#he's top of his game and Angry and Self-Assured and like it's deserved he's so competent but god at what cost

[shannonsketches]

He's just my favorite bastard yknow?

[oneyeartoparty]

I’ve been reading ur post and I just wanna request the brothers reacting to MC being fully able to fight back and win against belpie but didn’t in fear of hurting him? Probably knowing he would be a strong opponent too sorry if it’s too much😅

Hi! Its not too much at all. I hope you enjoy and thank you for the request =D

This contains: Mentions of violence, injury, being attacked, being trapped & death. Also has spoilers for Chapter 16.

Lucifer

Lucifer felt a feeling of dread, something quite rare for him, build up within him when he saw you and a floating Belphie in his demon form wrapped in chains appear before them on the staircase.

He was keenly aware of how much danger Belphie was in, and how he didn’t understand the situation at all. He was too preoccupied with attempting to free himself and hurl obscenities at anyone in range to notice he was close to being crushed.

Not wanting to see his youngest brother meet a grisly demise, he starts trying to calm you down and ensure you won’t harm Belphie.

When Lucifer learns Belphie tried to murder you, he becomes visibly angry. He might not show it outwardly often, but he has grown fond of you during your time in the Devildom, and losing you because he failed to safeguard you, from one of his brothers no less, would’ve incredibly upsetting for him.

Before Diavolo and Barbatos arrive, he’s able to convince you to slightly loosen the chains wrapped around his sibling, something he would secretly be proud of given the circumstances and your ruthlessness when it comes to defending yourself from unruly demons.

Once the truth of the situation is revealed, and everything has calmed down, and in Belphie’s case, been freed, Lucifer takes it upon himself to ensure you’re feeling ok after the incident and ensuring you get any support you need. He realises your happiness is important to him, and he’ll do whatever he can to make sure he can see your smile every day.

Mammon

When you descended the stairs with a little calf on a lead trotting behind you, Mammon was, like his brothers, incredibly confused. Where did you get that calf and how did it even get down into the Devildom in the first place?

It took him a few moments to recognize the cowhide had a pattern identical to the pillow Belphie always carried around. Had you used your magic to turn Belphie into the calf?

Of course, his human would be able to easily do something like this to one of the most powerful demons in existence. How could you not? He knew you were skilled and powerful enough to pull this off. It was hilarious when he thought about it. How frustrated must Belphie to have been turned into a helpless little calf?

But then he realised why you would’ve had to have done something like this. He knew Belphie hated humans, he was certainly capable and willing to kill one. That was the reason you had turned him, wasn’t it?

Mammon has rarely felt as much rage toward one of his brothers as he felt at that moment. Had you not been so skilled at magic, you could’ve been injured, or more likely, killed by Belphie. He was close to launching himself at his defenseless sibling when Diavolo and Barbatos burst in and revealed everything.

From many months after the incident, Mammon would keep a closer eye on you. He wanted to be there to protect you if something like this happened again. He wanted to be the one you could rely on and who could keep you safe.

Leviathan

Leviathan would never admit it, even well after the incident, but the sight of his youngest brother turned into a cardboard cut-out was hysterical to him.

The angry look on his brothers temporarily cardboard face as you tossed him from the top of the stairs and watched him slowly floated down to the floor has always bought him joy even during his saddest times.

He was keenly aware that you wouldn’t have done this unless Belphie has done something to warrant it. Since you were a human, it didn’t take Levi long to surmise that was the case, the idea confirmed by his brother’s cardboard form being in demon form with a rage-filled look on his face.

Levi didn’t blame you at all for doing this. You’d defended yourself and done so in a way that only embarrassed Belphie. He knew you could’ve done far worse, and he was glad for your restraint, though he doubted Belphie realised just how lucky he was.

When Diavolo and Barbatos finally arrived and revealed the truth behind recent events (and along with the brothers, convinced you to turn Belphie back into his regular demonic self) Levi checked on you in his way. He was both upset and overjoyed by the mix of events on that day, so he tried his best to stick close to you and make sure you were safe and happy. He even sent a few compliments your way, which was rare in more public settings.

Levi did punish his younger brother in his way for his stupid actions. Whenever the three of you played together, he’d always do his best to ensure Belphie came last, though he didn’t need to try too hard since he was usually napping 5 minutes into any game.

Satan

Satan wasn’t sure what he was expected when he and his brothers arrived back at the House of Lamentation, the last thing they were expecting was the peace they encountered. Belphie wasn’t known to be destructive, but angry demons did have a habit of smashing things unnecessarily.

When you appeared on the stairs, a book gripped in one hand he was relieved. You were unharmed, though he saw visible annoyance and fear in your expression. He knew then that something had happened, and it wasn’t good.

You walked straight up to Lucifer and handed him the book, saying in no uncertain terms that you weren’t freeing Belphie until you were certain he wouldn’t try killing you again and received a massive and genuine apology from the demon in question.

Dumbfounded, Lucifer opened the book, and Satan quickly moved beside him to get a look. The inside was a children's book, specifically the story of Snow White. The story followed the usual plot, except walking along the pages, looking angry and in his demon form, was Belphie.

He was enraged by his predicament. He was helpless in the pages, able to walk amongst the pictures but unable to change anything. He could move between pages but was unable to escape.

Later in the day, once everything was explained and Belphie was freed (and has given a substantial apology) Satan would congratulate you on easily subduing his youngest brother with ease and acknowledge your abilities.

He also vowed you would never need to use your powers in such a manner again, and he would always be by your side to defend you and keep you safe.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus must admit that the snow globe you had trapped Belphie in was both an ingenious way to contain the enraged demon and a beautifully designed piece he would gladly own if it weren’t a temporary prison.

He has wondered why of all things you were carrying the snow globe when you approached the group of demons. This wondered turned to concern when he saw the annoyed look on your face.

Once you’d explained what happened with Belphie he immediately came to your side and gave you a check over. The fact that this happened at all was atrocious, not to mention it was caused by his own younger brother.

His brothers tried to convince you to release Belphie, but Asmo doesn’t think he should be released just yet. After his actions, he deserves some punishment. He even offers to keep the snow globe in his room. He’ll be a perfect guardian of the object. Plus, he had already planned the perfect setup for some Devilgram photos including the snow globe.

He couldn’t hide his disappointment when Lucifer shot the idea down with a stern glare in his direction.

Once the truth of the situation and the truth of your origins was revealed my Diavolo and Barbatos, and Belphie freed (though Asmo still thought he should’ve been kept in there for a little longer), Asmo spends his time doting on you.

He knew situations like this could stick with someone, and he didn’t want you to feel alone or unprotected (even though he knew you could look after yourself). He also gave Belphie an earful about how stupid he was and warned him to never do that again, or he’d been dealing with both of you.

Beelzebub

Beel wasn’t concerned when you approached them with a sleeping Belphie floating along behind you on a bed of pillows. He was used to seeing his twin napping in strange situations, so this wasn’t different.

This changed when you told the group of demon brothers that Belphie wouldn’t be waking up until you had assurances that he wouldn’t try to murder you like he had just moments before.

Beel’s concern was torn between you and Belphie. Humans were fragile, and even one as powerful as you could be hurt by a demon-like Belphie, so he understood why you defended yourself and weren’t relenting. But Belphie was still his twin, even though he was wrong, he didn't want him trapped in eternal sleep.

He checks on you first, making sure you’re unhurt. He tells you he is immensely hurt by Belphies actions and hopes it doesn’t permanently ruin your relationship with him or ruin the chance of you mending things with Belphie.

After that, while his brothers are checking on you, he looks over Belphie. He is unhurt, but he is deeply asleep, far more so than he usually is. He affectionally moves some of the hair covering Belphie’s face just as Diavolo and Barbatos enter the room and reveal everything.

Once everything settles down, Beel spends his time trying to mend the relationship between you and his twin, and make sure you’re doing well, both mentally and physically. You’re both his family, and he will do whatever he can to make sure you’re both safe and happy.

Belphegor

Belphie thought you were an easy mark when you first met. A gullible, stupid human who he could easily string along to earn both his freedom and destroy the Exchange Program.

It was this arrogance that leads to him ignoring you when you talked about being a powerful magic user. No doubt you were only an expert in sleight of hand party tricks and were simply trying to impress him.

Imagine his surprise when he tried attacking you but found himself trapped in a near-transparent bubble instead.

Even his most vicious and powerful attacks in his demon form were unable to penetrate or dent the sphere now surrounding him and this only served to increase his fury.

He was so focused on trying to escape he didn’t notice you taking him down to the house’s entryway where his brothers were gathered. Their argument below quickly turned into pleading for you not to hurt him and to please let him down gently.

You were adamant though. You wouldn’t hurt him, but you wouldn’t let him down until you knew he’d stop attacking you.

You would later explain to Belphie you weren’t lying and were indeed a powerful magic user. Your abilities were spotted by the Sorcerers’ Society at a young age, and they took you in and taught you all they know.

He’s both impressed by your skills and grateful that he was never close to hurting you. He vows to himself to never again hurt you and to support you forevermore to make up forever thinking of hurting you.

[mxgilray]

Loki Season 1 Thoughts

Overall, I really liked this series. It has some issues without question, but I sincerely don't think it's the dumpster fire so many viewers on this site treat it as. Did it go how I expected? Not at all? Did I enjoy the heck out of it and look forward to it every Wednesday? Hell yeah!

Loki's Good Guy Personality

A big complaint many have had with it is how much Loki's demeanor has changed and how his emotional growth feels rushed or his personality is ooc. Truth is, he saw his entire future, saw what his angry, power hungry, I-work-alone persona would get him in the end, and it snapped him back to reality. He has always been shown to be quite emotional and craving attention and lacking in self assurance, it's just in the past movies he's masked it with violence and fake narcissism, and he's always been a secondary character so his perspective is rarely shown. But if you really pay attention it's obvious he isn't truly villainous; we all know that, it's largely why he has such a huge fan base.

Right after meeting Mobius, Loki got an infodump of his future, saw his parents both die, found out that free will means jack shit, and learned he's absolutely powerless in this realm. On top of that, this is 2012 Loki, fresh off of being under Thanos' control, suddenly being shown that the guy who controlled him is going to end up killing him. Frankly,, I think it all broke Loki. He was too shook up by it all and by the sheer helplessness he found himself in at the TVA that he let all his barriers down momentarily. Just long enough for him to open up to Mobius about his motivation and his lack of self confidence. And you know what I bet? Loki felt relieved after talking to Mobius. A weight was lifted, because he bore his heart to someone and wasn't rejected or laughed at or treated like a psycho. And after letting his walls down fully, Loki didn't feel the need to put all of them back up. He stayed guarded around other people, but he didn't need to pretend around Mobius. Mobius has seen under the mask, so Loki doesn't feel pressure to perform as an all knowing, all powerful God around Mobius. That freedom is life changing.

People who gravitate towards broken, pseudo-villain characters do so because we relate to their internal conflict, their mental illness, their need to fake it around everyone close to them. Their turmoil and depression and self destructive behavior are familiar and we see ourselves reflected in their actions. Now, when a person really truly let's their guard down, drops all their layers of facade, and embraces themself, they tend to change demeanor and even personality pretty drastically. It's jarring in real life, so of course when it happens to a fictional character who you usually relate to it is going to be jarring, maybe even more so because it feels like a change you yourself would never go through. I know this sounds bad and people might get at me for it, but...

I believe the issue here is that a large part of Loki's fan base doesn't want him to get better. They don't want him to move past his mental illness, to learn how to cope with anger and disappointment in healthier ways, to be happy. They like his damaged persona, they like the internal conflict. Maybe it's because they're still at that low place themself and feel like a relatable character is getting taken away from them, maybe it's because they don't understand how much being at peace with yourself can alter a person and to them it feels like he's been changed too much. To those of us mostly on the up and up from battling depression and mental illness, it's comforting to see Loki getting a chance to be genuinely happy and accepting of himself.

Sylki and Lokius

First things first, I'm not anti anything. Ship what you want, idc. Personally, I do not see the Sylki dynamic as romantic, but I get why people read it that way. I thought the series did a good job of showing unrequited love, namely Loki falling for Sylvie and Sylvie feeling zero romance towards him. This was aware of his attraction and in the end used it as a distraction so she could get the upper hand. The show played up the potential romance because we are viewing things from Loki's perspective and he's become smitten as a kitten. I do think in the long run they'll have a more sibling-like dynamic, one Loki realizes that you can feel extreme love and care for a person without it being romantic. I enjoyed how the show explored their relationship, though I do wish they hadn't had every character under the sun mention their moment on Lamentis-1 like it was some big deal to bond with someone you're about to die with.

I'm bitter towards the development of Lokius. It had a strong start in the beginning, and in ep 5 had some potential reignited, but then they had Mobius not know who Loki is at the end. I'm still hoping they're playing the long game with this ship and that it'll come to fruition partway through season 2. The chemistry is there, and Mobius knows Loki very intimately and isn't put off by his past. Loki also feels much more at ease around Mobius than he does around Sylvie. It's the comfort of a deep loving bond with Mobius verses the nervousness of a new crush that he feels for Sylvie.

I don't think Loki is quite aware of his feelings for Mobius, simply because it's based in friendship and mutual respect and isn't a hot and heavy lust. Plus, as soon as he was away from Mobius he was thrown into a near death experience with Sylvie and developed a surface crush during their heart to heart. Since Loki's still figuring out what genuine feelings are beyond anger and sadness, he sees the simplistic crush he has on Sylvie as love and the intimate bond he's been forming with Mobius as friendship. He doesn't understand his own feelings yet, but I think he'll figure it out next season. I mean, he was probably already rethinking his feelings for her after she kissed and betrayed him, mentally kicking himself for expecting her to not pull a Loki betrayal like he would've in the past.

The Time Variance Authority

I really like the concept of the TVA, the structure of it, the methods they use, the deeply fucked way they recruit employees, the cult like motto, shady Miss Minutes who is definitely playing her own long game, and the blind acceptance TVA agents have of the Time Keepers' will. It's all very well done... until your dig into the core, aka He Who Remains. They built up the idea that the Time Keepers created the TVA to prevent a multiverse war and that they created agents to enforce their will. Then the creating agents turned out to be fake, the Time Keepers were fake, I expected the reason for the TVA's existence to be fake to. It felt too simple to have it genuinely exist just to keep the multiverse in check. Why the anonymity, unless it's to keep from having agents target and prune versions of himself which.. songs like a decent solution. HWR made it sound as though the multiverse war was just a bunch of versions of himself screwing shit up, so why isn't the TVA's focus on eradicating every other variant of this guy? Sounds a lot easier and nicer than fucking with the free will of every other living being. So either Marvel made a bad call when choosing what HWR's motive was for creating the TVA, or he was lying about it all to cover up something sinister.

Overall Storyline

I'm fairly happy with the plot as a whole. There were some pacing issues and I think a few missed chances for deeper conversations between various characters. While I enjoyed the Loki variants, I honestly would've been happier seeing Tom playing most the variants (except Kid Loki and Classic Loki since they are clearly different age ranges). If there is supposed to be one sacred timeline, it seems off to me that Lokis would be allowed to vary so extremely without it causing a nexus event(an alligator, whose nexus wasn't that he's an animal who obviously can't do any magic much less command Thanos' army, but that he ate someone's cat) and not just in appearance but in life path (ie boastful Loki collected all the infinity stones but it wasn't till he had 6 that he caused a nexus event even though him gaining control of the Soul, Power, and Time stones should've each caused nexus events since on the sacred timeline he never interacts with those 3 and taking any one of them would've fucked up a lot of other timeline parts)

I love the display of Lokis raw power, and 2012 Loki coming to the realization that he's way more powerful than he ever thought. And it wasn't just Classic Loki who spent thousands of years alone honing his skills, 2012 Loki reversed time on a goddamn falling building! I also liked the small magic, the fireworks, the tablecloth blanket, Loki yanking Sylvie away from HWR with just magic.

As someone who is both bisexual and genderfluid, I would've really loved more concrete representation. The comment about there never being another female Loki hit me in the gut; it undermined the Easter egg "Sex: Fluid" on Loki's TVA file. With how big a deal Sylvie being female was made out to be throughout the season, I expected her gender to play a key role in taking down the head of the TVA, like it was foretold that only a female Loki could end it all or some shit.

I don't mind the idea of Loki finding love in a straight passing relationship. I don't even mind the selfcest all that much. It just feels so obvious to me that Sylvie is written as not having any romantic inclination towards Loki, while Mobius is clearly written as falling in love with someone he shouldn't and trying to maintain an heir of professionalism to keep from wrecking his bond with Loki. I really really hope they come through on season 2 and give Lokius the canon relationship and proper representation they deserve.

Mmkay I thinks that's all the thoughts I've got right now. If you've been feeling cheated or clowned by how things went this season, maybe my perspective of things can help ease your pain.

[ssa-thotchnerr]

Missing You

Aaron Hotchner x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: ANGST!! blood,  violence, swearing, hospitals

Word count: 2.4K words

A/N: My first full Hotch fic! I hope you guys like this, and I hope to write more one-shots if you guys request for them!

—

You looked up at the ceiling as your heard footsteps coming from upstairs. You were being kept in the basement of the unsubs house, you weren't sure the last time you saw natural light was. You were shaking, fearful of what torture you would be put through at that moment. Your breathing picked up as the stairs down to the basement creaked, and the door swung open.

"Get up," He snarled, growing angry when you tried your hardest to stand up, but ultimately failed. "Dammit, I said get up!" He yelled, striding towards you and yanking you up to your feet and grabbing your hair roughly, pulling your head back to keep a proper grip on you.

"Plea-please let me go," You whimpered. Your jaw dropped as your dads team came in, Morgan and Rossi leading the group as Reid and Hotch stood in the back, your dad without a gun so he didn't make any rash decisions. The UnSub grinned as he pulled out his knife. In the usual run of things, you would have been overjoyed to see your dad again, but this was not the usual run of things.

"Daniel Robson, drop the knife and let her go," Rossi demanded, watching carefully as he taunted you with the knife, dragging it over your skin. "You don't want to do this." He said. The unsub shook his head and laughed, tilting his head. You choked on a sob as he yanked your hair harder. Hotch was panicking, but he couldn't show it, this is what he wanted and he would be damned if he would give it to him.

"Don't I?" He asked, raising his eyebrows as the knife came to rest at your stomach. You made eye contact with your dad, while he appeared calm, you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was anything but. The Unsub put his face in the crook of your neck, you knew better than to fight back. "I'm so sorry." He whispered. Before you could take in what that meant, he pushed the knife into your stomach. He pulled the knife out, and made another motion, centimetres away from the initial stab wound.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Derek fired a shot through his skull as Hotch ran towards you, unable to catch you as you fell to the floor. You didn't feel the pain of your head hitting the floor, you didn't really feel anything at all.

"D-dad?" You stuttered out, looking up at him as your eyes were able to focus on him. "Y-You came." A grin appeared on your face as he lifted your head into his lap. Derek had called an ambulance, while Rossi was holding Spencer back. The genius saw you as the little sister he didn't know he wanted. You were a smart kid, a good kid, you deserved everything but this. You were shivering, whether it be because of the cold or shock, no one knew, it was probably the latter. Hotch had his hand gently resting on the wounds on your stomach, coating his hands in blood.

Your blood.

"Of course I came," Hotch said, pushing your hair away from your face. "Derek, where's that damn ambulance?" He asked, turning his head away from you for a second to look at Derek. You coughed, causing the pain from your wounds to skyrocket, blood coming out from your mouth as you spluttered. You knew that was a sign of internal bleeding, and you felt your heart stop, it wasn't a good sign.

"Am-Am I gonna die?" You asked him, your voice shaking as you looked up at him, the life from your eyes that mirrored your fathers slowly draining. Hotch put up a brave facade, he had to, he couldn't bear to think about how he'd have to explain to Jack how his big sister would never be coming home. He didn't want to think about losing you, it was always supposed to be him, never you. "Cause-cause dad, I-I don't wanna die." You said, a break in your voice as tears leaked from your eyes. Rossi had taken the Boy Genius out of the room, outside to JJ and Emily to tell them what had happened. Derek had called the ambulance again, and tried his hardest to keep a level head when doing so. Hotch's heart broke at your fear filled question, you were barely 16, you shouldn't be in this situation.

You'd regretted the fight you had with your dad that night, the things you said to each other still hurt to think about. Neither of you were in the right, but neither in the wrong. As you'd stormed out of the house, your last thought was that you'd be kidnapped.

You didn't think you'd be dying in your dads arms.

"Don't say that, Y/N. You're not gonna die, we're getting you out of here and you'll go home and you'll see Jack," He said. Your breathing started to become more laboured, and the ensuing panic that took over you. "Calm down, Y/N, you're only going to make things worse for yourself," Hotch said, his hands shaking as he ran his fingers through your hair. Your eyes started to droop as you became more and more tired, your dad noticed. "Hey, look at me, keep your eyes open, don't you dare close your eyes on me Y/N Hotchner." He said through gritted teeth. Lazily, you looked up at your dad and smiled.

Your eyes closed.

-

Hotch sat staring in front of him, his blood coated self had gone into autopilot, occasionally looking around at his team. The ambulance had gotten there just as you fell unconscious, and it was in the ambulance when he was gripping your hand he'd let himself break down in tears. Everyone had come, Morgan, JJ, Reid, Rossi, Prentiss and Penelope came. They'd tried to get your father to talk to them, but Hotch was even more stoic than usual.

"Aaron Hotchner?" A doctor came out, his scrubs covered in blood. Hotch was fearing the worst, God, it was one of his worst fears. He stepped outside of the waiting room and prepared himself, that's what he told himself. He told himself he was ready for it, but how could you be ready for this?  "Mr. Hotchner, your daughter will be fine. She suffered massive blood loss, she's had transfusions and they appear to be working perfectly, she's awake, but I'm gonna ask that only you go in right now, other family members will have to wait,” The doctor said, smiling as your dad nodded. “She’s a fighter, I’ll give that to her, Mr. Hotchner, it’s a miracle she survived.” He said, smiling at your dad and leading him up the hall to where your room was.

"Believe me, I know,” He said, a small smile on his face as he looked into the room through the window. “Thank you," Hotch said, looking back as he walked to the room where you were. You were laying on the hospital bed, a bored look on your face as you looked around, only for the bored look to disappear and a smile to appear at the sight of your dad. "Hey." He said, taking a seat beside you and holding your hand in his.

"Hi," You said, a pained look on your face as you twisted around the wrong way, causing sharp pains to shoot through your abdomen. "That hurt." You winced, looking up at your dad as he laughed.

"How are you feeling?" He asked you.

"As good as I can after being stabbed twice," You deadpanned to him. Hotch smiled sadly as you let out a sigh, playing with the ends of the hospital blanket. "I don't think I've ever been so scared." You said quietly, refusing to make eye contact with your dad.

"I know you were scared, I know I was," He said, eliciting a small laugh from you. "Jacks been asking about where you were for the past three weeks, I was running out of things to tell him."

"Speaking of Jack, where is he?" You asked.

"He's with Jessica, don't worry, he's fine," Hotch assured you. You nodded and sighed, resting your head on the pillow and only realising just how tired you actually were. "Tired?" He asked you. You nodded in response and looked at your dad through tired eyes, smiling lazily when he kissed the top of your head. "Alright, get some rest. You're gonna get an earful from Garcia when you wake up about how she's gonna follow you everywhere so nothing bad every happens to you again." He said, quoting Garcia's words from the brief phone call the pair had shared.

"Oh boy, I'm looking forward to it," You grumbled, your voice mumbled by the pillow your face was shoved into. Hotch chuckled and shook his head as he left the hospital room and back to the waiting room. Everyone looked up at him simultaneously.

"She's gonna be fine," Hotch told them, a chorus of signs coming from the members of the BAU.

"Can we see her?" Spencer asked, standing up from the uncomfortable hospital seat that he'd moulded himself into hours earlier.

"Not right now, they're only letting family in for now, that and she's asleep and I don't advise waking Y/N up on any good day," Hotch said, getting a laugh from the rest of the team. "Alright, I have to go, Jessica's dropping Jack off soon and I'm gonna have to tell him about Y/N." He said. Everyone nodded and wished you well as Hotch left, then the team following suit.

—

"Can you tell me why I'm not allowed to go to school but to the BAU? You're not working a case, are you?" You asked your dad, looking over at your dad as he pulled into the parking lot of the building. Hotch shook his head as he looked over at you, you knew something was up when he wasn't dressed in his usual work attire, and he'd told you that you'd have a day away from your home school work, since you obviously wouldn't be going back to school for a while.

“I can’t tell you that, it’ll ruin the surprise,” Hotch said, getting out of the car and waiting for you to do the same. You walked over to him as you both started walking into the building. You stepped into the elevator and played some game on your phone until the doors opened with a ping. You cautiously stepped out, taking in the lack of noise from the bullpen. “What are you doing?” Your dad asked you, noticing you’d stopped dead in your tracks. First of all, it was a Saturday and the entire building was empty. Second of all, your dad was never so quiet when it came to things like this, yeah, the man could keep a secret, but he’d always tease you about it, just to piss you off.

So, what made this so special?

“I don’t trust this, I can’t hear Reid mouthing off facts no one asked for or Morgan replying to said useless facts,” You said, raising your eyebrows as you spoke. Hotch nodded his head, understanding where you were coming from.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go,” Your dad said, standing behind you and pushing you forward, eliciting a groan from you. As he pushed you into the bullpen, you were greeted with a chorus of ‘Surprise!’ and Penelope firing party poppers at you.

“I...do not know what to say,” You said, turning back to look at your dad, whose face held a knowing smirk. “You did this?” You asked him.

“With help from the obvious,” Emily commented. Garcia ran forward and hugged you gently, mindful of the bandages visible through your sweatshirt.

“Oh my sweet, sweet, baby Hotchner, you’re never leaving my sight again,” She said, repeating to you what she’d already said back at the hospital. You smiled at her and giggled, nodding as you raised your hands to not oppose the idea she had. After talking to everyone else, you settled beside Spencer, who put his arm around you. When he’d first met you when you were 5 years old, he’d worried about the Reid effect, he was going to make his bosses daughter cry. But, he was shocked when you were completely calm around him, so comfortable that you were the first person you’d introduced yourself to.

“I’m gonna have to agree with what Garcia said earlier,” Spencer said, getting a groan from you as you looked up at him. “I, being serious! I mean, you’re really small and realistically, you happen to be a-“

“Spencer, shut up,” You said, jokingly punching his shoulder. “Just calm down, alright? I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me. I already have my dad doing that constantly since I got home from the hospital.” You told him.

“Exactly, he’s your dad, Y/N, it’s pretty much his job to worry about you,” Spencer reminded you. “And worry he did, after your fight, he was snappier, more so than usual.” You smiled sadly.

“Yeah, it got pretty ugly,” You said, raising your eyebrows as you played with the ties of your grey sweatpants. “We’re alright, though. I think after this whole thing we’ve made a silent pact not to fight anymore.” Spencer smiled as he nodded.

“That’s good, you shouldn’t fight with your dad, I don’t know who’d be worse, you or him,” You shook your head and rested it against Spencer’s shoulder.

“Talk quieter, if he hears you it’ll turn into a competition,” You said, a grin on your face as you looked up at Spencer. Like him, you considered him the older brother you never knew you wanted. “That would get nasty really quickly.”

“I kinda wanna see it now,”

-

Taglist - Open!

@psych0crybaby @laiba-the-person

[rosaliehaley]

Emmett and Rosalie headcannons

(because fuck smeyer, her opinion isn’t valid - this is me giving them the slowburn-relationship they deserve)

Rosalie was terrified when she watched Emmett go through the transformation, fearing that she was wrong again and fell for another monster. She realized that he would be the only man strong enough to hurt her and that truly scared her.

She prepared herself for Emmett being furious with her or even attacking her after waking up as a vampire - which of course wasn’t the case as he ended up being thrilled about his existence. Rosalie didn’t know how to feel about that as she was reliefed but kind of offended at the same time.

She went hunting with him shortly after. Emmett, being the chaotic goofball he is, ended up testing his newfound vampire powers, wrestling bears and jumping around the woods.

