#dood I wish someone would do this for me

[basu-shokikita]

Skwisgaar Skwigelf can f🎸ck with your head

Inspired by @mirrorshards's suggestion to make a certain video I showed her about Skwisgaar and Toki, I’m posting this silly drabble I wrote. Original will be linked after the drabble ‘cause I don’t wanna spoil.

Thank you @triplefaggot for the screenshot edit 😚

Have some Scandinavian shenanigans!

“Stops, just stops.” Skwisgaar said without any emotion in his voice. “Comes here.”

Toki swallowed heavily, releasing the grip on his guitar. With insecure steps, he walked out of the booth, where Skwisgaar was waiting for him on the couch. As well as the rest of the band…and Knubbler.

They were in the middle of recording a new album and this week, especially, was dedicated to the rhythms section. After watching Murderface get chewed out for not learning his parts, Toki had spent the whole night practicing in panic. At the very least he couldn’t afford to be as pathetic as Murderface, who most of the time didn’t even know where the chords were. 

He had to do better.

Problem is, he had no idea if his efforts had given any fruit as Skwisgaar’s expression was more inscrutable than the guitar resting on his lap. Nathan and Pickles had adopted a completely laissez-faire attitude. As far as they were concerned, Toki was Skwisgaar’s responsibility and they didn’t want anything to do with it. Knubbler looked almost bored, his face resting on his hand, awaiting for Skwisgaar’s verdict. 

With deliberate slowness, Skwisgaar folded his hands in front of his face, as in deep thought. His eyes bore into Toki’s and it felt like they were piercing his soul. He would’ve felt naked standing there for Skwisgaar to watch, if it wasn’t for his guitar shielding him.

“You says you prackstickeds last nites, ja?”

“J-Ja.”

A few seconds of silence.

“Amazings.” Skwisgaar mumbled and Toki wasn’t sure he had heard him right, though he didn’t dare to ask him to repeat. 

Weakly, he cleared his throat. “Um…?”

“Toki,” Skwisgaar put his hands down. “I has a massive problemks with yous playingks today.”

Feeling like someone had thrown a rock down his stomach, Toki looked down and braced himself.

“And its dat I wish you playeds like dis before.” 

Toki raised his eyes, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “Skwisgaar!”

“Because if you hads,” Skwisgaar continued. “Dens I would knows yous playingks ams gonna be mines cause of deaths.”

“Oh…” Toki lowered his eyes again. “Sorries…”

“And by cause of deaths, ams talkingks abouts Obituaries’ Cause of Deaths.” Skwisgaar said. 

Obituary, the band? Like, the ones that made the classic death metal album Cause of Death? Was Skwisgaar praising him?!

Toki couldn’t help the excitement drumming in his chest, that Skwisgaar had compared his playing to such a quintessential part of death metal history. “Thank y-”

“You knows how the bassists’ cause of death was cancers?!” Skwisgaar interrupted him.

Okay, now he really was lost. “Skwisgaar,” He scratched his head in confusion. “I don’ts knows if you ams insultingks me or nots.”

“Oh you don’ts?” Skwisgaar stood up, seemingly infuriated. “Okej, den lets puts it simples and easies: packs your shits, dildos, yous off de bands!”

“Whats?!” Toki squeaked, feeling a rush of blood to his head.

“Whoa!” Nathan was just as shocked.

“Skwisgaar, th’ts a bit too much…” Pickles tried to calm him down.

Skwisgaar ignored his bandmates and kept talking. “Because you shoulds be playingks in de best bands in de worlds!” He opened his arms effusively.

Although still recovering from the previous shock, the words moved Toki. “Oh, Skwisgaars, dat ams…”

“Aren’t we the bescht band in the world?” Murderface intervened.

“Quiet, Willy.” Knubbler silenced him.

“Just nots any worlds dat ams in.” Skwisgaar crossed his arms, staring down at Toki. 

“Am really confused here, dood.”

“Yeah, me too.”

It was comforting in a way for Toki to know the others were just as puzzled as him, but he was still on the receiving end of the lecture. “Alls do betters…” He muttered with closed eyes.

“Because, honestlies, Tokes, ams jealous of you.” Skwisgaar said.

Toki’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets. “You ams?!”

“And yours totals refusals to cares abouts yous playingks.” He took a step closer towards Toki. “Dis ams not fits for humans ears, noes, dis shoulds be listeneds by gods what has mores sophistikateds ears and infinites kindness to save humans from playingks likes dis!”

Toki was barely registering the words anymore, his head was spinning, he felt dizzy, like he was caught somewhere between a dream and a nightmare. Well, maybe it was the fact that he stayed overnight practicing so he had had little rest. Maybe he had fallen asleep mid practicing and this was nothing but an illusion? Maybe he never left his bed this morning? Maybe this wasn’t happening?

“If you dieds now, dens you wouldnts has to lives a lives whats you never does betters dan todays.” Skwisgaar said, though none of those words made any goddamn sense.

“T-Thanks you, Skwisgaar…” Toki managed to stutter before collapsing on the floor.

The rest of the band watched his unconscious body as a less than impressed Knubbler went to get the Klokateers. Their faces denoted something between slight concern and total indifference.

“Well, you knocked the kid out, Skwisgaar.” Pickles finally spoke. “Ya happy now?”

“Uh, he looks dead.” Nathan commented with a grimace.

“He ams gonna be fines.” Skwisgaar waved a dismissive hand before letting his weight flop back on the couch.

“I’m gonna draw dicksch on hisch fasche.” Murderface announced, producing a sharpie out of his pockets.

“Will ya stop thinkin’ about dicks for a second?” Pickles gestured at Nathan to help him get Toki off the floor. 

“What? He totally did the schame thing to me lascht time I pasched out!”

“That was different.” Nathan argued. “You deserved it.”

“What?!”

“Whet were ya tryin’ to tell him, anyway?” Pickles stared at Skwisgaar in exasperation.

Skwisgaar, who had started fretting from boredom, stopped. “I thoughts it ams was obviousk.”

Pickles and Nathan gave each other glances before looking back at Skwisgaar. “No?” They said in unison.

Skwisgaar shrugged, fingers back on the strings. “It was just okejs.”

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

If you recognized the skit this is from, bless your heart, and if not, here you go:

Congratulations, now you understand my elaborated shitpost

[toomuchzozo]

Doctor Strange VS Weirdmageddon, The Interquel

In the fight for Gravity Falls, a lot happened between Doctor Strange’s arrival and Strange capturing Bill Cipher.

THE BEGINNING You are at THE MIDDLE THE END

Bill and Strange’s first fight ends with Ford trying to shoot Bill like in canon.

And it hits Bill in his hat, but it also nearly hits Strange between the legs.

Like in canon, Bill turns Ford into a gold statue. Strange searches for something or someone that could help him, and he’s drawn to Mabeland. He gets into Mabeland and initially, he doesn’t meet much resistance. After he surveys things...

Strange: "I think I would be better off in Westview."

Since he’s gotten to Mabeland before the others, he tries to talk to Mabel.

Mabel: “Are you the Invisible Wizard?!” Strange: “Wh—no. First of all, I’m a sorcerer. ”

Strange finds he can’t reason with Mabel. Strange realizes that she needs her brother to convince her. While he searches for a way out, Mabeland tries to fulfill Strange’s deepest desire.

He gets a chance to save his sister, the thing he has wished for since it happened.

But he doesn’t take it. No matter how bad it hurts.

After the experience, Strange knows now he has to return Mabel and her trapped friends to reality. He shows up as a lawyer for the “Reality” side of Mabel’s trial of “Fantasy VS Reality.” When Mabel sees how much Strange wanted to help his sister, she realizes just how much Dipper wants to help her.

Mabel’s reign and control over Mabeland is undone by her giving Dipper a sincere hug. Strange helps Mabel, Dipper, Soos and Wendy escape Mabeland as it falls apart. Once they make it out safely, Strange says he knows that together, Dipper and Mabel can defeat Bill.

Strange follows the others to the Mystery Shack, where Stan has taken in a group of survivors. With Strange’s help, Dipper and Mabel rally the survivors to fight against Bill. As they prepare to convert the Shack into a robot, Strange looks over Stan’s merchandise.

Strange: “Is that…knockoff Avengers merchandise?” Stan: "I'll have you know I paid good money for those Catpan Amrica t-shirts!"

As the Shacktron nears completion, Strange gives Mabel some sort of shield magic item that she affectionately dubs a hamster ball.

Mabel yells as she rolls into a mock battle. Strange: "What...have I done?"

Soon, it’s the night before the attack on Bill’s Fearamid. Strange gets some rest. Even in the safety of the Shack, Bill enters Strange's mind… and Strange's mind is something he could never prepare for.

Strange and Bill prepare to face off within the former's mind. Bill: "You might have home advantage, Doc. But it's still just you and me in here." Strange: "No. It's not." "What do you mean it's-" Bill goes silent as a roar echoes around the dreamscape. Strange: "You didn't think they were called Inner Demons metaphorically, did you?"

Doctor Strange and Bill fight in Strange’s mind. Eventually, the fight devolves into Bill poking Strange’s three eyes. He manages to steal Strange’s third eye.

Bill: “This is why I stick with one eye, b--!”

Strange pokes Bill’s eye…with magic.

Bill's experience in Strange's mind ends with Strange trying to perform surgery on Bill after binding him somehow.

When he wakes up, Strange has a new third eye. Soos pokes Strange’s third eye.

Strange: “My eye! Soos…! Why would you do that?” Soos: “Sorry, dood. It just looks so weird. I didn’t know if it was real.”

It appears that Weirdmageddon, somehow, has ended. All that’s left of Bill Cipher is a statue. Doctor Strange tells the Pines what happened: he fought Bill inside his head and won. Ford offers to use the Memory Gun on Strange, and mentions the chance Strange's memory could be restored after the fact - just without Bill in it. But Strange doesn't want to take the risk, especially with his photographic memory.

[ljpaul95]

thought dump

Am I really in my own space if I live with my family? I noticed that I have been depressed since I came back home. I still lean towards traveling and having a purpose to travel. What have been on my mind lately is how all of our lives we have been around people every single day in school.. and all of a sudden we aren't around people anymore. I think I have been used to doing stuff with them and having to challenge myself to do better than my peers, which is crazy to me cuz I have never felt this alone. Last night, I dreamt that Michael Scott from fucking The Office was in love with me and did absolutely everything to let his charm be seen. In my dream, I had already have a boyfriend but in my dream it was another guy and I think that other guy was someone familiar. I had to take a breath for this. I think I love being babied by someone. Dood has his own love language but in all reality, I think I do like feeling seen and genuinely being cared for with its just us in this world and no one else conversation. Top of that, a plan. Dood and I do not have plans for anything. We have wishes like I do want to travel with him and fucking.. have the NEED to live with him. I do miss having to feed myself and knowing myself, I am able to cook for myself and tend to myself. Here, I am living in my parent's house; therefore, feel that I eat what they eat and isolate myself in my room and do whatever the fuck I do alone and feel alone. I have never felt so depressed in my life even though I should be grateful of things. Taking a breather is a must. There are a lot of shit I could've done as a human being yet I feel like a dog chained on a fucking leash and my job doesn't do jack shit but here I am imagining or even manifesting to win a lottery or even have Mr. Beast's money to do anything, and even then is when everyone that turns from me will look at me like I am a God when I ever even do have that kind of money and even then I will feel alone. I would still spend that shit but look at how far I have gone with money and still feel like I haven't gone the whole world in my room and not feel like it's enough. We always want more as humans. Nothing is ever really enough but what is more important and wish for more is that we have eachother. I can't even imagine how my mom felt when I came back home and my mom saw me after a year tho. I can't believe I wrote all of this and my point is I miss my friends and having friends that I get to do stuff with throughout the fucking day and laughing and having a good time and God am I fucking lonely :)) at least I am able to game with my friends towards the night. And writing is actually helping me calm down. Fucking hell, life dude. I really want to leave town so bad just to have something to do outside of town and fucking.. idk.. I'm always trusting in what God's next plan is for me, but I myself don't like to wait. I hate this sm. OK bye :D I think I'm back. Idk.

[mateidontevenknow]

ONESHOT ALERT

Fandom: Harry Potter

Ship: Charlie Weasley x OC (Fem)

Self bondage gone wrong gone right...

It was the tenth of December and Beatrice was excited. Lately, she had been experimenting with self-bondage.

At first she kept it simple, with a few ropes or belts around her legs, keeping them together. She could easily get out but she still enjoyed it. Next it turned into crotch ropes. Those became her favorites. Finally she attempted chest harnesses. She enjoyed the feeling of rope digging into her skin. If she was feeling good, she'd add a vibrator into the mix.

She avoided her arms, paranoid that something would go wrong. She made sure to keep those free at all times. Until one Friday night when she felt brave. Charlie would be gone for a few hours at a work celebration dinner. This was the perfect opportunity.

It was cold tonight, the grass covered in an inch of snow. So she lit up the fireplace before starting with her project. She sat down on her favorite blue chair, with rope, an armbinder, a blanket, nippleclamps and her two toys. She had her wand for just in case.

She stripped, carefully taking off each piece of clothing, before sitting back down with her toys and some lube. She coated a big dildo in lube, before teasing the rim of her asshole with it. She gasped at the cold medium.

She slowly pushed it inside, a moan escaping her as it pressed up against her. It wouldn't go all the way in, but she had a way to fix that. This was one of her larger toys and she could feel as it stretched her open.

Then she took her egg vibrator, coating it in lube before gently pushing it into her tight hole. She pressed it up right against her sweet spot. She shivered at the cold lube. She stood up quickly, clenching down on the dildo to keep it in place.

She grabbed a rope from the small table. She threaded it through in between her legs before doubling back to secure it tightly to her waist. The rope pressed up into her, forcing both toys up even further. She could barely walk.

She flopped back down into her chair, moaning as the dildo was forced up into her. She grabbed some rope. Starting at her ankles, she started tying her legs together. Her ankles were followed by her calves, knees and thighs, before she tied it to the rope. She snorted as she added a rubber band around her big toes. She started on her chest harness, the red rope framing her breasts beautifully, while still wrapping tightly around her.

She had some rope left, so she started decorating herself in the pretty red rope. A rope went just underneath her ass, lifting it up nicely. Another wrapped around her neck, just tight enough to grab her attention. And after adding a thick rope belt to her waist she was satisfied.

She attached the clamps, letting them pinch her sensitive nipples. She took a sharp breath. She grabbed the vibrator's remote before putting it on a low but very noticeable setting. It buzzed away as she carefully slipped her arms into the tight leather armbinder, securing them behind her.

She concentrated, using magic to wrap the blanket snuggly around her, tucking it into the rings of rope around her neck, covering every last bit of her bondage. She smiled at her work, before relaxing completely, enjoying the bondage around her. She looked up at the clock, it was 19:15. Eh, she'd enjoy it until ten.

There she sat for the next few hours, with nipple clamps digging into her skin, a dildo stretching her out and a vibrator buzzing away, all while she was unable to move a muscle. It drove her crazy. Her holes were becoming extremely sensitive, giving the vibrator so much more power over her. It edged her on, teasing her for hours. She could imagine her red swollen hole.

She was panting, listening to her own pathetic sounds as the vibrator edged her. Her legs were trembling as she grew wetter and wetter.

Eventually the clock hit ten and she decided it was time to end her little paradise. But after trying a few times, it dawned on her. She couldn't concentrate long enough to summon her wand and she couldn't move an inch. The table was right there, but she couldn't do anything. Her only hope was to wait for Charlie.

She trusted Charlie and he would probably think it's hot, but this was not how she pictured him finding out about her new hobby.

Suddenly she knew what true helplessness felt like. And she adored every second of it. Knowing that she cannot escape drove her mad and suddenly her situation was so much more erotic.

A few hours past, a few hours of moaning and whimpering at the constant vibrations. She was trapped and she loved it.

Beatrice was too out of it to hear the lock click and the door swing open. And she didn't see Charlie as he walked through the threshold, he had heard her.

He walked into the living room to find his roommate and FWB in complete ecstacy on her chair. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure, her jaw slack and her tongue hanging out of her mouth. He grinned. He was right. He had suspected this for a while now. After finding some rope, leather and a gag, he connected the dots, but he decided to wait until she was ready to tell him. He had tried to catch her in the act multiple times before, but she had been to quick in the past.

He flicked his wand and the blanket vanished, exposing her tied body to him. He walked towards her before crouching down beside the chair. His hand moved down towards her legs, his hand caressed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

"You look gorgeous like this, darling. What did I do to deserve you?"

He kissed her, letting Beatrice moan into his mouth. He pulled away before taking off his jacket and going upstairs, leaving her in her predicament. He got a gag and a blindfold from the small drawer in her wardrobe, before going back downstairs.

He slipped the blindfold over her eyes before securing the ball gag behind her teeth. She was trembling as the pleasure coursed through her. He grabbed the remote before turning it off. She whined through the gag, begging for more.

