#but its never about THAT they say it about the plain text. like. hello.

[red-dyed-sarumane]

being told my explanations of series songs make sense means so much to me bc im really bad at managing information neatly it all ends up as just one big train of thought & not really organized so i worry it ends up not making sense or comes across as super disjointed

[gyuswhore]

the story of us ✦ j.w.w x reader

the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now - the story of us

synopsis: So many walls that you can't break through; except you do.

wc: 2.1K

contains: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, humour, happy ending, alcohol, arguments

masterlist

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[a/n]: im exhausted, im loopy, im hungry, but i really wanted to post this so here you go my babies I'm sorry i haven't fed you in so long (ty @toruro for making sure i wasn't talking out of my ass in this ily)

[edit; 11/04/24]: grammar and spelling.

Jeon Wonwoo was nearing boiling point when he watched you push him away from yet another conversation.

He tried to understand, just like he always had. But it was proving near impossible at the five-month mark. 

There were clear signs you exhibited when you needed space, for whatever reason, Wonwoo knew you would tell him when you recovered. So he gave you what you needed.

And yet, when he finds himself pushed away from what looks like a casual conversation between your mutual friends, he finds his mild annoyance grow into something hotter. 

There’s a clench in his jaw as he tries not to squeeze the red cup in his hand with too much pressure, even when all the spiteful bit of his brain wants to do is to pour its pigmented contents all over your cream outfit. He manages to control himself, choosing to get up and exit the premises entirely. In complete silence, he refuses to acknowledge any yell of his name from passing acquaintances. 

Jeon Wonwoo refused to respond to any of your advances after that. 

Invitations to lunch were left on a jarring sent, the notification sitting in his log until he chooses to open it too late. His response was bare when you asked for help on some accounting concepts, pushing you over into Jihoon’s hands to fulfill your requirements. There’s a blatant shrug when you touch his shoulder, concerned, asking why his behaviour had become so distant in the past weeks; he responds with a mumble of, “just tired”.

The great divide happened a few days proceeding your birthday, one for which Wonwoo did nothing for but send you a quick message during the evening, never to see you throughout the extended day. 

“I can’t believe you’re putting this on me!” you all but yell, eyes wide and expression exasperated at the situation.

“Are you blind? Or just plain stupid? Because I didn’t tolerate months of your shit attitude to have you say it isn’t your fault.” Wonwoo is breathing heavily, hands motioning towards your entire figure with equal disbelief.

“What attitude?” you emphasize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t be upfront with my best friend.”

“There’s a difference between being in a mood and blatant disrespect. I’m tired of having to put up with your mood swings like it’s my responsibility to coddle you. When was the last time you genuinely asked me how I was doing?”

“All the time!”

“Yeah, after you realize there's nobody else to whine and wail to!”

“Wonwoo, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Fine. If I’m clearly so unhinged, I’ll leave you to your liking.” 

The dwindled interactions, from messages to hellos, went from sparing to nonexistent — just like that. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t expect for you and Wonwoo to reconcile in the matter of a few days, if not a couple weeks.

But when the distance did nothing but grow larger, there was a settle of resentment in the pit of your stomach as you accepted the feud you were in. 

A text was sent from your phone a couple days after the incident.

[You]: can we talk?

But when you see no sign of the grey Delivered on the end, you knew he had blocked you. 

This was all nothing less than baffling to you for a number of reasons, starting with how you had never witnessed Wowoo acting this way. 

Wonwoo had done nothing but reprimand you the rare chance you suggested blocking an apprehensive individual, something about not showing that you cared. His voice seemed redundant after a certain decibel, the rarest chance to witness him yell at a failed video game or a frustrating professor. 

You know better, which is the only reason you’re ruling off paranormal possession. 

The claims against you came as an afterthought, not, however, rendering them any less strange. There’s a part of you that pondered if your shield of annoyance blocked you from seeing the truth in his words and in your behaviour, finding yourself overwhelmed with emotions when the thought crossed your mind, tears of frustration immediately blurring your vision. 

You did not understand, you could not. And when it all got too much, you allowed the hurt and confusion to turn into something more dangerous. You replaced it with anger, in the same place that once occupied a more delicate emotion. 

There was an uproar in Wonwoo’s mind when he sees you walk into the lecture hall, unaware of your overlapping schedule in the new semester. He watches as your eyes pass over the moderately packed space, briefly glancing over where he sat; if you saw him, you did nothing to bring a reaction out of it. You take a seat a few rows up front, right in front of him where he’s able to see the back of your head for the next two hours — for the rest of the semester. 

He wonders if it’s too late to switch classes. 

“Wonwoo, I honestly think this is getting out of hand.” Jihoon munches on his cashews, leaning against bark of the tree they were both sat under. 

“Did you want me to keep tending to her bullshit then?” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I’m saying, you know it’s not.”

“That’s what it sounds like.” Wonwoo’s retort is brisk.

Jihoon is suddenly snapping his fingers in his face at the reply, a flinch accompanies Wonwoo’s already sour expression. 

“See! See how frustrating it is when somebody isn’t making sense?” 

“How does this—” 

“Wonwoo, did you try talking to her about how you felt, you know, without the screaming?” 

Jihoon watches as Wonwoo’s expression clears out, his eyebrows unfurrowing and the scowl fading. He doesn’t speak, choosing to let the realization kick in.

“No.” 

Jihoon sighs, taking another pause. “I’m not saying what she did wasn’t uncalled for, but you need to talk shit out before deciding you hate each other.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Right, so can we wrap this up quickly and have you confess your undying love so we can all relax.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heat crawls up Wonwoo’s cheeks.

“What? If you don’t hate her, it’s gotta be the opposite.”

Did Wonwoo like you? Yeah, he probably did. Did he ever let himself ponder upon it? No, because he was downright mortified of the mere thought. He finds himself a hypocrite to say it was to preserve your friendship, but he figures he’s fucked it up in a way that’s arguably worse. 

Regardless, Wonwoo walks away from that conversation with two things: a stark realization, and an even starker admittance. 

Everything was going wrong. At least that’s what it felt like when you hear the clang of your water bottle hit the pavement, rolling off into the oncoming traffic as you sprint to grab it. You nearly cause a vehicle pile-up, swallowing a couple profanities from braking drivers. 

You’re stuffing the darn thing into your bag when you trip on a loose brick on the path, nearly landing on your face. The glare you send into the pavement costs you even more when a hard shoulder bumps into your side, sending you another couple steps back. You don’t bother to see who the perpetrator is, too preoccupied with your attempts to take in deeper breaths amid the blankness of your mind. 

There are no hiccups after that, what you might owe your more conscious mind to. Stomping up the library steps, you thank nothingness for the air conditioning that meets your hot face, slowing down as you take in the crowd. 

Scanning the room for an empty seat is harder than you’d anticipated, hoping the heat would keep students away from the building as you left to get work done. Approaching a table, you set down your bag with a huff, pulling the chair out to finally take the seat you’ve been needing for so long. 

The universe seems to have other plans. 

It’s almost funny the way you and Wonwoo make eye contact across the other table, the recognition sending a jolt through your stomach. 

You’ve never moved so fast, pushing the chair back in with a screech that earns you a few looks, grabbing the handles of your bag as you turn around to leave the building you’d just entered. 

No way you'd sit there. Not when he was around.

You're bounding down the steps when somebody passes you, murmuring something without slowing their stride.

“I’m leaving, you can go inside,” Wonwoo says, and the sound of his voice has you halting almost immediately.

Whipping your head around to search for the sound, you watch as he takes a turn at the end of the steps, slowly moving out of your vision. 

There’s a swirl of something in your chest, and you realise in that moment how much you missed hearing his voice. 

Chiding yourself, you blink back the water that wells up in your eyes, embarrassed at how quickly you were losing yourself.

But the damage was done. And you wanted to be reckless, regardless of how desperate it made you look. A split second decision is made in that moment, one that lightens the heavy feet that you’ve planted on the concrete. 

You’re back to bounding down the steps, but this time with aim. 

Taking the same turn you saw Wonwoo take, you break into a sprint as you see his figure move farther away. You keep running, continuing to bump into both objects and people, hurried "sorry"'s the only thing you choose to throw their way. 

“Wonwoo!” Your voice comes out stronger than you’d intended, the sharpness having him turn around in search, eyes landing on your accelerating figure. 

Both of you realize too late how fast you’re really going, the velocity taking you directly into his outstretched arms, hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt as you come to screeching stop directly into his chest. 

You don’t have the time nor the patience to be embarrassed, pulling your face back to look directly into Wonwoo’s bewildered eyes to huff out your next words.

“Why did you block me?” you ask, voice gruff and slightly out of breath.

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, words refusing to come out. 

“Why are you so mad at me? Why are you being nice to me if you’re mad at me?” You don’t stop, the direct questions tumbling off your tongue in desperation. 

You search his face for an answer when his mouth fails, but all you find is the remnants of shock yet to ebb away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t important, I’m sorry for taking your presence for granted, I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for…for… I don’t know! I’m just really sorry and I don't know how else to make this right.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you hear him say and you feel the moisture return to your eyes. 

“Huh?”

“I should’ve…” he pauses, looking sheepish. “I should’ve talked to you before I, y’know, went off on you. I should’ve managed my feelings better, I’m sorry.” 

You're silent for a few tantalizing moments before you raise your fists, and pound down on his chest with everything you have. You do it again, and then again, and again—

“What?- Ow!” 

“When are you gonna stop bottling up your feelings for fucks sake, it’s landed you everywhere but good!” you say, nearly yelling.

Wonwoo whips his head around to see who’s listening, palm to mouth in attempts to silence you. 

“I’m sorry! I know! I’m working on it,” he rambles, trying to get you to quit struggling. “Jihoon and I talked, that’s why I realised I was being dumb.”

“Are you gonna unblock me now or do I need to pay Jihoon to sit down with you again?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow. “You payed Jihoon to sit with me?”

“No, you idiot. But I should have because you can’t seem to figure out how to feel emotions.” 

Wonwoo can’t help himself when he breaks out into a grin, letting out a breathy chuckle that has you asking “What?”.

He pulls you in, heart to heart in an embrace, holding you tight to make up for the weeks of no contact. He breathes in your scent and feels as though he hasn’t in years. 

“I’m not gonna come running up to you the next time you decide you hate me,” you mumble into his shoulder, pouting slightly.

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“No.” Wonwoo pulls away but keeps you in his arms, looking at you, “I love you. Like, the kind of stuff that makes you wanna live together forever. I love you.” 

It’s your turn to gape like a fish. 

“W-what?”

“You told me not to bottle up my feelings.” 

“Yeah, but—wow, um.” 

“Did I make another mistake?” 

No! You wanted to scream. But you don’t. You instead lift your hands up to come around his face, cradling it. And you kissed him. 

“I love you, too. Like the live together forever kind.” 

[bored-boring-and-tired]

intro post 2.0!

[Plain text: “intro post 2.0!” /end PT.]

⭐️ hello there, you have found my blog ⭐️

@astras-cats is my sideblog for my cats

[Header description: the aroace flag (5 equal horizontal stripes. in order from top to bottom they are orange, yellow, white, light blue, and blue). on top of the flag, the words “Nuh uh.” are written in black text /end ID.] [PFP description: a close-up image of a black and white tabby cat sniffing the camera. End ID.]

this post explains image descriptions. accessibility is the goal!

here’s a few things about me:

name: astra (not my real name for privacy reasons but that’s what y’all can call me online)

age: i’m a minor (between 14-18). i likely will never say more than that.

pronouns: any (i don’t care about my gender/pronouns tbh)

favorite color: teal/blue

i’m aroace (aromantic asexual) and agender and apagender

likes: sleep, playing cello, animals (CATS), books/reading, art (i’m not very good at it though), cooking/baking, taking pictures, camping, garlic bread, cake, cat cafes, music

dislikes: homophobes, terfs, racists, sexists, ableists, etc., school, socializing, being cold, and probably more stuff that i can’t remember 😭

you can send asks about anything even if it’s unrelated to anything i post (please send asks i love asks)

please. someone talk to me about cat cafes. i’m begging.

wingqueers i love y’all 🔥🔥

oh and btw - if you wanna identify as [x] label, that’s valid! if you feel that that label suits you, nobody can stop you. at the same time, if you don’t want to put any labels on yourself or if you don’t feel that any labels are right for you, that’s cool too! everyone is different and is their own person, and even though people may not respect your identity, i do and its valid 🫶

also drink some water <3

have a good day/night!!

~ astra

[ingravinoveritas]

Crowley and Aziraphale always came off as romantic to me; both in the book and in the show. They have so much more chemistry than anyone else. And I always second guess me reading their relationship as romantic when I see the general public's takes. So then I go back over like, okay, if this was a man and a woman, how would this read. They do couple things all the time. They use pet names. The show leans more into pining but in the book it feels like they're already married. Both the narrator and other characters refer to them as a couple and its never contradicted. Is that subtext or just plain text. I wouldn't call it queerbaiting, but queercoding or representation doesn't feel quite right either. Are we reading too much into it or is media literacy dead.

Hi there! Thank you for sharing these thoughts in response to my post from the other day. What you've mentioned here (how this would read if it was a man and a woman) is something I have thought about as well--both in terms of Aziraphale/Crowley and Michael/David, as I have shipped them outside of the show for some time now, and especially given the increasingly fuzzy line between them and the characters (which both Michael and David themselves have talked about in multiple interviews).

I think what we're seeing is neither queerbaiting nor queercoding/representation, but instead a sort of incongruity between what was put on the printed page when Good Omens was first published and what was brought to life on screen when it came to TV. What I mean by that is I often see a lot of people point to the line "gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide" as proof (almost typed "poof" there--hello, Freudian slip...) that Neil/Terry meant for the characters (specifically Aziraphale) to be gay. But from what Neil has said, the main intention here was for this to be a play on words--so, "gay" as in homosexual, but also "gay" as in happy, which was the original meaning of the term. I'm then led to think that in the minds of two cishet men in the late 1980s, "gayness" conjured a particular, unserious image, which they then brought into the writing.

Fast-forward to thirty years later, and you have Good Omens finally becoming a television show. Terry Pratchett (Gnu) had sadly left us, and so the task fell to Neil to write the screenplay and honor Terry's last wish by faithfully adapting the story. And while Neil wisely decided to cast Michael for his goodness and angelic-like nature, what I think he didn't count on was Michael's long-held beliefs and ideas about the character of Aziraphale and how he would portray him, or his profound penchant for playing numerous queer characters over the last several decades. The gayness of Aziraphale on the written page was something that Neil could control, but he couldn't control the gayness of Aziraphale as interpreted by Michael.

So that led to Neil having to address some things that I don't think he was quite prepared to address, both about the show and inside himself. Mainly, that if we are to extrapolate that what we see in season 1 is a reflection (to some degree, anyway) of Neil's views on relationships, a straight couple with little to no chemistry can jump into bed together without any hesitation, but a gay couple with tremendous chemistry and who share a deep and profound connection can't express that, either physically or by simply saying "I love you."

Much discussion has been made about how it's not necessary for someone to say "I love you" to convey such a sentiment. But what I've noticed missing from this discourse is the age/experience of anyone who has been in a relationship where that wasn't said (or conveyed) by one partner and how painful that was for the other partner. And as I mentioned in my other post, even once gay/queer people started to exist in media, they still weren't allowed to fall in love. (The phrase "the love that dare not speak its name" even came into being because of this taboo, for crying out loud.)