At first Rosalie was kind of annoyed about that, but Emmett asked her to join in and she did so, begrudgingly. What she didn’t anticipate was how much fun she’d have. For the first time since her assault and transformation, she was carefree and enjoyed herself. They made childish competitions about who could jump further, who could climb faster, who could hold their breath longer - that was also the day Rosalie called him first her “monkey man”. Rosalie had fun for the first time in a really long time and almost felt thankful to be alive, a feeling she thought she lost a really long time ago.

They’ve climbed to the top of the smokey mountains and had a conversation about their human lives, their interests, etc. They’ve learned that neither of them fitted their stereotypes: Rosalie, the beautiful blonde, was a mechanic and Emmett liked to paint. Rosalie also learned about Emmett’s large family of scottish and irish decent. She felt that it was very easy to talk to Emmett, but she wasn’t comfortable with sharing her trauma with him yet.

On their way home they played tag ... which ended badly when Emmett caught the scent of a human. Rosalie tried to stop him, but Emmett wasn’t able to resist, he gave into the monster inside of him. He pushed Rosalie to the ground, which reminded her of her assault. This resulted in a panic attack and Rosalie was immediately reminded that she’d never be able to be truly carefree and that she should stay away from Emmett for her own well-being.

They’ve spend a few days apart, which was hard because they essentially lived together now. After a few days they finally talked about what happened and made up. They’ve talked about Rosalie’s favourite book - which Emmett read to get to know her better ... and maybe (just maybe!) impress her a little. He also showed her one of his paintings, in which he processed “being a monster”. Rosalie realized that killing a human made Emmett feel worse than he first lead on and was there for him. This brought them a lot closer together.

Rosalie quickly learned about Emmett’s wild past - Edward warned her about it and Rosalie heared Emmett’s human family mentioning it when she brought them some of Carlisle’s money. This made her feel anxious - drinking and sleeping around was something she knew from Royce. She feared that they could be more similar than she thought, that maybe Emmett had a dark side like Royce did. She was wrong before so how could she be sure that history wouldn’t just repeat itself? She decided it would be best to hide her trauma for as long as she could.

Emmett was always so carefree with her, hugging and slightly touching her - which caused Rosalie to panic and push him away a lot of the time.

Over the weeks they became friends regardless - talked for hours and hours, went hunting together, Rosalie taught him how to repair cars and Emmett taught her how to paint. It was Emmett’s idea to start the baseball tradition - simply because he wanted to make Rosalie smile. He’d do anything to make her happy.

Later on Emmett admitted his feelings to Rosalie - she didn’t know how to react to that. Thinking about protecting herself, she pushed him away. She did so in a rather mean way - thinking it would be better to break his heart before he could end up breaking hers. She lied to him, telling him that he’d never be good enough for her.

She begged Carlisle to make Emmett leave, but the family has grown so used to him that they didn’t want him to leave. Emmett still left, sensing that he must’ve done something to hurt Rosalie and just wanting her to be happy again ... you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone because it was only then that Rosalie realized that she needed him and that she had feelings for him as well. So she chased him and convinced him to stay, telling him that she’s falling for him as well.

For the first time in her life Rosalie felt insecure - what if Emmett didn’t like her? If he wanted a physical relationship, which she felt like she couldn’t give him yet? What if she wasn’t good enough? Emmett felt similar - how could he, a boy from Tennessee, be possibly good enough for that extremely beautiful woman that he felt like could have whoever she wanted?

They’ve tried to have a couple of dates - some of them went well, others not so much because Rosalie felt constantly reminded of Royce. She realized that she had to tell him about her past if she wanted her relationship with Emmett to work.

She tried talking to him about her assault but then completely panicked. Not wanting Emmett to treat her differently and just see her as “the rape victim” or worst case, even judge her, she lied to him, telling him that she died by a car accident caused by her drunk fiancee.

Rosalie was to terrified to let Emmett in, so she decided it would be best for her to leave. She went to the airport, wanting to start over somewhere else but Emmett convinced her to stay. She decided to let her guard down and give him a chance.

They’ve had another date and ended up going to a bar - it was an open-mic-night and Rosalie made fun about some of the singers until Emmett dared her to sing something herself. She sang a love song for Emmett and he sang about her and that’s when they completely fell for each other. They came close to kissing, but neither of them dared to take the first step.

The decision was made for them later on when someone in the bar started bleeding - Emmett was about to lose his self-control again and Rosalie knew that she’d have to distract him. So she tried giving him the one thing that he might want more than the blood and kissed him.

It worked and they’ve quickly got out of there, couldn’t stop kissing each other once they’ve started. They went home and tried having sex - Rosalie knew that this wasn’t the best idea, but she just wanted to try being “normal” and taking the relationship to the next level. But eventually she completely panicked, feeling as if Royce and the others were there and torturing her again. She started to cry and scream and pushed Emmett away, who had no idea what was going on. She begged him to leave and he considered doing that, wanting her to feel comfortable ... but he decided to stay with her and help her.

After she calmed down a little, she was finally honest with him and told him about everything that happened with Royce. Emmett was shocked at first and started blaming himself for not being careful enough with her. She thought that he would be angry with her lying to him - or even worse, disgusted by her because of what happened - but none of that happened. He assured her that what happened to her wasn’t her fault and that it didn’t change the way he thinks about her. He felt so sad knowing that his angel had to go through something so vile and was glad when he learned that she took revenge.

They’ve talked about intimacy and Rosalie admitted that she wasn’t sure if she could ever have sex with him. Emmett assured her that that’s fine, that he’d wait for as long as she needed. While he’d like to get physical with her, he cared about her well-being much, much more and promised her, that even if they couldn’t get intimate, they’d still have a beautiful eternity. That was also the moment when he admitted to Rosalie that he loved her - shy at first, but once he said the words he was completely sure of how much he loved her. Rosalie couldn’t yet say it back and Emmett accepted that. They agreed that she needed to learn to love herself first.

They spend the entire night just holding hands and looking at each other. The next morning the decided that they were “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” from now on - something Rosalie thought was so pure. She’s never been someone’s girlfriend, just the “beautiful fiancee”.

Emmett of course was not able to hurt Royce and the others - but he needed a way to deal with the rage so he went to Rochester and destroyed their memorials. Rosalie considered that as kinda sweet.

After spending a few months together, Emmett proposed to her

They’ve had a very intimate wedding, only the other Cullens being there. Esme and Carlisle, once again having more money that they could possibly spend, bought them a castle in Scotland, where a part of Emmett’s human family was from. There they could spend their honeymoon

On their wedding night Rosalie and Emmett tried to have sex again - she began wanting to be intimate with him as well - but Rosalie panicked again. She was thinking about just “getting it over with”, but Emmett assured her that they’d wait until she feels comfortable. Instead they spend their wedding night playing board games. (They’ve shared a lot of wedding nights ever since ... but Rosalie and Emmett agree that this first one was the best of them all)

They managed to have sex a few days later and it was everything Rosalie dreamed of. She completely fell in love with the way Emmett touched her and slowly learned to love herself and her body again. She fell in love with having sex and the two of them rarely left the bed during their honeymoon - until it broke one day, of course. Not to mention that the castle was destroyed after a few weeks ... but they were happy. So happy.

Rosalie still dreamed of being human and having children with Emmett. But she loved him so much that she’d never sacrifice him. And Emmett promised her that someday - no matter how long it would take, 100 or 1000 years - one day they’d find a way to have a child.

[redrosesartcabin]

Self indulgent series Part 2.2 (last part for now)

Life part 2

(And here’s the link to Life part 1: https://redrosesartcabin.tumblr.com/post/643294968092442624/self-indulgent-series-part-21 )

It was two months since they had been in New York City.

Y/n was recording her newest album in her favorite studio in Dublin. She had felt a little strange in the morning but had just brushed it off as being especially hungry after eating had made the strange feeling almost entirely disappear.

But as she was getting into recording the songs, she felt it come back, and this time much, much worse. It converted into illness.

And in the middle of the sentence, she just couldn’t do it anymore; she ran.

“Mrs.Kon”, the producer, Mrs.Long yelled, “where the fuck are you going? You can’t just-“, but she stopped herself as she heard the singer throw up in the toilet.

“Dear god”, she uttered, getting up from her seat as did the other musicians. They had already noticed something had been wrong with Red Rose. She was usually very much into her songs and nothing could break her from that, so her just running out was very concerning.

“Mrs.Kon. Are you ok?”, the producer asked carefully, standing before the stall. She felt bad for having cussed out the singer so quickly.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, y/n answered, slowly getting out of the cabin, “I must have caught some bad bug or something. I should better go… I don’t want to, but I really don’t want to spread whatever I have either”

“That’s probably a good idea. Let’s meet next week then. We’ll talk about when over the phone, I still need to check the schedule”

“Ok. Thank you so much!”

“No problem. Get well soon!”

 That however didn’t happen. Over the next few days y/n continued throwing up in the morning. She also had to go to the toilet much more often, had terrible headaches in the evening and slight back pains. And on top of that she noticed her period had skipped.

Eventually she decided to google the symptoms… and it all lead to one thing. (Not cancer luckily like google usually did!) The first article that popped up was-

“Pregnant?!”, she yelled out to herself.

Could it be?

But after thinking it over there was just no other explanation for the collective of strangely specific symptoms.

Immediately, she got up, went to the pharmacy and bought three different pregnancy tests.

“I want to be sure. This wasn’t planned you know?”, she told the pharmacist who looked a little surprised.

“I hope it wasn’t just a fling”, the pharmacist answered.

“Oh god no! I’ve been together with my husband for eight years and we’ve been married for two and a half. I’m good on that front. We’re however very busy people and-“

“It’ll be fine”, the pharmacist reassured her, “you’ll see. A pregnancy won’t stop you from too many plans I’m sure”

“Yeah… thanks”, y/n smiled back nervously.

“No problem. And good luck!”

 With wide eyes she looked at the three positive tests.

“Christ… I actually… wow”

She loved Kenji and he loved her, but it wasn’t the best timing.

“So what though?!”, she yelled at herself, “then I’ll drive to his set and we’ll talk. But what if he’s disappointed? What if he thinks it’s inconvenient? What if he’ll get so scared- NO, don’t even go there, y/n, how dare you?”, but still she felt nervous.

She almost felt like throwing up again but decided she didn’t vibe with that.

“I have to be strong”, she whispered to herself.

So, she packed her things and drove off.

 “Mr.Kon, your wife is here”, one of the staff members told Kenji as he got ready for the next scene.

“Oh ok”, he answered clearly surprised. He was happy to see her, because of course he’d always be happy to have her near him, yet at the same time he was annoyed she didn’t talk to him about it. He had a tight schedule, and he wouldn’t be able to tend to her as much as he’d like to and as much as she’d deserve, “send her in please”

“I will sir”, the staff member answered and only a couple of seconds later she entered. She was beautiful and radiant as always, yet something about her felt a little off.

“Hello, my darling”, he greeted her and gave her a passionate kiss she only returned shyly “, what are you doing here?”, he asked a little too annoyed. He hadn’t meant to sound like that, but her strange return of affection rubbed him the wrong way together with the fact she hadn’t talked to him about coming.

“Can’t I come surprise visit you without going completely off the rails?!”, she asked unusually aggressive.

“I mean sure; But first of all, I didn’t go off the rails and secondly: the way you act you barely seem like you actually want to”

“Which is partly true”, she answered. For a moment a moment of shocked silence passed before he took a deep breath and asked, very passively aggressive.

“Now, what is that suppose to mean?”, but before she could answer he was called for the scene.

“We’ll talk about this later”, he answered, glaring at her, which she returned with an equally angry stare. Of course, in actuality, they were both pretty hurt by this short yet very heated conversation. He was hurt because she seemed to be angry at him for something and was only here to announce that and she was hurt because she hadn’t meant to be like that.

At first, she pretended she was mad at him and sat down on the stool he had sat on to get ready, almost fuming.

How dare he be annoyed she was here without announcing her presence! But the more she thought about it, the more she recognized she had messed up. She had converted her nervousness and fear into pure ratchetness to appear right in the situation. And the more that became clear, the more she felt tears build up. Her emotions were all over these days. She was an emotional person under normal circumstances, but with her condition it was even worse. When she had seen him after two weeks of not seeing him in person, she had wanted nothing kiss him and spend hours hanging around and whispering sweet nothings. And at the same time, she almost fainted with how nervous she was about this whole thing.

“Gosh I’m a mess”, she whispered and couldn’t hold back the tears.

 Two hours later, Kenji had finished with the scene.

He stretched himself, cracking his neck and shoulders and putting on a serious expression.

He was ready to face whatever she was mad about, even if it hurt him, even if it wasn’t true.

Opening the door with a bit too much force, he felt how worked up he was. But as he saw his wife bawling her eyes out on the couch in the right corner of the room, his facade he had built up to prepare for an argument dropped.

He was confused and concerned. She wasn’t angry? What was wrong? Yet he also asked himself what had her in such distress.

He however didn’t dare to touch her yet.

“Darling?”, he asked softly instead, his right hand hovering over her.

She turned around in a quick motion and threw herself in his arms.

“I’m so so so so so sorry”, she whispered, “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have been like that”

“Hey, hey”, he answered, wrapping his arms around her protectively, “It’s ok. Just tell me what I did wrong”,

“That’s the thing: You did nothing wrong.”

“Then why were you so angry at me?”, he asked, genuinely confused

“I’m not angry at you: I’m scared”, she explained, barely able to say it.

“Why? Have you done something wrong?”, he asked

“No… or well a little maybe… I don’t know. It depends”

“Depends?”

“On if you will be ok with it”

“With what? For Christ’s sake y/n, talk to me” he said, frustrated at the guessing game.

She stepped back, looking at him and wearing a sad smile.

She opened her mouth slightly, but not a word came over her lips. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and finally she spoke, “I’m pregnant, Kenji”

Deafening silence filled the room. Kenjis mouth and eyes were wide open in shock and surprise and for a while, he himself felt he was at a loss for words or even thought as he heard his heart hammer in his chest.

 “By me, right?”, he asked after a couple of minutes.

“Yes, by you! Geez … You seriously chose that as your answer?”, she retorted, disappointed at the reaction.

“Of course: Why else would you think I’d be angry at you for being god damn pregnant?”, he asked his voice loud and unusually squeaky

“I was scared you’d maybe find it inconvenient and-“

“Y/n! I told you a thousand times not too overthink too much!”, he scolded her, but with a smile that indicated it was meant in a fun and good-hearted spirit, “I love you. You are my everything. You and especially not a life we created together could ever be an inconvenience. I love you and even if we were still too young, or too poor or at war, I’d be happy.”

She started crying again, but this time of happiness.

“Gosh I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have doubted you again… I should really stop overthinking. I love you so much”, she answered and gave him a salty kiss he still gladly accepted.

 After a couple of months (after the mark where it was sure the baby would live and a miscarriage was unlikely), Kenji and y/n announced the pregnancy publicly which was received with a lot of well wishes and happiness by the fans as well as the family.

Plus, Kenji announced he’d take a break from participating in acting roles for the last three months of Red Roses pregnancy as well as the first six months of the baby’s life.

‘I want to be there for my wife in the hardest times of the pregnancy and the beginning of our childs life to help her and me adjust to the life of a parent as well as bonding as a father’ which was also very much supported by most, though some thought it was stupid since income was needed with the expenses that came with having a child. Kenji however assured those that Red Rose, and him, had earned more than enough to live comfortably even with him not being active or as active as an actor for a little less than a year.

 “So, you didn’t have the stomach flu back then?”, Mrs. Long had asked, amused as Red Rose had returned for the last recording session before the would go into maternity leave.

“Nope. Definitely not that”, y/n laughed as she carefully petted her now slightly, yet clearly rounded belly

 Six months in, it was figured out they would be having a daughter. Kenji Kon and Red Rose however decided not to reveal the name until she was born.

“That’s bad luck where I’m from!”, Red had explained to her fans.

 After that doctors visit Kenji had come home permanently for the time being. He had officially gone into “parenting vacations”, so to speak.

Y/n was happy he was going to be home for so long. She respected his work a lot and was fine with being alone for long periods of time, she had become tired of it real quick though as she advanced in her pregnancy with their daughter. Partly because moving around and about became more exhausting the more her belly grew, and she just felt she needed his support… but mostly because she was extremely hormonal. She missed him a lot more than usual…

 It was a picturesque morning as y/n woke up by little kicks inside of her stomach.

‘She always does this’ she thought a little annoyed yet endeared. She loved feeling her daughter like that. It assured her again and again that she was alive and healthy.

“Good morning little one”, she whispered, knowing it was early and Kenji probably wasn’t awake yet, he was a long sleeper…

Kenji…. Kenji… thinking about him made her feel all giddy inside. She carefully turned around to face him (she found she was more faced away from him these days since she was very conscious of her belly not getting in the way of him being able to move around. He was a very active mover in his sleep, just like his unborn daughter).

He looked so peaceful as he gently breathed through his strong looking yet pointy nose. His hair looked perfect, as always. Only a couple of strands hung loosely from the top and low onto his forehand, which she honestly loved, because it made him look so… himself. He wasn’t all charming, not all dolled up and prepared to look perfect every second of the day. He was himself. Kenji and nobody else. Just like he was with her, but maybe even more relaxed. His lips were slightly open, though he wasn’t drooling this time. She had to hold back a giggle as she remembered several times where he woke up embarrassed and in denial.

“That’s just a humidity spot from the sweat we produce whilst sleeping” he had said with a childish pout and she had simply laughed.

She didn’t care, she loved him all the more for his faults even though he tried to deny them oftentimes.

Gosh… she loved him so much it almost hurt.

  “Good morning, love”, Kenji heard his wife’s sweet voice as he slowly awoke.

“Good morning?”, he asked, his voice still a bit groggy. As he opened his eyes, his gaze immediately fell upon his wife.

She stood there, her blond hair shining y/h.c in late morning sunlight. Her pregnant form was in a comfortable looking, but still form hugging black dress, her lips were painted red and her eyes were framed in her iconic winged eyeliner.

She looked stunning.

Merit came forward slowly and put a tray that had some pancakes stacked on it, some orange juice and a cup of coffee on his lab.

“I woke up early and thought why not make you a nice bed-breakfast for my wonderful husband?”, she explained even though he didn’t ask, though he also couldn’t deny that he hadn’t wondered about that. He smiled in gratitude.

“Thank you, beautiful, I appreciate it”, he said, giving her a quick, but passionate kiss before digging in.

 “I’ll go shopping-“, she started, but was immediately interrupted by a coughing Kenji, who in is hurry to stop her from going almost choked on the piece of pancake he had been chewing.

“No wait! I’ll go after breakfast. You’ve already been so kind to make this for me, you should really take it slow”

She giggled at that.

“I’m not that fragile darling. I’ve been shopping on my own last week when you were still at the shooting too.”

“All the more reason I should help you out now!”, he exclaimed. She swooned how adorable he was acting.

“Thank you darling”

“Anything for you”

“I’ll go sit in the garden for a bit then”, she said, trying to hide her blush. This had been one of these cheesy conversations that just made her head spin.

What a life.

 (Warning: It’s getting a bit less Pg here, but I still wanted to keep this scene)

 “WHY THE HECK DID I EVER ALLOW A D*CK TO ENTER ME!”, y/n screamed.

Labor was painful.

This was worse than anything she had ever felt.

It was the 16th of November 2028.

A week after what the doctors would predict was the birth, so pretty on time. Everything also seemed to go very well.

But still birthing was so painful.

She hated being alive right now.

She hated being a woman, which she honestly never had: Her periods were very kind to her, and she had never been disadvantaged in her life because of that… except right now.

And oh she LOATHED having been seduced by this mother*cker: Her husband.

That beautiful, charming man.

The devil himself in his holy form, impregnated her to make her suffer.

“I WILL NEVER HAVE SEX AGAIN I SWEAR”, she screamed.

One of the nurses couldn’t hold back a snicker and thought, and luckily could refrain from saying out loud ‘that’s what they all say. And in two years they’re back with a new baby’

And of course, the nurse was right. And of course, y/n knew deep down she’d forget the pain later and have sex three weeks later, if not earlier.

Though not right now. Oh no, right now she’ll scream and blame him for her pain whilst crushing his hand.

The doctors had explained Kenji beforehand that y/n will be quite distressed, so he had been mentally prepared to be cussed out.

Though wow did he feel bad right now. And not because of the fact he thought his fingers would break any second.

 Twelve hours later it was finally done: Their daughter was born.

Their red headed flame of joy: Tove Kon.

And as expected: When y/n got to lay her eyes on her, she immediately forgot the pain, because whatever she had just gone through brought this little angel to earth. An angel she had made with the man she had loved for over twelve years.

And Kenji… oh Kenji fell in love with a second girl. This, he said to himself, is the second love of his life. He’d do anything for her. He’d be there as much as she could. He wouldn’t become like his father.

“Are you ok love?”, y/n asked him concerned as he was laying, next to her, caressing their daughters little head. At first, he was surprised at that question but then noticed tears running down his cheeks.

“I just… I love her so much, but I’m afraid I’ll become like my father and I don’t want to. I want to love her and give all I can of myself”

Y/N smiled brightly at that. This man truly was so full of devotion and kindness.

“You won’t become him. You couldn’t: Because you love us too much. And that kind of love can’t be broken. You are you, not him. And if you even so much as stray a centimeter away I’ll make sure you stay, ok? I’ll take care of us and I know you will too”

“Thank you. I love you”

“As I love you”

(I’m so sorry, this stuff is so cheesy xD But I hope you liked it anyways. I really wanted to share this with you, just because I know that I’m pretty much the only one who writes Kenji x reader stuff and I spent so much time on this.

Also: If you are interested in the unedited, less Pg version, lemme know. Also don’t worry: They are either both underage or both adults in these scenes, so nothing to worry about)

[puckyess]

I Hope Part 4 | Roman Ahcan & Brock Caufield

Thank you to all who voted! I appreciate everyone reading and sending in kind words, I never thought this would turn into a 4 parter...with that being said, I do have an idea for a part 5/epilogue. Would that be something y’all are interested in?

Italics mean in the past

*** FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED ***

Words: 7.4k

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

You felt Brock untangle himself from your arms in the morning and though he knew you were awake, he readied himself for practice without a word. You tried not to stare at the bruise on his ribs, or the way his face wasn’t quite the same because it was swollen, or the way his lip was split and felt rough when he placed a hurried kiss to your forehead before walking out the door.

Last night still felt like a bad dream. The images of Brock and Roman exchanging punches, Roman’s face when he saw you enter the room, and Brock letting loose on top of Roman all flashed in your mind on repeat. You barely slept a wink, even though you were physically and mentally exhausted. You knew the boy that had wanted to be wrapped up in your arms last night was hurting and you also knew that the boy who was laying alone was too, but neither of them would say as much.

Your boyfriend came out after talking to the media and pulled you in for a quick hug, informing you he’d be going out with some of the guys tonight. You nodded in understanding, knowing he meant subtly that you weren’t invited tonight. More of the guys filed out, all mumbling a greeting but not hanging around long, all but the boy you were waiting for. You could tell Roman was getting inpatient having to wait for Brock so you sent him on his way and told him to be safe. He hurried away and you were left waiting alone.

Your boyfriend came out after talking to the media and pulled you in for a quick hug, informing you he’d be going out with some of the guys tonight. You nodded in understanding, knowing he meant subtly that you weren’t invited tonight. More of the guys filed out, all mumbling a greeting but not hanging around long, all but the boy you were waiting for. You could tell Roman was getting inpatient having to wait for Brock so you sent him on his way and told him to be safe. He hurried away and you were left waiting alone.

Cole comes out before his brother, sighing and opening his arms for you to come wrap yours around his waist. He had become your little brother and you felt for him as much as you did for Brock.

“Don’t be offended when B comes out in a bad mood” he warns you.

Brock can hear his brother’s warning to you in the quietness of the lobby. He couldn’t bear to face you after just single handedly costing the Badgers the game. He was angry, frustrated, and embarrassed and couldn’t take seeing your face looking at him with such a soft expression as if you knew he was beating himself up over it and wanted him to forgive himself. He just couldn’t take it. He didn’t deserve the kind words he was sure you would supply him with and to be honest he was surprised you were even still waiting there for him. He had taken as long as he could, hoping to avoid you and yet you had stayed.

As if on cue, Brock emerges from around the corner and storms right past you, not even looking in your direction. You’re surprised by his action and so is Cole. He calls out to his brother but it’s as if he said nothing at all because Brock keeps on walking until he’s out the door. You were a little hurt to say the least. Sure, he was entitled to be mad but to completely ignore you was not okay.

Cole, with his arm still over your shoulders pulled you along and apologized for his brother’s behavior. “He’s taking this one hard I guess”

“Should we stop and get some cookie dough ice cream before we go home?” You ask looking up at him.

Cole gets a small smile on his face. “That could be a good idea, maybe it’ll sweeten him up a bit.”

“That’s what I was hoping”, you say with a grin.

-

“B, we brought you some cookie dough” you call as you walk through the door. You’re barely heard over the slamming of a cabinet.

Brock frowns when he sees you flinch at the noise, “What’re you doing here?”

Cole shoots his brother a look, telling him to knock it off, but you push forward knowing Brock isn’t mad at you. “You’re mad” you say simply, stating the obvious.

Brock scoffs, reaching to open another cabinet, not having found what he was looking for in the first one. “Yes, I’m mad. I couldn’t make a shot to save my life tonight and we lost because of it” and he slams that cabinet shut too.

His words are harsh, but not directed at you, they’re directed at himself. You knew he’d be beating himself up over not getting that goal, but you’d assume he’d shut down, not lash out.

“Brock, it’s not your fault, we all could’ve made our shots, we could’ve not broken down on D, we could’ve held our lead and we wouldn’t have been in that situation to begin with” Cole attempts to bargain with his brother.

Brock whips around then and says, “Yes, it is my fault, it’s all my fault because when it came down to it I had the chance that could’ve won us that game and I blew it, I missed, no goal, no win. Not the whole team, the team got me the puck and counted on me to hit the net and I didn’t, me. So yeah, it’s my fault and yeah, I’m pissed the fuck off”. He slams the glass he’s holding down on the counter as he says the last word with such force and you’re surprised he doesn’t break the glass.

“Just break the glass, why don’t ya” you mumble under your breath and now his attention is on you.

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he sneers.

And then an idea pops into your head. “Yeah, actually I do. Why don’t you break the glass? You’re obviously mad, just break it”

His anger turns to confusion as he stares at you to see if you’re serious. “Do it, you won’t”, you challenge him. It’s a simple phrase that has gotten everyone in the room into a whole lot of trouble before.

The next thing you know, he’s hurling the glass at the pantry door. He stands there for a moment in shock like he can’t believe he just did that, but then he’s pulling another one down from the cabinet. It shatters the second it hits the wood. You’re cheering him on and you can visibly see the stress and anger leaving his body with every dish he breaks. Eventually he hands you and Cole plates and you let out a whoop as you throw it in front of you on the floor. Cole still stands there with a bewildered look on his face and you and Brock start chanting “Cole, Cole, Cole”. He caves and lets it go, throwing it at the now damaged door and there’s a smile on his face when he straightens back up.

Was it the safest thing? No, not by a long shot and you honestly weren't sure how you were going to clean this up without someone getting hurt. But was it working? Yes. Brock was down right cheery by the time he cleaned out the cups and plates cabinet and you and Cole were both feeling lighter with your rock feeling better.

“Alright, alright. You guys need to go shower, I’ll clean this up. Might want to wear some slippers or something when you’re done though, I’m sure glass flew everywhere” you say, trying to shoo them down the hall and doing your best to not step on any shards. Luckily you had never gotten the chance to take off your shoes when you came through the door.

The boys follow your command until Brock turns around and asks “Did you say something about ice cream earlier?”

You have to laugh at his timely memory. “I did, now go! You can have some after you’re clean. I love you, but you both stink!”

“What’re we going to eat in Brock? You broke all the dishes” Cole grumbles.

Brock rolls his eyes and shoves his brother, “The carton, duh”.  

A smile takes over your face then at seeing your goofy best friend back to his normal self.

--

You’re pulled from your thoughts with the sounds of what sounds like a group of boys entering the apartment. In walks Brock, along with Cole, Owen, Dylan, Mike, Ryder, and Shay. It’s a whole damn party.

He barely acknowledges you besides saying “I invited some of the boys over, hope you don’t mind” as he walks past you to open the fridge. The boys share looks and Dylan and Owen nervously look between you and Brock. They can sense the tension hanging between you and the boy who is suddenly very preoccupied with the contents of the fridge.

