#THE WHOLE DAY I WAS TELLING MYSELF NOT TO FORGET THOSE BOOKS TIME I FORGOT THEM ANYWAY????

[ox1-lovesick]

don't be like me guys I left my notebook AND TEXTBOOK at school and I'm writing tomorrow + I haven't studied a single thing beforehand. I'm befokked 🤣🤣🤣

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [20] - Heliotrope

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Having too many drinks can lead to honesty.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, mentions of violence, slow burn.

Word Count: 4300

Series Masterlist

When you went to bed that night, right before falling asleep you decided that this whole feelings nonsense was probably like some sort of fever; you would sleep it off and it would simply go away.

Except that it didn’t.

So the next morning you just figured it would probably take a couple of days to go away, just like any flu. It surely was as annoying as the flu, but you were sure you were going to be able to think straight in a couple of days.

Any day now.

So you had thrown herself into any kind of distraction you could find, but seeing that you no longer had a garden you could work on, it wasn’t as easy. You were nearly restless, your hands itching for the garden but you managed to keep it under control, only helping Bess and your aunt with their plants instead of working on your own plants.

Desiring your husband whom you hadn’t consummated your marriage with was not something you could even get any advice on. The whole ton and everyone close to you thought you were deeply in love and thus, you liked spending time in bed together. You and Benedict were so good at pretending to be in love so it wasn’t as if you could just tell Josie without raising any questions.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed Benedict entering the library. You were seated on the comfortable sofa by the huge window, resting the book on your legs with a warm cup of herbal tea on the coffee table by your side, the sunlight falling over you, making you feel all warm. Your head shot up when Benedict cleared his throat and your heartbeat paced up as soon as your eyes fell on his handsome figure leaning sideways to one of the bookshelves.

“I was wondering where you were,” he said and you smiled at him, then tucked your legs underneath you to make room for him on the other side of the sofa.

“Charlotte is busy with her siblings and Josie had things to do so I left there early,” you said. “You were painting when I got back, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You never disturb me,” he said and motioned at the sofa. “May I?”

“Absolutely.”

He came to sit beside you, his pleasant scent tickling your nostrils and you ran your fingertip over the page of the book absentmindedly, looking at him.

“Did you finish the painting or take a break?”

“I took a break so that I could really absorb myself in self-doubt instead of trying to do that and paint at the same time,” he pointed out, making you let out a laugh.

“Ouch. One of those days?”

“Mm hm.”

“Do you want me to talk badly of your artistic idols? Because I can, very easily.”

He chuckled. “I appreciate it,” he said and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, I guess you know, with the party tonight…”

You frowned for a moment before snapping your fingers.

“Right, the party tonight!” you said. “I forgot about that.”

“Do you still want to go?”

“Of course,” you said. “I want to see that part of the city at night but do you want to go?”

Benedict nodded. “Yeah, absolutely.”

“We can just go some other time if you want?”

“No no,” he said. “It’s not that. It’s just— you know, everyone keeps asking me why I’m applying for the academy next year instead of this year.”

You bit inside your cheek. “But you don’t want to apply this year.”

“I don’t know if I should,” he said. “I feel like I need more practice.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “You don’t owe anyone any explanation. It’s just not in your plans this year.”

“Well yes but Henry and all his friends are convinced that it makes no sense I wait for the next season when I can easily be accepted this season as well.”

You hummed. “Pin it on me.”

“Hm?”

“Tell them I’m—I’m the reason why you’re not applying this year,” you waved a hand in the air. “Marriage responsibilities, distraction, I take up all your time when you should be working on your art, your pick. Isn’t that what artists and writers do? Have bad spouses?”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“That’s what I read,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “No seriously, we’re married now so we can use each other as an excuse for everything.”

He pulled his brows together. “What did you use me as an excuse for?”

“The opportunity hasn’t risen yet but I’m sure it will eventually,” you pointed out. “And when it does, I will not hesitate.”

Benedict chuckled and heaved a sigh, leaning his head back to close his eyes.

“I could say I’m too taken by newlywed bliss to pay attention to my art actually,” he murmured, and the simple term made your heart skip a beat, your dream flashing before your eyes and you cleared your throat.

“There you go.”

He opened an eye to look at you. “So I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“You’re free to say no if you don’t want to, but after the season is over, we could go on a trip if you’d like.”

“I thought we were going to your home in the countryside after the season was over, until the next one.”

“Our home and yes,” he pointed at you, making you repress a smile. “But this was supposed to be our honeymoon right? And we didn’t even go anywhere, so let’s do that after the season. A belated honeymoon trip.”

Your heart beat sped up. “Benedict…”

“I use the term honeymoon loosely,” he added in a haste. “I don’t expect anything of course.”

But you did.

You expected something, and you wanted it to be soon.

“Just a friendly trip,” he said and you licked your lips.

“Where?”

“Where do you want?”

You let out a laugh. “I’ve only seen two cities in my life, here and where I was born. I don’t think I can give travel suggestions.”

“There must be somewhere you want to see.”

“It was never much of a possibility for me so I didn’t really think about it,” you confessed and lifted your head. “Wait, Rome has a bunch of art right?”

“That’s one way to put it, yes.”

“Can we go to Rome?”

“Because there’s a bunch of art?” he asked with a smile and you let out a noise of agreement.

“That and other things,” you said. “It could be fun.”

Benedict’s smile widened and he nodded his head.

“As my lady wishes.”

“Good,” you said, mirroring his smile. “Rome it is.”

                                           *

As far as you could tell, tonight was going to be rather chaotic.

Apparently one of Benedict’s friends had rented a whole house just for this party -an inn, you were told- and he had also closed down the entire street for it and moved the party there. Benedict had asked you to stay close to him as soon as the carriage stopped and considering you had never been on this side of the town, you had agreed. He helped you out of the carriage, and you fixed the silky skirts of your dress before turning your head to look at the crowd, your mouth opening slightly. Everyone seemed to be having so much fun, completely drunk already, the music coming from the house reaching outside.

“Wow.”

“Mm hm.”

“What about the officers?” you asked. “I mean this is something else right? The street?”

“Well, this part of the town is barely quiet at night,” Benedict said. “And if they’re paid off well, which I’m guessing they were…”

You let out a whistle and Benedict grinned, obviously pleased with himself.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked and you waved a hand in the air.

“Go ahead.”

He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, the memory flashing through your head like a lightning, making your heart beat faster. You shifted your weight and averted your eyes, then stood on your tiptoes to see through the crowd. Some of the guests had gathered up in the middle of the cheering crowd to play a game, a tugging war if you weren’t mistaken, and a chuckle escaped from you as one group pulled the other one hard, making them fall down to the ground, all of them still laughing and yelling.

“I was never good at that game,” you muttered to Benedict and he raised his brows.

“You played it?”

“I grew up in the countryside, Benedict,” you reminded him, still grinning. “I certainly didn’t spend my time learning how to play the piano and dance.”

“I heard Daphne say you can play the piano,” he teased you, exhaling the smoke upwards so that you wouldn’t breathe it in. “And we do have a music room—”

“Do not dare,” you pointed at him, making him chuckle.

“I would be the only one to hear it.”

“Not a chance,” you said, a shiver running through you as the cold wind blew over your skin. Benedict noticed it immediately, shrugging off his jacket to drop it over your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you said, your cheeks burning and he smiled at you.

“Of course,” he said. “Want to go inside? It’s probably warmer there.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I also want that drink from the last time.”

A playful glimmer started playing in his blue eyes and he flicked at the cigarette lightly with his thumb so that the ash would fall.

“Lovesick honeymoon couple?”

“Lovesick honeymoon couple,” you said with a giggle and he put the cigarette between his lips, then threw his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. You inhaled his pleasant scent as discreetly as you could, feeling like your whole face was on fire and you reached out to entwine your fingers with his, then you both started walking to the building, a couple of people greeting you by the door.

The music was even louder inside but it did nothing to drown out the chatter and laughter completely. A footman came to take Benedict’s jacket off of you and Benedict grabbed two glasses from the tray another footman was carrying, and handed one to you.

“There you go,” he said and you clinked it with his, then took a big sip, letting the liquid burn down your throat.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow’s dinner?” you asked and he chuckled.

“Should I be?”

“Nah, I mean…” you trailed off. “Josie does have her moments from time to time and she will certainly question you, but you should be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah because Bess likes you. Well, she likes everyone but Josie will go easy on you if Bess likes you.”

He pulled his brows together. “They’re that close?”

You tried to keep a straight face. “Uh huh. Very close.”

“I was beginning to think you two wouldn’t show up,” Sir Granville’s voice reached you and you looked over your shoulder to see him with a beautiful woman by his side.

“Sir Granville.”

He waved a hand in the air. “None of that, call me Henry,” he said. “This is Lucy, my wife. Lucy, this is Y/N, the infamous Venus Flytrap who captured our artist.”

You let out a laugh. “Quite the introduction.”

“I’m honored,” Lucy said, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Benedict rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight for some reason.

“How’s the new painting going?” Henry asked Benedict who shrugged.

“There’s something missing, I can’t figure out what yet.”

Henry shook his head slightly. “Y/N, will you please tell this husband of yours that waiting for the next year to apply to Academy is nonsense?”

“Well that would be quite hypocritical of me,” you said airily before Benedict could open his mouth to argue. “Considering how hard I tried to convince him otherwise.”

Benedict’s eyes turned to you, a small smile curling his lips and Henry pulled his brows together.

“Why?”

You tipped your glass in Benedict’s direction slightly. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Tell us what?”

“Well he had mentioned the academy plan before we got engaged but when he proposed, I told him I would only marry him if he promised to spend some time with me on the first year of our marriage,” you said. “Granted I was bluffing, I was going to say yes anyway but it worked.”

Lucy let out a laugh. “Oh my goodness.”

“What, as if the academy wouldn’t take up all your time?” you asked Benedict who nodded fervently. “See? And this is my first season! I wish to enjoy it, the art world can wait until the next season.”

Henry chuckled. “Well I suppose love rules all of us.”

“Let them be,” Lucy said. “She has a point. I sometimes don’t see you for days when you are working on a piece, and they’re still on their honeymoon.”

“Well my only consolation is that artists in love give masterpieces,” Henry said dramatically and Benedict wrapped an arm around your waist to squeeze it, as if saying thank you, then nuzzled at your hair, making your heart skip a beat.

“You’re not the only one who wants to enjoy this season darling,” he said, making your eyes snap up at his and you giggled, resting a hand on his chest as you turned to Henry.

“So no, I’m not going to convince him otherwise,” you said with a smile and he held up his hands.

“I know a lost battle when I see one,” he said. “Fine. But make no mistake Ben, I will drag you out of your marriage bed next season if you don’t apply.”

“I will,” Benedict said with a chuckle as you downed your drink. “I happen to want to get into the Academy, remember?”

“Y/N, I’m just going to grab you before you become a part of this argument,” Lucy said and tugged you by the hand. “Let’s get drinks, you and I.”

Benedict looked between you. “Lucy…”

“I’m not going to steal her, don’t worry,” Lucy joked and linked her arm with yours, and you two walked away from them to the other side of the room where the drinks were being served.

“Have you ever been here before?” you asked Lucy, “This part of the town?”

“More than I could count,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I like parties, and this part of the town is quite scandalous, which means no one will bat an eye no matter what anyone does here or on the street.”

“Is that why the host shut down the whole street?”

Lucy shrugged slightly. “You’ll see once people get drunk enough,” she said and took a glass from the footman, then handed it to you. “You included.”

“Oh I’m not going to drink that much,” you said with a laugh and she tilted her head.

“This is a party,” she reminded you. “The whole point of being here is getting drunk and having fun.”

“I know, I know,” you said. “I’m just not good at letting go of control.”

“Aren’t you on your honeymoon? I’d have thought you were used to letting go of control by now.”

You choked on the drink you were sipping on and Lucy let out a laugh.

“Easy there.”

“Uh…” you cleared your throat. “Yeah but it’s—you know, that’s different.”

She shot you a mischievous look. “They expect women to be the paragon of propriety but as soon as you get married, you’re supposed to turn into an insatiable vixen behind closed doors with the snap of a finger,” she said. “Not to worry. It takes a bit of time even with the one you love, or so I’ve been told.”

“So you’ve been told?” you repeated and she winked at you.

“I was never that good at following rules, before or after marriage.”

You repressed a laugh. “You and I will get along well I think.”

“I’d hope so,” she said and her eyes stopped on someone over your shoulder, making you turn your head but as soon as you did, your heart dropped to your stomach.

Apparently Henry was pulled away by another friend of his because he was talking to another gentleman, and Benedict seemed to be in a deep conversation with a really pretty lady. The bitter taste burned your throat, making you down your drink in hopes of getting rid of it as the lady let out a laugh at something Benedict said, making him chuckle as well. She looked up at him through her lashes, admiration etched in her beautiful features and your jaw clenched as you narrowed your eyes.

Alright, you had to calm down.

There was no reason for you to feel bad. This wasn’t even a real marriage.

“He is quite popular but don’t let that make you jealous.” Lucy said and you turned to her, then let out a scoff.

“I’m not the type to get jealous,” you said, grabbing another drink from the tray before taking a big sip, shaking your head. “I’m not. I’m really not.”

“Say it one more time and I’ll believe you.”

“I’m—” you stopped yourself and took another sip, then stole a look at Benedict before forcing yourself to turn your glances to Lucy. “Uh, what’s that pretty lady’s name?”

“Lady Margery Sutton,” Lucy said. “She was widowed last year when her husband got lost in a ship accident after only three years of marriage.”

“Oh,” you said. “Sounds tragic.”

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. “I doubt she ever liked him much, certainly didn’t mourn him,” she said. “She had so many suitors but she picked Lord Sutton because he had an enormous wealth.”

“Really?”

“Mm hm,” Lucy said. “Even now she has quite a number of suitors. Breaks hearts here and there.”

“Does she now?”

“And she is a lover of art, or at least that’s what Henry claims.”

You bit down on your tongue, raising your brows. “How interesting.”