"You sound pathetic."

The amusement was clear in his voice. He turned the vibrator back on, picking a higher level. Her pussy was red and swollen, clearly overworked. She came in only a few seconds, groaning loudly as she did. He switched it off after her high and got to work.

He removed the nipple clamps first. Next he untied the rope around her neck and torso, freeing her arms from the armbinder briefly, before using rope to secure her arms in a boxtie. Then he took off the crotch rope, followed shortly by the vibrator and the dildo. He kept her legs bound and her arms in the boxtie while he removed the rest.

Beatrice was beyond confused, thankful but confused. They had never used serious bondage before, usually only using a pair of wrist cuffs, so why on Earth was he so calm about this? And why did he keep her arms and legs bound?

She felt as he picked her up, but it was impossible to know where he was going until she was gentle put down in warm water, she was in the bath tub. He crouched beside her and grabbed the shampoo bottle, putting a big blob on her head and gently massaging it into her hair.

"Cheatah..."

She mumbled through the gag. Charlie only laughed at her. He had tricked her into letting him take care of her. He loved taking care of her in any way he could. He loved washing and brushing her hair, helping her put on lotion and sunscreen, working out the knots in her stiff back after a long day, cleaning her always-dirty reading glasses and literally anything else he could do for her.

While Beatrice enjoyed the attention, she never thought herself worthy of all his pampering. She always tried to stop him, up to the point where he had to get creative. It had turned into a game for him, a game he usually won. And today was no different.

He washed her hair and scrubbed her down with a sponge, ignoring her protests. He wrapped her in a warm towel before taking her to their bedroom. He braided her wet hair and removed the rest of the ropes leaving only the gag and the blindfold. She didn't bother trying to take them off as he'd just tie up her arms again.

He turned off the light before bringing her down onto the bed and laying her down beside him. He finally took off the blindfold and then the gag.

"You can come at me all you like, but we both know I'm not going to stop."

Beatrice kissed him on the cheek.

"I know."

[mochinek0]

Daminette December 2022: 10-Ambush (PART 1)

Marinette was having a difficult time getting her art project done. You would think it would be easy. Her problem? She was on her tippy-toes trying to get the book she desperately needed from the library. She was just about to jump and try to grab it, when she felt herself be boxed in. Someone else had grabbed the book. Marinette turned to thank the person and found herself in Damian Wayne's chest.

"Th-Thank you?" she spoke, reaching for the book.

Damian kept the book, just out of her reach.

"Art class assignment?" he questioned.

"Yes." Mari smiled.

"You swear you saw Damian Wayne come in here?"

"I swear!"

"Why would Damian come in here? Only nerds go in here!"

"Damian has the highest grades!"

"Damian Wayne isn't a nerd!"

"Once we start dating, you'll see!"

Damian sighed. Marinette quickly pulled him close by his tie and threw her arms around his neck. Damian dropped the book, as he grabbed the bookcase and his other arm around her waist, stopping her from falling under his weight.

'Was I wrong about her?'

"You-" he hissed.

"Shhhh!" she hushed back.

Damian heard the girls shriek behind them. He was sure they appeared to be in a compromising position.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Who the hell is that bitch?"

"I thought he was single!"

"Hey, all of you need to leave, now!"

"But-"

"Now! No shouting and no innapropriate language! If you don't leave, you'll be headed to the Principal's Office instead!"

Damian leaned away the moment he heard their footsteps walking further away. He looked down to see Marinette blushing and looking at the floor.

'So she couldn't handle her own actions?'

Damian smirked, "I wasn't expecting to get ambushed by a classmate."

Marinette quickly looked up. He was able to see her cheeks had turned bright red and so had the tips of her ears.

"So-sorry!" she squeaked, "I just wanted to help. They didn't see me so they'll just assume you are dating someone and back off."

'Not taking advantage of the situation? If I remember correctly, she's had trouble with other girls for not acting like them. She doesn't like crowds or lies. She is honest, herself.'

Damian boxed her back in and tilted her chin up so he could get a better look at her.

"Except, I'm not a liar." he whispered, "How about we work on the assignment together?"

"O-Otay!-Kay!Kay" Marinette stammered, "I meant okay!"

"What are you looking for in your report?" Damian questioned.

"Um, I mostly work in fashion design. So lots of cloth, fabrics, textures, dyes, history." Marinette explained.

"For example, how they use to paint with eggshell powder and berries?" he asked.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, "What kind did they use to dye clothes? How did they know how much to use? Art helps move culture around so much and no one realizes it."

Damian smirked, "My mother use to give me paint palettes. After some time, I believe she made them herself, but I never asked. It didn't matter at the time, but now that she's gone, I wish I had asked her where she got them. Paint in tubes don't come close to what I'm use to."

Marinette smiled, "Do you still paint?"

The Wayne heir nodded.

"May I ask what kind?" she questioned.

"Realistic, mostly." Damian spoke, "I painted Mother recently, but something is not quite right. I have put it to the side for now."

"Is it an older memory?" Marinette asked, "If it is, maybe try to paint something you remember more. Something more recent you remember of her. It might help you figure out what your other painting is missing."

Damian thought of Talia and the last time he saw her. There was fire, blood, smoke. She looked invincible. He could practically smell the metal and taste the ash in his mouth. He quickly put that thought away for later.

TAG LIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @meme991001 @vixen-uchiha @abrx2002 @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @animegirlweeb @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus

[its-really-dry]

what if... y/n was in the elevator with kate and yelena? part 2

500(&20) BARISTAS ALREADY???? DOOD AM I LIKE FAMOUS???? im a few weeks late but whatever oMg thank you guys so much im acc abt to cry wth 😭

soz i haven't been so active, ive been hella busy but yall deserve this so here is something to celebrate 😗💕💅

had to tag the besties tho - @adi06lena @yelenabemylova @wandaspov @tashakink @mymommawanda

[ kate and yelena are fighting in the office building and y/n runs as fast as they can down the hall to them and hears grunts and groans ]

y/n: oh my gosh stop it you two!

kate & yelena: *freezes in place*

y/n: this is total unacceptable behaviour! why would you trash this whole office?

kate: *looks down in embarrassment*

yelena: *sighs*

y/n: you're not 8 year olds! you are grown adults, and even 8 year olds have more decency than this!

kate: sorry

y/n: "sorry" isn't gonna get this place cleaned up

yelena: but-

y/n: no. clean this up. right now

kate & yelena: fine

[ after the girls clean up, y/n tells them to pull out a chair and sit in a circle ]

y/n: let's start off by telling me what your names are?

yelena: my name is yelena belova

kate: kate bishop

y/n: well that is a good start. my name's y/n y/l/n. now, why don't you tell me what's going on between the both of you?

kate: yelena here is tryna kill my best friend and colleague, clint!

y/n: *eyes widen* are you foreal?

yelena: *nods* yes, it is my mission

y/n: TO KILL SOMEONE?

yelena: of course

kate: *is sad*

y/n: *is angry* WHAT DO YOU MEAN "of course" ??? THAT IS NOY SOMETHING TO BE SO RELAXED ABOUT! YOU CAN GET PUT IN JAIL FOR THAT!

yelena: no i can't

y/n: *looks to kate* is she like, missing a screw or something?

kate: multiple, probably

yelena: i will not get caught because i am a trained assassin

y/n: wait, you are trained?

yelena: yes. though it is a long story i wish not to share

y/n: that's alright

kate: WHAT?

y/n: calm down kate, i need to hear all sides of the story! im not a biased person. now tell me yelena, why do you have to kill clint, what's the purpose of your mission?

yelena: do bring the deserved justice to my sister

y/n: so you think by killing clint, it'll make you feel better?

yelena: *thinks about it* well, no, but it will give him a taste of his own medicine

y/n: clint killed your sister?

yelena:

kate: clint never killed natasha, yelena. she let go. he wanted to jump but she wouldn't let him-

yelena: SHUT UP KATE BISHOP! YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!

y/n: hey! don't shout yelena

yelena: NO! BECAUSE KATE BISHOP DOESN'T KNOW THAT! SHE WAS NEVER THERE!

kate: i didn't have to be there to know that clint never killed natasha! he isn't like that! why would he kill his best friend? i know clint, and i know how he acts

yelena: i thought i knew dreykov, and look at me now!

y/n: hold on. are the clint and natasha you two are going on about, the same clint and natasha im thinking of?

kate: the avengers? yeah

y/n: no way! wait so you're a hawkeye?

kate: technically, yes

y/n: and you're natasha romanoffs sister?

yelena: *nods*

y/n: oh. i see the problem here, vormir?

kate:

yelena:

y/n: right. yelena, have you ever thought to yourself, "maybe i should ask clint what actually happened instead of believing what others say" ?

yelena: i don't need to. i already know what he did

y/n: how could you, if you were never there? using your logic with kate, you could never have a solid answer because you weren't there next to clint, watching it happen. because if you were there, i know, you would know, that clint was torn. you probably would have fought both of them, so you could be the one to jump

[ both kate and yelena are shocked at y/n's sayings and yelena stands up out of her chair ]

yelena: you speak very wise words y/n y/l/n. i will take your observations into consideration and put the mission on hold

y/n: that's good to hear

kate: oMg thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! *hugs y/n*

y/n: oof. hahaha you're welcome! now, how about we all go out for drinks? enjoy the time?-

[ loud bang ]

y/n: WHAT WAS THAT???

yelena: bozhe moy

kate: shoot. it's the trackuit mafia

y/n: THE MAFIA?

kate: shhhhhhh. *pulls y/n down* no that's just the name of the gang

y/n: GANG?

kate & yelena: SHHHHHH

y/n: *whispers* sorry

clint: if i were really one of the tracks, i would've found you and shot you already

kate: CLINT?

clint: in the flesh

yelena: clinton barton

clint: belova. oh hey there new kid

kate: that's y/n

y/n: heyyyy

clint: nice to meet you *shakes y/n's hand*

y/n: so, yelena, are we still thinking about murdering mr barton?

yelena: not for justice, but for other reasons

kate: *is annoyed*

y/n: *sighs* yelena

yelena: i was kidding! can't you americans take a joke?

clint: not ones about murdering individuals

kate: *snickers* "individuals" such an old man

yelena: i call people individuals, does that, in turn, mean you are calling me an old man kate bishop?

kate: *is scared* NO

y/n: you both need to stop bickering!

kate & yelena: sorry

clint: wow. that's a fine art you got there!

y/n: why thank you. now, whoever you guys are fighting, hurry up with it or we will miss our reservations!

kate, clint & yelena: you made reservations!?

y/n: yeah?

yelena: where exactly?

y/n: you'll see. now go, quickly beacuse- *throws telephone at a tracksuit* they have found you're where abouts

[ clint, yelena and kate all turn around at where the now unconscious gang member is laying, in shock ]

clint: how the hell did you see him!?

y/n: *shrugs* just a feeling. NOW GO!

[that-banana-headed-bovine]

My main man Michael Knight for character bingo!!!!

AYYY- This one's interesting really, especially because Season 2 Michael is basically,, an entirely different entity? As in, he's reached the end of his character arc and is actually a really, really nice dood. So I had to use two types of bingos, and I'll explain it further below. Here's the original post BTW.

If you can't read the image, don't worry, I'll say all the marked squares below. If you can, let me know if there is anything I can do to make it more legible next time--I mean, obviously, the squares are covered up, but I mostly mean with the colors. I almost used red and green, and then I remembered that, oh yeah, that really sucks for colorblindness. Now the saturation is still about the same, but anything much lighter or darker is less legible??? So yeah, any recommendations on that welcome.

Let's start with the reds, or Definite opinions.

They are soooo cool looking!

I dressed up as Michael Knight for Halloween a few years back, even though I wasn't fully sold on him as a character yet at that point. I was still healing from Season 1 (half kidding) ... but I did it because he is such a Vibe. Seriously, I felt so alive it wasn't even funny AISHDOAS- my final form /j

Michael is, aesthetically at least, literally everything I want to be (other than. y'know. male,,,). Immaculate. MUAH! He really does feel like a California Cowboy of sorts... and leather jackets are a gift to mankind by the way. I especially love how, in his classic leather jacket + red polo outfit at least, he coordinates with Kitt. So cute haodh

Wasted potential

I've been having a bit of a moral dilemma recently when it comes to the way I engage in this fandom, so I want to disclose fully here that, in real life, I don't think a robot can be on the same level of sentience as a human. Perhaps, as tech evolves, there will be AIs that are really, REALLY good at replicating it... but that won't be real. We're just people after all. We can develop really cool technology, and that's all great, but we shouldn't be trying to play God and think we can make actual life. We can't.

That said, within the confines of Knight Rider's fictional universe, Kitt is fully alive. Michael is the only character who has so much as a shot of really getting that. Devon understands theoretically what Kitt is meant to be, and Bonnie even understands mechanically, but Michael sees his personality. And it's strange, really, how the show sometimes treats this as important but sometimes Not. I really love how, in Trust Doesn't Rust, Michael is far more hesitant to go after Karr than anyone else, asking if it really is necessary. I truly wish they'd have taken that further in TDR, and involved it at ALL in Kitt vs. Karr. Season 2 is my favorite because it embraces this (more later), but even then, we didn't get to see the stage in between that brought him there. He went from a caring skeptic in S1 to full-on sap in S2. Honestly, I really believe there's a lesson there about not taking those around you for granted, that just because you don't understand someone doesn't mean they're any less worthy of love, that just because you know you care doesn't mean that they do. I never expected Knight Rider to become an arc-motivated show, but I did at least hope that the subtle throughline would stay more consistent.

They're deeper than they seem

Basically just above 2.0. He has an internal struggle I think, between wanting to trust his new family and having been burned by his old one (the police force I mean, especially Tanya). It takes him a good while to FULLY trust and understand Kitt--yes, the pilot is a big step in that direction and probably what the show writers meant to be the end of it, but I can't help but sense more. Is his best friend even REAL, y'know? Also probably PTSD. And ,,, EVERYTHING about Stevie, it almost feels like an entirely different mini-show in those episodes? Possibly even some imposter syndrome about how this new life isn't even HIS life, he's walking in the shoes of somebody else? I dunno, but there's a lot here.

Also, while I don't know if I'm down fully with the "Michael is ace" headcanon, because he's definitely willingly Done the Deed plenty as implied by certain episodes of the show (man I hate that sentence I'm sorry), I do love the idea that he's really not fulfilled by these relationships in the slightest. That behind the "not thoughts, head empty" smile he just wants something real, but has been dragged into a fake life and a surface-level existence. Feels bad man

They work better as part of a dynamic

Michael and Kitt, mostly. If Michael were by himself, Knight Rider would feel like just another Magnum PI, Hardcastle and McCormick, etc. Not that these shows are bad, Magnum PI has probably aged better than KR after all, but none of them captured my attention quite as much. Kitt,,, MIGHT be able to carry a show by himself entirely, if he were human? Idk, that personality is just so good and unique, but even he benefits from a foil. Michael, though, is probably the best iteration of a very common 80s MC personality, and having Kitt there is what makes it go from a pretty good romp to a wonderful classic.

Also Michael and Karr are my favorite duo to think about, it would be so good. Especially if Kitt is there trying to babysit his two himbo besties. Michael's got no braincells, and Karr has 'em but chooses not to use them.

Onto the blues, or the kinda/conditional opinions.

If they were real, I would marry them.

Depends on the season 100%. Season 1 Michael is likeable enough but just SO frustrating at times, and Season 3 has proven to be frequently outright insufferable. Season 2, though? That man's marriage material probably, and even just aesthetically. Maybe not MARRY marry, I don't really have a crush on him??? Anymore I tend to immediately convert my potential fictional crushes into blorbos, so there's that. But lifelong besties at least.

They're like a blorbo to me

HMM- Honestly? Dunno if this one's true. Then why did I mark it? Because... KINDA???

He's been at the forefront of my mind a lot more recently, admittedly because I already worked out Kitt + Karr's arcs (the TRUE blorbos) and am now trying to figure out what to do with him, but still. And even at times when I hate Michael's guts and wanna bap him in the forehead, I still don't hate him. Like "holy macaroni that was horrific like I actually hate you" "so you don't like him?" "*grinning* nah he's cute". Like, Hoff's characterization of him is too charming ashfo idc if he's an ahole he's MY ahole

So,,, probably more of my Little Skringlo than a Blorbo, but close enough.

Nothing I like about them is technically canon

See,,, Everything above about his character arc. See, I think his arc is SUPPOSED to be canon? But it isn't TEEECHNICALLY canon anymore thanks to Seasons 3 and 4 existing, which means S2 Michael got reverted to S1 Michael and then it was a whole mess. If it had ended in S2, I would have been convinced that it was the intended arc. But now, I don't actually know.

Why do they look like that

I'm interpreting this entirely wrong and I know it, you can't stop me /laughing hard

As I said before, I aesthetically love Michael so much, so I don't mean this as in "ew why does he look like that?" ... I mean it literally, WHY would you do that Wilton?

