But she doesn’t know just how much Harry truly feels about her, how much he longs for her to know that the way she has of caring for him is enough and he will take it, will always take anything if it’s coming from her.

Harry knows that being apart is hard, so he always tries extra hard to communicate, be patient and endure. But having to sit alone at his flat, unable to do a single thing, a single damn thing for Selena, that is something he refuses to keep doing. Having to watch from half the world away, knowing he can’t do a single thing about it. That is enough to break Harry Styles. Without a second thought he opens his laptop once again, this time to search for the next flight to Japan.

He’s a fool, for spending so much money on a flight to see how his friend with benefits is doing. And suddenly he remembers all the times Selena’s been trying not to break his heart. But he can’t help wanting to be there for her, maybe after this, they will finally have that conversation. Nothing is certain as Harry packs a small luggage, nothing really is when it comes to her.

As he boards the aeroplane a day later though, the pressure on his chest disappears. Whatever happens now can’t be a bad thing, not when he’s seeing Selena anyway.

[catrasredemption-moved]

Please bless us with the headcanons

Hmmm... let’s start with something I didn’t get to address a lot of-

Adora

As mentioned in the fic, suffered a traumatic brain injury (TBI) and as a result has permanent brain damage from the accident

It took her about a year to return to somewhat normal, while learning to live with all the changes - short-term memories basically never made it to the long-term memory stage, which resulted in her losing a lot of information if she didn’t immediately write it down (Angella stepped in to help her with that, teaching her how to use a planner and keep it organized)

Her migraines can be triggered by absolutely nothing - she’ll wake up with one, or it’ll hit in the middle of the day, and it’s always terrible, but there isn’t always a cause.

Entrapta’s series of apps have basically replaced a physical planner - she has a voice-automated note taker, a detailed and highly customizable calendar, and a customizable contact app where she can list as many details about a person as she wants

Example: Name: Catra Weaver Phone Number: 555-555-5555 Address: 123 Generic St., Bright Moon, Etheria Notes: Dog’s name is Melog | DO NOT PET THE DOG | Catra lives on the fourth floor, unit 412 | She works for Glimmer’s Aunt Casta | arthritis in her knee from the car accident | we still haven’t talked about the accident | should we? | Her favorite coffee order is... You get the gist of it

Everything is also color coded - Glimmer’s info is purple, Bow’s is yellow, Catra’s is red, etc. Work appointments on her calendar are blue. BFS nights are pink. And so on

The apps also sync to her phone, so she always has the information she needs

She needs her GPS to get pretty much anywhere. She can still get back to Angella’s and Micah’s by memory, but can’t remember her own address sometimes (which flusters her, which makes it harder to remember, which flusters her more, etc.)

She definitely resents the impact it’s had on her life, although she’s learned to live with it, and no one’s ever given her a hard time

Catra:

Unsurprisingly, Catra’s damage started young. She was by no means an idiot, but she was never good enough for her mother, which quickly drove her into a depression

She discovered Weaver’s wine stash and was more than happy to help herself to it. She was thirteen

The incident that permanently ended her running career happened during the third practice of her first season on the team - she wiped out during a sprint, completely tearing up her cheek and a good part of her left side. She spent three weeks recovering in the hospital

There was some experimenting with drugs. Spinnerella and Netossa are not aware of this. Catra decided, after a particularly bad trip, that they weren’t for her

Spinnerella and Netossa were living in a one-bedroom apartment when they met Catra. Their lease ended a few months later, and they purposely found a place with a second bedroom that would always be Catra’s

They also took her car keys and refused to give them back until she had been sober for several consecutive months

Catra pulls double duty being part of both their wedding parties, because they couldn’t decide who got custody of her for the wedding

Catra eventually gets her license back, after a lot of practice and some intense therapy working through all of her anxieties. She still prefers to let anyone else drive, but she can and will in a pinch

General Headcanons:

Angella and Micah were not aware that Glimmer had lied to Adora. They didn’t particularly like Catra, but they also wouldn’t do that to Adora knowing how much it upset her

Angella absolutely yelled at Glimmer for pushing Catra when she was in the wheelchair. Catra missed most of it because a nurse brought her back to her room, but hospital staff still whisper about the legendary argument on the third floor of Bright Moon General

Catra and Adora visit Weaver’s grave exactly once, just so Catra can look at the stone and say “I’m glad you’re dead.” They go home and never look back

Angella makes several awkward but well meaning attempts to apologize to Catra for her unwitting role in the eight-year separation. Catra’s eventually invited to dinner, and spends most of the time teaching Micah how to use a camera

Adora basically moves in with Catra after four months of dating. She swears it’s just until she can find her own place (since Bow and Glimmer ditched her to get an apartment for themselves), but she never leaves.

There are monthly BFS game nights, of course, with the best quality non-alcoholic sparkling cider Glimmer can find. She brings a new one every game night to test it out

Neither apartment ever has alcohol in it, despite Catra assuring them that she can be around it. They can even drink in front of her, as long as she has something to drink as well. They all think it would be disrespectful (and a small part of Catra is relieved)

[peachyteabuck]

clear the clouds (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: after weeks of bucky feels down, natasha knows exactly who to call to make him feel better

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: 2,030

trigger warnings: sickening fluff, also - please don’t take kitten rearing advice from fanfiction

notes: this is a birthday present for the effervescent @m00nlightdelights​, who asked for bucky barnes interacting with kittens. happy birthday babe! 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Natasha was the one who called you – asking something many dream for but very few get to experience. It’s hard to transport that many tiny, wriggling animals across town and very few are willing to pay the exorbitant, arbitrary amount of money you had made some intern put on the website after the twentieth call asking about the particular service.

People, apparently, really want to rent a bunch of kittens for several different types of events – finals weeks at universities and rich high schools, bat and bar mitzvahs, once even a wedding. Why those event coordinators can’t rent service animals is beyond you, and why they always expect you to do these things for free is also a mystery.

No matter why those people wanted your kittens, you closed the service except for incredibly rare cases.

One of those incredibly rare cases, per the usual path of your life, involved Natasha Romanoff.

You owed her a favor from a few years back, when she made sure an ex-boyfriend of yours…well, for legal purposes you can’t talk about it, but Natasha made sure he never bothered you or your friends ever again.

Natasha’s got enough tact not to bring the year-long ordeal up – just said she wanted to “cash in” on your side of the bargain. You sighed into the office landline when she told you she was calling for her favor, the exhale so deep it was still audible despite the barking and scratching and the menagerie of other noises.

It takes you a second to collect yourself, to shove the memories back into that little box your therapist had you build and then tuck into the back of your brain.

Despite not being able to see her face, you can tell she’s frowning and has furrowed her brow. “You good?”

You nodded, then remembered how phones work. “Yeah,” you let out a small sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine. You want the kittens at Avengers Towers this weekend for a few hours to help that friend of yours-“

“Bucky,” Natasha interrupts you. “His name is Bucky. And you should go out with him.”

Despite still knowing how phone works, you roll your eyes. “Didn’t you just say he spent the last week bedridden because of depression. It doesn’t exactly sound like he’s in the right state of mind for a relationship.”

Your friend scoffs into the phone, shutting what you think is a thick book for dramatic audial effect. “And you spend fifteen hours a day at your shelter because it gives you an excuse not to see people. I don’t need you to marry him, I’m saying maybe a coffee date would be good for you.”

There’s a pause where you search for a sarcastic response, but Natasha beats you to it.

“Actually, no,” she says, voice dripping with a lovable dryness you can’t help but admire. “It will be good for both of you.”

Another pause while you recalculate your sarcastic response cortex. After a deeply silent thirty seconds, you give up.

“Fine,” you acquiesce. “But you and Wanda are helping me and you’re buying me lunch for that day and you’re helping me during adoption day at the museum next month.”

Somehow, you can hear Natasha’s wide and triumphant smile. “You got it, kid.”

And with that, you hang up before falling back in your office chair. You swear, that woman could convince you to do anything.

Fucking spies, you think before putting the event in the shelter’s e-calendar.

The day arrives both too quickly and not quickly enough – your brain caught between something akin to “existential dread” and “oh my God my friend is trying to set me up with her friend and what if it doesn’t work but what if it does” the entire week before the planned event. During the night before you down quadruple your normal dose of melatonin to fall asleep after spending three entire hours trying on all your clothes to plan the right outfit (in the end, you chose an unusually nice pair of leggings and a plan sweater along with boots cute enough to fool a man into thinking they’re fancy while still protecting your feet from the end-stage winter air outside.