That sounded exactly like your plan before getting married, and it looked like Lady Sutton was enjoying widowhood well. If it were the start of the season, you would have actually admired her luck but now…

Now you could hardly focus on the conversation from an unreasonable anger burning through you.

“Are you alright?”

You downed your drink, then grabbed another glass again, clearing your throat.

“Yes of course,” you said. “Why would I not be alright?”

“Because you said you didn’t want to get drunk but you are drinking quite fast,” Lucy pointed out. “If this is about their conversation, I wouldn’t be worried. Benedict is completely in love with you, any idiot could see that.”

No, Benedict and you were just pretending and you had no idea why the mere presence of this Lady Sutton was enough to make you want to go over there and pull him into a kiss. You dug your fingernails into your palms and managed to give Lucy a small smile, then shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m not worried,” you said calmly, and Lucy grinned.

“Good,” she said and linked her arm with yours. “Now come with me, I have so many people to introduce you to.”

                                                 *

Alcohol had a way of relaxing you and making you all giggly even though you had been quite tense at the beginning of the night. The sunrise was merely an hour away when you decided to leave the party and unlike you, Benedict had made sure to stay sober throughout the night so that he could take you home safe and sound.

Now to think of it, he had done the same during the last party as well.

Your stomach was doing flips, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much, and you took a deep breath as the carriage stopped in front of your house, by the stone road. Benedict helped you out of the carriage and you looked around, then gasped.

“Benedict, the garden!”

He pulled his brows together. “Hm?”

“Look at the garden! Look how pretty!”

“That’s our garden dearest,” he said with a chuckle. “You see it every day.”

“No but it’s so pretty!” you said and darted to get to the garden, Benedict catching up with you quite easily to press a hand over your waist to stabilize you when you stumbled.

“Easy,” he said, smiling. “Let’s not run around while you’re drunk, hm?”

“I had like…” you tried to count in your head, narrowing your eyes. “Only a couple glasses.”

“I counted eight.”

“You counted wrong,” you said with your nose up in the air and he nodded, biting back a smile.

“Mm hm, of course.”

You looked up at him, admiring how handsome he was under the moonlight before that warmth spread through your lower stomach and you exhaled through your nose, clenching your teeth.

“Unbelievable.”

He frowned. “Hm?”

You motioned at him. “You must do something about this.”

“About what?”

“Your face!” you exclaimed. “And the—the rest of you! Do something!”

“Y/N, what—?”

“Ugh!” you stomped on your foot and wiggled out of his grip to walk away from him to get closer to one of the flower beds and sat down on the ground, your skirts fanning around you. Benedict approached you, then sat beside you.

“Why exactly are you angry at me all of a sudden?”

You pouted your lips, shrugging your shoulders.

“Why do you look so handsome all the time?” the question came out of your lips as an accusation. “What—what’s the need for that?”

He stared at you as if he wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“Uh...?”

“There’s absolutely no need for that,” you cut him off before he could say anything else and he pursed his lips together, trying to keep a straight face.

“Right. Yeah, you’re right.”

“So, you know,” you motioned at him. “Make it stop, alright?”

“I’ll try?”

“Good,” you said. “Much obliged.”

He nodded slowly, resting his fist over his mouth to hide a smile and you turned to look at the flower bed, then grabbed at his arm.

“Do you know what these are?”

“Not at all,” his voice was soft. “What are they?”

“Chrysanthemums!” you said. “They need to be given enough time and space to bloom and there are so many requirements, like you cannot keep them in too hot or too cold climates, but especially too cold. They die otherwise.”

“Really?”

“Mm hm,” you said. “And you can also eat them—well, make tea with them. It’s quite lovely, good for headaches and such.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I did,” you said, shooting him a proud smile and reached out to touch one of the flowers. “I miss it a lot.”

“Miss what?”

“Gardening,” you murmured, “It’s quite difficult not to. I didn’t even step a foot in the greenhouse ever since I moved here.”

“Why don’t you…?” he trailed off and stole a look at the flowers before turning to you. “Why don’t you do it then?”

“Because I will start to like it.”

“Good?”

“No it’s not,” you shook your head. “Because then it would be sad when you decided to take it away from me.”

He blinked a couple of times. “What?”

You reached out to pull at a small yellow leaf, hooking your fingernail between the leaf and the stem until you nipped it and withdrew your hand to look down at it.

“Y/N I would…I would never,” he said, making you look up from the leaf.

“Hm?”

“I would never take anything away from you,” he rasped out, his eyes locked in yours and you bit inside your cheek, ripping a piece of grass off the ground.

“Maybe not at this second,” you murmured, wrapping the piece of grass around your pointer finger and he shook his head.

“Not ever. I just—” he paused for a moment. “I just want you to be happy. Is that so hard to believe?”

You shrugged your shoulders, still playing with the grass.

“Um…” you trailed off. “Sometimes.”

“Why?”

You shrugged again.

“I don’t know,” you admitted and then raised your glances to look up at him. “But if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t use to believe it at all. But it’s sometimes now.”

A gentle smile curled his lips. “Is that a good sign?”

“It’s a sign I think,” you muttered as you laid on your back to fix your gaze on the glimmering stars. “I don’t know if it’s good or bad yet.”

Benedict’s smile widened and he nodded.

“I’ll take it,” he said, still keeping his eyes on you while you pointed at the sky, closing an eye so that you could see better through the blurriness which was yet another result of you having drunk too much.

“Benedict?”

“Yes my love?”

You were way too distracted to even notice the term of endearment slipping out even if you two were alone now.

“Look, it’s Andromeda!” you said, still pointing at the sky and he looked up, then turned to you.

“You remember that?”

You pulled your brows together, following the stars with your finger.

“I always pay attention to the things you say,” you admitted, dropping your hand to hide your yawn. “Even when you don’t think I do.”

A soft light appeared in his gaze and you heaved a sigh, closing your eyes.

“I’ll just sleep for five minutes here and then we can go back inside,” you murmured, your voice already drowsy and you heard Benedict standing up, then felt yourself being lifted up into his arms.

Even if you wanted to say you could walk, you were too sleepy and his arms were way too comfortable so you buried your face into his hard chest, enjoying his pleasant scent while he carried you inside, a soft sigh leaving your lips.

Then, sleep pulled you into its cozy warmth.

Chapter 21

[punkpandapatrixk]

Slow Mornings~♪

Hello lovely peeps. I'm popping in to say that I'm so sorry I haven't been as productive as I’d hoped. I had all of these plans, and literally 3 years’ worth of content ideas, but my body has not been able to catch up! I’m now behind on all of the readings I’d scheduled for the entirety of October XD

The truth of the matter is a little bit convoluted but I’ve been both experiencing a series of burnout—autistic burnout, which I didn’t even know was a speciality thing—as well as being in this healing phase where my body simply wants to catch up on sleep, after years and years and very long years of being on edge. There was a meme I forgot to save that says something to this effect:

'Your body is healing from years of trauma; you’re not lazy. You deserve this peace.’

Actually, the above could as well be a mash of two—or three—separate memes LOL Here’s another good one from a sub maker that I feel captures just thee vibe I’m feeling right now:

‘Maybe you're simply perceiving how a lovely sensation of closure & calm gently fills the air around you, feeling a little sleepier than usual. Or maybe you can sense how a massively positive change is coming, seemingly eager to go with it and that's great as well.’ – The Witch of Drown Shadows

I believe many of you reading this could relate as well. A new beginning is on the horizon for sooo many of us who’ve been on a soul-search to liberate ourselves from the chains of the toxic Matrix. I hope you're doing well, and excited for what's to come before the year even ends ^o^v

Forget the grind, leave behind soul-sucking deadlines, and enjoy the slow mornings~♪

Naturally, I’m going to be more productive again once I’m done stabilising myself—all mind body and spirit aligned. I’m not saying this out of a sense of ‘obligation’; that all people ideally must be a productive member of society. No, not that. I really want to get productive on this blog because I’ve a shit ton of good content in the works XD

I’ve so much new content on career, luck, character glow-up, soulmate friendships!!!, celebrity life, life purpose and other esoteric shit I’m eager to put out \^-^/ Not to mention the fiction that’ll go on Wattpad. I’m making progress on Punk Panda Stories but slow…very slow XD

For now, I’m aiming to post one PAC every week without fail. I’m just going to expect this much from me in the meantime, so as not to burn myself out on the psychology level just yet. When you expect too much from yourself, the stress could deter any progress instead, right?

This is especially true for those who don’t necessarily have a deadline. But that’s the thing, I don’t wanna strangle myself with deadlines anymore. So I’m not gonna work like that anymore. This ain’t 9-5 corporate, girl. Stop thinking like that! Is what I’ve been telling myself. Gotta change the whole way I approach my soul-work~♪

Until the end of the year, I’m teaching myself to enjoy slow mornings™️ I’ve been starting my day with just cleaning myself and my room; having a breakfast of lemon tea w/ a dollop of strawberry jam + a CVS croissant; playing a game on my dusty-but-trusty old PSP when I’ve got the time; and reading a few chapters of an actual book.

In the afternoon, I’ve been back on teaching myself ballet and strengthening my vocals. It’s nice. I feel very healthy and like myself again, but better <3 We were born into this world to enjoy our hobbies and hopefully, ideally make money alongside those hobbies <3

Never forget that, girlies. Hard work doesn’t suit us <3

How the Boredom Epidemic Ruined Hobbies by Nicole Rudolph

[etirabys]

on email

I put off wedding planning with the expectation that I would do a terrible but functional job once deadline urgency kicked in. This has started to happen. One consequence is that I have (probably but hopefully not temporarily) had to become a timely emailer.

The impetus was procrastinating on clicking a link in an email that it turned out I should have read ideally acted upon immediately. This is an embarrassing but characteristic mistake – my habit with emails is to open them, get a fast (and sometimes wrong) impression of the contents, have the emotion of not wanting to deal with it, and marking it as unread. I do this with a lot of non-email messages across all platforms, too, with the result that I drop a lot of messages that I forget to or can't mark as unread again.

I knew perfectly well what a loathsome creature I am to do this, but Willpower did not work.

I've been much faster with all messages in the past week and will describe what I understand of the change, so that it will hopefully persist.

(A prerequisite: for many years I have unsubscribed from, filtered, or blocked unwelcome senders. I try not to give out my email address for any reward greater than $20.)

i. I had to radically accept that I am tired and stupid most of the time.

Radical acceptance is a concept from mindfulness / dialectical behavioral therapy, and mostly means the opposite of "trying to believe something that isn't true". It means understanding and accepting your actual circumstances without flinching from them, and acting in a way that actually achieves your goals in those circumstances.

So it turns out – in some part because my expectations for myself haven't adjusted from my pre-burnout days when I had more energy and a better memory – that I put off things because "I can tell I'm dumb right now, and if I try to book this flight I'll probably double-book myself even if I check my calendar three times, and I should do this when I'm more awake." Or "I shouldn't resume this conversation about an art commission, because I don't feel all here today and I'm probably going to mess up the conversation". Or, of course, "I shouldn't make this decision the wedding planner is asking me about right now, because I'll make the wrong one."

While there is variance in my mental abilities depending sleep and time of day and so forth, I almost never pass the bar of cognitive competence I implicitly set for making these decisions. So if I keep the bar where it is, I'm never going to get anything done.

I have to radically accept that I am (compared to when I was younger) tired and stupid all the time, and I still need to live my life. I need to double-book myself and then pay $20 to reschedule my flight, arrange for a tasting with a caterer that doesn't meet a desideratum my spouse told me about, join a reading group I'm too busy for and then leave, get on a call that I forgot to do research for beforehand... etc.

And: I have to respond to emails and messages approximately as soon as I see them, because "my future self who will make informed decisions about things I cannot" is an illusion.

ii. Conversely, I should never check messages when I'm not prepared to make respond to arbitrary textual stimuli.

I used to check my email or messages when I was bored. This makes no sense! The contents of my email inbox are determined by the decisions of a large number of other people, and could contain anything. It is this variance that makes this addictive, and it is also this variance that makes it important to read it when I have the wherewithal to react appropriately.

I don't want to keep training myself into being the kind of person who repeatedly clicks and unreads a scary medical bill email. To stop that behavior, I want to have a mindset of "if one of my emails is a scary medical bill email, I am willing to read the whole thing, think about it, and take the appropriate next action" whenever I am about to navigate to my inbox.

The same goes for clicking into Discord or Messenger, because I need a similar presence of mind to react to invitations to high-effort social events, requests for help I may not be able to give, requests for information I need to think about before providing, etc.

The important thing is to not mix actionables with entertainment. I need mental separation between those two, because perceiving personal pings as a subset of social media notifications made me treat them more passively. "Oh, huh, a decision to join a Paradise Lost reading group is on TV. Interesting. Now an ad..."

---

I expect to backslide on my improved response rate/quality once I'm done with the wedding, but hopefully writing the above will act as the strut of a dam.

[taracsacum]

I Need Your Love

I've finally finished this fic 🤪 You can also read it here ☺

Warnings: it's 18+ content, please, don't read it if you're a minor

James was awfully irritated lately. Whether it was because of the upcoming album release or the strained relationships with Jason and Bob Rock, Kirk couldn't say for sure. He had a feeling that even James couldn't name the reason for his annoyance. Maybe it was all at once. The tension in the studio had been growing for months. James felt imprisoned by constant criticisms and demands, which had strained his relationship with everyone around him.

Kirk wanted to help him relieve the tension, so he suggested James to go on vacation. Well, technically, it was James who came up with that idea a couple of weeks ago but they were busy that time and soon forgot about their conversation.

So, now, when they had at least two free days, they could afford to spend some time together and leave LA. They definitely needed a change of scenery, so Kirk rented a house near the ocean. It was a beautiful place just a couple of hours from LA. He didn't tell James where they were going since James'd told him that it didn't matter much as long as they were completely alone and as far from the recording studio as it possible. He was tired of constant arguing with Lars, Bob, and Jason and wanted to forget about everything just for a day or two.