Why would you find some random guy in the street, go "that's the ticket Shahra", and then PUT YOUR KID'S FACE ON HIM ASDOHSHD WHY FOR WHY

so yeah, not Michael's fault, this is a Wilton callout post now

They got too much screentime

I'm really only saying this about the first half of Season 1. After Trust Doesn't Rust, they seemed to realize that people really REALLY loved the cars, and so balanced the episode more. Before, though, they tried to fit in so many bits for no reason while STILL giving Michael the majority of the screentime? It really went

Devon says Here is Mission (and establishes a Funny Interest)

Michael takes off with Kitt. Michael and Kitt participate in Banter, with Michael getting way more of the words than is reasonable?

Michael tracks down the bad guy and monologues stuff out loud, figures out a gameplan, goes in after Guy

Kitt has A Gag

Michael does 80% of the work

"I need ya buddy" vroom vroom Kitt silently breaks into building.

Michael does Car Stuff

punch punch bad guy even tho we have indestructible car!!! they get apprehended of screen we didn't see any cops show up either so I guess Michael sent 'em to the shadow realm

Devon's interest gets made fun of

Kitt's interest from Gag also gets made fun of

and scene

seriously am I forgetting anything here IASDHOI- The dynamic got fixed pretty quickly tho, which is why it's not a full Yes. I am fine with Michael getting the majority of the screentime so long as Kitt isn't left with like, three lines of dialogue.

Also, I do project SOME imposter syndrome onto him, just not enough to mark off that answer. And also I didn't wanna give y'all bingo so easily >:) try again muahaha

[tokisguitarpick]

balcony

characters: Pickles the Drummer x Reader

length: 1700+ words

listen this is really self indulgent but pickles’ back story hits me on a personal level. tried to phrase the mom self in a way that even someone with a good mom could see themselves in the reader but s/o to bitches who’s moms stress them out, we see you

You sighed, holding your own hand and staring up at the night sky, sat on top of Mordhaus. About three months into your employment, you had found the perfect place for lunch breaks, sneaking out with a joint mid-shift, anything. Up the emergency ladder, around the smokestacks, and over a large generator, there was a tiny balcony that no one seemed to know about and it was one of your favorite spots on the whole ship. And tonight, you needed it for the clarity it gave you. 

Nails bitten to the quick, you had spent a couple of hours pacing in your bedroom before making your way up here to sit in the peace and quiet and really just be alone.

“Doode, what ahre you doin’ up ‘ere?” Your eyes closed. Of course.

It’s not that you would normally mind Pickles for company. In fact, quite the opposite. Something about the drummer drew you to him and between his chill demeanor and frequent offers of hits off his joint, he was typically your favorite band member. But tonight, any company felt like more energy than you had to spend.

But it was your job to spend energy entertaining, safeguarding, and checking on Dethklok so you fixed your face into a neutral expression and replied, “I like to come up here when I need some fresh air.” 

Pickles swung himself over the generator with ease and plopped down next to you, both of you sticking your legs through the wide gaps under the balcony fencing and letting them hang down. “Oh yeah, me tooh.” As usual, the drummer brought with him the stale scent of alcohol and sweat, as well as the very pungent smell of fresh weed. “You know me, I like to be high.” Pickles chuckled at his own joke as you watched him pull a silver cigarette case from his back pocket but his laughter died on his lips when he met your gaze. “Sam’thin’ wrong?”

Your head tilted as you looked over yourself in your mind’s eye. “What do you mean?”

Slowly, Pickles raised a calloused thumb to your cheek and you felt him wipe away some wetness. Fuck. You hadn’t cried much and the cool night air had dried most of the tears as Mordhaus chugged forward but apparently, there was enough evidence left for him to find. 

“Yah knoow,” Pickles started, his eyes trained on his hand instead of meeting your own, “I’m naht really one for… talkin’ about feelin’s and shit. But ah, uh, I can listen?” His eyes were a deep, comforting shade of green, something you noticed when they finally met yours, his pierced eyebrows raising as he ended with a question. 

Your heart softened and you smiled softly, prompting a lopsided smirk from the drummer as he finally dropped his hand. He fiddled with the cigarette case in his lap until he produced a blunt and held it out for you. “So whaht’s goin’ on?”

Taking the blunt from him and then the offered lighter- a zippo with a dill pickle carved on the side-, you lit up and took a long drag before passing both back to him. The paper crackled next to you with his inhale and you stared at the sky again, breathing your hit out like a cloud in front of you. 

“My mom called.” No longer a happy notification to receive, the information turned your stomach. Ever since you had gone against her wishes and applied for the stressful, dangerous, terrifying job of being a managerial coordinator for the band Dethklok, she had turned into someone you could hardly recognize. Cold, petty, always passively asking for money and aggressively telling you how little you must care about her since you were always too busy to call her when she was free (not when you were, though. She was a busy woman and she couldn’t wait around all day just for a call). You assumed she was angry you hadn’t listened to her and was even angier that you didn’t volunteer those, frankly, sweet as hell Dethklok paychecks to appease her.

You glanced out of the corner of your eye to see Pickles make a sour face, his cheeks puffed with weed smoke. Releasing his hit with a cough, he passed the blunt and nodded. “I know that feelin’. When my mam’ calls, I send it straight tah’ voicemail.”

“Maybe I need to start doing that,” you mused quietly. Puff and pass, you moved your gaze down to watch the traffic passing on the various highways around the house.

“That bad?” Pickles asked, holding onto the blunt for a minute as he tried to fix a run in the burn. You didn’t mind, your high creeping up and the wad of anxiety in your stomach loosening. 

Turning your answer over in your mind a few times, you finally spoke when you realized you had been quiet for an embarrassingly long time. “She’s just different now. I feel like she’s not the same person I knew growing up and the person she is now… I don’t know if it’s a person I like.” You had wondered a few times if she was destined to become this woman but when memories resurfaced, you felt as though your current feelings tainted them and you weren’t sure what the truth was. “I just- I don’t know. Do you ever feel like your family would like you so much more if you just shut up and gave them all your spare cash?” 

This time, Pickles was the one who was silent for what seemed like a long time and when you finally looked up, you were surprised to see he had completely disassembled the blunt and was rolling a joint with the leftover weed on one side of the open cigarette case. It was balanced carefully on his thigh- full of a few dime bags of ground weed and spare rolling papers- but his face was angled towards you. “Uh, yeah. That’s all I feel when it comes to my family.” Bringing the joint up to his lips, he gave you a curious look, furrowing his brow. “Cahn I ask you sam’thin’?”

You nodded.

“Is yuhr mam’ hasslin’ you for money?” Lighting up with a couple of puffs, he passed the joint to you and leaned back on his palms.

That was the long and short of it from as far as you could tell, you mused. You took a deep hit, studying Pickles as you nodded again. Your high was hitting you and suddenly, the terse phone call that had been weighing on you seemed much less important than the physique of the drummer next to you. Long, deep red dreads flowed in the light evening breeze, drawing your eyes down his neck and shoulders. Almost always in a dark tank top, his muscular shoulders and arms stole the show, lithe and wirey from years of being a professional musician. God, he was hot. Sure, he was more than a little older than you, and balding just a little, and maybe unable to be sober for longer than a half hour without complaining. But otherwise, very hot. Your gaze fell to his hands, fingers with blunt nails spread to support himself, and the backs of his palms flexed with large veins.

You were only moments away from poking one when his voice broke your concentration. “Like whaht yah see?” Looking back to his face, Pickles’ smirk was now a full blown grin and he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Wanna take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

“Sorry,” you chuckled, the heat of a blush finding your cheeks as you puffed and passed the joint, “I’m kinda stoned. Your weed is always so fucking strong.” 

Pickles broke out into nasally laughter and you couldn’t help giggling yourself in response. “That’s why I get it, only the good shit,” he replied, still chuckling. He puffed then snuffed the joint and tucked it behind his ear for safekeeping as he sat up.

Unable to get a handle on the stoned laughter coming out of you, your giggle fit continued and you leaned over, resting your forehead on his shoulder. You put a hand over your mouth as you tried to relax. Pickles shifted under you, letting your head find his collarbone as he wrapped his arm around your waist. He seemed to freeze like that and if you had been sober, you probably would’ve stayed that way, savoring the feeling of closeness with your celebrity crush in such a private moment. There were over a million Dethklok fans who would kill or die for this to happen to them.

But you were high as fuck and didn’t like how stiff the embrace felt. You shifted yourself to lean more comfortably against him without realizing it, until his hand started to fall from your side. Instantly, you grasped his wrist and brought it back to your hip, murmuring, “You’re good.” 

Pickles laughed again, squeezing you and resting his hand on your ribcage. He was so warm, you could feel his palmprint burning through the thin cotton of your sleepshirt, so close under your breast that it made you shiver. “Oh, honey, I could get you tah’ say that a hundred different ways,” he stated confidently. It made your blush burn even hotter, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. Pickles, however, cleared his throat and muttered, “Uh, not like in a sexuhal’ harassment type way, just, uh, yah know… If you were down…”

You giggled again and nodded. “I got you, I got you… I’m down.” You erupted into nervous giggles and covered your face with your hand again. Unable to believe your own gall, you were about to dismiss your words with a quick ‘I’m joking’ but Pickles moved faster, goosing your breast with a bark of laughter.

“I’ll keep thaht in mind,” he said, seemingly to himself, his hand resting once again on your torso. You couldn’t say anything, your body alight with tingles radiating from your breast and your mind slowed, so you simply nodded against him. 

Quiet for a moment, you tried to settle your breathing while Pickles relit the joint and puffed in thought. Finally speaking up, he just said, “Seriously though, Y/N, I think you need to tell your mom to go fuck herself.”

[all-my-love-for-harry]

I’m enjoying the single mum series so much, could you maybe write something about Artemis seeing harry and the reader kissing and he’s so confused because for him harry is just his mom’s friend

i loooved this concept, thank you !

you can find more of my shy little boy here

The whole situation would be like that Christmas song called I saw mummy kissing Santa Claus, which to anybody on the outside would be hilarious. But to Harry, not so much.

The word boyfriend, isn’t a common one in the Y/L/N household, simply because Y/N doesn’t have boyfriends. Artemis has heard the word on the television, in conversations he heard from adults or stories he heard from friends at school. But his mummy doesn’t have one of those, he’d think.

From the information that he has gathered about boyfriends and for what his grannie Ally has told him once, boyfriends usually hold their partners hand, open the door for them and… kiss. But not like his mummy kisses him, more like how Spike’s daddy kisses Spike’s mummy.

Overall, the concept was still kind of confusing for him.

Artemis knew Y/N’s friends. They were nice and seemed to like him too, but he’s never noticed any other of Y/N’s friends try so hard to talk to him. At least not like Harry does.

He remembers Harry from the dinner with the Prendergast, and thought he’d never see him again. But Harry suddenly started going to his house, apparently to pick Y/N up. Artemis just didn’t know where they’d go.

Usually he’d stay with his grannies while his mummy was out, and she’d come back when he was already asleep.

However, this time Y/N and Harry went out on a Saturday. And Artemis didn’t want to go to sleep until his mummy was back. Both of his grannies didn’t force him to go to bed, instead they all made themselves comfortable on the couch and watched a movie.

In the other hand, Y/N and Harry had gone out for dinner again. This time at Harry’s place, where he cocked her a delicious meal and kissed her for the first time since they’ve started seeing each other two months ago.

The kiss they shared was perfect. Harry had never met someone who had been so hesitant to even hold his hand, but he respected Y/N’s wishes to take this thing as slow as possible. After all, she had a kid to look out for, and she would never jump in a relationship without knowing the other person’s intentions.

And in any other situation Harry would be scared to jump in a relationship with someone who had a kid, but for some reason there was something about Y/N and Artemis that brings him so much peace, and he found himself never wanting that feeling to go away.

So basically he was doing everything in his power to show he cared, and that he was here to stay.

Driving Y/N back home, Harry held her hand the entire ride. They’d talk about everything and anything really, he always loves to hear her talk about her job, Artemis, even if she went to the grocery story that day or not. The feeling of domesticity was something Harry always craved, it made him feel normal.

“Do you think he’s asleep?” Harry asked after he parked the car outside of the house.

“Probably, wanna come inside for a bit?”

Harry nodded, smiling at her. He went out of the car and trotted to open her door, holding her hand to help her get out.

Neither of them noticed how certain someone was looking at the window in that moment, mentally checking the boxes in the list on his mind.

He opened the door for her and held her hand too.

Artemis noticed through the window how his mummy was smiling at Harry and vice versa. He saw how they leaned into each other, and when their lips touched, the last box on his list was checked.

“Artie? What are you doing by the window, sweetheart?” His other grannie, Ella asked him. The little boy just turned to look at her.

“I saw mummy kissing a boy” Artemis whispered to his nannie, as if he was telling her the biggest secret in the world.

“Did she?” Ella asked with a smile on her face. It was about time her daughter allowed herself to open up to the dating life again. “Let me see”

Soon the two of them were looking at the window, on their own little world. They stayed there until Ally came to scold them for spying on them, saying it was rude.

When Artemis heard the front door open, he went running towards it and he found out not only his mummy was back, but she brought her friend too.

“Hello, mate. Is good to see you” Harry offered the little boy a friendly smile.

“Why are you not in bed, my love?” Y/N asked, kneeling down to be on his eye level. “Where are your grannies?”

“On the kitchen” Artemis leaned into his mother, whispering. “I saw you kissing him” However he wasn’t that quiet, and Harry could heard his words. The color drained from his face, knowing the question that would follow that statement. Suddenly he felt like a teenager who just got caught kissing his girlfriend and Artemis was the angry dad who didn’t like him. “Is he you boyfriend, mummy?”

Y/N contained a giggle, looking how Artemis was dead serious trying to discover what Harry was to her. “Not really, kiddo”

Artemis frowned, confused. Now, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. But then again, adults were confusing and Artemis didn’t really understand them. So he dropped it, thinking it wouldn’t happen again.

Oh, he definitely didn’t know the future would bring many, many shared kisses between Y/N and Harry.

☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁

taglist!!

@myfavfanficsever @odetostep

@la-cey @cock-a-doodely-doo @awkwardbullfrog @mellamolayla @moorgannn @bagtan-serendipity @awesomebooklover17 @finelineribs @sunnybusiness @beanholland @sweetenerstyle  @cronias13 @vhsharry @maisley @seasidecrowbar

[matildashoney]

Loving You’s the Antidote: Chapter Eleven

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @cock-a-doodely-doo, @ihearthemcallingforyou​, @goldenfeelin​, @detroitkiwis​, @wherearethewatermelons​

talk to me about it! feedback is greatly appreciated!

this chapter contains themes of sexual content please read with caution.

author’s note: there are no words to describe what a despicable time this is in the world, right now. i know this is a trying time, and i am posting this chapter early to hopefully give you space from the negativitiy if you want one. take care of yourself. i love you. i’m here for you. i see you. here is a page of links for you to sign petitions, learn, and donate. i encourge everyone to educate themselves. thank you for reading.

Going out was fine in the beginning.

Talia and Mylie were sat in the chairs opposite Amelie, their drinks nursed in their hands, talking about their boyfriends and their lives and their jobs. Her phone is vibrating every so often, likely from Harry, but they’ve already given her flack for not going out with her friends enough – even though she sees her best friend nearly five times a week – and always being attached to his hip when they’re together – which makes sense when he’s out of the country about six months a year – and it’s made her too anxious to excuse herself to check it. Harry would understand when she explained it.

“Can you tell me what you two are staring at or are you just going to keep looking past me like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Getting a weird vibe from this guy that’s been staring at you all night,” Mylie says, squinting to try and get a better glance at who it was. “Don’t know, maybe I’m seeing things.”

“Anyways,” Talia interrupts, trying to break the underlying tension that is hovering above their table and causing all three girls to draw circles around their glasses, “How’s Harry? You two alright? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Amelie smiles, her lips tingling with the mixture of tequila and the sensation of Harry’s lips on hers. “Harry and I are good. Love that man, I do.” Her teeth clink against the rim of the glass, taking the rest of the drink smoothly down her throat and standing. “Want another?”

“One for me,” Mylie smiles, sliding her glass towards Amelie. “Want me to come?”

“Not that crowded,” Amelie shrugs, taking a deep breath and gathering all her anxiety into her stomach. “I can do it.”

You can do it. Ask for a drink, wait for it, leave. Two minutes max. You can do this. Harry would be really proud of you for going out and being able to do it. You can do it.

Amelie walks to the wooden bar, slightly less crowded than it had been an hour and a half ago when they arrived, Talia and Mylie’s attention turned towards their own conversation. Her arms lean on the sticky counter as she waits, the bartender walking away to make her drinks, her hand reaching into her pocket to grab her phone and message him back, to tell him that everything was going alright. Amelie’s mind is elsewhere, clouded with tequila and rum and the drink that the bartender made when they walked in.