(Also, the leggings and sweater are the easiest things to lint roll kitten fur off of you for, say, a date at an upscale coffee shop you normally wouldn’t even think of going to, but that’s nobody’s business and you totally one hundred percent did not think about that when trying the outfit on.)

You meet Natasha and Wanda at the shelter the next morning, you getting there before them to gather the necessary supplies from the back. Despite them promising to help you load your car with kittens and kitten-adjacent items, you still didn’t want either of them messing with the precious organization system you’d spent years perfecting (and years training interns and vet techs how to abide by it).

Luckily, with your precautions and time management – and despite Wanda’s need to kiss every kitten (yes, every kitten) as they were loaded into crates – you arrive at the infamous Stark Tower right on time.

Set up of the whole thing doesn’t take long, Natasha successfully leading the way through the maze of which is the expansive building. You pass a few people you recognize from Natasha’s stories and the news, and a few others who you don’t but still smile as they pass (whether they were just being nice or smiling at the kittens in the crates you were holding, you refused to decide).

It takes a few elevator rides, but eventually you get to the desires floor and room – Wanda knocking on the door after setting her Ikea bag of playpen supplies on the carpeted floor.

A response is nearly immediate. “Go away!” a gruff voice calls, muffled by the thick walls.

Natasha and Wanda both roll their eyes. “Shut up and open the door!” the former replies.

There’s no verbal response, but you do hear shuffling before the door opens to reveal a figure more brick house than man. His hair is messy, sweatshirt a size too large and solid black but with jeans that fit perfectly. His boots – much thicker and blacker than yours – are dirty.

“What do you want?” he grumbles.

Natasha remains unphased by the man’s demeanor. “We have kittens. Now move out of my way so we can set all this shit up and you can pet some cute animals.”

Bucky gives her a look and rolls his eyes, but steps asides and holds the door open for the three of you nonetheless.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky found in the middle of the four-foot wide pen, bewildered. He’s done a lot of things in his life, many of which would be impossible for (nearly) anyone else to accomplish. He speaks thirty languages (plus Morse code and ten variations of sign language), he’s hunted bears with his bare hands, he’s survived Russian winters and summers in the Amazon rainforest.

Yet, somehow, the thing that stunts him beyond reproach is a small play pen filled with about forty tiny, six-week old kittens that are all their own form of chaotic. Bucky doesn’t know where to look, let alone how to grab the ones that catch his eye. He’s terrified of crushing them like bug caught under a hardcover book, of breaking their tiny ribs or tiny legs or tiny necks.

He watched you intensely when you and Natasha and Wanda pulled them out of their crates, watching how you held them and which one allowed you to give them kisses and which one chased after the strands in Natasha’s ponytail. He noticed which ones curled up in small spheres in the corners of the pen, which ones immediately bopped about, which ones immediately sought out the bottle of formula you’d prepared and which ones nibbled at the liquidy wet food that had been scooped into a neon blue bowl.

Each tiny animal was different, and it amazed him.

There was this one cat, a fluffy little white one with one ear and splotches of buttery yellow seems the boldest, eyeing Bucky as if the man was this small cat’s Everest. The floral collar (one of those break-away ones, you had told him, meant to keep the kittens from getting hurt but allowing the rescuers to identify them by name and rescue identification number) has a small nameplate – a gold one – with “Squirt” etched into the metal.

“Squirt,” Bucky repeats under his breath. “Nice to meet you, little guy.”

The cat gives him a small, pterodactyl-like scream in response, as if the small animal is too young to speak in any other tone but “loud.”

“HELLO LARGE CAT,” he imagines the cat saying. “HELLO, I AM A SMALLER CAT. DO YOU WISH TO BE CLIMBED?”

Bucky smiles at the imagined conversation, allowing the brave creature to dig its tiny claws into the leg of his jeans just above his socked feet (he took off his boots when he arrived in the room, as per your request), the start to his magnificent journey.

“I do not mind being climbed,” the man answers out loud. For once, he doesn’t take in the entire room’s emotions and reactions before he says something – he just talks, even if that freedom from paranoia is only allowing him to speak to someone (or thing) that can’t talk back.

Squirt gets to Bucky’s knee before screeching once more, just as tenacious as when he was on the floor. “THIS IS MUCH HARDER THAN I EXPECTED,” is all Squirt says.

Bucky laughs, ignoring the several other kittens who are trying to claw up Bucky’s metal arm – each unsuccessful but determined to continue to try. “I’m a lot bigger than you realized, huh?”

Squirt takes a few more wobbly steps, tail high in the air, before looking to Bucky for guidance as the tiny creature stands on his thigh. “I WOULD LIKE SOME HELP, PLEASE,” Bucky interprets from the screeches.

He laughs, not moving. Another kitten, this time an equally tiny short-haired black cat named “Foosball” attempts to follow in Squirt’s literal and metaphorical footsteps, but gives up when she gets to Bucky’s knees. This, too, makes him let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, kid. You’re doing just fine.”

You watch Bucky’s interactions with the kittens intensely – telling yourself you just need to make sure he doesn’t hurt them accidentally. In truth, he was handling them the best you’d seen anyone outside your shelter in a long time – gentle, firm, attentive. His pseudo-conversations warm your heart, and the only thing that breaks your concentration is one of the larger kittens walking up to the barrier of the pen to scream at you from inside her prison that she was hungry. Natasha and Wanda had long left, citing some bureaucratic problem that was probably bullshit but, regardless of accuracy, left you and Bucky alone.

“What does she want?” the man asks, body still frozen as Squirt climbs his chest.

“Butterfly wants to eat,” you reply while you grab one of the syringes with formula.

“Why can’t she eat from the bowl of food?” he asks. It’s not accusatory, just curious. It’s sweet, extremely so, and makes you realize that Natasha was right – this is good for him.

“At six weeks, most kittens are weened from their mothers or,” you pick Butterfly up and hold her against you as she suckles at the plastic nozzle. “In this case, syringes. But sometimes it just takes a little longer.”

Bucky hmms, turning his attention back to the kittens before he speaks again. “Do you want to get coffee?”

You swallow, looking at him look at Squirt. “Like…with you?”

Bucky nods as he sits up, the brave kitten now on his shoulder and several others vying for his attention. “I, uh,” he swallows. “Yeah. Coffee. With me. Like a, uh, a date. With me. Where we get coffee.”

You giggle a little, both at his flustered speech and at Butterfly’s post-feeding tiredness. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” is all Bucky replies, the both of you now focused back on the kittens.

Dammit, you think. Natasha was right again.

[invisibleicewands]

Staged's Anna Lundberg and Georgia Tennant: 'Scenes with all four of us usually involved alcohol'

Not many primetime TV hits are filmed by the show’s stars inside their own homes. However, 2020 wasn’t your average year. During the pandemic, productions were shut down and workarounds had to be found – otherwise the terrestrial schedules would have begun to look worryingly empty. Staged was the surprise comedy hit of the summer.

This playfully meta short-form sitcom, airing in snack-sized 15-minute episodes, found A-list actors Michael Sheen and David Tennant playing an exaggerated version of themselves, bickering and bantering as they tried to perfect a performance of Luigi Pirandello’s Six Characters in Search of an Author over Zoom.

Having bonded while co-starring in Good Omens, Amazon’s TV adaptation of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s novel, Sheen, 51, and Tennant, 49, became best buddies in real life. In Staged, though, they’re comedically reframed as frenemies – warm, matey and collaborative, but with a cut-throat competitiveness lurking just below the surface. As they grew ever more hirsute and slobbish in lockdown, their virtual relationship became increasingly fraught.

It was soapily addictive and hilariously thespy, while giving a voyeuristic glimpse of their interior decor and domestic lives – with all the action viewed through their webcams.

Yet it was the supporting cast who lifted Staged to greatness,Their director Simon Evans, forced to dance around the pair’s fragile egos and piggy-in-the-middle of their feuds. Steely producer Jo, played by Nina Sosanya, forever breaking off from calls to bellow at her poor, put-upon PA. And especially the leading men’s long-suffering partners, both actors in real life, Georgia Tennant and Anna Lundberg.