Kirk was in a good mood this morning and planned the whole day they were going to spend in nature. He wanted to take James for a walk in Torrey Pines after they'd get to the house and rest a bit from the road. He also couldn't wait until tonight to surprise James with a dinner on the terrace. Honestly, he chose that house because of it's terrace with a long path lit by dozens of small lanterns. They created a wonderful and magical atmosphere so he didn't think twice and booked the house as soon as he saw the pictures.

After taking a shower, Kirk was about to wake James up but he was already awake which surprised Kirk a bit because James hadn't slept well that night in spite of their previous long day at the recording studio. And that was another problem: lately, he suffered from insomnia which made Kirk slightly nervous. He was determined to talk about it but not now, he didn't want to piss James off any more than he already was.

It was obvious that James was still tired but he got up and started to help Kirk pack and get ready for the road. One look at his exhausted boyfriend was enough for Kirk to start regretting the vacation idea. Maybe they could just spend some time at home not going anywhere? He shook his head, throwing those thoughts away, James deserved more than just being cooped up here all weekend.

"You can take shower, I'll pack our bags myself, you know," Kirk suggested James, he looked up at him with slight confusion and gave him a gentle smile.

"Thanks, hon, I definitely need it now, I feel like I'm gonna sleep all day."

"Then I'm waiting for you in the kitchen, when you finish, we'll have breakfast and be ready to go," Kirk kissed James on the cheek and took his guitar case.

At first, he wasn't going to write any new riffs because his main intention was to relax and try not to remember their stressful everyday routine but he knew himself pretty well: he couldn't feel completely relaxed without his guitar, it wasn't necessary to come up with something new, he could just play any song they'd already written. As for James, he was pretty the same, but Kirk decided not to push and let him make a decision whether to take his own guitar or not by himself.

By the time James left the bathroom, Kirk had already packed their bags and made breakfast. He decided to fry eggs with bacon for James and an omelette with tomatoes and spinach for himself.

James didn't talk to him during the breakfast as he was still sleepy, and Kirk didn't get on his nerves with unnecessary questions and only smiled sweetly when James kissed him on the cheek finishing his meal.

In half an hour they were ready to go. James helped Kirk carry the bags to the car. As they packed, Kirk occasionally glanced at James, noticing how fatigue lined his face. 'I wish I could do more to help you relax,' Kirk thought, resolving to make this getaway as peaceful as possible.

Kirk checked the front door and got into the driver's seat. He knew that James wasn't in a good condition to drive and let him rest for a while.

"So, are you ready to go? You didn't forget anything?" Kirk asked him. James nodded and got comfortable in his seat.

"Yeah, I packed everything, we can go."

Kirk started the car and pulled into the driveway. He glanced at his lover who had already closed his eyes trying to sleep. Kirk sighed softly and decided to let him rest since it was a long day ahead of them. Driving away from the city, Kirk couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. They had a few days to reconnect and recharge, and he was determined to make every moment count.

***

James slept the whole way and only woke up when they pulled up to the rented house. He looked around sleepily taking the view before him. There was a big house behind the high gates painted white on the contrast with bright green grass and bushes. Kirk got out of the car and came to the gates to open them. He needed to enter a code that the owner had told him beforehand, then he could take the keys hidden in one of the flowerpots on the porch and open the door.

Then Kirk drove the car into the yard and closed the gate. By the time he got back to the house James stepped out of the car and started unloading their stuff. Kirk hurried to help him.

Although they didn't have many bags with them, it took a good ten minutes to bring all of their stuff inside and put them in their places. Kirk took his guitar case and duffle bags with his and James' clothes and came into the bedroom. It was large and bright, there were big panoramic windows overlooking the nearby beach, a king-size bed in the middle with nightstands on each side, and a wardrobe in the corner. Kirk liked that room, it was cosy and the bed looked really comfortable. He took his socks off and dig his toes in a creamy beige colored fluffy carpet. Yes, he definitely liked it here.

Meanwhile, James was taking a better look at the house. The living room was spacious with a coffee table and several magazines on it, a big TV on the wall, a bookcase in the far corner, and a large couch with pillows on it. The beige walls, carpet and furniture made the room look pretty clean, almost sterile, and James felt a bit uneasy, he had to control all of his movements to keep that house pristinely clean.

He stepped into the kitchen to put some groceries in the fridge. The kitchen was combined with the dining room and wasn't big but cosy with wooden cabinets and a vintage stove. Soft light coming through the window added a homey feel to the room. He take a look at the dining table and chairs made of light wood, then opened the cupboards to put a pack of tea and some spices there, checked the utensils and made his way to the bedroom.

Kirk had already put their stuff in places and welcomed James with a sweet smile.

"Do you like it here?" he asked him, full of the joys of spring.

"It's pretty… bright in here," James couldn't come up with the better answer so he just smiled and hugged Kirk. "I'm gonna take a shower, it's so hot outside, I feel nasty."

Kirk chuckled and kissed James on the cheek, "Go ahead, I'll change my clothes and make us something to eat."

James sighed as he stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over his tired body. He let his mind wander, trying to find relief from the swirling thoughts about the album and the constant bickering.

While James was taking shower and resting from the long road, Kirk went to the kitchen to cook lunch. It was simple - pasta with vegetables and tomato sauce. Kirk decided to boil water for spaghetti first and in the meantime started chopping pepper, a couple of onions and carrots. He wanted to fry them first and then to stew with a tomato sauce he bought with the other ingredients beforehand in LA.

Kirk felt a bit anxious given James' reaction to their rented house and lack of enthusiasm. He didn't know how to cheer him up, what to do or say. It was like he was walking on the edge. Kirk took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves a bit. The sound of the knife monotonously slicing through the onions acted as a soothing rhythm. The strong aromas of fresh vegetables filled the kitchen, slightly easing his anxiety.

When pasta was ready, he went to his and James' bedroom to call his lover. James was asleep, and it made Kirk tense because he was worried whether James would be able to go for a walk to the park in this condition or not since it was a pretty long trip. Honestly, if they had to stay at home or just go to the beach, Kirk wouldn't mind but deep down, he hoped to see something new here and share this experience with James.

"James, it's lunchtime, get up, love," Kirk said softly and shook his lover's shoulder. James mumbled something inaudible but woke up. He looked at Kirk with a tint of confusion in his eyes and let out a long sigh.

"I was sleepin' so well," he murmured and closed his eyes.

Kirk didn't give up and patted his shoulder again. He didn't want to be annoying but knew that James had to be hungry and should eat something.

"I know, but it's time for lunch, you haven't eaten anything decent in hours! You can't spend the whole day in bed," Kirk was determined to bring James to his senses.

"Who's gonna stop me?" James scoffed but started to get up. Kirk offered him his hand and together, they made their way to the kitchen.

There was a silence during lunch as there was at breakfast. James was picking at his food unenthusiastically, and that broke Kirk's heart a bit. Yes, it wasn't the best meal he cooked but still, he tried to help James feel better, he gave him his time to relax and do whatever he wanted to, and all of that was for nothing?! He tried not to show his disappointment so decided not to talk either. He knew he wouldn't have been able to hold back sharp or rude words if he started any conversation in the state he was in.

"What are your plans for today?" came an unexpected question from James, Kirk cleared his throat.

"I was planning to take you to the Torrey Pines Park if you don't mind, of course," Kirk answered carefully.

He was aware that James could flare up if he didn't like something. He didn't discuss their trip with him before, and that was a mistake, James could think that this vacation was only for Kirk but it was wrong. James just shrugged and continued picking the already cooled down pasta and vegetables with his fork.

"If you don't wanna go there, we can stay here?" half-heartedly offered Kirk. He started to think that his idea to come here in general was stupid, he couldn't help but blame himself that he pushed James to activities which he obviously didn't like or wasn't ready for.

"Can we?" James asked him hopefully and Kirk already knew what he was going to answer.

"Sure. Anything you want," he smiled sadly and took his plate to put it into the sink. He was going to make some tea when James came up with another question suddenly.

"What are you reading?"

Kirk frowned and froze, not understanding where this question came from. James seemed to notice his confusion and hastened to clarify, "There's a book on the coffee table. It's yours, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's 'The Horla' by Guy de Maupassant."

"Never heard 'bout this book," James admitted. Kirk couldn't figure out why James started this conversation since it seemed he wasn't so eager to talk just a minute ago.

"It's a horror story, you wouldn't like it anyway."

"Mhm, so now you get to decide what I would and wouldn't like," James' voice was raspy and dangerously low, Kirk felt like he was standing in front of the predator who was ready to attack him any minute.

"No, I just supposed that 'cause you're not much into horrors," Kirk didn't know why but he was ready to cry. It was so stupid, James didn't say anything rude or hurtful, but he couldn't miss the slight annoyance in James' tone.

"Oh, you know me that well," came an instant sarcastic reply. And that was the last straw.

"I don't know you at all," Kirk barely whispered and gave up his idea to make tea. He wanted to hide somewhere from James and this stupid argument they had, he needed time to calm down. He was ready to turn around and go outside when he heard a sharp squeak of chair against the floor and then the heavy footsteps. Kirk sadly hung his head, ready to hear the loud slamming of a door, but the footsteps stopped behind him, and Kirk could feel the warmth of James' body.

"Kirk," James called him but Kirk didn't answer. He knew himself pretty well and didn't want to aggravate their quarrel with his harsh rash words. He knew he would regret them later. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

'I don't need your condescension,' Kirk thought but hold his tongue. There were nasty words, sharp like a razor, he could cut their relationship off with this razor for good. He didn't want to.

James put his hand on Kirk's shoulder and turned him around to look in his eyes. There was sadness in them and something James couldn't quite identify. He hugged Kirk squeezing him as tight as it was possible.

"I was an asshole, I know. I just can't stand when someone decide everything for me. I know you didn't mean anything bad, it wasn't fair to spill my anger on you. Don't shut yourself off, please, tell me."

Problems need to be spoken. They knew it like no one else. It was one time when James sad something stupid without thinking and obviously hurt Kirk, but the latter refused to talk about it and almost broke up with James. James had to make amends. And here they were.

Kirk heaved a heavy sigh and snaked his arms around James' waist.

"You made it clear to me that I and everything I do for you is insignificant and unimportant. That you are still separate and I am still a stranger to you."

"Kirk, no," James could hardly breathe, "It's not like that at all."

"OK," was the only answer.

***

"Now it's my turn to take care of you," James told him some time later and took Kirk's hand leading him to the bathroom. He intertwined their fingers feeling the slight tremble in his own, this moment was more than just an act of caring.

He prepared a relaxing bath, cleaning it and filling with steamy, hot water.

"Careful, it's hot," James warned him but Kirk just gave him a reassuring smile.

"It should be hot," Kirk took his clothes off staying stark naked.

"I couldn't find any bubbles or bath bombs, sorry. It's not as romantic as I was planning. But here's some coffee shampoo. It even says 'Vegan Formula'," James chuckled and gestured to Kirk, who playfully rolled his eyes still smiling, to get into the bathtub.

"I'm not a vegan, you know. I bet it smells good," Kirk got comfortable and reached out to James. Sitting in hot water, he instantly felt how his body started to relax and the tension left his sore muscles.

James hesitated for a second but finally took his clothes off and stepped in the tub, getting used to hot water and sitting down behind Kirk.

Honestly, he didn't plan to take a bath with Kirk as it was not for him but only for his lover, however, he could still take care of Kirk by washing his hair. Firstly, he warned Kirk that he was going to scoop up the water and pour it on his head to wet his wild curls. Then he took the bottle of shampoo and squeezed a small amount of it on his palm starting to wash Kirk's beautiful hair. He massaged Kirk's sculp gently, making him moan softly. He knew that Kirk loved when he stroked his hair or brushed it but what Kirk loved the most was a head massage. It made him melt like an ice cube under the sun rays, he became a moaning, completely boneless mess, and James always felt proud of himself for that.

"I want to apologize for my behavior these days," finished washing his lover's hair, James spoke a few minutes later trying to sound confident but his voice was a bit shaky. He buried his nose in Kirk's dark wet curls snaking his arms around his lover's middle and breathed in the smell of coffee mixed with Kirk's natural scent. He loved Kirk's smell: it was sweet and a bit spicy at the same time like that raspberry chilli ice cream he once tasted.

"You know, I'm quite nervous because of the new album and the relationship in the group but it's not an excuse, I know, I just… Dunno, I feel like my life became the endless night, I can't see anything, I can't do anything not being judged by Bob or Lars. It feels like I'm not doing enough for our group, I come up with one riff and Bob says it doesn't fit and I have to try something new, I bring another one idea but he still criticizes whatever I do. I play wrong, I sing wrong, fuck, I am wrong. I know, he's doing his best and wants us to grow, to become something more than we already are, but I can't help but feel annoyed with him, and all of my anger is spilling on you and I hate myself for this because you did nothing wrong, you help me, you put up with me, you're perfect partner and that's another reason why I'm so stressed out. I mean, it's not because of you, no, I just have a feeling like I don't deserve you, I'm always grumpy and rude to you. Look what you've planned for me, and I ruined everything as always…" James' voice was tight like he was holding back tears and that vulnerability wasn't typical of him who usually hid those kind of feelings and didn't discuss them so Kirk tensed up a bit and turned his head to look at his lover.

James was obviously upset and that was no good.

"James, listen, I'm not mad at you, not one bit. You have every right to be nervous, upset or angry, it's OK, I promise. I was a bit sad earlier today, yes, but not mad, I know how much you love Metallica and everything we do, of course it's tough to work with us sometimes, we can be real bitches, I know that," Kirk laughed quietly and lifted his hand to stroke James' soft cheek. "Just don't forget that I always care about you and you should too. Don't be so hard on yourself, you're doing great, but sometimes even Mighty Het needs rest."

"Thank you, babe, I don't know what I'd do without you," James wanted to say more but couldn't find any appropriate words, he was overwhelmed with feelings he felt for Kirk so he just pressed him closer to his chest and looked at him. It was a look full of adoration and love, and Kirk understood him without any more words.