Until a hand lingers a bit too long on her lower back and a breath hits the back of her neck.

Amelie’s muscles immediately tense, dropping her phone on the counter and her head turning over her shoulder, all of the oxygen knocking out of her lungs at the sight in front of her.

“Look at you,” Jack slurs, his hand brushing the curls hanging over Amelie’s shoulder behind her back. “Get rid of that boyfriend of yours, finally?”

Amelie gulps, shaking her head, her hands reaching for her phone, fingers shaking, her eyes drawing out a path that would take her to her friends and they could leave. Her thumb is too sweaty to swipe across her screen, and every breath that she takes seems to be weighted and never make it into her lungs.

“Doubt that he’d ever leave you alone when you’re out. Always has to ‘ave an eye on you,” he mumbles, drawing his fingertip along her arm, chuckling darkly when she shrugs him away. “Must not be here, then.”

“Leave me alone, Jack,” Amelie spits, her tone echoing the fear that is welling tears in her eyes. Harry’s contact was the first on her screen, a few swipes and there would be a message to get him to her.

He steps impossibly closer, their chests touching, his breath hitting her face. His height is much shorter than she remembers, her fingers tapping anxiously against the bar as her eyes try to make contact with her friends or anyone that could see that the situation was uncomfortable.

And before Amelie could realise what was happening, Jack was leaning in to kiss her, his breath hot on her mouth, her head turning quickly as he grabbed her forearm, his lips hard and rough against her cheek. Her lips parted as she squeaked, her hand pressed against his chest, pushing him away. Her vision fades into flashing stars and her cheeks heat, all of the blood rushing to her head.

He stumbles backwards, fumbling into the security guard. His eyes fade into darkness that Amelie doesn’t recognise and there is this pit in her stomach that is making her want to be sick. Her eyes squeeze shut, trying to picture herself anywhere but where she is, anticipating his hand on her jaw and forcing her to kiss him like he likely would have, until one of the bartenders walks towards her, gently setting her hand on her shoulder and nodding towards the security guard, eyeing the situation.

Amelie is barely able to make out the words that are being said to her, only the thoughts about getting outside, to the fresh air, to the one setting where her lungs could get oxygen and feel full. Talia and Mylie nearly run over to her, grabbing her hands and her phone and bringing her outside, their concerned voices making her head feel like it’s going to implode at any given moment. Her hands are shaking as she messily scrambles to call the only person that would understand her, that would help her.

His phone barely reaches a second ring, his breathing slightly heavy through the receiver. His voice is rasped and worried as if the air was knocked out of his lungs the moment she called.

“Harry?” Amelie hiccups, her throat tight and tears falling down her cheeks.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” Harry whispers, his legs swinging over the edge of their mattress and reaching for the nearest trainers.

“’m out and ‘m scared,” she mutters, her breathing shaky as she walks further away from Mylie and Talia and beneath a light, her phone tight against her cheek, her body pressed against the brick wall. “Need to come home, Harry. I need you. I want to come home.”

“Mon ange, ce qui se passe?”

“’m sorry ‘m calling so late,” she chokes, trying to catch her breath.

“Hey, hey, j'ai besoin que tu respires pour moi,” he soothes, his voice calming and talking her through. His fingers brush through his hair, drying the sweat that gathered there. His voice is tense, hating that he’s not there to talk her through her panic attack, to squeeze her hand and remind her that he’s there because he’s sure that she’s near the point where she might go unconscious because of how heavy she’s breathing. “Don’t have to apologise to me. ‘m always here. Can you tell me where you are?”

“’m at some bar,” she says shakily, drying her eyes and trying to see anything she recognised around her. “Haven’t been to this one before, I don’t think. Mylie and Talia wanted to try it.”

Harry is starting to get nervous. He knows her. He is sure that she wouldn’t have called unless something was really wrong. That’s when he knows. He is sure that he knows what was making her feel uncomfortable, or who rather, and the thought alone makes him livid and his fists grip the duvet.

“Can I come and get you? Would that be that alright?” Harry questions nervously, a quiet hum in agreement all that was needed. He walks downstairs, mumbling that he would be right there, his hands reaching for a sweatshirt to toss over his torso to avoid meeting the bitter air. “Getting in the car, now,” he says, his fingers tugging at his roots and bringing it to a knot on the top of his head, the length becoming a burden with the knots and the strands sticking to his forehead. “’m gon’a stay on the phone until we’re together, alright?”

“Okay.”

And the line goes silent for a minute, Mylie and Talia walking over with their boyfriends and talking to Amelie, yet every thought in her head is spinning and she wishes that Harry would talk more to take her mind away from the feeling of his lips on her cheek and the harsh grasp that he had on her arm. His touch stung, cold and bruising, much like a wasp stinging the centre of someone’s chest. Her breathing is shaky, coming in pants, and Harry’s about to swear at every stoplight that he hits on his way to her.

Twenty minutes is twenty minutes too long.

His thumb drums dramatically against the steering wheel, his eyes scanning over the outside terraces of restaurants and bars and the nightclubs scattered in between. “Can you tell me what happened? Can you tell me why you want to leave?” Harry’s fingertips tap against the screen, using the directions to her location to guide him. Hearing her take a breath; Harry isn’t sure he wants to know the answer, even though that’s what he has to do. “Do you want to wait until we’re together?”

Amelie sucks in a breath. “Had fun at first,” she says very slowly, the alcohol evident in her voice, “and all ‘f us were dancing, drinking. Mylie and I wanted more, and it didn’t look like the line for the bar was too crowded, and it was me that offered to go. Felt someone touch m’ back but didn’t know who. Turned around and it was, you know.” Her voice goes silent. “He leaned in and said something ‘bout you, he smelt like booze,” she whispers. “’m not even sure what happened but ‘e went in to kiss me and I pushed ‘im away. I was really uncomfortable, Harry.” He can hear her start to cry, again. All Harry wants is to be holding Amelie in his arms, comforting her. “That’s not, I just. He isn’t supposed to do that.”

“No,” Harry breathes, trying to subdue his anger. He is furious. Only with Amelie’s luck would Jack be there the one night that she decided to go out without him. Jack was the reason Amelie only went out with Jenny or Harry, to begin with. Harry should’ve been there, with her, protecting her. Guilt rises into his chest, his throat, and he thinks he might be sick. “He isn’t supposed to do that. That’s wrong. This isn’t your fault, you know that, right?”

Amelie nods her head, oblivious to the fact that Harry can’t outright see her.

His chest heaves with a staggered breath as his tires roll to the nearest parking space, the sight of her making him want to collapse. Her eyes are hooded, and her cheeks are puffy. He could only imagine how hard she’s been crying. He can imagine that she’s nearly gone unconscious, by now. “Can see you, baby. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Amelie mutters, ending their call and turning slightly to where the slamming sound was coming from, Harry’s body coming into view as his feet pound against the pavement running towards her.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, immediately wrapping his arms around her head and pulling her into his arms, his lips touching her hair, his hands holding her tightly into him. “Are you alright?” Amelie grips onto his sweatshirt, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to only think about his breathing and his scent and his heartbeat that is beating in her hears with her head against his chest.

“Harry, we didn’t even know it was him,” Mylie rushes over, her hands tucked into her pockets, her heart breaking at the sight. Amelie always appeared so beyond the thing with Jack – not that they really knew what happened other than a messy breakup – but this put everything in an entirely new perspective. “Thought it was someone just watching us because of you two, honestly.”

Harry doesn’t want to blame Amelie’s friends. His frustration, his anger, his guilt, is begging him to blame someone other than himself. “Not your fault.” His hands gently brushing through Amelie’s curls and trying to soothe her. “Have they kicked him out?”

“Think so.”

“I’m going to go in there and talk to someone,” Harry says, his hands gently dropping from around Amelie’s torso and causing her to panic.

“Harry,” Amelie whispers dryly, barely lifting her head from his chest and squeezing his hips, “Harry, no.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry sighs, returning his hands to her hair and kissing her hairline, “you’re okay.” His cheek rests on her head, his eyes meeting the worried eyes of her friends, “Don’t worry, I’ve got her.” He kisses her hair, squeezing her shoulders and whispering, “Can I take you home? Can we go home?”

Amelie nods against his chest, grabbing his hand and interlocking her fingers with his, her body walking one step ahead to make the distance between where she once was. Harry opens the car door for her, kissing her temple and wiping the tears on her cheeks before moving back.

“Can you kiss me?”

“Course,” Harry smiles softly, disheartened by the trepidation in her voice. Her cheek turns to him, a tear wiped by her thumb as he whispers, “On your cheek?”

“Mhm.”

Harry’s heart sinks to his stomach. His lips gently touch her cheek, kissing away a tear that betrays her and falls against his mouth. He kisses her jaw, her cheek, her temple, making his way to her mouth to kiss her deeply, longingly. Her hand grabs his as he’s about to walk around and get into the car, her eyes flicking between his lips and his eyes. He kisses her, giving her reign, allowing her to mould her lips in whichever way she wants against his.

Harry has to take a breath, guilt washing over him in the worst way. He could’ve been there. He knows that she hates going out without him or Jenny. He knows that she doesn’t feel safe that way, that her anxiety is too overwhelming and makes her feel that way. Harry knows that Amelie wanted to prove that she was making progress more so to herself than anyone else, and she would have been so excited to tell him that she went to the bar all by herself and the night went great.

Until it didn’t.

“Have about twenty minutes until we get home,” Harry says, easing onto the street and beginning their journey home. “Glad you called me. Thank you for calling.”

“Had no idea what to do,” Amelie whispers dumbfounded, the alcohol still swirling in her brain. “Kept trying to press on your contact but m’hand was shaking and I couldn’t get it.”

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, kissing her knuckles and squeezing her hand, the volume on the music silent. “Everything’s alright now. I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Did I wake you?” she wonders, wet eyelashes pressed on her cheeks, her lips pursing together as the red tint of her lipstick begins to fade away. “Didn’t mean to.” Her hand reaches for the water settled in the console for her, taking a heavy sip and letting the cool liquid smooth down her throat.

Harry snorts, shaking his head and pressing a hard kiss to her hand. “Didn’t wake me, angel.”

“Oh no.”

His chuckle vibrates his chest, his heart warm as a smile tugs longingly at the corners of her lips. “Don’t think you want to know what I was doing.”

“Well, I mean, now yeah, since you’ve teased it, I want to know. Especially, since now, we’re together at a bright,” Amelie says, staring at the time on her phone and waiting a few seconds for the digits to process in her brain, “two in the morning.”

“Look, sometimes, things get a little, hard, and you have to do some things,” Harry begins, his lips curved in the cheesiest smile, a hard laugh bellowing from his chest as Amelie slips beneath the seatbelt and further into the seat, her hand covering her eyes. “You asked!”

“Oh my god.”

“Thinking of you, if that helps any.”

“No,” she says, biting her bottom lip to suppress a laugh itching at her throat, her cheeks flushed with his confession. “No, Harry, it really doesn’t.” Harry turns to stare at her, quirking his eyebrow suggestively and nodding his head. “Okay, a teensy bit.”

Harry and Amelie talk quietly about nonsense the rest of the way home, trying to distract from the sexual tension and the lingering conversation waiting to be had eventually. Her thighs were held tightly together, her hand and her phone between her legs, his hand holding hers on his thigh and away from the tent in his jeans.

Harry’s hand lingers on Amelie’s lower back as they walk inside, his hands gently holding her hips to make sure that she wouldn’t stumble going to their bedroom upstairs, her knees slightly shaky and her words drawn together as the alcohol begins to wear through her system.

Amelie’s eyes flicker to the alarm on the wall near their bedroom door. Harry nods towards the ensuite, his lips pursed together as her fingertips begin to take her clothes and toss everything into the laundry bin, taking her favourite robe from behind the door and wrapping it tightly around her torso. Harry waits for the three beeps before following her, frowning as she harshly takes a washcloth and begins rubbing at her cheek.

And Harry knows why.

“Baby,” Harry whispers, making eye contact in the mirror before setting his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing her muscles and kissing her hair. “Gentle with yourself.”

“Can feel it on my skin,” Amelie whispers, her eyes welling with tears at the thought. “Want it to go away.”

“Can I do it? I’ll take it all off.” Harry waits for Amelie to nod, his hands holding her hips and lifting her onto the bathroom counter, her thighs spread slightly for him to stand between. “Love the way you do your makeup, you know. Always makes your eyes so bright.”

His hands gently wipe away the tears and the foundation and the running mascara, revealing her bare cheeks and supple lips and soft eyes, begging to be peppered with kisses. He kisses her cheek, his breathing choking in his throat as he waits to see how her reaction will go. Her cheek leans into his hand, her lips turning to meet his and her hands holding his shoulders, the kisses languid and sloppy and sweet.

“Come on,” Harry breathes, circling his hands around her waist and gently setting her on the ground, walking around her and turning on the water. “Know you better than anyone and the only way for you to avoid a hangover is a shower and a good night’s rest.”

Amelie wonders, hooking the robe near the shower door and stepping under the warm water, her hair wet and clinging to her skin beneath the pour. Her eyes meet his through the glass wall, her arms folding in front of her chest. “Coming in?”

“Don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Harry sighs, scratching the back of his head. He wanted nothing more than to be in the shower with her, to be touching her – even innocently – and telling her that he loves her. He wants to tell her now more than ever.

“Harry, ‘s just a shower.”

His fingers tuck between his teeth, biting at the skin nervously. He shrugs, nodding and pushing his jeans down his legs and slipping his shirt over his head. “Alright, alright.”

“Not even briefs?” she giggles, her fingertips gently massaging her shampoo into her hair, all of her movements drawn out with the lingering alcohol in her veins.

“Go on,” he laughs, stepping inside the shower, squeezing her shoulders and nudging her to turn under the water, his body slightly stepped to the side, “turn around and let me rinse out your hair. Gon’a got soap in your eyes if you keep opening them to talk to me.”

“Takin’ care ‘f me,” Amelie smirks, wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling him into her, puckering her lips and tilting her head back to inch her lips towards his.

“Always will,” Harry says assuredly, kissing the corner of her lips and gently squeezing out the water in her curls. “Could literally ask me to give you the clothes on my back and you’d have them.” His hands reach for her sponge, gently running the soap and water on the material and coasting it along her skin, kissing her neck and she leans into his touch.

Her voice is quiet, the water running over her skin as his hands gently rub into her shoulders, the muscles that tightened with the anxiety and the panic slowly loosening enough to allow her to have a night’s rest and to reconvene in the morning. His touched her hairline, allowing her to lay against his chest and have the water wash over their connected skin. “Have you seen anyone since we went on, you know.”

“On a break.”

Amelie nods, “That.”

“Haven’t seen anyone but your beautiful face every day,” Harry smiles softly, his thumb dragging along her cheek and his lips pecking her temple, his hands reaching to turn off the water and grab a towel from the rack nearest to them. “You’re it. Always.”

Amelie walks onto the rug first, holding onto Harry’s hand and wrapping the towel tightly around her torso her feet pressing into the fibres to dry and avoid slipping on the damp tile. Her hands reach for his warm sweatshirt on the counter, her hands rummaging around the drawer in their wardrobe for her favourite pair of silk shorts and pulling the material up her thighs.

Her voice is quiet as Harry gets dressed behind her, the cotton briefs clinging to his hips, his hair dried in a towel as she tucks the sweatshirt sleeves over her hands and walks to the bedframe, sorting her side of the bed and opening up the duvet for him to climb into.

“Cosy in that?” Harry asks, turning off the bathroom light and shutting the door, all of the lamps slowly beginning to turn over and the room becoming bright only by the moonlight shining through the thin curtains.

Harry’s fingers are about to shut his light when Amelie whispers, “Dumbest thing I’ve ever done was talk about that break.”

“Didn’t really give you much of a choice,” Harry sighs, turning to look at Amelie and sitting his back against the headboard.

“Have a choice, now,” she says, swinging her thigh over his waist, and straddling him, her fingertips coasting along his chest, her lips peppering kisses from his jaw to his neck.

“Hey,” he whispers, his head tilting slightly to allow her lips to make suckling marks on his neck. Harry was Amelie’s, undoubtedly and unabashedly. “Doll, we shouldn’t.”

“Baby.”

“Don’t want the first time we make love to be when you’re drunk, Ames. Don’t want you to regret that,” Harry gulps, his hands holding her thighs, gripping onto her lightly and feeling her skin under his fingertips.

“Could never regret you,” Amelie confesses, gently bringing her lips to hover over his, hot breaths panted over his mouth. “Kiss me, then. Not a fake kiss. Kiss me like you love me.” Her words are interrupted by hiccups, and Harry couldn’t find her more attractive – freshly showered, holding onto him, kissing him, wanting to profess how she feels; that’s more than he’s gotten in nearly a month. Her eyes meet his with all sincerity. “’ve been, dreamin’ about this.”