So when we then look at the countless tweets from Neil about how Good Omens is a love story while considering the vastly different ways in which that love is regarded when it's straight vs. when it's gay, his words start to ring somewhat hollow. And if he repeatedly has to emphasize that something is a love story, then maybe it isn't coming across as a love story in the way he thinks it is. Maybe Neil being more comfortable with casual, meaningless sex than a deep commitment speaks to a larger issue on his part. Or maybe Neil was fine with the abstract idea of a gay love story, but suddenly less comfortable with the concrete, three-dimensional reality of it.

If I had to use a word to describe it, then, from a media/cultural standpoint, I think I would call it "queerplaying," which I would define as roleplaying queerness on a surface level without actually delving into the complexity and messiness of what it actually means to be a queer/non-cishet human being. (To be clear, I am applying this to the writing/the original GO text, not to what Michael and David ultimately brought to the roles as actors.)

I hope this all makes sense. Again, the second season could come out tomorrow/Friday and prove me completely wrong about everything I've just said here, which would be wonderful. But I'm glad that other people have felt similarly about what we saw (or didn't see) in the first season, and the disconnect between the perceptions of fans/the perception of the public vs. Neil's authorial intent. Thanks for writing in! x

[elifalvey]

LOCATION: The Jagged Yard.

WHEN: Late night, approximately a week after the Spring Extravaganza.

WHO: Elijah & Leon ( @leonwozniak ).

Now that they were a more consistent part of each other’s lives, it wasn’t unoften that Elijah glanced down at his phone to find a new message from Leon staring back at him. Usually sometime in the afternoon, shortly after Lucky Joe’s closed its doors, and usually in the form of a voice note — on account of it being easier to air his grievances of the day with his words instead of typing everything out, or something like that. Eli never minded them. He found entertainment in them, actually; it was amusing to hear about how some delinquent teenager who didn’t know whether he wanted plain or veggie cream cheese on his bagel pissed Le off so badly that he needed to take five, or the interesting stories of frequent customers that always seemed to come in with a new installment of gossip to share. On most days he’d offer a quip or two back — because there was only so much he could say after approximately five minutes and thirty-seven seconds of not just any rambling, but Leon rambling, which was an entirely different beast — and it’d start a friendly conversation, rinse and repeat. After the kayak race, however . . . when the voice note entailed too many vivid descriptions of an ‘outrageous French woman shitting on their coffee — and fuck’s sake everyone knows Lucky Joe’s isn’t around for the coffee’ . . . well, Elijah couldn’t think of much to say. Not a single thing, really. Once the note was over, and the only thing that was running through his mind was Kaya, he simply put his phone down instead of responding with anything at all. Which was unusual, sure, but what else was he supposed to do? Laugh, as if he had the capacity to find it funny? No, no, he couldn’t do that. The problem came about when putting his phone down for a little while led to days without conjuring up any sort of reply. There’d been notes that came after that he couldn’t even bring himself to open, much less listen to. And he knew, deep down, ignoring one of his closest friends was shitty, but that didn’t necessarily stop him. Everyone thought he was chock-full of shitty decisions, anyway, what was one more? It wasn’t until he peered up through his lashes as he was tucked away in a booth at the Jagged Yard to find the very man he’d been unintentionally-intentionally avoiding standing right in front of him that the weight of his guilt started to hit him. He didn’t offer a hello, nor did he offer an apology. Rather, he quietly admitted, “I meant to text you back.”

[quailfence]

[Image description: Thirty images, a mix of text and screencaps from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.

1: "I hadn't met his kind before. (highlight) His misericord face - really, like a joke on his father (end highlight) - blurred"

2: "Garak: You could say that. Tain is directly responsible for my being exiled from Cardassia. Odo: Then I don't understand… Garak: (finishing the thought) Why I'm risking my life to help him? Odo: Exactly."

3: "What father leaves you for a knife? Chooses his god instead?"

4 and 5: Tain says, "Then you should let him die. And please, tell Garak I miss him"

6: "Tain: Hello, Garak… it's good of you to come. It spares me the trouble of having to send someone else to kill you…"

7: (highlight) A father is bound to kill his favorite son, (end highlight) and to his father's cherishing the beloved answers Yes.

(Highlight) The rest of the week, I hid from my father, grateful I was not prized. But how deserted he looked, with no son who pleased him (end highlight).

8 and 9: Garak is talking to Tain, with Odo standing behind him. He says, "I never betrayed you! At least, not in my heart."

10: "I make you a box of darkness with a bird in its heart. Voltas of acoustics, instinct & metaphor. (Underline) It is not enough To love you. It is not enough to want you destroyed (end underline).

11 and 12: Martok says, "He was convinced that you would come." Garak replies, "He knew I had no choice. Tain."

13: "I hate you for what you did And I miss vou like a little kid"

14: "Garak: I should never have come here. I should have let that monster die forgotten and alone. Bashir: Frankly, I'm glad you came. Misery loves company. Garak: All my life I've done nothing but try to please that man. (Underline) I let him mold me, let him turn me into a mirror image of himself, and how did he repay me? With exile (end underline). But I forgave him. And here, in the end, I thought maybe, just maybe, he could forgive me."

15: "'You were my father,' He wanted to say 'So why couldn't you be my father?'"

16: "Tain: Elim? Elim, is that you? Garak: It's me. Tain: Everything's gone dark. I can't see you. Are you alone? Garak: Yes. There's no one else but you and me. (Liar, Bashir is there.)"

17: "Does anybody actually know how to talk to their father"

18 and 19: Tain is lying down and says, " I should have killed your mother before you were born. You have always been a weakness I can't afford."

20: "I have my mother's mouth and my father's eyes; on my face they are still together."

21: "Garak: I'II do as you ask on one condition. That you don't ask me this favour as a mentor, or a superior officer, but as a father asking his son. Tain: You're not my son. Garak: Father. Father, you're dying. For once in your life, speak the truth."

22: "We are hard on each other and call it honesty,"

23: "If I love you is that a fact or a weapon?"

24: Garak says, :Listen, Enabran."

25: "#the word 'father' rotted in my mouth"

26: "Tain: Elim, remember that day in the country? You must have been almost five. Garak: How can I forget it? It was the only day. Tain: I can still see you on the back of that riding hound. You must have fallen off a dozen times but you never gave up. Garak: I remember limping home. You held my hand. Tain: I was very proud of you that day."

27: "Are you crying over what we've lost"

28 and 29: Tain lies down, his eyes closed, presumably dead. Garak looks at him.

30: "by not being near each other, hardly at all?" End description.]

[Plain text: Kate Clanchy, love / 3x20 / Elizabeth Lindsey Rogers, questions about the father / 2x22 / 3x20 / Li-Young Lee, descended from dreamers / 3x20 / Terrence Hayes, american sonnet for my past and future assassin / 5x14 / Phoebe Bridgers, motion sickness / 5x14 / Amatullah Bourdon, and my father’s love is nothing next to god’s will / 5x14 / a text from my friend / 5x14 / Warsan Shire, teaching my mother how to give birth/ 5x14 / Margaret Atwood, we are hard / tag on a Sharon Olds poem / Frank O'Hara, lisztiana. End plain text.]

@startrekdescribed

kate clanchy, love / 3x20 / elizabeth lindsey rogers, questions about the father / 2x22 / 3x20 / li-young lee, descended from dreamers / 3x20 / terrence hayes, american sonnet for my past and future assassin / 5x14 / phoebe bridgers, motion sickness / 5x14 / amatullah bourdon, and my father’s love is nothing next to god’s will / 5x14 / a text from my friend / 5x14 / warsan shire, teaching my mother how to give birth / 5x14 / margaret atwood, we are hard / tag on a sharon olds poem / frank o’hara, lisztiana

[passivern]

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Explore ChatNode.ai now and discover how it can revolutionize your business. Read the full article

[erodasfishtacos]

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k 

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow. 

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek. 

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison  to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.” 

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.” 

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all. 

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

**

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.” 

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound. 

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

[heyitsspaceace]

Hello, since the forms were anonymous, do u think u can post some of the reasoning of some for how they rated some of the drivers?

Ur post abt the 100 respondents let us see some thoughts, and I know some of the comments that u have mentioned was from me (i know i'm the one who thirsted on yuki's thighs)

I personally wouldn't mind if u'd publish the reasonings or the thirst paragraphs

I think it'll be either really funny, lovely, or horny or weird

oh my friend you've opened the floodgates

anyways here's the og link the quiz

so here are some memorable responses

Yuki Tsunoda

"He has a manly, manly body with a nice set of abs. He can successfully backflip into a pool and he's just plain hilarious. Plus he's got no filter, can cook you breakfast in the morning and can even sing. multi-talented"

"*Fernando Alonso voice* YUkiii"

"Have you seen those thighs?! And he's just so soft especially in pastel clothes, he loves food, and his eyes when he smile just melts me. Did I mention his THIGHS?"

"So smol. Idk who any of these are but he looks like he finished his A-levels and went 'fuck it' before turning up at the local f1 track and won."

"Food obsession, funny, homoerotic tension with Pierre, what more could you want in a man?"

"Even thou wer'e the same height, he'll forever be my short king and the thighs."

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Lando Norris

"Less baby than Yuki but Baldo Norris is haunting my dreams"

"the hair ✨✨"

"An absolute icon. Gen z at its finest ✨"

"When I watch his intweviews it's always has me rolling at some point , mammmmm those choclate curls."

"British +1 for the hair"

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Fernando Alonso

"This man. So hot. Renly tormenting Stannis with a peach was inspired by this man. One sexy motherfucker. Unfortunately dates women he’s own age. An absolute menace. He’s in it for the long con, when Yuki retires Nando is the shortest on the grid. Chase that title king!"

"Best Friend's Dad who will fight anyone for you. Also, makes a great sandwich."

"Unhinged petty energy, I thrive to be like him"

"He's a bastard menace and also petty as FUCK. I love the drama this old man generates"

"he’s a bastard but there is something attractive about it"

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Valtteri Bottas

"underrated unproblematic king"

"best wag & tiktok, porridge king"

"Gentleman ♥️"

"Malewife"

"THIS is the ideal male body. Sorry if society isn’t ready for it. Sexy AF"

"I have a thing for people from Finland. He gives me a warm fussy feeling, and he’s gender envy"

"I like how he keeps showing his ass. I respect that hustle."

"Idk what about this man but I feel absolutely safe around and I have never met him in my life."

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Sergio Perez

"also Dilf but also cheater"

"Decent driver, I cheered when he won. Wish he said fuck team orders, I’m here for ME!"

"Everyday i hate this man more and more i used to actively root for him but now all he does is terrorize my faves as per the rbr agenda and the wifecheating thing is hilarious but horrible no bonus points for being petty or occasionally hot from one angle sadly so 1"

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Zhou Guanyu

"actually a talented dude, his modelling pics were just too good"

"He so sexy,he cute,he hot my husband"

"down points because he has more style than me"

"Very cute. Best friend who doesn't really show care about much but will randomly give food and 3am 'I can't sleep so you're going to deal with it' texts. Also, says 'don't die' instead of goodbye. 10/10"

"A Goddamn Model. Absolute beauty. Also he looks like someone I'd come across at the mall. One point deducted bc I dont like boba but he does."

"Fashion icon, he is the moment when he steps on track."

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Sebastian Vettel

"Daddy" x2

"Okay! Cool teacher that has been there for a year or two but it feels like forever. Gives off an ally to whoever needs one vibe. Like a 'You're gay? Great (insert support here)! Now let smash this quadratic formula!' Will die for any of his students."

"How much time do you have to hear me talk about the love of my life? Love al his eras has never done anything wrong in his life I would support him ni matter what team he races for and how much of a bastard he is. Crid over sebtirement many times and now i will force myself to watch races that are at 3am for me because i can’t miss any of his remaining races. Giving him 10 bonus points for being hot asf with every look and bringing back the sebstache his official score is 100/10"

"HIS PERSONALITY IS VERY SEGGCY. SAVE THE BEES. physically tho, not my type, aha"

"I have a thing for Germans too"

"Activism so hot on seb"

"Invented flirting. Has Lee Mckenzies number. Has the charisma bill Clinton thought he had."

"I like how this man likes bees. You go, little bee man!"

"Red Bull twink era was a 10, now -1 point because of the hair"

"Babygirl-coded old man"

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Mick Schumacher

"He's just a golden retriever (and I'm German and biased)"

"gorgeous gorgeous shoulder to waist ratio. angel baby"

"Normally an 8 but u chose the right pic i guess also does have sexy moves on track when given the chance"

"Cute smile a little twink-ish"

"Ray of sunshine, I’m always rooting for him. Does amazing things in a shitty shitty car. If Sebastian teaches him to flirt is over for all of us."

"self explanatory, I would kill for him as well. fun fact my dad would yell at me and my brother when we were little if we said Michael like the English pronunciation and not the German, because "U can't disrespect a Schumacher". So I won't."

"That one boy who excells at P.E and his exams. No one knows how or why. Probably plays for a local football team."

"Seems nice, i want to see what would happen if you put him in a competitive car. Can say "rawr" without making me cringe"

"Very golden retriever wonder bread and love him for it"

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

Lewis Hamilton

"Smash. I dont care for the NDAs, I'll screw this man. Love him to bits"

"sebs boyfriend. literally so fucking hot. also a king. 8x world champion"

"Walk walk fashion baby"

"1) the tattoos, 2) the smile, 3) his eyes when he smiles, 4) the way he says Bono"

"he is the most beautiful man i have ever seen. hes sexy and handsome, of course, but hes also BEAUTIFUL."

"I like him, i like his angst, i want him to win"

"Babygirl-coded old man two EXCEPT this one's wayyy more beautiful than what should be legal. Like holy fuck. Also he's like the only driver who I desire carnally"

"handsome, aware of social issues and uses his platform to spread awareness, has a dog"

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Kevin Magnussen

"dilf" x3

"The beard *chefs kiss*"

"that's my type right here"

"fok smash. but like sometimes is soft a lil."

"He’s Danish, I’m legally contracted to like people from Denmark"

"Head teacher vibes. Tries his best but is often caught between teachers, students, and everyone else. Mr Vettel doesn't always agree with him, but they respect eachother alot."

"This man is really driving that shitbox to points finishes, gotta appreciate"

"He’s married😔"

"Dilf, tats, beard"

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Carlos Sainz

"TITS"

"he always looks super dramatic but really his favourite hobby is playing golf"

"Smooth operator" x4

"idk he looks constantly like he doesn’t know where he is or why he’s there"

"SMOOOOTHHHH OPERATOR. Deserves all the love in the world"

"You and that one friend who have grown apart over the years because life sucks and gets in the way, but who will always makes sure you're ok and will drop anything and everything to help if you aren't. That's him. He's the friend."

"🌶️🌶️🌶️"

"Tits and thighs, deadly combo, it should be illegal."

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

Pierre Gasly

"oui oui, has labrador energy"

"the hottest right after Sir Lewis. He had an amazing glowup and i can't forget the way he was whoring around with diff women. Really, REALLY desirable. HIS BODY IS AMAZING, MF WORKS OUT A LOT. his voice is hot and is humor is exactly my favourite kind"

"I highly respect his horny on main attitude"

"hot."