Kirk smiled at James and reached for the kiss. James willingly closed the distance between them and softly touched Kirk's wet lips with his. It was a featherlight caress and felt like a gulp of fresh air after a long exhausting day. James felt every movement of their lips, his heart beat faster, his breathing calm and slow as he sank deeper and deeper in that kiss.

He snaked his right arm down Kirk's side, stroked his flat stomach, feeling how his muscles tightened at that touch. Kirk let out a quite moan and opened his mouth slightly, licking James' lips. Although the angle was a bit awkward, given his position, Kirk couldn't break the kiss, he missed James so much, they barely had time for themselves during the rehearsals and recording, and even if they were free after all of this they couldn't find the energy for anything more than taking shower and going to bed.

James sighed and slid his lips lower kissing Kirk's jaw and slowly getting to his neck. Kirk whined when James grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin.

"God, I missed you," James breathed out biting and sucking at his lover's neck and shoulder leaving small reddish marks on them. His arms still held Kirk tightly pressing him closer to his chest.

Kirk turned his head giving him more access, lost in the sensations, he was torn between the strong arousal and tender and extreme love for this man who made him feel secured, desired, and powerful no matter what. He didn't notice how one of James' hands slid down to his inner thigh and started to stroke his smooth skin close to his already hard cock. Kirk shuddered and threw his head back moaning louder and grabbing James' arm.

"James," he whispered leaning on James' chest, breathing heavily.

"What's up? You want something?" James teased him gripping his thigh harder but still not touching Kirk's cock, just accidentally brushing his balls with the back of his hand. Still kissing and licking his shoulder, he moved his other hand to Kirk's flushed chest and squeezed a nipple. The rapid reaction from his lover didn't disappoint him: Kirk shuddered and cried out.

"Wow, so sensitive," James chuckled briefly, impressed by his responsiveness, and let out a hot exhale which gave Kirk goosebumps.

Kirk felt like his body was on fire even though he sat in the water, which wasn't as hot as it was several minutes ago, and going to explode. James' slightly chapped lips, his hoarse whispers, big calloused hands on his tan body touching it's sensitive spots like they were touching the guitar strings, creating the best music in their lives: Kirk's moans and whines, - all of that made him quiver, he wanted more. They hadn't had sex for such a long time that he couldn't wait anymore, he needed James now.

He started squirming and tried to move James' hand to his aroused cock but James caught his hand and squeezed it teasingly with the devilish smirk on his face.

"Not so easy, babe, I didn't hear you. So, what do you want?"

"James," Kirk whined trying to touch himself discreetly with his free hand but of course James noticed it and stopped caressing him.

"Yes? Use your words, honey, I don't know what you want me to do."

'Such a teasing bastard!' Kirk thought. He was aroused, hot, and desperate but at that exact moment James decided to play his silly game instead of bringing them to the much-anticipated orgasm. He let out an exasperated breath and whimpered not having any strength to wait anymore, "Touch me."

"I'm already touching you. Could you be more specific?" James definitely was proud of himself, Kirk could tell it by his tone. James slowly pinched Kirk's nipple and kissed him behind the ear.

Fuck, he was killing him!

"Touch my dick, god dammit!"

"Now we're talking," James smiled contentedly stroking Kirk's thigh again, then covering his crotch with his big hand.

Kirk shuddered and moaned, finally getting what he wanted so bad. He felt like his body was struck by lightning, it was on fire, and Kirk couldn't help but close his eyes and cry out when James squeezed his balls lightly and swiped his thumb over the head of Kirk's cock.

James kissed Kirk's neck, gently stroking his cock and caressing smooth skin of Kirk's chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. His own hard-on was pressed against the small of Kirk's back, so he jerked his hips up a bit to get some pleasure as well. Kirk was a moaning mess, he tilted his head back on James' shoulder, his wet wild curls everywhere, and grabbed his hand that was doing its magic with Kirk's dick.

"God, you're killing me," Kirk whined and thrusted his hips upwards trying to get a release as soon as possible. The seconds felt like hours, he was going crazy.

James was squeezing and pumping his sensitive cock with such feverish desire that Kirk couldn't stay still, he writhed and jerked his hips up, he needed to cum, but when he was ready to let himself go, James suddenly stopped.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Kirk was mercilessly snapped out of his pleasant haze, so he didn't think twice before asking this question with a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Stand up," was all James answered. He definitely had something on his mind, Kirk could tell it by his playful smirk and gleeful eyes, so he did what he was asked for.

James stood up next and turned Kirk to face him, pressing him back to the wall. The tile felt extremely cold after the hot water and warmth of James' chest, so Kirk shuddered a bit and looked at his lover utterly confused. James gave him a passionate kiss and took their both slick dicks in his hand. Kirk gasped when he felt James' hard-on against his own and nearly lost his mind as James' strong hand started quickly jerking them both off, smearing the pre-cum. He gripped his shoulders trying to stay on his feet and not to fall right then and there.

"Fuck," James breathed out a couple of minutes later and pushed his hips into Kirk's. He was close and Kirk's moans and sobs were pushing him to the edge. He saw how Kirk tensed, then trembled, coming in his fist with a loud cry, he could feel Kirk's warm hand on his own and a thumb stroking the head of his dick and it was enough to bring him to release. He fell forward on Kirk pressing him harder to the wall and came moaning in his ear.

He felt the wetness on his hand, there was a lot of cum since they hadn't had sex for a long time, and James was a bit embarrassed by his fast and intense release. Kirk seemed not to pay attention to it, he was trying to gain his composure back breathing as hard as if he'd run a marathon.

"Fuck, it was cool," Kirk smiled at James who was still trapping him between himself and the wall. James only hummed in response not having any strength to move, think clearly, or talk.

Kirk twisted out of his grasp, turned on the shower, and pulled the plug out of the tub. They were ready to get themselves cleaned up.

***

Later that evening, after having dinner with James, who volunteered to cook it by himself by the way, Kirk told that he had a surprise for him. Yes, he had a bit different plans for their vacation since he himself wanted to make dinner and have it with James outside but he didn't mind giving in to his lover and letting him do things his way. Still, he had a card up his sleeve.

They went outside. The sky was already dark blue but still illuminated by the setting sun on the horizon. It looked like a beautiful painting made by a skillful artist, there were several pink, purple, and orange stripes mingling with the darkness of the inky sky.

Kirk took James' hand and led him to the terrace that was already lit by the little lanterns here and there. But it was not even this magical atmosphere that was to win James' heart, but the huge wicker swing at the back of the terrace under a spreading pine tree.

James didn't expect that Kirk would surprise him more than he already did. They came together to the swing with lots of small soft pillows on it, and Kirk told James to make himself comfortable and relax while he went back into the house and fix them some tea.

"It's a bit chilly out here, you can take a plaid," Kirk gave him a big blue plaid that lay under a pile of pillows.

"I'd rather have you warm me up," James chuckled trying to pull Kirk onto his lap but Kirk just laughed and stepped back.

"Don't ruin my surprise, we have the whole night to 'warm you up'. For now, I have other plans." Kirk winked at him and made his way to the house.

James giggled and threw a plaid over his lap, looking up at the horizon. The sun had already set and the sky became black, so he could see several constellations on it. It was cool and quite out here, James caught himself thinking that he hadn't felt this peaceful in a long time. Sitting on the swing, James reflected on the past few weeks. The arguments, the sleepless nights, and the pressure of the album's release weighed heavily on him. He was eternally grateful to Kirk for planning all of this for him. He was still a bit ashamed of his flash of anger, he knew that Kirk truly loved him and was willing to do anything for him not only because of that comprehensive love but also because of his wonderful soul. Kirk always was a sweetheart ready to give everything to those in need, and James highly appreciated it. So, he knew he shouldn't have acted like a complete asshole and was going to make amends tonight and show Kirk his deep and boundless love.

Kirk came back with two big mugs in his hands. James could smell a nice light aroma of thyme and mint. He took his mug with a big grateful smile on his face and gestured for Kirk to sit next to him. Kirk made himself comfortable and wrapped another one plaid over them.

"Thank you for this vacation, it's amazing even though not everything went as you planned," James said after a few moments of blissful silence. "I shouldn't have reacted like this when all you wanted to do was to help me. I was a complete dick and I'm sorry…"

"You've already apologized to me, remember? Let's just forget about everything and spend the rest of our weekend like we want. What you think, hm?" Kirk looked up at James and gave him the most delicate smile he could manage. He leaned up for the kiss and closed his eyes contently. James kissed his warm lips with all tenderness and adoration he felt for that wonderful man and thanked God for having such a beautiful and caring lover.

"I love you," James whispered breaking the kiss and pulling Kirk closer to him.

"I love you, too," Kirk said softly, then laid his head on James' shoulder and added with a smirk, "Now drink your tea, it's getting cold."

"Yes, sir!" As James sipped the tea, he glanced at Kirk, a soft smile playing on his lips, grateful for his thoughtful planning.

They laughed quietly and finally let themselves relax and listen to the nature. It was a wonderful night. They were young, successful, and loved. Here, bathing in the quietness of the beautiful starry night and their love, they realized that no matter what difficulties they'd encounter later on in their journey, they'd overcome them all. They knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with newfound understanding and determination, they promised to face it together, stronger than ever.

[cartoonus-maximus]

Okay, I want to talk a little about my illness and my feelings about it while I'm able to think semi-clearly and put words together.

I haven't spoken about it much in depth on here but I have long covid. Which means a lot of different things to a lot of different people, as far as illnesses go, and it affects people in different ways.

For me, it means I'm much more affected by my allergies than I used to be. And my menstrual cycle has decided to rearrange itself, changing heavily from the pattern I had gotten used to over the past several years (I'm not counting how many years right now). But chiefly it means I'm exhausted all the time. Almost all of the energy my body generates is used exclusively for the basic things my body does to keep itself alive -- absorb nutrients from food, keep warm, regulate oxygen, etc. -- and I'm not left with much else. Some days, I can barely walk around my home.

With all my energy being used for other things, my brain power is heavily depleted. I can't think straight some days. I don't make many decisions for myself anymore. I have days (sometimes even weeks at a time!) where I forget things, because so little energy is being routed to my brain.

I'm sick and I don't even have the mental energy to learn about my illness, or the physical energy to get better. Any energy my body creates is used for the simple basic act of surviving every day.

And when I say I'm forgetful, I mean some days I set things down and forget about them, because my object permanence isn't there at the moment. But I also mean some days I don't remember the title of my favorite shows or books or movies, and couldn't tell you anything about them other than "it makes me happy, even if I don't know what it is anymore."

Like, literally, I started re-watching a show for the fourth time because I forgot the entire thing! DX On the one hand, it's fun to see my favorite shows and movies for the first time again, because how often do you get to do that, but on the other hand, I literally forget everything about them after a few days and it leaves me feeling empty and sad.

Some days I forget my own name, and face, and birthday, and hobbies, and have to reintroduce myself to myself.

Now, that's not to say it's always like that, and I think that's of the frustrating parts. Some days, I'm totally aware and with it and I can wax poetic about comic books I read years ago, I can churn out art and fics with the best of them, and I can analyze Russian literature from decades before my parents were born. I'm eager to chat with my friends about the latest movie or doll release and what are feelings are about where the franchise and industry as a whole is going. I can work part-time and I'm attentive at my job, zeroing in on minor blemishes in the film and removing them quickly, color correcting and editing and cleaning up as needed.

But other days, I feel like a zombie, shuffling around with no real purpose or thought to it. Sometimes, I have to be led around, verbally reminded to eat or instructed which room to go to. I feel like I've lost parts of myself, but I have no knowledge or what was lost -- only that there are gaping holes left. I'm lost in the brain fog, and I can't even begin to find my way out.

And those are the days that terrify me. If I'm being honest, I'm scared that one day I'll wake up having lost enormous pieces of myself, and those pieces won't come back to me, and I won't know enough to even know what they were. I'm scared of losing the things that make me me.

I feel my body failing me, and it scares me. I feel my mind failing me, and that scares me more.

[cflsblog]

How do you move on? You move on when your heart finally understands that there is no turning back.I’ve spent so much time in my head and in my heart that I forgot to live in my body.No matter what happens, no matter how far you seem to be away from where you want to be, never stop believing that you will somehow make it. Have an unrelenting belief that things will work out, that the long road has a purpose, that the things that you desire may not happen today, but they will happen. Continue to persist and persevere.Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next.I guess that's just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up.I’ve spent my whole telling myself I was capable of great things and able to do anything I set my mind to.

The only problem is that I’ve always put off accomplishing what I wanted.

Something always came up, the time was never right and it seemed life got in the way every time.

Well, I’m not okay with that any more.

I’m lighting the fire under my passion and turning the page in that chapter-

Actually no, I’m starting a whole new book.

No more “maybe tomorrow” or “if only” and forget “when the time is right.”

I’ve made those excuses all my life and it’s never done me a bit of good.

So, I’m flipping the script and changing the chapters.

I’m done with doing things the way I’ve always done and expecting my life to be any different.

This is a new day, a new direction and a new choice..

To start being true to myself, listening to my heart and finally start doing instead of just wanting.

I can’t expect anything to change if I don’t change how I approach my life.

I’m taking the chances, I’m stepping out, speaking up and leaving my comfort zone behind.

Sure, it scares me to death but then, if it didn’t, then I would be doing it all wrong.

If I do what I’ve always done then I’ll get what I’ve always had.

No more.

I’m capable of more, I deserve more and now for the first time, I’m going after it.

I won’t look back with regret wishing I had done whatever it took to be happy, find purpose and change my life.

Sometimes, it’s the little things in little ways that edge me closer to where I want to be.

Put enough of those little steps together and they’ll add up to be one big step.

This is my time to start doing instead of wishing I had.

One small step, one day, one dream at a time,

I’ll get there..

And it all starts with me.

It always has.

|ravenwolf

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[t-emp-est]

I tried to kill myself on a Monday morning, then I went to scale a mountain

Be still. Be quiet. Be just visible enough.