Georgia Tennant comes from showbiz stock, as the child of Peter Davison and Sandra Dickinson. At 36 she is an experienced actor and producer, who made her TV debut in Peak Practice aged 15. She met David on Doctor Who 2008, when she played the Timelord’s cloned daughter Jenny. Meanwhile, the Swedish Lundberg, 26, is at the start of her career. She left drama school in New York two years ago and Staged is her first big on-screen role.

Married for nine years, the Tennants have five children and live in west London. The Lundberg-Sheens have been together two years, have a baby daughter, Lyra, and live outside Port Talbot in south Wales. On screen and in real life, the women have become firm friends and frequent scene-stealers.

Staged proved so successful that it’s now back for a second series. We set up a video call with Tennant and Lundberg to discuss lockdown life, wine consumption, home schooling (those two may be related) and the blurry line between fact and fiction…

Was doing Staged a big decision, because it’s so personal and set in your homes? Georgia Tennant: We’d always been a very private couple. Staged was everything we’d never normally say yes to. Suddenly, our entire house is on TV and so is a version of the relationship we’d always kept private. But that’s the way to do it, I guess. Go to the other extreme. Just rip off the Band-Aid.

Anna Lundberg: Michael decided pretty quickly that we weren’t going to move around the house at all. All you see is the fireplace in our kitchen.

GT: We have five children, so it was just about which room was available.

AL: But it’s not the real us. It’s not a documentary.

GT: Although some people think it is.

Which fictional parts of the show do people mistake for reality? GT: People think I’m really a novelist because “Georgia” writes a novel in Staged. They’ve asked where they can buy my book. I should probably just write one now because I’ve done the marketing already.

AL: People worry about our elderly neighbour, who gets hospitalised in the show. She doesn’t actually exist in real life but people have approached Michael in Tesco’s, asking if she’s OK.

Michael and David squabble about who’s billed first in Staged. Does that reflect real life? AL: With Good Omens, Michael’s name was first for the US market and David’s was first for the British market. So those scenes riffed on that.

Should we call you Georgia and Anna, or Anna and Georgia? GT: Either. We’re super-laidback about these things.

AL: Unlike certain people.

How well did you know each other before Staged? GT: We barely knew each other. We’ve now forged a friendship by working on the show together.

AL: We’d met once, for about 20 minutes. We were both pregnant at the time – we had babies a month apart – so that was pretty much all we talked about.

Did you tidy up before filming? AL: We just had to keep one corner relatively tidy.

GT: I’m quite a tidy person, but I didn’t want to be one of those annoying Instagram people with perfect lives. So strangely, I had to add a bit of mess… dot a few toys around in the background. I didn’t want to be one of those insufferable people – even though, inherently, I am one of those people.

Was there much photobombing by children or pets? AL: In the first series, Lyra was still at an age where we could put her in a baby bouncer. Now that’s not working at all. She’s just everywhere. Me and Michael don’t have many scenes together in series two, because one of us is usually Lyra-wrangling.

GT: Our children aren’t remotely interested. They’re so unimpressed by us. There’s one scene where Doris, our five-year-old, comes in to fetch her iPad. She doesn’t even bother to glance at what we’re doing.

How was lockdown for you both? AL: I feel bad saying it, but it was actually good for us. We were lucky enough to be in a big house with a garden. For the first time since we met, we were in one place. We could just focus on Lyra . To see her grow over six months was incredible. She helped us keep a steady routine, too.

GT: Ours was similar. We never spend huge chunks of time together, so it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. At least until David’s career goes to shit and he’s just sat at home. The flipside was the bleakness. Being in London, there were harrowing days when everything was silent but you’d just hear sirens going past, as a reminder that something awful was going on. So I veered between “This is wonderful” and “This is the worst thing that ever happened.”

And then there was home schooling… GT: Which was genuinely the worst thing that ever happened.

You’ve spent a lot of time on video calls, clearly. What are your top Zooming tips? GT: Raise your camera to eye level by balancing your laptop on a stack of books. And invest in a ring light.

AL: That’s why you look so much better. We just have our sad kitchen light overhead, which makes us look like one massive shiny forehead.

GT: Also, always have a good mug on the go [raises her cuppa to the camera and it’s a Michael Sheen mug]. Someone pranked David on the job he’s shooting at the moment by putting a Michael Sheen mug in his trailer. He brought it home and now I use it every morning. I’m magically drawn to drinking out of Michael.

There’s a running gag in series one about the copious empties in Michael’s recycling. Did you lean into lockdown boozing in real life? AL: Not really. We eased off when I was pregnant and after Lyra was born. We’d just have a glass of wine with dinner.

GT: Yes, definitely. I often reach for a glass of red in the show, which was basically just an excuse to continue drinking while we were filming: “I think my character would have wine and cake in this scene.” The time we started drinking would creep slightly earlier. “We’ve finished home schooling, it’s only 4pm, but hey…” We’ve scaled it back to just weekends now.

How did you go about creating your characters with the writer Simon Evans? AL: He based the dynamic between David and Michael on a podcast they did together. Our characters evolved as we went along.

GT: I was really kind and understanding in the first draft. I was like “I don’t want to play this, it’s no fun.” From the first few tweaks I made, Simon caught onto the vibe, took that and ran with it.

Did you struggle to keep a straight face at times? AL: Yes, especially the scenes with all four of us, when David and Michael start improvising.

GT: I was just drunk, so I have no recollection.

AL: Scenes with all four of us were normally filmed in the evening, because that’s when we could be child-free. Usually there was alcohol involved, which is a lot more fun.

GT: There’s a long scene in series two where we’re having a drink. During each take, we had to finish the glass. By the end, we were all properly gone. I was rewatching it yesterday and I was so pissed.

What else can you tell us about series two? GT: Everyone’s in limbo. Just as we think things are getting back to normal, we have to take three steps back again. Everyone’s dealing with that differently, shall we say.

AL: In series one, we were all in the same situation. By series two, we’re at different stages and in different emotional places.

GT: Hollywood comes calling, but things are never as simple as they seem.

There were some surprise big-name cameos in series one, with Samuel L Jackson and Dame Judi Dench suddenly Zooming in. Who can we expect this time around? AL: We can’t name names, but they’re very exciting.

GT: Because series one did so well, and there’s such goodwill towards the show, we’ve managed to get some extraordinary people involved. This show came from playing around just to pass the time in lockdown. It felt like a GCSE end-of-term project. So suddenly, when someone says: “Samuel L Jackson’s in”, it’s like: “What the fuck’s just happened?”

AL: It took things to the next level, which was a bit scary.

GT: It suddenly felt like: “Some people might actually watch this.”

How are David and Michael’s hair and beard situations this time? AL: We were in a toyshop the other day and Lyra walked up to these Harry Potter figurines, pointed at Hagrid and said: “Daddy!” So that explains where we’re at. After eight months of lockdown, it was quite full-on.

GT: David had a bob at one point. Turns out he’s got annoyingly excellent hair. Quite jealous. He’s also grown a slightly unpleasant moustache.

Is David still wearing his stinky hoodie? GT: I bought him that as a gift. It’s actually Paul Smith loungewear. In lockdown, he was living in it. It’s pretty classy, but he does manage to make it look quite shit.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Lasting Melodies, chapter 1: You Were Always There

I thought I’d make a story for Jack Fain and Sammy Lawrence, showing their snippets of their lives together from their first performance to Jack’s untimely death.

The first chapter is mostly going to be fluff. In the second chapter, ink-related angst kicks in.

I hope you all enjoy this.

---

In the backstage of a little theatre, Jack Fain sat in anxious silence, waiting to be called out alongside Sammy for their Vaudesville routine. During their practices together, he’d been able to push down the idea of dozens or hundreds of people staring at him for their entertainment, but now it was all he could think about. He looked to Sammy, who seemed much calmer, and offered him a little smile and a nod. Sammy had done many performances before, beginning with concerts as a child and teenager showcasing his prodigal talent. Sammy was the reason Jack didn’t simply shed the flashy vaudevillian getup and make a run for it- Sammy had never, at least as far as Jack knew, had a humiliating performance, and Jack wasn’t about to waste all the effort they’d put in and make it his first.