"french slut we love it"

"IM OBSESSED. I LOVE HIM. Him + yuki= fav couple in the paddock"

"MY KING MY HUSBAND MY BABY"

"I think about monza 2020 every day i need this man to succed or so help me, I JUST WANT HIM TO BE HAPPY!!! (also very hot)"

"I want him to break my heart so bad that i spend every night sobbing on the bathroom floor that i miss him while he forgets about me immediately aka good 4 u vibes. If he asked me to commit a crime i would do it"

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Max Verstappen

"just love him ♥️ Dork!"

"Aww u put the out of office max, soft max is the best and besides yuki, he also has got one of the nicest thighs on the grid and his lip freckle is just so cute i wanna kiss ot and pull at his post race hair thank god also that his wearing curved caps more these days and ahhh so fucking soft love him"

"Cute, hot after the races"

"That one person you know who says they're a twitch streamer/influencer and you're like 'Having two followers and led keyboard doesn't make you a streamer Barry' but then you check his Twitch and he isn't half-bad? You watch in secret of course until you accidentally sub with Prime and the entire friendship group gets dragged into becoming Max's #1 Supporters. Will tease you about it (affectionate)"

"Post race Max hits different"

"When I tell you I had the most epic haters to lovers with this man. I didn't like him at first at all but now I still don't love him but I do have a strong liking to him . His smile and thighs ."

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Lance Stroll

"My favorite color is green, my lucky number is 18. Hate to see people living the dream I can’t 😔"

"i just love lance and I mean look at his hair"

"actually boyfriend material tbh"

"Andrew Rannels but make it F1"

"idk idk idk dont come for me but i love this unbothered king so fucking much"

"wonderful eyebrows. expressive face, love the faces he makes. seems very polite and respectful. cute smile. i am not immune to dark hair dark eyes combo."

"Blah blah he bought his seat, whatever he seems sweet okay? Also love a snarky comment here and there"

"ANOTHER UNDERRATED KING everyones like hes just a rich kid blahblahblah umm okay so is 90% of the grid?! Good vibes good energy occasionally hot and not as bad of a driver as people want to believe"

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Daniel Ricciardo

"AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE OI OI OI, miss him winning"

"My babygirl. I will die defending him. I love everything about him. How can i not?"

"perfection. beautiful boy"

"Also thighs plus the tattoos (so of course special mention to the thigh tattoo)"

"how could u not love himmmm seriously. I hope he bankrupts McLaren. Also I'm getting my friend into F1 by exploiting her crush on Daniel."

"He feels like a day spent by the pool in Spain with your best friends, good music and cocktails"

"The curls, the nose, the side profile, the smile!?! This really doesn’t need any reasoning."

"he's hot, the curls, the tattoos but his character makes him a real 10/10"

"It’s either 1000000/10 or your wrong."

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Charles Leclerc

"the (himboest) prettiest boy on the grid"

"most gorgeous man in motorsport"

"kitty<3 he’s my babygirl"

"There he is my baby, king of my heart, loveliest boy, tu es bel, tu es mon ange, so fucking beautiful, i actually cried once (thrice) just looking at his pics and gods have u seen that latest thirst trap from ferrari and i am the perfect height to just bury my face onto his chest and his eyes (everchanging and twinkling, tho not much these days so f u ferrari), and his dimples, i just wanna poke those dimples and have you seen his upper bod, its the perfect mix of abs and a lil tum tum and i rlly wanna boop his perfect nose and run my fingers thru his hair (i bet itd feel like clouds) and he'd whisper sweet nothings in english italian and french. And really his thighs are perfect too, like the way he manspread on that pic on the yacth (i died, true story) and u know that beauty mark near his nose, i wanna kiss it so bad and the one on his neck too and the ones on his torso and i love the way he plys piano and the way he wears jewelry (that's hot) i just rlly love him even when he's a lobster"

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Nicholas Latifi

"the 2 things I know about him is that he's canadian and he likes nutella"

"Listen, i just saw that gamer!nicky photo and it did things to me"

"That one person who is lovely but one bad day away from snapping. Pls, give him a hug."

"i like his nose a lot. legendary eyebrows. hot streamer boy nicholas forever in my heart. hes also very nice and friendly looking and i feel bad for him jskfkalfjfbsk"

"This man really likes Nutella and that's really sexy."

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George Russell

"GEORGE!!!!!!!!!!!! acts like a private school boy"

"it's so much fun to see my brother annoyed every time he is told he looks like Russell. I love convincing people he looks like russell. He does. I can convince you too."

"bf material right here as well"

"The guy who comes in to assemblies to give those talks on stupid things. Like a Tedx talk level of why... kinda cute tho"

"Him fanboying over Daniel Is my suicide prevention. Also is so nice 😭"

"Something about a guy that loves a powerpoint and knows the rule book and WILL ARGUE... debate kid vibes but hot? very confusing! I also really enjoy his brand of british accent"

"my beloved, I'll rate him 100/10. Love his eyes, his appearance, his accent, his talent and his personality. (love his friendship with alex as well)"

"Fantastic driver. And he’s the biggest DR fanboy so he gets extra rights"

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Esteban Ocon

"adore him a lot. got a soft spot for the man because of his childhood story. and he looks very hot at times without excess gel in his hair"

"Fav string bean"

"love him fr <333 estie bestie truely the most real nickname"

"He's french :( but he's friends with Mick :) , soo fuck it, he gets a 5"

"I fell in love with him when he and max almost got into a fistfight. General mischievous vibe."

"estie bestie...we stan"

"estie bestie! but idk i also spell like este maybe i'm a fake fan. i think he is cool! and also like that he comes from a more humble bg ig"

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Alex Albon

"albon pets >>> anything else"

"i like his name and his girlfriend!!"

"Boyfriend material + nice and comfy"

"a sweetie. a cutie. i love his laugh"

"Tho if u had put in lily, i'll give her a 10 too"

"his cats>>>>>>>>>>>>>> ❤️❤️🥰❤️❤️❤️😍"

"WILL NEVER FORGET HIS ICONIC ROOKIE POEM"

"If you don't like alex albon i do not trust you!!!!!'

"love his smile, his positive energy. and his friendship with george. and his cats."

"🫶🫶🫶 very boyfriend coded (would steal lily off him though) kind sweet nice deserves good things"

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and that's all!

IF ANY OF YOU SEE YOURS AND WOULD LIKE IT REMOVED PLEASE LET ME KNOW I WILL OBLIGE!

[anarcho-masochist]

Hello, this is a common thing, that in it's extreme form, is called coercive control. @imeverywoman420 is right when they say they invent methods of controlling their partner.

I used this as a topic for a couple of classes, but that was on coercive control *legislation* and I don't have the spoons to write a full new thing, so let me give you just a couple points and then some sources.

Note that, coercive control is a pattern of behavior. This means that individual incidents/tactics may seem minor, making it difficult for victims to explain. This also means that a one-off incident of possessiveness is *not* coercive control. The above examples either could or couldn't be, depending on the rest of the relationship.

But here's how a couple of these tactics are used:

Isolating the target from their friends, in general but especially of the opposite sex, is incredibly common. If you start with "I don't want you hanging out with her because she might like you/you could have an affair/I should be the only woman in your life" then they have upset you. If they love you, and don't suspect anything amiss, then they'll want to accomodate you to stop making you upset, or so they can keep you as a partner. You expand this to other friends, or just make it clear that you should be the #1 priority in their social life. You never threaten anything in particular...so it's not your fault if they worry about your emotional reaction or you leaving them or doing something drastic. Maybe you get a bit suicidal over it one time. It's not your fault. They could leave if they really wanted to. If they choose you as their main pillar of support and social interaction, that's great, right? And not your fault. If it also means you're the only person they're really close enough to to voice their doubts...that's just an fortunate side effect, since you can comfort them and help them see it isn't a problem at all.

(Used female pronouns just because of the above examples, this can obviously happen with any gender(s).)

The texting all the time thing, or expecting constant highs in a relationship, is as [uh why did it disappear? I guess someone edited their post] says, lovebombing. This is another great sign of toxic relationships. It is great at earning trust, you make them feel special and also if you love them so much, you probably don't want to hurt them. If you do, you'll change for them...so romantic, until a month later when your fave toxic behaviors resurface. But a lot of people will put up with this kind of thing for love, or not acknowledge a problem. It also might make you worry about what would happen if you leave.

So those are the forms addressed in this post, but there's *a lot* more. Here's some sources on the topic:

CW: some of these articles are very, perhaps unfairly, gendered

Scholarly Articles:

(Download the PDF, it has the full document, including measures of various controlling behaviors. Very useful!)

Other articles:

This is why i hate princess complexes… if ur friends with someone for a year or longer and you JUST started dating someone, ur friendships should come first tbh

[jadelynlace]

Hey just went on a 4.5 hr binge reading your amazing work!! I was just wondering if you could do somthing with ivar reacting to the reader saying she is pregnant and his reaction to when she's in labour? In ink drinker?? You're amazing and I love your work!

Hello! That’s so sweet of you, thank you. Welcome to the crazy world!

And I know I said my requests are closed but Ivar & kids? The kill shot. It’s long & funny & emotional and I hope you all enjoy. I cried. 

☞ catch up here

You were late. You were late and in your haste of life, you only noticed two weeks past where you should have.

“I’m late” You texted Ivar.

“For work?” Is what he replies.

You nearly threw your phone across the threshold, the cry of delirious laughter on your lips at Ivar’s far too perfectly timed response. It had been madness with him back at work; catching up on two years' worth of delays, overbooking himself, and coming home in the middle of the night. Sleep was never easy for him, he had turned into a man who needed an orgasm to so simply think about closing his eyes. And the nights of fumblings between the sheets, soft moans and heavy breathing, Ivar telling you how he loves you, only helped him.

And you knew his pullout game sucked.

The magenta double lines that grace you back from the porcelain sink hitch your breath. After a step closer, two glances back, they remain there, almost smiling up at you. You can’t dwell on those marks, already telling yourself the tale that it was incorrect, but the other two tests, of the other two manufacturers, yielded the same promise. An ocean of chill runs down your spine, tugging against your tailbone and snapping into you like a pluck of a guitar string, propelling the sensation through to your toes. Finding your hand across your abdomen was a motion you didn’t even realize you had started, but the path was so plain. If your heart could leap from your chest and hug you back, it would. 

When you hear the creak of the garage door it’s not nearly as late as you had thought Ivar would be home. The medley of vegetables in one pot, the boiling pasta in the other, and before you can even speak, Ivar wraps himself against your back.

“Hey, handsome,” You hum, melting against him and he only squeezes tightly. 

“Hey, baby,” His lips rasp into your hair. “Missed you today,” Ivar adds as his nose trails the curve of your skull. “Are you making pasta primavera?”

“Yes,” You sigh and you’re certain you could fall asleep like this. “I got you something,” You then say, still swaying slightly with Ivar. 

“Yeah?” He rasps, finally pulling away from you for you to turn. His hair is already down, glasses where they belong for once, and he smiles when you catch his gaze. You’re quick to scurry away, yelling something about turning off the stove, and then you’re back, a small package in your hands. 

“It’s the most expensive gift I’ve gotten you,” You tease as the box shrinks when it’s in Ivar’s grasp.

“I told you that I don’t want another mustang, baby,” Ivar replies, pulling the ribbon off. “I like my Jeep.”

“It’s not….it’s not a mustang,” You snort.

“Oh, thank god,” Ivar says, shivering slightly as the thought leaves him. 

“You’ll like it, I promise,” You nudge and he finally lifts up the lid. You thought you could hear his breathing hitch, fuzziness in his eyes already starting as the positive pregnancy tests stare back at him. 

“No you’re not,” Ivar whimpers, “Are you fucking with me?” And his voice is meek, drowned out with emotion and you only tear up too. “No, you’re not,”

“We’re gonna have a baby, Ivar,” Are the first words out of your mouth. “You’re gonna be a dad,” You say, watching how his eyes move to your face, towards the test, shocked, mouth agape and he only whimpers. When he sets the box on the counter you’re there to wrap to fill his grasp. Falling into his arms and you can hear the slight sniffle from above you. It pulls one from you too, finally grasping the mental concept that Ivar really has dreamt about this moment his whole life. You wiggle slightly, pulling back and Ivar’s hands are still on your hips. With red eyes, he moves one paw to wipe the tear that’s threatening to escape. 

“I love you,” Ivar whispers and it makes you laugh when you repeat it back, hands on his cheeks as you bring your mouth to his. The kiss isn’t hurried, Ivar’s lips move as though he’s hardly focusing on the task and you can hear another sniffle as you pull back. Forehead resting along his and his eyes are closed. 

“I found out this morning,” You whisper to him.

“I’m waiting to wake up from the dream,” Ivar replies, and his eyes are still shut as he speaks.

“Your pullout game sucks, Ivar,” You say and that makes him laugh, thick from his stomach, and his eyes finally open as he pulls you to rest against him.

“This isn’t news to me, Y/N,” Ivar says. “I can’t believe we’re gonna have a baby,” He adds and when he does a new wave of tears starts in his eyes.

“Your mother is going to castrate you,” You say into the cotton of his shirt and he laughs again. “You and me Ivar,”

“Against the world,” He replies. “And as parents.”

*

His phone rings from next to him, your name on Ivar’s screen, and halfway through his sentence, he stops to smile. Excusing himself for a moment, he answers:

“Hey baby, I’m just finishing up with a client, I’ll call you right back,” And the line goes dead. You blink to yourself several times when you hear silence in your ear and as you look to the towel at your feet, you almost feel as though you’re going to cry.

After ten minutes you stop caring if he’s shooting the breeze with the person, and you’re dialing for him again as you lean against the kitchen counter.

“Hey, baby,” Ivar answers and it pulls the anger, anxiety from you and you suck in a deep breath. “Baby?”

“My water broke,” You simply say.

“When?” Ivar asks quickly and he’s standing, leaning his shoulder to hold his phone as he throws the closest thing he can reach in Sigurd’s direction. White eraser bouncing in front of him as he moves his gaze from his magazine to Ivar. “I’ll be right there,” He says. “Her water broke,” He calls to Sigurd and the man only offers a thumbs up.

“Ivar—fuck—Ivar listen to me, do not drive like a mad man,” You grit into your phone. “I need you here for this, alright?” Your words fall as he climbs into the Jeep.

“I won’t,” Ivar replies softly. “I promise. I’ll see you in a minute, alright?”

“Alright,” You say back.

“How far apart are they?” Ivar asks and you only smile. 

“Still far enough,”

“We’re going to get to meet her,” Ivar whispers and it makes your smile bigger.

His next call is to Floki, the phone ringing through Bluetooth and there’s a hum when he answers.

“Yeeeeeeees, Ivar?” Floki sings.

“Y/N’s water broke, I’m on my way home,” Ivar replies, and the laugh he’s known his whole life rings through the man’s mouth.

“Take a deep breath for me,” Floki says.

“I’ve taken several since I got into my car,” Ivar replies. “It’s the only thing keeping me from bursting into flames.” And they both laugh.

“I’ll head to the shop now, keep me in the loop. Oh—and Ivar, you have two hands. If she has to break one as she delivers your baby girl, so be it.” And the line goes dead. Ivar groans, his heart hammering behind his seatbelt and he doesn’t even bother to turn the car off when he parks in the driveway.

You’re in the same spot, hand crossing the bump and your eyes are stuck on the clock when you hear the door open. Another press of pain mangles its way through you, as if your guts are trying to come through your navel. Ivar calls your name and you turn, a soft smile on your face.

“Just put everything in the car,” You say and Ivar nods, completely ignoring your direction and coming towards you.