“We can leave if now’s not a good time?” Owen offers.

You shake your head and assure him with a smile that everyone’s welcome to stay as you make yourself at home on the couch.

Touche, Caufield, you think to yourself. He doesn’t want to talk so he thinks if he has the boys over you won’t bring it up. And he’s right, you won’t. You’ll act like everything’s fine and wait until he wanders off to his room to change and then you’ll corner him. Two can play this game.

After watching them goof off and play video games all afternoon, you see your chance as he does exactly what you’ve been waiting for. He quietly gets up and slips into his room and you follow him.

He sighs. “I knew you’d follow me in here. I don’t want to have this talk right now, Y/N.”

“I know, isn’t that why you brought them over in the first place? I’ve entertained them all day, you can’t put this off forever”

“And I won’t, I just don’t want to talk about this right now. The boys are out there and they don’t need to hear our business” he snaps.

“Well it’s not hard to figure out when you both have shiners the size of Texas in your faces” you point out. You don’t say Roman’s name, but you don’t have to for Brock to know who you’re referring to.

“Yes, thank you, I hadn’t noticed” he says with heavy sarcasm.

“Brock” you warn him.

“What?” He stupidly asks.

You stand there with your hands on your hips and give him the sassiest look you can manage.

“Fine. You know what? You wanna do this now, we’ll do this now. He started it!”

“Brock! You guys aren’t two! You should be able to use your words and not your fists. And if I remember correctly, you were the one who threw the first punch”.

He shakes his head then. “See that’s the thing, is you only seem to remember what you want to. You seem to forget the part where he showed up to my apartment and got in my face and tried to take my girl! You always take his side, Y/N. You always have and apparently you always will!” He wasn’t yelling at you but his voice is definitely raised.

“Brock, come on that’s not fair. I already told you-“

“Yeah. I know. You already told me. But that doesn’t change that you were out with him all night. And that doesn’t change the fact that he can hold that over my head now just like he did last night and just like he always has. You can believe whatever bullshit he feeds you about being changed, but the Roman that wanted to rub it in my face the one night he got with you was the same Roman as before and I’m done taking his shit so yeah I punched him, yeah he deserved it and yeah I’d do it again. So if you can’t accept that answer then I don’t know what to tell you but I’m done talking about it”. Despite his words he sits on the bed and waits to see if you’ll question him further.

You can tell by his tone that he’s done talking and he clearly wasn’t going to let you say anything seeing as how he’d cut you off and then put his foot down on the matter. You grabbed your phone that you had thrown on the bed and opened the bedroom door to walk back out to where you were sure everyone was listening.

“Where are you going?'' he asked, suddenly alarmed when instead of resuming your place on the couch, you grabbed your coat.

“Out” was all you said as you headed out the door, not missing the shifting eyes of the seven boys you were leaving behind.

He was obviously still angry about last night but it wasn’t like him to not hear you out. It was more like the boy whose apartment you were headed for. Funny how the roles had changed you thought to yourself. Roman used to be the one cutting you out and Brock’s place used to be the place you’d go after an argument. Now it was Brock who you were fighting with over the same jealousy issues and Roman’s place you so desperately wanted to get to.

—

Roman’s eyes widened when he took in your face. You looked tired, really tired and he was sure he was at least part of the reason why. You always worried about the people you cared about.

You rolled your eyes at his reaction when he opened the door. “Yeah I know, I look like shit, can I come in?”

He smirked, there was the snarky girl he fell in love with. “Hey I’m sure I look worse” he says, moving to the side for you to enter.

His face somehow managed to look worse today than it did last night. His face wasn’t as swollen but it was a dark black and purple color and very noticeable.

“What’re you talking about? You look like a beauty” you joked.

There it was. Another one of his terms he’d used and you’d stolen from him. He’d noticed it over time how his vocabulary, words that sounded so natural coming from a hockey player, started floating out of your pretty mouth too.

“I know you’re lying, but thanks” he says moving to the stove. ”I’m making some dinner. Do you want some?”

Now that he mentioned it, you could smell something on the stove, and the smell was really familiar. “Are you making...chili lime tacos?” You asked with a bright, teasing smile on your face.

He rolls his eyes at you but you see the blush that creeps it’s way onto his cheeks. “Maybeee” he drawls out, tending to the chicken cooking on the stove. You follow him peering around his shoulder to check out what was going on in his pan. Your heart squeezed a little at the fact that he was making a recipe you had introduced him to while you were dating.

You were laying on Roman’s couch with a book in your hands and your legs thrown across his lap. He was sitting at the other end, playing video games with Mike, his arms resting on top of your legs, hands twiddling away at his controller.

Finally when your stomach grumbles for the third time in ten minutes you drop your book to your stomach and nudge your boyfriend with your foot. You messed him up in whatever game he was playing and he scowled.

“I’m hungry” you whined.

“We can order something in a second, I’m almost done” he told you. You could hear Mike’s protests on the other end of the headset and rolled your eyes. If Mike whined enough, he’d sucker Roman back into another game.

You gave Roman a look and he nodded. “Not this time, Mikey. My girl is hungry and we don’t mess her when she’s hungry”

You smiled with satisfaction thinking about the pout that was probably on Mike’s face.

“Alright, where do you want to go?” He asks after logging off.

“I was thinking maybe we make something here? Nothing elaborate, maybe some tacos and margs?” You throw out. You had a new Pinterest recipe and it looked easy enough.

He acts like he’s thinking about your suggestion but you know he’s already given in.

“Do we need to hit Festival?” He asks you, trying not to smile.

“I’ll race you to the car, loser does the dishes!” You call, already unlocking the door. You pull it closed behind you and race down the hallway, Roman of course already on your trail. You’re both giggling the whole way and you can’t help but feel so in love.

He beats you to the car of course, giving you a nice little check when you’re actually close to maybe beating him. It's harmless and he’s gentle, clearly not about to actually check you but it’s enough to throw you off balance and put you a few steps behind. He sends you one of his signature smirks over his shoulder as he opens the car door and you shake your head at your competitive boyfriend.

-

“What’re you making, babe?” He asks, snaking his arms around your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“What’re weee making” you correct him.

Without even seeing his face you know it’s scrunched up. He hated cooking unless it was grilling and even then he preferred to critique one of the boys as they did it. He loved eating whatever was prepared though.

“It’s not hard, see it says in the title: Easy Chili Lime Tacos” you tell him holding your phone with the recipe in front of his face. He glances over the directions and the ingredients laid out on the counter and scrunches his nose again.

“But I don’t like lime, remember” he whines.

He may have had a very rough night with some lime drop martinis one time and now won’t go near anything with lime, but that’s what you get when you go to a sorority pregame where they only drink claws and skinny martinis.

“Ro, lime in cooking is different from straight lime with alcohol” you try to explain to him.

“If I throw up, it’s your fault,” he says, giving you one of his looks.

“You won’t, you big baby. I promise” you told him and you hoped you were right.

He doesn’t look like he quite believes you but he asks “so what should I do first?”

You loved cooking with Roman, you learned together and had your fair share of laughs in the kitchen. Bless his heart but he managed to misread and misinterpret virtually every direction in the kitchen, to the point where you now made him clarify what he was doing before he did it.

“So I just put all this stuff in the bag with the chicken?” he clarifies.

You giggle for probably the millionth time and confirm his question. You had to let it marinade for a few minutes so he got to work on your margaritas, something he was very good at and you were not. You had a heavy hand when it came to mixing drinks but Roman was like a pro bartender.

You watched him work from across the counter, perched on the barstool. He looked as confident as he did when he was out on the ice. His tongue occasionally poked out of the side of his mouth as he measured and poured and mixed.

When he’s satisfied with his concoction, he slides it across the island to you and you can’t help yourself as you ask, “hey Ro what’s the difference between a man and a margarita?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, an amused smile on his face. “I don’t know, you tell me”

You try to maintain an innocent look as you deadpan and say, “A margarita hits the spot every time”

He nearly spits out his drink as you casually take a sip of yours. The smirk that sits on your lips widens when you set down your cup. He’s still coughing as he tells you “you’re going to regret that later babygirl”.

You shrug, trying not to show how excited you are for that promise. “We’ll see. You need to get the chicken on the stove though. I'm still hungryyy”

“Me too, but not for food” he says easily.

You throw your head back, his timing, as always is perfect. “Chicken. Cooking. Now” you tell him, still laughing. This boy would be the death of you.

He did as he was told and you occasionally stirred it around, making sure it was all getting cooked. In the meantime you sipped on your drinks and danced around the kitchen with Roman. He picked some salsa music and swung you around the kitchen effortlessly. He moved his hips against yours and his feet danced across the floor like they were skating on ice. He dipped you and kissed your neck and for a minute you almost forgot about dinner.

He knew what he was doing, with every light, fluttery kiss he left on your skin the tension within you and between you rose. Between him and the alcohol you were ready to cash in on that promise from earlier, now. But suddenly he was very interested in dinner and made you sit out on the balcony and wait for him.

He came out, without a shirt and served you a plate of tacos and a fresh drink, along with a bag of tortilla chips and a bowl of queso. You were pretty sure this is what your heaven would look like. You gave him a little glare for being shirtless once he settled in across from you, but you couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy the view.

“So what do you think?” You asked him excitedly as he took his first bite.

He chewed and smacked his lips obnoxiously before admitting, “alright you were right. This is really, really good. You can taste all the different flavors but not really lime, it's just kind of a zing? It really brings out the chili and that little bit of sweetness”

You laughed at how descriptive and rambly he had just gotten but appreciated his commentary nonetheless. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that first sentence one more time? I don’t think I heard you” you chirped.

He rolled his eyes but gave in, “you were right” he said again.

A victorious smile was on your face as you finished off your plate. You went to do the dishes, Roman following close behind. “Hey, I lost I can do them”, you say as he starts to load the dishwasher. You always paid up on bets.

“I’ll help”, he shrugs with a little smirk, “I didn’t exactly play fair”.

“You never do, Ahcan”.

The following day, Roman ate all the leftovers. And then asked if you wanted to make it with him again the next day and then made all the guys try it, assuring them that it doesn’t like lime.

“You were pretty unsure about this recipe when we first made it” you laughed.

He grins at you over the stove. “Yeah well you knew how I felt about limes. It’s turned out to be a favorite though. I still make it all the time” he admits.

You’re quiet, reminiscing and letting it sink in that something so small has you feeling this way. “It smells just how I remember it”

As he’s making you a plate, you can tell he’s debating whether or not he wants to bring up whatever’s on his mind or not. If you’d learned anything during your time with him, you knew not to push. If he wanted to talk about it, he would.

Finally deciding to address the matter head on, he says, “Not that I don’t love having you here again, but I’m sure you didn’t come to eat with me. Why are you here?”

His question seemed to mock you. Why were you here? You had a boyfriend and your own issues with him at home so why were you here with the person who was the root of all your problems.

“We both know you shouldn’t be here” he says, as if reading your mind.

You look away, knowing he’s right. “Why are you playing nice now?” you mumble under your breath. Any other time he would’ve loved to have your company, especially at the expense of Brock.

He snorts in response, as if he doesn’t know why he is either. “I just know the feeling of having your girlfriend run into the arms of the person you can’t stand and as pissed off as I am at him for everything, he can’t say I didn’t at least try to be the nice guy here”

His comment brings you back to last night and you ask him what you’ve been wondering this whole time. “Why did you stop fighting back when I came in the room?”

Now it’s his turn to look away. “I don’t know. I just looked up and saw you standing there in his apartment, in his shirt, and the look on your face and I just froze. I didn’t want you to see me the way the look on your face saw me, I told you, I want to be better. And honestly, I didn’t want to hurt Brock either. Yeah, I went to his place looking for a fight when I found out for sure that he had been part of sending that picture, but I was really just mad at myself and was ready to take it out on him. I never actually thought we’d end up punching each other”

You took in all of what he was saying and there was one thing that stood out to you and you knew it shouldn’t have considering everything else that he had said, but curiosity wins when you ask, “What do you mean you found out for sure?”

“Vorlicky may have spilled the beans. It doesn’t take much to get information out of him”

“Why are you so concerned with figuring out that night now, Roman? It’s in the past. No matter who sent it, it doesn’t change what happened. So why are you going after Brock now and again after all this time?” You were tired of arguing, with both boys, over the same subjects, each other all the time.

“Because..fuck, Y/N, it does” he groans, struggling to find the right words. “And I know, Brock’s not the one that fucked everything up, that was me even without the picture but that’s exactly where I can pinpoint where my life got so screwed up”

“You mean you don’t think when you started cheating was where your life got screwed up?” You angrily asked.

He knows he messed up. “Well yes, that’s where I screwed everything up but it didn’t start to fall apart until he sent that picture”

“It didn’t start to fall apart until you got caught, is what you mean”, you say standing up. You go to grab your plate but he stops you.

“No wait! Okay, yes I totally messed up and hurt you and I’ve told you before, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you”, he pauses and swallows hard, waiting to see if you’ll let him continue, “but I miss you, Y/N in every way. I don’t want to wonder what you’re doing at 10 in the morning and then again at 1 in the afternoon and again at 10 at night, I just want to be there with you. I don’t want someone else by your side while you’re making dinner or walking down the street. I don’t want someone else buying your drinks or carrying your groceries. And I hate knowing someone else sleeps next to you and gets to know you like I did. And that’s just my life now because I was selfish and hurt you but please, please hear me when I say I need you back, Y/N. I still love you, I just need you to let me prove it to you”

His grip on your wrist loosens then and he releases you, falling back into his seat and waiting to see if you’re still going to bolt. If you were smart you’d get out of there while you were still in one piece. But your heart wins out and you tell him that you miss him too.

“I can’t just leave Brock though, Ro. He’s been there for me. And though I don’t love him like I love you”, you admit, “I do love him”.

Roman doesn’t know what he was expecting you to do or say once he told you he needed you, hell he hadn’t expected to see you tonight at all. He had a plan to win you back before he spilled his heart but his emotions got in the way and it just so happened to be tonight that everything came out. It hurts more than he wants to admit to hear you say that you love Brock even though he knew you did all along. He has to swallow the lump in his throat at hearing you say those three words about someone else.

“I’m not asking you to go leave him right now, I know that’s not fair, but I need you to know how I feel”

“You’ve never played fair, Ro” you sigh, remembering those same words you said to him before.

—

When Brock stupidly checks your location and sees you’re exactly where he thought you’d be, his heart sinks. He knew going into this battle that there was a slim chance he’d actually win, but his brief period of happiness with you gave him false hope and now he was left standing here with his heart in your hands and he was afraid you didn’t want it.

He knows it should be the last straw, Roman was always going to be a sore subject in your relationship and he had seen how that played out with him being the sore subject in yours and Roman’s relationship. While he had no intention of cheating on you, he didn’t want to make you unhappy either. He didn’t want you to stay with him just because it made him happy, he wanted you to want him as much as he wanted you too. And lately it didn’t feel like you wanted him at all.

When you walk back through the door hours later, the boys are gone and the only person in the room is Brock. He looks just as stressed as you’re sure you do.

“You’re home?” he says and it breaks your heart a little at how surprised he sounds.

“Of course I’m home”, you tell him and he crosses the room to wrap you in a tight hug.  The way he’s holding you, is like he’s afraid he’ll lose you if he lets go. It feels final, like there’s a goodbye attached to the end and you have to steadily work to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

“I think we need to talk”, he mumbles. It’s funny how those cliche words can capture the same dreadful feeling everytime.

You can’t find your voice so you just nod. He releases you and takes your hand in his, leading you over to the couch. He sits you down next to him and angles his body so that his knees are touching yours. He never lets go of your hand, holding both of yours now in his. He takes a deep breath before beginning, staring right into your eyes.

“I need to know if I’m in this alone. I get it, okay? I know I’m not Roman, I’m not hot headed and not as exciting. I’m not some intense, flirty guy. I’m not always confident and I’m not some superstar on the ice, but that doesn’t mean I'm not worth it, Y/N” he pleads his case to you, desperately, “I know I can love you, I know I love you. I know I’ll treat you with respect and give you everything I have to show that. I know I can show you what love looks like, how you should be treated. I know I’m good for you, but if you don’t feel the same and you still want him, then please just let me go”

Even though you’ve had back and forth feelings lately because of Roman’s confession, hearing Brock speak his peace again solidifies what you’d known in your heart for a while now. Brock was the one for you. And now you had to show him as much.

“B, you’re not in this alone, baby I’m right here. Ok? I know you’re not Roman, but that’s why I love you. I’m not looking for crazy, I’m looking for consistent and you’ve showed me time and time again that you’re there for me and that’s what I love. I love that after you rock it out on the ice, we can come home and lay on the couch, i love that you’re not always the center of attention. You make me laugh, you treat me so well, and you are so good for me. I’m sorry that I haven’t made you feel the same way” you tell him honestly.

“You have, it’s just Roman. I get crazy when it comes to him. I always feel like he’s just gonna take you away from me so easily” he admits.

You think about his statement and you can see why he’d think that. You haven’t been giving him much to convince him otherwise.

“You’re just going to have to trust me when I say that I’m yours and I’ll do my best to show that to you” you say sincerely.

He nods and reaches out to pull you into his chest. “How are you going to do that?” he mumbles into your hair.

“Oh I can think of a few ways”, you smile, picking up on his shift in mood.

He grins, “Prove it”.

--

Your smile has always been a sight he swears he could stare at all day and today is no exception, even if it’s not directed at him. He’s watching you laugh easily with Brock across the table. You look relaxed and like the you he remembered, a complete contrast to the last time you had seen him in the middle of a bar with Brock, a pained expression on your face. You had been having fun until you caught sight of Roman and then there was pain on your face, knowing that you being with Brock was hurting Roman. It was crazy to him that you still took his feelings into consideration.

It had been a while since he had seen you this carefree and happy and that’s when he realizes what he’s done. He’s put his own happiness above yours, again.

He didn’t think he was a bad guy, not as good as you of course, you were golden, inside and out, but not a bad guy. But now when he thinks about all of the times he’s dropped the ball, and let you down he starts to think that maybe he is a bad guy. He broke you before and he was doing it again, making you choose between him and Brock.

Brock was better for you and Roman knew that, he’s always known that and that’s why he’s fought Brock so hard for so long. Brock was everything you needed and everything you deserved. He made sense for you and as much as he hated to admit it, Roman knew Brock could love you better than he could, better than he did.

He made himself promise then, that he would never get in the way of your happiness again. He had had his chance with you, you had been so gracious with him and loved him the best you could, giving him every opportunity to love you back and he let you slip away. He took you for all that you gave him and he continued to stretch you thin. He couldn’t do that to you anymore and so he was going to remove himself from the equation. He wasn’t going to give you ultimatums or task you with weighing his feelings. He was going to push you toward Brock and he was going to do his best to be happy for you. It was going to kill him, but he knew it was what he had to do.

Later that night he sends you a quick text, asking if you’ll go with him down by the water to your thinking spot.

I’ll pick you up this time :)

You read his offer and chew on your lip thinking about whether or not you should go. Things were good with Brock right now. Besides the weight of knowing Roman’s feelings and not quite knowing what to do with them, you were pretty darn happy with Brock. You went on your early afternoon walks, had your picnics, date nights, movie nights, and wine nights. You made time for each other, things were relaxed and back to normal with him. You wanted to respect his feelings.

But you also hadn’t seen Roman since that night in the bar when you caught him watching you dance with Brock. You could see him hurting and couldn’t do much to change that without hurting Brock. You hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him that night, as he had left soon after.

You knew you wanted to see him, so you put confidence in your relationship with Brock and sent Roman a text back.

Ehhh I think I’d rather walk ;)

You followed that up with a text to your boyfriend, wanting to be completely up front with him. You told him you were meeting Roman, but that you didn’t plan to be out all night and you were pleasantly surprised when he sent one back thanking you for letting him now and that he trusts you.

A short time later Roman shows up at your door, true to his word. When he starts down State instead of to his car, you stop in your tracks.

“Wait, where are you going? Where’s your car?”

He turns around with a big smirk on his face, “You said you’d rather walk. Now, come on” he gestures with his head.

You shake your head as you hurry to catch up with him. “Very funny, Ahcan. You’re lucky it’s nice out”

He laughs, “No, you’re lucky it’s nice out”.

The walk is leisurely, he sets the pace, taking his time. He spends the time catching up with you, soaking in every second since he knows this could be the last time he sees you in a while.

The whole time you’re walking, you can’t help but feel a certain sadness like this is the end with him. You hadn’t expected him to wait around for you, but knowing this could be the end of your story with him breaks your already worn heart.

When you reach the end of the street, you  lean on the white railing and look at the man by your side like you had so many times before. And just like every other time, he’s already staring at you.

“This is the end, isn’t it?” you ask with a sad smile.

He nods, wearing a matching sad smile. “I think it has to be. You deserve someone like Brock, someone better than me, you deserve to be happy.”

You frowned at his statement and while you agreed with parts of it, the middle is what you took issue with. “Come on, Ro. That’s not true”

He shakes his head, you were still giving him the benefit of the doubt. “I broke your pretty heart. What does that say about me? That I could do you like I did and then come back and wreck you again by breaking up your happiness with Brock and putting you through the hurt of choosing between me and him. There’s something not right with that, Y/N, something not right with me. I need to let you be happy and you’re happy with Brock. I need to work on myself because right now I’m not good for you”

You felt your eyes well up with tears when he first began. You hated knowing he felt this way about himself, like there was something wrong with him for feeling his feelings.

“Roman there’s nothing wrong with you for having feelings. And you act like all you did was hurt me, but we’ve had some great times too. We’ve had a good run. We’ve grown together, a lot of good has come from us being together.”

He’s quiet, reflecting on what you’ve said and all of the memories come flooding back to him. He remembered the first time you chirped him in the hallway and how nervous he was before your first date. He remembered looking for you in the crowd before every game, and the way it felt to jump into the boards in front of you after every goal, the way your face would light up and how hard you would cheer for him. He remembers all of the late nights out on the dancefloor and in dark corners of the bars. He thinks about all of the sunsets and sunrises followed by brunch he’s gotten to enjoy with you. He remembers how much more you had gotten him to love, from cooking, to dancing, to just living in the moment.

You really had had some beautiful moments together. You had changed him for the better and continued to motivate him to grow. He doesn’t like feeling vulnerable, but that’s exactly what he feels when it comes to you.

“And it’s not that you’re not good for me, because I know you’ve been working to prove that you’re a better person, it’s just the timing, Ro. Our time isn’t right, right now”

He knows that he’s the one that wanted to bring you down here today and set you free, but it was easier said than done. He felt like his chest was on fire and you were the only one who could save him, but he didn’t want you to get burned.

“I just want you to be happy, and I know me making you choose between me and Brock is hurting you so I’m setting you free. I don’t want you to think about my feelings anymore, I just want you to let Brock love you because I know he does”.

“So you’re just making the decision for me, now are you?” you croak out, trying to crack a smile.

“I am, yeah”.

“Well that doesn’t seem very fair”.

A smile ghosts his lips as he says, “I’ve never played fair”.

You recognize the line and it’s your last breakwall to come down, letting the flood gates open. You hold onto each other for the last time, sharing tears and whispered goodbyes as the sun sets over Lake Mendota.

When he finally walks you to your door, you place a kiss on his cheek and tell him “I hope you find your happiness too, Ro”.

[tipsydipsydo]

Improvisation 💻 [M]

Pairing: Sub! Jin x soft Top! Reader

Gender of the Reader: male

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: very in detail descripted/graphic sexual content(!); filthy language; swearing; soft Sub-/Dom-Themes (➙ shy but needy and also teasy Jinnie; the Reader is sometimes not the most assertive Dom, Jin's charm kills him 24/7); Cam/Videocall-Sex; Mastubation; Anal Play; Sextoys; Dirty Talk; Praising; light Edging; Mentions of Nudes and Sexting; Mentions of Unprotected Sex (pls stay safe!)

Summary: This wasn't planned. Well, the whole world didn't planned to deal with a damn pandemic in 2020! If everything would have gone "normally", you would be in Seoul with Jin right in this moment and just enjoy that you're finally able to be close to Jin again. But now you two are stucked at home, Jin in his dorm in Seoul and you in your apartement in your town, far away from him. So you have to improvise for now on, how you want to deal with longing emotions and urging sexual desires...

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『Disclaimer: This fanfiction should not trivialize or romanticize the actual situation! This pandemic itself is worse enough. The reasons why I wrote a fanfic about this very difficult and sensitive topic can be found in my Authors Note down below.』

Author's Note:

(Be prepared, it's gonna be a long authors note but it's important! So please read it.)

I hope you all (and your friends and family!) are okay and that you didn't get infected with the corona-virus... or at least getting through your infection in the best way possible!

Like the majoritiy of the world population, I got house detention from our government as well (Okay, I'm already two weeks at home because of school closing).

I know, some other writers already used this special situation to write some stuff for us, so we're not going completely crazy by our boredom.

And yes, I wrote something about this too, this here is my own version of all these coronavirus-quarantaine-caused writings out there ^^°.

I hope, y'all not already sick of it... I know, the "Corona-Topic" is literally everywhere and at some point, you just can't listen to anything, that is related to that theme anymore! (Even when it's really important!)

But like all writers here, I just try to "make the best out of this horrible pandemic" and help you, to get through your quarantaine in the best way.

And when you (or someone of your friends, your family or your relatives) are not in quarantaine and you/they have to go to work, because they're a doctor, a nurse, a pharmacist, a scientist, a police officer, part of the military, an employee of a supermarket/drugstore, a factory worker, a truck driver, a farmer etc, you deserve my biggest respect, really! (And to be honest from the whole world population!)

They try to fight the virus itself or their Job count to the sensitive infrastructure of your country, that's why they all try their best to keep the health care system/the minimum of infrastructure in their country going! All these peoples are amazing and they should know that!

I know, especially in this crisis just a little "thank you" can't help them. All of them need to get paid a lot better for their job and they need suitable protective clothing, masks, sanitizer and so much more. In particular these peoples that have to work directly with infected patients like doctors, paramedics or nurses. 

They need these utensils to take care of infected patients properly (especially in risk groups!) and to protect themselfs as well! That's why I appeal to you, to donate medical face-masks or sanitizer that you or your family bought in an inordinate amount in of panic buying to your local hospital.

There is nothing wrong with having one or two face masks or a bottle sanitizer at home. But you don't need 10 bottles sanitizer or 50 face masks, when you simply stay at home!

Trust me, they'll need it so much more than you. We can't fight the virus when the medical staff themself get infected. All these peoples out there risk their own health, maybe even life for us! In some countries or regions they're already completely overworked and near to a (systematic and mental) break down.

When we could help them with literally doing nothing and staying at home, then please, please, please do it!

I'm not a doctor or a nurse, but I think when everybody follow their government's rules (or in general, the instructions of the WHO) and help the health care system of their country with simply staying at home, we're able to get through this pandemic somehow.

「So in short: This following story should only be a gentle reminder to stay at your fucking home and to follow your government's rules to prevent that the virus spread even more! Okay? Thank you.」

So, now you're allowed to read. Enjoy~💚

「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

You sigh and play around restlessly with the cable of the charger of your laptop, which is plugged into it and is just in front of you on the bed tray. Even when Jin and you text each other almost every free minute, you get nervous every time he takes a little longer to answer your video call.

The past few weeks have made you an emotional wreck, especially when suddenly the infections in South Korea are skyrocketed. You contacted Jin immediately and asked him, if he, the members, his family and friends were doing well.

And overall, how the situation in Korea is and with which Strategy his government is now going to deal with it.

In the following weeks the virus continued to spread. Every day new states reported their first cases, infections increased in many countries, more and more nations prescribed school closings and national quarantine for almost all citizens. With each new day, the international infrastructure and thus also the economy gradually came to a standstill. Sometimes it feels like the earth has stopped spinning around the sun.

The whole further development of the epidemic, now pandemic, is still absolutely uncertain. Too little is the knowledge about this new virus and his behaviors. No one knows when an effective vaccine will exist.

So there is nothing else you can do but hope for the best and follow the rules of your own government and the instructions of the WHO. That means self-isolation and quarantine at home indefinitely.

That was nothing you had planned... actually you wanted to be in Seoul since three days and at that very moment you would lying tightly wrapped up with Jin in his bed.