Shh.

You are 8 and people have been forgetting your birthday for years.

Early December is a period you try to forget, just so you can forget that people have forgotten you.

Maybe people grow up like this, you think. It doesn’t happen that way in all the books you read, but maybe there’s a reason those sell so well.

When the phone rings, you always try to be there first. Just in case it’s someone calling to tell you your life is about to change.

You are 10 and they try to make up for forgetting your birthday. s.

Your friends are all invited and you have a cake with a tiger frosted atop it.

It’s way too sweet but you smile anyway, sickly sweet.

The corners of your swimming robe dip into the pool on accident, and you are dripping wet the whole time,

A trail of rebellion, but you end up wiping up after yourself.

A roughed up purple rag, an empty house.

You are 13 and you’ve learned not to move.

Motion is the quickest way to be noticed, to be itching for a beating,

If there is an angry adult in the room, think of yourself as a shadow on the wall of Plato’s cave

Flat. Completely flat. Completely not real.

Shh. Don’t move.

The fist comes flying anyway, your skin peels from your flesh anyway, you are forgotten anyway.

You are 14 and your emotions have caught up.

They have caught up way too quickly.

Something breaks inside you, floods rapidly the corners of your brain that you have kept empty for so long.

You start moving, because if you stop you might die there. Watch as the in-between of your ribs, the in-between of your eyes fill up with water.

You are sick of death. You are sick of grotesque.

Mainly you are sick of people hitting you when you do not deserve to be hit.

So you move. They get angrier. They strike you. You strike back.

Maybe forgotten is better than abandoned. But now that you've started moving, you no longer remember how to stop.

You are 20 and you are medicated every day.

Those white little fuckers help you find your way to some semblance of peace.

Your lips tremble as you smile, as you tell people, “They saved my life”.

It wasn’t them at all, it was you. You’ve always been a liar, especially when it comes to yourself.

You are 22 and you can’t stop thinking about the dying earth.

The tiger on your cake is probably extinct by now, running and pouncing in the sweet cloying release of forever darkness.

Medication saved your life, but they also come in cardboard boxes and sheets of metal,

You are generating so much waste just by being here.

The flooding has stopped. The water is no longer beating down on you, it is boring through in a trickle.

So maybe it’s time to stop running. Maybe it’s time to stop moving. Maybe you can rest now.

You are 23 and you are so fucking happy.

Happiness has eluded you for 23 fucking years and you’ve finally found it.

Congratulations.

You buy yourself a cake, you light yourself a candle, you invite your own friends and you inhale your own smoke.

Who thought it could be so easy? I’m sure the trees and the crust of the earth and the pharmacists who cut their hands packing your medication forgive you:

They’ve delivered you all the way here.

But then you are 25 and you realise your wires are all crossed.

You are so confused.

No. Sorry, I am. This is about me. (I cannot keep writing about myself like I am some place else.)

I – I am so confused.

Nothing happens and everything changes at the same time.

Suddenly you fucking loathe what you see in the mirror. You’ve never learned how to do that, even when everyone was doing it in your posh girls’ school.

It’s always eluded you, and now it’s hit you like a truck.

(Why did I switch back to third-person?)

(What happened that I cannot feel my feelings, that I can only intellectualize them? I must have missed the class where they taught us how to do that. Maybe they forgot I was still on the playground by myself. I might possibly still be there.)

Now it’s hit you like a truck and now you are staring at your arm, and it’s so maimed, so abused, it transports you back to the vitriol of last night. Of the night before. Of the night before that. Have your pick.

 

Now the headlights are blinding and you are shielding your eyes and when you open them it’s a Monday morning.

The grab to the hospital is cheap to the point of hilarity.

The doctor is so bad, it’s to the point of hilarity.

You laugh so hard you shake when they pass you “heavy duty Panadol” at the pharmaceutical counter. When you try and refuse them but they ask you “why won’t you take it? It’s free?”

Oh, so now you refuse to forget me. Now you refuse.

Thank you very much. It's like a whole stand-up comedy show up in here.

You open your eyes on Monday afternoon and there’s nothing left to do but move.

You’ve stared at the knife edge and you’ve failed.  

A week later, you climb a mountain.

Three-thousand, seven-hundred, and twenty-six metres.

You move, move, move, until there’s no where else to move to. You’re already at the summit.

So you stare into space, point to your own chest and whisper: “Again, you motherfucker. I dare you. Again.”

Shh, the valley whispers back. Shh. Happy birthday.

Happy fucking birthday.

Many more to go.  

[malikaidith]

I wanted to fall so deeply in love with myself that I forgot what it ever felt like to be hurt. I wanted to love myself like the way I loved sunsets; purely and full of joy. I wanted to love myself like the way I loved you. But at times I get sick and think that you were right. That you rescued me. That I actually never loved myself. I loved the version you created. The version that you made easier to live with and tolerate.

How do I love myself when I don't even like the person i'm with when i'm alone? You loved the little frizzy hairs sprouting from my head to my stubby little toes. You loved the creases under my eyes that I got when I smiled. You found me so homesick for a world that I've never met and you gave me that. I wish you knew how silent the world becomes any time you'll hold me. How the voices go away.

I'm scared of the day when there will be no voices running around in my head. When i'll be all alone. When i'll pull the trigger and stop spilling the ink. I know anyone reading this will be like "Oh! But that's so unhealthy." How do I let myself love someone that much to redefine my whole existence? To be the one to decide whether i'll smile at my phone or drown in my tears. I would have gotten over it. I'm young and love will come to me. But don't you think if I knew how to I would?

I often feel like the times that I tell you I love you i'm lying because it has always been an understatement. Every love song is about you. I saw you in the books I read. I saw you in the movies I watched. Where the girl fell first but the guy fell harder. How do I forget that? How do I stop seeing parts of you in everything I loved and used to know. I can barely watch anything romantic or read anything that will strike those feelings in me. Because they remind me of you. The love we once had and shared. I just want to know where do broken lovers go? Where do broken hearts go?

Sometimes the things we love will kill us, but weren't we dying anyway? I forgive myself for being something that will eventually die. A perishable good fading out slowly. A little human. I wouldn't want to live in a world where you don't exist. I need to love you.

[0thsense]

5/30/2023

Go ahead, put anything. okay tumblr. I want to develop my life. I want to upgrade myself. The path to physical upgrade is so clear.. go to the gym, do cardio, etc. The path to other upgrades? not so clear. Should I flesh out my frameworks of living? do I just choose one even though I'm not sure of anything? I have no direction in life. I want to create something beautiful. If I create one beautiful thing.. well I can't make any promises. to myself. I wonder if everybody feels about their soul in the same way. Does everyone feel that they have something uniquely pure and beautiful to offer to the world. It's probably all a delusion, but thinking that way feels like my soul will just die. I'm just rambling about things that make no sense. Everybody has different definitions for these things so communicating about them is really hard. I guess the human brain is hardwired to think in terms of cause and effect, which makes us ask "why am i here". but for that we can't find a meaningful answer, so we have to decide on an answer, and that's really hard. I sometimes think I should just decide on something just to try it out, but for these things you can't just "try it out", it'll never work unless you fully believe in it. Is that something that other people have done that I'm missing? that leap of faith to just believe in some purpose? I guess from a religious perspective maybe but what about non-religious people? I guess there's less pressure to answer this question if you naturally life effectively in society anyways, since you don't need the additional motivation. I always feel like I need additional information to answer this question and I don't have the drive to gather this additional information. Gathering this additional information means trying really hard at things for like a year.

I also feel like I'm not maturing because my life experience does not give me new insights. I could try to read books and ponder on them, but I feel like that results in incorrect and shallow conclusions, even if the books are good. Did I mature from playing omori? I probably felt the strongest emotions from playing Omori in my whole life the last 2-3 years. Maybe I forgot something, which feels increasingly common.

Due to the earth's rejection of my autistic self and my waning self-confidence, im trying to be a normie. I suck at socially interacting in a normie way. I miss when I could just say whatever was on my mind and people respected me enough to take me seriously. I feel like there's a ball of thoughts in my head that only make full sense in context of the entire ball, and it's impossible to write that whole ball so it's impossible to communicate this whole ball. That makes me scared to share any one part of this ball.

I finished reading The Road, and im reading oyasumi punpun right now. I want to write something on the things I read which affect me so I never forget. I should write something about Omori now, as my memory of it continues to wane. I'm so scared of doing all these things like reading, etc. and just not making any progress towards anything. One main purpose of reading is I want to be exposed to different views and ways of thinking, and I can't tell if thats happening. I recognized value in The Handmaid's Tale but I probably got like 5% of what the author was trying to put across. And I never wrote my thoughts on it. I guess I should do that too. I think I'm pretty initially dismissive these days. I try to lump lines of thinking into things I've thought of before, and by and large most of the time I find a way to lump a new thing into something thats close. This makes me lose those crucial insights that lie in the difference between what I already know and the new thing. My brain automatically does this through years of practice. I need to be more vigilant in carefully considering everything with no biases and no assumption that I already know what it is.

I think my dad was a lucky genetic freak in our family tree. I'm reverting to the expected outcome of my gene pool. My cousins are doing okay but not that well. Compared to other smart people, who have much stronger family lineups. The more research is done, the more people realize how hereditary most things are. I am a weird concoction, and so are most people. And we will never fully know the wonders of each others' mixes. I'm thinking it's likely that I'm part of the last human generation, mostly because of AI. I am deathly scared and think about what an AI singularity scenario will look like, but it's hard to predict. There will be nowhere to run, we will just be ants. Hopefully we will be useful to our new overlords. Maybe they will care about us and treat us humanely. Humanely is such a weird term, treating non-humans humanely is a good thing right!

I had something else I wanted to write. Oh yea pretending to be happy is hard. And it's a vicious cycle. I'm less valuable in every way if I present as unhappy. Sorry everyone.

[6882142183]

up DeKalb

I was out for a walk the other day and I thought of something to write and I thought I’d remember it, but I only remember spilling coffee on my coat, and the gist of wanting to say that I feel distracted. There was also something about being scared of being alone in that feeling, which might just mean being scared of being alone, I haven’t decided if I agree. I remember when I thought of this thing to write that I forgot, I was walking up DeKalb, almost at Central, across the street from the garden there, but I’ll never remember the right words I had then. I don’t understand how anyone can write a song, how they clean their room, how they eat right. I’m 24 now and I still don’t know how to dress myself or how to exercise. I don’t know how to do my hair. I have no gauge of how many people my age feel this way because all I’m allowed to see is people doing things that feeling this way precludes. Tonight on the J train, a woman with the most fragile looking blonde hair I’ve ever seen was holding a spiral bound notebook to her chest, flipped open so one page was crinkled against her and another was facing out so I could read it. It was a joke written in pink felt tip pen, she wrote it out like this:

Joke 2:

   I get it, Amanda Seyfreid, Katie Cassidy, and I all have the same look.

   Setup: (I can’t remember this part. I should have written this down when I got home, but instead I ate some chocolates and toast. In one way or another, she established that she had a way she liked to describe their shared look).

   Punchline: I like to call it the possessed barbie.

I guess I should have done something to make sure I wouldn’t forget what she wrote. I wonder who she’ll tell the joke to, I wonder if she’ll decide to tell that one or leave it in her notebook.

I think the internet is something too big. It is very dense, and so big that its density gets canceled out, so even though there’s no empty space  it still feels like it’s the size of the whole universe and there’s no point in even trying to conceptualize how far away everything is, and it’s just getting bigger all the time. I hate my phone and the internet and I feel narrow and like an asshole for it. Who am I to say how anything really is? If we are what we like, why do we have to tell everyone about it? Is that what knowing people is? I don’t think there is anything too complex to reduce to liking and disliking, which can be reduced still to just liking. Nobody cares about what I like other than me, but I want to be liked so I’ve already gone ahead and told you a lot about what I like. See:

1a. I think the internet is something too big.

1b. I like things to be a size which can be accounted for in terms of the size of this planet Earth*, so maybe one day I could see them from one end to the other.

*I do also like outer space and it is my opinion that this is not sufficient grounds to exclude me from membership in the set of those who like things to be a size which can… so on.

2a. I hate my phone and the internet…

2b. I like only to know people and be known in a way that we sometimes need to shout over a passing train and point out birds to each other. Alternatively, I would like it if  my friends had to memorize or have my phone number written down in a book somewhere, and that they would press the buttons to call me and my phone would ring in the office and I would have to go take the call in there, or let it go to voicemail and listen secretly.

3a. … and I feel narrow…

3b. I would like the reader to recognize that I acknowledge the global benefits of the internet and social media (surely there are some) and I would like the reader to like me and care more about what I like as a result.

4a. … and [I feel] like an asshole for it.

4b. I like to meet people where they stand and to make them feel smart, thoughtful, and included. (2a-2b) complicates this, sometimes. I do also like for people who like the same things as me (read: people I think are cool) to think I’m cool (read: like me), which in a way means that sometimes I like to be an asshole.

These are some of the things that I like, but I still leave my headphones on when someone tries to talk to me on the train. It feels phony to type this on my laptop, it would feel worse to write it by hand, and worse still on a typewriter. How boring is it to complain about being a bad writer. I think that sometimes I’m a bad friend.

I used to live in a building in London that had a front desk. You walked into the front door, past the desk, then walked out the back door into a courtyard, then to your building. I think it was Paula who got it down just right by stubbing her cigarette enough so that it wouldn’t smoke in the front room, but she wouldn’t have to relight it once we got out to the courtyard. One night a band from my hometown played in the pub down the street, which was notable because my hometown was 5,329 miles away. I was too young, but those guys used to play at houses where I would later see other bands play. I wanted to go see them in London just so I could say, hey, I know that place, but I didn’t really like their music, and the show was sold out. I only found out they were there the day of the show, then they left. I left a couple months later and never went back to London, even though I was supposed to.

[scarlet4rose]

forget about her

Jess Mariano x female reader y/n

Jess <3

It was a friday night and i was standing in my uncle's diner washing dishes. Luke had gone somewhere half an hour ago and left the dirty dishes to me. I kinda felt a bit embarrassed.... even Luke was up to something, while I had to remain in the company of his dishes.