“I know you’re a medic—I know how many babies you’ve delivered with Hvitserk there, but this is different,” Ivar hums as he tips your chin, sealing the words to your mouth as he kisses you. “This is our baby,”

“I’m scared,” You whisper and Ivar moves his arms around to your back.

“I am too,” He admits. “Let’s get to the hospital,”

Despite how the nurse offers the wheelchair, you shake your head; walking has been the only aid to your contractions and she nods. Ivar’s hand is in yours as you’re laying along with the linens, thumb brushing your knuckles and he’s on his phone.

“Did you call your mom?” You ask.

“No,” He answers, eyes not moving to yours. “Only Floki so he can get to the shop. You need to focus on you right now,” He says, finally lifting his head to look at you. Brows towards the ceiling and the small smirk only makes you pout.

“You should try to get some sleep—”

“Baby,” Ivar says and you nod. Ivar moves only minutes later, sketchbook taking up his lap as his hand stays with yours. Your phone buzzes with a Snapchat from Hvitserk, quick zooming in of Engine 1 as one of the firefighters walk by it. You take the liberty to pan the room, from your gown-covered self, Ivar to your left and back to the windows on the other side. Less than ten seconds pass before his contact picture graces your screen.

“That’s how you tell me?” Hvitserk all but shrieks and even Ivar can hear it through the phone. “How long have you been there?”

“A few hours,” You answer back.

“Guys! Our Lieutenant’s in labor!” Hvitserk calls to the guys. “Put me on speaker—Ivar?”

“What, brother?” Ivar groans back.

“When we work labor calls, I always tell the mother that I have two hands—”

“And if she needs to break one so be it,” Ivar finishes for him, and his brother whines. “Floki said the same thing.”

“Fucking Floki,” Hvitserk mumbles. “We’ll be thinking about you two, and send us pictures.”

“You don’t want a video?” You tease.

“Nope—I know you well, but I don’t need to know you that well!” Hvitserk laughs.

“Oh, come on, it can be practice for you and Thora,” and you can see the man blush without even being in front of him. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“You’ve got this,” Hvitserk says and the line goes dead.

By the fourth time you find your legs in the stirrups, you’re about ready to take one out to grant the nurse’s face. The needle for the epidural was big, it was big enough that Ivar didn’t even look, that you as a regular needle handler, even felt shy from. When you feel the contraction roll through only a few seconds after the last one, you nudge Ivar. His head on your shoulder flies up and your look answers his question before he even has to ask it.

“Dad, are you cutting the cord?” The nurse asks and Ivar looks back at you as if he needs your permission before he can think of an answer.

“Yes,” Ivar says back and he’s by your side, hand tracing your bent knee, sliding your thigh and it helps to calm you. Before your first push, you’re already crying, Ivar’s there to pull the hair from your face as it sticks to where you’ve started to sweat. As you curse him, his last name, his size and weak pull-out game and Ivar only agrees with each word as they come through your lips. Before you’ve even crowned you’ve decided that you don’t want to do this anymore.

“I hate you right now,” You hiss, and Ivar nods.

Twelve hours of sitting, standing, walking, swaying, trying almost everything in the manual to help progress her just a bit further than the last hour. Ivar adorned in scrubs, trying to contain his excitement, your partner in crime trying to experience it with you as well as he could, attempting to leech some of the pain in the meantime. 

One week shy of her due date, Ivar’s there to see his daughter born. Through tears and strings of curse words, sweat-slick clothes, she is finally here.  Watering eyes flicking to yours as her cry fills the room. Your whine is there next and she’s against your chest the minute she’s able. IV poked hand coming to cup her diapered rear, head against the pillow and you’re crying. You’re crying as Ivar’s lips brush your hairline, as he’s crying, as the head nurse films the moment per your request. Ivar studies the newborn in utter disbelief, eyes switching from its cotton-covered head to your face, overstuffed with pure adoration. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Ivar whispers in your ear, his hand covering yours over the child you two created together.

“Look at her, Ivar,” You whisper and he is, he hasn’t stopped yet, the tuft of dark hair on her head that matches his own as her small hands balled into fists. His daughter laying against your chest and he has to wipe his eyes. There’s an upset from her for a brief moment, wiggle and a cry, and instinctively Ivar’s lips shush her, his voice lulling through her ears and she quiets. “That’s your dad,” You say to her.

Ivar’s moment for the skin on skin finally came and he’s next to you. Seated, shirt off, and the nurse hands him the bundle. Pink cotton on an inked chest as Ivar’s hand pats her bottom, nearly swarming the infant as a whole. You can’t hear him, but you see his lips moving, eyes peeking down at the bundle that’s looking up at him. A full conversation on his side and you’re tearing up again, snapping a picture for Hvitserk, your parents, and his, for Floki and Ivar laughs as he watches her yawn.

“Oh, am I boring you, miss?” Ivar coos and you smile. “I know you’ve had such a big day,” He says. “You have no idea how loved you already are.”

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[chudleycanonficfest]

Nobody Compares

Day 22, Story #1 is by @arianatwycross

Title: Nobody compares Author/Artist: arianatwycross.tumblr.com Pairing: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger Prompt: In Vino Veritas (under the influence) Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): n/a

Hermione admits to kissing Ron, brags about him to Sarah and her friends. They don’t believe her because she’s acting so out of character.

Ron comes up from behind her and kisses her neck. 

Her friends gasp loudly and she smiles at their shocked expressions. She doesn’t give them time to question her properly, instead she spins around and places her  hands on his chest. 

He’s smiling down at her, his eyes a little glassy from the alcohol. He bends down to whisper something in her ear and Hermione can’t help but bite her lip and nod back. 

Hermione wasn’t surprised that Ron got signed young. He had the sort of edge a football player needs in the modern world, the passion to do more while simultaneously keeping a smart head, his humour, his witty but sensible remarks about teammates and competitors. She wasn’t surprised when he got picked for the first team, the team he grew up supporting, watching on TV and following in magazines. 

She was surprised however, at how easily it was for them to drift apart. She always thought that they would be able to overcome issues like time zones and schedules, but she was wrong. Hermione graduated University with a first in Law, and was on her way to study her Master’s in London and Ron was upping his training and committing to the first team at Manchester United. 

At the beginning they emailed and texted frequently, while Hermione was still settling into her Bachelor’s degree and Ron was still playing for the Under 23’s. But in Hermione’s second year, her course load increased and she had barely had time to even watch a single tv show. Ron tried his best to see her on his weekends off, but in the end Hermione convinced him it wasn’t worth it. The conversations over email and phone started to dwindle to monthly, then every few months and then finally they stopped altogether. 

Hermione did mourn their friendship for a long time. She blamed herself mostly, she knew she was the one that had a bit more freedom to call him when she could. Ron was too busy dealing with training schedules and away games to think about calling his best friend from secondary school. 

It had been four years since she had seen Ron. She still thought about him at times, how could she not when he was one of the most famous football players in the country? Sometimes she saw him in the sports section of the newspaper or saw him on the TV. She was a self-proclaimed Manchester United fan and so she saw him play every game on the TV. Her friends had no idea they were best friends just a few years ago, they had no idea that he was Hermione’s first love. No one knew that, not even Ron. 

So when she walked into the pub down the street one Friday night, and found him standing at the bar she froze. Every muscle in her body just stopped, only her heart thumped heavily in her chest. There he was, back leaning against the bar, red hair still cut short, shoulders a little bit broader, arms definitely more toned, the same cheeky grin plastered on his face. Her heart flipped and cracked all at the same time. 

She hadn’t seen him for four years and on a random Friday night she runs into him? She quickly looked at Sarah next to her, glaring at her as if she had planned this. Sarah of course, did not. Sarah had no idea that Hermione was friends with the famous Ron Weasley. 

“Oh my god, is that Ron Weasley? Doesn’t he play for Man U Hermione? You support them don’t you?” 

Hermione just stared at Ron, her eyes drinking in the mannerisms she hadn’t seen in years. The cross of his arms across his body, the tilt of his smirk as he listened to his mates next to him. 

“Hermione?’ 

“Right, yeah that’s him” 

“Shall we say hello?” 

“No!” Hermione quickly interjects and steers Sarah away from the bar and towards a booth on the opposite side. She can still see him from where she sits but he can’t see her without turning around. 

Sarah gives Hermione a bewildered look. 

“Bit of a fangirl are we?” Sarah asks. 

Sarah works with Hermione, the two of them only just starting to hang out outside of work. She doesn’t know much about the smart solicitor yet, just that Sarah has a boyfriend that works at the bank and that she enjoys a large glass of pinot noir a bit too much. 

She’s nice, and smart and the two of them get along really well. But Hermione wasn’t about to go blab about how the man at the bar was the love of her life between the ages of 15-21. 

“No, just I’m way too awkward to say hello” She mutters, “Shall I grab us some drinks?” 

Sarah nods and rattles off her order. Hermione makes sure she goes to the furthest side of the bar to where Ron leans. He’s still looking in the opposite direction so she calms down a little, lets her muscles relax and breathes steadier so her heart doesn’t go into overdrive. 

She orders her drinks and while she waits she watches Ron. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans. She watches the smooth muscles in his back tense as he talks, he’s still as mesmerizing as the day she last saw him. 

She drinks another three glasses of wine before Sarah calls the rest of her friends, begging for them to join them at the pub. The pub has grown loud and rowdy, the drinks have been flowing and the heat has made everyone boisterous and excitable.  Ron has relocated to a table with his mates, a pint in his hand, the group of them laughing loudly and Hermione feels herself being pulled towards him. 

Sarah waits at the table for their friends while Hermione goes to order them another round. The alcohol is now freely flowing in her veins, so she doesn’t realise who’s next to her before it’s too late. He stands tall, his elbows resting on the sticky bar. She tenses, her entire body feels inflamed. 

“Mione?”

She might just cry. 

She looks up and finds Ron staring at her in shock. His blue eyes wide and his mouth wide open. She laughs. 

“Hey” she replies, smiling at him. 

Ron instantly smiles back and before she knows it he’s grabbing her into a hug and engulfing her with his scent. 

He smells exactly the same, she thinks. 

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe its you!” he says, pulling back and cupping her face with his large palms. 

She freezes at such an intimate touch but he doesn’t seem to realise. 

“You look good” she says, watching as his eyes also scanned her face. 

“You look stunning” he replies openly, making Hermione laugh again. He drops his hands. 

“How long has it been?” he asks. He’s shaking his head now, still in shock at seeing her. 

“Four years?” 

“Fucking hell, I’ve missed you” he says quietly. 

“Yeah, I’ve missed you too” 

They smile at each other. Hermione grabs the wine glass in front of her as the bartender makes Sarah’s drink. Her entire body is shaking. 

“Are you here with someone?” he asks. 

She points out Sarah, who is now sitting with three other girls. Girls that Hermione hardly knows. 

“Sarah, I work with her. It looks like her friends just showed up” Hermione gives Ron a tight smile.

“Oh well do you have time to chat?” 

“Yeah, let me just give this to Sarah and let her know” she holds up Sarah’s wine glass and Ron gives her a smile. Such a familiar smile that Hermione can’t help but smile back, her jaw hurts already. 

She walks over to the table, tells Sarah that she’s just bumped into an old friend and will be back soon. Sarah’s friends greet Hermione kindly but don’t complain. 

Then Hermione finds herself sitting at a table in the corner of the pub with Ron Weasley. 

She can’t quite believe it. She’s 24 and sitting across a table with her childhood best friend. He looks exactly the same but completely different. She feels exactly the same as she usually does when with him. The old feelings are bubbling up and overwhelming her. How can feelings from four years ago still be so strong?

They end up chatting for hours, the drinks fueling her excitement at seeing him, the alcohol probably fueling another type of feeling that she probably shouldn’t encourage. They talk about their families, their friends, football and her job.  She’s giggling and laughing and then Ron’s telling her he’s sorry. 

“I’m so sorry we feel out of touch. I still think about you all the time” he admits. He’s been drinking beers and she can tell he’s slightly tipsy by the redness of his cheeks. 

“Me too, I guess life just happened”  she murmurs. 

He nods sullenly. 

“I watch all of your games” she admits bravely. She blames the wine, she’s never normally this forward. 

“You do?” 

“Of course I do,” she smiles at his bewildered look. His blue eyes wide and searching hers for the catch. 

“You’re great” 

He laughs modestly. 

“I ask my mum about you every time I go home” he admits and she blushes furiously. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, that’s probably embarrassing but I think I’ve drunk too much to care.” He laughs and she laughs with him. His laugh is so contagious and familiar, a warmth that she had never found in anyone else.

“I’ve heard all about your big job in the city and your nice apartment,” he admits. 

“My mum still talks to your mum so I guess I’m not surprised. Does she also tell your mum that I haven’t had a proper boyfriend in years and that I need to get a move on?” she laughs. 

Ron smiles tightly and she watches as his eyes scan her face and settle on her lips.

“So still no boyfriend?” 

“Nope. What about you? Have you found a hot model to marry yet?” 

He screws his nose up and Hermione laughs. 

“No way, models are too much trouble. But no, no girlfriend. I was seeing a girl last year but it didn’t work out” 

Hermione’s heart flips. She doesn’t want to imagine Ron with another girl, falling in love with another girl.

“That’s a shame” she mutters, hands grasping the stem of the cool wine glass. 

“Not really” 

She looks up and finds him staring down into his beer. 

“Why?” 

He ignores her question and instead looks at her, catching her eyes with his. 

“Do you think everyone has that one person they compare everyone to?” 

The question surprises her, so much that she opens her mouth to answer but finds that she has nothing to say. Or at least, the words don’t seem to form. Instead she can only say one word. 

“Who?” 

His eyes widen but he looks down at the table and smiles. 

“Well, you of course” 

Hermione feels like she’s dreaming, like the alcohol running through her body has numbed her and she is just playing out a fantastic scenario in her drunken brain. 

“What?” she gulps. 

Ron nods as if he’s agreeing to something in his head. 

“You were my best friend and you’re gorgeous, of course I fancied you” they don’t break their eye contact, it seems too important, too life-changing of a conversation to not look at each other. 

“No you didn’t!” she scoffs, thinking of an 18-year old Ron fancying smart-ass, frizzy-haired Hermione. 

“Oh come on Mione! You’re beautiful, smart and funny! I was always flirting with you!” 

She tries to remember a time when he might have been flirting but she can’t, all she can remember is her 18 year old self watching him play football, the way he moved when he sprinted, his laugh when he scored, the way he hugged her when they celebrated. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she gulps. 

“You just got into Uni and you needed to focus. You were always stressing about how important your first year was and then when I called you, I felt like I was distracting you and I knew how important it all was for you so I just stopped calling” he had his hands running through his hair now, settling on his neck and squeezing. 

It was too much for her, to think that she was the reason Ron stopped talking to her. All she could think about was disappointing him, choosing her degree over his friendship, over something more. She stood up frantically and mumbled something about needing air. She heard Ron say something as she walked off but the air was suffocating her, the crowds were too much, the alcohol was making her feel slightly nauseous. 

She shoved open the front door to the pub and pushed through the small crowd out the front. She found a quiet corner near the car park, gulped in the fresh summer air and breathed. 

She couldn’t believe that Ron had fancied her this whole time, that he wanted to talk to her and that he didn’t just feel obliged to talk to her after school. He liked her and she liked him. She spent years watching him play football, happy that he had moved on, trying not to think about the time they had missed. 

“Mione?” 

Hermione looked up to find Ron standing idly a few meters ahead of her. 