The announcer finally called them out. “Just focus on the routine,” Sammy said, leading Jack onto the stage.

The routine was no different than practice- in fact, the adrenaline of doing it before an audience made it easier if anything. It would have been poor performance not to look at the crowd, so Jack did, but they didn’t terrify him like they expected. They weren’t bored, or annoyed, or vicious, they were having fun. And Jack was having fun with them.

When the routine was finished, the crowd cheered.

“They love us, Sammy,” Jack breathed. Of course, the crowd had cheered for every performer that night, and Jack knew that. But it felt so good. People loved him! All their skill and effort had made people cheer.

Jack felt a little tug at his sleeve and followed Sammy’s lead backstage, slightly embarrassed that he’d almost overstayed his welcome.

“That was amazing!”

“Good!” Sammy replied. He was smiling, too. “I was starting to think you weren’t cut out for this, but you’re actually a real stage personality. Would you do it again with me?”

“Next chance we have.”

“Great. I’ve been meaning to ask you something, actually- I want to do shows like this for a living someday, but I'd want a partner for it. So, will you be my partner?”

“Wow, that’s an awfully big choice. I wanna say yes right away, but give me a little time to think about it. Okay? And thank you. I would have never been able to do this without you.”

“Heh. No problem. No one I’d rather be on stage with than you.”

Jack blushed. It was a touch awkward to have his crush and best friend praise him like that. “Thanks,” was all that he could manage.

---

As soon as Sammy walked in to their apartment, Jack could tell that he was in a bad mood. Jack put down the book he was reading and went to him. “Something up, Sam?”

Sammy sighed deeply. “I think we need to have a little house meeting.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Well, I was fired by the movie theatre for,” Sammy made air quotes with his fingers, “‘unhinged and unprofessional behaviour.’ And let’s be honest- we’ve been at the musical thing long enough, and our names aren’t taking off. Remember that Joey Drew guy who offered to hire us as a pair? I think we should do that. It’s a way for us to be working on music together.”

“Well, it’s too bad that you want to give up on the performances, but hey, writing music for a living sounds like an improvement on working at the record store. Sure, let’s do it.”

Sammy smiled and nodded, then looked away. “There’s something else I want to tell you as well. I... well, I found your love poem.”

Jack was stunned. “What?”

Sammy took the folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Uh, here... sorry. You told me it was a song you weren’t finished with, and I took a peek, even though you told me not to, and it was probably an accident you left it in the open.”

Jack's heart raced, afraid of what this would mean for Sammy’s perspective of him. “Okay,” he began, in a tone one might use to calm an animal, “Now that you know about this, I understand if you want to set some new boundaries with me-”

“No! No- I found it months ago. Sorry I didn’t give it back- I just don’t think I convince myself it existed, otherwise. And I didn’t think I wanted to pursue this, but I just thought, you know, if I couldn’t pursue musical performance the way I wanted to, maybe I could have the other thing I wanted.”

Not quite stunned by disbelief, Jack cupped Sammy’s face with one of his hands, forcing Sammy to meet his eyes. “I love you too.”

Sammy pulled him into their first kiss. It was just how Jack had always imagined it would be.

---

Jack sat in Henry’s old desk, waiting for his turn to be called into Joey’s office. Joey had, for no obvious reason, scheduled Sammy in for a fifteen-minute meeting at nine, with him having a similar meeting right after. Finally, Sammy came out, not looking any more upset than usual, thankfully.

“You’re not getting fired, don’t worry,” Sammy said. “We’re gonna have plenty to talk about over lunch, though.”

“Okay.” Jack’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Any idea what his reason is for calling us in like this?”

“Frankly? I think you’re sitting on it,” Sammy said, rolling his eyes. Then he left.

This just confused Jack. There had been no secret that Joey was sore over Henry’s departure a couple days ago, but what could that have to do with Joey wanting to see them?

As soon as Jack had entered Joey’s office, Joey had sat him down with a nice cup of coffee. “So, this is just going to be a casual meeting, Jack. Just you and me talking- one artist to another, alright?” There was an air of longing and desperation in Joey’s eyes.

“Alright.”

“Alright! Excellent! So, as an artistic man, I’m sure that you understand that an artist needs a partner, right?” Joey reached out and stroked Jack’s hand with his finger. Jack took his hand off the desk.

“I’m actually with someone else.”

Disappointment was evident in Joey’s eyes. “Oh, I meant nothing of that sort. I meant a person I could share my dreams and my ideas with. To be loyal and dependable to me.”

“Okay. Sure. I can do that.”

“Alright, great. First thing- you spend a lot of time with Sammy. Tell me about him- what he likes, what he dislikes, what he means when he says ‘please give me space,’ and so on.”

The fifteen minutes passed, and subjects such art, dreams, and ideas went unmentioned. Jack and Sammy truly did have a lot to talk about over lunch, which they took in Sammy’s office for privacy’s sake.

“Wow. He was really that direct with you?” Sammy couldn’t say he was surprised. Though he hadn’t been that obvious about it, Joey had clearly been chasing Sammy’s approval.

“Yep. But the second I told him I was with someone else, he went right on to talking about you. I could just see him taking notes on how to impress you.”

“Pathetic. Well, maybe I should tell him that I’m interested in complete control over my department, who works in it, and when he visits it. Who knows, I might get it. And then you’ll have eternal job security.”

“And maybe I could tell him that you like something goofy to see how far he’ll go.”

Sammy smiled. “Please do. This I must see.”

The next day, Jack told Joey that Sammy’s favourite flower was a white carnation. When Jack came in the next day, there was a vase containing three white carnations on Joey’s desk.

Now knowing his power, Jack resisted the temptation to use it for about a week before he decided to wax poetic to Joey about Sammy’s supposed lifelong love of reptiles. The day after that, Sammy walked into their morning meeting to see Joey with a medium-sized snake around his shoulders. “Her name is Vivaldi,” Joey explained. “She’s a Bullsnake. Wanna pet her?”

Sammy did not, in fact, want to pet her.

After the snake incident, Jack’s daily meetings with Joey became more professionally-focused before ending entirely, and within a few weeks, Vivaldi’s tank, along with the snake herself, had disappeared from Joey’s office.

---

“What? Why...?” Tears were forming in Jack’s eyes. He couldn’t believe this.

Sammy ground his teeth. This wasn’t easy for him, either. “Because you’re the anchor that’s keeping me at Joey Drew Studios. I’m turning thirty in a month, and I… I don’t know whether to accept that I’m going to be working here forever or if I should move on to other options. But “other options” probably wouldn’t let me keep working with you. I need to remind myself that I can live without you, and look at what other opportunities are out there. So, yeah. We can still live together, and we can still talk as the job or as being roommates requires, but I’m going to try not being your friend or your boyfriend for a while, okay? It probably won’t be for more than a month or two.”

Jack wanted to say something- something like, “but I need you, too!” but he didn’t. “Okay,” was all he said. “I hope you get what you want from this.”

Sammy cringed at how defeated Jack sounded. He wanted to hug him, but he didn’t want to break their “no being friends or lovers” agreement within the first five seconds, so instead he left for his room.

Jack and Sammy soon found out that they were very bad at staying away from each other. People still used Jack as a go-between to get messages through to Sammy, and that alone meant they interacted almost on a daily basis. The two of them still needed a discerning eye to look over their music, and while there were others, there was no one they trusted as much or enjoyed the company of quite the same. Sometimes Jack would forget (or “forget”) about their break period and try to bring Sammy coffee and snacks, or check to make sure Sammy was doing alright during the deadline crunch- and sometimes Sammy would send him away out of principle, but just as often he didn’t have the willpower. Jack found himself entertaining fantasies of them drifting back together within a matter of weeks.

Then one day, Jack caught sight of Susie Campbell kissing Sammy’s cheek in the music room. “Other opportunities” indeed. Jack wrestled with himself over whether to say anything, but ultimately chose to keep it to himself. If that was what Sammy wanted, there was nothing he could do about it.

[madamebaggio]

EVERYDAY DISCOVERING SOMETHING BRAND NEW - JonSa Modern AU

Summary: Jon and Sansa have been leaving together for seven months and they're great friends.

Best friends.

Even if Jon is completely in love with her. Not that he's about to tell her. He isn't.

Then Ed Sheeran came and ruined Jon's life.