The truth was, I hardly had anything better to do.

On a Friday night. A new low point in my already very unglamorous and unspectacular life in Stars Hollow.

My mind drifted away. I could walk around the neighborhood, I could wander -by pure chance- to the gazebo where y/n liked to hang out. And if she wasn't there, I could walk a few steps further, I could walk down her street and I could- bullshit.

No, I couldn't. I might as well embarrass myself even more than I already did whenever I was around her. God, if only-

Yes, maybe I liked being around her. And yet again, I didn't. Because, no matter how hard I tried, I could barely take my eyes off her once she was near me.

Sometimes I felt as if my affection was painfully obvious, but she had never really reacted to it. Her eyes, her lips, her smile. If her smile was directed at me, I barely managed not to smile back. It was such a strange feeling, but I loved it. Sometimes I even thought I loved her. Fuck. I did.

I had fallen in love with y/n. I didn't mean to, it just happened. But how could anyone not love y/n anyway?

I had talked to her several times at school, I didn't have any books or a pen with me, and I definitely had no idea what we had assigned as homework. She was always incredibly kind and unbelievably beautiful. She even was still beautiful the other day when she had told me to bring my own stuff next time, since she started to feel like her books had now become mine as often as I had them.

I couldn't tell her I not only wished for exactly that to be the case, but that I especially wanted her to be mine, too.

Well, obviously, there was no way she could ever be. Shit. Shit. Shit. Of course she deserved someone better than me. She deserved a guy who bought her roses, whose parents had a real house and a real job. As an ... accountant or something. She was all I could think about, nothing was more interesting to me than she was. I wondered what she could possibly be doing right now. What if she was thinking about me, too? I could love her, I would hold her in my arms and take her out like those guys at school take their girlfriends out. Technically, I thought the whole thing was pretty unimaginative and cheesy, but, yeah, maybe I could bring myself together for y/n.

No. I would try and fail. At being her boyfriend. At being good enough. Once again. She could never want me the way I wanted her. The way I needed her.

I guessed it was for the better anyway. I knew very well all I would do was disappoint her and she didn't deserve any of that. Pensively, I lowered a white plate I had just cleaned.

It would probably be best if I forgot about her.

(first fic I´ve ever written, as if, I'm totally clueless)

[amjustagirl]

Hogwarts AU (Haikyuu!!)

feat. Kita Shinsuke

Previously: Miya Atsumu. Miya Osamu. 

Masterlist link here

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: Any other characters you’d like to see? Send me an ask! 

You knew of Kita Shinsuke, certainly - at least from your gigging girlfriends.

He’s known for his stellar grades (second only to your own) and his reserve position as the keeper on the Hufflepuff team. 

You found him serious and studious when you partnered with him once or twice in class.

But otherwise, you weren’t well acquainted with him. 

That all changed when you were appointed head boy and head girl respectively, and had to share an office for prefectorial duties. 

‘Shall I get started on the disciplinary reports due this week, or draft the allocation of duties for the month?’ You ask him when you met him to split up the work for the first time. 

‘Neither, I’ve done them both’, he replies curtly. A stack of reports in his neat, square handwriting drops in your lap.  

‘Oh’, you say lamely, feeling a little redundant. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with then?’ 

He shakes his head, a clear dismissal as he turns back to his work. 

He’s too high-handed, you complain to your friends. He takes charge of all briefings, tries to refuse your help for most tasks, only accepting when you archly remind him that you’re his peer, not his subordinate. 

He’s infuriating, you continue to complain. He doesn’t have a spark of humour in his eyes when you try to joke around with him, he’s stern and harsh with the other prefects, who all end up protesting to you. And worst of all - his grades are catching up to yours, slowly, steadily - your pride doesn’t appreciate him nipping at your heels. 

 You don’t dislike him. But you don’t like him either. 

That is - until you’re two months into your final year, and you’re off on a solo round one night. 

Your mind was full of the entrance requirements for the Healer course that was just released this evening that you completely forgot where you were (the side staircase between the ground floor and the second floor is tricky, even the first years know that) and stuck your foot right into the vanishing stair.  

It’s a full moon tonight. Your foot is stuck in the stair. All incontrovertible facts. It’s so late that you’ve long given up hope of anyone rescuing you until dawn, so you crouch on the stairs, head huddled in your arms, prepared to camp here until dawn. 

Anyone, that is - save for one Kita Shinsuke. 

He clears his throat, rousing you from your nap, and though you glance up with hope, you end up deflating when you realise it’s him. 

‘You didn’t report back after your round’, he says, the faintest shadow of a smile on his face as he looks down on you, uniform rumpled, eyes heavy with sleep. 

‘I kinda got stuck’, you admit, letting him pull you up, and you mutter a resentful thanks when he frees you from the accursed stairs. 

‘I can see that’, he chuckles, and you blink owlishly. 

Kita Shinsuke, laughing? You must be hallucinating. 

Still, for all his flaws, he’s a gentleman, insisting on walking you back to Ravenclaw tower. It’s such a shock to your system to find that he’s actually human that you find the courage to voice out your long held complaint that he’s not letting you do enough work, that it makes you feel redundant. 

He apologises earnestly. ‘I didn’t mean to do that - I’ve been so used to just tryin’ to do everythin’ by myself that I forget I’ve a partner to help me with this’. 

You accept his apology with a laugh, wishing him farewell and goodnight. 

As you get ready for bed, your face heats up for some reason when you think about him referring to you as his partner. You’re glad he didn't pick up on it.  

------------------------------------

That marks a turning point in your relationship with him. 

True to his word, Kita starts to treat you like his partner in all prefectorial tasks, splitting all tasks equally with you, seeking your counsel when he needs to. And you start to see why your friends giggled helplessly when you told them that he would be head boy, and would share an office with you. 

‘He’s hot!’ They protested, when you scolded them for being silly twits. 

And now, you have to agree - staring shamelessly at the sight of his broad shoulders filling out his quidditch uniform, his light grey hair tousled in the wind as he glides gracefully down on his broom towards you. 

‘Yachi-san forgot to get you to sign the report’, you tell him, waving the sheaf of papers at him. ‘And don’t scold her, she’s still terrified of you’. 

The younger girl still shakes whenever Kita speaks to her, and she even begged you on her knees to seek him out in her stead. You should be the one thanking her, you think amusedly, appreciating the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the proud curve of his neck as he signs the documents, giving you a wave as he returns back to practice. 

Then you discover he’s not as heartless as his demeanor led you to believe. 

‘Kita, what are on earth are you doing?’ You gasp at the sight before you. 

You heard some rustling in an empty classroom, and assuming it to be another amorous couple getting frisky (you would turn a blind eye, really but you’ve had to clean up after them far too many times for you to have lost your patience by now), you kicked the door open, only to be greeted by the absolutely adorable sight Kita Shinsuke surrounded by a whole gaggle of younger students seated in a circle around him. The younger kids giggle, and even Kita breaks into a smile. 

It turns out he’s been tutoring the weakest students in his downtime because, as he says - magic is hard for those not born into it, like him. Refusing to be left out, you join him in these tutoring sessions, cajoling him to hold it in your office, magicking up beanbags and cushions to make the entire tutoring session a much more comfortable affair. 

‘Well done!’ he exclaims in excitement as the shyest first year succeeds in casting a wingardium leviosa for the first time. 

‘Good work!’ he tells another second year approvingly, as she shows him her top marks for her transfiguration essay. 

Watching him take the whole brood of younger kids under his wing makes you look at him in a different light - a softer light, for the first time. 

------------------------------------

‘Would you like to go to Hogsmeade together?’ you ask him after a prefects’ meeting, as you walk back to your office together to gather your things. You’ve practised far too long in front of the mirror to channel your inner Gryffindor (even though you’re at heart, a studious Ravenclaw) to mess this up. 

‘Sure’, he responds without skipping a beat, and you grin, fist pumping behind his back. 

But when you turn up at Hogsmeade, the entire batch of final year prefects is there too. 

‘It was a good idea to have a batch outing’, Kita says, as he turns around to chat with Kiyoko from Gryffindor. 

Kuroo from Slytherin, who you hear would’ve been head boy if Kita didn’t beat him out, grins knowingly as he notices the lip gloss you used specially for this occasion, and even kind, funny Aran from Gryffindor bumps your shoulder sympathetically as you look utterly downcast for the rest of the afternoon. 

------------------------------------

You’re a Ravenclaw, for Merlin’s sake, so you take a hint, lick your injured pride, and stop any further romantic overtures towards one Kita Shinsuke. 

But when you notice his eyes growing tired, his hand faltering over another report he should’ve delegated to someone else, you shoo him stubbornly out of the office, pertly telling him it’s time to take his own advice and rest - or you’ll write to his grandma, and see if she doesn’t send him a howler to take care of himself. When he’s gone, you promptly take over the report, and in complete defiance of your own words to him, you keep yourself up all night finishing not just that report, but the rest of the reports on his plate for the week. 

It’s what a friend would do, you tell yourself, gritting your teeth and setting your quill viciously on an accounting report that bloody Daishou managed to push off to Kita instead of doing it himself. 

It’s dawn by the time you faceplant into the stack of reports you managed to plow through. 

‘Et tu, brutus’, he mutters when he finds you asleep on the desk the next morning, head still pillowed on the mountain of reports. His eyes crinkle at the edges when he gazes down at you, laughing softly when you shy away from his attempts to wake you.

‘Kita?’ you mumble, when he finally takes hold of your shoulder and gently shakes you awake. ‘Didn’t I tell you to go to sleep?’ 

Wait a minute. Is it morning already? 

You jolt awake, swiping the drool collecting at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, flushing red in embarrassment at cool, collected Kita catching you like this. This is a bloody nightmare - you grab at your things, making hurried excuses to leave the room when he catches your wrist. 

‘Would ya want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?’ 

‘With the rest of the prefects?’ you mumble shamefacedly, not even noticing that he doesn’t let go of your hand. ‘Sure, I guess.’

Kita laughs again. Twice in a day, you note distractedly. Did you miss something in Astronomy class about the stars aligning with Jupiter or something? 

‘Nope, just with me.’ He tugs you towards him, standing so close your ears flame bright red. You’re sure that if he takes a step closer, your ears might explode. 

‘Kita?’ you stammer, unsure if you’re awake or lost in your dreams. 

‘I owe you an apology’, he says, eyes trained on your lips. 

It definitely isn’t a dream because oh Merlin you can feel his breath fan against your lips. 

‘I only realised you were askin’ me on a date the last time after Aran set me straight. And I’ve been waitin’ for the right moment to ask you out to set matters straight.’

‘You don’t have to - ‘ you squeak, but your words are swallowed by his mouth slanting hungrily against yours and oh gods you’re one of those couples you have to book for making out in school, aren’t you - but does it count if you’re doing it in the head prefects’ office - and wait, does this mean you have to book yourself -  

Then you lose all train of thought when Kita swipes his tongue into the seam of your mouth. Clinging to him for dear life, you tangle your fingers in his hair. 

‘I want to’, he promises, when you separate for breath. 

Your mind is still blank as you nod dumbly, agreeing to meet him at the Great Hall next weekend. You’re still touching your swollen lips, completely distracted that you don’t even notice the squeals and whispers in the corridors when he walks you to class, hand in hand. 

[funkervogt]

Under cut because this is annoying asfuck But i have to talk

Im surprised my mood didnt like tank tonight cuz the pattern is usually i wake up normal spend the whole day tired and then get really introspective and consider seeing a therapist about it then fall asleep and wake up normal again. It was like opposite today I was so soggy this morning remembering what happened at the gd airport last time i was there Like it was one of those times where literally everything that couldve went wrong went fucking wrong. Im gonna go on a tangent about it because it was fucking crazy to experience like, combined with this fcking agoraphobia or something that i have and the fact that it was my second time in an airport on my own Lemme just list off the downward fucking spiral of events.

So im sitting at the gate and the plane isn't on time. Okay. This happens sometimes. I've been pretty good about dealing with being on my own and navigating unfamiliar territory all day, this is my third flight of the day, and I'm ready to go home and forget it. The wait goes on for a while and I move to an area with an outlet so i can plug my phone and laptop in. I'm making the most of my time and chatting it up with my friends and getting things from the vending machine. Okay.

A woman from the desk comes over to me and asks about my flight, I can't remember what about, I think she was letting me know my flight's been delayed. Okay, that's fine.

After a bit she comes back again and she tells me it's been cancelled and my stomach drops. I put up a good front and ask her what my next step is. She gives me a different ticket for a flight to a city nearby, I figure I'd let my mom know that plans have changed and she'll be picking me up there instead. I feel good, there was a problem but I was able to stay strong and solve it.

It doesn't work out and my mom tells me she'll book me a hotel. I'm terrified. My body reacts on its own and I find myself crying into my mask. Snot and everything like it was gross. at the very least it didnt show through the mask. Another guy that had talked to me before comes over and tells me something, I forgot what, probably directs me where to head next, and im just defeated at this point I'm just like wiping my eyes on my sleeve and nodding and trying to make peace with the fact that a stranger is watching me cry over a missed flight

I eventually go to the restroom to collect myself (thankfully empty) and head to where I'm supposed to go next. At some point I end up taking a shuttle to the hotel my mom booked for me, and during the drive I keep having to recollect myself and prepare for whatever the fuck I'm going to say to whoever's at the front desk.