“Ron,” she sighed. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

She didn’t consciously walk towards him, it just happened, like the sight of him spurred something in her , made her gravitate towards him. She was inches from him when she stopped and she looked up, her heart warming at the familiar blue eyes and the freckles on his cheeks. So familiar and so him. 

“I missed you so much” is all she can say, and she feels her heart filling at the way he smiles back at her. 

“I missed you too” 

“I’m probably a little drunk but can I kiss you?” she says, the words tumbling from her mouth before she can catch them and swallow them whole. 

He smiles brightly and takes her jaw in his hands, his palms back to where they belong. 

He leans down and kisses her deeply. His lips are soft beneath hers. She wraps her hands around his neck and her fingers lace between his hair, something she had only dreamt of doing. 

She tugs at his hair and he responds by slipping his tongue into her mouth, she moans as their tongues tangle and their breaths deepen. She’s feeling dizzy and she knows it’s not from the wine, it’s from being this close to Ron. It’s from all the pent up feelings she’s had buried for years, for the disappointment she had felt, the deep sadness from him not being in her life. 

They pull apart and Ron kisses the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her cheek. 

“Mione?” 

“Yeah?” she murmurs, still breathless. 

“Please tell me you have time to see me” 

The desperation in his voice breaks her, she grabs his face and kisses him fiercely. 

“Ron, I’m not letting you go this time” 

He smiles as he kisses her this time, and they laugh in between kisses. 

He asks if he can take her home and she delightfully finds out that he lives nearby, just a 20 minute walk from her own house. He explains that he’s actually been transferred to Arsenal and he moved to London just a few weeks ago. He seems happy about the change and Hermione can’t help but grin proudly as he tells her about the transfer and his new apartment. She feels like this is all too good to be true, that he’s now close by, he’s here and with her. 

She goes back inside the pub to say goodbye to Sarah, he pulls her in for another kiss before they enter the pub. He also says goodbye to his mates and she feels feverish as she wanders over to the crowded table. Sarah squeals when she appears and Hermione notes how intoxicated everyone is and smiles. Sarah’s friend, Ashleigh asks if Hermione knows Ron Weasley and Hermione nods, not stopping the huge smile that graces her face when she hears his name. Sarah squeals again at Hermione’s blush and Hermione ends up gushing when Sarah asks if they snogged. 

She revels in the faces of Sarah and her friends when Ron kisses her neck, and she lets his lips spread heat over her entire body. 

“We have a lot of catching up to do Miss Granger.”

[yonkimint]

So Show Me, I’ll Show You

Part 28.1

This part has written parts with pictures in between.

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When the door to your hospital room swings open, you groan in relief. Finally Jimin was here to jailbreak you. It was great having Lauren, Heeji, and Luna here but they are dutiful bulldogs and you can’t blame them. Your last visit to the hospital had left them pretty traumatized.

Your hopes fall when a man in scrubs steps into the room instead. You had seen him once or twice but you had never exchanged words. In fact, the only reason you remember him at all is because he is white and you thought that was odd, considering you were in a Korean hospital.

“Oh hi,” you say, uncomfortable, when he just stands at the foot of your bed. His head is bowed so you can’t study his face too closely but his presence puts you on edge. He doesn’t respond to your greeting so you push on, trying to keep your tone nonchalant, “The nurses just did their rotations and I’m doing fine. Did you need to check something?”

He laughs. A low throaty laugh that has haunted all of your nightmares. Your hands fist around hospital sheets as a cold chill runs up your spine. Swallowing around the lump rising in your throat, you peer closer at him.Mark’s hair is black. This orderly’s is ash blonde. But everything else… you suck in a sharp breath.

“Hello, y/n, did you get my flowers?”

He lifts his head and all his sharp features suddenly come into focus. He has been here the whole time watching you try to recover from injuries that he perpetuated. He looks pleased. And his pleasure makes you want to claw his face off.

“Go to hell, asshole.” You try to sound menacing, to hiss these words like poison, but they only come out a weak, fearful wheeze. Mark clucks his tongue at you.

“Look at you, y/n, trying to be brave when you’re really nothing but a weakling. A cowardly little girl. You would be nothing without me and you know it. You don’t really think you’re going to fight me, do you?”

There’s a glimmer in his eye and it makes you so angry. But the part of you that has endured his abuse for years is still the stronger part and you feel your anger give way to hopelessness. Mark is right. You won’t fight him.

“Good girl. Now, we are going to go on a little field trip, okay?”

You shudder as he steps around the bed and traces the IV still in your arm. You had been waiting until the last second to remove it so the nurses wouldn’t suspect anything if they walked in but now you regret that choice. Mark has no intentions of being gentle with you.

He presses a palm against your mouth, smiling vindictively as the fingers of his other hand loop around the tubes that have been delivering your medicine and fluid for the last few days and yanks the whole thing loose. You whimper into his skin as blood splashes from your open vein.

“How are we supposed to go on a field trip when any camera is going to catch you dragging me out of this room?” you ask him, hoping fleetingly that he hasn’t thought of this. But he’s been here for who knows how long. 

“My little writer,” he coos, snatching your phone from your lap and slipping it into his scrubs pocket, “You really do try to think of everything that can happen, don’t you?”

You glare at him. You have taken abuse from him all these years and still, it’s the patronizing that sets you off every time. And he knows he’s pushed the right button too because he laughs and pats your cheek gently.

“Oh my sweet little y/n, the field trip is right here in the hospital. I’m going to roll you out of here in that wheelchair,” he says, pausing to point to the wheelchair that sits in the corner of your room, “and we’re going to go down the hall. And you’ll do exactly what I tell you to because you know that I have your phone which means I can either let you say goodbye to your friends or make them think that you never want to see them again. Your choice!”

This is so cliche, you think, hobbling out of bed when he gestures for you to get up, like something out of a stupid soap opera. Disguises himself as an orderly and kidnaps me right under everyone’s noses. God damnit. 

Your field trip brings you to a supply closet on the third floor of the hospital which, conveniently, is under renovation. You can’t help but think that Mark is following this cliched script just to piss off the writer in you.

Now that you’re out of sight of the cameras, he has tied your limbs to the chair so you can’t run away. A gag sits roughly in your mouth and cuts against the corners of your lips. Mark is circling you as if deciding where he should start.

Lauren told you that he threatened to do so much worse than put you in the hospital next time he found you and you let your eyes flutter shut in defeat. 

You choose not to think about that. Instead, you let your memories play like old movie reels on the backs of your eyelids. Heeji’s art galleries. Lauren’s photo shoots. And Luna’s ridiculous seances every full moon. 

You stifle a chuckle. No need to bring on Mark’s wrath any sooner than necessary.

And then, newer memories begin to play and a lump rises in your throat. These ones aren’t supposed to be tinged with melancholy. These are supposed to be the memories of starting over. The memories from after you are safe.

You swallow hard.

The flight had already taken a lot out of you. This was just the cherry on top of a totally stressful, life changing ice cream sundae. At least this coffee shop seemed safe and warm while you tried to figure out if you were going to be homeless or not. 

Seoyun, the barista, had been kind enough to give you the WiFi password so looking up your address shouldn’t be too difficult. Still, you lowered your head down on the table with a sigh of defeat. Seoul was so confusing. 

“Oh, I know that look,” a voice sounds above you. Your head snaps up, eyes narrowing, already distrustful of a friendly stranger in the heart of South Korea. He smiles at you and his perfect rows of white teeth are so familiar, you already feel your tense muscles uncoiling. He presses on, “it’s not your first day in Seoul, is it?”

You glance at your luggage and back at him, remembering Lauren’s texts to go find BTS. As if the butt of some cosmic joke, it seems that they have found you instead.

You roll your eyes at him, “what gave it away?”

He glances down at your luggage too and laughs. You study his face carefully so you see the exact moment he makes a decision that will alter the course of both your lives. 

His hands are full with two trays of coffee and he shoves them down on your table without asking. You raise an eyebrow at him, not really surprised by his boldness but somehow taken aback all the same, but he only flashes his brilliant smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the force of it. He sits down. 

“You look like you don’t trust yourself to breathe. Like you’re trapped in your own brain or something,” he comments. 

You lean forward, reminding yourself to calm the flare of annoyance rising in your chest before you speak. “Jimin,” you say evenly, “do you think you can just sit here with a complete stranger, flirt with her a little bit, and she’ll open up with her whole life story?”

“It’s always worked before,” he chirps back, batting his eyes, that same heart melting grin never wavering. But you see it there behind his gaze. No one has ever called him out on this before and you smile.

“I sincerely doubt that…” you say, trailing off as his hand darts out for the phone you’ve left on the table. You gasp, your reflexes too slow to catch him now, and he giggles swiping through as many un-password protected screens as he can.

“Well, I sincerely doubt that you know where you’re going since you’re sitting in a random coffee shop with all your luggage so, out of the kindness of my heart, I’ve decided to help you find your way,” he says, handing the phone back and gesturing for you to unlock it for him.

Your insides are screaming not to do it. You have to keep a low profile or starting over is going to fail but the earnest look in his eye has you wavering. With a sigh, you unlock the phone and you feel it deep in your gut, everything is over before it’s even begun.

It didn’t really matter what Mark was doing to torture you, just that he was and the pain was excruciating. You had heard a rumor once that after a certain point, the body would stop responding to pain but you were sure now that that was a lie. This was endless.

Your eyes start to roll back when Mark claps in front of your face again. You blink back into focus and your whole body is screaming for relief. He’s looking at you like you should say something to him but you can’t speak, the gag still firmly in your mouth, muffling all your screams.

“Can’t have you dozing off, my favorite little writer, you’ll miss the best part!”

You quirk an eyebrow, inviting him to give his little villain’s speech. He obviously wants to follow the soap opera script so you might as well let him follow it to its natural conclusion. He grins, tracing your jaw line with something icy cold. A knife?

No, you tell yourself, don’t think about that.

“You’re probably thinking how cliche this all must be. The hospital disguise. The hiding in plain sight. You’re probably even thinking that since we stayed in the hospital, it’s inevitable that I will get caught. Which is true. The question is if it will happen before or after I kill you,” he says, “And maybe the more important question is this: why did Mark do this to the thing that makes him all his money?”

The thing? You would spit on him if there weren’t a gag in your mouth.

He leans close, his eyes boring into yours. “And the answer is really quite simple. You disgust me. You think you’re so talented and so clever. Everyone adores you and bends over backwards to care for you and what do you really need protection from? Your big, bad manager and publisher?”

He’s going to keep ranting, you know it, and you don’t want the short time you have left to be spent listening to this tirade. They say it���s normal to disassociate under trauma and so you do, falling into your memories again.

Namjoon had warned you about Yoongi before you even stepped foot in the studio. It still wasn’t enough to stop the way your heart dropped down into your stomach when you caught a glimpse of him in the hallway. 

You had told him after the fact that you didn’t remember this moment but the truth of the matter was, it was impossible to erase this memory from your mind. With all the steel you could muster, you met his gaze. Dark, critical eyes stared back at you, soft pink lips pressed into a thin, annoyed line. 

You offered a gentle smile like it was an olive branch, your knees wobbling while you waited for him to roll his eyes or storm away. But his eyes only widened, those annoyed lips parting in a small ‘o’, color rushing up to dust his round cheeks. 

It made your knees knock together and you ducked your head. What was that? Forget it. If he was going to refuse to meet you, you weren’t going to waste feelings over it.

The next memory spills into recollection almost on top of this one. 

Would it be okay if I came and listened to what you’re working on? you texted Namjoon. 

Jungkook and Hobi were arguing about who got to be Luigi in the next race. You chuckled to yourself, amazed for the billionth time that you had somehow been invited to hang out with these boys again. You had already known they were incredible but actually interacting with them was overwhelming. They were as wonderful as they had always seemed from afar. 

Even, you thought, Yoongi. He had extended a truce but he was still frustrating to no end. What did he mean you could never be friends? He was obviously capable of being friendly and you knew the way he cared for and protected his group members. It shouldn’t sting so much that he didn’t want to be YOUR friend but what could you do?

“Y/n, I curated a meme just for you,” Tae whispers from his place beside you on the couch and you startle when he pushes his phone into your hands. 

“What the hell, Tae?” you burst out laughing, trying to make sense of the chaotic picture before you. He starts laughing too, satisfied by your reaction and takes his phone back. You punch his arm lightly and mutter, “you’re so weird.”

Let me ask Yoongi, your phone chimes. Your stomach surges with some feeling you don’t understand. You remind yourself that you’re just going to hang out with Joon. This has nothing to do with Yoongi and yet…

How is he supposed to become your friend if you let him keep avoiding you?

He says you can’t talk but you can come in.

You’re out of your seat before you have time to think about it more. The boys look up at you in surprise and you announce that you’re gonna hang out with Namjoon a bit before you challenge them to Mario Kart. The look of fear in Jungkook’s eyes sends you into another fit of laughter and you pat his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, Kookie, winning isn’t everything!”

“Yes it is!” he groans as you walk away.

In the studio, your stomach starts to dance again. Yoongi doesn’t look up from the scratch paper he’s scribbling on but you can see the way his fingers tighten around his pen. He is as aware of your presence as you are of his. When Namjoon points to the spot on the couch beside him, it takes all your concentration not to trip over your own feet. 

You scold yourself for this silly behavior. There are more adoring members of this kpop group to be mooning over. Mooning over? You are NOT mooning over Yoongi. Who said that? Not you.

Anyway, whatever it is you’re feeling, Yoongi has done nothing to deserve it. So why do your eyes keep landing on him as you survey the room?

“I don’t like that lyric there,” Namjoon says, “maybe we should move it down into the second verse.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes but it’s softened by the small smile playing at his lips. He and Namjoon must have been going back and forth over these lines for quite some time. You watch as he scribbles out the words and moves them lower down the page. 

His eyes meet yours and the hairs rise on the back of your arms. He doesn’t look upset that you’re there and that’s almost more unsettling than him insulting you. You press your lips together and search for anywhere in the room to look but him. 

The phone in your lap will have to provide distraction enough. You pick it up and fiddle around between home screens but there’s nothing as interesting there as what’s happening before you so you listen in on the lyrics they’re crafting while you pretend to text the girls. 

Of course, when you find out the song is for E.L. Penn, you spiral. You knew your worlds were going to collide if you stuck around long enough. It’s never been a secret to you that Namjoon was a fan of her work — your work — or that they would have worked with her on the movie if she hadn’t gone on hiatus. 

But you are just an English teacher in Seoul and not the recipient of this song that is making your heart hurt. You can’t believe Mark would hack into your Twitter account just to set this in motion without you. He’s trying to push your buttons and it’s working. 

So you do the only thing you can. You call Lauren. 

When you return to the studio, Namjoon is gone. You knew he would be since he passed you in the hall while you were still on the phone. Yoongi looks up at you in surprise but you only offer a curt nod before beelining for your spot on the couch.

The tears spill out before you can help it and your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi. You feel stupid as you read his stupid question through blurred vision. You respond sardonically and toss your phone onto the couch. 

When he tells you you’re killing the vibe, you almost launch to your feet and run out of the room but Yoongi stops you. You stare at him, mouth gaping open like a fish. 

“You want to what?” you ask, wondering if he’ll scold you for talking out loud to him. 

He reaches for his guitar instead, a sleek, black stained acoustic that you’ve seen in several lives from before you actually knew him. He strums the chords lightly, the sweet sounds discordant in the small space. You blink at him. 