Or: Sansa loves "Shape of You", Jon just loves her shape.

***

Notes: This is a one-shot, that can also be found here.

***

Jon Snow was a simple guy; he didn’t need much to be content. He loved his job, his apartment, his dog and the friends he had.

He was perfectly happy to stay home and watch a movie or football, but he was also fine with meeting his friends on a pub for a pint.

Probably this simplicity was the reason for Jon’s calm. Now, he was no pushover, but he was the type of man that acted with calm and restrain on most situations. Jon’s self-control was legendary. He never started a fight, and he didn’t encourage them. He was the guy asking everyone to calm the fuck down.

However, Jon felt like his self-control was close to over and done with.

The reason?

Sansa Fucking Stark.

Now, on his normal days, Jon could take a deep breath and explain the story calmly: he was best friends with Sansa’s older brother; Robb. He practically grew up inside the Stark’s house, and he had a great relationship with the younger kids as well.

Not Sansa, though.

She’d been aloof even as a little girl. By the time she hit high school, she was way to cool to hang around most guys, especially awkward loners like Jon. She was a bit of a bitch back then, but it was okay. Jon had been annoyingly emo during those years and Bran had been half vegetarian. Things are weird during high school.

After he moved from Winterfell he didn’t expect to see Sansa all that much. She’d moved to King’s Landing to pursue a life of glamour and Jon was -as stated before -a simple person.

He kept in touch with Robb, Bran and Arya, and time passed.

Then, one day, he was talking to Robb about his flatmate Sam, who’d married and left him all alone with rent.

That was when Robb had uttered the fatidic words; “You’re looking for a flatmate? Would you live with Sansa?”

Apparently, she’d had some kind of problem in the South and was moving away from it.

(It took Jon three months, but eventually he managed to get the story from her, and it took all of his self-control not to go South and kill Joffrey.)

At the time Jon had been unable to say “no”. It was Sansa, Robb’s precious little sister. Sure, they’d never been close when they were young, but he could remember the sweet girl that would occasionally ask him to play with her and her Barbies, or steal her a lemon cake from the kitchen, because he could reach the counter and she couldn’t.

Of course, he’d said “yes”, even though he was a bit fearful of this arrangement.

At the beginning, it was… Hard. Sansa wasn’t the girl he remembered; she was quieter, closed off, even a bit scared.

Even though she was his flatmate and they shared every single bill, she acted like she was a guest around the apartment; asking permission to do everything, even painting the walls of her own room.

Jon learned he had to be careful with her. Some days, when he was really tired from work, and she’d come around asking if she could use the blender, he almost wanted to snap at her and say of course she could, she lived there!

But he could see it in her eyes: she was scared that this was exactly what he’d do. Because that was what she’d been living with: an abusive person. She was healing, and Jon snapping at her over something like that, just because he was tired, would be the worst thing possible. So Jon was patient and calm with her until she started to feel more and more comfortable.

Which brings Jon back to his quickly fraying self-control.

After seven months living together -yes, seven months – they’d become friends. Very good friends, actually. They had rituals -footballs matches with beer and Chinese food every Thursday. They talked about anything and everything. Sansa teased Jon about his glasses and he teased her about her strange fixation with unicorns. She cuddled and spoiled Ghost so much, the huge dog was starting to think he was a lap dog.

He’d stopped cringing when he saw a tampon box and started making her hot chocolate when she was on her period -she had terrible cramps. She fixed the buttons of his shirts, and mended that one ancient t-shirt he insisted on keeping around.

They cooked dinner together, watched tv together, went grocery shopping together… They were nauseatingly domestic -Theon’s words.

And some might ask, “What’s wrong with that?”

Well, many things, actually.

And it wasn’t the tampons or the unicorns, or even the dozen coats by the entrance door. Nope. It was the dancing. And the shorts.

Mostly the shorts.

The thing was: once Sansa became more comfortable around the house, he’d see her humming and singing along songs that were in her head. Then she started dancing.

And Sansa Stark didn’t do silly, half-assed dances. Oh no. Even her little dances around the houses were…

Jon would rather not think about the word. It’d only make it worse.

Then, there were the shorts. Sansa had a bunch of those. They were really short shorts. Or maybe her legs were just that long.

And the combination of shorts and dancing?

Yes, Jon was in trouble.

If it was only that -the fact that she was too hot to handle -maybe Jon’s self-control would be fine; but it wasn’t. Sansa was whip smart, amazingly kind and sweet. She had a secret dorky side that was cute as hell. Her smile could light up the room and Jon was helpless every time he saw it.

He as fucking whipped.

The thing was… This was Sansa; Robb’s precious little sister. She was also his flatmate and friend. He might be crazy about her -not just the shorts and the dancing, but her -but some things weren’t meant to be and he was fine with that.

He was.

Really.

Ed Sheeran ruined his life.

Well… Actually, Jon wasn’t so sure about that. He had a love-hate relationship with that fucking song and how much Sansa loved it.

Pros: Sansa dancing to it.

Cons: Sansa dancing to it.

There were no winners on this. Much less Jon himself.

Sure, perhaps he was being over dramatic, but it’d been weeks! He just wanted to find Ed Sheeran and punch him for that song.

Or maybe give him a hug.

Jon was still deciding.

“Hey, Jon.”

He smiled when he saw Sansa sitting on the couch, painting her toe nails electric blue; Ghost was dutifully guarding her from his position on the floor. Then Jon noticed the shorts. Those were the purple denim ones; they had silver stars on the back pockets.

He was going straight to hell.

“Hey, San.”

“Listen…” She paused to check her work, before turning fully to him. “Marge is giving a barbecue on Saturday. Do you wanna come?”

Jon groaned. Margaery’s idea of barbecue involved copious amounts of alcohol, a DJ and -likely -the police eventually coming to end it.

He was way too old for this.

“I know.” Sansa giggled upon seeing his face. “I know it’s not your thing, but Harry’s going to be there and I’d appreciate the help.”

Harry was a wanker that Margaery had introduced to Sansa, in hopes they’d date. Jon had secretly hoped the whole time they wouldn’t.

They hadn’t, but apparently Harry hadn’t gotten the message that Sansa wasn’t interested, because the prick always tried to corner her when they were in the same place.

“So now I’m your body-guard?” Jon grinned at her.

“Jon, please!” Sansa whined. “I want to go, but he’s so annoying…”

“Ok, ok.” Jon surrendered -he already knew he would. “I’ll go.”

Sansa squealed in delight.

It was just a barbecue. What was the worst it could happen?

xXx

Good Lord, Margaery Tyrell was fucking insane!

That sure as fuck wasn’t a barbecue. It was a rave!

There was a DJ alright. ON A STAGE! There was also a bonfire -in the middle of the day -and a lot of alcohol.

No barbecue was to be seen there.

Jon had stuck around Sansa -probably looking like a lost puppy or a stupid boyfriend.

Harry Hardyng was as idiotic as his name suggested, and he’d tried to talk to Sansa more than once. She’d tried everything to get rid of him; from being polite to just plain telling him to fuck off, but it still took Jon and Margaery interfering for the guy to finally get a clue.

After that Jon managed to enjoy himself a bit, mostly because he got to dance a bit with Sansa.

He’d had a few beers, so he was relaxed and happy as they got a taxi to go home. Sansa, however, had drunk a bit more than he had. She was a mass of giggles and was stumbling around a bit, until they finally got to their apartment.

“I’m gonna hate that DJ forever.” She proclaimed dramatically, kicking her shoes off and dropping her jacket on the couch, before sitting down.

Ghost came out from whatever he was and jumped on the couch -which he was forbidden of doing -and dropped his front legs on Sansa’s lap.

Jon chuckled. She’d been complaining about the poor sod for the last hour. He’d dared to play some strange remix of her beloved song, and Sansa couldn’t get over his insolence.

Jon tried not to let her see his amusement, or she’d be a very Unhappy Drunken Sansa and he liked Happy Drunken Sansa. She was adorable.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Jon offered easily.

Sansa snorted. “Not that bad? Jon, ‘Shape of You’ is a masterpiece! You can’t touch a masterpiece!”

Jon considered saying it was an exaggeration to call that song a masterpiece, but he let this one go, for the sake of their friendship.

“I couldn’t even dance to that.” She was still ranting about it, pouting as she petted Ghost. “The rhythm was all wrong.”