Harry’s thumb lightly pulls her bottom lip, “Have you? Missed these lips.”

Amelie kisses his fingertip, “Mhm.”

His fingers brush her hair away from her face, his hands cupping her jaw sweetly and kissing her cheek. “Are you sure?”

Her hands wrap around his wrists, having his hands firm on her face and unable to move. “Mhm.”

“Ames.” His voice is barely above a whisper, mouth inching towards her wet lips, the slight flush of pink on the flesh making his stomach flip with butterflies. His mouth is longing to be on hers.

“Je t’aime,” Amelie says, a smile tugging at her lips as Harry’s eyes move away from her lips and meet her stare, surprise and love overwhelming his emotions and features, “and I want you to kiss me.”

“Je t’aime,” Harry grins, brushing his nose against hers and lightly pressing a kiss to her lips. “Could listen to you say that for the rest of m’life.”

“And you will.”

Harry’s lips crash onto Amelie’s, their mouths messily colliding, their rhythm slowly building from sloppy to sweet, perfect alignment and steady intake of breaths as their tongue taste the lingering mint and tequila that is between their lips. Harry moans into her mouth, soaking in the way her fingers slowly inch into his hair and scratch at the nape of his neck, his hands holding her thighs and her back, their arms tightly around each other, barely giving space for their lungs to intake any oxygen.

Amelie’s kiss is begging for something more, desperate for Harry to take away whatever is lingering in her brain. Maybe it’s the anxiety. Maybe it’s the underlying doubt that they won’t work out a second time around. Maybe it’s the memory of someone else’s lips on her skin that she never wants to feel again. Harry answers it all with his lips on hers, kissing her cheeks and her mouth and her jaw and her cupid’s bow, leaving a bright red mark on the cut of her jaw below her ear and whispering his love for her.

Harry’s kiss is longing, aching for more of Amelie. His hair longed to be tugged by her, his neck marked by her teeth, his skin scratched by her nails, his sensed overwhelmed by her scent. He wanted all of her immersed in him, to be in her skin and knowing her. He wanted to erase the memories of anyone that’s ever hurt that, that’s ever made her feel like she deserves less than every star in the sky. His lips are slightly harder against hers when a tear slips down her cheek, needing her to feel his love deeper than the surface.

Her hand trails down his chest, lingering over where their thighs meet. “Have to give you a cut on tequila, Amelie Fay,” Harry chuckles dryly, gently moving her hand and bringing her fingers back to his hair. “Can’t resist you when you come home when you’re like this.”

“That’s what I love,” Amelie smiles, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. Her lips touch right below his ear, gently marking his skin.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, gently sliding further into the duvet and bringing the covers over Amelie’s back, tucking their bodies together and his hands settling over the curves of her bum and trailing up her spine.

“Knowing that you have that control shows that you really love me,” she whispers against his skin, gently kissing over his jawline and making her way to the corner of his lips. “That’s good, you know, because, I love you.”

His eyes well with tears. Harry needed Amelie to say that more than he thought. “I love you. God, I love you. Don’t leave me, ever again,” he croaks, his fingers tangling in her hair and gently coaxing her to meet his glossy stare. “Need you, angel.”

“Need you,” Amelie murmurs, her thumbs gently wiping the tears from beneath his eyes. Her heart is thumping so loudly in her chest that it can be heard in her eardrums, a bass drum kicking a new beat. All that she wants is to have Harry’s lips on hers. “I love you. Je t’aime.”

“I love you. I’ll love you to the ends of the Earth. Do you hear me?” Harry breathes, his lips realigning with hers and making a home on the mouth that knows his so perfectly.

Her voice is hushed against his lips, barely breaking apart their kiss and the moonlight fanning over their bodies in the middle of the mattress. His hands are planted on her hips, firm and steady. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never, Ames. I never will.”

Harry can only pray that Amelie will feel the same in the morning.

~

“Oh mon Dieu. Oh mon Dieu. Oh mon Dieu.”

Harry could hear the panic in her voice. He’s only heard the stress and anxiety in her voice like this a few times, namely when they’re arguing, and there is a twisting in his stomach that is telling him that whatever is going to happen isn’t going to be good. He stirs, slowly prying his eyes open and blinking to focus his vision, the clock on his phone reading 06:28.

They’ve only been asleep for four hours, and Harry knows that Amelie’s had a nightmare that she didn’t wake up from.

Amelie’s hands were covering her face, her hair slightly matted from sweat and his fingers and the way he was tangled in her hair as they kissed. And the way the whole scene is panning out, it’s as if there is no recollection of the night before, her hands running over her body, ensuring that there are clothes covering her skin and the stickiness is only from the closeness of their bodies throughout the night. Amelie reaches to take Harry’s hand away from her hips, her knees pulling to her chest and her fingertips pushing against her temples.

And the panic attack is in action, full force, without a sign of hesitation or hindrance. Harry can see it happening.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Amelie mumbles under her breath, her heart pounding so hard against her chest that she swears Harry could hear it from beside her. “Harry, I need you to let go of me.”

“’ey,” Harry murmurs, the rasp in his voice coating every word with exhaustion, “tell me why you’re panicking. Can tell me, I’m right here. ‘s only a nightmare, you’re safe.”

“I, I.” Like that, every word in Amelie’s vocabulary is beginning to disappear. All she can see is the balcony and the promise of fresh air and the slight possibility of her heart to quit beating against her ribs in a way that would make it implode and rupture. “Let go, please.”

Harry immediately loosens his grip. He can see her making a mental path to the balcony and his heart falls to the pit of his stomach. He reaches for a pair sweatpants that are strewn on the chair near the vanity, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and yanking them onto his hips. “Jus’ le’ me turn the alarm off. One minute.” Harry walks to the bedroom door, clicking the buttons to turn the alarm to the setting that wouldn’t blare a horn when she opens the door. “Doll.”

Harry’s eyes follow Amelie as she rushes outside, satin shorts on her hips, her knuckles turning white as she holds onto the railing for dear life, as if moving would make the entire world turn upside down and she would be the first to fall. On the corner of the horizon, the sunrise is beginning to show promise of the new day, the dew clinging to her skin and slight breeze of the morning chill hitting her cheeks. Her thighs are covered in goosebumps, but there is nothing she can feel besides the heat of her blood pressure in her cheeks. He rubs his eyes, trying to gather all of his words and thoughts and wake himself enough to at least know why she’s panicking.

“Oh mon Dieu, je t'ai appelé. Je n'aurais pas dû appeler,” she murmurs, her words slurring together in a string of sound. “Qu'est-ce que je fais, bordel?” Heaving breaths, her chest is tight, the overwhelming weight on her lungs suffocating her.

Oh my god, I called you. I shouldn’t have called. What the fuck am I doing?

Harry takes a second to try and grasp what she’s saying. He can’t comprehend what she’s saying that quickly and that jumbled. “Say it again. Slower, please.”

“This is,” she says quietly, pausing to think but every word and thought is scrambled and making her head hurt. “Can’t breathe.”

“Ames,” Harry says calmly, taking a breath and standing beside her against the railing. He is well aware that she doesn’t like to be touched during a panic attack, that’ll it’ll cause her to hide away and never speak, but she has to see him, “slow down. Talk to me. Called me at the bar, last night, remember? Came home with you. Only us, here.”

“Can see everything,” Amelie whimpers, her fingertips curling around her hair, her nails scratching her scalp, her eyes squeezing shut. “Had a nightmare and it wasn’t you touching me. Can’t make it stop.” Harry’s eyes are fixated on her, his body seeming too close even though he is far away. “Don’t want to see it, again.” Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, and Harry is sure that she’ll pass out at any moment if she doesn’t take a breath. He sighs as she turns away, laying her palms flat against the bench that decorated the space beneath the lingering window – the bench that she chose nearly a week after she moved in.

“Know that, baby,” Harry breathes, leaning his back against the balcony and watching her every movement, careful to not overwhelm or scare her. His voice is soft and soothing, all of his words chosen very carefully and particularly. “Want to take it all away from you.”

“But you can’t, Harry,” Amelie says desperately, taking a seat on the bench, her fingertips digging into her knees, her eyes set on the flowers beneath the balcony and in the garden. All of her hope is drained from her voice. “He’s never going to go away.”

“Amelie, that’s not true. Don’t start thinking backwards, now.”

“Do you think I did something to want to be this way? Is that why you said the things you did? Do you think that?” Her voice cracks between sobs, her chest shaking beneath the tears and the unsteady breathing. Her eyes can barely open with how heavy the tears are. “Harry, I don’t know why I’m like this. This wasn’t my choice.”

“Mon ange, écoutez-moi,” Harry whispers, his stomach twisted into knots and a sob lodged in his throat. He should’ve never said the things he did. Never. “Know that this wasn’t your fault, none of it. Have nothing to say for m’self other than ‘m a proper arsehole.” He takes a step forward, their feet barely touching. “Have had a lot of time for reflection and learning over the last month, you know. Understand a lot more, now. Don’t have to forgive me, but I am sorry, Amelie. I’m so sorry.”

Her fingernails scratch at her bare skin, leaving crescent marks in her flesh. “Jack told me I was going to be alone. He told me and I didn’t believe him,” Amelie sniffles, her teeth biting at her bottom lip and tearing at the skin. Her tongue swipes over the flesh, taking the blood that trickles from the cut. “You’re going to hate me like everyone else. You are. Only a matter of time.”

“You think that I’m going hate you,” he sighs, taking a seat from the corner of the balcony and bringing it towards the bench, his knees knocking with hers and his fingers set on his thighs, nervous to take her hands. “You think that I could hate the love of my life.” Harry’s eyes meet Amelie’s when she lifts her head – he knew that would bring her attention to him. His heart falls into his stomach, taking in the tears staining her cheeks and the bright red circling her eyes. “I’ll never hate you.”

“Can’t believe you,” she mumbles, taking the sleeve of her sweatshirt and wiping her skin roughly, scratching at her cheeks and heaving a staggered breath into the fabric. “Anxiety, it ruins everything. Depression, it ruins everything. Me, I ruin everything.”

“No, you don’t ruin everything.”

“Our holiday was ruined by me.”

Harry’s lungs collapse in his chest. “Our holiday was not ruined by your anxiety. Us staying inside an extra day or two and leaving two days early didn’t affect our holiday in the slightest.” His hands hesitantly reach for hers, his throat swallowing a cry when her hands retract further into her sleeves. “Could have gone home the very next day with you and it wouldn’t have mattered to me.”

Having a spiral on holiday effectively ruins it, Harry.

“Can you listen to me fo’ a second? One minute, that’s all.” Amelie nods silently. “Haven’t felt this much guilt in a long time, and I am sorry. There were so many opportunities to make the conversations and the behaviours that were triggering to you stop, and I didn’t take them. Overstepped a boundary that you had and that was wrong.” Harry’s thumbs gently wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Had every sign that you needed me, that you were having anxiety, that your depression was there, and I did nothing. That’s all my fault. Not yours. Have every right to be mad at me, to not forgive me.” His heart squeezes so tight in his chest at the thought of her never forgiving him that he thinks he might break into sobs. “Don’t have to forgive me, that’s okay. Need you to know that I know what I did, I’m sorry, and I’ll never do it, again.”

I forgive you. I forgive you and I love you. That’s what Amelie wants to say. “Je n'aurais pas dû te laisser tomber amoureux de moi. I’m sorry I don’t communicate, and I tend to react on my emotions. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you. Je suis désolé de ne pas suffire. Tu mérites mieux.”

“Don’t say that, Ames,” Harry whispers, aggressively wiping away the tears that fall down his cheeks and itch his skin. “Couldn’t have stopped me from falling in love with you if you tried and you are more than enough to me. All I want is you, you and me. Don’t you dare say that.” His eyes are welling over with tears, desperately wishing that they could go back to last night, where they were smiling and kissing and promising to be together, that they love each other and always will.

“Harry, you’re going to fall out of love with me. One day you’re not going to want me,” Amelie says, her jaw clenched as she wipes her eyes and stands on her feet, avoiding Harry’s reach for her hand and stepping towards the balcony railing, her eyes meeting the bare colours of the flowers in the garden.

“That’s not true, angel. I swear on my life. I swear to God. I love you,” Harry cries, pushing his body from the chair and sliding it away, disheartened by the way her shoulders tense at the words and her jaw tenses. “I love you.”

And despite the way Amelie refuses to turn around and utter the three words that Harry so desperately wants to hear, Harry knows that Amelie loves him, that she’s in love with him. He has to believe that, otherwise, all of his defences and will to let the words her anxiety is spewing from her lips pass without regard will disappear and he will break. But she needs him, right now, and he refuses to abandon her. Harry refuses to let Amelie slip through his fingers, again.

“But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our–”

Harry knows that Amelie’s anxiety can make her second guess everything, to make her overthink and believe in the falsities that have been told to her time and time again. Her thoughts make a façade making her believe that she is undeserving of the love in her life, and all the kindness that encompasses her. Her heart wrenches and twists and squeezes against her ribs, hiding away from saying the three words that she desperately wanted to, making an exterior that would guard anyone against ever touching her soul and her emotions and love, that would protect her in the least convincing way. All that Amelie’s gone through to be where she is, to make the art she creates, to love the way she loves, to treat others way she does, is played into the thoughts that make her question all of behaviours and reactions and relationships.

Anxiety makes her mistake the love in her life with hate for herself, and Harry refuses to let that happen again.

“Finish the quote, baby,” Harry says, standing behind Amelie and sucking in a deep breath. “But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our–”

“From our love,” Amelie whispers, releasing her grasp on the railing and taking a step backwards, returning to her seat on the bench. Her head is pounding and there is a heat creeping onto her cheeks, her blood pressure raising under the sporadic breaths leaving her chest.

“Tell me you love me, angel. Need you to tell me that you love me, baby. You have to remember that feeling,” Harry says slightly louder, slightly more abrasive, taking another step away from her to allow her to move without touching him, “and unless you say that you don’t love me, you’re not moving, you’re not leaving me.”

“Don’t shout at me.” Harry wasn’t shouting. Not yet, at least. He can feel himself getting ready to yell, though. He is ready to yell at the thoughts in Amelie’s brain that make her second guess everything she does, that make her feel like she’s not worthy to be loved by him, that make her feel like she isn’t enough.

“Fine,” Harry’s voice is bitter as he resumes sitting in the chair set in the middle of the balcony, his arms folded in front of his chest. “That’s fine.” He stares at her blankly, his emotions unable to be portrayed on his face. “Guess we’ll stay here all fucking day.”

This is where it ends, her anxiety says. This is where he falls out of love with you. This is where he kicks you out onto the streets and makes you go to your parents’ house, where you have to move out in a week and find a place to live and somehow pretend that you aren’t in love with him and have to settle for someone and marry them just because they like you enough. This is why you ended up with Jack. This is why bad things happen. This is why. This is.

“Um,” Amelie chokes out, tears beginning run along her cheeks, her skin burning with the heat of her blood pressure, “you know, I can go. I’ll leave. I’m sorry. I should go. I’m so fucking sorry. I ruin everything. I didn’t mean to do this. I don’t want you to hate me. I’m sorry.” Her head is pounding so deeply in her temples that she has to squeeze her eyes shut, the tears falling onto her bare thighs, and she swears that if she makes one sudden movement, her mind will go unconscious.

Harry leans forward in the chair, sliding slightly forwards and leaning over his knees, their legs barely touching. “Did I not just tell you that you’re not leaving until you say you don’t love me.” He heaves a sigh, standing on his feet and walking to the railing, defeat etched into his features and sadness echoed in his words. “Tú devez arrêter de faire cela. Tú dois arrêter de me faire ça. ’m begging you to stop running away. You’re saying all of these things and insisting that you have to leave. Arrête de parler de partir et parle moi!” Harry shouts, slamming his hand into the metal bannister, his knuckles white as he clutches onto the rail, his body turned away from hers as she clings to the edge of the bench overlooking the garden, every muscle in her body frozen and unable to move. “Arrête de nous faire ça et dis moi ce qui ne va pas.”

You have to stop doing this. You have to stop doing this to me. Quit talking about leaving and talk to me! Stop doing this to us and tell me what’s wrong.

Say something, her brain screams. Say something before he hates you.

And quiet washes over them.

Harry swallows a sob, turning around and walking to Amelie, his feet carrying him over to the bench, his body uncomfortably kneeling against the concrete, his hands holding her thighs, making her feel his touch, making her know that he is there. “Je sais que tu m'aimes.”

Amelie’s eyes barely meet his, tears streaming and the light eyes that Harry knows are washed out, blurred, dim. Her hands shake against his, her chest rising and falling much too rapidly. All of this, every tear and shaky breath and unsteady hand is a make of anxiety and a nightmare and a toxic relationship. Harry wants to take it all away.

That’s the thing that Harry doesn’t understand. All of Amelie’s boundaries have disappeared with him. All of the guards to protect her heart and her brain and her soul. All of the measures to ensure that she never fell in love, that she never gave herself the opportunity to broken.