“It’s something I’ve been working on,” he says vaguely, “I’m just curious what you think.”

“Why me?” you ask, confused. He frowns at you, his lips puckering and little dimples appearing in the corners of his cheeks. 

“Just be quiet and listen, okay?” he asks it like a question but you know he’s giving a command.

You smile at him a little too sweetly and then settle back into the couch, pulling your legs up to your chest, so you can rest your chin on your knees as he starts to strum. He rolls his eyes at you but there’s a smile in them that you’ve never seen directed at you before. 

Your stomach makes that weird lurch again and you finally resign yourself to what you are feeling. Butterflies. Min Yoongi is giving you butterflies.

[smajorqna]

(Click for better quality)

Hello!

————–––--–––————

Welcome to the blog i made because i thought of it in class and i need some sort of way to feed my hyperfixation.

Here is a carrd with more info about this mess. (coming soon)

All art belongs to me!! I made it!! Please dont steal or use for ai (sense thats been getting popular recently..). And please ask before reposting and if your too nervous please at least credit me :)

(Press "Read More" below for tldr for the carrd and an ID for each image)

(Last updated: 12/10/22 11:19am CDT)

————–––--–––————

And now if you look just below youll see all the tags i use and what they mean :) (more will be added in the future)

#smajorqna - all posts posted on this blog

#4th wall breakthrough - ooc posts

#smajor of rivendell - all answers from c!scott

#hearts the creator tm - all answers/cameos from my persona, hearts

#hello deer anon - all questions from fellow anons! Hello anons :)

#(tw/cw here) - obviously wont say that exactly but if a post talks about anything triggering or anything that needs warning i will put it there and i will put it at the beginning of the post :)

#posts about beloved husband - posts mentioning or even including the one and only codfather (will be also used as flower husbands tag so if you don't wanna see that block it!!!)

#cameos - other character cameos featured

#id below read more - will be put for every post with images in it (besides dividers)

#the 17th letter of the alphabet - this post was queued

Heres the tldr of the carrd: (aka a list of things i need to add to it)

This is C!/CHARACTER!!! In no way am i impersonating scott the content creator. I am simply answering questions the way i think his esmp1 character would answer.

Admittedly, i have never watched scotts esmp1 series- i mostly know about his character through clips, fanfics, fanarts, and other fans. I know im such a fake fan /sarc so if i get any lore or canon wrong please tell me and ill do my best to fix it. If i cannot, then oh well to bad so sad.

This will include my personal headcanons so if you haven't heard of whatever even or something from canon, its most likely a headcanon

This will also include flower husbands (c!scott x c!jimmy) so uh yeah dont imply any other ships other than them only because i dont personally ship it (its fine if you do, i have nothing wrong with that :) just keep it out of this blog)

Everything you see on this blog was done on my phone using my finger. So obviously there will be mistakes. So yk use common sense and dont point them out :) its rude.

And lastly, this is literally my first time doing this ever so please be nice, im sensitive

ID for each image/panel:

[Panel 1 (one): (start id) outlined and colorless drawing of empires season 1 (one) character scott looking confused or worried, there's a question mark symbol next to him showing he's confused. He's looking at another character to the right with the same drawing style. Scott's outline/lineart is a dark cyan. To the right of scott there's a character with shortish hair, pointy ears like scotts, with a plain t-shirt. They look feminine-ish and their expression looks happy. Near them is text saying "Me, the creator tm" pointing to them. The character's outline/lineart is a dark magenta-ish, or a really red pink. On the bottom of the screen is a grey box with a smaller box on the top left corner saying "Scott" in a dark cyan. Below is text in the same color saying "So.. Remind me of what to do here..?". (End id)]

[Panel 2 (two): (start id) Same character's and poses as panel 1 (one) with different expressions. Scott's expression is still similar, except this time his mouth is closed. The character's (who's name is Hearts) expression changed to them talking with their eyes closed. They look happy. Below them is the same dialogue box except with a different name and obviously different text. The name now reads "Hearts" and the dialogue says "You're going to answer some questions from people because I'm bored and I need something better to do with my life. :)" in the same color used for Hearts' outline. (End id)]

[Panel 3 (three): (start id) Scott is now center with Hearts gone, leaving a "Bye!" where they were last. Scott then looks to the left with an exhausted look. In the dialogue box it says in the dark cyan outline scott has with scotts name above, "This will be easier said than done..." (End id)]

Also yes ik the original third panel i misspelled "easier" but its too late now im tired

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (21)

   jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst but it’s for a good cause

words: 7.7k

   chapter twenty-one

The next week was, as expected, full of frustrating epiphanies each time you checked your phone and realized you had no business waiting for anyone’s call or text. Not to mention, Inna’s hopeful eyes followed you whenever you were in the same room as her; she was eagerly awaiting the moment you and Jungkook would make up.

You hadn’t heard a word from him since the last party and his family hadn’t reached out to you, either. You couldn’t help but wonder how the dinner on Sunday had gone, and what excuse Jungkook used to explain your absence – he’d have to come up with a good one because you didn’t think the chances of you two talking again were very high.

In fact, you thought they were non-existent. He’d walked away from you for the second time in just one lifetime – you didn’t think it was supposed to be you who had to take the initiative and get to the bottom of things. And Jungkook would, most likely, have too much pride to offer an explanation.

So, no, you didn’t think you’d hear from him again soon. Not in the next seven years, at least.

However, life had a funny way of throwing your expectations out of the window – as you came to learn as soon as you left your final class the next Wednesday afternoon, five days after you’d last seen Jungkook, and spotted his mother looking at you expectantly from the end of the hall.

She waved at you as soon as you caught her eye and, walking over to her, you weren’t sure what to expect – her face was the perfect mask of polite indifference, so you couldn’t guess if she was here because something terrible had happened to Jungkook, or because she was getting remarried and wanted you to be her bridesmaid.

“You look lovely, dear,” was the first thing she told you when you approached her. That was enough for you to understand that she wasn’t going to be entirely honest today – she never was – because she was here in a designer two-piece, while you were wearing a—stained from an unsuccessful attempt at lunch—gray hoodie and your favorite sweatpants. “Do you have a moment to spare?”

“Sure,” you nodded after giving her a mandatory hug hello. “Would you like to get coffee? There’s a café across the quad.”

“Oh, of course,” she nodded, allowing you to exit the building first. “I’d love that.”

The two of you crossed the campus quadrangle towards the café next to the library and neither of you said a word. You’d hoped Jungkook’s mother would offer an explanation why she was here instead of making you ask her outright – that felt impolite – but that seemed less and less likely with each silent step that you took.

“You can choose a table, I’ll go place the order,” you said once you’d reached the café, “what would you like?”

“Just black coffee, no sugar, please,” she replied and then looked around the place, smiling pleasantly at every weary-eyed student that turned to look when they saw this lady with a very expensive aura come inside. “I think it’d be nice to sit by the window, hmm?”

You gave her a nod of approval and went over to order, choosing to wait by the coffee machine so you could brace yourself for what was coming when you’d join her at your table later.

Once you finally sat down opposite Jungkook’s mother, your caramel macchiato had turned from pale orange to plain white from how much your hands were shaking. His mother thanked you and, leaning forward to purposelessly stir her coffee with a spoon, she cleared her throat.

“Something happened,” she said simply. “Am I wrong?”

You didn’t want to misunderstand her. “What do you mean?”

“Between you and Jungkook,” she clarified. “He said you were busy when he was over for dinner but I could tell that wasn’t it. He looked different.”

You looked away from her to think. You were glad that Jungkook hadn’t missed the dinner even despite you not being there with him. That was a mature decision, you were almost proud of him for it.

“I… I don’t really know what to tell you, to be honest,” you said, watching your coffee and wondering why you even bought it. You didn’t feel like drinking anything. “We got into an argument after his concert last weekend, and we hadn’t talked since.”

She nodded knowingly, without the slightest change in her expression. As if this was a normal thing that she’d expected to happen sooner or later anyway. And, because she was prepared for it, she also knew just how to proceed.

“I’m not supposed to pick sides because, I suppose, I would be biased,” she started to say, giving you a warm smile as she clutched her cup in both hands, “but I have a feeling that you weren’t the one that started the argument. Am I right?”

Inhaling deeply as you shrugged your shoulders, you replied with, “actually, that’s hard to say,” and then you took a long gulp of your coffee, ignoring the burning of your throat as the hot – and unwanted – liquid struggled to make its way down.

Jungkook’s mother watched you drink in silence. She knew you were doing it only because you weren’t comfortable admitting to her that her son had never learned how to handle conflict – and who else was there to blame for that, if not his parents?

Sighing, she finally confessed, “I told myself I wouldn’t mention this to either of you because, well, it’s really none of my business, but I was backstage before Jungkook’s last concert.”

You turned to her. Noticing the confusion in your eyes, she explained, “his father and I came back to the venue early and I had to use the restroom. One of his bandmates showed me where to find the nearest one and, as I was on my way, I saw the two of you.”

Thinking what moment in particular she could have seen, you unconsciously squeezed the porcelain cup in your hands so tightly, the china almost started to crack under your fingertips. Even worse, as soon as you realized what she was getting at, you let go of the cup so quickly, it nearly tumbled off the table, splashing the contents around.

“Oh,” you said, more alarmed by the fact that his mother had seen you force him into a cold shower, than by the fact that your sweatpants were now stained with the caramel from your drink. “I was just—”

“You kicked some sense into him,” she finished for you, nonchalantly handing you a napkin, “in a way that I’d never seen anyone do before. And,” she chuckled in a good-natured way that did not conceal the admiration in her voice, “I’m his mother.”

“That’s…” you stopped yourself, choosing to wait until the warmth on your face receded and you felt less flustered. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” you said, still not looking at her as you wiped the table, “kids aren’t easy to raise and Jungkook was a-a... a different sort of challenge. You did your best and he loves you for it.”

She was the one who was forced to look away from you this time.

“I thought I was doing my best,” she said. “I… I know it can be hard to understand, but I’d always had his best interest at heart. His and yours. You two were like two pieces of the same set when you were young.”

She smiled despite herself, but when you dared to lift your eyes to meet hers, there was a tear glistening on her face, slowly descending down her cheek. You didn’t know if it was caused by the memory or by something else that she hadn’t said yet.

“It’s…” she tried but couldn’t find the words, “I feel—ah. I don’t know how to tell you this without making you hate me. It’s my fault that you and Jungkook were apart from each other for so long.”

She struggled to keep talking and you struggled to find a way to tell her that you already knew that.

Admittedly, it wouldn’t have been hard to reach out a hand and touch her shoulder, tell her that Jungkook had already told you about this. But, by doing so, you’d have to admit that everything was fine. That you didn’t hold a grudge. That you’d moved on.

And part of it was true – you didn’t hold a grudge. But it wasn’t fine. And you hadn’t moved on.

So, you stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“I thought it was for the best,” she said, “you two, being apart, I mean. I thought it could save you both from the damage your close relationship could do to your futures. But,” shaking her head to herself, she scoffed, “that wasn’t what happened at all, was it?”

“Hmm,” you shook your head slightly, “no, it wasn’t. There was always this gap—t-this empty space in my life. It was kind of like losing a tooth. You can get it replaced, get an implant, but it’s not the same. Even if the hole isn’t there anymore, you’re still missing a tooth.”

Another tear cascaded down her face as she listened to you, only daring to nod her head when you glanced at her – which was once, right before you finished speaking.

She noticed how you didn’t question her or asked her to elaborate; you understood what she was saying.

And she understood that you had already known about this.

“You blossomed,” she said, smiling even though there were tears in her eyes, “but Jungkook never recovered. He needed you. Probably more than you needed him.”

“No. That can’t be,” you disagreed instantly. “I—I need him, too.”

Noticing the present tense, Jungkook’s mother smiled. “Then don’t be apart from each other anymore. You’re not meant to be.”

That was simple. So simple, that it got you to smile in this ironically sad way. But because this could have been one of the last times you’d ever see her – since your future with Jungkook, despite how much you said you needed him, was very unclear – you chose not to mention it.

Instead, you figured now was as good of a time as any to come clean about the real status of your relationship with her son.

“You know…” you started, “when we first came to your house, we weren’t—we weren’t really together. We were just—”

“I know,” she said and, just when you were about to continue, she finished, “that you think so.”

“I—sorry?”

“You think you came for dinner, pretending to be dating so it would leave a good impression on his father,” she explained.

It felt ridiculous to hear her say it when she wasn’t supposed to know about it. Apparently, both of you knew a lot more than you let on.

“T-that’s… yeah. That’s what we did.”

She shook her head. “No, it isn’t. Not really. You came for dinner together.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Sweetheart, no,” she took your hand into hers. “You’d been together from the moment you first talked to each other after all those years. And, every day following that, you were more and more together.”

Feeling the warmth from her hands wash off to yours, you asked in a hushed tone, “why do you say that?”

“Because I’d watched you grow up,” she said, a smile on her otherwise clouded face. “I know you love each other in a different way than most people. You don’t have to go on dates and get to know each other before you get attached and form a connection. You don’t have to spend months with each other to fall in love. It’s already happened. Maybe it happened even before you were born. Maybe it was written in the stars, so to speak.”

She laughed as she said that last part and—because you’d been watching her with such intensity, you didn’t blink once—you felt yourself smile in response.

Then, you asked, “do you really believe that?”

“Ah,” she leaned back in her chair, exhaling. She did seem like the sort of person who believed in the happily-ever-after and she didn’t mind this image. But, because this was nor the place, nor the time for acting, she chose to be honest with you and admitted, “normally, no. But with you two? Yes. Absolutely.”

And that meant a lot more than anything else she’d ever told you when she was busy trying to maintain the look of an untroubled, completely satisfied member of a rich family.

She was human now. And she was rooting for you – she’d always been, even if she didn’t always choose the best ways to express that.

“Do you know what he did during our last dinner?” his mother asked after a moment.

Thinking she was about to tell you that Jungkook knocked his father out, you were afraid for her to continue.

“He renounced his position as the heir to the company,” she said and you saw her tears stop, a smile spreading on her lips instead – like she was proud of him. “I’ve never seen him so determined before. I don’t think his father has, either. I… I think he’s been expecting it, though. Jungkook never expressed much interest in the family business, not unless it meant pleasing his father.”

You were shocked she’d noticed Jungkook’s eagerness to be a good son to his father, but perhaps you shouldn’t have been – she was his mother. She knew him best.

Funnily enough, she thought the exact same thing about you.

“He wants to talk to you,” she said after a while, her hand still holding yours as steam ceased to rise from your cups, the drinks inside of them gradually growing colder.

“Did he tell you that?” you asked, surprised.

“No, but that’s obvious. He’s been antsy throughout our dinner on Sunday,” she spoke, “almost like that gap you’d mentioned before was especially prominent when he was supposed to be with his family, but one member just wasn’t there.”

You felt a quick spark of honor in your chest – they still considered you to be a part of their family – but you lowered your eyes, hoping to hide it.

“What bothers me the most,” you admitted slowly, “is that his method of solving arguments is so unconventional, I can never guess what he’s going to do.”

“What do you want him to do?”

“I want him to—I…” you couldn’t finish.

You didn’t want much, you just wanted to be able to admit to yourself that every time you’d been angry at him since last Friday night, was all pretend. All because you were supposed to be angry. But, the truth was, you weren’t; you were just hurt. And what you wanted most of all was to see him.