Jon couldn’t hold back his snort at that, because she’d complained about it, but she’d danced anyway. “Couldn’t dance?”

“Not properly.” She insisted.

“You should send him a formal complaint by e-mail.” He teased.

She narrowed her eyes, like she was trying to figure out if he was making fun of her. “Maybe I will.” She told him defiantly.

“Tomorrow.” Jon suggested with a grin. “Now you should go to sleep.”

“No way!” She got up suddenly and grabbed her bag, pulling her mobile out. “I’m not sleeping until I listen the real song!”

Jon sighed. It wasn’t actually late; they’d spent the afternoon there and decided to leave as it got dark, but Sansa had been yawing -drinking sometimes made her sleepy -so he had -foolishly -assumed she’d want to go to bed.

Apparently sleep wasn’t an option when someone disgraced an Ed Sheeran’s song.

She put her mobile on the dock on their mantle, and the familiar beat was playing on the speakers seconds after.

That was Jon’s cue to leave. She was wearing the jeans shorts -the one with fraying ends -and her hair was on a braid, and… Well, Jon was just a guy pathetically in love with a girl.

He had his limits.

“Well, enjoy yourself.” He mumbled, already preparing to leave.

“No!” She grabbed his hand. “Dance with me.”

“Sansa…” Jon groaned, but he let her pull him closer -he was an idiot. “You know I don’t dance.”

“You do.” She insisted. “You danced with me today.”

He kinda had, but he’d mostly stayed by her side moving awkwardly.

This was different. She was pulling him by the shirt and they were almost chest to chest. She was singing along the lyrics, putting Jon’s hand on her waist, her forehead leaning against his.

Jon wasn’t sure if this was Hell or Heaven.

It kind of felt like one of those dreams he had, where Sansa told him she was in love with him, then when they kissed Ned and Robb would appear with shotguns.

He’d had this one a few times, actually.

However, her hands were on his shoulders, and she was moving with the music, and Jon was pretty sure this was, in reality, Heaven.

He wasn’t a dancer, by any measure, but even he could pull some moves every once in a while. He twirled Sansa around -she let out a delighted gasp -then pulled her back to him.

This time, when she came, she didn’t let any space between them. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her whole body against his. And by her whole body, Jon meant all of it; even her hips were flush against his, their legs kind of tangled as they kept moving.

Jon would probably have to move her, or she was going to feel the effect she had on him, and this would be awkward and she wouldn’t talk to him anymore and…

He felt her nose gently brushing against his, and he looked at her just to see that her eyes were already prepared to lock on his. They were basically the same height, so it was terribly easy to get lost on her blue eyes.

“Jon?” She called so softly it was almost lost to the music.

“Yes?” He asked, his throat dry, his voice husky.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” She asked, her breath fanning against his mouth.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He’d been so damn controlled this whole time, but her words broke the dam.

So sure, maybe he should’ve reflected a bit more about the request, but the words had barely left her lips and he was kissing her, like he’d been dreaming of for the last months.

It actually felt like he’d waited an eternity for this moment.

He let one of his hands sink into her glorious hair, like he’d been longing to do for a while now. It felt like silk between his fingers and he wanted to undo her braid and muss her hair up.

However, he also wanted to keep kissing her forever. Jon felt her fingers also grasping his hair and he growled into her mouth. She apparently enjoyed the sound, because she kissed him even harder.

He felt dizzy with the way she bit his lips, and the way she smelled, and her sweet moans against his mouth.

It was a torture to stop it, but he had to.

As much as he’d love to stay there, kissing her forever, he needed to be sure. He needed to know this wasn’t just a drunk escaped, that she wouldn’t regret it in the morning.

He wanted to know if she wanted him the same way he did her.

“Sansa, wait.” He stopped her, pushing her away gently.

The look in her eyes, her red lips, almost made him regret it immediately, but he wanted them to be sure, he wanted them to be on the same page.

“What?” She asked, completely confused.

“Why…” He started, then stopped and tried again. “When… How did we…”

Sansa looked like she was trying not to laugh at his discomfort. “Do you have a question?” She teased.

“I just… Never expected that you would… Want to…”

“Kiss you?” She touched his chin gently. “Because I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

“You have?” Jon should feel ashamed of how needy he sounded right now, but he couldn’t. Not when she was smiling like that.

“I have.” She assured him.

Jon noticed -finally -that his arms were still around her, and she was still so entwined to him. He didn’t want to put space between them, so he didn’t.

“I’ve thought about it every time you were sweet to me, every time you kissed my forehead before going to sleep, all those times you got me chocolate because I was feeling bad…” She rested her forehead against his. “I wanted to kiss you every time you smiled at me, and those times you hugged me…” She grinned at him. “And every time you were shirtless. Though… I’m pretty sure I didn’t want just to kiss you then…”

“Sansa…” Jon groaned.

“Licking was probably more what I had in…”

Jon cut her off with a kiss.

When they parted again Sansa was breathless and her face was red and Jon had never seen a more beautiful thing in his life.

“So…” Sansa took a deep breath. “We’re good?”

If they were good? Jon was fucking floating.

“We’re good.” He told her gently, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re great.”

“So you were really looking at my arse all those times I was dancing.” She teased.

“You…”

“I’m not blind, Jon.” She rolled her eyes.

“It wasn’t just that.” He felt he needed to reassure her.

“I know.” She dropped a quick kiss to his lips. “I know it’s not.”

“So…”

“So…” She dragged the word playfully.

“Kissing?” He offered easily.

“To start.” She agreed. “Later we can talk about the licking.”

Jon groaned before kissing her again.

He should send Ed Sheeran a fruit basket or something.

Best song ever.

[chicagocityfclanspromoblog]

Dakota English → Summer Bishill → Rat Shifter

→ Basic Information

Age: 36

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Straight

Born or Made: Born

Birthday: October 11th

Zodiac Sign: Libra

Religion: Deism

→ Her Personality Dakota is a beautiful, strong-willed, powerful, highly intelligent, and self-made woman, who does not allow the world to stand in the way of her ambition. She is considerably powerful and influential. Dakota swings way above the depression and anxiety line, having her work and social life in order despite having to routinely deal with incredibly dangerous missions and warlocks. She is fierce and she always stands her ground no matter the circumstances. She gives a feminist element to the pack in the most cunning and intelligent way. Although at first sight, she may seem superficial, Dakota is a keen observer; whose specialties are gossip, competition, and drama. Dakota has shown to be the most rational of her teams during stressful situations, often being mistaken for cruel and bitter, when in truth she is pragmatic, focusing on what needs to be done instead of her emotions.

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: Team member of BOND and GOLD

Scars: Missing her right eye

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: Morning after Mission Breakfasts and Gold jewelry

Two Dislikes: Warlocks/Witches and Jameson

Two Fears: Watching someone she loves hurt/killed while she can do nothing about it and being eaten alive by fire ants

Two Hobbies: Archery and Tai Chi

Three Positive Traits: Loyal, Daring, Pragmatic

Three Negative Traits: Standoffish, Calculating, Cut Throat

→ Her Connections

Parent Names:

Rina English (Mother): They have a perfect mother, daughter relationship. She confides in her with everything, from bad days at work to her struggles with West’s addiction. Rina was the only person who had an inkling West and Dakota were eloping when her daughter asked for something old and blue from her. Dakota can’t keep anything from her mother, and wouldn’t want it any other way.

Michael English (Father): Dakota has always been a daddy’s girl; his pride and joy. Michael believes that she deserves only the best and it’s what made him decide to take West under his wing. He knew that his head strong little girl was set on the gangly boy and decided to shape him into a good, respectable man.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

West Freemen (Mate): Dakota married her best friend. They fight and argue, smile and laugh, irritate and cry for each other. West loves her and she loves his weirdness and the man he has become. She wants to spend her time with him and respects his decisions. His drug habits annoy her but they’re a two person team that no one else is allowed to join. But she refuses to let that habit stop them from being together. They resolve their problems and bounce back to normal after every misstep.

Platonic Connections:

Louis Martin-Rovet (Head/Friend): Louis is her “at-home” head and stake out partner. He’s incredibly smart, and Dakota has learned a lot from him. Louis is the only one of her bosses who has treated her like she’s still capable, and allows her in the field.