Harry has made all of that disappear, and that is what is so terrifying.

He has made her fall so in love that she would impulsively make any decision to see him, to touch him, to kiss him, to be with him because he said the three words that she needs to hear. He makes her feel so sure of herself, that she doesn’t think twice about it. He makes her feel like she is everything and anything, that she can do everything and anything.

That is the scariest thing; there is someone that makes you feel so loved, that you feel like you can do anything. Love is that powerful.

“Tú ne savez pas que,” Amelie whispers, desperately trying to break the intensity that is building between them. Telling Harry that she’s in love with him would prove her point, that the love that they have has broken every boundary she has ever set for herself, that she has ever set to protect herself. “Je vais tout foutre en l'air. Je vais te faire me d��tester.”

“Listen to me, baby, please,” Harry pleads, grabbing her hands and interlocking her fingers with his, squeezing and kissing her skin. “There’s nothing you could do to mess with you and me, that could fuck us over. Could never hate you, Amelie, ever. Have to believe me on that.”

One day you’re going to hate me. One day it’s going to happen. I am so afraid of that day. I don’t want you to hate me.

“Regarde-moi dans les yeux et dis-moi que tu ne m'aimes pas,” Harry retorts, secure in his judgement and every word that is rolling of his lips.

Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t love me.

Harry is angry with Amelie – angry that the anxiety is winning and that all those thoughts are going to change the way she sees herself, the way she sees him, the way she sees their relationship. Harry is angry with himself – angry that he hasn’t done enough to make sure that all those thoughts are gone, that they are deep enough in her worries that they’re never a second glance, that they’ve almost disappeared from the atmosphere. Harry is just fucking angry. “Have to say that, because that’s the only thing that could ever screw this up, fuck this up. That’s the only thing that could ever make me hate you.”

“Can’t do that,” Amelie mutters, sucking in a heavy breath and willing her eyes to meet his. Harry’s features portray his exhaustion, now, and her heart aches knowing that she’s caused this. She loves him. Amelie never wants him to feel this way. Harry moves only slightly, his arms gently coaxing around her waist and slowly encouraging her to stand. He wraps his arms around her, only tight enough to ensure that her knees wouldn’t give out, his face leaning away to stare at her. He can feel the sobs being held in her chest, the tightness in her breath, the shakiness as she clutches onto his back. “You know I can’t say that.”

“Pour une fois, s'il te plaît, arrête de te battre contre mon amour pour toi.”

For once, please, stop fighting against my love for you.

Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper compared to her rasped tone, thick with tears and regret and anxiety. “’s not that simple, Harry.” Harry releases her when she takes hold on the railing, his hands holding the metal beside her body, uneasy with how shaky she is against and frightened that she might fall. “Don’t deserve for you to love me, like this.”

“Tell me why. Tell me why you aren’t allowed to be in love. Tell me why I can’t love you.”

“Can’t,” Amelie murmurs, sucking in a heavy breath and turning around, tucking her arms in front of her chest and facing Harry, his eyes meeting hers and his arms tightening closer by her sides, holding her between him and the metal railing. “Can’t have a love like this.”

Harry is frustrated, his breathing heavy, his body adjusting the weight in his legs and making his eyes meet level with hers. “’m asking, no, begging, you, do not shut me out. One of your rules is to never leave someone that needs you. Guess what? I need you. Anxiety makes you think that no one needs you. Depression makes you think that no one needs you. I need you, Amelie. I fucking need you.”

“Harry.”

His cheeks stained with tears, his eyes glossed over and etched with pain. “Have all of me with you, and you promised that you wouldn’t leave me, that you need me.” Harry is desperate for Amelie, now. “On that day you scared me nearly to death because you wouldn’t answer m’calls or m’texts, remember, you told me you would never leave me. On the phone last night, when you were plastered and petrified to come home, our home, alone, you said you needed me. On our bed, last night, when we were kissing and touching, when you were clinging to me and squeezed me and kissed me, you said you always wanted us together. Can’t have you say goodbye to me this way, not when you promised.” Harry’s eyes are etched with pain and fear. He is afraid of what she is going to tell him, more so, what her anxiety is telling her to say. “Tell me this isn’t goodbye, fo’ fuck’s sake. I’m begging you, now, Ames.”

“This isn’t goodbye. This isn’t it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Amelie says quietly, her heart breaking watching the emotions move through his body. “I need you; I do. I need you, Harry. I’m not fighting you anymore. I’m sorry. I’m scared, I’m really scared. I’m sorry. Je t’aime. I’m sorry for everything. Je t’aime.”

Harry wraps his arms around her waist, his face tucked into her neck, tears wetting her skin, his hands squeezing her hips, gripping her sweatshirt in his fists. His grip is telling her that he’s there, telling him that she’s there. “Don’t fucking scare me like that ever again. Makin’ me think you can’t love me anymore.”

“Okay,” Amelie agrees quietly, untangling her arms from her chest, circling around his shoulders, her fingertips finding the baby curls at his neck, her face falling to his neck and her lips breathing out a sob. “’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Don’t,” Harry says flatly, his hands squeezing her torso, her chest tucked tightly against his, physically melting into his touch.

“Harry, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she cries, shaking her head against him, holding him tighter. “’m sorry.” Harry waits to say anything, knowing that she isn’t quite finished. “Gotta get better. Give me time.”

“J'attendrai avec tu,” he whispers, gently ghosting his fingers along her skin, reaching to take her cheeks in his hands and slowly bringing her to face him. “I love you. You’re not doing this alone.”

I’ll wait with you.

Harry takes a breath, gathering his emotions and steadying his breathing, his thumbs tracing over her cheekbones and drying the stray tears that stained her skin. “Je suis désolé, je n'ai pas pu le voir. Couldn’t see that things were getting bad.” His chest is so tight, his lungs could implode. He could apologise. He could make things right. He could fix this. “Wasn’t there for you like I should have been. I’m sorry. Going to be different, now, I promise.”

I’m sorry I couldn’t see it.

“Je ne voulais pas être un fardeau, that’s why I didn’t tell you,” she mutters, gently kissing his palm, her eyes glossy as she stares at him. “Going to talk to you from now on, I promise.”

I didn’t want to be a burden.

“’ey, you are never a burden,” Harry assures her, his lips touching her forehead, her nose, her chin comfortingly. “Could do nothing to make me not love you or be in love with you. Quite literally, you are everything to me.” All of Harry’s love pours through his words. “Only thing I need in this fucking life is you. Only you.”

“I,” Amelie breathes, squeezing her eyes and blinking away her tears, having a moment to gather her courage, the three words she has to say stuck in her throat. “I love you.”

Harry chastely touches his lips to hers, his heart breaking as he feels the tears stain his cheeks. He savours in the way she tastes, the way she kisses him with so much passion he knows her heart is his without having to say a word. His thumbs brush her cheeks, his lips repeatedly kissing hers for comfort, for love, for reassurance.

Harry doesn’t know what’s going to happen when his mouth leaves hers. He doesn’t know what she’s going to say and how she’s going to react. He doesn’t know anything other than his love for her, and the love that she has for him.

Harry remembers the quote that Amelie marked from their favourite novel, the one that reminded her of him, the reminded her of how she felt about loving him. All of it, every ounce of love that he has for her, all of the thoughts and dreams and feelings for her, everything makes sense.

They were meant to love each other.

Kissing her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, Harry lets his lips linger on her hairline, his arms around her shoulders, bringing her into his chest and holding her tightly. Her hands are squeezing his torso, her face tucked into his neck and sucking in deep breaths, steadying her shaking and trying to process all the thoughts in her head.

“Can feel you thinking,” Harry whispers, his mouth on her hair, his eyes taking in the way the sun is beginning to rise over the mountains far off in the distance and the birds are beginning to sing their morning song.

“Thinking about Finch and Violet, and the Jovian-Plutonian Effect and the Moon,” Amelie tells, her fingertips drawing on his skin and her lips parting with the heavy breaths reaching her lungs. Her cheeks are starting to feel cooler, her blood pressure slowly lessening and her head beginning to feel less achy. “Think we were made to love each other, somehow. Don’t know how that happened, but I’d like to think we were.”

Harry grins, his arms loosening around her shoulders and his hands cupping her cheeks, his mouth tilting into a kiss and soaking in the way her lips so perfectly mould to his. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.” His words are rushed over, needing to have her kiss, the sensation intoxicating and enticing. All that Harry wants is to share his love with her so intimately. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime,” Amelie breathes, squeezing his hips and gently sponging kisses along his jaw, making a light path to his ear. “Fais-moi l'amour.”

His head tilts to meet her lips, his hands gently coasting along her figure and wrapping under her thighs, encouraging her to settle on his hips, her legs tightly circled around his waist and her arms squeezing his shoulders, the balcony door quietly shutting as they messily walk towards the bed, as their breathing hitched together as their mouths entangle in longing and loving kisses. His heart is thumping against his ribs, nearly extending through his lungs and radiating through his fingertips. Her skin is glowing beneath the rising sun, his fingertips trailing over her cheeks and tucking beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, pulling the material over her head and tossing it onto the ground. Her fingers shove the waistband of his sweats down his legs, their movements wanting and hurried.

“Missed this,” Harry breathes, light kisses feathering across her chest, suckling over the moon tattooed on her sternum, his hands dragging her silk shorts down her legs and laying a kiss on her calves as he slinks over her naked body. “Missed you.”

“Missed you,” Amelie whimpers, a moan echoing around their bedroom as Harry’s fingertips gently taste her arousal, his thumb rubbing circles over the bundle of nerves between her spread thighs, her fingers wrapped in his hair as their kiss becomes more passionate and heavy with the wetness on their skin. “Entrez en moi.”

Harry nearly groans at the thought, “Might not take me that long since all ‘ve been using only m’hand for nearly a month.” His weight is supported on his forearms, his hand tugging at his cock, heavy in his hands, his thumb dragging her arousal over his throbbing tip and teasing her heat. “God, ‘ve missed being this close to you. J'ai manqué de faire l'amour avec toi.”

Harry and Amelie gasp in unison as his cock gently eases into her core, her warmth swallowing him, her velvet walls taking all of him inch by inch, her thighs around his waist and her muscles soft under his touch. His hips are flush against her pelvis, thrusting and grinding into her, his thumb drawing patterns on her nerves as her fingernails scratch at his back, dragging along his spine and breathing as his cock reaches her hilt, sponging against the sweetest spot inside of her. “Harry.”

“Love you,” Harry moans, his lips suckling on her throat and marking her skin with a bright magenta bruise. His pelvis grinds with the arch of her hips, her heels digging into his bum and bringing his cock as intimately inside her warmth as physically possible. Her arousal sounds around the bedroom as he thrusts into her, the wetness on their thighs and their sheets and their moans encouraging the sweet love. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you,” Amelie whispers, a tear falling down her cheek with the pleasure and the orgasm growing so deliciously in her stomach, squeezing his cock tightly inside and feeling as though the emotions and the love and pleasure is bringing her face to face with heaven. Harry was heaven. “Want you always.”

“Have me,” Harry grunts, his thumb pressing to her bundle of nerves and groaning into her neck as her orgasm spills around him, milking his orgasm inside her warmth and squeezing him deeper, her thighs shaking around his hips. His mouth presses kisses into her cheeks as their orgasms wash over their bodies, her glossy eyes meeting his as he whispers, “you fucking have me.”

~

All of Harry’s thoughts are jumbled and in disarray as the café comes into view. Amelie’s mural is painted on the concrete wall opposite of where his car is parked, and his forehead rests against the steering wheel for a moment, trying to centre his thoughts and not make any unreasonable decisions. He isn’t quite sure what made him turn down the wrong street and go in the opposite direction of the café that he and his girlfriend – that feels so good to think and say – get their coffee and breakfast from.

Maybe it’s the anger. Maybe it’s the hurt for Amelie.

Harry was lying beside Amelie in their bed, brushing his fingers through her curls, his lips touching her hairline as she sleeps soundly in his warmth. His skin was sticky, sweat covering his forehead and his hair slightly damp, his chest slowly rising and falling with his breathing. He finally was where he wanted to be, with his favourite person, speckled purple bruises appearing across her skin. He was taking in the sight, the way her skin shone brightly under the sun and the quiet hum of her breathing was making his heart beat faster.

And then before Harry could fully process what he was thinking, anger was the only emotion speaking to him, overwhelming his thoughts, thinking about the beautiful woman tucked in his arms. He kissed her forehead, tucked the comforter tighter around her naked body, his fingers tightened the string of the loose-fitting shorts around his waist and shoved his feet into the trainers near their bedroom door, walking quietly out of their house. Harry didn’t want to worry Amelie. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid.

Until Harry was doing something stupid.

“Harry! How are you, mate? Saw Amelie the other day,” Jack smiles devilishly, and Harry’s fists clench together. Amelie described that smile, the one that is a stroke of mischievous and malicious, and Harry could see why his features would make her nervous on sight. “Lookin’ better than ever, isn’t she?”

“You and I need to talk outside,” Harry says through gritted teeth, his keys tucked in his back pocket, his wallet and phone abandoned in his car. “Now.”

“Don’t think we do, Harry.”

“Jack, I swear to God,” Harry grunts, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in front of his chest. He’s taller than Jack, a bit more built muscularly, but there is a tone behind every word that comes out of his mouth that is threatening.

“Be right back,” Jack mentions, two or three younger workers staring awkwardly and shockingly at the interaction happening. Harry walks outside first, barely holding the door for Jack to follow suit.

Harry walks around to the mural, standing a few feet away from Jack and creating their distance. Jack takes one wrong move and Harry is ready to knock him straight in the jaw and never look back. One for Amelie. One for Harry. “Alright,” Harry spits, pursing his lips together as his jaw tightens, the intensity lingering in the foggy January air swelling over. “Firstly, I’m not your mate, I will never be your mate. Secondly, how the fuck did you know Amelie would be at that bar, last night? Do you fucking follow her or summat?” Jack opens his mouth with a smirk, Harry’s hand immediately waving his answer off. “Don’t fucking answer that.”

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Jack shrugs, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it, moving to stand against the mural and setting the nicotine between his teeth. “That was just a coincidence. Good coincidence for me, but a coincidence nonetheless.”

“Wipe that fucking smirk off your face,” Harry growls, his bottom lip pinched painfully between his fingertips, his eyes a deep shade of green that would be unrecognisable to anyone that stared at him. “I swear to God, Jack, if you ever say anything to Amelie, again, if you go to see her, if you blink towards her, if you even breathe near her, I will not hesitate to break your fuckin’ jaw.”

Jack chuckles, flicking the ash and taking a drag, blowing the smoke directly outside of Harry’s vision. “Do you ever stop to ask yourself why she always comes here? Out of all the bakeries and cafés and coffee shops, Amelie keeps coming back here. Why is that?”

“Hasn’t come here in six months,” Harry retorts, laughing at his insinuation. Amelie’s gone to The Beachwood nearly every day since they moved in together in August. His mind is well aware that his words are meant to get a rise, and it’s scary how much it’s working on Harry’s temper. “Don’t feel fucking flattered. She liked the coffee and your mother, you fuckin’ prick.”

“Did you ever think it could be because Amy misses me?” Jack teases, pursing his lips and shrugging his shoulders, the cigarette burning with a sizzle under his fingertips. “Maybe, I treated her better.”

Harry is seething, his cheeks puffed out with panted breaths and tears pricking his eyes with how angry he is. “Don’t fucking call her that. After all you did to her,” Harry scoffs, shaking his head and twisting his heel in the pavement. “Left me, her boyfriend, to be the one to change everything. You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“Could think of a few things we did together.”

“Jack, you’re fuckin’ treading on the thinnest ice.” Harry walks closer to Jack, laughing as the cigarette falls to the ground and smashes under his trainer, their chests barely missing each other, his breathing erratic as the anger builds inside of him. His fists are clenched, and his knuckles are white, and there is sudden gratitude for putting all his rings on his hand before leaving their house. Harry wanted it to hurt if anything were to happen. “One more thing is said, and it’s a promise that you’re done.”

“Harry, tell me, do you think it’s because I gave it to Amy better than you?” Jack taunts, his arms crossed in front of his chest as Harry’s fist begin to slink further up his body. His words make Harry want to vomit. “Bet Amelie thinks of me.”

And everything goes into darkness.

Harry swings, punching him swiftly in the jaw and the nose, shaking out his knuckles, his rings twisted on his fingers, the taunting boy planted on the tarmac, his back pressed against the mural on the wall as his mother comes barrelling outside. Jack struggles to stand, his nose bleeding heavily and an imprint of Harry’s rose ring on his cheek.

“Harry,” his mother gasps, her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth at the sight of her son stumbling to stand on his feet, “what’s happened? I don’t like the look of this.”