Your visit in Seoul had been planned for months, everything was already perfectly organized and arranged, Jin even got a few days off! And now? Now you both are sitting far away from each other in your bedroom and only have the opportunity to do video calls with each other. Again.

Although your vacation were already planned and your Boss agreed, it hasn't been so clear in the past few weeks anymore if you can still take your vacation days due to this current situation.

The economic situation has become increasingly difficult, especially for the international trading company you work for. In the End, the government destroyed your plans anyway by stopping air travel and the legal prohibition of entry and exit of the country.

Of course, you were incredibly angry and frustrated at first, but in retrospect you realized that it was a good decision to do that. At least to slow down the spreading.

If you had flown to Seoul, you might have been infected. Perhaps the virus can only cause you little or even no problems, but you could've negligently infected risk groups.

And, to be honest, if you would have flown to Seoul, that would be just because of pure selfishness. And you don't want to be responsible for for spreading the virus even more.

That was in general the reason, why you decided to basically stay at home for now on. You only go out for grocery shopping once a week. At least, you try  your best not to get infected and therefore not to infect anyone else. And at the same time not to die of boredom.

Although Jin currently has more time than usual, he still has to work and to practice with the other members. When they have finished their daily routine, Namjoon and Yoongi mostly continue their "quarantine" in their studios and Hoseok and Jimin stay in the dance studio a little longer. Here and there Tae and Kookie keep them company and practice their choreography a little bit more with them, before they come back to the dorm and play video games or do other things.

As usual, Jin takes over the cooking and takes the opportunity to talk to you on the phone as much as possible or to facetime with you. Of course, it's nice that you can still spend so much time together with the help of the modern technology. But it cannot replace a real visit.

They've not met each other for a too long time, for too long it has not been possible for you two to kiss, cuddle or exchange carresses with one another... For too long, you both had no sex. And that with two people who have, let's say, a very healthy sex drive. It's awful.

You had tried a few times to get sexually active with Jin in front of the screen. But it seems like it's not his thing at all. Talking a bit here and there via text message about your dirty fantasies is okay for him. And when your Jinnie is really horny, you can also encourage him with some messages to send you a dick pics or a few voice mails where he's masturbating and moan your name in such a sinful way. When you have brought him to this point, you praise him a lot and assure him, how sexy he is ans how hot it is that he sends you such pictures.

Pictures yes, videos no.

When you ask him then, if he would be comfortable with making phone calls or even video chats of this kind of "talk", Jin will backtrack.

He can't really explain it, but he doesn't feel comfortable with presenting himself completely naked in front of the camera and even doing filthy things at the same time.

But you understand what he's trying to tell you. Jin loves it intense and passionately, with an extensive foreplay and good aftercare, but "really freaky stuff" is not his world. Doing sexual things with his partner is very personal to Jin, and he's also an idol, it would be a catastrophe when a video or picture of this kind would get public.

Therefore you fully accept his limits! After all, there is nothing to complain about, sex with Jin is always wonderful and absolutely satisfying!

Only when you are separated from each other again, you hardly know how to deal with your sexual desire. Well, would you have thought that Jin has completely the same problems and your sweetheart is just a little shy, to make naugthy things in front of the camera?...

You gasp in relief when Jin finally accepts the call and greets you with an apology, that it tooks so long. The environment tells you that he is in his room. You assume that he's sitting on his bed and leaning against the wall, the laptop on his lap.

You smile at him affectionately, reassure him that he doesn't have to apologize just because his boyfriend unwillingly becomes a bit overprotective and worries too much. You know that all this is not good, but you just can't switch off worrying about your darling.

Jin smiles a little shyly at you, his cheeks are slightly reddened. You want to ask if he's really okay, but you bite yourself on the tongue quickly. The virus had been the subject of your conversation far too often. Jin can take care of himself, if there is any suspicion that he may have been infected, he will tell you. At least, Jin and BigHit Entertainment will know how to handle it.

"No, no Y/N. Don't worry, I'm just like you... You should hear how the boys talking about me. They say, that I'm overthinking way too much... But you are fine, right? And how are your Parents in your hometown, are there already the first infections?", Jin asks and looks at you with an insistent look, eyebrows knitted in concern.

This here became to a ritual, for now on you talk always the first five minutes about the current situation. No matter whether using text messages, voices mails, phone calls or videocalls. Every day you ask each other whether the infections in your both country has improved or deteriorated, how each other's friends and family are doing, and what measures South Korea and now your country are taking.

After that, your conversation mostly wanders to other topics. It's good to come up with other thoughts as well, so nobody is going completely crazy. As many politicians, doctors and virologists already said, we have no choice but to keep calm and not to panic before we start acting thoughtlessly.

You're just about to start complaining a little bit about all the work you have to do in your home-office when Jin anticipates you.

"Y-Y/N?"

You look back at the screen and see how the initial slight blush on Jin's face has intensified and spread to his ears. In addition, you've noticed a few minutes before that Jin has become a bit restless and keeps moving back and forth. As if his sitting position is uncomfortable.

"Yes? Darling, is something wrong? You seems to be so restless and that something is uncomfortable for you ...", you answer him and look at him questioningly with a concerned frown between your eyebrows. The blush on his cheeks increases a shade darker and now it has completely taken over his ears. God, if you're honest, it's so cute when he's shy and his ears turns red.

"Would you like to know why it took me so long to answer your call... there is... there is a reason for that," Jin says quietly.

In precaution, he looks at his room door again to make sure that it's really locked. Even when everyone else is not in the dorm right now, you'll never know who would opens the door of his room without expecting anything... indecent.

He takes a deep breath before he puts the laptop down on his bed, positions the screen with the camera at the right angle. You can see how Jin's prominent adam's apple starts bobbing nervously. This sight makes you involuntarily biting your lower lip and a warm shiver trickles down your back. 

Fuck, Jin's throat has always been one of your soft spots. This sight is tempting ypu to spread countless hickeys on his soft skin, want to mark him as your boyfriend. Because he's an idol, you always have to hold back with your little kink, because a dark love mark can't even cover up the best make-up really well.

But sometimes you just can't hold back or you just forgot that you should do it. Like when Jin's moaning and whimpering is so damn sexy, it makes you addicted to wanting to hear it again and again. Besides that, responds so wonderfully to your touch...

You going to be ripped out of your lewd thoughts when Jin turns with his back to you and his precious butt is now on the same level with your eyes. A completely confused expression manifests on your face. What the-

"I-I have a little surprise for you... I hope you like it...", says Jin in a trembling voice and hooks his two thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Your next breath gets stuck in your throat as your boyfriend pulls his sweats and boxer briefs at the same time down.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your lips open, you want to say something, but no sound comes out of your mouth. You're absolutely speechless. Your sweet, innocent Jin...

Between his perfectly round buttcheeks is a metal buttplug, gemmed with a beautiful turquoise-blue jewel. You had never used toys in your sex life before. Jin is more of a fan of getting fingered extensively from you until he's prepared and relaxed enough to take you slowly all way in.

And now, this beautiful buttplug is enclosed in the most erotic and sinful way by your sweet, rosy musclering.

Fuck, if you only could be with Jin right now, to be able to admire this plug with a closer look, to pull it out of Jin and tease his hole a little bit with the tip of the plug.

You're so fascinated and immersed in admiration that you don't notice how Jin is getting nervous and insecure. You still haven't said anything, even though a minute has passed.

"Y-Y/N?", Jin asks in an unsettled voice. He's already about to turn around and pull his pants up again, when life comes back into your body and you answer him hastily.

"No, no, no! Please stay in this position! Fuck, baby... I don't know what to say... You are so damn sexy!", you're stuttering, you just can't take your eyes from his plug.

"But please explain to me... why... why are you doing things like that? And where did you get the plug? I-I mean, fuck, that's so damn sexy, I'm the happiest man in the world and I wish, I'd with you right in this moment and could tease you a little bit with this cute little plug... but why? I thought such things in front of the camera makes you uncomfortable? Please don't do such things only for me! Just because I'm so fucking horny today again! Please don't do it because you-", but then Jin interrupts your babbling.

When you got out of the shower this morning and looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn't help it but send Jin a picture of you shirtless, hoping to get him involved in a bit of spicy and horny texting. You've the feeling that this quarantine and the canceled visit makes you horny 24/7. You don't want to admit it, but fuck. You need Jin so much.

"I wanted to try this for a long time... for months it kept coming back to my mind. I was frustrated by myself when you tried to encourage me to do something sexual in videos or directly live in front of you but always pull back again. Because... because... I don't know it clearly. I wanted to do something with you, I-I had countless fantasies about it in my mind... I wanted to be sexy for you, to make you moan and curse with my s-sight... b-but I think, I was just too shy every time. I felt so awkward and ridiculous doing things like that in front of the laptop. Such things that the two of us usually only do together on our own. I was embarrassed by myself... ", Jin mumbled and is glad, that at this moment you only see his butt and not his crimson red face.

Your eyes grew round like bowling balls, filled with disbelief.

"W-What? So that means... you wanted to do these things all day, but you were just too shy? Because you thought you would be awkward and weird?"

"Y-Yes. I want to do... naugthy stuff with you while videocalling... Fuck, Y/N, I miss you so much! I miss your kisses, your hugs, your soft carresses, your tender kisses on my body. Our foreplay, when you gently prepare me and finger me open for you... I-I miss our sex so much and just mastubation with my hand isn't satisfying anymore! I want you... I need you so bad... ", says Jin. Starts whimpering at the last of his sentences.

With these words, a deep growl comes from your throat and some curses leaves your lips, your pants has become so damn tight at the center.

"Fuck, baby, I know. I know how you feel, I feel the same way! I want you so bad, I was looking forward to seeing you again. Fuck, this damn pandemic."

You push the bed tray with the laptop a little away, impatiently you unbuckle your belt and opens your pants. Your cock needs a little more freedom in this moment.

When Jin hears your words and the rustling of fabric, realize how worked up you already are, he immediately feels a little bit more confident. He moves a little closer to the laptop and offers you an even better view. He bites his lower lip in anticipation of what finally seems to follow after such a long time.

"Jin... would you be okay with it to pull your butt cheeks apart so that I can see the plug... a little bit better?", you ask in a husky growl, teasing your hard erection through the thin fabric of your boxers.

By this question, a soft whimpering comes over Jin's lips, with trembling hands he reachs back and placing each one on a butt cheek, pulling them slowly apart to give you the sight you desire for.

"Fuck, Jin Baby, that's so sexy. You're so, so damn sexy! Do you even know how all of this here is turning me on? God, you're killing me!", you groan and rubbing instantly harder over you clothed, rock hard dick.

A little smirk appeared on Jin's lips. When he's already killing you right know, how should you survive these other things that Jin planned for tonight...

"Honey, would you like it when I pull that plug out of me and gonna finger myself... w-while you can watch me?", Jin asks you sweetly with a slightly shaking voice. The thought alone let Jin's own erection twitch.

Oh fuck, Jin is going to be your death someday.

"Please, Baby... I would be so thankful when you allow me such a view. Letting me watch how you please yourself...", you answer in a breathy, hoarse voice and let your head fall back against the wall.

Closing your eyes for a moment, try to prepare yourself mentally for what coming next. This Show, Jin will give you, will be surely unbelievable sexy... but also an absolute torture for you.

You're usual the one with a leading hand in your relationship when it comes to bedroom stuff. But you have to admit, that you're not the most assertiv Top... and Jin knows way too well, where to find and to press your soft spots.

Sometimes it comes to the point that Jinnie is wrecking you more than you him! You think, that your Darling kinda loves the thought to make your knees weak instead of his. And to be honest... you loves it so fucking much, when your big shy bean find his self confidence again and tease the shit out of you, just saying, that he just wants to please you.

As you hear a soft whimper coming out of the speakers of you Laptop, you startle and your eyes snaps open immediatly. A little groan get out of you throat, that rises up from the deepest place of your chest. God, it shouldn't be allowed to be so fucking attractive, you think.

Jin pulled a latex glove of his right hand and is about to reach back to his most precious places, to grab the gemmed base of his plug. His left hand pull his buttcheek a little bit away to give you an amazing view of his action.

Your Boxer briefs has literally a tent at your crotch now and your cock twitch at the sight, is angrily fighting to be finally completely free. God, you're such a bastard for very detailed graphics... like the view Jinnie is giving you now.

You yank your Jeans and your Boxers with a curse down. Gripping your hard length and squeezes it with a firm grip, when you see Jin's rosy, seductively glistening muscle ring stretching open as your Boyfriend pulls the plug slowly out of himself.

He's panting fast when he let the plug fall on a towel beside him and his left hand leaves his butt. His upper body flops down onto the mattress and now, your Jinnie presents himself in the most erotic way you could imagine.

Ass up, sticking his butt out into the air and let you admire his sweet hole, slightly stretched my the plug, clenching around nothing in anticipation for the promised play session that will follow now.

Jin lets his lower body sink down as well, laying on his stomach and turning onto his right side. Allow you a little glance of Jin's adorably pink flushed cheeks and the red tips of his ears. This sight makes your heart and stomach flutter, blushy Jin while doing naughty stuff is just... hitting all of your soft spots in one tour.

He pulls his upper leg, his left leg up to his chest and positions himself comfortably, while he's pouring a good amount of lube onto his latex gloved fingers. Then he's reaching back again.

The pad of Jin's middle finger teases gently his entrance, his body is still moving until he founds a really comfortable position. After the tip of his finger disappeared in himself, the whole length of his finger sinks into his sweet hole as well. Let you watch, how he'll finger himself, enjoying himself, feeding his own desire, give him this desperately needed pleasure when you can't unfortunately. And fuck... that's so hot!

After he needs a short moment to adjust, he starts pumping his middle finger in and out. At first slowly, then faster and faster. Jin is getting even needier when the pleasure of his finger-play arise more and more. It didn't took long until he allows his ring finger to glide into his hot walls as well.

After a few thrusts of his hand, he begins to spread his two fingers apart, scissoring and stretching his sinful tight asshole open, let you watch the movements of his fingers very well.

You're gulping and breathing audibly out of your nose, a longing, slightly even desperate hum leaves your throat. You want to be at Jin's side, want to watch him in real.

You want to see, how he's stretching himself open for your cock, moaning and whimpering you name. You want to touch him. You want to grip his thigh and his left ass cheek firmly, give it a gentle slap and pull the soft flesh up to get a closer look.

Admiring how wonderful his fingers fucking himself, how rapidly he's slamming them into his hole, his noises getting even more whiny and desperate. His hips starts to circle, loud breathy and high pitched moans leaving his lips when his fingertips reaching for a second this sweet spot deep inside of him.

But just for a tiny moment, there is not enough stimulation for your needy Boy. Especially when he knows how good he could feel, when he remember the times when you teased his prostate.

Your thumb grazing again and again over your angry red, precum leaking crown, teasing yourself. The urge is enormous to just jack off in a brutal fast pace to finally satisfy the barely standable desire, that grows in your abdomen.

Your eyes don't leave the screen when you reach to your beside table and pull the first drawer open, searching uncoordinated with your hand in there. You curse under breath when you finally perceive the things you searched for, but can't grab them.

If you want or not, your eyes have to leave the erotic sight of Jin's figure for a moment, when you want to get your needed things out of the drawer.

You bend quickly over to the side, fishing the lube and your fleshlight out of your nightstand. You use this helpful toy when there is not enough friction to get you off or... when you're freaking horny... when you just want to fuck Jin right in that moment.

With it, you can better imagine how you'd be pounding into Jin, laying his legs over your shoulders and gripping his thighs. Let Jin whimper and beg until you allow him to touch his own cock to be finally able to cum. Imagine, how his hot walls gripping your cock tightly, literally squeezing and cock milking you until it's too much and you shoot you load of white, creamy cum deep inside of him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! You need him so, so freaking bad right now, it drives you crazy!

When you turn back to your Laptop, Jin is panting heavingly and pulls his fingers out of himself right in that moment, throwing the used latex glove into the trash can next to his bed. Now you're the one who starts whining.

"Baby, why just stopped fingering yourself? Fuck, that was so damn hot and I love to see that, why-", you ask him, eyebrows pulled together in desperation and frustration.

Jin's body is trembling, he's panting fast and gasps for breath leaves his red swollen lips. He need a bit time to collect himself again and to be able to anwer you in a throaty voice.

"T-There is another surprise I prepared for you...", he's stuttering slightly and grab his laptop to place you with it in his desk. You're confused, again.

He goes back to his bed, step out of his pants completely now and pulling his green sweater over his head.

Now he's standing in his bare, naked full glory infront of the camera, let you gasp for breath. God, he's beautiful. His body reminds you always of these greek sculptures, his beauty is absolutely beyond all descriptions.

You can't describe him. You have to see him.

He grabs for the bottle of lube and lays it next to you, well, his laptop, on his desk. Without a word, you follow his actions, don't dare to say anything. Even when you two are not in the same room, there is a thick sexual tension between Jin and you through your laptops.

"Y/N... can you close your eyes for a moment? Until I say you can look again?", Jin says in a quiet voice. Looking at you through the camera in dark pupils full of lust and with pleading eyes, to just follow his appeal without asking.

Well, you wanted to protest but with this sight you close your mouth again and nod slightly, closing your eyes as well.

You hear some footsteps, something rumbles like he's moving something around. You knit confused and questioningly your eyebrows together, but you don't say anything. These noises disappears and silence returns to the speakers of your laptops. Just here and there you can hear some soft footsteps of Jin.

Suddenly, out of nowhere you can hear a long, broken moan of Jin that is followed by a soft, sweet "Oh my God, yes!" and a shaky, but so sensual hum that comes out of Jin's Chest.

"B-Baby... Y-You can open your eyes again..."

Even when you opened your eyes again, you can't believe them. That has to be a fucking dream, right?

You squint your eyes more than one time, your jaw dropped and you can't bring any proper sentences over your lips, starts babbling nonsense.

"O-Oh my holy fuck!... Jin, oh fuck... Fuck, fuck, fuck, you can't kill me like that! Y-You can't do this to me, I'll going completely crazy to see you like that... Fuck, Jin Baby, I want you so bad... Oh God, that's so sexy. You're so goddamn sexy."

Jin is sitting with the back to you on a chair with a flat seating surface, gripping moaning and whimpering the edge of the backrest tightly. Lifting himself slowly up and lower his body with the most delicious and tantalizing hip circles again.

Bouncing at first slow, then faster and faster on this transparent pink silicone dildo that is placed with a suction-pad on the seat.

Let you watch how good he can take this fake cock in his tight ass after he prepared himself with fingerfucking so well. How he lowers himself down, stuffing the dildo inch for inch into his stretched and needy hole, filling himself up with this silicone dick.

The way, how he's riding this dildo in front of the camera, so needy and desperate...

The way, how all these moans and whimpers flowing over his lips without any shame...

Let you guess, how much he needed you too, how bad he needed to get fucked by your cock again.

It shows you how much he's missing the sex with you.

You can't see his face, but the red tips of his ears. You don't know why, but it turns you so fucking much on, to see Jin's blushing face.

To see, how he's a little bit embarrassed for being so needy but at the same time he's riding this dildo so fucking desperate, can't stuff enough of this plastic cock into his greedy hole. Bouncing up and down on this dick, moaning your name like he's riding you in this moment, instead of this fake dick.

Let you see, how he would bouncing on you, how he would fucking you when you would be at his side.

And this... this so goddamn sexy that you have the feeling that you'll go insane by your desire for him.

"Jin, Baby... turn around. I want to see your face when you cum. I want to see your blushy face. Flushed red, caused by your embarrassment for doing filthy things in front of the camera, right?", you ask him breathless, a little teasing smirk.

Jin whine and when he hesitatingly turn around, you see that he got even redder. God, your precious baby is so shy doing dirty things with you... you love it!

While he's turning around and re-positioned himself above the dildo, you hastily prepare your rock hard cock and the fleshlight with lube. When Jin sinks down on that dildo, you enter with a deep groan the fleshlight.

The fleshlight is only a poor comfort when you know how tight and hot Jin's walls really are. But you see Jin with the same unsatiesfied desire when he's bouncing on that damn fake dick. Jin knows, how wonderful your cock, only your cock, stretch his ass in all perfect places open and filling him up to the maximum.

But still, it's definitely better than nothing! You'll go through this time together until you're finally able to lay in each others arms again.

You hear in Jin's whines and his needy face expression shows you that he gets closer and closer to the edge, but it's not enough to cum. He's about to wrap his hand around his hard, precum leaking dick, when you start lecturing him.

"Nuh, nuh, nuh! Baby, you know the rule, right? You're not going to touch your cock until I say so, is that clear? You know the reason? Hm?", you say in a harsh, dominant voice and raise an eyebrow.

Jin bite down on his plushy and swollen lip, try his best not to let a whine out. Jinnie's face full of desperation and sexual need is one of your favourite views... that's pure art.

"Y-Yes... I-I'm not allowed to touch myself until you're close too, so we can cum together...", he whimper with a broken voice.

"That's right, Darling... so please wait a little bit longer... for me, yeah?", you wisper in a gentle tone into the microphone of the laptop.

The longer Jin wasn't allowed to touch his dick, the more whinier he got, bouncing breathlessly up and down on his dildo. But exactly that turned you even more on and your hand, with which you hold the fleshlight moved even faster. So it doesn't took much time that you're on the cliff to cum too.

You enjoy how Jin looks at you since the last three minutes. So fucking desperate and needy, impatiently waiting at your sign that he's allowed to touch his cock and jack himself off.

A thin layer of sweat is covering his skin, his bangs sticks to his forehead, plush lips are red from chewing. His chest rises and falls quickly, Jin's breathing is fast. His fingers are clawed on the edges of the seat, his arms supporting him while riding the cute transparent, pastel pink silicone cock.

Your gaze move lower in his body, a satisfied smirk spread in your lips when you see his thick long cock twitching whenever he fills his ass with the dildo up to the base. The crown of his dick is red and precum is spread all over his stomach and the top of his thighs. His plump balls, completely full of delicous cum are shacked up to his body. They're just waiting for release and to be finally able to let the load shoot all over Jinnie's stomach and chest.

You love the sight. Even when you're not there, at the end you're still able to make a complete mess out of your sweet Boy.

Now, you think, he should be allowed to cum.

"Now, Baby...", you said with a teasing smirk and you're literally bathing in satisfaction when Jin gasps in relief and immediatley wrapping his hand into a fist around his cock. He just needed a few rubs until he cum with a high-pitched whine that sounds like a mixture of a moan and a sob. God, he's so messed up.

This sound alone let you blow your load into your fleshlight.

Jin's orgasm seems to be strong, the waves of pleasure leaves his body trembling and oversensitive. He flinch when he's about to get up from the dildo and takes it out of his super oversensitive hole.

God, he's so fucking beautiful when he's messed up.

"Baby, this was undescribable sexy... we should do it more often, definitely! Who know's when we're able to see each other in real life again? Hm, what do you think, Jinnie?"

Jin is gulping, his adams apple bobs in damn attractive way and then, he's nodding with bright red cheeks.

"Yes... please."

Okay, with this fanfic here I've fulfilled my educational responsibility as a fanfic writer!😂😅

[knightofthecourt]

Love Bites - Chapter 5

Belatrice Gray was a TA at Belgrave University, working hard to stay on top of her marking and trying not to flunk her own studies, when a night out with her bff Randall and his roommates, changed everything.

Hamish Duke x OC fiction with fluff, romance and angst. OC description has been left out to allow for reader personalisation!

The morning after he’d taken her home, Randall appeared at her door with coffee, bagels and a tube of anti-inflammatory gel, which he’d instructed her to apply three times a day to her legs alongside pain killers and bed rest. Bela didn’t need to be told twice - she happily spent the next 24 hours in bed, only moving to visit the bathroom and fetch snacks.

Though she’d slept well in Hamish’s room, she could barely keep her eyes open once she got home.

She still couldn’t remember what had happened, but Randall had assured her that this was a totally normal side-effect of some sedatives, and she’d feel better after sleep.

And he was right. On Sunday morning Bela had woken with a clear head and a spring - well, maybe a hop - in her step. While the rest, cold compresses and pain relief had considerably lessened her discomfort, the bruises had yet to fade. 

With a renewed sense of purpose she took a shower, pulled on her comfiest leggings and fired off a quick text to Randall before heading to the laundry room.   

- - - - - 

 As Bela climbed the stairs to the penthouse hallway she looked around, trying to distract herself from the dull throbbing in her legs. There was no denying that the building was beautiful; lovingly restored exposed brick clad the walls of the stairwell, accented by a highly polished brass bannister, industrial light fittings and a buffed hardwood floor that looked suspiciously like an original feature.

An apartment here must cost more than what Hamish made in a year. Bela was beginning to suspect that the tall blonde had more disposable income than most of the other TAs she knew at Belgrave. 

The only thing that the deluxe block was missing, she thought, was an elevator.

She huffed in relief as she finally came face-to-face with the slick, black penthouse door. She took a moment to catch her breath and then rapped twice. 

After a few minutes a sleepy figure dressed in a casual navy button-down, appeared from behind the door. 

“Bela?” Hamish’s eyebrows arched in surprise as he looked at the woman on his doorstep. “I thought you were resting?… I mean… Hello.” His eyes crinkled slightly as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. 

The corner of Bela’s mouth lifted in a small smile as she raised her eyes to catch his. “I’m fine, promise. Sorry if I woke you, I messaged Randall for your address - I hope that’s ok? I just wanted to say thank you for letting me borrow these.” She held out a stack of freshly-washed clothes towards him. “And for everything else - you know, you kind of saved me”. 

Hamish flushed slightly. “I don’t know about that” he shrugged, “I’m sure you would have done the same for a friend.”

He reached out to grab the bundle, brushing his warm fingers against Bela’s wrist.  

“Ah - right.” Bela pulled her arm back abruptly. She suddenly felt self-conscious. Friend. Of course Hamish was just being polite, as always. Their date plans had been ruined twice now and after the situation the other night he was probably starting to regret asking her out in the first place.

Hamish frowned as a small crease appeared between her brows. 

“Yeah,” she began, “of course. Thanks anyway though, I really appreciate it.” She produced a clear bottle from her bag and thrust it towards him. “Just, as a thank you - taking care of someone isn’t much fun on a night out. Let me know if I can do anything, I owe you a favour now!” 

Hamish barely had time to drop the clothes and grab the vodka before she turned away from the door and bolted down the hallway. He stood frozen for a moment before he rushed after her. By the time he reached Bela she had already travelled down one set of stairs - a surprising distance for someone who was still visibly struggling to move comfortably. 

“Wait! Bels - wait a minute.”

She didn’t stop until his hand closed around her elbow. He wanted to tell her how he felt, how angry and guilty he was that she had been threatened because of him and how glad he was that she was ok - more than glad, but when she spun around her expression caught him off-guard. She lifted her head defiantly, cheeks burning.

His words died under her steady gaze. 

Instead, Hamish raised the bottle. “You can’t expect me to drink this on my own?”

- - - - -

“Liquid Lust” Bela declared with a flourish, handing him a sunset-hued beverage. 

Hamish took a sip and sighed in appreciation “It’s fruity.” He took a second sip, “...and strong”.

Bela grinned. “That’s the tequila. I can’t believe you had hibiscus tea and syrup in your bar, what are the chances?”. 

“A well-stocked bar, is one of life’s essentials.” Hamish smiled back at her from over the rim of his glass. Hours had passed since Bela had turned up at his door. Comfortable conversation over an afternoon drink had morphed gradually into a cocktail-making competition, though Hamish couldn’t say when exactly they’d moved from one to the other, or who was winning.

They’d started with a Cupid’s Arrow, which led to a round of blackberry Potion d’Amours, then on to a pink-tinted Queen of Hearts and finally, the rather interestingly-named, Between the Sheets. Things were starting to get a little blurry around the edges.

Now they were both sprawled across Hamish’s large leather sofa, Bela’s legs outstretched, her feet resting in his lap.

“Your turn.” Bela prompted, waving her empty glass. 

Hamish reluctantly dislodged her and made his way to the open-shelved bar that took up a large portion of the wall in his loft space. He ducked behind the countertop and reappeared after a few minutes with two tall glasses.

“Sex on the Beach.” he said with a wry smile. 