Neaera Jayweed (Acquaintance): Dakota really likes Neaera and her complete and utter confidence in going against Nick. She thinks she’s probably fun and wants to get to know her more.

Jo Floyd (Confidant): Jo is the only rat who knows she’s looking into trying to find a way to get her eye back. She has been cautiously supportive and has even investigated links with her, but a part of Dakota knows she’ll tell Nick as soon as it gets serious.

Judson Clerigh (Only Lead): Judson mentioned to her in passing he could make her a new working eye, but Dakota is terrified of the consequences. She knows Louis would not be ok with her doing that and she knows the dangers of accepting magic and the hidden costs that come with it. Still it’s been the only thing she’s found that’s an option.

Hostile Connections:

Flower Hanes (Dislike): Dakota kept getting tripped up and caught in vines one day, only to find Flower and Belle laughing.

Roman Clerigh (Dislike): Roman Clerigh is like a necessary evil to her. His potions are safe for West, but she wished that West wasn’t hooked on them. And it’s easier for her to blame Roman than address the actual problem.

Minsky Edison (Scared of): There is something truly horrifying about mind control to Dakota. She’s head strong and unwavering in her beliefs, and to have someone be able to take that from her is incredibly frightening to her.

Nick Hamelin (Annoyed with): Nick has banned her from BOND missions since she lost her eye. She keeps trying to convince him to let her back in the field, but she’s pretty sure that now he’s keeping her out due to spite.

Pets:

None

→ History Dakota was Michael and Rina English’s miracle baby. With both having high stress teams (her’s GOLD, his BOND) the likelihood of Rina getting pregnant was slim, but right before they were about to stop their aging again, she began getting sick. Both knew she would be their one and only and strived to give her the best life they could. Immediately they began reading parenting books, and strategize how to best bring their child up. When Dakota finally arrived her parents became dedicated to teaching her how to be the smartest and strongest person they could.

Her cleverness became evident when Dakota was in second grade. She’d seen one of the rat kids getting bullied. She collected as many rocks as she could carry and started her assault. The bullies quickly scattered quickly after the rat boy did. She found him later and introduced herself, and from there the greatest friendship of her life began. Dakota and West became inseparable that Summer and spent most of it getting back at the bullies in rat form. From that year West became a part of the English family, with Rina taking care of him like he was her own son. Unfortunately that didn’t mean he was immune from his own parents’ comments, and Dakota felt him slipping away from her in their teen years. She tried supporting him the best she could, keeping his secrets and helping him hide his hangovers from the older rats. When he was 16, West got caught. He told her everything that had happened with Jalissa, but it wasn’t until his parents outed his problem to the whole pack. Rina and Michael eventually heard and pulled their own daughter aside, wanting to know how involved she was in everything. When she finally broke down and told her she had to make a choice of whether she cared about West’s health or his friendship. It woke her up to what could happen to him and the feelings she had for her best friend. She began actually helping keep him safe. Making sure she was always there if he went too overboard, or couldn’t protect himself. Their friendship quickly blurred the lines into a relationship, and her parents caught them. Michael decided to train West to take a spot in BOND, while Rina offered to train her for GOLD. Dakota knew she’d be good for BOND and begged Ray to train her. He took her under his wing, after months of bothering, and by the time she hit 18 she was team mates with her father and boyfriend on BOND. She and West went to the University of Chicago together and after graduation became mates.

She and West became a reliable team for BOND, being capable of taking on most of the “couple” assignments, as well as just having a good understanding of each other. But West fell back into drugs, and especially potions, and began taking larger risks. During a mission in Prague, West needed a fix and got his supply from a random witch, who wanted something way more than a usual payment. Dakota offered her own sacrifice for him, and gave up her eye to protect him from the witch’s magic. After that mission West mostly cleaned up his act, but alternated babying her while endlessly apologizing, and sinking into a deep depression spurred on by the comments from others in the pack, especially his mother. The wrath and rage that had come from losing her eye was released onto those who felt like her lost eye was their business. She got him to eventually see her as the same woman she was before, and they came out in the end stronger.

→ The Present It’s been about a year and a half since Dakota gave up her eye for West. She’s gone through most of the stages of grieving over it and is finally looking into fixing it. She’s looked all over for any kind of remedy. Since it is a magical wound, it’s never going to heal naturally. Which means she’s stuck looking for a magical source to fix it. She’s currently looking into witches or warlocks both locally and out of town for solutions but her sources are not readily forthcoming with that kind of information. Dakota’s also making great strides to hide it from her pack, parents, and especially West. She wants to put on a brave face for them, and it took West months before he trusted himself again. She’s accepted it the way she looks now, but still yearns to have both eyes back. Jo stumbled upon her researching at a cafe and got her to spill, and is now trying to assist in her search. Ultimately Dakota is aware Nick is going to find out, and so will the rest of the pack, but she wants to have a plan to show before that happens.

West and Dakota recently were outed as married by an accidental opening of mail. She knows the pack was thrown by it, and that Nick is pissed, but she is waiting to let someone else pick the fight. She has something bigger to fight. Dakota would really like West to stop relying on potions and try out therapy to deal with his inner emotional turmoil. His parents truly messed him up and Dakota knows how he could be even more incredible if he didn’t have their criticisms hanging in her head. She’s gotten the higher ups in the pack to approve of sessions for West and is now trying to think of how to pitch it to him.

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Summer Bishil (Dakota English) [1][2][3][4]

[anteroom-of-death]

Life, For Dummies p5

a/n: deconstructed angst with a slice of life. idk, i cried too many times lately n now we here. enjoy my pretties.

You fell into a comfortable routine of sorts. No set pattern or time sheets to fill out, no schedule. Just adventure after scheme, mind-numbing body flaring fuck after pleasurable expeirence, after explosions and wine and dine. 

He’d even begun to train you to pilot the TARDIS. He made it fun, and used sex and punishment like a drivers education teacher uses gold stars and red pen. Land it perfectly or even in the right vicinity, he’d toss you up over the console and toss your legs behind his shoulder and eat you out like you were the last snack on the planet. Leaving you with beard burns and gushing…

Manage to wreck the TARDIS into something or massively screw up? He’d pull you by your ear until you were lower to the ground and take the notebook you’d eagerly scribbled notes into, tear your panties down and use it as a flogger, “Now maybe it’ll get through your skull now?” 

You didn’t know which rednesses were which anymore. 

Once you even set up in a kingdom after killing the King and Queen and using telepathic manipulation. It was an annual tithings feast akin to the Purge. The survivors of it would give the king and queen the losers goods. You did admit it was good having everyone fawn over you and treat you like royalty. The Master laughed and nearly died laughing the first time you truly didn’t fuss over the genuflecting, sputtering masses. After that was done, he took only the prettiest and most useful object and drug out the corpses of the former rulers and mockingly made them on their thrones.

He did take the most grand tiara and place it on your head one night and said, “Queen of the Whores...look at how well you know how to kneel!” Before cumming on it, your face, and the wall behind you.

You insisted on lots of rest days in the TARDIS and even out. He enjoyed having a solarium open to the most grand suns for naps during this time, all curled up, you on his chest and you knew this might be the legitimate only time the alien ever had some semblance of a sleeping schedule. 

He’d taken to playing slightly with your hair and humming a bit to you. It was simple and always drained out to a slight snore. He was opening up and relaxing more around you. Even informing you of his life. All the good with all the bad. It was slow to start, but you knew it was a lot.

He was right, all those months ago, this was the Real Way to See the Universe. Having it brought to you and not at random. Each day an a la carte and having loads of time to unwind. The days of randomness and ill-adept piloting, half lies mixed with earnest truths and long-winded explanations were a fever dream of lives past. You understood him better. At his level.

Things became clear and stuck.

You wondered off hand constantly if this was what regeneration felt like one day. 

“I can assure you. It’s much more painful.” He said, responding to your wonderment, tracing a small circle around the base of your neck one day at a beach on Momia 18. “You at least get to keep this smashing body, I have the lottery. Will I end up a dashing man with hands that can do this- “ He went lower and massaged the outside of your bikini bottoms, “And these lips you can never tear your filthy little mind away from…” He stopped and pulled you back, “Or something boring and less exciting.” 

“Damn, you have a point there.” 