Harry doesn’t know when he began crying, but there are tears on his cheeks and his breathing is erratic and there is a heaviness in his chest that could only be relieved by the girl sleeping beneath their duvet. His throat gulps a cry as he gathers his voice, the dark smile on Jack’s lips making his anger worsen. “Tell her what you did to Amelie. God knows you’ll live your life pretending it never happened, but you hurt her.” His voice is barely above a shout, the humming traffic and busy streets barely drawing attention to the two men fighting behind a café and an older woman trying to understand the reason. Harry refused to tell what happened – that wasn’t his story to tell – but he would make sure that someone told the truth. “Fuckin’ broke her down to bits.” Harry’s cheeks stained with tears, thinking about how broken his girlfriend was telling him what happened for the very first time. He’ll never erase the images of her face and the fear in her eyes when she told him what happened. “Amelie made me promise that I’d never tell anyone, but you should know that he did unspeakable things. He isn’t allowed near her, ever again.”

Harry looks at Sarah with a despaired expression on his features, a worried line written in his forehead, his lips pulled into a tight line and a nod acknowledging the end of their conversation. Her eyes travel between the two boys, fighting over malicious behaviours and abuse. “What have you done, Jack?” Her heart aches for the boy staring at her son, hatred in his eyes and a tear falling down his cheek.

Harry stalks away before their conversation can meet his ears, his fist clenching and unclenching to bring the feeling back. He angrily climbs into his car, locking the doors and taking in the sight in the mirror. His hair is falling out of the knot on his head, his knuckles red and bruised and bleeding, his rings scratching at the cuts made there.

Go home. Go home to your girl. Go home and love her.

Harry reaches for his phone, eyeing the five missed calls on his screen. His fingertip goes to click on Amelie’s contact, another call breaking through. He answers, bringing his phone to his ear as the engine in his car turns over and his head lays back against the headrest, his mind fully blank and his eyes seeing flashing colours.

“Harry,” Amelie sighs, “baby, I know where you are. Come home to me.”

Harry is sure that she’s only woken up a few minutes ago, the slight distance and rasp in her tone telling him so. “He deserved to have someone smack his face in,” Harry grits, hissing at the feeling of his thumb rubbing over his cut knuckle. “Fucking cunt.”

“Did you do something?”

“Yeah.” Harry can hear Amelie sigh disappointingly through the speaker. “Don’t know what he was saying to me, though, Ames. He deserved it.”

“You’re right,” Amelie agrees, breathing into the speaker and pausing to collect her thoughts, “and he does deserve that. But I’m here and I don’t want you getting hurt or in trouble.” Her silence is deafening to Harry. “Come home.”

“Don’t even know how I got here,” Harry breathes, looking at the café and the way the street is suddenly silent. “Honestly, I going to get us breakfast, and I looked up.”

“It’s okay,” Amelie breathes, her tone softening with her words, sensing the anxiety that is overwhelming Harry and trying to calm him. “You’re okay.”

Harry settles into his seat, shifting the gear and beginning to drive, his hand wiping away a tear and trying to gain composure of his emotions. “Coming home, now.”

“Good.”

Harry is seemingly mindless the entirety of the twenty-minute drive. All of his movements are done without intention, the directions and the attention and the calculated motions all felt without emotion and thought in his brain. His heart is heavy, aware that his actions might have caused harm to the only person that he cares about. He should’ve thought his actions through. He should’ve been more aware. Harry was just angry.

Going over all of the apologies in his head as he walks inside, Harry chokes out a breath as Amelie wraps her arms around his shoulders, bringing her into his chest and holding him tightly, his hand barely able to reach and shut the door behind them as he melts into her embrace. “Hey, baby.” His lips touch her neck as she hugs him tighter. “God, it feels good to have you in m’arms, again.”

“I love you,” Amelie says, gently coaxing Harry’s face out of her neck.

“Feels better to hear you say that,” Harry sighs, kissing her sweetly and squeezing his arms tighter around her waist. “I love you more.”

“Come on,” she smiles, kissing his cheek and interlocking their fingers, squeezing his hand, her eyes trying to avoid the cuts and scrapes covering his knuckles. “I’ll make you a coffee.”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot to handle in the kitchen,” he teases, tossing his phone and wallet and keys onto the side table and following her into the kitchen, his heart swelling as he takes in her minimal appearance – the vintage shirt that she wore on their first date and a simple pair of cotton panties on her hips – and the comfortability that she has with him. That’s all Harry wants.

“Considering I’m making lunch, right now, I don’t think it’s all too much to handle,” Amelie giggles, wiggling her eyebrows and rolling her eyes as Harry tucks his arm around her waist, clinging to her as she pours him a mug and walks towards the toasty press that his mother bought for the holidays.

“Lunch, hm? How fancy of you,” Harry hums, releasing her and moving to sit on the freshly painted stool near the island, amused at the way there was always a sense of fear whenever Amelie was in the kitchen.

Amelie turns over her shoulder with a pointed stare, her eyes squinting at Harry as his lips tug into a smirk and hide a laugh. “Don’t just stand there if you know I’m going to ruin it.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, love.” Harry sets the mug on the counter and uses the tongs to pull the toasty out of the press. “How do you burn everything?”

“Good question,” she says, sipping quietly from her straw and staring at her boyfriend as he walks around her to clean the mess she’s made of their lunch. “Have to have you cook for a reason.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his chest, his hand over her tummy, frustratedly unplugging the machine and bringing out the menu for delivery. “Fuck it, I’m ordering pizza. This is hopeless.”

“Have to clean your hand, Harry,” Amelie whispers, her fingertips running over the bruised and distressed skin, dried blood accumulated across his knuckles.

Harry shakes his head, kissing her hair and taking Amelie’s phone to ring the restaurant. His eyes widen as she takes the phone from his hands, setting it on the opposite side of the counter. “’s fine, angel.”

“Baby.”

Harry and Amelie stare at each other for a minute or two, silently arguing over who would win this argument. Her arms wrap around his waist, her cheek lying against his chest, her fingers gripping his waist in a tight hug, silently hoping that he’ll give in to her. She doesn’t want to know what was said to him, but she has to. Harry needs to hear that it isn’t true, that whatever thoughts were put in his head aren’t real. There wasn’t anyone to say that to her, and she refuses to let him ruin their relationship. Harry is everything to Amelie, and there isn’t anyone that’s going to get in the way of that.

He silently kisses her hair, squeezing her hip and telling her that she can lead the way. Hand in hand, they walk into their bedroom and to the bathroom, Harry sitting on the toilet and leaving his hand over the counter for Amelie to clean and bandage the right way. Her silence is overwhelming, and Harry wonders if she’s angry with him.

“Tell me what Jack said to you.”

His chin lifts from his chest, “Doesn’t matter,”

“Harry,” Amelie sighs, tears pricking her eyes as Harry winces with the sting of the peroxide, “tell me. That’s the only way I can tell you that he is wrong.”

He thinks for a moment and tears well in his eyes as he thinks about all that was said to him. “Coughed up saying you miss him and miss being with him,” Harry whispers, a tear falling down his cheek in betrayal. “Fuck.”

“Harry, baby,” she says, her thumb gently wiping his cheeks, her fingertips ghosting over his bruised knuckles.

“Can’t stop seeing you, fucking sixteen and abused by this prick, and he has the audacity to say those things to me,” he whimpers, stealing his hand away and covering his face, his elbows on his knees, his mouth covered by the heels of his hands. “Can’t stop seeing it. Need it to stop.”

Amelie’s cheeks flush with a heat of anger. “Bébé, bisous, s’il vous plait. Je t'aime. Putain, je t'aime. J'ai besoin qu'on oublie toutes ces choses qu'il a dites. Je veux l'oublier.” Her gentle voice is hurried and melodic, her hands prying away his from his face and bringing his eyes to meet hers. “Bisous. S'il vous plaît.”

Baby, kiss me. I love you. I fucking love you. I need us to forget all those things he said. I want to forget it. Kiss me. Please.

Harry’s hands grasp Amelie’s cheeks, their lips melting to each other and their tongues tasting the salty tears falling onto their skin. Her fingers grip onto his shirt, her thighs straddling his waist and her eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his hands roam across her figure. “Je ne te ferais jamais de mal, tu le sais, n'est-ce pas? J'ai besoin de savoir que tu le sais.” Harry stands, holding his arms under her and walking into their bedroom, their lips melted into a rhythm as they kiss and share their unspoken love, taking away all that was ever said against them. All that there is in this moment is Harry and Amelie.

I would never hurt you, you know that, right? I need to know that you know that.

“Oui, je sais.”

Harry lays Amelie gently on their unmade mattress, gently kissing along her jaw and neck, his hands lifting her shirt to kiss the pudge at her hips. “Need to kiss where he hurt,” he whispers against her skin, his mouth trailing wet kisses on her inner thighs and the tattoos that cover her legs. “Need to erase all that hurt from you.”

“Can’t you realise that you have? Made me see that I’m so much more than what happened,” Amelie whimpers, her thumbs running over his lips as his chest lays against her, her legs wrapped around his waist and his forearms beside her head to carry his weight. Kissing over his cheeks, his jaw, his lips, she says, “I love you. I do.”

“Love you,” Harry murmurs against her lips, soaking in the way her warmth encompasses him, “Love you to the planets that haven’t even discovered yet and wherever the hell you are. Would go to the ends of the Earth for you.”

“Know you would,” Amelie smiles, gently nudging their bodies forward and her fingertips prying her shirt away from her torso, leaving her skin naked and bare to Harry’s eyes. “Don’t you think I’d meet you halfway?”

“Know you would.” Harry smiles, kissing Amelie’s belly as his fingertips tug the cotton down her thighs and her fingers pull his shirt over his head messily. All of their kisses are messy, and their teeth are gnashing, and lips are being bitten in the sweetest way, the way that means they love each other so deeply and unconditionally that there is nothing else in the world that matters except their way their hands are touching each other.

And then Amelie’s phone starts vibrating.

Harry groans, his hands squeezing Amelie’s hips and pressing a chaste kiss to her lips to try and persuade her. “Don’t want to answer it.” His breath is hot against her mouth, intoxicating and making her want to ignore the call. “Ignore it.”

“Harry,” Amelie whines, “Could be Jenny in labour.”

“Fine.” Harry reaches for Amelie’s phone, swinging his leg over her thighs and settling on the edge of the mattress, his hand reaching out to make her wait as she goes to grab her shirt. “Don’t get dressed, yet.”

His fingertip slides on the bottom of the screen, their best friend’s voice echoing through the speaker and making a smile come to Amelie’s features. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, her cheek lying against his bare back as she snuggles into him. “Don’t care if you two are in the middle of doing it,” Jenny says, breathing heavily and groaning as a contraction begins to wash over her. “Have to get to the hospital because I’m in labour.”

Harry’s eyes roll at the way Amelie smirks at him, her fingertips tickling his tummy as he squeezes her hands. “Ha.”

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes, “Alright. We’ll be there soon.”

“Told you,” Amelie giggles as Harry hangs up the phone, laying on her back and tugging at his hand as his head turns over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers. “Better make this fast.”

Harry cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows rising and his eyes blinking rapidly to ensure that he really heard her correctly. “Doll.”

“Baby.”

Harry stares at Amelie in awe. Her smile is spread across her lips and her eyes are narrow as she desperately tries to persuade him to bury beneath the comforter with her, to have his skin melting into hers, to kiss her and pretend that they are the only thing in the universe that matters. His heart is pounding so heavily in his chest because she is the only thing in the universe that matters to him. Amelie is everything – all the colours, the stars, the sun and the moon, the songs and lyrics and melodies, the art and literature and the good and the bad. Amelie is all of that and more.

“I love you.”

Amelie grins, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him sweetly. “I love you. Always.”

[slightlymore]

Dood I love NCT Sm I rly jus wanna come up to them n educate them all abt Cultural Appropriation so they don’t repeat the same mistakes over n over again. I can’t stand seeing the hate they receive for stuff they do that they possibly DK the significance of 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

long post

although we don't know if they actually know it or not, I think they're smarter than doing ca knowing it's offensive on broadcasts on purpose, like you have to be an absolute idiot (maybe they are at this point idk) 

also, it's obviously not fans' duty to keep educate them and I've seen a lot of discourse of people being rightfully tired of keep doing so. but at the same time, it's worth mentioning that a lot of international discourse hardly gets to their ears anyways. there was the wondering as to why sm is so quick to react when less important stuff happens but it won't react with ca even if many people email them about the matter. my answer is that sm as a general company will not take into consideration elements that are not directly impacting their name or the name of their artists in korea. for example, no one in korea probably knows about the ca issues and if they know because they've seen it on Twitter they don't care to spread the word. unless it's something huge when everyone talks about it (and from our perspective ca is huge but still, just some people are talking about it on Twitter, it's not on the trendings in korea) then sm will not make a statement because they think it's useless and it will only get them negative attention (in my opinion, sm will get positive attention if they apologize or make a statement because it will make them look aware, educated and responsible but that’s just my opinion). 

you'd think that since sm is expanding a lot overseas it would be more careful to take into consideration every culture and every country's opinion but it's not true.

at the same time, even if they don't care as a company to educate their artists and even if they're assholes (idols legit receive an education as in "if you date we will cut your balls" so I don't think it's hard for sm to do a workshop once a year and have a person explain ca to them or get the idol and say “yo, what you did is shit, stop”) since they're business people at least they should care about the money they would lose if they keep acting poorly. their money still comes from fans and if fans turn their backs to them they won't have it anymore.

idols could definitely educate themselves without companies stepping in but I think if the general korean public started to get educated first so international voices can be heard and spread by everyone then it will definitely help a lot

to give you an example, I live in Italy which can be seen as a cultured country when it comes to social issues, yet no one knows about the Indian dance moves, using black hairstyles if you're not black, calling roma people slurs, even all types of slurs going around. I personally know about it because I live on the internet and I speak English, but the average Italian person has no idea about it, no one talks about it ever. of course some of them will not give a fuck after you educate them but most of them after I say "hey this is why you should not do this because of this reason" they will stop and say that they had no idea. my mom was shocked to hear about black people not getting jobs or getting made fun of because they have natural hair and her rightful question was "why would they be denied work because of that?" because no one here really knows about other cultures' struggles if they're not actively spending a lot of time studying about it.

this is absolutely not to justify the lack of education koreans have as a population, but it’s still an element worth mentioning. if idols keep doing shit im inclined to say that maybe they don’t care about it (very dangerous take for them if they want to keep their reputations intact so it’s probably not the case) or they legit still don’t know about it which to us sounds absurd but I am a international relationships graduate and there’s still so much about the world I have no idea about and i am learning everyday. 

people like taeyong, although i have no fucking clue how he really is irl, will probably listen and understand fans’ concerns, especially him. and i can’t imagine him knowing about it and not giving a single damn. i also wish there were easier ways to make them understand certain things. 

I will end this long ass post by also mentioning how i think it’s very offensive and rude the way fandoms use social issues to feed into their wars and honestly it makes me boil with anger. everytime there’s something going on, i see the “yeah but your faves did this and this” or the first to act upon an issue is the “rival” fandom just because they finally have something to shit on the other group about. most of the people ive seen lamenting about ca are people that have no reason to feel offended about said thing but they just jump on the hate wagon because they generally hate a certain group. ca and other sensitive topics should not be the object of petty conflicts. people are appropriating someone else’s pain for their own stupid use instead of being mature and responsible people 

[burnt-tomato]

ello!! may i have some headcanons of Akaashi, Iwaizumi and Kuroo being protective and jealous over their crush?

A a a a a a a a a a I’m terribly sorry that I answered it late lmao. I got the notif for it during my sleep so I got to see it after like 11 hours lmao

Anyways here are your headcannons for Akaashi, Iwaizumi and Kuroo! Hope u like ‘em. Sorry for any grammar errors lol.

Kuroo

• Oh god I guess first up’s the meme himself. Dude’s the literal embodiment of a meme and has his fuccin hyena laugh

• Ok so despite him being a dorky, stupid but funny and enjoyable to be with, he is nOT able to stand you having boys around. He just wants you all to himself, and fu c k, he is scaReD to lose you which is why he’s really protective.

• The first time he gets realllyyyyy jealous was when you had a partner project, and would ya look at that, you’ve been paired up with a bOy. You were fine with it, your partner was fine with it, but dam n kuroo was NoT okay. During the class when you two had to sit together, he couldn’t even focus on his own work cuz he kept on glaring at the two of you. You noticed, your partner noticed, he is now scared because he thinks once class ends hes gonna die. Damn boi ya gotta start runnin. Once class is over, he runs up to your partner, who you were talking to on the way out. “Don’t you evEN think about stealing her from me you piece of shi-". You push him away before he starts cursing on your partner lmao. He is confused and scared as fuck I feel sorry lol. Because of his height, he was able to literally glare dOwN at him. You had to push him away and apologized to the boy, who you think is about to faint. “kuroo we were just talking about our project what the he-" “idiot. I wasn t really mad, I just wanted to give him a warning.. that’s all.”. God you could see the blushy embarrassed face he had it was damn cuttt e e e ee e e e -. He pulled ya over and hugged ya tightly. So that’s when you understood just how much he wants to be his. (Whatthefaq this onE headcannon is frikin lonG)

• I’m pretty sure kuroo isn’t the type who when gets jealous, will physically hurt someone (I onlY thInK) , but given his intelligence, he’s probably the type to threaten them and glare them down and call them a nitwit, dumbbell, ignoramus, muttonhead, nincompoop, tomfool, simpleton, out to lunch- k I'll stop searching up idiot synonyms. I think he’ll only get physical if someone would actually do something bad to you.