Bela’s eyes widened slightly and then she burst out laughing. “Wait -” she said, setting the glass down on the nearby coffee table before walking to the bar. She emerged moments later with two smaller glasses. “We should drink these first then,” she said with a wink, “best not to rush things”. 

She handed him a smaller glass topped with whipped cream. “It’s a shot.” Hamish felt heat creep up his neck as he recognised the layers of amaretto, coffee liqueur and irish cream. “Yes… a Blow Job shot”. 

Bela snorted. “Take it you’ve had one before then?” 

The sound that came out of Hamish’s throat was something close to a growl. He threw the shot back and chased it with his cocktail. 

“Bottoms up,” he gestured to her to finish her drinks before heading back to the bar. 

Two can play at this game, he thought darkley.  

On some level Hamish acknowledged that his judgement was impaired. Logically he knew his reaction to Bela being in danger, the way he’d lost control, wasn’t normal, but when he was around her he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about it. She made him feel good for the first time in longer than he cared to remember and he deserved to feel good, didn’t he? 

He set down a tumbler filled with clear liquid. 

“Don’t tell me we’re switching to water?” Bela looked a little disappointed. 

“No,” Hamish smirked “Vodka, rosemary syrup and lemon juice, also known as a Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down”. 

It was Bela’s turn to blush.

- - - - -

“Huh?” Hamish raised his head from the sofa to look over to the bar, where Bela’s head was just visible.

“I said, do you have cola?” she asked, looking through the various bottles, jars and garnishes in the bar’s mini fridge. 

Hamish pulled himself to his feet and went to retrieve a bottle from the kitchen. “Here.” He held it out to her as he joined her behind the bar. 

“Of course it was in your actual fridge, not your special cocktail fridge,” she said, nudging him in the side playfully. 

Hamish tried not to focus on the warm tingle that spread through his midriff when she made contact. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the vanilla and cinnamon scent from her shampoo as she leaned across him to add a generous splash of cola to the glasses in front of him.

Thanks to his heightened senses her smell was one of the first things he’d noticed about Bela when he met her - warm and rich like freshly-baked pastries. He almost wished she hadn’t washed his clothes before returning them. 

“Soulmate?” 

His eyes shot open. “Yes… uh.” He faltered, uncharacteristically. “Sorry, what?”  

She shot him a questioning look, “It’s a Soulmate.” She gestured to the glasses on the counter, “Rum, cherries, cola. Hey, are you ok Haim? Do you want water instead?”. 

Hamish shook his head, “No, I’m ok - I can handle my alcohol”. 

“Of course you can, Profess- ah!”. 

He caught her as she tripped, pulling her close to his chest to support her weight before she hit the floor. The heat of her body, pressed flush against his, soaked through the thin layers of cotton separating them and spread through him, an instant warmth that sparked what felt like a million minuscule explosions across every cell in his body.      

They both hesitated for a moment before Bela took a shallow breath and pulled herself off him. Through a cloud of embarrassment she dimly registered how Hamish’s hand lingered on the small of her back and how shaken he looked as he reluctantly stepped away.  

“There you go, saving me again.” She glanced up at him and then frowned, turning to the mess on the counter. “Our drinks weren’t so lucky”.

He recovered quickly, producing a stack of cocktail napkins from a nearby draw, which he used to dab the pools of liquid. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. 

“It’s fine, I’ll get us a refill - do you think you can make it to the sofa without injuring yourself?” 

Bela rolled her eyes, “I’m not always this clumsy you know, maybe i’m the one who can’t hold my drink.”

“Ok” Hamish nodded firmly, as he busied himself clearing up the mess and adding ingredients to a fresh set of glasses. “Well, this will be our last one then.”

Bela mentally kicked herself as she carefully picked her way back to the living area. The last thing she wanted right now was for the evening to end. She was enjoying seeing the normally buttoned-up Hamish let loose a little, but even in this state he was too much of a gentleman to let her drink too much. Still, flirty-tipsy Hamish might just be her new favourite drinking companion - and she couldn’t deny how good it felt to have his arms wrapped around her when he caught her. 

His thin shirt had done little to hide the broad, muscular outline of his shoulders when he pulled her to him, and even distracted by her own clumsiness, she found herself wanting to run her hands across those shoulders and down his back. 

Caught in her own thoughts, she barely noticed that she had been staring at him, watching the shape of his arms, shoulders and chest, until he cleared his throat, snapping her out of her haze, and handed over her final drink.    

She took it, and quickly swallowed a sip to hide her embarrassment. “Apple juice, gin and... lemon?” she guessed, swirling remnants of the sweet, sharp liquid around her mouth. 

“Impressive.” Hamish sat down and leaned towards her, his eyes deep pools. “I call it Dutch Courage.”

“Oh, really?” Bela placed her glass down. Her heart beat faster as she leaned towards Hamish, noting with interest when his cheeks flushed and he edged closer, as if he could hear the steady thrumming in her chest. His eyes flicked down as she licked a trace of lemony sweetness from her lips. “And what are we going to do with our Dutch Courage, Haim?” 

Hamish growled lightly under his breath. “To hell with it,” he whispered, before leaning forward suddenly, capturing her lips in a kiss. 

[youseissi]

𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕟𝕩𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕪 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕃𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕡𝕠𝕡𝕤

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 

San wonders why Wooyoung keeps a drawer full of lollipops on his nightstand.

❦

Pairings: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang

Tags: Social Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Oral Fixation, Finger Sucking, Ring Gag, Blindfold Play, Praise Kink, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Orgasm Control, Porn With Plot, Polyamory

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content

Status: Completed

Note: The "╳" indicates the end of the smut if anyone wants to read the wholesome part only.

Chapter 1 - The Anxiety ✧ Chapter 2 - The Lollipops ✧ AO3

The Lollipops

“Sangiiiie, come here.” Wooyoung asked, throwing himself on the bed in front of Yeosang. The older was currently leaning against the headboard, trying to read a book for class. A book he didn’t particularly like. A book that he’d throw out the window if it didn’t cost half of their rent and was the sole suggested material for his next quiz.

“You look stressed, let me help.” Wooyoung offered crawling on his elbows to reach between his legs.

The younger didn’t bother waiting for an answer to unzip his jeans and pull his soft length out, working his hand to make it harden for him. They hadn’t done anything like that for a while, since San was the one hogging Wooyoung’s attention now. Worry crossed his mind, if everything was alright with them. The younger knew exactly how to work him though, having done it a million times before and it didn't leave much space for worry. It wasn’t any of his business anyway.

“Sangie has been so distant lately, is everything okay?” The younger was talking in pout, enunciating his words with a whine in his voice.

“Just stressed.” He was trying his best not to moan, embarrassed that the other had gotten him to that point so fast.

“Are you upset about what happened the other day?” Wooyoung asked a bit of his exaggerated expression cracking, the corner of his lips fighting with themselves to not twitch up. He stopped stroking him, leaning forward to take him into his mouth.

“I’m not.” Yeosang groaned. Was this supposed to be an interrogation tactic?

“San was worried.” He mumbled coming up briefly and sinking back down on his cock.

“I don’t want to talk about it while you’re sucking me off, Wooyoung.” Yeosang answered with slight annoyance.

Wooyoung just let out an unconvinced sound, breath hitting his dick as he laid back on Yeosang’s stomach and started to suck on the head lazily.

“Don’t wanna think about San?” He asked.

“I really don’t.” The older replied flatly.

“Don’t you wish he was here sucking your dick with me?” Wooyoung asked licking the underside of his length, eyes staring up teasingly.

Yeosang didn’t have an answer for that, only staring back with a troubled expression.

“I know you like him too, you don’t need to hide it from me.” Wooyoung lazily announced, then continue on with a smile. “He likes you too.”

“Wooyoung…” Yeosang dragged out his name planning it to be a protest, but coming out practically as a moan. Wooyoung’s hand was back at work and his mind was getting too hazy for this conversation.

“We both like him and he likes the both of us. Isn’t that perfect, Sangie?” Wooyoung picked up the pace rendering the older breathless.

“You’re always so bad at apologies, how about you let me help you this time.” He continued to suggest mischievously.

Yeosang was so close he barely listened to Wooyoung until the younger suddenly stopped, a loud whine escaping his lips. Wooyoung backed away and got up, heading towards his backpack to look for something. Yeosang watched him expectantly, but the only thing the other came back with was his cellphone.

When he laid back down he gripped onto Yeosang’s cock again with one hand, moving slowly. With his other hand he turned on his phone given it most of his attention.

“Are we really doing this right now?” Yeosang asked in disbelief.

“I told you I was gonna help you apologize.” Wooyoung told him without looking up.

“And how is edging me gonna help it?” Somehow that seemed to be Wooyoung’s answer for everything, from fights to celebrations to boredom, this was his favourite game.

“I’ll just text him that you’ve been naughty and wants to make it up to him.” He replied mindlessly. “I’m sure he wants to play with you too, so it’s a perfect apology.”

“What? No! That’s so embarrassing.” Yeosang’s face flushed red just at the thought.

“It’s not, I’m sure he’ll find it cute.” The younger reasoned.

“Wooyoung please I’m so close already…” He whined.

“I won’t allow you to cum for a week if you keep complaining.”

Yeosang knew he didn’t meant it unless Yeosang let him mean it. If he felt really uncomfortable with it he just needed to say it. But he didn’t particularly knew how to reach out to the other in any other way. Honestly he was scared that if he was left on his own he’d never get the courage for it and just resorted to avoiding him, which wasn’t reasonably possible long term. And he really needed to cum now. He’d be lying if he said his thoughts were not even the least bit affected by that. So he decided to go with it. It seemed Wooyoung always knew exactly how to convince him.

“He’s not answering.” Wooyoung commented with a pout. Yeosang let out a relieved sigh.

“Are you nervous?” The younger asked stopping his ministrations and sitting up. Yeosang sighed for a different reason then.

“I guess.” Yeosang answered after a moment.

“Here.” Wooyoung got up to fish for a lolly on his nightstand drawer. The older accepted it without a second thought. He really needed it if they were gonna go through with this.

“How about we send a little incentive as well. Like a peace offering.” Wooyoung suddenly spoke up with a wicked look on his face.

“Hm?” He hummed in question, unfazed by the other’s mischievous tone. The lolly already had triggered something for him and his thoughts were slowing down.

“Take off your shirt.” The younger commanded.

Yeosang didn’t bother to argue, not thinking it’d go anywhere in his favor. Wooyoung pulled off his sweatpants leaving him only in his underwater. He came back to bed, adjusting their bodies to sit behind Yeosang and pulling him flush against himself between his legs. The younger held his phone up to take a selfie with him, one of his hands sneaking up to pull his leaking member out.

Yeosang let out a protesting whine around his lolly hiding his face on Wooyoung’s shoulder.

“Are you embarrassed, baby?” The younger asked lightly.

“How about this?” Wooyoung shuffled around and coaxed his head back up, covering his eyes with one hand. Now he couldn’t see himself on the screen anymore. Yeosang didn’t answer, but didn’t protest like before, so he took a few pictures.

“Can I send it? Is that okay, baby?” Wooyoung asked again to be sure. Yeosang only nodded, back to hiding against his shoulder in embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he was  doing that, what if San didn’t like it? What if he thought he was gross? He had to see the guy twice a week in class. He sucked harder on his lollipop.

“Come on, Sangie, use your words. It’s okay if you don’t want to send it.” Wooyoung asked coaxing the lollipop out of his mouth and pushing the phone on his hand. Yeosang took a better look at it, but he couldn’t decide if he actually liked himself in it or not.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Yeosang asked with worried puppy eyes and Wooyoung just wanted to eat him right then and there. He felt like he deserved an award for his self control.

“I think he’ll absolutely love it, sweetie.” Wooyoung answered with a kiss to the top of his head.

“Are you sure?” He asked still anxious.

“I’m sure.” The younger assured him calmly.

“Then okay.” Yeosang relented looking back at the picture on the screen between his hand.

Then they’re back to fooling around, lolly back on his mouth and Wooyoung’s hand back on his dick.

“Look Sangie, don’t you look so pretty in that picture? So pretty for me and Sani.” The younger whispered in his ear, picking up the pace as he starts to trail his neck with kisses.

When he’s finally back to feeling heat pooling in the pit of his stomach the phone buzzes in Yeosang’s hands startling them.

“Now he answers…” Wooyoung laughs, completely halting his touches in favor of texting all over again. If Yeosang didn’t had a lolly in his mouth he’d be tempted to bite him.

“He’s at work now, but he’ll come by when he’s done.” He reported, stretching his arm to put the phone away. “So I have two hours to make you an absolute mess for him.”

The hungry look on Wooyoung’s face made him shudder from head to toe, already picturing how the next couple of hours would be entirely tortuous for him.

❦

San thought he knew what to expect when he entered the apartment, Wooyoung calling him already from his bedroom. Although he wasn’t off by much, as soon as he stepped onto the room and saw the scene that was waiting for him he felt so mistaken. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

“Sangie was really sorry about the other day, so he wanted to make it up to you.” Wooyoung explained in a cheerful voice. Wooyoung himself was glowing in all his naked glory, but the focus was definitely on Yeosang right then. Yeosang was standing with his knees apart in bed completely naked with his dick an angry red and leaking against his skin, back against the wall and arms up above his head. His hands were joined, one of them holding onto a tiny rubber ball, and restricted by a red cloth that contrasted with a layer of black lace that made up the blindfold covering his eyes. The cherry on top was a ring gag strapped around his mouth, keeping it open as stray drool spilled out of the corner of his lips.

“He sucked on your fingers without asking, didn’t he? So I made sure he doesn’t suck on anything without permission.” Wooyoung pointed out feeling proud of himself. “He’s trying to apologize after all.”

Wooyoung’s pointer finger grazed against gag, circling the ring before pressing on Yeosang’s bottom teeth and making his head sag down with it. San could see his tongue starting to poke out to chase the digit but quickly Wooyoung retracted it.

“See? Poor Sangie tries so hard, but he just can’t control himself. You get it, right?” Wooyoung told San with expecting eyes.

San nodded still having trouble to form words.

“He was having a hard time facing you, so I helped with that too.” The younger continued to point out while lightly tugging on the blindfold around Yeosang’s eyes. “I even warmed him up for you. He’s so ready to spill it all out that he’d do anything at this point.”

Wooyoung then wrapped his hand around his cock not even moving just holding it and already earning the dirtiest sound both of them had ever heard come from Yeosang’s mouth.

San couldn’t take his eyes off his tongue that flicked around his mouth searching for something to hold on to, lewdly curling around the ring keeping it open.

" ell- ow" His whimpers sounded desperate and he tried saying something, getting distorted by the gag. The little ball he held on his hand fell down and Wooyoung's smirk faltered a bit as he rushed to remove the gag from around his head.

"Color?" The youngest asked.

"... yellow..." He responded panting.

"Do you want a lollipop?"

"Yes, please." It wasn’t even a second before Wooyoung had one ready pressing it against his lips.

"Is everything okay, Yeosang?" San spoke up, now a bit worried.

Yeosang just hummed, stance now relaxed against the wall seemingly appeased by the candy.

"He gets a bit antsy when things get too intense and he can't suck on anything, so I always give him a lollipop. " Wooyoung explained.

Now it made sense, why he had those laying around and even why Yeosang reacted the way he did when he gave him one of those at the library. San thought it was cute that the youngest had a stash of lollipops saved for that reason, to make the other feel safer. Maybe  he’d start piling up some of those himself.

"As I was saying, we've been playing for a while already." Wooyoung continued with a suggestive eyebrow raised. The thoughts of Yeosang being denied for hours already just waiting for him to unravel him went straight to his dick, if he wasn't hard yet now he definitely was.

"Are you okay, Sangie? Can you continue?" Wooyoung asked softly.

"Hmh." His breath still trembled but he seemed much comfortable now.

"Do you want to continue sucking on the lolly?" Wooyoung asked already putting the gag away onto the nightstand.

Yeosang hummed in agreement, lips sealed around the candy.

"Okay, I'm gonna give you your ball back then. You know how to call out if you get overwhelmed again, right?" The youngest confirmed, preparing to move on.

With a nod, he hummed again.

Almost as soon as the ball was back in his grips Yeosang opened his mouth trying to plead around the lolly.

"F...ng-" San couldn't understand what he was saying with the candy on the way, but Wooyoung seemed to catch it easily, used to those sounds by now.

"You want my fingers? But you know this is a punishment, baby." The youngest taunted him as he climbed back in bed.

"Fuck, you look so good like that, Sangie. So pretty for me and Sani. Maybe if you're a good boy I can let you suck my dick, since your filthy mouth is so desperate. Do you want that, Sangie? Want to be a good boy for me?" Wooyoung whispered cupping Yeosang's face with both hands, thumbs brushing against his cheeks to wipe away the trail of tears that were fresh on his skin.

The eldest nodded enthusiastically as if sucking Wooyoung's dick was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life, a muffled please leaving his lips.

"Oh, but you know you need San's permission now, since you've been so bad to him. How about you suck his dick instead and maybe, just maybe, if you please him enough he'll think about giving you what you really want."

He punctuated his words with a soft bite to the tip of one of his ears and a flick to Yeosang's neglected member, not too harsh but making it slap against his belly and earning a dragged groan from the other. Then he gently coaxed out the lolly from the other's mouth and whispered on his ear. "Come on Sangie, tell him how much you want his cock in your mouth, how desperate you are for him to make you his."

" Please please please want to be good, want to be good for Sani." Yeosang breathed out in a whiny voice sounding too desperate even to his own ears.

San walked up to the scene while Wooyoung backed away to leave the lolly on a conveniently placed napkin. He placed his thumb flat against the other's tongue letting him suck on it as he took his other hand and started stroking his leaking member, setting a fast and messy pace from the start and dragging a litany of desperate cries from the older that was caught off guard by the harsh stimulation. It wasn't long before Yeosang was back on the edge.

"Gonna cum..." He yelled out desperate, nibbling a bit too harsh around San's thumb as the familiar heat pooled again at the pit of his stomach.

San retracted both his hand as soon as the words came out of his mouth and he almost felt bad hearing the whines that came out of Yeosang, practically sobs by now, but there was something intoxicating about the fact that he was the cause for them, that this was all for him.

He brought his hands up to take the blindfold off. The sight under it was breathtaking, Yeosang's eyes were red and blown out with lust and glazed over as he gazed up at San, looking at him like he was ready to sell his soul for any mere touch San would be generous enough to give him.

San leaned down for a kiss, the sticky taste of raspberry still in his tongue as he explored his mouth lewdly and sucked on his tongue before pulling away and slowly tugged Yeosang forward into his arms. He wondered how harsh Wooyoung had been until now to have him so desperate and pliant in his hands.

He sat back against the headboard, Yeosang leaned down on his knee, butt up and face down on his crotch, barely supporting himself on his elbows hands still tied to each other.

"How about I prep our little slut for you?" Wooyoung asked from behind Yeosang, one hand caressing one of his cheeks and the other holding up a bottle of lube.

"Sure, just don't let him finish. He needs to earn it." San replied, a smile growing on his face as he held Yeosang's mouth open with a thumb pulling on the each corner of it. He looked down on his for a moment as the older's tongue seemed to stretch on his own to try and lick on them while his eyes stared up at him and San wondered what Yeosang must be seeing with his brain so deep into that lustful haze.

Wooyoung sticked the first finger in him, a surprised moan leaving his held open mouth and he leaned forward nosing San’s crotch with pleading eyes. San complied, finally letting out his trapped member out of his boxers and lightly smacking Yeosang on the cheek with it.

The older mouthed along its length with kisses and kitten licks trying to appeal his case to his new master before enveloping the head on his mouth with a relieved sigh. San let he take his time sinking down and taking him all in before grabbing onto his hair and settling on a comfortable pace. Yeosang swirled his tongue and hallowed his cheeks skilfully as he bobbed his head up and down his shaft, San’s composure faltering as he tried not to thrust up against his throat.

Wooyoung’s fingers didn’t stop, finally hitting the spot they were looking for. Yeosang gagged around San’s cock at the new sensation making San groan. His mouth became sloppy, moaning non stop as the youngest abused his prostate and it wasn’t long until he was begging again.

“Please, more I need- ah ”

“What do you say, Sani? Does he deserves more?”

“Hmmm...” San pretended to think, a smirk in his face. “I’m not convinced yet.”

Yeosang let out a pitiful whine, looking like he was gonna cry.

“But I’ll give Sangie a treat since you’re doing so well. Why don’t you start fucking him for me, Woo?”

“Sani is already so generous to you. Aren’t you happy, Sangie?” Wooyoung said with a laugh in his tone as he lined himself up, not wasting any time executing the order. Yeosang let out a vague whimper in response impatiently pressing his hip back against him.

He thrusted against Yeosang roughly, bottoming out in one move and sending yeosang forward against San. The thrusts kept coming not leaving much time for Yeosang to recover, but the older didn’t seem too distressed by it. San imagined he was used to Wooyoung’s roughness.  

“Come on, show him how happy you are, Sangie.” Wooyoung commanded from behind him.

It was absolute lewd the noises coming from Yeosang’s mouth, face rubbing against San’s spit covered cock as Wooyoung fucked him. He tried to move weakly, trying to follow Wooyoung’s command, but having difficulty because of his tied hands.

San rushed to untie the knot on the silk cloth and Yeosang finally managed to support himself on his hands and come up to kiss San once more, sloppy and needy, moaning into his mouth as Wooyoung wrecked him. The older tried trailing kisses down his necks in an attempt to please again, but he didn’t have any coordination or patience anymore, his mind incoherent and body shaking too much.

“San, please want to be good please i ne- ah ” Yeosang tried pleading as if his life depended on it, Wooyoung finding something in him that rendered him words incorrect again.

“Let’s try this again, see if you can please me enough this time.” San teased getting up on his knees, dick at the older’s face again.

If he was hesitant to be too hard on Yeosang before, now he definitely wasn’t anymore fucking his throat with reckless abandon, enjoying the bruising fingers on his thigh grasping for dear life and odd chokes and gags as Yeosang tried his best to keep up with the pace the both of his boyfriends set up.

San brought a hand to Yeosang’s neglected cock under him, letting Wooyoung’s movements set the pace for his strokes. As he leaned forward to do that Yeosang doing his best to keep up the length in his mouth that now went deeper than before, his nose hitting San’s stomach at every thrust. He didn’t want the other to stop his ministrations, so he did his best to unclench his jaw and take it all in over and over again at his rough pace.

As he  approached his edge once again he couldn’t keep down his cries though, painfully obvious to both of his tormentors that seemed to have simultaneously agreed to completely stop.

“I’m so close please please please... ” He cried as Wooyoung pulled him back to sit on his lap

"You know, we played this game before. He doesn't need to cum if you're not satisfied, our little slut can even stay a few more days desperate for our touch. Can't you, Sangie?"

He had pulled out, dick now snugly placed between Yeosang's butt cheeks as the older sat there against his chest. Wooyoung held Yeosang by the hair, making him bare his neck for him as he mouthed the words against his shoulder, before sinking his teeth onto the flesh right above his collarbone. Yeosang let out a strained whimper at the action, his only answer a string of please please please with exhausted pants in-between and San wasn't sure whether he meant please let me cum or please deny me anymore. San didn't think Yeosang knew either.

He didn't know he had such sadistic tendencies in him up until then, the thought of not giving Yeosang the release he craved for so much just to have him even more desperate and needy for him all the way till next time had him almost drunk on the power given to him.

But for now he had been so good for him that he would relent. He’d have chances to punish him with that some other time, hopefully.

San came up to sit closer to his boyfriends and Wooyoung let Yeosang fall gently forward onto San's shoulder. San sucked on a spot under his ear adding to the trail on purple marks Wooyoung had already left there. The older panted trying to catch his breath only to have it hitch again at San's love bites. The youngest settled for dragging his fingers up and down Yeosang’s spine sending even more shivers through his body and it was just so much that he felt like maybe he'd start crying all over again.

San wrapped his fingers around his tortured member, pressing his thumb against the slit and drank in Yeosang's choked moan, feeling him tremble against him.

"How about this, I'm gonna ride you, use you like a toy and I want to cum together. Think you can do that for me? Can you hold it for me?" He whispered in his ear and Yeosang broke out sobbing again. "Please... I can't please wanna cum i’m so close I can’t please"

Please seemed to be Yeosang's favorite word and San was in love with hearing him repeat it over and over like a prayer to him.

"Shhhh, it's okay you're doing so good. Just a little bit more, you've been so good for me Sangie I'm so proud." San whispered a string of praise against his ear, his voice soothing his cries.

Wooyoung backed him up in praising Yeosang between comforting kisses to his back. So good for us Sangie , his words muffled and vibrated against his skin, warming him up and melting his insides, his brain feeling like mush.

He was good, he wanted to be good, wanted to hear them praise him more, wanted to feel their warmth more. He felt so loved and he felt addicted to that feeling.

"Color?" San asked against his ear and it took him a feel moments to register in his brain what he meant.

"Green, please please please just fuck me I need-"

His phrase got cut off and transformed into a surprised whimper as San sank his teeth against his skin nearing the same spot Wooyoung had done it, sharp pain coursing through his body all the way down to his dick.

He was again very aware of San's unrelenting grip on it and he rutted up on an instinct so desperate for attention there. It earned him a light slap to his thigh, making him gasp. He was glad it wasn’t harder or else he might’ve cummed right there from how on edge he was already.

“Wanna cum with you too.” Wooyoung asked, eyes more playful than pleading as he leaned forward to kiss San, sandwiching the older between their bodies while the two made out.

Starting to get impatient as well, San pulled back from the kiss pushing Wooyoung backwards, motioning for him to lay down. The youngest wasted no time sheathing himself into Yeosang again driving out a whole new string on cries.

“You just want to make it harder for him, don’t you?” San accused with a smirk. Wooyoung just chuckled not really denying it.

San climbed on top grabbing the bottle of lube and spreading it on his fingers, warming it up a bit before taking them down to his own hole, prepping himself to take Yeosang inside. The older was huge, so he took his time trying to loosen up the best he could, back arching from his own touch and pressing himself against Yeosang, their dicks rubbing against each other on their stomachs.

Yeosang nearly immediately chased the friction rutting up against him and San was tempted to stroke him back to the edge just so he’d be more obedient and wait properly. However he didn’t like to play games where there’s no chance of winning. He just propped himself higher above him, so that the older didn’t have anymore friction from him. Not that Yeosang had much of a chance to last already if San was judging by the way the other still tried moving against the air frustrated and desperate for him to come back, only resulting in fucking himself on Wooyoung’s dick.

When he felt he was ready he sat up lining himself and sinking down slowly on Yeosang’s length with a groan, letting himself get used to the burning stretch. The older breathed hard under him trying his best to hold himself from moving. San’s hands grabbed onto his waist for support and Wooyoung’s ones already occupied his hips, the two most likely would leave handprints there from how hard they were gripping onto him.

Wooyoung was the first to move, making San moan and Yeosang cry out in between them and soon San joined him bouncing up and down on Yeosang’s cock. The older felt helpless in between them, hands coming up to grip the sheets trying his best to contain the feeling building up inside of him again, but it was nearly impossible he just needed to cum so bad.

Surprisingly Wooyoung was also the first one to break filling Yeosang with a groan, Yeosang squirmed in between them, doing his best to hold the inevitable. Moments after he was cumming as well with a loud cry finally getting the released he yearned for so long and San soon followed shooting all over the older’s chest. He bounced for a good minute on Yeosang’s sensitive cock before reaching his breaking point, overstimulating him a bit too much, but their releases were close enough that he had to be impressed and he was sure to praise Yeosang on it, telling him over and over how good he did for him.

The three of them were exhausted, laying on top of each other breathless.

╳

“We should take shower.” Wooyoung spoke first. “Maybe eat something.”

“You didn’t get your ass destroyed, so you can be in charge of snacks, Woo.”

“Haha, but seriously y’all are getting heavy.”

San then finally moved, feeling the unpleasant sensation of cum dripping down his thigh and pulled yeosang with him, rolling to the side so that the youngest could be freed from their weight.

“I’ll prepare a bath for you two. Don’t let Sangie sleep, he's a bitch to wake up and always gets a headache if he doesn’t eat properly."

“Got it.” Yeosang’s eyes were dangerously close to shutting down already, San tapping on his cheek to keep him focused.

“Don’t sleep yet, let me take care of you a little bit.” San murmured to him. Yeosang felt so out of it that it read like a dream to his mind.