“I want to talk to him,” you said. “Because if he’s thinking of spending another seven years not talking to me, then he better give me a direct warning, so that I can tell him I won’t do this again. I won’t go through—if he doesn’t want to be with me, I’m not going to wait for almost a decade for him to change his mind.”

“That was never the case,” his mother said. “He always wanted to be with you even when he wasn’t supposed to.”

“See, but he keeps making these decisions,” you said, “these wrong decisions. He seems like he’s learned to tell right from wrong in all of these years, and yet he still—”

“He’s trying, though, isn’t he?” she interrupted you. “He fails a lot, but he always gets back up and tries again. I love him with all of my heart, but I hated to see some of the situations he’s gotten himself into over the years. He’d had to make a lot of choices for his future and he made a lot of wrong ones. I used to think that, maybe, the only right decision he’d made, was choosing to give you some space to grow seven years ago—”

“No,” you stated immediately, your voice firm and unwavering for the first time today. “The only right decision he made was talking to me again after seven years.”

His mother’s eyes watched the expression on your face change from hopeless defeat to assured confidence, and she finally let go of your hand, but not before you saw the hairs on her skin stand up as she shivered.  

“You’re right,” she spoke, her voice in awe over how quickly you defended Jungkook even though, at the end of the day, you and her both knew you needed that space. You needed some time away from him.

She had come here with the intention of getting you to give her son another chance – because, God knew, Jungkook was taking his sweet time asking for it himself – but she could see now that her visit was largely pointless.

She didn’t need to ask you to fight for your relationship with Jungkook – you’d been fighting for it from day one.

“Talk to him, okay?” she asked, even though she knew this wasn’t going to be the end of your story. It couldn’t be. “As his mother, I even give you the permission to kick his ass if he won’t reach out to you first.”

You snickered at this and then looked at her as you spoke, “I’ve really missed having conversations like these with you. Not about Jungkook—I meant, over coffee, when it’s just us two.”

“I’ve missed that, too,” she replied, responding to your warm words by allowing an uncharacteristically big smile to appear on her face, “but we’ll have plenty of those in the future,” she added, “because we just got you back and we’re not letting you go.”

The next day, you were almost afraid to run into Jungkook because a conversation with him seemed inevitable, and you didn’t think you were ready for it.

The universe – that is, your class schedule – cared little whether you were prepared or not, however.

As soon as you were done with your last class of the day, you cautiously turned your head to Jungkook’s usual spot—across the auditorium from you—and found him already watching you.

The two of you eyed each other in an almost formal way – the way you would look at your professor as you approached her to inquire about a paper that was due – and then you both got up, packed your things, and, exchanging a yet another meaningful look, you both headed for the exit of the building, every single movement of your bodies completely in sync even though you hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

There was a mute agreement between you and him: you haven’t seen each other since the party last week, but now that you have, you simply had to talk again. Those were the rules for people like you – people who’d spent nearly a decade avoiding all conversation with each other, and had promised they would never go through that again.

You figured the first thing you’d say to each other after last week would be “sorry” but, as it turned out, your first words were your coffee orders as the two of you had automatically left the building to head to the campus café.

“I know my mom came to see you,” Jungkook broke the uncomfortable silence when you found an empty table at the back of the café. “Sorry if… she made you uncomfortable. I didn’t ask her to come, I swear.”

He didn’t start to speak because he had a lot to say. He started because, even though you came here with him naturally, without a single word, he knew you hadn’t come here just for a cup of coffee. You’d come to hear his explanation, his excuse, and, eventually and most importantly, his apology.

“I know,” you said even though you didn’t. It made sense for Jungkook not to ask for anyone’s help, though. “It’s okay.”

“But I’m glad she came,” he revealed, “because now I have an excuse to tell you that I, uh… I fucked up.”

Resisting a relieved sigh – because you’d been worried that resolving this argument would require the sort of maturity that neither of you had, but Jungkook was surprisingly determined to solve it the same way you solved all of your fights: by turning half of it into a joke – you sat opposite him and shrugged.

“Not the first time,” you said.

Scoffing, Jungkook agreed, “yeah. Definitely not. But I, uh… you haven’t done anything wrong. I was pissed at—I was pissed off and I let my frustrations out on you. And that’s not fair.”

You nodded, agreeing with the way he’d interpreted your last conversation.

“Well,” you said then, “that’s probably not the first time, either.”

He raised an eyebrow at your comment, a flash of concern appearing in his eyes before he clicked his tongue and said under his breath, “alright, open and honest. That’s good. I deserve that.”

You didn’t reply this time. You didn’t encourage him to keep going, either, but he took your silence as a sign that he’d obviously not said enough to make up for his words that night.

“I was wrong,” Jungkook said and paused. He couldn’t believe he’d spent every night the past week, trying to think of a way to say this to you, when it was literally all so simple. “I asked you to leave because I genuinely believed you’d be better without me, but I—I’ve never felt more afraid than when I saw you turn around and walk away. I thought it’d be for the best, but the thought of never seeing you again was terrifying. That sounds selfish now that I’ve said it, but I’m not saying it because I’m scared to lose you, even though I am. I’m saying this because I’m sorry.”

You’d forgotten how to blink as you watched him, and you thought you’d misheard him when he apologized. That was something that was understandable – a person did something they regretted, and they apologized for it – but Jungkook was never one who behaved in conventional ways.

And yet, he continued, “I’ve been caged my whole life, always blamed for the things I did that did not fit the person that I was supposed to be.”

Contrary to the conversation with Jungkook’s mother that you’ve had in this exact same spot, now you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off of him as he spoke. Jungkook, meanwhile, scratched his temple with a nervous finger and proceeded to count the wooden tiles on the floor.

“But you’re not like them,” he was saying, not specifying who ‘they’ were because he didn’t have to, “no one’s ever given me the sort of freedom that you did. You’re the only one that allowed me to think about what I wanted. You’re the one who told me to act on it. As long as I didn’t self-destruct along the way, of course.”

He tried to lighten the mood, smiling as he said that last part, but your face remained stoic and, for a moment, Jungkook worried you hadn’t heard him. Or, worse – you had heard him, but he wasn’t saying the right things.

In all truth, that was precisely the case – you thought he was giving you too much credit. He’d blamed you for taking control of his life that night at the bar, and now he was thanking you for it.

You didn’t think you deserved the blame or the gratitude: you never wanted him to do whatever you commanded him to do. You just wanted him to stop making decisions that would lead him to an early grave.

“You…” he continued, more tentative now, “you’ve put up with me for so long and I was overwhelmed by the fact that there’s no one like you in my life. So, I guess, for a moment, you didn’t feel real to me, either, because how could you be? A-and so, I ended up blaming you for the things that I should have never blamed you for.”

You nodded, acknowledging it all, even the sleepless nights that he hadn’t told you about – he didn’t have to; the dark circles under his eyes said more than enough. You’d recognized them with ease because you’d seen them in your own mirror every morning this week.

And then you spoke, returning to the one point of your last argument that he hadn’t brought up.

The one point that may have angered you more than anything else he’d said that night.

“I didn’t agree to help you with your parents because of the company,” you said.

“I know,” he said.

Jungkook seemed to remember almost every part of that night – although, blissfully, he’d forgotten what he’d done after you’d left; there were bruises on his knuckles and his face to show for it, though – and you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

If he didn’t remember what happened, that could have been a sign that he was wasted out of his mind and that was why he’d said what he’d said. But that was a very poor excuse, considering that a drunken tongue often voiced out sober thoughts.

At least now you didn’t have to remind him of his own words – that would have made this conversation far less calm. But, at the same time, the fact that he could remember arguing with you, meant that he was sober enough to get himself in control back there. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d allowed his instincts to take the wheel: he’d won against the alcohol, but lost against his own impulses.

Taking a deep breath, you thought now was your only chance to explain your reasons for being with him because you weren’t sure how this coffee date was going to play out just yet. And if this was the last time you’d see him, he deserved to know the whole truth.

“I agreed to help you,” you said, “because you asked me to.”

Nodding before you properly finished, he said, “I know—”

“But also,” you cut him off, your voice growing louder and then falling into an almost hushed tone as you said, “because I couldn’t say no to you. Not when you were desperate to get me to say yes. I—I had been in love with you for a lot longer than—than either of us realized, probably. And, maybe, I’d also wanted to know what it’d be like to be with you.”

Admitting that you wanted to play a relationship with him felt childish, and you couldn’t lift your eyes to meet his. But, even so, it also felt relieving.

You’d said it.

You’d admitted it to yourself and to him. You’d chosen to strip down to your vulnerability, and that was difficult and bold, but it also freed you from being the only person in the world who knew this.

“And,” Jungkook exhaled shakily, “what was it like?”

You felt your lips curl into a hesitant half-smile. “Not too terrible, surprisingly.”

He laughed with his whole chest and you found yourself leaning back a little, so you could take in the sight in front of you.

A beat passed as Jungkook recovered, a small smile still on his face. Then, you dared to speak again.

“I’m sorry I always tried to take care of you,” you spoke, each word calculated. You had already thought about telling him this, so you knew you chose your words right; you just weren’t sure what sort of reception awaited you.

Jungkook gave you a long look, his eyes accepting your apology while, simultaneously, trying to tell you that it wasn’t necessary.

“I’m sorry I always asked you to,” he countered, “and then demanded that you don’t.”

You smiled. “I’m sorry I’m starting to think you need to see a therapist.”

“Yeah,” he snickered, nodding, “don’t be sorry about that one. I…” he lowered his eyes before saying, “I’m sorry I accused you of controlling me when I’m the one who never lets you make your own decisions.”

Your eyebrows did a little dance, rising in surprise at first – because he’d said something you weren’t expecting – and then lowering into a frown – after you’d digested his words and came to the conclusion that you didn’t like the way they tasted.

“No, that’s—I can stand up for myself if I have to,” you said, defending both, yourself, and him, too.

“You can,” he didn’t disagree, sighing, “really well, too. No matter how much I try to stand in your way,” he paused for a minute. Then, he said, “I can’t. Stand up for myself, I mean. I think I can, but unless I’m hitting someone in the face, I—but I’m trying. Only, I’m not doing a very good job at it, clearly.”

He stopped talking even though he’d inhaled as if he had something else left to say. You watched him, waiting and slowly realizing that he had either forgotten what he was about to say, or he thought there was no point to say it.

Neither was the case. He just needed some time to gather the words.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, “I need you. A lot. And I’m sorry about that, too. I’m sorry I rely on you so much.”

You looked away, shaking your head, “you don’t.”

“No, I do,” he disagreed. “I always go back to you. I need you in my life and then I push you away, I’m—”

“That’s what I mean,” you cut him off, your voice more frantic than before. “You don’t rely on me. You want to, but you’re holding yourself back. I’m here for you. I was always here for you.”

The sound of his rapid heartbeat deafened him for a moment and he wasn’t sure if he really spoke, or if he just thought about it, as he tried to ask, “even though I don’t deserve it?”

“You—well, sometimes, you really don’t,” you admitted, not sugarcoating it because the expression on his face needed you to be truthful. “But, at the same time, I couldn’t think of any other person who would need someone to rely on more than you do.”

Now the beating of his heart wasn’t just deafening – it was painful, too, each beat like a sharp stab that did not merely scratch the surface of every organ inside of him, but seemed to suck all oxygen out of his lungs, too.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, “and I know it would be better for me to leave. But I—well, I can’t. I… I think that maybe—uh, maybe I picked that fight with you at the bar just so you’d walk away from me.”

His hypothetical reasoning hurt almost as much as actually walking away from him did.

“What makes you think I can walk away from you?” you asked, sounding brave but only because you hid your face behind your coffee cup as you took a sip.

“You know you can,” he replied.

Lowering the cup, you phrased yourself differently, “what makes you think I would want to?”

His blood pulsed with a desperate need to hear you say that again – a dozen more times, at least – but Jungkook tried, for once, to remain rational.

He’d gone too far that night at the bar, but it gave him the opportunity to get the closure you didn’t get when you talked to him that night in your bedroom, moving past the Seven Year Silence as if it didn’t matter anymore. As if you didn’t need to talk about that ever again, even though the lost years lingered behind you like a forgotten tail that you kept tripping over each time you took your relationship a step further.

“I’m bad,” Jungkook spoke. “I’m bad for you.”

He’d said it – and that was it. He’d stepped on the tail. Purposefully this time, with scissors in hand. Only he didn’t yet know what he’d end up cutting – the past that he couldn’t seem to move on from, or himself, out of your life.

“You’re—you’re annoying as shit. Impossible sometimes, even,” you said, remembering how irritated he’d made you feel at times. And how little it mattered, at the end of the day. “But you’re not bad for me. You’re not bad, period.”

Jungkook exhaled and opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue with you further, but didn’t know how.

In the end, he didn’t think he deserved you because he thought he was too far gone, but, as you watched him, you knew that that was exactly the reason why he did deserve you. Because he only saw his flaws – always only flaws – and he refused to consider how much more of him there was.

“I never meant to hurt you. Ever,” he said, “not even when I said those stupid things—it’s all because I’m—fuck, it all just sounds like an excuse, doesn’t it? An excuse to make me feel better about staying with you despite being bad for—”

“It might sound like an excuse,” you interrupted gently, “but it’s the one part that isn’t. You’re not bad if you didn’t mean to be. You’re not bad if you’re trying to be better.”

He thought it over for a minute and then, looking up from his abandoned cup of coffee, he gave you one final excuse, “I love you. Too much, probably.”

Inhaling sharply because the confession took you off-guard, you replied with a slight tremble in your voice, “I—I love you, too. You know I do. But I don’t want that to be something that… something that you take for granted.”

That had never been his intention – which was why his stomach clenched uncomfortably after you said this – but he knew he’d been doing exactly that: treating you like you were a constant in his life. As if he’d never lost you before. As if he couldn’t lose you again.

“I know,” he said, “I didn’t mean to. We’ve already been—”

Reading his mind, you cut in, “thank you for not waiting for seven years to apologize this time.”

Jungkook had to give you a good look before he allowed himself to react. When he saw the small grin on your lips right before you took another sip of your coffee, he laughed.

“No, I’ve learnt that lesson,” he said, “I promise.”

“Just that one, then?” you bit, not cruelly.

Jungkook lowered his eyes, taking the blow in silence.

Putting your cup of coffee down, you exhaled and kindly reminded him, “you know, you, uh—you’d promised me you would think before you acted.”

“I promised to try,” he corrected, careful. “And I’m trying, really. I’ve kept my other promises to you, haven’t I? I never lied to you.”

You nodded, “sure.”

“I’m getting myself together like my father wanted,” he stated and, looking out the window of the café, he added, “but I’m not doing it for the company.”

Surprised and, consequently, alarmed, you almost didn’t want to ask him what he meant. You were afraid there was a reason – a person – that he was trying to grow up for. You were afraid he might say he was doing this for you.

Because that would mean that his determination was temporary. He’d try to behave, try to mature, try to grow but only as long as he got a reward for it. Never because that was his own goal.

“No?” you questioned lamely, your voice almost a squeal.

“No,” Jungkook confirmed, “I’m doing it so I wouldn’t lose my teeth before I’m fifty.”

Startled at first when you recognized your own words, you felt your face break into a surprised smile. Jungkook was glad you remembered.

“I’m doing it for myself,” he said then, “so I could be with you.”

You did not say anything else – but not because you had nothing left to say. In fact, it was the opposite – you had too much to say and you couldn’t choose where to start.