• Doesn’t like you walking on your own, so in the morning he picks you up at your place, then walks you home after school.

• Just fuccin loves to take advantage of his height. Even if your just like 5mm shorter, “Awww, do I really have to be taking care of my smol girlfriend wherever she goes?”. Honestly his canon height is boyfriend material shhdjdhdhdn.

• I like to think he has this 6th sense and whenever you’re like about to trip or if you’re gonna hit something, in a second he’s just, there, moving you away from the danger lmao

• Honestly I couldn’t think much for him sorry about that lol

Akaashi

• Oh crap this is gonna be hard

• When someone talks to you and is a boy, he’ll probably take a good look at the situation

• He’s like the type of person who wants to make sure that what he’s doing is correct and sure, so he will read the atmosphere between you and the boy

• If it’s just a friendly chat or something, he’ll probably let it slide. But when this “friendly chat" continues on and you two seem closer than usual, he’ll probably start glaring at you both.

• He doesn’t want to disrupt your conversation with him because he trusts you and respects the decisions you make

• Damn for some reason I can’t make memes when it’s about akaashi what the heck

• He might be the type who isn’t loud and is very quiet, so when he suspects something hes not sure of, he’ll probably wait till he’s sure

• When the guy starts asking you your birthday, address and phone number, damn akaashi will just…. N o .

• He is straightforward about his opinions and will interfere once something like that happens

• He’ll get in between you 2 and will start asking the boy

• Along the lines of “Hey. So these past few days I’ve been noticing that you’ve rather been close to my girlfriend. And recently I heard about you asking her number. So I wanted to make this clear to you right here right now. She is taken and is mine, alright? No one is allowed to flirt with her other than me. And if I see you talking to her this way again, you are not seeing the last of it, understand?”. He’s kinda the type who’ll threaten someone while keeping a straight face.

• Scared, the guy makes a run for it.

• “y/n, you should really tell me if something is going on yknow. I’m sure you already know that I won’t interfere unless something happens, right? So the next time it happens, don t be afraid to tell me, ok?”

• Damn y’all get a man like akaashi

Iwaizumi

• Ok I’ve read enough fics about this hedgehog, and let me tell you he is the one person you don t wanna make jealous

• He wants you to himself so don’t even think about flirting with others

• Once someone talks to you in a some sort of flirtatious manner, he’ll have some doubts first because he doesn’t want to interfere without a proper reason cuz yknow, ya might get annoyed or something

• But if something dies happen, like them publicly flirting and you getting annoyed bc who wouldn’t honestly, Hedgehog bf to da rescue!

• He will quietly stomp his way over, push you back, ending up you standing behind him. He will glare at the dood with fuccin dagger eyes and roughly (*coughcough* r o u g h l y) (wait a damn minute I thought I was writing x reader not yaoi watdafaq) pull his collar up, causing the guy to choke a little.

• “if you’re even thinking about making moves on MY girlfriend, you'd wish you never enrolled here you shitty bastard. I’m only gonna say this once before I lose my cool alright? Don’t evER make MY girl uncomfortable and flirt with her especially if it’s ME dating her.” Releases the guy's collar and pushes him aside. He’ll pull you by the arm harshly and lead you to a spot only you two are present

• “you should really learn not to look tough all the time. If there’s something wrong happening, you can always tell me, and I’ll be there for you ok? You got me scared there. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I let the guy do his thing. I could’ve lost you yknow?”.

• He’s the tough and intimidating on the outside but when with You, comfy and loving type of guy. He’ll do anything and will protect you from anything.

• Scared that he might lose you so he does his best to make you happy a a a a a a a

• Get a man like this hedgehog. Protective, tough and loving. Fuccin sad he’s not real lmao

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. WAIT..

OmygodOmygodOmygodOmygodOmygodOmygodOmygodOmygodOmygodOmygodOmygod

I just saw that the ask said "crush" but what I wrote was them and their s/o are already dating A A A A A A A A A A A A I'm sososoososososo sorry I only realized it when I finished a a a a a a a.

I'm terribly sorry I hope what I did was still okay

-♤

[blackaquokat]

23 with Acting Attorney if you're still taking these?

Sorry this took so long, my dear! Have another pre-WKM Married!Acting Attorney installment as an apology! For those who don’t know, Raindrop is a childhood nickname for my DA.

23. “When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them and their response is “you’re safe with me” – that’s intimacy.”

--

All relationships have to carry an equal balance of give-and-take. You have very little experience with relationships of your own, but you know this much.

So when Mark starts getting back into his habit of showering you with gifts whenever he feels uneasy about himself, you try to remind him of this.

He bristles. “What? I’m not allowed to get my favorite person gifts?”

You cross your arms. “Mark. I’ve known you for a long time. I know you throw around your money when something is wrong.” When you see him ready to get defensive again, you put a gentle arm on his hand. “I...I just want you to talk to me. That’s all.” You duck your head and your hand falls away. “You don’t have to, but I wish you would.”

Times like this, you are fully aware that the two of your are impossible people in what may as well be an impossible relationship. Mark is a wealthy, born for success and sunlight and all the enjoyments of life at his fingertips.

Really. What could you possibly have to offer him when the scales are already so unbalanced?

You wonder if you said any of that out loud, because suddenly Mark blurts out, “You’re too good for me.”

You blink in surprise. “You..what?”

Mark shakes his head and turns away. “Never mind, I--”

“Mark--”

“I don’t exactly have a frame of reference, Raindrop,” Mark continues. He won’t look at you, won’t turn back around. “I told you how my parents were. How Damien and Celine’s were, and even William’s. I’ve learned what not to do, but that’s all I know. I...I don’t mean to offend you--”

You reach out and touch his hand. “You’re not offending me, Mark. All you have to do is ask what I want. And...I’ll ask what you want too.”

You should have known, really. Mark’s fallback for showing love is giving and giving until the receiver drowns in Things. It never occurred to you that this confident actor was putting on a performance as well. Making sure you didn’t realize he was as lost as you are.

You need to make sure this remains clear. Neither of you are perfect, and chances are variations of this discussion will repeat on and on and on, but you’ll have it a thousand times if it means you and Mark never suffer under misconceptions of how the other is feeling.

He finally turns to look at you, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I just want you.”

You cup his face with your hands and try for a reassuring smile. “And all I want is you. So let’s start there, okay?”

His hands grip your wrists. “Okay.”

--

@starcrossedforever87 , @dontworryaboutanything , @beereblogsstuff , @falseroar , @intemperantiae , @memetoyoko , @soul-wolf , @marki-dumb , @withjust-a-bite , @raimeyl , @its-dari , @neverisadork , @silver-owl413 , @sassy-in-glasses , @chelseareferenced , @sketchy-scribs-n-doods , @axolittle-boi , @wildfandom , @im-also-dead-inside , @ur-fairy-god-dragon , @conceitedink , @unknown-maned-wolf , @ohnoimshook , @mayazen , @skyewardlight , @gabs-ink , @purple-anxiety-blog , @shrinkthisviolet , @scribbeetle

[mochinek0]

Daminette December 2022: 15-Side Effects Ch.12

FIRST / PREVIOUS

Serena couldn't stand the smell of the new omega in the Wayne manor. She could see the two pups on the floor. They reeked of the omega and Damian.

'He was suppose to be mine!'

With a smile, she inched towards the closest pup. Before she could grab it, she felt pain radiate throughout her body. Serena screamed.

"I can smell your foul thoughts." Marinette whispered in her ear, gripping Serena's arm harder "Why do you wish to kill my pups? Why would you take them from me?"

Damian growled, "Answer my mate, Filth!"

"I was suppose to be your mate!" Serena shouted.

"I don't even know your name." Damian stated, "My father decided about our stupid union; I never wanted any part of it. I found someone better."

Bruce and Serena's parents rushed into the room. Marinette picked up Serena and tossed her at the adults' feet.

"If your daughter tries to come after my pups again, I'll break her neck!" she hissed.

Her parents looked at their daughter's mangled arm. They hadn't realized how strong the new omega, Damian had chosen, was. Maybe their plan to get the mark removed was a bad idea. The new couple was glaring at their daughter and looked ready to pounce.

"Damian, why don't you take Marinette and your pups , upstairs to your nest, so she can calm down and know you are all okay." Bruce suggested.

Damian picked up one of their pups and handed them to Marinette, who began to coo. He picked up the other and led them upstairs, without another word.

"Momma, Papa, that omega hurt me!" Serena cried, nursing her arm.

"You all need to leave." Bruce stated.

"You can't be serious!" Mr. Varin shouted.

"You're lucky she isn't dead." Bruce announced, "Marinette gave her a warning. If she had tried for a pup, alone with Damian, I'd be paying to get her blood and body scraped off the ceiling and the floor. You'd be taking her home in multiple doggy bags. Never step foot in the manor again, for your own health."

Mr. Varin grabbed his daughter by her good arm and dragged her towards the front door. Lera quickly bowed and followed her husband. Once they were gone, Bruce collapsed in the nearest seat.

'Oh, yeah. Dangerous combination.'

TAG LIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @meme991001 @vixen-uchiha @abrx2002 @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @animegirlweeb @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus

[dollarstorethomasjefferson]

14, 27, 33, 53, 54, 66, 89, 91 and 98 my dood!! And if you've already answered any of them, feel free to pick one!!!

!!!!!! ✨💞✨💞✨

Which hurts the most, physical or emotional pain?  yikes well considering the fact I’ve had to skip school before because my emotional distress was somehow turning into physical pain.. I have to say emotional pain hurts the most.. I didn’t know you could be so upset, confused, anxious, conflicted, and just hate yourself so much to the point where your whole body hurts and you have to throw up every morning and night,, it really sucks,, but I’m getting better! And that’s all the matters, right?

What is your favorite color? Pastel colors! Blues! Yellows! Pinks! Coral!!! I love em!! Colors are fun and make me happy <3

Do you think anyone has feelings for you? pfFF ehh probably not?? I’m an extremely unlikeable person.. both in appearance and personality,,, besides, I don’t know what I would do if someone came out and told me they liked me. 

Are goodbyes hard for you? Well? I’ve had so many that I just feel,, empty,, when someone leaves. When I left Guam, I was upset and was really depressed for a couple months... it didn’t help that my one friend shut me out of her life completely until a year later. I guess that incident made me realize how unimportant I really am in people’s lives and it made saying goodbye a lot easier. ;u;

What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself? I thought this would be a hard question,, but I actually spilled applejuice on myself this morning before church,, so,,

Is there one person in your life that can always make you smile? Yes! Multiple actually! @sunnythebunny2​ always makes me smile, even though we get into little petty fights from time to time.. And all my mutuals!! I love you guys so much it’s insane.

What is something you wish you had more of? mmmm Confidence? Charisma? Talent? Motivation? But if I had to choose one.. it would be Empathy. I’m terrible at comforting people and “understanding” how they feel, and my old guidance counselor made it very clear how that will doom me in the future (((i might actually make a post about that story holy fuck it was awful))) 

Do you sleep with your window open? Not anymore! Bugs scares me and I have really bad intrusive thoughts about my cat falling out of the window and dying.. so um,, no, I will never sleep with my window open and as long as I live high above ground, I will keep my window closed. 

Do you have someone that makes you happy? Yep! All my friends (mutuals count as friends ;u;) and a whole bunch of youtubers. If they can make a joke, then it’s all good. 

Thank you for the ask!!! I had a fun time answering them <333 Have an amazing day, pal!! 🌺💖💘💗

[lostcybertronian]

47 driplierst

Long awaited sequel to this one here

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @holyshitsnakesandspace @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr @demonnightmareangel @moonysmayhem

Prompt 47: “This place is creepy.”

    “What do you mean, you don’t want to go with me to see the Host?”

    “That place is creepy.”

    Dr. Iplier crossed his arms, fixing him with a look. “You never used to say that.”

    “I-” Eric looked down at the floor, fighting to come up with a good excuse. How could he explain that the Host was dangerous? That he’d seen the Host and Dark torture someone not two weeks ago? The Host’s iron-tight grip- pale fingers clamped around his arm, miraculously clean of blood- and his smile- razor-sharp, like a knife’s edge- flashed through his mind, and Eric bit back a whimper. 

    The doctor’s eyes softened. “Is this about what you saw? I know you think-”

    “It’s doesn’t matter.” It didn’t matter that he thought that the Host was lying. No matter how hard he tried to convince him, Dr. Iplier refused to believe that the man he loved was a cold-blooded murderer. Eric took a deep, shuddering breath, let it go slowly. “I just don’t want to go.”

    “Come on.” Before he could protest, Dr. Iplier had an arm around his shoulders and was steering him toward the clinic doors. “You’ll feel better once we get there. And I’m sure the Host would love to see you.”

    “The Host would enjoy seeing Eric very much.” The Host’s tone had a hard edge to it as he appeared through the doors, seeming to manifest out of nowhere, as he tended to do. 

    “Oh!” Dr. Iplier stopped short. He withdrew from Eric, a smile emerging on his face as he went to greet the Host. “Host, we were just coming to visit yo-

    The Host didn’t return his smile; he snatched Dr. Iplier and dragged him to his chest, spinning him and forcing him into a headlock. 

“Host-” Dr. Iplier squawked, fingers clawing at the Host’s arms, his body bucking and struggling against an inescapable hold. His face quickly turned red as the Host tightened his arms, cutting off his air supply. “What are you doing- Host!”

“Oh- oh-” Eric rushed forward to help him, but the Host held out one hand, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Eric knows what he’s done.” The Host said, low and dangerous. Blood dripped down his cheeks, fell from his chin to dot Dr. Iplier’s hair. “Now he must face the consequences.”

“E-Eric?” Dr. Iplier’s eyes darted to him, wide with panic. With shock. With fear.

“I’m- I’m sorry!” Words spewed from his mouth and tears from his eyes, slipping out before he could stop them. “I- I- I won’t say another word! I promise! Please-”

Before he could finish his plea the Host jerked his arms and there was the sickening snap! of Dr. Iplier’s neck. The doctor’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed into the Host, who stepped aside and let him drop.

“No!” Eric fell to his knees beside Dr. Iplier’s prone form, hovering over him for a moment- it felt like forever, wondering if he could help him, if it wasn’t too late- before snapping his head up to shout, “how could you? He- he loved you! Yo-you were supposed to love him!”

The Host grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet, looming eerily close, close enough for Eric to smell the blood on his breath.

He opened his mouth to speak, and then-

Eric was sucked back into himself all of a sudden and he gasped, fighting to catch his breath. He felt warm pressure on his hand and looked just in time to see the Host draw away, to see him tuck his hands deep into the pockets of his trenchcoat.

“-wish I could smack some sense into his thick skull some days,” Dr. Iplier was saying as he wound fresh bandages around the Host’s head. “I swear, he actually thinks bullet wounds aren’t serious.”

He heaved a sigh and tied off the Host’s bandages. “Wilford is such a- Eric, are you alright?”

“You’re- you’re-” Eric could only stare, because Dr. Iplier was alive where seconds ago he’d been dead on the floor. “You’re-”

“Me?” The doctor blinked. “I’m fine, Eric.” He came over, raised a hand and pressed it against his forehead. “It’s you I’m worried about. Do you need to sit down?”

“I’m okay,” Eric managed to stammer out, even as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Host tilt his head toward him, saw him mutter something to himself. “I-I’m okay, I swear.”

“Alright then,” Dr. Iplier frowned, but nonetheless withdrew. “Tell me if you’re not feeling well, okay?”

Eric nodded frantically, unable to tear his eyes away as Dr. Iplier turned back to the Host, smiling and leaning down to give him a kiss. “Do you want to join us for a movie? Eric hasn’t had a great night.”

The Host returned his smile, but shook his head. “The Host must decline. He has some business to finish in his library, he’s afraid.”

Dr. Iplier nodded. “Don’t overwork yourself,” he warned.

The Host chuckled. “Edward worries too much.”

“For good reason.” Dr. Iplier moved away, going to put the bandages back.

Meanwhile, the Host got up from his chair, making for the clinic doors. As he passed, he placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder- squeezing a bit too tight for it to be friendly- and leaned in to whisper, “the Host would practice utmost caution, if he were Eric. He would not go spreading rumors where there are none to be found.”

He paused, seeming to wait for a response. But before Eric could give one he was shuffling on, every trace of a smile gone from his face.