Getting bathed by San was nice, his hand were gentle scrubbing soap over his body and massaging all the sore spots they left on him. So gentle that it only made it harder on him to stay awake, which resulted in Wooyoung feeding them crackers over the side of the bathtub while he waited for his turn to at least take a shower on it, too small for the three of them at the same time.

It felt so soft and warm that Yeosang didn’t quite believe that it was real when he woke the next morning, still embraced from both sides under the blanket.

He turned his head from one side to the other, adjusting himself to be more comfortable, only to find San’s eyes staring at him, lazy and droopy from sleep.

"Sorry about freaking you out at the library." Yeosang let out without thinking. That probably wasn’t what a lover wanted to hear first thing in the morning, but it was what jumped to his mind. It really was supposed to be an apology after all.

"It's okay, really, you don't need to apologise. I was just very confused."

"It's just not something I control well and it's so embarrassing to explain." Yeosang cringed at himself, this coping habit was so bad.

"I want you to know you never need to be embarrassed around me, okay? No matter how weird you think it is I'm not gonna be upset or think badly of you. I'll try to understand it. So just… explain it to me next time." San assured him smiling softly.

"I love you two." The youngest suddenly professed in a hoarse voice coming from Wooyoung over his back, hugging them tighter together and giving Yeosang a kiss to the nape.

“So are we, like, a thing now? The three of us?” Yeosang got the courage to ask after a few moments pondering if he should say anything.

“Do you want us to be a thing?” San asked with an eyebrow raised and a smirk. If Yeosang didn’t know any better he’d guess he was being flirted with.

“Of course we are a thing. God, you two take so long getting to the point I might as well fuck both of you again to get this done with.” Wooyoung huffed at their antics.

“We love you too, Woo.” San replied as he closed his eyes back to sleep, smile bright in his face.

Yeosang felt the same. For both of them. He didn't have the courage to spill such words as easily as they did, but he felt it deep in his heart as he laid there in their warmth.

[julienschuester]

KISS IT BETTER

WHO: @ivystjamess & @julienschuester WHERE: st. james residence WHEN: 10/08, evening WHAT: after a brutal tennis match between ivy and darcy that resulted in baby raine’s...beheading...julien goes to ivy’s to comfort her on his birthday.

JULIEN: When Ivy stormed out of glee club rehearsal after everything that had gone down between her and the Canaries, Julien wanted nothing more than to follow her out of the choir room and comfort her. He felt guilty about everything that had happened with Darcy and the last thing he wanted was for Ivy to be upset or worse…upset at him. But when Dan took the floor and announced that it was best to let Ivy cool off, Julien wilted. He stayed put in his seat and although he was pretty downtrodden through practice, he powered through it. Once it was over, Julien hitched a ride with Dan back to the Schuester residence where a birthday dinner was already made and presents were wrapped and ready to be exchanged. Julien put on a smile for his parents and siblings as he went through the motions of a traditional Schuester birthday celebration until finally, he was granted permission to be excused. He wanted to be more present and engaged during his little family party, but all he could think about was Ivy. How was she? Had she iced her bruises? Had the Canaries done more harm than she’d let on? He was spiraling in a mess of ‘what ifs’ and knew the only way his brain would calm was if he saw her.  Julien ran up the stairs to his bedroom and quickly changed into some casual grey sweatpants, his favorite hockey sweatshirt and his glasses. He was already half way out the door, ignoring his mom’s ’where are you going?’ when he realized he’d forgotten a hat. Oh well. Julien didn’t like driving a car that had the word cheater scrawled into the side, but these were desperate times. He got into the Schuester mobile, which now had fresh wheels thanks to Julien’s summer savings, and sped to Ivy’s in record time. He parked a couple of blocks away (just in case her parents were around) and lightly jogged the rest of the way to her house. He moved stealthily once he reached her yard, doing his best to avoid any light sensors as he made his way through the bushes towards Ivy’s window. Jackpot. There she was, hunched over her desk doing what Julien could only assume was homework. He took in the sight of her for a moment, heart racing as a goofy smile danced its way on to his lips. Even angry and pouty, Julien couldn’t get enough of that face. Don’t get distracted, he reminded himself. Right. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the physically demanding task that was scaling the side of her house and then he was off. He had done the climb a couple of times before and it got easier each time...but not easy enough. He made it to her window in minutes and once he reached it, he tapped twice before he started trying to pry it open himself. “You gotta let me in legs,” he whisper yelled, slightly straining to keep himself up, “it’s my birthday wish.”

IVY: Tonight now marked twice in a row that Julien had come to her house tapping on her window. If Come to my Window hadn't been an anthem for sapphics everywhere for the better part of the last 50 years, Ivy probably already would have been preparing an arrangement for her and Julien. Her heart just wasn't in it tonight. After the worst day in what was shaping up to be a horrible week, Ivy had no song in her heart. Not only was a duet arrangement out of the question, but so was social interaction. It was so cruel of fate to not only give her a baby to tend to after the summer she had, but it was crueler to have it taken from her, and cruelest for everything to have blown up on Julien's birthday. She had pinky promised him not to be mad at him on his birthday, which she totally broke during glee club earlier. That bummed her out even more. With some time and cooling down, to no one's surprise, Ivy wasn't angry. Just hurt. Hurt Darcy had masterfully pulled off a villainous scheme, hurt that none of her teammates seemed to care, and hurt that Julien couldn't step up to the plate and defend her. It was all too much. Joey had texted her a few times about arranging a funeral for Raine over the weekend, but she left him on read. Everything about this situation was tender and she just wasn't feeling like herself. She cashed in on skipping both glee and Grease rehearsal and went home almost instantly where she dove into trying to do her homework. It was a slow and strenuous effort. It felt like anytime she got a good pace going, something set off the tears. Whether it be the envelope with Julien's birthday present sitting pretty on her desk, moving her rapidly bruising body in the wrong way, or the eerie absence of Raine's oh-so-annoying cries, there always seemed to be something that triggered the waterworks. Luckily, when Julien asked to be let in, Ivy was about an hour past her last cry session. For a brief moment, she stared at him dubiously until he clarified it was a birthday wish. Shoot. She couldn’t turn down a birthday wish. Wincing slightly as she rose, Ivy moved to open her window and help Julien climb in. Once he was in safely, Ivy filled the silence with the soft sounds of her shutting her window, closing the curtains, locking both her doors, then putting on some music to mask their inevitable conversation. She gave room for Julien to begin first, but painfully aware of the fact he wasn’t the most articulate, she broke the ice by grabbing the holographic red envelope with Julien and an assortment of hearts scribbled onto it. It wasn’t Ivy’s best gift, but she was confident her boyfriend would be happy to attend a Blackhawks game. She held out the envelope with an almost somber, “Happy Birthday.” This was the extension of her olive branch. Just to be explicit though, she added, “Sorry for calling you a musical slut and a cheater and like all that stuff. I didn’t mean it. I was just like being stupid.” she murmured, wincing once again as she sat on the foot of her bed. “Are you gonna open it?”

JULIEN: For a split second, Julien thought Ivy wasn’t going to let him in. He was moments away from panicking and probably tumbling down to the ground when she finally moved from her seat and opened the window. Once Julien was on his feet inside her bedroom, he wiped the beads of sweat forming on his forehead from the physical exertion and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger. As he smoothed out his sweatshirt and caught his breath, Ivy moved around the room like a busy body, taking all the necessary precautions to make sure they weren’t caught by her parents or sister. His eyes followed her as she moved around the room. Ever since they had officially gotten together, Julien felt inexplicably more self-conscious about saying the right things. Maybe self-conscious wasn’t the right word…but he just wanted to make Ivy happy. Getting to this point in their relationship had been a long and dramatic road, so the last thing he wanted to do was mess it up by acting rashly or doing something dumb. So as he stood there, letting his bottom teeth graze his top lip as he performed mental gymnastics trying to figure out where to start, Ivy took the lead by sticking a red envelope in his general direction. “For me?” he asked, almost surprised by the gesture, “woooow.” Julien stared at the envelope in complete awe before he even looked at what was inside. Whatever it was, it was from Ivy. To him. It could’ve been a $2 bill and he would’ve been over the moon. Before he could open it, Ivy was apologizing for what had gone down earlier in the choir room. A warmth filled his chest as she took back all of the things she’d said. It was water under the bridge for him. “You don’t have to say sorry,” he assured her, glancing down at the envelope again, “I’m sorry—“ but before he could say it, she was asking him to open the gift. Okay, maybe his apology could wait. He somewhat carelessly ripped open the envelope (but not before admiring all the little hearts she’d drawn around his name on the back of it) and quickly removed the two tickets that were inside it. He stared at them, mouth agape, for a second too long as he slowly read over the words. Blackhawks vs. Blue Jackets. A genuinely touched smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked up at her. “Ivy,” he cooed, quite literally fighting the urge to dance in place by excitedly making his way to the foot of her bed and sitting next to her, “this is the best gift. Did you know I’ve never been to a Blackhawks game? You’re seriously the best, I love—“ a pause as he let out a bashful little laugh and cleared his throat, “I love it. I really love it. I can’t wait to ask the prettiest girl in school if she’ll go with me…” He turned to look at Ivy then, his eyes notably softening when it dawned on him how sad she still looked. He put the tickets back in the envelope and then placed it down on the bed before giving Ivy his undivided attention. “I’m really sorry, legs,” he started, gently reaching up and placing his hand on the side of her head to softly strum her cheek and her hair, “what happened to you today was…so messed up. The next time I see Darcy…” Julien wasn’t an angry person, but now that he’d had some time to process, even saying her name left a bad taste in his mouth, “I’m gonna give her a piece of my mind. You didn’t deserve that. And I’m…” it felt silly to say, but it needed to be said, “I’m sorry about Raine. I know he was just a robot baby, but still.” Julien was great with words when it came to group pep talks, but he notably struggled with being articulate in more intimate one on one conversations. “I’m just sorry,” he concluded, holding her gaze before letting his eyes assess the damage done to her by tennis balls. “I want to hug you or hold you or something but I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted, clocking the welts on her arm. Looking around, he scooted back on her bed until he could lean back against her pillows. “Come here,” he urged her, opening his arms, “birthday wish.”

IVY: This birthday wish business was going to be the death of Ivy. It had landed Julien, cute as ever, in the center of her room. From the way he pushed up his glasses to the way his sweatshirt hung over his frame made it increasingly difficult for Ivy to feel as sad. Though, as much as she apologized and engaged in conversation, nothing could stuff those sad feelings back into her heart. Julien's response to her apology in addition to his own brief one had her feeling a little better. Despite that sadness lingering, Julien's smile when he opened the envelope to the tickets momentarily made this horrendous day feel entirely worth it. With his smile like Christmas Morning and his eyes like Fourth of July fireworks, Ivy was hardly thinking about apologies. The way Julien said her name made her heart pound desperately in her chest. She was glad he liked the tickets so much. As he sat beside her, definitely a little needy, Ivy grabbed hold of his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. Maybe had she not felt so off she would have been more vocal. That wasn't the case, so instead she sought comfort in Julien's touch and provided him with a soft "No, I didn't know you've never been, I just like assumed you would have by now." His 'I love--' resulted in Ivy lifting her head to look at him. Was he about to--? No. He loved the gift. A lot. Clearly. Maybe the tickets were a better gift than she had initially anticipated. Now looking at him, Ivy felt a warmth that enabled her to smile. "Hm, well I hope she says yes because I heard she's like totally cute in a hockey jersey." Ivy said very seriously. The burst of feel good energy faded quickly as Julien once again brought up the events of the day.  Still, she leaned into his touch and hummed softly at his claim he was going to give Darcy a piece of his mind. Ivy didn't entirely believe that, but didn't want to complain either. Her and Leo always fought when she brought up things like this that upset her. She didn't want to be dramatic and let the same happen with her and Julien. He was too special. Remaining quiet for a moment as she tried to find the right words, Ivy hummed to herself again.  "We really like, don't have to talk about it. Seriously. It's like so totally...yesterday's news." she insisted after inhaling sharply. She'd get over it. "Okay it like, doesn't even hurt that bad--" That lie was a little more obvious, but she wanted to be held regardless. Luckily, her boyfriend seemed to pick up on that as he adjusted his position and fully settled on her bed. Crawling up to him and curling into his side, Ivy's doting gaze inevitably fell on Julien, "So like, what do you want to do? Watch a movie?" she asked, then threw in a playful, "You only have fifteen more birthday wishes to cash in before midnight, Jules. Choose wisely."

JULIEN: Ivy wasn’t particularly good at hiding her emotions, so despite Julien not being the most intuitive person, he could see very clearly that she was in need of some tlc. From the way she stared up at him with those sad blue eyes to the way she clung to his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, it was obvious that the bad feelings from the day were lingering. Julien pushed aside his excitement over his birthday gift and decided right then and there that despite it being his birthday, Ivy would be tonight’s focus. That was why he’d come to her house after all. The two bantered briefly before Julien launched into his own apology but Ivy wasn’t having it. Julien always liked to talk through his feelings (mostly out of necessity because he never knew how exactly he felt about things), but his girlfriend didn’t seem to want the same so he wasn’t about to force her to talk about what happened. Maybe it was best not to dwell. “Okay, Titan Times,” Julien sighed out with a soft, closed-mouthed smile, “yesterday’s news then. Out of sight, out of mind.” And that was that. Next thing Julien knew, he was scooted all the way back on her bed with Ivy curled up cozily at his side. All was right in the world again. With one arm around her, Julien very gently circled a fresh bruise on her arm with all the caution in the world to not apply any pressure and cause her pain. Her question made him chuckle slightly as he tilted his chin downwards to look at her. “We could watch a movie,” he mused, insinuating that they could if she wanted to, “but I’d rather just talk to you.” At the mention of his whopping fifteen remaining birthday wishes, his expression changed like something dawned on him suddenly. “You wanna know what’s crazy?” he asked, brows raised, “I’ve been here for like ten minutes and you haven’t even kissed me once.” Julien clicked just tongue and shook his head disappointedly. “Kind of mean to do to the birthday boy if you think about it...” he sighed dramatically before playfully kissing the top of her head and hugging her towards him just a little tighter.

IVY: On top of all her other bad feelings about this wretched day, Ivy presently felt the worst about being so glum on Julien's birthday. He only turned seventeen once and the last thing she wanted was for this day to be shrouded in her own selfishness. Sure, it would be a struggle to let go of that overbearing feeling that she was right and he was wrong for not standing up for her in the choir room as is, but laying curled into his side soothed that burn. ( At lease, temporarily.) Fantasies of them at the Blackhawks game swirled in and out of her mind, but for the most part Ivy's focused remained on the gentle circling of his thumb around one of her numerous bruises and the comfort of his natural scent wafting into her nose. Beyond being talented and sweeter than she could ever be, Julien had a natural gift when it came to cheering her up. Ivy could only hope she provided him with that a sliver of reassurance he so easily gave her. That was beside the point though. As Julien confessed to preferring to speak with her over all else, a familiar thumping radiated throughout her chest as she smiled up at him with nothing but sheer adoration. "You're so sweet, I swear you're like giving me cavities." she teased, only for her own brows to quirk upward at his next comment. "a whole ten minutes?" Ivy repeated quietly as if she too were in shock. Now that all the upset glances and brooding sighs had passed, Ivy found herself warming up to their usual playful routine. Giggling at the dramatic sigh of Julien's own, Ivy propped herself up on her elbow, "Okay, well like, we definitely cannot have that on your birthday." she agreed before leaning down and granting him a quick peck. "You've got fourteen left, lover boy." She said, still gazing down fondly at him. Less desirable feelings from the day feeling more and more distant, Ivy drawled "Wanna like cash them in for more kisses or...?"  before closing the space between them once more. Ivy didn't need Julien to speak to know the answer was yes. So as she moved her lips against his own, she began to familiarize herself with the idea that if she were ending her night making out with Julien in her bed, maybe this day hadn't turned out so horrible after all.

AND SCENE.

[fromdecemberwithlove]

She closed the door to her flat and leant against the wood, dropping her bag onto the floor.

Exhausted.

She was exhausted.

Her day had been a disaster and she felt miserable and cold. Between spilling her coffee on her blouse that morning (when that prat Cormac had bumped into her on purpose), being forced to work through lunch to prepare for her appearance in front of the Wizengamot (last minute changes in their seemingly endless list of stipulations) and having the horrible surprise to argue against that vindictive old bat Griselda Marshbanks instead of the lazy, half wit Ernest Hawkworth… the day couldn’t end fast enough.

It hadn’t been grueling enough, apparently, and as she reached the Apparition point, the sky had finally opened after days of looking angry and sullen and sinister, drenching her.  

She didn’t bother with a drying spell and headed straight for her bathroom to treat herself to a well-deserved bath. As she waited for the water to fill the tub, she summed a bottle of red wine and a glass from the kitchen, undressed and dried her hair with wave of her wand before pinning it at the top of her head and settling beneath the soft bubbles.

Hermione heaved a deep sigh and took a sip of wine. Her body relaxed with the help of the salts and the deliciously warm temperature of the water, but she still felt heavy; still felt dejected. She didn’t know which way the Wizengamot was going to vote and they wouldn’t give her an answer until Monday. She’d have to spend the entire weekend worrying and fretting about it, no doubt driving herself crazy in the process.

She closed her eyes and savored another mouthful of her drink, letting her head fall back against the white porcelain.

She missed Draco.

He always knew the perfect way to distract her from the vicious mind games that the Authorities That Be liked to play with her. If he were here, he’d probably take her out, take her some place she would be able to relax and forget, take her to dinner, take her dancing… take her to bed.

Yes, if he were here…

But Draco was in Austria, until the end of the month, and it was on days like these that the weight of his absence pressed down on her chest harder: closing her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. She didn’t want to cry—it was absurd, really, and entirely pointless. She knew it was the accumulation of days working long hours for what she believed was right catching up with her.

She could owl him.

She considered that for a brief second before dismissing it. She knew he would find a way to come back early, and she didn’t want to take him away from his responsibilities.

Despite her protests, she loved that he put her first. Always. His quiet devotion, more so than his seemingly insatiable desire, left her breathless sometimes.

She sighed again. Half her glass was gone and she twirled the carmine liquid inside, lost in thoughts.

It was excellent wine.

She snorted, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. Of course it would be. After all, it came from the illustrious cellars of Malfoy Manor, made in the equally illustrious Malfoy Vineyard in France. She smiled, remembering his face when Ron and Harry had shown up for her 27th birthday celebration with boxed wine.

He’d looked horrified, features frozen in shock and tense with outrage. But as she’d watched him accept the offering, his eyes glaring at the box with barely contained disdain, and shake hands with each of her best friends without a single snide remark, Hermione’s heart had swelled with love and joy. After the guests had left, he’d practically run back to the kitchen to set the offending object on fire in the sink. She had laughed hysterically as he went on a tirade about unsophisticated people and ridiculous bad taste and where the fuck did they even find that? Surely they didn’t pay for it? Don’t tell me they made it themselves! 

She’d calmed down enough to explain that it was a Muggle product and that she and the boys had this little tradition about drinking it on each other’s birthday. He’d stared at her in stunned silence for a full minute, before promptly declaring, as he washed away the ashes down the drain with a flick of his wand, that they needed a new adult tradition and that it was high time for all three of them to learn about the finer things in life.

Hermione set the now empty glass on the floor. Thinking about him always gave her a measure of peace and serenity but it also made his absence infinitely more acute and almost palpable. The only remedy to her current languor was a good book. 

She wrapped herself in his Slytherin bathrobe, ignoring her Gryffindor one on the hook behind the bathroom door (a gift from Blaise because, as he’d declared, “why not?”) and left behind the wine and her clothes on the white tiled floor, electing to deal with the mess in the morning.

She pushed her bedroom door open and her heart stopped. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat and a strangled gasp fell from her lips.

Draco.

For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating. Her wide eyes took in the blond man in his rumbled suit sleeping on his side in the middle of her unmade bed, with an orange fur ball curled up against his stomach, and she felt certain it was all some sort of mirage; that she’d blink and he would vanish.

Crookshanks opened his eyes, raised his head to look at her and yawned.

She blinked.

The man was still there.

Draco was still there.

Her cat stood, stretched and jumped down, grazing her bare legs as he sauntered past, leaving them alone. As if he’d stood guard there, simply waiting for her to come home and take her rightful place next to the sleeping man.

She didn’t realize she had moved until her shins hit the edge of the mattress and she was standing over him. It still felt like a dream. To make sure, to reassure her that this was not some trick of her mind - because she missed him so much, the pain felt like a physical wound -, her hand reached down and brushed his hair off his face.

Real.

His eyelids fluttered and sleepy grey eyes stared at her.

“Hey you,” his voice was hoarse with sleep. 

“Hey,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down his cheek. He gave her a lazy smile, grabbing her wrist and placing a gentle kiss in the palm of her hand.

She opened her mouth to say something else—to ask him what he was doing here, how come he didn’t tell her he’d be coming back earlier than expected? but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a broken sob.

Startled, she watched him look up at her and frown. Then his hand came up to her face and he wiped her cheek.

She was crying.

“What’s wrong?”

She tried to speak, tried to tell him it was nothing—she was just tired, had a bad day- wanted to assure him that she was fine.

But she couldn’t.

She sank onto her knees on the bedside rug, collapsing under the crushing weight of her breakdown. The silent tears gave way to loud weeping—sharp hiccups tore from her lungs and violent sobs shook her entire body. He immediately sat up and gathered her in his arms, dragging her onto the bed.

“What happened?” he tried again, but all she could do was shake her head as the tension of the past week washed out off of her in waves. She clung to him and he held her and let her cry against him, her face buried in his chest, no doubt ruining his expensive suit further.

When the hysteria abided, Hermione sniffed and slowly pulled away from his embrace. She wiped her face with the sleeves of the bathrobe and took a deep, cleansing breath. She felt considerably better, lighter but also utterly mortified.

“Are you okay?” his worried eyes scanned her face, hands running down her arms.

She nodded, a blush creeping up her cheeks, burning her face with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she said, looking down at her comforter, hating the way her voice sounded so vulnerable.

He placed his hands on either side of her face and tilted his head to look at her.

For the longest time, he didn’t say anything and simply stared at her like he could read her—like she was his favourite book and he recognized this particular chapter.

“Bad day,” he finally said.

It wasn’t a question.

He knew.

He understood.

Just like that.

She nodded again.

“Wizengamot tug of war?” he handed her the box of tissues from her nightstand. Despite his half-smile, there was still some lingering concern in his eyes.

She barked a short laugh, wiping at her nose.

“Yeah, had to deal with that awful Marshbanks woman because Hawkworth is out with dragon pox”

“Isn’t he like a thousand years old, how hasn’t he contracted it before?”

She shrugged.

“What else?”

Before she could stop herself, she blurred out:

“Cormac bumped into me, made me spill coffee on my shirt,” it was childish, she knew, like tattling on a naughty classmate to her favourite teacher, but she was feeling raw and exposed and it didn’t feel right to start hiding things seconds after cleansing herself from everything.

“That fucking useless wanker!” the surge of anger made the grey of his irises look like the stormy sky outside.

“It’s okay,” she said but his eyes narrowed, “well not okay but whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it bloody well matters! You should report his incompetent arse!”

“For what? Being a prick?”

Cormac was many things, but incompetent wasn’t one of them (unfortunately).

“Absolutely,” he nodded vehemently, “I’ll report him myself!”

She stared at him in silence… and burst out laughing. Full blown, belly clenching, can’t-breathe laughter. She fell onto her side, the crystalline sound filling the room, tears of mirth tracing the same path as her earlier ones as he looked at her with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, fighting the urge to join her while trying to hold on to his self-righteous anger. She flipped on her back and tried to catch her breath.

“Oh Merlin, thank you for being so awesomely ridiculous,” she said, calming down.

He sneered but his eyes were soft now.

“I meant it,”

“Oh I know you did, that’s why it was so hilarious.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Potter to do something about it,” he mused.

“No,” she sat up, shaking her head, “it doesn’t matter, just drop it.”

“—or perhaps Weasley, he can’t stand him either,” he carrying on, as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Draco!” she grabbed his upper arms as if to shake him from his nefarious plotting.

He gave her a playful smile, “all right, all right.”

She watched him, knowing full well that he was going to do whatever he wanted in the end but dropped it because she didn’t want to dwell on stupid Cormac any longer.

She intertwined their fingers, her thumb tracing the inside of her palm absentmindedly.

“When did you get back?”

“Lunch time, I think. I was going to owl you, but… I fell asleep,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

His cheeks tinted with a light pink hue.

He was embarrassed.

It was adorable.

“I thought you needed to stay until the end of the month?”

He shrugged, “I wanted to see you.”

If she hadn’t just cried herself raw, she knew her eyes would have smarted.

She couldn’t help her reply though, “but what about work?”

“I’m the boss, work can wait,” he waved a dismissive hand.

She rolled her eyes, “Honestly!”

“Don’t give me that look, Granger, I know you’re ecstatic I’m here,” his lips stretched in that familiar arrogant smirk.

She chuckled, “I wouldn’t say ecstatic…”

“Oh, really?” he quirked that damned perfect eyebrow, “what would you say then?” he was leaning towards her, a predatory gleam in his eyes. It sent a thrill up her spine.

Oh-oh.

She tried to bolt out of bed but he caught her waist and began tickling her mercilessly.

“Stop, sto-stop, Draco!”

“Say you’re ecstatic to see me,”

“I’m, ah, stop!”

“Say it,”

“I’m ecstatic to see you,” she practically yelled, sucking in a breath when he let up.

He gave her a peck on the lips and pulled back.

“Say Mclaggen is a tosser and should rot in hell,”

She began to roll her eyes but he started tickling her again and she tried to grab his wrists and push him with her knees. But he had her completely pinned down.

“Mclaggen is a to-tosser and, stop! He, he should rot in-in hell,” she huffed.

“Say I’m the best you’ve ever had,”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,”

He was also absolutely right.

Draco grinned down at her and his fingers dug into her sides again, making her yelp and squirm.

“Say it, witch,”

“You’re-you’re the best I’ve ever had!”

“Say you’ve missed me,” he stopped, his hands still on her sides, his body hovering over her, his eyes boring into hers.

“I did, so much,” she said. She felt the ache again, pressing down on her chest, pressing, pressing, pressing.

He kissed her deeply and took it all away.

“Say you love me,” a plea against her lips.

“I love you,” her fingers in his hair, her mouth on his.

He swallowed her confession and she moaned, melting under him.

“By the way, you look amazing in this,” his eyes roamed over her exposed shoulder and collarbone, the sides of the bathrobe having slipped open during her struggle. He pulled the cotton fabric apart further, dropping his head to kiss and nibble at her skin.

“You want to switch?” she quipped, “use mine from now on?”

He laughed against her throat, “hell no.”

“You’re a man child,” 

“Whatever you say,” he mumbled, his mouth trailing down between her breasts, his hand pushing her legs open.

She closed her eyes, and let him make her forget, the way he did best: With his hands and his lips and his teeth and his tongue. She lost herself in the sound of his groans and the feel of his skin and the taste of him and inhaled his scent like he was the only air she ever needed.

They remained tangled in the aftermath, his fingertips running leisurely over her back, her head on his chest as she listened to his heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm as they watched the rain outside beat against the window in the same cadence.

______________

Written for Prompt Thursday  @dramionefanfictionwriters Prompt : Red Wine (in the rain)

I actually wrote this the day the prompt was issued but decided to not post it and take my time editing it. 

Thank you for reading

[ofmythsandmadness]

Nine Times he Almost Says I love you (and the one time he did)

PAIRING: Peter Parker x reader SUMMARY: the nine times Peter Parker very nearly admits his love for you, and the one time he finally does. WARNING: uh nothing really A/N: I’m a sucker for these nine times things so here we go.

Number one.

"I've got you."

Peter hisses it out as she stumbles, one arm grasping at her waist and the other allowing her hand, which had reached out in total panic, to clutch tight. Her nails dug in deep; he did not say a word. Just smiled and tried to reassure her with his eyes that she was going to be okay.

She takes in a shaky breath, lets it go slowly. Then another one. Three, each one getting stronger than the last. Finally, her eyes flutter back open and she seems to realise that she's been digging trenches into his arm - a fact she apologies for profusely. She relents in her steady touch, though her hands still remain on him, not ready to fall once more.