“I want to…” Jungkook broke the momentary silence between you but he too struggled to find the right way to begin his next sentence. Clearing his throat and straightening his posture, he tried differently, “I want you with me through everything, but only if that’s what you want, too. If it’s not, then—”

Cutting him off with an aggressive clear of your throat – you didn’t mean to, but he was spitting out his words so quickly, you couldn’t find the right moment to interrupt him – you slid to the edge of your seat and shook your head.

“I want to be with you,” you said and then added in a matter-of-fact way, “I’ve always wanted that. But I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what you need—do you need me to be with you quietly, or do you need me to say something? Do you need me to stay or do you need me to leave you alone? Do you—”

“Stay,” he said without hesitation. “I always need you to stay.”

Leave, his voice echoed in your mind, the night at the bar still painfully fresh in your memory.

“I need you to tell me that,” you said, feeling a lump in your throat, “when you feel like you’re not thinking clearly. When you want to do something so you’d get rid of all that you’ve bottled up inside. I need you to talk to me.”

“I—”

“Don’t say you will if you don’t mean it,” you warned, noticing the determined look on his face. “I don’t want for us to keep going back and forth, because I don’t like it when you tell me to leave, only to say the exact opposite later.”

Wincing, Jungkook was forced to remember how the night ended yet again. Not wanting it to turn into another tail that you never addressed, even though it obviously strained your relationship, he cleared his throat before explaining.

“I… I just don’t want you to feel like you’re wasting your time on me,” he said, “I—I know I keep saying I’ll try to get myself together and learn how to—well, be an adult, but no one knows how long that’ll take me to learn, least of all me.”

Jungkook expected you to hesitate but your response was immediate.

“I never asked you to promise me something that you didn’t believe in. And I know that our future isn’t clear,” you said with a sympathetic nod because he didn’t give you an excuse right now. He gave you an explanation. “I’ve always known that. And I’ve stayed so far, haven’t I? So… how about you don’t worry about how long it’ll take for you to grow up? Worry about the end result instead. Worry about making sure that, at the end of the day, neither of us is wasting our time, pretending to be bigger and better than we actually are. Worry about us becoming as big and as good as we’re pretending to be. However long that takes.”

“I feel like the only way to really make sure we’re not wasting our time,” he confessed, “would be for me to leave.”

Groaning in defeat, you said, “you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook needed a moment to understand why, but he got distracted by your exaggerated groan, so he just went with it, “yeah, I probably am.”

“You tell me that walking away is the right choice one more time,” you threatened, “I swear, I will punch you. And then you’ll really need stitches.”

He’d forgotten about his wounded eyebrow and the band-aid that he’d clumsily glued on it yesterday – after he accidentally ripped the wound open and didn’t want the blood to get in his eye.

Smiling now, he asked, “I thought violence wasn’t the answer?”

“You’re too thick to hear me otherwise.”

Jungkook laughed. You realized that, despite knowing him for twenty-three years now, you haven’t seen him laugh nearly enough times to get used to the sight.

“I need you, too. Okay?” you found yourself saying, hopeful that he’d really hear you this time. “A lot. And, believe me, I make it complicated for myself enough without your help—I overthink, I get scared, I hesitate, I waste my own time. But, see, I think it’s worth it. I think we’re worth it.”

He nodded, taking mental notes to ease his uncertainty about this. He had to know that being with you really wasn’t selfish on his part.

But even with your glittering eyes on him, he still needed more reassurance.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked. “I know you said I need to talk to you, I-I get that. Okay. But what do you need me to do so you wouldn’t look back at this, and think of every minute you’ve spent with me as a minute wasted?”

You didn’t have to think long about your answer.

“I need you to give yourself a break,” you told him. “You’re not something I have to “put up with”. You’re not bad for me. I need you to understand that I genuinely love you and it hurts me when you refuse to see it.”

Ready to apologize again, Jungkook suddenly stopped himself. An apology would have only been genuine if he knew what he was apologizing for – and he wasn’t sure that he did.

“I’ve never… no one’s loved me like that before,” he admitted, his eyes low.

You shook your head because that wasn’t true at all, and it was painful to know that he’d spent his whole life thinking so. He’d gotten so used to believing that he was only loved as much as he was useful, he couldn’t even see how some love was completely unconditional.

“Yes, they have,” you said, speaking slowly because you waited for him to look at you again, “your mom—she loves you much more than you see. Let her. Let me. Learn how to stop thinking of yourself as someone not worthy of love.”

“It’s—but I wasn’t always this way,” he said, not just stepping on the tail, but gripping it tightly, too. “Seven years ago. I’d been putting myself first every day before that. But that day—that last day—t-that was probably the day when I’d made the only smart decision in my life – I did the right thing by not putting myself first. I thought of you, and I walked away.”

You and him kept going in circles -- with Jungkook beating himself up for not being good enough, and then finally giving himself a moment to breathe only to return, yet again, to the loudest voice in his head: he thought he was selfish for being with you. He thought it’d be better to leave.

His mother had thought so, too, and she’d said the exact same thing to you. You’d disagreed then and you disagreed now.

“And how’d that “smart decision” work out in the end?”

“Well—”

“It obviously didn’t,” you answered for him, “or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But, you know what, you’re right about one thing – maybe the moment you overheard your mom say that she was worried about your influence on me, was exactly the moment you convinced yourself that you weren’t worth it. That you didn’t deserve to be loved unless you became exactly what you thought people wanted you to be,” you finished and Jungkook looked frozen, not daring—and not being able—to move a muscle. You felt the need to add, “so, you’re, uh—you’re right. You weren’t always this way. But this change—that wasn’t a good change. You hadn’t made a good decision. It was stupid. Walking away was stupid.”

It took him a minute to regain control of himself and when he did, he wasn’t sure what to say because, mentally, he was across the table, standing right behind you and holding you so tightly, neither of you was able to breathe.

“I was—” he said and almost choked, his mouth dry. Swallowing, he tried again, “I-I was trying to look out for you.”

“I understand your reasons,” you said, not needing him to explain it again. “Let’s say you were. But I’m not in the ninth grade anymore. You said so yourself, I can walk away. I know my limits.”

Jungkook nodded, keeping his respectful silence as he listened.

“You push them every day,” you added.

Blinking, he scrambled for a way to reply, “I—”

“And,” you weren’t done yet, “I let you know when you do. I tell you. And if you told me about what you were thinking, too, then we could work on it,” you paused, wondering if you’d said everything. Then, deciding that you hadn’t, you added, just to strengthen your point, “walking away is not the best solution. Not when it hurts more than staying.”

Jungkook feared what you would answer, but he still had to ask, “does staying with me hurt?”

Your skin prickled at the sound of his small voice.

“No,” you admitted.

“Does leaving?”

“Yes,” you said. “Always.”

Inhaling sharply, he longed to reach over the table and touch your hand, but he felt himself freeze again – as if this whole afternoon had been one dream, and he was now paralyzed: his mind awake, but his body still asleep.

“Come to my show this Friday night,” he finally asked, his breathing shallow while his words poured out of his mouth in an uncontrollable stream, “fight me and punch me if I’m wrong. Argue with me and completely shatter whatever was left of my ego after I fell in love with you. Leave me by myself if you’ve had too much. Walk away if you need some time to breathe while I learn how to be better. But always come back to me,” pausing because he needed one more moment to brace himself before saying this again, he asked, “stay with me, please.”

keep reading | masterlist

[sariahsue]

A Cat of Their Own - Ch 1

Sabine checked her phone again in anxiety. There hadn't been an akuma attack in the last two days, which meant that one would begin any second. She'd been telling herself that every few minutes since breakfast. Tom was playing video games with Marinette, hunched forward over his controller. He was supposed to be getting information out of her, but it didn't look like he was trying too hard. Sabine watched them while she stirred the soup. Steam rose off the surface in faint curls and twists.

The phone screen lit up, and she grabbed it. An emergency alert. An akuma had been spotted. Civilians were advised to shelter in place until Ladybug and Cat Noir had dealt with the problem.

It was the same message that she'd read dozens of times (and ignored more often than that), but now it made her mind numb with fear. But she had to go through with their plan.

"Oh, there's another akuma attack." Her voice sounded hollow and forced. To her dismay, Marinette immediately paused her game and turned around, eyebrows pinched with concern.

"Where is it?"

"Parc Montsouris," Sabine said. "I just got the text."

Marinette looked out the window, her face steely, game controller forgotten next to her. Tom and Sabine shared a worried glance.

"Dinner won't be ready for another half hour," Sabine said, then took a deep breath to keep her voice from shaking. This was the most important stage of the plan. "Did you finish all your homework?" Please. Please, say yes. 

"Oh, uh, now that you mention it, I do remember that I forgot to do something." Marinette waved goodbye quickly, then bolted up her stairs, letting the trapdoor thump loudly behind her. Sabine came to sit next to Tom, soup completely abandoned.

"It's looking likely," he said. Sabine could only nod. Her fingers were cold, and she flexed them to try to bring life back to them, but it didn't help. Her whole body felt numb, and she wondered if she would actually go into shock.

Tom reached for the remote and switched to the news. Cat Noir flitted across the screen, fighting a giant frog monster by himself. He jumped off window ledges and rolled across the empty street to avoid a steady stream of some type of red projectile.

The camera was far away, and the angle was bad so it was difficult to tell, but he looked like a teenager himself. He was thin and lanky, like he was in the middle of a growth spurt.

"We could still be wrong," Tom said.

Nod.

Ladybug swung into view amid scattered applause. Cat Noir dodged a jet of steaming red goo that shot out of the akuma's wide mouth and shouted hello to his partner. She waved back, her cheerfulness jarring against the backdrop of the fight and Sabine's own dread.

"Do you want me to check?" Tom asked.

She couldn't even nod. The screen had her transfixed. She barely registered the shift of the sofa and the creak of the floorboards under his footsteps.

Tom reached the top of the stairs. "Marinette?" No answer. He knocked on the trapdoor, and it sounded hollow. "Marinette?"

Sabine closed her eyes as the trapdoor creaked open and Tom's footsteps disappeared into their daughter's room.

Faint screams and gasps from the television filled the room while Sabine sat and waited, holding her breath. She didn't even hear Tom come back down.

"She's not there," he said, sitting down next to her and grabbing her hand. "And the skylight's propped open."

She squeezed back tightly. "That basically confirms it," Sabine finally said. "Our daughter is Ladybug."

Tom sighed. "Yeah."

On the screen, reporters were running for shelter, hiding behind cars and in recessed doorways, Cat Noir was yelling at civilians to stay out of the way, and bright red puddles sizzled on the cracked pavement.

"What are we going to do?" Sabine asked. "How did this even happen?"

The questions she wanted to ask were why Marinette had never told them, and how could they have not noticed for so long? How was Sabine supposed to keep her own child safe?

The camera shook as the crew set up again, much farther away, but Sabine wished they could do one closeup shot of Ladybug's face. Maybe they'd made a mistake. One good look at her face, and Sabine would be able to prove herself wrong about the superheroine's identity.

The battle had looked fine up close, but from a distance it didn't look like it was going well. The super duo was on the defensive and having a hard time avoiding the frog's goo. The akuma had covered most of the available surfaces already, so they had fewer and fewer places to safely land. Ladybug hung from a lamppost. Cat Noir was just above her, perched on top of the light her yoyo was connected to.

The cameraman crept closer and closer, finally stopping when he was a mere twenty feet from the fight, and Ladybug yelled at him. Sabine squinted at the television, but the image changed too fast, focusing instead on the monster. It was a little smaller than a car. Its muscles rippled as it stalked toward the two heroes.

"We should turn this off," Tom said, though he made no move for the remote. "She's going to be fine."

"No, I need to watch."

They flinched and gasped for the next few minutes, and Sabine shrieked when Ladybug slipped and got hit in the chest. It knocked her to the ground, but she sprung back up before Cat Noir could reach her, even though he ran at top speed, ignoring the spray aimed for him and almost getting hit himself.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine just... Ugh! Gross!"

"You could say you're in a sticky situation," Cat Noir said, before laughing loudly at his own joke and his partner's predicament. Sabine's heart was still pounding as she clamped down on Tom's hand.

Ladybug's face tightened with the effort of holding in her laughter, then scooped a bunch of the stuff off her stomach and reached to touch him. Thick strands of it hung off her fingers.

"Oh no, not slime!" Cat Noir jumped back, dodging both Ladybug and the akuma, who shot another mouthful at them. "Slime! Whatever will I do?"

Tom pulled Sabine closer. "Well, it doesn't look like a very dangerous one."

She was sure he was trying to reassure himself as much as her, but she wasn't having any of it. "They should be taking this threat seriously," she said. "If they're overconfident..." She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, so it hung in the room along with her dread.

Sabine was unfortunately right to worry. The frog reared back on its hind legs and came down on the street so hard it cracked the pavement, letting out a wide stream of the goo. Ladybug, still distracted with teasing her partner, didn't react fast enough. Cat Noir did, and he jumped forward fast enough to shield her, though he got a faceful of slime. He spat it out on the ground while Sabine and Tom leaned forward in their seats, desperate to know if he was all right.

Ladybug just patted him on the back and laughed while he wiped his face with both hands.

"See?" Tom said. "See? He's fine. They're both fine."

"That thing can break pavement. What if it had landed on them?"

But the atmosphere changed as their daughter laughed with her friend. They seemed so earnest in their amusement and maybe even relaxed. The voices of the onlookers and reporters changed in response, becoming less strained. A few people laughed along with them.

The news report itself even changed. Cat Noir tried smearing the goo on a camera as a warning when it got too close, smiling the whole time, while Ladybug rolled her eyes at his antics.

Her parents watched their exchange in interest. Despite the levity they were injecting into the fight, Cat Noir was obviously still very protective of their daughter, which they were both grateful for. He pushed her out of the way of another jet of slime when she was distracted by her own Lucky Charm, and he didn't hesitate to continue fighting without her while she took a few minutes to set up a trap for the monster. They didn't miss the adoration on his face as he watched her.

Ladybug – Marinette – was protective of her partner too. When the monster got too close to him, she would yell out a warning. When it landed on top of him with another sickening crack, she dropped the trap she was crafting and leapt forward to wrench the monster off of him. To anyone else, Ladybug still looked calm and in control, but to her parents, they saw the panic that briefly flashed across her face when she realized her partner might be hurt.

That delay made the fight take a little longer than it might otherwise have been. At the end, Ladybug dashed off, hand over an earring. Cat Noir waved at her as she left, a hesitant smile on his face, then turned and comforted the frog victim, who was now nothing more than a disheveled and confused-looking man in his fifties.

"She'll be coming home soon," Tom said. "Should we go up there and wait for her?"

"Not yet," Sabine said.

The reporters were trying to get close again, no doubt to interview Cat Noir and the latest victim. The poor man looked shaken, and Cat Noir did his best to shield him from the reporters, finally picking him up and carrying him away.

"We need to talk to her about this," Tom said.

They fought against impossible odds with laughter, though they were both just children. And Cat Noir cared about their daughter so much, that was plain. How deep did that go?

"We need to talk to him too," she said.

Read Chapter Two

***

Author’s note: This is a reblogging of an old thing that I originally posted two years ago. I’ve altered it slightly. (Content-wise, nothing is different.) If you’re curious, the original can be found here.

Chapter two is almost completely done, and I think chapter three is in okay shape, so hopefully those updates will both be next week. 

@tbehartoo​ @redhoodsdoll @salsyy301 @lunadensmidnightprowl