I get there, I'm trying to talk to the guy up front, and the only people in the room are me, the employee, and a man my age smelling heavily of Something, and loudly making bizarre conversation, demanding an ambulance, and talking about men who were chasing him. I have no idea what the fuck is about to happen right now. Already having the scariest night of my life, might as well get killed here. Somehow I'm able to talk to the employee at the same time, I tell him about my missed flight and my mom checking me in, and as it turns out, they couldn't let me into a room because of a policy about needing someone 21 or older at tge counter to be checking themselves or anyone in. I'm four months away from being 21. I'm at a complete fucking loss for what to do and i break down right in front of the guy. He's just fucking staring at me. I tell him not to worry about it and I'll talk to my mom about it, and then i just like, sat on a chair in the corner trying and failing to stop like hyperventilating while i text my mom that literally every fucking plan has fallen through and I'm sitting in the hotel lobby with this other dude still raving about people chasing him or something and I have no idea what the fuck to do now. I wasnt actually in any danger at any point but at the time having to watch whatever the fuck this was unfold in front of me was unnerving to say the least

And theres literally even more like im not done. She tells me she's calling their manager. I can't hear what she's saying, but I can hear the manager's end of the conversation, and i know both my mom and her boyfriend are just giving her hell. At this point I'm just like oh god can i just pass out right here. Can someone gravely injure me and take me to the emergency room. I dont care anymore. Like i literally did everything right at the goddamn airport I didnt even fuck anything up and the worst spiral of events just decided to descend upon me within the span of like an hour or two. I had 3 fuckin flights to go on and I did fucking great and I didnt even look publically autistic. This all just had to fuckin happen to me

Luckily i didnt actually have to go to another fucking hotel and subject another innocent employee to my soggy cardboard box animal state because my mom ended up getting someone from the airport to check me in, I got to my room safe and everything, but i still wasnt fucking done i had to figure out when the airport shuttle is scheduled the next day. My mom told me to call the front desk, I was still fucked up and not at all about to make a phone call (didnt even know how to phone them anyway) so I googled it and thank FUCK they have a shuttle going there every 30 minutes. Or whatever it was. I dont remember All i remember is being so relieved. Worst headache from crying in my life but I slept like a fucking baby. Looked and felt like shit the next morning but pulled the hood over my head and dealt with it. And then as like a fucked up gift from God or maybe Satan I got to fly in the copilot's seat. It looked like this and it fucking ruled

It was a small plane like 10 or so seats and i was just like staring wide eyed at all the little dials and like side eyeing whatever the pilot happened to be doing when he pulled levers or pressed buttons. Finally an autism win after so many fucking autism fails. And then my mom took me home and made chicken alfredo

All in all I didnt learn fucking anything at all. I literally did everything as right as i could and shit still blew up in my face and kicked my ribs in on the pavement and finished me off with a beautiful fucking curbstomp. Anyway i dont even know what i was originally talking about i got so into this tangent. I think i was gonna be like, my usual daily pattern was reversed in the sense that i woke up feeling down and too nitpickingly introspective in the morning and got way more normal in the evening.

Anyway it doesnt matter I hope you all liked the story of the most unnecessarily soggy day of my fucking life. The way everything just went so wrong for no reason is like. My god it was just a comedy of errors except no part of it was remotely funny at all. It really was a huge setback to my development as someone whos already afraid specifically of going to establishments and not knowing what to do or where to go and having to ask people for help. I don't really know how I'm gonna recover from it if it's all i think about when i have to go anywhere to do anything and then I start tearing up about it on instinct. I learned exactly 2 things from the experience and they were 1. I never want to fucking go outside again and 2. I want to get my pilot's license. I fucking loved that tiny ass plane

[keanureevesisbae]

sugar sugar - the planning 3.0

Summary: Someone the engaged couple both didn’t expect, is coming back into their lives

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: Light mentions of an argument. Mentions of hospital, cock warming (it’s becoming their thing now) and some rough sex (spanking, anal play, vibrators - the whole deal)

Wordcount: 4.9k

Masterlist // Sugar Sugar Masterlist // Sugar Sugar the wedding Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

March 1st 7 p.m.

Work has been killing Henry lately. He grows more and more tired and to my own surprise, he is even in a bad mood every now and then, a rarity when it comes to Henry. He hates talking about what is bothering him and I hate having to pry.

But it has been enough. I don’t like the fact he continues to lock himself in his office at work and I decide to surprise him. He always likes surprises, especially these ones I arranged myself.

I barge into his office and I see… He is actually taking a nap? That’s new. He only takes naps at home, with his hands slipped underneath my shirt, his head resting on my chest. His eyes flutter open, ready to scold anyone who came in, until he realizes it’s just me.  ‘Thought I locked the elevator,’ he says, ‘made it unavailable.’

‘I have a surprise for you,’ I say, as I walk up to him and ignoring the fact that he might’ve made it unavailable for me as well to come up here. He probably didn’t mean it like that.

‘Okay, what is it?’

I hop on an empty corner of his desk. ‘I made reservations for us at the Plaza and afterwards, you and I can do all sorts of things in all sorts of compromising positions, if you know what I mean.’

Henry frowns, the complete opposite reaction I was expecting. ‘I can’t, baby.’

‘Why not?’ I ask him. ‘I checked your schedule and it’s all free. You have time and you should take time. You’ve been working really hard.’

‘I know, but I can’t. I have too much to do here.’

I don’t understand. He has been working non stop this week and he still doesn’t have time? He always makes time for me, for us. ‘It’s just one night, Henry,’ I try again.

‘I already told you that I can’t.’

Oh, he is in a mood? Never did he sound so… Flat and borderline annoyed when he is talking to me.

‘Oh,’ I say, not really sure how to handle this type of disappointment. ‘Sure?’

‘Damn it, Becky. Yes, I’m sure. I have tons of work to do and I cannot afford to take a break now! Some people actually have tons of work to do.’

Okay, he is mad at me now, something I totally didn’t deserve. I think I didn’t deserve it, I’m not even sure right now. Maybe this was too much? Yeah, it was too much. I shouldn’t have done that. ‘Well, excuse me for trying to do something nice for you,’ I say, sliding off his desk. ‘Good luck with work.’

‘Are you mad?’ he asks me.

He has some guts. Yes, I’m mad. ‘No, why on earth would I be?’ I ask in a petty tone, as I walk backwards towards the elevator. ‘Bye Henry, hope you finish your work.’

‘Baby, wait,’ he says, but I don’t listen. With large strides I near the elevator and get in, not even looking at him anymore. As the doors slide shut, I grab my phone and send both Genevieve and Viola a text.

Becky: You girls want to spend the evening at the Plaza?

Genevieve: Is that even a question?

Viola: When?

Becky: Thirty minutes?

Genevieve: I’ll be there in ten.

✤ ✤ ✤

Genevieve, Viola and I are sitting in the Plaza, the three of us looking over the city, as we enjoy the view. Well, they are enjoying the view. I keep on thinking about Henry. He never snaps at me like that, just like he never calls me by my name. It’s always sweetheart, darling or my favorite: baby girl. For him to call me ‘Becky’ means I did something wrong, right? Was I out of line? Should I have checked with him? I mean, surprises are meant to surprise, so I shouldn’t have told him, right?

My brain is working overtime, unable to actually enjoy hanging out with my friends.

‘Earth to Becky,’ Viola says, nudging my side. I look up from my wine glass. ‘Honey, you’re still thinking about you and Henry? It’s just a little set back, nothing too bad.’

‘Oh my,’ Genevieve says, ‘are you that disgusting type of couple that never fight? I fight with Greg all the time.’

‘We know,’ Viola butts in. ‘Come on, Gen, you know that Becky doesn’t do well with fighting. Besides, Henry is the type of man that is above pointless fights with his fiancée. Becky, what can we do for you?’

‘I don’t know. Cancel the wedding?’

Genevieve chokes on her drink. ‘For heaven’s sake, Becky, please tell me that is a joke. I swear, if you are going to cancel, I will kill you.’

I glare at her. ‘It may have been a poorly misplaced joke and a total overreaction from my side. Sorry.’

She takes a breath out of utter belief. ‘Don’t do that. I can take jokes about a lot of things, but not our wedding day.’

‘My wedding day, Gen. I’m the one getting married.’

She snorts. ‘Okay,’ she chuckles, rolling her eyes as if she cannot possibly believe that I just called it my wedding, instead of ours. ‘Anyways, I actually got a call from the bridal shop. The bridesmaids dresses are gonna be done at the end of the month, so make sure you can join us for the final fitting.’ Genevieve lets out a squeal. ‘Ah, I’m so excited. You know what comes after the wedding?’

‘Honeymoon?’ Viola and I ask.

‘Yes, that too, but also kids. I think that we should get at least once get pregnant together, because that is such a cute friendship thing for us to do.’

I don’t know if I can handle being pregnant and dealing with Gen’s hormonal mood swings, but I keep those words to myself.

‘Since our little baby factory is probably gonna have a few, Viola and I will have time enough to get it right.’

‘Do you have to call me a baby factory?’ I ask Genevieve. ‘I say once that a large family is okay for me and all of the sudden I’m a baby factory.’

‘I mean, you’re having at least two and with the way you guys are at it, there is a chance his little soldiers will find their way multiple times. One way or another.’

‘Stop talking,’ I say to Genevieve, as blood rises to my cheeks.

Viola tries to contain her laughter, but fails miserably. ‘Are you finally gonna tell her?’

Now I’m confused. ‘Tell me what?’

‘A few months back I kinda walked in on the two of you.’

Genevieve could’ve literally told me that she was gonna be president of name a country and I wouldn’t be as surprised as I am now. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, you left your keys at my place, so I figured I would bring them to you. However when I walked in, I was met with loud moans and skin slapping.’

Oh, no, I want to die.

‘It was really hilarious,’ she continues, ‘because you were on the back rest of the couch and let’s just say that you have a respectable boob size, you two kiss hella sloppy and Henry’s ass naked is delicious.’

I look at my glass of wine and gulp it all down, hoping that drinking my embarrassment and humiliation away would make the situation less awful.

It’s not working.

‘I kinda wished you never told me this,’ I mumble.

Viola finally bursts out into the loud laughter I was expecting from her a few moments ago. ‘This is gold, I wished I had this reaction on video.’

Genevieve chuckles. ‘So yeah, when I say you two are at it like bunnies, I’m not lying.’

✤ ✤ ✤

When I arrive back at the apartment, I almost forgot about the little situation Henry and I got ourselves in. Genevieve and Viola always know the exact things to tell me that makes me forget about a lot. Seeing Henry sitting on the couch, clearly beating himself up, almost makes me feel sorry for him, however I decide to be a petty bitch.

He really did hurt my feelings.

I walk straight to the kitchen and despite me hearing him follow me, I disregard my instinct and don’t turn towards him.

‘Becky,’ he says, his tone soft and slightly unsure. Him calling out my name in a tone like this, is an indication he is aware of the thin ice he is skating on.

‘Mhm?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for? You were busy and I was intruding.’ I let the tea bag soak for a few moments. ‘You know, Genevieve, Viola and I had a great time together,’ I continue. ‘I arranged amazing seats at the Plaza. It had a view over the Hudson and we saw a lot of fairies.’ I know those are his favorite spots and he always tells me that one day he’ll take me on a fairy. ‘Never been on a fairy before.’ That’s a jab I knew would hurt the most. Damn, I’m awful. With the mug in my hand, I turn around, to see that Henry is looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘How was work? Did you finish it?’

He shakes his head.

Don’t say it, Becky. ‘Oh, why not?’ Damn it, Becky.

‘You serious?’ he asks. ‘We had an argument.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Henry. It wasn’t an argument. You were working and I had some poor planning. A small misunderstanding. Happens to all the couples some day.’

He sighs. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you in that tone,’ he says. ‘You were right, I could’ve needed a break. Work has been killing these last few weeks and I… I keep convincing myself I can do it all…’ He leans against the kitchen island and folds his arms. ‘Truth is, we lost some investors and I’ve been trying to rectify the situation. It’s just that it’s not working.’

Oh, I didn’t know that. Now I feel sorry for being so bitchy to him. ‘I see,’ I mumble. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t want you to worry,’ he says.

‘You understand that I can read you like a book, right?’ I ask him. ‘Henry, I’m gonna be your wife, I know when something is bothering you.’

‘I know and to take it out on you, wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.’

I nod, placing the mug on the counter. ‘I’m sorry too.’

‘Sorry for what?’

‘For being petty and inconsiderate of your time. I shouldn’t have just surprised you like that. I know you’re busy.’

‘But never too busy for you. You did everything right. Checked my schedules, arranged it at a time where I barely have anything to do. It was the perfect surprise. Having dinner with you at the Plaza is one of my favorite places to have dinner with you. Staring at those fairies is what we do.’ He carefully approaches, still unsure whether or not we’re on the same page. ‘You have nothing to apologize for. The only one who was at fault was me.’

I grab him by his tie and pull him in a hug, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He nuzzles his face in my neck, whispering soft apologies.

‘It’s all good,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry for being petty.’

‘No, no, no, don’t be. I deserved that one. Especially after the tone I used on you.’ He pulls back a little and presses a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. ‘How about I take you to dinner tomorrow night?’

‘Sounds good. But you have to call this time,’ I say.

Henry raises his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You made the reservations yourself?’

I nod. ‘Hence the reason I might got a little bit extra defensive.’

He smiles at me, before giving me a kiss. ‘I’m so proud of you, baby. Practice makes perfect.’

‘I know,’ I say with a soft smile on my lips. ‘We’re good again?’

‘More than good,’ he chuckles. He lifts me on the counter and stands in between my legs. ‘How was it with Genevieve and Viola?’

‘Good,’ I say, ‘just discovered that Genevieve once walked in on us having sex.’

His eyes enlarge. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ I say. ‘She told me I have a respectable boob size, we kiss sloppy and that your naked ass looks really good.’

He lets out a nervous chuckle. ‘Your boobs are perfect,’ he says and I slap him across his chest. ‘You know I can never look at her again?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I laugh. ‘It’s nothing. She’ll just pester us with it for a while and then she finds something else to humiliate me with. Really, it’s no big deal.’

March 20th 2 p.m.

I place the groceries in the fridge, after I got back home. I actually want to plan cooking Henry some dinner so I bought all the ingredients I think I need. He always does so much for me, so it’s only fair that I’m doing it too every once in a while.

Let’s just hope I don’t fail miserably.

My phone starts to ring and I quickly pick up. ‘Hello.’