He says it's fine. That he did not even notice.

Her smile, he decides, is the prettiest thing he's just about seen - and he has seen a lot of beautiful things, in his many years.

"I've got you," he repeats, and he really does mean it. His grip smoothes and he grows comfortable touching her as she leans into the touch, letting him know it is alright. He mumbles the phrase again, almost a mantra as they slide just a bit further on the ice.

She admits she has never skated before, and though he is well aware, he feigns disbelief. Makes a joke out of her situation, then promising her that it is okay, he was only good because he has been out in the winter, on the frozen ponds and rivers and on passed-down skates all his life. And, also, that there were loads of things he was not so good at.

When her head cocks and turns, asking just what it was that a guy like him could possibly be bad at, he does not answer. Plays it off like it was just a joke, then changing the subject so they could be sailing carefully across the ice again.

Words pressed against his tongue, a self-conscious answer full of doubt and questioning of his own talents, but he doe not dare speak them. Even if that would bother him for the rest of the night.

Number two.

"You were amazing."

No, he thinks to himself, holding his composure even though he just wants to explode, she is amazing. She always has been, and he never really appreciates her the way she should be - because if he knows anything, she's a masterpiece painted by the gods above and everyone was so lucky to be in her presence, and how was it that it was him blessed with the chance to see her every day?

His words come out gruffer than desired, and he frowns - not at her, himself. He assures her when she asks what is wrong that he just smelled something bad, but really he's cursing at himself for just saying 'you were amazing', brushing off her accomplishments just like that.

Because really, she deserves more than that. Not just amazing, spectacular, an angel just missing her wings, captivating him the entire time. He wants to tell her, he really does and he actually does move to, but once her attention is grabbed and her big brown eyes are turned back to him, his tongue freezes up and the words are so jumbled that nothing makes sense.

So, he does not say what he really, really wants to say. None of it. Not about how lucky he is, or how much her performance and her presence in general means to him, and certainly not those three little words that had begun to haunt him - it all got pushed back, and all that could be said was a gruff mumble about how beautiful she looked or something.

She still blushes and acts like it's a big compliment, but it means nothing to him. Why would it? He's disappointed and angry at himself, and she's been written off as a second-grade symbol in his book. He never wanted that - never wants that.

He just hopes somehow, she can read between the lines of his rushed 'you were amazing' and pick up on the adoration poured into those three little words. Three words that should be twisted into very different ones, had he the courage and strength to spit those out.

Number three.

His fingers tap furiously at the device in his hand, stabbing at the buttons as he types out an electronic message to her.

Text me when you're home so I know you've made it safely!

It is sort of ridiculous, maybe. She lives five minutes away and she has always made it home fine in the past, but he does not want to chance it. The options that could be given aside from an all-okay flash before him and he does not want to even think about her hurt in the slightest. He never dares mention it to her, because he trusts her and knows she's responsible and knows where she's going, but the worry is always there.

He's pretty sure it will always be there.

She responds back two minutes later, and really he is almost ashamed at how fast he moves to know her answer. Once the phone buzzes on the kitchen table he is racing from the microwave to the device, bringing it up to his face to read the response.

HAHA, I'm home. Thanks for checking in. :)

She always signs her texts off with a smiley face. It makes him, in turn, flush and grin like a young boy with his crush, and he could almost jump for joy without even knowing why. Despite that weird rule he heard about before about waiting in between response times, his fingers are already flying across the keyboard and typing out an answer. He never wants to wait with her, and games seem pointless. Stupid.

Of course. Always. :)

Fifteen minutes later and she is texting him goodnight, him reading it with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth almost comically. He finishes brushing and slides it back into its place on the shelf before responding, wishing her a good sleep and morning tomorrow, complete with a little red heart at the end of it. As always.

Her response once more makes his heart flutter. He already has his typed out, an add-on that he did not attach with the goodnight sentiments but one he wants to tack on after that. Maybe he's tired and out of it and thinking too far into things again, but he wants her to know, and wants her to know right then and there. There is no point in waiting, and over text, it is easier, no worry of messing up the words. His tongue cannot betray him like always.

He never sends the text. He barely sleeps that night.

Number four.

She's crying and suddenly the world's gone dark, storms brewing all around them and everything feels so cold, even with his thick sweater on. He can barely hear his own thoughts over the wind howling and he's trying to think but all he can see is her tears, silver crystals against her skin and hear her quiet sobs and hate himself for it. Even if it was never his fault, and nothing could be done, he still feels like he's being ripped apart, watching the woman he cares so much for be hurt.

All he can do is open his arms and allow them to swallow her up, press her against his chest and let his chin fall to the top of his head, swaying back and forth where they stand. The hallway is dark and he can barely make out anything around him but he can picture every single detail of her and that is enough for him. She's shaking in his grasp and oh how it breaks his heart to know how upset she is, because a beautiful person like her never deserves to feel such pain.

He cannot take away her pain, and he knows that. So, he does not bother to make it better, or pretend like there is nothing wrong - she would never want that. He just holds her tight and rocks on the balls of his feet and runs his hand up and down her back soothingly, whispering to her that he is right there, it is okay to cry, he is not going anywhere. He will not be going anywhere so long as she needs and wants him there.

Because he never wants to leave her, never be away from her. He does not think he ever could.

Number five.

"Your hands 're as cold as ice."

Her hands are encapsulating his and he's laughing, making a joke about how small they are in comparison to his. But really, he's grateful for her warm grasp, how the fingers she always curse off as too small and stumpy overlap his and promise a comforting embrace in the cold weather.

In the frosty air, the tip of her nose has gone a light red and her lashes brim with snowflakes, every so often just before they melt away. She's wearing warm colours and stands out among the cold whites and blues and really, he thinks she's never looked better, even if every day he claims that fact. Because really, each and every day she outdoes herself.

Her head falls to his shoulder and she snuggles closer, still gripping his hands tight. Mumbles leave her lips and he cannot understand what she's saying, but he's warm and no longer shivering, and the Christmas lights decorating the park glow just about ten times brighter. The laughter of children fill the background but all he can think about or hear is her own giggle, and then words, painting a beautiful picture of their bond.

All he can think about is how much he loves the woman beside him, but he does not dare speak a single word of what he's thinking. He cannot, just yet. He just holds her hands, rubs the warmth back into them and tries to wonder how he got so lucky.

Number six.

He's stumbling on her fire escape, bloody and bruised. He feels awful to turn up here, knowing it's a Tuesday school night and she should be sleeping. And yet, when he looks up and into her big window, she's already waiting, smiling sadly at the dismal sight.

He apologises at least a dozen times, but every time she shushes him and tells him to just let her help him. Her eyes are focused only on his wounds, rubbing away the stains of blood and bandaging his body up, all the while he watches her with lidded eyes and breath hitching every time she touches him.

It's two in the morning, she's in pyjamas and would argue she looks horrible. But he thinks to himself that she has never looked so beautiful as she did that night, every night, with her hair pulled back and a soft smile staining beautiful features, an angel come in disguise to make him feel a thousand things at once.

He wishes he could say all the ways she makes him feel, but the words don't come and all he has, in the end, is a wistful, dismal 'thank you', mumbled just as she finishes. But he smiles, and so does she, and Peter can only hope she understands the meaning of those two words.

Number seven.

She's holding his hand tight.

It's only to get through the crowd, but still. She's holding him close and he thinks he's never been so happy to be close to someone. It's loud, and yet he can still hear her peals of laughter floating back, chuckling at something she said he missed. He loves her laugh. She hates it, always mocks her own - but he will never tire at the sound.

Peter, almost subconsciously, squeezes her hand. He does not clue in he even does it, not until she glances back and shoots a shy smile. Only then does he glance down and realises his grip has tightened and he's rubbing her knuckles in the soft 'I'm here' way he wishes he could express more often. For a second, he considers just letting go right then and there, pretending it never happened.

But he does not, and once they're out of the crowd, he holds on tighter and walks with a funny sort of pride with her by his side. They say nothing about the hand-holding, but both participants are smiling.

Peter just wants to sing his love right then and there - but hand-holding will have to do, for a little while.

Number eight.

She's fallen asleep and he's carrying her up to his bed, carefully gripping her shoulder and legs so that she does not feel a thing. She warned him that it could possibly happen and after a long day, he expected her to fall asleep, and does not mind a bit. They had put a movie on the both of them had seen about a thousand times, just so she had that chance to doze off - he knew for a fact it always frustrated her when she missed a movie.

She's adorable, sleeping, even with her mouth half-open and tiny snores filling the silence of his own breathing and stomps up the stairs. Her hair has fallen into her face and she's curled up into his chest with one hand curled limply around his arm. She barely flinches as he carries her into the bed and lays her down, showing no sign of waking aside from a tiny whimper leaving puckered lips. She was always a deep sleeper, and he appreciates that, especially in cases like that. Because once she's awake, she finds it hard to fall asleep and he wants her to have a chance at a good night.

He feels oddly motherly as he rushes about, adjusting her blinds and then tucking her in, but it feels good to care for her. She's always been the one to worry about him and do the little things, but he enjoys the chance to adjust her pillows and body so she could be most comfortable. It pleases him to make her sleep better, like an attentive boyfriend - though he's not that. Only wishing he was.

He bends and plants a kiss on her forehead, lips barely brushing the skin so as not to wake her up - though he doubts he really could. His hand falls from hers but just before he slips away, his mouth moves closer to her ear and he whispers a sombre declaration of love. It's tentative, hesitant and then a hurried mumble as though he's afraid to even pronounce the words - she hears none of it, but there's still a rush of fear when he realises that it's the first time he could get the words out.

His legs lift him back up to stand and away from her ears, he chuckles. How sad of a man was he, unable to say those three little words unless she was asleep. He really does mean them, and wants her to know how much he adores her, but he finds no ability to ever share that unless it's pressed up close to her sleeping ear, where no one but the monsters in the closet could ever here.

He hardly sleeps that night, the both of them sharing the bed they had since babies - only she was content snoozing away, and he was staring at the wall begging for the courage that would never come.

Number nine.

"I love you."

He's lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, lips still parted with a ghost of a gasp leaving them.

He cannot believe he's finally said it, but wastes no time in continuing, knowing he can't just give up there. "I...I know it's sudden, and I should have said it sooner but - I really do, I love you, I have for a long time."

He goes on and on and grows more confident as time goes on, mentioning her smile and her laugh, how sweet she can be but how brave he feels when she's by his side, and all the little things that make her beautiful to him, a goddess in her own right in his eyes.

For once, Peter finds it so easy to share all those thoughts, pouring his heart out into his storm of words, trying to convince her that there is nothing he would not do to make her happy, that she is the light of his life, the reason he loves to wake up and the reason he sleeps well at night, why he continues on fighting even when things get tough-

-but he rolls over and remembers with a heavy heart, she's asleep. She hears nothing. His confessions fell upon closed ears and Peter is the only one to hear any of it, just his own wistful words as sad echoes back to himself.

He sighs.

Number ten.

Her shoes are tap-tap-tapping out a rhythm on the hardwood floors, letting him know just where she is and where she's heading throughout the tiny house even before he catches sight. When she finally comes into view, her hands are at her ears, tucking back her hair though it just pops right back out and around her face again. She never likes the way her hair sticks up, but he thinks it is enchanting, a halo around her glowing complexion that only makes her more and more captivating.

For a second, he loses his breath, just taking her in.

Her pink lips are curved softly and her cheeks are aglow, a pretty picture of a woman who could never do wrong in his eyes. She's going on about her classmates, dishing on what happened last week and then bringing up how others could never do their job, driving her mad when she had to pick up their pieces. He knows he should listen, and other times he would, but there's a strange swelling in his head and all he can do is watch her and marvel at the masterpiece she really is. How was it he was so lucky to have her by his side? How is it that he is gifted with her presence, her friendship, those long nights spent together, turning into innocent sleepovers where they giggled and whispered at the ceiling? How is it, that he has the chance to know her?

Life's too short. Peter knows this. He's known this for a while, but it sets in really just then and he's taken aback at himself, his own weakness but the overpowering love he has for the angel in front of him.

She catches him staring and her blush is adorable. With even more flushed cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes as he pays her compliments as excuses, she leans in to bump into him just as she always did when he got lost in thought. They could hang out at her place, that evening, if he wanted? Her parents were out, but they left pizza money, and they could watch that Netflix show he had an interest in.

He acknowledges her words with a grunt and a nod, but his eyes are glazed and his tongue is forming words that have nothing to do with her planning of later on. It's driving him mad to keep it all in and himself together, because she's just too beautiful to not appreciate so, such a woman should never look twice at him and yet there they were so much later, with her hand on his arm and a second then third kiss pressed into his cheek and jaw, non-verbal exchanges of her love.

She leaves his side and he trembles at a new chill without her next to him. He watches her grab her things, backpack and phone in one hand and the other moving to fix her hair, and she's then turning to look at her phone, just to make sure everything is still as perfect as she left it to be, and then-

"-I love you."

He did not mean to just spit it out like that, it just happened. He could not hold it in any longer and so the truth is out, dangling in the frigid air for her to either take or leave. Peter's just left gasping, terrified and thrilled that he's finally shared that with her, left just hoping that he would not regret it in the end.

He repeats it, quieter, a soft mumble amidst the storm rumbling in his mind.

For a moment, she's frozen, saying nothing to him over his confession.

Every second of silence between them is torture.

She finally turns to face him and he sees she's smiling, almost as much as the first day he asked her out, beaming from ear to ear with her eyes alight with new passion and heavy emotion. In an instant, she's transformed and he can tell she's not considering her work day at all - no, like him all her thoughts are just on the words that just left his lips.

"I love you, too."

Peter would say til the end of his days, that that was the happiest day of his entire life.

[validatio-n]

Dying To Live

I first met death when I was very young. I didn’t know what it was, and it never really took a form until I was around 16. I quietened his voice like we all try do to at the start, by ignoring it, partying, or seeking validation from people who don’t deserve you to glance in their direction.

It appeared as though the demons in my head I feebly tried to still had noticed what I tried to do, and they were angry. The thoughts I had of worthlessness, insignificance, unlovability and self-loathing festered from a light, continual hum that I learnt to deal with, to something likened to when you plug your headphones in and the volume is turned up the whole way. You get such a fright and rip the headphones out of your ear. Except with me, I can’t rip them out of my ear. For a long time, I couldn’t even turn the volume down. For 24 hours a day, even in sleep, no matter who I was with or what I was doing, I constantly had this music in my ears telling me I was nothing, I was no one, I was ugly and I deserved everything that had happened to me. Sure, a lot of the time it wasn’t blaring loud and sometimes I barely noticed it, but after years of trying to fight off that voice, you begin to accept it. You begin to believe it, and it becomes a natural part of your everyday life.

Once that’s happened, you’ve successfully opened yourself up for Death to manifest him self in your body. He will creep in and start slow, so you don’t notice him planting seeds in your mind that he watches grow, spreading a thick black toxic throughout your body, turning your blood to poison and your skin to ice. You’re trapped, your body doesn’t feel like your own. You pinch at your skin in disgust and dream of hacking away your non-existent fat with a meat cleaver. Slicing your arms like you’re playing the violin and staring at the blood rushing out even if the mere thought of blood makes you queasy. You’ll wonder, although you’ve gone through some shit, why you are so fucking sad. You’ll wonder why people did what they did to you, how they did what they did to you. You’ll go to the doctors and you’ll get diagnosed and you’ll go through the therapy and you’ll use your support systems and you’ll swear you’re going to beat this sadistic fuck that is depression and anxiety and panic disorder and night terror (Death, in other words), and some days, you believe you will. But when its 3am and its you and Death lying in your tear-soaked bed, Death is the only one there for you.

He’s telling you how you’re going to hurt yourself to feel better. He’s saying it’s going to take the pain away; it’s going to make you have the best sleep ever with no nightmares and no panic attacks. Hurting yourself will make you in control again, he’s saying one scratch won’t do any damage, just try it, see how it feels to inflict physical pain to quash the mental pain. You know the mental pain is your brain playing tricks on you. You know it’s a chemical imbalance. You know the anxiety and the PTSD is from your past relationships. You know Death isn’t actually sitting next to you, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t feel it, because at this time you don’t even know that it’s Death you’re dealing with. Your rational side is gone. You’re sitting in a room where oxygen has turned into a venomous gas that you’re breathing in as you hyperventilate and choke as it constricts your airways.

He watches you as you pull out a shitty pink razor, the crappy ones that you get angry at your mum for buying because you can’t get a good shave with them. Upon looking at it, you’re glad she bought the shit ones because the quality ones would be way too hard to pry open. He’s looking at you, salivating, telling you to pick apart the razor, its easy, just get a knife, wedge it in and flick up the top bit of plastic. Your hands don’t feel like your own. It feels like somebody is controlling your brain making your body move, yet you don’t stop it. Like a puppet on a string. Death doesn’t get angry when you look at yourself in the mirror, sobbing as you can’t even manage to take apart a fucking razor. He watches you throw it across your bedroom full of photos of you and your girlfriends, you and your mum, you and your boyfriends. Your little white cat gets a fright as the razor smashes against the wall and falls behind your dresser. He says in a voice so sweet yet condescending that it’s okay to be so pathetic. He watches you slide the knife under your bed. He holds you in his ice cold arms as you curl up in bed, shaking, crying, nauseous over the fact that you almost cut yourself. Death is with you as the immense loneliness washes over you, suffocating you between sobs. Death rocks you to sleep with a smile on his face, because those seeds he planted are growing, and it’s only a matter of time until they blossom.

You wake up.

You scared yourself.

You reach out to friends, therapists, family. You promise yourself you’re never going to get that close to doing something so stupid again. And you don’t. Death is gone, you’ve beaten him.

For a while.

You haven’t beaten death. You haven’t softened his voice. Sure, he wasn’t prominent in the whole ‘slice your arm into pieces’ front, but rest assured, death was still floating around your room. He’s looking through all your stuff, watching you sleep as he dips in and out of your brain, learning as much about you as he can, feeding toxic sludge to your mind as you’re unaware. Sleep paralysis. Death is smart. He knows he hasn’t worn you down enough to hurt yourself. He knows how to manifest himself in his prey and seep poison into their minds until they have been manipulated and tortured enough to snatch up and take with his mouth wide open, pupils wide, ready to swallow whole as he drags your lifeless body bloody and limp through the realms until he dumps you next to the millions of others who’ve succumbed to the disease. You haven’t gotten away that easily. It’s a waiting game now.

In the orchestral catastrophe that is depression, this was the intermission. The entertainment during this time can be called anorexia.

Death renders you weaker than you know. Anxiety grows so alarmingly fast that your appetite is reduced to practically nothing. You become intolerant to your own body. This is ok, because you’re not cutting yourself. It’s okay, because it isn’t deliberate. You repeat this to yourself over and over as you revel in the bruises that appear on the inside of your knees from trying to sleep on your side; the bones crushing in to each other. You repeat this to yourself as you watch in awe at your ribcage expand and deflate as you inhale and exhale. You can see where your rib was cracked by the hands of those who vowed to never hurt you, by those who vowed to fix you. Your skin stretched tight over protruding bones fascinate you for hours as you trace your fingers over your body in a trance like state of wonder.

You’re hungry, and it’s not for food.

Then, it becomes deliberate.

You’ve always been skinny regardless of what you ate. You’ve loved your body. Never hesitant to run around half naked no matter who was around or where you were. Not provocatively, not attention seeking, just comfortable. Your body was your safeguard. Compliments came naturally, envy was apparent. Then your mind wanders and you think to yourself I wonder what people would say if I lost just a little more weight. And then the floodgates open, and like a tidal wave crashing through an entire city Death whooshes in, appearing in the mirror behind you, his claws on your shoulders, smiling down at you like an old friend you hadn’t seen in years.

If you were just a little bit skinner, you wouldn’t be sad. You’d be beautiful.

Death knew it was time now. He didn’t tell you to say this. You thought this on your own.

30 degree summer nights lying on your side under a European cotton sheet, you feel your thighs touching. Your eyes well up with tears. You are sickened, disgusted. You want to scream, you want to vomit, you want to punch yourself. You sneak out the window of your family home and you run laps of the park you used to walk your golden retriever or smoke weed with your friends, doing cartwheels and rolling around the grass without a care in the world. You run laps until you nearly pass out and limp home at 3am in the fucking morning. The panic attacks return because all your eating is an apple a day with some almonds and a black coffee. You’re jacked up on caffeine that your already shaky hands shake even more. You can’t look people in the eye. You look sick. You want to stop but you can’t. You need your hip bones to poke holes in your lace underwear. You want to be able to hold water in the crevice that appears between your collarbones and shoulders when you shrug.

The results come fast and you love it, you’re an addict who is itching for a little bit more. You’ve never felt the way you feel when you step on the scales and its lower than it was before. The comments people made feed your addiction. The alarm you sense from them as they hug you elates you like getting another fix. You and Death are a team now, he cheers you on and tells you how strong you are for not eating the cake, or saying no to the chips, or making excuses to your friends at dinner as to why you’re not eating. Dinner at home. Already ate. Fasting for a blood test. You knew ‘too poor’ would never work as they’d just pay for you. You have an app on your phone that you log all your calories and exercise in to. 500 a day maximum and you must burn off at least 100 more calories than you consumed that day.

You’re in control of your body. For a short window of time, you were in control of most of your emotions and feelings, too. You felt powerful. You felt happy. You’re never hungry and when you are you know how to burn it off. But then you take it too far. You become so thin that people start to notice. You look like a bobble head with your head too big for your body, your jaw bone looking like it could cut ice. Doctors’ appointments start because your body isn’t working properly. They weigh you and they know the tricks you think you’re a genius for. They know you’d have loaded up on salty food. They’ll know you drank so much water you almost threw up before hand. They’ll check your pockets. Hair down because you can’t hide anything that can contribute to the scale reading. By the end of it you have to strip off completely. Scared parent, scared family, scared friends forcing you to eat, and you would, because they have to believe that this isn’t deliberate. You can’t get admitted. You’d eat to shut them up and you’d become such a good fucking liar. You would laugh and joke and talk about anything while you were eating. You would be having fun. Then you’d be alone again with your hatred for yourself. Hatred that you were too pathetic to be bulimic because of your fear of vomit. Hatred of food. Hatred of yourself.

You weren’t alone though, were you? You know who was sitting right next to you, holding your feet down as you did as many sit ups as you could until your spine was bruised. Then the star jumps until you thought you were going to have a heart attack. Then the push ups. Then the laxatives. Then you felt better.

You were skinny. You were beautiful. 

But were you? 

Your hair was falling out. Your lips were white. Your skin was yellowing. You’re constantly cold. Your body wasn’t functioning properly. You lost your period. You don’t care. You’re skinny.

Then you’re happy again. You’re hi fiving death. You’ve done it. You felt skinny enough.

But there lies the issue itself, it’s never enough. It’s never ‘done.’

‘You can’t stop now, you have to maintain this or else you’ll put on weight again and you won’t be beautiful,’ death would say, and you know he’s right. Then comes the fear.

Food scares you. Going out to eat scares you. You are so afraid of eating and losing your progress that you don’t realise that Death has crawled back to his original spot in your brain and he’s beginning to untie all his puppet strings, preparing your brain for his next act of torment as the intermission concludes and the music starts again, sinister and slow. His malevolent eyes so eager to consume your soul, fangs salivating with the blood you’re about to draw from your wrists. You’re exercising too much with no food which causes you both physical and mental exhaustion. Couple this with the partying on the weekends and you’ve lost the game. You’re as good as dead, and at this rate you will be soon.

The sadness comes creeping back in as you lie in your bed at night, hunched on your side clutching at your ribs letting out slow sobs as you beg the pain to ease. You cry and you cry and you don’t even know what the fuck you’re crying for. You cry for the father that never loved you and spat such venomous words at you that you didn’t want to exist anymore. You cry for the men that threw beer bottles at your head and bruised your oesophagus choke slamming you against a wall rendering you as good as speechless for a week. You cry for the people you loved most cheating on you with your best friend, cheating on you with everyone. You cry for the lies, the betrayal, the drink spiking, the hitting, the screaming, the drugs taken behind your back, for the fact you can’t trust anyone. Abortion. Abuse. Agony. You cry because you’re confused. You cry because no one knows that you’re feeling this way. You cry because you’ve never felt so alone. You cry because you realise that you just don’t want to be here anymore. You cry because you know you need to hurt yourself. You cry because you know that Death was right, it will make you feel better. It does.

You remembered where the shitty pink razor you threw across the room a year or so back landed and you float to your dresser, reaching behind it and grasp the razor, its handle dethatched from the smash against the wall. You feel for the knife under your bed – you remember the one it was, with a red handle, your mum’s been looking for it for a while. You usher your precious cat out of your room, she doesn’t need to see this, as you sit cross legged on your bed. The crying has stopped. You’re focused. Your fingers feel like they’re being controlled as you pry apart the three blades from the plastic. You slip and get a cut on your thumb but that’s okay, you wipe a tear that’s escaped, and you keep trying. It takes a little while.

Then, the softest, most delicate and angelic metal chime rings in your ears as the plastic flies off and the three blades clink together, falling lightly onto your thigh.

You’ve done it.

Ever so carefully you pick one up and examine it for about half a second before you’re holding it against your left wrist. This is the arm you started on. The world has stopped spinning, there is no sound except for your breathing that went from erratic and irregular to slow and steady. You press down lightly and slide it across your wrist.

It stings. Death is holding you, stroking your hair. He is so proud.

Small bubbles of bright red blood surface. It’s pretty. You feel light. Dizzy, but not sick dizzy. You feel tired, really, really tired. You don’t feel overwhelmed anymore, you feel numb. Disconnected from anything that isn’t the small sting and the red bubbles coming from your wrist. You want that feeling again, so you slice four more little cuts across the plethora of vital veins that run so dangerously close to the surface of your skin. You wrap your arm in a tea towel and put a hair scrunchie over the top of it. Light, superficial cuts that heal quickly. It’s not even bad. You sleep, wrapped up in Deaths’ arms as he rocks you back and forth into dreams that he is controlling. Vivid dreams of your childhood, when you were 6 years old wearing matching floral pyjamas in New Zealand with your entire family. Your mum and dad are together. Your grandma’s there. Your brother is there. Relatives you don’t even know now are there. You dream of the purple and yellow bubble machine you got. The entire dream is you running barefoot on the grass in those pyjamas, making bubbles for everyone. You smile in your sleep.

Flash forward a couple of months and you’re a veteran. No more little scratches. These are scary fucking cuts that will scar your body forever and you don’t give a fuck. Why should you, you deserve this pain. You are so twisted and sick that the only thing that will make you go the fuck to sleep and stop sobbing so goddamn much is playing fruit ninja on your wrists.

Long sleeves no matter the heat.

Broken promises to family, to friends.

Psychologists and Psychiatrists.

Medication upon medication.

You get better, honestly, you do. You go longer and longer between cuts, but every time you cut, its worse. You have your walk of shame to chemist warehouse where the staff look at you and know what you’ve done. You switch chemist warehouse locations from Chapel Street to Glenferrie Road in case they try and ask you if you’re okay. The aisle on the left when you walk in. Gauze. Bandages. Betadine. Friends who don’t yell at you, they help you, they drive you there, but they look down at your arm and cannot shield their disgust of such large and deep gashes that have completely split your skin in half. You can see the veins. When its bad, they get the gauze for you. They wash your arms as you scream from the burning pain. They carry you to the shower and wash your hair as you hold the victim arm in the air so it doesn’t get wet. They change your sheets and sit at a café for hours with you as they try to get you to finish a bowl of porridge. They see the lights gone out in your eyes. They cry. You cry. You don’t want to hurt them. You want to hurt you.

Cutting doesn’t make you sleepy anymore because you have to stay up to apply pressure to your arm to stop the bleeding. The tea towel sticks to your arm. There are bloodstains on your carpet, perfect little circles. There are razors everywhere. Inside your phone case. In your makeup bag. In your schoolbag. You’ve moved up from the shitty plastic ones. Sometimes you can’t even be bothered taking the razor apart  - its messier, but its quicker.