If not for the people who he demanded you get called by your preferred name and or, regal terms, you half-thought sometimes you’d forget your name. What was it again? Y/N? 

You were always “Pet” or “my pet”. Unless he was being cool with you, then it was a terse “love”, which always made your heart plummet into your stomach. 

You’d only fought once so far, and it was over something so stupid, you happened to land on Earth and it was a festival and he wanted to scheme and lure in her, but you wanted a nice day perusing the booths and eating, maybe getting a haybale ride in. You ended up cutting your nose off to spite your face and slamming the door to your room and barricading it with a chair, screaming that he had best not come in there. You froze him out for three days and you two took two fucking weeks to make it up. 

It was, at the end, you paid in pain and delayed pleasure. He had you you choked out and chained on the floor of the TARDIS, slowly torturing you with fucking your brain up with images of him pleasuring you. All while using an electric zinger. The Master had you begging and pleading while informing you that Pets don’t get the chance to freeze out their Masters. That they were to be warm and receptive. Always obedient. Once you got the point, he brought you to the most extreme orgasm you ever had, then spent the next day caring for you and yet making sure you wore your new marks with pride.

You could have, in retrospect gone without him, but hindsight is perfect vision. 

You knew you were changing, you were constantly reminded, not just by your creeping suspicions, but by the few, brief times you checked in with your old reality on Earth. You said your excuses, blamed mental illness and lied through your teeth to poor Graham who wanted to send you a box of scones he made. 

He’d been a surrogate father to you in a few many ways.

Yet you never felt so far and so disentangled. 

Not that all change was bad. You were becoming more confident and stood straight up. You were always learning, whether at the hands of your Master, or by the innumerable amount of books he had falling over the place, even by your own tinkering. Your reveries became smaller and fewer in between. And you didn’t let fear get in the way of you doing anything, even falling great heights. 

You were a ghost within a ghost wrapped in a human shell.

Chaos over Chaos. 

The final piece of this fell in when you finally encountered her, the Doctor and all your old friends. Yaz, Ryan and Graham. 

It was an accident.

You’d been laying the foundations for rebellion to happen, the Master was quite put out with the establishment and told you, “Let them eat cake!” as you pointed out, that it’d be longer to wait, but more fun to sew the seeds of discourse and let them march the leaders' heads out on spikes, then swoop in later as glorious alternatives. 

He kissed you so hard you nearly stumbled over and quickly blurted out, “I love you for this! What a clever idea.” 

Of course, the Fam was here and trying to create peace and make sure “order” happened and not your beautiful chaos. 

It was a stand down and you’d literally just walked into those two circling around each other like snarling dogs for a meaty bone. 

“I knew you’d probably be behind something as sinister as this!” She barked. 

Yaz and Ryan were calming a crying leader’s wife and Graham was recharging his Laser shoes. You wondered offhandedly how a supposed pacifist would let him have a weapon purely for killing.

You allowed yourself one, “Fuck.” a little too loud to escape quietly and go deal with this and smooth over the best saving grace for your long plan you both poured all three of the available hearts into. 

“Y/N?” The Doctor pivoted and spun around to the shadow you’d been off stage in. 

The Fam all dropped whatever they were doing immediately and began to gawk at you.

“We thought you died? I went to your home to pick you up and it was deserted-dusty!” 

“We tried calling!”

“I mailed you a postcard!”

“We checked every local hospital and scanned the records for your death!”

So many voices and shouts shook you into the first of a massive reverie in a while. A dull ringing set in and snapped. People started bickering between. For a second you couldn’t hear a single peep from anyone and lost your mental footing.

“How could you betray me? After all we’ve been through?” The Doctor demanded, rolling into your face and nose curling in utter grievances. Fire and sadness filling her eyes. You felt guilt, but saw the pure disgust radiating out of her.

“Enough.” You pushed back and screwed yourself up again. 

“You left me, and them.” You pointed your commanding hand at the Fam. “All alone and on our own to get home! What was I supposed to do? Stand by and wait like I’m being stood up? We waited days. We always wait for you. Always.” Hurt and violence pouring out of every syllable. “What are we, hmm? Us companions? Toys for you to play with for character development then toss away when you learn your lesson?”

“He’s got your hypnotised! He’s evil! You know he’s a baddie!”

You let out a manic laugh, “So?”

“Look what he’s turned you into!” She pointed, “You didn’t look like this before.”

You clapped your hands and chortled, “I’m happy!”

You saw out of the corner of your eye everyone, even the Master, stepped back and observed the two of you’s scene. Yaz? Horrified and like she’d seen a murder. Ryan, confused and hurt. Graham, hurt, but just looking glad he wasn’t in the middle of it.

But your Master, you thought you heard him coo under his breath and felt a warm tingling in your brain.

Yaz, ever the Officer and The Gentlewoman approached you and asked honestly if you were okay. 

At the moment you didn’t know, you crossed a hand over your gut and inhaled sharply, slouching and swallowing a lump in your throat. Graham was beginning to look beyond concerned and in a fatherly sort of way. “You seemed shaken up the last time we talked, Y/N. Did he hurt you?” He approached you and put out to comfort you…

The Doctor was turning from shock to anger and betrayal overruled. “What’s that? It’s like he’s taken over you!” The Doctor made a broad sweeping gesture.  

The Master went to speak and you waved him off, your mind crashing around you. You could feel him getting worried and angry. He looked like he was to kill the Doctor. But not in the little smirking way you’d grown to adore. His teeth were out, but not in a wide, dopey grin. Purely feral and ready to open something like a can opener…

He stopped, looking confused but a little proud. He had a front row seat to your mind and the cacophony of thoughts inside it, yet was shocked. 

“Oh- it’s not like you don’t take us and mould us to your liking? Worlds speak in hushed reverent tones of you sacrificing your Children of Time. Then you go move on to another set. No big deal! You can always pick a bunch of suckers. Your TARDIS might as well be a white panelled van.” You tried matching her equally for the amounts of emotions or a monologue she would do. “You’re just as bad if not worse! You play the hero and the martyr! You lie to us!”

To rub salt in the wound you quietly added, “He’s many things, but I know he’ll never lie to me.” 

You didn’t know how much of a hard-ass you could successfully pull off. You considered her a friend and up until this moment still had a lot of loyalty and love for her. You still loved despite always being a misshapen puzzle piece the human part of the Fam.The ringing settled in your jaw and you felt her pain. 

Your facade began shaking.

You started to tear up. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Stay home? The world was in lockdown, and my anxieties were numerous. I was worried sick about you, and forget me? Graham’s elderly and has health problems!” Your lower jaw began to shake. You were scared for the first time in ages. 

“Sue me, so I left with the Master.” 

Your words rang out but not as intense as they should have.

“Did I really fit in with you at all?” You posed an easy question. Expecting an easy answer.

The tears began to fall freely.

“He’s evil...” She reminded you.

“Does not matter.” You rebutted. 

“He’ll kill you.”

“Whatever.” At this point you began wishing someone would murder you. 

She pivoted and lunged straight at him, “This a big part of your plans? Take my companion and pervert her? Then have her trot out…” she straddled him and grabbed him by the lapels. “Dressed like you dressed her? Huh? What method of mind control-” You went to go save him from the honey badger in blue. 

He began to laugh, not exactly manically, but not exactly mirthfully as well. “Oh, I’ve been more or less avoiding you. Out of respect for my pet.” The tone was taunting and bitter. “You think I wanted to hurt Y/N? Like this? Oof- how little your respect for me, Doctor!” He spit her name out like a fatwa. 

You closed your eyes and began to break. Mentally, you were draining down and physically it felt like you’d received a punch to your guts. You felt spiritually bereft. The Doctor and the Master fighting made you feel like some doll for these virtual children to deal with.

You wished you could pop a valium.

Giving the rest of the Fam an imploring look, you swallowed and gathered yourself up. You hoped your eyes could give them all the apologies and information you needed them to know. That you cared for him and weren’t in trouble. All the facets of you crashing and burning. You were being torn apart, playing a game with your held heart. 

But in the end it was fruitless. So you pulled the two Time Lords off each other, glowering at the two of them.

“I’m going back to the TARDIS.” You gave it your best shot to look commanding and in charge.

You turned around and tried to stalk out with all the bravery you could muster. You couldn’t relate to a happy state, feeling your blood run cold in your ears.

So you ran.