‘Good afternoon, is this Becky Kim?’ a female voice asks.

I frown. ‘Yes, this is her. Is everything alright?’

‘My name is Alicia, a nurse at NewYork-Presbyterian. I’m calling in regards of Sehun Kim.’

Dad? That Sehun Kim? Too say I’m absolutely flabbergasted is an understatement. ‘Excuse me if I come off extremely rude, but I’m sure I’m not registered as his next of kin. Isn’t there someone else to call?’

‘Well miss Kim, you are his next of kin. Your father had a ruptured appendix. Thankfully he got to the hospital in time, but his health is severely declined. We are keeping him here for a few days, to see if everything is alright.’

I lean against the sink, thinking about my next move. ‘Is there anyone with him right now?’ I ask.

‘No, miss.’

I sigh deeply. What to do, what to do? ‘I’ll be there shortly.’ When I hang up the phone, I arrange the chauffeur to drive me to the hospital and I grab some stuff I need. As I step into the elevator, I text Henry to tell him what’s going on.

Becky: My dad is in the hospital, I’m going there right now

Daddy 🥰: Darling, are you okay? Do you need anything?

Becky: I’m taking the driver. Just be there when I get home?

Daddy 🥰: Of course, baby girl. Just tell me when you need something, okay?

Becky: Will do

✤ ✤ ✤

I have been looking at my father for a few minutes now from behind the glass. He looks a lot older than I remember him. I wonder why I’m next of kin and not my mom or my siblings.  I mean, he hasn’t seen me in so long, I literally told my family I never wanted to see them anymore and that included him.

With my arms crossed in front of my chest, I hesitate whether or not I’m gonna open that door and walk into his room.

I mean, I kinda want to.

I always felt like my father and I were pretty much the same, however he never showed me how much he loved me. It always seemed easier to love my siblings than me, but maybe there were certain things that held him back.

I never asked him and now I finally have a chance.

Finally I mustered up the confidence to just do it. I open the door and walk in. He is awake and looks at me, but like usual he isn’t saying anything. It could be hurtful, but it doesn’t feel like that. I walk towards the side of the bed. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask him.

Still he is unable to talk, but I see it. I see his eyes filling with tears and for the first time in forever, I see the hurt he probably had to endure all this time.

‘Dad, please say something to me.’

‘I’m sorry, Becky,’ he then says, his voice breaking in the process. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘For not standing up to you. For not being the dad you deserved, you needed.’ He rubs his eyes with his fingers and adds: ‘What kind of father allows this type of crap?’

I honestly don’t know, so all I can do is simply shrug. ‘I’m guessing mom wasn’t too kind on you either.’

He shakes his head. ‘She wasn’t.’

‘Then why didn’t you divorce her?’ I ask, in a harsher tone then I originally intended to. ‘Took me with you? We could’ve been happy, dad, just the two of us.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Then why didn’t you do it? Why didn’t you stand up for me?’

‘Because I was scared.’ It must be so painful for him to admit it, but I rather want him being honest with me, then him dancing around the subject. He was scared and I can’t blame him for it. Mom was (and I presume still is) pretty scary and if she was mean to me, I don’t think I can even fathom what happened between her and dad.

‘But why am I next of kin?’ I ask. ‘You have Liam and Celine.’

‘They are not you,’ he says and that hits something deep in my heart. ‘I was too scared to call you and tell you how sorry I am, so I changed you to my next of kin a few months back. I know, it was weak and I’m a coward, but it was the only way I felt like I could do ever talk to you again.’

It happens before I can even stop it. I place my hand on his and at first, dad doesn’t move, but then he holds my hand tightly in his.

‘I’m sorry, Becky. I’m so sorry.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I know.’

‘I can’t imagine what you went through. I should’ve been there for you, I should’ve protected you.’

I don’t know what to say, so I simply grab a chair and drag it next to his bed, before taking place on it. ‘Then tell me everything you went through,’ I whisper, ‘maybe we can understand each other.’

✤ ✤ ✤

The afternoon turned into the night and it’s already seven p.m. when I arrive back the penthouse. It was both draining and very insightful. Everything I went through, my dad went through as well, for being a more shy personality, more serious and less out there. While I knew he would draw the short end of the stick when we were all together, he got it real bad when he was alone with my mom. The thing was: it didn’t stop when I moved out, when I told them I never wanted to see them again.

It only got worse.

Somehow me ending up in juvie, was his fault.

I close the door of the apartment and Henry says: ‘There you are. Baby girl, how are you?’

‘I’m okay,’ I say, though that is not quite the truth. ‘It went well.’

Henry stands up and walks over to me. ‘Glad to hear.’ He gives me a kiss, as his hands find mine. ‘Your dad is gonna be okay?’

‘Yeah, he just has to stay to see if all goes well tonight.’ I let out a deep sigh. ‘I missed him.’

He nods, allowing me to find the words to describe how I’m feeling.

‘We talked for a long while,’ I continue. ‘But I’m going back tomorrow, because I feel like we have a lot to catch up on. Wanna join me?’

‘If you want me to, I’ll happily go, you know that.’

I don’t want to cry, I think I did that enough the last few hours, however a few tears escape. ‘Daddy, can you hold me?’

He doesn’t waste a single second, before he hoists me up in his arms, holding me closely to his body. ‘I’m right here, sweetheart.’

I close my eyes, as I cling onto him. I start to sniffle, but it’s enough for Henry to be alerted.

‘Baby girl. What is it? What do you need?’

‘A hug.’

He pulls back a little and cocks an eyebrow. ‘That kind of hug?’

I nod. ‘Please?’

‘Of course.’ He carries me to the sauna, where he undoes me from my clothing and quickly shreds himself from his. We step into the hot sauna and I sit on his lap, before he starts the preparations. His hands massage my entire body, as I place my forehead against his. ‘I love you,’ he whispers against my lips.

‘I love you too.’

‘You did well today.’ He squeezes my breasts in his large hands, flicking my nipples and it’s already doing its magic trick in between my legs. ‘I’m proud of you, because it mustn’t be easy.’ He gives me a kiss, before he brings his lips to my hardened nipple, wrapping them around the sensitive nub.

I kiss him on his hairline. ‘You are?’

‘Oh baby, you have no idea.’

I reach down, grabbing his semi hard cock and rub his tip against my clit. I whimper, causing Henry to look up. He kisses me, soft and slow. ‘When you’re ready,’ he says.

I line him up near my throbbing entrance and I sink onto him, biting away the slight pain as I stretch around him. Henry rubs my clit and the pain quickly subdues. He leans back against the wall, pulling me onto his chest, his fingers drawing soft circles on my back.

I don’t know how long we are in this position, but when I open my eyes again, I feel pretty drowsy, almost like I fell asleep.

Henry is already awake, still holding me close against him, not caring that we’re both drenched in sweat. ‘Hi, baby girl,’ he whispers.

‘Hi.’

‘You were gone for quite a while. We’ve been here for an hour, or so.’

I smile. ‘I feel better, thank you.’

‘That’s good, that’s good.’ He gives me a kiss and says: ‘You look better.’

‘Daddy,’ I whisper, ‘I love you.’

‘Oh, I love you too.’

I rock my hips on his and he hums in content. ‘Fuck me,’ I beg. ‘Please do. I need it.’

‘How do you need it?’ he asks. ‘Rough? Soft? I’ll give it to you, baby girl. Just tell me what you need.’

I bite my lip. ‘I need it rough, daddy. Please, I need it rough.’

✤ ✤ ✤

When I ask for rough, I’ll get it even rougher. Henry used his tie to restrain my hands above my head, so he has his hands free to press the vibrator against my clit while he pounds himself inside of me. He is ruthless, but that is exactly what I need.

My mind is blank, as the only things I feel is being overpowered, loved and taken care of. I don’t know how many times I already came, but my sobs are quite telling.

‘You gonna cum again, baby?’

I nod, before my eyes roll back and my juices squirt passed him. Telling from his grunts, he is close as well.

‘Shit, baby girl, you feel so fucking good around me.’ He throws the vibrator to the side, tightening his grip on my hips, as I ride out my high. I’m a crying mess, tears dripping over my cheeks and that’s about the same time his hips stutter against mine, his warm seed spilled deep inside of me. He unties my hands, before giving me a sloppy kiss. ‘You okay?’ he asks, still buried inside of me.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’

‘You feel better?’

I smile. ‘I do, thank you, daddy. I needed that.’

He gives me a kiss on my lips and wipes away the tears. ‘You want to talk about it or not?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’m just glad you helped me out here.’ I place my hands on his chest. ‘Could need a shower, though.’

‘I know,’ he chuckles. ‘How about you take a shower, I’ll clean up in here and then join you?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ I whisper. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, baby girl.’

March 21st 11 a.m.

The next day I’m back at the hospital, only this time I took Henry with me. He holds my hand in his and gives me a reassuring kiss on my fingers. ‘You want me in there with you two immediately?’ he asks me.

I don’t need to think about that for very long, because I quickly nod. ‘Of course. I actually quite need you in there.’

We stop in front of his door and I take a deep breath before knocking three times and peaking around the corner. ‘Dad,’ I say, causing him to look up from his book, ‘I’m back and brought someone.’

Henry and I step into the room and my dad nods, taking in Henry. ‘Your fiancé,’ dad says, closing his book. Yesterday I told him a lot about Henry already, especially because my dad read my interview and actually figured out how to check my Instagram. It was his own way to keep track of me and for some odd reason, I’m glad he did. He holds out his hand and Henry is quick to take it. ‘I’m Sehun, nice to meet you.’

‘My name is Henry, sir. It’s great to meet you too.’ He pulls two chairs next to dad’s bed and we both take a seat.

I take his hand into mine and say: ‘Dad, how are you feeling?’

‘Better, better.’ Dad stares at Henry and says: ‘It doesn’t take a genius to see how happy you are with each other.’

I smile, my other hand blindly searching Henry’s.

‘I also don’t need to tell you, but you need to take good care of her.’

Henry nods. ‘Don’t you worry, sir, I take good care of her.’

My dad looks up at the ceiling, tears in his eyes.

‘Dad, please,’ I say, ‘it’s all okay. We spoke about this yesterday: I don’t blame you. Not at all, not in the slightest.’

He has never been the talkative type, I know that. It pains me to see how crushed he is, how much he is beating himself up. I understand that he feels like that, however I am not mad. After yesterday’s talk I understood and realized I never wanted to be mad at him at all.

‘I don’t know if you can make it and if you even want to, but you—and you alone—can come to the wedding if you want. It’s a little short notice, I know, but Henry and I would love it if you were there.’

Dad simply nods. ‘I would love that too,’ he says in a hoarse tone. ‘Just… You have to help me with something first.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Help me arrange a divorce.’

Don’t overreact, Becky. The rush of utter euphoria fills my body. He wants to divorce my mom? After all those years? Is there an opportunity I could still have that relationship with my dad I have always secretly wanted and wished for.

I look over my shoulder to Henry, who seems to read my eyes. ‘I can arrange something with my lawyer,’ Henry says, squeezing my fingers. ‘You know what, I’ll call him right now. Maybe we can arrange something very soon.’

Henry leaves the room, holding his phone in his hand and my dad nods. ‘You have a nice fiancé,’ he says. ‘Takes good care of you.’

I smile. ‘Yeah, he does. He is the love of my life.’

Dad tilts his head. ‘You sure you want me there?’

‘Yes, I’d love to. We have an entire month to get to know each other and that of course won’t change after the wedding. We could look for an apartment for you, make sure you can start a new life.’

‘It’s a father’s job to protect and take care of his kids, not the other way around.’ He sighs deeply and says: ‘I have never taken care of you. Protected you from those vile words spilled from your mom and siblings.’

‘But you will,’ I say. ‘Please, it’s all good. Know and accept that, okay? I want to work on our relationship and that can start with an apartment when you are released from this awful place.’

For the first time he widely smiles. ‘I’m a lucky man for having a daughter like you.’

Henry enters the room again and says: ‘Well, I spoke to my lawyer and he is ready to meet you in a few days. There is a possibility he can expedite the process.’

Dad nods again. ‘Thank you, Henry. Now please sit, so I can get to know you.’

✤ ✤ ✤

When Henry and I are back in the car after hours of getting to know my father, tears finally drip over my tears. ‘Baby girl,’ he says, ‘it’s okay. You did amazing.’

‘I just don’t know why I’m crying, especially because I’m happy. I’m happy with all of this, however it’s just that… I wish there was more I could do.’

‘You are doing all you can,’ he says. ‘And your dad knows that.’

I hide my face in my hands and I feel Henry’s hand in the back of my neck. He presses a kiss on the top of my head.

‘I love you, baby girl and we’ll get through this.’

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me? 

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you���ve been rambling for a while now. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

“For what?” 

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway. 

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.” 

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling. 

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut. 

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile. 

“Me too.” 

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away. 

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have. 

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different. 

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest. 

You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?” 

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing. 

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing. 

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.” 

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything. 

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic. 

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—” 

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile. 

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.” 

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look. 

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.” 

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over. 

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too. 

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them. 

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back. 

-

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it. 

-

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment. 

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though. 

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you. 

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s. 

Fantastic. 

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either. 

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair. 

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.” 

...fuck. 

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. 

Can we talk? 

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around. 

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry. 

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now. 

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. 

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?” 

“Yeah. I got that.” 

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?” 

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?” 

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—” 

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you. 

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.” 

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.” 

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—” 

“Yeah?”  

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him. 

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.” 

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.” 

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough. 

-

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest. 

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy. 

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself. 

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last. 

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true. 

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels. 

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time. 

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile. 

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse. 

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should. 

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human. 

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up. 

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass. 

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current. 

It’s the longest six weeks of your life. 

-

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.” 

-

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.” 

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?” 

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.” 

You walk fast. 

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings. 

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true. 

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled. 

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face. 

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks. 

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate. 

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated. 

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip. 

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait. 

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen. 

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it. 

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door. 

.

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Smutty bit is now here!

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More CM fic here!