You want to stop. You want to stop so badly especially after the time that you went too far and called a friend who couldn’t get to you. You were at home, returned from a night of drinking with your friends. Something triggered you, someone may have just raised their voice and it all comes back to you. Him screaming in your face, smashed tv’s. Violence. Police stations. Restraining orders. Changed phone numbers. Running down the street in underwear and a t-shirt with a dead phone. You might’ve been at a friends’ place and seen their fathers care not only about their daughters and sons, but about you too, and that sets you off. You get home and you’re sad, you are so fucking sad. You know what you’re going to do even before you leave wherever the fuck you were. You know, even though all the razors have been hidden, you know where there MIGHT be one, gathering dust, wedged accidentally between one of the storage cabinets at the base of your inbuilt bookshelf that carried the hundreds of books you read to escape from the reality that is your life. If it’s not there, you’ll just use a knife. You get out of the car and the tears have already started. You hold them in until you open your front door and throw all your shit on the bed. You brush past Death who was ready to welcome you with open arms. You’re in a frenzy to get to where you think that last razor might be. Death is jumping up and down excitedly. He knows it’s there, waiting for you. You find it, grab it, and there is no relief though you expected there to be.

Come on Alian, you’ve got to push down deeper this time. That’s the only way you’ll feel better. Just this one last time, it will be fine. Death said. He was right about everything else, why shouldn’t you believe him about this? It’s your right arm now, the left has way too many scars on it. The right arm has half as many, but they’re big, raised and menacing scars. There’s still room for about 5 more.

You press hard. Too hard. No matter how much pressure you apply, the blood isn’t stopping.

Death is encouraging you to go further. You can’t, you can’t keep your head up and you can’t stop the blood. Death is angry at you now. He’s mean and nasty, he’s not the understanding and supportive demon who ruins your life kindly, he’s completely turned. He’s grabbing at your fat, he’s taunting you with it. He’s making you remember memories you’d rather die than re live. He is making his voice inside your head so fucking loud that you can’t shut it out and it hurts, it hurts, you need it to stop, you reach for your pill box and open your mouth and wash down whatever pills you just took with whatever is left in the Smirnoff Vodka bottle you drank that night.

Darkness.

You’re black out drunk and you don’t know why there’s another one of your friends at your window. You’re asleep on your bedroom floor with the Little Mermaid playing in the background. Valium on the floor. Seroquel on the floor. You are covered in blood you can barely stand up to let him in. You fall asleep again in his arms. He was on the phone. 

Darkness

He’s gone. 

You don’t know where Death is either. 

Red and blue flashing lights. 

Sirens. 

Banging on the door. 

Darkness.

Two ambulance paramedics shaking you.

Your mum in tears.

You’re protesting. You don’t want to go with them. You’re fine. It’s just a cut, it’s not bad. It’s just like the other ones.

They need stitches. You can’t stay awake.

Darkness.

You’re getting carried out of your room like a baby by the male paramedic.

Stop, please, you’re hurting my arm.

Mum 

Mum

Mum?

She doesn’t come. 

Darkness.

You have your soft toy with you. You got her when you first moved to Melbourne when you were 7.

You watch your Mum and Death standing in the doorway as you’re lifted into the ambulance. You hate Death now. You’re not on the same team. You never were. He only wants to kill you.

Darkness.

You’re angry because the paramedics won’t let you sleep. You remember being really angry and really scared. Your arm is so sore. They keep saying how skinny you are. Asking what you took, how much you drank. You don’t know. The male paramedic is holding your hand with one of his and your arm with his other. You say that you want to go home. He can’t take you home, because your friend called them and told them that you’re going to kill yourself. You’re not, you promise, just please take you home. Please let go of your arm. He can’t let go because you need a lot of stitches. You’re lucky that you didn’t move half a millimetre to the left or the right or press down any harder, because they couldn’t save you if you did. Your holding on to your toy cat and he asks what her name is. Her name is Pearls. He asks who got you her and you tell him your mummy got her for you. You cry. Your mum who gave you the world, who loved you more than 50 parents combined. Your mum who would do anything for you. Your mum who told you she’ll stop fighting you if you want to leave this earth so badly. You’re not angry anymore. 

You are sad. You are so fucking sad. You bury your head into the paramedics’ lap and you cry.  You ask him to please just let you die.

Darkness.

You’re with a nice female doctor and she is interrogating you. You’re used to this. She tells you that if you end up here one more time (it’s not your first), you will be admitted even if you don’t want to be. You know this. You’re done with Death. You want him gone. You want to try and eat. You want to hug your mum. You want your yellow and purple bubble blowing machine. She tells you that you need stitches on the cuts you did tonight. You beg her not to have them, the blood has stopped and they can just heal over like the others. She refuses. It’s either stitches or glue. You’re scared. You’re alone and scared and Pearls the cat isn’t being much comfort. You call your friend and they stay on the phone while you have your arm sewed back together like a broken toy. You want to vomit. You’re thankful for the Valium and the Seroquel and the alcohol because you could not handle this any other way.

You have to stay a little bit longer so they can monitor you. They wanted to pump your stomach.

You’re at home now. There’s a pool of dried blood on the carpet. Lucky its dark grey carpet. That one will be a hard one to clean. Your mum hasn’t spoken to you. Your brother is overseas. You miss him.

You crawl into bed and watch Gossip Girl until you fall asleep.

You see your psychologist after you get your stitches out, and you tell him everything. You tell your doctor everything. You’re ready to get better. You tell them about the eating thing. It’s going to be hard and its not going to be pretty, but you’re going to get better. You enrol in university and you get another job. You do yoga and you go for runs. You eat when you feel like it and you eat a lot of fruit. If you feel like a burger, you get a burger. It takes years for you to have this relationship with food, but you get there. You stop getting black out drunk and you stop doing party drugs. You promise to stop for at least a year. You achieve it. You face your pain head on. You process what happened to you with the ex boyfriends. You know it’s not your fault. You know that what your feeling is a normal reaction, and you move past it. You have bad moments just like everybody else, but yours are a little worse. Yours are dangerous.

You sit on the bathroom floor clutching your head as you hyperventilate. Razors are allowed in the house again and you’ve ripped one apart and you’re rotating it between your thumb and index finger. Your heart is beating out of your chest because fucking hell you want nothing more than to slide that piece of metal over your skin and feel that rush again. You hold it to your wrist and you are uncontrollably crying. You’ve been so good when you’ve had the urgers, you’ve gone to your mum, you’ve called your friends, you’ve gone for a walk, you’ve gone to sleep, but you’re here now and there’s nothing stopping you except for your own willpower. You scream silently as the tears fall down. You’re not filled with stardust, you’re not filled with snowflakes or sparkles, you are filled with blood that has spilled too many times onto the floor. Your insides are spilling onto the fucking floor, your veins splitting at the seams. Your first kiss, your bubble blowing machine, the times you laughed so hard you cry, the year you had Christmas twice is dripping down your arm and rolling out of you. You’re coughing up and sobbing out every memory of getting in trouble with your friends or holding hands with the boy you thought you loved more than anything in the world. All your memories of the beautiful life you’ve lived are melting into the carpet of your bedroom floor staining it, reminding you of how much you hate yourself when you should love yourself. These red bubbles aren’t pretty rubies rushing out of your skin, this isn’t glamorous nor poetic, its not mysterious or romantic, its mutualization, its sickening. It’s death and you are dying. It’s you, everything you have been, everything you are, and everything you are yet to be, if you just give yourself the fucking chance.

And just like that,

You put the razors on your mum’s dresser, wrists intact, and you walk down the stairs. You go to the kitchen and you peel open a banana and you eat it. You put your headphones in, you go outside and you go for a walk around the botanical gardens. You enter through Gate D and you lie in the sun for a while as you throw bread for the ducks. The white ones with the orange beaks are your favourite. You give them nicknames. You know that in all honesty, you’re going to have more shitty boyfriends who might break your heart. You’ll also have good ones that even though it didn’t work, you grew. You know that you and your dad aren’t ever going to have a relationship. You know that you’re going to have trust issues and post-traumatic stress for quite a long time. You’ll fight with girlfriends, you’ll get too drunk and do something stupid like kiss someone you shouldn’t or break your nose at a music festival. You’ll laugh at it. You’ll have days where you hate your body and days where you love it. Days where you want the world to end and days where you never believed you could ever be so happy. 

And for the first time in your 21 years of living, you’re okay with this. For the first time in 21 years, you’re at peace. You haven’t touched a razor since.

[blacknovelist]

CLAUDE VON RIEGAN for the character meme pls?

BWOP HEADCANON MEME

C L A U D E V O N R I _ G _ _

C: Can they swim well?

Hm..... At first I thought yes, but keeping in mind upbringing.... I think he knows how to swim, and thusly can. He isn't like, captain of the swim meet but he ain't gonna be drowning anytime soon. So... yes?

L: What is their favourite board game?

Claude loves games like Betrayal at House on the Hill, which always change when you play them, along with more strategic ones such as Dominion. Between them though, I think he'd enjoy Dominion the most (though it's more like a card game than a board game, so maybe these two and Settlers of Catan can tie for fave).

A: What are/were this character’s best subjects in school?

Chemistry! Also, he'd totally be great at social studies and sociology classes u can't change my mind.

U: What’s their voice like?

Pre-skip, Claude tends to talk fast and hard. His every day voice is like a wall, see -- he uses them like shields painted with faces and puts them smack dab between him and others, tries to convince them that what comes out is what's inside. Worry reigns in him at how others see him and to speak is the best way to affect that, so he must speak quick. 

Even when he's getting down deep he talks with a little hardness, but that one's because he isn't sure of himself, quite yet, still unsettled as a person. Still, when he gets more genuine, his speech slows. He sets them down from his heart, which must work to dredge these words up, as opposed to his mind, which whirls at top speed all the time. 

Post skip, Claude's manner changes. With leading the Alliance comes the assurance of a leader -- his hardness and speed are unneeded, now, though they still yet come by sometimes. But he no longer needs words to form impressions for him. Claude had learned to do that with physical presence, with fewer words. There is no more worry or confusion on his goals, where he is going, what he will be. This Claude is a Claude who understands: that who he is now is the Leader of the Alliance; that he can love his people and be angry at their blindnesses both, that he can have the power to change that; that his teacher(s) are people he can trust, without fail, to be who they've always been. 

D: How they react to being flirted with?

I know everyone portrays him as being smooth, and that's not wrong, but... I feel like Claude also has not considered being flirted with before. Given the difficulties he grew up with -- constantly attacked and hated seemingly without reason and certainly without his deserving it -- it wouldn't be a surprise to me if Claude even struggles with the idea of people genuinely liking him for who he is and how he presents himself. He'd hardly have been told he looks great by the very people who grew up despising his mixed blood. 

So I think that if he's flirted with, while he will do his best to roll with it, his knee-jerk reactions and the feelings he will maintain in his heart is that of confusion and flustered-ness. Pre-skip especially. Post skip he'd be more used to it, seeing as everyone views him primarily positively at that time, but there's something about people genuinely flirting with him that, once it passes the Wary Anti-Betrayal part of his brain, kind of makes him go "hey hold on what????"

E: How are they with children?

I think he's okay with them! He'd be surprised at how much energy it takes to keep up with them, perhaps, and be caught off guard there -- and he takes a minute to get to know them, to get into the swing of caring about them. But he'd get there, and then I think he does well.

V: What’s the easiest way to annoy them?

Canon facts Claude gets "annoyed" with characters like Judith, who share positions of power, appear unflappable, and who always seem just as prepared as he is. Continually, in GD route, Judith is the one person that can get under his skin, though he still clearly cares and thinks very highly of her. They verbally spar a lot!

So the best way to annoy Claude is to pester. Ironic, considering his method for gaining secrets is "relentless nagging" in his own words lmao. But tbh Claude is... less of a verbal nagger and more just sneaky and good with words. So like, he's way less of a nag than he might think. 

When people undermine him -- his plans, or his words, or his thoughts -- in any way, minor or not, he tends to get frustrated, even if grateful for it. He's listed as disliking illogical arguments. Someone pestering him, or someone continually one upping in a way he can't argue with -- both these things would irritate him after a while. 

O: What would it take to break them, inside and out?

Claude's whole thing is built up on like... plans. Contingencies on contingencies. Out-thinking the enemy, figuring out the beats to their tactics so he can slip through the cracks. He accepts he is not the best but he puts pride into his skill at winning fights with minimal losses, at out-thinking the foe to the point of even trying to avoid fights, the point of ending what he can before it begins and in keeping the advantage when it can't be prevented.

So I think to break him would be someone using this penchant against him to kill his people, back him into a corner and conquer his lands. Turn his pride into the reason for death, in his eyes at least. Damned if you do and damned if you don't, see? But slowly. It has to be slow -- it can't be losses 24/7, it's gotta be a majority. He has to know he's being played with and that the hope exists so he can eventually lose even that.

He might lose his mind before he falls that far.

N: What do they usually eat for breakfast?

I imagine he usually eats fruit or granola bars -- easy to pick up and go!

R: What are their hands like?

Calloused and scarred but only a little, and especially in the fingers and palms. The backs of his hands probably have some old chemical scars, his fingers flecked with nicks from arrows and plants-of-ill-effect, palms leathery after all the bows shot (AND axes swung, come post skip). 

They're warm when one takes them, and steady as the earth. Deft still, in spite of everything. 

I: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do they love themselves?

Claude, pre skip, hovered solidly in the 4-6 range. Fact, he's aware the people who attacked him as a child were wrong. Fact, being surrounded by people who hate and scorn you, even while beloved by family, affects you. This academy Claude is a Claude still learning, a Claude still coming into himself. He has faith in his abilities, yes, but that is not the same as self love.

Post skip, I think he's made the arduous journey into the 6-8 range. He's more assured, he spent years growing and training and waiting and you know what? He's allowed to be proud, to be happy, to be sure of himself now. And it's difficult to be -- he still dips, as we all do -- but he tries. 

G: How do they flirt?

Claude strikes me as one to flirt more with actions and indirect statements than anything. A flower in one's hands, a cup of tea shared, a difficult admission of trust or emotion where he'd have hidden before. It's a lot of little moments until the time comes that he is ready to confess or confront about it, or until the target of his affection notices and confronts first. 

He wouldn't flirt with someone he does not want to flirt with -- on a related note, he wouldn't flirt with someone he isn't sure he can put faith in. 

[camillemontespan]

lost stars [AU. drake, camille, leo and olivia] [part nine: champagne]

Part Eight here if you want to catch up.

Oh I had so much fun writing this chapter! It’s fluff. It’s fun. No angst!  I hope you guys enjoy.  I know what happens at the start of this chapter will sound ridiculous but I had this idea in my head for a while so just go with it. 

Warnings: NSFW. 

@jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @themingdynasty @burnsoslow @dcbbw @notoriouscs @emceesynonymroll @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @drakewalkerisreal  @iplaydrake @nomadics-stuff @carabeth @katedrakeohd  @rainbowsinthestorm @pedudley @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld 

     ****************************************************************************

Leo settled down on the roomy airplane seat. He had gone all out and paid for First Class- why not? He had just been dumped. As he surveyed the plane with it’s beautiful flight attendants, the TVs, and the complimentary glasses of champagne that were being handed to each passenger, he thought he could get used to this. Who needed women? He could just do this, alone, and be fine with it. 

He knew flying to Paris seemed a little... weird. It was where he and Camille had been on romantic breaks. But Leo saw it as a way to get closure. Visit the city where they had been happy and just think. Then, he could get over it and move on. 

Leo read over the in-flight menu. Hmm. Maybe I’ll have the steak. 

‘What the fuck are you doing on my flight?’

Leo jumped at the voice above him. Looking up, his eyes widened when he saw Olivia standing in front of him. Her eyes were narrowed and her hand was on her cocked hip; she did not look like a happy bunny. 

‘Liv! What are you doing here?’

She slumped down on the empty seat beside him. ‘I asked you first. I am on a getaway to Paris to get away from my break up and you are on my flight?’

Leo chuckled at the weird coincidence. Olivia batted his shoulder with her hand. ‘Well?’

‘Maybe it’s fate,’ Leo joked, giving her a shrug. Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘This is just perfect. I don’t want any reminders of my breakup.’

Leo smiled at her. ‘Then let’s take the edge off..’ 

Leaning over Olivia, he tapped a flight attendant on the elbow. 

‘Yes, sir?’

Leo shot her a winning smile. ‘Can we please have a bottle of your best and most expensive champagne?’

        *******************************************************************

Leo poured Olivia a glass of champagne and handed it to her. She tossed it down her throat in one gulp before holding the glass out again for him to re-fill. 

‘So, you’re getting away from the break up,’ Leo clarified. ‘Why Paris?’

Olivia sighed. ‘I needed some retail therapy.’

‘You couldn’t have shopped at home?’

Her eyes threw daggers at him. ‘There’s not enough stores in Manhattan.’

Leo smirked and sipped the champagne. Damn, champagne tastes even better in first class in the clouds.

Olivia looked at him out the corner of her eye. ‘And you? Why Paris? Quite romantic.’

Leo shook his head. ‘It’s where Camille and I used to go for romantic breaks. I thought if I went, I could think stuff over and get closure.’

Olivia stared at him, her eyebrows raised. Leo focused on drinking the champagne; he knew she was judging him. 

‘Okay, so you bought a first class ticket to go to Paris to wallow over your breakup? Leo, most people -myself NOT included- tend to break out the Ben & Jerry’s and sit and cry over Titanic. Bit of a dramatic pity party, don’t cha think?’

Leo whipped around to face her. ‘Says the woman who’s off to a European city to go shopping!’

‘Yeah, but I’m not wallowing. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck what Drake does. I’m not ecstatic that he’s with Camille, but I’m not pining for him. I deserve better. So I’m going to Paris to buy couture, then I’ll fly back to New York, wear said couture, and just be my usual brilliant self.’

Leo laughed at that. He liked how self assured she was. He took another swig of champagne. ‘So you’re doing okay about Drake?’

She nodded. ‘I’m fine. We hadn’t been right for a while and to be honest, I think I outgrew him. I want adventure and spontaneity. I want everyday to be different. Drake doesn’t offer that, which fine, I get. I just felt a little lonely in the relationship so honestly, I’m glad it’s over.’

‘You’re so mature,’ Leo said. ‘You know what I did?’ he asked, his voice bitter.  ‘I broke a picture frame and left Camille to pick up the glass shards. I called her a bitch.’

Olivia stared at him. ‘Wow. You are an actual cuntsatchel, aren’t you?’

‘What the fuck is a cuntsatchel?’

She shrugged. ‘No idea but Drake uses it as an insult all the time. This seems an apt way to describe you.’

Leo blinked. He was a cuntstachel. ‘You didn’t get angry at Drake?’ he asked.

Olivia nodded quickly. ‘Sure I did. I felt so betrayed but once I calmed down, I realised I wasn’t angry anymore. I have no need for revenge. Losing me is punishment enough.’

Leo could feel the champagne beginning to reach his head. ‘You’re so wise,’ he told her solemnly. Olivia smirked. ‘I know I am.’

The two of them drank more of the champagne in silence for a few minutes, thinking things over. As the plane flew through the clouds, Leo felt a strange sense of peace and relief; he was leaving. He would come back to New York but for now, he needed space. He needed an ocean wide space between him, Camille and Drake.

Olivia looked at him, a sly grin on her face. ‘Want to play a drinking game?’

     **************************************************************************

Drake woke up tangled in the bedsheets, the early morning sunlight drifting in through the windows. Blinking, he sat up and turned to find that the bed was empty. 

He had stayed over at Camille’s. Had it been weird sleeping in the bed where Leo used to sleep? Yes. But it was done.

Yawning, he dragged himself out of bed and padded through the hallway. He could hear faint music coming from the kitchen. Opening the kitchen door, he found Camille standing over the stove, flipping pancakes. She was wearing only his denim shirt and her dark hair was tousled around her shoulders; Drake had made a mess of her hair when he had made love to her the previous night. 

She was singing along to Bob Marley.

I want to love you, and treat you right I want to love you, every day and every night We'll be together, with a roof right over our heads We'll share the shelter, of my single bed We'll share the same room, yeah! For Jah provide the bread...

Drake watched her with a smile on his face as she swayed her hips while flipping pancakes, singing as she did so. He could get used to this.

He never saw Olivia in the mornings because she always got up early to go to her kickboxing class. Often, he would eat breakfast alone. 

Camille was making breakfast. This was a first for Drake. He cleared his throat to catch her attention and Camille turned to him, before a wide smile broke out on her face. ‘Good morning!’ she greeted him. Drake wandered over to her and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss on top of her head. 

‘Hey beautiful,’ he whispered. 

Camille ran her hands down his bare chest. Drake was wearing only checked pyjama bottoms which were slung low, showing his hip lines. He looked good in the mornings. 

‘Do you like blueberry pancakes?’ Camille asked him, turning back to the pancakes to make sure they weren’t burning. Drake grinned. ‘Yeah, I love blueberry pancakes. Need a hand with anything?’

‘Could you get the fresh orange out of the refrigerator?’ she asked. Drake took out a jug of fresh orange and found two glasses. He saw that the kitchen table was already set with plates and a vase of sunflowers in the centre. 

Camille dished up the pancakes and then brewed coffee. Drake wondered if this domestic bliss would last. He hoped it would. 

   *******************************************************************************

‘Okay, never have I ever... been punched,’ Olivia said. 

Leo laughed. ‘Ah, you got me.’ He took a deep gulp of champagne. 

They had been playing Never Have I Ever for the past thirty minutes and the alcohol was getting to both of them. They were becoming more giggly and their voices slurred.

‘Never have I ever... been to a fashion show,’ Leo replied. Olivia’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re so mean! You’re trying to get me drunk!’

Leo shrugged. ‘Isn’t that the whole point of this game?’

Olivia sighed and finished her glass; Leo re-filled it without being prompted. Olivia downed the glass, enjoying the bubbles. 

Olivia thought of her next suggestion. She sniggered when she thought of her next play then she hiccuped. ‘Never have I everrrrr...’ she slurred, ‘ever everr.. joined the Mile High Club.’ 

Olivia hiccuped again.

A wicked smile spread on Leo’s face and he downed his glass. Olivia’s eyes widened at this discovery. ‘You’ve fucked on a plane?’ she hissed.

Leo chuckled. ‘Course I have!’

‘With Camille?’

Leo burst out laughing, the thought was hilarious to him. ‘Noooo. No waaay. Camille was pretty wild in the bedroom but she wasn’t one for fucking in public spaces. I think she would worry that an old lady with a weak bladder would need the bathroom.’

Olivia smirked and took another sip of champagne.

‘What’s it like?’

‘Wha?’ Leo asked, his head now beginning to spin. ‘Fucking in a plane toilet?’

Olivia nodded. 

‘It’s cramped.’

Olivia leaned in closer to Leo, eager to learn more. She was a sexually adventurous person so the fact that this was one thing she had never done made her want to know more. 

‘Very intimate,’ Leo continued, his voice low, looking at her with his green eyes. ‘Bodies pressed right up against each other, no room to breathe. You can only really breathe in each other. It’s so fucking hot.’

Olivia sipped some more champagne. ‘Oh really?’

Leo could see her eyes were darkening. He imagined that his were doing the same. ‘You have no choice but to just get straight to it, you don’t want anyone to knock on the door while you’re fucking, you know?’

Olivia’s eyes locked with his. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘It’s desperate,’ Leo continued, ‘primal.’ He trailed his finger up Olivia’s leather clad thigh. She looked down and watched as it trailed up towards her belt. She could feel the heat building in her core and closed her eyes. 

‘You just have to have each other,’ Leo whispered. ‘Even if it’s just for that one time and you never see each other again. You’re in the clouds, there’s no rules up here.’

‘I’ve always hated rules,’ Olivia murmured. 

‘I could tell.’

Olivia’s eyes met his. ‘Meet me in there in twenty seconds,’ she breathed. ‘Knock three times.’ 

She stood up and went to the bathroom. Leo downed the last of his champagne and counted to twenty before standing up. Discreetly, he made his way to the bathroom and knocked three times.

    *********************************************************************************

Olivia unbuckled Leo’s belt as quickly as her fingers could work. Leo tangled his fingers in her red hair and kissed her hungrily. As Leo’s jeans fell to the ground, Olivia’s hand reached out to pull down his boxers. She broke away from the kiss to see what she was dealing with. Her mouth formed a big O.

Leo chuckled. ‘Like what you see?’

Olivia’s eyes bore into his. ‘I need that inside me right now.’

Leo gave her a lazy smile and picked her up to place her on the edge of the sink. Olivia realised Leo had been right; this was so cramped and intimate. She loved it. 

Leo undid her belt and pulled down her leather trousers, before pulling down her lace red thong. ‘God, you’re something else, Nevrakis,’ he murmured, his eyes roaming over her. Olivia spread her legs so he could have a better view; Leo’s eyes turned black. 

‘Holy fuck.’

Leo knew they should be quick. That was a big part of the Mile High Club. But gazing at her, he just wanted a little taste. Kneeling down, he placed his hands under her ass and pulled her forward so he could get closer. Olivia watched as his golden head got between her thighs and she groaned as she felt his tongue slide into her.

Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the air pressure from being up in the sky. But Olivia could see fireworks. Her fingers gripped onto his head as his tongue lapped at her, tasting all of her. 

As his tongue worked her, Leo brought two fingers and slid those inside her too, adding to the sensations she was feeling. 

‘Oh God, Leo,’ she breathed. 

Leo’s tongue worked harder, twisting and discovering new places. 

‘Please fuck me,’ she begged. Olivia never begged. But this was different. 

Leo stood up and placed his hands on her thighs. She braced herself for impact.

He slid in so easily; she was that worked up. Olivia cried out as she felt him fill all of her and she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. She wanted him in deeper. 

Leo rocked his hips and drove into her. He was fucking her good and hard; he had a feeling she would be okay with that. 

‘Fuck Liv, you feel incredible,’ he whispered, his breath haggered. He groaned as he felt her walls tighten around him and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Olivia bit into his shoulder, trying to hide her cries. She didn’t want the plane to overhear. 

Their eyes met. Her ice blue ones meeting his forest green. 

‘I’m gonna cum,’ she breathed. 

Leo picked up the pace, keen to bring her to orgasm. He wanted to feel her explode around him. 

She did. She cried out and Leo clapped his hand to her mouth, obscuring her screaming his name. As she crashed over the wave, Leo felt himself let go and sink into oblivion. 

      ******************************************************************************

The plane landed at Charles de Gaulle 8 hours later. Leo and Olivia strode with their suitcases through the arrivals lounge, their gazes fixed straight ahead of them. 

When they reached the exit, Olivia scanned for a taxi. ‘Okay, so have a nice time wallowing at the Eiffel Tower,’ she said. 

Leo smirked. ‘I will. You’re getting a cab?’

‘Yup.’

‘Bit expensive to get into the city from here.’

‘What else do you suggest I do?’

Leo raised his hands, shrugging. ‘I dunno, maybe get the bus with me?’

The look on her face was withering. ‘Ugh. I do not use buses.’

‘You do when you’re with me.’

Olivia pointed at him. ‘First of all, I am not with you. Secondly, we are in Paris for different things, this is not a trip for the two of us. While you’re pining for Camille, I am going to Chanel. Third, buses are unhygienic.’

Leo rolled his eyes. ‘Liv, stop being a priss and just get on the bus with me. It’s cheaper. Plus you get my sparkling entertainment.’

‘You’re not sparkling.’

‘You enjoy me,’ Leo told her, a knowing look on his face. 

Olivia blushed and looked away, setting her jaw. Leo continued to watch her. ‘Are you coming with me into the city or not? Come on. We just had sex, I think the time for awkwardness is done.’

‘Shhh!’ Olivia scolded him. ‘It’s a secret!’

‘I’ll pay for your bus fare,’ Leo said. 

‘Why are you so keen for me to join you?’

His lazy smile again. ‘Maybe I find you interesting company.’

‘Ha. The sentiment isn’t returned.’

‘Come on, Liv. Give me your bags.’

Sighing, Olivia handed him her luggage. Leo placed it in the bus hold and guided her into the bus. 

‘Ugh, I better not catch anything..’ she muttered. 

‘Liv, you had sex in an airplane toilet, I think you’re already riddled.’

‘LEO!’

Leo burst out laughing as Olivia stormed down the aisle and sat down on a seat, her eyes fixed to the window. He settled down beside her and brought out a hip flask. 

‘Want something to take the edge off?’